#love white bead on the ends with blue painted on it(it's hand painted from what i can see and i think it's very alex vibe) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

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#love white bead on the ends with blue painted on it(it's hand painted from what i can see and i think it's very alex vibe)

hamletthedane · 4 months

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I was meeting a client at a famous museum’s lounge for lunch (fancy, I know) and had an hour to kill afterwards so I joined the first random docent tour I could find. The woman who took us around was a great-grandmother from the Bronx “back when that was nothing to brag about” and she was doing a talk on alternative mediums within art.

What I thought that meant: telling us about unique sculpture materials and paint mixtures.

What that actually meant: an 84yo woman gingerly holding a beautifully beaded and embroidered dress (apparently from Ukraine and at least 200 years old) and, with tears in her eyes, showing how each individual thread was spun by hand and weaved into place on a cottage floor loom, with bright blue silk embroidery thread and hand-blown beads intricately piercing the work of other labor for days upon days, as the labor of a dozen talented people came together to make something so beautiful for a village girl’s wedding day.

What it also meant: in 1948, a young girl lived in a cramped tenement-like third floor apartment in Manhattan, with a father who had just joined them after not having been allowed to escape through Poland with his pregnant wife nine years earlier. She sits in her father’s lap and watches with wide, quiet eyes as her mother’s deft hands fly across fabric with bright blue silk thread (echoing hands from over a century years earlier). Thread that her mother had salvaged from white embroidery scraps at the tailor’s shop where she worked and spent the last few days carefully dying in the kitchen sink and drying on the roof.

The dress is in the traditional Hungarian fashion and is folded across her mother’s lap: her mother doesn’t had a pattern, but she doesn’t need one to make her daughter’s dress for the fifth grade dance. The dress would end up differing significantly from the pure white, petticoated first communion dresses worn by her daughter’s majority-Catholic classmates, but the young girl would love it all the more for its uniqueness and bright blue thread.

And now, that same young girl (and maybe also the villager from 19th century Ukraine) stands in front of us, trying not to clutch the old fabric too hard as her voice shakes with the emotion of all the love and humanity that is poured into the labor of art. The village girl and the girl in the Bronx were very different people: different centuries, different religions, different ages, and different continents. But the love in the stitches and beads on their dresses was the same. And she tells us that when we look at the labor of art, we don’t just see the work to create that piece - we see the labor of our own creations and the creations of others for us, and the value in something so seemingly frivolous.

But, maybe more importantly, she says that we only admire this piece in a museum because it happened to survive the love of the wearer and those who owned it afterwards, but there have been quite literally billions of small, quiet works of art in billions of small, quiet homes all over the world, for millennia. That your grandmother’s quilt is used as a picnic blanket just as Van Gogh’s works hung in his poor friends’ hallways. That your father’s hand-painted model plane sets are displayed in your parents’ livingroom as Grecian vases are displayed in museums. That your older sister’s engineering drawings in a steady, fine-lined hand are akin to Da Vinci’s scribbles of flying machines.

I don’t think there’s any dramatic conclusions to be drawn from these thoughts - they’ve been echoed by thousands of other people across the centuries. However, if you ever feel bad for spending all of your time sewing, knitting, drawing, building lego sets, or whatever else - especially if you feel like you have to somehow monetize or show off your work online to justify your labor - please know that there’s an 84yo museum docent in the Bronx who would cry simply at the thought of you spending so much effort to quietly create something that’s beautiful to you.

#shut up e #long post #Saturday thoughts #this has been in my drafts for a week haha #also this is the heart of why AI art feels so wrong #forget the discussion of copyright and theft etc - even if models were only trained on public domain they would still feel very wrong #because they’re not art. art is the labor of creation #even commercial art and art commissioned by the popes and kings of history: there is humanity in the labor of it #unrelated: I did not know living in the Bronx was now something to brag about. How the fuck do y’all New Yorkers afford this city???

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calmcoldevening · 11 months

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Pov: You knew slashers, when you was a child (Slashers x fem!reader)

I'm back! Well, it os a lazy post from my drafts, until I end my new idea <3

TW: no

Characters: Thomas Hewitt, Brahms Heelshire, brothers Sinclair

P.S.: English is not my native language, so lot of these words was translated by simple translator, sorry for misspells and e.t.c.

Enjoy this!

Thomas Hewitt

The transition to a new school has always been a great stress for a child, especially in the middle of the school year.

You and your parents often moved from city to city. Maybe it was their work, or maybe they just wanted to show you as many different places as possible so that your childhood would remain really memorable — you didn't know. But the constant moving was followed by a change of schools and kindergartens. On the one hand, you liked it — new acquaintances, interests and a lot of positive emotions, after all, you were a cheerful and active child — but it also brought its inconveniences — you didn't have "best" friends, you had no more than a couple of months to communicate with each of them, and multiple the change of the team has made you a real chameleon in society.

You were ten years old when you and your parents moved to Texas. The age when most classes have already been divided into peculiar interest groups, which are quite difficult for a new person to join. That's why your mom decided to bake cookies that you could distribute to new classmates. Who doesn't like homemade cakes? You actively participated in the cooking process. A little more practice, and you could learn these cookies on your own. As soon as the treat was ready — several pieces were successfully taken away by your father — your mother beautifully put it in a colored box, now tied with a ribbon. The inscription "Welcome" was painted on the lid in gold paint.

It was very hot in this area of Texas. Therefore, on your first day of school, you decided to limit yourself to a beautiful white T-shirt with some simple pattern and black shorts. The first impression is the most important, right? Your mom took you to school by car. At the reception desk, your mom introduced you and found out the number of the right office. After kissing you goodbye on the cheek, she left you to your own luck. Although you were already used to it, a nervous feeling of anticipation bubbled somewhere in your chest; your palms were sweating.

After a good seven minutes, you were standing in front of the right class, 212, clutching a box of cookies to your chest. Adjusting the strap of the gray backpack, you exhaled anyway.

Your homeroom teacher, Mrs. Sullivan, introduced you in the office. A lovely woman with curly locks hanging down on both sides of her face and freckled cheeks. Her soft figure, dressed in a white blouse and a black pencil skirt, caused a surge of strength and confidence in you. The woman lightly put her arm around your shoulders, so motherly, and asked you to tell about yourself.

"My name is Y/N Y/L," your voice trembled slightly while your gaze ran over the children sitting in the classroom, "I'm ten. I like animals and beading... Mm, my parents and I move around a lot, so I don't think I'll stay here for more than two months. I hope we'll become friends."

You ended your performance with a sincere warm smile. Mrs. Sullivan asked you to take an empty seat. Your choice fell on the farthest place by the window; a guy was sitting behind it, hunched over and staring at the street. Was he weird? No, rather unusual. He had long black hair, so unusual for a boy; his gaze was lowered somewhere on the dusty road near the school, so you couldn't see his eyes. Sitting down next to him, you quickly took out a notebook and pencil from your backpack.

"Hello?"

The boy seemed startled by your voice. He looked at you uncertainly, and you saw a face wrapped in bandages. Sad cornflower blue eyes peeked out from under the white cloth.

"I'm Y/N," you whisper, holding out your hand to the boy, "And what's your name?"

There was no response. Disappointed, you lowered your hand, now paying attention to the teacher's explanation. The woman was writing down her words on the blackboard, and you quickly began copying them into your notebook, clutching a pencil until it crackled.

There was something about this boy that attracted you. It doesn't matter if it was his shyness or isolation — you decided that you definitely want to make friends with him.

At recess, you approached a group of girls. They were dressed up like girls from fashion magazines that you often saw in kiosks by the road.

"Hi," — you said with a light smile.

"Well, hello," said one of the girls, popping a bubble of gum.

"I want to ask. M, that boy," you pointed to the long—haired boy, "What's his name? I asked, and he ignored me."

"Haha, he won't answer you. That's our little Tommy," another girl hissed sarcastically, giggling, "Thomas Hewitt is weird. Very strange. I heard that his father is his brother!"

"And he's also a terrible freak!"

You awkwardly put your hand in your hair. Thomas didn't look as disgusting as the girls described him. It's all rumors. And what to take from these children, they probably didn't even try to talk to Hewitt!

You didn't talk to this company anymore. After waiting for lunch, when all the children went out to the garden at the school, you again approached the boy. He didn't budge. It seems he hasn't even written anything since you sat down next to him.

"Hey, hello?" you waved your palm in front of the guy's face, "Thomas, right?"

This time the boy paid attention to you. There was no emotion visible under the thick layer of bandages, but you were sure that he arched an eyebrow questioningly. He's wondering how you know his name?

"You were sitting alone, so I came over. Your name is Thomas, right?" you repeated the question, finally the boy nodded, "That's wonderful! I'm Y/N, let's get acquainted."

Smiling happily, you hand the guy an open box of cookies. Golden crust with chocolate chips. You had no desire to share such a delicious thing with such terrible and tactless people. And Tommy. Tommy was different. He was timid and calm, unable to cause harm.

"Help yourself," you babble, sitting down next to Hewitt, "I made them myself! Not without my mommy's help, of course..."

You blush slightly and see Thomas's eyes narrow. He smiled! He seems to be starting to like your company.

"Can I call you Tommy?"

• Thomas has become noticeably happier since you met him. The boy began to spend more time outside the house, in your company (Luda was very surprised by this, because usually after school Tommy always came home and sat in his room).

• For your birthday, Thomas himself sewed a soft toy for you, a fox, as he found out later, this is one of your favorite animals. The toy was sewn from different, but matching pieces of fabric, a little sloppy, but quite skillfully. It made you smile. You threw your arms around Hewitt for joy.

• Once you praise him, Tommy immediately blushes a lot. It's good that it's not visible under the layer of bandages. From the moment you became friends, Thomas's self-esteem has risen a little.

• When you first offered to help Thomas change the bandages, he strongly refused. The boy just couldn't let you see his face. But when he finally gave up, Hewitt was pleasantly surprised that you didn't scream and run away. You didn't call Tommy a freak or a monster, but only sympathetically stroked his scarred cheeks.

• Over time, you began to understand Thomas without words, absolutely. You found the right answers in his movements, grunting, awkward head turning or excessive gesticulation. Even Luda was a little amazed at your nonverbal communication, but the woman was glad that her son finally found a real friend.

• Tommy often showed you his drawings. It was like the scribble of a five-year-old child, but you were always happy to accept the leaves and hang them over your bed. Basically, Thomas drew his family: angry Charlie in the corner of the paper, Monty sitting next to him in a chair, a little further away, Luda was cooking, and in the center of the drawing you and Thomas holding hands and smiling.

• It was the first time you begged your parents to stay in this city longer. Fortunately, they agreed after seeing your enthusiasm for the "strange boy".

Brahms Heelshire

• Your parents and the Healers kept in touch for a while, you can say your families were very close. You first met Brahms on his fifth birthday. He was a very well-mannered but private boy, so Mrs. Heelshire was only too happy to introduce you.

• At first, your communication did not work out. Brahms was a rude child in places, took away your toys and teased you.

• His true attitude towards you showed up when you didn't come to his house, although you were visiting the Heelshire family every Monday and Wednesday. He was seriously worried. All morning Brahms sat in his room by the window and looked at the road going through the forest, waiting for your little body in your favorite blue dress to appear from behind the trees. But you were never there. It turned out that you were just sick. That day Brahms went to your house and did not leave your bed, squeezing your hot palm.

• Your parents worked most of the time, so they were not against your games with Heelshire Jr. You stayed in their house more and more often, sometimes even overnight, and you and Brahms made noise all night, forcing his mother to swear. But still, the woman was glad that at least Brahms was behaving quite comfortably and boldly with someone.

• You were only a couple of months younger than Brahms, but you thought it was a good reason to tease you.

• The boy allowed you to enter his room without knocking, consider it a worthwhile privilege, because Heelshire does not let everyone into his personal space.

• When you were sad, Brahms brought you bouquets of flowers hastily made with his own hands. That's why his palms were green most of the time.

• Brahms makes wonderful sandwiches. He often makes them when the two of you are having a "picnic" in the garden. Although in fact he agrees to it only to admire you.

• Heelshire loves sweets very much. Very. His mom doesn't allow the boy a lot of sweets and cakes, so you secretly bring them to him from home. The boy is insanely happy.

• Brahms loves kissing. This habit, or rather the need, appeared in him because you praised the boy in this way. Has he finally cleaned the room? A kiss. Did he break his mom's precious vase during the catch-up today? A kiss! So now he can demand them for any reason. He especially likes it when you kiss him before going to bed, and Brahms falls asleep hugging you.

• You're his best friend. That's why Brahms trusts you with all his secrets. You are the only one to whom he has told about the strange and frightening thoughts that sometimes sound in his head.

"Good night," Mrs. Heelshire said, turning off the light and closing the door behind her.

You smile and blow her a kiss, covering your mouth with your palm. When the woman's footsteps recede, you exhale with relief, plopping down on the pillow with force. Squinting your eyes, you wrinkle your nose, trying to blow away the stuck strands of hair from your face. Brahms giggles and gently tucks your hair behind your ear.

The room is cool. The window is slightly ajar, letting in a light autumn wind. The curtains are swaying from side to side, taking chaotic frightening shadows.

You get under the covers up to your nose. Brahms follows your example, pressing his whole body against you, and you stroke his head.

"If I ever do something very, very bad, will you stay with me?" Heelshire whispers, looking up at you.

You look into his sad emerald eyes and laugh. He likes to put pressure on your pity, because he knows that at such moments you see him as a tiny abandoned kitten.

"I don't think you'd do anything so bad, Brahms."

"But if I do. What if everyone turns away from me. Even mom and dad. Will you stay with me?"

You pressed your lips together, frowning. Brahms had never asked such strange questions before. And how can a child who is only eight years old think about something like that after a while. Looking down at the ceiling, you turned your head, looking into Brahms' eyes.

"Yes. I'll stay."

"Honestly?" Heelshire asks incredulously.

"Honestly."

"Promise?"

"Yes, I promise you, silly boy!" you abruptly cover his face with a blanket, holding the edges on both sides of his head.

The boy was kicking, trying to get out from under your weight, while you tried not to laugh. Taking pity on his futile attempts, you took off the blankets, admiring Brahms' flushed face. Heelshire was breathing heavily, and his cheeks and nose were burning like Chinese lanterns that your parents launched on your birthday.

"I won. Again," you grin.

Brahms is silent. You sigh and lie down again, turning your back to Heelshire. Your eyes are shining with joy, and your lips continue to curve in a smug grin. You know that Brahms will not dare to do something to you in return. He always let you get away with such antics. Absolutely always.

When you are ready to fall asleep, through the chatter in your head you hear a plaintive whisper. Having opened your leaden eyelids, you groan with displeasure.

"Kiss me," Brahms whines, and you get up on your elbows, chuckling softly.

"Okay," you kiss Heelshire on the lips, "Good night, Brahms."

• "Now I've won," Brahms croaks, pressing you against the wall and spreading his hands on both sides of your head. Just like a child. Except now he's not the victim here, but you. Although was he ever a victim in your games? Rather, he always played the role of a presenter, you just didn't notice it, as if you were looking through your fingers. And who would have thought that that innocent little boy would ever stand in front of you, towering over your body by a good two heads, and grinning with eyes shining in anticipation through the black slits of the mask.

Sinclairs

Christmas is the most mysterious and magical holiday of the year; the day when the whole family gathers at one big table to properly celebrate this moment together; the day when you receive a lot of gifts from all kinds of relatives, which you sometimes did not realize; the day when all wishes come true.

You clumsily shuffled along the road, shaking your back every now and then to adjust the heavy backpack. Things inside rattled a lot, and you tried to straighten your back faster to avoid crumpled packages.

Christmas was your favorite holiday. And although your parents have been working constantly lately, you were glad that you could spend this family holiday with your friends.

You met not so long ago, only about four months ago, when you first moved here. Ambrose turned out to be a very nice and cozy city with friendly and caring people. Mrs. Sinclair, Trudy, and your mom became friends right away— their interests converged on art. That's when I met her sons, the woman suggested that you make friends with them because of their similar age. And it turned out to be a very good idea. The boys quickly became addicted to you.

Once again adjusting the canvas straps of the backpack, you quickly climb the steps requested by the snow and knock on the sand-colored door several times. On the other side, there is a fussy shuffling and dissatisfied grumbling.

"Hello," you say, smiling, when the door swings open in front of you, revealing a view of the timid Vincent.

The guy nods to you and opens the door wider, motioning you to enter. You kiss Sinclair on the cheek of the mask. Brushing off your feet at the threshold, you quickly take off your shoes and leave your backpack at the shoe shelf. Music from an old radio is coming from the kitchen, some station unknown to you is playing old songs from the seventies. As soon as you entered the room, Vincent stood at the stove again, frying something in a frying pan. Whenever Trudy was busy making figures and arranging a museum that she someday wanted to open, it was Vincent who did the cooking and other household duties. Bo was stubborn and didn't want to do "women's" work, and Lester was still too young for such a large-scale activity. The latter was now sitting at the table and skillfully sliced an apple with a hunting knife into neat pieces.

"Morning, Lester," passing by the boy, you leave a small kiss on his forehead.

"Hi, Y/N!" Sinclair winces contentedly, flapping his big copper eyes.

You sit down next to the boy and imperceptibly take a piece of apple from under his nose, throwing it into his mouth contentedly. There were already several plates and cutlery on the table. Vincent loved order, so he prepared everything in advance.

"Where's Bo?" you ask, rocking slightly in your chair, for which you get a menacing look from Vincent.

"Mom asked him to help at the museum," Lester replied, "He should be back soon."

You notice how Vincent turns off the stove and turns his whole body in your direction. The guy takes a notebook lying on the table and quickly scribbles something.

"Have you had breakfast?"

"Yes," you say shortly, when Vincent closes the notebook and puts it back, "Honestly."

Sinclair puts the hot omelette on plates and pushes you a bowl of oatmeal cookies. You happily take one piece. Vincent sits down across from Lester and lifts the mask just enough to see his mouth. You frown, noticing the edge of his deep scar.

"Hey everyone," it was heard from the threshold, when the front door slammed shut with force, "Oh, honey, and you're here," Bo walks past you, lightly touching your shoulder in greeting, and sits down next to Vincent.

During brunch, you watch Lester and Bo actively negotiate. When their plates are empty, you decide to step in.

"Since everyone is here," you babble happily, clapping your hands to attract the attention of the guys, "I want to give you gifts a little earlier than planned, do you mind?"

"Of course not," Bo abruptly pushed away from the table, "I'm all for it, babe."

Bo winked at you playfully, to which you rolled your eyes. Vincent signed something, and you looked at Lester. Your sign language was not yet good enough to understand most of the phrases, you barely remembered the words of politeness. That's why you've always relied on little Lester at times like this.

"He said: "Why are you doing this so early?"", Lester explained, innocently blinking his eyes.

"What's the difference," Bo frowned, "Sooner or later — the main thing is that she gave."

You didn't comment on the elder Sinclair's words, but just got up from the table and went to your backpack resting in the hallway. When you came back, the brothers were already sitting in a kind of semicircle on the floor. Bo sprawled impressively closer to the sofa and grinned in anticipation; Lester, in his usual manner, sat cross-legged; while Vincent tucked his knees to his chest.

You sat down between the twins and put the backpack next to you, unzipping it. You said "Close your eyes" and, as soon as the boys fulfilled your request, you began to take out colorful boxes. All packages had the same color, different sizes. Alternately, you put the gifts in front of them and allowed them to watch. Lester giggled when he saw that his box was the biggest.

"Merry Christmas," you drawled, spreading your arms out to the sides.

The very first gift was opened by Lester. The boy happily tore open the package, scattering the paper around him, and screamed when he saw the cherished surprise. A big stuffed fawn. He had a soft beige body and neat brown horns sticking out in different directions. The muzzle was cheerful, with a big nose and shiny button eyes.

"I knitted it especially for you," you babble, smiling, when Lester looks up at you with an enthusiastic look.

"Thank you!" the boy throws himself on your neck with lightning speed, squeezing your body until the bones crunch; you stroke his back.

Bo was a little surprised when he saw a set of tools under the wrapper. He loved tinkering and was well versed in mechanics; the fact that you remembered about this hobby touched the guy a little; his lips curved in a slight smile.

"Well, thanks, babe," Bo grins, patting your hair.

You're pouting a little. All the time spent in the morning combing this tangled nest has gone to waste. You are dissatisfied with blowing off a few strands that caught your eye.

The last person to open his gift was Vincent. The boy very tenderly unwrapped the package, not trying to tear it, as if stretching and savoring this moment. You watched the deft but careful movements of his fingers with burning impatience. Finally, Sinclair took off all the paper, removing it from the side, and looked down at what he saw. A large set with colored pencils. Exactly the one that the boy looked at with undisguised envy in the window of an art store about a month ago. Did you remember that? With slightly trembling hands, Vincent takes the box and turns it in his hands. There were several more drawing pads under it.

Vincent looks at you, and you see the trembling gaze of his azure eyes in the slits of the mask. Such unbelievers, but at the same time grateful. You crawl up to the boy and hug him tightly, nuzzling his neck. Vincent lets out a ragged sigh.

"Merry Christmas to you, boys," you congratulate them once again, seeing the boys' satisfied smiles.

"So why did you decide to give it to us so early?" Lester asked, clutching the toy to his chest.

"Oh, that," you awkwardly fix your hair, "Well, my parents decided to leave. To another state. We'll leave tonight. So I thought I could have some fun with you now."

There was an oppressive silence in the room. You were afraid to look up, but you could feel the disappointment on the boys' faces. Your heart was painfully squeezed in your chest, from which you gritted your teeth with a creak.

"Will you come back?" Bo broke the silence.

"I don't know. Dad was offered a job in another state. Mom just said I wouldn't be able to see you."

You looked at each of the boys in turn. Vincent's head drooped, Bo's brows furrowed, and Lester's lips tightened into a crooked thread. The elder Sinclair sighed heavily.

"We'll be waiting. All together," he looked at you from under his brows, "Just try not to come back to us."

• Vincent loves sweets; but, often, Bo takes most of the goodies. That's why you put an envelope with several edible bracelets in one of the donated notebooks. Bo will probably consider them girly and will not take them away from his brother.

• You have been knitting a fawn for Lester for about five days; the boy is very happy with your gift. Your relationship is like a brother and a scary sister. He is always ready to rely on you; Sinclair is glad that he has such a caring person, unlike the same brothers (in particular Bo).

• Trudy adores you. You could say that in these few months she began to perceive you as her own daughter. You even know where the spare keys to the back door of the house are.

• Bo always tries to impress you as a self-sufficient high school student. He saw his father's old magazines with tackles, seduction and other materials not for children, so he decided to train on you. He didn't notice how he fell in love.

• Vincent is a good cook.

• Most of Vinnie's drawings in the new notebooks are you. He will paint your portraits for many years after your leaving.

#slashers x reader #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #brahms heelshire #brahms heelsire x reader #lester sinclair #lester sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair

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tainted-liquor · 8 months

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Oh, Odogwu!...⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ft. 42Miles

...₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

ingredients: sugar, kisses, and a lil bit of smiles!

TWs: Cussin', Outta pocket Miles, Spanish that you CAN'T 'translate'

A/N: Nigerian Reader, but the plot isnt centered around her being Nigerian

You twirled around the hallway, your royal blue ankara print flowing at your sides and arms with every move you made. It was culture day at Brooklyn Visions Academy, and today's one and only goal was to show up and show out for your heritage. There was a Nigerian pin attached to the left side of your dress and another little flag painted on the side of your cheek you had done at the face painting table. There was music blaring from specific areas, beautiful shades of rainbow decorating almost everyone, and an atmosphere of joy and pride consuming the school as everyone scrambled to find their bird of a feather. You had roughly thirty minutes before you all got ready to head to the gym for the assembly and some games, but right now your main focus was finding your man.

There was a loud uproar of male voices coming from the lunchroom, waltzing in to see the entire cafeteria covered in flags of many different countries. It was beautiful, with everyone joining in joyous conversation and proudly exchanging facts about their culture. Amidst the cheerful commotion, you managed to pick out Miles at a large round table, actively engaging in what looked like a heated discussion, making wild gestures with their hands as they spoke like that would solidify their point. You quickly jogged over, mini heels clicking with each step forward. As you got closer, you realized that they most likely weren't arguing due to the occasional laughter and smug grins they sported.

"Si maldito mamabicho y los cerdos hablan-! Oh shit, hey Mama" Miles immediately dropped his sentence, softening his tone as he saw you walk around the table in pursuit of him. He spun around on his chair, hugging you around the waist as you wrapped your arms around his neck and took advantage of this being the only time you'll ever be taller than him. "Ooh, look at my wife. Looking all good in her culture" He muttered, making no effort to hide the fact that he was checking you out. You grinned from ear to ear, doing a little spin and showcasing your beaded earrings as you took in his little outfit. He was wearing a predominately white outfit, with a neat button-up and a red piece of fabric tied around his neck and waist.

"Thank you, thank you!" You giggled as Miles pulled you on his lap, resting his chin on your head. "You look good. Reaaal good. Who you wearin'?" You asked as you leaned back onto Miles's chest. "My Ma. Jibaro pride, baby!" He chuckled, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. "Yo, Miles. DON'T THINK WE FORGOT CUZ YOUR GIRL PULLED UP!" Some kid yelled at the opposite end of the table, sporting a similar outfit to Miles accompanied by a Puerto Rican and Dominican pin. "Ay, shut that bullshit up I wanna talk to my wife" he giggled, flipping off the poor boy at the end of the table.

"How you feelin', mama? You comfy?" He asked, used to seeing you in baggier or longer clothing. "I got a sweatshirt in my bag if you need it" He reassured. "Yeah, I'm fine! Thank you Obi'm" You smiled, gently holding Miles's hand and brushing over his semi-bruised knuckles as carefully as possible. You let the group entertain each other, feeling Miles stare cupid arrows into the back of your head. "I love this dress on you so much. Like you're really just so pretty" He suddenly stated, hugging you as tightly as humanly possible.

You gasped quietly as Miles lifted you up, silently taking you with him as he walked upstairs to the library. "Ok nigga you didn't have to kidnap me" you joked, clinging onto Miles's shirt while he practically sped through the hall. "I did though. I wanna spend time with my girlfriend, so that's what I'm gonna do" he shrugged, grinning down at you as he kicked open the doors to the library. You sighed, sitting down at one of the library booths and adjusting your pin. "So how's your day been so far Mrs. Morales?" Miles teased, placing a little kiss on the back of your hand and sitting down next to you.

"Ugh, I'm havin' so much fun. I didn't even know we had other African girls here!" You exclaimed as you leaned your head on Miles's shoulder. Miles smiled at your response. He was happy because YOU were happy, he loved seeing that precious smile on your face and would do anything in the world to see it as often as possible. "Yeah, there's an assembly after. They 'sposed to pick niggas out from each area or something and then they're gonna start a competition. You should go up" he shrugged. "HEYYY! You lost it, oh. You think I want to go up in front of the ENTIRE SCHOOL?" You sucked your teeth, judging his audacity with a livid side-eye.

"Tch, you buggin'. You not trynna rep your country in front of the whole school? Insane." He whispered as he slipped his hand in yours, quietly egging you on. "Actually, lemme borrow this real quick" He 'asked' as he took your little green and white pin, stationing it right next to his mini Puerto Rican flag. "I gotchu, don't worry"

"You don't have to, it's fine love!"

"Nah, cuz if my wife has such beautiful culture why would I not wanna show it off?"

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mllemarianne · 1 year

Text

Indulging

Aemond Targaryen x F!Strong!Reader

Part 1: Deserving Part 2: Indulging Part 3: Striving

Summary: After your little adventure in the Stormlands, you are now betrothed to your prince. You have everything you have ever wanted. So why are you fleeing the Red Keep on the eve of your wedding…

Word count: 18.5k

Warnings: Angst, fluff and smut (6k words total!) Sexual tension, hurt/comfort. English is my second language.

N/A: Brace yourselves for the second half of this part lol Discover what happened during the 2 weeks between their adventures in the Stormlands and the wedding! One thing is for sure: they are feral all the way to the end. Unfortunately, Aemond can’t possibly let go of his demons in one night. Some Aemond POV too this time. Enjoy!

Masterlist | AO3

Aemond

Aemond slipped into your chambers after bribing the guards, like he did every night since you got back from your little adventure in the Stormlands. Only this time, all he wanted was a few words with you. And of course, you were not alone.

Unbeknownst to you, he entered your chambers and hid in the shadows. He watched as your maid brushed your long hair and exchanged some words with you. He noticed how tense you looked, fiddling with the hem of your nightgown’s sleeve. And he knew. He knew..

You were hurt, and he had to make it right again. Especially since it was the eve of your wedding. He refused to see everything fall apart after a fortnight only. Not when he spent his life longing for this.

It did not take long before you thanked your maid, confided you had a headache and wished not to be disturbed until the morning.

Aemond ducked behind a silk screen covered in paintings of flowers and birds. On it rested your impressive wedding gown. Blue silk trimmed with silver lace. He smiled when he saw the small dragon shaped clasps. His mother had the seamstresses working day and night for it to be done on such a short notice. He could not help but imagine you in it, holding his hands and swearing to the old gods and the new that you would be his until your last day.

Holding his breath, he watched the maid curtsy and leave your chambers. He was about to reveal himself when suddenly, he froze in place.

Your eyes were glued to the door and you listened carefully as your maid’s footsteps slowly faded in the distance. After a few seconds, you got up and stripped until your naked form was all he could see in the dim lighting. Seeing you undress was always a peak of his day… but then you reached for something that did not look like your nightgowns.

…What was it? Some kind of commoner's dress? It was a simple flowy white dress that hung from your shoulders with red beads.

Still hidden, Aemond stood in silence as his worst nightmare manifested before his eye. A chill ran down his spine when you put on a hood and grabbed a pair of simple leather boots. The kind of boots you can easily run away in, he thought.

For an instant, you seemed hesitant. Looking at your vanity, you probably thought about how awful the last hours— fortnight, even— had been. A nightmare for you, he was sure.

He had warned you. The people at court were cruel and sometimes, he wished he could sweep in with Vaghar and burn them all until they were nothing more than ashes. And he would probably do it now.

It was too much for you. You were hurt… And you were leaving.

Good things never came to him, so however heartbreaking it was to see you flee like a thief in the night… it did not come as a surprise to him. He was but a crippled second son with nothing to offer except his love, and you deserved so much more. Your former betrothed was certainly a better option, with his own castle, lands, armies… and looks…

His chest tightening, his heart breaking, he watched as you grabbed the necklace he gave you long ago. The necklace you wore everyday since. You almost put it on, but ultimately shoved it in your pocket along with some crumpled up paper and other whatnots.

Reader

You observed yourself one last time in your mirror, to gather some strength if anything… when you unexpectedly noticed him in the dark.

His impeccable silvery white hair picked up some of the light from the fire burning beside you. Hidden in a corner, Aemond stood tall, eye locked on you, arms crossed behind his back. He had a weary frown and his lips were pressed in a thin line.

Oh gods.

Eyes widening, your spine straightened as you got caught and he slowly walked up to you. His hair bounced on his shoulders and his wonderful amber and sandalwood scent hit you at once when he stopped mere inches away from you.

You looked up at him and you knew he tried to keep a straight face, but you could feel the hurt behind his eye.

“Aemond– ” you said quietly. “You are leaving?” he sharply queried.

Your eyes widened even more, panic seeping through. “Aemond, I–”

“No, let me speak.” he insisted bitterly.

You feared what he was about to say. You felt his ire. You felt his ache. He was cross with you.

He had been so silent lately and you always hated when he did that. Still, you did not think he would show up to your chambers this night of all nights. Seeing your betrothed on the eve of your wedding, bad luck and all. Superstitions, merely, but your prince was keen on tradition and you respected that.

Then again, you knew why he came to you anyway. The day, nay the last two weeks, had indeed been… eventful.

A fortnight before

Reader

When you went through the Mud Gate, you saw your father and almost thirty guards standing in a circle, planning the day’s search party for Aemond and you. The Prince and the daughter of the Hand had been missing for more than a day by now. You felt guilty when you imagined your father frantically looking for you everywhere as you did not come back the previous day.

Well… you almost felt guilty.

Even though your original plan was to confess your love and devotion to Aemond during your trip in the Stormlands, you had not planned to take shelter in a village inn during a frightful storm. You had not planned for Aemond to shut down, resulting in you gouging words out of him. You had not planned to share a ridiculously small bed and to spend the night wrapped in each other's arms. And you definitely had not planned for you to make passionate love that very morning after he surrendered his heart, body and soul to you.

“There they are, my lord”, one of the guards said. Suddenly aware of the crowd, you let go of your prince’s hand and went to your father. You saw relief in his eyes and he hugged you tight when you reached him. You tried to hide your bare arms under your cloak, but you were not quick enough to escape his sharp eye.

The Queen rushed to you as well. She kept pulling at Aemond’s hair to tame it, but nothing could be done. It was still wavy from the pouring rain and the flight back. To be fair, you were both a mess. Your clothes smelled of dragon and were coated in mud and dust.

Aemond pushed the Queen’s hands away in a gentle manner and immediately asked for an audience with the King and your father. He did not waste a single second. As promised.

He took your hand again as you all climbed the stairs, heading to the council meeting chamber. However, when you went to enter the room, your father requested that you wait outside.

Aemond turned to you and planted a chaste kiss on your knuckles…then cupped your face and swiftly kissed you on the lips. Your pulse went wild and pink bloomed on your cheeks. He smirked arrogantly, amused by your sudden shyness. Just like when you were children, he waited to see if you would kiss him back.

To say you were shocked by your prince’s doings was un understatement. Usually, he did that when people were not looking. Certainly not under the stare of the three most powerful people in all of the Seven Kingdoms. One of them being your own father.

You kissed him back quickly. He then disappeared into the room, still smirking. Indubitably flustered, you turned around, avoiding any and all eye contact, curtsied and left. You waited until the guard closed the door to run around the corner and reach a certain tapestry. Your father had you play cupbearer during some council meetings in the recent years, so you knew about the hidden vent.

A vent allowing you to hear and see everything.

“I do think it oddly coincidental that the day your daughter’s betrothal to Lord Tyrell’s son, Luthor, was announced, my own son and her went missing only for them to reappear a day later, wishing to join our two families in front of the Seven.” Queen Alicent told your father in one breath. She turned her head to address Aemond directly. “Is she with child?”

“Your grace—” began your father.

“Of course not, mother!” cut Aemond, annoyed.

“And the Hand gets to marry his daughter to a prince. How practical, Lord Strong– ”

“No, I get the honor of marrying her,” cut Aemond again. He stood in front of your father to speak to him directly. “For the longest time, even now still, she is the reason I get up in the morning. She is loyal and has always been there for me, even when my own family was not,” he confessed, avoiding the King’s gaze. “I wish I could apologize for acting so imperiously, but I will not take no for an answer.”

Queen Alicent gently pulled him aside while your father and the King discussed the matter of your current betrothed. “Are you certain? …Does she want this as well?” You felt bad yet grateful for the Queen’s concern. You were not blind. She cared for the King, yes, but she was invariably thrown at him at a young age without any saying in the matter.

“She loves me, mother. Despite my temper, despite the snickers following me everywhere, despite my face, she loves me.” You had not said the words to him yet, but he clearly knew of your true feelings. Although, your heart shattered a bit at the self-loathing coating his words.

“My sweet boy, stop saying “despite”. It is not all there is to you.” The Queen uttered in a reassuring tone, leaning in to comfort her son but he backed off.

“I have loved her all my life.” he insisted. You knew that now, but hearing it again had your heart skipping a beat. “I was always yours” he admitted to you the same morning. The Queen opened her arms again. He embraced her this time.

“I know. And of course she loves you. She defended you so fiercely when you…”

She did not finish her sentence, but you knew all too well what atrocious event she was referring to. When his nephews and nieces gang up on him after he called them Strong bastards, no one– not even the King– stood up to defend him. Only his mother and you. Even if he had dragged your older brother into it, you had defended your prince.

When it came to it, the King gave his verdict… and he was pleased. The King was pleased. After all these years, he knew you as a sweet, thoughtful yet daring girl. “A real warrior, that one!” he proclaimed once, when he spied you knocking Aemond to the ground during hand-to-hand combat training in the yard. Furthermore, your father was an honorable man and the King did not have any doubt regarding his intentions.

King Viserys agreed to his son’s request and told your father they could surely work something out to “ease possible arising tensions”. Namely young Luthor Tyrell losing his bride a day after the announcement of his betrothal and a moon before his wedding.

The Queen declared the ceremony could be set in two moons time, at the Great Sept of Baelor. With his head held high and his face unreadable, Aemond only replied: “I wish to marry her in a fortnight.”

Your heart stopped again. Seeing him so eager almost made you tear up. The Queen begged him to be reasonable, reminding him that some lords and ladies would be traveling from afar, that they needed time to plan a tourney in your honor and feasts. You knew Aemond did not care about any of that. And he did not budge. “We will marry in a fortnight. It is enough time to gather her family and ours. That is all that matters.” Alicent was not entirely sure Aemond told her everything, but accepted her son’s demands nevertheless. You ran back to the main entrance when the meeting was over and your prince went straight to you. Bracing his hands on each side of your waist, he whispered “It’s done, my betrothed.”

You looked at him with love and he mirrored your bright smile. He kissed your cheek this time and let his lips linger, relishing in the softness of your skin and the smell of your hair.

“Your father wishes to speak to you, dear girl,” the Queen imparted. “Aemond, you need to come with us. Unfortunately, you have duties to the realm beyond flying around on Vaghar.” she added, looking at you with a faint but genuine smile.

Aemond exhaled against your cheek, then stared at you with a look full of longing. You knew the only thing he wished for this instant was to drag you to whichever of your chambers were the closest… but to both your displeasures, he followed Sir Cristen to the armory for some princely duties.

“I have to speak to Lord Tyrell now. However much a gentleman Luthor is, he won’t be very pleased,” your father stated when you joined him in the council chamber.

“I’m deeply sorry, father. He seemed like a wonderful man.”

He smiled fondly but incredulously. “He was everything I ever wished for you. He was perfect, indeed… but something tells me you are not as deeply sorry as you say.”

You smiled slightly as an answer.

Hesitant, he peeked at the heavy doors still open and prone to indiscrete ears. Lowering his voice, he probed: “May I ask where you could possibly have been?”

“We visited the Stormlands. The weather made it too dangerous to fly back. We stopped at an inn for the night.” you simply stated.

“So you took shelter.”

“Yes.”

“Alone with the prince.”

“Yes.”

“And all of a sudden, the prince wants to marry you in a fortnight.”

You did not quite know if it was a question, a statement or an accusation. Or maybe was it all three?

“… he does, yes.”

He looked at you intently, demanding more details.

“I can be very persuasive.” you evasively asserted.

Indeed, he thought. He knew you went out there and got what you wanted. It seemed he was constantly underestimating you. He sometimes forgot you were no longer five of age and chasing cats around the castle grounds at Harrenhal. Now, you could inarguably rule a kingdom with that much resilience and volition.

Your father's eyes wander at your dress again. You hid once more your bare arms under your mud-caked hood. Not only did Aemond shred the white shift you normally wore underneath, he threw it in the damn hearth. “Inadvertently”, he assured you. Too eager to see your bare bosom to notice or care, more like. It had beautiful little flower embroideries, you were furious.

Your father thought about his next words carefully. Lowering his voice to almost a whisper, he inquired: “...am I right in thinking you find yourself in need of moon tea?”

You chewed on your cheek as you had flashbacks of your early morning… of Aemond slowly losing his composure as you shamelessly ground your hips on him… of the whole of you shaking uncontrollably under his taut body… of the faintest of “I love you” he breathed in your ear as he spilled himself deep inside you…

With your spine ramrod straight, without a trace of shame or remorse, you said: “I won’t insult you by pretending otherwise.”

He nodded, walked to the door. Before he left altogether, he added: “I am no fool, I will have some delivered daily and discreetly to your chambers,” You repressed a chuckle, wondering if it was necessary when the wedding was merely days away.

The late afternoon sun shone bright when Aemond found you in the gardens with Halaena. You were eating lemon cakes, both outstretched on cushioned chairs in a veranda by a glorious pond brimming with water lilies. You were freshly bathed and wore the most revealing dress you owned.

Aemond had also changed it seemed. His long hair was neat again. The Gods knew how tangled you left them that morning.

“My betrothed.” you jested. Or were you? It had a nice ring to it.

“See, I like this formal title.” he answered with a simple smile that curled his lips, his eye falling swiftly to your plump breasts half spilling out of your dress before he turned to Heleana. “Sister, I’m afraid I need my betrothed on some urgent matter.”

You saw fire in his eye.

“Indeed,” you concurred, knowing exactly what sort of business desperately needed your tending. “Thank you for everything Helaena, it was a lovely afternoon, I’ll be sure to find the book in the library.”

“You are not fooling anyone, you know,” she remarked as Aemond grabbed your hand and dragged you back to the Red Keep. He held onto your fingers so tight you thought you might lose them.

“You seem tense, my prince. What could possibly cause such restlessness?” you asked, yelping as he groped your behind through the fabric of your dress as an answer.

Three minutes.

That is all it took. Not even ten steps in the Red Keep and Queen Alicent intercepted you both, seamstresses in tow. A rushed royal wedding meant twice as much preparation. You needed to get your dress sorted out as soon as possible. You needed jewels made. You needed to learn the traditional nuptial dance and to learn your vows.

Aemond’s blood seemed to be boiling in his veins as you were separated once more.

Aemond

Clearly, the Gods were punishing the both of you. Aemond had to get hold of himself. He could not possibly be losing it. He was a grown man, for gods’ sake. He even wondered how he managed to go on about his day before you were betrothed to him.

The answer was barely.

It was no surprise he selfishly spent so much time with you. You made him feel good a little bit everyday, which was an exploit considering how people were utter cunts everyday.

He spent his time looking at you, observing you when you were not looking. Apparently, not as subtly as he thought he was being, you told him. He sometimes allowed himself to touch you. While you were training or riding Vhagar with him. Sometimes it was too much, and he shamelessly found relief in the arms of one of his mother’s chambermaids. He was not proud of it. Especially since you confessed spying on him once.

Training with you was the highlight of his days. He liked how strong you were, no pun intended. He liked the smell of you in the morning, when your hair was damp with sweat as you spared with your swords. You were one of the few who could best him in hand-to-hand combat. And you were truly deadly with your daggers. Unquestionably better than half the knights you trained with. He loved that about you. Even if he was horrified by the dozens of scars he found on you as you laid in bed with him.

He particularly enjoyed walking in the gardens with you. Even when you were children, you ran away from your septa only to meet him in your secret spot on top of the hill. Hidden in the tall grass, you would read books or nap under a willow tree. Lately, you also went at night to look at the stars and drink wine.

The library was his favorite. Especially since you decided you had to read books only wearing a nightgown lately. Everytime, he made sure the fire was dying. It was his own little punishment for the torture you seemed to enjoy putting him under. You were cold, but he got to see your breasts peak through the sheer fabric.

Lately, he particularly indulged in the little adventures you liked to plan. You gave him the destination, and he supplied the dragon to get there. When you asked him to go to the Stormlands the day before, he did not hesitate. He knew something was wrong. You had not joined him in the library the night before. Your absence at the morning training session had not gone unnoticed either.

Flying back in the storm was already the pinnacle of unpleasantness, but when you broke the news of your betrothal to another, Aemond fell into a sort of trance. He knew this day would come, and for a moment, he found the courage to let you go. He would not even speak, afraid to ruin everything. He knew how his silence irritated you at times, but he had to… for he knew what a life with him would be like.

He never dreamed of burdening you with a life ensnared in torment and ridicule. It meant incessant mockery, rude encounters and even ruder stares from the people of the court. He did not want that for you. He loved you enough to keep silent, wallowing in his own despair at the very idea of losing your ever soothing presence. He sacrificed his own desires for what he thought was best. He did not deserve you.

But then…

He did not expect to spend the night in your arms in a dingy inn during a storm.“I want you,” you repeated again and again while you threw yourself at him. You climbed on top of him, looking like a goddess in your simple white shift… you said all these filthy things about thinking of him while touching yourself at night… you shared how you wanted to feel him, wishing for him to make you scream his name… “Claim me!” you commanded, grinding your bare cunt on his equally bare cock.

Aemond was a prince, a dragonrider, a scholar, a trained fighter… but he was also just a man.

So he obliged. He willingly let go of everything that held him back and took whatever you would give him. Not only did you give him your body, you also gave him your heart and all your devotion. He loved you so deeply, he had no choice but to give in to what he desired the most for as long as he could remember.

The way you looked at him that morning was forever engraved in his memory. The morning sun hit his sapphire and hundreds of blue specks of light danced on your smiling face.

No one had ever looked at him like that.

It was the moment he knew that… mayhaps he could find happiness in a world that had been so cruel to him for years. The mere prospect of spending his days and his nights with you as his lady wife almost erased the misery of the last seven years. Misery he desperately tried to keep hidden from you. You, who inexplicably loved him.

Although, things were not settled yet. He could only manage to have the wedding ceremony held in a fortnight. He had his reasons. Hells, some part of him would have married you today if he had the possibility.

Aemond shook his head. Again all his thoughts were of you as the thudding of his boots echoed in the stone hallways. It was an hour before you had to join both your family in the royal dining room, and he had plans for the remaining time.

He went straight to your chambers and got past your guards without any hesitation. At this point, he did not care in the least.

He needed you. He needed you now.

His eye patch went flying through the room unceremoniously. He was about to do the same with his sword when he noticed the royal jeweler still taking measurements of your fingers and your neck. Aemond’s jaw clenched as he locked eye with you through your looking glass.

Intrigued by the giant sapphire Aemond wore, the jeweler stared at it. A little too long to Aemond’s taste in fact. He immediately went scrambling for his eye patch and held his sword right in front of him, as if it would somehow hide the clear swollen bulge in his trousers. From the look on your face, you appeared as out of sorts as he was.

He rarely spent his days without you, and while he could bear it before, now that you were his, it was torture.

Especially since he felt your touch. He savored your taste. He enjoyed your warmth and revelled in your scent. And he wanted it all again now.

He wanted your perfect breasts in his mouth and to tease you with his tongue until you arched into him. He wanted you soaking his sheets as he buried himself over and over again in your sweet cunt. He wanted you mewling in his ear while he held onto you so tight you could only shake and cry out as he brought you over the edge. He wanted to stay inside you after you were finished, relishing in your lovely heat, some part of him wishing for your belly to swell already, only to stun you with a thrust when he felt you drifting off.

Aemond wanted to worship you… but it seemed you could not be alone. For. One. Damn. Second.

He elected to sit on your dark blue velvet settee, picked a book from your personnel collection and tried to calm himself down.

Reader

Of course, by the time the jeweler had finished his business, you were expected downstairs for your first meal with the royal family.

You were finally alone, regardless of how improper it was for Aemond to be found in your chambers unchaperoned. He stared at you with raised eyebrows, utterly unimpressed as you laughed uncontrollably, wildly entertained by his state of distress. Oh how you liked to see his walls crumbling around him everytime he was in your presence now.

“I wish I shared your amusement.” he scoffed.

You would bet your life Aemond was on the brink of madness this very moment. You craved him too, but being late was out of the question.

“If I’d known it only took one night with me to completely unravel you, I would have acted sooner,” you bantered, raising a hand to tame a few strands of his hair.

His hands found your waist, fisting the fabric. “Mayhaps I should remind you which one of us was begging, this morning,” he purred in your ear, pressing his body to yours.

You stole away a kiss, but hauled him outside of your chamber. You did not have the will or strength to stop him– or yourself– if you stayed alone a minute more. That hitch that only he could scratch. You felt it desperately too.

You held his arm while he escorted you up the tower. Lamentably, there were people everywhere again. Your guards followed you. Servants carried wood to make fires later in the evening. Drunk knights laughed while exchanging lewd stories of their youth.

You crossed paths with a gathering of lords and ladies of the court. They went quiet and split to let you through. Some peered at you with wonder. Two of them exchanged quiet words as you passed by. Aemond's grip tightened on your arm and he quickened his pace. Of course, by now the whole castle knew of your sudden betrothal to the prince and you became a topic of conversation.

As if the day had not been long enough already, the diner felt like it would never end. First, the King drank to your health and talked of young love and the union of house Targaryen and Strong. Then plates upon plates appeared on the table and the meal went on and on. Aemond’s face was void of any emotion. He seemed so serious, but then you knew why.

When it came to spending time in his family’s company, he seemed like another person. He sat straight, rarely smiled and spoke even less. You knew he loved them immensely, especially The Queen and his sister, but he undoubtebly did not have the warm relationship you had with your brother Harwin, for instance.

You could feel how uncomfortable he was. Your hand resting on his thigh certainly did not help calming him down, even if your touch was simply loving and supportive. You let go of him, but he grabbed your hand and put it right back where it was without even glancing, all while he exchanged a few words with Prince Aegon. He entwined his fingers and brushed the back of your hand with his thumb. You tried being subtle… but you had to look.

He had beautiful hands. You thought about them all day, in fact. You could not help yourself, you had to glance at them like he always sideyed your breasts. Heat pooled at your core and you felt even more tight in your skin.

Then Prince Aegon spoke louder, making sure you heard him as well. You were used to him being a drunkard prone to raunchy discussions, and tonight was no exception.

Throughout the years, he often invited you to join him in his chambers, his carriage, even a privy of all places once, but you never agreed. Aemond punched him once, when his brother dared ask in front of him, with wandering hands to top it all off. After that, you always hid a dagger in your sleeve, hoping you would never have to use it on a prince of the crown.

“Seriously, I’m proud of you, brother. It only took you 10 years to get her.”

“You drank too much, Aegon. You should retire,” simply retorted Aemond, sipping his wine.

“To be fair, it was I who did all the work, my prince,” you jested innocently. Your prince squeezed your hand and looked at you, but it was too late. You gave his brother enough ammunition.

“Really, you did all the work? Please tell me more, y/n. I do love a woman on top– ”

Aemond banged his cup on the table and stood up in a flash. Still holding your hand, he spoke before you could come up with an even vulgar answer. “Mother, Father, my lord Hand,” he bowed his head to them before he turned to you. “I’m retiring for the evening. May I escort you back to your chambers, lady Strong?”

You had not yet properly answered that he yanked on your arm and whisked you away.

You walked through the hallways at a steady pace. The day was finally over and nothing more was expected from you both. No duties to the crown, no jewelry fitting, nothing. And frankly, you were eager to get away from everyone. “Follow us and I’ll have your heads mounted on spikes.” Aemond snarled through clenched teeth at the guards who went after you. They turned around immediately and scattered.

Aemond half-mumbled half-cursed something resembling “Can’t be alone for one minute in this damn castle” as you snorted in a very unladylike manner.

“Want me to put on my nightgown?” You asked, desperate to cheer him up.

“We are not going to the library.” he simply stated.

You spied a wine jug in his hand. He nicked it from the diner table. You soon realized he was not taking you to your chambers or his either. He walked you to the gardens.

He dragged you far, up the hill, through the tall grass and close to a tall yew tree. It was your favorite spot, for it was far enough that nobody ever bothered you there. It was where he first kissed you when you were still a young girl.

“I want you now,” he urged, pushing you against a nearby mossy stone wall, tugging up the hem of your dress without a preamble. He shoved his face in your bosom and licked the valley between your breasts. Your hands went straight to his neck, weaving your fingers through his silky hair shining bright in the moonlight.

Even though you were better than Aemond at hiding your desperation, it did not change the fact that you were a wanton mess at that moment.

You were dripping wet, even feeling it down your trembling thighs. It was a miracle it did not show on your dress after hours of tensely sitting down during dinner, looking at his fingers and imagining all sorts of things.

One of his hands found its way up your thighs and brushed the apex of your sex, briefly playing with your clit before he pushed past your fold with two of his fingers. You gasped, head falling back against the wall.

“Hm… desperate too?” he murmured in your neck as his fingers went in and out of you with ease, finally taking care of that burdening itch. “I could slide right into you.”

“Yes… please…” you begged, squirming over his expert hand, your forehead buried in his neck. You grabbed his wrist and forced him to press harder, setting your nerves aflame. You whined, hearing the lewd sound of your drenched cunt with every stroke of his long fingers. He ground his hard length against your left thigh with the same pace.

Without notice, he cursed and pulled back his hand. Before you could protest, he grabbed the collar of the blue silk shift you wore underneath your bodice and tore it to free your shoulders and arms.

“If you tear up another of my shifts again, I am feeding you to your dragon, are we clear?”

“I’m getting you dressed with clasps.” he grunted.

He left an apologetic peck on your lips, then went to lick and bite everywhere from behind your ear to your shoulders while you shamelessly pawed at his hard cock through his trousers. He groaned and started fumbling with his belt. You left open mouth kisses to his marred cheek, drunk on his amber and sandalwood scent. You were rewarded with a faint whimper.

He finally freed his manhood, his trousers falling at his feet, still tucked in his boots. Unbothered, he reached underneath your skirt again and bunched up the fabric to your waist. He hooked an arm under each of your thighs and hoisted you up.

Oh gods. He meant it. He wanted you now. And he wanted you against this wall.

Your legs dangled on each side of him and you wrapped them around his hips at once. You hooked a finger in the leather band of his eye patch and yanked it off, wishing to see all of him. He flinched, surprised, but kissed you immediately after.

He nudged you at your entrance, coating his cock in your wetness, brushing your clit every time. “Hold onto my shoulders,” he mumbled in your mouth. You nodded and bit his lower lip in return.

All the tension since you got back to the Red Keep that morning, as you were deliberately kept apart, led to that very moment. You braced yourself and buried your face in his neck, for you knew this would be vigorous, feverish and unrestrained. And you did not want it any other way. You wanted to feel him.

He lined himself up and pushed into you, driving right to the hilt. Still gasping from the full impact of him, you could not breathe as he rocked his hips into yours at once. He covered your mouth with his, stealing away any and all sounds that fell from your lips.

He tore whimpers from you with every thrust. You already felt pleasure building deep in your belly. Your hands roamed his shoulders and neck, desperately trying to feel him through his damn collared leather clad tunic.

He grunted and groaned while you made high pitched sounds, stars flashing behind your eyes. He slammed into you at a torturous pace, so deep his pelvis brushed against your most sensitive part.

“Don’t stop,” you wailed in his ear and he hiked you up higher against the wall. His fingers dug into your plump flesh and you knew you would be bruised in the morning. This new angle had your body spasming and clenching around him. He suddenly hit that spot within you. Every. Single. Time.

Trapped between the wall and his body, you had no choice but to take it. And you loved every second of that feeling.

He pressed even closer to you, desperate to fit all of him in you, his aching balls slapping your cunt every time. He moaned your name loudly and sloppily kissed the side of your open mouth.

His rhythm started to falter. He was close too. You let out a strangled noise and his face fell down into your cleavage.

“More…” you pleaded. “I need more…”

One of his hands let go of your thighs and snaked between your two bodies. You felt his calloused fingers squirm their way to your cunt and you whimpered when he started circling your clit slowly, a stark contrast with the steady pace of his hips.

Your eyes rolled back and with a few more hard thrust, he pushed you over the edge. You jolted in his arms, arching your back as your vision blacked out. Hands clawing at his shoulders and pulling at his hair, you cried out his name as your orgasm ripped through you, waves after waves of pleasure crashing onto you again and again as he kept pumping.

You squeezed him so tight he followed you short after, plunging as deep as he could, groaning your name loudly against your bosom and filling you up with his hot seed. You cried out again as he pulsed inside you, his hips still snapping at yours erratically while he shuddered from his high.

He finally cooled down, completely out of breath. You were shivering hard, head back against the wall, eyes closed, overpowered by this intense moment you just shared.

He gently pulled out, leaving you with a strange feeling of emptiness, his seed trickling down your inner thigh. When he let go of your legs, you nearly collapsed. They so much as buckled under your weight. He untangled himself from his trousers and boots and laid down half naked in the tall grass with you.

You stayed there a long time, savoring this quiet interlude away from the rest of the world, sipping wine while basking in the moonlight. The warm summer air blew the wispy hair around your face. You listened to the waves crashing on the rocks by the coast. The trees made their own music with each gust of wind. Faint clather came from the Red Keep in the distance…. It was a beautiful cloudless night, and you gazed at the stars.

True to himself, Aemond kept quiet. Except this time, you did not need any words to know how he felt. He was half sprawled on top of you, his head resting on your bosom, bobbing up and down as you catched your breath still.

He turned to you. “Was I too rough?”

“Did you hear me complain?” you asked back.

He hummed and laid his head down again on your breast. It was different from your first time, but in the most exhilarating way.

You slowly brushed his long hair cascading on his back while he traced figures on your arm and chest, leaving patterns in the pearling sweat. He loved doing that, it seemed. Every time, goosebumps rose everywhere.

“I thought of taking you in this garden so often,” he confessed before he took another sip of wine from the jug and handed it to you. “But I never imagined it this way.”

“What did you imagine? Midnight swim in the pond?”

He grinned. “The lords love to piss in that pond when they are drunk, so no.”

He turned his head and looked at you, his gaze positively burning. You felt something awaking in your belly again. You nodded at his silent request and let him guide you through his vision.

He rose, took off the last piece of clothing he still wore— his leathered tunic— and laid it down on the tall grass. He made you sit so he could take off your skirt. When you reached for the laces, he grabbed your hand and shook his head.

He wanted to do it himself. You obliged.

You squirmed out of your skirt but did not attempt to do anything else. He unbuttoned your bodice, discarded what remained of your blue silk shift and he folded it all into a makeshift cushion. He gently pushed your bare back down on his still warm tunic, your folded dress under your backside, propping you up a little. Your breasts pebbled as the chill air from the coast blew. He slowly climbed on top of you, kissing you, caressing every inch of your skin, his hard cock pressing at your core again.

When he took you against the wall, it was needy. It was rough. It was an itch that desperately needed to be scratched. And it felt so good, you knew you would never forget it. But what Aemond truly wanted was to make love to you in this garden.

No frivolities. Just you. Just him. No titles, no pressure and nobody else around.

Propped up on one elbow beside your face, his hand went to hold the nape of your neck while the other brushed your still sensitive clit, awaking all your senses and having you sighing already. He kept going, but you wished for more.

“Please, I just want to feel you,” you pleaded, and he did not fret. Holding onto one of your thighs, he went in slowly. He looked upon your face to see it change with every inch while he easily slid himself in you, still wet from both your releases. You liked the stretch. You liked when he reached deep and took your breath away.

He paused to let you adjust and you smiled at him, eyes half closed. He kissed you slowly too, his tongue caressing yours. You melted in his embrace, his breath stuttering against your neck. He kissed your shoulder while you were momentarily lost in all the sensations.

Aemond had his issues. He had his temper, but when he let his soft side come out just for you, you could not help but get emotional.

His lips brushed yours before his head rested in the crook of your neck, his breath fanning your skin, biting and licking your shoulder. You bent your knees on either side of him for better traction and you rocked your hips against his so he knew he could move.

He grabbed your hip to refrain you from moving. Then his hands reached for yours and he laced your fingers, bringing them beside your head. You felt his heart beating fast against your own skin.

Then he moved. Slowly.

You enjoyed jesting and teasing him, to talk big like you were in absolute control all the time, but for once, you were the silent one. You felt so vulnerable. You half-panted half-sobed in his arms, tears forming in the corner of your eyes as he slid in and out of you without hurry. So calmly. So softly.

It was measured and unhurried. Completely overpowering. Every thrust was long and perfect, continually stroking that spot within you. His hair fell all over you and you inhaled his intoxicating amber and sandalwood scent.

He pulled you apart completely. You felt yourself break, overwhelmed by your feelings and every nerve in your body set ablaze by this agonizingly gentle rhythm.

He was yours. Aemond was yours, as much as you were his. After years of longing, you got to have him.

Feeling your shaky breath, Aemond cursed and let go of your hands. He held you even closer, whispering sweet nothings in your ear, making sure you were alright.

“I love you”, you only whispered back, your fingers brushing his scarred cheek.

He groaned and picked up the pace, grasping at your thighs, your waist. You left kisses in his neck, hands splayed on his shoulder and lower back, feeling his muscles flex. Whining loudly, you neared your peak and you knew this one would shatter you in a million pieces.

With the night sky above, you were already looking at the stars… yet he made you see more. So many more.

The following days

Reader

The Queen tried to chaperone you but it was a losing battle. You manage to escape her and her guards' notice every time. Highly annoyed, Aemond even tried to reason with her, saying you spent every day of the last 10 years together without any need for a chaperone.

“You are betrothed now, it would not be proper.” she explained. You laughed uncontrollably, while Aemond looked impossibly bewildered. You recalled him saying these exact words multiple times to you… before he essentially ravished you somewhere in the Stormlands. Oh how he seemed more laxed with the notion of propriety. What a terrible influence, you were.

Lately, you were constantly swarmed with people asking what flowers you wanted for the wedding ceremony, what kind of meal you desired for the feast or which fabric you preferred for your dress. You only cared that your dress was blue with elements recalling the Targaryen dynasty and your Riverland heritage. “With clasps”, you insisted, since Aemond took the sordid habit of tearing up your clothes.

Your family confirmed that they would get to King's Landing in time for the feast and tourney held the day before the ceremony. You could not wait to see your older brother Harwin.

As you served as cupbearer during a council meeting one afternoon, you also learned that there was no news of your former betrothed. For all you knew, Luthor Tyrell did not know yet that his bride had been claimed by the second son of King Viserys.

And claimed you, he did.

Something magical happened in the gardens that night. Your first time was driven by undeniable lust. When he took you against the wall, it was a desperate need. But in the tall grass under the stars? It was pure love. Unconditional, indisputable and passionate love.

Nothing held you back. No guard to spy on you. No one to whisk you away from him. When your passion reached its limit, you screamed his name knowing absolutely no one would hear you but him. You had never felt so free and so loved.

Truth be told, you could not bear to spend time away from each other. You still trained in the morning. Although, you sometimes hid in the armory to indulge in a heated moment after, mostly involving you “yielding” and putting your smart mouth to good use. At midday, you shared a meal outside in the gardens. Which often resulted in Aemond feasting on… something else entirely. In the evening, you still took joy in reading in the library. Except showing up in your best nightgown became mandatory now. The room was always awfully cold… and so was the desk when Aemond would bend you over it and sink into you until pleasure won you over. He sure knew how to warm you up nicely and efficiently. Nobody ever tended to the fire in the library.

But mostly, when you asked to claim his nights, he took you very seriously. And Aemond Targaryen was a very dutiful man.

Every night, he bribed your guards, slipped in your chambers and climbed into your bed. Since your stay in the Stormlands, not a single night was spent without his strong arms holding you close and his scorching heat keeping you warm all through the night. Every morning, he left before the first light to be found “asleep” in his own chambers.

The more intimacy you shared, the more things you noticed he loved doing for you… or to you.

He loved burying his head in the crook of your neck to smell your heated skin… He loved the sounds you made when you fell apart on his tongue… He loved how you trashed and clawed at him when he did not slow down after you climaxed and overstimulated all your senses until you came a few more times, leaving you an utter breathless, babbling and squirming mess…

But more than anything, he loved caressing every part of your body he could reach after you made love. When you had no energy left and laid down in damp bed sheets, his hands would roam freely on your skin, drawing idle figures and waking every nerve in your body. He did it so often you found yourself daydreaming about his beautiful hands brushing your arms.

However much you liked it, you soon found out something was amiss.

Aemond wanted to train in hand-to-hand combat again. Your septa told you many times over how “wildly inappropriate” it was, but you did not care as it often resulted in one of you sitting on the other’s lap. You sometimes felt the envious gaze of other knights standing around, but paid no mind. Aemond, on the other hand, minded with every fiber of his being. He was very protective of you, even more so since you were his.

Still, hand-to-hand combat was fun, but you loved sparring with swords and daggers too much. You insisted on it that morning in fact. You did not know why, but your prince was not quite himself. He went easy on you, whereas he showed you no mercy usually.

“Bit tired, my prince? Didn’t get enough sleep last night?” you quipped, trying to rile him up. You had, in fact, kept him quite busy.

You heard a few giggles coming from the knights nearby and Aemond scowled at them. He threw another limp jab at your left with his sword and you knew something was bothering him. There was always something when he kept silent like that. “Attack me, Aemond!”

He exhaled, spinning the handle of his sword in his hand. He seemed to regain his usual strength. His sword came down hard on yours. You dodged and danced, trying to get to his blindside, but he would turn around and stop your blow in a loud clang of steel.

You tried again and this time, you felt his sword slicing into your forearm, though your training gear. You winced at the hot white pain that shot through you, tears welling up in your eyes instantly.

His sword went flying to the ground. He was all over you, holding your arm and putting pressure on the wound, making you cry out at the instant jolt of pain. He ordered Sir Cristen to go fetch Maester Mellos immediately whilst he took you to the armory. Aemond got everybody out and made you sit on a large wooden table right before he settled on a bench in front of you. He did not say a single thing during the whole process.

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry,” you reassured him, your other hand coming to brush some of his hair away from his face. He unbuttoned your tunic before you could say anything else. He tore up the sleeve of the white shift you had underneath to both see the wound and somewhat preserve your modesty.

“Aemond! You owe me three shirts now!” You reproached him, annoyed yet amused, trying to calm him down but he looked absolutely panicked. “I swear I’m okay–”

“I'm so deeply sorry. Please forgive me,” he begged, using the remains of your sleeve to soak up the blood.

“It’s just a cut, it’s not even that ba–”

“No it’s not!” he insisted.

He would not look you in the eyes. He only ever looked at your forearm bleeding through the cloth.

“Why? What do you mean?” Were you missing something? You grabbed both his arms but he untangled himself immediately and put pressure on your wound again.

“Your arms,” he blurted out, mortified.

You observed the bloodied cloth. Well, it was indeed a deep cut. Not the worst you have ever had, but nothing that would kill you before sundown. “I mean, yes I’ll probably have to get it sewn but it’s not life threatening. It’s almost not bleeding anymore.”

He hummed low, as if it was somehow an answer.

“I have been training with the sword almost everyday for years with you, of course I’m bound to have some scars to show for it.”

Then you get it. The scars.

You had small scars everywhere. Scars he gave you. They are not very visible but if someone were to see you up close— naked, for instance— of course they would notice. It dawned on you that when he traced figures on your arms, he was focusing on every little scar under the pad of his fingers. You thought he simply liked seeing the goosebumps spreading on your skin.

“Do you resent me for it?” he asked seriously.

Everything snapped into place in your head. He feared you held a grudge against him, like the one he held still against Prince Lucerys. It occurred to you that he probably hated himself for it everytime he laid his eye upon them.

“Have I ever given you that impression?” you asked, guiding his answer.

He stayed silent, but you now worried it was out of embarrassment.

“I hold you no grudges, I just don’t care, Aemond,” you comforted him, caressing his cheek. He hummed again but did not say anything else. You got down from the table and embraced him. His fingers traced a small line on your shoulder.

It must have been difficult for him to even comprehend how you could possibly not care. Not when all his life revolved around one scar on his face. He regained his voice after a while.

“I just hate that I gave them to you.”

“You act as if the line across your left ribs isn’t from one of my daggers. Do you resent me for it?”

“...No.” he admitted.

“Because you know I would never hurt you intentionally. Same for you with me.”

Maester Mellos indeed confirmed it was not a bad cut. Aemond insisted on sewing it himself anyway, always making sure the pain was bearable as you refused milk of the poppy for such a minor affliction. As with everything that Aemond did, he was very meticulous and precise. Nothing short of perfect. He had practice, after all.

Since Drifmark, Aemond refused to let anyone tend to his wounds but himself. You knew he resented Prince Lucerys for his eye, but the tension between families made him believe Lord Corly’s maester purposefully sewed the wound badly. The long jagged scar forever a bitter reminder of the cost of claiming the biggest dragon in the world.

Aemond insisted you rested for the rest of the day, which was ludicrous. You however agreed to go hide in the garden to read all day in the tall grass. He even stole candied plums from the kitchen for the occasion.

Five days before

Reader

Someone must have spied on you being improper because double the guards– the Queen’s guards– suddenly followed you around. As you trained. As you walked in the garden. Even as you read in the library.

It was not as much of a problem in the afternoon since it was the only time you spent apart and guards strangely left you alone. Aemond had his duties to the crown and his dragon to tend to. You still had lessons with your septa or you helped the realm by serving wine to a council made entirely out of rich men who appeared to care only for their own rich men’s needs. You thought they only came for the fine dornish wine you served, at one point. Still no news of your betrothed for a day, Luthor Tyrell, as well.

You spent time with Princess Helaena as well. More and more each day lately. She was in fact a very charming and helpful person. Aemond usually found you in her company when he fetched you later in the afternoons.

But the guards following you around were getting on his last nerve. That evening, in the library, they stood tall at the entrance. They looked away from you since, again, you were dressed very inappropriately, only sporting your blue silk nightgown adorned with pearls and silver beads as well as the necklace Aemond gave you long ago.

“100 gold dragons for each of you if you leave my betrothed and I alone until the wedding and not tell my mother.” Aemond snapped. The guards exchanged a quick look, bowed and left.

“They were only here to make sure we act properly before the wedding. I’m positively baffled you dismissed them. It is most improper. I’m afraid I’m a terrible influence, my prince.”

“I just want to be alone with you, like we always have been in here. Is it too much to ask? And I have to read these, as a matter of fact.” he complained, pointing at various scrolls and books in front of him.

While he went through an impressive pile of scrolls, you read a book Halaena recommended to you and scribbled away on your papers. You had indeed something important to read too… but you were distracted.

So distracted.

You spied his fingers thrumming in a steady beat on the desk. His perfect hands grazed his parchment, letting it fall on the desk while he grabbed a quill to strike down a note. The pad of his index finger then wandered on the words of an ancient book, gliding smoothly across the paper. You felt yourself getting wetter and wetter as you imagined these fingers on you. Or in you.

Lost in your fantasies, you jumped when one of his fingers unexpectedly pointed at you.

“Why are you always looking at my hands?” inquired Aemond, his eye narrowing, ever the suspicious mind.

“What could you possibly mean?” you say, shifting in your seat, putting your quill down and opening a book on the fauna of Westeros’s southern lands. His eyes bored intensely into yours, a smirk on his lips.

…and your attention strayed again.

He stroked the binding of his book with the back of his hand. Then he traced idle figures on the cover. He pinched a corner and small veins popped out as his fingers flexed.

“You say I not so subtly ogle at your bosom, but you staring at my hands this very moment is on the verge of being outrageous, my lady.”

“I won’t apologize,” you answered, standing up and closing your book. He stood too. What a proper gentleman, so well mannered. You walked around the desk and stopped before him. “You have beautiful hands.”

He watched studiously as you grabbed his right hand. You held it gently, caressing the back with your thumb. He mirrored you and you watched his veins and nerves come into sight as he flexed his thumb, caressing your palm in return.

“I think you lust after my hands,” he murmured.

You brought it to your lips and started kissing every knuckles… while your other hand grabbed the belt of your nightgown. “Mayhaps I do…”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. He looked down as you fumbled with your garment, then glanced around nervously, making sure there were no other witnesses.

Under his burning gaze, you slowly parted the silky fabric and revealed your naked form to him. You stopped kissing his fingers and brought them to your breasts. He squeezed the plump flesh instinctively. You sighed quietly.

Then you guided his hand down your torso. He exhaled loudly.

Next, you tugged his hand down to your belly. He felt goosebumps rising on your skin.

At last, you brought his fingers to your wet folds and he immediately pushed you backward until you were pinned against a bookshelf. You gasped as your back crashed against the old books and dust fell on you.

He captured your lips before you could make more noise. You gripped his broad shoulders while he pressed his whole body to yours. His fingers already going in and out of you, his thumb gently circled your twitching bud while you mewled in his ear.

He grabbed the hair at the nape of your neck and tugged it back to have better access. He kissed and licked your skin like a starved man while your hips rocked on their own. You ground into his hand, seeking more friction. He pushed down the heel of it and upped the speed, the wet sounds of your cunt echoing through the room.

His fingers were merciless as he took you higher and higher, savoring the sight of your face scrunched up in pleasure.

“Were you imagining my hands when you touched yourself at night?” he breathed arrogantly in your ear.

“Every time,” you panted.

“Good,” he said. Then his eye darkened as he whispered in your open mouth: “I won’t stop until your legs shake.”

Oh gods.

He grabbed your neck and squeezed it gently to keep you in place. He felt your walls throbbing around his fingers, your slick soaking his hand and your thighs. You were close and Aemond held your gaze until your eyes rolled back in your head. Your muscles wound tighter and tighter until you cried out as your climax hit you like wildfire, burning through your veins and ravaging your every limbs.

You curled your fingers tight into his tunic and groaned helplessly against his chest. Your thighs clenched on his hand as though you were trapping it against your cunt.

He fucked you through your orgasm with his fine fingers as you whole body convulsed uncontrollably. Face flushing, back arching, you braced yourself on his shoulder as you slowly came down from your high.

But he did not falter.

He kept going, ruthlessly pleasuring you and bringing you right back to the edge, your feverish moans music to his ears.

Keening in his tight embrace, you bit your bottom lip to stop you from wailing even louder when another climax hit you like a lightning strike. You were overwhelmed, kept mindless with ecstasy from his fingers still plunging into your cunt.

Aemond loved to see you come, whether it was on his hand, his tongue or his cock. Seeing you enjoy his body and praising his every move was what kept him going everytime. And he knew you could take it.

Amidst the euphoria, his lips crashed onto yours and coaxed fiery kisses from you. You writhed against his strong body, shuddering painfully and almost trying to twist yourself away as he drew yet another release out of you.

Barely breathing, practically weeping, the overstimulation left you a twitching mess when he finally slowed down his assault on your cunt.

When the pleasure finally faded, you collapsed on him, your body ridiculously limp. You felt him gently pulling his fingers out of your soaked core, and could not help the high-pitched sound that got drawn out of your mouth. He held you up in his arms while your whole body quivered still, kissing you everywhere on your face.

“How d’you like my hands just now, hm?” he asked pretentiously.

Unable to form complete sentences yet, you grabbed his prodigious hand and brought it to your lips as an answer. Astonished, he watched you lick his fingers clean before you kissed him so he could taste you on your lips.

“Your turn,” you hushed.

You grabbed his belt. You needed him in your mouth. You needed him now. You wanted to swallow all of him until his long shaft hit the back of your throat and—

« Prince Aemond?” a shaky voice resounded at the entrance of the library. You both froze into place, Aemond’s hands braced on the bookshelf while you were on your knees, fingers wrapped around his hard—

“I– I am here on your mother the Q—Queen’s behalf. You are needed in the c– council chamber.”

Clearly hearing you both panting, the poor valet waited in front of the door, eyes glued on the ceiling. You were mortified.

Aemond snarled when you let go of him. You stood up while he adjusted himself in his trousers as best as he could. He kissed your forehead before he left. You all but covered yourself and ran to your chambers, wholly embarrassed.

At least, when he joined you later that night, you picked up where you left off.

You were solicited more and more everyday regarding the upcoming wedding. Your dress was almost finished, decorations and tables were laid in the great hall, wedding gifts came in from every corner of the Seven Kingdoms. Yet something casted a shadow on the merriment.

You knew the lords, ladies, knights and servants of the court always addressed Aemond with the respect a prince is entitled to… but the snickers and the whispers always followed him everywhere. And now they followed you as well.

You were a curiosity. It was strange, considering they saw you together a thousand times before, since you were children. Yet every time you two appeared in public, whether at a feast or in the hallways, you heard the chatter. You heard the jeers. Had they nothing better to do?

One evening, you stopped to greet Lady Beesbury, one of the few ladies you actually enjoyed the company of. You asked how married life treated her. She replied quickly, her gaze darting to Aemond constantly. She left before you could ask any more questions. Aemond pulled your arm and encouraged you to keep walking.

Not quickly enough, for you had time to hear another lady whisper: “Why him? Do you think she’s with child? Poor girl.”

You were astounded. The allegations against your virtue did not bother you in the least, but that being betrothed to Aemond inspired pity? Absolutely preposterous. No one could ever make you feel bad about your betrothed. Furthermore, your dresses were so tight to begin with, where could you possibly be hiding a pregnant belly?

You diffused the tension by addressing Lady Beesbury’s behavior. “Does she think I’m too important for her now that we are betrothed?”

“She was afraid of me. She wanted to get away,” Aemond said quietly, his face unreadable. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you ever apologize for simply being you. She is a bad mannered cunt. How could people act like that around you?” you retorted, outraged at her behavior.

“I’m used to it.” he answered, and it hurt to hear.

“Well they can go fuck themselves on spikes at the front gate, for all I care.” you muttered under your breath. He hummed when you expected a chuckle. He usually enjoyed it when you swore like a bravosi sealord.

Aemond

You walked in the gardens, fleeing the people. Aemond did not fear many things in life, but this, this whole interaction, was exactly what scared him the most. You told him that you did not care about the court gossip, the looks, the fake conversations. But in all seriousness, how could you not care?

“Why him? Do you think she’s with child? Poor girl.” one of the ladies had uttered to another. Aemond hoped with all his heart you did not hear that.

All these people made his life so miserable for years. How could you possibly want to share the burden? To be a target just as much as him? Aemond had agreed to let you in, to let go of his apprehensions and just give in to you. Yet a snarky voice in his head kept saying:

She could change her mind.

It was why he insisted on having the wedding ceremony a fortnight later. At least, it prevented too many people from attending the festivities. Less chances of having second thoughts.

Some part of him flinched at how dishonest it sounded. Like he was tricking you into marriage. But he never wished for something so ardently before in his life. Well, possibly as much as wished for a dragon.

It is not like he was ever worthy of you. A prince, sure he was, but merely a second son with no hope of ever reaching the throne. Or any throne, for that matter. Aegon would get the Hightower family seat with Daeron at his side. Helaena would go wherever the most advantageous marriage would provide her with a castle. Aemond would be left with being a war commander, mayhaps. Probably.

Moreover, he was a damn cripple.

At least, you assured him you did not mind the scars he gave you. The shock when he first saw them at the inn, dozens of small little cuts scattered out across your perfect silky skin. He loathed himself for days after that. And you miraculously held no grudges. How? It seemed so simple.

You both skipped the library and spent the night flying around the city on Vaghar instead. Away from the crowds, he let you ride in front of him this time, his hands roaming freely.

The peace was short however, for that was the moment everything turned into a mess.

A day before

Reader

Your wedding celebrations consisted of a series of events on a two day span. First, a tourney in your honor, then a feast to celebrate the winner. On the second day was the actual ceremony in the eyes of the Seven at the Great Sept of Baelor and a wedding feast.

To everyone’s surprise, large banners flaunting the Tyrell sigil arrived in Kings Landing that morning. Luthor Tyrell and his entourage showed up for the festivities.

The first things he requested upon his arrival were water for his horse and a private audience with you.

Unluckily, you were already at the jousting grounds. Your family had arrived the day prior, and you wanted to spend time with them.

From Dragonstone came Princess Rhaenyra, Prince Daemon and all of Aemond’s nephews and nieces. But most importantly, with them came your brother Harwin.

As the eldest son and heir of House Strong, he represented your family in the tourney and you had to make him promise not to die hours before your wedding. In no way did you doubt his abilities, but he was your dear brother and you missed him terribly already.

Aemond followed you around but kept relatively quiet. None of them felt comfortable enough to talk extensively if you were not the one driving the conversation. Harwin tried to be the bigger person and asked your prince about his sword masterful crafting. Aemond praised the castle’s blacksmith and complimented your brother’s armor. You had no expectations to begin with, but the small conversation filled you with hope. Aemond certainly tried hard for you.

It almost made you forget how much you hated tourneys. First, women were not allowed to enter. Since you were better than some of the men participating, you thought it was profoundly ridiculous. Secondly, men died in gruesome ways in these tourneys. But mostly, it lasted hours.

This tourney, however, was held in your honor. For once, your betrothed was celebrated rather than feared. He proudly sat beside you in the royal dais, along both of your families. Everyone looked at you and you felt a little intimidated. You watched as every participant stood in line and bowed. First, there would be sword fighting. Harwin would compete in this portion.

Your father leaned between Aemond and you and said “The first lord on the left is Luthor Tyrell. He arrived unannounced earlier this morning.”

Aemond hummed and stared at him. Studied him. Dissected his every move.

Luthor Tyrell beat every lord that came his way. He was truly impressive, even if you noted some weaknesses. He did not guard his left side enough, he underestimated smaller opponents and took a couple blows in the ribs. Ultimately, your brother Harwin all but smashed his shield in half and pinned him down in the dirt. Bested, Luthor yielded and Harwin won. Aemond smirked at the sight and, to your surprise, applauded your brother.

Then the joust followed.

You finally had a closer look at your former betrothed. He was indeed a handsome young man, a couple years older than you at least. He was tall. He had tousled light brown hair, pale blue eyes and perfect teeth. He looked exactly like you imagined. You knew why your father chose him in the first place. He was the perfect young lord and heir of the Reach.

And he was approaching you, tall on his white horse, holding a lance.

“Your graces,” he beamed, bowing to the royal family. “My lady Strong, let me introduce myself. Sir Luthor Tyrell. I now see that you are indeed the fair maiden my father described you to be. I come to ask for your favor. It would be a small kindness since our betrothal fell through, don’t you agree my lady?”

The whole crowd seemed to go wild with chatter. Aemond, quietly seething by your side, was astonished by the man’s audacity. As much as you did not want to give it to him, withholding your favor is considered extremely rude. Ladies of the court are basically forced to give them to whoever dares ask.

You stood up, grabbed your small wreath of blue ribbons and let it fall down his lance. He thanked you and went to stand on the left side of the jousting grounds.

“Cunt.” Aemond uttered hoarsely. You tittered, grabbing his hand.

The crowd fervently cheered and cheered as Luthor won every round. He had perfect technique. To Aemond’s displeasure, he knocked the last knight to the ground, and won the tourney.

Luthor bowed as Aemond handed him a dragon shaped trophy made out of pure gold. When you congratulated him, he turned to you.

“It was indisputably your favors that got me through this tournament, my lady Strong. Faith knows best, as I often say.” he bowed and kissed your hand under Aemond's watchful eye.

You could not quite put your finger on it, but every time that man opened his mouth, something felt odd.

Soon enough, everybody gathered in the great hall for the feast. Aemond usually loathed these kinds of events but attended anyway, for his family’s sake and yours. He made small talk with lords and ladies but you knew he hated every second of it. Especially since the talk of the town was your former betrothed showing up and winning the tourney held in your honor. The very feast you attended now celebrated his victory.

You made it your mission to distract Aemond all night. Your hands would wander when you danced. You would whisper filthy promises involving your wedding night. You ate fruits in a suggestive manner when no one but him looked.

“Behave, y/n.” he murmured, sliding his hand to your inner thigh under the table. “Or I’ll make you.”

His “threats” usually did nothing to calm you down, though. All was well… that is, until Luthor Tyrell approached the royal table and went straight to you.

“Your graces,” he enthused, addressing the most important people in the Seven Kingdoms before his eyes fell on you again. “May I offer my congratulations on your imminent union. Our paths unfortunately crossed briefly in the grand scheme of things, but would you consider giving one dance to a poor jilted lord, my lady?”

You felt Aemond stiffen beside you. He stared at you, curious to see if you were considering it. Even if you were betrothed to a prince, you had to accept. Now was not the time to ruin political alliances over a dance. As much as he hated it, Aemond knew that. You squeezed his hand still gripping your inner thigh, asking him to let go of you. He did, reluctantly.

Unsurprisingly, Luthor Tyrell was a fine dancer. The man really was perfect. He smiled and greeted every lord who crossed your path and complimented you on everything, from your dress to the flowers in your hair. Then he asked about your family’s well being. Your lands, your court. He talked of how much of a catch you were.

You knew you had a substantial dowry, but you had no claim to anything else. Luthor went on, praising how Harrenhall was the only castle that matched his equally grand castle at Highgarden.

You started to feel unsure about where this conversation was going.

“Highgarden sounds wonderful, my lord.” you commented casually.

“It is. Certainly better than King’s Landing, if I may say so… The only thing it is missing is a lady, actually.”, he flirted, startling you. “Lady Strong, I hope you will forgive my boldness, but I cannot simply watch you wasting away your life chained to this court.”

“I beg your pardon, my lord?”

Shocked was the word.

“What does the prince have to offer you? I would give you the Reach, my lady. I’m an heir to my father’s title. I’m offering you a comfortable life in a better castle with extensive gardens, lands stretching to deep turquoise waters, armies to keep you safe from our enemies. I’m offering myself to you as well. I’m a skilled warrior, obviously, but also a dancer, a poet and a musician. Furthermore, I’m told I’m unmatched when it comes to… pleasuring a lady.” he bragged shamelessly, his hand pressing the small of your waist.

You felt sick to your stomach. “This is how you court ladies, Lord Tyrell? On the eve of their wedding, talking about the women you bedded before?”

“I’m sure the prince can be a charming person despite his… interesting appearance, but you shouldn’t throw your beauty and life away for a man like that. I have it all. Wealth, a castle, lands… eyes.”

And there it was. A beautiful face hiding the most disgusting man you had ever had the displeasure of encountering.

Pulling away, you declared: “I’m not quite well, my lord, please excuse me.” You could not bear to spend one second more in company of this horrible excuse of a man.

“The song is not finished my lady, it would be rude to leave.” he urged with a big smile but a menacing tone.

From the beginning, this man used bigoted social conventions to coax you into giving him your favor at the tourney, dancing with him at this ball and now holding you hostage until the musicians ended their song.

Well, fuck courtesy. To the seven hells with propriety. Abandoning him in front of the whole court seemed like the perfect thing to do.

You pulled away again, but he grabbed your arm and forced you to stay with him.

Your reflexes from all your hand-to-hand combat lessons with Aemond kicked in and in one swift move, you were the one holding his arm at an odd angle. In your other hand, you held your dagger retrieved from your sleeve, pointing right at his left ribs. You had ample time to observe his weaknesses at the tourney, after all.

“You’ve come here under false pretenses, my lord. Leave for the Reach at first light and my father will never know the treasonous words you spoke here today or the real motive of your visit.” you threatened. He squirmed and you pushed your dagger a little more into his tunic, almost cutting through it. “That is all you will ever get from me. And from what I gather, you do not deserve this kindness.”

He stepped away from you and brushed his clothes with the back of his hand. He put on a smile. A smile you now knew was fake. Reeking of malignance, his last words were quiet so only you could hear them. “Enjoy being a cripple’s whore.”

And he left.

So perfect, so charming, you thought. And you almost married that perfidious swine, for gods’ sake.

You went to stand close to Aemond on the outskirts of the hall, seeking his ever calm and collected nature. By some miracle, he did not witness this mess. You knew that if he had, Luthor Tyrell would be a fuming pile of ashes by now. He deserved it, to be fair.

No, Aemond was simply exchanging some words with his older brother, already drunk on ale and wine.

You hooked your arm in his and rested your cheek against his shoulder, his warmth comforting you. You observed the lord and ladies dance, letting the merry mood seeping into you again, determined not to let an insignificant man’s words ruin your night.

You tugged on Aemond’s arm so he would turn to you, and you played your little game one last time. Being sneaky was no longer necessary, you thought.

You reached for his neck, tilted your head and kissed him quickly, in the middle of the great hall. Surprised, he looked around at all the people watching. You almost regretted it, remembering all too late how he hated being the center of attention… But he kissed you back regardless. He even lingered a bit longer before returning to his conversation with Prince Aegon.

It definitely cheered you up… for a time.

Shortly after this joyful moment, you overheard a conversation coming from the other side of the pillar beside you.

“Luthor Tyrell is so handsome. She turned him down for the one-eyed prince, can you believe it?” a lady blurted, and your eyes could not have rolled harder.

“The prince has no prospect, at least 10 people have to die for him to be on the throne. What a twat she is.” another lady added as you choke on your wine.

Aemond got somewhat used to the same comments throughout the years. But never had you heard things so mean said about you in such a short time.

“He scares me, frankly. Imagine him hovering over you in bed. So up close. Ugh, I couldn’t bear it.”

“I could ask my maid.” a third lady confided. “I know the prince seeks her out for a good fuck from time to time.”

“She would have been better off with one of the crowned princes.”

“She can’t marry one of them. They are her nephews!”

“Shhh, quiet! People have lost their head for saying that.”

Again, people slandered your brother, questioned his honor and speculated about him being the true father of the crown princes.

You realized Aemond was not talking with Prince Aegon anymore and listened to the same horrible conversation as you. He yanked on your arm and hauled you into the hallway before you could unleash your wrath on them.

You went to a balcony and breathed in the fresh air coming from the coast. It was a cloudless night again and the stars shined bright. The silence felt good.

You observed a bunch of lords walk drunkenly in the gardens only to stop in front of the pond to relieve themselves. These are the fine men presiding over this kingdom, you thought. Very distinguished, You thought. You promised yourself to never again fantasize about Aemond taking you amidst the beautiful water lilies.

“She had a point.” Aemond conceded, recalling the frightful gossip you heard.

“That was the most idiotic and insensitive conversation I’ve ever had the displeasure of eavesdropping.”

“Luthor Tyrell has everything. I have nothing to give you.” he uttered, sincerely.

“I have never heard so much nonsense. You have the biggest dragon in the fucking world, Aemond. Not that it matters anyway. You are enough. When have I asked for anything more?”

He opened his mouth but then pressed his lips in a thin line.

Now was not the time to be bereft of speech. “What is it?” you coaxed.

“This is what I meant… the mockery.”

“I can take it. I told you, I’m a strong lady.” you tried to jest, but it came out too abrasive.

“Your eyes are glassy.” Aemond stated.

“Yes, because the words were harsh, it caught me off guard!”

“It will never stop. I don’t want to see you tormented all the time.”

“I won’t have this conversation again.” you finished, pinching the bridge of your nose.

Aemond went mute once more, but you were used to it by now. Difficult conversation usually ended up in silence on his part, anyway. He always tiptoed around you, carefully choosing his words not to upset you. Admirable, yes, but insufferable sometimes. “My apologies, I didn't mean to sound harsh.” you spoke softly.

He hummed.

You went back to the ball and joined the royal family. The Queen and Princess Rhaenyra spoke with the King and Prince Daemon. Their children were dancing and enjoying their night.

Words from the ladies of the court about the crowned princes still floated around in your mind, though. It had for years, if you were honest with yourself. This is when you looked… Really looked…You watched… you observed… and finally…

…you believed it.

Aemond

The night was a disaster. After you went back to stand at the head of the royal table, Aemond noticed how quiet you were. And you were never quiet. Your eyes were locked on your brother. He drank wine and exchanged pleasantries with Jacaerys and Lucerys as young Joffrey looked bored. That is when you murmured to him:

“You were right…”

“As I so often am,” Aemond jested, trying to lighten the mood. “But what are you talking about, my love?”

You inhaled deeply. “They look like my brother… They look like me.”

“Y/n— »

“They took your eye for that, and you were speaking the truth. I’m so sorry, Aemond.”

He held you in his arms and felt somewhat conflicted. Years had passed, but one thing had remained. You were adamant in defending your brother. He could not blame you, he would have done the same for any of his siblings, even Aegon. Yet seeing you acknowledging the truth he dared spoke about his nephews– and cost him an eye– did not give him the satisfaction he thought he would get out of it. You fully believed him now, but the revelation was disconcerting nonetheless. You obviously felt guilty.

You asked to retire to your chambers. Half of the royal family had already left, anyway.

It was the only night Aemond had to sleep without you by his side. It was bad luck, his mother claimed. He kissed you goodnight after he walked you to your door.

But as he walked to his own chambers, he promptly turned around and went right back to you. He knew that tonight of all nights, you needed comfort. He needed to make sure you were alright. He needed to know if you were okay after your revelation about your brother… He needed to be certain the gossip did not affect you that much… He needed to be sure that Luthor Tyrell was not a threat with his perfect smile and all that.

He could not chase away the thought of you not showing up the following day, leaving him completely humiliated at the altar in the Great Sept of Baelor.

He knew you would never do this to him, but he thought about it nevertheless. The voice in his head repeated the vile words again. She could change her mind.

And here you were…

Aemond

You stood in front of him, wearing a hood and taking off like a thief in the night.

Aemond scrambled for his words, but you would listen to what he had to say, even if it resulted in you leaving him. “I knew it would be hard for you. I knew that people would be cruel and I warned you. But you convinced me that you didn’t care. You said that they could go fuck themselves on spikes at the front gate.”

You chuckled, but it only added to Aemond’s heartbreak.

“You promised me. You said that you wanted me. I told you I was yours. You promised.” he scowled.

He tried to say more but words would not come out. And he knew how you hated it when he kept silent but he feared he was about to say things he did not mean. Angry words cost him an eye once.

“You are everything to me. You are the strength I need to go on about my day. You are the courage I aspire to with your bold words and actions. You are the wisdom I seek when people of the court get on my last nerve… And the ladies were right. ‘Tis true. I don’t have a castle of my own. I don’t have lands. I don’t have armies or even a court that loves me. My father is King yet I don’t believe he ever cared enough about me to give me any of that. I have nothing to offer you but my complete devotion, but it is not enough, is it?”

By the time he finished, silent tears were falling down your cheeks.

“…You really think I’m leaving, don’t you?” you bemoaned.

The world stopped. He was still angry but his eye narrowed at you. “...are you not?”

“Seven fucking hells, Aemond,” you swore, wiping the tears off of your cheeks.

Aemond never felt so confused. Your words somewhat reassured him, but he needed confirmation in plain words regardless. “Just answer me. Are you leaving?”

Reader

“No, I’m not leaving!” You huffed, and you saw his shoulders relax, relieved from whatever was going on inside his head. You could not believe it. He still doubted you.

One of his hands fiddled at the lapels of your hood, silently asking what it was for. Well, at least, he saved you the trip to his chambers.

“We are leaving, actually.”

The clarity Aemond got for half a second was smothered into confusion again. You handed him a hood, took his hand and lured him to a hidden door on the back wall of your chambers.

He followed you in dark corridors littered with dirt and dead rat carcasses. You emerged behind a tapestry somewhere in the west wing. “Do you mean to tell me I’ve been bribing the guards for the last two weeks when there was a door leading straight to your bed?”

“I didn’t know. My brother told me about it only yesterday.” Your chambers were Princess Rhaenyra’s, before she left for Dragonstone. Of course your brother would know of this passage, but Aemond refrained from commenting on it and you appreciated that.

You lead him through the mudgate. “Want to leave on an adventure at this hour? Are we eloping, my lady?” he asked, following you diligently all the way to the beach, near Vaghar’s nest.

He saw dragon keepers guarding her and a small gathering of people beside a fire. Instinctively, Aemond reached for his sword but you grabbed his hand before he could draw it.

Slowly he recognized some faces. Healena was there. Your brother Harwin too. You were sure that at this moment, Aemond’s mind was racing as he imagined a hundred wild scenarios involving his dear sister being secretly in love with the man too. The last man, Aemond did not know.

“Your grace, my lady.” he rejoiced, bowing.

You let go of his hand and took off your hood. He watched you grab the necklace in one of the pockets and put it on. Tendrils of your hair blew everywhere with the sea wind, almost like the flames of the grand fire burning beside you.

You reached again in your pockets and grabbed a crumpled paper… and a small blade of dragonglass.

It dawned on Aemond that…you were never running away.

This was a Valyrian wedding.

You beamed at him. He was silent but not by fear. He was truly and utterly in shock.

“I wouldn't have changed my mind. Not ever.” You said. “We would have waited a fortnight, two moons or twelve, that I wouldn’t have changed my mind. I want you. And you are enough. Take off your hood.”

“If you would please take place, facing each other, we will begin.”

Aemond appeared weary. You, on the other hand, had the brightest smile he had ever seen. He watched as you glanced down at the piece of paper and tried your best. “Aemond… konīr issi daor isse iā Valyrīha dīn— dīnil— dīnilūks. Nyke sepār jeldan na— naejot urnēptre hen mirrī angotan.” you stammered. There are no vows in a Valyrian ceremony. I just wanted to show off a little bit.

His eye was the widest you had ever seen. He stared at you as if you were a goddess and you felt how much he loved you at this very moment.

“Avy jorrā— jorrāelan, se kesan sagon on— ondoso aōha paktot ēva aōha mōrī tubis”. I love you, and I will be by your side until your last day. “Well I hope that made sense, because it is all I could learn in a fortnight.”

Helaena clapped enthusiastically behind you. When you asked for her help, she spent every afternoon teaching you the basics before Aemond came to fetch you. She even gave you small assignments to do later in the library. For once, your septa approved of your doings.

You kept your eyes on him. He was still silent, but you knew it was because he was overwhelmed. He kept blinking, his eye getting red with emotion.

He reached for his eye patch and took it off, baring himself in front of you and the others. That in itself, meant the world to you.

You took the dragonglass and brought it slowly to his lip. You waited for some kind of reaction. It was the part you feared the most. Aemond had enough blades cutting his face for a lifetime and beyond. He nodded and you made a small cut in the middle of his bottom lip. Still looking at you, he frowned when you put the blade in his hand and waited for him to do the same to you.

“It’s okay,” you mouthed quietly. He raised his hand and made the smallest cut he could possibly make on your lower lip. Even if you were okay with the scars everywhere on your body, he obviously did not wish to add more.

You both traced the Valyrian symbols on your forehead. Aemond only looked away when he cut the palm of his hand and let you do the same.

He could not believe you were doing this. Just for him. He felt foolish for ever believing you would leave.

Holding each other's bloody hand, the priest went on with his ancient text. You could not decipher a single word for your life, but you knew the gist of it. When the priest stopped and backed off from the makeshift altar made of random rocks on the beach, you jumped forward, grabbed Aemond by the neck, and brought your lips to his in a fiery, bloody kiss. He circled his arms around you immediately and you felt his hands fondling your back and waist.

“I love you,” he whispered into your ear. “Avy jorrāelan,” you answered back. “That was an easy one. It was about time I learned the language.”

After the secret ceremony, Aemond brought you to his chambers for the first time. He had already bribed the guards anyway. For once, you would be the one sneaking away to your chambers before sunrise. Or not, since you were legally lord husband and lady wife. In the old fate, anyway.

As soon as you entered, you inhaled profoundly. The whole room smelled of him, of his wonderful amber and sandalwood scent. An oil for his hair, apparently. You spied the bottle beside his looking glass.

There was a simple luxury to his chambers. A fire already burned brightly in the hearth. Gold details, flowy red curtains flanking his windows, shelves and shelves of books and a large wooden canopy bed covered in pillows and blankets.

He stripped down from his hood, sword and knife but your attention drifted elsewhere. You noticed something familiar. You went to his bed to have a better look at the torn piece of white linen fabric dangling from his headboard. It had little flowers embroidered on it.

“Is that…?” “Yes. I kept it.” he confessed as you recognized the remains of your white shift. The one you thought he threw in the fire at the inn. “It smelled like you.” he explained, coming up to stand behind you.

He grabbed a strap from your dress and tugged it, the fabric making a small hesitating sound and you grabbed his hand immediately.

“Aemond Targaryen, if you rip my Valyrian wedding dress, I swear to the old gods and the new—” He chuckled, but then delicately slid the straps down your shoulders. The dress fell down to the floor and pooled at your feet. You wore nothing underneath.

Towering over you, he guided you to his bed but you raised a hand to stop him.

“Hm hm, no. Take off your clothes first.” you demanded. Surprised, he smirked but agreed to your demand.

You were bold and daring in your everyday life, but when it came to your intimacy, you usually let Aemond have it his way. You loved surrendering all control and let him ravish you thoroughly, but that was not your plan for the night.

He would have the wedding night. You, however, would have this night.

While he unclasped his dark leathered tunic, you threw the pillows and blankets in front of the fire. Aemond kept undressing as you made a cozy little bed on the floor.

When you turned around, Aemond waited for you, stark naked, his manhood already hard, screaming to be taken care of by you. He approached you again, but you stopped him once more.

“No. This is my night.” you said. “Let me.”

You went to him, angled your head and captured his lips in one searing kiss. He hummed into your mouth while your hands freed his hair that was still tied at the back of his head.

“What? I can’t touch my wife?”

Now that formal title, he would use without jesting. You would insist on it.

His hands found your waist and you let him caress your shivering skin while you made him walk backwards to the makeshift mattress you built out of blankets.

He laid down slowly, looking up at you like you were a goddess. The fire crackled soundly in the stone fireplace, heating both your bodies. You straddled him, caressing his chest and relishing in the sight of him under you. His fingers thrummed on your thighs and you were distracted for a moment. He looked at you with a malicious smile. Damn him and his hands.

“No touching, husband. Not until you listen to me”

“Hm?”

He was aroused and confused, his cock keenly digging into your lower stomach. Unfortunately for him, you would make him wait a little more.

You desperately wanted to lay down on him. You wanted to feel his whole body under yours. You wanted to kiss him passionately while you rocked your hips. But what you wanted the most tonight, was to worship him. Aemond thought you were leaving him. He thought you would change your mind. He thought he was not enough.

You would prove him wrong.

You dragged him to a Valyrian wedding, for gods’ sake. The ceremony was secretly planned since you got back from the Stormlands. Your brother Harwin came from Dragonstone with the priest, even. You studied High Valyrian everyday, only practicing speech when tucked far away in the gardens with Princess Helaena.

“Nothing would have changed my mind, Aemond.”

You locked eyes for a moment. His gaze was burning, his eye darkening by the minute. He refrained from moving except for his damn fingers tracing idle figures on your thighs.

“I know that now.” he answered, trying to avoid the conversation by flexing his fingers on your legs and diverting your attention. He knew you well.

“If I have to tell you one more time that I’m serious when I say that I want you, Aemond Targaryen… I married you tonight, have I not?”

He nodded solemnly and you laid down on his chest to kiss him again. His lips were hot and soft, and he flinched as the small cut you made there cracked open. Your tongue flickered against his, slipping between his lips and tasting him eagerly. Your arms circled his head and tugged at the tie holding back his hair. It was wavy from the humid coastal air on the beach. You loved when that happened.

He rocked his hips into yours instinctively, but you stopped kissing him immediately. You shook your head. He nodded, understanding your silent demand.

Then you got off of him and he protested loudly.

“Where are you goin—” he began… except when he saw you pulling all your hair in a bunch with his hair tie, he kept silent again. That temper of his, sometimes.

He subtly moved one of his hands so it stayed limply against your leg. Like you would not notice him desperately trying to touch you.

You kneeled between his legs, braced yourself on his hips and kissed the tip of his cock. He gasped and closed his eye. You ran your tongue across the slit and his head instantly fell back into a pillow.

You rolled your tongue over his tip and sucked every drop of his seed that already pooled there. He hissed, fisting the blankets already.

You licked from the base and he throbbed against your tongue. Then he cursed as you took all of him in your mouth at once.

His tip bumped against the back of your throat. You tried your best not to gag as tears formed in the corners of your eyes. He raised his head to watch you. Not breaking eye contact, you bobbed your head up and down his shaft. He groaned every time the tip brushed the velvety walls of your throat.

You rubbed your thighs together, seeking any kind of friction to ease the pressure building in you. You circled your clit with one of your hands, even if it was still sore from the fresh cut during the ceremony. You moaned loudly and the vibrations had him whimpering.

His balls tightened, and release gathered in his spine. His hands went instinctively to your head, his fingers rummaging through your hair, pulling it when you swiftly quickened your pace. He shivered and you knew he was utterly at your mercy. He cried out and his grip tightened on your neck, forcing you to stop your sweet torture.

“This is a wedding night. If I come, it is between your legs, not in your mouth. Come here.” he demanded angrily, sitting and trying to grab you.

“No. You have done enough.” you stopped him, using his own words against him. You all but repeated what he told you at the inn during the storm. “You have been insufferable, my prince.”

You pushed him flat on his back without preamble, settled your hips over his, and slowly sank down onto his length. Inch by inch, your cunt swallowed him whole.

Eye wide, a plethora of curses fell from his mouth. He grabbed your hips to hold you still while you braced yourself on his chest, wincing a bit from the pain in your right hand’s palm. You panted already, the coil in your belly almost hurting, begging for release. But you looked him in the eye and made sure he understood you.

“You. Thought. I. Was. Leaving.” you said, rocking your hips with each of your words for emphasis. You ride him hard, taking no prisoners. Mayhaps it was the position, but you swore you never felt him this deep before. His mouth fell open at the overwhelming feeling and he growled.

“You. Are. Enough.” you sighed as his cock brushed your sweet spot repeatedly, his pelvis brushing against your clit as well. You arched your back, already feeling pleasure taking over you.

For a moment, neither of you uttered a single word. You noticed how the bandage around your hand came undone and how you smeared blood all over his chest.

Well, fire and blood, was it not?

His jaw clenched so tight his teeth grinded, his face scrunched as he neared his release. You were on the edge too but your leg muscles slowly gave out, screaming for mercy. Your rhythm faltered and you cursed yourself for skipping leg training during your hand-to-hand combat lessons. Your movement almost came to a halt when he decided to be an arsehole.

“You thought it would be easy to ride a dragon, my love?” he queried arrogantly.

Affronted, you tried to shut him up with a sharp thrust but your calves were no longer cooperating.

“Come here!” Aemond asked again, yanking on your arms so you end up splayed on his chest.

His arms crossed at your back to keep you in place. He looked into your loving eyes and you felt the air leaving your lungs as he began fucking up into you with strong, heavy thrusts. His embrace tightened more as you squirmed on his chest. He instilled a ferocious pace and you cried out as he took the lead, having you mewling in no time.

His hard cock slid against your sensitive wall, making your toes curl and legs quiver. Rubbing your plump breasts up against his chest, you circled his head with your arms, caging him in as your fingers were lost in a sea of silvery white hair.

His muscled arms were like iron around you. Your shaky legs tensed even more and squeezed around his hips while you praised him in his ear.

You did not mind if the whole castle heard you. You moaned as loud as you needed to while he kept thudding that perfect spot deep inside you. Every touch inflamed your very nerves and sparked pleasure through your every limbs.

He was already on edge before you took him inside you, so you noticed the signs of him starting to fall apart. You felt his heart beating wildly against yours, you felt his leg twitch despite the punishing rhythm of his hips having all your attention. Sweat pearled at his temples, tracking down his face and you did not hesitate to lick it all up.

“Don’t just hold me, touch me!” you begged.

“But you said not to, my love,” he teased you and you cursed his whole Targaryen ancestry. Vindictive prick.

“I said touch me!” You insisted, voluntarily contracting your inner muscles to squeeze him so hard he yelped loudly and saw stars momentarily.

One of his hands went to caress every inch of your back, sides and trembling thighs. He captured your lips and muffled your sobs as he battered into you still, gritting his teeth as you held on for dear life.

“Please!,” you pleaded, trying to pry yourself from his strong embrace, your body starting to spasm as you cried out with every thrust now. «Aemond!»

“I don’t want you begging, I want you screaming.”

Then the feeling started in your toes, burned through your thighs, your belly and your chest until your whole body combusted. You shivered and wailed as you reached your high, almost alarmed at the sheer force it hit you. Hot spasms of pleasure wracked through you, burning you up like wildfire, until your vision blacked out. You screamed his name, your whole body convulsing and shivering.

You collapsed on his chest and felt him kissing your neck. You whined as he rutted into you right through the remainder of your climax, slamming over and over again in your tightness, so tight he almost could not fill you anymore. You clenched around him like a vice, your walls gripping his cock so hard he believed you would swallow him.

He felt you pulsed and it was too much for him. His release had his whole body shuddering violently, muscles seizing up. His grip tightened even more and you knew you would have bruises all over your back and hips in the morning.

He buried his face in your neck, bellowing as he cummed hard. Warmth spread through your belly as he spilled into you, filling you deep, dripping out of you already.

You ground yourself into him, his twitching cock stroking your walls again, wishing to give him a taste of his own overstimulating ways. He whimpered, his face twisting in agonized pleasure, his hands darting to your hips, desperately trying to stop you from moving but you kept going. Four more thrusts and you went over the edge a second time.

Eyes closed, you slowly caught your breath. He kissed your neck and bit your ear. You moaned softly as he slid out of you. You still flinched and twitched as your nerves slowly settled down.

When you hoisted yourself up, you noticed the blood smears on his chest. In his hair too. On your bosom and hips as well. You could only imagine what your back looked like.

Both of your hands bled through the cloth covering them. You were not particularly fond of blood, but with the fire raging beside you, you thought the consummation of this Valyrian union could not have been any better.

“Husband,” you murmured.

“Wife,” he whispered back, smiling, looking at you like if you were a true Targaryen.

That night, you made love again. And again. And again.

Your absence at breakfast was noted. To say the Queen was shocked when she found you was an understatement. You were both naked and asleep in a bloodied mess of blankets and cushions in front of the fireplace. Visibly embarrassed, she looked away as you covered yourself.

She did not approve of you eloping and getting married in a faith that was not her own but understood nonetheless. At least, your virtue would never be questioned now, you thought to yourself, almost laughing.

She convinced you to clean up, get dressed and immediately go to your maids. The ceremony at the Great Sept of Baelor was mere hours away.

“I’ll fetch gloves to hide your hands.” she added, before she left Aemond’s chamber.

You were exhausted but there was indeed another ceremony to attend, another feast to endure and a private bedding to have– you both insisted on that one– in the eyes of the Seven, this time.

At long last, you were lord husband and lady wife.

But that was not all…

Your brother Harwin chose this moment to announce he gave up his title to stay as Lord Commander of Princess Rhaenyra on Dragonstone. Your father thought it was madness but it was Prince Daemon who had asked. There was apparently an understanding between the two men. Ultimately, your father agreed. You understood his reluctance. He spent his life grooming his eldest son to take his rightful place when the time came to it…

But so did he with you.

Your scholar of a father knew the importance of giving both his sons and daughter a thorough education.

He had you read books from a young age so you were knowledgeable and wise. He had you training in the yard with the boys so you would learn combat, strategy and to defend yourself without any man’s help. He had you live in King's Landing since you were ten of age so you would learn to navigate through high society…And he had you play cupbearer during council meetings so you would know what running a castle– even a kingdom– entailed.

Suddenly, you were the lady of Harrenhall.

Aemond Targaryen indeed had no castle of his own, no lands and no armies. So when all three came to you, you shared it all with him.

Before the moon turned, and without a second thought, Aemond packed his possessions and left the Red Keep with you on Vaghar’s back. He never looked back, for nobody at Harrenhal would dare speak ill of their Lady and her prince husband.

To your utmost delight, nothing really had to change. You could still train in the morning. You could still do your duties in the afternoon. And you could still spend your evenings in the library. It was your own small realm, with your own rules.

Aemond quickly found solace in his new life and even felt comfortable enough to discard his eye patch once and for all. One evening, you both sat on your balcony, one of Aemond’s hands splayed on your now swelling belly, and you admired the sunset above the calm waters of the Gods Eye. You silently enjoyed the peace and quiet.

You looked at him and with the brightest of smiles, you thought…

I can’t wait to give him the happy life he so deserves.

NEXT: Part 3 (Striving) or see is my Masterlist.

Thank you for reading!

The ending made me cry, not gonna lie. This is how I chose to fix Aemond’s tragic story. This is me trying to fix everything after I read the book lol

What a ride. I did not expect to write nearly 30k words total but hey. I needed it I guess. Poor Alicent, she can’t get a break. Always walking in on her sons being naked and improper 😂 Reader is a strong and daring lady so I injected a bit more girl power in this part. She even kidnapped him into marriage! And invited Vaghar to the ceremony even, what a sweetheart ❤️

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fourthwifematerial · 5 months

Text

garden of forking paths | 四 | part i. guilty

yandere lord tengen x fourth wife, eiji. word count: 7,077. explicit content. 18+ MDNI

man proposes, heaven disposes.

please be mindful of the ample warnings as we're all responsible for curating our own fandom experience✌️ this chapter contains ultimatums & coercion of an intimate nature, deception, forced marriage, dubious consent on all fronts, foreplay, degradation, consummation & deflowering, forced orgasms, self harm (not in the way you might be thinking) & scarification, nonsexual voyeurism, an off screen rape & accompanying aftermath, murder, threats of suicide, and a very apologetic author for taking on another behemoth when she still has works in progress

She’s never worn a piece so fine as her sister’s wedding kimono.

Bathed in white, the shiromuku settles heavily on her body and soul… A chilling wave passes through her as she stares herself down in the mirror. Crown to cunt, settling deep in her gut. Her nerves are at a fever pitch, threatening to boil over and lash out at any moment.

She hardly recognizes the woman staring back at her. Hardly an easy feat for one such as Eiji. The heavens saw fit to bring flesh to her reflection, one she was forced to protect their whole lives.

On their worst days, Emiko was more her charge than blood. A painful reality for the younger of the two. Years spent in her shadow, ready to strike those that would see her harmed. For flowers so lovely as the twins, it was ugly work in the Red Light District.

No. Her looks were always a matter of contempt rather than ignorance. The bride is abundantly aware of what she looks like.

The palette, however, is new.

A traditional visage for a traditional bride. Something the girls at the brothels were never granted beyond the realm of a marriage born from ashinuke or a buyout.

She couldn’t give into the temptation to touch. She wouldn’t risk damaging the canvas, eyes and lips painted as they were.

There was little need for it before all this. It wasn’t something she ever envied or missed. The closest she came to seeing herself with a full face was her sister.

Still. Not a trace of either sibling in the looking glass.

Eiji has never looked so beautiful. Nor as frightened.

Even through the beads of sweat lining her temples, she was grateful for the katsura wig concealing her sparse hairs. Remnants of her days in the Sisterhood, her cut had yet to grow past her ears. Her keeper was generous enough to postpone the marriage until after their wounds had healed.

It wouldn’t do for the ruse to end on such a glaring oversight.

The pins adorning the piece look costly. Too extravagant for one as modest as Sister Eiji. Hazarding a guess, it looked to be worth more than a month’s wages at the brothel.

Cocking her head to the side, her eyes catch on the embroidered flowers that rest upon the uchikake. The sharp angles and thorns give birth to a dangerous suggestion.

“Not enough…”

She gives voice to the intrusive thought before thinking better of it. Seppuku is on the girl’s mind, though she’s not fool enough to follow through. Would that she could and spare herself the devastation of this whole affair.

A delicate touch presses on her shoulder. It’s soft, but there’s an edge… as if the owner doesn’t have the strength for a proper scolding.

“Remember what this is for,” breathes a hushed voice of admonishment. “If I’m to marry him, I’ll never forgive you.”

Standing vigil is her better half. Wrapped in more fabrics than she’s accustomed; her kimono a muted black, with what little she has left of her once prized locs concealed under a zukin. The wimple is an unassuming periwinkle. Nearly so blue as the virgin snow.

While Eiji might dance with the idea, Emiko has every intention of bedding it. Neither sister needs the reminder…

Even once more and I’ll die. By my own hand if need be.

The threat lingers unspoken between them. Emiko draws back her hand, holding the wataboshi with a white knuckled grip to match. Placing the bridal hood upon her sister’s head, she collects herself with a sniff.

They meet each other’s gazes in the mirror, color on their lids nearly matching at this point. While one wore rouge, the other bore far less intent. Her eyes are red rimmed from endless days and nights spent sobbing. The anger and resentment, the fear, the loathing—it’ll end her life before the blade has a chance to.

Placing the bridal hood upon her sister’s head, Emiko nods in approval.

“You’re ready.” Her voice is broken, still shot from the fight.

Drying the twin tracks running down her cheeks, she lets her go.

No processional. No one to give her away. No tears in tribute.

She doesn’t even see their betrothed until the purification rites.

For as taboo as it sounds, she doesn’t consider Lord Uzui to be her husband. All the same, she’ll take her sister’s place as his lady wife. She has no choice, not if she wants to keep her alive and unmolested.

It’s all she can do to keep her sister in her prayers as she draws water into the chouyuza’s ladle, washing their sins clean. Twice, in as many hishaku, before rinsing her mouth with a third.

Uzui works himself over in silent tandem. Much as she’s loath to admit it, his refined montsuki haori and golden hakama make the man striking… gorgeous, even. His starlight hair was worn up when last she saw him. And now it rests, barely grazing his broad shoulders.

This is the closest she’s been to someone of the opposite sex who wasn’t a client. He hardly made a favorable impression to start. She didn’t know him well enough now to gauge his intent. Whether she’s walking into a den of wolves or a field of rabbits strikes her as a mystery she wouldn’t solve until he was already inside her, she’s sure of it.

Their union is a somber affair before the Shinto priest. Intimate. Tense. Almost severe.

The priest gives the blessings.

With the marriage announcement, Uzui bows where they stand. She realizes too late that she missed the prayers in favor of the mounting anxieties taking root. Nudging her out of her daze, she follows suit. Muscle memory and a lifetime of obedience takes her hand and guides the path before her.

The saké teases her lips and she finds herself tempted to drink before long. It’s not until passing off the small and medium cup that they are permitted to imbibe. She focuses on her throat, still burning from the alcohol as they move on to the rings. It keeps her present of mind enough to fulfill the task she’s been charged with.

A ring is slid on her finger. His handling isn’t rough with her but he’s hardly gentle. When she does the same, she notes the calluses on his battle-worn hands—a testament to his years spent honing his skills in combat.

The warmth throws her. She stills beneath his touch… Even worse when he’s cast his garnet gaze on her like that. With that smile on his lips, he almost looks fond. He turns her hand over and gives her wrist a small caress, far more tender than he’d been with the rings.

She has the grace to blush. The watashobi only allows her so much coverage from his prying eyes, so she takes advantage where she can. His vows barely register. When it’s her turn, her voice is a hollow echo of the priest’s dictation.

“I will marry this man,” he says.

“I will marry this man.”

“No matter what may come, I will love him, console him, help him. Until death.”

“No matter… No matter what may come, I will love him. Console him. Help him… Until death.”

“These things, I swear.”

“These things… I swear.”

The shrine maiden presents twin Sakaki branches to the couple. In turn, they place the branches upon the altar. Together they bow twice and clap in quick succession.

With the stinging of her palms and roar of her ears, it’s over.

It’s finally over.

In every other respect, this is only the beginning.

There was before Tengen… and after.

In another life, she might have been simple… a simple girl of simple means, grown into a simple woman.

What bliss.

No simple girl would ever endure the hand fate had dealt her. They’d never even know it’s touch, let alone see the blow coming.

Back when Eiji had a purpose, she was a nun.

Her mandate was as simple as things went for her. Find your sister, they told her. Find her, mind her. The task proved easier said than done for an Oiran in the brothels of Yoshiwara.

No. If she was anything like the girls to grow up not knowing any better, she’d have thought it a heavenly night.

The scene was a deep wash of cerulean and coal; falling snow aglow with what moonlight peered behind the kawara roof. A contoured edge ran crisp over the engawa, shadows and flakes stopping in tandem before she could so much as wet her feet.

It was the tenderest mercy she would be afforded in a place such as this.

The languid stream of smoke bled from her lips, too soon to think over another drag as she set her gaze on the abyssal sky.

Her brows furrowed, eyes pleading the heavens for intervention when she couldn’t will the tragic whimpers and panicked groans from breaching the walls.

The only warmth known to her was the burn between her fingers and the fury in her veins, neither poison more bitter than the last.

If her lungs didn’t fail her, it was bound to be her heart.

After a terribly violent gasp, Eiji tossed the remains of her cigarillo into the mounting snow, the pressing need for quiet far surpassing any desire for escapism. Flush palms ran over the veil concealing her ears.

Enmeshed in a deathbed of white, the snuffed out embers found themselves buried under the fresh flakes.

“Stop it.” A whispered bid—painful as it was fruitless. She broke on the words, knowing they’d never reach the bedroom. “Put her out of her misery, damn you.”

If that fucker didn’t come soon, she was going to have to finish the job. Tear the stuck pig limb from limb, out of the frying pan and into the fires of Hell. He would bleed for this.

She wouldn’t betray her vows. She only sought to avenge her sister’s rape. Nothing more, nothing less.

You can’t afford to fall apart. You know she can feel you. You have to be strong for her.

And before she could make good on that promise, there was nothing. Not a breath, not a sound.

The silence was deafening and nearly so oppressive as the screams.

The divine stall, dutifully prostrate before the raging tempest.

Any relief felt was dead on arrival. She knew better than to get comfortable. Her shoulders were still wound tight as a bow primed for the shot. Tense and waiting.

Rooms away, Eiji could hear the pleas so viscerally…

“Eiji—” she cried, her voice a death rattle that cut to the marrow. “Sister… Help me.”

a crash in the distance.

a whisper of fabric on the

wind.

the final screams to prelude

disaster.

The shoji was barely ajar before she’d pushed her way inside. She rushed past the hall of incredulous voyeurs, all with the same questions on their minds and lips.

She didn’t even know where they’d put her tonight. She had to follow the commotion like a dog after a vendor in the streets.

Desperate. Near rabid with its goal to fulfill. Out for blood.

If she centered herself, she could be by her side in an instant.

But her mind was racing. She had no time, no focus. All of her being narrowed on the sole objective of leaving this place for good.

Ashinuke beckoned with an outstretched palm whose finger curled so seductively, there was no need to ask twice.

The door flew open with a shout, “Emiko!”

She surveyed the room. Save the cowering fuck in the corner, it was a barren sight.

Dragging him by the collar of his disheveled robe, she hauled his sweating hull from the ground.

“Tell me where they took her,” she demanded. “I’ll gut you, I swear it.”

He shook beneath her. When the night air kissed the tracks on her cheeks, she didn’t have to look hard. There was a gaping hole in the screen of the shoji, ushering the cold inside.

You cried for me…

She shook the memory, focusing solely on the path ahead of her. Her entire world fixated on what little she could see from outside the door; a mere pinprick of vision in that busted screen. All she was able to manage were the snapping swords of some third party who’d entered the fray.

The pig squealed, fear coursing through him at the prospect of a fight.

“Useless,” she spat.

Blood came when the words failed him. The blade from her sleeve made fast work of disposing his filth without preamble or mercy.

sank into his ear…

pull out game for

the gods.

…dragged across

his throat.

He slumped pitifully at her feet, exsanguinating below her turning frame. She was already following after the chaos—dried her tears and righted the cloth just under her eyes.

The body was still warm as she made for the biting cold.

Eiji sullied the courtyard’s pristine canvas. She ran as fast as her feet could carry her. Didn’t make it very far in the dark; someone flew overhead, missing her entirely.

What should have urged her all the more only brought her to her knees.

She couldn’t afford to falter like this, not when the wager was her sister’s life.

“No one’s after you,” she muttered to herself. “There’s no time for this… Get up.”

She had to press on. So why couldn’t she move?

Eiji refused to give way to the fear. Surveying the perimeter, there was little to be done and less to be seen.

It had to be now.

Closing her eyes, she leveled her breath. Slow. Deliberate.

She emptied her lungs with a hiss in her throat and put her all into seeking Emiko out.

With the rolling of her stomach subsided, she picked herself off the street.

Nails bit crescent moons into the meat of her palms, arms trailing behind her as she took off into the direction she foresaw.

She felt her. She saw her in mind’s eye.

Smelled the cracked wood in the air. Burnt, not yet ablaze.

Blood… so much blood.

Eiji found her before too long, limbs akimbo under the caved-in front of a vacant business.

Her sister wasn’t alone. Shock coursed through her as she took it all in.

Three women crowded the body. One at her head, keeping her still, as the others made quiet work of removing the debris from her broken form.

She didn’t have to turn to know they were less alone than the moments that had passed. “Is she dead?” The man asked, feckless to a fault.

He was an eager one, wasn’t he. If this had been out of character for the man, if he’d been a stranger to them… surely they would have reacted.

The smallest among the women only threw herself at him with tears in her eyes.

“Lord Tengen,” she sobbed. “We couldn’t find the lair. I’m so sorry.”

He nodded towards Emiko, his eyes never straying from her unconscious frame. “And the girl?”

“An Oiran.” The name fell from Eiji’s lips with the ease and vitriol of a curse, “Kyogoku House.”

Every stranger encountered this night turned to her, suddenly occurring to them she was worth acknowledging at all. Turned on her just as quickly.

“Kakushi are meant to be seen… not heard,” he warned with a snap, all bitterness.

An incredulous echo fell from her lips, “Kakushi?”

He pinned her down, swiftly and effectively cutting the indignant echo from the root.

“Now what did I just say.”

The man towering over wasn’t asking, not remotely. He looked at her nearly expectant, all but daring her for a response.

Thick arms neutralized the struggle, pressing into her to drive the point home. Voice lowered in tandem with his head, the words in her ears enough to fill her gut with coal.

“If you’re going to interrupt, at least make it worth my while. Might just be tempted to take matters into my own hands and modify the offense.”

“Don’t. Please… stop. You can’t touch her. Please don’t touch her.”

Eyes fell shut as she laid witness to the swan song rasping from her sister’s bruised lips.

Tears streamed, hot and itching. Time slowed to a crawl. “Emiko. Forget about me,” she bade. “You have to save your strength.”

Gravel dug into her cheek the rougher he forced her down. A hitch in her breath. Eiji kept her gaze fixed ahead, locked on the carnage.

The women on assist weren’t concerned with lowering their voices.

“The hell’s a nun doing in the Red Light District?”

“You can’t say that in front of her, idiot.”

She burned under the heat of their scrutiny. Even more as his touch grazed her prone form, searching for weapons. It seemed he’d been blessed with brains to match his brawn and beauty after all.

“You’ve got red on you,” he noted. “You must have seen something.”

“Not my blood.” The words ran cold on her tongue. Near metallic as the blood staining her veil. “He’s dead now.”

“And the demon spared you after it fed?”

“Sir, there was no demon.”

He turned her over. Crouched over her thighs, urging her to continue.

“Patron. Something took her and he was a shit witness. I eliminated my sister’s rapist. If you have complaints, I suggest you keep them to yourself.”

“Eliminated, huh?” He pressed, incredulous. His eyes returned to the women tending to Emiko’s injuries. “Don’t suppose she’s one of ours?”

His aubergine companion spoke with unbidden ease. “Lord Tengen.” A pressing gentleness, as if shepherding apoplectic cats in their twilight years rather than the man straddling her. “In polite society, there are certainly ways to extract such information.”

He eyed her beneath his rippling thighs. Considered the account she’d woven for him. “You really don’t know anything?”

“If I knew what you were talking about, I’d tell you.” She met his gaze, beseeching. “Please, just help my sister. Kill me for my crime if you must, but please… She needs to leave this place.”

When the weight on her thighs was suddenly relieved, she had little time to breathe. He loomed over her, making fast work of tossing her over his shoulder.

“Don’t go getting too dramatic on me, Sister. Isn’t blind faith supposed to be your thing?” He gave her backside a condescending slap before taking off.

Too burnt out from the fight to argue, she merely allowed herself to be lulled by his hellish pace.

She hadn’t slept in so long. The push and pull of the jostle took her back to that day.

Fractured memories of the shore. She was no more than a child then. Now a woman grown, the bitter cold kissed her cheeks.

She looked out on the water’s edge. The drag of the waves. The crash as they touched back down.

Walking into the sea, she collapsed. Falling onto her knees, the water soaked her kimono. She abandoned her zukin, letting the habit drift away. When she looked down, there was an isolated pool of blood.

Her eyes widened, hands shaking as she dragged her touch underneath. The source of the bleed was heavy. She pulled desperately, fighting the mounting tide and her own limitations.

When it breached the surface, she was loathed to lose her grip.

She knew that face. She wore that face.

Realization dawned on her and she was all the more desperate to retrieve what the watery grave that saw to claim from her.

Limp in her arms. On death’s door, if she hadn’t crossed the Sanzu River already. When she opened her eyes, they were worse than void—they were dead.

Eiji woke with a start, her own eyes locked on the ceiling of the infirmary with a scream locked in her throat.

The medical wing remained so unclouded, so quiet, there was a small part of her that considered she might be dead already.

Eyes blinking into consciousness, she wondered to herself how everything got so fucked.

“The prodigal daughter wakes,” came a rasping welcome.

“Emiko!”

She nearly tripped over herself trying to reach out to her; the hand beckoning her closer so small under the covers.

Closing the distance between them, Eiji was treated to a slap to the cheek. She didn’t even register it at first. Her expression thrown, ears roaring.

“You’ve killed me, bringing me here.” Her voice was as weak as her will to live. “Good as signed my death warrant, you bitch.”

Eiji stared in shock before it hit her as one thousand blows.

She was asleep.

She couldn’t move, couldn’t protect her. Hell, she was barely able to find her on time. She’d failed her and the burning realization that there might be more threatens to consume her.

“What happened while I was out?”

Emiko turned away with a hiss—either from aching injuries or her own malcontent, she’ll never tell. “You heard what Lord Tengen said,” she groused. “Demons and the like. He works to annihilate them…”

Her throat went dry in an instant. “What?”

“Sissy, I’m tired.”

Already having rolled to her side and brought the bedding past her ears, Emiko’s eyes pooled. She let the tears fall away from view but couldn’t hide the way her shoulders shook.

exhaustion. trauma. betrayal.

Thoughts swirled in a vicious cycle. She was as furious as she was suicidal.

exhaustion. trauma. betrayal.

The unspoken reverie was loud enough to hear even separated from the bond their blood allowed.

exhaustion. trauma. betrayal.

It was all Eiji could do to crawl into bed with her, arms wrapped around her trembling body.

“Are you more angry that I couldn’t save you… or that I did?”

“Don’t be stupid.” Emiko rolled to face her sister, curling tight against her as a babe to its mother.

“Too late,” she teased gently. Her voice is gentle as the touch that ran up and down her back. “Then tell me. What is it?”

“Just cursing the heavens for damning us with this face and body. And all the bastards who came before Uzui.”

Eiji kept her eyes on the wavering fist curled around the sterile linens they both wore. Trailing her fingers up her back, she brings her palm to her sister’s hair. Pulled her in close, stroking her scalp. She said nothing, merely gave her the means to speak.

“He’s a Hashira. Former Shinobi, by his own account.”

“Shinobi,” she echoed, incredulous. Aren’t they meant to be a dying breed?

“I can’t deliver on the promise I made. I was coerced into accepting his hand, it was the only payment he wanted…” Emiko kept talking over her, vision clouded as if in a daze. “I couldn’t just let him kill you… we needed safe passage.”

A fresh tremor coursed through her. The sight chilled Eiji’s blood.

Bloodshot eyes nearly so vacant as her dream stared back. She didn’t have to hear it to know.

“Emiko… look at me.” She was desperate with tears of her own threatening to break.

“I can’t go through this again. I refuse. Even once more and I’ll die. By my own hand if necessary.”

Her head shook, stunned to silence.

“Those women are his wives. Says I should get used to them.”

“I can’t let you go through with this!” She refuted further, “I won’t. Not for my sake.”

Holding her hands flush against her ears, Emiko’s eyes shut. Face twisting in anguish and grief, she pushes away from her. “Sleep first, then dream.”

“I’m not dreaming. I’m pleading… Let me help you.”

“You don’t understand,” Emiko argued. “That night… It left me with scars, scars you haven’t seen. He saw me. He saw all of me.”

Eiji’s face flushed with anger. “He fucked you?”

“No… He only kept me talking while I was bandaged. Said he wants to wait until the wedding night to touch me.”

“Show me,” she insisted. “If he’s seen it, I need to see.”

It’s a beat before either moved, let alone spoke. Eiji pushed herself off the bed to stand on shaky ground. She was wary, but didn’t argue. Her sister looked away in a pastiche of offered modesty.

“You can look,” she prompted, voice faint.

When Eiji returned her gaze, visions of that night returned with a vengeance.

pierced. mutilated. shattered.

Breaking on a sob, she saw her under the roof collapse so vividly as she did that night.

pierced. mutilated. shattered.

Her sister’s skin was tattooed, marred with the visible representation of her own failure. Hypertrophic scars cut around her waist. A contracture piece gnarled on her back. Superficial grazes claw across her breasts.

pierced. mutilated. shattered.

She had to avert her eyes, choking on her own shame. She would never forgive herself.

Head raised to the heavens, she was anywhere else.

“The Madame will never have me back now,” Emiko noted wryly. “At least there’s one good thing out of this mess, even if it won’t last—”

With the shattering of glass, the words died in her throat. It took seconds for her eyes to catch up, watching her sister follow after the broken vase. Eiji was there, already on the ground. There seemed to be no rhyme, reason, nor method to her madness.

“What are you doing?”

She sifted through the rubbish on hands and knees, seeking out the perfect instrument for her needs. She’d have to start soon while the sight was fresh in her mind… The rest were tossed aside.

“I’m not letting you down again.”

“What does that even mean?” She pleaded, “Eiji, stop… You’re scaring me.”

And still, she refused her. Not until hope was secured.

Lord Uzui ushers his bride inside the bedchamber, quickly sliding the door shut behind him.

no prying eyes, no vying wives.

Eiji makes to sit on the marital bed, still lost to the events of the day. It’s an absolute miracle her knees haven’t given out already.

“Not so fast.”

The command chills her to the marrow. He’s behind her before she can react, let alone flee. Uzui pins her in place, a belt of his corded arms wrapping around her middle. Despite the warmth, she’s frozen in place as she stiffly shies from his touch.

His voice in her ears only drags her further. “Let me look at you.”

It’s not permission he’s after. He’s taking what he wants tonight.

Kissing down the column of her neck, he gives her tit a rough pinch. The assault punches a groan out of her throat, “Lord Tengen, please.”

“Look at that. My prized whore acting like a virgin for her husband. How quaint is this.”

“I just don’t want to sully the garments.” She pushes past the fear and finds her voice. “With all your wives, I don’t see you stopping at four… who knows when you’ll need it again.”

The man drops his arms. There’s a soft sound, almost muffled. She looks over her shoulder and he’s laughing behind a manicured fist. Her eyes widen, the whiplash becoming all too much to bear.

He watches her, watching him. He doesn’t react to being caught. Doesn’t scold her or tease. Merely lowers his hand, leaving only a seductive beam in its wake as he leans forward to take the wataboshi hood from her head.

His gaze lingers on her lips. Before he thinks to act on base impulse and desires, he turns to place the hood away for safekeeping. She trails after him and shirks off the uchikake, offers him the robe and fan. Fingertips graze, earning a hum of anticipation from her husband.

“If you’d prefer me not to do the rest, I suggest you undress yourself.”

She bows. “Thank you, Lord Tengen.”

“Your respect and frugality are refreshing.” A sigh escapes him. “With any hope, you’ll rub off on the others… In more ways than one, I imagine. And I can imagine quite a lot.”

Her cheeks flush at the suggestion.

He gropes her ass as he passes, already stripping as he takes his spectator’s seat at the foot of the bed. Uzui watches her as an expectant beast would his prey. She takes a steadying breath when he bids her to start.

Eiji thinks of the shamisen players in the brothels. She wills the strings to the forefront of her mind. Her eyes are closed as she tugs at the knot of her obi-jime…

No more than a feather on the stream, the silken cord spills to the floor with unbidden ease.

Her ivory obi joins the pool of fabric at her feet. She gives herself over to the music, abandoning her nerves.

Deftly unfastening the datejime leaves her kimono hanging loose. She sheds the rest like a second skin, stepping out of her confines in only her slip of a nagajuban.

More than a chrysalis. A rebirth.

The juban is her only defense. She knows it’s guileless to hope, to dream. It’s all she could have wanted just to keep her sister from the bedchamber.

No. She will do what needs to be done.

When the last whisper of cloth leaves her exposed, she’s quick to cover herself. A futile gesture born from her days in the convent.

A hand catches her wrist and she’s far too exhausted to fight him. Neither for her body, nor her modesty.

Fingers curl around her own as he guides her to the bed. Pushing her gently, back flush against the futon, he holds her in check with only his right hand; keeping her arms raised so nothing might obstruct his view.

He appraises every inch of her flesh, taking his left to explore with the pad of his touch.

neck and collarbone. sternum. breasts.

Kneading her aching tit, Uzui nods in approval. “Scratches are gone,” he notes. “Didn’t even leave a scar.”

her ribs. her waist.

He traces the lesion with reverence. “I’m sorry I wasn’t of more use to you then.”

The words tumble from her lips before she can stop them. “You’re blameless,” she says under her breath.

“Come again?”

“My… my sister. She feels every bit of shame for that night. There’s nothing left. Please don’t trouble yourself.”

Moments pass without a word. Just when she’s about to take it all back, he’s pressing kisses into the worst of it.

Eiji chokes on a whine, eyes widening in shock. “Ah!”

“I think your sister would disagree with you there,” he whispers tenderly against her belly. “I only met her once but she looked like she wanted to kill me for even breathing the same air as you.”

Her heart stutters in her chest, conflicted between the sensations roiling through her and the threat of being found out. She keeps her mouth shut. Neither pleasure nor information would pass her lips. Not when she’s come so far…

She would not let her down again.

Once she found the ideal shard of glass, she made fast work of undressing herself.

“What are you going to do?” Emiko asked desperately.

Eiji walked to her sister’s bedside. She caressed her face. “I’m going to protect you.”

She returned to her own bed, drawing the curtains around her.

Before she lost her nerve, she pressed the glass into herself. She kept digging the piece further inside until she was certain it would take.

She ignored the cries and pleas of her sister. She had to do this. She had to make this right.

With a trembling fist curled around the bloodied glass, she took a leveling breath.

“Once more,” she urged herself.

She dragged the piece along her back, piercing herself to the hilt. Eiji didn’t need a reference to know. She’d never forget for as long as she lived… It would take her a great deal longer to forgive herself.

Falling to her knees, she curled in on herself… With her body shaking from the shock of it, the deed was finally done.

“Never… Never…”

He laps at the trail of pink with his lips, relishing what reactions slip past her schooled features.

“Even still, it’s healed up nicely,” Uzui remarks, dragging her back with him. “Clean margins, not a trace of infection.”

“You certainly know your way around a battered woman.”

“If you recall, my girls are former Kunoichi. Scars are a part of the work culture… You’ll fit in perfectly, my little prize.”

Eiji masks her disgust with a breathy titter. “And here I thought I’d scared you away,” she quips.

“Thought or hoped?”

With those three little words, the room chills around her. She won’t allow herself to falter.

“I am but a traumatized woman.” A dangerous answer to feed a dangerous question. “You don’t think they're mutually exclusive?”

He bullies her legs open with the mass of his bicep. Abandoning her arms, he locks her in place with a firm hold on her hip. Rakes his nails against the meat of her thigh, all too quick to soothe the path with his tongue, just as before.

“Answer me,” he growls against her.

Before she can think better of it, she pushes against his shoulder. He buries his face in her cunt, undaunted by her silent protests.

One swipe of his tongue and she’s gone.

“I… I thought!” Her thighs tighten around him, despite herself. “We had—ngg! We had a… a deal—”

A harsh slap to thigh has her opening back up for him. She stifles a cry behind a shaking palm. He carries on batting at her clit in rapid succession, her groan turning helpless when he buries himself past his knuckles.

Two fingers with a wail on the third, too thick as they scissor inside.

She’s anywhere else.

The cacophony of noises bleeding from her lips has her mind racing in tandem with her pulse.

Unrelenting pleasure. Blinding sin.

He makes quick work slinging her legs over his shoulders. Colors her thighs with his affections, cups her cunt. She jerks further into the assault.

Propping himself on the balls of his feet, he suckles his fingers. Uzui laves up the juices, savoring every morsel of her essence.

“And you’d never do anything to rescind a deal, would you, sweet Emiko.”

She doesn’t answer, doesn’t dare dignify him with a response. If Uzui wants to go fishing, he can drown in her silence for all she cares.

Slow to start, he presses down and teases her all the more. Middle finger lapping her juices, he fucks them deeper every time. His wrist twists without resistance. It’s all she hears. He latches onto her clit, a steady staccato of tongue and teeth with his forearm shining with sweat and her own wetness.

Bracing for the forced release, she maintains a white knuckle grip on the sheets beneath her.

Thighs shaking. Stomach tensing. But it’s over before she can fall over that razor thin edge.

He pulls out without mercy, without warning. She sobs at the loss, sweat beading along her temples and brow.

Uzui takes his time spreading her lips, appreciating her cunt twitching around nothing apart from a watchful eye and wandering touch to match. He slaps her tit, diving back into the fray. She’d scream if she thought it would help.

She’s never felt anything like it.

His nose prods her clit while he gives her a tongue lashing she’s never known. He laps up her juices like a condemned man drinking his last.

Hooking his fingers, Eiji sees white. She came under him and he fucked her right through it, fingering her while spreading his idle hand over her middle. His pinky caresses her scar with such care, almost worship.

It takes her far too long to register he’s been grinding into her splayed thigh.

He’s hot on her bare skin, heavy and thick… She doesn’t have to see him to know.

As if he can read her trepidation like a damn book, he takes her hand and drags it encouragingly over his cock. “You can touch,” he offers.

She says nothing, denying him all the more. Pushing against his advances, she means to end this encounter. Any longer, she fears he may see fit to fuck her into the little hours.

He pushes her back no less than three times before relenting. Fed up with her efforts, he scoffs angrily. “Should’ve brought Suma in to sit on your face,” he laments, all petulance.

Tossing her over his shoulder, he settles her before the bureau.

“Hands against the wood,” he instructs her curtly, nodding where he wants her. Damn bastard’s already slotting a knee between her legs. “Forearms, too.”

When she does so, he roughly forces her back into an arch. Eiji hears the whistle of the strike before the pain registers. Feels the dresser’s chill graze her nipples before the burn on her bottom. She grits her teeth, detaching herself from the scene.

His touch roves across the handprint left behind before drawing back to hit her again.

Appreciating the canvas before him is a short lived reward.

One hand with an iron grip on her chin forces her attentions. He pinches and gropes what he can reach with the other, the taunting lilt of his voice never leaving her.

“Open those eyes.” The order sends tingles down her spine. “Let me see my gorgeous bride.”

Another thrashing leaves her crying out. He tightens around her jaw, tears flowing freely now.

She does as he commands, her deep brown gaze at last meeting his scrutiny.

It’s when she catches sight of herself in the mirror that her resolve nearly crumbles at his fingertips.

where did emiko end…

…where did eiji begin?

He takes her in his arms, flush against her back as he cages her against the dresser. Uzui sucks a bruise just under her ear, his eyes never leaving the mirror. He feeds his cock inside her, ears singing with every scratch of her nail against the wood.

A rough gasp tears its way through her. Eiji remains frozen to his whims as he callously fills her to the hilt. Barely four thrusts as he meets no resistance.

He can’t help but groan at the sight of her.

Stuck-still, she’s too shocked to move, to speak or breathe.

It’s not long before he tires of her cockwarming and his grunts fill the room with a renewed pace. One sharp snap begot the rest and her cunt fell so tight around him.

He sets a punishing staccato, the sounds of them filling the room in a symphony gone wrong. Coaxing the cries from her, Uzui kept pushing and pushing… bottoming out until he was coming apart himself.

“How can a whore like you be so damn tight,” he murmurs, nearly slurring his abuses. “All that work getting you open? What a waste…”

Beads of sweat make a mess of his forehead, the silver strands of his hair catching on his skin. She flushes beneath him as he nears his release.

“Keep those eyes on me,” he commands. “I want you to see who’s making you come.”

She holds more than her will as she looks at her husband. She holds her contempt. Her rage… Her every motive and intent. That’s why it’s such a shock to them both when she meets him thrust for thrust for thrust.

even as the wooden borough grates against the floor and wall. even as he works his spit inside her asshole.

“Fucking close—”

He throws his head back with a trembling exhale and stuttering hips. Eiji’s unbidden wails fall on deaf ears as he spills his seed.

His shaking breath echoes off the walls in a strange marriage of ecstasy and quiet discontent. Would that he could, he’d stay buried inside her forever.

Uzui pulls out with a hiss, beyond loath to leave her pristine warmth. Releasing her, his gaze falls to their combined fluids trailing down her legs. He spreads her cheeks, reveling in the sight of his debauched bride.

Spent. Humiliated. Done. Eiji rests her weary head against the wood, between her trembling hands.

No blood, she relishes inwardly… with Lord Tengen none the wiser, Eiji has fulfilled her duty. If there was a shadow of a doubt, it’s gone now. He wouldn’t find proof of her innocence. It was gone by her own hand the day she gave herself her sister’s scars.

Kisses press against her spine, all the way down to her tailbone. He massages her bruised and bruising flesh while huffing in the musk of their consummation. She twitches under his watchful eye and it’s all the prompting he needs to dive back in for seconds, albeit gently this time.

The deft tongue that pleasured her is the deft tongue that cleans her. She doesn’t shy from it this time. He feels the stark contrast as she bears down on his face, grunting his approval as he lazily stokes himself.

It’s not just for her benefit. Tengen knows that despite the closed doors, this intimate moment was always going to be shared.

Not his wives. Not even the heavens.

He knows the nun is sitting vigil at this exact moment, waiting outside those very doors to tend to her battered sister.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure that was her role back in Yoshiwara. Poor girl’s never known the touch of a man, has never come apart by another’s tender care… judging by her disdain that night, she’d likely only ever heard the shameful encounters of brutes and bastards.

Who was he to deny her? To deny either of them?

If the Sister wanted a show, he’d give that holy voyeur the most flamboyant fucking of her damned life.

Emiko sits beneath a wash of indigo, the stars shining bright enough to spite her. She wrings her hands, anxiously praying he’d be done with her soon. The sun was barely set when they arrived back from the ceremony… He’s had her in there for hours.

It’s all she can do to pray he’d leave her soon enough.

“Stop it.” The familiar prayer falls from her lips, a hush of a bid. She broke on the words as her sister had done so many nights. “Put her out of her misery, damn you.”

In the quiet isolation of the veranda, the only voyeur is the moon above. Emiko weeps for her sister. She weeps for herself.

No one will mind. No one is around to hear it.

#yandere tengen uzui #tengen x oc #tengen x wives x oc #can be read as #tengen x reader #tengen x wives x reader #yandere tengen x reader #for my brown eyed girlies #.garden of forking paths #.shi #honestly the tags are down to a marketing issue... please advise if possible

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honey-on-your-tongue · 1 year

Text

I Will Always Be Yours

Part five

Series masterlist

Warnings: smut. duh. Uhhhh fluffff fluff flufffff. Breeding kink. I don't wanna spoil anything soooo imma cut it short babesss

The entire clan has gathered today, everyone wearing bright clothes, shiny beads, gorgeous accessories. But you don't really focus on any of those. You can only look at Jake as he stands before you, blue skin painted in soft hues of white and green and red, matching your own painted skin.

Neytiri stands before you, grinning. “The Great Mother has blessed us all with Toruk Macto,” she says, voice echoing through the Hometree. “He brought salvation and freedom from the Sky People. And now, Eywa has blessed you, Jakesully, with Leyeleu. A mate for you to love and cherish, help and care for until the end of your days.” She smiles as she turns to you. “And you, Leyeleu, have been blessed as well. With Toruk Macto as your mate to love and cherish, help and care for until the end of your days.”

She nods softly, and Jake intertwines his hands with yours, his entire face glowing, his eyes wide and full of love. He cannot believe his luck, cannot believe that you've chosen him. He can't believe how much he loves you.

Neytiri places her hands over yours and Jake's, smiling, as she says, “May the Great Mother bless you forever, bring prosperity and happiness to both of you in this holy union.” Small, happy tears roll down her face as she adds, “I truly wish the best for you both.”

You smile at Neytiri, tears forming in your own eyes, before you turn to Jake again.

“I See you,” he says, pulling you closer so you feel the heat that emanates from his body.

“I See you,” you reply, breathless, inching your face closer to his and pressing a soft kiss on his lips. Jake pulls you even closer and the clan people hoot and cheer, everyone sharing your happiness.

The celebration draws on into the night, the clan feasting and celebrating, dancing and singing, everyone overjoyed that the situation between your family has been resolved and that you and Jakesully have achieved a happy union.

And the people are so busy celebrating, that they don't even realize Jake slips you away, dragging you deep into the foliage, both of you laughing and smiling, occasionally stopping to make out while mostly headed in a general direction.

He takes you to your cave. He places his hands on your hips, kissing you, making you walk backwards as he leads you past the curtain of leaves.

His eyes are famished and wide, a small grin playing on his lips, and he kisses you, deep, slow, before guiding you to the ground, softly laying you on your back.

The moonlight seeps in through the curtain of leaves, gently illuminating your sacred space. Jake's on you in seconds, kissing your neck slowly, licking your jaw, his hands tugging at your loincloth before taking it off with ease and tossing it aside. You spread your legs, allowing one of his hands to wander between your thighs, finding your cunt and caressing between your folds, coercing little mewls from you.

You wrap your arms around Jake's neck and pull him to you, finding his mouth with yours, being gentle in the way you kiss him. He touches you, knows you don't need any preparation; you're wet enough. Still, he's adamant on making you come before he fucks you. Your pleasure is always his priority.

“Alright, baby, I'm gonna teach you something new, yeah?” he says, kissing the tip of your nose.

You nod softly. “Mmkay,” you reply, further spreading your legs, allowing Jake more access to your sopping cunt.

Jake sinks his ring and middle fingers into you, curling them up to rub against that spongey spot within you that makes you mewl and gasp. He then positions his thumb over your clit, rubbing gentle circles over it.

You whine, content, back arching as the pleasure courses through you, filling your body, making you dazed.

Jake just admires your face. He admires the way you look, the way your eyes roll into the back of your head, the pretty beaded top you wear that parts for your hardened nipples to peek through, the way the paint on your skin softly smudges with the evening dew and your sweat.

“That's good, isn't it, girl?” Jake hums, knowing full well how much you're loving it.

“Mhmm,” you reply, whimpering, rolling your hips into Jake's touch. “'s good.”

Jake's cock is throbbing under his loincloth, aching to feel your warm wetness, but he's determined to teach you this little trick first, and, more importantly, he knows you'll love it, so he's intent on ensuring your wedding night is one of the many amazing ones to come.

He can feel your slick drip down his knuckles, your chest heaving up and down, your pretty hair getting all tangled as you writhe on the ground.

“Talk t'me, babygirl,” Jake says. “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

“Fuck me!” you beg, hips shuddering as he increases the pace of his fingers and the pressure on your clit. “Fuck me and call me yours. Please, Jake.”

Jake chuckles lowly. “You are mine, baby. You're mine and you always will be.” He kisses your shoulder, loving how you tremble at his touch. “Just like I am yours. Until time stops. I will always be yours.”

Fingers curling, he adds more pressure to that spot inside you, rubbing his thumb on your clit, making you see stars.

Jake can feel you clench around him, can sense the way your orgasm builds up. He continues his ministrations, focusing on every touch he bestows upon your body, ensuring he rubs all the right spots.

The pleasure is too much. The way it builds is too intense. You try to close your thighs, to stop Jake's movements and his brutal attack on your pussy.

“Jake, please,” you whine. “I-I can't!”

“Shh,” he coos softly. “Trust me, baby. You can do it. I know you can, girl.”

“No, no—Fuck!” you cry, body writhing, and Jake continues his pace.

And then you feel it. This odd, new sensation coursing through you, harsh and eviscerating in its intensity, and then your orgasm is right there, right on the edge, so close—

Your release hits you like a ton of bricks, and then you squirt, your slick gushing out of you to soak Jake's forearm along with your thighs, and you gasp, throwing your head back and shaking at the thick relief.

“Yeah, that's it,” Jake groans. “Goddamn, girl. And you said you couldn't do it,” he chuckles softly, riding out your orgasm before pulling his fingers out of you. He licks your arousal off his hand, his amber eyes growing famished as he removes his own loincloth.

“Fuck me,” you beg. “Please, Jake. I need you.”

Jake runs the thick head of his cock between your folds, teasing your entrance and rubbing your clit. He then reaches over his shoulder for his queue and holds it out to you. You offer yours in return, and your tendrils intertwine with his before he pushes into you.

You whine lowly, Jake groans, and then he's caging your body under his. You reach for him, placing a hand on the nape of his neck and pulling him down to you, kissing him as he begins thrusting into you.

He fucks you slow, soft, relishing in the sensation of your cunt around him, of your skin meeting his, of your mouth kissing him, of your pleasure through the bond.

Your eyes flutter shut, rolling into the back of your head as you arch your back, your hips gyrating against his, matching his thrusts. You can feel his lust, can feel how bad he wants and needs you, and it only arouses you more.

“I love you, baby,” Jake says, his lips ghosting yours so the words fall right against your mouth. “I love you. You're my perfect girl. My everything. I fuckin' love you so much.”

“I'm yours,” you echo, moaning gently. “I love you. I love you. I'm yours.”

Jake captures your mouth with his again, swallowing your sounds, his hips increasing their pace.

You dig your nails into his shoulders, scratching his back, rolling your body against Jake's. Your cunt is dripping down your thighs, wetting Jake's hips and balls as he fucks you. You can feel the warm, hot pleasure that builds in you, your cervix reveling in each brush that Jake's cock delivers.

You clench around him, making him groan and he bites your lower lip. You gasp quietly, a breathless moan escaping your mouth at the sensation.

“So sweet,” he hums, dragging his mouth to your neck, biting your skin, ensuring to leave little marks. “You're so fuckin' good. This pussy's so fuckin' perfect for me.”

“'s yours!” you cry. “My pussy's yours! I'm yours!”

“Yeah, you are,” he says against your neck. “You're my good girl, aren't you?”

“Mhmm!” you cry, nodding, as the pleasure coils in your womb, threatening to snap.

“And you're gonna let me fill y'up, right girl?”

“Yes!” you cry. “Oh, please, fill me up! Fill me with your cum!”

Jake hisses lowly as your pussy grows tighter, squeezing him, coercing his orgasm closer to the surface.

“'m gonna give you a baby, girl,” he grunts. “Is that what you want? To have my baby?”

You clench around him, gasping and shaking. “Please,” you whimper. “Please, please.”

“Yeah, y'wanna be a mommy, girl?” he asks, chuckling against your skin. “Y'want me to be a daddy? Hm?”

“Yes!” you cry, nodding desperately. “Yes, yes!”

Jake ruts into you, his entire head swimming with the idea of you pregnant with his baby. He can already imagine it, and the mere idea drives him insane.

“My girl,” he grunts, his hips rolling against yours, rubbing against your clit in the process. “My perfect fuckin' girl. The love of my life.”

You mewl, body writhing, your lips parted as moans escape them. “Jake, Jake, fuck!”

“I know,” he says. “I know it's good, baby. Hold on a little longer for me, yeah?”

You nod. “'nything for you,” you promise, legs trembling.

One of Jake's hands finds your thigh and pulls it over his waist, allowing him to sink deeper into you, rubbing your cervix and dragging his thick cock against that spongy spot inside you that he'd been abusing mere moments ago.

The pleasure is too much. It grips your every nerve, making you see stars, moans and gasps leaving you as your mind slowly melts into the ecstasy. You're not sure how much longer you can hold on, but you try.

You pull Jake's mouth to yours again, kissing him, sliding your tongue between his lips so it meets his own, and he smiles against you before gently grazing his sharp canines over your tongue.

You whimper, body jerking, back arching, legs trembling, and you manage to warn, “Jake-Jake, 's too good! Too good!"

“You wanna come for me again, baby?” he replies through gritted teeth as he tries to keep his mind steady through the haze of pleasure. “Wanna come for me so I can fill you up?”

“Yes!” you cry. “Yes, yes, yes!”

Jake captures your lips with his once more, biting your plump lower lip, tasting you, and then your orgasm hits you. It shatters you and any thoughts you had left. Your mind is blank, your entire body alight with pleasure, and you moan, “Jake! 's so good! Fuck!”

Jake feels your orgasm through tsaheylu and it pushes him to his own release. He grunts as his thrusts grow sloppy, ragged, and then his cock twitches inside of you, releasing his thick, warm load deep inside your cunt.

You shudder at the sensation, eyes rolling into the back of your head, and then Jake's kissing you again, his mouth now gentle and kind as it caresses yours.

Jake pulls out of you and is quick to spoon you, holding you against his chest, pressing the most delicate of kisses to your forehead.

“Fuck, I love you,” he says. “I love everything about you and I will never, ever, get enough of you.” He kisses your forehead and you curl into him, relishing in his scent, adoring the sensation of his cum inside of you. “I See you, girl,” he tells you. “I See all of you, and I love all of you.”

You kiss his chest, his neck, his jaw, before replying, “I love you, Jake.”

You two fall asleep in your cave, curled in each other's arms, together even in your dreams.

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

The last few weeks have been a little odd lately. For you, at least. You feel all off, a little under the weather. On occasion, you're too tired to do much beyond just stay home, slugging around, exhausted by everything even though you've done nothing.

Worried, you go to Neytiri in hopes she can help you.

When you find her, she simply offers you a huge smile. “Leyeleu, what can I do for you, sister?”

“Tsahik, I feel sick,” you tell her.

Neytiri places her hands on your head, then on your cheeks, then on your shoulders.

“Is something wrong?” you question, nervous. If you're honest, you didn't tell Jake anything. You know he can tell something's wrong, and he's been fluttering around you, taking care of you, spending more time with you and neglecting his other responsibilities so you decided to pretend everything was fine. But you're truly worried, that's why you've come to Neytiri for help.

“Nothing is wrong, Leyeleu,” Neytiri replies. Her hands skim down your torso, finding your belly, then grazing over your womb. At this, her eyes light up, a smile forming on her lips. “You have been blessed by the Great Mother,” she tells you, her smile growing uncontrollably. “Leyeleu, you are with child.”

Your eyes widen, your mouth falls open and your heart skips several beats. “I—I'm what?”

“With child,” Neytiri replies. “Only a few weeks along. A wonderful, wonderful blessing, Leyeleu.”

You're still in shock. Surprised and just stunned into silence. And then, you feel happy tears forming on your eyes, heart racing. “With child,” you echo, the word sending excitement through you.

Neytiri nods. “With child.” she grins. “Go to Jakesully. Tell him of this. It is a wonderful blessing, sister.”

Jake is busy, you know. Busy with whatever manners the rest of the clan needs his help with. And you don't want to interrupt.

So you wait until nightfall. And you're nervously rushing around, fidgeting, waiting for Jake to come back. And when he does and he walks into your shared canopy, he can immediately tell something's up.

You're nervous, ears folded back, tail swishing uneasily.

Jake grabs you in his arms and kisses you, slow and soft, tender, and he feels you're anxious.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, pressing another kiss to your forehead.

You nod, hands trembling as they hold onto his forearms. “I'm good. I, uh, I went to see Neytiri today, because I thought I might be sick.”

Jake watches you carefully. “And what did she say?”

“That I'm not sick,” you reply, trailing off and biting the inside of your cheek.

Jake can almost sense your unfinished sentence. “But?” he asks, inviting you to continue.

You take a deep breath. “I'm not sick, but-but I've been...blessed.”

Jake frowns, confused. “Blessed? In what way?”

You take a deep breath for courage. “Blessed in the way that I-I'm with child.”

Jake freezes where he stands, just for a split second, just until he processes your words, and then he just smiles, laughs, shocked and delighted. “You—really?” You nod. Jake chuckles. “Oh, my fucking God! Baby, that's incredible!” he exclaims, placing his hands on your hips and picking you up.

You laugh, somewhat nervous still, as you place your hands on Jake's shoulders to keep yourself upright. Jake's mouth finds your neck and he kisses you there, murmuring, over and over, “I love you. So much. This is amazing.”

And then he just pulls away from you, his eyes wide, pupils blown, and says, “I'm going to be a father.”

You smile at him. “You are. And I'm going to be a mother.”

And Jake's face is glowing, his entire being just shining with happiness. And then he's kissing you, his lips warm and soft on yours, and then he slowly lowers you to the ground, climbing on top of you, his love and joy turning into passion, your own excitement turning into soft desire.

“I love you so bad,” Jake hums, his lips brushing yours. “I'm so fucking happy to have you, girl. And the fact that you're having my baby...” His eyes lock on yours, and he smirks as he kisses down your neck, crawling lower to your chest, and then he kisses over your womb. He affectionately rubs his cheek against the soft skin there, and he can barely wait for the moment your baby is born.

He then moves lower, pushing your legs apart, taking your loincloth off and setting it aside. He inhales the sweet scent of your pussy, before diving right in. He licks you all the way from your entrance to your clit, making you shudder, before he sucks on the needy nub that pulses against his tongue.

You whine lowly, muscles growing taut at the pleasure. “Jake,” you start.

“Shh, lemme take care of you, pretty girl,” he says softly. “Let me show you how crazy it drives me that you've got my baby inside.”

Jake takes his time with you, using his mouth to work you up slow, making your entire body tremble with pleasure, his tongue expertly exploring your pussy, knowing exactly what you like.

You hold onto his head, not so much guiding him as just tangling a hand in his hair to feel him. You like the way Jake's head bobs as he fucks you with his tongue, the way you can feel him nuzzling his face into your cunt, the way he's just so fucking good at this.

Jake slides two fingers into you, focusing his tongue on your clit and curling his fingers, finding that spongey spot with too much ease.

“Mm!” you gasp, back arching, your thighs pressing against the sides of his head. “Just like that.”

Jake chuckles against you, sending vibrations up your body, making you mewl, your nails digging into his scalp, fingers tugging at his hair.

Your slick is dripping down his chin, his lips glossy from it, his nose also smudged in your arousal. He can feel how it drips down to his neck, and it drives him insane. You're so sweet, your earthy scent invading his senses, making his brain a mush of lust and love and passion and you—you're all he can think about, ever.

Your back is arching off the floor as your pleasure gathers low in your stomach, almost like a fire that slowly warms the rest of your body to boiling point. Your toes point, your muscles tense, and you gasp, “Fuck, Jake! Y're so good! Fuck!”

Jake would probably never admit it, but he's a sucker for praise. He loves it when you tell him he's doing well, loves that you enjoy what he does to you.

His cock is painfully hard, and he starts rutting his hips against the floor, his mouth sucking on your puffy clit, his fingers scissoring inside of you, preparing you for his cock.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head, your body shaking, as you beg him to keep going.

And Jake doesn't plan on ever stopping. He'd eat you out for the rest of his life if he could. He'd never step out of your house, never wander into the forest, never be somewhere that wasn't with his head between your thighs, or his cock inside you. He's drunk on you, obsessed, he'll never be able to let you go.

He's the luckiest man alive because he has you.

“Jake,” you moan. “Jake, I need to—fuck, please!”

“I'll make you come, don't you worry 'bout it, baby,” he says against your clit. “I'll make you come in my mouth and then on my cock, yeah?”

“Yes,” you reply, desperate. “Please, yes!”

Jake's gentle curl of his fingers combined with the eager flicks of his tongue have you on the edge, your pleasure growing taut inside of you, making your entire body quiver with ecstasy.

As your orgasm approaches, you can tell it's similar to the one you had before, that odd, overwhelming sensation overcoming you. You try to warn Jake, try to formulate words, but you can't manage anything beyond whimpers and mewls, and suddenly you're over the edge. Your orgasm comes crashing down, shaking you from head to toe, and your slick squirts out of you, soaking Jake's face and his fingers as you gasp, your back arching, and you can see stars behind your eyelids.

“Fuck!” you gasp, and Jake chuckles, removing his mouth from your cunt, slowly easing you down from your high and then pulling his fingers out of you. He licks them clean and then wipes his face, grinning at you.

“I fuckin' love that,” he says. “I fuckin' love you.” He cages your body under his, kissing your mouth, and you can taste yourself on his lips.

You reach between your bodies to undo Jake's loincloth. He aids you with it and you toss the item aside, one of your hands finding his cock, caressing the thick head before you run it up and down your folds.

Jake hisses lowly, his ears folding back, and you whisper, “Fuck me, Jake. Please, fuck me. I want you so bad.”

Jake pushes into you gently, basking in the sensation of your tight gummy walls around him. His hips meet yours and he groans as you throw your head back, mewling quietly.

You reach for your braid and offer it to Jake. He smiles lovingly as he reaches for his own queue. As the tendrils meet and connect, he kisses the tip of your nose, making you giggle softly.

Jake's thrusts are soft, measured, an intimate, gentle gesture, a wordless I love you. It makes your heart melt. You can't believe you've found love this amazing, this breathtaking. Jake is truly the love of your life; no one but him could make you this happy. And now you're withchild with his baby. You're his, he's yours, and the little person growing within you is a product of your blessed love.

Jake kisses your neck softly, groaning against your skin as the pleasure fills his veins. “Love you so much, girl.”

“I love you,” you reply, hips bucking up to meet his. You wrap your arms around his neck, holding him close. You can feel him through tsaheylu, can feel his racing heart and that warmness that spreads through him—that warmness that you know is love because you feel it within your own chest.

Jake is so careful with how he fucks you, ensuring to make you writhe and shudder with every thrust, ensuring that you're enjoying it, ensuring that you understand this is so much more than just a physical connection.

He can feel you, the way your heart beats, the way your soul reaches for him.

And you're undoubtedly in love. You know that's what it is. The way Jake's body just seems to fit with yours, like he was made for you, like you were made for him...your eyes brim over with soft, happy tears.

Jake can feel your joy, so he knows you're not crying because something is wrong. And the sight of your delight makes him melt, a soft buzz growing within him as he presses his lips to yours, softly whispering into the kiss, “I don't know what I would ever do without you, baby.”

You sniffle quietly, relishing in the peace that comes from the connection between you two. Your life is complete. You know it is. You have Jake, someone who loves you, someone you love, someone you don't feel is tying you down. And now a baby...another member to your happy family. You can't thank Eywa enough for this, for all the gifts she's bestowed you.

Jake's mind isn't far from yours. He cannot believe what his life would've been like if he'd stayed on earth. He wonders...would he know something was missing from his life? If he'd never come to Pandora, would something within him tell him he was missing this? Missing you with your gorgeous eyes and your perfect laugh and your kind heart and your witty mind? Would he have died without realizing that the better half of his soul was out there, on a different planet?

Would he have ever been happy if he hadn't found you?

And he knows the answer: no. He would've never been happy, never been truly at peace. He would've been void, his life empty without you and without the child growing within you. He would've never found a life worth living if he hadn't come to Pandora. And he thanks his lucky stars, thanks Eywa, thanks the universe for allowing him to find you.

You, his home, his life, his everything.

You're still crying softly as the pleasure increases, Jake's gentle thrusts making you moan through the tears, the feeling of his pleasure through the bond making your back arch.

And Jake kisses your neck, your jaw, the spark within him turning into a fire that ravages whatever thoughts he had left. He can feel your orgasm growing in you, gathering low within your stomach, and he shudders.

“Jake,” you gasp, legs starting to tremble, nails digging into his back. “Jake.”

“I know, baby,” Jake replies, kissing your cheeks which are wet with your salty tears. “I know. 's okay. Come for me, yeah? You're doing so well, girl. Surely you can give me one more, hm?”

You nod. “Yes,” you gasp. “Yes, one more.”

The pleasure within you is overwhelming, your every nerve basking in the sensation of love, of pleasure, of overpowering happiness.

And then your orgasm bursts free, making your body thrash under Jake, making you moan and mewl, back arching and hips jerking.

Jake groans as he feels your pleasure through tsaheylu, as your orgasm hits him and pushes him to his own release. He comes inside you, the thrusts of his hips growing sloppy as his load spills inside you, filling your puffy cunt.

You shudder under him, and he gasps out, “Goddamn.”

And then he's immediately on you again, kissing your lips, caressing your face, licking away your tears. And you smile into his kiss, feeling the warmth of his love spreading through his chest, making its way to your soul.

“I love you so bad,” Jake says. “I'll always love you.”

“And I'll always love you,” you tell him.

“You're my forever, girl. Without you, there's nothing for me,” he whispers, and you wrap your arms around him, embracing him, allowing him to nestle his face into your chest. And you two just stay there, loving each other, until Jake pulls out of you and kisses your womb, talking to the baby. And then he's talking about baby names, and which ones would suit your child, and which ones he prefers, and asking you which ones you like.

And all you can do is lie there, propped up on your elbows, listen to him rant about the baby, watching his eyes glow with excitement as you thank Eywa that she sent this wonderful, amazing, perfect man to you.

Thanking her for leading you to happiness.

@unbrekeable-abby @kamcrazy123 @adaiasafira

#jake sully fluff #jake sully smut #jake sully x reader #avatar smut #avatar jake sully #avatar fluff

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dark-angel-of-muses · 7 months

Text

The Gift Of The Mag(Pie)

Lu Wing Bois AU by @breannasfluff

AO3 Link

“How do I look?” Hyrule spun around to show off his yukata. It was forest green, with light yellow maple leaf imprints dotted across the fabric. Naturally, there was no back so his wings could stretch free behind him, so the top was tied behind his neck in a pretty bow.

“You always look lovely. How about me?” Ravio opted for a navy blue set of robes, with white dots speckled across the fabric to imitate a night sky. He also twisted his hair to include a crown braid framing his bangs, holding the braid in place with a lapis lazuli bead clip.

“If it weren’t for the feathers on your ear, I’d be saying you were trying to attract some suitors.” Hyrule’s laugh sounded like bell chimes.

Ravio blushed, but brushed off the comment. He and Mr. Hero were still at a bit of an impasse. He was hopeful his flockmate was interested, but they still hadn’t put anything into words yet. Wild and Hyrule loved teasing them for it. Even if it made him flush with embarrassment and want to bury his face into his wings, he was glad they seemed to support their relationship. Maybe the teasing would help Mr. Hero make a move.

“Are you ready to meet up with the others?” Hyrule slipped on his geta, handing Ravio his own pair.

The bowerbird made a flock call in assent, put on his shoes, and the two made their way to the festival.

xxx

Lorule’s Kakariko village was a den of thieves and cultists. Ravio had to stop going long before he ran away from his kingdom entirely for fear of losing his money and/or life.

By contrast, Mr. Hero’s Kakariko was vibrant and happy. A center of commerce and safety. For the festival, streamers and paper lanterns had been strung up throughout the public square. Temporary stalls with games, street food, and specialty wares were lined up in rows alongside the walkways.

“I’m surprised you didn’t open up a stall here, Ravio.” Wild was wearing some of the Sheikah clothes he’d gathered over his travels, hair tied held in place with two crossing hairsticks. His own yukata was sky blue like his Champion’s wrap, with a pattern of multicolored pastel lines criss-crossing the fabric.

“Trust me, he tried. I convinced him that he should take at least one year to enjoy the festival with flock before trying to turn it into a business opportunity.” Mr. Hero wore a red yukata with crimson flowers printed on the ends of the sleeves. His pink hair was curled, giving it a bit of extra volume and bounce. There were ruby clips slid into his hair right above the red shock of hair that framed his face. Ravio felt his wings shuffle and flash as he drank in the image.

“Oh, look! That tent has ocarinas!” Hyrule’s wings flared in excitement as he bounded for the shop. Ravio managed to tear his gaze away from Mr. Hero and followed the Thrasher.

It seemed to be a handcrafted instrument store. There were reeds of varying sizes and colors, from silver flutes to wooden recorders. The ocarinas were the most eye-catching, porcelain painted in all sorts of bright patterns and colors. Hyrule’s fingers hovered over one that was wooden, but with gold paint in swirling little lines to imitate blossoms.

“You want one?” Wild asked, chin resting on Hyrule’s shoulder as he peeked over the wares.

“It’s so pretty when the flock plays ocarina when I sing, it’d be cool to do that on my own!” Hyrule’s wings fluttered, making Wild laugh as they tickled.

“Wouldn’t it be pretty hard to play the ocarina and sing at the same time?” Mr. Hero raised an eyebrow.

“That- Oh. Hm. You’re right.”

“You might not be able to play a woodwind, but what about these?” Ravio directed his flock over to the percussion section. There were maracas in every color and pattern, rain sticks, egg shakers, hand drums, and bells.

“Ooo!” Wild reached over to grab a sample egg, shaking it wildly to hear the rice inside. That bird possessed absolutely no sense of rhythm.

“Oh, this is darling!” Hyrule picked up a tambourine, giving it a test shake and trilling in delight as the cymbals chimed. The skin stretched over the middle had a print of a sunflower, yellow petals reaching to the light wooden frame holding everything together.

Hyrule seemed so delighted, a song bubbling in his throat as he admired the craftsmanship. Ravio made his decision right there. “How much for the tambourine?”

“Five hundred forty rupees.”

“I’ll take it! Hyrule, do you want it wrapped?” On the pricier side, but not unreasonable for something clearly hand-crafted with a lot of care.

Hyrule squealed. “Oh thank you, Ravio!” He chirped in excitement, melodic as he clutched the sunflower tambourine to his heart. No amount of rupees could pay for that sweet smile and soft hug as the Brown Thrasher sang in excitement. Ravio leaned into the hug, before his eyes caught a flash of yellow feathers in his peripheral vision.

Mr. Hero was looking at him, wings spreading. Ravio swallowed thickly as he saw those pretty yellow feathers rise and fluff, and averted his gaze as his own wings rose on instinct. The Flame Bowerbird wasn’t fair, flustering him like that. He was just being nice; it was rude to tease!

xxx

Hyrule played with his new toy for a bit, singing and drumming rhythms. With the purchase of a gift for one flockmate, Ravio was naturally on the hunt for two more.

It hit when he saw the flash of the most beautiful blue from the corner of his eye. All his instincts screamed and he darted into the rows of clothes. He heard Legend yelp, but Hyrule and Wild were laughing so it was probably fine.

The blue fabric belonged to a dancer’s costume. There was a long skirt, with beads sewn into a diamond pattern near the waistband. The top was separated, a black crop with blue tassels of bead dangling over it. Ravio might be a clothing size too big for it, but…

“Wild, come look at this!” He chirped a flock call, and the magpie trotted over to him. The moment Wild saw the outfit, his eyes widened and his wings fluttered.

“Oh, that’s so pretty! I’d love to wear it.”

“You should!They have a dressing room over there!” Ravio extended one wing to point towards the tent.

Wild cooed in agreement, then snatched the clothes off the rack and raced to put them on. As soon as he stepped out of the tent, he twirled, showing off the blue fabric. The hue matched the back of his wings perfectly, The skirt was loose, meant to lift and settle to showcase a dancer’s movements. Wild’s little spin had the skirt billowing beautifully. Additionally, the blue bead tassels clicked and jingled from the movement. It was beautiful.

“Nice outfit you have there, Wild.” Legend walked up next to Ravio, bumping wings. Mr. Hero had a little growl in his throat as he said it, and Ravio tried to bump wings back to alleviate it. Silly bird, he was just appreciating their flockmate.

“Oh, they have this little veil that comes with it!” Wild pulled out the item in question. Instead of cloth, there was one singular band that went over the nose and had dangling chains of rhinestones to cover the face. They caught light and sparkled at the tiniest bit of movement.

Wild giggled. “I’d love wearing this to Gerudo Town. Riju would be so jealous.” He did another twirl, soaking in the fabric and beads all spinning with him.

“Then you should, because I’m buying it for you!” Ravio declared, bringing out the ten gold rupees he saw as an asking price to give to the cashier.

Wild stared at him for just a moment in surprise, then launched at the Bowerbird in a hug. “You’re the best flockmate, Ravi!”

“What am I, chopped boko guts?” Legend grumbled.

Wild looked up, putting on an innocent front. “Well, if you wanted to get me something too, I wouldn’t say no.”

“Greedy little magpie!” Legend huffed in accusation, and Ravio laughed at the both of them, melting into Wild’s hug. It was worth the lightness of his wallet to see them so happy.

xxx

Getting Legend something should have been obvious. He was such a silly bird, with his obsession for red things. Ravio didn’t get it, when blue was right there, but he’d indulge Mr. Hero’s strange tastes today.

That said, finding which red thing to give him had been a challenge.

Legend was a hoarder, and had no shortage of rupees. As soon as something genuinely caught his interest, he’d whip out his wallet faster than Ravio could. A red fan, a pair of carbuncle earrings, a red makeup palette, a strawberry apron, a red luminous rock nightlight, red leather belt, red dagger. If it was on prominent display and seemed like Legend would have liked it, he had already taken it and stashed it in his magically deep pockets.

Ravio clicked his teeth in annoyance. Legend’s obsession was really getting too far at this point. He was going to buy out the entire festival’s stock, at this rate, and Ravio wouldn’t be able to get him a good present!

The day was getting longer and he was getting desperate. Each merchant stall they hit was another potential source crossed off the list.

Finally, Ravio broke down. “Hyrule, I need your help.”

“Hm?” The Thrasher allowed Ravio to pull him aside.

“I’m going to need you to stall Legend from getting to the next booth. I want to get there before he does. Can you do that?”

If you were a stranger, you might have called Hyrule’s answering smile sweet. But all his flock understood it as the terrifying omen of chaos it was.

“Done and done. When you hear Legend’s screeching, make a break for it.” Without giving Ravio the time to ask what he was planning, Hyrule bounded off to enact his plan.

Ravio didn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Even if he was deathly curious what Hyrule had said to get Legend so puffed he was showing off the scandalous skin under his scapulars. Wild seemed to have joined in on the assignment unprompted, grabbing something from the Flame Bowerbird and flapping his wings to fly away in a game of chase.

Tearing his eyes away from Legend’s stunning wings, Ravio booked it to the next stall. They were a goldsmith, rings and bracelets glittering on their display tables.

“Sorry sir, you wouldn’t happen to have anything with a red gem or charm on it, would you?”

The merchant’s frown made Ravio’s stomach drop. “Sorry. All out of red gems.”

Ravio’s wings drooped. There weren’t that many stalls left to check out, and he didn’t know how much time Wild and Hyrule were going to buy him.

“...I could paint one of my existing charms. But I’ll need help color matching the dye.”

Ravio perked up. “Really?”

The merchant brought out a clear stone, and a pot for dye. “Do you have anything red on you?”

Ravio brought out a red rupee. He’d rather give something less expensive, like the skins of their apples or one of Legend’s infinite supply of red garbage, but he had no time.

“I’m going to need at least five of those, and you won’t be getting them back. That’s in addition to the product cost which is gonna be another 60. Is that alright?”

His wallet was getting down to a few green rupees and a wish. But it was worth it. He wanted to get something nice for his flockmate.

The merchant was fast, inserting the rupees into the magical dye pot and creating a brilliantly shining red, dipping the clear stone into the pot. With the paint dripping from it, Ravio saw the stone was hollowed out, clearly drilled through. The paint dried in less than a minute. (Maybe something about the magic in the dye substance?)

The smith grabbed a gold ring and quickly looped it through the hollowed stone, finishing by wrapping the gold wire around the makeshift bead.

“And like this, it spins. Great for people who like keeping their hands busy.” The smith demonstrated, and Ravio snorted. Every Link seemed to have a penchant for playing with tiny trinkets and treasures. He trilled a call of thanks and snatched up the box. It might have been a hundred rupees more expensive with the dye, but he was just grateful to grab something before Legend could buy out an entire village.

By the time he returned to his flock, the situation had escalated.There was a beautiful blue streak in Legend’s pink hair, although based on the yelling the Flame Bowerbird wasn’t happy about it. Hyrule’s hands were criminally the same shade of blue, Legend edging away from them in fear. Wild was grounded again, though still seemed to be mastering a game of keep-away with- Oh. Was that the bracelet Ravio gave Mr. Hero all that time ago, when they first met? Huh. Wild should… probably give that back.

“Mr. Hero!” Ravio bounded in, interrupting the standoff as all three birds greeted him with a flock call on instinct.

“Ack, sorry Ravi. These two are just being idiots.” The apology was unnecessary since Ravio asked for it in the first place, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.

“Um, I wanted to give you something.”

Legend tilted his head, anger giving way to curiosity.

“Here!” Ravio thrust forward the box, flipping back the top to show the ring nestled inside. Ravio’s wings fluttered on instinct, opening just a bit.

Legend made an odd choking noise. Ravio bit his lip. Did he like it? Or was it too plain, a small, non magical ring?

“You’re giving me a ring. A red ring.” There was an odd warble in the Flame Bowerbird’s voice.

“Uh, yes. I wanted to get something for everyone in the flock. If you don’t like it, I’m not sure if I can return it since it was custom, but I can find you something better!” Ravio tried to keep bravado in his voice instead of giving into the instinct to curl his wings around him and crouch into a ball of feathers.

“Oh, so this is a gift for a flockmate?” Did he sound disappointed?

“Um, yes. Sorry if it’s not much, I really can buy something better later-”

“Stop that!” Legend interjected. “It’s wonderful and I love it!” The words were yelled in such an aggressive tone Ravio had to take a second to get the meaning.

“You really like it?” Ravio’s voice brightened with hope.

“Of course I like it, you bird brain! You know that’s my favorite color! And you said it was custom?” Legend picked the ring out of the box, violet eyes sparkling. He still was using his usual array of insults, but there was an unmistakable smile on his face as he looked it over.

Ravio sighed in relief. He’d have to thank Hyrule for whatever it was he did later. As he looked over Legend’s shoulder, he saw Wild and the Thrasher in question elbowing each other, smiling like they knew something he didn’t.

Silly birds.

xxx

The last stall of the festival was a local knitter. Quilts, potholders, beanies. She used soft yarns, it was a joy just to run his fingers along the display wares.

Then he saw it.

The most perfect scarf that he had ever seen.

It was lovingly knitted in a gradient, from a bright teal down to a smoky indigo. Along the range of vibrant blues were little sections of white cloth meant to resemble clouds. It was so perfect! Ravio reverently ran a thumb across the cloth, and marveled at how the blue somehow made it feel even softer. His senses were delighted, and his wings fluttered on instinct.

“Excuse me, ma’am, how much for the scarf?” He had to own this. It was destined to be his.

“200, sir.”

200? For something so well made, that was trivial! Ravio excitedly pulled out his wallet, not realizing the problem until his hand was inside, sorting through the few green rupees he had left.

Ah, right.

Well, he treated money like it was no object for his flock. He didn’t regret that, even if the beautiful scarf belonged with him.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have enough-”

“I’ll take it!” Wild jumped in, startling Ravio into a yelp. The magpie threw two silvers onto the counter, turning back to Ravio.

“You’ve been so nice to us all day, it only makes sense to give you something back.” The magpie bumped Ravio with his shoulder, beaming.

Ravio clutched the precious scarf, now a gift from his flockmate. He didn’t even try to hold back the happy tears. He didn’t regret a rupee of kindness spent on flock.

#lu ravio #loz ravio #lu legend #lu wild #lu hyrule #lu triple threat #lu wing bois #ravio x link #muse writes #muse's ravioli week #raviolink #ravio #ravioli #linked universe #fanfic #albw ravio #ravio zelda

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beccagetscrafty · 7 months

Text

Below the cut are links to some of my favorite cross stitch supplies.

I'm not getting kick backs or anything for the links below, I just wanted to share what I use with everyone.

Storage

Storage: Plano 23700-20 Stowaway with Adjustable Dividers

Floss Drop Bobbins: Ultimate Bobbin Drops by GWStitchinDepot on Etsy

Floss Reel by CreativeKeepsStudio on Etsy - used to cut precut my floss in equal lengths to use with my floss drops.

My fav bobbins (above) are on the expensive side, but I do have some cheaper ones I use as well.

White Plastic Bobbins

Clear Floss Drops

White Paper DMC Bobbins

For projects, I also have colorful floss organizers so I don't have to have a bunch of bobbins out.

Labeling

I'm a label nerd so I've made all my own labels and printed them on Vinyl sticker paper, but there are ready made labels you can find.

DMC Labels

Scissors

Embroidery scissors - I highly recommend buying a pair meant for embroidery because they tend to have a sharper, thinner tip. You can use a seam ripper to undo errant stitches, but I find embroidery scissors work better for that. You can get these anywhere, I got my latest pair through amazon.

Fabric Prep

Zig Zag Craft scissors - they say that cutting aid with a pair of zig zag scissors keeps it from unraveling... and I have experienced that, however, I also find that it still sheds, just teeny, tiny pieces. I got mine through amazon.

Nylon Upholstery Thread - this is my preferred thread for whip stitching the edge of my aida. I fold the edge of my fabric in two or three rows and then use the whip stitch to go around the edge of the whole project to keep the edges from fraying. I currently use navy blue because that's what I have, but there are multiple colors to choose from.

Gridding

Sulky Metallic Thread - the thread I use to do the gridding on my projects. You can find it on Amazon, but their website allows you to use Amazon Pay and you get a wider selection and better pricing ordering through them directly.

Aida

Plain white Aida - Walmart usually has the best price, but be aware that sometimes that comes with a cost in the form of rectangles instead of squares

Amazon - they have some WILD multicolored Aida for reasonable prices.

Mill Hill - they have a perforated PAPER for cross stitching and I was skeptical at first… but after using it… I love it! And it doesn’t hurt my hands like the plastic Aida I used to use. You can get this product on Amazon and on Everything Cross Stitch.

Wax/Thread Conditioner

Premade Beeswax Rounds in Plastic Containers - I used to use these all the time because it helped with knotting and my thread fraying... but they kept getting soooo expensive.

Now I just buy beeswax. Originally, I bought bars but I found them too hard to cut.

So I melted them down and make my own cubes that I can remelt, remove any thread bits and reuse.

Beeswax - the bars I bought are no longer available, but you can really use anything.

Square molds - I ended up cutting mine into smaller sections because it was easier to handle.

Silicone Measuring Cup - the first time I did this, I melted the wax in a candle making container... but now I just melt them in this on a cheap candle warmer and it works perfectly.

Beading

Bead Storage - this has become more important with me doing Mill Hill designs.

Bead trays - these are meant for diamond painting, but they work great for beads.

Misc

Stitch Starter by Blue Ribbon Designs on Etsy - 3” square ruler to help you find the perfect place for your first stitch

Cross Stitch Gauge by SnugglyMonkey on Etsy - basically a ruler to help you with determine which size Aida you are working on

DMC Thread Color Card - you can get this as multiple places. Most have the printed version, but if you can get (or make) the one that has the actual thread samples… I highly recommend.

Telescoping Magnet - a must for finding needles that fall on the floor. It will happen. Protect your feet.

Silicone Finger Protector - I originally got these for using hot glue, but I found that I use them more for cross stitching. I did end up cutting one so it just covers the my finger to the first knuckle, otherwise I find my fingers get too sweaty.

#cross stitch #cross stitching #cross stitch supplies

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sexandwistfulness · 1 year

Text

once upon a summer sun

Once upon a summer sun, you would take a few minutes every morning to orient towards the Pacific: in your car, an iced coffee in hand, your thoughts spoken aloud — to me, to yourself, to the ocean facing ahead.

It was the summer before the summer of your move, away from your ocean, away from me.

But that summer before was a summer streaking with sun, a summer swelling with song. It was the summer of my second album. I have not released music since: to me, the second album, your album, an immortalization of falling in love — falling for you on repeat — is perfect just the way it is. I am a journeyman artist who has mastered nothing except the instinct that some works will not be bettered by me. In every sinking sundown since I have sighed with satisfaction. I have done right by my urge to create something meaningful.

I remember you in a bead necklace and new bikinis arriving by the week. I remember the light blue; I remember the checkered; I remember the white with the thin lines. I remember you posing over sand. I remember you in the studio. I remember you in bed with me, hand over your chest, your moans welling new depths of low notes. I remember the socks you wore to bed. I remember the bedroom window facing the cul-de-sac. Once upon a summer sun I remembered wild, vivid sunsets you would photograph and send me. Once upon a summer sun I remembered the myriad methods you would tell me you loved me.

Once upon that beautiful summer there was music. There was music every day. There were motifs I wrote for the viola, because the viola was yours, violetly so, and there were variations on themes I composed and recomposed and played and replayed. In the solar powered lust that drove me to put down desires to notes, I was happy. Happy in a way you could never fully imagine, happy in a way you will never be able to take away from me, thankfully. I'm not going to be melodramatic and say I have never felt the exhilaration of creation with music since. I have. But I'm also not going to lie and tell you that it's not tinged with the dull ache of loss. And I'm not going to act as if I have an infiniteness of strength, untethered to pain: there is that one track on that album I have to skip, because you were drunk and you told me you loved me for the first time. I let the synths, the violas and the cellos play the first seven seconds and then skip. It's whatever. Your voice comes in after. In the background, a backing of woodwinds, the flutes and the reeds. At the seven second mark, I leave. You left. You have left.

But there are other things I need to remember, too — things my friends remind me every time I reveal the gap in my memory. I have to remember that loss is separate from betrayal. I have to remember that the everymorning gnaw of sorrow and missing that claims me when I wake up, like a choke and a gasp, is an irrational one. I cannot miss someone who has hurt me with the sort of callousness I myself — no angel, me — could inflict on another, let alone someone who said she loved me as she lied to me. I should not bear this pain martyr-like. I should not rationalize your actions. I should not gloss over the terrible selfish cruelty of you lying, you cheating, you ghosting, you blocking.

Spring seasons in and soon there will be another summer sun. The will be girls with iced coffees oriented towards the ocean. There will be streaks of sunlight streaming through northeast-facing windows. There will be new words, and new melodies. There will be a day this saturning summer when I will stop counting the days since you left me a wreck, and I will stop counting up towards some unknown. It becomes three months on Friday. A hundred days comes soon. Who counts after that? Who keeps track? To what end? I will allow it to fade. I will allow the daily little highs and the monthly huge joys, and the generosity in how others have cared for me in my pain, to paint layers over this loss that is not quite loss. Loss is a misplacing. To betray is to cause breaking.

And once upon a summer sun soon, the hairline cracks in the layers of paint will only be visible to those who step close to the canvas. Of you and your actions, there will only be pentimento, only made visible when that summer sun fills the frame.

#me #personal #my writing #diary #heartbreak

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marsconer · 1 year

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fire at the end of the lane, touya todoroki

two: one hand, one heart

“Summer will end soon enough, and childhood as well.”― George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones

As the years went on, he became ever more certain that if the two of them were left alone in the world to find their way back to each other all would be well. But if he was blinded and stolen from her sight, all would crumble and the universe would be nothing but remains of the great monument of her existence. ( He stole that from a book, one of hers, it’s secret but Touya actually listens )

When he wasn’t training he was with her. Locked away in her glittery pastel world

Touya would always remember the day after Christmas when she dragged him up and down the hills to see what her parents got her.

It was the size of a large shed, a small house of wood painted pink and white. Inside it was even worse, a sore sight indeed. Flowing curtains, a small floral patterned sofa covered in plushies, a tea table and some chairs. A perfectly comfortable living space for a human-sized Barbie.

Cordelia smiled at him, like she was proud of it. Touya imagined her picking the cushions for the sofa or the perfectly sparkly shade of blue for the curtains. “I loved it.”, he didn’t loved it but he would have made the entire world look like a candy store if it meant she would smile like that forever.

“I have something for you”, she said, revealing a small blue wrapping and handing it to him, “i asked you what you wanted and i know you said nothing so i made something!”

Touya opened it in a surprisingly careful manner. It was a bracelet of beads of colorful hearts and smiley faces. He put it on, it was nothing like he usually wore but Cordelia had a way of making him do almost anything.

“Now we match!”, she raised her hand so he could see her wrist adorning it.

He felt his cheeks fluster. “I didn’t get you anything, now I’m feeling bit bad about it”

“You didn’t have to”, she said

“I did, I do now”

“In that case, you have until New Year's to get me something. I love flowers this time of years”

He appeared with a bouquet of flowers bought with mom’s approval at her front door on December 31st. One of each type of flower in some atrocious aesthetic-crime against the precious art of making a bouquet. Cordelia loved it like no other.

Life was good. As good as it would get, they would walk home together and he would talk about his progress in training, even if it came with burn marks her songs couldn’t fully heal.

They stopped playing tag and swinging the day away but they were still together. Touya could hide away at her sanctuary. The sun was bright and gentle in the summer and winter was made of snow days and hot chocolate and mistletoes.

The change started before she could feel, like any storm worth it’s name does. It was serious, his voice gave it away. It was always his voice that cracked first.

Touya was laying on her bed again when he should be training. Trying to not be so angry he couldn’t speak and try as he might, he could not find the words to express the bomb planting itself in his heart, his vocabulary was not vast enough yet. He stared at her ceiling for one hour instead, counting and recounting starts.

“239”, he announced through gritted teeth.

“I did need six boxes”, she looked at him, she was the only one who did these days so he spilled it all out.

“Do you think I can still do it?”, he sat back on the mattress, “Become a hero” that would surpass All Might. That would make my father proud.

“You? Why not? I think you can do anything if you have enough nerve”, she barely gave it much thought, as if it was obvious.

The reason for his questioning became apparent when Shouto’s quirk awakened. At age four he was better than his older brother. Half fire and half ice, exactly how some people think the whole world will end. The toddler lacked his weakness towards fire and had a mighty power of freezing ( which mostly made itself known through ice houses and the ice people tiny Shouto held and moved around like dolls ).

He was moldable, a child is soft as clay and it can become anything his father wants if his father is attentive enough. Endeavor is all but dismissive of his youngest’s talent.

Touya learns how to make himself at home anywhere but his own. His fire is using his flesh as fuel, he is flame, wood and pyre and for that reason, training is no longer on his schedule. Not officially at least. So he takes back roads to learn, old tapes to get the intricacies of his father’s moves and using candy to get Natsuo, who is barely eleven and too busy studying most of the time now, to join him in sparring sessions.

He learns the simpler things too. How to use the stove and how to make the strawberry milkshake Cordelia loves and how to use the shower at her place when he sleeps over, and how to lie to her parents about staying the whole night on the couch when he can’t even sleep alone.

Training in secret doesn’t make the burning any less painful. It shows in his skin just as clearly and he doesn’t know what to do with himself when his efforts to hide are successful even at their worst stage, even when he’s not trying at all.

He’s at the breakfast table with Fuyumi and mom and Natsuo and he can hear the faint voice of his fathers talking to Shouto with the tone that was reserved for him. He crouches over his food and makes himself so small he fades away.

Cordelia knows. He hates her for it but she always does. He lays on the wooden floor in her dollhouse. They are getting too old for this but it smells of eternal spring so they spent the afternoon there. She sings and it’s the first time in weeks his skin starts to force itself to heal, his cells responding to the sound waves of her voice.

“Maybe you should stop pushing yourself so hard, that or your skin will fall off”, she says, bitter, worried and some other emotion he has never seen before.

“I can’t”, he can’t handle opening his eyes, Touya’s covered in ice packs and thinks that if he lays still he’ll cool down faster, “And you said I could! How am I supposed to become a hero if I don’t go to U.A High School?”

“So that’s what the training was for?”, Cordelia asked.

“We are graduating this year.”

“And you would be taking the admission exam behind your family’s back?”, she raised a brow.

“I would and maybe father will realize that he made a mistake by giving up on me!”, Touya tried to sat up and winced, his whole body rejected it.

“You need rest, idiot”, she kneeled by his side and forced him to lay back. Her hand on his shoulder.

“Cordelia?”, he laid once more, “What do you plan on doing after graduation?”

“Go to high school? And then University? I’m not you, Touya. I’m okay with the fact that I’m destined for normalcy. No hero will ever save from an average life”

“I will”, he said, so plainly and honestly she couldn’t help but to believe in him.

Shouto took his place almost everywhere now and there’s a black hole stretching in size every time his brother takes something new from him. Touya tries to fill in the gaps and not worry over growing grey at a preteen age. Shouto takes away most of their dad’s time and attention and love and Touya does nothing. A new favourite.

The Todoroki family has been exposing a lot of favorites lately. Mom’s Fuyumi, they are very alike. Left behind, away in the kitchen, talking in whispers and tense shoulders.

Fuyumi’s favorite is Natsuo. They are almost twins, barely a year apart but she watches over him like a mother would when Mom can’t. They are both ice. They understand each other and Mom has an easier time understanding them.

Natsuo’s favorite should be him. It used to be before Touya’s single mindedness took the best of him and divided his life in two.

Shouto was maybe too young to play the favorites game but to Touya’s distaste, it was him. Shouto followed his older brother around like a lost puppy from the minute he could walk.

“Touya”, Shouto ran to brother one morning and he found Touya, sitting in grass outside. Shouto raised his tiny baby fingers to Touya’s hair. “We have the same hair!”

Shouto grabbed the white strand amidst the red.

“I think—Ouch! Don’t pull my hair, idiot”, Touya pushed his brother’s hand away from his hair.

“Sorry, Tou”, and his younger brother put his hands innocently behind his tiny body.

Little does his brother know that his hair was completely red once, like Dad's. He almost looks like an old man and no one noticed. No one ever notices, he could set the house on fire and his family would rather say it was struck by lightning before admitting it was him.

Touya was standing in the hallway. Not his hallway. Cordelia 's. He is staring at the altar, so different from his own. All candles and incense too but crosses and images. Rosaries hanging on the wall, a man holding a flaming heart, pointing at it. Where's the blood, he wonders. Do all wounds look this obvious? Does his own?

"We are catholic", she explains, "My mom is, guess that is dad is too, they got married in a church so-."

"Oh", Touya knows his parents didn't. It's not about the candles and the rosaries or the angels. Is it alright that his family never had any of that, that they weren't supposed to. It's about love but he doesn't know that yet so he blames the angels. Maybe it's the feathers and halos. That's what's missing.

Her house is dark half empty the next time they both stand in that hallway.

“Would you light me some candles?”, she asks.

They sit down and he lights their multitudes one by one, looking at her dumbfounded. Under the soft orange lights she’s beautiful.

The weight of this realization dawned on him. She was beautiful. He could lie and say he always knew that. But maybe Cordelia wasn't. She was a little wild thing for sure when they met. Pointy ears, big glimmering eyes almost half inhuman. And she was ethereal now. Candlelight on the right angle, her long hair glowed like the sun. No, it glowed like a halo.

“Give me your hand, Touya.”

“Why?”, he said, already placing his hand on hers.

“I saw my prima do this with her boyfriend once, it made them one", it was the first time he saw her blush, "Do you want to be one?"

It's such a heavy question but his truest answer was heavier. Sometimes I feel like we already are. Touya can't say that so he says yes.

"Will you repeat it with me?", Cordelia laces their fingers.

"Yes.", it falls from his lips so easily he should have the decency to be scared.

"Make of our hands", she says.

"Make of our hands”, he becomes her echo

"One hand"

"Make of our hearts, one heart'’

"Only death can part us now"

"Make of our lives, one life"

"Only death–"

"Not even", Touya is somber and serious, he means. He means it even if he's too young to mean it. He means it so hard it kills him.

"Not even death can part us now",

It's a promise he intends to keep. It's last thing he thinks about when the hills burn blue.

"You can stay the week if you tell me what happened", her voice echoes in his mind, a memory intruding.

"Can I stay the week, then?", he asked, with the weakest voice she had ever heard.

"You can stay forever.", he thinks about forever and about how he won't have it.

#oc fanfiction #dabi #dabi x oc #dabi fanfic #dabi headcannons #dabi imagines #dabi simps #fanfic #ao3 #fire at the end of the lane #bnha oc #endeavor slander #dabi x reader

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akaittou · 1 year

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Exalted Secret Santa 2022

Hello Secret Santa! And sorry, because I have been devious this year :D

Most years I offer an abundance from my selection of sun-kissed would-be-heroes (they try), but this time I’ve decided to only give you 2 options. Shocking, I know! The audacity, I know! And still I persist. I promise both are very good disaster sun-children and worthy of love. The real trick is that neither has proper character artwork - only a limited miniature design - but I’ve tried my best to provide as many extra references of important details and concepts as I can. (And if need be, I should have anon enabled, so I can be poked to scrounge up more to add to this via reblog)

Said two lovely little disasters are under the cut:

1) The Wind Which Sways the Cattails Growing in the Last Meander Before the Rapids Flowing Past Two Flowers in Bloom - She Who Walks the Wyld Unafraid, Heaven’s Voice, Silver-Tongued One, Challenger of Fate [Eclipse Caste Solar temporarily made into a Casteless Sidereal]

In the version of Creation she inhabits, “Wind” has two distinct appearances. This one in particular is the that of a young northener girl, the body of whom Wind’s spirit currently resides in as her circle attempts to undo a future where they failed to stop the world from being destroyed.

While Wind still acts like a proud and dutiful Linowan noble despite the constant concern of her circle-mates that she’ll draw attention doing so, she has moved from diplomacy and persuasion to deceit when it comes to influencing people, if only because she finds it hard to be taken seriously as she is.

Appearance: Wind’s current body, though she intends it to be temporary, is that of a young northerner girl, around 130cm (4′3) in height and of a very slight build. Her skin is pale and lightly freckled and her hair ash brown and roughly sheared to a fluffy, chin-length poof of curls. In clothing she favours leather, kept in shades of brown or dyed in muted shades of green or blue, and decorated with stitching or beads of wood, horn or bone. Her outfits are mostly practical despite aiming for elegance, warmed by the inclusion of fur.

In lieu of better equipment, Wind has a feathersteel chainshirt she wears half-hidden by her clothing, a simple sling and a set of javelins. She has managed to get her ears pierced with gold studs, but wears no other metal accessories, even the clasps of her clothing horn, wood or bone instead.

Wind’s familiars accompany her as often as they can, Deep End of a Rippling Pond in the form of a great Ice Weasel, and poor Hypnotic Apostle of Kind Updrafts cursed to the shape of a northern Leech Bat. She’s learned to think of Apostle as cute in its own way, the unsettling-looking Leech Bat is small enough to travel napping in a pouch, barely larger than a hand. She is also small and light enough to ride Deep End, who has a saddle for the purpose, masterfully crafted from leathers and furs

Her anima is filmy and fluctuating like aurora borealis, white with touches of green and warm gold. The iconic flare is unclear, muted, and merely implies the shape of a soaring osprey, like spotting shapes in clouds. The form of a proper Solar anima with a fraction of Sidereal subtlety painted over it.

Notable:

Appearance 4-5, leaning more to delicate, adorable and maybe pitiful

Light grey eyes

Freckles are faint but present all over body

References (shockingly, I don’t have actual pre-existing artwork for this version of Wind):

Body type

Hair reference (you can go much curlier if you want)

Clothing Style ref

More clothing style refs

A more general reference I’ve put together with heroforge

Ice Weasel ref (on 4 legs its back rises about a pony’s height from the ground)

Leech Bat ref (careful clicking on this if lamprey mouths and other such things squick you out!)

2) Θ47 “Theta”, Runaway Blade, Penubmra Solaris, Echo of the Sleeping Sun [Night Caste Solar]

In a version of Creation that resembles a galaxy swirling in a bubble of order floating in endless Wyld Space, “Theta” is a mostly impassive, serious and occasionally sarcastic runaway “wetworker” from a clandestine group operating in the region of Nexus – a personal enforcer and assassin to an influential crime lord already long before her own ascension. She doesn’t understand why she became exalted and initially resented her fate, but has since grown to realise that as her new nature forced her to defect from her old organisation, she’s become free to follow her own wishes for the first time in years.

Appearance: Theta is the shortest of her small circle of miscreants at 155cm (5′1) in height. She is built like a sprinter or an acrobat, with strong but lean muscle and a bearing light on her feet. Theta is far from ugly but her looks are nothing remarkable, with dark terracotta skin and black hair in a short angled bob. Her caste mark is somewhat masked with a thick fringe, and her eyes are almond-shaped and a deep orange amber that catches light with a coppery-gold glint.

Theta’s most significant physical features are the slight indications of magitech enhancements under her skin. Once separate tools and prostheses, her exaltation integrated much of her equipment into her body. As a result there are faint, seam-like scars forming a network of fine lines on her skin and cocentric rings of gold in her eyes. At a glance she looks fairly normal, but a preference for dark colours and a combination of skin-tight underlayers and loose easy-to-move-in outer ones can hide much, and when outside her ragtag circle’s ship Theta makes use of that. She comes across as mostly unarmed and the magitech suit that connects to her integrated enchancements looks very little like armour, but her enchancements can project a orange-gold forcefield to cover her “skin” in response to impact, and her gauntlets extend talons of cutting light of a similar hue from each fingertip.

Theta’s anima manifests unusually, spreading forth along the seams patterning her skin in orange and gold. The iconic flare doesn’t have a distinct shape, but behaves much like a flare star, churning violently with red, gold and white brightly enough to render more sensitive witnesses temporarily blind.

Notable:

Appearance 2

Never covers her head unless actually forced to

Incredibly non-expressive

References (Theta is another one I’ve lost most of my original references for, but these should be useful):

Skintone and facial features (you can go darker, it’s really hard to find images of dark skinned asian women)

Body type

Hair and a general idea of enhancement/armour style

A general idea of how the scard/lines work and how they light up with her anima

Example of how her body, prostheses and enhancements go together (espcially the hands/gloves/claws)

A general reference put together in heroforge

#exalted #exalted secret santa #THAT FEELING WHEN YOU FINISH YOUR JOURNAL ON 40+ HOURS OF NO SLEEP AND PROCEED TO CRASH FOR 20 HOURS #AND THEN WHEN YOU WAKE UP YOU REALISE #THAT YOU -DRAFTED- THE DANG THING INSTEAD OF POSTING IT #sorry path #it's here now

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littlesqoia · 2 years

Text

Nobody Else | ex! lee jeno

pairings: ex! lee jeno x fem! reader

wordcount: 2.2k words (9 min read)

warnings: mature content, non consensual peck/kiss, sorry no smut because dua lipa say NO in being friends with your ex lmao, past relationship, lack of dialogues, but more of jeno being regretful.

inspired by: Save Your Tears by The Weeknd

A/N: This fic is throughly written in the purpose of self fulfillment. There is no means of portraying the mentioned names in this fic with the wrong way. All names and face claims return to their rightful owner; however, the story and plot are mine. Plagiarism is a crime, lovelies.

“How many days have you been hiding under that fucking blanket?”

A flash of golden hues painfully cascading down, feeling the bright light traces the shape of your figure as an abrupt pull ensued at the end of your bed. At first, the flimsy blanket traces along your skin before it fell down onto the wooden floor. Knowing who would have dared to do such thing to you in early morning, you forced your head to look downwards. A short glare thrown at the suspect, you tried to ignore the light throbbing of muscles around your neck due to the sudden movement.

“Go away, I want to sleep” A sleepy haze all you felt as a sigh passed your parted lips. Feeling the sudden brush of air passing by, there was a floating thought of yours, the realization that the morning was indeed cold. You just never greeted the morning with one, it was always warm. You instinctively pulled both of your legs to your chest.

A chuckle was heard. Quite the familiar voice as you peeked at the person on the end of the bed, feigning one’s sleeping posture.

“Nah, wouldn’t want you to be Patrick from Spongebob, darling. Now up up, c’mon.” The person voiced out, his presence warming the air slightly. Though, it wasn’t quite enough. Slowly, with mind hazing to the fact that it was your dear best friend, you couldn’t help feeling the muscles around your lips contorted into a soft smile.

There was a certain poise and perhaps, with the help of his extremely heightened intuitive, he knew what you were thinking. Another low chuckle followed your silent mind, abruptly being forced to stop as you realize a pair of hand had gripped your ankles. Enthusiastically, so.

“No! wait Haech-”

“Do you really think I would fall for that expression?” He replied, pulling your body to the end of the bed. The boy looked at you in silence for a second, the both of you letting his unreadable thoughts wander. He huffs out a breath as he watches your sunken expression.

“Look, I don’t like seeing you be sad like this. You’ve been crying non stop for two months since you broke up with him and now you’ve been hiding under that ugly ass blanket for days, Y/N? I’m worried.”

“Stop blanket shaming my blanket you ass”

It wasn’t purposeful. Yet, the feeling of reassuring him with a simple joke couldn’t be erased from the back of your mind as you sent him a downcast smile.

But then again, the boy was not stupid. Oh, Haechan was far from it. He bit his lips. It was not gentle, you would dare you could even feel the pain on yours, despite the far distance. Gently, painting the emotions with blue and a bit of hopeful white, he touches your hand. Replacing your gloomy smile with his bright ones.

“Are you finally willing enough to let me help you?” Haechan asked, gentle tone slowly waking you up to your senses. “…how?” Your eyes glimmer back on him with a slight curiosity, knowing he was just as mischievous as he was caring.

“Don’t think about it too much. Just dress sexy for tonight, yeah? I’ll pick you up at 9.”

It wasn’t a question.

Unfortunately to you, it was more of a statement.

Hazel eyes of yours darted nervously to the left, and right. The left. Right. Left. Right. Left, and right. Beaded sweats emitted underneath the cold of your palms, fingertips trembling as you tightened the hold of the leathered material. It was too tight, pale red color slowly painting around the grasp of your hold.

Fathoming the odd gesture, Haechan looked back at you. Untucking your hold to hold his hands. “Hey, you okay? Did I take you to the wrong place?” He slightly shouted, waking up your realization to the echoing beats in the background. Suddenly feeling the need to assure yourself of your surrounding, neon lights staring back at you. Movements maintaining its rhythm as you watch people began to sway their hips.

Instantly, you felt nauseous. More sweats emitting from the palm of your skin. A heavy weight being tucked under the back of your neck as you felt pressure pulsating around your head.

“It’s okay! I just need a bit of water” You replied back, the tone of your voice was unnoticed as the only thing being prominent in your mind was the need to taste clear pure water. Ignoring the gradually worrying expression of Haechan, you walk past him. Diving more into the ocean of unknown gestures, faces, breaths, and the tickle of ecstasy in the air.

As you reached the bar stool, a heavy breath leaving your lips from the untold weight. Sitting on the stool, you let as the cold air grace your open skin around your neck, collarbones, and the depth of your chest.

“A water, please” You uttered, trying not to be bothered by the overly high risk of the bartender not hearing your order. Though, despite all of the worries, it wasn’t much to think as you ignored it once again. There was a feeling of wanting to let go, letting all of your little insignificant anxieties to be buried underneath your free will. You weren’t used to it; however, burdening Haechan was never of your choice.

Both hands laying flat on the desk, you let your head fall on top of it. The loosened hair slowly falling down, tracing every bit of your scalp. You sighed, feeling a bit odd. It was quite weird how you felt calm in a situation where calm wasn’t one to be described by. Perhaps, you had the skill to feign the hideous beat as your lullaby to sleep.

Until, you felt something.

A movement around you. No, it was more on you.

It was too familiar.

A slender hand gently tucking a strand of your hair to the back of your ears. You shuttered your eyes open, hiding beneath your overlapped hands. The hand’s size was bigger than yours, it looked almost calloused as if the person had quite a harder labor than yours — though you doubt it seeing how gentle it was with a single strand of your hair. Your eyes slightly caught the pumped muscles around his wrist, noticing the lines of the prominent veins as you gulped down.

Have you seen this hand before, perhaps?

It was too recognizable, too accustomed for you to feel as you involuntarily leaned in to the touch.

The unknown hand slowly moves to the top of your head. Gently moving forward and backward. Brushing the soft littered locks as you recognize the fast heartbeat of yours, as if it was trying to match the music’s beat in the background. Breathing in slowly, your nostrils flared slightly at the familiar sense of smell.

Again, have you smelt this cologne before?

Mind racing to thousand thoughts and memories. You would dare to confront the person in moment, yet there was an odd feeling of yours to feel submitted, to feel afraid. Afraid that this familiarity might be gone as soon as you caught it. As soon as you held it tight, what if it slowly disperse into little clouds of memories you ought to erase?

Slowly, you moved your hands. The person stopped. Perhaps, noticing your abrupt movement, this person has their own fears. Somehow, that thought alone was a bit comforting to you. You were both were afraid of underlaying stories between the exchange of simple gestures.

“Here’s your water, ma’am”

“Ah, excuse me? Can I ask for her bill? I would like to pay the water for her” You heard his voice.

Oh, It’s him. Isn’t it?

A beat of silence passes your ears as you felt your heartbeat was beating even faster than before, faster than normal. The sense of familiarity with a hint of the undeniably regretful longing was slowly waking up your senses. Abruptly hearing the very much familiar voice you’d spent months on forgetting was not as pleasant as you’d thought it would be. As he turned his head to the side, paying the water you had just ordered, there was a slight wanting of you to talk to him.

Fuck it.

It wasn’t daring, it wasn’t brave. It was simply an impulsive intuitive of yours to talk to the boy that had been holding your opened heart for far too long for you to accept the fact.

“I never asked you to pay it for me.”

There was a moment of silence, Perhaps, his mind was battling the feeling of wanting to talk to you again, or it could be just the fact that he was doubting that it was indeed your voice that had talk to him. All and all, simply revolves around the thought of him being a bit too prestigious for your likings. All and all, simply revolves around the fact that this boy was just Lee Jeno.

“Hm, I never asked you to recognize me as well, love” He replied, brushing past the fringes hanging loosely on top of his head.

You didn’t answer. Rather, you chose not to. Hazel eyes of yours watching as he slowly tilted his head to the direction of you, creating little vibrations in the air as his eyes locked up with yours. Then again, maybe you were the only one feeling those odd vibrations.

“What are you doing here, Jeno?” You bravely asked, cursing to yourself as you felt limp in your knees underneath his glances as he eyed you quite strangely. “It’s a public place, Y/N. I always go here whenever I’m feeling like it.” Jeno replied, his voice colder than usual.

“Even when we were still a thing?”

Ah, shit.

“You know that’s not the case on why we broke up, love”

You cursed at yourself, feeling burdened by the heaviness of your tongue. There was a feeling of a strange addiction to him, to Lee Jeno in his usual leather jackets and stupid bad boy aesthetics wavering around him. There was no doubt that you were a victim of such. Always wanting to taste him, in the simplest way possible, whether that was teasing him, talking back to him, to just a simple eye contact of your warm hazel eyes to his dark blue ones.

This time, you hated how you act as if you were hurt by him. As if he just crumbled all of your world, when the boy himself is fully aware that at one point in the word “us”, in the story of you and him, he was once your world.

“Sorry, my mind’s not clear right now.” You softly whispered, slowly taking the abandoned glass of water to your hold.

He lets out a chuckle. “That used to be my brand” He jokes. A soft smile appearing at his sculpted face as you watch him closely. The darting eyes of you and him met. You knew he could read you perfectly, Jeno had always been able to. You never let him before, and yet this time you let yourself be like an open book for him. The sense of longing and perhaps, a bit of sadness showing through the little glimmering stars beneath your eyes.

A heavy burden begin to throb underneath your lids as you felt heavy within his gaze. A tear almost slipped. Cutting the tension abruptly, you darted your attention somewhere along the dance floor. Jeno saw it. He saw it all. The boy however chooses to be silent. Hoping once again, the communication between passing air was enough to make you understand that he was sorry. An example of his bad habit. The lack of communication on his side.

However, this time you weren’t prepared. You weren’t prepared to hear those clearly. To feel awed at his change.

“I’m sorry for running away.”

It was short.

You would even dare to scream back at him and ask “That’s it?!” or perhaps, even worse the wanting to scream at him with incoherent cursing words, “Fuck you, Lee Jeno you ass!!”

Yet, who knew those simple words coming out of Lee Jeno’s mouth would be so impactful. Letting the cold air embraces you tighter, you felt as if you’d wanted to die. Your knees buckled up to the feeling of wanting to be hold tightly, to feel safe underneath particular arms, the feeling of wanting to taste those familiarity of him, Jeno. Instead, you just embrace the tightening throat as you let your tears fall thoroughly from beneath your eyelashes.

Again, Jeno saw it all.

He will always will.

This time, there was something unfamiliar. It wasn’t recognizable of him to do as you felt a sudden weight being burdened upon your shoulder.

It was his leather jacket.

The familiar hand creeped up behind your neck, holding the side of your face gently. He lets the warmness spread throughout your face as he leaned down. “Take care of yourself for me yeah? Okay, my love?” You were silent, feeling a weighted kiss being planted on the side of your cheeks.

There was a short feeling of wetness right above his skin. Your tears greeted by a tear of another. it was as if he had been letting his own tears to communicate with yours. You didn’t dare to confront the reality.

And so like the stubborn being that you are, as you felt him inching further and further away from you, the whispers of goodbye he’d been silently hoping was just a simple scenery of your back turned to him. Shutting him close from a chapter of your book with the remnants of him, still dearly held by you.

To say Lee Jeno was in pain, it wasn’t enough words to describe it by.

Thank you for reading!! feedback in any form would be appreciated ^^ (you don’t really have to haha) thank you for stopping by!! <3

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lolita-lollipop · 3 years

Note

Royal siren erasermic family? They like adopt you after you hatch from an egg bc they found you or something idk and take you back to the castle and make you their little princess or something cute and fluffy like that.

YANDERE SIREN ERASERMIC FAMILY X BABY PRINCESS READER

Shinso was just out and about, swimming through some forbidden areas he wasn’t supposed to be in, avoiding sharks, when he found an iridescent little ball under some rubble of a shipwreck, it made his gills tingle at the sweet aura that it emmited, he knew, that this creature, was something to protect. It was up until he saw something moving inside that he thought it was just some ancient treasure that would’ve died with this ship, he examined it closer, squinting his eyes, that’s when he realized, it was a Siren. A baby one at that, usually they hatched out of boring white eggs, the royal family’s were gold, but a shiny color changing white that combated the finest of jewels? Never, this little pip was special, he could feel it.

So he brought it back home, through his “balcony window”, debating wether or not he should tell his parents. As you know, he was somewhere where he was not supposed to be, and they would throw a fit. Then again, whatever this thing was, he couldn’t just keep it to himself, something was living inside it, and he wouldn’t know if something was wrong, so he has too. When he did, it came as a suprise that his parents weren’t mad, they jsut kindof stared at the orb, inhaling the addictive scent it gave off, the three huddled around it, aizawa carefully picking the Small thing up, it was only about the size of a pumpkin, extremely easy to pick up, yet he could still feel the heartbeat of a creature inside, it just had to be one of the sirenfolk , there isn’t any other explanation. He stared at it in confusion, noticing the small cracks staring to form.

Then a little hand popped through, and scared the shit out of all of them.

———

As it turned out, you were in fact a siren, a rare subtype of them, thought to have gone extinct long, long ago. The opal-looking scales that littered your arms and tail showed proof of it, this species were intensely more fragile, and weaker, that’s why they went extinct, as they couldn’t hear, and a small crabs pinch could cause major bone breaks, they were just too weak, yet so beautiful. That’s why they were coveted among the royal family. It only helped their growing obsession taht you were so cute.

It might’ve been an act of I’mpulse, but they just needed to have you as their own, of course, their word is law, so they could’ve just kept you, but they felt the need to make it official, they’d already had two pips, you’re just their third! It was simple, of course, you specific species could be born into sirenfolk families, it was just so rare that it had only happened once. You were just so cute, so fragile, just something so breakable, they just

H a d

To protect this tiny lil thing, it was instinctual to feel a protective pull over their little pups, and boy were they feeling that right now, you were special, not just any baby, but you were theirs. Their special little pup, nothing would ever lay a hand on you, ever. It had only be a few days, and word spreads through the underwater kingdom like a wave, from the servant maid who showed them how to take care of you, to the head maid, to a citizen, to the fisher, and eventually, by the end of the week, the whole kingdom was eagerly waiting to get a glimpse of their new princess.

And boy were they shocked to find out it was an opalite, the most rare of rare sirens in the world. Immediately after they had shown you to the world, sitting in a large clam as it was pulled by sharks, the citizens fell in love with you, maybe it was the fact that you were related to their beloved royals, maybe because the royal family would intensely glare at anyone who made negative comments, maybe it was the fact that a few of those people went missing, but who knows right?

You still hadn’t been able to open your eyes yet, and you won’t be able to hear them for a very long time, your hands were about the size of aizawas eye, and you looked closer to a fish than a human, as you hadn’t even developed your face yet, another plus to being the endangered species, note the sarcasm. And guess what? They found it so adorable, just their cute little baby, their little pup who can’t even protect themselves from the water around them. They just loved every part of your little body, from your tails, to your tiny little hands, to your shiny gills. It was all just so perfect- you were so perfect, and you were theirs, they were gonna protect you at all costs.

So of course they did, you were just so tiny right now, they knows practically anything could hurt you, so they opted to be around you all the time, only leaving to hunt for humans that would suffice for their tastes, drawling them in, determined because of that little smile of yours. You motivated them to do it, they were doing this for you. It have them all a sense of pride to have you feel safe with them, to rite them you. On their own terms.

Eri was constantly around you, being that she was a young one just like you, and you were her little sister! So she wanted to always be around while you made those echoing gurgling noises, or flapped your hands around in the water, she didn’t have responsibility in the kingdom yet, unless being cute is a job, so she can be with you jsut as much as she wants. Always sitting with you while you played with the floating pearls that they had arranged over your play area, watching you feel new things, holding you while you dozed off with adorable little bubbles, she always was with you.

Like now, she’s been with you all day, giving you little snacks, glaring at the guards at the door who always had their eyes on you… creeps. The sun was almost setting, and when you’re low down in the ocean it goes pitch black after a little while, and that’s when the jellyfish come out, tonight was one of the most special days out of the year in the northern oceans, the jellyfish festival, the one night a year when the rare white jellyfish would come out to say hi, leaving trails of shimmering sparkle behind them, painting the upper levels of the ocean a shiny silver. It just so happened that it occurred on your first birthday, a very small increment to sirens, as they live almost a billion years, but still a big accomplishment in their eyes. Look! Their little baby girl is turning one! How amazing!

“Do you see them hon? Look, they’re just starting to appear” Aizawa asked both you and eri calmly, swishing his hand through the salty water to pint at the new appearance of white and purple blobs, slowly flouncing their way overhead. Eri smiled up at it, her pointed teeth displayed in full view, her eyes shined at the view, not only of the huge jellyfish, but also at you, who was placed delicately in mics lap, sat up against his chest. Little bubbles escaped your mouth as you blew raspberries into the water, just making the family laugh.

“Mm-hmmm! Look! Look! How pretty! I wanna touch em! Can I touch em!” She yelled at her parents, excitedly pointing towards the jelly’s floating towards the surface, her hair floated behind her as she swished around, shinsho just chuckled, knowing that she eventually would try to touch them, and get zapped, again, like last year, and the year before, and the year before.

“No hon. Don’t do that to us again, you wanna wish your sister a happy birthday? She’s probably really exited!” Mic cheered, distracting his daughter from touching the jellyfish, yet again, meanwhile, you were happily bouncing up and down on his lap, enjoying the freedom of your arms, swishing them all over the place, grabbing the beads around your neck, jsut anything.

“But dad! Why not! It’s not like it’s hurt me or anything I’ll be fi-“ she begged, throwing her hands up in a small tempter tantrum, clearly forgetting her previous events of pain, and idiocy.

“No- nope no no, we aren’t doing this again, please honey, just please, remember last time, we had to clean up your wounds OUTSIDE-of water, you hate going to the surface remember? “

“Yeah but-“ she started speaking, but was soon cut off with a loud giggle, resonating through your lips, kindof rare for you, you hadn’t been very vocal outside of a few gurgles here and there, so it had each and every ones heads turning. That’s when they saw it, your beautiful eyes, shin sing in reflection to the jellyfish. Those beautiful little eyes of yours mesmerized all of them, a pitch black (for protection from the salt), with a shiny silver-like pupal, immediately after they opened, a burst of color filled your vision. You giggled and clapped your hands together with a small toothless smile, watching as the floaty creates went overhead, glittering with the light.

The absolutely gorgeous splash above was admired by the family form their own viewing post, the blues and whites combined to make a heavenly display. You could feel the cool sprinkles of light they emmited hitting your skin, smiling at the feeling, you splayed your hands out and flailed them against the water.

“Ohhhhhh- oh wow. Honey! Honey look! Her eyes opened! Look at taht! Aren’t you just so magical! Look at you, my little pup.” Mic smacked Aizawa over the chest multiple times, pointing at your clearly opened eyes, you just remained oblivious, staring up at all the new things around you, like.. everything! He turned you around to face him, letting you actually see his face for the first time, taking in the long yellow hair, the (also) black eyes, the ethereal face dotted with shiny yellow gills, him, you could see him!

“She’s developing smoothly, I’m glad. Awww, that’s pretty cute.” Aizawa replied to him, holding in his emotions, as soon as he met those new eyes of yours it’s like everything else disappeared, like the world itself didn’t exist, outside of him, and his fmaily. You took his breath away, or what you could call breath, so cute and innocent, such a small thing, that brings so much joy. Your little tail swished back and forth as you stared up at them happily, taking in the features of the people you’d learned to recognize by touch. Blowing raspberries out of your lips with a stream of bubbles.

“Awwwww! I’m gonna cry, she’s growing so fast! Soon she’ll be swimming in her own! In like 200 years! Too soon, way too soon. Comers baby- mm hmmm” mic spoke, knowing full well that even if he did cry, his tears would get sucked in by the ocean. He pulled you close, moving your head I’ve this shoulde is it would rest in the crook of his neck while he hugged you, eventually, the others joined in, eri practically flopping ontop (with careful regard for you of course).

They all stared at you, while you stared up at the “sky”, oblivious to their stares, to the ways they would growl at anyone who came close, to how they kept you from seeing anyone other than what they personally approve. After all, you are jsut their little pup, of course you wouldn’t notice! Their little pup… feels right to say that, it isn’t like you have any family waiting, they aren’t ever gonna come here.

And if they ever did?

Then, well, a few mermaids are going missing

———————————————————————————————————

Thanks for requesting, this was fun to write!

Have a great day today! Goodbye.

#yandere aizawa #yandere erasermic x reader #yandere erasmic #yandere erasermic #yandere erasermic family #yandere siren #yandere fantasy #yandere x child reader #yandere x reader #yandere platonic #platonic yandere #platonic obsession

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comfortwriting · 3 years

Text

Through Thick and Thin - A.S

Anakin Skywalker x Fem Reader

masterlist, requesting rules, guidelines, taglist

About: When Obi-Wan learns of Anakin's turn to the dark side, he goes to Y/N to try and find him; what he gets instead changes everything and Anakin gets the answers he's been waiting for.

A/N: this is my first time writing in months, please be kind! Need to get back to my flow lol

Word Count: 2057

Warnings: murder, death, blood, mention of parent loss.

"He killed younglings, Y/N!" Obi-Wan stressed, pacing around the room "Tell me where he is, I beg you."

You stared at your husbands Jedi Master, contemplating if you should tell him the truth - betraying your husband and revealing his whereabouts or to lie and protect him. After all, you knew what Obi-Wan was going to do.

You knew that Anakin was capable of taking lives, especially the lives of women and children after he murdered the Tusken Raiders - you weren't afraid of him when he confessed and you certainly didn't shame him for it; you could understand his anger, his hate, his need for revenge.

Anakin's back was facing you, he stared at the wall, hot tears streaming down his face.

"I killed them." he paused, catching his breath "I killed them all. They're dead, every single one of them."

Anakin slowly turned around to face you, his face stained with tears, his eyes glassy and red.

You stared at him, trying not to judge him for what he had done - knowing that if you did, you would be the biggest hypocrite known to man.

"And not just the men," Anakin inched closer to you, shaking his head "but the women and the children too."

You froze.

Women, like you.

Children, like the ones you adored at the Jedi Temple, children you dreamed of having with Anakin.

Part of you died hearing his confession, but you remembered how you felt when you were finally left alone in a room with your fathers killer. You too would've killed his wife and the other women and children in their village. You would wipe them all out.

"They're like animals, and I slaughtered them like animals." Anakin started to raise his voice, his pearly white teeth shining in the light "I hate them!"

Anakin dumped himself to the floor, bringing his knees to his chest, more tears falling from his eyes; you placed your hand against his face, wiping away his tears with your thumb.

"It's okay to feel angry, it's okay to hate them after what they did." You said softly, casting circles on his cheek with your thumb.

"I'm a Jedi," his eyes searched yours, his hand reaching for yours, holding it tightly "I know I'm better than this."

You sighed, kissing his hand softly "Don't let what you've done define you, Ani."

"How can I come back from this?" He asked in frustration "How can I move forward if Obi-Wan is holding me back!"

"You find a way," you encouraged him "even if it means going against him... and the council."

"You're going to kill him, aren't you?" You asked quietly.

Obi-Wan didn't answer, he swallowed hard and looked at the pale lilac carpet.

"Why do I get the feeling you're going to be the death of me?"

"Don't say that Master... You're the closest thing I have to a father... I love you. I don't want to cause you pain."

"He has slain younglings, Y/N! I saw his callousness with my own eyes!" Obi-Wan raised his voice, "Anakin has sided with Palpatine! He's the sith lord!"

You started to laugh, waving your hand.

'Of course, Obi-Wan and the council are pinning this on Palpatine, making him the bad guy.' you thought.

"It's funny," you speak up swinging your right leg over your left knee "you and the council painting Palpatine as evil."

The Jedi Master stared at you in horror and couldn't believe the words coming out of your mouth - his heart splitting into tiny fragments, the young girl he raised was defending the chosen one - the young boy who had grown up with bouts of pent up hate and anger, and turned to the dark side.

"Palpatine is the only person other than me who truly cares for Anakin, who never lectures him for his feelings, who never holds him back."

Obi-Wan felt sick.

"I don't know where he is," you lied "even if I did, I'm not telling you."

"Don't make this harder for me than it needs to be," Obi-Wan warned you, remembering the Jedi Code, pushing his memories with you and Anakin aside.

You didn't flinch, instead, you sat back down on the sofa, staring at the beautiful sparkling wedding ring on your finger.

"I don't want to go back," you sighed, dragging your feet through inches of deep, sparkling snow "I've missed being home."

Anakin nervously fidgeted with the ring box in his pocket, practising his words over and over and over, making sure he got them perfect, his body freezing, his hair full of snowflakes.

"I'm so thankful you came here with me, Ani." You smiled, "My dad would've loved you."

Realising that Anakin wasn't following you, you stopped in your tracks and turned around, finding your boyfriend down on one knee.

"Ani-"

"From the day we met, I have never been able to shake you from my mind and heart."

Your eyes filled with tears and your goggles started to steam up.

"I never got to ask for your father's blessing, but that won't stop me."

You focused on the ring, realising it was the same one that your father always showed you as a child, with his plan to give to you in hopes that you would pass it on to your children.

"Y/N, my love, will you marry me?"

You nodded your head, removing your glove, exposing your warm skin to the freezing air that instantly started to nip at your skin.

"Yes," you smiled, more tears falling from your eyes "I will marry you, Anakin."

"Your father would be ashamed of you, you're becoming the very thing he hated, you're sleeping with the enemy!"

The rage you once felt started to ignite deep inside you as Obi-Wan tried to sour one of the greatest moments of your life.

You stood up, and walked over to him, staring him down.

"You know better than to bring up my father, Obi-Wan."

Anakin tried to catch his breath, stumbling backwards in extreme pain, the sound of your screams ringing in his ears. You were hurt, probably dead with the amount of pain Anakin was experiencing.

His heart started pounding, his ears ringing, feeling sick to his stomach - you couldn't be... could you? who could've done this? why?

"I have these nightmares..." Anakin opened up to you "what I see, happens."

You stroked Anakin's head, your fingertips massaging his scalp, your lips brushing against his neck.

"I had them about my mother before she died, I wasn't strong enough to save her."

You stopped massaging his scalp, and pulled away, looking into his blue eyes - full of tears that pooled up over his waterline.

"You are strong and you get even stronger the more you learn and experience," you paused "I was strong - not strong enough to save my dad, but now I probably would've had a better chance of doing so. We move forward."

Your fiance nodded his head, pursing his lips and kissing you softly, still emotional when he pulled away from the kiss.

"I don't want to dream of you like that- I don't want the nightmares - I can't... I can't lose you..."

You shook your head, cupping Anakin's face in your hands "You won't lose me, Ani."

Anakin didn't know but he would soon find out, killing the last of the separatist leaders on Mustafar, he boarded his ETA-2 Jedi Starfighter and set off in a hurry; desperate to find you.

You were in utter shock.

Your hands trembling, your forehead burning, the room closing in on you yet expanding at the same time and your throat like sandpaper from your constant screaming.

It all happened so fast - Obi-Wan striking for you, your leg being severed off faster than you could realise until you fell down and all you could feel was agonising pain, and the smell of burning flesh filling the room, the blood boiling in your veins.

You sat on the floor, your back propped up against the back of the sofa, dragging yourself across the floor proved difficult since you stopped practising your upper body workouts.

Looking across the room, your eyes landed on Obi-Wan, no longer breathing - how you did it? you didn't know - you managed to take control, more power than you ever had in your life, your fury spitting inside of you begging for release.

Do you feel guilty? Now that you think about it, no.

Obi-Wan attempted to end your life and he would take Anakin's life too.

Bringing the back of your hand up to your forehead, you wiped away the beads of sweat, your chest rising and falling.

Anakin jumped out of his Starfighter, his hood shielding his face, his long strides bringing him closer and closer to you, his eyes no longer a beautiful shade of blue, but like the two suns on Tatooine during sunset.

She can't be. Y/N can't be dead. Not now. Not ever.

Getting closer and closer, Anakin could sense death, pain, and suffering.

The door swung open as Anakin stormed in, searching for you frantically until his eyes landed on your amputated leg in the middle of the room, his face drained of all its colour.

Your screams came back to him, the searing sound of Obi-Wan's lightsaber severing your leg, the loud thud as you fell to the floor and then the walls shaking, everything shaking, your yells, Obi-Wan's voice breaking before his body dropped lifelessly to the floor.

Anakin glanced over to his Jedi Masters lifeless body and stared, his eyes burning holes into Obi-Wans back, wanting nothing more than to revive him just so he could have the pleasure of murdering him for what he had done to you.

You peeked your head out from behind the sofa, "Ani," you winced, "I'm back here."

Anakin rushed to your side, his eyes pouring with tears as he searched your face and body for more injuries; the sight of your wound hurt him deeply.

How could Obi-Wan do this to you? How could anyone do such a thing to the chosen one's wife?

"Are you-are you-"

"Ani," you tried to calm him down breathlessly "just my leg, nothing-nothing else."

Anakin scooped you into his arms as gently as he could, you held onto him for support, moving one of your arms around his neck, your tear-stained face hiding in his chest, his heartbeat thumping against your ear comforting you.

"I thought you were dead," Anakin croaked, carrying you away, his robes hiding you in his arms.

"Obi-Wan came to me, he needed to know where you were so he could kill you," you admitted, "he told me that you killed younglings."

Anakin slowed down, you pulled your head out of his chest and looked into his eyes.

"Did you believe him?" Anakin asked, his tone harsh.

You paused for a moment, slightly afraid that Anakin might drop you.

"I know that you have killed children before," you replied quietly, "he told me that Palpatine is the sith lord... that you are his apprentice-"

"What do you think of Palpatine?" Anakin's eyes rummaged through yours.

She can't turn against me - she won't. I won't let her.

"I think that he's the only other person aside from me who has ever encouraged you to show your emotions, to use them to make you stronger."

Anakin's eyes fixed on your face like glue "what if he is the sith lord, and I have joined him? what would you think of me"

You sighed, closing your eyes, imagining the perfect life with your husband; you and him never in harms way, children of your own growing up without a clue of what it's like to lose a parent, to be a slave.

"I would encourage you to overthrow him, and together you and I can rule the galaxy,"

You opened your eyes, everything coming back to you, your father's death, how it felt to slaughter a whole family.

"make things the way we want them to be."

Anakin gripped onto you tightly, a prideful grin spreading across his face.

"Everyone turned against me but you." He said softly, kissing you.

"What if you hate what I become?" your boyfriend stressed, pacing up and down.

"I could never hate you, Anakin," you walked over to him, linking your arm with his metal one"I'll be with you through thick and thin."

tags: @autobotrosestark

#anakin x reader #anakin skywalker #anakin fanfiction #star wars anakin #anakin imagines #anakin oneshots #obi wan x reader #obi wan fanfiction #obi wan fic #star wars fanfiction #star wars imagines #star wars fanfic

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obeymeluv · 3 years

Text

Quick! Kiss Me! [Part 3 - Mammon]

Same rules apply from Part 2: thoughts are italicized and bolded. May be slightly NSFW because the boys have a crush on you and such. If anyone has suggestions for Asmo’s part or Belphie’s, I’m down to hear it. I kind of have one for Belphie but I feel it’s a little cliché.

Also, I’ve logged back in and started playing Obey Me! since I have a three day weekend and the “Are You Kidding Me?!” event is making me want to write those baby headcanons. Might do that next.

Mammon:

You’d been following a buzzing, bubbling sensation around the house. It was enough to make your teeth rattle at points and you wondered if one of the brothers were using shadow magic to stay on the fringes of your vision (or just out of it). Sometimes it would feel like you were right on top of it, your whole body feeling like loose change in a can, and just as quickly it would stop. The cold wash of going the wrong way was a welcome reprieve.

Exhausted, feeling like you’d lapped the house several times, you dragged yourself back to your bedroom. It wasn’t very romantic but at this point you’d had it! The only thing your poor brain could think of was texting them one by one and just kissing them. If you were honest with yourself, you wouldn’t even need to text all seven. If you were really honest with yourself, you just wanted to text one of them.

And he was in your bed, cuddled into your pillows and half-wrapped in your sheets like he was supposed to be there.

Was he asleep?

You resisted the urge to stomp your foot or startle Mammon awake. His jacket was tossed haphazardly over your small desk chair but his sunglasses had been placed with care on your nightstand. Mammon? You placed on knee on the bed, planning to crawl towards him from the opposite corner. Mammon tended to wake up swinging and flailing; you remembered Belphie yanking him off of “his” spot on the couch but not before he’d fluffed his pillow and took a defensive stance.

Your little brain tap was enough to make him snort and stretch but not open his eyes. Tanned limbs dragged themselves across twisted sheets. He sounded like he’d mumbled something but you couldn’t be sure. You were sure he’d scooped up another pillow to stuff his face in and squeeze to death.

Was that a giggle? Mammon gave a contented little hum, snuggling his face into the new, cool pillow. Mammon! you tried again. It was weird to speak with your brain. Could you raise your voice just by thinking it? You froze in the middle of the bed, Mammon snapping up with a slow blink and a confused slur (and a huffy demon gurgle).

If he wasn’t hugging the pillow, he probably would’ve swung his arms out or fallen out the bed and taken half the sheets with him. Mammon blinked again, his white brows furrowing as he scanned the room. He leaned forward and you barely remembered how utterly blind he was as you watched the sleep lift from blue-yellow eyes.

“So who was the lucky—“ Mammon started off in his fake ‘I’m not interested’ tone but the words died out before he could make them any more indifferent. “Your lips are still sealed shut.” he lurched forward, your noses practically touching. “Your lips are still sealed shut!” he whispered again breathlessly, the quickness of his words matching the excited pulse in his throat.

Mammon’s heart squeezed in his chest. His mouth dried and suddenly he couldn’t think of anything to say. This wasn’t how he thought your first kiss would be but Diavolo be damned if he’d turn it down! The demon could barely filter his desire for you, trying to keep the YES! GIMME! KISS ME, KISS ME! in his head and out of yours. His face started to heat up when the pact mark on your shoulder glowed a soft golden color, painting both of your faces in a candlelight-like glow.

The tiniest part of his awed brain could feel his mouth slipping open in shock. You were a vision with golden highlights. Golden highlights from his pact mark! It made him want to take you on a fancy restaurant date and see it again.

Mammon? you were waiting on him now, ever so careful. So considerate. That’s what he loved about you. You put up with a lot of his walls and his loud behavior but deep down you knew. He knew you knew, and he was glad you kept his secret.

The people who made the loudest echoes were often the most fragile. He was a giving heart that had been corrupted against his will, and he had not totally hardened with the fall. You saw those scars and chips and cracks and somehow healed all of it with your human hands. With your smile. Your touch.

Hell, you just saying his name could wipe centuries of suffering from his mind.

“Was I your first choice?” Mammon’s voice turned raspy and tight. He couldn’t bear to hear you say you’d gone to one of the others first. He’d seen you going from room to room, slinking around the house in a way only the second-eldest could master. Years of trying to slip out past curfew and make off with a few odds and ends no one would miss without getting caught had its perks. Watching you touch doors and turn halls gutted him and drove him to seek refuge in your room.

He’d consoled himself amongst your pillows—your scent—and tried not to cry. Even if you didn’t choose him, he’d still have you as a friend. Maybe an in-law. That didn’t stop the cold twisting in his guts or the burning anguish in his chest as he realized over and over that he was one of seven. The other six were better than him, he feared. He was just scummy, scummy Mammon.

You don’t think you are? You tilted your head as you looked at him, hands coming up to comb gently through his hair and massage the bottom of his ears. Your hands smoothed down his neck, drawing him into a hug that was just…very you. Comforting and genuine and wholesome. He felt it first physically, then emotionally as your pact mark burned a little brighter.

You dummy, it was so light, so teasing and gentle that Mammon couldn’t help but smile as you cupped his face and brought his lips up to yours. “Of course you’re my first choice. You’re my first man, aren’t you?”

Mammon realized you said that with your mouth--your open mouth—and he exploded into a rolling yayayayaya victory warble. His eyes were a molten yellow, almost as bright as Diavolo’s (maybe brighter). Tears beaded in his eyes and Mammon blinked them away, stuffing his face into your neck as he tackled you to the bed. A burst of heat rolled over you as his horns came out a hot skin touched yours, the demon greedily snuggling into like he’d finally found his home.

He was scenting you with all his snuggling and ‘settling’ but you didn’t mind, patting his back and running your fingertips across the seams in his black jacket. In all his ‘settling’ you’d been turned onto your side and scooped up by him. Mammon locked his arms around you, feet tangling with yours. He’d tucked you under his chin to keep you away from his horns. “I can’t believe you took so long!” he whined, fingers playing with your hair, “making me wait like that! I’m a busy guy, you know?”

“I can take your place if you’re so busy!” you saw a hint of Asmo in the doorway and probably Levi behind him before Mammon’s wing blocked your view. They’d been called by the noise Mammon made earlier.

“Get lost, the lot of ya!” Mammon flapped his free wing at them. He hugged you closer and you briefly wondered if this what a dragon did with their hoard. You laughed at the thought. “This is my human! And my human is spending time with their first man!” he’d made a little tent out of his wing, peeking down at you with pride and love and a little hesitancy that begged you to back him up because his embarrassment was outweighing his ability to run his smart mouth.

You responded by kissing his chest, little kitten kisses that climbed his throat and jaw and could definitely be heard with demon ears. Popping out from just under his wing, you pecked his lips. His nose just to catch him off guard. “It’s very personal time.” you teased, rubbing his shoulders as his wing unfolded to show you off, sitting happily atop your man.

There were scowls and little demon grumbles you’d never be able to understand, but you didn’t care. You couldn’t even hear them over the sound of Mammon’s purr.

#Obey me! x reader #Obey me!#Mammon #Mammon x Reader #Obey me! Mammon

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