Throne Of Glass Fluff - Tumblr Posts

so well written

hey, how about a newly mated Rowan?

Nice and spicy like the others! Hope you enjoy! 😘

Footsteps echo through the halls drawing closer and closer. Rowan recognises them well. He’d be able to find them among the hundreds, identify the exact pace and fall of each step and know exactly who they belong to. It’s been a strange change to have the sound of those footsteps make him feel lighter, like he is floating upon a breeze, yet so grounding all the same. He feels like air returns to his lungs, like he hasn’t been able to truly breathe until those footfalls draw closer and closer. It feels like they take the air with them whenever they leave. Perhaps the thought of this might once have been frightening to him, but when he was faced with these feelings he was surprised to find them near second nature. They took some getting used to and he is still finding his way, same as you are navigating this new development in your relationship all the same. 

The soft creak of the door, the turning of the handle, and the closing of it with a light click, are music to his ears. The footsteps draw nearer, until they change, from the echoing clacks of shoes, they turn soft and muffled. He hears the humming of a melody, the movement of fabric, jewellery hitting the vanity; to be put in the designated boxes or drawers, cared for immaculately. You commented once; gems and precious metal are as much your armour as steel and leather are, your words as much a weapon as sword or arrow. It’s a thing he’s admired about you. You walk that fine line between diplomat and warrior. You may have times where you relish in the bloodshed of war, but equally you know there’s a time and place. It’s your patience that stands out. Your mind is your finest asset or so you claim and Rowan is inclined to agree, though he may have commented you have plenty of other good assets too. He smiles at the memory when you encouraged him to prove it. 

Humming to yourself you move about the room relieving yourself to the tedious reminders of the day you’ve had. Court is not as eloquent nor clean spirited as some make it out to be. It’s exhausting and boring and you’re stuck with the people you learn to despise for hours on end. You’re just glad that Maeve got sick of the endless bickering too and dismissed everyone before she’d decide to skin someone alive. While you worked, talked and fought verbal battles left and right, your mind would always drift to your beloved. He’d be home soon, another task of the queen coming to an end and finally he’d return to your embrace. You gathered she set it up as a test to set the bounds and show exactly that she is still in control, and that some mating bond does not change anything in your responsibilities, as well as to assure you know your loyalties belong to the queen first and foremost, no matter what some primal instincts might argue. 

Returned to your living quarters, you take off your shoes first, then discard any of the fancy vestiges of your station, and whatever gifts you might have worn to please and coerce others to your side, and lastly get rid of the heavier layers of clothing leaving you feeling like a burden has been lifted from your shoulders. You notice then, the doors to your balcony are open, the gossamer curtains blowing in the light breeze, you take in a breath and sense a familiar presence that makes your heart leap. You see the bloodied footsteps, the discarded dirty boots, weapons, belts and holsters and clothes. Shaking your head in amusement you begin to pick up the discarded items, and collect them on the side table where they would do no harm or leave any staining on your precious floors. 

All settled you move to the bathing room, the door slightly ajar and peak in to see the object of your affections seated in the tub of steaming water, back turned to you, hair stained with red, exposed skin no better, the reminders of minor injuries still present. You notice pointed ears perk at the presence of another; the habit of a warrior but he doesn’t turn, not when you draw nearer, not when you lower behind him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and nuzzle your head against his affectionately, leaving a kiss to his temple. His hands previously resting on the edge of the tub come to find yours and hold on lightly as he sighs, leaning back into your embrace. 

Rowan chuckles lightly, as you attempt to take care to avoid getting any of the grime on your person but fail miserably. Your cheek is stained with red when he turns his head to face you and capture your lips with his. The kiss is not entirely heated but instead filled with the warmth of joyful content. No words are spoken but Rowan knows this speaks ‘welcome back’. He allows his fingers to dip into the water, and rise them to your stained cheek to wipe away the partially dried blood. 

“Not to say I haven’t missed you, but next time please don’t leave weapons scattered across the floor of our living space. It’s quite the safety hazard.” You joke leaning into his touch. The simplicity of your response spreads a wave of satisfaction through him. In a way Rowan considers it a frightening thing, that one being could be so attached to another without constraint, what scares him most is he knows he should fight these instincts, these feelings but he simply refuses. As a warrior he was trained to eliminate his weaknesses, and you certainly would fall into the category because he knows he’ll go to any lengths to keep you satisfied. At your command he’d unleash a storm to tear down your enemies, same as he would use the rains to feed the earth. His loyalty to you is unwavering. But he too knows that that loyalty can only be challenged by one thing and those are the risks he fears, simply because of their unpredictability. Still he would not change a single thing. He has you in his life. That is more than enough. 

“I was going to clean up before you returned.” Rowan counters and laced with amusement. You press your lips to his palm before it falls back to hold onto your wrists lovingly, like you are an anchor to this world. A sense of pride rises and you’re unsure if it is your own or Rowan’s, though you care little. You do feel some satisfaction at your presence, right here, right now and so you decide to act on it, take a leap and gently let your lips trail along the back of his shoulder until you go to rise. 

“And you are doing a marvellous job at that.” A pull on your arms douse your sleeves into the water. You yelp as you are pulled closer against his back, your chin resting on the warrior’s shoulder. Were you not surprised at the action, you might have berated him for getting your precious silk wet but what follows next leaves you to care little. The vibrations of his voice, warms your entire being. 

“I was doing just fine until I got distracted.” Rowan whispers into your ear as he brushes his lips against the shell. The small intimate gesture sends shivers down your spine and urges you to lean in further, though, your now soaked sleeves are more uncomfortable than his advances are welcoming and so you pull back, step to the side of the tub and face him proper, while swatting your arm, letting the excess drops from the fabric hit his face as your squeeze the rest out of the fabric best you can. The air grows cooler, dancing around you, and sends goosebumps up your arms, the warm water turning freezing in a matter of seconds. You give Rowan a disapproving look. 

“Yes. Your tendency to get distracted certainly is worrisome.” You deadpan with a light shiver clutching your fingers together to preserve some warmth. You debate your next course of action. You have plenty of ideas but you long for payback for his stunt first, and then a little teasing never hurt anyone. Just how far should you take it. Meeting your mate’s eyes and see exactly that glint of anticipation, one that dares you to choose your next moves carefully, push you over the edge to take it up to eleven. No need for escalated teasing. You’ll be torturous. 

He can’t take his eyes off you. Not when you move to unbutton the cuffs at your wrists, not when you undo the laces of your garments and let them fall to the floor so tediously slow without a single word. You make a show of bending down to collect the fabric, sway your hips when you put it in the laundry basket. No mercy is offered when you run your hands through your hair, not when you grab the delicate pins you usually resort to to keep dry what strands you might not want to get soaked, looking in the mirror when you stretch your neck, to get the right angle, offering a nice view of all the dips and curves of your body. Your slightly parted lips, the focus in your eyes, the don’t help either. But finally, finally you offer mercy right when he is about to come fetch you himself and you strut over to the tub, holding out your hand, he offers his and you grasp on for unnecessary support, stepping into the bath and allowing yourself to sink in slowly. 

You moan when you’ve made yourself comfortable, opposite of Rowan. Dancing your fingers through the water you cup them together to pour some over your shoulders, and neck. Each and every move you make, have made since you began this, he has watched you like a hawk, you see that spark in his eyes, the way his knuckles have gone pale with how he tightly holds onto the edges of the bathtub, and how he barely takes a breath. His response to you, sends a fire through your veins, you’ll be all the more happy to indulge and give into but not yet, you argue with yourself, not yet. Let’s see who gives in first. Sinking back further into the warm water until your shoulders are barely breaking the surface, your legs bend at the knee and end up brushing against the insides of Rowan’s. A low growl of discontent emits from his chest. You laugh.

Wrong move. Rowan’s features grow neutral, like a warrior’s calm. His fingers slide along the edge of the tub until they find your knee. They trail up and down your calf feather light, barely touching at all. They rise to your knee once more, other hand repeating. You know better to think this innocent affections, and you would be proven right because next thing his hands wrap around the under side of your legs and pull you close to him. You catch yourself on the edge of the tub as the water sloshes. Your moment of shock is quickly covered up by that very same warrior’s calm. 

“You have my undivided attention.” His eyes never leave yours as you readjust, the moment causing friction exactly where you both feel the desperate ache. Not yet. 

“Well, I am known to reward good behaviour.” That earns you a chuckle, quickly stifled and turned to a pleasant moan when you change your position to straddling his lap. You look all too innocent and as a reply to your action, Rowan’s hands trail down your spine and over the curve of your hips, around your behind, and back up again, repeating the gentle teasing touches he knows set you off. He can tell you bite your tongue given the tension of your jaw. Were the circumstances different he might have captured your lips with his but not now, not yet. He supposes he can be stubborn and he’d very much like to see which one of you will give in first. He’d be a fool to ignore his waning restraint but you seem to be very much in the same state. It’s simply a matter of outlasting. A warrior’s discipline is good for more than just battle and training. 

Your hands stroke up his chest, over his shoulders, neck and into the silvery strands, slowly brushing through from ends up, little by little, taking out any tangles, any grime left and rinsing out the traces of battle until you reach the roots, section by section, methodically. Once done, you don’t stop brushing your fingers through, instead your skilled fingers massage his scalp and neck earning one satisfied moan and groan after the other. The caressing of your skin grows more bold, dipping lower, closer to the apex of your thighs, and higher, curving around to your front, barely brushing over your sensitive chest. You fight the responses of your body, but can’t every time and so you find your back arching, leaning in closer to the attention. A particularly bold pinch extracts a moan from you. It’s game on now. 

“Are you going to be a good mate to me and finish what you started or should I quit l while I’m ahead?” Your lips dip down towards Rowan’s neck, your pull on his hair lightly guiding his head to the side to give you better access as you kiss and lick and suck your way along the exposed skin. You feel the vibrations of every sound you get him to make through your lips and again that fire burns up and burns brighter. Your resolve is dwindling but you’re not going to let Rowan know that. You were not schooled in the many masks of silver-tongued for nothing. 

“Do you want me to be a good mate?” Rowan’s voice is uneven when you bite down into the bend of his neck and shoulder only to smooth it over with your tongue. You pull back entirely, put your weight back further and letting your hands trail along the defined muscle of his chest, ever so lightly making your way lower with each rise and fall, so terribly slow. You don’t respond immediately, features turning thoughtful as if you’re considering. He tries to cover up his own response to your thoughts, and tries to stop his mind from imagining exactly what he could do to please you in both situations. He fails miserably in quelling those thoughts. 

“Let’s see where the day takes us.” And so that torturous touch of yours finally reaches exactly where he’s been longing. Whatever comment he might have had falls silent on his tongue, so instead he leans in to press his lips agains yours, feverishly so. It’s unclear who won this game of self-restraint but Rowan has lost all will to care and by the sound, look and feel of it; so have you. You’ve got other things on your minds now. Starting with the sating of this built up desire. 

sobbing

Jealousy (Dorian Havilliard x Reader)

Fandom: Throne of Glass

Warning(s): none

Word Count:  1094

Summary: Reader and Dorian both get jealous

—

He watched you laugh with Chaol. Of course, Yerne was there too but that wasn’t the point. It’s been days since he got to spend time with you. You’d been away dealing with some lords and had only returned hours ago. Rather than going to him you were sitting with Chaol. He’d only known you were back because a servant told him. It didn’t help that you’d ignored him for days before your departure.

Another laugh from you broke him from his thoughts and he moved over to the table and sat across from you. He definitely didn’t like the frown that took over your face when you looked at him. 

“Seems like I’m missing a party,” he said, keeping his gaze trained on you. 

“Well I’m sure you were preoccupied.”

Yerne and Chaol shared a look before the former spoke. 

“Y/n was just telling us about what happened with the Lords.”

“I didn’t know how fun political negotiations could be.”

You laughed quietly. “I think you know just how fun they can be.”

Chaol and Yerne shared another look before standing. 

“We have some things to do, but we’ll see you both later.”

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