#this has been the most endless winter this is all i have to offer | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

theeveninghour · 2 months

Text

All My Dreaming | Part 2

Summary: After accepting the mating bond, you and Azriel explore some missed opportunities. That’s it, that’s the tweet.

A/N: Thank you for the love on All My Dreaming!!! Not to be horny on main but I couldn’t stop writing for this story, here’s ~8k more words of extremely sweet and very nasty Azriel. I really wanted to write a fun scene with Mor and the gang Rita’s but couldn’t find a place for it in the first part, so y’all are getting it here. There is like, so very little plot here, I just wanted to write a few more scenes and give some additional backstory on these two because I think they’re cute. Also, I love writing little vignettes for this storyline so I might post a few more, much smaller (lol) snippets of them as an epilogue!

Pairing: Azriel x Winter Court!Reader

WC: 8.4k (i have no self control)

TW: 18+, Minors DNI, smut, cunnilingus, face sitting, more love declarations, Cassian being a lil flirty in flashbacks, soft dom!Az, little hints at jealous!Az, the slightest amount of angst, talk of previous abuse (but nothing too descriptive) and slight breeding kink because Az has one (I feel this in my bones). Azriel is down astronomically bad for the reader in this one y’all. The last 2.7k is literally just porn lol

Part 1

True to his word, Azriel kept you in the meadow until dawn. The sun beginning to paint the night-sky with sepia hued pinks and oranges. You’d long since finished the wine, eaten half the bread, and most of the fruit and cheeses. He laid against the quilt, wings spread magnificently as you laid against him, thigh over his abdomen, head on his shoulder, fingertips tracing idly at the tattoo inking his chest. He hummed contentedly, and you ventured your eyes up his, finding his gaze already on you.

“Can I ask you something?” You tested the waters of this new thing; bond, love, cocoon that enveloped you. “Anything,” he smiled. “When did you know?” You asked softly. He furrowed his brow. “That I loved you?” He asked and you nodded, turning your upper half to rest your chin on the hand that had stilled against his chest. He laughed. Mother above, he laughed so warmly that it made your eyes crinkle and lips spread into a grin from the sound alone.

“You’re going to hate this,” he said as a preface, smiling, dimples appearing as he looked to you, “but it was a few weeks after you joined us, and Cassian mouthed off at you about being late to training.” You raised a brow. “You fell in love with me, while I was being…….degraded?” You asked, a little deadpan. “No,” he shook his head in correction, still chuckling. “It was what you did after.”

Cassian kept a strict training schedule. He trained in the early hours of the morning on the balcony at the House of Wind, ate breakfast, then moved to outdoor weapons and flight training off the banks of the Sidra until the early afternoon. He was strenuous and strict in his routine, as was Azriel. You’d begun training with them the week before, and if you were totally honest, you weren’t fully comfortable with the two brothers yet. Cassian was rough around the edges, brutish, with a mouth that often got him into trouble. Azriel was quiet, observant in a way that unnerved you. You’d caught his eyes following you often and you hated the warmth that pressed into your cheeks when he did.

Rhysand had warned them to give you time to adjust. You’d been brutally attacked by Beron’s dogs only a few months ago and forced to live in the wilds for nearly six weeks, eating foraged fauna and what game you could kill with a makeshift spear you’d carved using sharpened obsidian and a walnut branch. Your body grew weary in those weeks; endless fear, starvation, and sleepless would do that. You were still a jittery little thing, like a wild animal, jumpy when Amren or Mor managed to sneak up on you by accident.

Azriel recognized these symptoms and allowed you a leniency he didn’t normally offer his trainees, but trauma, physical and mental, took a toll on the body as he well knew. He’d gifted you a golden hilted dagger on your second week with them and asked if you knew how to use it. You held it in your palm, noting the blue stone that sat in the bolster and double edged blade that you could see your reflection in. You looked a little gaunt, but your cheeks held color again, your lips were fuller, no longer dry and chapped from mountain winds and cold nights.

“I know how to use a blade Shadowsinger,” you said in an even tone. You didn’t call him by his name then. You also called Cassian ‘General’ to his face, and ‘asshole’ behind his back. “Most females learn to use them,” you followed up, “out of necessity.” Azriel hated to dwell on those words, hated to think about what you’d gone through before Beron, what your father had done. He nodded once, and placed a sheath and belt down on the table next to you before taking his leave.

You’d awoken late for training that day, the sun had rose to a bright position in the mid-morning sky and you knew you’d never hear the end of it from Cassian. You dressed slowly into your training leathers, belting your dagger around your hips and took a deep breath. You walked to the balcony, noticing the males absence and winnowed to the training grounds at the Sidra. Cassian’s eyes found yours immediately and he sheathed his broadsword, turning to look at you. Azriel was perched on a fallen tree stump nearby, and his eyes traced your face, noting the darkened circles there. He’d heard you screaming in your sleep last night and his heart ached at the sound, his shadows slinking off to find you.

“So you didn’t forget,” Cassian said, muscular arms crossing over his chest. “Tell me something, little girl, do you even want to be here?” He stressed the word want in his sentence in a way that had both you and Azriel narrowing your eyes. “This is the third day this week that you’ve been late to training, and the second that you’ve missed morning warm ups altogether.” He huffed a disbelieving laugh, “I’m beginning to think Rhys was wrong about you.” Azriel went still and he felt a bit of rage creep up his spine at his brother’s harshness.

In the blink of an eye, you’d unsheathed your dagger and thrown it at the Illyrian general. It whizzed past his head, nicking his cheek, and landed in the training dummy behind him. “Fuck you,” you’d growled teeth bared, as you shifted a stance that begged for a fight. Cassian turned and pulled the knife from the dummy’s eye socket, before throwing in the dirt at your feet. “A little to the left next time you try to kill me,” he smirked. “If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t have missed, asshole,” you said as you fixed him with a glare and your jaw ticked in anger. Cassian’s face broke into a shit eating grin and he laughed, which made you sneer with frustration.

“Good to see you’re still alive in there,” he said smiling, “I was hoping we’d see that spark.” Your anger dissolved as fast as it built up. You reached down to pick your dagger from the dirt and sheathed it at your waist. “Seriously, Cassian, fuck you,” you said and grabbed a bow and quiver of arrows before stalking off to train alone. Cassian sighed and went to follow you but Azriel rose to feet to stop him, stepping into his path. “Let her calm down,” he suggested, placing a hand to his brother’s arm. Cassian sighed. He knew he was being rough with you, but it the only thing left he could think to do. “We’ve tried nice, brother. Tough love worked on Amren, maybe it’ll work on her too,” Cassian spoke softly before trotting after you.

A few paces off you’d begun firing arrows into a target carved in the bark of an elm tree, teeth grinding. Cassian was right in his intent though, you had to get out of your own head if you were to move forward. You pulled an arrow from the quiver and nocking it on the bowstring and pulling it back until the bow met the pile at the tip. You heard him coming before you saw him.

“Listen, I’m just—” you heard Cassian’s voice and turned then, aiming and firing in his direction. The arrow flew through the air towards the General. The feathered fletching caught the bun at the top of his head, pulling hairs loose, before the tip burrowed into the tree behind him with an echoing noise.

“Mother above, you could’ve killed me!” The General shouted, face blanched. Azriel’s lip quirked up and he looked to you again, you were smiling, closed mouth but smiling, and he felt his heart grow warm at the sight. “I told you, asshole, I don’t fucking miss when I’m aiming to kill.”

You laughed aloud, cheeks warm as you buried your face in Azriel’s chest. “I’ll go around threatening Cassian more often if it gets me a mate in the end.” The male at your side chuckled warmly and his hand found yours on his sternum. “He still talks about it, you know?” He offered with a shake of his head. “It was precisely the kind of thing Nesta would’ve done too.”

You smiled back. “Good to know you Illyrians have a type.” He looked to you then and he smiled, eyes tracing your lips, nose, lashes, and the Winter white hair haloing your face. “Not a type, just blessings from the Mother,” he murmured softly. His hand trailed up your arm and pushing your hair off your shoulder and down your back. You blushed, warmth blooming on your chest and running up your neck to your face, painting your skin pink.

“Gods, who knew you had such a silver tongue,” you said chastising, looking to where his fingers played with yours as they rested on his chest. “You used to be so quiet,” you added, letting a small laugh escape you. Azriel shrugged and pushed up on an elbow as his hand left yours to run up your arm and cup your cheek. “Good to know you’re still thinking about my tongue,” he whispered before kissing you for the millionth time that night.

It was mid-morning when Azriel ported you both to the River House. It was surprisingly empty, and you made your way to the kitchen to seek out food, still in the dress from the night before, though it was now wrinkled on your body. Rhysand had stocked the kitchen it would seem, as you found an array of fruits, vegetables, and meats in the cold storage there.

“I guess Rhys was serious about quarantining us here,” you laughed before looking over your shoulder to find your mate, leaned against the counter, watching you with warmth. “If I cook for you again, are you going to ravish me?” You asked jokingly, pulling a knife from the block to begin prepping carrots for a quick stew.

He pressed forward then, coming behind you to push you into the marble, bringing his lips your shoulder and his hands to your belly. “I plan on ravishing you either way,” he said, lips tracing to the hollow below your ear, a spot that made you whimper as he’d found out the night before and catalogued in his head. You pressed your hips back against his, loving the feel of his body against your own.

“Very interested in that, though I think it’ll be easier on a full stomach, so maybe go bathe while I cook,” you said, turning your head and nudging your nose into his own. He laughed again and the noise set your heart to skittering. You didn’t think you’d ever get used to having him like this, so free and warm.

You’d seen Azriel in every form. The warrior that fought with skilled precision, teeth bared as he cut down his adversaries; the Spymaster that tortured, maimed, and killed Night Court threats; the brother that took his friend’s teasing in stride, lips quirking silently as he shook his head. You’d never had him like this though, laughing and full of affection, touching and grasping so freely.

His hand found your chin and you knew he’d heard your thoughts again from the look in his eyes. His fingers stroked up your jawline, fingers pushing hair behind your ear. “There is no one in this realm, on this continent, male or female, that has as much of me as you do on any given day,” he whispered before he pushed away to stroll out of the kitchen and up the stairs. You let a shaky breath go from your chest. He was trouble.

Later, after you’d both bathed and eaten until your bellies were full, you sat at the dining room table, sipping a glass of wine. “You asked me this morning when I knew,” he started, setting down his wine glass as his index finger began tracing circles into red table cloth next to it. “When did you know?” You laughed and took another sip of wine, you’d need it to keep up with him. “Mine’s not as violent,” you fixed him with a pointed look and he smirked.

You took a deep breath, “it was several months later, at Rita’s.” He laughed warmly in disbelief. “What?” Surely you weren’t serious? “What in the Cauldron could’ve happened at Rita’s to make you fall in love with me?” His eyes were twinkling under the fae lights.

Mor had begged you to go and you’d told her no at least thirteen times. You’d grown fond of the blonde as had she with you. She’d helped you immensely in your first months with the Night Court. She knew what it was to be hollowed out by trauma, particularly trauma that extended from those in the Autumn Court. She also knew bad fathers. You were grateful to her and you’d opened to her in a way you’d hadn’t yet with anyone else in Rhys’ Inner Circle.

“Please?” She tried again, “We can go into the city and get you a dress, I’ll even pay for it!” You rolled your eyes, “You won’t give up until I agree, huh?” She’d laughed then. Her laugh was the kind of full bodied female laugh you hoped you’d get back some day. “You already know me so well, Little One.” She nudged your shoulder, before patting your cheek and leaving you alone to dress for the day ahead.

Little One had started a few months prior when you poked fun at Cassian during a dinner. You’d been ready to maul the General in your first weeks, but you’d settled into a peaceful truce. He’d been talking loudly about the female he’d been with the night prior, all bravado and innuendo. “Amazing you were able to land her at all with that ego,” you’d muttered taking a sip of your wine. Amren sat across from you and her lips quirked as she looked your way in silent agreement. She and Cassian were also at odds often. Cassian slid his eyes to you and they narrowed as you feigned innocence, setting your glass down and looking to your nails. “Did you just mock me, Little One?” He asked, head tilting as he watched you pick at a cuticle.

You met his eyes and raised a brow. “Tell me Cassian, is what they say about Illyrian wingspans true?” You said, eyes glancing to Rhysand and Azriel, both looking thrilled at this development. “Cause as I see it, you look to be outmatched.” The room went quiet before Cassian bellowed a loud laugh, bringing a hand to his chest. “Cauldron save us, she’s got jokes,” he snickered and your lips curved into a smile. He turned to you then, lips smirking. “For the record, it’s not the wingspan that matters, it’s how you use it.” His rebuttal caused you to let out a breathless laugh as you picked up your wine and rolled your eyes.

Mor had dragged you into the shopping district of Velaris to find an appropriate dress. The first store was a bust, and the second was looking to be the same. “Come on, Little One, there has to be one you’re interested in!” She’d said, voice going a little whiny on the tail end of the sentence. You’d scanned the boutique again, and noticed a dress hanging in the far back corner that was looked like threaded starlight. “That one,” you pointed and her eyes slid to it before her lips broke into a knowing grin. “You go to the dressing room and I’ll grab it,” she offered and you’d nodded, wanting this to be over as soon as possible.

She’d brought you the dress and you shut the curtain in her face as she laughed. You’d undressed slowly, eyes scanning skin as it appeared. Your eyes zoomed in on the heavy scarring at your legs, Gods you hated those markings. Once the dress slid on, you pulled up the zipper at the side and adjusted the bust line.

You loosed a loud breath, it was…. generous in the amount of skin it showed and the style screamed Night Court. You turned and realized the back went down to your bottom, showcasing the two dimples at the small of your back. The slit at the side came all the way to your hip. ‘Cauldron, this isn’t a dress, this is a scrap of fabric,’ you’d thought.

You turned and opened the curtain stepping out to find Mor looking at you with an open mouth. “Are you sure you aren’t into females?” She’d asked. “Because I’d love to keep you to myself tonight.” You’d blushed and laughed heartily. “Is it good?” You asked cautiously, turning in a circle. “Good? Little One, the males will be on their knees,” she said eyes twinkling with mischief.

You’d bought the dress despite the insecurities and gone home the House of Wind to get dressed. Mor had sent Nuala and Cerridwen to you to help with your hair and make up and you’d thanked them profusely.

As the moon rose for the night, you stood in your quarters staring at the mirror on the wall opposite your bed. You had looked lively again, your cheeks were fuller and the hollows under your eyes were less bruised than they had been months prior. You sat on a bench at the foot of your bed and started to pull on your heels, a leg shining through the slit of the dress.

Once you’d buckled the strap your shoes, you stood, a little wobbly. It’d nearly a year since you’d worn heels and the last time you had, you were set to be engaged to the Autumn Court princeling. You refused to dwell on that and moved toward the door, opening it and stepping into the hall.

Cassian was exiting of his room as you were shutting your door and your eyes met down the corridor. He let out a wolf whistle and began walking your way. “Well, well, well,” he started and you braced for his comment, “don’t you look pretty enough to eat.” You grimaced and looked at him before scoffing, “pig.” His laughter made your lips curve into a smile.

You strolled down the steps to find Rhysand and Azriel waiting there. Rhysand looked to you and smiled warmly, “You clean up nice, Little One.” Azriel’s eyes found yours next and his jaw dropped, then shut quickly, muscle ticking. A gloved hand at his side set into a fist and he could hear the knuckles crack. “I think she’ll be fighting the males off tonight,” Mor piped, appearing next to you, “wouldn’t you lot agree?”

Rhysand and Cassian hummed their agreements but Azriel’s eyes couldn’t look away from your form. The dress draped your body like liquid starlight, the slit at your hip had his fists clenching at the desire to touch. Mor walked you past the males and he caught glimpse of your exposed back and something primal reared its head shouting at him to grasp, lick, bite until you were covered in his marks. Cassian flanked the Shadowsinger and whistled low, eyes following you. “I’ll have to find her on the dance floor tonight,” he said, eyes gleaming as they traced your retreating form. Azriel, though he loved his brother dearly, wanted to rip his throat out for even glancing at you.

Rita’s was littered with intoxicated fae. Mor grabbed your arm and pulled you to the bar, while Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel made their way to the section explicitly reserved for their use. As you stood at the bar with Mor, a male came up to you, leaning into your space and asking your name.

The male ventured a touch to your arm and you leaned away, disliking the overt physical attention. As he spoke, a gloved hand appeared between you and Azriel pushed his way into the space without apology or acknowledgement. “Hey, I was talking to her!” The male tried to protest loudly before Azriel turned and fixed him with a devastating look, causing the male to wilt before putting his hands up in surrender and walking away.

You stumbled out a laugh as he turned back to you. “I think you may have hurt his feelings,” you said smiling, looking to the Shadowsinger. He eyes were already on you again, tracing your face, and hair, the long line of your neck. “That’s much too bad,” he said, signaling the bartender over and you both ordered a round of drinks.

“You look beautiful tonight,” the words came out of Azriel in a rushed whispered, as if he’d forced them out against his will. You turned to meet his eyes and your face warmed at the look there. “I was so nervous to wear this,” you breathed, “the last time I was in a dress and heels like these, I was engaged to marry a Vanserra.” You let out a small, cynical laugh. “Gods, I’m so glad I left.”

Azriel softened then. “He didn’t deserve you, Autumn didn’t deserve you, I hope you know that,” he’d said, gloved hands laying flat on the bar top, the length of his middle finger grazing your own. You wanted to reach out to them, to ask why he wore the gloves around you, but you resisted.

“For what it’s worth,” he continued, “I’m also glad you left, I’m glad you’re here most of all.” You met his hazel eyes again and traced his face. He was likely one of the most beautiful males you’d ever seen and he was being awfully sweet with you. He looked to Rhys then, the High Lord likely speaking into his mind. He smiled turning back to you, “Rhysand says he’s also glad you’re here,” he said mockingly and rolled his eyes. You laughed, a small tinkering thing, that made Azriel’s heart beat quicken. “Thanks, Az,” you smiled broadly at him and he knew for sure and certain you would ruin him.

You turned to your drink then as the bartender sat it down in front of you. You picked it up and took a long sip. If Azriel kept looking at you like that and speaking to you in hushed tones that made your heart race, you’d need about five more of these.

You heard him take a deep, steadying breath at your side, turned to look at him, brow furrowing slightly. You were ready to ask if he was alright when he finally spoke. “Cassian said he was going to ask you to dance tonight,” he ventured and you snorted. ‘Of course he did,’ you thought with a roll of your eyes and a shake of your head. “Would you allow me to be your first?” He asked, holding out a gloved hand.

You looked to his hand then back to his hopeful hazel eyes, and you blinked a little slowly, a little disbelievingly. Just when you thought you figured him out, he threw you for a loop. You took his hand and let him lead you to the dance floor. As your body moved with his, you couldn’t help but wish for forever in this moment, forever in his hands, and his eyes. Mother above, you were in trouble.

“That dress was pure sin, Little One,” Azriel smirked. “And I told you, I am quite fond of dancing.” You huffed a laugh and looked to him, a little bashful. Azriel laughed softly again. “Cassian pouted for days after that night,” he spoke, “he was mad I stole you away.” You wondered if Cassian could tell how utterly smitten you were after that night. “I think he was a little infatuated with you in those early days too.”

You grimaced. “That’s much too bad,” you said, echoing his words from centuries prior. You stood then and stepped towards him to halt at his side, leaning down to press a kiss to his hair. “I always had eyes for you, baby.”

You trailed a hand up his arm to his shoulder, then back to the shoulder joint of his wing, tracing the bone up to the clawed crest. His breath guttered out of him as he closed his eyes, brows furrowing at the sensation that zipped down his spine and settled in his lower abdomen.

“One more question for you,” you said softly. “No,” he growled out, “I’ve had enough questions, I want to have you again.” His eyes opened and looked to you, scarred hands grasping your hips, fingers digging into the flesh there. “One more and I’ll give you whatever you want,” you offered. He raised a brow. “Whatever I want?” He questioned and you nodded. “Even if I want to bend you over this table and take you from behind until you come all over my cock?”

Your eyes watched his predatory gaze and a feline grin appeared on your face. You laughed again, “considering that’s a win-win, I’ll gladly trade for that.” He laughed too and rolled his eyes in fondness. “Fine,” he conceded, “one more question, mate.” His hand traced back, grasping the flesh of your ass through your thin silk housedress and you gasped, “then I get to have you in every way I want.”

You had to shake the lust from your thoughts, focusing on the question that had been circling your mind since your return to River House. “Why didn’t you to tell me of the bond?” You asked softly, hand resting on the arm that held you. He took a deep breath, he should’ve expected this eventually, but in all honesty, he’d hoped to put it off as long as possible.

“I just mean,” you took a shaky breath, growing a little nervous. “It snapped so early for you, and I—” you swallowed, “I wouldn’t have turned you away, surely you must know that?” Your eyes found his and he saw the imploring look there, brows slanting as your eyes swam with emotions. He took a grounding breath and his hand traced up your hip to your back as he pulled you in to bury his face in the soft of your stomach.

“I was scared,” he said, though it came out muffled. You combed fingers through his hair soothingly and he tilted his head up to face you. “You were—” he stopped himself, “you are the single most magical thing in this realm.” He spoke softly, as if he was scared he’d burst the bubble of newfound love that had surrounded the two of you in the last few weeks.

“When I was a child, my half brothers tortured me,” he started, eyes wincing. “They did this, you know,” he held up a scarred hand. You nodded, Rhysand told you of Azriel’s brothers and father years ago when the subject of Windhaven came up and how you would likely not be sent on any missions there. “For my gift with shadows, they’d called me every name under the sun, insisted I was a bastard child, beat me, shunned me, cast me out. I was alone until Rhys and his mother took me in.” Your eyes teared up when you thought of how isolated he must’ve felt, how damaged. You knew feeling well.

“When I knew I loved you, I resolved myself as unworthy of your gaze, your touch, anything,” he sighed and his hands pulled from you to fall in his lap. “I figured I’d been alone for centuries up until that point, and it was likely I’d be alone forever.” You pulled one of his hands into your own and brought the knuckles to your lips. “I love you,” you said softly, lips resting against the marred skin there, “I hope you know that.”

He looked to you and he smiled, a small watery smile as his eyes closed and he nodded his head. There was that gift again. “You know,” he said, “more than your beauty, or strength, I admire your courage and vulnerability. I think that’s what scared me the most.” He spoke softly again, wanting to preserve the shroud of gentle love that surrounded the two of you.

“I saw how you were with Mor and Amren. How you cared for Cass, despite his explosive anger when Rhys went Under the Mountain for fifty years. How you attended Rhys when he returned in shambles, traumatized and broken.” He looked to you, eyes shining. “You took it all in stride with such….. care and endless love and I—” he paused, bottom lip trembling. “I didn’t think I’d ever be worthy of your heart, of your attention, so I took what I could get. Your glances, your smiles, the teasing at dinners. I took it all and I made myself content with it,” he shuttered out a fragile, broken breath, eyes falling to the shadows that gathered at his feet attempting to console their master.

“I’ve loved you in secret for two centuries, Little One, I’ve loved you so much my chest ached and I thought I would die from the unsung bond that resided there. My soul would know yours in any life. At the ends of the earth in total darkness, it would still find you.” He let out a shuddering breath, “you’re the other half of me.” His eyes found yours then and the look there made you feel overwrought with emotion.

You and Azriel had been friends for two centuries. You laughed and cried together. You’d shared meals and secrets, dances and fleeting glances, little chaste touches. You’d told him of your father, of Beron, showed him your scars. You’d pined for him for just as long and to know he’d silently yearned for you in return, your heart felt like it might break apart.

“The bond snapped for me during the war,” you offered him a small secret of your own and his eyes found yours, going wide at the revelation.

The second war with Hybern had been a brutal thing. Feyre and Cassian had taken to recruiting help out of the Ancient Prison on the northern shore of the Night Court due to Prythian’s limited numbers. You’d known it was a suicide mission going in and you’d nearly been right. You’d fought alongside death gods and monsters alike in a battle that would be legend for ages to come.

“I wrote you a letter before we left for battle,” another secret, but for him, you’d bare your soul. “I was going to tell you then,” you continued, “I’d been in love with you for 189 years at that point. I was so far gone for you but I’d assumed, that if you wanted me, I would’ve known. You would’ve said something, anything. So I put it all in a letter, worried I wouldn’t return alive.” His breath hitched, remembering the sight of you impaled on a sword, bleeding out in his arms. He’d taken the soldier’s head off their body as penance and it still didn’t feel like enough. You let out a small gurgling laugh, throat tight, eyes wet with tears. “Sometimes I can’t believe I did.”

You took a steadying breath and leaned to kiss his forehead, his eyes closing from the contact, mouth humming. You leaned your cheek on the crown of his head, your thumb rubbing soothing circles in the space behind his ear. His hands went around to your back, nose and cheek resting against the cradle of your chest as he listened to your heart, still beating strong beneath. The two of you were the sort of image that artists carved into marble, the picture of lovers so inseparably bound that they were one eternally, in every life.

“In that letter I apologized for not telling you sooner, said I didn’t need the Cauldron to know it was you my soul sang for. That you were the one the stars had fated me to meet.” He clenched his eyes shut from where his head rested on your rib cage. Every word you uttered was like a poultice to his damaged soul, filling the cracks that had been there since his adolescence.

He was wrong when he’d thought you’d ruin him. No, you’d save him, from the darkness that encroached his mind, the insecurities that lingered there. You were a flower blooming against all odds in the shadows, and he’d do anything for you. All his wasted centuries of dreaming had been given a name and form in you.

“I’m glad I ran from Autumn that day, glad it was Rhys that found me in the wilds, glad it was the Night Court that saved me, but more than anything, I am glad that every step I’ve taken in this life has led me straight to you.” Your hand dragged forward, over his cheek, to gently tip his chin up to face your gaze. “May you never doubt the depths of my love for you.” You kissed his forehead then before moving your lips to the space between his brows, the tip of his nose. His eyes fell shut and his hands came to hold on tightly to your wrists for fear he’d float away. You kissed his cheek, and eyelids, before making your way to his mouth.

This kiss was just as electrifying as the first and he pressed his insistent mouth to yours desperately. He pulled at your bottom lip with his teeth and took your gasp as the opportunity to slip his tongue against your own. He could kiss you for a millennia and he would not get enough. He wanted all that you had to give and everything after that too. Nothing, not even flying, could compare to how his heart sped when you kissed him like this. He poured centuries of yearning into it.

He pulled off of your mouth and kissed the corner of your lips before leaning back to gaze into your eyes. “I’ll need to tell Rhysand not to expect us back for a few months,” he said, hand coming up to brush a stray hair behind the shell of your ear. Your brain, still two paces behind from that kiss, registered what he was saying and you let out a breathless laugh. “Months? Thought the frenzy was a few weeks?” You replied, still smiling, tears drying and he shrugged, fingertips tracing the skin at your collarbone. “I’ve got two centuries of love to make up for,” he stated softly before smiling in a feral, cunning way, “and I plan on taking my time.”

Azriel ported you to the bedroom and you’d laughed, “I can walk you know.” He smiled, leaning down, kissing your cheek. “Save your energy, Little One.” He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled you to stand between his legs. He allowed himself to look at you, unhurried, a little predatory. You did the same, eyes passing over tanned skin and freckles, tattoos and scars as your gaze made it’s way down to his hips, where you notice his length pressing tightly against the front of his pants. Your eyes trace back up to his, cheeks a little pink, only to find him smirking.

“Are you ever going to be sated?” You laughed. You pulled the hem of your dress up to lean over him and settle a knee next to his hip as you crawled into his lap. He hummed, pulling your hips to his own. He traced his nose along the skin of your throat, inhaling your scent, committing to memory as he nosed the silk strap of your housedress, pushing it down your shoulder and pressing his mouth to the skin there. “For you? Never.” His tongue laved at the length of your throat, as he made his way up before bringing his mouth to yours.

This kiss was slower than the one you’d shared in the dining room. Tongues entwining, teeth biting. He dove deeper, sucking against your tongue before licking along the bow of your upper lip. He rocked his hips up to meet your own, his cock sliding against your slit in a way that had you gasping. His hand pushed your gown up over your hips to your waist and his gaze fixated on the center of your hips, you’d forgone underwear after your bath. “No panties?” He breathed into your mouth. “Maybe I should’ve taken you on the dining room table after all.”

You laughed, rutting your hips against his own, loving the sound that rumbled in his chest. You pulled the little silk dress up and over your head, baring yourself entirely to his gaze. “There will time for that,” you said, voice laced with promise, “but I’d like for you to take me in a bed, properly.” He gave a little laugh then, bringing his face to your own, teasing at your mouth again. “Under the stars wasn’t romantic enough?” His hands found your hips and fingertips pressed into the flesh there. You were sure you’d be bruised all over come tomorrow.

He leaned back pulling your hips up his abdomen. “C’mere,” he commanded, jerking his head in instruction as he laid flat upon the bed, wings spreading in full. He looked like a god this way, but the way he looked at you, muscles rippling as he tensed, jaw ticking, hair debauched, love bites down the tanned column of his throat from your mouth, eyes heavy lidded with lust; if he was a god then certainly you were his goddess. He growled then the noise escaping him unbidden as he hauled you higher to his chest, your hand shooting out to his shoulder to steady yourself.

“You are a goddess and I am but a hopeless disciple,” his voice had pitched deep with want, desire alight in his eyes and you thought you might never tire of seeing him this hungry for you. His fingers dug into your thighs and he hooked your knees to pull you higher. “Let me worship you until I find absolution.” He pulled you to his chin, teeth nipping at the flesh of your inner thighs. His found your eyes again and he nodded to you. “You’re going to sit on my face, sweet one, and I am going to feast on you like the goddess you are.”

Your breath left you in a shuttering broken gasp, and you leaned up, shuffling the last few inches. His arms wrapped around your legs, caging you to his face as hands came around to open your cunt to his view. He let out a primal noise that had the air leaving your lungs in pant and your hands grasped the headboard in some pitiful attempt at grounding yourself. He nosed your clit before pulling you down on his mouth, suckling at you like a man starved.

His tongue pressed flat against your clit and you thought you might break apart. You were sensitive from the night before and you had to actively try not to rock down against his face. As if reading your thoughts, he pulled you forward, hands grasping your hips and rutting you against his hot mouth. You couldn’t help the shuddering moan that left your throat and he hummed along with you, the vibrations sending shocks up your spine.

He circled his tongue in a pattern, quick flicks then slow drags of friction that had pleasure zipping through you until your thighs were twitching, nails digging into the wood of the headboard, hips rocking on his mouth. He nosed at your clit as his tongue slipped down to circle your opening, collecting the wetness that gathered there, groaning at your taste. His lips returned to your clit and he sucked it into his mouth and hollowing his cheeks, speeding the flicking of his tongue until your hands were shaking and your moans keened to a higher octave.

“Azriel,” you gasped, a trembling hand found his hair, nails scratching. “Az — fucking Gods.” You looked down to him between your thighs and he watched you, the definition of sin. His cheeks had grown pink, brows furrowed, hazel eyes gone molten as he nuzzled his face into you. He unhanded your thigh to slide back to your ass, fingernails digging into the ample flesh there before he released it and his open palm came into fierce contact with the cheek. You jolted at the impact and the sound that left you was the highest, most trembling whine he’d heard come out of you. He catalogued it in his mind for later.

His hand soothed the skin at your behind before smacking the skin again, the contact rippling across the flesh like a tiny earthquake. Your hips tilted against his chin faster, more desperate and your moans grew closer together, a little more frantic as you felt yourself approaching your peak. His tongue circled you again before he sucked the button into his mouth and began a steady, insistent pattern.

You could feel the pleasure focusing, your lower belly tightening. “Az— I swear I’m—” you gasped and your head fell back, exposing your chest and neck to his greedy view. “I’m going to come, baby,” you whined deep, hips canting in tight circles, desperate for release. He hummed an affirmation and his hands grasped your hips to guide your through it. Your release hit and the moan that left you was shattering.

You leaned back, hands finding purchase on his chest, as he pressed kisses to your thighs. “Gods,” you gasped, falling to his side as you moved off of him and pressed a hand to your chest, catching your breath. “Fuck me,” your eyes shut for a moment and you felt his lips pressing tender kisses to your eyelids. He kissed to your cheek, the corner of your mouth, before whispering devastation there. “I told you my love, I want to take you apart slow.”

His lips came to your chest, pressing a kiss to the jugular notch at the base of your throat between the clavicles. “There is no war,” kiss, “no mission,” another kiss, moving south to the globe of your breast, “no threat this time.” He breathed into your sternum, tongue tracing the skin of your cleavage.

You were right that Azriel was mouthy. Mother above, now that the gates had opened, he was bent on taking everything from you and you would let him. You would let him shatter you to pieces, trusting he’d put you back together again.

“You’re wearing too much,” you complained, fingers pulling at the waist of his trousers, which seemed to have grown impossibly tight around his hardness. Your hand pushed under the band and fingers grasped him firmly, his gasp escaping directly into the skin over your heart. He rutted into your hand, mouth coming up to your own as he kissed you desperately, all teeth and tongue.

You pulled back from the kiss and fixed him with an imploring look. “Can I put my mouth on you now?” You asked softly, batting your eyelashes a bit, just shy of begging. He felt desire rip through him, his cock giving a jerk. A growl released from his throat. “As much as I want you on your knees for me,” he breathed deeper. “As much as I want to fuck this pretty little mouth,” his thumb tugged at your bottom lip and you leaned forward to pull it between your lips, tonguing the scarred skin there as you sucked.

His eyes fixated on the action, pupils blown wide. He pulled his thumb from your mouth and spread his hand to grasp your neck at the height of your throat, “I thought our bargain was every way that I wanted you?” He watched your eyes flutter as he squeezed from the sides, your breath hitching, cunt growing wetter. He could smell your arousal and the feral need of the newly minted bond had him feeling utterly primal. “And right now, I want you on your hands and knees, begging as I take you from behind.” His voice had pitched deep, and you thought you might never recover from this.

His hand traced down to your wrist, pulling it from his cock and then he patted your ass. “Be a good girl for me.” Your breath came out shaky and you nodded, scrambling to turn around and bend down to present yourself for him. A pleased hum settled in his chest as he stood to slip off his trousers before kneeling behind you. He ran his eyes up the expanse of your back, the scars that now resided there. He’d kill anyone who threatened you again, he’d take hands from their bodies if they touched you.

He watched your shoulders roll as you adjusted your weight, and he was reminded of every backless gown you’d worn in the last two centuries. How he had never allowed himself to touch you in the way he wanted.

He ran a scarred hand up the center of your back, leaning forward and grasping your neck from behind, bringing you up and into the long line of his front. His nose trailed your shoulder and his lips found the spot below your ear again. His teeth came in contact with the flesh there, biting then pressing his tongue into the skin to soothe the sting. The little whimper you let out made him smile, he loved you like this. His other hand reached down to guide his cock to your core, hips dragging the length through to slick there. His brain catalogued each sound that you made, he was mapping you out slowly, learning your body and memorizing all.

The hand holding your neck released its grip, and he pushed you back forward, your hands trembled as they came to hold your weight.

Before leaving you, his fingers gathered your hair and he wrapped the length of it around his hand once before fisting and pulling, causing a low moan to escape you. “Hold on, little mate.” His voice ground out and he guided himself into your warm cunt, pulling back once, then twice to work you open until he sheathed himself fully.

His hips were flush against the flesh of your ass as he ground in and your breath began to come in pants. You were so in over your head and you loved it. He laughed, ‘I heard that, my love,’ he spoke into your mind. ‘Let me know if you want to stop.’ You nearly laughed aloud. ‘As if,’ you repeated your words from the night before.

His hand tugged at your hair in response as he pulled out to the tip and slammed back in, hard and deep. Your back arched and your arms threatened collapsed. He began a slow and steady pace, rutting to the hilt and pulling out before slamming back home, skin slapping against skin. You could hear the loud suck of your cunt on every pull, the noise itself was desperately erotic, and Azriel fucking loved it. He wanted you like this like always. He wanted to stay in the warmth of your cunt for the rest of his days. He picked up his pace and groaned when he felt you clench around him as a wanton moan escaped you.

His hand released your hair and he leaned over your form, kissing your shoulders, holding you tightly as he pushed back to the hilt and ground in, small cants of his hips causing your breath to tremble.

“Azriel, baby, you’re gonna ruin me,” you spoke quietly, head falling forward. He laughed darkly, biting at the skin at the top of your spine. His hand grasped the front of your throat and brought you back up into him, mouthing at your shoulder. “Tell me you’re mine,” he ground out, hips pushing faster. His other hand found its way to your front, tracing down your soft stomach to rub slow circles at your clit. “Tell me you’re mine and let me fuck you into oblivion.”

You groaned feeling your orgasm crawling up your spine, cunt tensing. “I’ve been yours for two centuries,” you gasped out, breathless, head falling back to his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut. He growled out something primal, but you continued, delirious with pleasure as his fingers and cock broke you apart. “I’ll give you anything.” His fingers tightened at your neck and he slammed to the hilt, grinding in.

“Anything?” He questioned, voice shaky with need. “Would you let me take you apart? Would you let me ruin your sweet cunt daily? Would you let me fuck a baby into you?” Your mind blanked and your voice pitched into a deep moan, a base desire possessing you. “Yes,” you nodded, breathless. “All of it,” you gasped, “anything for you, mate.” His eyes pinched shut, a low whine escaped somewhere from the pits of him. Mother above. His fingers squeezed your neck and he picked up the pace, fucking you faster. You shook with each impact of his hips, your breath leaving you in small whines.

The scarred tips of his fingers worked your clit faster. “You’ll give me anything?” He questioned again, breathless, pace faltering as his own release tightened at the base of spine. “Come for me, my love, come with me.” Your breath caught at your throat as your cunt tightened impossibly around him and he groaned deep. You called his name as your climax hit and he keened a low whine, hips grinding into you, his seed painting your walls.

He released your throat and gave a shaky laugh as he grasped your chin to find your mouth. The kiss was utterly depraved and your walls fluttered again, making him groan into your mouth. You pulled back and your eyes found his over your shoulder. “A baby, huh?” You spoke, voice a little wobbly. He wanted to shrink under the weight of your gaze, the question there. “Not yet,” he spoke softly, “but if you do decide to gift me with a child, I’ll be the luckiest male alive.” You smiled and kissed him, softer this time, heart singing at the promise there.

He pulled out of you and let you collapse against the bed, rolling over to rest at your back. His eyes found your cunt and he watched with rapt obsession as his release leaked from you. You traced his gaze and a laugh escaped you. “Come here, my love,” you spoke softly, opening your arms. “I want to get some rest before you go feral again.”

He smiled, laughing lightly before crawling up the bed to where you awaited him. He settled into your embrace, head resting on your chest while his restless fingers began idly tracing the skin of your arm. Your fingers set to combing through the strands of his hair and his eyes closed, pleased with gentle intimacy of the action. “I love you,” he spoke softly, exhaustion beginning to creep in on him. You smiled, fingers trailing to his back, caressing the skin at the base of his wing. “As I love you,” you whispered, “more than anything.” He hummed and nuzzled to the skin of your chest as darkness overtook him.

#azriel fanfic #azriel x reader #acotar fanfiction #azriel imagine #azriel shadowsinger #i love this bat boy sm #acotar imagine #acotar x reader #acotar x you #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar #Azriel smut #bat boys x reader #bat boys #azriel acosf #azriel acomaf #This is utter filth guys #These two really went at it for like 24 hours straight

586 notes · View notes

joyful-enchantress · 2 years

Text

On the Naughty List (18+) | Loki x Fem!Reader

banner created by the amazing @springdandelixn

A/N: Everyone has been so welcoming and kind and encouraging with my first fic that I decided to try my hand at another one! This is also my first try with smut, so apologies if it is awkward at all. I hope you like it! It is another installment in the Winter Warmers Collection curated by @lokisgoodgirl

Genre/Warnings: Smut (18+), soft(ish) Dom!Loki, here be filth, some fluff too, established relationship, language, restraints, spanking, nipple play (clamps), temperature play, edging/orgasm delay, begging, oral f!receiving, choking (if you squint)

Word Count: 4377

"Stop, Loki! Ahhhhh, stop, please!" you shrieked wildly as Loki playfully but mercilessly pelted you with icy snowballs.

You loved seeing him like this, completely lost in a moment of carefree fun. His eyes were alight with that familiar glint of mischief and the midday rays reflecting off the surrounding snow seemed to dance across his porcelain skin. He was beautiful. And he was yours. An arrogant smile slowly melted into his features as he responded to your request for a ceasefire.

"What's the matter, darling? Can't handle everything I have to offer?" he quipped with a wink.

Damn him and his relentless innuendo. A slight blush crept across your cheeks at his words.

"Oh, I know I can handle all of you, Laufeyson. I've done it many times before," you decided to give it right back to him. "What I can't handle is any more snowballs to the face or soaking through my coat. Not all of us have an endless tolerance for cold, you know!"

Given Loki's heritage, he required no protective outerwear during your childish winter antics. Not that you truly minded -- it meant you got to enjoy a better view of those sinful hands of his, the long, elegant fingers flexing dexterously as he packed the glittering snow into nearly perfect spheres. But, perhaps, his affinity for the cold did give him an unfair advantage in this case.

"I can think of several things I could do to warm you right up, love. Things I could do with my fingers..." he twirled his delectable digits seductively and nearly had you drooling. "...or my mouth..." his skillful tongue peered through the curtains that were his luscious lips and slowly swiped along his top lip just before he smirked knowingly and pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. "...or my cock."

Had the temperature suddenly risen? Your thighs clenched together involuntarily, your body already yearning for the sweet friction, and the slightest whimper escaped your lips at his salacious words.

He paced towards you, closing the distance until there was none left, and his warm breath was fanning across your neck as he bent to whisper in your ear.

"Although," he continued, "judging by your reaction thus far, I could probably keep you warm with my words alone." His voice seemed to drop an octave, and assumed that familiar huskiness that he reserved only for you in your most private moments with him. "Maybe we should test the theory, hmm? Would you like that, darling?" His tongue darted out to lick the shell of your ear.

"Yes, Loki..." you breathed, your own voice barely above a whisper. "Please, let's be done with our game and go inside. I need you."

"As you wish, my love," he placed a wet kiss along your jawline. "Follow me."

He began the short walk back to the cozy home the two of you shared, his broad back to you. The wet spots he left on your ear and jaw began to sting in the frigid winter air. You absent-mindedly reached up to soothe the ache with your gloved fingertips, and as you turned to admire the way the dark jeans he was wearing hugged his perfect ass as he strode towards the house, the temptation was too great. You simply could not resist.

THWAK!

A perfectly thrown snowball hit him in the back of the head, bursting into a flurry of snow that clung to his ebony curls and drifted down his neck and across his back.

"Oh you're in for it now, pet." He turned around, ever so slowly, his lips upturned into a menacing smile and his emerald eyes burning with the promise of what was to come.

You decided to play right into his hands.

"Have I earned a spot on the naughty list, Sir?"

He gazed back at you with a hungry expression, his pupils dilating with lust; you knew the effect that particular word had on him. He began stalking towards you, like a predator cornering his prey.

"That goes without saying, Y/N. Your misbehavior is simply unacceptable. Now, do you know what happens to naughty girls?"

He was right in front of you once again, towering over you and looking down his nose directly into your eyes.

"They don't get any presents?" you suggest with feigned innocence.

"They must be punished." he declared with such authority, it left no room for argument.

"Oh really? Just what exactly do you -- AHH!"

Before you could even finish your snarky response, he had you draped over his shoulder, your eyes staring at his perfect backside and his strong arm flexed behind your knees, holding you in place. His other hand rose up to give your unsuspecting bottom a warning smack.

"No more questions, darling. You're in enough trouble as it is."

He carried you inside, kicking off his shoes along the way, and before you knew it, he was tossing you on the plush bed like a ragdoll. The deep emerald-colored satin sheets twisted in your fingertips as you stared up, wide-eyed, at your husband; gone from his face was the carefree playfulness and in its place was a stern demeanor. There was no question who was in charge here. And you loved it.

With a snap of his fingers, a blanket of green light engulfed your body and every scrap of clothing you had been wearing disappeared. Loki, still fully clothed, hovered over you, caging you in and bringing his face within inches of yours.

"Now let's go over the rules, shall we?" he trailed, his voice dripping with lust and power, "Rule number one, you will refer to me only as Sir. You will not call me by my name unless and until I command it. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir," you gasped, barely audible over the hammering of your own heart.

"Good girl." He reached a hand down and began stroking your breast, eventually rolling a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. "Rule number two, you will do as I say, without question or hesitation. I do not like to repeat myself. Am I clear?"

"Crystal, Sir," you barely suppressed a moan.

"And finally, rule number three..." You whimpered as he tweaked your nipple, hard. "...You do not come until I give you my express permission. I decide whether and when you will have your pleasure, isn’t that right, pet?” his lips curved into a wicked grin as he finished reminding you of the last rule.

“O-of course, Sir,” you gulped, anxiously and eagerly awaiting his next move.

"Now, do you remember your safe word, darling?" his eyes momentarily softened as he asked you, ever your loving and devoted husband, making sure you knew you were safe and loved.

"Yes, Sir. Red," you assured him with a breathy whisper.

"Good." The fleeting moment of softness had passed, his expression shifting back to one of unrelenting dominance, emerald eyes alight with thoughts of the diabolical plans he had for you. "Let's begin."

His hand rose from your breast up over your collarbone to its final destination around your neck, giving it a firm squeeze as he captured your lips in a ferocious kiss; it was all tongues and teeth as he invaded your mouth, claiming what was his with urgency. Eventually, he allowed you to catch your breath and he trailed his lips down your jawline, to suck and nip at your pulse point as you lay there panting.

"I want you to kneel on the bed, facing the headboard." he rasped against your ear before rising up off the bed to allow you the room to move into position.

You wasted no time, scrambling up so you could obey him and avoid furthering your punishment. As you were twisting around and adjusting yourself into the perfect submissive kneel, you caught a glimpse of him removing his dark emerald sweater, leaving him in the white button-down he was wearing underneath, those damn dark wash jeans, and his socked feet.

He leisurely strode towards the head of the bed and turned to face you, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt and beginning to roll up the sleeves to his elbows. You bit your lip, the sight of his forearms flexing as he manhandled the garment enough to send a fresh pool of arousal to your core.

"Hands in front of you, wrists together," he commanded.

As you did so, he conjured a bit of black silken cord -- enough to bind your wrists together tightly while leaving some extra hanging on either side of the intricate knot. Once he was satisfied that the rope would keep you sufficiently restrained, he turned to reach into the nightstand where you kept your toys for nights such as this. You could hear the familiar metallic clink of chains bumping into each other as he pulled a toy out of the drawer. The clamps.

"We haven't played with these in a while, pet," he said with a devilish snarl. "I want you to feel them sway and tug every time I strike that perfect ass of yours."

You couldn't help the whimper that escaped your lips at his words. "As you wish, Sir."

He worked your nipples into firm peaks before attaching the clamps to them. You hissed as they bit into your sensitive flesh, providing an intoxicating mix of pleasure and pain. Before you could fully adjust to the sensation, he was pulling on the extra cord that was hanging from your bound wrists and tying it to the top of the headboard. This forced you to bend forward, head between your arms, ass raised slightly - and presented perfectly - as you remained on your knees. The chain that connected the clamps swayed with your movement, tugging on your sore nipples with each sweeping arc, causing you to moan wantonly.

"Hmmm,” he hummed in approval as he situated himself beside you on the bed, one hand at the small of your back - a reminder to remain in position - the other rubbing and squeezing your bottom, the gentleness a stark contrast to the harsh stings you knew were to come. “My dirty whore of a wife seems to be enjoying herself, and I’ve barely begun,” he chuckled darkly. “You will count each strike aloud, and when I am finished, you will thank me for them. I think 10 strikes ought to do for tonight, pet. Oh, and do remember, you are not allowed to come.”

“Yes, Sir,” you groaned desperately. Before you knew it, the first strike hit your backside with a loud SMACK. Just as he had planned, the chain between your tortured nipples was swaying wildly. “One,” you squeaked.

His hand came down against your ass again, this time on the opposite cheek.

“Two, Sir.” You let out a shaky breath.

The next slap seemed to echo throughout the room.

“Ahhhh! Three, Sir!”

After the third smack, his hand caressed down your backside and his fingers dipped between your soft folds. “Ohh, love. We’re only three strikes in, and you’re absolutely soaking. Do you think you’ll make it?” he asked with feigned concern. You could do nothing but whimper in response. “Oh how I do love those pretty noises you make,” he crooned.

He resumed his work, each smack to your bottom bringing more pain than the last… and sending more arousal straight to your dripping core. After the seventh strike, he moved the hand that had been resting innocently at the small of your back to the chain that was dangling from your breasts and gave a sharp tug.

“Aaaauunnghhh! Please, Sir,” you moaned. Whether you were begging him to stop or to give you more, you didn’t know.

“Shhhhh, pet. Just three more, you’re doing so well for me.” As he soothed you with his words, he moved his hand from the chain to the apex of your thighs, and his fingers easily found your clit, peeking out from its hood and aching for attention. Your hips moved of their own accord, grinding against his hand, shamelessly searching for more friction. “Ah ah ahh, there will be none of that writhing, darling,” he reprimanded you gently. “You will take what I give you and nothing more.”

“Sorry, Sir, I’ll be still,” you promised with a high pitched whine.

He kept his fingers on your clit, lazily playing with the bundle of nerves as he delivered the last three smacks to your bottom. It was just enough to tease you and keep you wanting more, never enough to fully satisfy you. Your frustration was mounting at this point, but deep down you knew you shouldn’t have been so delusional as to hope he’d allow you your release so easily.

“Aren’t you forgetting something, pet?” he mercifully reminded you as he pulled his hand away from your sensitive bud, rubbing soothing circles on your ass cheeks with the same hand he just used to blister them.

“Oh, yes, of course. Thank you, Sir, for spanking me.” you managed to coerce your tongue into forming the words despite your frazzled brain.

“Such a good girl for me,” he cooed softly and with a snap of his fingers, the bindings disappeared and you collapsed forward onto the bed, limp and spent, but unbearably aroused. He quickly was at your side, and gently helped you to roll over onto your back. Finally, you could see his stunningly beautiful face again. His features had settled back into those of your loving husband, warmth and softness radiating from within. Stroking your cheek gently with his thumb, he bent down to capture your lips in a passionate kiss that sent a fire straight to your core.

Loki diligently massaged your wrists and shoulders, helping to soothe the ache from your restraints; he then moved his attention to your breasts. “I’m going to remove these now, darling. One at a time. I know it will be intense but it will only last for a moment,” he whispered.

You winced and cried out as he removed each clamp, his warm mouth quick to softly caress each aching bud with his tongue and soothe the sting.

“What’s your color, Y/N?” he asked you gently, his gaze meeting yours, eyes swirling with concern and love for you — only you.

“Green, Sir. So Green.”

“Excellent.” His emerald orbs reignited with salacious promises and his lips twisted into a wicked grin. Gone again was the softness he had momentarily uncovered. “Then we’ll move into the next phase of your punishment.”

Bring it on, you thought to yourself, but all you managed outwardly was a cheeky smile.

He must have been losing patience for doing things manually, because with a flick of his wrist and a twirl of his elegant finger, more restraints appeared, securing you to the bed. This time, they were black fur-lined leather cuffs -- one around each wrist and one around each ankle. The leather straps connected to the cuffs ran across the mattress, off the sides, and under the bed, where they were secured. This ensured that you wouldn't be going anywhere, and that your legs were spread nice and wide for him; you couldn’t close them even if you wanted to. You also noted that your arms and shoulders were in a different position, not stretched over your head -- and he kept a small amount of slack so that you could adjust and rotate your shoulders if you needed to, so as not to strain your muscles to the point of pain. Your husband thought of everything.

As he strode once again to the night stand and began looking for the toy he needed for your next wave of delicious torment, you noticed his prominent manhood straining against his tight jeans, and you couldn’t help but smile to yourself knowing the effect you had on him. Your smile quickly melted away into a mixture of primal lust and shaky nerves as you saw what he pulled out of the drawer, though. The magic wand and the large glass dildo.

“Now, pet, I’ve got to go downstairs and take care of something,” he began as he set the glass dildo down on the bench at the foot of the bed, within easy reach, and clicked the wand on to the lowest setting. “I shouldn’t be gone for more than ten minutes, but I wouldn’t want you getting bored in my absence, so this should keep you occupied while I’m gone.” He placed the wand firmly against your throbbing clit and you couldn’t suppress the wanton moan that escaped your lips at the feeling. It would never be enough to give you release on this setting, it would only tease you and amplify your arousal, but damn if it didn’t feel so good. A wave of emerald light surrounded the wand, and you immediately knew he had enchanted it so that it would remain in place, no matter how much you bucked and squirmed. There was also no doubt in your mind that it would disappear immediately should you utter your safe word — the restraints, too, probably. You were always safe with him, even if he left you alone in the room to bask in the sweet torture he inflicted on you.

His hungry eyes raked over your naked body — bound and writhing — and his gaze met yours with a sinister smile before he departed the bedroom to head downstairs.

It felt like the longest ten minutes of your life. The wand was unrelenting, keeping you dangling on the edge of release, but never allowing you to fall over into bliss. No matter how you tried to grind your hips to increase the friction just enough to topple you over the edge, it was no use. Loki’s enchantment kept the wand exactly where he wanted it.

So lost were you in the sensation and the struggle for your orgasm, that you didn’t notice when he returned. That is, until the wand disappeared with a snap of his fingers, causing you to whine at the loss and open your eyes to the sight of your breathtaking husband, leaning casually against the dresser with a mug of steaming hot beverage in his hand; he was drinking in the sight of you, so desperate for the release only he could grant you. His eyes were burning with lust.

“Aren’t you going to welcome me back, pet?” he asked with a teasing smirk.

The asshole.

“Welcome back, Sir,” you managed to mutter between pants.

“That’s more like it.” He took a large gulp of the hot liquid — hot cocoa, you guessed, based on the smattering of foam the swig left on his top lip — and you watched with curiosity as he seemed to hold it in his mouth without swallowing. Setting the mug down on the bench, he picked up the glass dildo that you had all but forgotten about. Your eyes widened when you saw a tinge of blue creep across the skin of his hand, the smooth surface of the glass covered in a blanket of frost.

Without warning, he thrust the icy glass cock into your sopping cunt, the cold surface against your warm inner walls intensifying every sensation as it moved and twisted inside you. The sharp cry that rang from your throat was one of both surprise and unabashed primal lust. You saw his Adam’s apple bob sinfully as he finally swallowed the steaming liquid that was in his mouth, just before he winked at you and lowered his lips to latch around your neglected clit.

“Ohhhhh, Sir, ye- yesssss.” The stark contrast of the frigid length inside you and his warm mouth sucking and lapping at your sensitive bud was nearly too much to handle. You had enjoyed the skilled labor of your husband’s silver tongue many times before, but this was something entirely different. You could barely catch your breath, let alone form a coherent sentence.

“Mmmm…” he moaned salaciously, sending vibrations directly to your core. The familiar coil in your belly was winding tighter, threatening to snap into an earth-shattering orgasm. Just… a tiny… bit… more…

“…’m gonna come, Sir!” You whispered between whimpers and pants.

But he stopped. The frosted dildo and his mouth were both removed from your core. You whined desperately, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes at the loss, your impending orgasm ebbing away.

“You didn’t think you’d get release so soon, did you? Naughty girls don’t get to come so easily.” Loki’s eyes were ablaze with a ravenous hunger; you could see his lips and chin glistening with your sweet nectar, the flickering light of the candle in the corner of the room dancing across his face now, as the sun had set since the start of your debauched activities. He bent down to kiss you, his lips and tongue unrelenting against yours; you moaned at the taste of your arousal on his lips.

As he pulled away, allowing you both to catch your breath, you saw him refrost the glass toy and reach again for the mug to take another swig of hot cocoa into his mouth. Before you could protest, both had resumed their delectable torment, the icy tip of the dildo circling your aching clit before dipping inside you and being replaced with his hot mouth.

“Please, Sir,” you pleaded as he fucked you with the cold, hard dildo and swirled his hot tongue around your bundle of nerves. He reached one hand up to your breast, rolling and tweaking a pebbled nipple before switching to pay the same attention to the other hardened peak. Within minutes, you were there again, you could almost taste your impending orgasm. And again he stopped.

“Ohhh, pet, you taste sweeter than this cocoa,” he huskily groaned. “And look at you, so needy and desperate for me. Do you want release?” You whimpered and nodded your head as urgently as you could manage. “If you come tonight, it will be on my cock. And I want you to beg for it.”

His clothes disappeared in a flash of green light, leaving the entirety of his glorious form bare to your gaze for the first time that night. You slowly raked you eyes across every inch of him, admiring the way his lean muscles rippled and flexed underneath his perfect skin as he moved, and counting your lucky stars that he was yours.

“Please, Sir, pleeeeease give me your cock. I need it. I need you. Please make me come, Sir.” you shamelessly panted and begged, desperate for him and for the sweet release only he could give you.

He hovered over you on the bed; you could feel his rigid length against your thigh, the tip angry and red. He was just as desperate for release as you were. Bracing his weight on one forearm, he snaked the other hand across your collarbone with a featherlight touch before it settled firmly around your throat as he kissed you hungrily. So lost were you in the passion of the kiss that you barely noticed as he lined himself up at your entrance. With one perfectly angled thrust, he finally entered you, filling you to the hilt. Your breath hitched against his mouth; no matter how many times you took him, the sheer size of him ensured that the first few strokes would always take your breath away.

“You don’t have to wait any longer, darling.” He rasped against your ear as he began to thrust, rutting his hips against you with each stroke, the wiry curls at the base of his cock brushing against your clit. “Don’t hold back, and I won’t stop this time. Let yourself go and let me hear you when you topple over into bliss. Say my name as you come.”

It didn’t take long at all for you to reach the precipice, the coil at the base of your abdomen tightening almost immediately after the edging you had already endured. You were a panting, moaning mess while he worshipped you, trailing wet kisses along your neck and collarbone. His rhythm was becoming sloppier, and you knew he was close too.

“Ohhh Loki, yes, YESSS!” you gasped as the coil snapped, your inner walls squeezing him like a vice as you finally came, the earth-shattering orgasm causing your entire body to shake. “Yes, Loki. Loki…” You chanted his name like a mantra.

Before you had come down from your high, he came too, spilling his hot seed into you with a grunt. “Who do you belong to, love?”

“You, Loki, only you.”

Once his load was spent, he collapsed on top of you, your sweaty skin sliding against his own. The restraints immediately disappeared and you wrapped your arms around him as you both panted, coming down from your highs together.

“I love you, my darling wife,” he murmured against your ear a few moments later, before he placed a chaste kiss to your lips and rose from the bed. “Now let me take care of you.”

“I love you too, Loki…” you trailed, your mind still swimming in euphoria.

Loki got up and tended to you, bringing you a glass of water and helping you sit up to drink it, the cold liquid refreshing your parched throat. Then, he cleaned up the mess between your legs with his seidr and lifted you off the bed, carrying you bridal style into the en-suite bathroom and lowering you gently into the bathtub that he had already filled with hot water and your favorite lavender bath oil. He knelt beside the tub and kissed you tenderly, his elegant fingers wrapping through your tousled hair, thumb brushing your cheek lovingly. How lucky you were that he was yours.

“I’ll go down and start a fire, my love,” he said, eyes brimming with adoration. “After you’re finished in the bath, come downstairs and I thought we could snuggle on the couch, enjoy some hot cocoa, and watch a movie. I know that’s your favorite thing to do in the winter.”

“You’re wrong about that, Loki.” His lips turned down into a frown at your words, his brows knitting together in confusion. With a beaming smile creeping across your face, you finished, “You’re my favorite thing to do in the winter.”

#loki #loki smut #loki smut oneshot #lokismut #loki fluff #loki fluff and smut #loki laufeyson fluff #loki x reader #loki x reader smut #loki fic #dom loki #dom!loki #dom!loki x sub!reader #dom loki sub reader #loki laufeyson smut #winter warmers #loki fanfiction #winter warmers collection

2K notes · View notes

imaginedanvrs · 3 months

Text

i've been thinking about lovers to enemies with natasha so... enjoy??

warnings: smoking, extreme mental health issues, violence, murder, reader is not okay, implied major character death

“You’re smoking again.” Her voice always had a way of piercing through the background, unable to ever be overshadowed by the endless hustle of the city. You barely spare her a glance as you take another drag, but you know that she’s reluctant to take her observing eyes off of you and onto the collection of bodies across the alley. You’re too far past the point of predictability for her to be sure she won’t join them.

She’s more skilled than you, but you always had an edge that was left unchecked and has now become something she never believed it could. She underestimated you and you can’t blame her. Your old self would have been horrified to witness the ceremonious snap of your sanity.

“Backups on the way,” she informs as she approaches. She keeps her distance, but she wants to see you. The orange glow of your cigarette does nothing to illuminate your features. It’s difficult when the city casts enough shadows to protect you, however it can’t prevent the life that infests it from interfering.

A taxi speeds past the alleyway too suddenly to shine a light on most. Natasha only sees it because you were momentarily looking her way, though it's enough. Enough for her to catch your grey eye, drained of its colour and life since that night you were slashed across the face. You had told her once that it allowed you to see the world more distinctly than ever. That was the first time you turned the blade on your lover, adamant that you were saving her.

“Let me help you,” she offers, cursing herself for being too struck on your face that she hadn’t used the second of light to identify your weapon of the night.

“You don’t know how,” you tell her. Your voice has changed over the years. Maybe it’s the smoke you inflate your lungs with. Or maybe you really are a different person. “Only I know how to help,” you correct her, crushing the cigarette beneath your boot and taking the slim knife from your belt.

“You’re not well, y/n.” This angers you, greatly.

You lunge at her, blade gleaming with the blood of those that now serve as obstacles that lie in the way of doing what you have to. It’s for her own good. “I want to save you,” you tell her as she blocks your repeated strikes but never offers her own. You’ve improved since you used to train together. The ruthlessness you possess makes her anxious that she won’t be able to handle you before the agents arrive. They’ll handle you in the way she can’t bear to. Unfortunately, you don’t make it easy for her.

You dance in a sinister ballet for some time before you take the final leap of the grande show and slam Natasha to the floor. You beam as she struggles beneath you because you’re just so happy to finally be able to do this for her. You can give her the ultimate display of love - setting her soul free.

“Don’t do this,” she pleads with you but your mind has been set for years.

“I love you.” You're pressing the blade into her neck, only restricted by all of the strength Natasha is using to suppress your own. “I’ll see you wherever we end up next. It will be so much nicer,” she recognises this voice. It’s the one that used to come over you when you would hold each other during those unforgiving winters. It’s a voice that promises protection, but the person it embodies doesn’t understand that concept anymore.

You never get to deliver your final act of service to the love of your life. You're interrupted by a blazing heat erupting in your chest and a kind of weakness you haven’t felt in a long time. Instead of throwing you off of her, she coaxes you onto your back and offers words of comfort to your confused features.

You don’t know what’s happening, but you think there’s a chance you’re about to experience what you wanted to provide the redhead your heart had always yearned for. Perhaps it made sense that it would cease for her too.

#black widow #dark!marvel #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #gxg marvel #natasha romanoff imagines #natasha romanoff oneshot #nr.hcs

133 notes · View notes

mywifealhaitham · 1 year

Text

warmth in the harshest winters

-- fatui harbinger fluff drabbles !!

all romantic besides Pierro and Pulcinella

⚠: just fluff, slight mention of injury in some parts, firm believer in disabled sandrone, Capitano is very soft and squishy, scaramouche is wanderer, not proofread I'm sleepy

A/N: every fic I see with the harbingers are always more dark and borderline toxic so I wanted to make them all soft and fluffy :3

PIERRO doesn't know what to do with you sometimes. He's been alive for so long yet he can barely show affection to one he feels connected too. So he takes to the streets observing families all across snezhnaya. He sees fathers decorating their daughters in jewels calling them more beautiful than the gods and mothers teaching their sons how to cook for their future beloveds. Even though the old man has you, he still gets a wave of loneliness whenever he sees real families talk and live life together. However when he himself gifts you fine jewelry and teaches you ancient meals long forgotten by time the loneliness is his heart subdues and just for a moment, he has a family once again.

like DOTTORE himself, his segments share a great love for you and often pamper and coddle you when you're in their vicinity. Younger segments of himself often have heart eyes when they look at you, like how a schoolboy admires their teachers. You always pat their heads and tell them that technically when their older they can call you their own. His older segments often like to have more fun with you. Sometimes they'll sandwich you and poke you all already or they'll pull you in the lab to watch experiments they have conducted, waiting for your praise. Sometimes they get jealous of eachother and often that manifests into insecurities. So you reassure them that you'll love them all equally and you'll support them as long as you live.

COLUMBINA dotes on you almost all the time, you're practically her little doll. With your permission she takes you everywhere, walks through the city's most beautiful hidden spots were she has you rest on her lap while she sings songs proclaiming the love you too share, missions were she protects you with her life like a true knight in shining armor with you as her royalty, banquets that the fatui hold were she dresses you two up in matching outfits and walk into the ballroom arm-in-arm as everyone stares in awe, but her all time favorite place to take you is in her arms. As ethereal as some see her, her feelings are entirely human. The softness you provide fuels her fire, it gives her a reason to keep fighting if all her wings are clipped and she's left to die. Often times she'll hold you, almost making time stop and all you can hear is her heartbeat and a tune she hums as you drift off into a restful slumber.

though some may see him as a strong yet evil leader PULCINELLA treats you and a few others he sees as children very nicely. He holds great pride in the title grandpa you've given him, often time joking about how you'll need to be careful not to hurt his hold heart and soul. Whenever you visit him his face lights up patting the nearest seat, an invitation to get lost in stories with him. He'll offer you sweets he picked up that he knows you'll enjoy. As you snack happily he tells you stories of all different genres, ranging from snezhnian myths about creatures lurking in the night to foolish and silly things his fellow harbingers have done. Sometimes if you ask nicely he'll share stories about himself and how he came to be, leaving out more gruesome parts only leaving you with stories of a strong and determined man. If fate would allow it, he'd sit with you in these armchairs telling endless stories with you forever.

even before SCARAMOUCHE abandoned his title as balladeer and erasing himself from this world he vowed to keep you with him, you are his heart along with the electro gnosis. Before becoming the wanderer he is today, he asked Nahida if there's a way to keep you in his memories, if you can know him as both scaramouche and wanderer. Her response was simply no but the solution was simple, make you fall in love all over again. Even when Wanderer regained his memories he was puzzled on courting you. He used all the same methods as the balladeer and yet you would not fall as easily. Until one night you broke down hugging him, recently your heart felt like something was teared out and he replaced it. With a gentle smile he embraced you back, promising to repair the seemly ghosting feeling in your heart. Though in his mind he promised to love you more than the balladeer could ever give.

though most of her comrades were robots, screws and tools SANDRONE always knew how to be human around you. Due to locking herself away in metal and confinement she lost most of the skill you need to be human, accidentally crafting herself to be a robot. However you are her heart that beats reminding herself that she is flesh and bones and not bolts and steel. Being unable to walk on her own she relies on you to be her guiding feet to humanity. She's blunt but not by choice, she'll demand you too wheel her into the garden were she'll then demand you again to explain the life of plants and flowers. Her demands aren't terrifying like how she commands her subordinates but more light and flustered. As you explain how plants breath the air, drink water from their roots and bask in the sunlight she's silent. She's completely lost in your voice. She applies all the information that you told her into you. you are her air that she breaths, you are the water that brings her to life and finally you are her sun that melts away the metal of her skin, leaving her with flesh and bones, leaving her to be a human again.

people all across snezhnaya envy the fair lady's beauty, singing praises about her skin, her hair and her eyes. As much as she prides herself the only person to ever top SIGNORA'S beauty is you. Sometimes she'll place you on her lap as she brushes your hair and powders your face. The only words to come out of her mouth are endless waterfalls of praises. The gods themselves took the finest jewels teyvat has to offer and crafted them into your eyes she sings kissing your cheek while she pins up your hair. Every single silk flower in teyvat is jealous of how soft and clear you're skin is she sighs her hand trailing up from the tip of your fingers to your jawline as her other hand applies powder to your face, making it shine more than before. She scoots you off her lap, making you sit in the chair she occupied before you as she pulls out two shining outfits of your favorite colors. They look like something celestial being would wear, as you pick the one you like the best she beams. Perfect, she sings, tonight both of us will shine like stars, maybe even the gods will notice us hand in hand and imprint our love onto the night sky she winks and kisses your cheek. Tonight at the banquet your love will rival the sun and the moon.

Even though he is the richest of them all and believes money can define the world itself PANTALONE believes that 100% of your happiness cant be bought with mora alone. He believes in equality and that belief spreads onto you. Don't get me wrong he spends ungodly amounts of mora on you already, buying you the best meals any chef on teyvat can make, renting out museums and aquariums just so you can him can waltz in front of statues of the gods or the most gorgeous looking sea life. He buys you jewels and gems that shine so brightly that it blinds everyone around, but to him the thing that truly blinds everyone is money. So he makes sure that the greed he can give you doesn't taint you or corrupt your mind, making you believe that he's only bribing you to stay with him. The way he compels these thoughts is with his undying love to you. Most of his work is filing documents requesting funds so he always allows you to enter his space and exist along with him. Though he still needs to do his work he'll take breaks and play a few round of card games with you, or perhaps read a book together and discuss it but his favorite break time activity is when you two simply lay together on the couch he commissioned for times you wish to nap while he works. The combined comfort of the luxury couch and the warmth and weight of you on top of his person is something money can never buy, it's something he earned alone with no funds required.

TARTAGLIA is a child(e)ish man at heart and that applies for when you're around too. He'll hide behind the wall and as you walk by he'll shout boo as you clutch your chest and fall to the ground. Realizing the situation you both laugh as he outstretched his hand for you to get off the ground. In the early mornings he'll tickle you awake, he enjoys the feeling of you swatting him away and how your body vibrates when you burst out into giggles against him. He also loves when you play with his siblings, fully immersed in the action game his siblings have dragged you both into. As much as he says he's focused his real attention is on you and how your eyes sparkle when you get playfully shot at with a stick gun. Even though he is as playful as a fox there are times when he matures and is more romantic with you. He'll prepare candle-lit dinners with the best home made snezhnaya specialties. He'll warm you too a bath with rose petals and the best oils imported from all across the globe so you too can relax into eachother. Whenever you're sad he will be there, when your happy he will laugh with you, when your angry he will calm you down. As long as the sun still shines he will remain by your side, he is forever your loyal loving knight Ajax.

whenever they hear CAPITANO'S name one often thinks of a brutal man with a army that shadows a nation but what you hear is much more different. the Capitano you know is a gentle giant who during midnight walks will pick the most beautiful rose in the bush, carefully remove all it's thorns and gently placing it behind your ear. The Capitano you also know clasps one of your hands in excitement when the stray cat he was petting starts purring and nuzzling into the cool armor of his hand. Capitano is totally at your mercy, he's completely wrapped around your finger. He talks about you nonstop to the fatui soldiers around him, at first they hold great respect for you because you are Capitanos partner but overtime they respect you for yourself. You bring in blankets and pillows on cold nights to them, wrapped them and yourself up around a small campfire as you tell them stories of happy times. If you have the skill you even train with them, praising them on their blade work. This never goes unnoticed by Capitano who when he finally has you too himself engulfs you in a huge hug, telling you how proud he is of you and all the work you do to help the fatui. He and some of the fatui members you have helped call you a angel, a rare kind soul in the harshest of winters.

though her loyalty to the Tsaritsa is questionable ARLECCHINO love for you is not. People say she is crazy, not one part of her is sane but when she's with you all humanity she's lost throughout her life comes back into her. She's slightly possessive over you, asking to take you along for missions. During said missions she always makes sure you don't get a single scratch on your perfect body. She also likes to impress you during these times, sometimes she'll fight five strong enemies at once just enough so you'll be at the edge of your seat. When she swiftly and elegantly kills them all she'll kneel before you and kiss your hand, looking at you with loyalty and determination in her eyes. When you come on missions with her she only brings her most trusted fatui soliders with her, often times these soldiers are the ones she has personally raised at the house of the hearth. These fatui soldiers know better than to hurt you or get too comfortable with you so they simply let you be, protectively watching you from beyond. If by any chance some force breaks through the defense of well trained soldiers or Arlecchino herself and mange to her you she is deeply concerned. She'll drag you to her private tent and gently patch your wounds. after she'll cup your face in her hands and kiss away any tears that may have fallen during the process, promising you that she will shield you from any bad in this world even if that meant death to herself.

807 notes · View notes

mechalily · 5 months

Text

fir branches, tied with red cord.

hello everyone! this writing is a secret santa present for precious @lovely-rubeum, who's works are a must-read for Thoma fans.

(🍂) tags: fluff (flashbacks), angst (currently), small age gap (2 years), fem!reader.

(⭐) spoiler tags: abandoment.

„ ♪ Last Christmas I gave you my heart, but you gave it away the very next day..“ New Year songs could've been heard everywhere. Layers of snowy crystals covered roofs and columns, fences and street lamps, making the light fuzzy. It's been six months since you left your homeland and went to university in another city. Yes, unlike your quiet little town with no kind of gaities and very few inhabitants who all knew each other, the city had much more to offer: wild parties every night, tons of cafes and restaurants, huge 20-floor shopping centers and different varieties of professional paths to follow. But your heart belonged to the calm peace of the town, soft sunbeams in the mornings, endless pinkish sky with plum-colored fluffy clouds — such dear memories were engraved in your soul. And, of course, your constant source of warmth whenever loneliness of an outsider hit you too hard was your childhood friendship with Thoma.

Thoma, who's hair reminded you of straws, who's green eyes shined brightly, who's genuine smile painted your cheeks with a prominent blush. Although you never communicated since he moved, reminiscence of your innocent tender bonds was still precious to you.

"Does he even remember me?" you wondered at times, looking up at the sky, gazing upon stars, so close yet so far, just like Thoma himself.

You were 7, he was 9. He was a "big boy" with responsibilities much bigger than yours. His family wasn't very financially stable: the father went missing two years ago, the mother worked two jobs so she appeared at home just to sleep and to cook something for her son, who also worked hard everyday, mowing lawns and walking dogs in order to get some money.

Your family was totally opposite. Huge inheritance allowed your parents to live as they pleased, going on trips every year and spoiling their beloved daughter — you — with tons of clothes, toys and sweets. At times, when you acted capriciously, your mom scoldingly reminded you of poor Thoma.

"Honey, you shouldn't take everything for granted. You are living a very comfortable life, unlike some people who weren't born that lucky. Think of the neighbor’s boy! Only two years older yet already working. Behave and take an example"

You sobbed yet didn't start crying in rage like you always did. After all, mom was right. Sometimes, on snowy winter evenings, you could see Thoma from your balcony. He cleared snow with a shovel twice his size. You never saw him playing with other kids or doing silly things natural for his age. Actually, he didn't have friends at all due to being constantly busy.

Christmas arrived, and your parents showered you with gifts on this occasion. Wearing new boots, cute hat and a coat, you went out into the yard to build a snowman. You saw a glimpse similar to a dark spot on a pure white snow. It turned out to be Thoma, dressed in some rags — the boy carried heavy packages, which was visibly difficult for him.

"Lemme help ya," you volunteered out of nowhere, grabbing a package's strap.

"You sure? It's heavy..." he hesitantly mumbled.

"I'm billion percent sure. Let's be friends!" you blurted out, steam curling out of your mouth.

Thoma froze in place. It was the first time ever anyone suggested to befriend him. You two were breathing heavily, dragging bundle along the street in quietness. You started feeling worried due to him keeping silent, but suddenly cheery voice interrupted the hush:

"Sure, let's be friends! What's your name?" Thoma smiled widely, exposing teeth.

You introduced yourself, and that was the day your life has entirely changed.

You were 11, he was 13. Even after enrolling into middle school and making friends with his peers Thoma still valued you the most. He picked you up after classes, treated to home-made meals, played games with you and helped when it came to studying. School wasn't easy for him. Working part-time and taking care of his mother in a hangover took all of his free time. Thoma expected you to dump him: after all, he was unable to go to cafes and amusement parks, buy you gifts and share candies. He couldn't endure your saddened face and pouty cheeks without heart ache whenever he told you he wouldn't have time to go play with you.

But what Thoma did not expect was you acting on the contrary.

"Oh, you are such a good boy!" your mother giggled, patting his head. You invited him to a sleepover in your house every week, and he finally gained an opportunity to shower in warm water, eat a proper dinner and not some semi-finished products thrown in one plate, sleep for full 8 hours..Your parents were incredibly kind and caring, considerate yet never intrusive. Here, in your place, Thoma felt loved, loved unconditionally. You two enjoyed your cocoa with marshmallow, cooked slightly crooked gingerbread and decorated the Christmas Tree all together.

“Who do you think you will be in the future, Thoma?” you asked one evening, when two of you were busy with baking a pie.

“Uh, wait, wait a second! One last thing… Here,” he spread out dough strips, “closing” the pie. “Who will I be in the future, you said? Ha-ha, to be honest.. I don’t really know. I hope I’ll work with kids or manage domestic stuff, cuz I enjoy doing it,” he chuckled, fixing his apron. “Hey, you are all in flour! Give me a second, I’ll wipe it off,” the boy reached out to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear and swiped the flour away. His touch sent shivers down your spine, as if you got hit with electricity.

“And who do you think you’ll be?” Thoma questioned.

“Hm… I want to become a teacher one day. Or a doctor,” «or your significant other», you added mentally.

“You are so hard-working, I’m sure you’ll succeed!” he smiled encouragely and patted you on the shoulder.

You were 14, he was 16. From shy and ordinary guy Thoma became popular, quick-witted and got admired for his nice sunny personality. You, on the other hand, had grown up reserved and quiet. That, whatsoever, didn’t break your friendship.

“Hey, pumpkin, forgetting your lunch box becomes a habit!”

Of course you recognized this upbeat voice. Who else would’ve called you a pumpkin?

When you turned your gaze up to your desk, there was a cute box in sight and widely smiling blond.

“Aww, come on, Thoma, you didn’t have to!” you sighed dramatically, although internally you were screaming, feeling flattered from such solicitude.

“I have to, because I care about your health, silly,” he gently ruffled your hair, avoiding ruining your hairstyle. “Let’s have a meal before lunch break ends, okay? I’ll stay here with you, no worries, we won’t go to the cafeteria,” he added immediately after noticing barely evident hints of your anxiety.

“...thanks, Thoma. Let’s see what you’ve prepared for me,” with that, you opened the box.. and your heart started pulsing like you have run a marathon.

Absolutely adorable salad with different vegetables, cut in some cute shapes. The dedication and efforts, invested in this dish, were obvious. You nearly teared up. No one has ever did something like that for you.

“H-hey, is everything alright? You’ve turned pale…” Thoma asked in concerned tone.

“No, no, not at all! It’s just so sweet of you.. Thank you so much. I can’t make myself eat such masterpiece..”

“Hold on, kid! You need to eat, otherwise I might spoon feed you,” once in a while Thoma acted mischievously, and you couldn’t predict this behavior. He was never mean, of course, but teasing certainly had a place in moments like this.

“And how about feeding me from mouth to mouth, huh?” you teased him back with a sly grin.

Thoma reddened: the color of his face was similar to the color of his jacket.

“Ah-ha-ha… You are quite naughty, aren’t you?” you could feel the heat emanating from his body.

“And what if so?” you cheekily raised your eyebrow.

“I assume a kiss will be able to erase this smirk from your face,” the boy tried to get his composure back, but failed miserably, stumbling his words and awkwardly fidgeting.

“Try it, so we could discuss the truthfulness of your statement”

“Um… maybe next time, ha-ha…”

To Thoma’s luck, the bell rang, so he ran out of the classroom, leaving you alone and flustered.

“Don’t forget to eat, pumpkin!”

Since that day you two have never brought up this accident, even though having lunch with Thoma became a daily routine.

You were 16, he was 18. He was embracing you tightly, despite the uncomfortable proximity under the boiling sun.

“I’ll miss you, pumpkin,” he mumbled, and you could tell he was being honest — every wrinkle, every muscle of his face depicted the dreary sorrow of parting. Even though his 12 years old Nokia phone still worked, you heavily doubted it would function properly. Yet you still hoped for the best.

“Thoma, dear.. Please, call or text me as soon as possible. It’s dull without you,” tears flowed on their own, and you couldn’t help it.

Suddenly you sensed some soft sensation against your skin. There was no need to look up to understand what was it. You closed your eyes and indulged in bubbly pleasure.

Thoma was your first best friend.

Thoma was your first Valentine, though you both considered it to be a friendly one.

Thoma was the first person apart of your family to cook for you.

Everything important in your life was about him.

And now, he granted you your first kiss.

“I love you,” his green eyes watered just like yours. “When I graduate, I’ll come back for you. Do you agree?”, you grabbed his calloused hands and squeezed them.

“Yes. Yes, of course”

Two years have passed since then. There were no news from Thoma nor texts or calls. He simply disappeared from the world. Both of his parents rested in peace, and they didn’t have any relatives, so wondering about his fate was all you’ve got to do. Your messages never got delivered.

“Sorry, the number you dialed does not exist,” you heard this voice line so many times it annoyed you to no end. You cried out of frustration, you felt numbness and anger, and finally, you accepted the entire situation.

Maybe he dumped you.

Maybe something happened to him.

You won’t know until his studying finishes.

Graduating from high school, passing exams, enrolling into university — you went through everything all by yourself with support from your parents.

Sipping coffee and sinking in your unhappy thoughts, you didn’t pay attention to any of the cafe visitors — after all, it was way too far from yor home, there was no chance to meet your countryman.

With the bell tickle, which announced the emergence of new client, loud fast speech could have been heard:

“Yoimiya, I’m so sorry! I left my place on time, it’s just that traffic accident with a mongrel dog occured, I had to take poor animal to the vet-”

This voice.

You stared upon the guest in disbelief.

Blond hair. Red coat. Black bandana which looked like horns. Pitiful smile. Green eyes.

“Oh, dear God, Thoma! Is everything okay? Is the doggie alright?! Ugh, how could this be?..” fair-headed young lady came out of the stall and jumped forward the man.

“Wait,” he shook his head as if he was trying to get rid of weird delusions. But that was not a delusion.

“Is this…” his voice lowered to husky whisper, eyes widened in shock.

“...Thoma?” you stood up on shaking legs.

#thoma x reader #genshin headcanons #hurt/comfort #genshin x reader #gixrsecretsanta2023

26 notes · View notes

a-french-coconut · 9 days

Text

Protector of Youth

Chapter 1 : Troilus (Athena)

There are whispers in the great halls of Olympus.

Quiet rumours travelling the streets of the golden city, about the greek army getting closer to the city's walls.

Apollo pays them no mind, it won't change the inevitable.

The future of Troy is already written and he cannot change it for all he wishes to.

His beloved Ilium shall fall in the monstrous hands of the Achaeans in less than ten winters.

His heart clenches at the thought of the royal family.

Wise king Priam and beautiful queen Hecuba.

Brave Hector and faithful Andromache, holding protectively against her breast young Scamandrius.

And Troilus, his precious son whose fate is unclear, his string not yet etched in the tapestry of Fate.

He could survive and depart with Aeneas, help him found Rome.

He could reach his twentieth birthday and save his city as it is prophesied. He is merely twelve now but he would grow into an amazing warrior.

He could die when the Greeks plunder Ilium and its wealths.

Endless possibilities, all ensuring a dark future for his son.

There is no world where Troy stands strong and his beloved Troilus doesn't loose all his family.

But he can help him survive the slaughter, guide him to Aeneas so that he may live.

He watches fondly his son and Polyxena sneak away from the city into the country land, laughing quietly in order not to get caught.

He doesn't interfere, they are far from the battlefield, no harm will come to them.

And if danger there is, Troilus knows to pray to him for he will always protect a young boy, especially his son.

Terpsichore calls him, the Muse happily dancing with nymphs and satyrs and offering to join.

With one last look to his son, Apollo lets himself get lost in the dance and the music, his golden tunics and gleaming long hair swirling around him as he leaves in awe all the onlookers.

As he sings alongside the Muses, he doesn't notice Athena leaving Mount Olympus in direction of the Achaean camp.

A temple is a god's most sacred place.

A place of refuge of his devotees, a place where no harm can be done or human blood can be shed.

No mortal in their right mind would ever dare desecrating such a sacral place.

And yet, Apollo can feel his temple has been corrupted.

He abruptly stops dancing, eyes a molten golden as the crowd parts it two to let him pass.

Whoever prideful mortal thought he would get away with is unscathed is awfully wrong.

Apollo is the Sun.

He sees all, knows all.

Nothing, and no one, can hope escape his divine justice.

When he arrives at the temple, everything is silent.

No wind swaying in the trees.

No birds chirping on the branches.

Eery silence.

On the temple's marches are laid the bloody corpses of his priests, stomach gutted open and white milky eyes frozen in terror.

Disrespecting his temple is already a punishable offence.

Killing his followers is an act worthy of a painful death.

He's going to burn them alive, to hear their scream echoing in the heavens and turn it into a melodious harmony.

Their death is recent, their bodies still soft and not rigid.

He frowns, why would they have been killed outside the building ?

He climbs the marches, passing through the already open gates.

At first he doesn't understand.

Then, his grief echoes like the howling of a wolf, deafening every creatures having not fled fast enough.

At the Greek camp, Achilles quietly joins his tent, ignoring Patroclus' curious gaze.

On Olympus, Athena requires an audience with the King.

He crumbles on his knees, his mouth producing a shrilling sound of discord, despair and rage.

In front of him, his Troilus watches him with horror, mouth open in a silent scream.

He carefully lift his head's son and cradles it, the rest of the body scattered in limbs across the room.

Polyxena is there too, but Apollo only cares about Troilus.

"Oh, my beloved son ! How have I failed you !"

He is the Protector of Youth, the one young boys pray to and cut their hair for him.

How ?

Why didn't he hear his prayers ?

"I'm sorry for your suffering", he whispers in a broken voice, "but I find small comfort in knowing you in Elysium, a place I'm sure you'll find to your liking."

He slowly gathers the body's pieces and takes them out the temple to burn them.

He places two drachmas of his son's eyes, and Polyxena's too, before lightning the fire.

That's when he notices two small things on the ground next to him.

A string of blond hair, coated with blood.

A owl's feather gleaming golden.

Pure hot white rage boils the ichor within his veins, his divinity pulsing against his human form, cracking it and deforming it.

The air around him becomes unbearably hot, sizzling against his skin.

Athena

Achilles

In a flash, his bow is drawn, an arrow ready to pierce that arrogant demigod's talon.

But when he tries to release the string, invisible chains bind him, not letting him shoot his arrow.

Hector will die before Achilles

He screams again, in frustration this time, sending the arrow in the nearby tree, combusting in flames.

Lightning strikes next to him despite the blue sky.

A summon, one he can't ignore.

He bids one last goodbye to his son's ashes resting on the burning pyre before disappearing in a flash of burning light.

"Father."

He bows slightly to Zeus, "may I ask why you summon me in my time of grieving ?"

"Such emotions for a mere mortal. You should know better than that brother, you are after all the all who prophesied his death."

A beat passes.

Inhale, calm the inferno growing.

Oxygen flood its blood, the boiling flames greedily inhaling the air to grow only stronger.

Skin cracks, ichor drips from the tight closed fits.

Divine essence seeps from cracks, pure heat dripping on his body.

Exhale, don't make harsh decisions.

"We are gods, Apollo. You will get over his death, don't burden us with all that misplaced sentiment."

With the howling of a wolf, form barely human, Apollo lunges himself at Athena, snarling and scratching her with his bare hands.

He feels like a supernova, like a star ready to explode.

He attacks her without any strategy, all he wants is to hurt her, to claw right into her essence and making it burn.

"Apollo, stop this madness at once !", she orders him, conjuring her spear to block his attacks.

He screams in return, a piercing sound, a screech really as he relentlessly lungs himself at her.

He is going to kill her, to send her to Tartarus.

Athena is a warrior but Apollo is a hunter.

And she is his prey.

Terrible bright light blinds the whole room, she winces, her grip on her weapon weakens.

He rips the spear out her arms and she is left defenceless for mere seconds.

It's all he needs.

He sees her throat, her unguarded throat. The only weak spot of her armour.

He can already feel the taste of ichor in his mouth, taste the fear and pain of the prideful goddess.

He bares his teeth, fully ready to plunge them in the bare flesh when familiar pain hits him, sending him tumbling on the ground.

Athena looks at him with wide eyes, his skin charred black from the lightning bolt their father just hit him with.

"Enough !", the King thunders, "Control yourself Apollo ! You are no minor god, you are an Olympian. Don't cover us with shame with such irresponsible attitude."

"She killed my son ! In my temple." he roars back, struggling to get back up.

"If I may Lord Father," Athena intervenes, "I had planned for Achilles to kill Troilus out in the wild. I did not expect the child to put up such fight."

Only the tingling of ozone in the air prevents him from conjuring a knife and gut her open.

"It doesn't matter what you intentions were, daughter. Apollo has suffered a great offence in the profanation of his temple."

He clenches his fist, trembling.

His son is dead, killed in the most gruesome way, and all Zeus cares about is that he was killed in the temple.

Should have Achilles killed Troilus when Athena intended him to, his father wouldn't even bother making this meeting.

"I ask for rightful punishment Father."

"I shall grant you the right to act as you wishes Apollo."

"When Achilles' time comes, I want to be the one to kill him.", he growls.

"As you wish my son. Now that this quarrel his deal with, I shall leave you. I have more urgent matters to take care of."

Zeus vanishes in a flash, leaving him alone with Athena in the throne room.

He sees her conjuring her shield, fearsome Aegis, and take a defensive stance but Apollo is too tired to attack her again.

A quarrel, a bickering between Athena and him. That's how his father views Troilus' death.

"If you don't agree with my actions brother, then at least understand them. Troy is fated to fall, but your son presented a chance of salvation." Athena's gaze hardens, "I will not have Ilium standing, not after the offence that pitiful prince caused me."

"That is your justification then, pride ?", he chuckles bitterly, "Will you not apologise for leading that murdered to my son ."

She bristles at the mention of it but nonetheless obliges.

"If it brings comfort then yes, I apologise for you son's brutal death. I agree that was no need for him to die in pain."

"You favour a mortal, don't you ?", he asks her, "what is his name again ?"

Her eyes narrow, "what are your intentions with Odysseus ?"

"Aha ! That's his name. Odysseus. I ought to right the crime done against me, against Achilles but also the whole greek army. They did plunder my temples and enslaved my priestesses."

"Don't tempt my patience Apollo, what do you want with Odysseus ?"

"I think I want to kill him", he snarls, looking right in Athena's eyes, "I want to strike him with one of my most despicable plagues, to see him suffer. I want him to see his dear Penelope and Telemachus in his dreams, knowing he won't ever see them again."

He gets closer to Athena, whispering right in front of her.

"What I want, Athena, is to see you suffer."

Before he can blink, the tip of her spear rests on his throat, her grey eyes radiation divine power.

"You will do no such thing," she hisses, "Odysseus is destined to become a great hero, I will not allow you to tamper with his fate."

"Like you did with my son's", he hisses back, yanking the spear away.

'Tell me, Wise One, what gives the right to kill Troilus because you felt like it but I cannot touch Odysseus ?"

"Troilus was fated to die", she says more calmly, "by one of your own prophecies."

"Troilus was fated to save Troy !", he shoots, "He was fated to sail with Aeneas on the wide sea ! Death was not the only option awaiting him. Death was the one you chose because you feared him."

He's panting heavily, eyes surely glowing golden.

"I'm going to kill Odysseus in front of you sister, you will watch as life leaves his eyes and you will watch it all because no prophecy protects him."

To his frustration, Athena smirks.

"Odysseus will not die by your hand Phoebus. I guarantee so."

It's her turn to get closer, confidence swaying around her.

"He is Hermes' great grandson. One he likes for reasons I care not to know. Which one do you value more, revenge against me or your friendship with our brother ?"

He doesn't say anything, fury growing as her smiles does too.

"We both the answer, do we not ? Then it's settled, Odysseus will live through this war and come back to Ithaca and his wife and son."

He stubbornly stays silent.

"That is the problem with emotional attachments Apollo," she says kindly, "they are so easily manipulated. I can only advise you to stop succumbing to them."

"I am emotions Athena, art is not something you can create without them."

She shrugs, clearly not interested in this debate.

"I'll see you soon brother, my soldiers await me on the battlefield. I need to show Ares that he's brutal force is nothing compared to my strategy."

She flashes away in the flock of feathers.

Years are less than the blink of an eye for a god.

He is standing on Troy's walls, looking at the man climbing them.

He is wearing Achilles' armour but Apollo is Truth, no disguisement can deceive him.

He kicks down Patroclus three times but the boy is persistent.

When he set foot on the wall for the fourth time, he sends him down with divine force, the blow hurting Patroclus when he touches the ground.

For an instant, he lays unmoving.

Enough time for him to get swarmed by Trojans, but still he puts up a impressive defence.

But he is no match for Hector, whose face when he discovers the trickery falls.

Hector will die before Achilles

When Achilles pierces Hector's throat, Apollo watches mournfully and horrified the treatment reserved of the prince of Troy.

Truly, Achilles has no respect in the gods.

But Hector is dead, which means Achilles will be soon.

There is no mistaking the wish of the son of Thetys to die. He lunges himself on the battlefield but no opponent is strong enough to face him and win.

He repeats a name constantly, his voice yearning for him.

Patroclus, Patroclus, Patroclus, Patroclus

Apollo hates Achilles for killing his son.

But he understands the loss of a lover.

Hyacinthus, Hyacinthus, Hyacinthus, Hyacinthus

So, he gently takes Paris' trembling arms, strings the bow who releases Achilles from his torment.

When the warrior falls, an arrow embedded in his talon, a smile adorns his face.

After his death, the war continues as it was fated.

Illium falls.

And Apollo watches.

#song of achilles #patrochilles #achilles #Athena #apollo #ancient greek mythology #ancient greek religion #epic the musical #zeus #the trojan war #hermes

9 notes · View notes

saphirered · 1 year

Note

For the winter prompts: Azriel x reader x Eris, blizzard. Not angsty. 😍

It's a short one but I hope you'll like it either way. No angst, just (affectionate) bickering that reminds me of three cats that fell in the bathtub. 😘

The dark heavy clouds above just a few hours ago should have been a clear warning. This warning, was instead clearly ignored. ‘We can make it before the storm hits’ those words echo through the mountainous expanse upon not but memory. Azriel doesn’t quite recall if it was you or the Autumn Court prick who had challenged nature so to the point all three of you now wander through a heavy layer of snow, pelted by wind and ice with a sight barely further than an arm’s length even with superior senses. He’ll happily shift that blame to likely the most guilty of all, but in reality it’s the sheer fact that Eris seems the least amount affected by the horrible weather. It is exactly that smug attitude that melts away every shard of ice, and snowflakes upon contact. Though this does not mean the Autumn noble isn’t equally miserable. The two have taken to arguing constantly, quipping back and forth to the point you have stepped ahead, so the wind may numb your hearing and block out their voices, to no avail.

“If it wasn’t for your need to show off, you could have winnowed us out of here already.” The Illyrian grumbles. That earns a snort from Eris.

“Oh I am terribly sorry for keeping your ungrateful arse warm through the ice mist. Next time I’ll let you freeze to death. You’ll hear no objections from me.” Azriel prepares to retort, offering a beat of his wing and sending an extra heavy current of snow his way. You’ve noticed this happening and stop, turning on your heels, the fuming expression you carry might as well have melted the snow around you but you wrap your arms around yourself tighter, pull tighter the protective garments that keep you perpetually miserable but alive in this harsh weather.

“Will you two knock it off! I’ve had enough of this endless bickering! Now shut it and behave before I throw you both off this mountain!” Eris bites the inside of his cheek to prevent some kind of witty retort to escape his lips leading you to make good on this promise. Azriel mirrors that expression and glances between the drop to his side, debating his chances. It’s not like he’ll fall far before his wings catch him. When you realise your comment Eris’ resilience breaks, a resolve you’re an expert at breaking away. Silver words, and cleverly chosen sentences have been his speciality but with you he sometimes struggles not to speak what’s on his mind, particularly so when it deals with your image of him so if he in this discomfort and unfair circumstances can throw Azriel under the proverbial carriage, he will in a heartbeat.

“My apologies, petal. It’s just I hardly think it fair to threaten me with a demise when he has wings. I’d deem it equally unfair to blame me for our predicament. Why don’t you put those wings to work, dear Azriel, and carry us out of here?” Of course he couldn’t hold his tongue. Of course neither could Azriel who joins your side, wrapping an arm around you and shielding you from the worst of the wind despite the numbness in his wings. He gives Eris a look as you curl closer to him and his wing curls with you as much as it can.

“I’m perfectly content flying the two of us out of here.” You’d gone over this before, in this weather it’s too risky. You and Eris would both be plummeting to your deaths with one savage gust not even a weathered Illyrian could brave. Of course Azriel had offered to take just you and leave Eris on the mountainside but you’d refused. It takes you just one look at him to say this was not going to happen and you’ll be suffering together, all three of you. You’d told him he could go off on his own but he’d never leave you alone in this. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Eris to assure your wellbeing, it’s just that he thinks he’s better at it. “The firebug can take care of himself.”

“That’s enough out of you. We’re not leaving anyone behind now can we please keep walking before my toes freeze off!” You shiver and remove yourself from Azriel’s embrace, hold out your gloved hand to Eris. He gives Azriel a look that one is mirrored when you lace your other hand with the Illyrian’s and push on.

“The ‘firebug’ can speak for himself, thank you very much. I much rather prefer this company to solitude.” And that’s about as much as an acceptance or admittance to affection you’re going to get out of Eris when he’s in a mood like this. The tension fleets and you continue moving, hand in hand, huddled together to bear the worst of it as you trail along this path. Just a few more miles you keep telling yourself. Just a few more miles until you can find shelter and warm up in their arms, engulf yourself in their embrace and be reminded once more that maybe the cold isn’t such a bad thing if you got these two to keep you warm.

#azriel x reader #eris x reader #eris vanserra x reader #eris x azriel #acotar x reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #acotar azriel #acotar #acotar eris #eris vanserra #eris x you #eris vanserra x you #acotar fanfiction

99 notes · View notes

sgiandubh · 11 months

Text

Strike (and patient...) Anon

Forgive the out-of-character delay. I got entangled in a maelstrom of domestic complications and yet somehow managed to keep an eye on the SAG-AFTRA saga.

For context, clarity and empathy, I shall direct you straight to Chemistry & Timing's unique vantage point on this evolving situation (https://www.tumblr.com/fadeupin5432 ). You will probably not get a better, closer to ground zero understanding of what is really at stake, who the major players are and what lies ahead. And an important part of what is at stake, as she explained, is Man vs. Machine, as in TPTB trying to shamelessly exploit the profession's secondary players and rob them of their due rights by endlessly using them as mere support for AI-enhanced recreations of the original silhouette, voice and acting.

This impacts not only their earnings, as she mentioned, but the very long term survival of that unsung army of extras, brave one-line whisperers, stunts, body doubles, etc. But really, nobody is spared, because uncontrolled technology can quickly turn into a tidal wave of doom. Couple that with the studios' greed and we have an explosive cocktail with potential lethal impact.

This almost unprecedented move by SAG-AFTRA has most probably been informed by several successful European precedents, such as the regular strikes of their French and Greek counterparts (to mention just the ones I am most familiar with), eager to see their rights recognized by labor law as employees, not as civil law governed contractual collaborators (way less interesting and protective, since not opening the right to unemployment benefits).

Fun fact, the French artist's guilds almost always go on strike during the summer hiatus, trying to gain leverage and capitalize on a very busy period, featuring high-profile events, such as the Avignon Theatre Festival. Something to be a part of at least once in your life, if you ask me.

But the comparison stops here, because the right to one own's image/right of personal portrayal, including reproduction rights, is taken very seriously by civil law systems since at least the 60's. Because European artist's guilds/trade unions are far more aggressive and politically colored than in the US (on the left side of the spectrum, to be exact). And because whenever new technology rears its strange head on the scene, a group of experts takes it in its stride and thinks of a European directive to try and control its impact on individual rights and avoid exactly this type of situations. The downside of this protective regulation is that it becomes obsolete very, very quickly, because by the time you finished negotiating, technology did not wait for you and caught up already, for a good while.

Then you start it all over again: this is also why I branched off, with no regrets and some hefty experience gained. As I mentioned, I was one of that handful of folks, circa 2005-2010. We tend to quarrel a lot over a comma while thinking about Brussels winter rebates, but we did manage a fine job dealing with far less complicated things, such as digitalization of TV signals, broadcasting rights, pay-per-view regulations - the list is endless and very creative. Enough for the memory lane part.

The amount of Tumblr comments in Mordor from people who clearly have no damn clue of what they are talking about is insulting. The pretention to own the truth when you just pile up newspapers in a helter-skelter manner, also. Take for instance the trolls hoping for a Season 8 cancellation, who clearly never heard of the concept of force majeure, which protects better the parties' interests, in US legal doctrine, than torts' classical doctrines such as "impracticability" or "frustration of purpose". It is my deep hope that S&C's confidential contracts with * offer full coverage of force majeure situations, and I think, as per the COVID precedent, that they do.

Yes, both SAG members, most probably. No, she is not working. Yes, he will just sell the booze and you will be shrieking like banshees, again, in Mordor: tell me, did he take your dime out of your pockets by force, or what? No, no JAMMF pix for you, Onlies and Mommies. And I bet no blonde either, but that is beyond the scope of this note.

SMH. Morons.

Anyways. I had much fun writing this. Come back anytime with witty challenges, Strike Anon. And yes, I follow the situation very closely.

@fadeupin5432, I stand in solidarity.

#Anon #sag aftra strike

48 notes · View notes

fellpurpose · 8 days

Note

[ Sparkling Water ] - Fresh spring water that has been magically carbonated. Served with a squeeze of lime or a dash of one of the many fruit syrups available at the bartender’s disposal.

Craning his neck over the counter, Dimitri was amazed at the sheer amount of jewel-colored cordials that the bartender had at their disposal. Flavors of a more mundane variety, sure - blueberry, which the bartender appeared to be dropping into black coffee at the moment - but others he had not even heard of.

"Oh! Excuse me!" Excitement mounted as his eyes alighted on words that he did know, flavors that lingered in his memory from cold nights in the Faerghan winters of his childhood. "Would I be able to just try these two...?"

At the bartender's acquiescence, Dimitri beamed, inordinately pleased. When his eye caught on another familiar sight, he added, "May I have two, actually?"

Drinks in hand, Dimitri jogged to catch up with the fluttering, glinting dark shaped that he understood to be Professor Dark.

"Professor! Good evening. Are you enjoying yourself? Oh, please - " Remembering himself, Dimitri handed off the extra glass of sparkling water, the swirl of syrup at settling to the bottom. "I discovered that the bartender had access to some flavors of my home, juniper and black currant. I believe you may enjoy them - they are unusual to some palates, but I always enjoyed them."

He wished he could still taste the sharp resin or the tart berries, but he supposed that his memory would suffice, just this once.

indeed, he has been enjoying the revelry — a marvel most extraordinary! odin would be hard-pressed not to revel amidst the night's merriment, the festivities a welcome respite from a life beset by endless wars.

"prince dimitri!" a wild grin, followed by a sweeping, low bow. "very much. i hope the same for you." odin observes with keen interest as the boy procures an offering, delight alighting his features. a most thoughtful gesture indeed, and one that even stirs the heartstrings, though he makes no mention of it.

"how exciting! you have my gratitude." he is no stranger to the pangs of homesickness, a yearning for times past. scant remnants linger of his beloved ylisse, and seldom does he chance upon relics of those bygone days. "...the famed kingdom of faerghus!" he muses aloud. "a land of unparalleled nobility, from all accounts. your pride is well-founded. i shall be delighted to try."

odin regards the beverage before him, casting an intrigued gaze whilst giving the glass a grandiose swirl. "to a grand night!" with a swift motion, he dispatches the libation, the effervescence bursting forth with a subtle earthiness and a tart, fruity essence that lingers upon the palate. he pauses briefly, contemplating a final judgment.

"MOST gratifying, prince dimitri!" he opines with a nod of approval, his smile growing. "your discernment shines brightly amidst the sea of mediocrity! should i one day chance upon a flavor reminiscent of my own birthplace...you will be the first to sample it."

#toaball2024 #blaiddllodi #something about odin being so terribly fond of blond princes. hm. almost like they remind him of himself 🤔#✦ •・ ANSWERED!

4 notes · View notes

norabrice1701 · 1 year

Text

Coincidence - Ch. 2

Dr. Alan Grant x Predoctoral Student Fem!Reader

Series Main List

Ch. 2 Warnings: Explicit language; inappropriate crush; minor Alan Grant/Ellie Sattler references; dinosaur PTSD

DINOSAURS AMONG US??

Astonishing reports are surfacing out of Costa Rica about creatures that have been extinct since the Jurassic period. Several local sources are coming forward to say that not only have they worked at a facility that supposedly breeds dinosaurs, but they have also personally seen the large reptiles.

“Those eyes,” one man told reporters. “I’ll never forget those eyes. Cold… like the worst winter ever. Cold and utterly without remorse.”

“I worked there for the money. Why else do you think?” Another man claimed. “I guess there was hazard pay in there – I heard at least one man died at the facility, mauled and eaten, so I heard.”

“I saw them when they were little – kind of cute, in a reptilian sort of way with their little screeches.” Yet another man reported. “But within six months, they towered over us with zero restraint or control. Deadly in every way – even the herbivores. Though, the triceratops and brontosauruses were more likely to step on us than eat us.”

All the interviewed individuals referred to an island off the Costa Rican coast, though none have named it. In total, Costa Rica has approximately 80 small islands and authorities are weighing whether or not to open an official investigation.

Immediate suspicion has fallen to Isla Nublar, under lease from the government to InGen. Perhaps it’s coincidental that the former CEO of InGen, John Hammond, has just been terminated and replaced by Peter Ludlow. Perhaps this change in power will reveal more of the biotech company’s undertakings on the island or lead to further investigation of the surrounding areas.

“Fucking reporters.” April grumbles next to you, distracting you from the newspaper article. “They can’t even get it right. Dinosaurs have been extinct since the Cretaceous period, not the Jurassic.”

You chew a bite of your sandwich, glaring over at her in the shade of the mess tent. “Seriously? Of all the ludicrous claims in this article, you’re calling it out for a factual error?”

She shrugs as she sips her water. “I like my journalists to at least have some integrity.”

You snort around a mouthful of food. “And you say that about an article that seriously implies that dinosaurs are alive in our world today… unbelievable.” You glance back down at the article as the paper’s edge catches in the midday breeze. “They make it sound like some corporate cover-up operation – or like a James Bond villain. Recreating dinosaurs on some tropical island…”

April offers an incredulous laugh of her own as she lifts her sandwich. “How would they ever even go about such a thing? Even the intact eggs with fossilized embryos on Dr. Grant’s ‘Egg Island’ didn’t offer enough clues about their DNA.”

Re-folding the newspaper, you shake your head. “That makes it sound more like a sci-fi fantasy film than anything that a respectable scientist would actually endorse.”

“The thought is incredible, though.” April muses with a wide smile. “I mean – to actually see a T-Rex… or a stegosaurus! Are they as big as we imagined? As ferocious? As gentle? As fast or slow? God, the questions are endless.”

“I think I would be too busy arguing with myself whether to stay or run away if I ever saw one… not that it really matters because these are all completely hypothetical questions.”

Hypothetical, maybe, but the dig site has been buzzing for at least the last hour. Ever since the two-day old newspaper arrived this morning with a food restock, everyone’s been speculating and whispering. Of course, the small mention of the InGen CEO also raised some eyebrows. It’s no secret that InGen is one of the department’s most generous donors and largely responsible for funding this year’s dig, and maybe... well, like the paper said, it’s just coincidental. But it's still curious that an article stirring up rumors of dinosaurs in the modern world just happens to discuss a company that funds dinosaur fossil excavations.

You take another bite of your sandwich even as your stomach sours with the impossible implications. It doesn’t make sense… how could it? Even the thought of bringing prehistoric animals into the modern world just seems horrifically ill-advised.

The din in the mess tent falls silent around you, and you glance around with confused curiosity. Over your shoulder, you notice Dr. Grant coming to a stop in the center of the tent. Despite his evident exhaustion, his eyes hold thunderous frustration and bitter disappointment. His mouth pinches to a tight line as he surveys the assembled crowd of increasingly interested people.

He braces a hand on his hip, drawing a sharp breath. “By now, I’m sure that you’ve all read the newspaper from two days ago.” His sharp gaze lands on you before darting down to the newspaper resting in front of you. “And I’m sure that you’ve all figured out that the InGen discussed in that inflammatory article is the same InGen who so graciously funds our department. Or, rather…” The muscles of his jaw visibly tighten as a swallow works down his throat. “They used to. Our dean was just informed that with the change in leadership comes a new change in direction.”

Your stomach drops to your feet, heavy with dread.

Dr. Grant exhales a deep sigh. “We’re told to expect significant cutbacks effective immediately. And until the department can reassess impacts and proper funding allocation,” his voice tightens with choked emotion. “I’m afraid to say that we… we’ve been shut down.”

Gasps and groans of disbelief echo around you as your face falls.

He raises a hand in an attempt to placate. “I know how disappointing, heartbreaking and absolutely frustrating this is.” If he tries to strike a positive, supportive tone, he fails as he continues. “Especially after all the progress we’ve made. Especially when we have such a prime specimen within our grasp….” The tension in his voice shows on his face, aging him ten years older - and you want to give him the biggest hug. “But, that should just be all the more motivation for us to secure more funding, get back out here, and get back to digging.”

“Dr. Grant,” one of your fellow students pipes up. “You said effective immediately… so, how long until we have to leave?”

He sighs with heavy reluctance as he scans over the group. “Unfortunately, we’ve been directed to start making immediate preparations and teardowns.” Another wave of groans echo in the tent, intermixed with cries of protest and scoffs of disbelief. Exhaustion weighs heavy on Dr. Grant’s shoulders as he nods and continues. “I completely understand - trust me, I didn’t just take this lying down.” He darts a glance over at Dr. Sattler who stands silently on the tent’s periphery with her arms crossed and a carefully neutral expression. “We told the dean exactly what we think of this order to disband, and we were still shot down. So now,” his tone sharpens with an acerbic edge. “After lunch, we must each start doing our part to return to campus before we all lose our privilege to work and study at this esteemed university.”

He winces in the wake of his words, as if he just realizes what he said. As if he realizes he’s supposed to set some sort of example but just epicly failed instead. Another heavy sigh leaves him and he shakes his head - and goodness, you honestly don’t know how Dr. Alan Grant’s day could get any worse.

Or yours, for that matter.

A bead of sweat rolled down the side of your face as you worked. Between the sweat and sunscreen, dust and sand clung to every inch of exposed skin as you guided the brush over the carefully preserved skeleton.

Pursing your lips, you continued working away at the rock matrix surrounding the fibula bone, flaking the rock away with a paintbrush in one hand and dental pick in the other. Quiet, easy conversation floated around you as others also laid prone in the dirt with their own tools, excitement building as the skeleton yielded more of its secrets with each layer of removed sediment.

The rock continued to flake away, and surely, you must be close. The plane of weakness always revealed itself when least expected, and finally, your pick chipped through the invisible plane. Your brush swept the rest of the loose sediment away, finally revealing aged, brown bone. Satisfaction welled in your chest and a smile brightened your face as you continued to separate the final layers of rock and bone, revealing the long, tapered, thin leg bone.

Or, perhaps… it was too thin. Or, no…? You stared quizzically down at the fractured bone embedded in the earth, at the two snapped fragments that shoot phantom pain down your own leg. You blew gently to dispel some loose sand granules as you brushed over the brittle ends and licked your top lip. “Dr. Grant?”

He lifted his head at the sound of his name, searching your voice out with aviator-shaded eyes. You met his gaze, motioning him over. Giving you a quick nod, he looked back down to his own work, carefully setting his tools aside before rising to his feet. Sand coated the front of his clothing as he stepped around other team members to walk towards you. As much as you enjoyed the sight of him in a lecture hall, this was easily your favorite version of him - bedecked in his signature straw hat, aviators, and perpetual layer of dirt.

“Is something wrong?” He asked, crouching down beside you for a closer look. His shadow offered some temporary relief from the sun as you motioned with your brush towards the broken bone.

“The fibula, just here.” You said before turning to glance up at him. “I think this one might have been injured.”

His face creased with open curiosity as he lowered himself to the dirt alongside you for a closer look. “Brush, please?” He held out a hand, and you didn't hesitate to pass it over.

His skilled hands at work never failed to mesmerize you. The delicate brushstrokes, the deliberately careful touches of his fingers, the tandem dance they wove together as the sediment yielded its treasure to him. A gust of hot wind washed over you, bringing his scent with it - exertion, earth, and plain soap. It heated your blood on a primal level, and the arousal stirring in your belly snapped you back to yourself.

Goodness, this was hardly the time or place for your body to run away with you.

“This bone is too fragile to move.” He said, lifting his head to look up the length of bone. “It’s clear something happened here - was this a fracture that caused the animal’s demise? Or did it occur after death? Perhaps from a stampede?” He rolled onto his right arm, glancing out over you and the surrounding dig site. “From the other specimens retrieved so far,” he paused to wet his top lip in thought. “It stands to reason that maybe they were on the move - possibly, even on the run - but yet, this one was able to keep up even with a broken leg.”

A smile came to your face as you listened - and God, this was exactly why you’re out here. “I think the clean break would suggest injury,” you said, leaning back in towards the bone. “If it were an impact - like from a stampede or other heavy weight, I think the bone would be more splintered.” You looked up at him before scanning ahead and behind him. “We also don’t know how much larger this group - herd? Pack? - was. With time, we might discover that these three specimens were outliers or outcasts… just natural selection still at work even among global catastrophe.”

He regarded you for a long moment, and eventually the corner of his mouth lifted with a smirk. In the shadow of his hat and the tint of his aviators, you couldn’t tell if he was proud, amused, or… something else. The heat simmering in your blood favored the latter, wanting him to see you as more than just his student, as his intellectual equal, as someone who could -

“It’s certainly an intriguing discovery you made.” Your name rolled off his tongue, and your heart fluttered as he turned back to the skeleton. “But the bone is still too fragile to move. We’ll have to reinforce it.” He shifted again to reach into the side pouch of his belt and withdrew a small bottle. “This won’t be enough, but it’s a start. Now, we need to be careful - this resin sticks to sand and sediment just as easily as bone.” He handed back your brush, motioning you forward as he leaned in. “We’ll start with this end and work inwards, before we reinforce the other end.” He paused, glancing up at you with an encouraging lift in the corner of his mouth as he uncapped the bottle and hovered close to the bone’s surface. “Now, if you can keep the sand and dust away, we’ll have her ready in no time.”

The fond memory nearly brings tears to your eyes. Out of all your days in the dust, it’s easily your favorite and easily the closest proximity that you’ve ever worked one-on-one with your mentor. Even now, you can still see his face so clearly, hear his voice, and recall that smirk directed only at you. If you’re perfectly honest with yourself, you have hoped to get one last chance for a similar moment with him - or, rather… you were hoping. But if the dig is well and truly disbanded, then this is it.

Your last dig with the department ends like this.

“One more thing,” Dr. Grant’s voice cuts through your disappointment and you glance back up at him with a heavy gaze. “Over the coming days, weeks or even months - if any of you are contacted by the media or requested to give any public statements, say nothing and direct whoever asks to the university public relations office.”

An immediate flurry of curious questions erupt - and you can’t blame your fellow students. It’s such an odd thing to say, such an odd request, and it stirs questions of your own as you watch Dr. Grant deflect incoming questions with increasing frustration.

Just what does he know?

Just what else isn’t he saying?

Series Main List

#sam neill #jurassic park #alan grant #alan grant x reader #alan grant x you #classic jurassic park #dr. alan grant #sam neill x you #sam neill x reader

48 notes · View notes

scorchieart · 1 year

Text

Cold Shoulder | AO3

Characters: Yves Kloss, Nokto Klein, F!Reader

Genre: Slice of Life, Fluff

Summary: Winter winds blow through the palace halls, chilling prince and pauper alike. It's a good thing Yves has two shoulders to share.

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: Light pink and blue look darling together, do they not? Also I'm wearing 3 layers of socks rn, it's so cold.

Wintertime swept Rhodolite right from underneath everyone’s noses, bringing with it a crippling freeze that shook the kingdom more suddenly and ferociously than one of Luke’s gigantic sneezes. Palace-goers and townsfolk alike responded swiftly, swapping their lighter fabrics for heavy coats and shawls, replenishing every candle, torch, and fireplace the second they died out, and cooking seemingly endless vats of warming soups and steamy breads with every meal. Not even royalty was immune to the cold; it was increasingly more common to spot Jin with his sleeves rolled all the way down, Clavis wearing multiple pairs of gloves at once, and Leon shuffling through the halls cocooned, his velvety comforter trailing behind him.

The hands of time merely shifted to a new hour as life resumed with normalcy, only now at a chilly pace. Everyone had developed their own method of combating the frigid temperatures. Everyone, it seemed, except you.

But it wasn’t as though you simply allowed the cold to completely slip your mind. This was your first winter in the palace, and more than anything you wanted to join in on the motley of action it took to keep the place running in these harsh conditions. It was why you sought Licht at the grounds for stretches and warm up drills before training began. It was why you stuck around after lessons for warm afternoon tea with Sariel and Rio. And it was why you limited your time with Chevalier, lest his glacial stare paralyze your person any longer than it needed to. But even with all these precautions, frosted trembles still shivered your timbers morning to night.

Maybe I’ll just stay in bed today, you thought one particularly frigid morning, all twenty of your fingers and toes blue and curled tight like braided rope. Surely you would be of little help in this state, more bane than boon to everyone already keeping up with the current. As you pulled the blankets over your head, the image of a certain poppy-painted prince crossed your thoughts, the one you’d hoped most of all would not be disappointed by your absence at breakfast, only to have the blanket furiously ripped away by the very same person.

What followed whooshed by like a blur as Yves whisked you from your room to a hurried breakfast and finally to his chambers. He wasted no time seating you at his vanity, laying out an extensive assortment of styling tools and cosmetics, and clipping your hair out of your face, all the while babbling about how inconsiderate it was of you to keep him waiting for your appointment. You kept still and silent as he worked, racking your brain with each brush and tug, until at last your curiosity was too much to bear.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Yves, but what’s this appointment for?”

Yves, who had been struggling the past minute to open a tub of a face mask solution, looked up and glowered at your words. “Last night at dinner you mentioned your skin has been feeling extra dry in the cold weather, and I graciously offered my assistance. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten?”

You lightly shrugged your shoulders, careful not to undo the work done to your hair. The lid finally popped off and clattered onto the floor.

“And after a prince went out of his way to help you?” Yves sputtered, scrambling to retrieve the fallen lid. “Didn’t you think I’d have better things to do with my time?”

Guilt released a new chill up your spine as you shrank in your seat, unable to look him in the eye. You desperately tried to remember the conversation, but aside from climbing into bed the entire night was a blur. At last, Yves stood again and gave a knowing huff.

“Listen. I know you’ve been trying to help around the palace, but take it from me when I say it’s not worth breaking your back over things you’re not good at.” He scooped a liberal dollop of the solution with a spatula and began spreading it from your cheeks. “Some of us simply aren’t built for the cold, but that doesn’t mean we don’t excel at other things.”

“But you excel in the hot and in the cold, Yves! You still find ways to make yourself useful, even though it’s harder for you. I want to be like you.” Yves’s frosty rose-tinted nose flashed a deeper plum.

“It is expected of me as a prince,” he said, keeping his eyes trained on evening the mask over your forehead. “If I couldn’t serve my kingdom over a little windchill, well then I’d be out of commission for half the year. But you mustn’t let it get you down, it makes me happy to be able to help people in need. And you help us back by letting us do our jobs. Chin up.”

You frowned. “That sounds disingenuous on my part.”

“No, I mean literally ‘chin up’. I don’t want to ruin your blouse.” Using his pinky, he lightly lifted your chin, and a sudden warmth overcame you as he leaned closer to apply the mask below your lip. Keeping still became a challenge as the sensation of his tiny breaths on your cheek mixed with his closing proximity made your face burn with shyness, and you opened your mouth to ask him to move back when another voice beat you to the punch.

“Oh no! A hideous monster! Don’t worry, Evie, I’ll save you!”

There was a bit of loud shuffling, and Yves was yanked out of your view. Replacing him came the face of a highly unamused Nokto.

“Oh, it’s just you. False alarm. But can you blame me when you look like that?” he said with a grin. Yves grabbed his collar and yanked back, knocking him on the bed.

“You can’t just waltz into my room, you know!” Yves huffed, standing between the two of you. “The door was closed. Do you not understand proper etiquette?”

“Come now, Evie. When you say it like that, it sounds like you were afraid I’d walk in on something scandalous.” Nokto sat up, his grin more pronounced than ever. Yves flushed an even deeper red.

“That’s not what it was, and you know it!” shrieked Yves. “If you’re here to stir up trouble, just leave!”

“I’m actually here for an emergency appointment. You will squeeze me in, won’t you? Or was all that talk about princes helping those in need just hot air?”

Yves crossed his arms and scowled. “If you haven’t noticed, I have a client at the moment.”

Nokto laughed and lightly padded up beside you. “Can you believe him? Can’t even be bothered to help his brother in a crisis.”

“You are not a child, you can handle it on your own,” said Yves.

Nokto waited for him to turn around before inching closer and whispering “He used to love styling Licht and me back as kids. We were his best customers, you know” into your ear with an acerbic undertone.

“Only because you two would hound me incessantly until I did!” Yves snapped back, curling brush in hand.

“Dear Evie, you should thank us for letting you hone your craft on our infantile noggins. I’d think that adds up to at least one emergency appointment, wouldn’t you?" He jauntily leaned against the dresser and ran a hand through his hair. “Just a brush through will do.”

“Not happening,” said Yves.

“Then could I get a top coat? I’m running low on black.” Nokto extended his hands and mimed tickling the air.

“Then buy some more.”

“Not even a facial like the little lady?”

“As if.”

“How about a kiss on the cheek for your favorite brother?”

“Licht is surveying his territory today.”

Nokto clucked his tongue and dug around the makeup products in front of you. He extracted a black eyeliner and carefully dotted two spots beneath his left eye.

“I missed you, big brother, so I came home early,” he said in a monotone voice, inclining his head.

“Out!” Yves brandished the brush and chased a chuckling Nokto out the door, slamming it when he left.

“The nerve of him,” Yves muttered when he returned to your side. “What I said about a prince’s duty doesn’t apply to that lunkhead.”

You let him brush your hair in silence, the cold feeling swirling back around you two as you watched him work through the vanity mirror.

“Hey, Yves?” you started. “Please call him back in.”

Yves nearly dropped the brush. “What? Why?”

“For his emergency appointment. You’re almost finished with me, right? And he wasn’t doing any harm.”

“Not doing any harm? He called you a hideous monster!”

“Can you blame him?” You gestured to the bubbly mask slowly solidifying on your face. “It was only a joke. I think Nokto just wanted company.”

“That’s no excuse to take it out on you,” Yves said, grabbing a ribbon and tying your hair. “If he has a problem, he should be a man and address me directly.”

“I meant he seems jealous of me.”

“Jealous of you?”

You nodded your head. “For spending time with you.”

Yves’s fingers halted midair and his mouth gaped open like a fish’s. You turned around in your seat and grabbed his frozen hands, squeezing them and sharing the little warmth you two managed.

“The actions of a prince serve thousands. The attention of a brother serves one.”

Yves closed his mouth and slowly entwined your fingers, a tender heat growing with every inch.

“You really believe that’s what he wants?”

Your breath caught in your throat. “I do, because I am of a like mind.”

Yves squeezed harder. “You are both incorrigible.”

“When it comes to you, can you blame us?”

Giggles filled the room, replacing the icy atmosphere with gentle giddiness. Yves lifted his head and looked into your eyes adoringly.

“Very well, but in a few minutes. I’d like to have you to myself for a little longer.”

“Sweet! I’ll call Luke then, he’s been dying to get his cuticles cleaned since I told him what you could do.”

Nokto poked his head out the tiny crack in the door just as Yves hurled the brush.

And so, you and Yves talked about your feelings, Nokto apologized to you two in his Nokto-way and Yves prepared him for whatever it was he deemed was an "emergency", and Luke enjoyed his first ever manicure. And you all lived happily ever after... Until Licht came home and felt left out. You promised to invite him next time.

Tagging:@atelieredux @queengiuliettafirstlady @violettduchess @venulus @thewitchofbooks @leonscape

If you would like to be added or removed from my tag list, please send me an ask or a message

#ikemen prince #ikepri #yves kloss #nokto klein #ikepri yves #ikepri nokto #ikemen series #scorchie writes

67 notes · View notes

zoeysdamn · 2 years

Text

There shall be night - Part.2 Morpheus x priestess! reader

Warnings: mention of the death of characters, religious themes

English isn’t my mother tongue, I’m sorry in advance for eventual grammatical mistakes!

Enjoy ♥

[Part.1]

Ancient Greece time was a blessed era to grow up in, in (Y/N) opinion. As the years went by, she grew up at the temple with her mother and the other priestesses of Morpheus. For her father was a worshipper too, only women choose to take on the priestess duty. (Y/N) learned at a young age what those duties were: taking care of dreamers, giving help when they reach for it. She knew what people could experience in the Dreaming, but also that very few of them could realise what it was.

As a child she spent a lot of time hidden in the temple’s column shadows, listening to older priestesses interpreting people’s dreams. She was fascinated by their abilities to help dreamers understand what they saw, felt, and did in their sleep. Her mother once told her that their unique connection with the Lord of Dreams and Nightmare gave them the ability to have a clearer insight of those dreams, even though they could never be sure of the true meaning of it. Only Lord Morpheus has the answers.

(Y/N) was 11 and a young priestess-in-training when she met the Dream Lord for the first time. Like her grandmother before her, she was gifted with lucid dreaming abilities. If most of the priestesses gradually developed this skill, she was on the contrary born with it. As for the premonitory dreaming gift, many thought it may be a sign she would be a great priestess, like her ancestor before her.

She wandered in Fiddler’s Green, silently walking with another girl dreaming who was unaware of her presence. (Y/N) didn’t say anything, but she enjoyed her walk with this dreamer, making sure her dream will run smoothly. The girl came to the temple with a fever during the day, so (Y/N) wanted to accompany her through her sleep to see if she at least found some comfort. After all, like her grandmother always said, what happened in the Dreaming was as important as daily life in the Waking world.

The dreaming girl was happily petting a bunny in a field of wildflowers when (Y/N) sensed his presence. It wasn’t upsetting, yet unfamiliar, like a breeze of early winter wind. Turning away from the dreamer, she saw a dark figure standing over the field, watching them. She should have been afraid, but this presence was oddly familiar; familiar enough for her to make her way toward him. As she approached, she could see more of this oddly familiar stranger. He was pale, with unruly dark hair and clear eyes. His eyes looked like the starry night had taken shelter behind his eyelids, and his neutral stare seemed to soften as she approached him. When she finally stood in front of him, (Y/N) already knew who he was.

“Hello Lord of Dreams” she greeted with a small bow of her head.

“Hello, little one” answered the deep voice of the Endless. (Y/N) swore that she never heard a sound like that before. “What is the meaning of your presence in the Dreaming?”

“I am making sure this girl has a pleasant stay in your realm, my Lord. I thought it may ease her complicated health these days”.

The Dream Lord’s eyebrow rose up, quite impressed with such poise coming from such a young person. Although he knew who she was, he was curious.

“Do you think you have the power to reshape her dreams?” his tone was firm, even if he didn’t mean to pester the child. But he wanted to test her. She shook her head.

“I do not. My duty does not lie there. But a comforting presence in the Dreaming and in the Waking world is what I can offer, should she seek help.”

“And why would you help her in the Dreaming and not only in your world, child?” asked Morpheus, still not satisfied with her answer.

The young girl squared her shoulders and answered calmly.

“For the Dreaming and the Waking world, both are what makes us living beings. I do not think we could exist without your realm my Lord, may it be dreams or nightmares”

He stared at her for a long time, not showing any sign of surprise on his stone face. But deep inside, he was satisfied and proud of the little human who stood before him, so sure of her convictions. Of her devotion.

“You truly are Aristea’s grandchild” stated Dream after their shared silence.

(Y/N) bowed out of respect for her late grandmother’s name. “She always spoke very highly of you throughout her life of devotion. You pronouncing her name is a great honour, Lord of dreams”

Even if the sand of the Dreaming and its peculiar properties could have allowed her to live forever, the first priestess of Morpheus had died a few years prior. For she has dedicated all her life to the Dream Lord and the dreamers, she chose to pass her duties to someone else and renounced the power of the sand that kept her alive. She died naturally a few years later, serene with the thought that her granddaughter and the other priestesses would carry on her mission.

“What is your name, child of the first priestess?” asked the Dream Lord.

“(Y/N), my Lord”

He repeated her name, enveloping it in his deep voice as if it was a gift he had to take care of.

“We shall meet again, young priestess,” he said as she was close to waking up.

“We will” she agreed “Goodbye, Lord Morpheus”

She didn’t realise it, but she was the first human since her grandmother to call him by this name.

With the priestess’ duties also came some medical and magical knowledge. Many dreamers came to them in the Waking world to ask for help regarding sleep issues or insomnia. (Y/N) learned to brew potions, even to prepare and perform ceremonies for self-projecting to the dreaming, to seek for dream in hope to have visions. The priestesses were devoted to Morpheus, and like his raven, acted like a bridge between the Dreaming and the Waking world. Sometimes, (Y/N) would see the Dream Lord from afar in the Dreaming. As the years went by, she became the dutiful priestess her grandmother wanted her to be. At 25, she felt ready to receive the gift of the sand. Like others before her, she would not age. Immortality was not within the Dream Lord's powers, but as long the Dreaming would exist, and as long she would serve him, she would not age.

The years went and with it wars and changes. Conflicts tore lives apart, disturbing beings to their deep chore. Wars made the priestesses’ work no easier; it was a heavy burden to witness horrible nightmares of soldiers, and reminiscences of what war had been. Those times were the hardest, some younger priestesses lost faith in the “dream” Lord and walked away from the temple. Through all the pain and the nightmares, (Y/N) stayed; she stayed convinced that dreamers still needed her. She and the other would be brave, remaining strong for the sake of both the dreamers and the Dreaming. But sometimes, she didn’t know where the line of her duties ended.

It was almost nighttime; the temple was unusually quiet, as (Y/N) lit some candles. This seemed like it would be a peaceful night. Suddenly, a young priestess burst into the room, a nervous expression on her face.

“(Y/N)! There is a woman at the entrance of the temple, she looked rather panicked” she whispered shakingly.

“Did you make her enter?” asked (Y/N) with concern.

“I offered, but she didn’t want to! She seems frightened of this place, but she seeks our help, what do I do?!” The younger priestess seemed rather anxious herself, so (Y/N) thanked her and quickly made her way to the temple’s entrance. At the bottom of one of the monumental columns, she saw a woman curled on herself. Even from afar, (Y/N) could see her shoulders shaking with sobs, and her heart immediately ached for this poor soul. She quietly crouched to the woman’s level and pulled her shawl from her shoulders to put it on the stranger’s. The woman gasped slightly and raised her head from her hands. Tearful and puffy eyes stared at (Y/N) in disbelief.

“You came for help,” told (Y/N) in a soothing voice “What I can do to help you, I will”

The woman sobbed again, her face painted with the most pained expression the priestess has ever seen.

“I-I…I don’t know if I can be here” she mumbled between tears.

“No one in pain has ever been forbidden to this temple” (Y/N) reassured her “If you allow me, I will take you inside the temple to seek warmth, alright?”

The woman seemed to hesitate at first but then nodded slowly. (Y/N) helped the distressed woman to get up, putting a reassuring arm around her as a sign of support. They entered the temple, and (Y/N) still sensed an uneasiness from the woman. She made her sit down in a room with comfortable pillows and excused herself for a moment to make tea. She put some relaxing herbs in the tea with the hope to provide her shaken guest with some soothing sleep.

“Here, I made some tea” announced (Y/N) while coming back into the room, “I thought it might help-”

She stopped dead in her tracks, nearly dropping the cups she was holding. Outside it had been dark, and she didn’t catch a clear view of the woman’s face, save for her tearful eyes. Now by the soft candlelight, she could clearly see her face: even drenched with tears and sorrow, she could recognise a muse.

“Lady Calliope” greeted the priestess with a shaky voice, immediately dropping into a deep bow, knees almost touching the ground, “Forgive me I have not recognised you”

The muse seemed almost as surprised as (Y/N), watching her with a stunned expression.

“N-no, there is no need for such formalities” she assured “I…I came here because I…”

She seemed hesitant like she was lost for words. As if her words were stuck in her throat, but wouldn’t go out. That alarmed (Y/N), who quickly got up and carefully came forward to sit next to her. The muse of epic poetry was not known for lacking words. Something was wrong, terribly wrong.

“What do you need to speak of, my Lady?” asked the priestess softly.

Calliope sniffled in a very un-ladylike manner, but neither seemed to mind. With trembling lips and eyes full of tears again, the muse seemed ready to collapse before (Y/N) eyes.

“My son just died”

And with that, everything crumbled again. Calliope broke into tears, and out of reflexes (Y/N) hugged her. All the protocols that had shaped her for years screamed at her to not engage in such proximity with a muse - the Dream Lord’s wife - but she couldn’t let another being in such distress without helping. Not in the Waking world, not when she could do something. She has already seen way too much suffering without interfering in the Dreaming.

And besides, Calliope looked like she could use some support. As soon as (Y/N) had wrapped her arms around her, she gripped the priestess’ arm, clinging to it for her dear life.

For the first time, (Y/N) didn’t know what to do. All the dreamers that came for her help at the temple, that she could help them. But a weeping muse engulfed by pain and grief? Gaia helps her. She didn’t need to ask what happened. Between the wars and the God’s plans, it was easy to figure out that Orpheus’ passing was way too soon. (Y/N) never met Calliope and Morpheus’ son. She barely ever saw the muse before, only having caught a quick glimpse of her once in the Dreaming. Besides, Dream of the Endless was a rather private person. Although a worshipper and devoted servant to the Dream Lord, his private life wasn’t a topic she liked. For she knew she was a mere human, and any romantic feelings would be vain. So she stuck to her priestess role and decided that she shouldn’t be interested in him in such a way.

“I am deeply sorry for your loss, Lady Calliope” murmured (Y/N) after long minutes of heavy silence. “I wish I could ease your pain”

The muse raised her head from the priestess’ shoulder and shook her head slightly “There is nothing you can do about this, I’m afraid”. She sniffled again and her gaze seemed lost for a moment.

‘Then why did you seek my help?’ Thought (Y/N) internally. ‘What could I possibly help you with, for I have never lost a child?’

Like reading her mind, Calliope turned her head toward (Y/N)

“I need your help…as my husband’s priestess”

“How?” (Y/N)’s voice was almost a whisper.

“I cannot reach him” admitted Calliope and the pain in her voice was very much sensible. “Since word of Orpheus’ death came to me…I cannot reach him. I do not know if he’s aware that our son…that he died”

She turned away, maybe in shame, maybe because she didn’t want someone to see her cry anymore. (Y/N) was quite lost; what should she do? For a moment she considered declining the demand. But then she thought that Calliope would surely suffer from enough sleepless nights because of her son’s death; if (Y/N) could ease her a little by transmitting a message to the Dream Lord, then her duties would have been accomplished. She put a reassuring hand on Calliope’s own and tried to give her a reassuring smile.

“I will try, I promise”

The muse gave her a grateful nod, then (Y/N) stood up, and asked a younger priestess to make sure that Calliope would be led to a room to rest. Then she made her way to the ritual’s room. The circular space, with double pillars all around, was lit by dozens of candles. A sweet scent of sandalwood and incense, helping meditation and self-projection to the Dreaming hung in the air. As she sat on her heels on the cushioned floor, (Y/N) inhaled deeply. For some reason, she felt really nervous about this. It wasn’t the first time she projected herself into the Dreaming; her lucid dreaming abilities had improved throughout the years, so much that she could enter the realm easily. But this was different. This felt different. Something strange tainted the air, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Or maybe she didn’t want to face what it was.

She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. Steadying it. Then, she focused her mind. Clearing it, making it ready to welcome the Dreaming particular sensation. Then, when she caught a glimpse of the realm of dreams she held onto it tightly, letting it infuse her mind and its every bit. She felt herself fall into the void, mind and soul briefly detached from everything. Then she felt the familiar dense feeling, palpable in the first instants in the Dreaming. She opened her eyes. Something felt odd. The air wasn't quite the same, everything just felt… heavier. She looked around, no storm seemed to be coming, yet the thunder seemed so close. (Y/N) squared her shoulders and began to make her way toward the Horns and Ivory gates. She didn't know if she could go past them on her own, but at least her presence at the border would attract some attention. She usually always woke directly behind the doors, directly in the realm.

The sound of wings put her out of her reverie; she shot her head up, welcoming the sight of a familiar raven.

"Hello Jessamy"

The raven released a loud caw! as a greeting. Jessamy never spoke, but somehow the priestesses understood her. (Y/N) had always been particularly fond of the Dream Lord’s raven, for she has most of her interactions with. Like the priestess, Jessamy was a messenger, a bridge between the two worlds.

‘He’s not ready to see you’

“No one ever is for that kind of news,” said the priestess sadly “Does he know?”

She sensed some uncertainty from the raven. If Jessamy certainly knew of the fatal news, nothing could confirm it was Morpheus’ case. The weight on her shoulders felt heavier.

“I have to find him Jessamy. Please.”

The bird cocked her head to the side, taking sight of the priestess for a brief moment. She seemed to understand what may come out of this encounter.

“I have a duty to fulfill. Just like you do.” insisted (Y/N) in a soft voice. “Please”

Jessamy nodded and with a flip of wings, rose in the sky of the Dreaming. As she fled toward the castle, (Y/N) felt the dreadful sensation spread even deeper in her chore. But she had a duty to carry on.

[Part.3]

A/N: I have no idea of what I’m doing here lmao, but I promise there will be some Morpheus x reader at some point

Taglist: @endlessdreamqueen

#dream x reader #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless #dream of the endless x reader #the sandman #the sandman netflix #reader insert

123 notes · View notes