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ihavemanyhusbands · 1 year

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Lover's Spat

Will Graham x Hannibal Lecter x Fem!Reader

Summary: You had been the prized protege of the household for some time, but a sudden distance leaves you reeling. What happens when a junior killer feels neglected? Short answer: a bloody tantrum.

Word Count: 3.4k words

Warnings: DARK CONTENT, MINORS DNI, heavy angst and whump, graphic depictions of violence, graphic depictions of gore, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, non-sexual nudity, injuries, inebriation, use of sedatives, use of restraints, threats, mentions of blood, bit of a power imbalance yeah, corrupted reader, use of she/her pronouns, lmk if anything else!

A/N: Special thanks to @glitchedpup -- my muse and co-creator of this delightfully dark fic <3 i couldn’t have done it without you!! Pretty proud of this one! I shouldn't even have to say this but I DO NOT CONDONE ANY OF THE ACTIONS DEPICTED IN THIS FIC. IT IS NOT A REFLECTION OF MY OWN MORALS/VALUES. Don't like don't read, as usual.

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– “Decipher me, my love, or I will be forced to destroy you.” Clarice Lispector, from “The Book of Delights”.

The room was a complete mess.

Upturned furniture, slashed curtains, and deep gouges on various surfaces. Rorschach stains of crimson fury stained the walls and the once pristine white bed sheets. Bits of bone and flesh were haphazardly strewn about like broken puzzle pieces.

There had clearly been quite the struggle — terror and brute strength versus agility and sheer animal determination.

The mutilated corpse of a man was splayed atop the bed. His chest had been torn open, ribs smashed to pieces in order to access his tender insides. His eyes were closed and his hands had been crudely tied together, palms facing up – like a supplicant. His heart was cupped in them, with a paring knife driven straight through it.

A crime of passion, through and through. But the man himself was inconsequential, merely a vessel to convey a message.

At first, Will didn’t register anything amiss. There were a few small clues here and there that were familiar, like a trail of breadcrumbs left behind for only the most trained eye to find. His eye, more specifically.

They led him closer to the body, where he recognized the fine mother-of-pearl handle of the knife. Suddenly, he could barely hear the voices of those around him. Cold fear momentarily ran like sludge through his veins, but he kept his composure.

This was your design.

He’d known you were under Hannibal’s tutelage, but it was uncharacteristic of you to be so rash and utterly careless. Not once before had you left a trace, but then again, you’d never worked outside of Hannibal’s house.

He’d thought you’d mastered clinical detachment, but this scene was tainted with ire and resentment. It permeated the air like a poisonous gas, roiling in his lungs and threatening to choke him.

“Will?” Jack said, getting his attention. “Any motive you can think of?”

Shaking off the last of his visions, Will took a small fortifying breath and glanced back at him over his shoulder.

“None as of yet.”

Will knew there’d be many components to cleaning up this mess. Not only would he have to get the police far off your trail, but he also had to find you. He called Hannibal to inquire about your whereabouts, but he confirmed you were not home. He tried to get ahold of you too, but of course, there was no response.

Once he could disentangle himself from Jack and the crime scene crew – trying to keep his hands from shaking – he racked his brain for all the possible places you could be in. He knew you liked going on long walks, but you preferred to stay away from densely populated areas unless strictly necessary. The woods were too broad a place to search, and there was no way you had made it all the way to Wolf Trap on foot.

Then, he remembered the old apartment you’d lived in before he and Hannibal took you in. It was a shoddy building on the outskirts of town, which he was pretty sure had been foreclosed for a while. Still, it was the only other place you had, really. So he made his way there.

There, he spotted a hole in the chain link fence surrounding the building. He ignored the No Trespassing sign, much like he figured you had, and maneuvered himself through the gap. He made his way up to the third floor, where your unit was, and heard murmurs behind the door.

He found you half naked and rambling, still caked in blood and viscera. In one hand, you were tightly clutching a large kitchen knife, a ribbon of fabric clinging to it. Much of your clothes were in tatters, ripped apart like you’d been desperate to get them off of yourself.

In your other hand, you had an unlabelled bottle of what he assumed was cheap vodka or gin. You were swaying a little in place, clearly inebriated. You held it to your swollen cheekbone, as if the tepid glass could soothe it.

A dark bruise bloomed up the right side of your ribcage, and your breaths were shallow and slow. On the other side, near your belly button, you had a poorly dressed wound, the fabric soaked in dark, shiny crimson. His eyes lingered on this detail for a moment, but his face did not betray the concern he felt.

It was a clear admission of guilt, but he wanted to hear you confess your sins out loud.

“What did you do?” He asked, keeping his voice low and even.

You lifted your head and looked at him without really seeing him. Your gaze was flat and unforgiving, almost unrecognizable. A small blood vessel had burst in your left eye, leaving a red splotch in the sclera. Your muscles tensed and your nostrils flared when you registered him as an intruder.

His hand was close to his waist, where his gun was holstered, in case he’d need to draw it.

“I took him for one last waltz, carried him in my arms as the saccharine wine of his blood spilled over us.” You closed your eyes for a moment, as if reliving it. “He adored me deliriously with his last breaths. I saw it in his eyes.”

Will took a step forward, causing a floorboard to creak, and your eyes snapped open. You slashed the knife in a wide arc, silently warning him to stay back. Your eyes were wild and unfocused, much too dark in the low light.

You swung sideways just as fast, the blade barely missing his midsection. He quickly drew back at your third frantic attempt, and you stumbled forward a little. Despite your skills and abundant bravado, both the drunkenness and the pain made you clumsy. You winced, but did not back down, still in a fighting stance.

He pulled out his gun and pointed it at your shoulder, which made you freeze.

“Hannibal’s going to be pissed if I shoot you,” he said, unfazed by your display. “Put the knife down before you get hurt.”

“You don’t have the guts to hurt me, Graham,” you sneered.

“Try me.”

For a long, tense moment, the two of you stared at each other. It was clear that neither of you actually wanted to hurt the other, but your pride wasn’t going to let you go down so easily.

And you knew that he wouldn’t hesitate if it came down to it, especially for your own good.

“He knows, then?” You asked, still unmoving.

Will simply nodded, and for a brief second, you considered angling the knife towards yourself. You started to adjust your grip on it, and he took the opportunity to lunge forward and knock it out of your hand. It clattered loudly on the floor, and he kicked it away, grabbing your wrist.

“You’re in deep trouble, you know that?” He said, grip tightening. “What if they hadn’t called me? You left evidence everywhere! Do you know how hard it was to hide all that without getting caught? Reckless! Very reckless!”

You tried to struggle out of his grip, and he knocked the bottle out of your grasp, which shattered on the floor. As you lifted your hand to strike him, he grabbed it, now holding both of your wrists.

“Don’t touch me! You don’t get to touch me!” You spat, still thrashing.

“Oh, I beg to differ. But I’m not going to be the one to punish you,” he said, forcefully turning you around and cuffing your hands behind your back. “Now, let’s go.”

He took his jacket off and draped it over your shoulders before ushering you out of the building. He had to steady you as you stumbled about, still furious and not entirely lucid. Even the familiar scent of him enveloping you did nothing to calm you.

He wrestled you into the back seat and made sure you wouldn’t be able to unlock the doors from the inside. For the time being, you resigned to lying on your side, slightly easing the discomfort of your shoulder blades being pinned together.

“Where are we going?” You asked as he started the engine.

“Home,” he said, glancing at you from the rearview mirror. “As you know, we’re expected.”

The drive there was torturous. Every turn made your head spin, the world outside the window swirling into a dizzying whirlpool of colors. You closed your eyes and tried to focus on your breathing, keeping down the bile that threatened to crawl up your throat. You stained the fabric of the seat, since the wound on your side had torn just a little further open.

All of the events of the past forty-eight hours were still shoved to the periphery of your mind, but you knew you couldn’t keep a blind eye to your sins forever. Eventually, they would come at you like a raging river, consuming you.

Will pulled into Hannibal’s driveway just after sundown, and a sense of foreboding made your stomach bottom out. Once, the house was a safe haven; A place you finally felt welcome in, despite the fact its walls had witnessed your flaws.

But at that moment, with death hovering at the threshold, it felt like you were heading to the gallows.

As he marched you inside, your knees almost buckled. You gritted your teeth and raised your chin, angry at yourself for displaying any sort of weakness. You were still a little lightheaded and disoriented from the drive, so you had to try even harder to focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

The two of you found Hannibal in the living room, sitting by the hearth and staring at the fire within. He said nothing as he looked up, his eyes skirting over you and landing on Will, who held your arm.

In the flickering light, the harsh planes of his face spelled out your fate. You almost expected to hear a gavel pounding before the sentence was carried out… whatever it was.

“Take her downstairs,” he instructed, his tone almost bored. “And leave her there. Repentance always begins with solitude.”

His coldness stung, fueling your resentment, but it did not necessarily surprise you. Still, you tried to catch his eye, but it was no use. He returned his gaze to the fire, and Will dragged you along to the basement.

You were compliant as he led you down the metallic staircase and past a plastic strip curtain, but your eyes were fixed on the various tools against one of the walls. A pang of dread made your heart stutter as you wondered which ones might be used on you.

It was then that you tried to fight back again, desperately this time, survival instincts kicking into overdrive. Without the use of your hands, you resorted to twisting your body and attempting to bite.

He struggled against you, trying to immobilize you in his arms. You managed to get a hold of one of his forearms when it got a little too close to your face, sinking your teeth into it. He growled as you broke the skin, a metallic taste filling your mouth. When he was able to pull you away by the hair, you licked his blood from your teeth.

Instantly, you were backhanded across the face. The entire left side lit up with white-hot pain, and he grabbed you by the throat, pulling you towards the tools.

“You just don’t know when to quit, do you?” He admonished as he clasped your collar around your neck. “You know I’m gonna have to muzzle you for that, right?”

He made you kneel, attaching a chain that was against the far wall to your collar. The muzzle followed right after, a layer of leather covering your mouth.

You glared up at him as he inspected the bite on his forearm, which was still pulsing with bright pain. You felt some satisfaction at having gotten him at least a little, even if it’d potentially make things worse. If you were going to go out, you would do so fighting.

Hopefully, Hannibal would at least be able to appreciate that.

Will left you there without a parting word, instead giving you one last disgruntled look. Once he was up the stairs, you sagged in place. It wasn’t your first time being disciplined, but you knew this was different. A line had been crossed that you weren’t sure you could ever come back from, but you feared what awaited you on the other side.

The basement was dry and cool, slightly soothing your feverish skin. Your head swam once more as adrenaline began to fade from your system. You were sobering up, too, and that was the only way you could tell time was passing.

There, by yourself, you only had your thoughts to torment you, filling in the silence with a buzz like the swarming of bees.

Good things are so slippery, aren’t they? Happiness becomes complacency, and thus monotony. Pleasure wanes quickly, and tragedy seldom waits to make itself known.

And what, then, if you are the harbinger of your own tragedy?

You rested your head against the brick wall, the blue darkness of your eyelids providing some comfort.

After what seemed like an eternity, you heard footsteps descending the metal staircase. You opened your eyes to see Hannibal, his expression still impassive.

He knelt in front of you, undoing the straps of the muzzle. You eyed him warily, but remained unmoving. The barest ghost of a smile was on his face as he saw the crusted blood on the corners of your lips. He’d patched up Will’s arm already, skin mottled purple and red with your molar imprints. He only wished he could have seen you in action.

In his hand, there was a familiar white capsule – one you recognized from his lessons.

“Open,” he ordered.

You clenched your jaw, turning your face away.

"You will either open your mouth and take the medication, or I can simply dislocate your jaw and force you to take it... The choice is yours.”

Begrudgingly, you did as told, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out. You swallowed the pill dry, grimacing slightly.

“It should, at the very least, quell that sharp tongue of yours. Or perhaps it’ll only encourage it. We shall see,” he mused, looking you over. “I’ll undo the other restraints when that takes effect.”

“I’m no threat to you,” you murmured.

“Indeed. You are not.”

Still, he made no move to free you, making his point clear. He stood, walking over to the tool wall and wheeling out a metal examination table. Two trays followed right after, and you swallowed hard at the realization that he was setting up for what came next.

"Now, darling, I have been a psychiatrist for many years... I know we can break that defiant streak of yours. The question is how many more bones will have to go with it?"

He gestured towards your ribcage, and you felt a sudden urge to hide your injuries. All the evidence of what you’d done – the irreparable mess you had gotten yourself into. You ought to beg, to grovel and weep at his feet to spare your life. But you would do no such thing, if only for the sake of keeping whatever dignity you had left.

The world began to blur at the edges, like a frosted window during the winter. The maelstrom of emotions that had been brewing inside of you began to evaporate with your exhales, giving way to a blissful nothingness. You watched him wash his hands thoroughly, donning latex gloves.

Once your body was loose and your mind was like a forest of thick fog, Hannibal undid your bindings and carefully scooped you into his arms. Your head lolled against his chest, and you swore you could hear his heartbeat like a loud thunder in your ears. You wanted to cling to him tighter, but you couldn’t find your strength.

“I missed the way you tenderized me,” you rasped, voice weak and breathy. “Soft and pliant flesh for your hands to mold. Didn’t you love me best then?”

“An artist’s job is never quite finished,” he said. “There is love in destruction, too.”

Will descended the stairs as Hannibal was laying you down on the examination table. He used trauma shears to cut what remained of your clothes off, intent on examining every inch of you for the extent of your wounds.

The lights overhead framed their heads like halos, sanctifying them. Shouldn’t your hands be folded in prayer? Your knees on the cool stone floor?

For a moment, you wondered if you’d already died. Soon enough, you supposed.

“Jack’s taken care of. At least for now,” Will’s voice sounded far away as he spoke to Hannibal, who nodded in acknowledgment.

You focused on him, glancing at his bandaged arm. “I’m not sorry for biting you.”

He huffed in bitter amusement. “I know you’re not.”

“Just a little gift for you to remember me by.”

“Why don’t you tell us what’s troubling you?” Hannibal chimed in, listening to you hiss a little through your teeth as he cleaned up some of your scrapes.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes,” Will said. “You left us a very pointed message. Can’t imagine all that mayhem wasn’t inspired by something.”

“You’re the goddamn empath. Why don’t you tell me?” You hissed, still feeling particularly prickly with him.

Hannibal tsked in disapproval, fingers barely tracing your ribcage — a silent warning more than an assessment. Unable to help it, you let out the softest whimper, on edge at the prospect of more agony.

You weren’t entirely surprised that they were ignorant of your rage. They were too preoccupied with other matters to notice. It had been a gradual process, in which they spent more and more time away, leaving you to your own devices. The more tedious tasks were left to you, all of which you could perform almost automatically. It made everything dull at first, but whenever your thoughts would wander to their whereabouts, resentment steadily grew like a thorny bramble in your chest.

But you were quiet in your seething. You tried to remain obedient and useful, in hopes that they would just see how indispensable you were. Anger had always been a reliable companion, especially in moments of fear or weakness, but it was a dangerous fire to stoke. And stoked it was.

Until one day, you couldn’t bear the weight of it all anymore. And this was where it led you.

“I have needs, too, you know,” you began, your words slow and slurred. “Not just carnal. I wanted frenzy and fury, a pain that only you could give and take away. You said destruction is another form of love, but I felt merely endured. An afterthought.”

The two of them shared a look, finally understanding the extent of their negligence. A stray tear escaped your lash line, and Will reached down to brush it away with one of his knuckles.

“‘These violent delights have violent ends, and in their triumph die like fire and powder, which as they kiss consume.’” Hannibal recited.

“And quite a fire it was,” Will murmured.

“Would you kiss me before it’s over, then?” You pleaded. “One last time?”

“Last time?” He repeated, frowning in confusion.

“I know what happens next, Will,” the words left you with a ragged sort of exhale, defeated. “An errant flame must be snuffed out for its destruction. I am at your mercy.”

Hannibal removed the piece of cloth from your side, exposing where you’d been stabbed. He noticed the weapon was still buried inside, so he went to retrieve some long, thin surgical tweezers.

"And mercy you shall be granted, just this once. Your fire will not be extinguished tonight, we’ve worked much too hard to keep it kindled. Though discipline should douse that raging inferno considerably,” he leaned in close, so that you were eye to eye. “Did you have enough?”

You managed a small grin. “Never.”

He couldn’t help but smile back. “Atta girl.”

Will glared at him. “But it will not happen again. Our fondness for you is a weakness, despite our faults, forgiveness is not a mistake we will commit twice.”

“The scars shall serve as a reminder. But not to worry, we’ll keep a closer eye on you,” Hannibal reassured. “We are sorry too, isn’t that right, Will?”

Will merely nodded, reaching down to place his hand on your shoulder affectionately, fingers brushing your clavicle.

Hannibal straightened to his full height once more, the metal tweezers in his grip glinting in the light. “This is gonna hurt, darling.”

You nodded, ready to sink into delirium. “Bring it on.”

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#hannibal fanfiction #hannibal lecter x fem!reader #will graham x fem!reader #hannibal lecter x reader #will graham x reader #will graham fanfiction #hannibal lecter fanfiction #hannibal lecter x will graham x reader #minors dni

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justpoliteconversations · 2 days

Note

About the apple merchant story (it lives rent free in my mind always): Please let me hug Link please. One hug. Just one. Please he makes me so sad dhshsjsj

For the little shadowling that came to say hello.

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Embrace [BOTW!Link x Isekai!Reader] (Apple Merchant Extra)

What if Link had teleported home immediately after defeating Vah Ruta? (An alternative route for after Part 6.)

(Far too tired to edit tonight. I'll do it later.)

Part: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6

Alternate Extras: Embrace

Masterlist

TW: Choosing not to display warnings. Read at your own discretion.

Disclaimer: Don't own The Legend of Zelda franchise.

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Blue had come to you in the dead of night (just as you were finally getting ready to sleep after a long day's travel), dressed in full sheikah armor and eyes as dispassionate as they've ever been. And maybe you'd have believed that too, had Red not confided in you all those weeks ago. And if not for the words that left her in a low, monotones whisper.

"Courageous One's beloved. I request your presence." She'd intoned, but you could hear the command in her voice even as she remained in a subservient position kneeled at your bedside. "Master Link is in need of your comfort. Lest he falter in his duties as Hyrule's Hero."

You wanted to question her as to this sudden and unexpected change of heart regarding the sheikah's intentions, but you restrained yourself. Taking that prickling curiosity at the forefront of your mind and pushing it away in favor of the unease that permeated within your heart instead.

"The zora." You mumbled quietly, letting your gaze fixate on the blankets laid warmly on your legs. Displeasure trying to crawl up your throat and take home in your thoughts. But you shook away those spiteful whispers before they could poison your heart.

You disapproved of the hatred the elder zora held towards Link (and by extension, hyrulians). It was cruel of them to lay blame for Ganon's crimes upon his victims without regard to how the story had unfolded. To use them as scapegoats when the true focus of their ire was out of reach and far beyond their power to defeat.

It was an addicting kind of self-soothing that had been left to fester throughout their long lives, fueled by their guilt and fear. Guilt for their powerlessness, and fear not just for the world's future, but for that of their beloved royal family.

As told by the grape vine that weaves thickly through the Stable System, King Dorephan had lost his beloved mate too soon (the cause was kept quiet, but rumor has it it had been to birthing complications). Shortly after the birth of their son, Prince Sidon, in fact (thier second child and their only spare).

And after her passing the King choose to never take another (a controversial decision), instead spending the rest of his breeding years grieving his dearly departed and raising their heirs instead of producing more spares to ensure the royal bloodline in those turbulent times.

(Yet, the King received only whispered sympathy from his people, and the young Prince adored all the more for his status as final heir to a beloved, departed Queen.

It's always been easiest to demonize an unfamiliar face, after all. Easier to spit upon another race than to fault the heart of a grief stricken man and an innocent child.)

With the death of their Princess, Mipha, the zoras had lost not just a beloved healer and gracious future ruler. They lost half of their royal bloodline, their future. They who's ears reach the Goddesses' songs, or some such saying (in other words, gigantism, an inheritable trait found only in the zora's royal family line. by magic or genetic mutation, you didn't know).

And so, the zora of the time had taken their fear and guilt and unspoken grievances and shaped it into the hatred that only future generations seem to have been able to deluded from their racial conscience. Sidon, the Prince himself, being a shining example of this. And honestly, may well have been the spark for this (positive) change in the zora's newest generation as well.

There was a reason you never bothered trying to enter Zora's Domain. And it wasn't even the lizalfors. Though maybe in a few decades, you might give it a try.

Blue nodded at your quiet utterance, eyes cold and sharp under the veil of feigned disinterest. And you wondered, silently, what she was feeling right now. If she was truly so angered on Link's behalf, or if she was frustrated at her superiors for making this level of secrecy necessary (it had not escaped your notice that everyone in the stable was far too quiet for simple sleep. even the desk attendant was slumped over, quiet. chest barely moving. drugged).

Maybe even both. Even as removed from the sheikah's plotting as you were, you still understood that the girls were making independent moves outside of their given assignments. Perhaps even going against orders (their direct superior's orders, not yours. surprisingly. or perhaps not so surprising given Red's apparent fondness for your rupees, the opportunistic jerk).

None of that mattered right now though. Not even the yiga and the very real threat they still posed to your life.

All that mattered was Link, and that he was distraught enough to force the twins' hands to such an extent. That the situation was bad enough to ask permission to temporarily disregard the established agreement (bound by contract and enough rupees to tempt a saint).

"Take me to him." You said quietly, hands clutching the bedspread. Fingers twisted into silky cloth tight enough to hurt. Letting the soft, plush weight of it sooth your agitated nerves. Grounding yourself from the whirlwind of emotions that wanted to overwhelm you even as you kept your tone smooth and even. "Please."

She nodded, moving closer with eeriely silent strides and plucking you from the bed with frightening ease (you hadn't even realized what was happening until you were in her armor clad arms). The suddenness of the action nearly pulled a gasp from your lips. But it caught in your throat at the sudden speed as which she was all but flying through the moonlit fields.

She was such a a small woman. Seemingly delicate as a butterfly's flutter and soft as blossom petals. Yet you could feel the way her muscles pushed at your weight with unyielding strength.

In that moment, she felt as tall and imposing as a mountain. As solid as stone and as powerful as a hurricane ripping along the coastline.

In that moment, you were reminded that this woman (these women, beautiful and graceful and spirited both) were warriors. Born and raised. Trained until their hands bled and their bones twisted into the steel of a tempered blade.

And you had never felt more protected than in Blue's arms.

(Spit in the eye of the elders, Red had said. You were certain this woman would sooner stab them in the face.)

You just hoped that strength would be enough to protect Link until he was strong enough to protect himself. And enough to protect her as well. From whatever it was that had stolen the light from her eyes.

---

You weren't sure whether to be impressed by Blue's speed, or irritated that she managed to undo a day's worth of travel in just a couple hours (how the in world were you going to explain this to Skims and Adino? Red most certainly won't be any help. you can already tell). But one thing was for sure, you were never going to piss this woman off. That was for damned sure.

That wasn't what had your attention at the moment though. That was the sight of Link tied by the wrists to his bed, blindfolded.

And why was Red here, sitting at the table as though this was a perfectly normal thing to walk into (how had she even gotten here before you and Blue? why hadn't she been the one to take you back to Hateno if she was going to be here anyway)?

Link was awake and alert, pinched brows and down turned mouth looking just as befuddled (and maybe even a bit scared) as yourself at the current happenings. His delicate ears tracking your footsteps (Blue's were quiet, even on hardwood floors. what a scary realization) as you moved up the stairs and closer to his bed (your blanket dragging slightly across the floor, too heavy and thick to comfortably carry in your arms).

He was handsome for sure, all long blonde hair, elegantly sharp features and lithe muscle. But not quite as flawless as he had been portrayed as in the games (which was to be expected, but was still jarring. even after having come to terms with the reality of this world's imperfections).

The scars were by far the most prominent detail about him, even accounting for his noble features and toned physic. Hard, knotted patches of discolored skin sprawled across the left side of his face, shoulders and chest. Pink and raw looking, for all it was plain to see these horrendous burn marks had long since healed.

His skin too, was another thing that set him apart from his game presentation. Where as the game had shown Link to possess a pretty peach complexion with rosy cheeks, the man before you was off-puttingly pale (almost grey in the cheeks). So much so it was concerning. With the beginnings of a tan just beginning to take form on his forehead and the bridge of his nose.

Sick. You realized link was sick. No. That wasn't quite right. It wasn't sickness that seemed to be clinging to him like a veil.

Had Link ever fully recovered from his time trapped in the shrine?

Your memories of the game were foggy and unclear after so much time spent in this world. But there was one thing you did remember clearly when you pulled at the strings of your memories.

It was Zelda's voice, urging Link up from his slumber (tired and pleading, after 100 years of fighting a battle of wills). And Link, hitting the ground running. Without thought for his own wellbeing. Without consideration for his still recovering body. Just bullheaded determination and an unbreakable spirit driving him forward.

Your stomach clenched at the realization. Something that hadn't truly hit you with its entirety until you had finally cast your gaze upon the very man who had lived through it all (was still living through it).

Not a game character. Not the concept of heroism given humanoid form. But a man, small and confused and fighting to right the wrongs of a hundred years ago. Having to accept that everything he once had was gone now. And that he must now fight a battle he doesn't even remember having a stake in.

You cast a questioning (concerned) look over at Blue. But she ignored you, instead saying softly (and far less tensely than when you were at the stables) to Link. "Courageous one. Your beloved is here to offer you comfort."

Link tilted his head. Uncomprehending.

Blue cast a glance towards Red, who nodded quietly. Not even looking up from whatever she was doing at the table.

At the gesture, Blue continued. "They may not speak to you." She cast a cool glance your way, the hard glint of her eyes telling you more than a thousand words ever could. "And you are forbidden from touching them. This is to ensure you will not be tempted to- memorize their voice or distinctive features."

A moment of silence. Then confusion. And then (finally) the dawning light of comprehension seemed to line every inch of his diminutive form.

The change in him was immediate. Link's whole entire body tensed, the bonds at his wrists creaking under the pressure he was exerting on them in his stiffened state (as did the headboard. and you had a feeling only Blue's presence was keeping him from breaking free with brute force). His chest nearly shaking with the intensity of whatever emotions held him in their sway.

His face had twisted into a complicated expression. Lips taunt, scars pulled tight at the skin of his face (what was visible through the blindfold) and fair brows pulled into an almost grimace.

One breath. Two. And then, he spoke. "AM." He breathed, quiet and shaking. Raspy, dry and unpleasant (and beloved. so much so your heart ached with the feeling). "AM. I-" And just like that, his voice broke. Fractured. Shattered.

His hands tensed into fists, his teeth grit against the pull of his lips. His shoulders shook.

And you just. Moved.

Dropping the blankets, nearly tripping over the bulk of them in your haste, you fell hands first onto the bed. Barely taking the time to regain your balance before slotting yourself into Link's side (warm and solid and so very alive) and pressing yourself into his space.

You ignored his tensed form. His shudder as your night chilled clothes pressed against his own skin warmed ones. And spooned into his side as best you could with his arms bound above his head. Your upper body laid against his own, arms wrapped around his chest and head tucked under his chin. Trying to cover as much of him as possible (trying to hide him from the world and everything it demanded of him. trying to absorb all that pained his heart into your own body).

You squeezed him with all your might (pitiful though it may have been to someone physically blessed as the goddess' chosen champion), words sitting at the tip of your tongue, begging to be spoken. Unsaid and burning at the base of your throat. Held back only by the strength of your resolve, and the silent promise to do better.

To fight with everything in your power to do right by this man.

A man who had been demanded to give everything for the greater good. Even if it meant making a deal with the devil itself. Even if it meant losing himself. All. Over. Again.

You would make sure this man succeeded.

You would make sure he thrived.

His chest heaved under you, breaths coming in short, ragged gasps (quiet though, as though afraid to rise above a faint whisper). His throat bobbing under your cheek in thick, painful sounding swallows. His entire body was shaking, and you could feel the warmth of something wet soaking into the crown of your hair.

You squeezed harder, pushing every once of your care and devotion into the action. Gritting your teeth against the torrent of warmth that flooded behind your eyes, burning, demanding to be released. Demanding that you do more than just cling to him in a bid at comfort.

The tension in his body released all at once, and a ragged sob forced its way out of his throat. Long and raw and achingly vulnerable. Like nothing you've ever heard before.

And you sobbed right along with him, bitting back all the words you wished to tell him more than anything. Cursing the circumstances that had led to this moment.

And so thankful too. Thankful that you could be here in his time of need. Even if all you could do was hold him as he cried. As he broke apart beneath you.

And so, you sobbed all the harder. For the Link that had had to cry alone once upon a time.

---

Back to the shadows.

Tagging: @littlepanda7 @2000babies @danyzta

#botw link #isekai reader #botw x reader #link x reader #link x you

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the-darkestminds · 21 days

Text

A Dying Flame

Eris POV — my first fic

Heyyyyy friends. I decided to write the two scenes UTM from Eris’s POV where Lucien is being tormented and Eris is forced to watch. It can also be found here. I’ve never written anything before so be nice to me 😭 I took a few lines directly from ACOTAR to set the scene and make it as canon as possible, but the rest came from me. I tried to channel SJM's writing style as best I could. I am trash for Eris so I couldn’t resist. I hope you guys like it 🥲 title is dumb so I might change it. I am eternally grateful for any of you who choose to read the whole thing, I promise it’s not too long! 🙏

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Eris

I stood at the edge of the gathered crowd, struggling to keep the cool mask of indifference on my face as Amarantha once again had Lucien bound and on his knees before her. Would his torment never cease? He had never quite mastered the ability to keep his mouth shut, to leash his tongue until the moment it would best serve him. Lucien’s loud mouth had already cost him his left eye, plucked right from his head by Amarantha herself. Rage coursed through me at the role I was forced to play each day under this cursed mountain. How useless I’d become at protecting those I held most dear.

Lucien and I had not exchanged honest words in over 30 years. I longed for the chance to speak to him alone, to beg him to hold his tongue so as not to draw Amarantha’s ire more than he already had. Not for the first time, I desperately wished for the daemati abilities the High Lord of Night possessed so that I might speak to Lucien privately. Abilities he was about to unleash upon my brother.

Beside Lucien stood a small and ordinary mortal girl, likely Amarantha’s newest plaything to torture and discard.

“Her name?” Amarantha asked Tamlin, who didn’t reply. “I don’t suppose your handsome brothers know, Lucien,” she purred.

Give up her name! I nearly begged him. To hell with the girl. Instead I heard myself say, “If we did, Lady, we would be the first to tell you.” The words tasted like poison on my tongue. My brothers chuckled from behind me.

Amarantha only smiled and nodded at Rhysand. He cocked his head, his eyes narrowing slightly on Lucien, who hissed in pain.

I tensed as Rhysand began smiling faintly. Bastard. He was a loathsome, foul bastard. And though I knew he played a role and wore a mask as much as the rest of us, it didn’t stop me from hating him as he held Lucien’s mind in his clutches.

Lucien stiffened in pain. A groan slipped out of him, and–

“Feyre!” the girl shouted. “My name is Feyre.”

Lucien sagged on the ground, trembling. Relief shuttered through me, and I bared my teeth and snarled quietly at the girl to disguise the trembling in my hands, my legs. He was safe, for now. And no thanks to me.

The conversation continued, but I let my mind drift far away. Tried to feel nothing as I attempted to calm my racing heart. I clenched my sweaty palms at my sides and allowed myself a quick glance at Lucien’s prone form. Alive–for now.

I slipped back into the crowd as they dragged Feyre away. He was alive. I repeated this to myself as the cruelty continued through the night, as it did every night in this miserable place. Alive–as I sipped wine and smiled at the punishment the Attor was inflicting on the poor faeries Amarantha had singled out this evening. Alive, alive, alive a steady chant in my blood as the night wore on.

Alive.

---------------------------------------------------------

“Well, Feyre, your second trial has come.” I heard Amarantha smugly announce from her throne at the front of the room. A gnawing dread had been pooling in my gut for the last hour. I could only guess at what new horror she had in store for the girl, but I grew increasingly anxious when I did not see Lucien amongst the revelers. He tended to lurk in the shadows of the room, one eye on Tamlin, ever the loyal sentry. I couldn’t help the low snarl that escaped me at the thought. That Lucien was willing to risk his own life for the Spring Court brute. The faerie next to me skittered away at the sound.

I slowly made my way towards the gathered crowd. Faeries averted their eyes as I passed. It was a relief that I still commanded a modicum of fear from these leeches. Their fear of me was a weapon I wielded frequently.

Amarantha sat proudly on her throne. The Attor at her left, Tamlin braced stiffly behind her on her right.

“Here, Feyre darling, you shall find your task. Simply answer the question by selecting the correct lever, and you’ll win. Select the wrong one to your doom. As there are only three options, I think I have given you an unfair advantage.” Something metallic groaned at the snap of her fingers. “That is,” she added with a snake-like smile, “if you can solve the puzzle in time.”

I had just gotten a glimpse of the girl when the floor where she was standing began to sink down, revealing a small chamber split in two by a metal grate.

I went rigid as I beheld the figure chained to the floor, previously hidden from view. A loud roaring began building in my head. My skin felt tight and hot as I saw that it was Lucien–Lucien, who would again be part of the night’s entertainment. Lucien wrenched at the chains binding him to the floor. I nearly puked on the throne room floor at the sight of it.

Only the many years of practice in my long immortal life stopped the cry of anguish from escaping me as burning spikes began to slowly lower towards Lucien from above. I was a fool. A wretched fool to think Amarantha was done torturing him. That she would not use his friendship with the girl again and again until she finally broke, or was dead, Lucien along with her. I made to take a step forward but then jerked to a stop. Nothing. There was nothing I could do to stop this without damning us both further. I would be forced to watch in silent agony as Lucien was slowly and painfully crushed under the weight of those red-hot spikes.

I stared and stared at Lucien, only vaguely aware of the girl flailing and panicking in the chamber next to him. This was some new level of hell. My nightmare brought to life, one that I could not wake myself up from.

“Answer it!” Lucien shouted, his voice hitched. My eyes burned, and I felt a cold drop of sweat begin to drip down my spine. Only sheer force of will kept the practiced smirk on my lips. The spikes lowered further.

“Just pick one!” Lucien shouted. He strained against the chains, panting frantically, eyes wide.

My brothers around me laughed gleefully, and I forced myself to join in, the sound a pitiful rasp in my ears. I was grateful that the crowd around me was thoroughly distracted by the horror unfolding before us. That they could not hear my pounding heart or the screaming inside my head as those molten spikes lowered another inch closer to Lucien’s body, helplessly chained to the floor. This was the true torture. Not the painful lashes I’d so often received from my father for disappointing him in one way or another. Not the loneliness and fear that threatened to crush me after so many years navigating the snake pit of my father’s court. But this. Forced to stand idly by as my loved ones were killed. Forced to hear the fear in Lucien’s voice as he begged the girl to just pick a lever and be unable to stop any of it.

“Feyre, please!” Lucien moaned. The terror in his voice nearly brought me to my knees. And yet I stood there like a statue. Maybe this was my punishment for being so useless. So worthless. I desperately wished I could take Lucien’s place. That it was me chained to the floor. I deserved it.

I held my breath and shut my eyes as the girl finally reached for the third lever, bracing myself for what was surely to come.

Silence. Then–a sigh. From Lucien.

I opened my eyes at the sound and choked down the sob building in my chest. The girl, Feyre, had actually done it. By dumb luck or fate, she had saved them both.

I did not stay to witness Amarantha’s reaction to the girl besting her once more. Could not stand to be there a minute longer. I turned, not seeing any of the faces around me, desperate to escape the swirl of both panic and relief pressing in on me, threatening to swallow me whole. I could not fall apart, not here.

I stumbled away to the back of the throne room and kept walking until I was alone in a darkened passageway, the sounds of jeering and wicked laughter slowly disappearing. I leaned heavily against the nearest wall and emptied the contents of my stomach onto the floor. My eyes and throat burned and I let out the broken sob I had been holding in. I would allow myself one minute to fall apart, away from prying eyes. Just one minute, and then I would return to join in the merriment of those who had cheered as my brother had nearly been killed again.

I breathed in the damp, cold air of the mountain, my body shaking silently as I sunk to my knees. I listened to the drip, drip, drip of water on the stone floor and used it to slow my quaking heart. When the minute was up, I stood. Tunneled deep down inside until I could barely feel the rage and sorrow. I brought the smirk back to my mouth–it was second nature after all these years. I took one last deep breath, and turned back the way I had come. I had been gone too long, and these caves had eyes and ears that were always watching, always listening–always reporting back to her. And though Autumn Court fire burned in my veins, I forced my heart to freeze over, as cold as Kallias’s ice. I let that ice flow through me as I walked back–as I blocked out the despair that fought to drown me with every step I took. Until I was no one, and nothing.

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A small part of me was aware that I was in shock. I drifted through the following day as if underwater, not fully hearing the words spoken to me or how I responded. Through it all, I made sure to keep the haughty mask on my face. Only when I spotted Lucien across the room did I feel as if I had come up briefly for air. Our eyes locked, and Lucien’s mouth tightened in displeasure. He held my gaze, emotion flickering in his right eye–there and then gone before I could decipher it. After a beat he looked away and was promptly swallowed up by the crowd.

I knew Lucien despised me. It was written on his face whenever he deigned to look me in the eyes, and I let him believe I felt the same. As much as it pained me to do so, I treated him as if he were nothing to me, no more than trash to be discarded. I hated myself more with each passing day–was at risk of being consumed by it entirely and slipping deep into the burning pit of fire within me. It was sheer defiance against the bitch queen that prevented me from doing so. The hope that I might one day see Autumn again. So many years trapped down in the dark were wearing heavy on my soul. The steady fear that I would fail those I sought to protect slowly ate away at me. What I’d give to breathe in the crisp, cool air of home, to walk amongst the red and gold leaves that sparkled like jewels in the dawn light. I held on to the hope that I would one day return. Tucked it deep down inside where it flickered softly, the aching pain in my heart its only companion.

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quicktosimp · 2 months

Text

Forbidden Pleasure

Mating Season Day 03

Aonung/Human Reader

Visual for the genitals: here

Warnings: 18+, Humiliation, Degradation, Cunnilingus, Fingering, Rimming, Name Calling, Panty Sniffing, Face Sitting, Sub!Aonung, Mean!Reader

“Aonung, no, leave it,” I scold, smacking his hand.

“Please, Syulang-”

“Nope, end of discussion,” I grabbed the basket I was weaving and moved over to the large group of women sitting next to Ronal, which would keep me away from this conversion for a bit longer.

I was tending to the Ilu when Aonung’s arms wrapped around my waist. Smiling, I lean back into his embrace.

“Sumtsyìp, what are you doing?” Aonung asked, patting at my hair.

“Quite a lot of people ate the bad fish that was meant to be made into bait for fishing. Your mother and sister are tending to over 16 causes of food poisoning.” I explain as I put the basket of Ilu food down, “I just wanted to help around by taking over some of the chores of those who are ill.”

“So that’s why the healing marui was so busy. There are people waiting outside,” He mused.

I turn in his arms, reaching up to bring his face down for a kiss. As our lips meet, I feel his hands travel lower. I distract myself by biting at his lip, seeking entrance into his mouth. Aonung eagerly opens his mouth as I use my tongue to explore. Our tongues meet, tasting each other as his hands rest on my ass.

I break off glaring at him, “I said no,” backing away from him, picking up my basket, and storming off.

“Oh fuck, Nung!” I scream as Aonung eats me out, suckling on my clit.

He merely chuckles, before sticking his tongue into my open cunt, “Yes, yes, fuck yes,” I moan, grinding myself into his face.

Aonung’s large hands hold my hips up in the air, each hand covering my entire side; he rubs his thumbs on my navel. Slowly, he moves his hands. One hand now covers the expansion of my back, holding me in place as he fucks his tongue inside me. Aonung latches his mouth over my pussy and sucks.

“Yes, yes, yes, oh!” I groan, feeling my climax near.

He moves his mouth so he’s just suckling on my clit, and pushes his thumb into my cunt, pulling downward as he thrusts it in and out. I know I’m gaping from how the ocean breeze enters my cunt. I feel flush from the humiliation as more slick drips out of my pussy. But the feeling of him rubbing my walls made it all worth it. I got lost in the feel of his thumb and mouth. I lean my head back and close my eyes, moaning as my high neared.

I was shocked out of my bliss by a finger rubbing my asshole. I jerk away from his mouth and glare at him, “What part of ‘no’ do you not understand?” I ask him scathingly.

I wrench myself out of his grasp and hastily grab my clothing, throwing my top and tewng on haphazardly. I grab some things for the night, “I’m staying at your parents tonight; don’t follow me,” I growl, storming out of our marui, leaving him there like a scolded puppy.

The walk to Tonowari and Ronal’s is a quick one. The beautiful water and gentle breeze did nothing to hinder my ire. I thought I was muttering quietly, but Ronal and Tonowari were waiting for me at the entrance of their marui. Tonowari looked concerned, worried that something could be wrong. Ronal simply looked at me and said, “My son’s being an idiot again,” It was not a question. It was a fact.

I release the sigh that has built in my chest, “Yes,” Ronal wraps her arm around me, leading me into their marui.

Since they now only have one child living with them, they have downsized their marui a bit, giving it a cozy feel. My shoulders relax as I enter, always feeling at home here. We sit around the cooking fire, the embers casting a gentle glow.

Tonowari hands me a cup of tea before asking, “Tell me, ‘Ite, what has our son done this time?”

“He has forgotten what the word ‘no’ means,” I groan, sipping my tea.

“He’s interested in your waste hole?” Ronal sipped her tea, “Tonowari went through that as well.”

I sat there shocked, not expecting to hear that from my mother-in-law.

“I-I think I forgot some fishing gear. I’ll be back.” With that, he fled the marui.

We sat there silently for a moment, simply drinking our tea while I had an internal crisis.

“Alright, now that he’s gone, let us talk more. Now, under no circumstances should Aonung be pushing you’re boundaries when you are not ready. But tell me, why are you so against it? Is it not normal for mates to explore one another fully?” Her voice was sincere.

“It’s just gross. Why would he even be interested in that? It’s literally where my waste comes out. It’s dirty!” I bemoaned.

“I hear you, ‘Ite. I remember thinking the same thing when Tonowari and I were younger.” She starts softly, “Being young, I would not listen to a word he said. Instead, I would lash out verbally. It took Tonowari many moon cycles before he could get me to sit and listen to him, and I’m glad he did. Many people think that Aonung is my clone, but while he has my stubbornness, he is much like his father. Now, I am not saying he is right or will be right, but if you sit and talk with him, both hearing each other's words, then this can be pushed aside.” Ronal reaches across, holding my hand, “You are mates, a gift from Eywa. Trust in one another.”

“I-I will listen to him as long as he does the same for me,” I agree wearily.

Ronal smiled softly at me, “And that is all you should do,” She picked up her cup of tea, refilling it, “Now tell me, have you heard of what Lo’ak did with my grandaughter's hair?” She asked, scandalized.

“I didn’t hear it. I saw it,” I explained, leaning forward, “I mean, it was so sweet that he tried to do a traditional Metkayina hairstyle, but now he’s going to be untangling hair for the next year.” I grimace.

I still stayed the night, needing the time to figure out what I was going to say to him. I was hoping to get an early start to the day so I could talk with Aonung, not wanting this mess to fester, only to be met with a frantic Lo’ak who still hadn’t managed to untangle my niece's hair. Thus began a long, long, very long process with a cranky four-year-old. The others went off to their duties as I continued untangling her hair; as a form of retaliation against Lo’ak, I taught her several English cusses, and I’m shipping her off with Jake on specific rules to tell Jake that her Daddy taught her. My niece, who is as petty as me, agrees with a cute little frown on her face, promising vengeance against her father. After many hours of detangling, her long hair was free, and she went off to Jake, screaming the word “fuck” repeatedly.

Chuckling, I stood to my feet and wandered my way over to my marui, expecting to be alone for a bit, as Aonung would be far in the ocean by now. I continued my lazy stroll, waving at those I passed, petting the ilu who stopped by for attention, thinking carefully over my words for later. As I neared my marui, I stopped suddenly as I heard scuffling and deep noises inside. I grabbed a nearby stick, ready to chase out whatever decided to enter my home, and slowly crept inside. I brought my body around, facing where the noises were coming from, and what I saw nearly made me drop the stick.

Aonung was sitting there, his hand wrapped around his cock, and his face buried in a pair of my dirty lingerie that I wore last night. He alternated between licking on the fabric and sniffing it deeply as he thrust into his fist. I simply stood there, my jaw on the floor and my heart racing, torn between disgusted and turned on by his behavior.

I decided that both was the best course of action as I slowly moved behind Aonung, who was still too distracted by my panties. He barely even moaned, too busy sniffing them and the sound of his wet cock as he continued to fit it roughly.

“The fuck are you doing Aonung?” I muttered darkly.

He dropped his cock, as he spun around toward me, the panties still stuck on his face, “Sumtsyìp, please, I can-” He noticed the panties still on his face and ripped them off, “I can explain,” His eyes were wide and begging, and he pleaded with me.

I scoffed as I looked down at his kneeling form, “You think I care? I left last night because you won't listen, and now I come home and find you sniffing my panties like a whore,” I growled out.

Aonung was quick to stutter out, “I just needed your scent; I can’t cum unless I smell you,” He tried to explain.

By now, I was pissed, “You think I care? How many times have you done this?” I asked him, and the flickering of his ears and tail told me all I needed to know, “You’re the reason my panties keep getting holes in them! Seriously Aonung, first it's my asshole, and now pantie sniffing?” I ranted, enraged.

He looked at me confused, “A-ass-hole?” Unfamiliar with the tawtute term.

I sighed irritably, “My waste hole, but that’s not the point!” I exaggerated, “You’re sitting here acting like a whore while I’m actually working! I am trying to make things right with you, but you’re too busy thinking with your dick! You’re so fucking stupid! No wonder…” I trailed off as I noticed a pattern, and I decided to try and test it.

“You’re a fucking whore,” I growled, and his cock twitches.

“Such a slut. I’m surprised that you even have a brain to work with,” I sneered as his cock drooled.

I wanted to try it one more time, so I huffed, “Bet you’d rather stay home and beat your cock all day; seems to be all your good for slut.”

This time he couldn’t stop the moan that slipped past his lips as his dick continued to bob in the air.

I gripped his braids tightly in my hand, forcing him to look up at me, “You fucking slut, you’re getting off to this,” I accuse him in a snarl.

Aonung’s jaw dropped as he moaned deeply, “Yes.”

I throw him back the best I can, forcing him to lean back on his arms with his legs spread wide apart.

“I cannot believe I mated such a slut, I dirty whore who can’t even behave,” I continued ranting as Aonung’s cock continued to twitch at my words.

Precum drooled from the lavender tapered tip as the spines along his cock twitched in the air, seeking any contact. I brought my foot up and rubbed at his cock, slick from how long he had been playing with himself.

Aonung moaned as he rolled his hips into my foot, chasing the feeling.

“Look at that, my whore of mate is getting off on my foot,” I commented dryly, although I was intrigued, as my pussy became slick.

“Oh fuck,” He groaned, humming my foot.

I removed my foot as he was getting too into it, “Disgusting,” I snarled, spitting on his cock, only for it to weep more pre.

And I realized that just maybe Ronal was right, “Lay down, flat on your back,” I demeaned, as I united my tewng.

Aonung scrambled to obey, laying flat on his back, looking up at me, his eyes wide and begging.

I threw my tewng to the side, uncaring of where it landed as I stood over Aonung; I slowly crouched down and muttered, “You get one chance to prove yourself,” Before I sat on his face, my asshole over his lips.

I watched as Aonung’s eyes became wider before his large hands gripped my thighs, forcing my full weight on his face, making sure I couldn’t leave his hold. Then his tongue came in, literally. He licked up the expanse of my ass, making sure not to leave a spot untouched, before he focused back on my hole, using the flat of his tongue to lick there repeatedly.

I couldn’t stop the moan as I grabbed his hair, steading myself, as his feverish attack on my asshole continued. The pleasure was different but still just as good, not that I’d tell him that.

“Fucking slut, my dirty slutty muntxatan,” I growled as I started to grind my cunt into his face, my clit gliding across the expanse of his flat nose, my pussy leaking everywhere on his face, creating a mess of my own.

Aonung whined into my asshole, sending vibrations to my core. Then, he decided to change tactics; he sucked on my rim harshly before pointing his tongue and poking it at my asshole.

“Aonung!” I moaned as my head fell forward, his wet muscle seeking entrance.

He gripped my thighs harder, making sure I couldn’t move an inch as he kept poking and prodding at my rim, wearing my muscle down until his tongue slipped in. I gasped as his thick long tongue wiggled inside my ass. Opening in me in a way I never had before. I couldn’t stop my hips as I tried to bounce or grind on his face.

“Nung, Nung, Nung, fuck!” I squealed as my legs quaked around his head, “My Muntxatan is a dirty slut and is eating my ass,” I moaned as I barely believed it.

I could feel him whining underneath me as one of his large hands trailed to my cunt, his fingers quickly finding my clit, and rubbing slow, gentle circles, more teasing me than urging me to cum. I mewled at the increase in pleasure as sharp volts of pleasure traveled through me. I knelled over as I let Aonung do what he wanted, letting him ravish my asshole and play with my clit. My cunt clenched around, nothing but wanting to be filled, as a coil built in my core, wanting to release.

“Aonung! Make me cum now, or this is the last time you get to do this!” I screamed at him.

Aonung recognized the threat that it was and quickly doubled his efforts, sucking on my rim as his tongue went wild inside my asshole, and his fingers moved deftly on my nub, causing me to scream out in pleasure.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” I was unashamed as my muntxatan pleased me, “Ah, ah, ah, ah, ahhhhhh,” I screamed. I came, my legs shaking violently as my asshole and pussy clenched desperately.

Aonung slowed his efforts, letting me ride my high gently, only stopping once I was twitching. He gently released my thighs, and I could see that those marks would last for days. He then slipped his tongue out of my ass, pushing me up gently as he breathed deeply.

“Did- did you- hold your breath- the- entire time?” I asked Aonung breathlessly as I climbed off his face.

Aonung shot me a shit-eating smirk, “You said I only had one chance, and I think I proved it well to you.”

I groaned and rolled over, laying on my side away from him. I could hear his chuckle before he wrapped me in his arms, holding me close. I closed my eyes, enjoying the sensation of being held, when it suddenly hit me: something wasn’t poking my back.

“Aonung? Did you cum from eating my ass?”

I was only met with the sound of his tail thumping against the floor.

Taglist: @neteyamswillow, @loakstahni, @justcaptiannoodles, @coralpandasoul, @eywaite, @xylianasblog, @torukmaktoskxawng, @itchaboi-itchyboy

Dividers by: @cafekitsune

#avatar #avatar way of water #atwow #smut #avatar the way of water #aonung x y/n #aonung x reader #aonung smut #aonung avatar #aonung x you #aonung x female reader #aonung #ao'nung x y/n #ao'nung x reader #ao'nung x you #ao'nung x fem!reader #ao'nung smut

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aemonds-fire · 7 months

Text

Answered Prayers: Dark Series HOTD Aemond Targaryen x Fem OC Part Four : A Twisted Little Game

Summary: First infatuation, then obsession. Prince Aemond has found the lady of his dreams and the gods give him a way to keep her. But the Lady is more than she seems. A Dark Romance

Pairing: HOTD Aemond Targaryen x Fem OC

Word Count: 3849

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, DUB/CON - NON/CON, Strong Sexual Content, coercion, angst, mention of murder/suicide, medieval-canon sexism, profanity

Not beta read, any mistakes are my own.

Answered Prayers Masterlist

Fire's Masterlist

Enjoy! Likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated.

maegītsos - little witch sȳres riñus - good girl gevie - beautiful

Not long back in his own chambers, he already realizes that sleep will elude him again this night. Sitting before the fireplace, holding a cup of wine in his slender fingers, Aemond is cursing himself and you.

‘Is she a cruel jest by the gods?’ He asks himself. 'To deliver this perfect maiden to me only to have her bewitch and bedevil me to the verge of madness?’

First came the shock that she had played a part in the deaths of her father and stepmother. He recognized the silver-topped glass vial immediately as the one she held in her hand when they met by chance that night. To think this innocent, perfect lady was capable of murder surprised him greatly. What also surprised him was that it did not matter to him. Strangely, it even excited him, making him want you even more, so under his skin you have become. If anything, he found he rather admired your courage and your determination to avenge your mother. Wanting to right a wrong was something he could understand.

His heart soared when he realized he had found a way to possess the lady of his dreams. He would keep your secret, and you would become his wife. But again, you surprised him with your resistance to the idea of marriage.

He truly went to your chambers tonight to talk with you and to convince you that he would be everything you could want in a husband. Protective, honorable, and dutiful, you would be the lady of your house as well as a princess of the realm.

But his restraint was tested immediately. The mere sight of you had his cock twitching, knowing that only the thin material of your gown separated him from your exquisite body. Your audaciousness to dare him to drink the wine you offered him, knowing your history with poison. He did not think you foolish, but it was still a risk on his part, and the challenge got his blood up.

But just like earlier in the day, you could not speak for more than a moment before antagonizing each other. Your immediate resistance to the subject of marriage and the theory that he was simply doing this to have you in his bed infuriated him.

He offers you not only silence but marriage, and you spurn it, wanting only his silence but not him.

What lady would want to marry that?’ He’s heard in the past.

Despite the intense release of pleasure your mouth gave him, his need is creeping back already. He wants nothing more than to be between your thighs right now, with his cock being squeezed by your tight maiden cunt.

But he let his pent-up frustration and ire get the better of him. Deliberately leaving you unsatisfied was an impulsively spiteful act, he thinks with a smirk, but you exasperate him to no end.

He has never met a lady like you, and your response to him is confusing. Unlike other ladies, you have never looked at his face with distaste or turned away from the sight of him. Thinking about it, you have not shown any reaction to the scar that mars his face, as if it doesn't bother you at all. Though a virtuous maiden, you did not reject his touch but reveled in the pleasure, while the idea of marrying him is apparently abhorrent to you.

He could actually admire your strong will, audacity, and fierceness, were it not directed at him. Though after leaving you the way he did tonight, he’s sure more of your fiery stubbornness will come his way.

He has no intention of giving you a choice regarding marriage, whether you want it or not. While your resistance excites him, he craves your submission and your obedience. He will never give you up; truthfully, even his promise to expose your crime and face execution is an empty threat that he had no intention of carrying out. The more you resist him, the more determined he is to have you. In the meantime, you have shown him a way to weaken your resolve.

He remembers a night over a year ago when he was sitting in this same chair before the fireplace.

He barely turned his head when he heard someone enter his chambers late one night. He knew who it was right away, for only his brother Aegon was foolish enough to barge into his chambers without leave. Sighing in frustration, he was about to simply tell his brother to get out when he also heard female laughter.

Getting up to confront Aegon about this unwanted intrusion, he saw his brother, clearly drunk as usual, with his arm around a young woman. She was pretty, about his own age, and obviously a whore.

“Aegon, leave. The keep is large enough that you can surely find an empty room somewhere. You won’t be fucking your whore in my chambers,” he told him brusquely.

Aegon chuckled, turned to his female companion, and said, “Do you see what I mean?”

Turning back to his brother, he continued, “I didn’t bring her to your chambers so I could fuck her; I brought her here so you could fuck her.” Aegon led the girl further into the room, closer to Aemond. “You see, my brother for some reason tries to ignore the fact that he has a cock, but by doing so, he makes life rather unbearable for the rest of us,” he tells her.

Even in the dim light, Aemond could see through the sheer material of her whore’s dress, revealing that she was naked beneath it. His eye drawn to her full breasts, pert nipples poking against the flimsy fabric, and he felt himself begin to harden despite his annoyance. Clenching his jaw and warring with himself about whether or not to take what was being offered, he bit back another demand that they leave.

Aegon, seeing his younger brother’s resistance weaken, whispered something in the girl’s ear, prompting her to unfasten her dress at her shoulder and let it fall, pooling at her feet. At Aegon’s urging, she went over to Aemond, smiling prettily when she took his hand and placed it on her breast.

At the feel of her hardened peak against his open palm, he couldn’t help but cup her flesh, squeezing and feeling the weight of her breast in his hand.

“I’ll leave the two of you alone now, unless you would like me to stay and watch, or perhaps join in?” harassed Aegon.

Not even bothering to look at his brother, Aemond growled low, “Get out.” Aegon, knowing not to press his luck too far, left to find his own amusement.

Despite his aversion to whores, Aemond soon had her bent over, his strong hands gripping her hips roughly, rutting into her hard from behind. There was neither gentleness nor regard for her pleasure from him as the sounds of skin hitting skin and her soft moans floated through his bedchamber. He took her three times that night before finally being satisfied enough to send her off.

Before leaving him, she said, ”You have a beautiful cock, my prince. If you ever care to learn what pleases a woman, I would be happy to show you.”

Curious to understand a woman’s pleasure, combined with the desire to have her again, Aemond had the whore secretly brought back to his chambers on several occasions.

For the next several days, you and Aemond play a game akin to cat and mouse. Avoiding direct contact with each other but making your presence known, hopefully to the other’s irritation.

When you were with Helaena and the children in her chambers and he came to visit, you quickly complained of a sudden headache and a desire to rest. You were able to avoid his offer of escorting you to your chambers by insisting he continue his visit with his family, even placing little Princess Jaehaera in his arms.

Another day, you decide to make your way to the training yard to watch him spar with Ser Cole, delighting when you realize your presence distracts him, forcing him to yield to the knight. You return his glare of annoyance with your prettiest smile before disappearing back into the Keep.

You spend your afternoons with a small group of ladies, chatting and working on your embroidery. Though far from your favorite activity, you find security in their presence, thinking even the fearsome prince would hesitate to cross some of these old crones.

Today, when you spy the prince watching you from a distance, you simply ignore him and walk the other way.

But Aemond is on your mind the entire time, with you trying to sort out your feelings about what happened and about him. You should be shamed, devastated, and revolted by your last encounter with him, but you're not. You’re angry with him more than anything for awakening your body and leaving you wanting more.

You have never been more conflicted in your life. He stands in the way of your independence, yet when he touches you, everything you want means nothing; you just want more of him. You know that if you allow him to take your virtue and ruin you, he will simply have another way to force you into marriage. You tell yourself that you cannot allow yourself to be swayed by his amorous advances.

‘What sort of twisted little game has this become?’ you ask yourself.

But the prince has clearly lost patience with the game. That night, just after settling yourself into your bed to sleep, you hear him enter your chambers. Knowing that simply pretending to be asleep will not work, you sit up, pulling the covers over your chest.

Watching him walk towards you in the darkness, you can’t help but feel the quickening of your pulse. He moves like a predator, stalking prey, the moonlight coming through the window glinting off his long silver hair. Tonight, instead of his usual black leather, he wears a simple white shirt over loose trousers.

“I’ve missed you, Lady Mira,” he says, his voice smooth as silk. He stops at the foot of your bed, his eye never leaving you.

Determined to resist him, you snap, “I haven’t missed you.”

“Hmm, you seem uptight, my lady," he said, smiling devilishly. “Are unfulfilled desires keeping you from resting at night?”

"Of course not,” you lie. “I was about to go to sleep, so please leave.”

“Hmm, still upset with me, I see,” he sighs, though the smirk on his lips tells you he is not bothered by it.

Frustrated by his presence, you get up, reaching for your robe. Before you can put it on, you feel him behind you, his arm going around your waist. Crooning in your ear, “The sight of you in bed is quite lovely and something I intend to get used to."

“Take your hands off me and leave,” you hiss while trying to pull away from him.

“Such a temper, maegītsos,” he chides you while pulling you closer. “And I came to make up for my poor behavior the other night.

Continuing to struggle, ”You can make up for it by getting out of my chambers.”

Spinning you around to face him, he says, “No, I have a better way.” Not giving you a chance to respond, he kisses you. His lips are forcefully and possessively claiming yours.

You try to push him away, but you cannot match his strength, and your efforts at resistance are ignored by him.

Breaking his kiss momentarily, he reminds you, “Your body for my silence, remember?” He wraps you in his arms tightly until you cease your struggles. “Sȳres riñus,” he purrs into your ear, between little nips of your skin.

Leaning against his chest, you unconsciously tilt your head to let him trail his lips down your neck, each kiss fanning the flames of the desire growing within you. You gasp when he tugs down the front of your gown to free your breasts before cupping them in his strong hands and fondling them while rolling your nipples between his fingers.

"Aemond," you whimper as each tease of your stimulated peaks sends little shivers through you.

He lowers his head to fasten his lips around your areola, sucking gently. Keeping hold of your other breast with one hand, his other moves down to grasp your hip. The flicks of his tongue on your sensitive nipple cause wetness to pool between your legs. When his mouth moves to switch his attention to your other breast, he murmurs against your skin, “Shhh, I will soon ease that ache in your cunt.”

Your hand tangles in his hair while his lips and tongue seduce your body, breaking down your resolve. Soft hums of pleasure escape your throat as your hand digs into his shoulder, gripping him tightly.

He finally releases your breasts and straightens to his full height, his eye lingering on your disheveled state. Suddenly, you feel very small standing this close to him, with your gown pushed down past your shoulders and your bosom exposed to him. When you move to cover yourself, he quickly stops you. “No, I want to see all of my future wife,” he tells you as his hands take hold of the material covering you, pushing everything down until it falls around your feet, leaving you completely naked before him.

Fearful that this will go much further than you wish it to, you whisper, “Your grace, no..." while trying to back away, only stopping when the back of your legs bump into the side of your bed. His strong hands then push you down, forcing you to lie back. Panic sets in, and you try to scamper back from him, but he quickly grabs hold of your legs at the knees, dragging you back to him.

You let out a small cry when you feel his strength pull you across the bed. You’re holding your breath as you watch him kneel on the floor while pushing your thighs apart, baring to his eye the most intimate part of your body that no man has ever seen before. You stare at him until he finally raises his gaze and your eyes meet, and you watch one corner of his lips turn up in a wicked smile, hearing him whisper the word "gevie" before extending his tongue, teasing that little bundle of nerves within your folds.

The sensation immediately rips a whimper from you—this shock of pure sensual pleasure that he is making you feel. You don’t even notice when he hooks one of your thighs over his shoulder, your other leg still being pushed wide by his firm hand gripping your flesh.

Letting your head drop back on the bed, you stare at the ceiling as his mouth ravishes your cunt; licking and sucking, you can hear the lewd wet sounds coming from between your legs. When he fastens his lips around your stimulated bud, sucking and flicking his tongue repeatedly, you can’t hold back the moan that comes from your mouth.

“You will need to be more quiet. If we are caught like this, my mother will have us married before the new moon,’ he teases you. The vibration from his voice sends shivers through you that has you fisting the bedclothes.

Before long, you begin the tingling pressure deep inside you, gradually building. Your breathing is now quick, shallow breaths as you try to quiet your whimpers. Soon, your release hits you, much more intense than anything you’ve felt before, forcing you to bite your lip to keep crying out and forcing Aemond to hold your hips tightly to keep you still.

He keeps lapping up the wetness coming from you while you feel waves of pleasure roll through your body. Despite the fact that you’ve reached your peak, he continues to tease your now-overstimulated bud.

When you whimper for him to stop, he ignores your pleas. When you try to twist away, he holds you tighter, and when you feel one of his long, slender fingers probe your entrance before slowly sliding into your tightness, you cannot hold back a loud gasp.

His finger, coated in your slick wetness, moves easily back and forth. “Your cunt is so fucking tight,” he murmurs against your thigh.

The sensation is not unpleasant until he begins pumping two fingers inside you, causing an uncomfortable stretch of your walls, but that is soon overridden when he starts rubbing your little bud with his thumb. That stimulation, combined with a new feeling every time he brushes a certain spot inside you, soon has you overwhelmed with intense pleasure that leaves your legs quivering, and you are forced to cover your mouth to stifle your moans.

“Look at you, writhing on my fingers,” he mutters while he watches you lose yourself in the ecstasy he is causing. Gradually, he eases his touches, letting you enjoy the bliss that overcomes you and delighting in the knowledge that he can reduce you to a whimpering, shaking mess.

The feeling of power that he has over your body arouses him tremendously, hardening his cock to near painfulness in his breeches. He finally rises from the floor to lie down on the bed, pulling your limp body next to him, pressing the bulge in his trousers against you, his face next to yours. “I want to fuck you so badly,” he whispers in your ear. “I prayed for you, and the gods gave you to me, but I want to honor them by waiting until we are wed to claim your maidenhead."

As you try to recover your senses from your second release of the night, you can feel his length straining against his clothes. You can smell yourself on him when he brushes his lips on your cheek, and you shiver when his large hand splays on the skin of your belly before moving up to cup your breast.

The sight of your naked body, feeling you tremble at his touch, and the knowledge that you cannot resist him send an unstoppable surge of lust through him. After a moment of indecision, Aemond begins loosening his trousers, freeing his cock. Growling with desire, he grabs a handful of your hair and says, “But if I cannot have your cunt tonight, I need your mouth on me again.” He quickly shifts his hips while the hand tugging on your hair forces you up to all fours. “Or would you rather I start fucking my heirs into you instead?”

When you begin to protest, a sharp pull of your hair causes your words to die on your lips. You know it is this or he will take your virtue tonight, giving him one more way to bind you to him for the rest of your life. When he places his length on your lips, once again you open your mouth to him.

The next several minutes are filled with him instructing you to lick and suck and how to work your mouth on him, between a stream of filthy praises at how well you take his cock, how perfect you are for him, and how he intends to fuck you. While you bob your head up and down on his shaft, his hand on your head guiding your pace, his other hand roughly fondles your breast, tweaking your nipple, before his long arm reaches between your legs.

“You’re still fucking dripping,” he says, swirling his fingers in your wetness before pushing two back into you, causing you to moan around his cock. As you suck him to his peak, he wrests another from you.

The two of you lay side by side on your bed for a few moments before you move to get up on shaky legs, finding your nightgown and slipping it back on. You walk over to a table and pour yourself a cup of wine, drinking deeply, feeling the need to rinse the taste of his seed from your mouth.

Looking towards your bed, you take in the sight before you. The fearsome Prince Aemond, who always presents a stoic form, is always impeccably groomed, with never a long silver hair out of place. is lying still, his eye closed, looking almost as if he is ready to drift off to sleep. You can see the rise and fall of his chest with his breathing. His sharp features look softer right now, and his hair is tousled.

You almost want to laugh at the realization that you do not understand this man who is determined to make you his wife at all. He is a mystery wrapped in another mystery. He is a fierce warrior and dragonrider who seems to have a desperate need for something—you cannot figure out what—but there is so much roiling beneath the cold exterior.

Right now, you feel like a little girl from a little house on the southwest coast of the realm who foolishly tried to play with a dragon.

For some reason, he has decided you are the one he wants, and he will not let go. And you have no idea of how to free yourself from him. The second vial of poison you still have hidden is useless to you with him. The discovery of a royal prince, dead from poison, would lead to an intense search for the culprit, while another poisoning so soon after the deaths of your father and step-mother would draw unwanted attention towards you.

For the first time, you wonder if perhaps marrying him wouldn’t be so bad.

You know your parents' marriage bed was not pleasurable for your mother. You are quite certain your father never made your mother feel like Aemond has made you feel. "Does that make me a whore, or is there something else between us?” you ask yourself.

“Since you’re drinking the wine, it clearly isn’t poisoned. Would it be too much trouble for you to stop staring at me and bring me a cup?” Aemond asks, the sound of his voice snapping you out of your thoughts.

He is now sitting up in your bed, adjusting his trousers. Pouring him a cup, you take it over to him. As you hand the cup to him, he asks, ‘What were you thinking?”

Sighing, “I was thinking how much I don’t understand you.”

Getting up to stand next to you, he pauses for a moment before saying, “I don’t think anyone really understands me.”

“That sounds lonely,” you tell him. Walking back to the table to refill your cup, “I should hate you for what you’re doing.”

“But you don’t,” he says, following you. Aemond pauses for a moment before saying, “No one will ever love you like I do.”

Glancing over at him, you ask, “Do you love me or do you wish to possess me? They are two different things.” Taking a final sip of your wine, you add, “I may not hate you, but that doesn’t mean I like you either.”

Taglist: @arcielee @persephonerinyes @valeskafics @boofy1998 @echos-muses @boundlessfantasy @randomdragonfires @artemisra @marthawrites @khaleesihel @snowprincesa1 @watercolorskyy

#aemond smut #dark aemond smut #dark aemond targaryen #dark aemond #aemond fanfic #aemond fic #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon fic

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batmanrogues-scenarios · 1 year

Note

Any rogues react on the fact that their S/O in past repeatedly frauded IRS and tell something like "if you want advice or two, feel free to ask".

Joker

Jaw drops. At first, he is scared. Are they not afraid? But then he realizes who he has on his side.

Gets on his knees. TEACH HIM!

Would be in awe and tell other Rogues how badass his new S/O is.

He has notebook where he writes everything down, it's like having a class.

Black Mask

Ha, nice one doll. IRS honesty is scared of him after what he did last time they tried to get his money so he isn't in need of it.

Still finds it admirable.

Penguin

Well, well, well. Does they need a job? He needs a good secretary for his money.

Will take their advice.

Pretty proud of them.

Poison Ivy

Fuck with corporation? Sign her up.

She finds it cute. Her little terror.

Would tell the tips to Sirens.

#pati writes #joker x reader #black mask x reader #roman sionis x reader #penguin x reader #oswald cobblepot x reader #poison ivy x reader #pamela isley x reader #mantizimus

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hazyange1s · 2 months

Text

Today is sad hours because I’m thinking about how Sebastian would feel when/if Anne dies.

Especially with the fact that she’s (as of the end of fifth year) gone from his life. It’ll likely be months at minimum that she stays away, trying to find it within herself to forgive him. Chances are it would take her years to begin to recover from that sort of trauma and betrayal.

As far as her health goes, I can’t imagine that the loss she suffers - her uncle and basically her brother in one day - wouldn’t affect it. This sort of goes along with the idea that dark magic isn’t just powered by, it feeds on negative emotions. And boy will it be feasting on our poor Anne. :(

My HC is that she and Sebastian never get the time to reconcile before she dies. And Sebastian, on her death bed, will not only have to deal with the guilt of driving her away…but imagine the regret.

Regret that it was his fault they didn’t have more time together. Regret that he missed out on the last months/years with his only sister, that he couldn’t save her, and now they’ve run out of time.

His last memories of Anne beyond when they say goodbye (which, hopefully they would at least get that) will be her looking at him through a stranger’s eyes. One of the last happy moments they had together in the cottage immediately poisoned by his uncle’s ire.

He never gets to reunite with the Anne he used to know.

#many apologies but I’m sobbing #writing their dynamic post game is heartbreaking #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #harry potter #anne sallow #sebastian sallow hc #hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow fanfiction #hogwarts legacy headcanons

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amphitritesmuse · 1 year

Photo

Request by: @omgsuperstarg

Original Request: if there only could be a one shot for this + me desperately wanting to write it lol

Pairing: Namor x Reader

Word Count: 766

Warnings: None

A/N: I changed this scene up a bit and I am not 100% sure I wrote it well but I hope you enjoy this one-shot, hun. Let me know what you think of it xoxo

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It seemed that political unrest kept descending upon Wakanda. It began when my brother, T’Challa, left for the Ancestral Plains to join aabba. Now, a certain fish God had taken the reins to our newfound threats. I look to my Mother as she had cast her gaze to the sea. Her isicola crown shimmered under the sunlight and her long white robe spread down to her feet where the hems touched the sand.

“Mother,” I whisper, placing my hand on her shoulder. “I do not think he intends to keep his promise. He may never show.”

Mother turned, her lips formed into a frown. “I cannot just leave, child. This innocent girl is found in the midst of diplomatic turmoil, only used as a mere pawn for political gain. Unfairly and unjustly. We must wait.”

I nod and turn my gaze towards the crashing sea waves of cerulean blue and turquoise. I could feel the hot sand beneath my feet and when the wind blew against my thin garnet-red robe, I shivered.

“He is here,” Mother announced.

I drew in the salty air, then exhaled sharply as we watched the strong, tall man emerging from the sea waters. As he slowly strode towards us, I stiffen my back at the sight of him. Under the dazzling sun, the bronze of his skin almost seemed to shine against his usekh collar and the rest of his golden accessories. His eyes, like pools of obsidian, bore a hard expression as he looked at me. At once my ire rose, though, Namor did not seemed to be troubled by my angered demeanour as he swept his gaze over my body and studied the way I filled out the robe. I looked away, uncomfortably as my mother inched closer to him, the hems of her dress dancing around her feet as she did so.

“Pray, tell, is the girl alright?” Mother inquires, impatiently. “Is she unharmed?”

Namor nodded. “The scientist is alive and well. She requested to be taken to Talocan in place of your daughter and she will remain there for the time being.”

I let out a dry laugh at the God’s words. He turns and regards me with curiosity. “Did I say something that amuses you, Princess?”

“Your mouth spews such venomous lies, sub-mariner.” I spat, glaring at him. “My sister would have never agreed to let such a thing happen.”

“(Y/N),” my Mother reprimanded.

A smug look played upon Namor’s lips and he walked over to where I stood as if trying to demand my attention before he spoke.“I utter no lies when it comes to the safety of my people. You, surface-dwellers, scatter your poison recklessly with no regard as to what occurs to the lives you destroy. As I stated the scientist will remain in Talocan.”

“Such threats do not rest easily with me.” Mother spoke, clenching her jaw, and pulling me closer to her which only rendered Namor’s smirk to grow wider.

“I am not a woman who enjoys repeating herself,” Mother warned, “Return the scientist to us as it is the vibranium from our lands that she was in search for to complete her project. I give you my word that she will bring no harm to your people nor will the Americans.”

He shook his head, “Such agreements do not happen so naturally. I’d like something in exchange for such a gesture that I will be offering.”

Mother’s face paled as she realized what he meant when his eyes travel to where I stood and slowly walked towards me. “You are asking me to do the impossible,” Mother’s voice trembled as she stood before me, protectively. “I have lost my first-born, I cannot lose my daughter.”

“You forget that I had never agreed to peace being an option.” Everything else happened so suddenly when Namor caught my arm. I found myself standing so close to him that I could see the muscles of his jaw working angrily. “Your scientist will be returned to Wakanda. Mourn your losses and bury your dead as Wakanda will soon burn to ashes.”

“Mother!”

The last moments I remembered were my Mother on her knees, her arms reaching out to me as if she was attempting to use some sort of supernatural force to bring me back. Namor’s grip around my torso grew stronger as the water currents seemed to pull me down the deeper I fell.

My sight began to blur as black dots danced around my vision and I wondered when I’d see my Mother and Shuri again.

#mcu #mcu namor #black panther 2 #namor #namor imagine #namor x reader #namor one shot #namor x you

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tadpolesonalgae · 10 months

Text

Amarantha x cryptid!reader x Rhysand: Big, Bad Wolf[*]

A/N: reader is kind of on the asexual spectrum, except they aren’t sex repulsed? Kind of fun but see you what you guys think. Also, this came about because I saw a comment mentioning this so here you go!

Summary: Rhysand and Amarantha attempt to whip you into obedience without getting any of their limbs snapped off.

Warnings: threesome fmf, pussy eating, rimjob, slight degradation, smut

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A thunderous snarl tears from your chest, shaking the ground of the dungeon.

They’d hunted you. You. A beast among beasts. And then they’d dared lock you up. A room with no lights, solely illuminated by the burning of flame, flame that flickered and slithered over the grim walls.

You take in the two figures as you rise to your haunches, keeping low to the ground, preparing to pounce on instinct, shrinking down to be underestimated. Your claws scrape against the hard stone of the large cell, your four paws could carry you across in seconds, tear them to pieces were it not for the chains shackling you.

“Seems it’s awake, my Queen,” the male purrs. He’s positioned casually against the far wall—a good choice, to be as far from you as possible—long legs crossed at the ankle, arms folded over a powerfully built chest. Jasmine and citrus. A lost hint of sea salt. Your nostrils flare as they take down information.

“Quiet.” Your attention snaps to the female. Stood front and centre, a strong, healthy figure. Well fed, good hunter. Cunning, or powerful? Sharp features, cultivated beauty for fae kind. Poised but laced with arrogance, arms folded. Defence. Your nostrils again flare. Metallic, sharp, the bitterness of poisoned fruit.

The female watches you carefully as you rise to your paws, shaking out your matted mane, clotted with dirt and blood. You lower to your haunches. And pounce. Springing against the constraints with a snarl. You make it a hair’s breadth from her, before you’re locked in place. She doesn’t flinch as her cold eyes pierce into your own.

Your jaws open over her, a roar ripping through the room, shaking the stones as it thunders back and forth. This time, she does retreat, before her hand flicks and magic crackles at her ears—protection. You snarl down at her. She’d make a good few mouthfuls. Drool slips from your lower lip at the thought of devouring her. Two gulps, if you didn’t stretch it out.

“It seems rather lively, considering the circumstances,” the male drawls, making the female narrow her eyes at him. “Give me the whip,” she snaps, “see if some pain lashes some sense into it.” He pushes from the wall with casual grace, limbs moving with lethal elegance toward her as he pulls an empty circle from thin air. Curled leather. Crack.

It snaps against your thick skin—you barely feel it. A light pinching, if anything. Still, you roar, back stretching at the effort as you bare the three rows of razor sharp teeth at her. You could shred her in a heartbeat. If only she was one step closer.

When the whip cracks again, your jaws snap around it, tugging sharply. The female stumbles forward with the force, into your range. You snarl as you surge forward, teeth aimed for the mouthful of her stomach. But then she vanishes. Your jaws snap around air, and you growl. She appears a few feet back, ire blazing in her gaze as she glares at you, lip curled.

“Perhaps it’s not agreeable to a whip,” the male drawls, amusement dancing in his eyes. So blue they’re violet. “I wouldn’t delight in it, no matter how beautiful the wielder.” The female doesn’t take her eyes off you as she gives a sharp order. “Shoot it. See how it likes faebane in its system.”

“Should you wish to strike the blow?” He mocks as he saunters to a rack. It holds a range of miscellaneous sharp metals, bent and wound into a variety of shapes. Your animal mind can’t make sense of them. The female does not remove her attention from you. Cunning. “Fetch the bow, before I send you into its jaws, Lordling.”

Your ears prick at the word.

A smirk slices her blood red mouth. “You can understand us.”

You snarl in response, making her laugh. The male hands her a bow and you puff out your chest, moving to intimidate. “I am your High Queen, beast. You feed, hunt, and fuck on my lands.” You snarl again and she grins. “That’s right, this territory is mine. No matter how many trees you’ve pissed on to uselessly mark your property, it’s still mine,” she snarls, baring her teeth in a fierce smile.

“Now.” Her hand grips the bow, “will you serve me, or do I have to bury this arrow in your chest?” Amusement sparks in your eye. No fae-made weapon could harm you. It would take something ancient, full of malice to pierce your hide. You growl your wordless taunt, and the maddening spark is reflected in the female’s eyes.

She pulls the bow taut, arrow aimed for your chest. “Last chance,” she taunts, grin slashing across her crimson painted lips. Your lips pull back from your teeth, mirroring the vicious smile. Behind her, the male has enough sense to stiffen, yet the female—the High Queen—matches you. She gives no further warnings as she looses the arrow, and you hear it sluice through the air.

And impale your skin.

You rear to your hind legs, jaws opening as a howl tears from your throat, followed by obsidian, iridescent blood. The liquid spills from your maw, wetting your fur as you shrink away from her. She’s still grinning with vindictive triumph. Your heart stutters. The arrow was laced with something—a curse. An old one, strong enough to split your enchanted leather.

Your paws give out as the spell threads around your bones, pumping through your blood as it floods your system. The High Queen grins viciously as you topple over, collapsing to the ground as ragged pants pull from your blackened maw. She walks forward, heels clicking on the stone tile as she lifts her foot, raising it as she sets it on your snout. Proprietary. A show of ownership. A conquered beast.

A weak snarl crawls from your throat, as you feel your power gushing from you. Her brow furrows as you begin to change. Behind her, the male stands straighter, watching with keen, sharp eyes. You feel the shrinking of your bones as they click into a different form, one that will conserve energy to maintain.

The High Queen steps back as your fur fades to skin, snout softens to a feminine mouth, paws shrinking to arms and legs. Her eyes widen at what lays before her. A female. Bare, without clothes, save for the natural hair to your hips, that dusts your legs—between them, too—your forearms and scalp. Her brow narrows, while the male behind her steps closer to view your shape shift.

“Huh,” he drawls, “looks as though it’s a female.” The High Queen ignores him, using her foot to roll you onto your back, your eyes shut. The arrow clatters to the floor with the transformation, but black blood still leaks from your chest. A lot of it. “Call for a healer,” she snaps to Rhys, realising the amount of blood lost in this form is much more detrimental. He nods lazily, and within seconds, the door to the dungeon is being opened.

You pounce.

You flip onto your front, springing from your hind legs, the chains now much too large to hold your wrists and ankles. The nails tipping your fingers sink into the muscle of the male’s broad shoulders. Your jaw drops open and you feel his dark power thrumming, beating beneath his skin but unable to hit your enchanted hide. Your teeth splay over his throat, poised to rip but a fist has tightened in your hair, tearing you away with an unexpected force. Your head is jerked back, though your nails still find purchase in the corded muscle of the male’s torso.

You should have gone for the female.

The next thing you know, a set of hands have landed on your back, where the tail end of the wound lies. The world fades to black as pain explodes in your vision.

————

When you wake, you’re lying in a fae bed.

Your hairs raise at the fabric clinging to your body. No they don’t. They’ve had the hair taken from your body, all but your scalp, and you snarl in anger. It’s uncomfortable. You’re bare in a way that’s dangerous. With a huff and a dull throb in your shoulder, the hair regrows from your skin, coating you in a thin layer of protective senses.

You start with a snarl, but wince at the pain in your shoulder. Fae bandages crisscross the skin, and you growl, nails tearing at the fabric of the fae clothes, removing the strangling material from your form until it lays shredded on the floor.

It’s been a long while since you’ve been in this form, and it’s odd, the layers of information your changed senses bring in. Like the taste of the air, the temperature against your skin. Your eyes are much sharper, scent dulled, while you hear near silence compared to the symphony of noises you would delight in as a beast. It’s so quiet.

You peer about the room, nosing at the sheets, beneath the pillows, through the wooden boxes that contain more ghastly fae clothes. With some difficulty, you move to the door, unaccustomed to the bi-pedal movement patterns of the fae. So unstable. So balanced, you correct. Balance would be fundamentally important to two footed creatures.

When you determine no exit from the large chamber—seemingly a nest of sorts—you return to the bed. It seems you would simply await the creatures arrival. You’ll hardly bother to waist precious energy with the throbbing in your shoulder over needless exertion. So you curl upon the bed, only to shift beneath the covers. How they survive without fur when the cold comes in baffles you. Still, you settle into sleep easily enough, nestling into the too-soft mattress.

A hushed click—familiar—echoes from outside the door, waking you, as they swing open, revealing the female from earlier. Her wretched clothes have changed, though the male still heeds her foot, as though tied to her through an invisible leash. You don’t bother to raise your head for them, even as you recognise the shift in your breathing pattern—one the fae would likely pick up.

“You’re a rather insolent beast, aren’t you?” The female speaks from your side. You huff, shifting so you’re facing her, cracking your eyes open. “Will you not even greet your High Queen?” You huff again, lethargically raising from the bed, sheets sliding back to reveal your naked form. Her icy eyes find placement on your arms, lips curling in sustain, “and after I had you so well looked after.”

“I don’t appreciate you tampering with my body, Lady.” Her eyes glint with surprise, stiffening ever so slightly as you raise to stand on two legs on her bed, towering over her. You set your hands over her shoulders, nails scraping with preternatural propriety. “How would you feel if someone skinned you while you were sleeping?”

The male stiffens as he watches the exchange, hands lifting from the deep pockets of his clothes. The High Queen’s lip curls, and a sudden wave of magic knocks you back, knees buckling as she grips your jaw in her hand, nails biting into the flesh of your cheek as you snarl. You’re still concerningly weakened from the poison coated arrow. “I’m not weak enough to allow that to happen,” she snarls down at you, baring her glinting canines.

She releases your jaw and you settle down onto the bed, rolling your jaw to ease the slight sting. It’s disconcerting, how sensitive your skin is in fae form. Your eyes pierce into her, hateful but curious. She waits for you to ask, making it clear you have to take the step. Your lip curls as you speak, “you said you wished for me to serve you… Surely you don’t expect me to do so from your bed and without my power.”

You don’t phrase it nicely, and you make it clear it’s not a question.

She arches a perfectly shaped brow, “maybe I do expect you to serve in my bed.”

“And what of my power.” You don’t even bat an eye at her statement. “You expect me to perform as I am?” You roll back onto the bed, legs spilling over the edge of the bed, arms propping up your torso. Distaste flashes through her eyes at your shameless nature. Bestial to the core.

She would have to break that out of you. Then again, it could be an advantage to have such an unhinged animal by her side.

“You think I’m foolish enough to return your power to you? Untested?” She enjoys the dissatisfaction that surfaces on your mouth in reply. “Untested?” You echo, raising a brow. You hadn’t expected her to so willingly offer you a solution to your lack of energy. Her lips slash into a vicious grin, one that she only wore when she was about to inflict damage upon something.

“Rhysand,” she purrs. You narrow your eyes on her as the male slinks forward, standing at her side, only looking at her. “Why don’t you give my little pet a demonstration of some of her duties?” A malevolent smile whispers across his mouth, “it would by my pleasure, my Queen.” His hand brushes across her stomach, resting at her waist as he pulls her tight against the powerful lines of his body. You watch, disinterested, as his lips find her neck, the female tipping her head back to indulge in the sensation.

You grow restless when his hand finds the shoulder of her dress, slipping over her arm while unzipping the back, allowing the material to pool at her feet as she keeps her eyes trained on you. “You want me to bathe you, is that it?” You snap, impatiently. You want your power back. It’s yours.

The High Queen’s icy laugh echoes through the room as the male steps back at the push of her hand. “Such a crude way of putting it,” she croons, nails glittering in the light. Your lips curl back. “Tell me what to do, my Queen,” you condescend. Her hand fists in your hair, tugging you back so she can see your throat. She steps forward, until she’s between your legs, yanking your face until it rests between the generous swell of her breasts.

“You’re going to drop the attitude very quickly, or I’ll get you so numb on faebane you won’t even be able to move while I use you.” Ire blazes in her eyes at the blatant disrespect, and she sees red when you grin up at her lazily. “So I get to lie back and do nothing? Sounds rather pleasant, my Queen.” A snarl tips from her throat and the male’s—Rhysand’s—pupils contract at the sound.

You simply grin. “You have to return my powers at some point, if you want me to serve with my strength.” Fury boils beneath her skin as you work her up, maddening her with rage.

“Insolent beast.”

She shoves you back onto the bed, stalking over you until she has one leg either side of your face. “I should have your tongue cut for that,” she snarls, nails raking over your scalp. You barely feel a thing, drops of power already accumulating within. “Then how would you enjoy my mouth?” You return, smug grin tipping your lips.

“There are a plethora a ways to use you while not having to listen to your insufferable tongue.” She growls, lip curling with venom. “Rhys,” she snarls, snatching at your hair, “whore for her.” You can practically hear the arrogance dripping from his voice as his hands drop to the ties confining him. “You wish for me to play a part in her torture, my Queen?” His hands land on your thighs, pushing them apart. “I’m honoured.”

You tense at the foreign feeling of his fingers between your legs. Intrusive. You open your mouth to snarl at him, but the female tugs at your hair, yanking you between her thighs as she settles on your face. At the same time, Rhysand pushes in, a strange heat pooling in your lower belly. “I think you should set to work, little pet,” the Queen taunts.

Right. Your power. She might return it if you follow her orders. You hope you remember the fae anatomy correctly as your tongue unfurls from your lips. You can sense that it takes her by surprise, not expecting you to comply so easily. Yet you seem to be dancing between her legs, nipping at her clit before pressing your wet muscle to her entrance.

‘Very eager,’ a voice drawls inside your mind, making you start. ‘Very eager indeed.’

‘Get out of my head,’ you snarl at him, all the while dragging your tongue over her clit repeatedly, suckling. He hums a dark laugh, drawing his hips back. ‘I don’t imagine you would have engaged in nefarious activities as a beast. Try not to get swept away.’ A growl rumbles in your chest, flexing your inner muscles around his cock in retaliation. He groans, fingers biting into your hips as he pounds into you. Reluctantly, your back arches and you hear the erotic whisper of his laugh in your mind.

‘Careful, or before you know it, I’ll have you kicked out of your rather comfortable position.’ A warning growl echoes from him in reply, and you tighten your thighs around his hips, pulling him flush against your cunt. In response, he slams his cock into your pussy, hands tugging you back against him. A feeling you’re fairly certain could be described as pleasure sparks through you.

‘Pretty confident for a beast,’ he drawls into your mind, ‘especially one who looses her head so easily.’ You realise what he’s talking about. Your eyes snap up to the female atop you who’s icy gaze is slicing into you with frozen ire. “Are you even trying? Or are you waiting for another dose of faebane so you can laze back and let me do as I please.”

You snarl down that mental bridge at Rhysand, who only chuckles, the sound coated with writhing darkness. Your leg curls up his hip, shoving him away violently as you grip the female’s hips, flipping her over until she’s on her back. Rhysand will not get in the way of regaining your power.

The High Queen snarls at the change in position, attempting to yank at your hair with her full strength but a growl thunders from your chest. Your nails dig into the creamy skin of her thighs as you push them open, tongue, teeth and mouth ravishing her. Soon enough, her grip shifts, instead tugging you tighter between her parted legs as she grinds her hips against you.

‘You’re going to pay for that stunt, pet,’ Rhysand growls into your mind. You howl across the bond as he settles behind you, mounting you as he slams his cock back inside. Something about the angle changes the sensations, more pleasure singing through your blood as you concentrate on the High Queen before you.

Her nails rake over your scalp, and you feel it vaguely in the back of your mind, where you’ve locked away all the feeling your fae skin is now so hypersensitive too. It’s your power on the line though, you need to be better. She needs to be gasping and writhing, thrashing and screaming from you to have a chance at returning the sacred energies.

A growl rumbles in your chest, resonating in your tongue as you roll it over her clit. The High Queen’s back arches in response, a snarl of pleasure dragging from her throat. Rhysand continues pounding into you, making it difficult to control your accuracy on the female. ‘Something bothering you, pet?’ He drawls, the silky caress of his voice making your body react, nipples hardening as his fingers bite into your hips.

You roar down the bond at his tone—the male arrogance. You move your rear leg to attempt to kick him away once again so you can focus on the High Queen. He isn’t fooled though, and his hand grips your ankle painfully. A ragged moan rips from your chest as he lifts your leg, and slams in, cock reaching deep inside of you, stimulating something you don’t have in beast form. His laugh echoes in your mind. ‘Act like a beast, and I’ll fuck you like one,’ he snarls, pounding into you, the snap of his hips loud throughout the room.

‘So desperate to remain her whore?’ You bite back, grip tightening around the female’s hips as you pull yourself deeper into her heat. You need to give her more. What can you do? Your nails are too long to push inside of her. You’re certain any chance of regaining your power will disintegrate before your eyes should you cause her pain.

Rhysand snarls down that bond at you, before his hand glides up the spine of your back, gripping your lower neck painfully, pushing you into her cunt. Perfect. You stop the movements of your mouth, ceasing all action. The High Queen growls, bucking her hips, piercing eyes snapping open. You squeeze your own together, imitating pain as you whimper. The Female snarls, nails slicing at Rhysand’s hand that she believes to be the cause of the halt in pleasure.

“You interfere again, unprompted, and I’ll have you flayed alive,” she grits out, fury blazing beneath her tone. ‘Have her whore flayed alive? How lovely.’ You mock to Rhys, feeling the sharp buck of his hips that makes you wince. “Forgive me, my Queen. She looked as though she was resting.” He replies, the erotic brush of his voice soothing the ire in the room.

With his hand removed from the base of your neck, you deliver and appreciative lap to her clit, eyes flicking up to hers with a pleased glint. Good. You seem to say. Her eyes narrow as she glares at you, baring her teeth as you smirk. Your mouth dips lower, hands pushing her thighs back, further apart. She hisses in a breath when your tongue swipes her rear entrance, growling. You shoot her a grin as the pad of your thumb presses over her clit, stimulating her upper half while your mouth takes the lower one.

The High Queen’s back arches at the change of tactic, a growl of pleasure resounding throughout the chamber. You can feel her fluttering against the pad of your thumb, dipping down to collect slick to ease the oscillations over her clit as she comes. ‘How’s that, whore?’ You snarl at him, taking vicious pleasure as he growls in response.

Her pants resound throughout the room as her body goes lax, and you pull away from her. “Both of you,” she growls, “stop.” Your brow narrows. You don’t want to stop. It feels good, like something’s about to break over you. But Rhysand—perfect whore, through and through—pulls out, despite how close he also was.

You snarl, spinning as you pounce on him, pushing him back on the too-soft bed as it’s your turn to mount him. You spread your thighs either side of him, and he snarls at the movement, hands flying to your hips in attempts to stop you. But you slam down on him before he has the chance. Startling, blinding pleasure seizes your body, lightening cracking in your veins as your head tips back, eyes rolling with it. Even Rhysand’s hands drop to his sides with the onslaught of pleasure that crackles and zaps between you.

An angry snarl rips you from the moment, claws tangling in your hair as you’re yanked off him, a creamy liquid decorating your cunt. You land at the High Queen’s side, who snarls her wrath at you, furious at your disobedience. “Did I not order you to stop?” She rages. You stare down at her, “I wanted release, Lady.” You can practically taste the ire rippling from her, and it pleases you. “More than you want your power?” She snarls, and you’re tugged back down from your high.

You bow your head, “no, my Queen.” You lower yourself by her side, moving as your tongue laps at one of her nipples, “not more that my power.” She watches wrathfully as you again settle between her thighs, but your eyes flick to hers. You raise your hand, retracting the claws so only the delicate pads of your fingertips are left.

Your hand snakes between her thighs while your mouth remains pleasuring her, “forgive me, my Queen.”

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Taglist: @myheartfollower

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greenlyren2 · 5 months

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Heavy Rains

Aemond Targraryen x Reader

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

Prince Aemond Targaryen had always preferred the dark veil the night offered. When somber hours hide one from prying eyes and boastful mouths. The only one who holds you accountable - the pale moon, rolling lazily in the mirky sky above the blackwater.

It did not start out as a preference for the little prince. When he was young, sleep seemed to be a doleful lady, ready to escape him at every cost. Aemond foolishly tried to catch her every night, but she was skilled in the mazes of the dark hours. When the prince realized rolling around in his silk sheets was futile, he started visiting the library, the gardens, later in his life – Vhagar.

He found serenity in it, the quietness of the night seemed to have a presence of its own which followed him everywhere. A hazy figure that tugs at one’s heartstrings and renders the mind wistful.

However, Aemond’s fondness of the witch’s hours had started to dissipate. He was a husband now, of a few moons admittedly, but he was a dutiful spouse. The Mother had blessed him with a beautiful wife, one which he felt he did not deserve. The prince had accepted his faith as a second son, ready to be betrothed to some disagreeable woman.

But that was not the case, the gods bestowed him with a beauty so great, he could hardly believe. She was strong-willed, intelligent and honorable. The lady granted him a kindness the prince had never felt before. She had no expectations of him, no malignant gossip had poisoned her mind, she wanted to get to know him for herself, her heart on her sleeve.

It was an arduous process for the prince, to show the true colors of his soul, but he persisted. The hours after sunset became a respite for the couple. A sanctuary for their blooming love, a place where to roam the depths of the other person. Aemond found himself anticipating their time together more every day. Where he would drown himself in his books and his lady wife would embroider or paint.

He would often marvel at her poise, follow her skillful fingers as they thread along with his good eye. Remember the patterns of her breathing, watch as her face would scrunch up ever so slightly in concentration. Where her eyebrows would meet in confusion when she wouldn’t get something right from the first time.

It was a haven, in which where few words were spoken at first. But as the moons grew warmer, their talks blossomed. It started with formalities, the continuation of the courting process. Family histories turned into objects of ire and desire. As Aemond would remember all the things his lady favorited – the blue hue of the Forget-me-nots in the Keep’s gardens, the melody of her favorite tune, the end of her favorite story.

As his lady started including dragons in her embroidery pieces, and listening to the afflictions of her husband. He was hard to open up at first, she admits. But with time, with gentle care, steadily the prince would tell her of his ancestors, of his colossal dragon, of his mother and sister.

Though, there was one thing he seemed unbent on, the gnawing insecurity which ruined his countenance, at least that’s how the prince thought of it. In his lady’s opinion it was a striking mystery which allured her to the depths of her being.

The center of many a story, where most of the time the prince is a cruel perpetrator of awful violence, the jewel set behind a wall of leather, the patch and the scar that painted the fair face of Aemond Targaryen. It was a forbidden subject, one guarded so well its mere existence seemed unreal at times. His lady wife understood, with time, he’d tell, she would often think.

It was now that Aemond would start to hate the fast feet of the dark lady of the night. How swiftly she would pull the strings of late hours, and steal his precious time with his lady. Buried in obligations and documents, the prince would wane away in his chancery. Locked away from the joy of being with his wife.

Unfortunately, now was one of those nights. Aemonds’s hopes of being with his lady faded away as he traversed the dark corridors of the Red Keep. The prince realized he was right as he opened the dark mahogany doors of their chamber. All candles put out, a soft blue hue painting the room. The white linen curtains dancing with the gentle summer breeze as their partner, the faint smell of lavender lingering in the air.

His heart sang and twisted as he saw her, sprawled out gently on the bed. Hair laid out as a maze of tree roots on the satin pillow, light sleeping gown alluding to the beauty of her body. An opened book next to her – a futile attempt to pass the time until Aemond would come back. She was the picture of sublimity in his eyes, the Maiden could only envy her. She made his blood run hot and mind turn blank.

The prince’s thoughts were harshly interrupted by a rumble of thunder from outside. Realizing he was still at the front door, he gently closed it and went to the terrace. A light rain had started washing away the stuffy summer air. The prince’s hands found purchase on the delicate marble parapet. Aemond’s eye scorched the planes of King’s Landing, seeming to be lost in thought. If it was day time, he could see Vhagar from here in the outskirts of the city.

Aemond disliked weather like this, and in the deep belly of this point at night. It was bound to conjure up vexatious thoughts. As his good eye found the top of a building to lose his gaze in, his mind roared. In times like this, confusing the sound of rain droplets with the ones of blood was easy. He felt a mere boy of thirteen once again, grotesquely crouched down on the floor at Driftmark, clutching at his lost eye, eardrums burning with screams. Hearing the delicate drops of his blood hit the floor.

Thunder soared as Aemond gripped the parapet harder, hair slick with rain water and jerkin wet. His eye fell heavy as his scar felt it might open raw every moment. White hot rage ran through his veins as a furious thunderbolt. Vhagar’s infernal roar could be heard echoing in the mirky sky. This state of borderline frenzy was an endless loop of fury which he often found himself in.

Suddenly a pair of delicate arms disturbed the prince’s trance as they rested around his waist.

“It is only me, my prince.” A melodious voice echoed in his ears.

Aemond fought with everything not to tremble in his wife’s grasp, ferociously shutting his eye, not having the courage to face her.

“You will get cold out here, my lady. I couldn’t bear it If you were to fall sick on my behalf.” The prince tried to persuade her, not wanting to drag her into the depths of his ruinous mind.

Her grasp on him became harder, as the lady rest her forehead on the wet leather on Aemond’s back. A direct act of her strong volition, she knew the battles her husband fought alone – out in the open and in his head. She could be by his side in this one, she would never abandon him.

“As will you, Aemond.” She felt him tremble in her grip.

“I never liked storms as well, especially as a child. I would hide under my mother’s covers as the thunder would rage outside.” She gave out a slight huff, trying to put him at ease.

At moments like this he would always shut her off. Though she never persisted, it never irked her. His lady was more than content to sit in silence, be there for him as much as he allowed her.

Both stood as the wind blew and the sky wept over them for some time. Aemond carefully turned around as he gently grasped the forearms of his lady wife and witnessed her dejected countenance. The prince despised himself for making her feel this way. Her wet hair sticking to her forehead as her lashes glistened with rain drops.

“How do you think I lost my eye?” Aemond suddenly yelped out, her name falling with the preciseness of a prayer from his lips. It was time he thought, to be done with this nightmare and ask her. He knew how the commonfolk viewed him – a twisted monster from tales which mothers used to scare their children. He knew the ladies in the court were terrified of him. Most importantly, he knew all too well what he thought of himself.

“What me and the others think of you is of no substance, Aemond. What matters is what happened, and only you can tell me that.” She said sorrowfully, beyond pained to see her husband this way.

She reached a delicate hand to caress his face, thumb following the path of the darkened scar. Her gaze falling from his eye, to his nose and finally his lips.

“What I think is that you’re beautiful, and I pay no attention to children’s tales. I know you for who you are. You are my valiant husband, with piercing evidence for the greatness of his dragon.”

Aemond trembled beneath the vigour of his wife’s words. His face calmed, as he went to remove his eye patch. Her lips fell with admiration as he revealed himself to her.

In the socket of his right eye lay a magnificent sapphire, worthy of a prince. The blue of the stone shines as a pearl would at the bottom of the blackwater. A star in the sky.

Her other hand clasped around his face and she utters as she holds him lovingly “You are as if carved from the Gods of Old Valyria, my love. You are astonishing.”

Aemond’s heart soared as he fully opened himself to her, every crevice and every part of his persona was bared out for her to witness.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

The prince moved to kiss his wife passionately, enveloping her in all his care. His lips met her with a feverishness that made the cold night light with warmth. Her hand moved to his silky moonlit locks and tugged there, as she gave all of herself to him. Aemond caressed her soft cheek as he poured all the love he held for her.

Breaking their embrace in a breathless mess, the prince rested his forehead on hers.

“I love you, my lady.” The prince whispered only for his wife and the rain to hear.

She gave him a chaste kiss in response.

“We could make you new memories. Fond ones.” The prince said hastily to his wife, eager to please her.

The rest of the night was spent on the back of Vhagar, traversing the night skies and the summer rain soaked their clothes, laughs echoing in the water beneath.

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arcanemadman · 7 months

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The Castlevania franchise feels like it's getting more and more divided since Netflixvania started and it's getting really bloody frustrating to the point that while watching Nocturne I've felt disquieted, and I think I've realised why that is.

It's the fucking DmC:Devil May Cry white hair fiasco all over again.

For those that don't know, when the DmC reboot was revealed people had a lot of criticism, including turning Dante from a cool but likeable hero into a foul mouthed smoker, the dumbing down of the gameplay, the antagonism towards the fanbase, and turning his iconic white hair black. Of all these criticism, only the hair colour change was given any attention, painting the fan base in a very negative light and side stepping the real issues people had by only focusing on the cherry rather than the whole sundae.

All this attention directed towards something that in the grand scheme of things is very minor but it gets all the attention while the bigger stuff is ignore.

Yes, there are people mad about the show for racist reasons and they shouldn't be listened to, but there are genuine complaints that are being swept up with that.

The character changes have a sort of domino effect on everything. Maria being a serious revolutionary is interesting, but I saw someone put it best that what made her special was the fact that she was a little girl in a world of classic horror that believed she was in a fairy tale and had the power to force that reality on everyone else. Netflix Maria is good, but lacks the charm of Maria.

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The second example is Juste. When I saw him I was very excited, but that was mainly because it was acknowledgement of the original canon than anything else. His magical prowess, the thing that makes him stand out among the Belmont linage, is mentioned and then brushed aside, and the worst ending of his game is what is taken as canon. And once Richter gets his magic back, Juste is gone. He feels like a plot point rather than the character. I sympathise with people who's favourite game was Harmony of Dissonance.

Annette was a compelling character with a well developed story, but anyone that says her original characterisation would never work are being disingenuous because they literally did that, except that did so with Tera. The connections to Richter and Maria, the damsel elements, the fact she gets turned into a vampire, all from Annette. Swapping them around wouldn't work for multiple reasons and I'm not going to say I can do better than people you get paid to write when I don't, but I feel I can say that if they had wanted to they could have done something closer to the original while still touching on the themes and narratives they wanted to.

Olrox... honestly the only criticism I can really think of is the removal of any reference to Count Orlock.

There's an elitism with both sides of the fanbase here. On the Netflix side, there's the feeling that since theirs is more popular that any criticism is because people are just nostalgic, and game fans feel that since theirs is the original foundation that anyone that doesn't agree with them is just a new fair-weather fan. And honestly, I'm more sympathetic to the game fans.

I've seen Netflixvania fans look at people complaining that the character have changed and go "yeah well the version you like sucks so you should just grow up" As if that's going to make everything better. And all the people complaining about the race changes or posting "WOKE?!?!?!" have poisoned the well for any actual discussion about this, not helped by the social media accounts deliberately stoking the flames in the mistaken belief that all publicity is good publicity, which raised the ire of nexflixvania creators. Unfortunately marketing can often be removed from the intentions of the creators.

Yes, Netflixvania is a great show, with beautiful animation and great storytelling, but it's not perfect and as an adaptation is leaves a lot to be desired. And that's the crux of it! The show is good, really good! But it doesn't feel like an adaptation of Castlevania. It's just a bunch of little details that pile up to make it less of what the game fans liked about the series. It's more grimdark horror than classic horror. It's more crude than it is philosophical. It's more hopeless than it is hopeful. And regardless of what you individually think, that's what people have liked about Castlevania for almost 40 years.

Ultimately I just have to ask, why do people seem to assume that you can't make a faithful adaptation while also making it interesting? They're not mutually exclusive.

#castlevania #castlevania nocturne #castlevania netflix #netflix #animation #adaptation #richter belmont #maria renard #annette #tera #dracula #alucard #olrox #honestly I feel I personally wouldn't be as disquieted if they had just kept dracula the villain #sort of shot themselves in the foot on that one #not because its inherently bad but because it fucks up the rest of the series #but seriously people need to chill the fuck out here #just because the show is good doesn't invalidate people that like the game #a good adaptation doesn't mean it can't also be a good story #probably going to piss people off #but i'm tired of this stupid distraction from real criticism people have #just because something is good doesn't mean people can't criticise it #and anyone feeding the fire is a tar pit #castlevania hot take #apparently that's a recurring tag now #god I hope this doesn't blow up in my face #as someone that's a fan of Devil May Cry I'm just praying that the series isn't messed around with #if they make dante a pottymouth then I'm going to combust #That's Nero's thing leave dante out of it #dmc

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cockslutpadalecki · 1 year

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Jealousy’s My Best Friend

Summary: You can’t help but be a little jealous when Andy pays another student some attention.

Characters: Professor!Andy Barber x Student!Reader.

Words: 1.6K.

Warnings: teacher/student relationship, possessive behaviour, jealousy, mild gaslighting, mentions of violence, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it kids), 18+. MINORS DNI.

A/N: A third instalment of a story that was only meant to be a one shot, whoops. Read the first two parts here. Beta: @princessmisery666 but all the general bullshit is entirely mine. While likes are gold, feedback is golden. Please support our content creators by sharing our work.

You can barely hear their conversation over the sound of the blood thundering in your ears and the steady beat of your rising pulse.

Thump. Gonna jump the bitch in the parking lot. Thump. Smash her teeth down her throat. Thump.

Your eyes focus on the way Rebecca reaches out and touches his arm ever so gently. Her garishly painted baby pink fingers graze the bare skin of his bicep and your jaw clenches, watching the way her touch lingers a little too long than you’re comfortable with.

He doesn’t pull away— merely smiles that dazzling ivory grin at her— and that boils your blood even more. How dare he continue to let her flirt with him so openly? He shouldn’t be encouraging her vile behaviour.

Thump. Wanna punch him. Thump. Wanna punch her. Thump.

She lets out a laugh— a fake, forced one, and it sets your teeth on edge. It’s so obvious she’s trying her best to work her magic on him. It makes you wanna vomit all over her golden coloured hair and stamp on her immaculately made up face.

Through the blazing ire consuming you, you manage to collect up your books and throw your bag over your shoulder. You try to talk yourself out of turning back to give Andy your best scowl, but you’ve never had much restraint when it comes to him. Instead you throw him a disgusted grimace, hoping he catches it as your eyes meet over her shoulder.

You step out of the aisle and head up the steps when you hear your name being called. Soft at first until it’s ragged and desperate. Like he needs you.

Stifling a smug smile, you slowly turn around to face him.

“What can I do for you, Sir?” you ask in your best breezy voice, just as Rebecca swans past the both of you. She looks sour, her lips taut in a frown and your chest swells with overwhelming accomplishment.

“Do you have a moment to talk about your essay?”

You smile sweetly. “Of course.” Andy turns, heading in the direction of his private office just to the rear of the room. You follow in silence, occasionally looking around you as the last of the students filter out into the hall.

You tighten your grip around your books and shift your bag’s position on your shoulder. You don’t intend to stay for long, wanting to punish him for flirting, but the stern way he regards you as he reaches behind you to close the door has you feeling differently.

“What’s wrong with you?” finally comes his clipped question.

“Nothing,” you shrug off carelessly, despite the neediness inside you screaming out for his attention. You turn to leave, but his hand tight on your arm prevents you from going anywhere.

“The look on your face tells a different story.”

“Wow, thank you.”

He tuts mirthlessly. “You know what I mean.”

As he moves to sit on the edge of his desk, he reaches for your books and with some reluctance, you hand them over. He places them unceremoniously onto his desk with a loud thud and encourages you to relieve yourself of your bag. You drop it to the floor just as he pulls you against him and you snuggle into the space between his open legs.

“C’mon, what’s bothering you?”

You shake your head, trying not to let your poisonous thoughts slip off your tongue, but the words are out in a sharp burst before you can stop them. “Just curious as to when you’re gonna give in and let that slut Rebecca suck your dick.”

Andy looks aghast. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t tell me you weren’t hanging off her every word just now.”

“I was merely taking an interest in what my student had to say.”

“Sure,” you mutter in disbelief. “And what her pussy would feel like,” your mind continues for you, but the way Andy stares you down makes you realise the words weren’t as internalised as you’d intended.

He stands, pushing you away with a little more force than you’d like, before he snaps at you curtly. “Are you out of your goddamn mind? Do you even hear the words coming out of your mouth right now? What you’re trying to accuse me of?”

“Well, I don’t hear you denying it,” you try to defend.

Andy shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re crazy.”

Your jaw tightens at that word. He doesn’t know the meaning of it. Your hand balled into fists at your sides, you fight to not step forward and punch him in the chest.

He releases a heavy sigh. “I’m doing my job okay, don’t misconstrue my actions as anything other than just that.” His tone is softer now, but remains scalding and authoritative, yet you can’t help the sudden twist that coils tight in your gut.

You look away, needing to break eye contact before your angry tears spill over. “Am I just another part of you ‘doing your job’?” It comes out quiet and meek.

“Hey,” he placates softly as he moves towards you and places his hands firmly around your biceps, “what we have is different, you know that, right?”

Andy squeezes your arms tight, encouraging you to look back at him and you do. With trepidation at first until you realise his gaze is no longer hardened steel, but the usual tender cobalt. You sniff, giving him a little nod and your fists finally drop.

“We have something special,” he praises. “Unique. Nobody understands me like you do.” You smile, your stomach fluttering with happiness.

“I can’t deny that I haven’t noticed Rebecca is eager for my attention,” Andy continues and you stiffen in his touch, feeling white-hot ire bubble away inside your chest at his words. He must sense the tension in you as he gives your arms a reassuring squeeze. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to act on it and take advantage of her infatuation.”

A question suddenly pings into your mind. A desperate curiosity, and you find yourself asking, “Why-why did you act on mine?”

He smiles, scoffing ever so softly but it’s not meant to be patronising. “Who's to say it wasn’t my infatuation with you that I acted on, hm?”

Your heart feels as if it’s going to burst and your cheeks ache from the strength of your smile as the ire inside you immediately cools from his words. “Seriously?”

“You really think I would sacrifice my whole career if I wasn’t serious?” he asks quietly, moving his hands up to cradle your neck. He leans in closer until his breath is hot and damp against your cheek. “Serious about this?”

You feel his thumbs brush the underside of your jaw and you let go of a small breathy whine at his touch when he slides a thumb up over your chin and across your bottom lip. Eagerly, you open your mouth and wait for it, his hot skin gliding over your wet tongue. You suck down on the digit, humming softly as he watches you in silent awe.

Andy moves even closer as he slips his thumb free, smearing your spit messily across your chin. Finally, he presses his lips to the corner of yours, just enough to tease the taste of him. “Serious about fuckin’ you over my desk once class is done?” he mutters between light kisses.

“Mm. Well class is over now, Sir,” you whisper back, licking into his open mouth. Lifting your hands from your sides, you pause at his abdomen before moving to fiddle with the buckle of his belt.

“How observant of you,” he laughs with a throaty growl. “You’ll make a great lawyer someday.”

Your hand slips beneath the waistband of his pants, fingers slowly smoothing over the bulge of his swelling erection.

“I should hope so with all of the extra tuition I’m getting,” you giggle, running your thumb over his wet tip. Andy’s words get stuck in his throat, moaning against your cheek as you work him to full hardness. You’re about to drop to your knees when he stops you, grabbing you by the shoulders.

“Not now,” he roughly grunts, pulling you over to his desk. Papers and books go flying as he hurriedly pushes them out of your way and forces you to bend over.

Your chest meets mahogany as he pulls down your jeans, his cock bobbing wetly against your thigh as he eagerly plucks the seat of your panties to one side. He sinks into your silky heat with a deep hiss, the crescent of his grip cutting into the skin at your hips.

The desk rattles and shakes beneath you as Andy fucks you— hard, sharp thrusts that you know you’re going to feel for days.

“Why would I want anyone else when I have you, huh?” he asks rhetorically. “My. Perfect. Little. Student,” he adds, punctuating each word with bruising force.

Pride and hubris swells inside your chest at that— loving that he means in more ways than one. The things he’s taught you— sexually and intellectually— run amok in your brain, somehow turning you on to the point of orgasm. Pure ecstasy encapsulates you in a wave of heat and you bite down on your lip to hold in the scream that desperately wants to escape. Andy grunts behind you as he places his hand on your head, and drags his thumb softly across your cheek.

“Made to come all over my dick, weren’t you?” he praises deeply, his fingers tightening in your hair.

Your jealousy finally ebbs away in a swirl of jubilation, because despite all of the things you’ve managed to accomplish, this new title is your greatest achievement.

And as he pulls out, spurting hot cum across your asscheeks with a gravelly moan, you know you’ll do whatever it takes to retain it.

***

ALL CE: @buckymydarlingangel @broadwaybabe18 @captain-asguard @chamberofsloths @cevansgurl @dreamlessinparis @deanwinchesterswitch @fandom-princess-forevermore @hurricanerin @kellhems @ladybug05 @livstilinski @mugi-chwan95 @navybrat817 @otomefromtheheart @oneoftheprettynerds @patzammit @rebel-stardust @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @sammykb1994 @syrenavenger @straywords @saiyanprincessswanie @sunwardsss @selfsun @threeminutesoflife @vicmc624 @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @wintasssoldier @xoxonotme

4EVS: @amirra88 @andreasworlsboring101 @b3autyfuldisast3r @cheesyclaire @chibijusstuff @callsignrambam @dangertoozmanykids101 @daughterofthenight117 @doozywoozy @foxyjwls007 @geekofmanyforms @heyyouwiththeassbutt @i-opened-the-chamber-of-secrets @ilovefanfic86 @kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay @letsby @letsdisneythings @labella420 @mogaruke @maliburenee @notyourtypicalrose @nik2writes @obsessivelycapricious @patrick-hockslutter @princessmisery666 @phildunphyisadilf @sage-writing @sea040561 @sweeterthanthis @slutformarvelmen @smokeandnailz @stoneyggirl @stoneyggirl2 @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @thegirlnextdoorssister @unfortunate-brat @wayward-dreamer @warriorqueen1991 @xoxabs88xox

#andy barber x reader #andy barber x you #andy barber fanfiction #defending jacob fanfiction #chris evans fanfiction

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esotheria-sims · 13 days

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Fencing would always leave Annika famished and wanting for an extra serving of whatever was for lunch that day. She told herself she'd stop overeating, though, since she noticed she was putting on weight around the belly area. Which was odd, considering the amount of exercise she did daily.

She didn't pay any of it much mind until one fateful day, when she felt an odd movement in her gut. It couldn't have been food poisoning, because the food was most definitely fresh. Was she starting her period? When was the last time she was on her period, anyway...?

Right in the middle of her mental calculation that it wasn't last month, or the month before, she felt another kick (yes, kick; she was sure of it now), sending her into a full-blown panic. Missing periods, a growing belly... Was she...?

The third kick only confirmed her lingering fears. "...Great. Dad and Marcus are going to KILL me", she thought ruefully, though she knew full well that her family's ire was the least of her problems right now.

Her body felt heavy all of a sudden, her eyes grew tired; she slipped into a looser nightgown and crashed into bed, hoping to sleep through Gabriel's arrival and all the uncomfortable questions that would undoubtedly ensue. She was so not ready to face any of that right now.

And, who knows? Maybe once she woke up she'd find that none of it was real and that she'd just dreamed it all up.

____

To everyone who said 'fertility' in response to the pomegranate riddle - congrats, you clever foxes, you! 🦊That was indeed the implied meaning! 😉 But whether it was the only correct answer, remains to be seen...

#sims 2 #ts2 #sims #gameplay #bacc #wyverns bay #wb gameplay #blackbird #blackbird week 4 #gabriel blackbird #annika blackbird #mine

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tsunael · 2 months

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“… no wounds, nor the presence of any poisonous substances.”

Tsuna stood in the threshold of the sick bay, twirling the rounded gem hanging from her horn’s tip. It was Kan-E-Senna who bid her welcome when she arrived, looking thoroughly out-of-place in Twelveswood furs when surrounded by nothing but heat and sandstone.

The room smelled of death and disinfectant. The siege of Ala Mhigo had left it wanting in supplies, but certainly not in bodies. Tsuna’s expression merely darkened.

“Is he well?” She asked, foregoing the pleasantries of seeing a familiar face.

If Kan-E-Senna was slighted by the lack of manners, she did not show it, instead she merely shook her head on the negative, softly inclining to the prone subject of their musings. “His condition has yet to change,” she said, trailing off as if hesitant to unveil the situation, “... Though, I do not expect it to.”

Meaning: he hadn’t awoken since the collapse. The chirurgeon had advised against moving him so soon until they find the cause, despite the Scion's fervent wish to see him back to The Rising Stones for succor.

Tsuna hinged not on that of which she already knew, but the fact that it would continue.

“Why!?" she barked. "If you know something– tell me! Please.” There would have been a cutting edge to Tsuna’s voice had she not warbled as she said it. The padjal did not deserve her misplaced ire, but she was the only wall she could scream her uncertainty to. “All of these alchemists and chirurgeons– all the testing– what were they all for?”

Kan-e-Senna sighed, soft. “I myself examined Thancred. Reach out as I may, I could not sense in him the spark of life that is his soul.”

Tsuna brought her hands to her chest, curling them in just to hold something as she stared, suddenly breathless. Who could have possibly done such a feat? No mortal of their era held such power-- to pluck a soul from an unwilling body should not be possible. Her mind swam with questions and caveats– what came from her lips instead was denial. “That can't be true.”

The Seedseer’s patience was vast, and her empathy, boundless. “You have inherited A-Towa-Cant’s will. I bid you to seek him out yourself, though I fear you will arrive at the selfsame conclusion.”

Tsuna wanted to protest, to argue she held no such proclivity to aethersight, nor academic knowledge of aetherology, but the moment her thoughts drifted to the padjali man who first gave her the pearlescent stone did it begin to warm her chest. Like a heart’s beat it pulsed strong and true to remind her of what she was.

It moved her to act. She crept to Thancred’s side where he slept, and lowered herself to sit upon the edge of the mattress. The spell began as soon as she lifted her left palm but ilms from his chest. There was a small apology for the intrusion of what she was about to do, and then a familiar warmth began to ripple through her. It reverberated up her spine and spread to her hand, and then she began her search for him.

Aether moved from the earth beneath her boots, out through the tips of her fingers, slowly probing for a sign.

His lungs yet moved with breath, but they filled so shallow that it should not have been enough to sustain him. She closed her eyes to the feeling welling within her, concentrating harder as she rounded his heart. It, too, beat with the rhythm of life, and carried out its biological function of moving the humours as it was designed, but that was all. There was something missing. The spark that Kan-E-Senna spoke of was simply not there.

Before her was a body that was moving on its automated course, nothing more and nothing less. It was a vessel; a husk of a man.

Tsuna’s meditation ended, and she withdrew her aether with a pained gasp. She felt her eyes prick with the emotion settling thickly in her throat. It was just as Kan-E-Senna said, and she hadn't needed a crystal to tell her as much.

“I’m sorry, Seedseer,” Tsuna finally whispered. “I should not have doubted you. Thank you for looking after him.” Tsuna looked first to his folded hands, and then to the padjal at the foot of his sickbed who smiled softly in equal parts brief and rueful.

“I should have come sooner. I’ve been trying to find the time with everything happening when I should have been making time for you-– and for him-–”

“Tsuna, please.” Kan-E-Senna shocked her first with her own name, and then talked her down with all the gentleness reserved for a fretting child. “Although he is stable there is naught else you can do for him now but to carry on. There is still more I need to speak on regarding the nature of his condition, but I believe it is something every Scion that was affected should hear…”

Why the lot of them doubled over with pain, why they heard a voice, and why it was only Thancred succumbed to the call.

The padjal excused herself to make contact with the others, and Tsuna was left with such information and her morbid company. A part of her was glad for it, for the tears and hand wringing were able to begin in earnest without fear of coming apart in front of her esteemed mentor. She took a shivery little breath, cursing the Gods as hot tears escaped her eyes, and carved a wet path down her face. They wetted her lap, and she could do naught to stem the flow.

As much as she hated him, he did not deserve this fate. After all he had done, and more, Nymeia had no reason to spin his thread in such a way. Moreover, the subject he asked to broach with her before the Alliance’s meeting would be left unknown. What had he wanted to speak to her about? She ruminated over a chewed lip. Had he known something?

Thancred looked as if he were asleep– and for all accounts– he was. He was asleep, but he did not dream. Out of three long years of knowing, it was the first time she had seen him vulnerable. It was the first time she was able to look upon him in the way she was meant to.

He looked younger, she noted, when bereft of his customary scowl. The lines on his face had softened, and for once he looked to be his age of thirty and four.

Softly, she sniffled, and reached out her hand again, hesitating on the last ilm. Her fingers curled and retracted in finding the motion improper, for she was not searching for his spark this time but instead to sate her own wonder. Gently, respectfully, she brushed the soft hair from his face, moving to cup the hard line of his jaw.

His skin was as ice– and it was as she feared. She entertained a living corpse. Tsuna took her hand away, burned for her curiosity, to finally leave him to his peace.

She was going to find the thing that was doing this

and she was going to break its heart.

#lmao hi #ooooh my cringe be upon you #he looks like a wet cat and I don't think these came out very well but whatever #I've been thinkin a lot about kan e senna lately because I love her and I remembered she was the one that found out what was wrong #personally I think tsuna should backhand mr. exarch shrimply because She Would Do That and also It Would Be Very Funny #and he'd probably cry about it afterwards-- oh :(#my writing (derogatory)#gpose #ffxiv spoilers

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