#a vow beneath the scars

[tavyliasin]

BG3 FicFeb NSFW - Day 3

I'll be honest with you darlings I had every intention of making this one spicy but then feelings happened? Still, it was fun to write, and an interesting scenario I might re-use at a later date. Shortfic below the cut (still NSFW) with some CW/Tags for angst, hurt/comfort, scars, wounds, mention of character trauma, but I promise it is mostly on the fluffy comforting side~

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Day 3 - Body Worship

It had been far too long since Tav had found an opportunity to bathe properly. Not just scrubbing off with a damp cloth, or dunking into a freezing lake, a proper warm bath. Of course, taking advantage of having access to a brothel’s finer rooms whilst investigating a disappearance was something she took very seriously. She had to be completely certain she wouldn’t miss a vital clue amongst the perfumed soaps and soft towels. Who knew when the last piece of information they needed might be at the bottom of a wine bottle, or lurking in the bowl of fresh fruit…

“Well, that is certainly better than a murky pond.” Astarion echoed her thoughts as he sank into the water beside her. “Gods that feels good.” 

“We should take up the role of investigators more often.” Tav chuckled, reaching for the silver bowl that held a fresh sponge and some soaps. “Here, let me, for once.” 

“You don’t need to-”

“I want to.” She left little room for further complaint, taking his hand in her own and delicately sponging away the dirt that seemed to cling to his nails.

“I am not about to break, you know.” He watched her with an eyebrow raised as she continued to be far more gentle than he felt he deserved. 

“I know.” If anything, Tav slowed slightly, taking a moment to caress his fingers reverently. “But the world has been rough enough with you lately. Is there anything wrong with a little tenderness instead?” 

“Yes- No. Maybe.” He wasn’t even sure what he was trying to say as she brought his hand to her lips and kissed each fingertip in turn. “You…Well…” He sighed, giving in to her care instead for now.

“Relax, Astarion, please.” She trailed a line of kisses up his forearm to his elbow, her fingers gently brushing the faint lines of decades old scars and far fresher bruises marking his pale form. “You know, you really are beautiful.” 

“I know.” He replied, out of reflex. “Sorry, old habits… I suppose truly I have no idea if I am or not, other than the parts of myself I can see clearly. Even the water doesn’t hold my reflection any more.”

“Then let me be your mirror.” She smiled, brushing a stray lock of hair that threatened to fall forwards into his eye. “Now, where was I?” 

Tav began to wash his other hand and arm, with the same reverence she had used before, but this time giving voice to the thoughts that floated through her mind as she did. 

“Here, your fingers. I could comment on how skilled they are, how you can make me feel, but what I admire most is how they always find a solution. You’ve picked locks, disarmed traps-”

“You can do that just as well as I, my love.” He protested, though just as quickly his arguments met their rebuttal.

“Maybe, but you were the one who unlocked my heart.” Tav laughed at the absurdity of her own statement. “It’s cheesier than an entire dairy, I know, but it’s true. I spent my whole life just going from one fling to the next, living each day like it might be my last. Living like that…well you just don’t think of a future. Or who you might spend it with. It was better to just enjoy what I could when I could. Besides, attachments could be exploited.”

“And you see a future now? With tadpoles in our brains, and the threat of an actual mindflayer Elder Brain looming quite literally over our heads?” Despite his words, his expression was soft in the low light of the room.

“I see one worth fighting for.” She leaned forwards and stole a kiss, but only for a moment, pulling back to leave him wanting more.

“Such a tease, my love.” 

“I learned from the best~” She put on the hint of a flirtatious tone to match his voice. “Anyway… Here. This part next.”

“A scar, darling? Really?” He almost pulled his arm back, like her touch burned the mark deeper into his skin.

“This was not long after we met. I remember worrying that you might lose too much blood if the wound were just a fraction to the left.” Tav dipped the sponge in the warm bathwater again and carefully cleaned the area, rinsing off the soap when she was done. “But that’s not what I think most when I look at it, or any of the other marks that battle has left upon you.”

“Enlighten me, what is it that you see in such a blemish?” Astarion frowned, struggling to see what she meant.

“Endurance. A fight that didn’t end you. A strength that goes beyond what you can lift in your arms.” She sat back a moment, the myriad of scars across her own body clearer to see as she gestured to them. “Something we share, our will to live, and to be more than the world tried to make of us.” 

“Well…I suppose…” He sighed, looking closer at Tav’s form now. Subtle muscles and soft curves, the map of old wounds telling as many stories as his own, and not one of them diminished her beauty in his eyes. “There is some charm to them, maybe.”

She continued to cleanse the sweat and marks of the long days from his body with tender care, her praise like a balm to the bruises on his soul. She almost paused when it was time to move around to his back. “Is it alright if I…?”

“There is nobody I trust more to resist the urge to put a dagger between my ribs.” He mimicked the motion playfully with empty hands as he spoke. “Oh no need to be so serious, my darling, the point is that I trust you. Completely.” 

The vampire shifted, turning his back to her. The view was always a painful one - he was free, but the marks remained, the knowledge of the pain in their making broke her heart if she let those thoughts back in. “Even this,” she began carefully, “has never once diminished your worth.”

Tension rose in his shoulders, even as she tried to massage it away. “A poem of subjugation is all that is, a beautiful lie that promised power.”

“And yet you are more powerful than ever, you didn’t let the lie consume you. How about this instead.” She put the sponge aside, and began carefully tracing her own pattern across his back as if overwriting the scars his past had left. “I’ll write my own verse for you, let it erase the old one.”

“What is it exactly that you’re writing?” A hint of worry tinted the curiosity in his voice as it dropped a little quieter than it had been before. 

She leaned forward and whispered close in his ear. “My wedding vows.”

#bg3ficfeb #baldurs gate 3 #astarion #astarion x tav #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 #fanfic #a tav's guide #hurt/comfort #body worship #angst #scars #a vow beneath the scars #overwriting the past with something beautiful

[thedragonagelesbian]

"I wish I could give more in return. My flesh, at least. Something deeper, were you to ask it." I need him and cyrus to kiss so bad its not even fucking funny...........

#'you should be careful with a vow like that' cyrus warned softly #idle fingers wandering to the scars on wylls neck their texture indistinguishable underneath the supple leather of cyrus' glove #never in decades had he wanted so badly to feel beneath it #to touch to hold to soothe #to show wyll the price of that kind of promise #'there is nothing to return there are no debts between us least of all the kind to be paid with your body' #cyrusXwyll #i dont want to do anything today. i slept like shit and all i want to do is think about Them #cyrus bg3

[peachesofteal]

Ghoap x female reader / 18+

Everything was fine.

Your phone was quiet, but that didn’t mean anything. You would wait. You’ve waited before.

Sometimes it took a while for them to ring. They had a life together, a home, things to take care of. They had lives to rebuild every time they touched down, got home, got out of their work clothes. Pieces to patch, blood to wash clean.

You weren’t their girlfriend. They aren’t beholden to you, there’s no sacred vow tethering the three of you, no promises or pledges. You don’t know Johnny’s middle name, or Simon’s, anything about their families, their private lives. You barely knew about their jobs, only holding the scraps tossed to questions lobbed back and forth across pillows. They leave little marks across your mind, little spots of scars, knowledge scratched into your skin, sunk into your body, but never too much.

You weren’t a part of their life, really.

You were a part of the dark hours. The soft ones. You were in the orange rays of sunlight cresting over the city, and the emerald abyss of pitch black night. You were the flickering yellow street light, the grey blue smoke of Simon’s cigarette. The in between. Here in the moment, gone with morning.

For months, you had spent their time home pressed between them, folded beneath them, balanced above them. They made you sing. Made you scream, made you cry.

But most of all, they made sure-

you understood the status quo.

“Say it.” Simon cradled your jaw, thumb and finger full of steel, like he was oblivious to Johnny beneath you, his cock sliding in and out of your body, his fingers dug into the flesh of your hips, your back to his chest, eyes wide and mouth agape, Simon did not flinch.

“I- I’m not-“ a gasp, a groan, words bitten off when Johnny strokes faster, curved deep against the spot that makes you see stars. Sweat builds across your skin, slicking down your spine, and Johnny chases it, tongue sweeping salt clean. You swallow to try again. “I’m not- not yours.”

“Not ours.” Simon’s fingers wrapped around the engorged length of his cock, stroking leisurely, eyes half lidded. “You’re not ours, sweet girl. But we’ll take care of you, when you’re here.”

So, you fell into it. Fell into them. Got comfortable waiting for the phone to ring, going weeks or months at a time- holding your breath. You got into a rhythm, syncopated behind the swell of their voices, their bodies, their souls. Along for the ride. A passenger.

It was fine. You weren’t looking for anything serious anyway. Maybe someone to hang out with here and there, grab a drink, have some fun. All of these things, they gave you. All of these things were provided. Granted, you only went out with them to a dive around the corner, a dark, bottomless place with tar licked floors and worn away wooden bar. The kind with dusty stained glass pendants swinging over pool tables that have seen better days, wrought iron back patio furniture that squeaked when Simon would pull you onto his lap and hook the hem of your panties to the side to stare at your pussy, hungry and desperate glint in his gaze under the silver glow of moonlight. He’d flip up your dress and stroke you with the back of his knuckles, just the down the seam, cooing, telling you how lovely you look, asking how much you missed them.

They never took you out for meals, or dates, or anything like that. They kept you in bed, buried beneath them, wrung out, drained dry. They took and took and took until you had nothing left to give. They’d feed you, make you come, fill you up and put you to sleep. Rinse and repeat.

And it was all… fine.

Even tonight was fine. Johnny had emailed, said they were back in service range and they’d be around soon, if you weren’t busy. Typically, a phone call came later. Late, in small hours, when half the city slept.

So when you fell asleep to nothing, you weren’t surprised. They’d catch up with you.

They always did.

You didn’t hear from them the next day. You forced it away easily, didn’t let the unease nag at you, pasted a smile on your face for your friends when you agreed to meet them for dinner.

No strings. You’re not their girlfriend, you’re not theirs. You’re cool. It’s cool. You’re fine.

Besides, your friend had gotten a reservation at a very nice restaurant in one of those shiny new hotels that just went up.

You shoved the boys from your mind.

You were the cool girl. You were unaffected.

You’re fine.

“So how’s work?”

“Oh, it’s fine. You know, same shit different day.” You roll your eyes, touch light on the thin stem of a wine glass. The red is a shade darker than your nails, and your lips, and it tastes like sweet cherries soaked in acid. Stringent. Sweet. You’re about to reciprocate the question when the bulk of a man catches your eye, handsome width of a shoulder you’d know from a mile away.

Interest in your friend’s conversation evaporates, and your tongue turns tarnished, sticking in the back of your throat like an overgrown thorn.

It’s Simon. Your heart pounds, and you drink in the sight greedily, elated to see him outside of their flat, or in the bar. Thrilled to get a glimpse of him in the real world, in a restaurant, a real, tangible place, in a real, tangible moment.

“I’ll… be right back.” You manage, slipping from the both to the wall, openly gaping across a room full of diners. As he moves, you mirror it, coming closer and closer to a hallway, a lead off down to the bathrooms.

“Simon.” His name slips from your lips without permission, a build up of excitement and anxiety, all twisted into one heap that darts out in front of your intentions, your resolve. Not cool.

You expect him to be surprised, certainly. You expect to see that small spark, the little fire burning behind his irises, expect him sweep the length of your body.

You don’t expect the surprise to be blanketed with the white fog of indifference. The grey slab of a stone wall.

It confuses you. Startles you. And when you take a step-

Johnny turns the corner, an arm slung around the waist of a pretty, thin, blonde.

His lips part, brows knitting together in slow motion. The girl, their date, it seems, is oblivious. She only bats her eyelashes at Simon and then gazes up at Johnny, sweet and hopeful.

You turn cold. Your fingers go frigid, ice cracking through your veins and attacking your heart, slowing your pulse.

The room spins.

And you’re alone in it. Dining room chatter falls away, drowned out by the thrumming between your ears.

You’re alone. Alone, staring at them, trying to piece it all together, trying to breathe, trying to be-

Cool.

“I uh…” You teeter, precarious in your shoes that now feel like a mistake, like your dress is a mistake, being here is a mistake, getting up from the table-

You’re not their girlfriend. You’re not theirs.

“I’m just gonna… go.” You begin to backpedal. Johnny says your name, says it quietly, and takes a step, lurching forward, an animated corpse seeking its last meal.

“Bonnie, ye-“

“I’ll see you around.” You blurt, stepping back out of reach. Johnny’s fist clenches, and he casts a dubious glance towards Simon, who’s tense and focused on you. “See ya.” You croak, and then spin on your heel, trembling all the way out the door and into the cold, crisp air.

Very uncool.

#Ghoap x reader #angst #lmao #john soap mactavish #peaches writes #simon riley #thinking about the cool girl monologue #phone writing #I know there are mistakes in here

[godsandvillains-if]

Gods and Villains is a superhero/horror story set in a dystopian future where Earth is filled to the brim with crime and corruption—a.k.a MCU meets The Boys.

Warning! injury to major characters, gore, body horror, trauma and PTSD, amnesia, death, and sexual content. Rated +18. More specific content warnings will be provided at the start of each chapter.

You take control of a powerful metahuman, an otherwise ordinary human on the outside but who has the meta-gene, a potent mutation deep engraved in their DNA, which gives them superhuman abilities. This next step in human evolution comes with a setback, however, for the curse of madness seems to follow their every step. It lurks in the shadows, patiently waiting for the opportunity to strike—many metahumans fall prey to its alluring promises. 

With a dark and traumatic past filled with untold horrors and inhuman experiments, you are rescued from the clutches of crazy terrorists by a team of heroes that might lend you all the tools you need for redemption or complete self-annihilation. 

As the only metahuman with the ability to wield the powerful Chaos Magic, your very blood holds the answers to unlocking the secrets behind the control of time and space, but it has the drawback of being almost completely volatile. 

Who can you trust to keep you safe other than yourself? Trust no one, and maybe you can get out of this literal hell alive.

Play as male, female, or non-gender specific, along with transgender choices;

Romance one of seven characters, and if your heart is big enough fall in love with two of them. There's three possible poly routes available: Archon and Stardom, Archon and Mars, Paladin and Wildcat;

Customize your appearance, personality and powers;

Struggle against the shackles of madness trying to take hold of your psyche;

Battle a multitude of villains or become one yourself;

Uncover the secrets behind the meta-gene and your abilities;

Help the public fall in love with superheroes or forever destroy that chance;

In total there are seven romance options, each with their own personality, and dark secrets for you to uncover. You can read more about them below:

?

The villain, or anti-hero, whatever you want to call them, Mars is an enigmatic figure; the very concept of life seems to hold no value to them. A trail of bodies follows wherever they go, and on the news, they are regarded as the biggest menace of the century. They will have the unique ability to sway your loyalty. Beware, their sweet words and promises may drip with honey, but they also drip with the blood of their victims.​

Trope: Forbidden love, emotional scars, blood-play

Zev/Zena Hammer

The oldest of the bunch and not a metahuman per se. Hammer acts as the spokesperson for the team, mitigating the often tenuous relationship between humans and the so-called "mutants". As a retired police detective they've learned firsthand how rotten the world can be for the innocent, and they've vowed to protect them at any cost. Their analytical and communication skills will go hand in hand when dealing with various crimes, just as their implants.

Trope: Widow/widower, age gap, don't-call-me-daddy/mommy

Adam/Ada Armstrong

The current leader of the Alliance Team. Headstrong and dauntless, they are regarded as the strongest metahuman in modern times and the most enigmatic of them all, whose past is shrouded in mystery and unknown even to their closest friends. On the outside, they might seem apathetic and unconcerned with human suffering, but their true feelings are hidden beneath layers of deep trauma. Superhuman strength and invulnerability are their greatest assets when fighting villains.

Trope: Nobody thinks it will work, love/hate, fucking-your-boss

Edward/Evelyn Osborne

The former leader of the Alliance Team and Archon's best friend. On the surface, they are the stereotypical showboat: cocky, greedy, and egoistical. Stardom does whatever they can to gain attention, fame, and riches. For them, the best feeling in the world is an adoring fan and a beautiful person fawning over their heroics. The meta-gene gives them a genius-level intellect, which in turn is used to develop several pieces of equipment that are employed by themselves and the team during fights.​

Trope: Billionaire, belated love epiphany, good-people-have-good-sex

Johnny/Johnnie

If Archon's past is shrouded in mystery, Paladin's is drowned in it. For all you know, their name is not even Johnny/Johnnie but an alias of their choosing. They are known to be the silent loner type and are somewhat socially withdrawn from other members of the team, only speaking when called upon to do so. Behind their silver mask, they harbor more than a few inner demons, and together with their superhuman weapon and combat proficiency, they fight for the innocent.​

Trope: Secret identity, oblivious to love, weapon-fetishization

Pedro/Pilar Flores

The youngest of the team, considered by many a lighthearted jokester without any real talent beyond their obvious powers—which set them apart from every human that walks the earth. With their metahuman status so evident for everyone to see, hiding just didn't seem like an option, so they chose the next best alternative. Known to be playful, energetic, and often immature, they are responsible for balancing the team's more serious side, and when someone can take the form of any living being on Earth, the repertoire of pranks is endless.​

Trope: Beauty and the Beast, broken in some way, begging

Doctor Malik/Malika Aziz

The renowned Doctor Aziz, a famed archaeologist and considered to be the most powerful sorcerer, or magic user, in the world. They wear several enchanted artifacts that, in turn, accentuate their already tremendous knowledge of the mystical forces. With an extremely strong moral compass and kind demeanor, they will show themselves to be the best teacher you could ask for, but why do they seem to be everywhere you look?

Trope: Time travel, twin siblings or clones?, teacher-student

LINKS

DEMO ✶ PATREON ✶ KO-FI

#if: intro #if: gods and villains #interactive novel #interactive story #interactive fiction #choice of games #if game #hosted games #choicescript #choices #dashingdon #if wip

[anatay004]

ᴄᴏʀɪᴏʟᴀɴᴜꜱ ꜱɴᴏᴡ | ᴄᴏᴠᴇʀᴇᴅ ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜ (+ 18)

ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴄᴏʀɪᴏʟᴀɴᴜꜱ ꜱɴᴏᴡ’ꜱ ᴡᴇᴅᴅɪɴɢ ɪꜱ ᴀɴɴᴏᴜɴᴄᴇᴅ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴇᴄɪᴅᴇ ᴛᴏ ʀᴜɴ ᴀᴡᴀʏ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʜɪᴍ, ɪɴ ʜᴏᴘᴇꜱ ʜɪꜱ ɴᴇᴡ ᴡɪꜰᴇ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ. ʙᴜᴛ ᴀꜱ ʜɪꜱ ʟᴏᴠᴇʀ, ʜᴇ ʀᴇꜰᴜꜱᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏ.

manipulation, obsession, jealousy, dub-con, and smut.

ʜᴇ'ꜱ ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ʙᴜʀɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʜᴏᴜꜱᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅ

YOU WEREN'T AVOIDING HIM.

Or, at least, that's what you liked to tell yourself. You were simply taking a step back from him, allowing yourself to escape from his searing touch, his scarring lips, and poisoned vows. You were stepping out of the picture, allowing him a moment to relish his wife, to engulf in her presence and take her in. In hopes of diminishing yourself from the recesses of his mind — in hopes she could replace you somehow.

It was your wedding present to him.

After all, you were just his lover. You could never be something more — nor did you wish to be, not after everything that he'd put you through. After you'd won the 12th Hunger Games, Coriolanus Snow had made sure to haunt you down. He’d made sure to corner you into his command with thinly-veiled threats, to eliminate any obstacles on his way and take you as his and only his. No matter the consequences.

Like an object.

Like a treasure.

He did everything in his power to have you. To tether himself to the fibers of your skin, to burrow beneath your bones, and settle in. He was like a drug to you — deathly yet addictive, and sometimes you even wondered if you were right in the head. To accept his pleasures, his lips, and his body against yours — even though you didn't have much of a choice most of the time.

You hated him.

For taking away the remnants of humanity that was once inside of you. For haunting your mind during the daytime and behind shut eyelids. For making you his in every way possible.

And yet he went through all of that trouble to marry another woman.

At first, it pestered you — to think you weren't worthy of such a title. To think you weren't worthy of being the First Lady of Panem after all the shit that he'd put you through. But then, you thought of it as an opportunity to escape him. Try to reconnect with your old self and run away from him for as long as you could.

And that's what you did.

When the wedding was announced, you packed your stuff and fugitively came back home to your district. You hadn't seen your family for months, Snow had made sure to isolate you from anyone you ever shared some type of affection with. He hated sharing you. So, he forced you to move to the Capitol with him, despite the funny looks and whispers that ricocheted off the walls.

Everyone, somehow, knew you were his.

And yet, nobody dared to speak of it loudly.

Not even your family.

Afraid it might just sentence them to death (wish you knew, would most likely be the case).

One week elapsed eventually. You heard from him through the news, he'd married Julia Pompey in a matter of days before your departure. It comforted you — to think it was finally over until the roses began to arrive one day. You’d asked your mother to throw them away, to which she didn't object to, she was well aware of the thinly-veiled message behind them.

She was aware of the powerful man that haunted you.

It started with a single rose at first, but by the end of the week, they were bouquets of roses sitting outside your door. There was no letter attached to them, he didn't need to write one — you knew the message perfectly well. He was asking for you to come back to him.

It almost made you sick.

But you tried to dismiss it.

You tried to move on with your life. You busied yourself with banal tasks at home. You helped your mother clean and cook your favorite meals. And, although there wasn't much talking between the two of you, you enjoyed her presence all the same. It was nice to have her gentleness, after the games, loneliness seemed to be the only thing that accompanied you everywhere you go — it made you weaker, easier for Snow to break.

And that's what he did.

He broke you apart just to put you back together.

Until your mother could no longer recognize you. But in fleeting moments like this, when you lingered behind her frame and watched her bake your favorite muffins like a child, she was able to see a few glimpses of the daughter that was once taken away from her.

After all, you weren't completely lost yet.

But you knew it wouldn't last.

You were coming back from the bakery one afternoon when you noticed the sudden shift in the atmosphere inside your home. The house was awfully quiet — the loudest kind of silence you'd ever heard before, and your mother was unexpectedly greeting you at the door. A fake smile curved her lips, it was almost concerning, but before you could open your mouth and ask if something was wrong, a peacemaker stumbled into your line of vision.

"Ms. (Y/LN), please follow me."

Your muscles wracked with tension when the peacemaker beckoned you towards the end of the hall and into the office located at the far end of the house. You offered your mother a faint smile on the way, assuring her that everything was going to be okay — but you knew better.

The door was shut behind you with a quiet thud when you stepped inside the room. You knew he was waiting for you inside. The smell of roses immediately settled into your nostrils and you shivered, the aroma forced its way down your throat until you could almost taste it. He was sitting across from you at the desk, leaning back on the chair as he examined your features very quietly.

When you finally looked up to meet his gaze, the sight of his tousled blonde curls caught you completely off guard. He looked exhausted, dark circles marred his skin like he hadn't slept for days. You'd never seen him like this before.

You disliked it.

"President Snow," You greeted after a moment of silence, relishing the way his jaw visibly clenched at the formality of your words. He hated when you called him anything, but Cory.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He spat through his teeth suddenly. If glares could've killed, you've been six underground by then.

You feigned an innocent look on your face. "I haven't done anything at all."

"You left home," He argued, and the mere sound of the words made your skin prickle with goosebumps. The Capital was not your home — he was not your home, but you didn't dare to blurt that out into the open air. "And you left no fucking letter, no indication of when you were coming back — nothing!"

"I assumed your wife wouldn't like having me around," You responded simply, holding back your breath when his expression darkened completely and a humorous smile itched his lips. "Congratulations on the wedding, by the way."

"Is that what this is about?" He scoffed, pushing back on his chair almost immediately. The wood scuffing against the floor made you wince. "Is that why you left? Because you were jealous?"

Anger retaliated in the pit of your stomach. You were not jealous, on the contrary, you were almost glad he'd someone else to fuck with. Because then — maybe, you could be free from him. And the nightmares could finally go away.

But you didn't say anything.

Afraid that you might just say that.

He didn't mind that, instead, he took a few deliberate steps closer to you. Instinctively, you fell back a few steps, until your back was pressing against the wall and there was nowhere to run.

"Do you want to know why I married her?" He questioned as his voice notched down a few decibels. He was standing close — too close, his face was merely inches away from touching yours. You could feel his warm breath pressing against your skin as he spoke. "Because I hate her. Because she means nothing to me."

You stilled for a moment, reeling over his words. For some reason, the logic behind his marriage didn't surprise you as much as it should've. Coriolanus Snow was a tactful man, you knew him like the palm of your hand — he didn't act before having a plan. So, you shrewdly assumed, that marrying Julia Pompey was just one of his ways of securing immunity to threats.

His enemies couldn't hurt him if they killed her — or their future children. Because he didn't love or care enough for her. Not one bit.

"Do you know what I did on my wedding night?" He added, voice sliding evenly into your thoughts. His hand carefully raised to touch your face, to stroke the skin of your cheeks with the pad of his thumb. "Do you know who I thought of when I dismissed her and locked myself in our room?"

You clenched your jaw as you registered his words, not wanting to listen any further.

His thumb pressed against your bottom lip. "When I took my pants off and jerked all night off until I was numbed?"

You turned your head away, but he gripped his hand around your cheeks to keep you in place. You threw him a look, but he dismissed it with little care. He wanted you to look into his eyes.

"Guess who I thought of?"

You didn’t answer.

“Guess who kept me going?” His hands dropped to tighten around your throat.

“Stop it, Coriolanus,” You hissed, pressing the palm of your hand against his chest harshly.

He didn’t falter.

“You know she could never replace you,” He continued, as if was the most obvious thing in the world. “She could walk around naked and I would much rather turn to look at the filthy floor. She means absolutely nothing to me.” He repeated, and — for some reason, you were certain he was telling the truth.

And it suddenly dawned on you that — no matter how far you ran, no matter how fast you did; you would never actually escape him. And the daunting realization peppered visible goosebumps over your skin again.

“I know.” You limited yourself to answer.

“So, why the fuck are you avoiding me?” He snapped, eyes suddenly turning obscure as he waited for an answer. “Are you punishing me?”

I wish I was, you thought to yourself.

“Of course not.”

“Then why the fuck are you running away from you?” He hissed, examining your face carefully before an amused smile itched his lips “As if you could ever escape me, sweetheart.”

You glared at him.

He didn’t deign to give you a response.

Instead, he pressed his lips against yours — obliterating any sudden rationality or lucid thought that you could’ve had in mind at that moment. You found yourself shutting your eyes when his tongue swept past your lips and delved hot inside your mouth. He was desperate and frantic — he’d missed you. You didn’t fight it, because, at the end of the day, you knew it would be pointless. You knew you would be right back in the same game — run and being chased.

And he would catch you every damn time.

Despite how much you hated it.

“Come back home.” He commanded, his voice dangerously low as he leaned back to catch his breath. His hands were sliding under your shirt, tracing arbitrary patterns over your stomach before his hands raised to make their way up to your warm chest.

“Cory — ” You protested when he buried his head in your neck and began to kiss your skin like there was no tomorrow. You could hear voices behind the door, and concerned whispers from your family as they tried to piece together what was happening behind those closed doors.

Would he kill you?

Would he kill them?

You almost wanted to laugh at that. You wish he could just kill you right there and then.

If they only knew.

“We can’t — ” You tried again, but his lips met yours with such fervor that you couldn’t even finish your sentence. Within a blink of an eye, he slid an arm behind your waist and carried you up to throw you over the desk behind him. You tried to protest again, but it only seemed to incite him even more as he racked up your skirt.

“Say you’ll come back home.” He commanded, his voice rasping as he pulled his pants down. You didn’t answer, instead, you parted your legs and took him in like you’d always done. He slid in and out with slow thrusts and you almost hated the gentleness of his moves. A moan silently slipped out your mouth when he touched every right spot — until your toes were curling, and an orgasm was washing over you.

You hated how well he knew you.

You hated that the only thing you could do was hold back the tears.

When he finished, he collapsed on top of you. Face buried inside your neck as he waited for the response he knew you would never deny him.

“I’ll come back home.”

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #the hunger games #peeta mellark x reader #coriolanus x you #fanfic #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #president snow #dark fanfiction #dark! Coriolanus Snow

[herlondonboy]

arms tonite, clarisse la rue

summary: I cry in the afterlife I cry hard because I have died, and you're alive I try to escape afterlife I try hard to get back inside your arms alive VERY loosely based off of this request

warnings: mc death obviously, sad everyone, my lack of knowledge on the battle of manhattan because i read the books 7 years ago

wc: 1.7k

you sit against the ancient tree, the bark rough against your back, a painful reminder of the chaos that unfolded. your fingers clutch your stomach, the pain intensifying with each passing moment, a stark contrast to the distant roars of battle. your chest throbs where the drakon's claws had viciously slashed you moments ago.

the air is thick with tension as you watch your friends and family, armed and determined, engage in the fierce battle of manhattan. the clash of weapons, the echoes of spells, and the monstrous roars resonate through the air, creating a cacophony that drowns the world around you.

your gaze shifts from one familiar face to another, each caught in the chaos of combat. the weight of your injuries pales in comparison to the heaviness in your heart as you realise the magnitude of the conflict. the realisation that more lives are at stake than just your own sends a shiver down your spine.

tears blur your vision as you witness the sacrifices being made for the greater good. the ground beneath you trembles with the resonance of battle, a painful reminder of the fragile line between victory and defeat. you wipe away the tears, a silent vow to honour those who fight alongside you.

despite the searing pain and the exhaustion that threatens to consume you, you summon the strength to stand. your every step is a battle against your own limitations. as you move towards the frontline, determination replaces despair. the stakes are too high, and you refuse to let the sacrifices of those around you be in vain.

with each step, you feel the weight of responsibility on your shoulders. the tree, once a refuge, now seems like an anchor holding you back. but you press forward, driven by a desire to protect the ones you love.

the battlefield unfolds before you like a tapestry of chaos, but you find a rhythm within it. your own pain becomes a fuel, transforming into a relentless determination. you join the fight, your weapon cutting through the air as you face the challenges that threaten your world.

in the midst of battle, you catch glimpses of your friends, their resilience mirroring your own. the scars on your chest throb in sync with the beating heart of the battle, a constant reminder of the price of survival. yet, you fight on, not just for yourself, but for the future of those you hold dear.

the battle of manhattan rages on, a testament to the strength of the human spirit in the face of adversity. and as the dust settles, you stand amidst the fallen, a survivor, a witness to the sacrifices that define the heart of heroes.

locked in the chaos of battle, your eyes meet clarisse's across the tumultuous field. the concern etched on her face speaks volumes, a reflection of the scars left by the loss of silena beauregard. the memory of silena's sacrifice lingers, and clarisse fears history may repeat itself.

summoning every ounce of energy within you, you manage a reassuring smile for clarisse, a silent promise that you'll make it through. the connection between you two transcends the battlefield, a source of strength that fuels your determination.

as you let out a ferocious battle cry, it echoes through the turmoil, a proclamation of defiance against the forces that threaten your world. the resonance of your voice, joined by the battle cries of others, creates a symphony of resistance that shakes the very foundations of the battleground.

with renewed vigour, you charge back into the fray, your weapon slicing through the air as you engage with the enemies that stand before you. clarisse fights by your side, a formidable duo that refuses to be broken by the looming shadows of kronos.

the battlefield becomes a dance of blades and magic, each movement a calculated effort to turn the tides of war. your connection with clarisse strengthens your resolve, and together you weave through the chaos, fighting back the forces of darkness.

clarisse's concern transforms into determination as she witnesses your tenacity. the bond between you becomes a beacon of hope in the midst of despair. silena's sacrifice, though painful, serves as a reminder of the strength that arises from unity and love.

amidst the clash of weapons and the eruption of spells, you and clarisse carve a path forward. the battlefield is a canvas of struggle, but your shared commitment to each other becomes a driving force that propels you through the hardships.

as the battle unfolds, you find moments to lock eyes with clarisse, exchanging silent reassurances that you're still standing, that the darkness hasn't claimed you. the weight of her worry lessens with each shared glance, replaced by a growing confidence in your resilience.

the battle of manhattan rages on, but your bond with clarisse becomes a source of inspiration for those around you. the echoes of your battle cry reverberate through the hearts of allies, spurring them on to face the challenges that lie ahead. together, you fight not just for survival but for a future where love triumphs over the shadows that threaten to engulf the world.

tears stream down your face, mixing with the dirt and blood on your cheeks. the pain radiates through your body, each breath a struggle. clarisse's hands, stained with the battle's residue, continue to apply pressure to the wound, her movements desperate and unyielding.

"sorry," she mutters through her own sobs, her voice breaking with every apology. but despite the pain, you recognised the strength in her touch, the fierce determination to defy the cruel hand fate has dealt.

you wince as her hands press against the wound, the searing pain intensified by the pressure. your breath catches, and you find it harder to form words. finally, you manage to muster the strength to speak, "sto... stop!"

clarisse's hands fall to the side, and she looks at you with a mix of sorrow and regret. you can see the pain in her eyes as she watches you, helpless in the face of impending loss. "stop, please," you manage to whisper, your voice barely audible over the battlefield's cacophony.

she apologises again, her hands cradling your head as if trying to shield you from the cruel reality. you can feel her trembling, the weight of the moment pressing down on both of you. in this shared vulnerability, the world around you seems to fade, leaving only the raw, painful connection between two souls entwined by love and loss.

as the battle continues to rage, clarisse stays by your side, her gaze fixed on your face. the chaos unfolds around you, a stark contrast to the stillness of this intimate, heartbreaking moment. in the hushed pauses between your sobs, you confess the fear that grips your heart, the terror of facing the unknown, of losing everything you hold dear.

"clarisse, i’m scared," you admit, your voice a fragile whisper.

clarisse's eyes well up with tears, but she brushes them away with the back of her hand. "you're not going anywhere," she insists, though the lie hangs heavy in the air, a bittersweet attempt to offer comfort in the face of inevitable tragedy.

the battlefield's rhythm continues, a cruel reminder of life's relentless march forward. you feel the grip of mortality tightening, each breath becoming shallower. clarisse leans in, her forehead touching yours, a final act of closeness in the fleeting moments that remain.

in the quiet between the clashes of war, your final breath escapes you. clarisse's hands still cradle your head, her eyes closed, as if trying to hold onto the fragile threads of your presence. the battlefield's chaos, now distant, becomes the backdrop to a heartbreaking silence.

clarisse stays there, lost in a mix of grief and disbelief. the world around her continues to turn, but in that stillness, she remains with you, holding onto the memory of love and loss amidst the echoes of battle.

clarisse, fueled by the searing pain of your loss, rises from the ground, her eyes reflecting the torment that lingers within. the battlefield, now stained with the blood of the fallen, becomes the canvas upon which she paints her grief and rage. without you to return to, her actions are untethered, reckless in the face of her newfound solitude.

she charges into the fray with a ferocity unmatched, each swing of her weapon cutting through the enemy lines. the air crackles with the energy of her relentless assault, a testament to the storm of emotions that rages within her. clarisse fights not only for victory but to drown out the haunting echoes of your final moments.

as she carves a path through the chaos, a determination burns in her eyes, a fire fueled by the memory of your courage. the world around her blurs, and she becomes a force of nature, unyielding in her pursuit of justice. her every movement is a declaration that your sacrifice will not be in vain.

the battle rages on, and as percy confronts kronos, the culmination of their struggles unfolds. in the aftermath of percy's victory, clarisse stands amidst the wreckage, alive but changed. the victory is bittersweet, and the reality of a world without you sets in.

chris rodriguez, battle-weary and scarred, kneels beside clarisse. he sees the turmoil in her eyes, the weight of a heart burdened with grief and guilt. without a word, he offers her a silent comfort, a presence that understands the scars etched into the soul.

clarisse, attempting to remain stoic, fights against the torrent of emotions threatening to consume her. but as the battlefield falls into an uneasy silence, she crumbles. tears stream down her face, a torrent of pain and regret released in a torrential downpour.

"i couldn't do it," she chokes out between sobs. "the one thing i was born to do, and i couldn't protect them." the realisation of her perceived failure gnaws at her, leaving her vulnerable in the aftermath of the war.

chris, with a gentleness unexpected from a seasoned warrior, places a hand on her shoulder. he understands the depth of her grief, having faced his own demons. in the quiet aftermath, they share a moment of shared sorrow, acknowledging the harsh reality of a world that demands sacrifices, even from those who fight with everything they have.

as the first light of dawn breaks over the battlefield, clarisse rises from her emotional abyss, a survivor forged in the crucible of loss. the scars of battle may fade, but the wounds of the heart linger, a reminder that even in victory, the cost can be immeasurable.

you cried that night. because you died in the arms of your lover, and it couldn't have been more perfect.

#clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse my beloved #clarisse la rue #clarisse x reader #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse x you #clarisse pjo #elijah writes #lyric fic #angst #YIPPEE #please reblog

[pearlszns]

𝐒𝐀𝐋𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍’𝐒 𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄

𝓦arnings.ᐟ luke castellan x ( f! ) reader. 18+. sexual content. kissing. minors dni. percy being percy . .

𝓝otes.ᐟ 𑁤‧ ₊˚ wrote this half asleep😞 i need to fix my sleeping schedule asap

Luke Castellan had always been cynical about love, convinced that happy endings were reserved for the privileged few, not for someone like him. But then, you came into his life like a ray of sunshine breaking through storm clouds. With your sweet demeanor and gentle kindness, you shattered the walls he had built around his heart, leaving him vulnerable and exposed in your presence. But as much as he tried to deny it, Luke knew he didn't deserve you. He was broken, scarred by his past mistakes, and he couldn't bear the thought of dragging you down with him. Yet, no matter how hard he tried to push you away, he found himself drawn to you like a moth to a flame. You were more than just a girl to him; you were his salvation, his beacon of hope in a world filled with darkness.

He remembered the night he had bared his soul to you, revealing the insecurities that plagued him, including the scar marring his cheek. He had braced himself for rejection, expecting you to recoil in disgust at the sight of his imperfections. But instead of turning away, you had touched his cheek with such tenderness, kissing his scar until he felt like he was being bathed in warmth and acceptance. In that moment, with your lips pressed against his scar, Luke had felt a surge of longing unlike anything he had ever experienced before. He had wished, fervently, that your lips would linger there forever, tracing the contours of his scars and healing the wounds of his past. And as he gazed into your eyes, he knew with absolute certainty that he was falling for you, despite his best efforts to resist.

Despite his solemn promises to himself, Luke found himself unable to resist the magnetic pull you exerted on him. He had vowed to keep his distance, to spare you from the turmoil and chaos that seemed to follow in his wake. Yet, here he was, ensnared in your embrace, tangled up in the sheets of your bed with the weight of his resolve crumbling beneath the weight of desire.The distant echoes of your siblings' laughter and chatter faded into oblivion as the world narrowed down to just the two of you, cocooned in a bubble of intimacy and longing. With each tender caress of your lips against his, a rush of warmth flooded through him, melting away the barriers he had erected around his heart. Your touch was like a balm to his soul, soothing the scars of his past and igniting a fire within him that he had long thought extinguished.

As your kisses trailed down his neck, leaving behind a trail of purple bruises, Luke couldn't suppress the groan of pleasure that escaped his lips. His hands found their way to your hips, holding you close as he surrendered to the intoxicating sensation of your touch. "Shit── Angel, we're gonna need some of your foundation if you don't stop abusing my neck with those pretty lips," he murmured, his voice laced with a mixture of amusement and desire.You chuckled softly, a mischievous glint dancing in your eyes as you pulled back from his neck, admiring the marks you had left behind. But before you could revel in your handiwork, Luke seized your lips in a searing kiss, his hunger for you evident in the fervor of his embrace. "You know, since you've had your fair share, now it's my turn," he whispered huskily as he flipped you both, pinning you beneath him on the bed.

A scoff escaped your lips at his playful remark, but any retort was silenced by the onslaught of his kisses. From the corner of your mouth to the curve of your neck, his lips blazed a trail of fire along your skin, leaving you breathless and yearning for more. His fingers traced delicate patterns along your cheekbone, eliciting soft gasps of pleasure as you surrendered to the intoxicating rhythm of his touch. In that moment, there was nothing else in the world but the two of you, lost in the throes of passion and desire.

"Shh. . . Keep quiet, baby," Luke whispered, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips as his warm brown eyes locked with yours for a fleeting moment before trailing down to your collarbone. His touch sent shivers down your spine, his fingers grazing the sensitive skin beneath your shirt with deliberate slowness, teasing and tantalizing you with every movement. You couldn't help but let out a frustrated groan, the sensation of his touch driving you wild with desire. "Castellan, if you don't take off my goddamn shirt more quickly, I swear on the Gods that──" Your threat was cut short as Luke's palm swiftly covered your mouth, silencing you with a playful yet firm gesture as the sound of footsteps approached your cabin door.

A muffled protest escaped your lips as Luke shot you a warning glare, silently urging you to keep quiet. "Luke? Are you inside?" Percy's voice echoed from outside, signaling his arrival to discuss the upcoming Capture the Flag game. Luke rolled his eyes in annoyance, his attention still fixed on you as he removed his hand from your lips, replacing it with a tender kiss, slow and gentle, as if to reassure you that despite the interruption, nothing could break the connection between you two. With an exasperated sigh, you felt frustration bubbling within you as Percy's untimely interruption shattered the fragile bubble of intimacy between you and Luke. Couldn't he have chosen a different time to seek you out? Though you cherished Percy like a little brother, his timing couldn't have been worse. Luke's chuckle at your annoyance only served to deepen your irritation, his hand reluctantly leaving your heated skin as he made his way toward the door.

As Percy stepped into view, his expression a mix of confusion and innocence, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt for your frustration. He was just a boy trying to find his place in this world, after all, and the complexities of camp life often left him feeling overwhelmed and out of his depth. Luke raised an eyebrow inquisitively, his gaze flickering between Percy and you as he addressed the younger demigod."Everything alright?" Luke's voice was calm and composed, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions raging within you. Percy hesitated, his brow furrowing in confusion as he struggled to articulate his thoughts. "Yeah, uh── I'm just very confused about this 'capture the flag' game. I don't really understand what I'm supposed to do," he admitted, his gaze shifting nervously between Luke and the door.

Luke nodded understandingly, his eyes darting back to you as you sat on the bed, a silent witness to the exchange unfolding before you. "You know. . Annabeth could explain that to you. She's a great explainer," Luke suggested with a reassuring smile, hoping to steer Percy in the right direction. But despite his well-intentioned advice, Percy still seemed lost in a sea of confusion. "Why can't you?" Percy's question was innocent enough, but it struck a nerve within Luke, threatening to unravel the fragile facade of patience he had constructed. With a subtle bite of his bottom lip, Luke fought to rein in his frustration, knowing that Percy meant no harm by his inquiry. "I have some business to. . solve. Sorry, Percy" Luke replied curtly, closing the door with a swift motion before turning back to you.

"Wanna continue or do you have something else on your mind?" Luke's words trailed off, his eyes dancing with anticipation as he grinned at you. Unable to resist his infectious enthusiasm, you giggled mischievously, seizing the opportunity to push him back onto the soft mattress. Climbing onto his lap, you met his lips once more, eager to pick up where you left off and drown out the world with the warmth of his embrace.

© pearlszns 2024. do not translate, or duplicate any of my works on here or any other websites.

#ᥫ᭡₊ ⊹greetings from yours truly .ᐟ ‎ ‧₊˚ 𓂃౨ৎ #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #luke castellan #pjo x reader #percy jackon and the olympians

[thewulf]

Entwined Realms || Legolas

Summary: Request: So I thought about this idea with Legolas x reader where the reader is the daughter of Galadriel and Celeborn (which makes her princess of Lothlorien and a very high elf) and she is nervous because its commonly known that Galadriel and Thranduil dont like each other (she is still his superior but you get the point) and the reader and Legolas have a dinner or some council or something together with their parents.

A/N: This was one of my favs to write. Just love everything LOTR... please keep them coming! Thank you for the request @lillisummers

Pairing: Legolas x Female Reader

Word Count: 4.1k +

TW: Talks of war/death

In the timeless realm of Lothlórien, you, the daughter of Galadriel and Celeborn, walked among the golden trees with a heavy heart filled with the weight of ancient grudges. It had been many years since you last tread upon these familiar paths, for you had spent much of your time in Rivendell, aiding in the healing of those who bore the scars of war.

As a princess of the high elves, you bore the burden of your lineage with grace. Yet the tension between your mother and Thranduil, the Elvenking of Mirkwood, weighed heavily upon you. The animosity between them was no secret, and you often found yourself caught in the midst of their disagreements. You were torn between loyalty to your mother and the desire for unity among your people after the war of the ring. Your return to Lothlórien had been sudden, called back by your father during the darkest days of the war. The news of battles raging across middle earth had filled you with dread. Yet, you knew that your place was by your family's side, lending whatever aid you could in the struggle against the darkness.

Despite the discord that lingered between your realms you held onto hope, believing in the power of unity to overcome adversity. The memories of Celebrian's capture and torture haunted you still. She drove your determination to see an end to the suffering that had plagued your people for so long.

As you walked beneath the golden canopy of the trees, you found solace in the familiar sights and sounds of Lothlórien. The gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze, the soft glow of the evening sun filtering through the branches. They spoke to you of peace and beauty, reminding you of all that was worth fighting for in this world. Your steps carried you towards a familiar spot. The quiet glade where the gravestones of those fallen in battle lay. The air was hushed. The only sound was the soft whisper of leaves and the gentle trickle of water from the nearby streams.

Stopping by the gravestones, you traced your fingers over each weathered stone, feeling the weight of loss settle upon your heart. Here, beneath the earth, lay the brave souls who had given their lives in service of a greater cause. A cause that you had fought for alongside them. Your thoughts turned to Haldir, the gallant Marchwarden who had stood by your side in the darkest of times. His laughter, his kindness, his unwavering loyalty… they were memories that you held dear, memories that would live on long after he had passed from this world. At one point you were convinced you would marry him but that was before he was taken so suddenly from you.

Closing your eyes, you allowed yourself a moment of silence. A moment to remember those who had been taken from you too soon. Their faces flashed before your eyes, friends, fighters, and loved ones alike. Each one leaving behind an indelible mark upon your soul. And yet, amidst the sorrow, there was also hope. Hope for a future where their sacrifices would not be in vain. Where the darkness would be banished for good and the light would shine so brightly once more. With a silent prayer upon your lips, you vowed to carry their memory with you always, to honor their legacy in all that you did.

As you stood amidst the gravestones, lost in memories and reflections, a soft voice broke through the silence. She was calling your name. You turned to see your mother, Galadriel, approaching with a gentle smile upon her lips. Her eyes, always so wise and knowing, held a depth of understanding that eased the ache in your heart.

"Y/n," she said, her voice like the gentle rustle of leaves in the wind, "I have been searching for you. It is good to see you home again. You look well my love."

You returned her smile, feeling a sense of warmth and comfort wash over you at the sight of her familiar face. "It is good to be home, Mother," you replied, stepping forward to embrace her.

Galadriel held you close, tight. Her arms a reassuring embrace amidst the turmoil of emotions swirling within you. "You have been missed, my dear," she said softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

As you pulled away, Galadriel's gaze softened. Her eyes filled with a mixture of pride and affection. "There is much to discuss," she said, her voice taking on a more serious tone. "But first, I have news that I believe will bring you much joy."

Curiosity piqued, you listened as Galadriel spoke of the upcoming marriage between your niece, Arwen, and Aragorn, the King of Gondor. The news filled you with a sense of anticipation, the prospect of a wedding bringing a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness that had shrouded middle earth for so long. "I would be honored to attend," you said. Your heart swelling with love for your family and excitement for the joyous occasion to come.

Galadriel smiled, her eyes sparkling with pride. "I had no doubt that you would," she said, her voice tinged with warmth. "Come, let us return to Caras Galadhon and begin preparations. There is much to do, and little time to waste." She motioned you to follow her.

With a nod of agreement, you fell into step beside your mother. It felt as though the weight of grief and loss lightened by the promise of love and celebration on the horizon. As you walked the golden light of Lothlórien illuminated your path guiding you towards a future filled with possibility.

Too quickly the day of celebration arrived. The grand halls of Minas Tirith were adorned with banners and flowers, filling the air with a sense of festivity and anticipation. You, dressed in your finest elven attire, mingled with the guests. Your heart was aflutter with excitement and nerves for your niece and the King of Gondor. Amidst the bustling crowd, your eyes scanned the faces of those gathered taking in the sight of strangers and acquaintances alike. And then your gaze met that of a mysterious elven stranger across the ornate courtyard who you did not recognize.

His eyes were a captivating shade of blue. They held a warmth and kindness that drew you in, sending a shiver down your spine. For a brief moment it felt as though the world around you had faded away leaving only you and this enigmatic stranger in a universe of your own making. But as quickly as the moment had come, it was gone. Broken by the sound of laughter and music drifting through the air you tore your gaze away. Your cheeks flushed with a mixture of curiosity and excitement, heart racing with the memory of that brief but electrifying encounter.

Though you knew not who he was, nor what fate had in store for you. You couldn't shake the feeling that this chance meeting was somehow significant. And as you allowed yourself to be swept away by the joyous festivities you couldn't help but wonder about the identity of the mysterious elven stranger who had captured your attention with a single glance.

As the celebration unfolded you found yourself standing beside Arwen, basking in the glow of her happiness as she greeted guests and well-wishers. The air was filled with laughter and music. The joyous atmosphere infectious as people celebrated the union of Arwen and Aragorn. But amidst the revelry your attention kept drifting back to the beautiful blonde elf who had caught your eye earlier. He stood amidst a group of guests, his presence commanding and his gaze holding a quiet intensity that seemed to draw you in.

Unable to contain your curiosity any longer you turned to Arwen with a hint of nervousness in your voice. "Arwen," you began, pointing subtly towards the mysterious elf, "who is that?"

Arwen followed your gaze, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she noticed your interest in the stranger. "Ah, him," she said, her tone tinged with mystery. "That is Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood."

Legolas. The name echoed in your mind. Though you knew little about him there was something about the way he carried himself, the way his eyes seemed to hold a thousand untold stories that intrigued you beyond measure. As Arwen spoke of Legolas' exploits and noble deeds you found yourself captivated by the tales of his courage and valor. And though you knew it was foolish to be so taken with a stranger, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more to him. Something that called to you on a level you couldn't quite understand.

With a grateful smile you thanked Arwen for indulging your curiosity. Though your mind was already consumed with thoughts of the mysterious Prince of Mirkwood. And as you turned your attention back to the festivities you couldn't help but wonder what secrets lay hidden beneath the surface of the captivating blonde elf who had captured your attention with a single glance.

As the evening wore on, the atmosphere grew more relaxed. You found yourself drawn into the lively conversations and laughter that filled the air.

As if he had known your every thought, he had come right up to you. A charming smile playing on his lips as he offered you a goblet of wine. "Care for some wine, my lady?" he asked, his voice smooth and all too inviting.

Grateful for the distraction you accepted the goblet with a smile, the cool liquid soothing the nerves that had been fluttering in your stomach. "Thank you," you replied, taking a sip and relishing the taste of the rich, fruity wine.

As you savored the wine, Legolas took a seat beside you. His eyes alight with curiosity as he extended his hand in introduction. "I am Legolas," he said, his tone warm and genuine. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

You felt a rush of excitement at the sound of his name, "And I am Y/n," you replied, your voice betraying a hint of nervousness that you quickly tried to mask.

Legolas smiled warmly at you, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes as he raised his own goblet in a silent toast. "Well then, Y/n, here's to new acquaintances and delightful conversations," he spoke.

As the evening progressed, you found yourself drawn into conversation with Legolas. His easy charm and quick wit putting you at ease. Despite your initial nervousness you soon found yourself laughing and chatting with him as if you had known each other for years. With each passing moment you felt yourself growing more and more enchanted by Legolas. His presence filling you with a sense of warmth and belonging that you hadn't felt in a long time. Not since before your sister had set sail. And as you shared stories and laughter with the captivating Prince of Mirkwood you couldn't help but wonder what adventures lay in store for you both in the days to come.

When the topic turned to your family, you couldn't help but feel a pang of apprehension, unsure of how he would react upon learning the truth. "Your parents must be proud of you," Legolas remarked, his voice sincere as he glanced around at the grandeur of Minas Tirith. "To have a daughter as kind and courageous as you."

You smiled, touched by his words. Though a part of you hesitated to reveal your true lineage. "Thank you, Legolas," you replied, your voice tinged with uncertainty. "My parents... they are indeed proud, though our family is not without its complexities."

Legolas cocked his head with curiosity shining bright in his eyes. "Complexities?" he asked, his brow furrowing slightly.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for his reaction. "My parents are Celeborn and Galadriel," you confessed, watching closely for any sign of recognition or judgment in his expression.

To your surprise, Legolas' eyes widened in genuine surprise, his gaze softening with understanding. "Galadriel," he murmured, a hint of awe in his voice. "The Lady of Light herself. And Celeborn, the Lord of Lothlórien."

You nodded, relieved by his reaction. "Yes, though our family is not without its challenges," you admitted, your voice growing quiet. "There are... tensions between my parents and certain others in Middle-earth." You knew he knew, and he knew you knew. The two of you were dancing around your parents disdain for the other.

Legolas' expression grew somber. A shadow passing over his features. "I understand," he said, his tone tinged with empathy. "My own father, Thranduil, can be... difficult at times."

You felt a surge of empathy for Legolas knowing all too well the challenges that could arise from strained familial relationships. "It seems we are not so different after all," you said. A small smile playing at your lips.

Legolas returned your smile, his eyes warm and understanding. "Indeed," he said, his voice gentle. "But perhaps together, we can find a way to bridge the divide between our families."

Touched by his sincerity you could only keep grinning at him like a fool. "I would like that, Legolas," you replied. Your heart swelled with gratitude for the bond that was beginning to form between you.

As the night wore on into the wee hours of the morning you and Legolas found yourselves drawn deeper into each other's company. The hours quickly slipping away unnoticed as you laughed and talked beneath the starlit sky. The connection between you grew stronger with each passing moment. A bond of friendship and understanding blossoming into something deeper and more profound. Unfortunately, the celebration began to wind down. You found yourselves reluctant to part ways. The prospect of saying goodbye filling you with a sense of melancholy. "Perhaps we could extend our stay in Minas Tirith," Legolas suggested, his voice tinged with a hint of worry as if you wouldn’t accept. "There is still so much more to see and do. I have not seen this city without war disparaging it."

You nodded eagerly, the idea of spending more time with Legolas filling you with a sense of joy and excitement. "I would like that very much," you replied, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "There is still so much more we have yet to see. You distracted me tonight."

And so, you and Legolas remained in Minas Tirith for longer than planned, seizing every opportunity to steal away moments alone together amidst the hustle and bustle of the city. Whether wandering the streets hand in hand or sharing quiet conversations in secluded corners. Each moment spent in Legolas' company felt like a precious treasure, a memory to be cherished for eternity.

As your extended stay in Minis Tirith came to an end the bond between you and Legolas deepened further than you could have imagined. Your hearts intertwining in a dance as old as time itself. One evening beneath the stars after your going away dinner the two of you sat together in the quiet solitude of the gardens, surrounded by the scent of blooming flowers and the gentle hum of crickets. The words you had been longing to say spilled forth from your lips.

"Legolas," you began, your voice barely above a whisper, "there is something I must confess to you." It truly was now or never for you did not know the next time you would see the elf that had captured your heart so quickly.

Legolas turned to you, his eyes filled with warmth and affection. "Yes, Y/n?" he replied, his voice soft and reassuring.

"I know this is quick,” you began, your voice soft and hesitant, "And we tend to do this slow, but I must admit... I really like you. More than a friend would."

You glanced away, cheeks flushing with embarrassment as you awaited his response. But when you dared to meet his gaze once more you found Legolas looking at you with a tender smile. His eyes filled with a warmth that mirrored your own feelings.

"Y/n," he said softly, reaching out to gently take your face in his hand, "your honesty means the world to me. I too have come to care for you deeply as well. As more than a friend would."

Your heart soared at his words. A sense of joy flooding through you at the knowledge that your feelings were reciprocated. And as you sat together in the quiet beauty of the gardens you knew that your bond with Legolas was something truly special. It was the beginning of a love story that was just beginning to unfold.

You didn’t want the night to end so you kept your wandering through the gardens. "Legolas," you began, your voice tinged with concern, "what do you think about... our families?"

Legolas glanced at you. His gaze thoughtful. "Ah, our esteemed parents," he replied with a wry smile. "Stubborn as ancient oaks and twice as difficult to move."

You couldn't help but laugh at his analogy, feeling a sense of relief at his lighthearted approach to the situation. "Yes, that's one way to put it," you agreed. A smile playing at the corners of your lips.

"But," Legolas continued, his tone turning more serious, "I believe they will come around in time. After all, love has a way of softening even the hardest of hearts."

You nodded feeling a flicker of hope kindling within you. "I hope you're right," you replied, leaning closer to him. "I just want them to see... how much we care for each other."

Legolas placed a comforting arm around your shoulders, drawing you closer to him. "They will, Y/n," he said softly, his voice filled with quiet confidence. "And until then, we'll just have to prove them wrong together."

As your time in Minas Tirith drew to a close, you couldn't shake the feeling that it was time for your parents and Legolas to meet. Despite the tension between your families, you were determined to show them that love knew no bounds, and that their differences could be set aside in the name of happiness.

On the morning that both of you were to depart you knew what you had to do. "Legolas," you began. Your voice tinged with nervousness, "I know it's unconventional, but... what if you and your father were to visit Lothlórien?"

Legolas blinked in surprise, clearly taken aback by your suggestion. "Visit Lothlórien?" he echoed, his brow furrowing in thought. "It's an... intriguing idea, Y/n, but I'm not sure how my father would feel about it."

You nodded, understanding Legolas' reservations. "I know it's a risk," you admitted, "but I believe that if he could experience the beauty and hospitality of Lothlórien for himself, he might begin to understand... and perhaps even appreciate our way of life."

Legolas considered your words for a moment before a smile spread across his face. "You may be right, Y/n," he said, his eyes alight with excitement. "Let's extend the invitation to my father and see what he says."

With a renewed sense of hope, you and Legolas set about preparing for Thranduil's visit to Lothlórien. You knew it wouldn't be easy, but you were determined to show both him and your parents that love could conquer even the deepest of divides. And so, with hearts full of anticipation and determination, you bid farewell to Minas Tirith. You knew that a new chapter of your journey was about to begin.

As Legolas and an initially reluctant Thranduil arrived in Lothlórien, the tension between them was palpable. Thranduil's expression was stoic and reserved, while Legolas wore a strained smile who was clearly uncomfortable with the situation. You greeted them warmly, hoping to ease the atmosphere, but even your efforts seemed to fall flat in the face of the lingering animosity between your parents. The initial interactions were awkward only filled with polite but strained conversation and forced smiles.

But as the evening progressed and the wine flowed freely the atmosphere began to shift. Your parents, Thranduil, and Legolas found themselves gradually relaxing in each other's company. The rigid barriers between them slowly melting away under the influence of hope after the war and shared experiences. You watched with a mixture of joy and relief as the tension dissipated, replaced by laughter and genuine conversation. Thranduil who had initially been so guarded found himself opening up. He began to share stories and jokes with Celeborn and Galadriel as if they were old friends.

And Legolas, too, seemed to come alive in the warmth of his father’s acceptance. His smile growing more genuine with each passing moment. It was as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders finally allowing him to truly be himself in their presence. He chuckled at one of Thranduil's jokes and clinked glasses with Celeborn, a genuine smile gracing his features.

In the midst of the conversation Legolas turned to you, his eyes sparkling with affection. "Meleth nin," he said softly, his voice filled with utmost warmth.

As Legolas inadvertently uttered the Elvish endearment, my love, the words hung in the air laden with the weight of unspoken emotions. Your heart skipped a beat at his slip-up, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement coursing through you.

"Really?" you exclaimed. Your eyes widened with surprise and utmost delight. For a moment you almost forgot that your parents and Legolas' father were present too caught up in the rush of emotion that swept over you.

Legolas blinked, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment as he realized what he had said in front of the parents. "I... uh, I mean..." he stammered, clearly flustered by your reaction.

But before he could finish, Thranduil let out a soft chuckle. The elvenking’s eyes twinkling with amusement. "It seems our children are more than just friends," he remarked to your parents. His tone surprisingly light-hearted.

You turned to your parents with a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I guess we should have mentioned that sooner," you admitted feeling a surge of relief as you saw their understanding smiles.

Celeborn and Galadriel exchanged knowing glances before Celeborn spoke up. "Love has a way of revealing itself in unexpected ways," he said, his voice filled with warmth. "We are happy for you both."

Thranduil let out a small chuckle. His eyes crinkling with amusement. "Young love," he said before shaking his head in mock exasperation. "It seems like only yesterday that Legolas was just a boy chasing after butterflies in the woods."

Legolas rolled his eyes playfully at his father's comment. "I assure you, Ada, I have grown up a bit since then," he spoke. His tone teasing but affectionate.

Celeborn chuckled softly his eyes twinkling with mirth. "Indeed," he agreed, his voice warm. "But some things never change." He motioned to you with a knowing grin.

And as the tension melted away completely, replaced by laughter, and shared understanding, you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the unwavering support of your parents. With their blessing and acceptance, you and Legolas knew that your love story was only just beginning. You were finally destined to have a beautiful and unforgettable journey filled with laughter, joy, and the sweet promise of a future together. You had waited a long time for this. A very long time.

As the night grew deeper and the fire crackled softly, you and Legolas found yourselves immersed in a comfortable silence. The two of you basking in the warmth of each other's presence. Legolas turned to you with a playful glint in his eyes, taking your hand in his. "Well, my dear, it seems the hour grows late," he remarked, his voice soft and warm.

You nodded feeling a surge of affection for the elf beside you. "Yes, it does," you replied, a smile playing at the corners of your lips.

With a gentle tug on your hand Legolas rose to his feet pulling you up with him. "Allow me to escort you to your room," he said. His voice filled with gentle sincerity.

You followed him, the touch of his hand sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. As you reached your door, Legolas turned to you. His eyes sparkling with mischief. "Until next time, meleth nin," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek before turning to leave.

A faint blush coated your cheeks at his actions. “Until next time, meleth nin.” You repeated. You watched him go with a smile playing at your lips as you realized that no matter what adventures lay ahead, you would face them with him. Oh, what a life.

Taglist Sign Up: @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @guacam011y @illisea @il0vebeingdelulu @hiireadstuff @kenn-spencerswifey @avada-kedavra-bitch-187

#legolas x reader #legolas x gimli #legolas x y/n #legolas x you #legolas greenleaf #gimli #legolas #the lord of the rings #legolas x oc #legolas fanfiction #legolas and gimli #legolas fluff #legolas fic #legolas thranduilion #legolas lotr #legolas au #legolas and thranduil #king thranduil #legolas imagine #legolas one shot #legolas oneshot #legolas tharanduilion fluff #king thranduil platonic reader #the fellowship #lord of the rings #the fellowship of the ring #lotr #hobbits #lotr x reader #lotr x you

[sodamnradd]

She never imagined an adolescent flame could turn so deadly.

At fifteen they kissed one another on patrol. The first time a boy slipped his tongue between her lips and made her feel desired.

She kept Draco to herself and suspected he did, too. Hermione, his dirty little secret. After three kisses in June, school came to a close. She dreamt of peppermint lips and the drag of solid white teeth all summer long.

At sixteen, she learned how to comfort someone and expect nothing in return. Tight-lipped, subtly explosive, selfish, and uncouth, Draco pushed her away and reeled her back in. He took her virginity in Filch’s supply closet. It was harsh and unromantic and horribly cruel when, afterwards, he revealed his Dark Mark and asked if she still wanted him.

At seventeen, he saved her life.

“Where have you been?” he wanted to know. An unmasked face in a sea of secret soldiers, intent to torture and kill them. The wild jealousy in his eyes was really asking: who have you replaced me with?

“Nowhere.” No one.

He slipped her his wand, told her to stun him, save her friends, and run, promising to find her again.

Seventeen was the longest year of her life.

Draco used his wand to track her whereabouts.

She didn’t know if she could trust him. If he was the cruel sixteen-year-old who hurt her all year long, or the fifteen-year-old who’d kissed her, pulled away, stunned, as if he’d come to a shocking revelation, then kissed her again with reckless, open-hearted abandon.

By eighteen he was her confidante and closest friend.

They met in public spaces. Chiswick. Richmond. Hammersmith. She wore Muggle clothes, and he showed up in all black. Autumnal chic. Trendy Londoners didn’t blink twice. He’d sweep her onto an empty double-decker, a vacant pub, a locked greenhouse in the botanical gardens, remove his leather gloves, and touch her face, her hair, rub her cold hands between his palms and kiss her fingertips. He took note of her scars. The ones he recognised and the ones he didn’t. Demand who did it, vow to make them pay, then offer everything he knew about Voldemort’s next moves.

At eighteen, he confessed he loved her.

It was the worst of the war. She’d been beaten, tortured, scarred, and branded. Draco hardened, trained and bathed in Dark Magic. They did not belong with one another.

Keeping her safe was like clutching a bar of soap beneath the tap and praying it wouldn’t slip from his fingers. But he tried his damned well hardest, and she loved him for it.

By nineteen, freedom tasted like luxury.

War-torn homes, constant nightmares, society’s vitriol, friends who didn’t understand, a world who wished them apart.

It was caviar and champagne.

The ability to sleep in the same bed and touch one another when they felt like it (always), and say I love you without the fear of never saying it again.

(494 words, photo prompt from twitter)

#sodamnrad #dramione #draco malfoy #hermione granger #draco x hermione #hermione x draco #dhr #dramione drabble #drabble #sodamnraddrabbles

[mock-arts]

Happy approaching new year all! I just wanted to look at all the covers I’d made for Star Wars fics in 2022 all at once lol

links to each beneath the cut!

Crashing Down by @oakwyrm (art)

Marshal Commander Cody of the 7th Sky Corps is, despite his reputation, mortal. When a severe injury threatens his life and his continued ability to function should he recover, protocol states he should be sent back to Kamino. It does not explicitly state that he would likely be decommissioned, but his vode all know how to read between the lines.

General Kenobi’s response is equally predictable.

Careful What You Wish For by @shadowlight17 (art)

Cody was head over heels for his Jedi General, so when Order 66 was executed, he was in emotional turmoil. And then he died. Or so he thought. He said he would give anything to fix this...would it be worth it if fixing it meant leaving everything he knew behind? Thrown into the past, Cody is given that chance. To make things right.

Cody was head over heels for his Jedi General, so when Order 66 was executed, he was in emotional turmoil. And then he died. Or so he thought. He said he would give anything to fix this...would it be worth it if fixing it meant leaving everything he knew behind? Thrown into the past, Cody is given that chance. To make things right.

Cody was head over heels for his Jedi General, so when Order 66 was executed, he was in emotional turmoil. And then he died. Or so he thought. He said he would give anything to fix this...would it be worth it if fixing it meant leaving everything he knew behind? Thrown into the past, Cody is given that chance. To make things right.

Cody was head over heels for his Jedi General, so when Order 66 was executed, he was in emotional turmoil. And then he died. Or so he thought. He said he would give anything to fix this...would it be worth it if fixing it meant leaving everything he knew behind? Thrown into the past, Cody is given that chance. To make things right.

In This Our Liberty — currently unposted, series here.

from ancient grudge (to soap opera television) by @eclipsemidnight (art)

The Jedi and the Sith, in fair Coruscant where we lay our scene...ancestral enemies, whose battles these days are more likely to be to first spend rather than to first blood. This does not amuse the clone security forces who have to break them up, or Chancellor Windu who has to deal with them afterwards.

Meanwhile, Maul and Ventress's marriage is arranged by Sidious and Dooku. Obi-Wan and his friends Ahsoka and Quinlan crash their engagement party. We all know how this is going to end--a wedding, of course! It just takes a few hands, the threat of the Coruscant Guard, and a porg-print towel to get there!

This I Vow by @wanderingjedihistorian (art)

To secure a planet's help for the Republic, Obi-Wan and Cody must get married. Having been quietly together for some time, it is an easy decision for the pair to make. They didn't expect what followed. Nor did anyone else.

Once Upon a Dream by @glimmerglanger (art)

The man was still warm; not warm enough but he obviously hadn’t been dead long. Cody thinned his mouth, looking at the man. He had a fall of copper hair and a beard, scars here and there on his body. He looked like he’d been a fighter, all muscle, trim and--

“Sith’s spit,” he added, cutting over the chatter in his bucket, as his assessment reached the man’s hand, curled, even in death, around a familiar metallic cylinder. “General Tachi, I think he was a Jedi.”

OR, the one where Marshal Commander Cody finds a mystery figure three years into the Clone Wars, and it changes the course of history.

Or Why Comes Thou to Caterhaugh? by Afiregender (art)

In the midst of the Clone Wars, Obi-Wan very abruptly goes on leave to attend a "personal matter" on his homeworld Stewjon. Both Cody and the Jedi find this somewhat odd, and Cody goes on leave himself to investigate. He finds his General at a banquet meant to celebrate the new Fae King... which turns out to be Obi-Wan himself. Or: Tam Lin but Codywan.

Descent by @kutaisi (art) (we’re just getting started on this one!)

As they're fighting in the rain on Kamino, Jango Fett and Obi-Wan Kenobi are thrown forward in time to a version of the galaxy that neither of them could have imagined.

Finding themselves fifteen years in the future, their struggle to get back to their own time is complicated by devasting discoveries and a nightmare of a reality that they have no idea how to navigate through.

...and also by each other.

I also illustrated a bunch of other fic this year, that didn’t necessarily get covers.

Soul Found by @darthtarvera (art)

It had been five years since he’d dreamed of his soulmate. 

Five years since the council broke the bond between them. 

Now, a last test as the council sends Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon to Mandalore to protect the Duke of Mandalore and his two daughters. Obi-Wan is determined to prove once and for all he has what it takes to be a good jedi. 

But can even the jedi truly break a bond between a jedi and their soulmate? As Obi-Wan discovers more of the culture and people his mark ties him to he realizes that maybe his path isn't so rigid as he thought.

i don’t wanna feel stuck by @ghostlandtoo (art)

Three years after the war, Obi-Wan has stuck to diplomatic missions from the Order, tired of fighting. When he's burned by the Republic on the tail-end of one such mission, Obi-Wan finds himself stuck on Myam-1, a beach planet in the Outer Rim. Work doesn't stop, even on a vacation planet. Reunited with an old flame and a few old friends, Obi-Wan can't help but help the several people on Myam-1 in need of help, even if he lost his lightsaber a few planets back.

This, too, was a gift by @lttrsfrmlnrrgby (art)

The Rako Hardeen mission was a success, but it left Obi-Wan Kenobi sick at heart after the empathic stresses of the mission, and questioning whether the mission was worth it. The troopers of the 212th welcome him back, wanting nothing more than to assure him he did the right thing, and Obi-Wan works to make their trust in him worth it.

The Force, however, shows Obi-Wan a detailed vision of the future to come. He eliminates the threats posed by the Sith, but feels he cannot return to the Order or to his men, and sets out alone, letting the Force direct him to the grimmest parts of the galaxy and the people who were always overlooked and underserved. 

Marshal Commander Cody takes his general's warning and evacuates Kamino and all of the clones from Republic space. As the Jedi work to recover from the Sith plot and the Republic stalls out on how to move on, the clones settle a new world, try to heal, and look for their missing general. Along the way, apart and together, Cody and Obi-Wan make discoveries that will change their and the galaxy’s future, and learn how to move forward even when things are broken and like nothing they'd planned.

I think that’s it as far as Star Wars fic I’ve illustrated/made covers for goes? (There’s a little bit of punisher/daredevil fic I’ve still been working on illustrating this year but that would be off theme lol)

if you’re a Star Wars fic author I’ve worked with this year and I’ve somehow missed you, let me know and I’ll add a link in! I’ve had an absolute blast collaborating with everyone this year, and I’m looking forward to digging in next year too! ❤️

#Star wars #jangobi #codywan #obimaul #obi wan kenobi #commander cody #jango fett #darth maul #star wars clone wars #star wars prequels #cover collection #1k+ #big bang

[nanamimizz]

tags: 18 minors dni, established relationship + marriage, set in the ending where wyll is the duke of baldur’s gate, gn reader, reader is implied to be a rouge of some sort, some type of brat taming. let me know if i missed something!

synopsis: you’re used to taking your pleasure in your hands. wyll has had enough of it.

If one were to ask you how you would describe Wyll you would say gently lost in the way he handles the children in the grove and how gently he offers his assistance to any in camp who need it. It’s easy to forget the steel of the Blade of the Frontiers behind the gleam of pearly teeth. And maybe Wyll let you get away with too much, letting you off with a simple teasing remark. That was then and this is now - Wyll is your husband by vow and decree, and you find that the gold of his wedding ring isn’t the only metal that gleams in the candlelight of your shared room. You’re on your side, trapped beneath the bulk built from 3 meals and daily training as his dark skin shines in the orange light that douses the room.

“You are so stubborn.” he grunts into your ear, bending the meat of your leg back and over his hips. The hair on his skin tickles your hips and you gasp - grunt and moan when his hand comes to grope at your chest. His cock is inside you, the only place he would ever want it to be.

“I’m not stubborn - fuck.”

“I’m your husband now, you are to lay with me whenever you wish.” He pants into your ear with a voice so wrecked with lust it cracks under its weight. You feel full, full of so much emotion it makes you weep and the blissful stinging ache of Wyll’s cock stretching you out that your tears are golden beneath him.

“Ah! I am not stubborn! Just don’t -“ You gasp in mid-sentence, words dying upon your lips as your husband takes it upon himself to set the pace. One akin to his love for you; deep, all encompassing and growing from a slow pace. Your face is brought to his, lips bursting into flames at the slight touch from their proximity.

“I don’t want to bother you.” you whisper against his lips, they feel like satin to your slightly chapped ones. Despite getting used to sleeping and living in the upper city you are still not quite used to the comforts it provides. You still wear the scuffs of your past, alongside the scars of your adventure.

“You never bother me - not your presence or your pleasure.” he pauses to sink into you all the way in. The tip of his cock pushes against every spot inside of you that makes you yelp like an injured animal. Wyll is not a cruel man but letting him have you like this makes him consider that it might not be so bad to be one.

“Not so tough now, are you?” Each word is punctuated with a thrust and followed by the wet squelch that comes from your lower half and you respond with a pathetic little yelp each time.

“No more scampering off. Next time you’re leaking between your thighs you come find me. I’ll make time to take care of you - I’m yours now so stop thinking you can pleasure yourself when I’m right here.” You don’t have it in you to argue, to make some sort of remark or comment. Instead you nod, your legs wracked with so much pleasure they only hang there, twitching with each shock. Wyll presses his lips to yours finally and it’s with the gentle heat of the kiss you unravel - tightening and spilling down your thighs and Wyll gasps as he finishes quickly in tow. He pulls away with the webbed strings of spit following him and when he speaks his words are wrecked.

“Give me a moment, we’ll go again. I’m not done with you yet.” You think on his words and with a heated face you only nod and go to kiss him one more time but not the last.

#lamb.writes #wyll ravengard smut #wyll x reader #bg3 x reader #bg3 smut

[khaosrealms]

could you write a smoke request? i don't have that much creativity for a long scenario but it could be during his and f!reader's wedding night; if you want to turn this into a smut, feel free!

CRESCENT’S CARESS (nsfw content!) / SMOKE X FEMALE!READER

a/n: i certainly can write it, because it is the first smoke request i’ve received and i am positively thrilled to answer it! thank you very much 🩶 as a warning, again before reading: this piece contains NSFW content.

There's nothing in this world that could take his eyes off of you. Tomas is certain the second he does that this world, having gifted him nothing but its loss, would rip him away from you. His love, his beloved, the sharer of his heart, now vowed and wed together. Every kiss almost seeming to beg against your lips to remain there with him. The warmth of his hands melting into your flesh, your hips, your waist, any part of you he could touch. And when you finally part from Tomas' lips, the stain of your painted lips across his, he's desperate to return. Every ounce and piece of his adoration for you he could possibly show drowning in his eyes.

"I need to breathe, Tomas." Yet you are smiling, and as he watches it push a chuckle out of you, he can't help but smile himself. His body heat melding into your own as he holds you within his grasp. "One more, my love-- just one more." So another kiss you allow Tomas and he divulges in your lenience. Tangling his fingers through your hair, unraveling carefully, with each second of the more than one kiss he gifts you, the pins and jewelry covering your head. "One more." He whispers, pressing his lips to your neck; coaxing each piece of your phoenix red dress off from your body. Smiling as you do the same for him, tracing the gold embroidered details over his chest. The lovely red fabric slipping from his shoulders and waist the same hue of his skin beneath your palms. Pressed down against the fabric of your shared bed; gazing up with nothing but worship as you straddle him. Coated in candle light. The bruises of his lips illuminated in sweat on your neck and your own, of rose red, over the expanse of his sharp jaw. One, there, where the scar resides on his brow; another on the beauty mark on his cheek. Scattered all over his body where your lips may reach. Even then, both out of breath, Tomas can't stop smiling, and neither can you.

"If I said the words I wished to say---" "Yes, I would kiss you again, Tomas." You relish in the moment of peace that fills with your joined laughter. Waving cool air into your burning hot cheeks; only to be whisked away onto your back by Tomas. Using your moment of weakness to lay you down, pulling you into another willing, desperate kiss. This time, you can feel him every part of him; his weight, his skin against your own, his cock pressed against your inner thigh. Even now, tangled in your arms, begging and waiting for your permission. "Please." This time, you beg to him. This time, you forfeit everything to him-- your love, your beloved, the sharer of your heart. Pressing your hips against his own, running the length of his cock over your dripping cunt. "Please--- I need you, Tomas." Grasping him in your hand, dragging his head over your clit, coated in both his and your own slick. What resistance could Tomas offer? Nothing, to his love, this night-- you belong only to him and to you, he belongs. Your Smoke, your Tomas. "Anything for you."

#mortal kombat x reader #smoke #smoke x reader #smoke x wife! reader #smoke smut #smoke x female! reader #mk1 imagines #mk1 headcanons #khaosrealms #i want u all 2 know #that the cruel decision i made to end this where i did #was made in the heat of the moment #:flutters eyelashes: #i am... WILLING TO CONTINUE....

[peachdues]

VOW BETWEEN MAN AND STAR

A/N: not me starting a new WIP. All my current works are staring at me with the surprised Pikachu face rn. As you all know, I do most of my fic planning in the shower, and last night, I was wondering whether I'd ever write anything as angsty as Phantasmagoria. My brain said "bet," and lo and behold, Vow Between Man and Star was born.

CW: This story will be extremely NSFW/18+. It will be incredibly violent, angsty, tragic, (but funny), and of course, smutty.

I will upload a synopsis later today, but I don't want to dull the impact of the prologue, included below.

Without further ado!

Tokyo

July 1, 1995

The early morning air was already thick with summer's humidity when he felt the mark form.

Giyuu shot up in his bed with a gasp, blankets sticking to his sweat-slickened body. His good hand instantly seized around his right forearm as he felt a phantom blade carve a single mark into his skin, right beside the others.

Though covered by his rigid grip, the mark burned a bright blue, its glow seeping through his fingers like a siren light on a police cruiser; a warning.

All of his marks had emitted the same, blue light when they'd first appeared, though the tally's nine siblings had long since faded to silver, nearly blending in with the pale skin of his arm. But they'd scarred nonetheless.

Scarred to remind him of the nine times he'd failed his comrades; failed humanity.

Failed her.

In making that vow, he'd doomed not only himself and his seven fellow Pillars to walk the years of the earth alone, never changing or aging, but he'd doomed her as well. He'd damned her to a repetitive loop of birth and death, fated never to age past twenty-five -- the same age she'd been that first time, when, on the precipice of death, he'd begged for the life she'd already lost. And his desperate wish had been granted; he'd secured her ten lives for them to try again -- to try and find the King of the Demons and rid the world of his and his monstrous creations.

Ten lives, the disembodied voice of a star had told him as his heart slowed, all those centuries ago, when he'd cast that last, feeble plea out into the ethos. Ten lives, in exchange for ten Moons.

Nine had been wasted; in nearly every life, he'd found her, and he'd loved her, and he'd lost her; always too late to save her before some calamity, or from Kibutsuji cornering her, this woman who possessed the knowledge to destroy him, and tearing her limb from limb.

The closest they had come to defeating him had been some seventy-odd years prior. They'd been at the pinnacle of their strength, and they'd just managed to breach the gates of victory when Muzan Kibutsuji pulled one final trick; he'd merged with the young Sun Breather -- Tanjiro -- and managed to rip her head clean from her body right before she'd been able to excise him once and for all.

Giyuu's eardrums had burst from how hard he'd been screaming as he watched his beloved's head thud uselessly to the ground, while his former friend licked her blood from his fingers.

He wondered when he was finally permitted to die, if he would even be allowed into heaven, for having damned the woman he loved to suffer, time and again, each death more violent than the last.

Giyuu spied the early hour of the morning displayed on the small alarm clock resting on his bedside table -- 4:07 AM.

Time had begun for her once more, somewhere in the world, where she'd arrived with a mighty cry, only to be quickly bundled in soft, standard hospital blankets and handed to a relieved and exhausted new mother.

He would have to alert the others; as he'd come to learn over the previous nine cycles, she wasn't even guaranteed to reach adulthood, let alone the level of power she'd need to take on Kibutsuji. She would need her watchers.

So, as the hot, relentless burn of the newest mark faded to a sharp sting, the blue glow winking out beneath the press of his hand, Giyuu found himself kicking the covers off his trembling, clammy form, as he prepared to dress for the day.

Because that tenth mark signaled his last chance had arrived.

His last chance to destroy Kibutsuji.

His last chance to help save humanity.

His last chance to save her.

The sand in the final hourglass was already pouring; and they had work to do.

Someone ask me how I decided to make Giyuu the love interest bc I find it hilarious.

LIKES / REBLOGS/ COMMETS ALWAYS APPRECIATED!

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #giyuu tomioka #kny #kny x reader #kny fanfic #tomioka giyuu #kny giyuu #kny smut #demon slayer hashira #hashira au #hashira fic #demon slayer smut #giyuu x y/n #giyuu x reader #giyuu tomioka x reader #giyuu smut #demon slayer fic #fanfic

[kastlequill]

iv/v. unearth without a name: the wolf that seeks always his own kind

pairing: keegan p russ x f!reader word count: 2.3k synopsis: the fourth and final time you hallucinate keegan tags: whumptober, psychological warfare, injury, brainwashing, hallucinations, amnesia, hurt no comfort, established relationship, ghost!reader, 4+1, no y/n warnings: canon-typical violence, torture, non-consensual drug use ao3: read here ← prev | next →

IV.

The day you finally broke started off like all the rest.

Tray of gruel, no spoon. Recreational beating, violent enough to put the ache in your bones and the blooms of purple in your flesh, but nevertheless mindful not to render you out of commission. And now, mind games with Rorke.

Another harsh knee slammed into your abdomen, bruising the spleen beneath layers of tender flesh. The blow would’ve had you in a fetal position if you weren’t currently hanging from the ceiling by bound wrists. So, instead, you twisted your hands to tighten your grip on the taut rope, hoping to ground yourself with something tangible, something real. Alas, the move only served to agitate the preexisting friction burns along your restraints.  

Rorke sighed. “This little game of yours is gettin’ old, don’t y’think?”

You silently agreed with the sentiment, but your outward expression remained stoic. Or, at least, as stoic as could be expected from a half-beat, nearly-gone prisoner of war. Fatigue and exhaustion had assumed residence in your headspace, the pair thick as thieves, and you were growing weary of their company. 

Thanks to Rorke breaking your orbital bone a few meet-and-greets ago, your right eye had swollen shut, so it hurt like a motherfucker to tear your gaze up from the blood-soaked floor. When he at last entered your field of view, you almost wished you hadn’t wasted the energy to do so in the first place. 

“I’ll make you an offer,” he started, leaning forward. His breath reeked something foul. “Tell me what I want to know, and maybe I let you walk out that door with all your limbs still intact.”

In your desire to put an end to this prolonged bout of suffering, the suggestion briefly appealed to you. That was, until you felt the unforgiving, unmistakable heat of shame burn deeply within your gut. 

The Ghosts—the guys, your guys—were depending on you. They were out there, saving the world or what’s left of it, and you were down here, protecting their secrets with your rotting mind, body, and soul, heedless to the sharp sting of their apparent betrayal. Despite the horrors Rorke had forced you to endure over the course of presumably several months, you continued to keep firm so as to buy your men the time they needed to fulfill their ultimate objective. 

Hold the line, Keegan had instructed you once, hand heavy on your shoulder. The intensity in his eyes had captivated you as the team readied themselves to embark on another suicide mission.

Hold the line ‘til I tell you to fall back. Know I’m always watchin’ everyone, everything, everywhere, so trust I won’t forget about you. Just ‘cause you’re out of sight doesn't mean you’re out of mind. Is that clear, rookie ?

Crystal clear. As clear as the wad of saliva you now lobbed at Rorke’s face, landing on the dead center of his left cheek. You watched him process the small act of rebellion and predicted his ensuing streak of violence. Then, for good measure, you broke your vow of silence and whispered two words:

“Fuck you.”

You had taken Rorke for the Devil at the beginning of this whole ordeal, but the revulsion he’d evoked in you back then did not compare to the pure malignancy that now contorted his scarred face. 

“Guess I’m just gonna have to beat it out o’ you,” he resolved, cracking his knuckles. 

And so the torture ensued as it always did in this vile and twisted tango. Punch after punch, kick after kick, cut after cut—you somehow remained conscious through it all. Even when you finally began to black out, he didn’t for a second relent his rapid volley attacks. 

At this point, fear was a distant thing. Bitter acceptance, however, had never been closer. Its arrival marked the beginning of the end. 

Everything that would follow was entirely and utterly out of your control. 

“What’s your name?”

“. . . I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“No, I. . . I can’t remember it. My name.”

“Alright. Next question—”

“—did I do something wrong? Where am I? Is this some kind of test—”

“—how about your mother’s name? Think you can tell me that?”

“My mother? Is she safe? Is she here?”

“Her name, please. If you’re unsure of the answer, say the word ‘unknown’.”

“She’s. . . her name is. . .” 

“Is what?”

“Unknown.”

“Interesting.”

“Interesting? I’ll show you interesting. You better start explaining why I can’t remember her name, or her face, or my own goddamn name.” 

“That’s what we’d like to know as well, considering you are the one who all but short-circuited her brain and forgot everything of note.”

“. . . I what?”

“Retrograde amnesia. Quite a severe case of it, at that.”

“How’s that even possible? Just what exactly is this place? And who are you people?”

“Answer our questions, then maybe we’ll answer some of yours. Now, do you recognize the man in this photo?”

“Should I?”

“Yes or no.”

“No. I don’t know who he is. I’ve never seen him before in my life.”

“Well, this certainly changes things. Not to worry, though. You’ve made your mind a blank slate, and we can most definitely use that to our advantage.”

“Sorry, could you repeat that last part? My ears are still ringing, and your mumbling makes it impossible to hear a damn thing.”

“It’s not important. What is important, however, is that you understand the Federation is here to support your want for revenge. We can begin training you—”

“Slow down, alright, you’re not making any fucking sense. Let’s rewind. Who’s the guy with the mask? What’s his deal?”

“That guy is Keegan P. Russ. He’s part of the terrorist organization that launched the attack that murdered your family. Their plan called for no survivors, but you beat the odds and clung onto life long enough for us to find and rehabilitate you. We extend our sincerest condolences and hope to ease your pain by helping you kill him.”

“. . . Do you hear how absolutely insane you sound? You’ve got the wrong woman. I don’t do revenge, and I’m no killer.”

“Perhaps not yet. But you will be. Of that, I am certain.”

They pumped you full of drugs and said it was to aid in your recovery from old wounds. Although that sounded like a steaming pile of horse shit, the barricaded exits and the constant stream of guards meant you had no choice but to comply. 

Honestly, you didn’t much care if their words were honest or deceitful. With no sense of who you were or what you cared about, a numbness froze your heart and your mind. And with nothing to gain and nothing to lose, apathy usurped the majority of your other emotions and thoughts. 

Still, you had no wish to participate in whatever acts of vengeance the Federation had planned. You attended the training sessions held by Commander Rorke because knowing how to fire a gun and how to defend yourself were valuable skills to have. Taking a life was altogether absent from the equation. 

But things changed once you came across the man in the mask. 

He appeared like a mirage not too long after your first dose of whatever they injected into your system. Initially, you’d assumed it was a trick of the light, but you quickly ruled out that possibility because there was simply no logical explanation for why you would otherwise be able to conjure a perfect replica of a stranger. The only sensical answer was that he had actually infiltrated the compound and was actually standing before you. 

That was when you learned that the faceless man—Keegan Russ, they’d called him—was a downright asshole. 

He took a liking to beating the utter shit out of you. You were certain you’d never been so sore in your entire life, given no recovery time between each show of his strength. Russ also accompanied his physical hits with verbal degradation, and with every additional insult he hurled your way, the more it stung: 

Worthless. Burden.

Omen. 

At first, it struck you as rather odd that no one else in the compound seemed able to discern Keegan’s presence. You’d once asked the female guard who brought your meals why she kept letting an enemy breach their supposedly-secure base, but your only reply had been a confused look and a disbelieving laugh. 

Seeing ghosts already, eh? She had no sooner spoken the words before her smirk disappeared, replaced by a more serious expression. Be calm, none pass without the commander’s permission. 

So, naturally, you concluded that this Keegan Russ must indeed have a personal vendetta against you, going as far as to risk his life and sneak past several defenses just to make you his very own punching bag. Upon realizing the extent of his desire to reap the life to which he still felt owed, your previous general apathy gradually morphed into a refined, pinpointed hatred. The emotional detachment lingered, but you were suddenly filled with a reinvigorated sense of purpose. 

In your new unfeeling world, you couldn’t help but latch onto the one thing that had managed to reduce you to a volatile vessel of rage. 

As the intensity and frequency of the beatings increased, so too did your eagerness to return his damage in full. Luckily, Commander Rorke was always there to patch you up and mend your wounds, though he was never curious about how you acquired them. Amidst your painful meetings with Russ, the commander began to grow on you slowly but surely. 

However, despite your greatest efforts, you simply could not grasp why he wouldn’t just kill Keegan himself. After all, based on what you’d gathered from your conversations, he seemed to hate the guy just as much as you did, if not more. 

Perhaps you should be thankful for the fact that the task had fallen onto you, because it was now the sole reason you awoke in the morning and went to sleep at night. Nothing else mattered; there was only this mounting need for revenge. It fueled you with a limitless supply of motivation, and you were determined not to let even a drop of it go to waste. 

Glorious be the day you finally sink a knife into his abdomen, face to face so you can see how the light fades from his eyes. 

That’s too easy. Too quick, you decided, mind elsewhere as your body remained fixed in the training room, wrapped fists ricocheting off a sparring dummy. He needs a taste of his own medicine. Maybe a few rounds of torture first, then I’ll kill him. 

That didn’t sound half bad. Actually, it sounded quite good. 

Still, you needed to give this some more thought. Killing Keegan Russ properly was of the utmost importance. 

And you’d have only a single chance to get it right. 

“Name?”

“Not applicable.”

“Not applicable?”

“I have no use for a name. My name is my designation, and I am a weapon of the Federation.”  

“Understood. Familial relations?”

“Irrelevant and unimportant.”

“How so?”

“Logically, they must’ve existed at some point, but their existence has been reduced to a shadow in my mind. No tangibility, no substance.”

“And your primary objective?”

“Neutralize Keegan P. Russ. Then incapacitate all remaining Ghosts.”

“Good. Any further questions?” 

“Just one—how do you want me to confirm his death?”

“It’s simple, really. Bring us his head, mask and all.”

“Consider it done.” 

Harsh winds pierced the layers of your gear as it funneled through the trees encircling the cliff from which you conducted reconnaissance. A few hundred meters away, you observed four men tend to their contained campfire and watched their hound roll in the dirt to score an extra piece of meat. 

The group appeared to be preparing for a confrontation. One was cleaning the barrel of his gun, and another was sharpening the blade of his combat knife. The remaining two had risen from the ground and were now engaged in conversation. Of them, the more animated speaker was bald, and the other listened as he fiddled with a pair of radios. Your stare locked on his face, or, more importantly, the familiar mask that covered it. 

Keegan Russ’ mask. 

Bloodlust began to take root in every fiber of your being, but you forced yourself to reduce its intensity to a simmer. 

Patience, came Rorke’s characteristic drawl, so embedded into the walls of your skull after three months of nonstop training and conditioning that it seemed to have developed a consciousness of its own. An unwelcome guest capable of overriding the authority of its helpless host. You’ll catch ‘em soon enough. Act sloppy, and I’ll put a bullet in your kneecaps, hear? If those sons of bitches don’t kill you first, that is. 

Flashes of phantom pain bloomed at the spot on your forehead between your brows, right where he would’ve usually flicked you for insubordination or incompetence. A fairly lax disciplinary measure, all things considered, and any irritation it sparked in you was simply redirected onto your target. Although the meek form of corporal punishment felt humiliating, you knew Rorke had only wanted to make you stronger to ensure you would survive your encounter with Keegan Russ and emerge victorious. 

You heaved a shaky sigh and raised your visor before clenching your gloved hands into fists, squeezing tightly, then releasing. Coming here had been strictly for recon purposes; there’d be no contact today, much to your disappointment.

Soon, you reassured yourself, trigger finger twitching against your leg. 

Soon, the task to which you had devoted yourself for months on end would be over and done with. Soon, the haunting image of a man known to you only as your attempted murderer would linger no longer. And soon, the world would reorient about its axis and start to make a bit of sense again. 

Soon. 

tbc.

#keegan p russ #keegan p russ x reader #keegan russ #keegan russ x reader #cod keegan #cod x reader #cod ghosts #cod #call of duty #whumptober #my fic #fic: unearth without a name

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Well... Here we are..... And here we are going omg. The poor reader doesn't even understand what she has signed herself up for ! Thank you so much for all the love and kind words and for coming along with me on this little journey hehehe <3

Chapter 50: Farewell

It is not an easy burden to bear, being a woman. It is far harder when you are the eldest daughter at that. You will have to navigate your life at the whims of men. Stand pretty, but not too pretty. Be confident, but not loud. Be quiet, but have wisdom. 

To be a daughter, is a paradox. 

To be the eldest, is to be a second mother. 

You have to mature, and fast, whilst your brothers are given the allowance to grow slowly, and mature with age. You must support your parents and family at all times, and put the needs of your blood above your own. You are to be the doting daughter, sister, mother, wife, maid, and servant all in one. 

To be a nymph and a maiden. A teacher and a student.

To be a woman is a terrible thing. 

A life of struggle, doubled by the sex of your birth. 

Today you were faced with the hardest sacrifice of all. And whilst you would never be ready for it, your entire life had prepared you for this moment. To be wed to a man, who held no love for you. A political move no doubt, despite the attempts of your mother.

A man who is cruel and unforgiving. 

Many women had faced the same fate as you. 

And you would endure it.

Daemon and you had watched as Vhagar flew above you, light green belly passing over the castle, and the glimpse of a long scar on her back leg, curtesy of Syndor. 

None of you were left unmarked. 

Aemond, his eye. 

You, your side.

The large, dark ship had moored itself down in the waiting docks below, the green banner of the three headed dragon staring unforgivingly at you as it had approached. 

A vision of misery. 

A reminder of loss. 

The harbinger of sorrows. 

As you waited beside Daemon, two heads appeared, walking steadily up towards you both from the long winding path that led to the lush greeneries where you stood. The long face of Otto Hightower approached, flanked on his side by a helmeted Ser Criston Cole. 

You felt your father start to move, and you uttered beneath your breath at him. 

“Set aside your grievances, if not for mother, then for me.”

The Rogue Prince did not move after, standing beside you stiffly as they approached. 

Otto wore deep green robes and Ser Criston Cole wore his armour, bright white cloak clasped on his back. Such a funny thing to see on a man who had broken his vows. 

The white cloak is to signify purity, yet this man had been nothing but filth.

Otto, despite being at war with your father for years before Viserys’ death, lowered his head stiffly to address you both. 

“Princess Y/n.” He greeted you.

You shifted on your feet. 

“King Aegon wishes that he could be here to bear witness to this union, however he had more pressing duties to the realm. I have come as his Hand to witness this union, and ensure the agreements of his treaty.”

The Rogue Prince shifted, muttering beneath his breath in High Valyrian.

You nodded.

“The King in his wisdom,” Began the Hightower, looking just as pompous and self righteous as you remembered, “Offered this treaty to your House out of duty to the realm and its people. Blood needlessly spilt over the Iron Throne would destroy the realm, which was not the King’s wishes. By splitting the realm into two,”

Movement caught your eye.

You watched as Aemond walked down the grassy knoll towards you, dressed in the traditional garb of Valyria. The cream of the robes moved in the wind, whilst the seeping red brought out the violet of his eye. 

“Both King Aegon and Queen Rhaenyra may rule in seperate Kingdoms, bound to peace by this unification of each House.”

Aemond’s sapphire eye shone in the light of the sun, the depth creating small stars within the precious stone as he got closer to both you and your father. Wordlessly, Daemon turned to look at you, to see one last time if you wished to run. 

If you wished for him to fight.  

You gave him a small smile, and that was all he needed. 

Daemon walked to one end of the stone alter, opposite to where Otto and Ser Criston stood, where the Hightower continued to rattle on about the farce of the treaty. Aemond’s eye never left you once, and you felt heat rise into your cheeks. 

The robes fit him well, and you fought the urge to accept that he looked handsome. He had pulled half of his long, silver hair back, the top braided down gently, and you watched as he took determined steps towards you. 

Three Septon’s of House Targaryen walked up the path, large offerings in hand as they made their way to the table as both you and Aemond stood together, staring at one another.

Reunited at last. 

He towered over you, gazing at your face, and the headdress that sat upon your head. 

There was no going back. 

There was no running from this. There was no escape from the marriage that was about to be affirmed, in the tradition of your House. There would be no more Dragonstone with your family, and no more nights alone. 

The Septon who had married your parents stepped forward beside you, as you walked to stand before the alter together. 

It was so quiet, so silent in the space, that only the sounds of waves, wind, and robes moving about were heard. The gentle breeze brushed your hair over your shoulders, a slow shiver running through your body. 

The Septon wore a grey hooded cloak, with a golden vest atop, old Valyrian runes were embroidered on the front as he began the ceremony, eyes peering at the both of you, and then to your witnesses.

“Ānogar se perzys,” (Blood and fire) The Septon began, as the other two stood behind him, “Konir sagon skoros mazverdagon Targārien Lentor” (That is what makes House Targaryen.)

Your eyes settled on Aemond’s face as the Septon continued to speak behind you, his words lost to you as you looked upon your soon to be husband. His lone eye was soft as he gazed at you, appreciative, drinking in every inch of your face. 

His lips were not pulled into their usual smirk, nor their hard line, instead they were relaxed as he watched you. 

Your eyes inspected his scar closely, now that you were both still. 

No bickering or fighting, nor moving or yelling, no violence or lust. Simply observing what you had not been able to before. The scar was deep and the tissue had scarred a dark pink on his face. The lid where his eye had been was rippled and torn, permanently opened to the world. 

To witness his sins.

The skin around the flesh looked tired, dark and sore. You wondered if his scar brought him pain to this day, if the nerves had grown badly into the scar tissue, bringing agony to him at random hours. 

You hoped that it did.

The sapphire was a choice that you would never understand. It was beautiful, polished and shaped to fit perfectly within the empty socket, and shone under certain lights. Your fingers itched to reach up and touch it, to feel the smooth precious stone lodged inside of his head. 

You clenched your fist instead.

As you observed him, he observed you.

A lazy smile pulled from the corner of his lips. The most his mouth had moved this entire time. He had not greeted you when he arrived, he had not taunted you, nor had he mocked you. Instead he was quiet in waiting. 

“Perzys.” (Fire) The Septon spoke, handing two lone unlit candles into either of your hands. 

You both took the candles from the Septon, before each lighting the others with a soft lit wick. You held the wick to his candle, watching it come to life, and stared as Aemond’s long fingers moved forward to do the same to yours. 

When both candles were lit, you let yourself look up at him. He was already watching you. 

You turned to place the candles upon the many others on the stone alter, securing your position in Valyrian ritual, ensuring your candles sat amongst the many others who had placed theirs before you.

“Se ānogar.” (And blood).

Your heart raced in your chest as you watched Aemond pick up the sharp blade of dragon glass from the alter beside you. It looked so small in his grip as he moved forward towards you, slowly. 

You flinched as he lifted his hand up. His face remained still.

Slowly Aemond dragged the dragon glass down your bottom lip, almost with reverence, almost with care, as you felt the stinging slice cut through the soft flesh of your lip. 

How many times had he cut you? How much blood had he taken from you forcefully? How many times had he watched you bleed at his hands?

But this time, it was different.

This time, you let him.

You swallowed thickly, his eye drawn to the blood that had been to leak from the cut he made. 

His hand came up gently, thumb pressing into the slit, causing a dull sting, as he swiped blood onto his digit. He did so reverently, with caution and a carefulness you could not place. It was ritualistic, and confident.

It was intimate, and it was almost more than you could bear. 

It made your heart race and your stomach flip as he lifted his thumb gently, running the warm wet blood of your lips down the middle of your forehead between your brows. 

And then his palm opened to you, small blade resting atop his large hand. Hands that had killed, hands that had been inside of you. Hands that had forced yours into this marriage.

Your own grabbed the black dragon glass, lifting it up to his lips, less gentle as he had been, more anger than you should’ve had, and sliced roughly into his bottom lip.

His eye fluttered close as you dragged the blade down, revelling in seeing his blood pool from the cut, before you pressed your thumb sharply into it.

You wished to hurt him, you wished to maim, but you paused as your thumb pressed against his lip. 

His violet eye opened to watch you, as you held your breath.

Thumb pressed to his forehead, you drew an arrow with his blood, where he had drawn on you. You felt the smooth wet blood spread against his skin, its warmth diminishing as your hand lingered. The One-Eyed Prince looked down at you from his height as he breathed deeply. 

Taking the blade from you, he cut into his palm, the skin pulling apart gently, blood quickly rising to the surface and pooling in his palm. You grasped the blade and moved to do the same but stopped.

You looked as the tip of the blade pressed into the scar of your palm. The skin was raised where you had once grasped a piece of mirror, before plunging into the man before you’s shoulder. 

Aemond blew out a sharp breath out of his nose as he waited. You pressed the tip into the scar and dragged down slowly, revelling in the pain as you watched blood rise from the cut, the Septon’s voice pulled you away from your thoughts.

“Hen lantoti anogar.” (Blood of two.) 

Aemond’s hand pulled the blade away from you, placing it on the alter beside you, before he gripped his bleeding hand with yours. A sharp stinging shot through your hands as he held onto you, mixing your blood together.

It was the first time he had held you so softly since you were children. 

The Septon stepped forth to wrap red cloth around your bound hands, as you stared at each other.

“Va syndroti. Vaedroma.” (Joined as one. Ghostly flame.)

Another Septon stepped forth, handing the officiant another strip of material, soft black and embroidered in gold as he gently wrapped it about your hands, keeping them tightly together. You watched as blood began to drip from where you hands met, the thick liquid dripping onto the rock and grass below.

Joined as one.

Your blood and his.

Coursing through each others veins.

A bond that cannot be undone. 

A goblet was placed in your hand and you pulled to sip it, the unfamiliar burn laying on your tongue before slowly sliding down your throat as you swallowed. 

“Mero perzot gihoti. Eledroma iarza sir.” (And song of shadows. Two hearts as embers.)

Aemond’s hand reached forth to grasp the goblet from you, his fingers grazing yours.

It felt so wrong.

So wrong to hold him like this.

So wrong to be wed in the tradition of Old Valyria, and the mighty House Targaryen.

It felt wrong to feel a spark of something in your heart, and emotion you couldn’t quite out your finger on as he slowly raised the goblet to his lips, eye on you as he drank deeply. 

“Izuli ampa perzi. Prumi lanti seteksi. Hen jeny mazilarion. Qelossa ozundesi. Syndroro ono jedo.” (Forged in fourteen fires. A future promised in glass. The stars stand witness. The vow spoken through time.)

And as you stood together, and the breeze brushed against your legs, you let your eye stray beside you, to where Lucerys had been, to where he had been you watching you the whole time. 

But now stood empty space, and that little piece of loss made you squeeze against Aemond’s hand in your grip, blood seeping out in thick rivulets into the cloths, before dropping to the earth below.

“Ry kivia mazvestraksi.” (Of darkness and light.) The Septon ended, and you felt a small piece end with you.

You gazed at each other, waiting to move, waiting for the inevitable to happen and you felt your heart race faster in your chest, shuffling on your feet before Aemond stepped forward, closer to you, his face in front of yours, nose almost brushing each other.

And then he closed the gap, lips coming to brush against yours gently at first as your eyes slid shut. You held still as he came closer, free hand coming to grasp the back of your neck, so soft, so unlike him that it almost startled you. 

It was so unlike him that wondered if it was him. 

His tongue pressed up against the cut on your lip, pushing sharply into it as he licked the blood, causing you to quietly gasp, mouth opening. He deepened the kiss, and you followed, nipping roughly at him, making the hand at the back of your head grip your hair roughly. 

And as suddenly as a warmth began to pool in your stomach, he pulled away, eye wild and lips smeared with the both of yours blood. 

“Mēre ñelly, mēre prūmia, mēre soul, sir se forever.” Aemond purred, looking down at your lips as his tongue darted out to lick away at the blood that had begun to drip down from his mouth. (One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.)

“Mēre ñelly, mēre prūmia, mēre soul, sir se forever.” You repeated back, voice quiet.

You both stood and waited as the Septon’s came fourth and undid the binding of your hands, gentle fingers pulling the ceremonial rope away, leaving your hand still firmly clasped in his, blood leaking slowly as your hand began to throb. 

The peace was broken. 

One small word. One little utterance under his breath was all it took for the gentleness of the ceremony to disappear. To wither and die, right before your eyes.

“Wife.”

Your husband purred, testing the word on his tongue as he smiled, hand tensing in your shared grip, causing more blood to leak from the union of flesh. 

“In the eyes of the Seven, and witnessed by King Aegon the Second’s Hand, the marriage of treaty between Prince Aemond, First of his Name, and Princess Y/n, First of Her Name, of House Targaryen has been confirmed.” Otto’s voice rung out into the air.

Your grip on Aemond’s hand faltered and he let yours go, your hand limply falling beside you as you turned to face your father who looked at you in both awe and pity. You found your legs taking you to race towards him before you could stop yourself. You threw yourself into his arms, his hands catching you as he held you against him, eyes piercing a hole through Aemond. 

“Shh, you did good. I am so proud of you.” He cooed quietly into your hair.

You pulled back away from him nodding gently.  

“We will have the Princess’ belongings brought down to the ship, before we make our voyage back to the King’s Landing.” Otto continued. 

And then it was over.

The ceremony was complete.

And you had been wed to a man who you never thought you would have since you were a child. Back when things were simpler between the two of you. Back when things were not murky, or clouded with hate, and loss and despair. 

You had thought when young, how good it would have been to be wed to him. How kind of a husband he would have been to you. How you could continue to read and play and enjoy each others company.

Back when he had done no wrong.

Back when he had not lost his eye, or become the cruel man he was now. Back when you had an unbreakable bond, though nothing lasts forever. 

Life included.

There would be no celebrations. There would be no joyous dinner. There would be no families coming together to celebrate the union, or end of the war. Because there was nothing to celebrate. There was no joy. And there would be no reunion of blood.

You all but raced back into the castle, sparing neither your father nor husband a glance as you moved to ready yourself to leave. Each step closer you got, the more your feet became heavy until suddenly you were standing outside of your chambers staring at Ser Darke. 

Your knight looked you up and down before giving you a soft and sad smile, opening the chamber doors, but you would not enter. You shifted on your feet, trying to delay the inevitable as you watched the dark haired knight step forward towards you.

“I wish I could come with you, My Lady. To protect you, as I was sworn to do.” 

You inhaled deeply and then out. 

“But you cannot, and so I ask you to protect them all in my absence. You are sworn to me, and must do as I command-“

“You do not need to command me to do this for you.” The Knight smiled, and you were grateful, as you gave him a short tight hug before entering the chambers where Saria and Aella waited.

Neither spoke a word to you as they undressed you, before you pulled on your riding leathers. They worked gently to quickly buckle you in before saying short and strained goodbyes.

You promised them you would be back, and they promised to wait in your absence. But you felt that they did not truly believe you.

You could not waste more time saying goodbyes, more time waiting about in the castle, avoiding the fate and future that lingered outside of Dragonstone’s walls. When you exited your chambers, your father stood waiting with your knight, both silent as he walked you towards the front of the castle doors.

Aemond, Otto and Ser Criston were all waiting for your arrival. 

Aemond was now dressed back into his dark leather riding garb too, and he looked you up and down shamelessly. The blood on his forehead and lips had not been wiped away, much like yours, and his hands were held tightly behind his back. 

Your palm itched. 

“The Princess will join us on our ship back to King’s Landing. Your belongings have been loaded for you.” Otto spoke, looking down his nose at you as Aemond smiled gently.

You turned to Daemon as he looked at you, before you stepped to hug him once last time. One last time for Gods know how long, would you be able to hug your father. To hold him. To smell his familiar and calming scent.

One last time in his presence.

It would never be enough.

The Rogue Prince pulled you tightly against him, placing a lingering kiss atop your head before muttering quietly.

“Dracarys, ñuha byka vīlībāzmio.” (Dracarys, my little warrior.)

You buried your head further into his chest before pulling away.

“I’ll write to you.” You promised.

“When you are ready, Princess.” Otto interrupted, rushing you to leave.

You could not bear to linger any longer. Nor look at your fathers saddened gaze. It would break you. It would make you not leave. And so you forced yourself to go, before you broke in front of them all.

And with that you turned on the balls of your feet as you made your way to move up Dragonmont. 

They were mad if they thought you would leave your dragon here. 

They were mad if they thought they could seperate a Targaryen from their dragon.

“Princess!” Otto called after you, but you pushed on, hearing your fathers laugh in the air, which served to make you smile. 

Truly smile, for the first time that morning.

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#aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond x reader #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond smut #hotd smut #dark!aemond targaryen x reader #dark!aemond x reader #dark!aemond targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #dark!aemond #dark!fic #fic #series #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond #smoke fire and ash

[genevawren38]

I keep thinking about the situation tonight with Cellbit and how much that must remind Philza of his past friendships, drawing ancient memories to the surface.

Of maybe as the night grew longer Cellbit began to grow more tired, after many hours of talking long past their own kids falling asleep when the scarred brunette does too.

Philza recognised the signs of finally relaxing your guard, allowing himself to appreciate the fact Cellbit trusted him so much.

Perhaps he even fell asleep tucked into Phil's shoulder, half-healed crow-feather wing holding the poor man close as the fire in a circle of stones crackled away in front of them.

Phil peers down at his face, eyes running across rough new scars and heavy bags beneath his eyes. The poor boy was exhausted, and some of those wounds were far too new since the last time the crow laid eyes on this treasured member of his flock from Purgatory.

He wondered just what bullshit the Watcher had put both Cellbit and Baghera through, recognising the fact Cellbit was trying to brush off his feelings surrounding his extended stay.

But Phil's heart ached watching yet another person he loved shoulder the burden of not putting themself first and only hoping they could force horrifying choices they made into a box to never think of again. The crow could relate, not that it was a healthy practice.

This old crow had cradled far too many youth as they made the same mistake he prepared to watch Cellbit put himself through, only hoping he'd be there to pick up the pieces when he eventually crumbled.

One cannot shove back torment, for it returns tenfold and often harms those you hold dear through harsh actions and worse words exchanged as it shatters your soul.

History is forever doomed to repeat, the immortal crow thought, pulling the fleece blanket up around them to settle in for the night after checking their three chicks were still asleep. Cuddled together nearby, Phil arranges his wings into a more comfortable position gently as to not awaken the unconscious being beside him.

Mentally preparing himself for what is to come, Phil refreshes his resolve on the joy he once saw upon Cellbit's handsome face. Vowing to be at his side no matter what as he heals from whatever the fuck the Watcher put them through, Phil plots said bastard's demise if he ever chose to step foot upon this Island.

This blonde was deadly protective of those he deemed his, ecstatic to have the ones he thought lost to him back he allows the rage to fester remembering the words Cellbit spoke to him earlier.

One day, he would have his revenge. Until then, Phil promised the slumbering soul beside him to always support him, praying to his beloved to protect them both as he allowed slumber to steal him away too.

#qsmp #wrenrambles #qsmp cellbit #cellbit #qsmp philza #philza #archivists duo