#Beyond The Shore And Shadows | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

humanpurposes · 2 months

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You Want This, You Need This

The only daughter of Rhaneyra Targaryen is firmly devoted to her mother's cause, and yet she finds her way through the passages of the Holdfast, to the bedchamber of a Prince she should hate // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x nameless female character (daughter of Rhaenyra)

Warnings: 18+, smut, enemies with benefits, hate sex, degrading, angst, Targcest (uncle and niece)

Words: 3.7k

A/n: Me making a poll then doing whatever I want 🫶

There’s no use in waiting for sleep to come to her, she’s too restless for sleep.

Her bedroom is full of alcoves and adjacent chambers, good for hiding and keeping the room cool during the summers. In one of the alcoves is a mural. If she presses a particular space on the wall with much force, she can push it to reveal an entrance into the hidden passageways of Maegor’s Holdfast.

Light is lost beyond the threshold. A gentle but piercing breeze washes over her, through the thin and billowing fabric of her night shift. There’s always this lingering excitement when she opens the doorway. She equates it to the thrill of flying, cutting through the wind on dragonback. Only she’s not in the sky, she’s staring into darkness, daring herself to take a single step.

As children she and her brothers had found many of these hidden doors throughout the castle, the perfect sort of places to hide in when they were in trouble, the perfect place to eavesdrop and move through the keep undetected. When their mother found out she had discouraged them from venturing too far, lest they end up like the piles of bones left by rats and other rodents that had never found their way out.

The paths within the walls are treacherous, but she knows some of the routes by heart. She knows how to head down to the kitchens, she even knows a way which leads past the dungeons, to a chamber which houses the skull of Blaerion, the Black Dread, out to a beach along the shore of the bay, out of reach by any other means.

There is one particular room she has in mind tonight.

She treads carefully, tracing her fingertips against the wall so that she does not lose her way. When she comes to a series of steps she takes even more caution. She counts twenty steps, then turns another corner and keeps walking until the stone underneath her fingers turns to wood. It is a door, one which appears as part of a panelled wall on the other side. She pushes it open, hoping he has left the latch undone, and he has.

The room’s warmth is a welcome sensation. She makes as little noise as possible as she enters and closes the door behind her.

He’s sitting by the fire, turned away from where she stands, head lowered slightly and his silver hair spilling down the back of his chair. She almost always finds him like this, practising one of his self righteous rituals. He reads until the hearth and the candles have burned out because it enforces his own belief that he is a more dedicated son than Aegon, more intelligent and more worthy than the Velaryons– than her and her ilk.

His shoulders stiffen as the soles of her slippers tap delicately against the floor, moving towards his bed. She imagines him frowning, or perhaps smiling to himself as he closes the book in his lap.

She perches at the edge of the mattress, pushing her shoes off and letting them fall to the floor. “That was quite the display in the training yard this morning,” she says in a clear voice.

Everything he does is agonisingly slow. He grips the arms of his chair as he rises, slots the book back onto a shelf, and finally turns to face her. He is dressed in a simple black shirt and the breeches he usually sleeps in. His hair is half tied, his leather patch secured around his head, over the space where his left eye should be, sliced out by her own brother’s hand.

The low light of the hearth casts shadows in the sharp edges of his face, the lines around his mouth, the curve of his lips, proud but restrained. His remaining eye is trained on her, glaring at her like a hunter approaches prey.

“You were there to watch your brother, I thought,” he says in that softly threatening voice of his. He comes close enough to loom over her, though just far enough that their legs do not touch. “Or did you find your eye wandering?”

Jace’s first mistake had been to go down to the yard early. Aemond was always there in the mornings after flying Vhagar, to train with Ser Criston Cole until noon. His next mistake had been to succumb to Aemond’s goading. Their uncle is never one to use violence at first, not like Aegon who would brawl with a gull if he thought it offensive enough. Aemond likes to use his words to tease and probe, to lure an opponent to action, and Jace almost always falls for it. The moment her brother had challenged Aemond to a sparring match she knew what the outcome would be. Jace was a promising fighter, but he simply could not match Aemond’s height, strength, speed or skill.

Her heart sank for her brother, but it couldn’t force her attention away from Aemond. He moved like a dancer, all fluidity and control, like he already had the entire performance planned out in his head. He toyed with Jace, kept his defence up, only to knock his sword from his hands and place his own blade at his throat in a sudden flash of silver and steel.

She’d had to bite the inside of her lip to stop herself from smirking.

“You humiliated him, before spectators,” she says.

Aemond frowns in mock sympathy, taking her chin between his finger and his thumb to tilt her gaze up. “I would do it a hundred times over, for my own pleasure if not for anything else.”

She tilts her head. “And what of my pleasure?”

He hums cryptically. The corners of his mouth flicker upwards. “Your pleasure is only my concern within the confines of this room.”

He’s looking at her like that again, like he wants to devour her.

He traces his fingers down her throat, her collar, the neckline of her shift. His touch is sparse but familiar, exploring the curves of her body through the fabric, patterns she’s felt before, spaces he already knows and seems to have mapped in his head.

He leans in closer, his other hand pressing into the bed, invading her space, infiltrating her senses with the scent of smoke and lavender. She could drown in it, the scent of him.

She shudders as he runs his nose over her neck, following the heat of his breath with a lingering kiss against the sensitive spot of her skin. “What is it you want from me tonight?”

She has an idea in her mind, one she’s been toying with since she had seen the look of pride in his face in the yard.

“Lie down, on your back.”

He stands straight. Eye still fixed on her, he does as she says, making himself comfortable against the pillows.

She draws out every movement, just as he likes to do to her. She straddles him, settling her hips against the growing hardness in his breeches. She rests her hands against his chest, runs her fingers over his skin and the patch of silver hair revealed when she pulls on his shirt.

His hands are on her immediately, running up her thighs, gripping at her waist, bringing up the hem of her shift and tutting as though it has caused him some personal insult in hiding her body from him. He pulls it over her head and surges up to kiss her, capturing her lips with the desperation of a man starved. His kisses are always like this, slow and consuming, pulling her in closer and closer like he expects her to try to escape, like the only air he wants exists in her lungs.

It’s fast and overwhelming, and at first she’s content to just let it happen, to let herself be carried away in the currents of his wants and not her own, but once she’s a little more settled, she pushes him back against the bed.

He stares up at her, blood rushing to his cheeks, lips parted and panting. For all the times she’s seen his stoic exterior at court, she thinks he looks best like this.

“I thought you were concerning yourself with my pleasure?” she says, not bothering to contain her smile.

“I thought you liked it when I take what I want,” he retorts.

“I want you to do as you’re told.”

He huffs a laugh, but his gaze softens and his tongue wets his lips, his eye roaming appreciatively over her bare body, until he stops at her small clothes. All it takes is a few gentle rocks of her hips before his jaw tightens and his fingers dig deeper into the flesh of her waist. She swears she feels his hips twitch beneath her, but he makes no move to take what he wants.

She leans back on her haunches as she drags his breeches below his hips. By the sight of him, hard and reddened at the tip, she knows he at least finds something about this arrangement appealing.

She discards the rest of their clothing, his shirt, her small clothes, the leather eyepatch on his head. She pauses when she reaches for it, waiting for him to protest, but he doesn’t. He gives her a small nod and she slides it up to reveal the true extent of his scar, the twisted red flesh around the sapphire wedged in his socket.

She has seen it countless times before. She needs the reminder of who he is, how much he must hate her.

Now that they are both bare she resumes her position, pleasure like a flame licking up her spine as she traces circles over her centre. Aemond grinds himself against her, breathing with a strain in the back of his throat. The sound only makes the wanting feeling in her gut tighten. She can feel herself clenching over nothing, her body begging for more friction and the release it promises.

She feels she is wet enough to take him now, and her stomach drops in anticipation.

When he whispers her name, she knows she has him exactly where she wants him.

She closes her hand around his cock, giving it a few half-hearted strokes and lining it up to her entrance, only to hesitate. “I hear your mother is intending to invite Borros Baratheon to court,” she says.

Aemond catches his lip between his teeth, staring at the space where their bodies almost meet if she would only lower her hips.

“Might he bring one of his comely daughters? He has four, doesn’t he?”

Aemond huffs and meets her eye. His hands are still on her waist, his thumbs tracing circles over her belly. “Where did you hear this?”

She tries to pretend such a simple touch from him does not excite her or tempt her to relent.

Daemon has spies in the Queen’s household, not that she knows the specifics. Her mother had discussed the matter with her, expressing concern for the Hightowers’ intentions. It has been decades since a Lord of Storm’s End has stepped foot in the Red Keep, and Daemon believes their rivals are trying to close ranks, amass allies outside of the capital. Perhaps such a deal may be sealed with a marriage pact.

“What,” she breathes, trying to smile, “that his daughters are comely? I can only assume, for I’ve never met them you see–”

In the blink of an eye she’s beneath him.

Aemond brings a single finger to her lips. “I thought we had agreed not to discuss political matters in private,” he says.

“I did not realise the matter was political–”

He cuts her off when he snakes his hand down her body and pushes his thumb against her pearl. She hisses, her hips bucking to meet his touch.

“Are you trying to bait me, niece? Hmm? Is that what you came here for?”

She shakes her head as he circles over her. For such minimal effort on his part, it sparks something frustratingly bright in her, back arching, warmth settling between her legs and beneath her skin.

“Is that really what you want me to be thinking about? Wondering which one of the Baratheon girls is the prettiest?”

His fingertips tease over her entrance, but he doesn’t push them inside, instead they’re replaced by the head of his cock. She presses her lips together, determined not to make any kind of noise he could take for weakness, for wanting, but she feels it all the same.

“Presently, I’m only thinking about what I can see, and what I see is a spoiled little Princess, laid out beneath me. Poor thing, she’s trying to look smug, but I’m not sure I’m convinced, not when I’m about to fuck her tight, little cunt.”

Her pleading is mindless, falling from her lips as effortlessly as her breath. “Please… please… please…”

She wonders if it is her want or his own he eventually succumbs to. He pushes in slowly, delighted at the slight moan he elicits from her, sharing her air as she gasps at the pleasurable ache of being stretched out around him.

“I’ve heard rumours too, that Rhaenyra has been sending ravens to Highgarden,” he says as he starts to snap his hips against hers. “What business would your mother have with the Tyrells, I wonder?”

Rhaenyra has her own plans for a marriage pact, plans she’s known about for months. “What indeed?” she says, trying to smile as he ruts into her.

Aemond almost growls, burying his face into her neck. As his voice is harsher so are his thrusts. “My sister will sell you to a sickly little boy, is that it? Why would Rhaenyra want an alliance with the Reach?”

Because the King is little more than a breathing corpse and who knows how much life he has left in him. Because eventually, he will die, and they both know what will come next.

She’s always known her part in this, the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen. Her brothers may well fight in battles to defend their mother’s claim, but wars cannot be won without the necessary support. The Reach, The Riverlands, The Vale, The North, they must all be secured one way or another.

With his face hidden from hers she allows herself to admire the way his muscles move and flex under the smooth, pale skin of his arm. Since leaving childhood behind, he seems to have this idea of efficiency, with no tolerance for excess. His arms are slight, but defined where he trains with his sword each day, where he hauls himself onto Vhagar’s saddle and steers her around Blackwater Bay.

“It’s always been expected of me,” she says, tracing her hand over his skin, almost perfect, save for a few marks: a burn after an unfortunate encounter with Vermax when he was just a hatchling, a scar above his elbow where he fell from an apple tree, and crescent shaped indents from their last tryst. “I will do my duty.”

“Duty?” He stops, grabbing her by the neck so her breath hitches in her throat. He leans into her, pressing his forehead against hers, caging her between his body and the bed. She sees nothing but a single eye and a sapphire, nothing but contempt. “You’re the antithesis of it, crawling to your uncle’s bedchamber every night, begging to be fucked.”

Anger flares in her blood. She clamps her hand around his wrist and digs her nails into his skin, hoping it will mark him. “I have never begged for you,” she spits, teeth bared, lips grazing over his, “and I never shall…”

Her words fade on her tongue when he resumes a punishing pace, urging her closer to oblivion with every thrust.

“Oh there you go,” he coos, “that feels good, doesn’t it?” He’s on his knees now, one hand still on her throat, the other on her thigh, forcing her legs further apart, fingertips pressing painfully into her flesh.

She tries to pull away from his grip, pushing herself further into the bed amongst the pillows, but Aemond has always been stubborn and does not relent. She has nowhere to go, no other option but to take it.

“You’ll be sent off to some castle in a miserable corner of the world, live the dull life of a Lady. Your Lord husband will trade swords and shields for you like a brood mare and fuck his children into your belly each night.”

She feels her peak building within her, the weightlessness rising and rising, she can hardly take much more. “Do you believe I will think of you?” she says with a grin, “as he touches me, as he spills inside me…”

Aemond grunts, folding his chest over hers, brushing his lips over her cheek as he hisses, “wanton little whore. I am the one you seek out, and as long as you do, you are mine.”

It tears through her quickly, a spark that turns to flame, a piece of kindling caught alight, pleasure that reduces her simply to feeling, warmth and the absence of his weight on her body. She claws her nails into nothing, empty space where she expects to find his skin.

Aemond has pulled away from her, groaning as he comes, spilling over her stomach and thighs. She watches him, jaw slack, brows angled like he’s in agony.

She basks in the numbness her peak leaves behind as he drags his shirt over her skin to clean the mess he’s made with a touch that is soft and slow. His eye trails along her body to her face. She sees nothing in him, not amusement or satisfaction, not hatred or remorse, and yet he comes to lay beside her, turning her onto her side, settling against her back and putting his arms around her.

She allows it, too used to the feeling of lying in his bed, too used to the scent of sweat and smoke and lavender.

Aemond’s chambers are ruled by order, every book has its place on a shelf, he does not leave papers, clothes or used cups of wine lying around. The bedchamber lies on the south side of the castle, with a balcony overlooking the bay where two of them used to watch the ships leaving the harbour. She likes the intricate tapestries, scenes of Valryian mythology, and his fondness for the colour blue. Even if she cannot see most of it in the dark of night, the silence and stillness is comforting.

“Lord Corlys’ ship was attacked,” she mutters, placing her hand over his, where his palm against her stomach. “We cannot be sure if he even survived.”

“So I’ve heard,” Aemond says, “I’ve also heard Vaemond Velaryon intends to challenge the succession of Driftmark, should the unthinkable be true.

“And I assume the Queen and the Hand will support him in this endeavour.”

Aemond’s chest stills. “They will hear the petitions and pass their judgement,” he says, quietly but finally.

“Then the decision has already been made.”

Aemond’s breathing is deep, her hair fluttering against her cheek as he exhales. Her mother has a similar way of scolding her without uttering a single word, as if to say the answer should be obvious.

With a scoff she pushes his hand away and drags herself out of the bed. The cold air stings her skin and she makes short work of finding her night shift, discarded on the floor, and dressing herself.

“Lucerys has no claim to Driftmark,” Aemond says from the bed.

“And why is that?” she says shortly, grabbing her shoes from the foot of the bed.

He won’t say it, but the word is there, in the way he teases Jace, the way his family watch her and her brothers and stare at them across the throne room with nothing but disgust. It’s there in his indifference towards her beyond the walls of his bedchamber, avoiding eye contact, muttering under his breath, insults and backhanded compliments. But the last time he said it, it cost him his eye.

She turns to face him, a defiant glare through the darkness now that some of the candles have started to burn out.

“Coward,” she whispers.

He does claim to disagree.

With her shoes on, she moves towards the hidden door without sparing him another glance.

But she hears a ruffle of fabric, his feet against the floor as he follows her. His hand closes around her arm, hard enough it feels as though it might leave a bruise. He turns her into him, placing her back and his palm against the panelled wall.

“Stay,” he says.

“Surely you would not want to sully yourself, sharing your bed with a bastard.”

“But it’s different with you.”

“How? How is it different?”

He cups her face in his hands, begging her for something but never saying it. He leans in gradually, kissing her firmly. It’s easy to follow his lead, to let him slip his tongue between her lips, let him pull and tug at her delicate flesh, to feel him and lose herself to him. It makes her weightless all over again.

Once it was easy to love Aemond. They found friendship easily as children, even when they bickered and argued, because they could always forgive each other.

Some time ago she realised that love has always been destined to fade away, like summer changing into autumn, winter snows melting away with the spring. There is no place for it amongst the animosity between their families, causes they were born to, that neither of them will ever forsake.

Aemond pulls away but stays close to her, a hand on her waist, the other on her cheek. “I want you to stay.”

“And what then? What do you think could ever become of us?” The one-eyed Prince and the bastard Princess.

Suddenly she hates the stillness of this room, the weight of his silence in her chest.

Aemond’s hand slips from her cheek, his expression falling from pleading to indifference.

She leaves him standing there, bare chested and breathless, with no light to catch in the cut edges of his sapphire. She fades back into the shadows of the passageway, amongst the cold and the dark and the bones.

The rot has set in. The King will die, and both the Blacks and the Greens will seek to claim his throne. The empty space between her and Aemond can only ever grow.

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General taglist: @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya

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ecoamerica · 21 days

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merakiui · 2 months

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タコの花嫁。

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (female) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, non-con, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, arranged marriage, oviposition, breeding, royalty au note - in an effort to bring peace to two warring sides, you are engaged to the sea queen’s son.

If anyone is to blame for the abysmal diplomacy between the Land and the Sea, it would be your ancestors. Pompous and foolhardy, they thought they could rule the grand seas stretching out from the harbor, beyond weather-worn docks with their rotted, seaweed-strewn planks and briny fetor. The ocean was vast, unexplored territory—a dangerous, deceptive beauty harboring life far beneath unruly waves.

And your ancestors intended to claim it.

Sailors would recount tales of fishfolk—uncanny creatures who looked more marine than the two-legged mammals of the land. They’d raise mugs, each overflowing with ale, in drunken merriment, terrifying themselves with the mysteries of the deep, dark sea.

“It ought to give ya a proper scare straight to Davy Jones himself!” they’d say, voices lowered conspiratorially. “Soon as yer candle goes out and all ya’ve got’s the moon to guide ya… You’ll hear ’em slip through the water if yer listenin’ well enough.”

“You ever go and spy one up close?”

“I’d sooner see the Devil himself and let him keelhaul me before facin’ those cursed beasts!”

“The cut of their jib ain’t so pretty. Enough to give men like us a fright and we’ve seen all sorts of somethin’.”

“Monsters, I say! Monsters!”

Festivals were held to keep these beasts at bay—to prevent them from gathering the courage to creep up onto the land. Every year, during the summer solstice, pits were hollowed on the shore and bordered with stones. Flames licked towards the sky, red-orange fingers clawing for purchase amidst the stars above. Townsfolk would sing and dance late into the eve, bellowing songs passed through the generations. Children would skip up and down the beach, torches in hand, and cry out an old chant: “Fish for you and me are meant to stay in the sea! Should you see one on land, may the Heavens strike it down with a gentle, loving hand!”

Their excitement did well to ward off the fishfolk. Sometimes the lone child would spot one in the distance, peeking out from between the rocks before diving back under in a splash.

On land, humans were safe. On land, the fishfolk couldn’t catch them.

It was different in the sea.

Ships were destroyed in terrible tempests. The waves tossed them around as if they were nothing. Many sailors would find their demise at the bottom of the ocean, torn to shreds with shattered skeletons. Viscerally brutalized, they died with secrets on their tongues—secrets of the strange fishfolk who’d drag them down, down, down to a watery grave.

On one cold February afternoon, the octopus prince was brought into the world. In shadowed fathoms, a grand celebration was held. After so much time—misfortune after misfortune—one fry survived out of the entire clutch. He was round and soft and small, colored blue from exertion and fighting through the tug of the current to reach home. The Sea Queen met him halfway and embraced him, ecstatic tears in her eyes, for a mother’s love is stronger than any political power.

“My little Azul,” she said, stroking a hand along his cheek, “how precious you are.”

No ships were sunk; no lives were lost. It was a peaceful day for both the Land and the Sea. And it would continue to be so in the future. Every year on that same February, it was made a day of peace to honor the little prince.

A day of life, not death.

It was on that same February eleven years later when you were tossed into the frigid depths like a hatchling cast out of its nest. Similarly, your birth had been a wondrous occasion. Your parents brought five boys into the world, each just as adored as the last, but they had been hoping for a daughter. It was a miracle when their fervent wishes were finally granted. You were spoiled as all daughters often are, pampered and doted on by your family and the palace staff.

Your brothers, though protective and caring, were a troublesome and rowdy bunch. Kyffin was the eldest. Two years younger was Emyr, and another two years behind him was Owin. A year younger than him were twins Morcan and Martyn. They picked on you as all immature boys often do when caught up in sibling rivalries, aiming to be the only one their parents see. To prove themselves as the best, the strongest, the wisest.

So it was with a half-cruel heart that Emyr tossed you into the waves from where he stood in the rowboat.

“Only way to learn is with exposure!” he called down to you, watching as you struggled against the push and pull of the sea.

“C-Can’t!” you shouted back, choking on salt and flailing about. “E-Emyr, I can’t—can’t swim!”

“Don’t be silly,” Owin added with a sweet smile. “It’s how we learned. That old sod threw us right in. You’re lucky it’s us and not him. He was awfully mean with it, wasn’t he?”

“Terribly so.” Emyr watched your struggling a moment longer and clicked his tongue. He held the oar out just before you could slip under, and you clung to it with shaky hands. “Come on—let’s get you up here. You’re not gonna get it today.”

“Fin got it on his first try.”

“Fin gets everything on his first bloody try.”

Relieved, your heart pounding like a drum, you peered up at your brothers. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get it…”

“Nothing to apologize for. You’ll get it one day.”

“We’ll keep trying until then. And once you do, we’ll throw you a big party.”

“Really? Will you really do that?” Your expression brightened, but your brothers’ faces darkened. They saw the shadow before you did. Saw the webbed hands reaching out, the serrated teeth glinting in a sinister smile.

And then—

Owin leaned over, his arm outstretched. So fluid was his motion that it took you by surprise. “(Name), grab on! Hurry! Before—”

The rest of his warning was muffled by the water. You hardly had any time to brace yourself when you were yanked under, your nails raking across the wood of the oar as you went with the force of the pull. Salt stung your eyes when you cracked them open, peering frantically at blurry surroundings. Teal-green specks slid silently through the shadows, mismatched eyes flicking over your form. And then there was a high, raucous sort of chittering. Like a dolphin’s cry, loud and piercing. You squeezed your eyes shut and pressed your palms against your ears.

It only lasted a few mere seconds, but it felt like an eternity trapped in the coils of a creature you couldn’t comprehend. One moment you were holding your breath and the next arms were hooked around your torso, and you were pulled up and into the belly of the rowboat. Your hands flew to your throat, and you coughed up seawater while Owin patted you.

“It’s fine. It’s…okay,” Emyr muttered, his voice shot through with fear. It was the most shaken he’d ever sounded.

Blood fogged in the water, staining the tip of his harpoon. He gazed down at his hand. A deep, jagged gash ran angrily from palm to wrist. He hissed and closed his fingers in a tight fist.

“We gotta get back,” Owin was saying, still rubbing soothing circles into your back. “I’ll row. You rest.”

“Not good,” Emyr said instead, shaking his head in dismay as he watched your attackers retreat.

“We’re still in our waters, right? We didn’t go past the boundary, did we?”

“Let’s hope not.”

“We didn’t, right?”

“Let’s hope—” Emyr paused, collecting his words. “Let’s hope those monsters were in the wrong.”

“Father’s gonna kill us.”

“If not us, the monsters.”

Both brothers looked towards you. Your tunic was torn, stained through with saltwater and blood. You shivered all the way to shore.

Following that mishap, an official meeting was called between the Land and the Sea. The King—your father—met the Sea Queen at the border. He stood proud on his ship, peering down at her with fire in his old eyes.

“Your Majesty.”

The Sea Queen was just as formidable as those who came before her. Her tentacles unfurled as one, and if you looked at them long enough they almost seemed to take on the shape of an obsidian-colored crinoline.

“I believe my mother and your father made the terms quite clear all those years ago,” she said, a wave lifting her to meet the King at the deck of his ship. “So then, with that in mind, there should be no reason for us to meet under these circumstances.”

Emyr and Owin stood just behind their father. You peered through their legs at the Sea Queen, silently amazed. You’d never seen anyone quite like her before. At least, not a real person. You’d seen her in storybooks, depicted as a fearsome beast with devilish features, and though there was something intimidating about her gaze and build she appeared understanding enough. Her grey skin was sleek in the morning sun, her long, silvery strands tied up and pinned with an ornate hair ornament. She looked beautiful in a magical, enigmatic way.

“I couldn’t agree more,” came the clipped response of your father. “Alas, misfortune has brought us here.” He stepped aside to allow her to behold Emyr’s bandaged hand. “Harm has befallen my son and daughter. I suppose you might have an inkling as to why they find themselves in their current state?”

She frowned, but you couldn’t tell if it was out of sympathy or some other emotion. “Perhaps one of them can give reason to the wound now marring one of my subject’s sons.”

Your father glanced overboard at the snake-like merman cradled in the arms of another merman. They looked near-identical, their features unmistakable. He glanced back at Emyr, his gaze hard. “Go on then. Explain yourself.”

Emyr stepped forward. “With wholehearted respect, Your Majesty, it was out of self-defense. Your kind—they attacked us first.”

“You were in our waters!” one of the mers exclaimed, pointing a clawed finger towards Emyr. “It’s all your fault Jade got hurt!”

Owin hurried ahead, his hands gripping the taffrail. “He’s playing it up! It was a graze!”

“He could’ve died! You almost killed him!”

“That is enough,” the Sea Queen said, jutting an arm out to silence both sides. “I understand everyone is hurt here. Our feud lies in misunderstanding.” She gazed at you next. “Little one, we have yet to hear your story. Do share.”

You glanced at the guards, at Owin and Emyr, and then at father. He nodded encouragingly. “U-Um!” Shyly, you approached the Sea Queen. “My brothers were teaching me how to swim. I don’t know anything about whose water is whose. I just wanted to learn how to swim.” You met the fierce scowl of the mer holding his twin brother and quickly looked elsewhere. “He grabbed me before my brothers could pull me up.”

“Because you were trespassing. Anyone who tresspasses ought to—”

“Floyd.”

At the not-so-subtle warning in his father’s voice, he shut his mouth and snarled. His brother—Jade—was handed off to their father, who assessed his state with a frown.

“He will live, but it will take time for him to recover. My son is right. Your son could have killed him.”

“Just as your sons could have killed my sister!” Owin shouted, glaring.

Floyd stuck his tongue out, remorseless.

“It is impossible to know which side is in the wrong,” your father began, turning towards the Sea Queen. “Seeing as both have been injured, I am willing to apologize on behalf of my sons.”

“What?!” Owin’s head turned towards his father. “You’re bloody mad! Have you not seen—”

“Father,” Emyr interjected evenly. “We have nothing to apologize for. We were within our waters. We had no ill will towards the others. It was completely innocent.”

The Sea Queen hummed her contemplation. “The boundary was drawn for a reason, decided upon by those who came before us, and yet it does more harm than good. It is not for safety’s sake. It is to keep us divided—to ensure that neither side will ever know peace.”

“And you’re implying that we get rid of it?”

She nodded, quite serious. Everyone looked on in equal parts shock and disbelief. “Why do we continue to fight? It does nothing but open old wounds, rendering them incurable. Innocent lives are lost in petty squabbling. And for what?”

To that, no one could offer a smart reply.

“Therefore I propose peace. A union to welcome a new era—one in which we embrace one another as allies without animosity.”

“A union?” Your father raised a brow, suspicious but willing to listen. “I suppose it would be beneficial. My people would be free to travel the seas at their leisure.” “And mine would no longer have to live in fear of being thoughtlessly slaughtered and taken as trophies.”

“Unbelievable,” Orwin muttered.

Emyr elbowed him. “Knock it off.”

“We’ll collaborate on a contract. One that dissolves the invisible boundary that has been the cause for so much suffering. In order to attain true peace, I shall offer you my only son.” She glanced at you and then back at your father. “Your daughter shall marry him when they are of age.”

“What?! No way! Ew! Gross!” Your voice came out shrill and you shook your head in protest. “I don’t wanna marry an octopus! No, I won’t do it!”

Your father stood in front of you. “She’s my only daughter. If something were to happen—”

“Which is precisely why I bring up this engagement. Should they be betrothed, we as their parents will promise to uphold peace to give them bright futures and they will act as the first example of a human-mer alliance. Unions between humans and merfolk are unheard of, but is this not the best way to foster harmony between the Land and Sea?”

“I won’t do it! No! Don’t make me marry a gross—” Emyr gathered you in his arms, holding his uninjured hand over your mouth.

“Let the grown-ups talk.”

Owin frowned. “I still don’t agree with this…”

Your father mulled it over, his eyes glazed in thought. “Very well. We will create a contract—an official peace treaty.”

Both leaders shook hands and planned to convene at the end of the week to discuss further.

You watched the mers depart, each one slipping under the sea. Floyd was the last to go, staring at you with a mean sort of vitriol. And then he, too, dove under.

“He didn’t mean it, right?” you whispered to Emyr after your father gave the order to turn the ship around and head for land. “I won’t have to marry an octopus, right?”

Emyr could only offer a commiserate frown.

“She’s a brat,” Floyd spits. “Stupid, evil Two Legs.”

Jade chuckles and runs his fingers over the scar. “I consider it an honor.”

“Yeah, well, I think it’s messed up. She’s the reason you can’t ever swim naturally again. While she’s up there in her pretty, little tower, safe and sound, you’re still hurting.”

“It’s not as much of a hindrance as you may think. I’m not weak, mind you.”

Floyd grumbles. “Still. She’s mean.”

Azul gazes up at the palace, sighing dreamily. “She’ll be my wife someday. That’s what humans call it, yes? Husband and wife… What wonderful words.”

It’s been one year since the peace treaty. Since then, humans and merfolk have made an effort to get along. This is the second time Azul will be meeting with you. He’s nervous. The first time you went out to sea to greet him, and he’d gotten so anxious that he inked right then and there. His mother entertained you from where you sat in the boat with your personal guard. It was a mortifying experience—one that had taken him months to recover from.

Now he’s going to try to meet you in the shallows. Try is the key word here. He’s scared, all three hearts beating as one. Is it too late to reschedule?

“I can’t believe you’re actually okay with this. You that lonely?”

Azul turns to scowl at both twins, but it’s mostly directed at Floyd. “I never asked you to tag along. Leave me alone.”

Jade smiles. “And let the Queen’s little prince swim to his death?”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Sure you can. But what about when Two Legs gets ya? What then?”

“She wouldn’t do that.”

Floyd rolls his eyes. “You saw what her brothers did to Jade.”

“Because you tried to kill her.”

“Because she was in our territory!”

Azul huffs and pushes him away with a tentacle. “Regardless, we’re supposed to be on good terms now. You’ll break the contract if you try anything dangerous.”

“He’s right, Floyd.”

“Ugh. Whatever.” Floyd turns away, stubborn. “This is lame. I’m not stickin’ around.”

Jade lingers long enough to observe the way Azul lights up when he spots you on the stone steps. And then he disappears beneath the water.

Barefoot, holding your dress up and out of the way, you pad across the beach.

“Why are you here? I’m busy. My brothers are taking me into town.”

The smile that had been fighting to break out on his face frosts over. “Oh. I… Um…” Azul fumbles with the conch shell he’d collected on the way here. A gift for you. He made sure to study human speech patterns in the months leading up to this meeting. He’s fully prepared! And yet you look so displeased. “F-For you! I found it…”

You stare at the shell clutched in a dark tentacle. Tentatively, you reach for it. “Why?”

“Ah. W-Well, my mother says gifts are an important part of any bond. In the sea, we give gifts to the ones we care about. To friends and family and o-other halves…”

You turn the shell over in your hands. “We’re not friends.”

“Not yet,” he tries, but you shake your head.

“You ran away from me the last time we met. That’s not very friendly.”

His face flushes blue and he opens his mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. It wasn’t on purpose.

You’re already turning on your heel. “I don’t have time for this.” You toss the shell over your shoulder. Azul watches it land in the sand, just out of his grasp.

“W-Wait! I… I want to talk to you. Please don’t go. You’re going to be my other half one day, so I’d like to—”

But you’re already dashing across the beach to get to the stairs.

Azul deflates against the rock. Tears overflow in floods. Is it because of him? Is he to blame? Why don’t you want to be his friend? Is it because of the peace treaty? Why?

Why? Why? Why?

Azul doesn’t want to think negatively of you. Humans are sensitive creatures. He reads up on them in the palace library, poring over literature and textbooks in an effort to better understand you. But as the months pass and you seem to simply tolerate him for the sake of the alliance, he begins to suspect something.

It’s made apparent the next time he sees you, where you walk right past the beach to catch up with your brothers. He hides behind the rocks, two blue eyes following your figure until you’re out of sight.

Floyd was right. You are a brat.

And yet he can’t hate you.

On the eve of your eighteenth birthday, Azul meets you in the shallows.

Nowadays you send letters, preferring strained long distance over the personal intimacy of face-to-face relations. These exchanges are purely diplomatic. But now that he’s asked to meet with you, a rare occurrence, you’ve deigned to greet him in person. It’s the least you can do after he’s gone through the trouble to travel here. It’s been so long since you’ve seen him that he’s almost unrecognizable. You remember the round, baby-faced octo-mer from your childhood. The one who lounges against the rocks is leaner now—his features defined, jawline as sharp as his eyes. They cut through the gloom to find you.

“You wished to see me?” You’re in your nightwear, a silky gown with an even softer robe. A cool breeze blows across the beach, and you wrap your arms around yourself for extra warmth. “Azul?”

He hesitates, his gaze trailing up your legs. You’ve also changed a lot in the time you’ve been apart. You’ve grown taller, filling out in places he didn’t know humans could fill. What he’d give to hold you… His mother says he needs to be patient. Fickle thing that you are, you’re the reason he’s spent six years trying to appease you through letters—to win you over and be anything more than that “annoying octopus” you’re doomed to marry. Perhaps it would have been easier to act just as you do if it weren’t for the fact that he’d been elated at the premise of having someone to love. When his mother broached the idea in the days following her meeting with the Land King, he’d stared at her with wide, excited eyes.

“There’s a human girl who wants to be my friend?” he asked, to which his mother smiled and nodded.

More than a friend, actually, but then all he was focused on was finally getting to experience the one thing he’d never known or had: friendship.

Sighing, he foregoes formality and holds out a necklace. It dangles from the tip of his tentacle. Strung on a dainty, silver strand, pearls wink back at you under the moonlight. Azul averts his eyes, his cheeks a pleasant periwinkle.

“Happy birthday…”

“Oh.” You move in closer, taking the necklace from him. His tentacle pursues you, twining delicately around your wrist. “Um… What is it? Do you need—whoa!”

Azul tugs you closer. The sea laps at your ankles. Beneath a tapestry of stars, you meet his azure stare. His features are set with a determination you’ve never seen before.

“I want to start over.”

“Start over?”

“I’d like to be on friendly terms with you. We’re so cold. Distant…” Azul frowns, seeming unsure of what to say or do next. The tentacle laced around your wrist like a bracelet tightens its hold. “We’re to be wed one day. I want to make this work.”

You blink at him. He thinks he may have gotten through to you, having finally broken through layers of stone and ice, but then your nose scrunches and odium shimmers in your gaze.

“That’s impossible. I’m a human. How am I supposed to live with an octopus?” You shake him off with a huff. “I’m not sure what our parents think this will accomplish. I don’t want to be a pawn to be moved around for the sake of peace. I’m my own person.”

Azul’s expression sours. His lip curls up into a sneer. “Well, I don’t find it very enjoyable either. You’re not the only victim in this scenario.”

You exhale an exhausted breath. “Azul, I appreciate the gift, but it doesn’t mean anything if you’re only giving it to me to curry favor.”

I wasn’t, he thinks, but he doesn’t say that. Admitting it would be a weakness. Admitting it would mean coming to terms with an unrequited opinion.

“At least one of us is making a conscious effort.”

“At least one of us isn’t trying so hard. It’s pathetic.”

“You’re not obligated to accept my goodwill.” He smiles, smug. “Yet you do every time. I’d wager you enjoy my materialistic affections.”

“As if.” Despite this, you hold the necklace out of his reach when a tentacle flexes towards it. “It’s mine now.”

“So you are fond of my ‘pathetic’ ways!”

“I’m not!”

You jerk away with a vicious scowl, but your foot catches in the sand and you quickly find yourself tipping backwards. If not for the tentacles that coil around your waist to steady you, you would have fallen on your rear. Your chest heaves with adrenaline. Stunned, you stare at Azul.

“You…caught me,” you breathe, lips parted in awe.

“Did you think I’d let you fall?” He cocks his head at you, grinning playfully. “Why, I’d never! Unless it’s me you’re falling for, in which case I gladly welcome the—”

“You’re such a pest.” Untangling yourself from his grasp, which he allows without scrimmage, you step away from the water’s edge. He watches you secure the pearls around your neck, and his hearts stumble in his chest when you point an accusatory finger at him. “Don’t delude yourself with foolish nonsense. I have no interest in you.”

With an indignant harrumph, you start towards the palace.

“May we meet here tomorrow?” Azul calls out after you, testing his luck with what little chance he has.

“Don’t push it.”

“I’ll wait for you.”

“Good. Keep waiting, dummy!” You break into a sprint, hurrying off into the shadows.

Azul smiles at the empty beach. Whether or not you like him, it doesn’t matter. You’re to be his one day. You’ve always been, ever since he was eleven.

He’ll wait, even if you won’t show.

Ostensibly, twenty-one years wise, you’re getting married today.

Your gown is just as exquisite as your hair and makeup. Pearls cling to your throat and arms—classic wedding attire for merfolk. A thin veil shields the scheme in your stare.

This was an inevitability, but you’re determined to fight it until the end. No matter how quickly time seems to pass, you’ll do everything you can to stall and slow it.

Gripping a sharpened dagger in a resolute fist, you drag it through the long, sprawling train of your gown.

“As if I’d marry an octopus,” you grumble, cutting fine fabric until you’re permitted smoother movement. Gazing at yourself in the mirror, you scowl. “I’m no one’s bride.”

By the time the maids arrive to check on you, you’ve already stolen out the window.

The rowboat sways on choppy water. You’ve watched your brothers do this enough times to have the technique engraved in your memory. Your arms strain with the oars, every muscle screaming in protest, but you fight through the pain. The palace looks smaller and smaller with every passing minute. Eventually, you’re so far out that the land is but a mere speck.

It’s going well. You’re escaping towards a better future—a future without the octopus prince.

You glance towards the horizon. Your boat undulates with the waves.

You’ll miss your brothers, your maids, your personal guard…

Water slops over the edge. You yelp, startled. Have the seas always been so rough?

Despite everything, you’ll miss your father.

Just as you think this, your boat rocks to the side. You grab onto the edge to steady yourself, but it’s already too late. It tips over and you go with it, careening into the sea with a noisy splash. Twin shadows cut seamlessly through the murky water. You catch sight of a yellow eye before you propel yourself towards the sky, coughing and heaving once you break the surface. You grab onto the overturned rowboat, your dagger clutched in one hand.

You search the surface for them, eyes flicking to and fro in a frantic panic.

Somewhere… Anywhere… Where are you?

And then you find them, peering at you from the other side of the boat.

“Go on then,” you spit, glaring. “Kill me.”

Floyd bares his teeth at you. “This time I ain’t gonna leave a scar.”

“You know we mustn’t. That’s not why we’re here.” Jade smiles at you, but there’s something in his eyes that unnerves you. “Your Highness, you should know it’s poor manners to leave the groom on his special day.”

Floyd circles you restlessly. “S’not fair we gotta be nice when you’re so mean.”

“I’m not going to marry him.”

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice in that matter.”

“What’d Azul ever do to you?”

You attempt to answer that before realizing the truth. Nothing. He’s done absolutely nothing but be kind and understanding and patient. And I took that, chewed it up, and spat in his face.

“If you used that brain of yours, you wouldn’t have thrown yourself to the sharks. We can’t get to you on land.” “But it’s fair game in the sea,” Floyd finishes, every syllable dripping with pride. “Stupid Two Legs.”

“I’m inclined to agree. You’re not the brightest human. A pity.”

“My brother should’ve gutted you when he had the chance. Maybe then—”

You see the whites of Floyd’s eyes when he strikes, launching himself at you with a clawed hand, sharp, pointed teeth aiming for your jugular.

This is it. You’re dead.

…or not.

The searing pain never comes, nor does the impending laceration. You cling to the boat and watch dark tentacles rise from the depths to close around Floyd, ensnaring him in a firm hold. He thrashes, snapping his jaws like a deranged beast.

“Let go of me, Azul! Lemme at her! She’s a bitch! I’ll kill her!”

“There will be none of that.” Azul tuts. “I don’t intend to marry a corpse.”

Jade swims over to you. “My feelings aren’t hurt in the slightest, Your Highness. If it weren’t for your status and connection to Azul, I’d have disemboweled you ages ago. Quite a relief for you, yes?”

You swallow your horror, allowing him to detach you from the boat so that Azul can turn it over. A tentacle curls around your waist, lifts you from the water, and places you back in the boat. You stare at your hands. They’re trembling. You can hardly hold the dagger properly.

It takes some convincing and a lukewarm apology from you, but Floyd promises to be good. He doesn’t do anything as you’re pulled back to shore, but he does stare at you for the duration of the trip, his eyes tracking your every movement. You press yourself into the belly of the boat, defeated and riddled with anxiety.

Your father isn’t pleased. When you see his enraged expression, the debate dies on your tongue. “You are to marry the prince,” he seethes, pulling you aside, “or else you jeopardize the peace of our kingdom.”

You’re washed and fitted in a new dress. Guards are stationed at all possible routes to prevent another escape.

When you walk down the beach to meet Azul in the shallows, your veil shields the sadness in your stare.

The ceremony carries on without incident. Floyd watches from the water, lurking like Death. You speak rehearsed vows in robotic monotone, mindlessly floating through the rigmarole like it’s second nature. Azul smiles at you through it all, sweetly smitten.

It’s a nightmare lived in real time.

Humans and mers alike congratulate you, cheering for this momentous occasion. Your tongue is numb by the end of it all. You’ve expressed faux gratitude so many times that it hurts to even force the words. And now, as night descends and the party kicks into full swing, you’re left reflecting on the day.

Freedom feels so far away. You’ll never know it again, will you?

Azul guides you away from the crowd. Firelight grows dim with the distance. Eventually, you find yourself taking refuge in a tiny inlet cut into the beach. A rocky outcrop hides you from the moon’s spotlight.

“I’m not upset,” Azul murmurs, curling a tentacle up your leg. “But Floyd is.”

“His brother’s the one who hurt me all those years ago.”

“That was before the union.”

“I’m not letting it go.”

“Perhaps not now, but you will. One day.”

You don’t believe him.

“Our people are at peace. Aren’t you pleased, my love?”

You shove him away, gathering heaps of your dress to walk in calf-deep water. “I’m not your love.”

“Legally, you are.”

“That means nothing to me. Absolutely nothing.”

Azul sighs. “Even now, after everything, you’re still trying to flee.”

“For good reason. I don’t want to be tied down.”

Azul inches closer. Another tentacle wraps slyly around your ankle.

“You’re so beautiful. I feel like the luckiest mer in the sea. To be able to call you my own… My beautiful bride.” He pulls you closer. You resist weakly. “Now that we’re alone I can finally tell you the very thing I’ve thought of ceaselessly for years.”

A tentacle slides up your leg, straying closer to your inner thigh. You flinch away.

“Azul, wait. I don’t want—”

“I love you.”

You squirm in his hold, attempting to thwart the tentacles that grab at your every limb. You trip over yourself in the process. This time Azul doesn’t catch you. Water laps at your dress, soaking through at once. He’s radiant beneath the moon. Dreading his touch, you scoot as far from him as you can get in the water, hoping to reach land. Azul seizes your wrist and pulls you into his arms. You fight him with more force.

“No… No, let go of me! Release me!”

“Why should I? You’re mine now. Is it not customary for a married couple to consummate their new bond? We do something similar in the sea.” A tentacle brushes your veil back so that he can look upon your pretty face. “I’d take you to a quiet space in the seagrass, lay you down in the sand, and then—”

“I don’t want that! No!” You lash out, swinging blindly. A tentacle shoots out to stop your arm before it can smack him. “Azul, please—”

“I was patient. I waited and waited in hopes that you might warm up to me. I cherished you in silence. I learned your language. Your customs. Your habits. I wrote to you. Traveled to meet you. And yet you look at me as if I’m a monster…”

It’s not the devastated look in his eyes or the edge in his voice that scares you. It’s the startling gentleness with which he handles you. Tentacles loop around your body, exploring beneath your gown. You wriggle in discomfort, yelping when suckers brush against the frilly garter secured around your thigh. Azul hums and holds you up in his tentacles, using two to spread your legs so that he may slide it from your leg.

“I wasn’t forceful. I courted you kindly. You accepted all of my gifts. You wore them proudly and I thought—I knew you would love me, too. You were mine from the moment our parents signed that agreement. And if you leave me, you’ll break a political promise and then our kingdoms will go to war and I’ll be sure to collect the heads of your family first. Each one of them, and you will watch as I bring ruin to the kingdom you love so fondly.”

“N-No… Please stop. Please.”

“I’ve waited ten years for you.” A tentacle hooks around your panties. You thrash again, shaking your head at him. He remains unconvinced, watching with gleeful eyes as your nudity is revealed to him. “And aren’t you an angel? Oh, you’re so pretty…”

Like your hopes, your panties are cast aside.

The tip of a tentacle prods curiously at your pussy. Your breath hitches.

“W-Wait! You… You can’t.” His eyes find yours, and you swallow the rising sob. “T-That can’t go inside… It won’t fit. It won’t—”

Azul smiles. “Of course it will. The human body is capable of marvelous feats.”

Even though it’s pointless, you struggle. “I can’t! Please… Azul, I’m scared. Please don’t do this…”

A lone tentacle slides into your hand. Thoughtless, you hold tight.

“My love, there’s no need to cry. I’m not going to hurt you.” He brings you closer, kissing your tears away. “I’m here for you. I’ve always been here, even when you didn’t seem to need me.”

You hiccup, your chest heaving. It’s not lonely for long, for he pulls your dress down your shoulders. Your breasts spill free and are quickly cradled in cold hands. Azul watches your expression with an intense focus while he rolls your nipples between his fingers. You grit your teeth, refusing to respond. But then the tentacle between your legs finds your clit and a sucker affixes to it, suctioning slowly. You gasp and throw your head back, bolts of pleasure racing up your spine. It happens in a white-hot flash. You slacken in his grasp.

Azul laughs, astonished. “Did you cum? Already?”

“Nooo,” you whine, closing your hand around the tentacle once more. Another one strokes your cheek. “You’ve had your fun. Now let go of me…”

“What a silly demand.”

He tugs on your nipples. You groan, lashes fluttering. “Ooh… Stop. No, stop it… Don’t touch there. Not—haa… Not there!”

“You’re so sensitive.” He drags the underside of a tentacle along your cunt and shivers. “And so wet… Is this your season? Do humans experience such a thing?”

You’ve no idea what he’s referring to, but before you can dwell on it he leans down to take your perky bud in his mouth. Your free hand grabs at his hair, pinning him to your chest. His tongue laves across it, warm and wet. You shouldn’t enjoy it so much, and yet you can’t stop yourself from crying out.

He hums against your skin, beaming like a devil. You can’t hate him. He’s your husband. He’s yours. You shouldn’t hate him.

You’re falling apart in his tentacles, grinding down to chase the bliss provided by the underside of the appendage clinging to your pussy. The sinful squelch of skin on skin fills the quiet inlet. The scent of sex and salt intermingles. It’s wrong and it’s right. It’s instinct, carnal and corrupt. Azul groans against your breast, your teat between his teeth.

“Az—ooh!” You tug on his hair, insatiable. Your brain is fogging over with lust. You don’t want to lose yourself in this madness. You can’t. “N-No more… No more.”

But he’s not listening. He pinches your other nipple between his fingers, and that’s all it takes for you to unravel.

In the aftermath, the tapered tip of a thicker tentacle squirms between your thighs. Mindlessly, you spread your legs and lift your hips for him. It presses in shallowly, a jarring experience.

“Not inside—don’t! You can’t!”

Azul pulls away from you, his expression scrunched in woozy ecstasy. “Why not?” he mumbles, smiling stupidly. “You’re my bride. It’s only fair…”

Before you can bicker, he kisses you. His tongue pursues yours in a sloppy tango. You lick into his mouth, desperate and dazed. Lost in a sea of salacity, shipwrecked on an island of forgotten inhibitions.

The tentacle pushes through rings of tight, slick muscle. Tears spring to your eyes. It feels weird and foreign, so unlike your fingers. He holds you close, minding his strength and pace. It fills you slowly, reaching places you’ve never been able to feel. The lust numbs your senses and gives way to something animalistic—a base desire you’ve suppressed. Azul rocks the appendage deeper until it’s pushed up against the entrance to your womb, squeezed snugly in your warm walls.

“I-It’s in…” you mumble once he’s broken the kiss, a strand of saliva connecting your mouths. “It’s really…inside me…”

Azul kisses your cheek and pets you with a tentacle. “We were made for each other.”

Surely not, you think, but it feels so when he draws back and thrusts in. Maybe he’s right.

He fucks you gently, savoring every single sound you make. He tells you he loves you, whispers it over and over like it’s prayer. You nod dumbly, grabbing at his hand to hold it. The both of you are gasping in unison, chasing cloud nine. In just a few more deep strokes, his tip bullying its way to your womb, he finally finds his end. A thin substance fills you up in plentiful amounts. Distantly, you think it’s water until he drags your hips further down. Your mouth drops open in a strangled scream as something round and gelatinous passes through. It settles in your womb, and you know right away that it shouldn’t be there.

You panic. “W-Wait… Wha—Zul… Stop… No, I don’t want—”

“It’s all right,” he breathes, his mouth on your shoulder. He soothes you with soft shushes and even softer kisses. “You’re okay. I’m here.”

You dig your nails into the tentacle curled in your palm just as a second orb squeezes through. He groans, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Finally…” He pants, a wobbly smile stretching on his delirious countenance. “Finally, my love, my dear—oh, my beloved bride!”

He cradles you like a mother would a newborn. You lie there as he fills you, your voice hoarse from babbling and bewailing. These things—little orbs of jelly—are stuffed into your womb, and by the time you surpass twenty you lose count and blank out, trembling through yet another orgasm. You’re not sure how many more he has left or how many more you can possibly fit. It feels too good to think about that.

“Bigger. They’ll get bigger. You’ll look so pretty—round and full and soft.”

Dizzy, you glance at the bloated dome that is your belly. Your gown strains over it, an impressively deceptive size that you almost mistake for pregnancy. That’s when it clicks. Eggs. These are eggs.

“I’ll make sure they survive. All of them—as many as I possibly can. I’ll stay by your side. I’ll keep you content. I’ll fill you with love—so much love—an abundance of it, and you’ll never know emptiness again,” he rambles, resting a tentacle over your distended middle.

It’s not just a senseless sweet nothing. It’s a promise.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere azul ashengrotto #yandere azul x reader #yandere azul ashengrotto x reader #yandere azul #n/sfw #tw: noncon #tw: breeding #tw: oviposition

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forlix · 3 months

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𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀・767 / 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴・felix x gn!reader / 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲𝘀・fluff, established relationship, they're in love your honor, pt. 2 of me being very normal about paris lix

𝟬𝟮:𝟮𝟭 — The stars hang over your heads like rice wine dripping into a navy basin. Paris sprawls over your shoulders like a stretching sphinx. Yet the world, in all its rare, tranquil beauty, does not exist.

Nothing exists except for you. You, with your hood pulled over your head and the drawstrings tightened so the fabric scrunches around your wind-bitten cheeks. You, with a few strands of hair escaping from the cotton ring, catching on your eyelashes as they flutter, slipping between your lips as you speak. You, you, you.

Sometimes, Felix experiences something strange. It happened when you walked into the kitchen with puffy eyes and terrible posture, a spot of toothpaste on your chin. It happened at the sight of the warm smile you gave the barista as you ordered at your favorite cafe. It happened when he found you faceplanted into your keyboard at 3 A.M., the last fifteen pages of your research paper comprising nothing but the letter ‘g.’

And it happens now, as you recount the embarrassing situation you found yourself in that afternoon, sporting a smile that splits your face into two. Not down the middle, but slightly off to the side, the way it does when you’re really laughing.

Cue the telltale signs: an explosive blossoming in his chest, a mounting tightness in his throat, a feeling like he’s been ripped out of his body and, from a distance, finally recognizes himself for what he is.

A mortal man tasked to contain the galaxy that is his love, every sun and moon, every asteroid, every scrap of space debris belonging to you.

How he hasn’t yet burst at the seams is beyond him.

“I complimented the cab driver’s ass,” you say.

He blinks at you. “What?”

“I was trying to—”

You’re overcome by a breathless giggle, your interlocked hands swinging between your bodies.

“I was trying to thank him. Merci beaucoup, right? And then he looks at me like I’m crazy and drives away, and then it hits me.”

“Oh.” Felix says, and he, too, starts to smile, his mirth melting his face like a spreading flame. “Oh, no.”

“Merci beau cul,” you sigh. “I told him merci beau cul.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“A Freudian slip?”

“No wa—”

Your expression goes suddenly contemplative.

“Maybe, actually.”

His bark of laughter echoes around the empty grounds, accompanied with your insistence of you should’ve seen that thing, babe. He takes your word for it.

Your jetlagged adventure reaches climax some ten minutes later. You let go of Felix’s hand to run the rest of the distance, heels kicking up puffs of dust. The land silhouette sinks away, replaced by golden speckles that trickle into his field of vision until they’re all he can see.

At the hill’s pinnacle, you stand in silence. The strands of hair floating around you prior now thrash in the wintry winds, and you’ve swapped your wild grin for a stupefied gape. Your eyes glisten like mirror lakes, the city before you reflected in the pools of your pupils, cordoned within the shores of their lids.

There it is again. That familiar feeling of being torn away, of being crushed by the tonnage of his amour. He opens his mouth because he needs to, because he’ll burst at the seams if he doesn’t, just barely keeping the tremble in his voice at bay.

“Can I take a picture of you?”

You look at him, confused.

“Only me?” He nods, and you hesitate. “Why?”

“Just trust me.”

And you do, with everything in you.

You turn your back to the nightscape. He positions himself a few feet away and slots his eye against the viewfinder. The lighting does you no favors with how it plunges you into shadow; you do Paris no favors with the radiance of your smile. Click.

Soonafter, you drift back to his side, plant a soft kiss to his cheek. He gazes at the live preview without a word, clutching his camera as tightly as if it's a piece of a shooting star.

Gently, you dust a finger beneath his chin. He lifts his eyes to meet yours, discovers your face meager centimeters away.

You will never know what you do to Felix, not to the fullest extent. But there are times, he thinks, when you have your suspicions, and this is one of them.

“You okay?” You whisper, your hand lifting to the curve of his cheek, and he slides his own around your wrist, the plush of his thumb nestling over your pulse.

“Yes,” he whispers back, an understatement of prodigious proportions.

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@ur-boyfiend・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa・@randomwimp・ @automaticpersonabatpaper・@aceofvernons・@linos-kitten・@newhope8

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spacedace · 8 months

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Reluctant War AU Part 2

Part One

...I ended up writing more for that Reluctant War AU...Like. Wrote this before work and started on part 3 with plans for part 4 more.

this was supposed to just be a brain worm what happened (also thank you @catastrophic-crow for the AU name <3 <3 <3 Also, also: welcome to the cult of Ancient of the Speedforce Elle! Membership includes nonsense, shenanigans and chaos haha)

Gotham had always been a place for ghosts.

Every corner haunted by death and tragedy.

Every street stained red at least once in its many years.

Every dark shadow holding the faint shadows and shades of the dead.

Gotham was, before all else, a grave yard.

Jason had known that his entire life. Every kid born and raised in the Alley did. Death came fast to Gotham’s streets. Especially for those the rest of the city turned its back on. He did his best to lighten the reaper’s load when it came to the people that called Crime Alley home. Well, mostly. He’d certainly added names to old Death’s list before, when the occasion called.

When the armies of the dead descended upon Gotham, the only surprise Jason could feel was that those white wearing pieces of shit had dared to try and hunker down in his city.

It was a sentiment shared by most of Gotham’s fine citizens. By the city itself - herself? Something to ask later, if there was a later - even if the impossible, living shadow that rose up out of Gotham’s many dark corners was anything to go by. He knew, almost instinctively, that the entity - skin of cracked pavement, mouth a bridge suspended too wide across the face, eyes of CCTV camera lenses and body built brick by grimy, bloody brick of the sharp skyline - was Gotham. Not a ghost but something bigger, greater. Something awfully, terribly alive in all its horrible, noble glory. His city, manifest in the shape almost human beneath the green glow of the torn apart sky above.

Phantom’s armies arrived without warning as they had everywhere else, and their enemies poured out in unforgivably unmarred white suits to meet them. Horrible and garish against the Gotham streets. How they’d ever managed to slink by unnoticed while being so blatantly, clearly not of Gotham Jason wasn’t sure he’d ever know.

If either side thought this would be like the battles they fought before, they were mistaken.

Gotham was a place for Ghosts.

A place the dead piled up, lingered well beyond their deaths. A place where the rules were different from everywhere else in the world. Where crime was rampant and chaos reigned but at the end of the day people said their thanks that they were born to this hellhole and not so cursed to call anywhere else in the world home.

The dead came to fight

And Gotham, a thing so alive it was sickening to look upon, rose up to fight right along side them all.

The agents were ready and prepared for the incursion of the dead. It’d been two weeks since the first volley of attacks. Two weeks spent shoring up defenses and ramping up weapons and strategizing ways to kill what was already dead. They were, as best as they were able to be considering how endless the armies that came for them, prepared.

They weren’t prepared for Gotham.

Weren’t prepared for the city itself to rise up and take spectral, eldritch shape. Jagged building spire and shattered glass teeth bared in a snarl that spanned miles. Screaming rage in a voice made of gunfire and the concussive boom of explosions and the shrieks of a furious crowd.

Weren’t prepared for its people to ignore the gentle ushering of the dead trying to push them away to safety and instead press forward to fight shoulder to shoulder with the ghostly armies.

Weren’t prepared to have brick and bottles and trash and debris rain down upon them from the jeering living. Weren’t prepared for dirty faced children with hard eyes to light up rags stuffed into chipped beer bottles filled with gas and kerosene and throw them with more speed an accuracy than any professional baseball player. Weren’t ready for Gotham’s motley crew of terrifying Rogues to band together with the citizens they so often accosted and worried and bring down wave after wave of chaos and Goons.

Weren’t prepared for Red Hood to swap out his rubber bullets for the real deal and start mowing the fuckers in white down, his own crew at his back, the rest of the Outlaws on their way.

The Justice League was trying to find a peaceful resolution. Trying to play go between to the US Government and the infinite dead. Too wound up in US politics to side with the dead outright, too disgusted by what the American government had done to ever want to stand with them. All it had gotten them was spun wheels and confusion and the slow creeping realization that the time to try and play negotiators had well passed.

Red Hood wasn’t a member of the Justice League.

He had no obligation to try and find a way to talk things out.

What he had was a grave he’d dug his way out of, enough ammunition to arm a sizable country, and a burning need to make things right.

Gotham had always been a place for ghosts, and Jason had long accepted that he was one of them.

Haunting the streets he’d survived as a child, the city he protected as Robin, the family he’d loved and lost a thousand and one times before and after his death.

The sky cracked open above his home, and it was not an invading army that came rushing out but a native one. Friends, neighbors, strangers on the street you caught from the corner of your eye. The people of Gotham knew their own and fought for them. Only Gotham was allowed to fucked with Gotham and they’d been screwed over enough by the government themselves to know what side they were on.

He lifted his guns and fired, teeth bared in vicious satisfaction beneath his helmet as white was splattered bright red.

A hissing electric whine of a weapon, a flash of green from the edge of his vision.

“Down!”

He was thrown bodily to the cracked and ruined street beneath him, the body shielding him warm and living as one of the agent’s weapon fired a blast of energy right where he’d been a second before. He’d seen that same weapon reduce one of the raging dead to dripping green and screams of agony the dead should not be capable of making.

Before he could shove himself up and respond in kind, the body above him was in motion and the air above him cracking with the snapping-popping-roar of a gun of a much higher power than even what he had. The fucker in white that had shot at him dissolved into a mist of red viscera, body seizing and shuttering in the briefest moment it had before it was obliterated completely.

“Watch yourself.” He looked up - and up - and wondered at the lovely, fierce face he found staring down at him. “Even without shooting at them you’re Liminal enough to trip their sensors.”

She was tall enough to be an amazon, six inches in height on him at least. Body strong beneath the pitch black armor she work - as deep and dark as the depths of space, etched with starlight, a familiar crest upon her chest in the dizzying burst of a supernova - she held herself with confidence. Strands of hair the color of a warning sunrise escaped out from beneath the helm she wore, bright against her pale skin, warming the glass-sharp teal eyes that had pinned him in place.

The hand not holding the gun she’d just used to delete the asshole that had just tried to shoot him - a strange, impossible thing that made him taste lightning at the back of his throat to look at it - stretched out to help him up.

He accepted it.

Something pulsed to life in his chest. A piece forgotten where it’d been left behind, half buried in grave dirt and broken pieces of a casket he’d clawed his way out of. It burned like a hot coal in his chest, froze him with the same aching cold of a blizzard, crackled his nerves to life with lightning even as his brain popped and fried with the same sizzling energy.

On his feet, hair on end and body and Core pulsing with the need to fight, to rend and tear and scream for all done to him, his people, his home, he met the eyes of the woman before him. Her cool gaze softened, just a moment, just a second as she seemed to realize what had happened. Her hand, lighter than the armor she wore should allow it to be, tightened on his just a moment, mouth tilting from determined frown to soft understanding.

Gotham had always been a place for ghosts.

Jason had long accepted that he was one of them.

---

Part Three

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #jason todd #jazz fenton #GIW #reluctant war au #ghost zone goes to war #ghost king danny #liminal jazz #halfa jason #sorta kinda #he's waking up alright #anger management #if you squint but if i do end up writing even more of this it'll be a thing lol #spirit of gotham #gotham spirit #eldritch gotham spirit #tw death #tw violence #implied gore #gothamites take one look at the GIW and are like: yup time to fuck some bitches up #the entire city has been itching for a chance to fight the US government after all the times they got cut off after a disaster #ghosts are trying to evacuate them and they're like: Nah we're good #Gotham Girl Scouts get badges for making molotov cocktails and knife fighting you can't convince me otherwise #Outlaws are gonna show up to find Jason has somehow collected yet another tall red head that can kick his ass #They're convinced he has the world's most specific meta ability with how many he ends up running around with #Bruce in mid convo w/ Waller trying not to kill her suddenly has his *one of my kids is Up To Something* senses go off

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roseglazedlens · 5 months

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⦑ seeking the light ⦒ ✧.*

NANAMI KENTO X FEM! READER SYNOPSIS: Nanami receives his final wish before passing, with you by his side in Kuantan, Malaysia. CONTENT: character death. SMUT MDNI. S2E18. hurt/comfort, unprotected p in v, oral (f! receiving), body worship (lots), missionary, slow sex, light choking, pet names (darling). briefly mentions haibara, gojo. A/N: nanami girlies, hope you guys are recovering (i am still struggling rn)... sending you all hugs and a care package. « 3.3 k words | masterlist | ao3 | reblogs appreciated! »

A body moves on its own accord in its nature to protect. For Nanami, it comes with a cost this time. Even now, at his final breath, even when his numbed, scorched body pleads otherwise, fractured beyond repairable, Nanami chooses someone else’s life over his. There isn’t a doubt about this choice in his mind. All this fighting, all this suffering, this sacrifice—it was for someone worthwhile. For a generation with bright futures ahead of them, not meant for battles like these.

Nanami doesn’t see his act as a virtuous gesture. After all, this is his job, and protecting children is his duty. Perhaps part of him thinks he a coward to stand compliantly and let Mahito end his life, taking the easy way out.

His only regret—not being able to say goodbye to you. Even when all that remains is a silver of consciousness, you are his last memory. He thinks about how you are praying and waiting for his safe return at home, hating himself for not being able to give you the simplest things in life.

“Nanamin…”

In his hazy mist, he hears Itadori’s voice. Lost of vigor, echoing through the isolated platform of Shibuya station with the two of them burrowed deep in this mess. Poor child, he’s about to cry. That’s not a good look on a young man like him.

“Itadori-kun… You’ve got it from here.”

His eyelids are forced to close as the pain becomes unbearable, embracing the cold blackness behind his eyes.

But in that darkness, Nanami isn’t alone.

Rays of light catches up to him, scorching the path ahead of him: burning, igniting, freeing. It illuminates a straight road that leads him into the end of darkness. Nanami had never seen this road in his life, but when he did just now, for some reason, an overwhelming urge makes him walk down this path.

As he tries to walk, something behind his ear cries out his name, asking him to close his eyes once more. Something in him obliges to do so.

…

“Kento?” Someone calls out.

There are sounds of children giggling away, adults conversing casually in another language accompanied by tunes from local street performances. And most prominently, Nanami hears the waves, rhythmically resonates when it crashes against the shore. He blinks open his eyes.

Light sharply enters his sight, wincing, shielding his face with a risen hand. A shadowed figure stands in front of his sight, slowly becoming apparent as his eyes adjust to the light.

And it’s you, clutching a smile on your face. Your hair catches sun streaks in beachy strands, cheeks sparkle with sand speckles that illuminates your face in some kind of holy light. The clouds, voices and shore freeze when you giggle in your own little world.

“Darling...?” He speaks hollowly as if this is just a memory, fearing that it is, that means it’s all over for real. “Where—am I?”

The world moves again, sounds beginning to rise up into murmured chatter, and his gaze raises in line with the horizon where the sky meets the sea, looking into the deep blue beyond.

“By the beach, sleepyhead. The book’s no good?” You giggle once more, but this time the world doesn’t stop with you.

Nanami has a finger prop up a page in an opened book. He finds himself wearing a tropical button up and pants sitting on an inflatable chair with sand between his toes. “I guess not.”

He doesn’t remember when he got here or how he got here. But Nanami knows exactly where this place is. A famous beach in the east coast of Kuantan, Malaysia—Teluk Cempedak. He saw this view on a magazine once and told himself he would travel here on his day off. That was two years ago. So this is what it looks like in person?

“Did I sleep for long?” He asks.

“Long enough for me to get the both of us something to eat.” You say as you pass an ice cream cone to him. He turns to grab it, and when he does, Nanami’s neck snaps to the seat next to him. A monkey sits comfortably by his side with its grin stretched wide, surprising him so much he drops the ice cream onto the hot sand.

Nanami hears a few tiny click of shutters as both the monkey and you giggle in unison. The camera lens point directly at him.

“You got me. Very funny now.” Nanami sighs, but behind that irritated frown, there is a smile that he reserves only in your presence.

On cue, the monkey reaches over you as you try to enjoy your ice cream, snatches it off your hands, and escapes across the beach.

The two of you stand in shock for a moment, staring at each other, before bursting into quiet smirks and giggles. When the laughter subsides, Nanami brings you close, landing a kiss on your soft lips. He sees his own reflection in the glaze of your eyes, and he realises he haven’t seen himself so carefree in a long time, especially not since he went to Shibuya.

“So, does that mean you won’t make me delete the photos?”

“Since I’m in a good mood, I’ll let you keep it this time.” He says, then corrects himself as you light up. “As long as Gojo doesn’t get his hands on it.”

“What’s he going to do with a picture or two?” You play with your phone, nervously fumbling the screen.

“Knowing that guy, blackmail. Probably.”

“Well… please don’t get mad at me.”

That is when something dings in his pocket consecutively. He reaches for his phone, and he sees the name Gojo Satoru on his screen, spamming rows of laughing emojis.

“I’m sorry! Gojo already saved it. I can’t unsend it anymore.” You whisper, retreating with your head hang low.

Nanami sighs again, but this time with forgiveness. It doesn’t matter to Nanami anyway. Small things doesn’t matter when he’s with you. He kisses your lips to reassure you. “That’s okay. You’re okay. I’m not really upset.”

And it is at this moment, you can hear a roar of music in the background. Some local nostalgic tune, even if he had never heard this song before. Nanami’s feet taps to the beat of rhythm, and an idea surfaces in his head.

“My lady.” He stands to lean his torso into you, mesmerizingly gentleman. “May I have this dance?”

You hesitate at first, an onslaught of eyes staring at his bold gesture in the middle of a fairly crowded beach. Nanami looks up at you, his drooping eyelids and focused gaze only makes him ever the more persuasive. His charms can’t be denied. Reluctantly, you reach for his hand.

Nanami immediately pulls you in to a dance. Jiving through the sand forming love trails with your bare feet, letting the humid wind sweep and sway through the air. He spins you with a raised hand, and when you do, you notice the many pair of eyes on you, momentarily embarrassed.

“They’re watching, Kento…” You whisper.

“Let them watch.” He whispers back into your ear.

It starts with lively children weaving through the crowd to find the lone couple dancing. They punch their fists clumsily in the air, people cheering and awwing, and suddenly, more people joins, forming a circle. Dancing without any concern of the world. A conga line forms, and the crowd livens in cheers and chants when the two of you leaves the dance circle.

“Look what you’ve done.” You say.

“You know I am only charming when I’m not at work.”

He picks up his phone, finding almost ten texts from Gojo with his face Photoshopped in different memes. You laugh at some of them, even though Nanami seem annoyed. He powers down his phone before you get to see more, in case it gives you any ideas.

“That’s it. No more work texts on vacation. This trip is about us, and I’ll make sure you have a great time.”

And so he did. He took you to the best curry mee in town, and you had a sip of your teh tarik while overlooking onto the tide. He teases you with a tired loving smile over how you gawk at your food as you eat the kampung delicacies. Something you two would never have eaten in Japan, or Denmark, when he brings you home to meet his grandfather—and shows you that he intends to marry you.

But that’s not just all of his plans. Kuantan has much bigger delights than just the countryside; you took a taxi to all these places that Nanami briefly saw in a magazine. He tries painting batiks (and finds out it’s harder than it looks), walking and admiring local vendors, shop displays until it’s time for dinner again and you had the loveliest Nyonya style seafood that fuses between two cultures.

As the sun sets, there is one final spot Nanami wants to take you. You see the big Kuantan sign as you take a high speed elevator all the way to the top of the Skydeck. And it’s just you and him alone in the breeze of the night, watching streets light up with traffic, illuminating into the same horizon as before.

“Thank you for making my last day memorable.” He speaks into the deep dark sky, not a moon or star in sight.

And at that moment, you know he realises that none of this is real. That his body—or whatever’s left of it—is still back at Shibuya. But for whatever reason, even when he knows he’s already dead, Nanami is smiling. His blond hair reminds you of the moon hanging high in the sky, shining brighter than any spark of light on the streets.

“Mm-hm.” You reply, no other words needed.

Nanami’s arms come around your waist, pulling you close to him, until your bodies connect as one. He leans his head on top of yours, and breathes in your scent, your bashful reciprocation, and all of you that he will most definitely miss.

“Hey.” Nanami says, barely louder than a cricket. “I have one last request.”

“Yeah?”

“I want to taste you one last time.”

The two of you scramble through the linoleum flooring, giggling through the hotel lobby as you share private jokes between each other without a care for the world. Passerbys wonder: ‘I wonder if they’re on a honeymoon’. And it doesn’t matter if it’s the beginning or many nights, or the end of them, your love for each other remains just as passionate.

When Nanami touches the key pass against his door, you try to push him in while he’s distracted, but he smirks at your boldness, but ultimately he turns you around to kiss you instead. He likes how you try even if it always ends with him turning the tables on you, kissing you while his whole body pins you against the hard wall.

He kisses you with the same fervour as he did the first night you spent together in the bedroom, and even after many years together, that doesn’t change.

Nanami helps you out of your clothes, one article at a time, savouring the look of you with each piece undressed, until you lay stark naked in front of him. He removes his glasses to place them against a bedside table, then he gets to work.

Guiding you to plop your hips onto the edge of the bed, Nanami positions himself on his knees to face you. He nudges your legs to open first, and he can’t help but fall in love again with how beautiful you look down there. His instinct is to put your bud in his mouth, and a cold rush of shiver frights you on your lower body. Your fingers curl slightly in reaction to his forwardness.

“Sorry to keep you waiting. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” Nanami smirks, kissing on your clit a few more times before his tongue peeks out, tasting at your delicate bud. He does that for a few minutes, varying the intensity and speed to edge you until it fizzes your lower body. Occasionally, if he thinks you sound cute, he’ll impress you by pressing down his tongue on your clit that makes your fingers curl and uncurl over and over. “You like this?” Nanami asks innocently.

Oh, he knows that you do. But of course, Nanami likes hearing you confess his charms from your own mouth.

“Kento…” You lower your voice. “I love everything you do. That goes without saying.”

He hums, satisfied by your obedience.

“Now do th-that thing you always d-do, please…”

“As you wish, darling.”

Nanami loves to satisfy you, loves to obey you and make him yours. He takes your bud in his mouth, his tongue inside, circling along your clit while his middle finger dips in your wet coated slit. Long finger curls to meet your g-spot with ease, moving only his last knuckle on his hand so he can repeatedly rap at your sensitive spot until your whole body feels drowned in your own pleasure.

“Oh god…”

His tongue darts out in quick succession, letting the needy bud smack against the tip of his tongue until it grows swollen and sensitive to the touch. Nanami wonders if you are enjoying yourself until he hears a weak noise, back arching, cunt pulsing as the pleasure lightly tips you off the edge like a gentle ripple.

“H-Hey, that’s enough.” You say through huffed breaths.

“Five more minutes.” Nanami says, his breath just as uneasy.

You hesitate. “One.”

“Fine by me.”

Every passing of his tongue on you can’t seem to satiate him, he laps at your taste over and over again. Until foams of saliva bubble over your wet clit and you are soaking under his finger. His chin coats wet with you, with how delicious you are, but he doesn’t mind one bit of the mess. Taking his time is his priority.

“Nnh.” Just like he promised, almost sixty seconds later, he parts himself away through a throaty huff, withdrawing himself to lick his lips clean and wiping streaks of drool from his face with the back of his wrist.

Nanami moves in quickly for another kiss on your lips, and you respond with equal enthusiasm. He shuffles you backwards to accommodate him to enter the bed, lips bound together through the awkward motions. Naturally, you prop your legs on top of his thighs, and you feel his length taking advantage of you without obstructions, closing the distance until his tip meets you at your entrance.

He guides your torso flat against the bed through the firm pad of his palm, pressing them up form your pelvis all the way to your belly, your chest, your collarbone…

He stops moving. “How hard do you want it this time?”

“Hard.”

“As you wish, my darling.”

His left hand continues upwards to find your neck, curling around the circumference of your neck. Some pressure is applied, and you roll your eyes back. Gentle at first, until you’re comfortable with his hand, he settles his tip inside of you. Quiet grunts leave his body as he puts you in missionary, overcome by the need to probe at you further until he feels all of himself buried.

But he restrains, for your sake. Nanami knows, with his size, bottoming out in one go only hurts you more. So he takes his time when he does so, easing himself in and fucks you with the intent to make eternal love, letting him continue this dreamlike state that will soon come to an end.

“You’re gorgeous…” He grunts, simply gazing at you, into your heart and into your soul. You do the same, admiring all his worn-out features relax like creased fabric undoing in the presence of you.

Nanami blinks away a watery glimmer between the speckles of his eyes, hoping you didn’t see it even though you did, and moves again.

Throughout the whole time, he only wants to stare at you, think of you through the burning sensation in his body that continues to remind him his time is almost up. But that doesn’t deter him, in fact, it only makes him want to take as long as the both of you need with no urge to climax hastily.

Each part of this is an experience, one final pleasure before the curse of reality hits them. You, in front of him, probably isn’t real. But it feels so real. It feels like Nanami has been granted his final wish. You, and this lovely scenery.

Soft, sensual pulses throb below you in a flowing state, crashing like the low tide on the evening beach, just like the view outside your fancy hotel window. Until the orgasm comes, in due time, through the labour of his efforts. How Nanami comes down to kiss you in gratitude as come spills inside of you, and the both of you grin into the kiss.

As you snuggle under the sheets next to Nanami, he brings his arm around your belly, grazing, pressing, worshipping—that this is the last time his hands will feel the warm plush again.

“I don’t want this night to over.” You mumble weakly.

He pulls you in with a hand that weighs a thousand of thoughts in his mind.

“I know, darling. I know.”

He sees himself in your eyes for the final time. Looking through the clearness, Nanami’s real body, burned and bruised on one half. Yet you still look at him with eyes that would stay by his side forever.

But this is not your time yet.

You blink back the tears, a rainfall along your cheek. He brushes it away with a look of yearning.

“Promise me you’ll have a good life, darling.”

You nod, unable to say anything else, knowing the tears will return if you do. Between you two, no words are needed. He can read you, and you can read him without any words uttered. Reaching for his jaw at first, you graze your fingers along Nanami’s cheek, and rests his eyes to a close. He mouths something inaudibly in his sleep before he departs.

You do the same, but he can’t see you.

...

Nanami opens his eyes in the middle of nowhere. He fell asleep at a bus stop sitting afloat above the sea’s surface. He sees now, the same path as before, ablaze above the sea levels, leading into the horizon where the sun falls into evening glory. At the start of the road, stands a figure.

Yooo, Nanamin. There you are!

The blinding lights on the path dims when the figure takes big, energised strides towards Nanami. Upon closer inspection, it’s a man in uniform. He has a distinct lean of someone he used to know a long time ago.

“Haibara?” Nanami asks.

Long time no see, bud. You don’t have to suffer anymore.

What is this feeling? Overwhelming pain, or relief when meeting a long, lost friend? There is so much Nanami wants to say he doesn’t know where to begin.

That he should have been stronger ten years ago, should have rescued Haibara in a battle beyond both their abilities even though he was just a kid. How he spent the rest of his life repenting, dedicating himself to protect the children who didn’t deserve to be in war. How he tried and failed and made it here…

… but none of that matters anymore after death.

Nanami jumps into his arms, bringing Haibara into his tight embrace. He hugs back. Nanami closes his eyes when he feels a sting behind his cheeks, then opens it again with newfound determination. Haibara bellows a laugh, pointing at Nanami’s reddened eyes which he fails to rub away.

Let’s head on to the other side, shall we?

Nanami nods. And they walk forward, side by side, towards the end of the path. He knows it’s all going to be all okay.

thanks for reading! come check out my other works. —yours truly, rose. ITINERARY: > Teluk Cempedak > Lunch (Hoi Yin Restaurant) > Dessert (Kula Cakes - not mentioned) > Natural Batik Village (batik painting) > Kuantan 188 Skydeck taglist (open): @valsthea @kennedyswhore @emilzke @daydreamrot @navstuffs @j3llyd0nut @ovaryacted © roseglazedlens — please do not repost, plagiarise, or use in ai & other machine learning programs.

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deepouterspacecandy · 2 months

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Desolate Devotion

I challenged myself to bang something out in under an hour and landed on this short piece. Abby rescues reader from being held captive. Thank you so much for reading my work and for the kindness so far. Violence and sexual themes. 18+ only.

There’s nothing Abby wouldn’t do for you.

So, when you’re captured during a raid gone wrong, and Isaac turns a blind eye to the survivors, she wastes no time loading her belongings into a Humvee and embarking on a rescue mission.

Under the scorching midday sun, your shirt becomes soaked with sweat, clinging to your skin. Your wrists throb with pain from being tightly bound, and the intense dehydration makes you question if the flickering shadows are just figments of your imagination.

You notice them again, out of the corner of your eye, dancing on the wall beside you.

The weightless touch of the light on your boot, gradually climbing up your thigh, compels you to find where it’s coming from.

Abby.

She’s casting reflections using a small mirror she keeps in her pocket.

Locking eyes with you, she raises a finger to her lips, silently urging you to keep quiet. The sour taste in your mouth intensifies as you mentally assess the countless adversaries you’ve come face-to-face with. The place is crawling with enemies, both alive and infected.

You can’t help but feel a knot tighten in your throat at the perilous situation she’s in.

In no time at all, she makes her way through the gardens of the captors’ base, and she’s by your side. Once she lays her gentle hands on your aching arms, her breathing becomes erratic, the adrenaline rush catching up to her.

She skillfully cuts through the ropes that bind you and cradles your face in her shaky palms.

“I’m here,” she whispers, shifting to press a tender kiss to your bruised knuckles.

“We’ll never make it out,” you whimper, suddenly overwhelmed by the events of the past three days. “I’m too weak, Abby. Just go.”

“Pay attention,” she says, fixing her intense gaze on you. “Because I’m only telling you this once.”

Taking a brief pause, she scans the surroundings just beyond the building where they’ve kept you captive. She rests her sweaty forehead on yours and continues.

“I won't abandon you, ever,” she breathes, her voice quivering. “Do you hear me?”

You feel your head nodding, but you can’t figure out where the energy is coming from to make it happen.

“Is there anyone else?” she asks.

“They fought like hell, but they—nobody made it out.”

Her eyes squeeze shut, and she pulls you close. Among all the fallen comrades who’ve perished over the years, the fear of losing each other has always been the most profound.

“It can never be you,” she rasps, her hands entangled in your hair. “Promise me.”

“Abby.”

The sound of gunfire reverberates through the air, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand on end. She hands you a weapon and inspects her own.

“Promise me,” she orders, her eyes wide and deadly serious.

“I promise.”

She hauls you up and guides you through the tall grass towards an opening in the chain-link fence. You hobble against her side until you reach an empty train car.

As she hands over her canteen, you manage to wheeze out, “How did you even get here?” But she only shakes her head and keeps you moving stealthily toward the beach.

Your mind is a whirlwind.

“Abby, I can’t swim—not like this.”

She gestures ahead, a boat catching your gaze as it rocks steadily by the shore. As she scoops you up, the cool sensation of the water lingers on your fingertips before she carefully settles you into the skiff.

The engine roars to life, the refreshing mist soothing your sunburned skin as the boat slices through the waves.

“Where are we going?”

“Home,” Abby says, reaching for your hand and placing it against her racing heart.

“But Isaac—”

“Fuck Isaac, that’s not home anymore,” she bites, her face twisted up with disgust. “I’m done with that asshole.”

She delegates steering the boat to you so that she can properly tend to your injuries, and it’s only the beam of her flashlight keeping the vast darkness from swallowing the both of you whole. You fervently pray to the ocean deities, with the saltwater relentlessly pounding against the vessel, hoping that the engine will endure until you reach land.

“I thought I wouldn't get to see you again,” you shout, your words carrying over the howling wind. “It was worse than dying.”

Abby deftly snaps a strip of medical tape with her teeth, securing the bandage over your wounds. When she looks up at you, bright stars emerge from the mist, casting a luminous glow from above.

The fog crackles with electricity.

With a firm grip on your legs, she lifts herself until you are eye level.

“Nothing will ever keep me away from you.”

#abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby anderson #abby x fem!reader #abby x reader #abby x you #tlou abby #lesbian

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spiderlandry · 9 months

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this is eclipse — neteyam sully

Description: The golden child is reduced to a nervous mess all because of a fierce hunter from the Metkayina clan.

Pairing: Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk'itan x GN!Reader

Warnings/Tags: fluff, talks of courting/mating, maybe timeline inaccuracy? impulsively written at 3am and unedited so apologies for any mistakes

Word Count: 1.6k

Author’s Note: spreading the loona agenda with this title so don’t forget to stream OEC’s new comeback and also a reminder not to stream any music owned by blockberry <333

The waves crash against the shore, pushing and pulling. The sand digs into your thighs and hands. The light of the sun dwindles as the eclipse blankets Awa’atlu in darkness, the glow of the sea finally threatening to come out at dusk.

You’ve been alone for a while. An hour, maybe. But a familiar shadow looms behind you.

“Are you just going to stand there?” You ask him.

Lo’ak clears his throat, clearly surprised at having been caught. It’s not even that you’d seen his shadow—you felt his presence from his breath alone.

“Um—no. Sorry.” He tentatively steps beside you, lowering himself to sit criss-cross.

“Do you have a reason why you were just standing behind me?”

You can tell he’s a little scared. Of what, you don’t know. These few months you’d welcomed them into your home, assisted your friend Tsireya in helping the Sully family get settled. You have been nothing but kind, albeit reserved. So maybe Lo’ak reads the confusion on your face when he’s suddenly nervous.

“I just wanted to ask you something,” Lo’ak states with a layer of reluctance he’s trying to mask.

You stay silent.

“Are you…being courted by anyone?”

You resist the urge to snap your head in his direction, instead opting to turn your head slowly.

“Does Tsireya know you’re asking me this?“

You’re not a fool—you’ve seen them sneak off together at dawn a few times this month.

“Yeah. I mean…no. But I’m not asking for me,” he stumbles out his response, a little shocked that you’d noticed his ‘thing’ with Tsireya.

“Whom are you asking for?”

“Um…” He hesitates, “My brother.”

Ah. Neteyam. You’re not strangers. You helped him with his ilu, you remember his eagerness vividly. And how secretly proud he was after Lo’ak said he bonded with a tulkun, despite his teasing. You look out into the sea again, formulating a response.

“If your brother wishes to court me, he can ask me himself.”

You stand up, dusting sand off your body, leaving Lo’ak with a grimace and a thought that he might have just blown his brothers chances.

Upon arriving at Awa’atlu, Neteyam’s eyes had been drawn to you the second you emerged from your people, standing out as a graceful presence rather than a cautious stranger. He recalls how you watched his family ask for sanctuary with only a careful gaze rather than with any semblance of disgust like the others did.

His infatuation with you only grew tenfold when you were assigned to help the Tsireya and Ao’nung with getting the family to learn the ways of Metkayina. At first, he thought you were the eldest child of Tonowari and Ronal by how they treated you with such respect, but he was proven wrong when the leader said your families are just close.

You helped him focus on his breathing, tapping him lightly when he would get distracted with teasing Lo’ak about Tsireya.

He thinks the infatuation turned into something else—something more—when he really saw you in your element.

It turns out, you come from a long line of fierce hunters. Tsireya said that you’re one of the youngest to have completed Iknimaya a few years ago, and your grandfather taught Tonowari how to hunt. Neteyam’s heart deflated at the thought that you were likely already being courted, if not mated.

A few months into learning, you offered to take Neteyam hunting beyond the reef. Seeing as he was mastering his skills quickly, you’d been granted a pass from the leaders to show the oldest Sully what happens beyond the reef, partly to show him the dangers, a warning not to go out there unless he is with an experienced hunter, as you are.

He watched from his ilu as you navigated the complicated terrain that was the sea, weaving your body through corals and seaweeds.

Though you didn’t stay for long, you brought back a decent amount for the clan.

Needless to say, he couldn’t get enough of you after that.

He begins to observe you even more, since the training load had been lightened, he would allow himself to focus on how you carry yourself around your people.

He knows you’re reserved around the Sully family. A day after their arrival, you barely said two sentences to Neytiri, letting the basket of gathered fruits speak for itself as a welcome gift rather than using your words.

However, the way you act around your own people is different. It’s not surprising to him that you’re popular, often kids huddle around you during the start of celebrations to hear about hunting stories you’d inherited from your family. He notices men and women your age make conversation, and older clan members hold respect for you. Hell, even Ao‘nung backed off with a nod when you warned him about his teasing.

But what really got him was seeing how you opened up to his family.

During the fifth month, your parents, along with many others, had gone on a long hunting trip for the upcoming cold season.

He wonders why you stayed back, as Rotxo offhandedly mentioned that you typically went on these trips. Neteyam doesn’t care, though, because that means he gets to see more of you.

With your parents away, you find more time to get to know the Sully’s past teaching them about Metkayina life.

He finds you playing with Tuk, even introducing her to other kids in the clan, and his chest swells with pride as he watches his little sister feel more at home. Later, he spots you talking to Kiri, and she looks genuinely engrossed in the conversation.

There is nothing more he’d like than to begin courting you. But the problem is that he doesn’t even know if you’re available. What if you’re already mated?

He ends up regretting voicing these thoughts to Lo’ak in a small rant—because the day after the conversation, Lo’ak comes running to him, apologetic, saying that he might have made you mad.

“Why would they be mad?” Neteyam asks.

“Because!” Lo’ak shrugs, and the older brother has that face saying spit it out. So he does. “I told them that you were interested.”

Neteyam’s eyes widen, and for a moment Lo’ak is scared that he’s about to get a light smack in the head, but it seems Neteyam is too concerned with running to your marui, so he’s safe. (For now.)

Neteyam slows down a few feet from your home, catching his breath. The flap is open, and he can hear a fire crackling inside. It’s almost dinner.

He hesitates, stepping closer to the entryway of your marui. You’re chopping vegetables, and you don’t realize he is there. He hovers. You’re too focused to hear him.

But he’s wrong.

“You know,” You begin, and Neteyam is taken aback. “It is customary to announce your presence upon entering someone’s home.”

He clears his throat a bit too loud for it to be real. You both know it’s fake. Yet you don’t look up to him with any hints of dissatisfaction on your face—no, it’s the opposite. There’s a smirk lingering on your pretty lips. (Get it together, Neteyam! You need to apologize, he thinks to himself.)

“Does the sneaking run in the family?” You tease, talking with the knife in your hands and gesturing to him. “It is the second time that’s happened.”

“I—I’m sorry,” he bows his head slightly, ears pinned against his skull in embarrassment. If any of his siblings were here to see, he just knows the jokes would be unbearable.

You manage to reduce him to a bumbling mess. Well, as much a mess as the golden child could be.

“Why are you sorry?” You ask, and at first he thinks you’re doing it to test him, but when he looks into your eyes and finds only curiosity, he answers.

“For sneaking up on you. And for Lo’ak bothering you about my interest.”

“Wait—“ You hold back a laugh, putting down the knife and clambering up to stand close to him. His breath hitches. “I was only teasing you. And Lo’ak was not a bother to me.” You shake your head, confused.

“He…he thinks he might have made you angry.” Neteyam is a little quiet, but his eye contact does not yield. Neither does yours.

“I wasn’t angry. I just wanted you to ask me about courting matter, not your brother.”

“He asked without my permission, please understand.” As the words register in his brain, his jaw slackens. “You—you want me to ask you?”

“Is that not how your people do it?”

“It is, it is. But I thought…you might have already been promised. To someone.” He searches your eyes for something, anything.

“I am flattered you think that, Teyam. But I’m not.”

His tail swishes in excitement at the nickname. No matter how embarrassing you may think it to be, he just can’t help the way his body reacts to you.

(You think it’s cute.)

“So?” You continue at his silence.

“I would like that. To court you, I mean.”

The smirk on your lips morphs into a genuine smile and he mirrors your expression, the two of you gazing into each other’s eyes like nothing else mattered.

A small pop of the fire snaps you out of the trance, and he glances at the empty marui. Right. You’d been alone for a while.

The question is stumbling out of his mouth before he can realize its implications:

“Would you like to eat with my family?”

But surprisingly, you don’t falter, “I was hoping you’d ask.”

#neteyam sully #neteyam sully x reader #avatar the way of water #atwow #avatar #atwow x reader #avatar the way of water x reader #avatar x reader #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #neteyam fluff #neteyam sully fluff

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atomicradiogirl · 2 months

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here are my favorite quotes from dune messiah cause frank herbert cooked so hard

“save your praise for those who can be swayed by it”

“beloved,” she whispered. “have i troubled you?” her arms enclosed his future as they enclosed him. “not you,” he said. “oh… not you.”

“paul saw the moon become an elongated sphere. it rolled and twisted, hissing — the terrible hissing of a star being quenched in an infinite sea. it was gone. no moon. the earth quaked like an animal shaking its skin.”

“the flesh surrenders itself. eternity takes back its own.”

“they’ve blinded my body, but not my vision”

“awakening, she’d found paul sitting beside her, his eyeless sockets aimed at some formless place beyond. chani stilled a fit of trembling when he aimed those eyeless sockets at her.”

“i was baptized in sand and it cost me the knack of believing. who trades in faiths anymore? who’ll buy? who’ll sell?”

“we have eternity, beloved.” “you may have eternity. i only have now.” “but this is eternity.”

“he felt his body through her touch: dead flesh carried by time eddies. he reeked of memories that had glimpsed eternity. Past and Future became simultaneous.”

“you cannot see!” “i don’t need eyes to see you.”

“if you need something to worship, then worship life—all life, every last crawling bit of it! we’re all in this beauty together!”

“this myth he’d made out of intricate movements and imagination, out of moonlight and love, out of prayers older than Adam, and gray cliffs and crimson shadows, laments and rivers of martyrs—what had it come to at last? when the waves receded, the shores of Time would spread out there clean, empty, shining with infinite grains of memory and little else. was this the golden genesis of man?”

“there are problems in this universe for which there are no answers.”

“people are subordinate to government, but the ruled influence the rulers.”

“he is the fool saint, the golden stranger living forever on the edge of reason.”

#dune #dune messiah #paul atreides #chani kynes #duncan idaho #frank herbert #i read all of dune messiah today #had to type those quotes out manually since i read it on paperback #5 star read #so so good #dune messiah might be the best book sequel ever #so many thoughts #the writing is so good #i’m so locked in for dune part 3 #dune part 2

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loviatarsluv · 3 months

Note

hey there! I saw your post about asking for little blurb requests :) what about one where they’re bathing in the river?

hiiii omg okay so since you didn't specify which character, i'll just pick one hehe this is one of my fav "tropes" i guess if you wanna call it that so i was pumped for this one!!

so sorry for the late post, I took my time w this one bc I love romantic soft fluffy gale stuff ♡︎

Gale x AFAB f!tav / AFAB f!reader

rating: mature (fluff and really romantic sweet smut^.^)

It had been at least a tenday since the last time you or any of your companions had been afforded the luxury of a bath, having been on the road and traveling the road to Baldur's Gate for days and not coming across a single stream or lake somehow.

You’d been craving a thorough bath since the battle with Ketheric Thorm and the rest of the cultists at Moonrise Towers - you swore you’d never be able to get all the blood and grime out of your hair at this rate. It started to affect your functioning and already completely erratic sleep schedule, as all you could think about was the blood under your nails and the layer of grime and dried viscera on your skin.

Not to mention, you’d barely been able to be physically affectionate with Gale without disgusting yourself. That alone was making it nearly impossible to think straight.

He insisted that it was fine and that he didn’t mind, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to want to do anything intimate in this state. This was far beyond just having not bathed for a few days and having a natural musk (which Gale has made very clear that he very much enjoyed) - and you were nearly at your wits end.

So naturally, when Halsin notified the group that he found a river that flowed into a small lake while he was hunting in wild shape, you were the first to claim first turn bathing. The group all groaned in protest - particularly Astarion who’d been just as, if not more perturbed about his begrimed state and stained clothes - everyone else longing to have a moment of reprieve and refresh before whatever awaited you in Baldur’s Gate.

There was a resounding sigh and eyeroll (apart from Halsin) from the group as Gale offered to accompany you, after Halsin suggested bathing in pairs for safety purposes. Your companions had not been exactly quiet about their annoyance toward you and Gale’s blatant displays of affection since your night together under the stars in the Shadow Cursed Lands - you and Gale joked with each other that they were all likely just jealous and pent up, so to speak.

You were the first to slink off toward the river, barely able to contain your excitement towards finally feeling clean again. Gale ran to his tent to grab the lavender soap he found while exploring that he’d been saving for himself (and you) as well as a couple of cloth towels that he washed and asked Astarion to sew up the tatters and tears in.

You essentially stripped yourself almost entirely bare before even getting close to the water’s edge, leaving a trail of garments and belts and boots behind you as you ambled up to the shore.

The air was crisp and the breeze was comfortably cool, the reflection of the moon shone and shimmered across the water surface. It almost felt unreal, like it was a mirage after one too many days without fresh drinking water. The only way you were able to confirm that you weren’t dreaming was by wading into the placid waves and laying back, allowing yourself to float.

You let out a breath that it felt like you’d been holding for days and closed your eyes, your body gently drifting as you lazily moved your arms and legs with no destination in mind. This was the most relaxed you’d been in months (and probably would be for the foreseeable future), and you intended on enjoying every second.

Gale finally approaches the shore, nearly dropping everything in his hands when he catches sight of you peacefully floating on your back, your bare skin pebbling and glistening in the pale moonlight. His gaze trains on your breasts, your nipples peaked from the cool breeze hitting your wet skin. He’d been missing your body and being close to you terribly since the last time the two of you had been intimate, and just the sight of you this way was almost too much for his heart (and loins) to bear.

He wades out into the water to join you, soap in hand. You only notice his presence by the overwhelming scent of lavender filling your senses. Your eyes slowly open, and your jaw nearly drops.

Just as he’d been transfixed by your body, you found yourself sucking in a sharp breath at the sight of his - water up to his waist, hair tied back in a half updo with small strands falling over his face, the blue reflection of the water shining on his chest and skin. He was easily one of the most beautiful people you’d ever seen, and you thanked whatever gods you could every morning that you woke up beside him.

“You are so beautiful,” He smiles, bringing his arms to wrap around your waist and pull you close to his chest. “Even I’m finding it hard to conjure the proper words to describe your beauty.”

You giggle, pressing your face against his chest and listening to his slightly hastened heartbeat.

“To render the great Gale of Waterdeep speechless is a feat not many have accomplished, it's an honor.”

He chuckles lightly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. He begins to rub gentle circles on your back with the bar of soap, and you feel all the stress you’d been holding on to slowly release, if only just for tonight.

“Yet you manage to make it a regular occurance,” he hums, bringing his free hand up to caress your jaw.

A peaceful and comfortable silence falls over the two of you as you listen to the songs of the night - the sound of the water as it kisses the edge of the shore, the breeze through the trees and surrounding grass, the chirping and singing of whatever nocturnal creatures lurked nearby as they begun their day. You listen to his soft breathing and his heart as it thrums steadily in his chest, and the way he hums and sighs when you pepper delicate kisses around his shoulders, chest, and neck.

He migrates the soap to your arms, cradling your hand in his when he holds them up to thoroughly coat you and massage the dirt and grime from your skin. He takes his time, not a single inch of you left uncared for. He brings his hands to cup your breasts, smoothing bubbles over them and lightly pinching their peaks, eliciting a moan from you and instantly sending heat straight to your core.

To your slight dismay, he moves on, continuing his prior ministrations by rubbing the soap across your belly, then pressing a reassuring kiss to your lips when he notices your smile falter at his attention being directed there. His eyes meet yours, full of nothing but pure adoration - he thinks the world, the moon, and all of the stars of you, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t show you that at every opportunity. He believes he’s found heaven within you, your body being a perfect vessel worthy of pious devotion.

“Doing okay, my love?” He asks, breaking away from the kiss.

You nod, breath hitching as you feel your heart pounding against your ribs. “Okay is an understatement.”

He smiles widely, pleased to know that you were enjoying yourself. He knew that the last few days had been particularly hard on you and all he wanted was to see you finally relax - you deserve nothing less.

“I’ve missed you deeply.” He sighs, leaning his head onto your shoulder and kissing it, the rough texture of his beard tickles you when he does.

“We’ve slept together every night for weeks now, darling,” You giggle. “But I know, I’ve missed you, too. It's nice not to be repulsed by my own skin for a change.”

You reach for his hand that held the soap, only for him to move it away from your grasp. “Ah ah, I’m not quite finished.”

A deep red blush creeps to your cheeks as you quickly catch on to what he’s referring to, the heat that had slowly been coiling in your gut starting to burn ever hotter. You clench your thighs together on pure reflex, your body chasing any sort of friction to soothe the ache that had begun between your legs.

He notices and tenderly pushes his hand between your legs to part your thighs, pressing a longer and more meaningful kiss to your lips while lazily stroking the inside of your thigh with two fingers.

“May I?” He asks, stopping his fingers just at the top of your thigh.

You nod fervently, your eyes full of desperation.

He doesn’t leave you wanting for long, his deft fingers moving to gently massage your folds for just a brief moment before replacing them with the bar of soap. The feeling of the soap versus his fingers is like comparing a pebble to gold.

Gale was a fast learner, and in the few weeks since the two of you had become intimate with each other, he had become a consummate expert when it came to your body. He learned every little maneuver that would have you a moaning and whimpering wreck. You’d never been with a lover that managed to make foreplay nearly as pleasurable, sometimes even more, than actual sex. You’d also never been with a lover quite as generous as Gale - sometimes it even seemed he enjoyed pleasuring you more than anything else, as he’d spend hours with his head between your thighs without a single complaint.

So to only get a brief taste of what you knew was exactly what you needed, was torture.

You whine when he moves his fingers away, jutting out your bottom lip into a pout.

“I know, love. Just be patient a little longer for me,” He coos, caressing your cheek in an attempt to soothe you while he finishes cleaning you.

You contain yourself for the time being - resorting to holding your breath and clutching on to his shoulder for dear life, trying your best to be patient, because you knew that he was well worth the wait.

He finally finishes, brushing against your aching and throbbing sex with the soap one last time for good measure, then hands it to you.

“Thank you,” you breathe, your shoulders sinking as you release the air you’d been holding for a little too long as you’d started to feel lightheaded. “For taking care of me.”

“Thank you for allowing me to.” He says simply. Ever the gentleman.

He pulls you in for a passionate kiss, his hands resting on your lower back at the crest of your ass cheeks, your hands tangling into his chestnut and silver streaked locks. You let one hand rest on the nape of his neck, holding him to you to extend the kiss as long as you can, wishing you could just stay this way for the rest of your life.

When the kiss finally breaks, you motion for him to turn around so that you can lather his back. He slowly turns, seemingly reluctant to take his eyes off of you.

You’ve seen Gale naked plenty of times now, but you hadn’t realized how rarely you’d seen his bare back. And seeing it this way - wet and glistening under the silvery light of the moon, flexing as he adjusts so you can reach his shoulders properly - it was mouthwatering. There wasn’t a single part of his body that you hadn’t found yourself in awe of.

Once you lather his back fully, he turns to face you once more, his once content gaze now full of unbridled desire. Your breath catches, but still you try to continue and massage the soap onto his chest, then his stomach, letting your fingertips graze the dark trail of hair as your hand moves down.

His hand travels down to your sex once again, this time, fully intentional with his movements as he presses his fingertips to the sensitive bud. Your body jolts involuntarily in response, a gasp escaping your lips. He hums, slowly massaging along your folds, his finger edging just at your entrance but not dipping in. You try to maintain, rubbing circles of soap into the same spot for too long before you notice and move on to a different area. He grins widely, now seeing this as a game - a game he intended to win.

He leans his face forward to press a wet kiss to your jaw, leaving enough space between your bodies so you can continue to lather him. Your arm stills for a moment, your mind starting to go blank with every swipe against your throbbing cunt and his tongue brushing against your neck.

You’re trying your damnedest to keep strong, determined to ensure that he receives the same amount of care that he’d shown you, but he seems equally as determined to distract you from your efforts.

A loud moan tumbles from your lips as his finger gently pushes into you, your hips bucking against him, causing his palm to rub against your clit. He grunts, his hardened cock pressing into your hip as he lurches forward for a better vantage point to plunge his finger into you deeper and deeper.

Your hand flies to grasp his length, gripping slightly tighter than you normally would as he adds a second finger, your hand clenching tightly onto him in response. He sucks a breath through his teeth, a low rumbling in his chest that almost resembles a growl following it. You pump his cock in tandem with him pistoning his fingers in and out of you, the sound of the water splashing with your movements mixing with each of your moans and heavy panting.

You feel yourself creeping up on the edge, your orgasm imminent if he keeps up this pace. He can tell that you’re close by the way your walls clench around his fingers. You quicken the rhythm you were stroking his cock at, his hips jutting forward into your hand.

“Wait, wait,” he breathes, placing his hand over yours to stop you. “If you keep that up, I won't last much longer.”

You bite your lip, peering up at him through your lashes. “I want to make you come.”

His eyes widen slightly, his chest heaving. “Not like this. I need to have you, my love.”

You feel your walls clench around his fingers again just at his words, now desperately wishing it was his cock instead.

“Please,” you whimper, pulling his body closer so that your chest presses flush against his, his hand still between you, fingers still gently curling and thrusting into you.

“I want you to come first, love. Can you do that for me?” He purrs, his voice barely above a whisper.

His words alone push you right back up to the edge of the peak, your legs start to tremble and your fingers dig into his shoulders for support while you feel your body becoming mush from his touch. You roll your hips into his hand erratically, your hips stuttering as you get closer and closer, your vision turning white.

“That’s it, that’s my girl.”

Your head falls back and you cry his name over and over as you finally reach the peak, tumbling over the edge into free fall. His hand cradles the back of your head, his thumb gently stroking the side of your neck to coax you through your orgasm. You feel your entire body shake as you come down, and you thank the gods that you were waist deep in water otherwise you might’ve collapsed into a puddle on the floor. Not that Gale would let you fall, likely he’d scoop you up in his arms and carry you to bed before you could.

Your head slumps forward once again, resting against his shoulder as you try to catch your breath. You bring your hand up to trace the circular marking of the orb in the center of his chest, fingertips tracing the dark lines that trail out of it, stretching all the way to his eye. His eyes flutter closed at your gentle caresses, and he presses his lips to your forehead, lingering there for a moment before pulling back.

“If I could only live within a single moment for eternity, I think I’d choose this moment with you under the moon’s gaze.”

His brown eyes meet yours, almost seeming to sparkle as he speaks, every single word wrapping around you and enveloping you in a warmth that you thought only the sun could provide.

Gale was the sun. He was the rain after a drought. He was the forgiving breeze on a scorching hot day.

“I love you.” Is all you can manage to say, unable to form the proper words to express to him how truly and utterly besotted you were.

Your lips collide once again, and you hope that the kiss tells him everything you couldn’t with words. This was the kind of kiss that people go to war for, the kind of kiss you’d die to experience just once.

His hands greedily roam your body, claiming each inch of it as his with just a touch of his fingertips. His hands move to cup your ass cheeks, lifting you and wrapping your legs around his waist. You feel his hand reach under you to take hold of his cock, preparing it for you. You snake your arms around his neck, your fingers tangling into the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging slightly so he tilts his head back. Your lips and teeth waste no time finding his sweet spot, surely leaving marks that will be there in the morning. You taste a mixture of the soap, the lake water, and the natural saltiness of his skin. He whimpers slightly when you bite just a little harder, with more intent.

Unable to hold back a second longer, he lines the swollen head of his cock up at your entrance, waves of electricity shooting through you when you feel him slowly start to slip in.

You almost swear it’d hurt less if he just slammed home - the way you were throbbing and aching for him was nearly unbearable.

But Gale has never been hasty. He takes his time, he calculates his every move, he’s deliberate.

You’ve had sex with Gale several times now at this point, but every time your body still has to adjust to him, and he’s aware of that. He moves slowly not only for your comfort, but also so that he’s able to savor every inch of you as he buries himself into your warmth.

“I don’t think I’ll ever tire of this,” he breathes, his grip on your ass tightening as he finally bottoms out, the head hitting just the right spot.

“Gods, I hope not,” is all you’re able to choke out before he begins a torturously slow rhythm with his thrusts, every inch of him stroking your still sensitive walls from your prior orgasm.

Your legs tighten around his waist as you cling onto him for dear life, and the rest of the world fades away. There’s no tadpoles, no Absolute, no cultists — there’s only the two of you wrapped in each other's embrace, and the moment feels infinite.

His hand tangles into your still dripping wet hair, droplets flinging from it onto your back as he fists it, sending goosebumps racing across your flesh. He breathes heavily, murmuring random assortments of curses and your name under his breath as his pace picks up ever so slightly, his conviction to take it slowly, faltering.

You feel yourself approaching the brink again as he speeds up.

“Gale, please, I’m—“

“I know, my love, me too.” He moans, now slamming into you with a reckless abandon, all control he’d had previously now washed away with the tide and your pleading.

He finishes with one last stuttering plunge into you, the warm sensation of his spend flooding you and his cock throbbing sending you over the edge along with him. He stays in you while you both come down, chests heaving and hearts racing.

“I love you, too. With every beat of my heart.” He says after a long and comfortable silence, pushing a loose strand of hair out of your eyes.

You stay there for a few minutes longer, embracing, kissing, joking about pruney fingers and how much shit your companions were going to give you when you returned.

When you both emerge from the water, Gale grabs one of the towels and wraps it around your body first, rubbing your arms to warm you as a shiver passes through you. He presses a kiss to the side of your head, then wraps the other towel around his waist. You gawk at him for a moment, and you think you could easily go for a round two if you weren’t entirely drained from the day prior to your bath… activities.

As you walk back to camp hand in hand with him, a true and genuine smile plastered on your face that you weren’t sure you’d ever smiled before, you feel a sort of selfish gratefulness. You feel as though the cosmos aligned just perfectly to drop him into your life, even amidst absolute mayhem and turmoil. Even if nothing came of the months spent adventuring and battling cultists and searching for cures, you still had this - you had him. And he, you.

And you think to yourself - even if you died tonight, you’d die happily knowing you got to spend a moment under the warmth of his sun.

————

god I love gale so much

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dystopia-incognito · 5 months

Text

Male Werewolf x Female Reader

Warning: NSFW (minors DNI) contains sex/dubcon A short spicy story of 1,977 words about a young woman encountering a werewolf.

A little side note: I NEVER write, I'm a nervous wreck for just posting this. That being said.. I wrote this little dabble specifically for a very special person the night before their birthday as a surprise and I might never actually finish it. Do enjoy it for what it is, though! <3

Freedom. In a tranquil corner of the world, nestled by the edge of a serene lake, Y/N found her escape from the bustling village that had kept her busy for far too long. The cool, inviting water lapped gently at her feet as she sat on the grassy shore, her emotions swirling like a symphony. It was the first sensation that washed over her. As her toes touched the water's surface, she felt liberated. Here, away from the ceaseless demands of her family and the never-ending chores of the village, she could finally breathe. By this quiet lake, she could be herself, unburdened by obligations. She smiled and hiked up her modest dress a little higher to not get it wet, the lush grass beneath her bare legs seemed to embrace her like a lover. Overhead, the leaves rustled like ancient scrolls, and the rhythmic ripples of the lake provided a soothing lullaby. In this moment, she merged seamlessly with the natural world, an integral part of a harmonious landscape. The water's gentle caress on her ankles brought forth sheer delight. She wiggled her toes, savouring the exquisite sensation. With each movement, every ripple she created in the water, she found a wellspring of unadulterated joy. Her laughter echoed, blending harmoniously with the songs of the birds in the nearby trees. Her gaze was drawn to the horizon, where the sun's golden glow painted the sky with hues of orange and pink. Her thoughts wandered to the future, where dreams and aspirations converged. Her heart swelled with optimism and a sense of adventure, as if the world itself were an open book, waiting for her to write its next chapter. It was a future where her heart would find its truest desires, where every sunrise held the promise of new adventures, and where her spirit would soar unburdened.

As the sun descended lower, casting elongated shadows across the water's surface, she closed her eyes for a moment. The soft breeze gently played with her hair and gently kissed her cheeks, carrying the fragrant scent of the surrounding pines. It was a tranquil pause, a chance to gather her thoughts amidst the serenity of her secluded haven. But as the evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting the forest clearing in a deepening twilight, she suddenly became aware of a presence. It was a sensation she couldn't ignore, a feeling that sent a shiver down her spine. Beyond the familiar forest clearing that had always felt like her refuge, something new and unsettling had emerged.

The tranquil harmony of nature seemed disrupted as if an intruder had entered this sacred space. She stood up slowly, brushing her out of her face, slipping hastily into her boots, her heart pounding with an inexplicable mixture of curiosity and trepidation. She scanned the tree line, her eyes straining to pierce the gathering darkness. And there, between the dense shrubbery and shadowy trees, she saw it— a pair of eyes glowing with an eerie luminescence. The intensity of their gaze sent a chill through her, and she felt a sense of foreboding. She considered the possibilities: perhaps it was a lone wolf, their eyes reflecting the fading light. Or, in the depths of her imagination, a more ominous thought took root— a creature of legend and terror.

As she slowly retreated from the water's edge, she couldn't tear her eyes away from those glowing orbs in the darkness. Her instincts told her to be cautious, to respect the untamed wildness of the forest, and to tread carefully as she made her way home. With each step, she couldn't shake the feeling that the presence she had sensed was something beyond the ordinary, something that had been drawn to the tranquil haven she had sought for solace and reflection. The mystery of those glowing eyes haunted her thoughts as she ventured back toward the village, journeying through the forest's depths. With a heart pounding in her chest, she hurriedly attempted to make her way back through the dark forest.

Fear of the possible threat had her senses on edge, and as she ventured deeper, an unsettling disorientation began to grip her. The once-familiar forest now felt foreign, as if the trees had rearranged themselves while her attention was drawn to the mysterious presence by the lake. Thick greenery pressed in from all sides, making it difficult to discern one path from another. The foliage seemed to conspire, creating an eerie sameness that made every turn look alike. Her footsteps, once confident, now faltered as uncertainty took hold. Panic threatened to consume her as she feared she had strayed from her familiar way home. The forest's natural beauty had transformed into an intimidating maze, where every tree and every shadow appeared as a deceptive mirror image of the last. As the encroaching darkness deepened, she battled her rising anxiety, pushing her body through the underbrush, trying to remember the landmarks she'd used countless times to navigate these woods.

It was a race against time and her fear, an urgent attempt to find her way back to the safety of the village before the night's secrets fully unfurled, and her fear of the unknown became a reality. As the unsettling sense of being stalked by what she could only assume to be a werewolf tightened its grip on her, she felt a growing unease that urged her to flee. Panic and adrenaline coursed through her veins, driving her to her feet as she started running through the dark forest. With each pounding step, her surroundings grew increasingly unfamiliar. Trees loomed like shadowy sentinels, and the underbrush seemed to tangle at her feet. She ran aimlessly, her heart thundering in her chest as she picked up speed, the urgency of escape driving her forward. In the oppressive darkness, the sound of her breath and the rush of her footsteps filled her ears. But then, she began to hear something else— a haunting, primal sound echoing through the trees. It was the unmistakable sound of pursuit, the creature she had feared drawing nearer with each passing moment.

The relentless rhythm of its power and grace echoed in her ears, a chilling reminder of the danger that chased her through the labyrinthine forest. She dared not glance back, for the terror had become all too real, her only thought was to find her way to safety in this perilous game of survival amidst the darkness. Her heart was pounding in her ears and her limbs failing her as she ran through the forest, her breath ragged and laboured, each step became a monumental effort. In her desperate flight, she suddenly tripped over a gnarled root, sprawling to the forest floor. Pain seared through her, but adrenaline surged through her veins. She scrambled to get up but hit the ground again, exhausted she realized, her escape had come to a heartbreaking halt.

Her body refused to obey her commands, with trembling limbs she lay there, chest heaving as she fought her burning lungs to breathe. She snapped her head up to look around, her nightmare had vanished into the shadows but she knew it was only a matter of time before it would catch up to her again. Willing herself to move, she managed to roll onto her back, peering into the direction she had come from as her eyes adjusted to the darkness surrounding her. Long minutes passed, and then over the sound of the blood rushing in her ears, she heard it — rustling of leaves and twigs, the eerie whisper of fur against the night air. The werewolf, with one giant leap, emerged from the shadows and fixed its feral eyes upon her.

Frozen in fear, she felt unable to breathe, dwarfed by its imposing size, she could feel the creature's hot breath as it drew near on all fours, coming as close as to hover over her. The scent of the forest and the wildness of the beast enveloped her, and for a moment that stretched into eternity, they remained locked in a tense and inexplicable stillness. Y/N couldn't tear her eyes away from the werewolf's gaze, and the creature's intelligent eyes seemed to calculate the situation, caught between predatory instincts and fascination with her presence. Then, with a hesitant and almost tender movement, the werewolf lowered its large head and sniffed her.

It was a surrealistically intimate moment, where the boundaries between fear and curiosity blurred into something she couldn't comprehend. Y/N, still frozen in place, allowed it to happen, her heart pounding in her chest. The forest rustled, the night held its breath and she and the this wild beast existed in a tense and enigmatic moment. She now was at the mercy of the unknown. Not knowing what the future held, in that fragile moment of shared vulnerability, something unexpected had passed between them.

…

And then the spell was abruptly broken as it leaned in, got a hold of her face, and licked it. Its tongue left long clammy strokes over her cheek and down the side of her neck. With its wet snout, it nudged the low neckline of her dress for access. She gasped and thrashed in sheer surprise, struggling to get away, but the werewolf muscled her back firmly to the lush forest floor. It withdrew slightly to look at her, growling a low, possessive warning which vibrated through her very being. In horror, she watched the beast's thick, viscous drool drip from its fangs and felt it land with a deliberate and heavy splat onto her chest. Shivers ran down her spine as the invasive syrupy substance tenaciously clung to the soft slopes of her rising and falling chest, lazily pooling down into her cleavage as it glistened in the dim moonlight.

She could only expect the worst, powerless, as it continued to sniff her. Its keen sense of smell and big paws explored her curvacious body, moving downwards to dip underneath the hem of her dress, sending her nerves on edge. Its snout then pushed upwards, moving her dress along with the motion, to nuzzle apart her thick trembling thighs. Her fingers dug into the fresh earth beneath her and her skin prickled as goosebumps appeared all over her body, But before she could even flinch it let her know once more, and quite vocally, she wasn't allowed to move. Taking two deep huffs of her, the werewolf's hot breath washed over her sex. A strangled noise escaped her, and then, without any warning, it hungrily began lapping at her. The sudden sheer sensation of it drew a high-pitched wail from her lips, like a wounded animal, her body curled in on itself, thighs clamping down weakly around its powerful head. Her hands shot down to grab white-knuckled fists full of the beast's thick mane as it continued, absolutely unbothered, to wetly slobber away at her. And it was too much at once. Her stomach tied in knots, and she shook with mixed emotions tumbling away inside her, even if pleasure slowly but surely bloomed in her core. Then the creature's head snapped up, licking its lips as sure goal-set glowing eyes met hers to stare her back down into submission, into the moss and dancing leaves beneath her. She was overwhelmed by it, the werewolf's sheer masculinity and assertive power made her feel more vulnerable than if she were completely exposed to him. It, on the other hand, wasted no time and grabbed at her, pulling her in and pushing her back against his hips eagerly. Her insides contracted involuntarily as it ripped at her dress for easier access to more of her body. She was met with throbbing heat on her newly exposed skin, carnal desire and the sheer size of Him against her tummy. Her mouth went dry with the realisation of what would happen next..

- FIN

#monster fucker #werewolf smut #werewolf lover #werewolves #werewolf x female reader #werewolf #my writing #please be gentle it's my first time (posting any of my writing that is)#werewolf boyfriend

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hlstead · 5 months

Note

hii "I'm sorry for not believing you." + fluff + finnick pls 🙏

sorry - finnick odair x reader

warnings: no use of YN

all of my works are poc friendly

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The damp scent of the sea hung in the air as Finnick and I strolled along the shoreline, the rhythmic crashing of waves providing a soothing soundtrack to our evening. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow on the sand beneath our feet.

Finnick's laughter, carefree and infectious, echoed against the distant calls of seabirds. His eyes, a shade of blue that mirrored the ocean, twinkled with a playful light as he teased me about the seashells scattered along the shore.

As we found a quiet spot to sit, the sand cool beneath us, I couldn't help but think about the journey that brought us here. The Hunger Games, a brutal reality we both faced, had woven our lives together in unexpected ways. Yet, in Finnick's presence, the weight of the Games felt momentarily lifted.

I took a deep breath, my gaze fixed on the horizon. "Finnick, I need to tell you something," I began, the words catching in my throat.

His expression shifted, concern replacing the playful glint in his eyes. "What is it?" he asked, his voice gentle.

"I'm sorry for not believing you," I admitted, the weight of my confession lingering in the salty breeze. "In the arena, when you warned me about the dangers, I doubted you. I didn't understand the depth of the Games and the sacrifices you made."

Finnick's eyes softened, and he reached for my hand, intertwining our fingers.

"You don't need to apologize," he said, his thumb tracing comforting circles on the back of my hand. "The Games have a way of distorting reality. I knew you'd understand eventually."

A sense of gratitude washed over me, knowing that Finnick, despite the scars etched into his soul by the arena, found solace in our shared understanding. The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the beach, but in that moment, time seemed to stand still.

"I'm grateful to have you by my side," I confessed, my gaze meeting Finnick's. "You've shown me the strength in vulnerability, and I appreciate everything you've done for me."

Finnick's smile, a mixture of warmth and genuine affection, lit up the twilight. "We've got each other," he said, his voice carrying a promise that echoed beyond the shores.

#the hunger games imagine #thg imagine #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair imagine #finnick x reader

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soulofapatrick · 7 months

Text

No Words Needed - Jeremiah Fisher x Reader

Summary: Jeremiah joins you at the end of the pier, wondering why you're not having fun with everyone else

Words: 2.3k

Warnings: makeup session

Y/N’s POV

The worn wooden planks of the bench cradle me as I is at the end of the pier, overlooking the vast expanse of the ocean. The evening sun, now a radiant orb of orange and pink, begins its decent, casting a warm glow that dances upon the water’s surface. The rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the pier is a lullaby, a gentle reminder that time moves in tandem with the tide. The air is infused with the unmistakable scent of saltwater, a fragrances that’s both invigorating and comforting. It tickles my senses, and I take a deep breath, letting the tangy breeze fill my lungs. The distant calls of seagulls add a melodic layer to the symphony of the sea, creating a serene atmosphere that wraps around me like a familiar embrace.

As I watch the sun dip lower, the sky transforms into a canvas of hues — apricot merging into lavender, then fading into the deeper blues of twilight. The colours reflect off the water, creating a mesmerising panorama that stretches as far as the eye can see. The world seems to slow down in these moments, as if the sun and the sea have conspired to gift me a pause button

With each passing minute, the temperature drops slightly, and a gentle breeze ruffles my hair. I draw my knees up to my chest, embracing the slight chill that contrasts the lingering warmth of the day. It’s a sensory feast—the taste of salt in the air, the sound of waves serenading the shore, the sight of the sun bidding its daily farewell.

As the light continues to fade, the ambient sounds of the evening become more pronounced. In the distance, I hear the soft padding of footsteps against the wooden planks, and a shadow falls across the pier. A subtle anticipation rises within me, wondering who might be joining me at the edge of the world.

The approaching presence becomes more distinct, and soon a familiar figure settles beside me. Jeremiah’s silent arrival is like a gentle breeze, a quiet acknowledgement that needs no words. I send him a soft smile before turning my attention back to the breathtaking view.

Jeremiah doesn’t say anything: he just watches. His presence is comforting, and the shared quiet is like a secret language only we understand. I steal glances at him in the fading light. His profile is etches against the backdrop of the ocean, the hues of twilight casting a soft glow on his features. There’s something in the way he’s looking at me, as if I’m prettier than the view unfolding before us. The breeze tousles his sandy hair, and I find myself drawn into the tranquility of the moment. The lines of worry on his face seeming to ease, and it’s as if the sea has a way of soothing not just me but him as well.

The silent dance of the waves below continues as the sun sinks lower, painting the sky in its final strokes of warm colour. Jeremiah’s silent company becomes a steady anchor, and the shared quiet between us deepens, becoming a refuge from he world beyond the pier.

I shift slightly, almost instinctively, closer to Jeremiah, feeling the warmth of his presence. The wood of the bench creaks softly under our combined weight, a testament to the intimacy of the is shared space. Without a word, I rest my head on his shoulder, finding solace in the subtle connection that goes beyond the spoken language.

Jeremiah responds with a gentle squeeze, his arms wrapping around me. It’s an unspoken embrace, a wordless assurance that he’s here, not just physically, but in a way that transcends the tangible. The breeze carries the scent of the ocean, and I close my eyes, breathing in deeply, letting the tranquility of the moment seep into my soul.

As the sunset’s glow begins to yield to the embrace of the night, the horizon transforms into a tapestry of deeper blues and purples. The last remnants of daylight linger on the horizon, and I find myself melting into Jeremiah’s side, the lines between us blurring into the fading light. The worry lines on his face seems to soften even more, and the weight that lingers in the air dissipates. We sit there together, a silent union against the backdrop of the sea, finding a refuge in each other’s presence.

I feel an inexplicable peace as I nuzzle my face into the crook of Jeremiah’s neck, breathing in deeply. His scent, a subtle blend of saltwater and the warmth of summer envelopes me. It’s a fragrance that mingles with the sea breeze, creating a sensory symphony that feels uniquely ours.

Jeremiah’s heartbeat echoes beneath my ear, its rhythm a steady lullaby. As the world around us falls into quietude, I sense the subtle quickening of his heart. It’s a whisper of vulnerability, a shared heartbeat that transcends the layers of silence. His arms, which encircle me, feel like a protective cocoon, creating a haven within the expending darkness. His hands find their way into my hair, fingers moving with gentle grace. Each touch is a reassurance, a tender affirmation that we’re both present in this shared sanctuary. I close my eyes, savouring the sensations of his hands running through my hair, a tactile expression of understanding and connection.

His other hand moves, bodying shifting towards me more, to cup my cheek. His thumb stroking a delicate path along my cheekbone, a gesture so tender it feels like a silent promise in the dimming twilight. I revel in the warmth of his palm against my skin, the reassurance of his touch anchoring me int he present moment. The night, now fully unfurled, wraps around us like a velvet cloak, and I find myself feeling both vulnerable and secure within the confines of his embrace.

His eyes, softened with the ambient glow of the evening, meet mine. There’s a silent question in their depths, a query that transcends words. The air around us holds a subtle tension, a moment suspended in time. As his gaze flickers down to my lips, a sudden spark of anticipation dances within me. It’s a simple glance, yet it carries the weight of unspoken desires and uncharted territories. In that fleeting moment, I feel a subtle shift in the rhythm of my heartbeat, an anxious flutter that echoes the gentle pulse of the sea.

Jeremiah’s eyes return to mine, and the unspoken question lingers in the air. The sea, the stars, the night—they become witnesses to this delicate interlude, where a shared silence speaks volumes.

A subtle breeze carries the scent of salt and summer, as if nature itself holds its breath, anticipating the next move in this shared dance. Jeremiah, with a gentle tilt of his head, leans down, closing the distance between us. The touch of his lips against mine is feather-light, almost hesitant, as if he, too, is navigating the uncharted waters of this moment.

His kiss is a whispered promise, a tender exploration that resonates with the ebb and flow of the waves beneath us. The world around us seems to blue, the sound of Belly, Steven and Conrad shrieking and laughing in the distance fades to nothing, and for a moment, it’s just him and me. The sweetness of the kiss lingers, a taste o fast and the promise of something new. In the hushed atmosphere of the pier, Jeremiah's kiss is a delicate revelation, a soft caress that resonates with the rhythm of the waves beneath us. As our lips meet again and again, there's an almost ethereal connection, an exploration that transcends the physical and delves into the uncharted territory of emotions.

The kiss is almost overwhelming, the taste of salt lingering on our lips like a secret shared between lovers. Jeremiah’s touch is a whispered promise, a gentle of exploration that communicates more than words ever could. The warmth of his lips against mine creates a cocoon of intimacy, a sanctuary where nothing else matters except the feel of his lips against mine and his hand cupping my jaw, thumb under my jaw.

As the kiss deepens, Jeremiah breaks away, but the lingering connection remains. He presses his forehead to mine, eyes closed and we’re both breathing heavily, caught in the aftermath of a shared moment that feels suspended in time. The air between us crackles with the electricity of newfound emotions, and I can sense the vulnerability in his closeness.

The moment of separation is brief but pregnant with unspoken understanding. Jeremiah’s ocean blue eyes, when they finally open, search mine as if he’s deciphering the depths of my soul. Without a word, he’s surging forwards again, his lips seeking mine with a newfound hunger that betrays the fear of losing this fragile connection.

The second kiss is different, charged with an urgency as if he’s afraid I might disappear if he doesn’t hold onto the moment. It’s not afraid I might disappear if he doesn’t hold onto the moment. It’s not just a kiss it’s a declaration, an affirmation of something unspoken but profoundly felt. His lips mould to mine, and I respond with an equal intensity, and I respond with an equal intensity, losing myself in the magnetic pull of the moment. The world around us dissolves once more, leaving only the symphony of our shared breaths and the distant murmur of the sea.

Gripping Jeremiah’s shirt in one hand, I feel the fabric bushing under my fingers. The other hand is tangled in his sandy-bold curls, and I tug lightly, savouring the soft sound he lets out—a whispered melody that joins the symphony of the night. His hands, once cupping my jaw, now explore the small of my back, creating a sensation that blurs the line between reality and the ethereal.

The kiss deepens in a convergence of desire and connection, and I feel every nuance of his response mirrored in the rhythm of our shared breaths. Jeremiah’s taste is both familiar and intoxicating, a blend of salt and sweetness that leaves an indelible mark on my senses.

I feel him close, our bodies pressed together in an unspoken promise of mutual understanding. There’s a warmth that radiates from the core of my being, a fire stoked by the intensity of the kiss and the closeness we share. Jeremiah’s hands, strong and sure, traverse the landscape of my back, leaving a trail of electric sensations in their wake.

A soft moan escapes Jeremiah, a muffled melody that becomes part of symphony of our shared breaths. Encouraged by the unspoken exchange, I tug at his curls again, and the sensation is met with a gentle squeeze of my hips. It’s an intimate dance of touch and response, each movement a silent affirmation of the connection between us.

Jeremiah, seemingly guides by an invisible force, pulls me onto his lip. His hands grip my hips, pulling me flush against him. The world tilts for a moment, and I find myself straddling him, our bodies now intimately entwined. His tongue runs across the seam of my lips, seeking entrance. The feel of his tongue against mine is new and electric, a dance of warmth and familiarity that sends shivers down my spine. Our tongues move in tandem, an unspoken language that speaks volumes. The taste of salt, the heat of the night, and the passion between us a sensory tapestry that leaves an indelible mark.

But the kiss doesn’t linger on our lips for long. Jeremiah, with a subtle shift, moves his lips to my neck. The sensation is both tender and electrifying as he places soft, lingering kisses along the curve of my neck. His warm breath sends a cascade of shivers through me, and I find myself tilting my head, granting him better access.

As As Jeremiah's lips linger on my neck, his touch takes a slightly different turn. There's a pinch of pain and a twinge of discomfort as he sucks a hickey into existence, the initial sting met with a soothing stroke of his tongue. Embarrassingly, a soft sound escapes my throat, and I can feel him smiling against my neck, the shared intimacy creating a unique connection between us.

The sensations, a blend of pleasure and the slightly awkward reality of a hickey, become almost overwhelming. I find myself yearning for the familiar warmth of his lips on mine, the need to feel the connection more directly urging me to pull him back. My hand instinctively grips his curls, intending to guide his mouth back to mine. But, before our lips can barely brush, our names are called, and a groan escapes me. Conrad, always the untimely intruder, seems to have impeccable timing.

Jeremiah laughs softly, a sound that resonates through both of us, and he wraps his arms around my waist in a comforting hug. He calls back to Conrad, assuring him that we'll be there in a second. As the distant call fades, Jeremiah whispers to me, his warm breath against my ear, "My bedroom door is always open for you.”

His words carry a promise, a reassurance that this stolen moment on the pier is just a prelude to something more. I meet his gaze, a shared understanding passing between us. The interruption may have cut the night short, but the invitation lingers, a whispered promise that the sanctuary of the pier is not the only place where our connection can unfold.

Reluctantly, we disentangle ourselves, the echo of our interrupted desires lingering in the air. As we make our way back towards the distant call of Conrad and the world beyond the pier, Jeremiah's hand finds mine, and we share a glance that speaks volumes—a silent agreement that the night may have been interrupted, but the story between us is far from over.

┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

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lamemaster · 1 year

Text

The Curse of Bloodlines (Thranduil x Feanorian reader)

Thranduil x Feanorian reader

Genre: angst (shit ton of it)

Summary: You wonder if your child would be born before the passing of Spring or if they would be born in the creeping days of fall. 'Not long now,' you whisper to your belly.

Part 2: The Curse of Heart | Part 3: The Curse of the Uncursed

Day 475th of staying in your room. The air carried hints of creeping spring. The cloying fragrance of blooming flowers made its way into your room from wide open windows that were never closed. You could not bring yourself to close them. They were the only reminder of the world that existed outside your room.

The afternoon sun left you feeling drowsy as you huddled closer to your favorite nook next to the windows. Resting your head on the wall, you stretched your back to alleviate the hovering ache that rarely left you these days. You gently massaged your swollen feet, or at least tried to with your belly getting in the way.

You wondered if your child would be born before the passing of spring or if they would be born in the creeping days of fall. "Not long now," you whispered to your belly.

"You would be the prince of the Woodland Realm. Everyone would love you like they do for your father. You would grow up with so many people looking after you," you sniffed as you felt the butterflies of your child's movement under your hands. "Your father would give you anything you could wish for. He is an ellon who cares immensely for his people."

You tried to focus on the little flutter that tickled your palm or the cool breeze. You tried to ward away the thoughts that plagued your mind. They had been frequent these days. A premonition of what was to come. You avoided those thoughts to protect your child from their shadow.

However, a sense of mourning clouded your heart. It was the realization that you would not live to see your son. You could feel it in your soul and your body. Long ago, your great-grandmother Miriel had been the first-ever elf to die on the blessed lands, and now you felt the same fate looking back at you.

You were a Finwean, the granddaughter of Feanor, and the daughter of Celegorm. You hadn't known it for the longest time. You had grown up with a single mother who never spoke of your father. You didn't dare stir the grief that lay heavy on your mother's heart. Your father's name was never uttered in your household.

Maybe that was the reason why you assumed your silver hair to be from your Sinda mother. You simply did not fathom the possibility of it being a paternal trait. You did not care for your green eyes, which seemed to be a gift from your grandmother Nerdanel. Never had you ever thought of belonging to the cursed bloodline of the Noldor. The Silmarils had never called for your soul, you were not oath-bound, and your soul didn't long for your home beyond the seas.

It fooled you and Thranduil, who once loved you. He truly did, at the beginning of your courtship when every second of your existence was spent next to him. You both had wed early, and none had objected. You had once been the crown princess of Greenwood the Great.

Then it had come. A letter from your uncle who wandered unknown shores. It was a letter that shattered your world. And the beloved crown princess of Greenwood the Great became a kinslayer's daughter. Child of an ellon who had once slain the King of Beleriand.

All was lost when you learned of your father. Your people were no longer yours. Your mother, an unknown elleth who had picked you up from an abandoned camp. Most of all, your husband and all his love were gone.

You should have resented your uncle or your father, yet you could not bring yourself to. It would have been easy to deny the claim in the letter. It could have saved your marriage, but how could you? It seemed as if it was meant to be. How else could your father's name find you despite all that had happened? How else could your uncle, whom many called a wraith, remember you?

So you bore all the hate, anger, and resentment that came towards you. It was all you could offer these people. All that you could give your husband, who refused to look at you.

Thranduil had waited for you to deny the claim in the letter. He had expected it to be a lie. You would have too if not for everything pointing to one truth. Your silence had been the only answer you could offer your husband, a fact that broke his heart.

Your bond stretched thin with the barest presence lingering. It lingered on the edge of snapping. Had Miriel felt the same way too? You seemed to share a fate similar to your great-grandmother's. Maybe someday you would get a chance to ask her.

You would bear it all for the sake of your child. Even the confinement of your room was an acceptable fate to persevere for your and Thranduil's child.

It had been an unspoken sentence laid down by Oropher. You were banned from the gardens and woods you grew up in. Stables, lakes, halls, kitchens...you were prohibited from them. It started with guards following your every step and ended with the room you had not left for the past year.

It could have been a prison cell if you had not been carrying the heir of the Woodland realm. Or maybe you would have been kicked out of your home. You would have accepted it. Maybe that would have appeased all those who had been wronged by your father.

Therefore, you did not mourn the weariness that lay heavy on your soul. Whatever doom awaited you would free Thranduil and your child from your existence. None in Greenwood would burden them with your family's wrongdoings.

#the hobbit #the silmarillion #tolkien elves #noldor #thranduil x reader #Feanorian reader #celegorm #angst #middle earth #two shot #thranduil x wife #thranduil

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aldbooks · 6 months

Text

A Gwynriel scene...

"So there is where you've chosen to hide is it?"

Azriel turned from where he stood, hidden in shadow, near the shore of the river. The music from the party just drifted quietly to him at this distance, the faint trill of Mor's laughter, the sweet scent of chocolate...

He hadn't needed his shadows to alert him to her presence. The fact that they said nothing at all, relaxing suddenly in the cool night breeze off the sea was warning enough. He couldn't help the way his gaze raked over her again, lingering briefly on the necklace that hung from her throat.

He hadn't been the only one to notice it. Elain had spotted it as soon as they'd arrived, surprise flashing in her eyes before her expression turned carefully blank. She'd said nothing at all, but he could tell she wanted to. He'd hoped she wouldn't say anything to Gwyn, the priestess had been nervous enough to leave the Library. He didn't want anything else upsetting her, especially when he was meant to be the one escorting her back home later.

She smiled as she came to stand next to him, looking out over the sparkling city across the shore. As far as he knew, it was the first time she had been in the city proper. He wondered what she made of it, with it's vibrant lights and sounds and equally vibrant people.

"It's beautiful," she whispered, as though hearing his thoughts.

"It is," he said, still watching her face as she surveyed the city and the dark expanse beyond. The lights glittered, reflected in her large eyes, a soft smile curling her lips. Gods, she was beautiful.

It wasn't a new thought. He'd been aware of her beauty from the first time he saw her. Large, teal eyes like the depthless sea that seemed to see straight through the icy mask he wore to his battered soul. Coppery brown hair, smooth as silk that hung around her shoulders and shone like metal in the light. Pale freckled skin covering a delicate face and lithe body, and the most lush, pink lips he'd ever seen.

She certainly wasn't the only beautiful female he knew, she wasn't even the only beautiful female in the Library. Many of those poor females had unfortunately been targeted for a reason... But there was something about her particular beauty that drew one in. Not just him, she seemed to have the ability to draw everyone to her, whether she intended to or not.

He usually had no issue ignoring the looks and attraction of the females in the library, though he was not unaware of the ones who fawned over him during training. Those females had suffered enough at the hands of other males, he would not burden any of them with his attention, particularly unasked for.

But Gwyn...

"Is there something on my face?" she asked, a slight laugh in her voice. He'd been staring, he realized, but he didn't look away.

He shook his head slowly. "You look- very well, Gwyn. I'm proud of you."

Her smile transformed her face from mere beauty to something transcendent. "I'm proud of me, too."

"As you should be." Something dark flickered over her shoulder and he noticed his shadows playing in her hair. He didn't wish to draw attention to them, but silently called them back.

"So why are you hiding out here then?" she asked. "Not a fan of parties?"

He forced a small smile, unwilling to share the truth. That he was jealous of his brother's happiness. Both of them. He was happy for them, truly. They deserved it. They'd fought hard for it, had earned it. But it didn't stop him from coveting the same. Didn't stop the bitterness that poisoned his veins when he thought about the feelings he'd harbored for others that had never been returned. About Mor who kept him on a leash for five hundred years. About Elain who had not spoken to him, had barely looked at him since Solstice.

Mor had seen him, had seen his darkness and shunned it. Like him, she'd spent most of her younger years and in the dark and now craved the light. Elain had not truly known him, only the pretty picture he painted for her, the kinder parts of himself that he allowed her to see. She'd run at the first sign of hesitation on his part, which he did not blame her for. But he understood now that she had never been meant for him either. She was too good, too pure. She would not ever truly understand the darkness that dwelled in him. Could never fully accept it.

But Gwyn knew. She'd been there that night in Sangravah. She'd seen him slaughter those men, seen his rage, his power, his icy fury. His wrath. And yet, even though she still trembled in fear, she did not flinch away from him as he wrapped her in his cloak and handed her off to Mor. Even when they met again in the training ring, all those months together, the private lessons, the midnight encounters... she'd never been afraid of him.

She faced him down everytime, with an irreverent twist of her lips and a quick word on her tongue. She knew who he was, what he was capable of, and she had never been afraid of him. More than that- she trusted him. Something he did not take lightly.

She trusted him- which was exactly why he couldn't do this...

Their bodies had drifted closer together as they'd stood there in the shadows, pulled together like magnets. The same pull he often felt when she was near, unlike anything he'd ever experienced before.

Her face was only a few inches away, her breath warming his mouth, when he leaned back, glancing away from the flash of disappointment, the embarrassment on her face. "I should head back." He stepped back, turning towards the party to give her a moment to swallow that embarrassment, much as it pained him to know he might have hurt her.

She'd get over it. They always did. Mor would look at him with something like love then pull away a second later, brushing him off as though nothing had happened. Even Elain had moved past his presumed rejection of her on Solstice Night quickly enough. No one ever wanted him beyond those brief, intense moments. As soon as he was out of sight, he was forgotten. Gwyn would be no different.

He didn't examine why that stung more than usual.

"I promised Nesta a dance," he explained. Which wasn't actually a lie. "Enjoy the party, Berdara. Let me know when you'd like to go home."

There was a slight tremor in her smile as she waved him off, giving him her back. "I think I'll stay out here a bit longer," she said quietly.

He nodded, though she couldn't see it, backing away a step away.

She said nothing else, just sank gracefully to the ground, her skirts flaring around her as she sat, still staring out over the water.

When he was a fair distance away he turned, hidden in the shadows of a nearby tree and looked at her. She sat with her knees curled to her chest, her beautiful face tipped up towards the moon. Her eyes were closed, but her face was not quite relaxed and as he watched, a tear slid down her cheek.

His breath froze in his chest as his shadows swirled around him uneasily. One tried to slink away, slithering over the ground towards her but he reeled it back in, stepped further into the shadows as she rested her forehead on her knees, shoulders shaking so slightly it was almost unnoticeable. She did not need to know her private moment had been observed.

Whatever she was feeling: grief, sadness, humiliation, anxiety; was not meant for his eyes, and yet he could not look away. He melted further into the shadows until he was invisible, silently watching over her until she gathered herself, wiping her face and rising to her feet. If she sensed his presence, she did not show it, did not glance in his direction even once as she strode past him fading into the crowd.

Something ached in his chest as his shadows urged him to go after her. To follow. To wipe away that broken expression he'd seen as she passed him.

Against his will, his mind conjured the image of her face just before he'd pulled away from her. The soft, hazy look in her eyes, the wisp of hair that fell across her temple, the way her lips parted in invitation... He wondered if he hadn't just made the biggest mistake of his long life...

He did not see her again for the rest of the night, and however she managed to get home, she had not asked him to take her.

---

He'd given the priestesses an extra day off training the morning after the mating ceremony, both to give himself time to get caught up on reports, and also to give himself a buffer in case he'd needed to recover.

Instead, he spent the entire morning thinking about Gwyn. The look on her face when she'd been so close to him, and the tear that had slid down her cheek after he'd walked away. He couldn't describe the pain in his chest as the remembrance of it. His shadows urged him once again to go to her, seek her out. But he couldn't quite make himself do it and wallowed in his own misery, alone in the House when he wanted to be somewhere else.

Gwyn was at training the next morning. She still spoke with the other priestesses, laughed with Emerie and went through the exercises, following every order he gave, but she seemed- dimmed. Her usual spark, that brash determination that was so thoroughly charming, was gone.

Her movements were still precise and technically impeccable, graceful as ever, but her eyes were dull, completely lacking enthusiasm, even when she smiled. Others seemed to notice it too. Not just himself and Emerie, but the priestesses who looked to Gwyn as an example. She was the reason many of them were even here. She had been to one to take that first step, to show them they could be more, could do more for themselves. The one who pushed them to keep going when they struggled and praised them when they accomplished something new.

And she had nothing to give them today.

Guilt swarmed in Azriel's gut, even his shadows did not seem to want to be near him today, practically avoiding him the way Gwyn dodged his gaze. She'll get over it, he told himself again. They all move on, she will too. She deserves better.

It didn't make him feel any better.

He had intended to hold her back after training so they could speak but she'd somehow snuck past him and back into the library before he could catch her. Emerie appeared at his side, glancing around with a frown. "Where did Gwyn go? I had a book for her."

He shrugged. "No idea. You can leave it with me if you want. I'll make sure she gets it."

Emerie glanced at him. "Do you know what's going on with her? She disappeared at the mating ceremony too. Had Morrigan take her home. Did something happen?"

Azriel's heart stopped for a moment at the suggestion. There hadn't been any disturbances that night as far as he knew. Surely, if something had happened, he would have heard about it. "Not that I'm aware of."

Emerie hummed quietly to herself. "Maybe it ended up being too much for her..."

Azriel had nothing to say to that, so he turned, offering her his hand instead. "Ready to go home?" She shook off her frown, nodding and he picked her up, carrying her back to Windhaven where she left him with a book to pass on to Gwyn.

With a perfect excuse to seek her out, Azriel headed straight to the library when he returned. Clotho explained that Merrill had specifically requested that she and Gwyn not be disturbed as they were behind on work with Gwyn taking a day off for the mating ceremony. She asked if he wanted her to give the book to Gwyn instead. He hesitated, about to hand it over before changing his mind. "That's ok, I'll check back later."

He could see Clotho's lips tilt up under her hood as he turned back for the door. He was far too wound up to get any work done at the moment and decided one more day off wouldn't hurt. Cassian was about to be gone for several weeks after all, he could have this. Instead he headed back up to the training room, surprised to find Rhys there, leaning against the wall, with an unreadable expression.

His steps faltered for a moment as he wondered what could have brought the High Lord here. "Rhys. Is everything alright? Nyx? Feyre?"

"They're both fine," Rhys canted his head, studying Azriel. "I'm here to see you."

"How can I help?" he said carefully.

"I heard tell you were rather- cozy with a certain priestess at Cassian's mating ceremony."

Azriel paused several feet away from his brother. "Oh?"

Rhys' shrewd gaze pierced him as he casually strolled closer, hands in his pockets. "Feyre said she noticed the lovely Gwyneth wander off through the garden, only to see the both of you return a few minutes later, separately. She noted Gwyneth seemed a bit- agitated, and left shortly after. Curious that."

Azriel worked not to react, crossing his arms and giving Rhys a bored look. "And?"

"And-" Rhys pulled a hand from his pocket, inspected his nails. "I've been keeping a particular eye on Gwyneth for some time. Particularly after she befriended Nesta... Cassian tells me she's very clever, a natural born leader."

"She is. Is there a point to this?"

Rhys shrugged, looking him in the eye again, his expression almost cold. "I've been considering the possibility that she and Nesta's friend, Emerie, might be assets to my court. And now, I'm wondering if there might be extenuating circumstances that might prevent that from happening."

"I'm not fucking her if that's what you're asking," Azriel said, his teeth on edge.

Rhys' eyes were ice. "I should hope not. I remember very well how she came to be here. I think she deserves more than to be a way for you to blow off steam."

Azriel bristled. "Watch yourself little brother."

Rhys smirked, looking amused. "So there is something there? Have you told her how you feel? Or will you hide from this one too and just stare longing across the training room?"

Azriel's fist shot out, but Rhys winnowed away before he could touch him, like he'd expected it. He whirled, finding Rhys behind him now, wearing a shit eating grin. "Interesting." He winnowed away from another punch, appearing behind him once more. "For what it's worth, I approve, brother."

"So glad to have your blessing," he said drily.

Starflecked darkness burst through the ring, surrounding him as Rhys' chuckle echoed all around. When the darkness finally dissipated, Rhys was gone.

And Azriel suddenly had much to think about...

#from my drafts #gwynriel #gwyn x azriel #gwyn and azriel #azriel x gwyn #azriel and gwyn

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arcielee · 1 year

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She Walks in Starlight

Summary: A goddess comes to ask for help to save her friends. Paring: Aemond!Hades x OFC!Persephone Word Count: 4358 Warnings: Mention of character(s) death. It’s HotD and Greek mythology, so there will be incest. Author's Note: So, the whole Aemond as Hades trope has been done before BUT NOT BY ME so lets go. My inspiration came from this Aemond drawing: artist. It’s so nifty. Also, huge shout out to @aspen-carter for her ceaseless patience and helping me edit this. I am so grateful to have her as a friend because her writing is just top tier and her insight is so wonderful. ♥ Also! Gō vys is Valyrian for Under world. Enjoy! Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @sirenofavalon @annikin-im-panicin @aaaaaamond (slash means I am unable to tag you) Series: Act I - Act II - Act III

ACT I

“Little goddess, you are far away from where you belong.”

This was the truth spoken, for she never before dared venture away from her mother’s watchful gaze, never pressing beyond the boundary she swore she implemented for safety. Today it was fate that propelled her soft steps to follow the trodden pathway that wove from her realm into his.

His tone was low and voiced with authority, but she did not feel threatened despite the grim scenery she now found herself in. The Underworld seemed just a shadowed, desolate reflection of the mortal realm above; it was not shroud in darkness, mostly void of pigmentation save the veily blue hue that enveloped all around. She watched the souls make their way towards the ferryman, unaware their fluid steps were not solid against the grey sand that spread the shore of the river Styx.

“Aïdōneús,” she used the ancient moniker, for who else would be present other than the lordship to the realm of death? She spoke his name as she heard from the hushed whispers of the mortals, who were afraid to misstate and bring unwanted attention from the king of the dead. For her, it was an ancient tongue known to the gods and it spilled like a sweet nectar from her wet lips. She pressed on the ball of her foot to turn and face him.

Throughout the ages, many adjectives have been used to describe him and beautiful was the first to her mind.

The contours of his face were sharp as the marble stones that the mortals would carve the gods’ likeness into and it gave a severity to his expression. She saw the left side of his face, marred from his heroism from the tales of the Titanomachy, with a gash that began above his brow and cut through, curling into his cheek. His bravery had been rewarded with his kingship of the Gō vys and a brilliant sapphire stone that was set into his scarred socket.

Cold and stern, was often used, a firm accountability held for the laws held. Monstrous. Menacing. She assumed these descriptors were spoken by cowards, for all she could see was an esthetical deity.

He towered over her, his arms were tucked behind his back and it emphasized his broad shoulders. Silver scars littered over, brilliant streaks in contrast to the plum chiton draped over his lithe figure with golden thread knotted around his slender waist. The dark tones he wore gave a luminous intensity to his alabaster skin, like a godly beacon in the realm of grey.

He kept his distance, but she saw his head tilt from the gleam of the red ruby set in his crown and the soft glimmer of his silver tresses that spilled forward with his subtle movement.

“I have come to ask you something,” she continued, her voice unsteady, but her eyes boldly returned his steady gaze.

There was a haunting beauty to the mismatched coloring of his stare, his lavender eye and the glint of his sapphire eye, that caused her heart to reverberate within her chest.

“You traveled all this way to ask me a question?” His baritone continued and there was a flicker of amusement, the slight curl to his lips with his mellifluous words. “Please ask so I may best assist the goddess of spring.”

She felt the flush of pleasure. He knows who you are, the thought flutters throughout her head and she cannot stop her smile. “I wanted to ask if it was at all possible for a soul to be returned to the mortal realm?”

A low hum rumbled in the back of his throat and he took a deliberate step to close the space between them; the flicker of amusement is gone, his expression now as cool as the marble it was carved from. “This cannot be done, little goddess,” his silver words carefully chosen for his silver tongue. “It is the fate of every mortal to die and once that threshold is crossed, they cannot return to that life.”

Her renewed grief comes with its sickening hold, clenching her heart and the threat of tears pricked her eyes. She swallowed thickly, only then breaking her bold stare and instead she looked over the spirits that continued forward, awaiting their turn to cross.

It should have been me.

“Who did you lose?”

His soft tone pulled her attention back and she can see his brow is furrowed. “My friends,” she refused to cry in front of the king, no matter the kindly concern etched onto his features in the moment. “They were taken suddenly and do not have the gold to pay the passage.”

He hummed a second time, still low but thoughtful. “They are not yet lost, little goddess,” and the familiar curl of his bow lips gives her the flutter of hope. “Come back tomorrow and we can see what may be done, but,” his gaze rolled over her, locking onto her face once again. “I would advise not to return empty handed when you come to beg a favor from the king of the Underworld.”

+ + + + + + +

He dared teased the goddess of spring and then he relished in her response to the reminder of such a timeless courtesy. The rose coloring flushed her ivory tones, her embarrassment clashed with the thrum of her vitality beneath and it brought out the sun speckles across her nose and cheeks.

How divine the thought of his lips to kiss each one.

She left chagrined and he was certain he would not see her again, save the movements when he would slip to the surface for a reprieve from the dead, a shadow in watch of the gods who resided in the mortal realm. He had not expected her to return the following day and with a basket she showed was filled with delicacies of cheeses, olives, figs, and more.

He saw her coming, her steps almost familiar with the pathway that led to his realm. “You returned, little goddess,” it was a statement more so than a question.

“I have, Aïdōneús.”

Aïdōneús. A name long forgotten, spurned from the fear it held amongst mortals, but she was dauntless with her pronunciation, just as she was bold with her stare. It was the sweetest sound, both familiar and unfamiliar, a sound that he would spend his immortality to follow its every behest.

Even though her tone was cool, he noted her white knuckled hold on the wicker basket. “I have returned and I have brought you an offering,” she continued, shifting her weight to rest it on her hip. “You also may call me by name or you may call me Kore, if you desire.”

Desire. There is an unbridled fervor in his gaze as it rolled over her curves, so sinfully wrapped in the peplos linen but his posture remained reserved, his arms crossed behind and one foot stanced.

“As you wish, Kore.”

He did not say another word and his hand reached for hers; he was pleased that she took it without hesitation and his skin prickled from the warmth of her palm. He whisked her forward and he felt her grip tighten, looking back to see her eyes wide from the abrupt movement. He pulled her closer to his chest, his other arm wrapping around her waist with a firm hold.

He brought her to a pomegranate tree that is curled on a ledge overlooking the knolls of silver grass, decorated with aimless spirits.

There was almost an ache when he released his hold and he kept his arms open, watching to make sure her steps are balanced on the solid earth. “I apologize,” his voice was almost sheepish with his realization. “I am so used to getting around and I forget…”

He is grateful that she does not press him to finish his thought. Instead, he fell back and watched as she spread the cloth, the white billow of fabric that settled on the ground, and placed the basket in the center. She offered to pour him a glass of wine and only then does he take a seat, breaking the bread, while he shared that their view is the asphodel meadows where good souls reside, a neutral ground for peaceful spirits.

He wanted to bring her here and show her. “This is where your friends will eventually be,” he finished, lifting his goblet to his lips.

Her eyes watched the bob of his neck as he drank the wine and she admitted, “This seems so dreadfully dull for the good souls.”

“They no longer have the tedious shackles forced on them from the mortal realm,” his lips curled upwards with his further explanation. “They feel nothing and this allows them contentment to wander these fields.”

Her nose scrunched. “I understand this,” she breaks a piece of the bread, allowing the wine to dye it red. “That, however, does not change my initial opinion.”

This is a moment that broke through the kingly demeanor that he carried with his every step, his every movement within the cosmos. She watched, wide eyed and rosy, as his laughter lines his cheeks with dimples, the king of the Gō vys has dimples! She savored the genuineness of this moment and she cannot help but giggle as well. “It is beautiful, though,” she continued with a shy smile. “I see why you chose this spot.”

His demeanor darkened and he smirked. “Kore, this pales in comparison to your springly creations. I only brought you to show you the bit of vegetation that can survive within my realm.”

She tilted her head upwards, looking at the deep burgundy of the ripe pomegranates that hung low on the branches. “Are they edible?”

He leaned onto his side, propped up onto one elbow and his fingers traced the decoration of the gilded goblet. “It is, but without the same savory flavors as,” and he gestured towards the basket that slowly empties with their picnic. “There is a cost of their consumption,” he cannot help the edge of bitterness to his voice.

Her eyes widen, not with fright but curiosity, to the animosity of his words. “What is the cost?”

“Anything eaten or drank chains you to the realm,” he answered, solemn, and was surprised by the glint in her eyes.

It draws his gaze to her and, again, he can see the thrum of her ichor beneath her ivory skin, her eyes focused on him and framed with dark lashes, her stare as dauntless as earlier.

“It is the cost to rule a kingdom,” she offered, blinking and it is seemingly gone, her expression now doleful as it looks over the silver hills that spread infinitely before them. “It is better than to be destined to be the forgotten goddess, tied to her mother’s shadow and just a decoration who nurtures flowers.”

He was watchful in this somber moment; there was a silence that was not uncomfortable, but he felt the returned fervor from before to ask more, to understand more. There was a tingle in his fingertips to reach for her hand, to knit his fingers so perfectly with her own, just so she may remember she was not alone.

Instead, he waited.

She pulled herself to stand and reached her hand towards him, the radiance of her smile returning, a divine glow amongst the eerie meadow. “Come and show me more of your kingdom.”

And he obliged her.

+ + + + + + +

Time, she learned, was different in the Underworld.

She allowed herself to tour the Gō vys, tucked so close to his side and allowing him to show his kingdom, from the Asphodel to the Erebus, to watch the passage of Acheron and learn the ferryman was men, twins who let a foolish misunderstanding result in the simultaneous slay and he offered them an alternative to serve him. She met Vhagar, the rumored three headed beast who in truth wished for belly rubs and she happily inclined.

There was a panicked realization when she resurfaced and saw the moon bore overhead. Her steps were quick homewards, muttering prayers to Gaia, to Rhaenys, to whomever was listening and she begged her mother would be unaware of the time lost.

“You smell of death.”

Rhaenyra was the golden goddess of harvest and fertility, her mother the very embodiment of the sacred laws of the cosmos. Her eyes narrowed on her arrival, but she managed only a hint of anger to touch her overwhelming interrogative tone. “Where have you been, Kore?”

She hummed a lie, something enough to dissuade further suspicion her mother may hold, just a silly little goddess who had gotten lost within the cosmos. She continued to add another promise she would never dare return.

This was another lie.

“Aïdōneús,” she greeted him the next day and was pleased with his expression, which was almost incredulous at her return.

“Kore,” he responded with the same warmth, the curl of his lip when he reached for her hand. She allowed him to take it without thought, a blush crept over as he brought her knuckles to his lips, the tickle of his breath to her skin. “Please, I meant to say this yesterday,” he did not release his hold, his dichromatic gaze watchful. “You may call me just Aemond, if you wish.”

“Aemond,” and she said his name with the same sweetness and reverence, enjoying her familiarity with the king and how the rose color dusts his cheeks when she repeats it. “I admit, I have come to ask another favor.”

“More souls you wish to return to the mortal realm?”

He regretted his words the moment they left his lips, when he saw the pain that danced across her eyes. His apology was caught in his throat, the explanation for his tasteless jest, but she already shook her head and that pain was gone.

“I wish to show you a place that is dear to me,” but her tone is careful. “Are you able to come with me to the mortal realm?”

I would go anywhere you asked of me, he does not say and instead he nodded, the shimmer of his silver hair. “I can leave, though not for long periods of time,” he shifted his gaze. “It is a tether to the Underworld. There is a pull, almost an ache, that grows the longer I am away.”

A smile returned to her lips, pink and inviting. “I will not keep you too long from the duties of your kingdom,” she promised and offered her hand to him.

Traveling within the Gō vys requires a celerity to his movements; there is a rush of wind with his quick motion from one place to the next, whereas she seems to frolick, pulling to keep him at her pace as they flit from the shadows and move towards a small isle. At first glance, it only holds the wreckage of the temple to appease the averter of evil, its ruin ironically from a temper tantrum of the gods.

“But why here?” Aemond was curious as he looked over the cracked stylobate and the broken pillars split, with stone embedded into the soft earth around them.

“There is beauty in the broken,” she smiled and pulled him to follow. “After Daemon and his temper tantrum, the mortals abandoned it, but I wished for it to blossom with new life.”

He watched her climb over a fallen pillar and she peered up to him, beckoning him to follow. He dropped softly at her side, while the soft echo of her words, there is beauty in the broken, remained in his ear. Aemond saw her focus was ahead and he followed her gaze.

His eye followed the curl of a turquoise moss that curled and decorated the stones, blooming with pastels. It continued to the reflection of the morning dew glittering off the almost iridescent petals, gleaming brilliant in the rising run; it showed the sea scheme of colors that stretched around them.

She was the goddess of spring, of vitality personified, and he is the darkness. But in this serene moment, there was an emotion, an almost tangible passion that entangled with the ichor of his veins when she reached for his hand again.

There was a spark as their palms fit together, as his slender fingers curled around her hand. “It is beautiful,” he said and his tongue wet his lips.

She peered at him, the flutter of her own heart when she saw how his features softened in the intimacy of the moment, a satisfaction to be privy to the reserved pleasure that played on his face. There was the intrusive thought that begged her to touch his jaw, to press up to her tiptoes and dare to taste his mouth, and she wished to bring back a piece to his kingdom, just so she could relive the hint of his smile on his lips.

“It is,” she agreed, tucking the thought away.

+ + + + + + +

That night, she tucked herself into the athenaeum to pour over the scrolls her mother stored away, with Rhaenyra both pleased and proud of her rekindled passion for her role within the cosmos.

Kore did not correct her. She needed her focus to return to what initially brought her to the Underworld, the fate she shelved and the growing burden with that neglect. She told herself that Aemond would be more amenable with an offering more tailored for the god of death, but in truth, she also wished to understand the growing thrum beneath her breastbone whenever she was within his proximity.

There was a simple spell that would serve both.

Though he would never admit to waiting for her, she was still pleased to see him on the edge of the plane, close enough for the sunlight to touch and give an ethereal glow to his chiseled features. There was a gentle breeze through his silver, silk tresses and she stopped her steps so she could admire him, the glimmer.

He tilted his head. “Kore, what is it?”

“Aemond,” she breathed. “You really are beautiful.”

His jaw steeled with the compliment and she was quick to grab his hand, leading him below like a silver beacon into the blue hue of the Gō vys. Once they were in the shadowed realm, she turned to press against his chest, her softness melting against him and with her whisper, “Aemond, take me back to the meadows.”

He, of course, obliged her.

There was a comfort with how his arms, so strong and lined with silver scars, wrapped around her waist with a hold she knew could be trusted. The jarring movement still caused her stomach to lurch, but it was quickly replaced with the exhilarating rush and her laughter spilled from her lips. Only when she felt the tickle of the silver grass beneath her soles did he finally release his hold of her and they were back beneath the pomegranate tree.

She curled with grace onto its roots and beckoned him to follow. He paused for a moment to appreciate how her robes nestled against her curves before he sits, close enough, with one leg up to rest his forearm on and the other arm pressing himself upright, his palm resting on the earth. His expression begs curiosity, but he is quiet.

Kore and her sweet smile elicited his hummed response and he watched as she began to rub her palms together. A soft glow emitted between and her focus returned to Aemond, a golden goddess with the light, before she pressed her hands to the ground. Her eyes closed for a moment, her thoughts poured into the practice incantation with the wordless flutter of her lips.

She opened her eyes and smiled again, his gaze shyly dropped to watch her hands lift and reveal the bolt of green that begins to stem upwards. He watched as its leaves unfurled and the red bulbs bunched together began to blossom.

His expression is one of awe, his jaw slack from seeing the life sprout from the grey earth and flourish with color before him. Aemond looked pained when she reached to pluck one, cupping it in her palms with a whisper, the same golden glow, before she presented him the enchanted flower, the petals unbruised and a vibrant red.

“This will match the ruby in your crown,” she explained, shifting her weight to look at him.

His expression was stoic, just a red reflection in his sapphire eye. “What are they called?” He asked when she opened his palm, his fingers spread as if his touch would shatter it.

“These are called snapdragons,” she shared, her pride aglow with her creation, her validation. “They are able to handle the cooler weather, but their lifespans are not very long, which is why,” and her fingertips tickled his palm as she picked it up, careful to pin it to his chiton, “I made this one for you. This one will never wilt.”

His gaze fell to it, his slender fingers pressed into the fabric around where she snugly fastened it, still cautious to touch. “Is this magic?”

He did not see the touch of pink to her cheeks, how she hemmed for her words to reply to him.

She sought out this spell in the archives of her mother’s anethum, that would allow a flower to eternally hold its blossomed vibrance with a condition in place, an emotion from the spellcaster, something that hinted its existence from the day they spent together at the temple.

An emotion she felt irresolute to share now.

She had thought it to be carnal at first. Desire, the unbridled passion that hummed within her when she first laid eyes on the god of death and his aery beauty. It was a fervor that burned within her as she drank his deliberate movements, the glimmer of his silver hair, the perpetual smirk that played on his pink, bow lips.

This will fade, she told herself. She returned, undeterred and with purpose to save her companions, the fate that brought her to the Gō vys to begin. With her offering rested on her hip, she allowed herself to be swept away in his arms, flitting further into his kingdom. It was his touch that sparked something more, the sweet candor of their conversation, how she swore his steady gaze able to see her bones beneath.

She felt confirmation at the temple ruins, from the moment she watched the colors of her masterpiece absorb into the exquisiteness he carried with him. She saw something, she felt something.

There is beauty in the broken.

He was a timeless deity that had seen the fall of Titans and she was only the little goddess of spring.

In part, she was proud of her power that grew, the vibrant glow of the snapdragon, but she also knew it stemmed from an emotion from her that he would never reciprocate.

So all she said was, “Yes. Magic.”

Her cheeks grew warmer still with his steady gaze, her silent prayers that he would not press for the truth of it because she knows she would never be able to lie to him. Aemond seemed to accept the words and then said, “I accept your offering, Kore. Tell me your favor and I swear I will do the best that I am able.”

So she spoke of the fate that brought her to the Underworld. “I wish to pay the passage for two souls.”

Her question did not anger him, but there is a sadness that crept to his features. “Kore, I would not be able to allow this,” he sighed, unable to look her in the eyes. “If I am to make an exception for you, I would have to offer the same courtesy to the rest and…” there is a pregnant pause, a moment that allowed her to choke on the emotion that threatened to break through and she saw the glimmer of silver when he tilted his head to watch her.

“Persephone,” he said with his low baritone. “Why do you ask for this? What brought you to my realm?”

She wore her shame like the chiton draped over her curves. Her tongue wet her lips as her mind tried for the words to express the suffocating guilt that built with her every visit. Begin at the beginning. On that day, there had been an enchanted flower that she and her companions, Baela and Rhaena, came upon.

“A flower,” Aemond hummed, his expression unreadable.

His comment left her feeling childish, ashamed to admit what followed. The flower seemed otherworldly, its petals glittered in the sunlight and beckoned to her, but she balked and stayed within the parameters Rhaenyra had placed. Baela and Rhaena teased at her sudden shyness, pushing beyond and dared to pluck it.

In return, the earth rumbled to split open and swallowed them both.

“I know that it was planted for me,” she finished, her fingers fidget with the rope tied around her waist. “What other purpose would an enchanted flower serve than to lure the goddess of spring?” Her cheeks were tearstained. “It should have been me.”

Aemond hummed again, the severity returned to his gaze and he looked away. She allowed herself a breath, the slow intake and exhale through parted lips, to relax her posture and rest her hands into her lap. He reached for her hand and she allowed him to take it.

It was with his touch that she could admit she loved him. There was a tenderness to his large hands, how his slender fingers were gentle to hold her own and the soothing gesture of his thumb making circular patterns on her palm.

“Kore,” he began and she looked up at him. “I will look further into this. I meant what I said that I am unable to return souls to the mortal realm, it is beyond my power, but I will find…” he hummed again. “Will you please come back tomorrow night?”

I will always find my way to you, but instead she only smiled, nodding her head.

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