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amoreva · 3 months

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KISS THE GIRL

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pairing: luke castellan x fem!reader

summary: two times luke knows he’s in love with you + one time he can’t hold it in anymore

warnings: pre tlt luke, ooc luke

a/n: percy jackson 🔛🔝 (request some fics for the characters), i think i ended this terribly, but i’ll fix it later at some point!

—– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–

I. SCAR

“You are an idiot.”

That’s the first thing Luke hears when he wakes up in the Camp’s infirmary. He feels groggy, sluggish and slow and barely registered that you were in the room.

He faintly tasted his mother’s cooking. A small comfort for the consequences of failing his quest. His heart is filled with embarrassment and pity and dejection.

You snapped your fingers by his ears. “I know you’re awake. You hear me? You are an idiot!”

“If you’re here to make fun of me failing my quest, go away.” Luke groaned and turned on his side, despite the pain flaring in his abdomen.

"Luke." You said in a much softer tone. You were concerned about his injuries since he returned from the quest. "You know I wouldn't do that, not with something this serious.”

You helped him sit up in the infirmary bed and cup his cheek. He felt a gauze patch rather then your warm palm on his right cheek. “I’m saying you’re an idiot for not letting me come with you!”

“You can’t do everything by yourself.”

Love is fickle and strange thing. Luke and you promised that if either of you went on a quest, you’d bring each other. Yet, Luke couldn’t keep his promise.

He couldn’t see his girl—best friend, his best friend get hurt because of a stupid promise. He wouldn’t forgive himself if you went out he quest and got injured in some way, shape or form.

Even if you hadn’t gotten hurt, he might’ve— he would’ve gotten worse injuries from being distracted by your beauty. He could never tear his eyes from you whenever you entered the room.

In hindsight, it was a really bad way to go about things.

“I’m fine, aren’t I?” Luke responded and couldn’t hold himself back. He interlaced his fingers with yours, knowing you were still pissed when he didn’t choose you or anyone, for that matter, to join him on his quest to retrieve a Golden Apple from the Garden of Hesperides.

He resented his father and the gods for not caring for his wellbeing during the quest.

“Yes, but—” You protested.

At least you cared for his wellbeing. You caring about him was better than any god or goddess on Olympus.

His eyes softened. His mind screaming the words he was too scared to say to you out loud. “I love you.” He loved you for caring about his wellbeing. His safety.

“Yes, but nothing.” Luke retaliated and squeezed your hand to assure you. “I’m okay, I’m alive and have some cool ass scars now.”

Luke grinned as he was able to produce a laugh from you. Your laugh was like music to his ears. His own ambrosia in human form.

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes playfully.

“Never.”

II. SPARRING

“Again.” Luke demanded as he pointed the celestial bronze sword at your throat. The sun beating down on the two of you as you trained. A past time as the days got boring.

“Fuck off.” You scoffed and laid back in the grass that laid beneath the pair’s feet. The grass tickling your arms and legs.

“C’mon! Up and at it. The momentum will wear off.” Luke helplessly convinced you to try and spar him again.

“Oh no, what ever will we do?” Sarcasm bled through your tone. You pushed yourself to sit up and leaned against the rack contained to celestial bronze swords.

Luke shook his head and grinned. He pushed back his chocolate curls to wipe the sweat from his forehead. He joined you on the grassy floor.

“Five minute break then.” Luke nodded.

“Ten minutes.” You negotiated and looked over at Luke. His scar was healing nicely, no infections—just a clean cut from his eye to his jaw. “You can’t expect to be up and at it after training with the greatest swordsman for an hour straight.”

Maybe it was the heat or maybe it was from the training. Luke’s cheeks became pink. He knew his siblings and other demigods talked about him being the “greatest swordsman”, but hearing it from you was different.

“You think I’m the greatest swordsman?” Luke said with a teasing grin.

“Not after I’m done with you.”

“Say that to the many times you hit the floor.”

“I was going easy on you!”

Luke and you burst out in laughter at your banter, unable to keep a serious conversation. He thought your laughter could brighten up the Underworld. Hades would even agree.

Again, those three words would cross his mind. “I love you.” He loved bantering with you back and forth. How dare he try to ruin the moment with his romantic phrases.

“C’mon!” You huffed and pushed yourself to stand up. You were obliviously to the admiration in his eyes. The celestial bronze sword gripped loosely in your hand.

“What happened to the ten minutes?” Luke titled his head up only slightly to look at you. A stupid grin on his face. He stood up to get in position

“I can train when I damn want too.”

“Don’t start complaining about being tired then.”

He never tore his eyes away from yours as you thrusted the blade at his torso.

III. STARS

Luke had no idea where the line between lover and friendship was crossed. He had absolutely no idea when he started to see you more as a crush rather than his best friend.

Though he did notice his stomach started to twist and turn every time he saw you. He noticed his heart raced a little faster every time he heard your laugh.

Luke found himself gravitating towards you during dinner, training, capture the flag—like a moth to burning flame. Would he find himself getting burned for pursuing you?

“Hey.”

Luke spoke as the wooden dock creaked beneath his feet. You were sitting on the edge of the dock. The night sky lit up with tiny bright lights. You gave him a smile (one that could melt his heart) and patted the space next to you.

“You doing okay?” Luke asked and sat next to you. His leg touching yours. The lake rippled. The moonlight shining down on it.

“I just—needed a break.” You reassure Luke. “From gods, goddesses, prophecies, quests…all of it.”

The chirps and cheeps of the birds and animals filled the silence. A background noise. Luke felt your head lean against his shoulder. His heart beat quicker. He hesitantly wrapped his arm around your shoulder. Comfort, he convinced himself.

“You can’t really escape being a half-blood.” Luke consulted and rubbed his hand up and down your arm. You hummed in agreement.

You were quite glad Luke joined you. These nights on the dock, after dinner, were getting lonely. The silence is comfortable save for the wildlife in the forest.

Faintly, ever so faintly, you heard Luke speak three words. Three words you would never hear from him.

“I love you…”

Gods.

He didn’t even realize it. His lips were making the consonants and vowel sounds. Luke didn’t know until you picked up your head from his shoulder. Your eyes wide with shock and what he had hoped was…relief.

“What…?” You mumbled.

Did he just ruin his friendship with you? Did he just lose his best friend because he said his thoughts out loud? Luke thought he had better control over that.

“What?” He responded and let his arm fall from your shoulders.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.”

“Luke.”

His breath hitched. He felt lovesick. Like Aphrodite personally made his body malfunction during this moment. “I…”

“I love you…” Luke avoided your gaze like he was ashamed to have a crush on you.

How did you feel? Would you reject him in a heart beat? Would you ridicule him? Thoughts swam his mind.

Before he could get too into his head, he felt a soft pair of lips pressed against his. Your eyes closed and he willed himself to close his eyes as well. Melting, melting into your touch, your lips.

When you pulled away, his eyes opened. He was graced with the sight of you in the moonlight. “What?” He spoke breathlessly.

“What?” You responded slightly confused and scared you made the moment uncomfortable.

“You…” Luke paused and closed his mouth as he tried to formulate the words. To form a coherent thought. He just…he wanted that to never end. He finally got what he yearned for (and he wasn’t rejected?). He got you.

“Is this real?” Luke asked and you laughed. His stomach churned with butterflies.

“Yes!” You answered and interlaced your fingers with his.

“May I?”

“You’d be a pretty bad demigod if you didn’t.”

And once again, Luke got the kiss the girl. He got the kiss the girl he been pining over for gods know how long.

—– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–

#luke castellan #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan x reader #pjo series #percy jackon and the olympians #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan fluff

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f1version · 1 year

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LOST COWBOY HAT ★ DR3

pairing: daniel ricciardo x celebrity!reader (she/her)

summary: You find a cowboy hat while you’re at a photoshoot, then the F1 fandom goes crazy on you because it’s supposedly Daniel Ricciardo’s lost hat.

note: it’s race week for the australian gp, so technically it’s danny ric’s week. have this as my holy offering for the dr3 agenda xx

danielricciardo • Melbourne, Australia

Liked by redbullracing, landonorris and 983,303 others

danielricciardo Someone stole my hat, here’s me smiling through the pain, and our last memory together.

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redbullracing SOS mission find danny’s hat activated

maxverstappen1 translation: he left it at the studio during a photoshoot, and when he came back the next day it wasn’t there

danielricciardo you can just say i lost it. i hate you.

landonorris can i laugh?

danielricciardo NO

yourusername • Melbourne, Australia

Liked by redbullracing, vanityfair and 992,137 others

yourusername just found a hat, feeling good xx

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redbullracing that’s a good cowboy hat you have there

yourusername hi redbull racing, now that you are here can i get a paddock pass for next weekend?

redbullracing boss (daniel) says yes

theynwardrobe i can already FEEL people asking where are the boots from

vanityfair icon

yourusername ❤️❤️

dr3things wait a damn minute

yourusername • Melbourne, Australia

Liked by danielricciardo, maxverstappen1 and 1,102,003 others

yourusername danielricciardo i am told i have your hat. hope you know how to fight

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danielricciardo we can fight. maybe at a restaurant, next week, after the race, 7pm. sounds good?

yourusername oh? maybe we could do that, or who knows if there is something available tomorrow? if not, see you on paddock mr ricciardo

redbullracing two worlds collide

yourusername hi redbull can u tell daniel i think he is cool?

redbullracing i do as mother says🫡

char16lec danny ric did not just hit on a philanthropist super model because he left his hat at a photoshoot and she took it

maxdan11 he really did, what a legend

yourusername’s insta story

danielricciardo’s insta story

yourusername’s insta story

yourusername

Liked by danielricciardo, landonorris and 1,862,753 others

yourusername i think he has a crush on me or something…

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danielricciardo a crush is just the beginning of it

yourusername it’ll be fun to find out all of that

landonorris this man has dedication fr, boy has been crushing on u since 2019

danielricciardo LANDO NO THEY CANT KNOW

yourusername danielricciardo “i’ve liked you for a very long time now, y/n, it’s ridiculous” this u?

danielricciardo all dates. cancelled.

redbullracing welcome to the family!

danielricciardo

Liked by yourusername, redbullracing and 1,862,753 others

danielricciardo it looks better on her, doesn’t it?

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yourusername you’re cute or whatever

danielricciardo no u

redbullracing we’re pro matchmakers fr

maxverstappen1 ok but what about me

danielricciardo i’ll always love you babe

yourusername disappointed but not surprised

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natalievoncatte · 17 days

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The palm-print panel was cool under Lena’s touch. She pressed her hand to the rectangular plate next to her front door and waited for the brief moment it needed to scan her skin. The door unlocked with a meaty thump and she pushed it open with her other hand, absently checking her phone as she stepped inside. As the system scanned her biometrics, it detected stress and dimmed the lights, automatically turned on the television to an abstract screen saver with cool tones, and began to play an arrangement for a violins to soothe her nerves.

She kicked off her heels and walked barefoot into the kitchen, where she skipped the countertop wine cellar and pulled out the half-empty box of Trader Joe’s vintage that she’d taken a liking to thanks to Kara. She pours herself half a tumbler full as a silent fuck you to her mother and took a swig, then walked out into her living room to sit down in the gloom for a few minutes and think.

Supergirl was sitting on her couch, head flopped back over the back so that her hair fanned out across the white leather. She sat splayed with her knees apart and legs out, arms resting on her thighs. Lena wasn’t sure if she was awake.

As she drew closer, she caught a small gasp. Supergirl had a black eye, and there were scrapes on her cheeks and the backs of her hands, the blood barely crusted. Both her hands and her face were bruised and she had a tiny split in her lip.

Lena placed the wine on the table, nerves jangling when the bottom rattled against the pale marble from the shaking of her hand. Her heart raced as she drew closer. Supergirl had taken off her cape and draped it over the couch. It was none the worse for wear but was covered in scorch marks.

Suoergirl’s broad chest heaved once and she let out a long, pained sigh.

“Hi.”

“Hello, Supergirl.”

She let out a little laugh, wincing. “Do we need be so formal?”

“I don’t have anything else to call you,” Lena said, coolly. “Mind if I ask why you’re in my apartment?”

“You don’t lock the balcony doors. You should.”

Lena sighed and folded her arms. “I said why, not how.”

Supergirl didn’t look at her.

“I just got the snot beaten out of me. Everything hurts.”

“I didn’t think that was possible.”

How was it possible? Curiosity tugged at her, but concern shot through it, making her fidget with her hands. Lena hated fidgeting. It made her look weak, and she could still remember the pain when Lillian cracked the ruler across her knuckles to break the habit.

“Can I have some wine?”

Lena swallowed hard.

“Sure,” she said.

She went to the kitchen and poured. When she returned to the living room, Supergirl was sitting up, hunched forward and leaning on he knees. Lena started a little at the sight. Sitting that way displayed the wide, muscular set of her shoulders and arms, especially her meaty biceps. Her back was a rare sight -she wore a cape, after all- and just as exquisitely muscled.

She was looking at her hands, at the damage to her muscles. Lena offered the glass and she took it. Her fingers were warm when they brushed against Lena’s, strangely soft.

Supergirl took a long pull of wine and smacked her lips, then winced.

“It’s times like this I wish I could get drunk.”

“You can’t?”

“Not on wine and not for very long.”

“Interesting.”

“So I have a problem,” Supergirl said. She was still looking at her hands.

“And that is?”

“I have to call off work tomorrow. These will heal, and I’ll look exactly the same. I don’t get scars anymore. But they’ll be visible for a day or so.”

“I see.”

“But I have to get brunch with someone, and they’ll be able to tell. Concealer won’t do much for this.” She touched her eye, wincing.

“Wait here,” said Lena.

She came back a moment later with some wash clothes soaked in cold water on a tray. Hands still shaking a little as she placed it on the table. Tenderly, she took one of the washcloths and dabbed the back of Supergirl’s hands, cleaning away the grime and dried blood from the abrasions.

Supergirl sighed. “That feels good. Thank you.”

“May I?” said Lena.

Supergirl hesitated, doubt flashing deep within the endless depths of her blue eyes, but she turned to Lena and tilted up her chin. With shaking fingers, Lena cupped Supergirl’s face gently and used a fresh cloth to clean and cool the cut on her lip. Supergirl closed her eyes and sighed.

Lena’s eyes wandered up, to the small mark above her eye.

“You don’t scar. Did you get that on Krypton?”

“Yes. I slipped and fell when I was a little girl. You should have seen me. I bled all over.”

“Must be nice, not getting hurt anymore. Not feeling pain.”

“I still feel it.”

Lena paused.

“I feel every bullet and blow and bomb blast just like anyone would,” said Supergirl. Just because it doesn’t harm me doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt me.”

“I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“It’s okay,” said Supergirl.

She opened her eyes -eye- and looked at Lena reverently, one pretty blue eye glittering while the other remained bruised shut. She smiled a lopsided, honest smile, looked at Lena in a dreamy, almost adoring way that-

Wait.

“Oh my God,” Lena breathed.

“Hi,” said Kara.

“Oh my God. Oh my God,” Lena whispered. “Oh my God, what happened, how did this happen to you? You’re hurt!”

“I had a tough time with a very determined alien and had to worry about civilians,” said Kara. “It happens.”

Lena’s pulse raced and her breath quickened. Her gaze darted, searching and noticing every detail. She was so beautiful, and she was so Kara.

“Why now?” said Lena. “Why this time?”

“I don’t know.”

Lena bit her lip, and the tiny gesture had a noticeable impact on Kara. Her eyes widened and her gaze fell to Lena’s bottom lip, then flicked back up.

“So your brunch,” said Lena. “That was with me.”

“Yeah. I thought about cancelling but I can’t. I needed to see you now.”

Lena shifted closer on the couch, until they were hip to hip.

“Why?”

“Because I just got punched in the head by an alien with big stupid bone spurs coming out of his fist and I need to see you. I won, by the way. It was really cool. I ripped a fire hydrant out of the ground and hit him with it.”

Lena looked her up and down. Her jaw began to quiver.

“Oh God. Is it worse than it looks? Are you hurt worse than you look, Kara? Are you…”

Kara shook her head, then winced. “No. Not that bad, promise. I just…” she sighed. “I’m tired of going to lay on a sunbed and going back to my empty apartment and spend a sick day napping on the couch.”

Lena let out a slow breath. “So you came to see me.”

“Yuuup,” Kara said, slowly.

Lena shifted awkwardly in her seat. Kara slowly reached over with her now clean hand and curled her fingers around Lena’s chin.

“Lena?” she whispered. “Is this okay?”

“Yes.”

Kara turned and leaned into her, pressing the slightest, lightest kiss to Lena’s lips, not a quick peck but something slow and soft, warm and inviting.

“Ow,” Kara muttered.

“Kara,” Lena whispered.

“I have any idea. Since I can’t make brunch… how about breakfast?”

Lena leaned against her, gently draping her arms around her as they fell back into the soft cushions together.

“Okay.”

#supercorp #supergirl fanfiction #supergirl #supercorp fanfic #lena luthor #kara danvers #kara x lena #karlena #supergirl fanfic #supercorp fluff #tooth rotting fluff #so much fluff #total fluff #fluffalicious #here at Natalie’s fluff depot we have all the fluff you could ever want

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everythingacotarbxm1012 · 2 months

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They're Mates - with Y/N Pt 2

Summary - Feyre learns about Azriel and Y/N's story as she and Rhysand make their way to the prison

Warnings/Other Notes - Blood, injury, and physical abuse mentioned in this part. None of it graphic but please proceed with caution; 1.3k words; Again, these lines/plot points are inspired by, or directly quoted from, ACOMAF.

Part One

✨💫

Even days after the dinner, Feyre still had questions about Rhysand and his Inner Circle. Specifically questions about the spymaster, about the emissary. What was Azriel’s story? What was Y/N’s story? What were those burns from? If Y/N was Illyrian, why did she still have her wings? And the shadows…? Feyre shuddered at the thought. She fell asleep repeating those questions in the back of her mind.

The following morning, Feyre jolted awake to find Amren standing at the foot of her bed. She rubbed her temples as Amren made some comment about vomiting her guts up before throwing something onto the bed. “That got me out of prison. You wear it in––they can’t keep you.”

Feyre didn’t so much as move.

Amren leaned forward slightly. “Let me be very clear. This is not some toy. I do not give it lightly, but I’ll allow you to have it while you go to the prison and do what must be done. When you are finished,” Amren took a breath, “return it or suffer the very unpleasant consequences.” Amren was gone the moment Feyre had her fingers against the cool metal.

Feyre quickly dressed for her visit with Rhys to the prison. The questions still mingled in the back of Feyre’s mind, but the prospect of the prisoner dulled the curiosity.

“What?” Feyre asked when she noticed the High Lord looking at the amulet around her neck for the tenth time.

“She gave you that amulet,” Rhys stated.

“It’s serious, I suppose,” Feyre responded. “I, well, the risk––”

“You don’t want to say something you don’t want the others hearing,” Rhysand warned. “Those inmates have nothing to do but listen through the earth for information to trade for food or sex or even some air.”

Feyre didn’t respond as he offered his hand to her to help with a particular steep bit of rock. “I’m sorry about yesterday,” Feyre said as she took Rhysand’s hand. She referred to the inability to get out of bed after seeing the prison for the first time.

The High Lord shook his head. “There is nothing to be sorry about, Feyre. You are here now. And don’t worry.” He winked. “Your pay won’t be docked.”

They continued their climb until the upper face of the mountain was a wall before the pair. Below, Feyre and Rhysand could see the flow of the grass. Feyre’s gaze quickly shifted to Rhys when he pulled out a sword. He noted the look on Feyre’s face.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised,” he said.

“I’ve just never seen you with a weapon before,” Feyre responded.

“Cassian would laugh until he couldn’t talk if he heard that. Then make me spar with him.”

“Could you beat him?” Feyre asked. “Cassian I mean.”

“Hand-to-hand combat? Certainly not.” Feyre noticed the lack of pride and arrogance in Rhys’s tone. “He wouldn’t win easily, but he would win. He is the best warrior I’ve ever met, ever. The reason I’ve entrusted him to lead my armies.”

There were a few short moments of silence as Feyre thought. The other two. Azriel and Y/N. “Azriel, his hands,” Feyre questioned. “The scars, I mean. How did he get them?”

Rhys’s face darkened, a flicker of pain in his eyes as silence stretched for a moment. “His father, a lord, had two legitimate sons who were both older than Azriel. Spoiled. Cruel. Learned traits from their mother, the lord’s wife. For the first eleven years of his life, he lived under his father’s keep. The lord’s wife saw to it that Azriel was kept in a cell with no window or light. They let him out for an hour every day…only let him see his mother for an hour once a week. He was not allowed to train, fly, or doing anything else his Illyrian instincts screamed at him to do.”

Another pause and Rhys’s voice softened. “When Azriel was eight, his brothers thought it would be fun if they mixed an Illyrian’s quick healing oil and…and fire. His father’s warriors heard his screams, but they found him too late. He was left with the scars from the burns.”

The image of Y/N gently kissing Azriel’s hand when she had met everyone flashed through Feyre’s mind, the action having a whole new meaning to her. But Y/N. She said she was Illyrian, but she also said Illyrians have a habit of ridding females of their wings. “And Y/N, her wings.” Feyre searched for the right words for a moment. “She is Illyrian, but still has her wings?”

The most subtle sigh escaped Rhys. “She is, she does. Her story is intimately tied with Azriel’s. She was born to an Illyrian family, who trained her from a young age to attract the attention of males to be able to produce another generation of warriors. When they were both eight, a few months before Azriel’s hands were burned, she was out and about when he was having his allotted time with his mother. His shadows took it upon themselves to go and say hello to the young girl. In hindsight, they likely realized the connection between Azriel and Y/N before either of them even considered it. Y/N interacted with his shadows before they returned to their master, whispering what she had shared with them.”

The image of the his shadows weaving through the edges of Y/N’s hair came into her mind’s eye.

“At some point his shadows starting sharing secrets about Azriel to Y/N. The shadows became a lifeline for the both of them, using his shadows to share messages with each other. She was the one to keep him company during those last three years of confinement. Despite there being no windows or light, the shadows found a way. When he was brought to the training camp where Cassian and I were, I suspect their messages to each other continued. Soon after my mother took Cassian and Azriel under her care too, Azriel’s shadows informed him that Y/N was in distress, in danger during the night. He didn’t have to think twice, he was flying out of our home in an instant.” Rhys shuddered at the next thought, the image of Y/N, bloodied and injured in Azriel’s arms that was long since buried came rising to the surface. “Azriel walked in to see her father in the beginning moments of cutting her wings up, to permanently destroy them. It wasn’t enough for her father to just clip them.”

The thought setting a nauseating feeling into the pit of Feyre’s stomach.

“I suspect that if Y/N was not so badly injured, Azriel might have had a go at her father, maybe even tried to kill him. My mother took her in too and by miracle saved Y/N’s wings. Azriel helped her learn to fly again after she healed. One of his shadows was always with her if he couldn’t be with Y/N himself. He taught her to how to defend herself. He adopted the name Y/N after she declared she did not want the name her father had given her. Y/N after the name of a bakery in Velaris she adored. Their mating bond snapped about a year later. Neither of them hesitated to accept it. During the war they rarely saw each other, using the bond to communicate, to ensure the other was alive. She managed a few short, brief meetings. Azriel is my spymaster because he can infiltrate courts undetected, gather information, keep tabs on our allies and enemies. Y/N is my emissary because her ability to take the information Azriel has gathered and use that charm she has to gather allies is, invaluable.”

The truth that Rhys would not share, at least not yet, was Azriel and Y/N’s story was the one that gave him an inkling of hope with Feyre. Both Azriel and Y/N were scarred, beaten down by the world, torn apart, but they always found their way to back to each other. All Rhysand could do was hope that the same would eventually be true for himself and Feyre.

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #acotar fanfiction #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #acomaf #rhysand #feyre #feyre x rhysand #cassian #3rd person pov

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flowerandblood · 3 months

Text

Appearances (Oneshot)

[ canon • Aemond x little sister • female ]

[ warnings: incest obviously, fingering, smut, angst, sexual tension, obsession, mention of arranged engagements ]

[ description: All Aemond cares about is the recognition and attention of his younger sister, but she seems to ignore him and shun him, driving him to an ever-increasing state of withdrawal and dark, grim agony. Something inside him snaps when his grandsire announces that it is time to marry her off. Sexual tension, understatements due to lack of communication, obsession. ]

This oneshot has its sequels: Experience and Refinement, but can be read as a stand-alone story.

My other works: Masterlist

_____

It seemed to him, though because of this his throat squeezed in pain and rage, that his little sister was simply afraid of him. He couldn't explain her behaviour otherwise – the way she quickly looked away, meekly lowering her eyelids adorned with her long, dark lashes, playing with her fingers in a nervous gesture as she met his gaze.

She was the only one who didn't have their pearly white hair, the only one who didn't have the eye colour due to the gods.

Even when she witnessed his duels with Criston Cole, when she could see how much he had changed, how skilful he was in wielding his sword, defeating him again and again, she did not congratulate him – she turned and left the square, no longer bestowing even a single glance on him.

Confronted again with her wordless rejection, he thought in the back of his head that she was disgustingly ordinary with her dark hair and eyes inherited from their mother, that she could be the daughter of some commoner walking up to his knees in the mud feeding his pigs.

However, his great annoyance usually lasted only a moment, after which he went back to his state of despair.

He didn't follow her, wanting to spare himself this humiliation and discomfort, feeling his heart twitching in rage, in shame that he so desperately desired her attention, a few words of recognition, one warm look.

He saw her one morning through the window speaking to her servant, gesturing vigorously and laughing pearly, joyful; he thought with regret that she was consorting with people who might take advantage of her, who cared only about her position.

That if she were his he would protect her from them.

She would be safe.

She was so careless, innocent, wise and naïve at the same time, looking at him with those big dark eyes of hers when someone in her presence annoyed him, begging him with her gaze not to explode.

His tongue was like a blade, cutting anyone who approached him – she knew this and was afraid to open her mouth in front of him, imagining for sure how cruel his reaction would be.

He didn't know how to explain to her that he would never hurt her, his sweetest little sister, his greatest joy.

He watched from the distance like a cool, sinister shadow as her fingers intertwined with Helaena's, stretched out side by side on their armrests during supper, observed her leaning towards her with a sweet smile, whispering something tenderly, from which their older sister giggled quietly – there was something mythological in these scenes, making a shiver run down his spine.

He knew that they sometimes met in her chamber and even slept together, confiding in each other about their feminine affairs that were beyond his comprehension, however, he couldn't stop the feeling of burning jealousy that filled his chest when he thought of how he wished it was him she visited at night.

He thought then of how tender he would be towards her, how his arms would enclose her warm, delicate body in his tight, firm embrace, protecting her from anything that might frighten her.

He imagined how wonderful she would smell, her oils teasing his nostrils constantly, sweet and intense – looking at her figure seated next to him he felt the need to bite into her flesh like a ripe fruit.

He thought she would taste like a peach.

When at last they had finished their conversation and her beautiful, soft hand reached for her cup her gaze finally met his – her plump, glistening lips parted slightly, as if the intensity of his gaze frightened her, her breasts quivered in quick, shuddering breaths.

He felt what he saw in his breeches, his length all swollen, demanding her closeness.

Wanting to keep her attention on him he lifted the platter with her favourite dish, sweet cinnamon pie filled inside with apples; he saw that she blinked quickly, her cheeks flushed at the realisation that he knew she favoured them.

He watched her swallow with difficulty, her trembling hand set her goblet aside – his manhood throbbed hard when their fingers brushed in the air as she took the silver platter from him. She lowered her gaze, embarrassed, her sweet, plump lips parted to whisper a quiet, barely audible thank you.

He leaned back again, looking at the pleasing profile of her face, her long eyelashes gleaming under the warm candlelight, a drop of sweat on her skin shimmering like a small diamond ran down her neck.

Gods, how he craved her.

He wanted to touch her, stroke her shamelessly exposed back with his large hand, rough from holding the hilt of his sword, and dig his fingertips into her warm, smooth skin, with a subconscious gesture proving to whom she belonged, that she had been his right, his delight and his duty since she was born.

Why didn't she realize this?

He watched with a squeezed throat as she took a piece of pie into her mouth, the involuntary lick of her tongue with which she brushed her lower lip focused all his attention.

The thought that this fleshy lips could in the same way clench around his painfully swollen cock, suck it and squeeze it, barely able to fit it in with her sweet cry of effort.

He grunted, looking away, feeling his length twitching and pushing against the tight material of his breeches.

She didn't look at him again that evening, absorbed in a discussion with their mother and grandfather as he drank Dornish wine, staring dully ahead, its tart aftertaste melting on his tongue.

"I spoke to your mother about the importance of slowly deciding on a suitable candidate for your husband, my love." Began their grandsire with his eyebrow raised in satisfaction, directing his words to his younger sister, who froze in mid-motion – he saw that her hands, in an involuntary reflex of terror, clamped down on the material of her gown.

She remained silent.

"She's still too young, for god's sake." He hissed out feeling rage like a burning fire pulsing through his veins. He grew hot and took another quick, deep sip from his cup, an uncomfortable silence fell around him.

Otto grunted, turning with a creak of wood in his seat, his fingers stretched out and clenched into a fist on the table top in front of him, apparently wondering why such a sudden and aggressive reaction on his part.

"I understand that as an older brother you feel responsible for her safety, however, she is now of the right age and has begun to bleed, and that's why…"

"Father." Muttered their mother, looking at him pleadingly, clearly not wanting him to bring up such intimate and sensitive topics at the table, moreover in the presence of other men.

He saw out of the corner of his eye how his sister dropped her gaze, her dark eyes shining from the tears of shame that had gathered under her lids, her brows arched in pain.

If she had only asked him to marry her he would have done so at once, freed her from this laughable obligation that her marriage to some mere lord would be.

He felt his jaw clench at the thought that no one would ever love her as devotedly, dearly, warmly as he, her blood, her protector, her brother.

"In the coming months, we would like you to meet a few candidates we consider worthy of your hand." Concluded their grandfather, taking a deep sip of wine from his goblet; he felt rage filling his chest when he saw that his sister merely nodded her head, accepting her fate without a word of protest, looking down at her plate.

He got up from the table, bitter and furious, leaving the hall without a word, unable to look at her, once again letting his anger take over him, accusing her in his mind.

Her lack of reaction, her lack of opposition, when it was so obvious that her husband could only be him, him, him.

He walked into his chamber, undoing the buckles of his tunic, throwing it angrily to the ground, remaining in only his chemise and breeches. Although he did not usually do so, he reached for the wine jug and poured himself a full cup, grabbing it and sitting down with it in the chair by the fire, tilting his head back, letting out loud sigh.

He shuddered when he heard a quiet, tentative knock on his door – he ran his hand over his face, guessing it was his Queen, as usual wanting to be his voice of reason, to come to him with her stoic calm, explaining to him why he had to accept the responsibilities that faced their family, including those standing before his sister.

He didn't feel like having this discussion, however, he acknowledged with reluctance that he couldn't dismiss his own mother.

"Come in." He said coolly, staring into the flames.

He heard the creak of the door opening and closing a moment later – he glanced involuntarily over his shoulder and froze, feeling his heart stop in his throat at the sight of her, beautiful, teary-eyed, her face all flushed red with pain, her fleshy, plump lips parted in a hastened breath, her brow arched in pain.

"Lēkia (big brother)." She mumbled out with difficulty, choking on her own tears – he stood up at her words looking at her with eye wide open in shock, driven by some sudden emotion, moved that she had come to him as he had always imagined she would, vulnerable and desperate, seeking refuge and a reassurance in his arms.

"Come closer, hāedar (little sister). Come." He whispered softly, extending his hand to her in a gesture of encouragement; she moved tentatively towards him, looking up at him with her wonderfully dark, large eyes, tear drops glittering on her lashes like little stars.

He parted his lips and swallowed loudly when her smooth, warm hand touched his, thought with tenderness that compared to his she was so small, so fragile.

When he dared to lift his other hand to her cheek she twitched, wrinkling her eyebrows, breathing loudly, distrustful like a maiden who was afraid of a stranger's touch, simultaneously craving his closeness and fearing it.

He breathed quietly as she let his fingers touch and run over the wonderfully soft, firm skin of her pink cheek, her eyelids closed for a moment, a quiet, sweet sigh leaving her lips.

"Are you afraid of me?" He asked in a calm, low, trembling voice, ashamed of how scared he was of her answer, of her rejection.

She looked at him surprised – her lips parted in astonishment as if she didn't know what to reply to his words, her quivering fingers touched his hand stroking her cheek.

"I fear your harsh judgment, brother. It seems to me that my person often arouses your frustration and impatience." She muttered in shame, lowering her gaze; he felt a squeeze in his throat at her words, not believing what he heard, what she confessed to him.

I am afraid of your harsh judgment, brother.

It seems to me that my person often arouses your frustration and impatience.

How could she think so? Was his eternal desire, his suffering so expressed in his gaze, his facial expressions, his gestures?

Did she perceive his rage at the lack of her closeness as his constant displeasure at the sight of her?

He was horrified by how deep the misunderstanding reached – he didn't know what he should do to fix it now, to reverse it, he ran out of words that could describe what he felt.

How glad he was that she was standing before him now, that she trusted him, that he had adored her from the moment she came into the world, cherished her with a love that was warm, tender and devoted, that he believed she had been born to be his, his sweet joy, his beautiful little sister.

He swallowed loudly, parting her plump, fleshy lips with his thumb, looking at her in emotion, feeling a painful tightness in his throat.

"My sweet sister, where did these words come from? How could I feel anything but adoration towards you?" He asked softly, feeling her whole body quiver at his words – her mouth parted involuntarily, letting his thumb go deeper, between her puffy, sticky lips.

Something changed in her gaze, dreamy and warm, from which he felt heat in his chest and lower abdomen, her fingertips digging into the skin of his palm.

"Ivestragī umbagon issa (let me stay)." She whispered in a trembling, uncertain voice, and he felt his breath caught in his throat, his manhood throbbed aggressively in his breeches at the thought that she wanted to stay in his bed, in his embrace.

His surprised silence made her lower her gaze, ashamed, apparently panicking at the thought of what she had suggested, of how indecent it was, surely thinking that he would now despise her.

"Very well." He muttered quickly, not wanting her to leave his side.

She lifted her hopeful gaze to him and nodded, swallowing loudly, her cheeks pink with emotion. He rubbed his thumb over her wet skin and leaned over her placing a tender, lingering kiss on her forehead, her wonderful scent filling his lungs again.

He took her small hand in his, guiding her towards his bed, sitting down on it with his face towards her, letting her stand over him and decide what would happen next, looking at her pleasant, girlish figure.

It seemed to him that she had no idea what they were doing, whether it was right – he could see thoughts and doubts running across her face, fears of what would happen if their mother found out.

"Come. Do not fret. Your big brother would never hurt you." He whispered in a voice trembling with emotion – he was hot, his heart pounding like mad in his chest, he felt butterflies in his stomach, a sweet delight of satisfaction spread through his body.

His words emboldened her; she stepped closer to him, standing between his thighs, breathing loudly. He sighed and closed his eyes as she took his face in her soft hands, stroking it for a moment with gentle, slow movements that made his throat dry up; he felt with horror that his cock was completely hard, all swollen and throbbing.

In a gesture of desperation he snuggled into her abdomen, clasping his large hands on her back – he heard her surprised gasp, her hands froze upwards for a moment before they began in a soft, calm motion to stroke his head as if he were a small child.

He closed his eyes, snuggling into her body, the material of her gown pleasantly delicate and soft; he could feel her flesh throbbing from beneath it, her womb that could swell with his inheritance, his dragon seed that could root deep inside her if only she noticed his devotion and love, if only she understood that they had always been destined for each other.

He clenched his fingers tighter on the material of her gown when he felt her lean in, enclosing him in her embrace – his face was locked between her shoulders, her womb and her breasts, enveloping him in her warmth, her hands running down his back with such tenderness and gentleness that he closed his eyes, wanting to focus only on that feeling.

"I am terrified, lēkia." She whispered softly, her breasts trembling in a broken breath – he moved away to look at her, his hand cupped her soft, warm cheek.

"Marry me, issa dōna rūklon (my sweet flower). Marry me and I will protect you. I will caress you, adore you, hold you in my arms, I will give you everything." He said in a quivering, low voice, placing the emphasis on the last word, so final, direct, betraying how desperate he was.

She looked at him for a moment, shocked, her lips twitching in disbelief, in terror and something else that shone in her dark eyes, but which he did not comprehend.

"You don't have to do this. Sacrifice yourself for me." She mumbled with a blush of shame, as if she thought his suggestion stemmed from his logic and tactics, from helping her not to leave her home, rather than from his feelings.

"How much longer do you want to torment me? Shall I fall on my knees before you and beg?" He asked resentfully, pain emerging from his throat with every word he spoke – her eyebrows arched in disbelief, her breasts began to rise and fall rapidly in accelerated, ragged breathing.

Her face expressed that only now did she realise what he meant.

"Marry me, brother. Marry me and never leave me again." She whispered so quietly that he barely heard her – they looked at each other with wide eyes, not believing what had just left their mouths, flushes of shame and doubt burning their cheeks.

He shuddered and drew in a loud breath as she placed her hands on his shoulders and climbed tentatively into his lap, startling him completely – he felt a jolt of heat, his cock so hard that he felt like it was about to explode.

All he felt was a squeeze in his throat and the heavy pounding of his heart when her soft fingers gently grasped his hand, her face blushing with embarrassment, a sigh full of arousal escaped her lips as she pulled her gown up, slipping it slowly between her legs.

They both opened their mouths wide and gasped loudly, surprised apparently at how intimate and shameless this sensation was – he thought in disbelief that she was leaking with desire, her hot opening pulsating restlessly under his fingers, her hand pressing them harder against her quivering flesh, eager to feel him deeper.

"− please − please −" She whimpered, breathing loudly, looking at him pleadingly with her dark eyes full of tears. He stared at her in shock wondering if it was possible that he had made a mistake, that he had misjudged the situation, that contrary to what he thought, she was reciprocating his affection.

His lack of hesitation, his fingertips that dug into her fleshy, hot womanhood surprised her so much that she squealed and hopped up on his lap – he put his free arm around her and held her in place, not letting her escape.

"− easy, little dove − shhhh −" He hushed her, his two fingers sinking into her plump muscles, collecting her moisture that leaked from her thirsty, throbbing core. He stared at her, seeing the expression on her face indicating that this experience had shocked her, sweet, soft moans erupted from her puffy, glistening lips, her hips involuntarily began to move to the rhythm of his hand.

"− that's it − let me take care of you − brothers know what is good for their sisters, don't they? −" He hummed low as if he were speaking to a small child and she only nodded, clearly having trouble concentrating. He sighed in pleasure as she wrapped her arms around his neck, her moist, sweet lips pressed against his in a sticky, loud kiss.

He murmured into her mouth with delight, thinking with awe that indeed her skin felt like the flesh of a fruit, wet and sticky to the touch, his fingertips teasing her bud hidden between her folds. He could feel her bouncing in his lap and trembling all over, quivering in his arms as his fingers roamed around that spot, their breaths raspy and loud, full of desire.

"− y-yes − right here, lēkia − mghmm −" She babbled in between their messy, saliva-wet kisses – he dared to slip his tongue between her plump lips answered by her sweet purr of pleasure, his hand all soaked with her juices, his long, slender fingers digging into her skin in circular, sure strokes.

"− just like that − soaking wet for me − issa dōna hāedar (my sweet little sister) −" He cooed in delight, feeling his swollen length pushing impatiently against his breeches, thinking only of how wonderful it would be to feel her, to watch his fat cock open her wide, her tight folds glistening from her moisture.

"− mhm −" She hummed between passionate, deep, ferocious kisses, a combination of their lips, teeth and tongues licking against each other.

She tilted her head back and moaned loudly as his fingers slowly made their way inside her, exploring her throbbing, swollen core – his thumb rubbed her her pearl, his fingertips searched intensely for the spot he'd read so much about in books, and when he found it her walls began to clench around him in convulsions, a pathetic whimper escaping her lips.

"− o-oh gods, brother, yes, please, please, please −" She mewled desperately, clasping her hands in his long hair, rising and falling on his fingers with a loud click of her moisture – he grasped the nape of her neck with his free hand and pulled her close, forcing her lips, swollen from his caresses, to join his in sticky, hot kiss.

"− come on, little one − I can feel you are close − thaaat's it, there we go −" He gasped out into her throat when a powerful shudder ran through her body, her moans of delight erupting from her mouth again and again as her hot muscles began to clench greedily around his fingers, sucking him inside, his hand all sticky with her fulfilment.

He was panting loudly along with her, cuddling her quivering body, thinking of how wonderfully warm and fleshy her insides were, how perfectly she would squeeze his cock once he could possess her whole, his sweet wife, filling her to the brim with his seed every night.

He intended to perform his marital duty with passionate devotion.

"− such a good girl − you did so well for me, dōna hāedar −" He praised her, wanting to reassure and soothe her, stroking her soft hair, pressing her face to the hollow of his neck, his hand between her thighs cupped over her pulsing, moist womanhood.

The smell of her wetness, of her flesh, of her sex filled his entire lungs, so lewd, ungodly and wonderfully carnal – his mouth placed involuntarily little butterfly kisses on her beautiful face, her eyes closed, her lips slightly parted in delight and disbelief, her hands clenched on the material of his chemise.

He grasped her fingers in his and lifted them to his lips, kissing them with tenderness and reverence as his other hand stroked unashamedly her plump bare buttock hidden beneath the material of her gown.

"Now it's my turn."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @rwdkarla @echos-muses

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churipu · 4 months

Note

can i request the reader being gojo's younger (or little, if that's what you prefer) sister during their highschool days? i think the dynamic between her and geto would be really cute and sweet! meanwhile, shoko would be the tired aunt that has to watch every stupid thing that stsg and the reader does 😭

๋࣭⭑ A CHAOTIC FOURSOME ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎

featuring. gojo satoru, shoko ieiri, geto suguru + gojo's little sister

warning. time sequence is during their highschool days (2006) and i'd say the reader would be younger than gojo by a year, so she's as old as nanami and haibara :D

note. i'm actually like so ecstatic to write this because i have so many assumptions of gojo with a younger sister, thank you nonnie for requesting this, ily <;33

the mother x the dumb x the dumber x the dumbest

no doubt that shoko is the mother of the group, without her the whole group is just well, plainly chaotic. satoru will come up for stupid plans, hence the dumbest. you will undoubtedly follow him, hence the dumber. and geto will think it's stupid, but will follow him, hence the dumb.

"okay, so what if we just — find a way to summon a curse, and sell our soul to it for something in return?" satoru asks with a cheeky grin.

"sounds cool, i'm in!" you replied with a large toothy grin.

"that must be the stupidest idea i have ever heard in my life," geto sighs out, "but let's do it."

"i don't have a soul," shoko mutters out of the blue, sighing out, "and you guys are incredibly stupid, you know that?" at the end of the day, the plan didn't even commence nor did you all talked about it again.

you are the closest with geto, he treats you like a little sister as well — except he's a little less of an asshole than your actual brother.

satoru is an asshole. he's a pain in the ass, no doubt. all three— you, geto, and shoko— can and will admit the fact that out of you four, satoru is the brattiest. however though, being related to him by blood, you were his target most of the time.

"ouch! satoru, did you really just shoot me with a nerf gun? that fucking hurts you ass!" you hiss, rubbing your nape— where satoru just shot with a nerf gun.

"take that, peasant." satoru sings out, attempting to shoot two more bullets at you, one hitting your arm and the other barely missing you.

you ran to shoko who immediately flee, leaving you open to satoru, traitor. before you eventually seek shelter behind geto who was sitting down on a bench, sipping a drink; and oh boy, the bullet managed to hit his face.

"oh shit." satoru mumbled, "it was an accident, suguru."

"damn." you look at geto, before laughing lightly.

geto smiled at your brother before standing up, and the cat-and-mouse chase between them both begin. geto made sure you were alright after, and satoru was— yeah, he survived, just a little bruised here and there.

being siblings is funny, satoru's closet is your closet too.

"y/n, is that my shirt?" satoru asks, pointing at the white shirt you were wearing and you hummed softly, sipping on a carton of milk.

satoru began lecturing you and how you shouldn't snoop in his closet, "lord, save me." you muttered out, walking in between shoko and geto while your brother constantly turned towards you to lecture you about asking for permission.

"are you even listening to me, brat?"

shoko grunted, "make him shut up, please."

"it's not her fault that she looks better in your shirt, satoru," geto laughed lightly, and that somehow managed to shut your brother up for the rest of the day— until he opens the door to your room late at night with a pout on his face.

"my shirt does not look better on you, for your information."

"oh my god, satoru you're so childish!"

as much as satoru teases you, when it comes to protecting you— he's number one, and he will always worry about you. he will not hesitate to tell someone off if they're bothering you.

"so, who is it?" satoru asks, his eyes not leaving the television screen.

you sat next to him and hummed in confusion. earlier you had gotten home with a small bruise right next to your lip, and as hard as you tried to cover it with make up — satoru still noticed the bluish purple outline of the bruise.

"what do you mean?"

"who gave you the bruise?" he asks again, calmly. way too calm for your liking, to be honest.

"i fell."

satoru finally turned to look at you, "doesn't look like you fell, just tell me what happened, it's not like 'm gonna do anything—maybe." he mumbled out the last part under his breath.

you sighed out, knowing the male won't drop the topic unless you tell him about it, "you know that one guy who wouldn't stop bothering me just because i beat him up in middle school for ruining my comic book?"

"the one i already try to tell off last time?" you nodded at him, "damn it, i should've gotten rid of him that time. want me to hollow purple him or do you prefer a more friendly approach?"

you chuckled, "i can fix this myself."

"nu-uh," he rolled his eyes, "hollow purple it is."

"'toru!"

"sheesh, fine friendly approach it is."

shoko and geto tries their best to look after you and satoru, but they don't get paid for this and always ends up giving up halfway and just joins in the "fun".

"oh, come on satoru, this is like the worst plan ever!" you tell him, crossing your arms.

"what? why? is it because i made it?" he argues, crossing his arms as well.

"no — okay, yes, maybe. but still it's a shitty plan, right?" you look over to geto and shoko who only nodded in forced affirmation, in all honesty, they didn't know what was happening between you and your brother or whatever you both were talking about.

"suguru, even you?" satoru whines out, "traitor."

"see? what about we go for my plan instead?" you offered, and satoru immediately declines, arguing with you.

it took you both two hours to finally settle on doing nothing because you got tired, and satoru got too angry that geto had to drag him away.

when satoru was supposedly "killed" by the sorcerer killer, toji. you were fucking destroyed. until he actually shows up, looking more alive than ever.

"oh, you're alive?" you asked slowly, although in disbelief.

satoru chuckled, opening his arms for you to fall into, "don't say it like that, might think that my own sister doesn't love me," not like you spent the whole time crying over him.

"fucking ass. i hate you so much." you hugged him.

"i love you too."

satoru spoils you. and when he does, he makes sure geto and shoko gets little of it too (because you told him to do it so they would feel loved).

"i was thinking — satoru treating us three to shabu?" geto immediately agrees with no hesitation, no thoughts, he just agreed to what you said.

satoru looks at you and smiled sweetly. a fake one. but it was fun watching him like this so you didn't care, "shoko?"

"free food? hell yeah." shoko nods her head with a smirk.

satoru ended up feeding all three of you like a mama feeding her child, and you ended up getting a scolding from him and a threat that goes a little like: "that's the last time i'm spending my money on you, loser."

but you know he didn't mean that. just watch how he'll probably get you something the very next day.

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 6 months

Text

Duty, Sacrifice

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen (HotD) x f!twin reader Warnings: Incest, mentions of murder, knife play, dub con if you squint, smut. Word count: ~2.7k

Summary: Her and Aemond have always loved to play hide and seek, however, the night he returns from Storm's End, their game takes a much more sinister turn. Based on this request.

Author's note: No tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

Aemond has always loved hide and seek. For as long as she can remember, her and her twin brother’s preferred way to pass the time is for her to hide while he searches for her. He has never been the hider, always naturally favouring the role of seeker. She does not mind. There is an exhilarating thrill in finding new places within the Red Keep to tuck herself into, listening out for the approaching sound of his footsteps. He always finds her. His eyesight and instincts must be sharper than hers, she reasons.

It is innocent enough when they are young children; holding her hand to her mouth to stifle her giggles as she presses her back against a pier of the Keep, squealing when Aemond grabs her as he shouts “found you!”

As they grow older he becomes more sullen, resentful of the attention that Jacaerys and Lucerys bestow upon her. He scowls as Jacaerys laughs and touches her arm as a pig is presented to him in place of a dragon.

“Ñuhor haedri renīs se nykēla avy ossēninna!” Aemond hisses angrily. Touch my sister and I'll kill you myself!

She knows it is a cruel trick for them to play upon him, her heart aches for her twin; her egg had hatched in their cradle, but his never had, leaving him dragonless. Regardless, she knows no good will come of his hateful attitude towards Rhaenyra’s children, and will only exacerbate their teasing of him.

“Aemond, you have a duty to our nephews, you must sacrifice your own pride and not say things like that!” She scolds.

He scoffs, shooting a derisive look towards Jacarys and Lucerys. “They cannot understand High Valyrian anyway, they are not true Targaryens, they are bastards.”

Later, Aemond receives a stern telling off from their mother for what he had said. “But they gave me a pig,” he retorts sulkily, “they all laughed!”

She hates seeing Aemond so miserable, shut away in his chambers, refusing to speak to anyone. With trepidation, she pushes his door open, not bothering to knock, she never does.

“Would you like to play a game?” She asks softly.

He nods. She already knows what he has in mind and runs away with a smile as he begins to count down from ten.

This time she hides beneath the small council table, yet as always, Aemond finds her almost instantly.

She does not giggle when his hands grip the tops of her arms, hard enough to bruise, his eyes boring into hers with an intensity that causes icy fingers of fear to wrap around her heart.

“Found you,” he says with cool indifference. “You are mine, dōnus hāedus, do you understand? You are not to speak to those bastards ever again.” Sweet sister.

The overwhelming urge to cry forms a lump in her throat, but she nods anyway. Aemond is her world, and she would never do anything to hurt him.

His temperament becomes darker still when their mother reveals her plans to marry Aegon to Helaena. Their brother and sister are both visibly unhappy with the match, yet she knows it is a deliberate move to help secure Aegon’s claim to the throne. She suspects that her and Aemond will be married off to other houses, to strengthen alliances.

Aemond glowers as he watches Aegon and Helaena awkwardly attempt to interact. It is painful to witness, more than apparent that they have nothing in common beyond a shared lineage.

“If only mother had betrothed me to you,” Aemond mutters.

Her eyes go wide with shock. It is the first time she has ever heard her twin voice any desire for her. It causes a strange and unfamiliar, yet not unpleasant, warmth to spread throughout her.

“We have a duty to strengthen our brother’s claim to the throne,” she reminds Aemond gently, “we must sacrifice our own desires for the good of our family.”

He simply rolls his eyes.

Aemond sneaks up on her from behind that evening, as she hides from him behind a tall shelf of books in the library. His breath is hot as it fans across the back of her neck, his arms encircling her waist.

“Found you. Tell me it is I you wish to marry, dōnus hāedus,” he commands, nuzzling the shell of her ear, making her shiver.

“It is you, only you, you know that.” Her words surprise herself as much as they do him, as they stare at each other wide eyed, too young to understand the feelings they inspire within each other. To her, Aemond is a prized toy that she wants for no one else to play with, and she suspects he feels a similar way about her.

She wails the night that Lucerys takes her twin brother’s eye. As the maester extracts the ruined organ from its socket it feels as though her heart is being torn asunder. Each prick of the needle that stitches up his ruined flesh brings with it a fresh wave of tears to her. His pain is her pain, and though he has now gained a dragon - the largest in the world - he has lost his eye.

It feels silly and selfish of her to worry about, but she wonders how they will ever play hide and seek again.

“I could be without both my eyes and I would still find you, dōnus hāedus,” Aemond reassures her. “It is not by sight that I search for you. Your heart is tied to mine, I will always find you.”

When he is healed, he proves her right, finding her huddled in the Godswood. She laughs earnestly at his “found you”, her heart feeling as though it may burst with joy. He is right, there is nothing that will keep him from her.

His seeing eye gazes adoringly into hers, as her fingertips delicately trace over the angry, red scar that runs the length of his cheek.

On their thirteenth name day, Aegon hurries Aemond away from the Red Keep in hushed secrecy. When they return hours later, the cloying scent of perfume sticks to Aemond’s clothes and he looks flushed and queasy.

“What did you do?” She asks, horrified, her stomach roiling in disgust.

“I didn’t want to,” is all he’s able to offer her.

This time when she hides, it is not part of a game, it is an attempt to be alone with her grief, to try to understand the bitter, acid jealousy that burns hotly in her chest. She crawls beneath the wooden frame of her bed, muffling her tears into the crook of her arm.

“Found you,” Aemond whispers sadly as he slides underneath the bed, laying on his belly next to her.

“Go away,” she cries piteously, turning to face him.

“Qrīdropēnna,” he says pleadingly, “I thought of nothing but you. Forgive me.” I am lost.

She gasps when he leans in, pressing his lips to hers, but quickly reciprocates. He is her other half, and she will forgive him anything.

Every game of hide and seek after that ends with them locked in a passionate embrace, though they are careful to never properly consummate their union, agreeing to wait until she has had her wedding night, so that her husband’s suspicion is not aroused by her lack of virtue.

She is proven right regarding the plans of her mother and grandfather to betroth her and Aemond to a lord and lady of differing houses, when they are paid a visit by a Lannister Lord. He is to be her husband in twelve moons’ time, she is told.

Dread forms a void in the pit of her stomach, her world feeling as though it is ending as the golden haired man sits opposite her, smiling at her with warmth and affection. It makes her feel nauseated, especially when she looks across to see her twin brother staring at him with hateful intent, the tip of his supper knife twisting forcefully into the wood of the tabletop.

Aemond finds her curled up in his armoire as he readies himself for bed that evening.

“Come out, dōnus hāedus,” he urges gently, pulling her into his arms and kissing the top of her head.

“I don’t want to marry him!” She sobs into his chest. “It isn’t fair!”

“‘Tis but a formality,” he tells her quietly, stroking her long, silver hair, “they will not keep you from me.”

“Do you promise?” She asks hopefully, looking up at him.

Aemond nods. “It is our duty, our sacrifice, but your heart will always be tied to mine.”

Their lives move as if in freefall after that. Their father passes away, and Aegon is quickly crowned King of the Seven Kingdoms.

To win favour to his claim, Aemond is to be sent to Storm’s End with an offer of marriage to one of Lord Baratheon’s daughters.

She and Aemond stand miserably in front of each other, as he is about to mount Vhagar, his leather glove clad hands cup her cheeks.

“Do not make me go, dōnus hāedus,” he pleads, seeing eye wide with anguish, “I cannot marry a woman who is not you.”

Her heart twists painfully in her chest, clutching at his black riding coat. “‘Tis but a formality,” she reminds him, “our duty, our sacrifice, but your heart will always be tied to mine.”

“I will return to you as soon as I am able,” he promises, kissing her fiercely, before climbing into his saddle.

She watches with tears in her eyes as he flies away, taking half of her heart with him.

His return is much sooner than she had anticipated. Just a few nights later, she is startled by the door to her chambers being flung open, Aemond stands in her doorway, soaked through from the rain. He looks changed. His face is hardened, the look in his eye is stern, it makes her feel uneasy.

“Lēkia?” She asks worriedly, rising from her bed. “You are back so soon, what has happened?” Brother.

His eye sweeps over her, as if seeing her for the first time, and there is something in his gaze that frightens her, causing the skin beneath her thin, white nightgown to erupt into gooseflesh.

He is quiet for a moment, before he speaks, his voice low, void of affection. “Shall we play a game, dōnus hāedus?”

Her brow furrows in confusion, she shakes her head. “I do not think–”

“It was a rhetorical question,” he interrupts, and begins to count down from ten.

Her mouth falls open, her heart racing, not liking the hungry intent with which he stares at her, and so she runs, because she fears there is no other choice.

She has never felt afraid of her twin, not properly, but tonight is different, there is a dangerous aura that hangs over him like a stormcloud and she breathes heavily with exertion as her bare feet thud against the flagstone floor of Maegor’s Holdfast, the sound drowned out by the roar of blood in her ears.

What will he do when he catches me?

If she hides, she knows he will find her. He always does. So, she elects to keep moving, panic fluttering in her chest as she takes every turn available to her in the Keep, in a vain attempt to evade her brother.

A shiver runs down her spine as she hears him call out “kesīr mastan”, the scuff of his boots feeling unfairly close behind. How had he caught up so quickly? Here I come.

She hurries into an unoccupied chamber, one usually reserved for guests, attempting to close and bar the door behind her, but Aemond shoves it open.

His arms are around her in an instant, making her squeal with fright. “Found you,” he chuckles, though there is no humour in it.

“Let me go, Aemond,” she begs helplessly, “you are scaring me.”

He turns her to face him, backing her up towards the bed that occupies the space in the centre of the room. “Scaring you? How can that be, dōnus hāedus? I love you.”

“There…there is something different about you, lēkia. Something you aren’t telling me.”

He smirks, pushing her back onto the mattress as though she weighs nothing.

She falls back, propping herself up on her elbows, looking at him in wide eyed disbelief. He is like a cat toying with a mouse. He has never been this cruel, at least not to her.

She whimpers in fear as he unsheathes his dagger, twirling it expertly between dexterous fingers. “Please…please don’t.”

Aemond eyes her with keen curiosity. “You think I mean to hurt the person I cherish above all others?”

She swallows thickly, too preoccupied by the glint of the Valyrian steel in the moonlight that shines through the window to answer him.

“I could,” he muses, “I am a kinslayer after all. But I won’t, you are too precious to me.”

Kinslayer?!

There is little time to query his statement, as he brings the blade down upon the neckline of her nightgown, slicing it in half effortlessly. His eye roams over her bare figure appreciatively, a low hum rumbling in his throat.

Her chest rises and falls with rapidity as she stares up at him. Though her chest is tightened by fear, she cannot deny the way her pulse races at seeing Aemond’s pupil dilated with lust at the sight of her.

Carefully, slowly, he drags the tip of his blade over her clavicle, mindful not to apply enough pressure to break the skin. The cold steel makes her shiver as he pulls it downwards, circling one breast and then the other.

“I am going to claim you tonight, dōnus hāedus, put a silver haired babe in your belly. Would you like that?”

She inhales a shaky breath.

Yes.

“What of your betrothal?”

“Null and void,” he says matter of factly, trailing the dagger across her sternum and down towards her stomach.

“What…what happened?”

“Little Lord Lucerys Strong happened,” Aemond replies with mild irritation. “He arrived while I was there, to petition Borros Baratheon’s support for our whore of a half sister. It is an outrage that we should have to give up so much to defend our brother’s birthright, while that bastard flies about the realm attempting to steal it from him.”

“Oh gods, Aemond,” she whispers, bile rising in her throat, “what did you do?”

“What I ought to have done nearly ten years ago.”

She flops back against the bed, pinching the bridge of her nose as tears prick at her eyes. He does not need to say the exact words for her to know. Lucerys is dead, Aemond has killed him.

Aemond drops the dagger to the floor, the clatter echoing off of the vaulted ceiling. “Do not worry, dōnus hāedus, now we can be together. Is that not what you wanted?”

“Not like this,” she chokes out.

His hands drag a downwards path on her body, squeezing her curves as they go. “I am not so sure of that, look at how you respond to your brother.”

She mewls at the feeling of his hands upon her flesh, arching into his touch. In spite of herself, she is unable to resist the effect that her twin has upon her.

Aemond chuckles drily, unlacing his trousers and freeing his already hardened cock. Her breath catches in her throat as he swipes his fingers through the wetness that has gathered between her legs.

“See? Where is your duty now?” He asks mockingly, lining himself up with her entrance before pushing forcefully inside, making her cry out with the sting and stretch of his sudden intrusion. “Where is your sacrifice? Or is it not so important now that your brother has made your cunt all wet?”

He has the maddened look of a wild animal as he hovers over her, but she cannot deny him. Duty and sacrifice have died alongside their nephew, and her heart is tied irrevocably to Aemond’s. She can never hide from him, and any hope of her ever being able to do so was snuffed out the moment she allowed him to bury himself inside of her.

“Lēkys jorrāeliarzus,” she whispers. Dearest brother. “Aōhon iksan se ñuhon iksā,” he whispers back, beginning to thrust inside of her. I am yours and you are mine.

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urdepressedslut · 9 months

Text

You’re Mine, Sunshine ❝part nine❞

♡ Pairing: Grumpy!Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Sunshine!Fem!Reader

♡ Summary: After the events from the other day, you try and cope with the reality of what happened. The world is a lot less colorful than you remember. Bucky helps comfort you after you realize you have no one left.

♡ Warnings: heavy angst, flashbacks, abuse, mentions of parent death, hints to depression, reader doesn't know she has depression, anxiety attacks

Series Masterlist

Trope ⇢ Grumpy x Sunshine | Mob!Au Bodyguard!Au

Italics are flashbacks

“I don’t know… I kinda like shirts that don’t hug me too tight.” You mumbled, scratching the back of your neck.

You heard a dramatic gasp, and you looked into her eyes as she shook her head, holding up the top she had been trying to convince you to buy.

“Babygirl— why can’t you see how gorgeous you are. Anything you wear, you’d make look like a million bucks.” You Mother almost whined, and you couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped your lips from her antics.

“Ma you know that’s not true.” You argued, failing at keeping a serious expression.

“No baby— I know I’m right. That’s my secret.” She argues back confidently.

She walked closer and started combing stray hairs out of your eyes, smiling at you adoringly as she did so. Her eyes practically sparkled with love.

“What’s your secret Ma?” You asked quietly, leaning into your Mother’s delicate touch.

She cupped your chin and raised your face to her lips, the feeling of her pecking your forehead sweetly. The gesture made you all warm inside— her love filling you with so much protection.

“Mommies never lie. So you really are beautiful baby— and soon you’ll start to see that, and you’ll be breaking hearts left and right.” She spoke quietly to you.

“I won’t be breaking any hearts… because that means I’ll have to date people and well… that’s scary.” You admitted.

Your Mother lifted your chin back up, giving you another loving kiss on your forehead, stroking your cheek as if you were fragile and needed to be protected. In her eyes— you were her everything. Her little girl— she only wished you could live your life without any pain. She knew life wasn’t that perfect— but she’d do anything for her baby. She’s try as hard as she could to make her life perfect. She deserved it.

“It is scary baby, but if you never put yourself out there— you may never have the chance to meet people.” She cooed. “We learn a lot from everyone we meet, and if you don’t meet anyone— you won’t learn anything. It helps us grow into being a better person.”

You nodded in understanding, feeling comforted by her words. She believed that you could do it, so you started to believe you could. Your Mother truly did know best— she’d never put you in a bad situation. As much as you hated to admit it, she was almost always right.

“You’re so smart Ma. I’m glad I've got a Mama as good as you around.” You whispered as you hugged her tightly— forgetting that you were at the mall.

Her laugh vibrated through her chest as your head lay against her heart.

“You know your compliments always go straight to my head.” She joked and you snorted and playfully hit her hip.

“I’ll take it back.” You playfully warned.

“Please don’t— we were having such a nice moment.” She whined dramatically and you both went into a laughing fit.

The air was so cool— so breathable. Your limbs felt relaxed, your mind was at ease. Everything was so much easier with your Mother around, she truly was the light of your life.

"Okay, I'll get it." You finally gave in, pointing to the shirt that was hanging off her arm.

Your Mother eyes brightened and she smiled like the chesire cat, almost starting to jump up and down like a little kid. You forgot who was the older one sometimes. You just watched with a giggle.

"That's my girl." She ruffled your hair and headed towards the cashier.

You watched her walk away, happy that you could make her happy. Although the top wasn't what you'd usually wear— maybe your Mother was right. It was time to get out of your comfort zone— plus she was never wrong.

You cracked your eyes open at the sound of rain hitting your window, the peaceful ambience of a storm passing over the house. You let out a deep breath, a heavy feeling left sitting on your chest— the bittersweet memory still fresh in your mind. It was sweet because even the memory of your Mother could fill your body with the joy that you had been missing from life. Although it was bitter because they were only memories. Instead of staying in the moment with her, you were forced to be sent back into reality. Back to a world where she wasn't around anymore. That was the most painful realization you had to live through every day.

The days since her passing had been the same, but it was slightly different this time around. You were almost positive that because of the relationship between you and your Father was getting worse— had you desperately wishing to have your Mother back.

You wondered if it would've been easier to never know parental love, then live most of your life with it— then to not have it.

You hadn’t realized you had slept through the night, misjudging how exhausted your kind and body was. There was just a slight glow from outside, otherwise the sky was cloudy— the weather gloomy. The outside was currently how you felt, it seemed.

Glancing around the room, there was no sign of him. Which was the second thing that had come to your mind this morning. Bucky.

Pushing that thought to the side, you swung your legs over the edge of your bed— heading towards the bathroom. Your head felt heavy, your limbs feeling like there were wights tied to them. You overall felt like the walk to the bathroom was much harder than it should’ve been. You had hoped that a nights rest would ease the haze that covered your brain. But as you walked to the bathroom— you could still sense the thick fog within your head.

Switching on the light, you headed straight for the mirror without giving it much thought. You’d be lying if you said your reflection didn’t startle you. In fact the harder you looked— you doubted that was actually you.

Your eyes were puffy, red rimmed as they were the night before. Your lips were chapped, achey with how dry they were. All in all— it was the still irritated skin on your cheek that had you in shock. The palm sized mark had you staring without blinking— your breathing starting to come in rapidly. Almost instantly, the events from the night before began to play through your mind.

"You wonder why I don't want you around— do you not see how you act? Disrespectful fucking brat! I do all these nice things for you— I buy you a fucking house! I provide you with everything you need!"

The memory of his hand shooting towards your face had you flinching back in the space of your bathroom. The action startling you from just remembering.

You furrowed your brows, staring at your reflection in confusion. Puzzled at your body's reaction— the way you had jumped. Even though you were alone in the bathroom— you felt embarrassed. Your hand shot down to grip your thigh, squeezing the flesh until you could start to feel pain. Your nose burned again, your chest tight and uncomfortable— unable to expand fully. You gasped, almost breaking from this trance as you released your thigh— glancing down frantically at the now red and irritated skin. Your head felt fuzzy as you couldn't understand why you were acting like this. You felt like you were out of control of your body— your mind. You wiped your face harshly, drying your skin of any tears— any evidence that you had been a mess.

Without wasting another second, you headed from the bathroom and made your way downstairs— in search of Bucky.

Bucky had made himself comfortable in the grand office downstairs. The room seemingly untouched, obvious that you didn’t care for this room. That much didn’t surprise him. But what did shock him— was the stash of liquor that was kept inside the study.

Surely that wasn’t yours. He thought to himself.

He had sat by your bedside, guarding the room as you slept for awhile. After you started to mumble in your sleep— that’s when he decided to leave. He knew you’d want him to be there when you woke, but the words about your Mother escaping your lips seemed private. It felt wrong to over hear such information while you were unconscious.

He also just needed to excuse himself, needing to drown his thoughts with alcohol for awhile. His career let alone his life— was in jeopardy.

He didn’t want to fear Pierce— but he couldn’t stop the overwhelming waves of anxiety from crashing into him. Amongst everything else, you stuck out in his thoughts. Majority of his worries circled around you, the concerns about you being left alone— with Pierce. If it wasn’t his life he was worried about, it was you. He was only afraid of the outcome because if there was no him— he wouldn’t be able to protect you.

It continued to eat away at him— he knew he should do something. He let the thought pass by… I should run.

He raised the glass, downing the rest of the contents— enjoying the burn on his throat as he scoffed at the cowardly thought.

He’d would run for you… with you.

He stared at the empty glass as he attempted to digest the idea. Knowing deep down he wouldn’t be able to make a proper decision without talking with you.

“James?” You called out, grabbing his attention to the doorway.

You didn’t even attempt to send him one of your usual warm smiles, instead glancing around the room you completely forgot existed. For good reason.

“What are you doing in here?” You asked, but soon found your answer when you let your eyes drop to the bottles of liquor surrounding his empty glass. “It’s early.”

You pointed out, and Bucky lowered his gaze for a moment in shame before lifting his eyes to your face again. This was when he noticed how different you looked.

It was the little, subtle changes that no one else could distinguish. But he could— he could see it clear as day, and it broke his heart.

Your eyes were dull, missing the usual sparkle in them. Your face just seemed like it was longer, the way you didn’t even try to keep a smile on your face. He didn’t think he’d ever seen you so… not you. Lastly, what killed him the most— was the way you were standing. The way you were trying to seem so small, like you could be small enough to hide away from everyone.

“James?” You called again, breaking him from his analysis of you. It was then he realized he hadn’t responded.

“Uh… yeah guess I’m just a little stressed out.” He finally told you, not completely lying.

“You shouldn’t do that— it can cause a lot of issues.” You motioned towards the alcohol.

“I know.” He mumbled, lowering his gaze to the desk again.

“You should just talk to me, instead of drinking until you pass out.” You told him softly.

“I can hold my liquor well.” He tried to argue, glancing up and sending you a smirk.

You just shook your head, crossing your arms like you were a mom scolding her kid.

“I don’t care. You should still talk to me.” You told him sternly.

He couldn’t ignore the shock in your change in demeanor. Of course you’d be in a different mood from the events last night— but he wasn’t used to this solemn version of you yet.

“Okay.” He agreed finally, standing up to head towards another room— preferably one that didn’t hold as much negativity as this one.

You surprised him by reaching out to take his hand, holding it tightly in yours. You didn’t give him a second to show his shock— instead you held on, tugging him towards the direction of the library.

He hadn’t even talked with you yet, but somehow he already felt lighter— in a better mood. Just by your presence, let alone your touch— was enough.

Making your way through the library— hand in hand— you didn’t slow until you reached your spot. The same spot from the very first introduction you two shared. One that didn’t have that good of an ending.

The memory although had a sour end, you still looked back and wanted to smile. You two had no idea what was coming— so naive. Like you said— it almost made you want to smile. Almost.

“James, why are you drinking this early in the morning? I know you’ve got something on your mind.” You started, as soon as you two sat down in your spots.

He rolled his eyes, avoiding your stare. He knew you were right, but also he just didn’t want to have this talk. Though— he knew it needed to happen. He just wished he could have one more care free day. He hated himself for not enjoying them while they lasted.

“Doll, we know what’s going to happen.” He voiced lowly, body and mind defeated.

You flashed a fearful expression before attempting to harden your features back.

“What do you mean?” You asked him cautiously.

“I spoke wrongly to your Father— everything that happened yesterday… you know how this ends for me.” He hinted, hoping you’d understand.

You shook your head, while still glancing at him with a softened expression. You don’t think you’d ever seen Bucky so stressed, his face stuck in a concerned expression.

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“(Y/n)… your Father doesn’t give a shit about me! For all I know— he probably has a new bodyguard ready for you. I’ll be as good as gone soon!” He exclaimed, voice raising— but it was Bucky. You weren’t afraid of him like you were your Father.

“Nothing is going to happen to you— I’ll make sure of it.” You promised him, and for a second he paused and looked at you deeply.

He ran a hand through his hair, leaning back in his seat with a frustrated huff.

“I don’t really care what happens to me… I just don’t wanna leave you. I can’t… I can’t let him keep doing this to you.” He whispered, lowering his head— his emotions stealing his voice.

You felt your heart start to beat faster, the same butterflies fluttering around your stomach once more. Every time he protected you, made an effort to want to be with you— it had you speechless. You never knew you could find something like this again. After your Mother had passed— you thought the feeling was lost.

“We should run.” He spoke again, breaking the thick silence that had blanketed the room.

You swallowed at that suggestion, wondering why a small part of you still didn’t want to leave your Father. Although he had proved to really not care about you— love you. You still loved him. He was all you had left.

But maybe that wasn’t true anymore, here was Bucky sitting in front of you— willing to risk his life just so you could live your happy ending.

“Where will we go?” You spoke back finally, shocking him that you wanted to go along with it.

As he stared into your eyes, his stomach rolled sickeningly at the fear that was evident in your eyes. But it wasn’t fear for yourself— it was for him.

“Somewhere far away— somewhere he won’t find you. I have a few places in mind… but are you really willing to do this? Leave your home?” He asked, happy that you were on board— but still wanted to respect your decision.

You immediately thought of that one cheesy quote you’d read somewhere— not necessarily believing it until now. Home can be a person too.

You felt your nose burn, tears welling into your eyes and this time you didn’t fight it. Everything had been building ever since you’d woken up. The only place you felt safe wasn’t even your home anymore— it was him.

“This place doesn’t really feel like home anymore so… yeah I’m ready.” You admitted, your voice getting quiet by the end.

Bucky’s hand twitched on his thigh, the way his instinct was to touch you— to comfort you. He fought against the side of him that itched to jump over to you, instead he stayed rooted at his spot.

“There’s something else I need to tell you.” He started, not knowing if you were mentally ready to handle this. “Your Father has been keeping this from you for awhile, and he had asked me to keep it from you as well but— you deserve to know. I wanted to tell you so many times I just— I should’ve told you… so I’m sorry.”

You got up from your seat and plopped down next to him, not hesitating to reach out and take his metal hand in your two. Your held it comfortably while also using the metal ridges to fidget with.

“Hey, it’s okay. Don’t worry about what you should’ve done— you’re telling me now. That’s all that matters, so I appreciate that.” You assured him, scooting even closer so that your thighs were touching.

“Someone’s been stalking you (Y/n).” He finally confessed, and almost immediately he could feel the weight being lifted off his chest.

You didn’t speak for awhile, just staring at him like you weren’t sure if you imagined him saying those words. Your brain was having a hard time processing what he had said— someone was stalking you? You were disturbed, your skin crawling with fear. One thing stuck out to you the most— it was the fact that your Father had yet to tell you.

Bucky took your silence as a bad sign, watching you stare blankly at your lap, where your fidgeting hands stilled on his metal one. It was his turn to wrap his metal hand around your wrist, applying a gentle amount of pressure to try and get your attention.

“(Y/n)?” He asked softly, growing more worried the longer you stayed quiet.

You still didn’t know what you were feeling, it was hard to distinguish it when you were already overwhelmed with emotions today. Your brain felt burnt out— your mind wanting to shut off completely.

“How long?” You whispered, still staring at your lap.

“Awhile, and they’ve gotten close. They have left stuff on your doorstep— and I found it before you could see it.” He told you, watching you shiver from the information. “They found your Mother’s necklace in one of the boxes that was dropped off at your door.”

That had gotten your attention, your head snapping up to his— your eyes wide with horror. You immediately started shaking your head in denial, knowing where this was going. You felt like you were gonna be sick, so you tried to swallow back the bile from rising.

“No… No I— I know what you’re going to say! My Mother died from a car accident. That’s how she died.” You rushed out, your vision blurring with tears.

“(Y/n) I’m not saying whoever is stalking you was involved with her passing— I’m just saying that there’s something darker to this than anyone knows.” He assured you, watching you nod in understanding.

His heart hurt watching your body start to tremble, your bottom lip quivering.

“Do you have it?” You whispered ever so quietly.

“What?” Bucky asked suddenly, confused.

You faced him, grabbing onto both his hands now— needing him to ground you from spiraling. Bucky had to hold in the gasp that wanted to escape, from how close you appeared to be.

“Do you have the necklace?” You asked desperately, voice cracking, “My Father he… he wouldn’t let me keep any of my Mothers things.”

Bucky’s heart broke again, his eyes softening at your broken expression. The way you were trembling holding onto him, your eyes red rimmed and lost looking. He had never held such hatred for someone before— fucking Pierce.

“Doll, I’m sorry— he has it.”

You nodded in understanding but couldn’t hold back the new wave of tears. You didn’t hesitate, and threw yourself into his arms. Wrapping your arms right around his middle, feeling the bulky muscles flex through his clothes.

He didn’t waste anytime and engulfed you in his protective embrace. He willed himself to stay strong— for you. But your cries and shakes of your body were killing him, he swore he was feeling physical pain from it all. He wanted to take it all away— all your pain.

Both your legs hung off to the side, while you practically were sitting in his lap. But neither of you cared— yes, it was intimate. But it was intimate in a different way, you both clung onto each other— escaping for a little while just in each others embrace. Being so close now, feeling each other pressed up on another— it felt right. It felt like home.

You felt one of his hands lift to the back of your head, cradling your head as his metal fingers weaves through your hair— just slightly scratching your scalp. You could feel yourself melt further into him. Your body sagging into him.

“I’ve got you (Y/n), I’m not going anywhere.” He whispered soothingly.

“I wanna hate him.” You whimpered, your fists fisting in his shirt.

His heart clenched painfully, hating that there was nothing he could do besides be here for you at the moment. But every cry and whimper only convinced him further that he was doing the right thing— the right thing by running away with you.

“Does that make me a bad person— that I wanna hate him? I want to but… but I can’t!” You cried.

Bucky shook his head, before he realized you couldn’t see him. He pulled you back away from him so he could face you— that was also when he noticed how close you were to him.

“No it doesn’t. He hasn’t been a Father to you. He hurt you— It’s okay to wanna hate him.” He assured you.

He held your gaze, waiting until you nodded to make sure you understood what you were feeling was valid.

“I really wanna hate him…” You whimpered again, trying to lower your eyes but you knew Bucky wouldn’t allow it.

He didn’t know if there was anything he could say to truly make you feel better, but he hoped that his comforting embrace was helping. Little did you know— your tight hold on him was ridding him of any and all stress.

“I know (Y/n), I know.” He breathed out.

Before he could stop himself, he was lifting his hand to stroke his thumb across her cheek— letting his palm rest on your jaw.

Your eyes fluttered shut from his touch for a second, before they opened and gazed deeply into his. His eyes shined with something unusual— something you had yet to see coming from his eyes. You felt intimidated from the intensity that was his gaze— the way your stomach fluttered nervously. You felt the same urge as before, your body leaning instinctively closer to him— you felt so safe in his arms, you couldn't help yourself from wanting to sink deeper into the ocean that was him.

"(Y/n)..." His voice broke through your trance, "Maybe we shouldn't."

God he wanted to slap himself for even voicing those words, because he so badly wanted to devour you whole— loosen every thread that was tied on you— unlocking every inch and part of you that he didn't know he craved. But the sensible side of him knew it wasn't the right moment... right?

You were so vulnerable, it felt wrong for him to even steal a glance in the wrong way when your walls were crumbled before him. He didn't want you to think for even a second that he was taking advantage of you. He respected you greatly, and he was not going to allow himself to have no self restraint. He wanted you to be in full control— and even then he felt hesitant to let you continue. The kiss on his cheek from before, he felt he hadn't deserved that— earned that. He was greedy however— and took any breadcrumbs he could.

You only darted your eyes down to his lips, watching his tongue poke out to wet them— your eyes watching the pink dampen the plump flesh. You found yourself biting your own lip— a sudden craving intensifying at the sight.

Despite your desires, you leaned forward and placed another kiss to his stubbled cheek— this time letting your lips linger on the skin longer than the last. Bucky could feel the heat rush to his face, knowing his cheeks were most likely bright red. He didn't know how he held so much power, but the feel of your lips against his cheek— god he wanted to kiss you so badly.

You sent him a small smile, and he could almost see the real you finally coming to light. The sight had his heart swelling, his own lips curving up in a cheerful smile— relived to see his girl coming back.

"Thank you James— I don't know what I'd do without you." You whispered, holding his gaze with hidden devotion. "I need you."

He had to fight back the huge smile he felt approaching from your words— he tried to ignore the bubbling joy he felt from your words. The way you needed him just as he needed you.

🤍taglist for this series is officially closed 🤍

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little-diable · 8 months

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Our sinful secrets - Priest!Loki (smut)

Y’all voted for priest!Loki, so here we go. This is super filthy, as a warning. Please like and reblog, if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Priest Laufeyson went with the reader’s father to war, returning with him years later. Many things have changed over the years, just like the reader has, finally all grown up and ready to sin with the handsome priest.

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected piv, oral (m), age gap, secret relationship, loss of virginity, religious connotations, power play

Pairing: priest!Loki x fem!reader (4k words)

“Stop fidgeting, (y/n).” Her mother’s sharp voice rang through the afternoon, forcing (y/n) to stand still. She had been shifting her weight from one foot to the other, eyes focused on the end of the street their house had been built on. Her heart was racing, fingers interlaced in front of her waist in order to stop them from moving around with her nervousness filing her veins.

“When do you think–” the rest of her sentence was left unspoken as (y/n)’s eyes found a black car turning into their street, driving towards their house. A cry left her mother as the car came to a halt in front of their house, exposing the man the two hadn’t seen in years.

(Y/n) stumbled down the stairs with tears rolling down her cheeks, her mother hot on her heels. Before either one of them could speak another word (y/n) had flung herself into her father’s open arms, pressing herself as close to him as humanly possible. Her mother followed her movements, pushing herself closer to him with cries leaving her.

“How I missed you two.” The all too familiar voice of her father left (y/n) chuckling with glee, finally stepping away as someone cleared their throat, forcing all eyes to snap towards him. A man with black hair stood a few steps away from them, smiling at the two women whose eyes flickered between the ones of (y/n)’s father and the ones of the stranger.

“Girls, do you remember Priest Laufeyson? I invited him to stay with us for a few weeks, at least as long as the wounded soldiers are still taking up the church rooms.” The handsome man stepped closer, allowing (y/n)’s eyes to wander up and down his frame. Fuck, had he always been this handsome? (Y/n) couldn’t remember much about the man who had joined her father at war, giving those in need a guiding hand, taking their pain and sorrows from them.

“Of course we do, what a joy to see you, Priest Laufeyson! A man of God is always welcomed to stay with us!” (Y/n)’s mother wrapped her arms around the priest, pulling him in for a loving embrace before she searched the closeness of her husband again. “Please, come inside, we’ve prepared some food!”

“Oh please, Loki is just fine, Anne! Thank you so much for welcoming me into your home.” His voice shot shudders down (y/n)’s spine, leaving her choking on the improper thoughts filling her mind as her gaze found the cross dangling from his neck. (Y/n) could almost imagine it hitting her chin as he fucked her, how she’d gasp whenever she’d get to trace the cool metal with her curious fingers.

“It’s good to see you again, (y/n), do you still remember me?” It took her a few seconds to reply, trying to wet her all too dry mouth.

“Uhm, yeah, I think so?” He couldn’t help but laugh at the words rolling off her tongue, forcing a smile to widen on her lips as she followed her parents inside. (Y/n) could feel his eyes on her, studying her every move as if he was all too aware of the thoughts racing through her mind. She tried to wreck her mind for any memories, days where their paths have crossed, but all (y/n) could now focus on was the burning fire simmering deep inside of her, about to take over like the waves of the roaring ocean had taken over God’s first try to create this very world.

“Please, sit, (y/n) will help me bring out what we need.” A sigh threatened to leave (y/n) as she followed her mother into the kitchen, not daring to look back in fear that the handsome priest was still looking at her, forcing her knees to give out. (Y/n) didn’t speak a word as she kept carrying different plates and bowls filled with food out into the dining room, catching a glimpse of the man’s neck as he undid his collar, placing it down on the table with his rosary following moments later.

“Mhm, look at you pet, I should paint you, naked with just my rosary on.” Heat flushed through her as she looked up at the man. She was kneeling in front of him, naked without any clothes on to hide the body he had claimed numerous times before. His marks littered her skin, marks from his teeth, his lips, and his fingers, marks (y/n) never wanted to get rid of. “I can’t wait to feel your pretty lips wrapped around my cock, but first, you shall read to me.”

Trembling fingers grasped the bible he reached out for her to take, glassy eyes struggling to take in the words that had been printed into the thin paper. His hands began to move, slowly popping open the buttons of his black shirt, exposing his muscular upper body to her wide eyes. No air was sucked into her lungs as (y/n) averted her gaze, desperately trying to concentrate on the psalms he wanted her to read.

“Are you alright, (y/n)?” Her father’s voice ripped her out of her thoughts, trying to bite down the heat that now flushed through her. Without even trying to do so her eyes found Loki’s, the smirking man was already staring at her, as if he knew just what she had been thinking of. A small “Yes” left her before she sat down next to her mother, across from the grinning priest, whose eyes kept meeting hers like a moth drawn to any source of light.

“Why don’t you pray for us, Loki?”

……

“I didn’t take you for an early riser, (y/n).” His voice was softer than any fabric she had ever touched, eyes threatening to flutter shut to relish in the emotions he pushed through her system. She turned towards him, staring up at the priest who smirked at her, one hand holding onto a cup of coffee, the other grasping his bible. “May I?”

All (y/n) could do was nod her head, watching him sink down on the cold wood leading up to the entrance of their house. It was still early, barely any people were roaming the area, nothing but the all too familiar quietness (y/n) had learned to appreciate after being forced to prepare for bomb raids, not adjusting well to the sensory overload.

“Can I ask you something?” Her small voice broke the quietness, coaxing a hum out of the man who kept watching her, studying the woman as if he was a book written in a foreign language, needing to figure out its meaning.

“What did you do at war? Did you pray with soldiers?” He took a sip of his coffee before he placed it down, body fully turning towards (y/n). Their eyes met just like they had moments ago, forcing her to straighten her posture, not wanting him to ever avert his gaze again. She could almost feel his hands on her skin, how his thumb would stroke over her swollen lips before he’d push his digit down on her tongue, preparing her for his cock. Fuck, she needed to snap out of these daydreams of hers, quickly.

“I did, I prayed with those that were close to dying, with those in need of a guiding hand. Whoever needed a calm word, I was there for it all.” A proud smile tugged on Loki’s lips as he reminisced in the memories, making (y/n) hum in approval. She had always been intrigued by religion, by God, and by the holy book, even though she wasn’t nearly as religious as her mother. “If you want to, you could join me when I visit the church today.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude.” (Y/n) averted her gaze, eyes finding her hands, watching how she fumbled with the fabric of her dress. Before she could even catch up with his movements, the priest had softly grasped her chin, touching her as if she was the holy book itself, careful not to hurt her. He tilted her head up, forcing (y/n) to get lost in his piercing eyes.

“I’d be an honour to have you there with me, I’m sure you’d be a joy to have around for those that are still struggling as well. Please, join me, (y/n).” Her cheeks grew warmer by the second, eyes struggling to hold contact. No man had ever managed to hold such a power over her, forcing her to back down from any fight she’d gladly take on.

“It’s been a while since I’ve stepped foot into a church, if I’m honest.” Her voice wavered, teeth buried in her lower lip. His chuckles had an addictive touch to them, forcing a few soft chuckles out of (y/n).

“Well, it’s been a while for me too, love. You have nothing to worry about.”

……

(Y/n)’s eyes didn’t know where to look first, at the wounded soldiers pacing around the quiet hallways, at the altar that pictured Christ and the heavy wooden cross he had once carried, or at the white collar that was wrapped around Loki’s throat. He guided her, hand placed on her lower back, murmuring soft words to her, explaining to her who was who and how some of these people have ended up here.

“How do you know all of this? I thought you hadn’t been here since the war had started?” Both were sitting on a wooden bench, eyes focused on the cross, watching the sunlight break through the colourful glass windows. It felt as if God himself was speaking to the two, with the dancing sunrays telling a story of love, of lust, of heartbreak.

“The nuns around here mailed me enough letters to keep me updated, they told me about those that were brought here, those that died, who I should pray for with them from afar.” Her eyes were drawn to his fingers, watching his digits fumble with the beads of his rosary, focusing on the silent prayers he should speak.

“I admire that, it must have been hard to be so far away. I missed my father every day, but I can’t even begin to imagine how it must feel to miss your home, your church, and those that work with you in God’s name.” Loki’s hand found her knee, slowly stroking the fabric of her see through tights. Goosebumps rose on her skin, body trembling from the soft touch that felt as if the holy spirit itself was guiding the priest.

“It was hard, but I was surrounded by people who gave me enough strength, like your father. I owe him a lot for his kindness, and yet here I am, betraying him.” The last part of his sentence was whispered, quiet words that left (y/n) frozen, wondering what the priest was talking about. He drew his hand from her knee, finding its way back to his lap, to the rosary that dangled from his other hand.

Once again (y/n) found herself dreaming of laying close to the man, she could almost feel his soft fingertips stroking up her spine, drawing shapes into her skin as if he was writing words into the body he had claimed the night prior. God, she’d burn in the eternal fire for her sins, but (y/n) couldn’t care less about what may await her, couldn’t worry about the punishment for her sins, all she could care about was Loki, the priest she found herself longing for.

……

“You like this spot, don’t you?” His voice ripped her out of her thoughts, eyes fluttering up from her book to look at Loki. The sun was just about to go down, drenching the sky in a deep orange that left a shadow on his features, making him appear like a demon crawling from the ashes rather than a man walking with God’s grace guiding him.

“It’s so calm out here, I enjoy it more than the thin walls in our home that don’t seem to swallow whispers and conversations I’m no part of.” Slowly she closed her book, letting it rest on her lap as she kept tracing the worn out edges with her fingertips, waiting for him to move closer.

“Well, I don’t want to disturb your peace.” Priest Laufeyson turned from her, about to walk back inside, but the small “Stay, please” rolling off (y/n)’s tongue left him halting in his step, turning back towards her to sit down on the spot he had sat on this very morning.

“Can I ask you for your guidance?” All he did was nod his head, asking her to speak on without using any words for her ears to pick up. He watched her, watched how she furrowed her eyebrows, how she grazed her lower lip with her teeth, her nervousness thumped through her system, leaving (y/n) trembling.

“Is it wrong of me to want something I should have no interest in having?” (Y/n) avoided his eyes, not daring to get lost in the pupils that have seen more darkness than a woman like her could even dare to think of. His hand found hers, squeezing her palm in a comforting manner.

“It depends on what it is you desire. Tell me, what is it you so desperately want, (y/n)?” The longer he spoke, the quieter his voice grew, eyes turning darker with every word he spoke. Both knew that they were walking a dangerous line, crossing a border far deeper than the trenches the soldiers had been forced to hide in as they fought for their country, surrounded by soil so rotten and dark, no living being could escape death’s cold grasp.

“Priest Laufeyson, I-” no further word managed to roll off her tongue, nothing but a breath of air managed to leave her as their eyes met. Both moved slowly, chasing their touches even though both knew that there was no going back once their lips met. It was a slow kiss, it had something almost loving to it, allowing the two to adjust to the new sensation.

“You’re testing me, sweet thing. It feels as if God is trying to see how loyal I am to him. But how can I deny such a sweet temptation?” His words forced a soft laugh out of (y/n), pulling away from him to watch the setting sun with her racing mind. Without speaking another word, his hand found her chin, making her look at him so that he could chase her lips again. Both found themselves longing for one another, they have tasted the sweet temptation, have given into Lucifer’s call, there was no escaping from the hell they now called their home.

“(Y/n)? Is Loki with you? We are about to have dinner.” Her mother’s voice echoed through the evening, forcing them to part with wide eyes and heavy breaths ripping through them. Their lips were swollen, pupils dilated from the lust swimming in them, a sight so sinful even God would turn away from them. Loki cupped her hand, thumb swiping over her lower lip like he had done in most of her daydreams, forcing heat to pool between her thighs.

“I’ll come to your room tonight, leave your door unlocked, if you want to wait up for me.” And with one last glance thrown her way, Priest Laufeyson disappeared inside the house, leaving (y/n) behind with a confused, hazy mind.

……

“Shh, you have to be quiet pet.” His voice broke through the dark night as he pulled her into his embrace, pushing (y/n) against the now locked door of her room. Their lips found back together, eyes fluttering close to relish in one another’s touch, making them feel as if the world had stopped spinning.

“You’re the sweetest temptation He has ever sent my way, I’ll happily sin if it means getting a taste of you.” (Y/n) couldn’t stop her moans from rolling off her tongue, spurred on by his praises. No clear thought managed to break through the hazy cloud of lust filling her mind, forcing (y/n) to rely on his guidance, like a lone sheep lost from the flock He guided.

With their lips still pressed together, Loki pulled her towards her bed, pushing (y/n) down on the mattress. His knees kept pressing against the edge of the bed, allowing him to stare down on her as his slender fingers began working on his black dress shirt, falling to the ground with his collar following. (Y/n)’s eyes ranked over his naked upper body, sight caught on the cross dangling from his neck, reminding her of the daydreams that have left her heart racing and her thighs quivering.

“Take off your dress for me, let me see you.” She couldn’t stop shaking as she pulled her dress over her head, exposing her underwear to the man’s curious eyes. Almost as bare as Christ on the day of his crucifixion did (y/n) kneel for him, knees pressing into the soft blanket of hers. His fingers danced along her arms, finding the straps of her white bra to pull them down her shoulders, undoing the piece of fabric to let it fall to the ground. “Such a pretty sight, may He forgive me for tainting a pure body and soul like yours.”

“Can I touch you? Please, I want to feel you.” Her quiet whispers filled her room like a prayer spoken in an empty church, echoing through the hallways. Loki kept studying her, hand resting comfortably against her cheek and jaw before he nodded his head, stepping out of his trousers. His raven dark hair perfectly framed his features, reminding her of a demon that had crawled straight from hell, one with the darkness of its home, one with the sins it commits on a daily basis.

His hand found hers, guiding her towards his growing bulge, cock pressing against the thin fabric of his underwear. (Y/n) had her eyes focused on his hands, watching him free his cock, allowing her to marvel at him as he shot her an encouraging smile. Not once had she touched a man before, and yet (y/n) found herself grateful for the books she had read, stories no woman should ever read, and yet her curiosity had spurred her on. She trusted her instincts, softly wrapping her hands around his cock.

“Use your mouth, pet.” She hesitated for a second before her eyes fluttered up to meet his. Slowly (y/n) parted her lips, tongue stroking over his precum-bearded tip, moaning at the taste. The priest’s hand found her hair, guiding the slow bobbing motion of her head, groaning whenever she choked on his cock, too eager for her own good. Saliva dripped from her mouth, making a mess neither (y/n) nor Loki could care about.

Both knew that they were sinning, breaking a promise they have once sworn to live by, and yet sinning has never felt this good. Their bodies moulded together, perfectly complementing one another like lovers made to love, to support, to guide. An unbreakable bond started to form between these two beings who shouldn’t do the things lovers did in the dark.

“Fuck, feels like you’re holy, you’re too good for me, but I can’t get enough of you.” Loki’s words made her want to smile, struggling to move the corners of her mouth, stretched by his heavy girth. Whenever he twitched in her mouth, an unfamiliar spark was shot down her spine, making more arousal pool between thighs. Their eyes met as he jerked his hips, forcing her to claw her fingernails into his thighs, holding on as he abused her mouth.

Jesus had died for their sins, but not for sins this devilish, for acts so dark, for acts so wrong, for acts that made them both want to leave their belief behind, following the call of darkness.

“I want to fuck your mouth full of my cum, but for now I need to feel your cunt around me.” With a harsh tug (y/n) was turned around on her bed, face pressed against the covers that haven’t ever been blemished with what the priest was now doing to her. She trembled, needing to hold onto the soft fabric as her nervousness got the best of her.

This was new to her, completely new, but (y/n) trusted the man, laying her fate in his holy hands. She felt his fingertips graze the back of her thighs, pulling her soaked panties down her legs, letting the cold air lingering in her dark room clash against her dripping cunt.

“Deep breaths for me, love, I got you, let me take care of you.” A moan bubbled out of (y/n), eyes squeezed shut as she felt the tip of his cock brush through her folds, slowly spreading them. With one last shaky breath inhaled into her lungs, (y/n) forced herself to relax, allowing him to push into her cunt.!

For a few seconds neither of them dared to move, while (y/n) tried to swallow down the unfamiliar stretch, Loki had to force himself to calm down, not daring to hurt her with rough thrusts that would leave her crying and begging for him to stop. His fingers danced up and down her sides, stroking soft patterns into her skin till he felt her relax once again.

The priest started with slow thrusts, giving the both of them the chance to adjust, to get to know one another’s body. The cross dangling from his neck clashed against his front with every thrust, leaving God shaking up above, covering his eyes as one of his most trusted men went against his every law. But she was worth breaking them all, was worth the heaviest sin.

“Tell me, love, how does it feel? Talk to me.” She tilted her head to the side, warm cheek pressed against the covers to give herself enough space to speak up. Her voice trembled, just like her body, and yet her words dripped with lust, telling the priest everything he needed to know.

“So good, never stop touching me, please Loki.”

A sharp breath was inhaled into his lungs as he clicked his tongue, tightening his grip on her hips.

“That’s not how you shall address me, you know better, pet, don’t you?” His voice had an unfamiliar touch to it, leaving her heart racing and her cunt clenching around his cock. It took her a few moments to speak up, eyes squeezed shut to try and find the right words he asked her to speak.

“I’m sorry, father.” Her teeth were forced into her swollen lower lip, leaving marks he’d soon kiss with his tongue, swiping along the soft skin. A satisfied hum left him, grinning down on the woman he kept fucking with thrusts that kept growing rougher with every passing second. No longer was he holding back, no longer was he trying to be gentle with her, chasing his release.

Loki could tell that she was close, about to let go for the first time with a man around, for the first time with a cock buried inside her tightness. (Y/n) had to force herself to remain quiet, not daring to wake her parents, not daring to let them in on the secret that would lay heavy on their hearts.

„You can let go, give in, love.” With another moan leaving her, (y/n) gave in, eyes rolling back into her head, hands tightening their grip on the covers. He fucked her through her high, leaving marks on her as he kept holding on, pulling out of her to release himself on her behind and thighs.

“Here, let me clean you up.” Loki let go of her, moving slowly to reach for some tissues, gently cleaning her up. No words were spoken, guided by their tiredness. She turned towards the grinning priest, chuckling as his lips met hers in a soft kiss. With his hand cupping her cheek, he looked down on her for a few more seconds before he let go of her, “This has to be our sinful secret, I’ll expect you in the confessional tomorrow morning, love.”

#Loki smut #loki x reader #loki imagine #priest smut

550 notes · View notes

neoameba · 2 months

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It is necessary to escape the routine sometimes!

F. Toji x Ftm! Reader

Warnings: This is a trans man/boy centered post, but you (fem, gn, and non-trans) can still safely interact with the post. Toji and reader were not a romantic couple before reader turned 18. It's more for comfort, made especially to give those silly smiles.

Summary: Naturally, every rich man needs a heir. And it’s obvious that it wouldn’t be any different for someone who works directly in the Japanese government. That’s where the problem lies. Being the vice president of a country and doing so much for the poorest and most needy people, while taking away unnecessary privileges from rich people, makes his head a target and his family as well.

When [Name] was born, his mother fell ill due to blood loss, and soon died from complications in the surgery that was supposed to save her (it is important to mention that, after her death, a bounty on the woman’s head was announced in the deepest areas of the internet, It is not known whether the mission was accepted). This generated extreme fear in the man and, as a result, he ended up becoming extremely protective of the inheritance that the woman in his life left for him.

All of this only got worse when [Name] revealed he was a trans boy at 15 years old. The reason why the vice president of Japan was even more scared (thankfully) is not because he is trans, but because of what people would do if he found out. Think about it, if people already wish the boy’s death just because he was his son, imagine if they found out that [Name] is a trans boy?

Of course, the man did the impossible to erase [Name’s] old image, to pass him off as a cis boy. Still, it’s difficult to stop the rumor from spreading.

That’s where Toji Fushiguro comes in.

It's curious to think that Toji, the sorcerer killer, could actually be tasked with protecting someone. But that’s exactly what happened, [Name]’s father actually put Toji as the boy’s bodyguard. And this went on for 6 years.

“Hey! Can you stop pulling me, I have legs and they are very functional!”

[Name] says, only to continue being pulled towards some place unknown to him thus far. He didn’t understand anything, and Toji didn’t want to explain what he was doing either.

Finally, the two stop in front of a house. It wasn’t ugly, it just looked like it wasn’t well looked after from the outside.

“Huh? Is this your house?”

“Yes, and I want to introduce you to my son... What was his name...?"

Toji says the last part quietly, but it still gets a low laugh from [Name], who thinks the older man was just joking. Even he knew Megumi's name because Toji said it himself. And after all, who would forget their own child’s name?

As soon as the tallest one opens the door to the house, [Name] is faced with a heart-wrenching sight. There was Toji Fushiguro’s son, eating snacks for breakfast in complete silence and alone, in na environment clearly not prepared for a child

As soon as [Name] sees this, a slap is landed on the head of the man next to him, who moans softly in pain. The slap was weak, but Toji didn’t want to be so mean and say he didn’t feel any pain from the impact.

“How dare you leave a poor little child in these unsanitary conditions?!”

“It’s not my fault if I have to spend the whole day with you. Besides, the kid knows his way around, you see?”

Megumi turns around, looking at his father with disinterest, but then looking at the boy next to him. This time, he seemed more interested, and got up to walk towards the boy.

“... You’re the guy he talks about so much, right? Cool. Nice to meet you.”

Little Fushiguro says, surprising [Name]. It’s a lot of education for just one child (especially for a child who is the son of a man like Toji).

“Nice to meet you too! You're very polite, right?"

When [Name] goes to shake the boy’s hand, he realizes that although it may not seem like it, Toji probably takes care of the boy, as he shows no signs of being thin beyond what is healthy.

"Tell me something, little Megumi...Does Toji take care of you or just leave you to your own devices?"

Megumi shakes [Name]'s hand, and shrugs, indicating that it was a little of both. Obviously Toji pays for food and a few other things, but Megumi is the one who cleans the house and already acts like an adult.

"I'm very busy, if you must know."

"That doesn't give you the right to leave him to his own devices."

"You're really just here to judge, ugh."

Before [Name] could counter argue, he chose to remain silent. He holds Megumi's hand and prepares to tidy up the house and make good, dignified food, since it seems unlikely that Megumi has eaten anything healthy these past few weeks.

"Megumi, let's tidy up this whole house. And you Toji, we'll talk about it later."

Toji seemed to be both unsatisfied and happy. Unsatisfied because he couldn't imagine being scolded like that, and happy to see his son and his boyfriend getting along so well. He sits on the couch as he watches the two boys tidy up the house (and no, he doesn't plan on helping).

And speaking of a boyfriend... He would never have imagined that he would date someone of the same gender as him. He never even considered being with a man, but destiny can always surprise. Everything has been so peaceful after he and [Name] started dating, he can just sit on a couch and watch a good television show while cuddling with his boyfriend. [Name] actually managed to get Toji over the loss of his wife, which is a miracle.

While he is absorbed in his own thoughts, Megumi and [Name] finish tidying everything up. This made for a good few hours, and by the end, both the youngest and oldest boy were dead tired. Megumi goes to his own room and throws himself on the bed, while [Name] throws himself into Toji's lap.

"... That was so tiring... You could have helped!"

"You didn't call me, I didn't think I needed to help with anything."

The man says, as he gently squeezes one of [Name]'s cheeks with his left hand, and with his right hand he squeezes his waist. The smell of cleaning products on [Name]'s clothes were incredibly good, and Toji didn't even remember buying them. He buries his face in the crook of the boy's neck, eliciting a laugh from [Name].

"Of course we needed your help! But it's okay, the food is up to you, go make it soon because your son is hungry. And try to take good care of him, unless you want me to slap you again."

[Name] says, as he gets off Toji's lap. He wanted Toji to make the food so that at least Megumi could eat something his father lovingly made. Well, he still doesn't know that Toji is terrible at cooking.

And everything goes like this. [Name] going to take a shower, only to almost faint when he felt big hands on his waist, Toji burning the food and [Name] having to redo everything together with Megumi, Megumi accidentally revealing that he likes watching Barbie movies, and in the end, everyone watching Barbie in the living room.

Sounds like a perfect day, don't you think?

#Spotify #jujutsu kaisen #male reader #jjk #ftm reader #jjk toji #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji x male reader #jjk megumi #megumi fushiguro

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oomisluvr · 2 years

Text

domestic sakusa (are we suprised)

“WILL you check the oven for me?” you call over your shoulder, your hands occupied with washing dishes from your lunchtime snack, “I think I left something in there.”

Panic flashes behind Kiyoomi’s eyes, brows raised in alarm, “It’s not on is it? You need to be more careful when dealing with heat–”

You bite the inside of your cheek to suppress a smile, watching him stare into the oven with confusion.

“There’s bread in here?” He asks, reaching inside to hold the small roll in his palm, “The oven wasn’t on either.” He trails off, trekking across the kitchen to stand at your side.

Plates now washed, you dry your hands with a dishtowel, leaning against the sink with an excited smile.

Kiyoomi studies your expression, breaking off a puffy chunk of bread and stuffing it into his mouth before munching thoughtfully, “This is really good.”

“Kiyoomi–”

“Here,” He pushes a piece of bread to your lips, looking at you expectantly, “Try.”

“Oh my god,” you laugh, losing your cool, “You aren’t a little curious as to how that got there? The one, singular roll?”

“You put it there.” He confirms while still chewing, the small roll half-way devoured.

“But why would I put it there?”

He eyes you like you're crazy, “Because you wanted to keep it warm? I don’t know.”

“Okay, let’s start again–” he offers you the last piece of the dinner roll and you take it, chewing before continuing, “What’s in the oven?”

“Nothing, now.” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “We just ate it all.”

You sigh. How could he be so dense? “Alright, what was in the oven?”

“Some bread.” he supplies confidently.

“No!” you laugh, “What’s another word for bread?”

“Starch?”

“No, give me another one.”

“Carbs? Rolls? Buns?”

“Buns!” You emphasize, “And where was the bun?”

“In the oven.”

You thrust your hands up to solidify your point. The air goes still, and you can practically see the gears turning in that empty, athletic head of his. Realization hits him like a bullet train, knocking the breath from his lungs. His heart starts then stops then starts again, beating faster than it ever has. His face contorts in a series of expressions, first shock, then disbelief, then his lips pull up into a wobbly grin. He shakes his head rapidly, blinking equally as fast.

“Stop.” he says, voice cracking, “Don’t mess with me like this. This isn’t funny.”

“I’m not joking, Ki.” you whisper, finding his hands and placing them against your stomach, “We’re going to be parents.”

“How far along are you?” He immediately fires off, sounding pained, “Have you been feeling well? How many appointments have you gone to already? We need to start planning immediately–”

“Easy, Ki, I’ve been feeling just fine.” you laugh, reaching a comforting hand to his jaw and stroking lightly, “I’m just 12 weeks, so she’s the size of a lime right about now.”

“She?” Something like a choked sob escapes Kiyoomi as he falls to his knees, speaking to your stomach with tears in his eyes, “Hi, princess! Hi, pumpkin! You’re getting so big! I’m your dad! I’m sorry I didn't introduce myself sooner, I didn’t know you were in there!”

“She’s been doing really well.” You say, “No complications so far. She’s been going strong.”

“That’s amazing!” He babbles to your navel, “You’re so strong, just like your mother. You’re going to grow up and be whoever you want to be and you’re going to be the best at it!” He wipes a stray tear with the back of his hand, “I promise I’ll be the best dad to you. We’re going to be best friends!”

You laugh at that, and Kiyoomi looks up at you with wide eyes, as if suddenly realizing you were there.

“Thank you,” he whispers, “For giving me a chance.”

BONUS:

"You totally ate our baby, by the way." You laugh against Kiyoomi's side, leaning your head on the arm stretched behind you, "Just devoured the bun in three bites."

"You couldn't tell me like a normal person?" He jokes, "With an actual pregnancy test?"

"This way was cuter!" You whine, "I can't wait to post it."

"Post it?" He parrots, "You were recording me?"

"Just the first bit," you smile, "When you couldn't put the pieces together. Hilarious."

"You're evil," he jests, "Our baby better not absorb any of your evilness."

"Absorb my evilness! Really?"

"Yes," he confirms, "Through the placenta cord or whatever it's called."

You shake your head with a smile, sitting up to turn off the lamp on the nightstand, "Goodnight, I'm not doing this with you." You shuffle under the covers.

"Goodnight, I love you." He presses a kiss against your temple, reaching a hand around your torso to palm your stomach. In a smaller voice, he whispers. "I love you, too."

#sakusa #kiyoomi #sakusa kiyoomi #kiyoomi sakusa #sakusa x reader #sakusa fluff #msby #msby sakusa #msby sakusa kiyoomi #haikyuu #haikyu #haiku fluff #domestic sakusa

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lunamochii · 1 year

Text

neteyam + lo’ak + aonung x na’vi!fem reader

✑ three of em’ are age up, pure smut. MINORS DNI! Reblogs are okay.

✑ both of you or just you are about to cum when they noticed someone is coming so they tried to play it cool and warn you while on it

✃ ✃ ✃ ✃ ✃ ✃ ✃ ✃ ✃ ✃ ✃ ✃ ✃ ✃ ✃ ✃ ✃ ✃

❈ Neteyam

The both of you stayed back at the hut, Neteyam fake his illness so he can just have a moment with you. This weeks were horrible for him since he can’t even have a one moment with you without his father dragging him to hunting

“Won’t you hug your legs for me, princess?”

He lick his fingers and slid three inside you, you let out whimper as he finger fuck you again. He really live up to his words when he said that he won’t leave you alone not until he makes you cum ten times

“‘Teyem… I want your cock please”

You look at him with daze eyes and he smirk, about to fuck you with his cock again when he heard noises outside the hut

“Hope his feeling better”

It was his mother’s voice, his eyes drop down at you who is begging already. He let out a growl and told you to sat down beside him, grabbing the cover he use it to cover his whole body and the arm he extended to which he buried his fingers inside you

“This is crazy!” You reasoned out, he suddenly move his fingers inside and made you moan

“Make a noise and I will fuck you in broad daylight”

Was his last warning before his mother came in and he faked a cough

“Y/N! So glad you’re here. Is he feeling any better?”

You were about to answer and Neteyam move his fingers inside in scissor motion causing your breath to hitch

“M-More than ever..”

Neteyam bit his lip to prevent himself on laughing as he felt your glare at him. Ah, how he love to tease you.

❈ Lo’ak

Out in the woods, again. That’s how you and Lo’ak spend most of your leisure time and the both of you really take your time in many good ways

Like how he got you pin on a tree and him pumping his load for the third time now in you, you put your arms around his neck. Placing a kiss on his neck before he hoist you up and began to move again

“Any more than this and I will go crazy, love..”

“And that’s how I like it, c’mon let me hear your voice.”

You press your body towards him as he move, you didn’t even bother being alert around you. Fucking with him outside, it makes you want more.

Lo’ak was moaning with you when he noticed some na’vi in patrol are coming towards where you guys were. He couldn’t stop now, not when you feel so good and chanting his name

“Bit on my shoulde, my love. I will go fast”

He didn’t wait for your response and fasten his pace making you shut your mouth and covering it, your eyes watered and your body began to tremble, Lo’ak let out a hiss when you bite into him and his seed spilled inside you

“Lo’ak? What are you doing in here?”

A na’vi ask him and the man just smiled

“Just taking a walk, y’know away from my father’s nagging”

The na’vi only hum as a reply and excuse himself, Lo’ak parted the leaves that is hiding your body. There you laid, naked. Oh Eywa, his cock is hard again.

❈ Aonung

“Shut up or I won’t let you ever cum!”

Aonung threatened as he went rougher and faster. Your eyes watered, tears threatening to fall and his features immediately soften and have you wrap your legs around his waist. He bend down to kiss you and hush you

“Sorry baby, it’s just the more I hear your voice. The more I want to fuck you rough.”

“So you don’t want to hear my voice?”

You ask and Aonung almost cum when he saw your expression. He flip you, your chest press against the wooden floor of their marui pod. You whimpered when he slid his cock and you can hear the sounds when your skins slap to each other

“Aonung? Mother wants you to meet her..”

Aonung curse under his breath as he stuff two fingers inside your mouth, he moved faster and faster until he spilled his cum inside you not even minding the stinging pain when you bit on his finger

“Tell her I’m coming! I just gotta finish something”

He move away from you and plop down on the side but you crawled towards him, your hands wrapping around his shaft, tongue licking his cock clean. He smirk and caress your face

“Yeah… I gotta finish fucking you until you’re just a dumb bitch just for me.”

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steveseddie · 2 months

Text

cold bones (you were the warmth)

rating: g | cw: none apply | word count: 1,307

tags: eddie munson lives, steve harrington is a sweetheart, pre-relationship, fluff and hurt/comfort

for the @steddielovemonth prompt “love is asking ‘do you want a blanket?’” by @thefreakandthehair

click here to read on ao3

***

Eddie wakes up feeling cold.

He always does these days. Since he almost died in the Upside Down it’s like the coolness from that place burrowed deep inside him and even now, two weeks later, he still can’t shake it off.

It doesn’t help that he’s still stuck in this room while he recovers. There’s an iciness to this place too- this secret government hospital. It’s not just the place with its gray and empty walls, but the people who work there too. The doctors, the nurses, and the government agents who are constantly walking into his room all treat him with the same indifference and apathy, and Eddie is used to people being hateful and mean, but this treatment is far worse.

The only time he ever feels warm is when someone comes to visit him, his uncle, or one of his new friends. But even then, that warmth doesn’t last long once they leave and he goes back to being cold.

With a sigh, Eddie wraps the flimsy hospital sheet around himself and rolls over on the bed, careful not to jostle the stitches covering his sides too much.

He lets out a soft gasp when he sees someone sitting on the chair next to his bed.

“Steve?” Eddie has to ask because he’s not completely sure that he’s not dreaming. Yes, Steve Harrington somehow ended up being part of that group of new friends, but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t surprise Eddie every time.

Steve looks up from the book he’s reading- The Hobbit, which does little to convince Eddie that he isn’t imagining this- and smiles.

“Hey, you’re awake.”

“Am I? Because King Steve Harrington reading Tolkien next to my bed feels like something that would only happen in my dreams,” Eddie says, cringing a little at the meaning behind his words, hoping that Steve doesn’t read too much into what he said.

If Steve does, he doesn’t show it, simply chuckling softly. “Someone left it here for you. Think it was Henderson. It was either reading this or watching you sleep, and that one felt a bit creepy.”

Eddie snorts, gesturing at the worn-out cover of the book. “What do you think?”

Steve shrugs. “It’s not bad, but there are too many names, man. It’s confusing.”

“Fair enough.”

“How are you feeling?” Steve asks, putting the book back on the bedside table.

Eddie makes a face. “Like my body is being held together by stitches and prayers,” he says. A displeased frown appears between Steve’s eyebrows. “But they’ve got me on some powerful drugs here, so I can’t complain.”

The pain isn’t really what bothers him the most anyway, it’s the cold. Always the cold.

For a moment, Eddie thinks he said that out loud because the next thing out of Steve’s mouth is, “Do you want a blanket?”

“Hm?”

Steve gestures at Eddie on the bed. “You bundled yourself up like a burrito there and you were shivering in your sleep.”

“I thought you weren’t watching sleep, Stevie,” Eddie says with a smirk.

Steve’s cheeks turn a pretty pink shade. “I might’ve glanced at you once or twice. You snore, it’s annoying.”

With an undignified squeak, Eddie says, “I don’t snore!”

Steve laughs heartily. “So, blanket? I can ask one of the nurses for one.”

“You would have better luck asking Vecna for a hug, man” Eddie snorts. “I’ve asked, they- they never bring me one, either they forget or just don’t care.”

Steve frowns. “What? But they’re supposed to be taking care of you. All that shivering could mean you have a fever or something worse!” Eddie can’t but chuckle as he slips into Mother Hen Steve mode.

“Pretty sure it’s not. It’s- I think it has to do with the Upside Down? Like, being there and almost dying there left me feeling perpetually cold or something,” Eddie tries to explain. Steve’s eyes narrow at him. “I know it doesn’t make sense-”

But Steve shakes his head. “No, it does, the kids- they told me that when Will got possessed by the Mind Slayer or whatever his name was, he felt cold all the time so maybe it’s like, an Upside Down thing.”

Eddie blinks. “So you’re saying I could be possessed by a monster?”

Steve’s eyes widen in alarm. “No! No! No. I’m sure you’re not. I’m sure it will go away eventually.”

“If you say so.”

“Speaking of that. Going away,” Steve says, looking down at his watch and wrinkling his nose. “I should go, I have a shift.”

“Are people even renting movies after half the town got destroyed?”

“You’d be surprised,” Steve says. “I’ll come back later, okay?”

Then, he reaches for Eddie’s hand, halfway concealed by the hospital sheet, and squeezes it. Warmth spreads through Eddie at lightning speed from the touch. It lingers just long enough after Steve leaves so that Eddie can fall asleep again.

***

The next time Eddie wakes up- cold again, always cold- Steve isn’t there, but he comes back a few hours later, carrying a large bag.

“Back already?” Eddie asks when Steve closes the door. “Did you miss me that much, sweetheart?”

Steve splutters, almost dropping the bag and flushing a bright red. “Shut up.” He places the bag on Eddie’s bed and he recognizes the logo on the front.

“Did you raid Melvald’s on your way here?”

Steve bites his lip. He won’t meet Eddie’s eyes, staring down at the contents of the bag instead. “I figured if they weren’t going to give you any blankets here, I’d bring you some.”

Eddie blinks. “What?”

He doesn’t reply. Instead, he starts unpacking blankets from the bag- first a yellow fuzzy blanket, then a plaid one, and finally one with some animated cartoon characters on it that Eddie doesn’t recognize. He stares at them with his lips parted in shock.

“Uh, these were all they had, they donated a bunch of them to the shelter after, you know, everything.”

“You- brought me blankets?”

“Uh, I did, yeah.”

“You’re- something else, Harrington, did you know that?” Eddie says, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Uh, something good I hope?” Steve asks, fidgeting a little.

“Yeah,” he smiles. “Definitely.” It hits Eddie then that he’s in a lot of trouble. It was one thing when Steve was just an attractive guy, but it’s another thing to realize that he’s kind and good and cares about Eddie. This is a guy that Eddie could see himself falling in love with and that’s a problem.

But it’s a problem for another day. For now, he grabs the yellow blanket and drapes it over himself. The cold doesn’t go away entirely but it recedes, and Eddie sighs happily. When he looks at Steve, he’s got a pleased little smile on his lips.

Eddie figures that he’ll leave now since he already did what he came here to do. He doesn’t want him to, but to his surprise, Steve lingers and Eddie sees his eyes land on the book on his bedside table.

He smirks. “Admit it, Harrington, you’re hooked.”

Steve’s eyes dart to him and he shakes his head. “What? No, I’m not.”

“You are,” Eddie singsongs. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell Henderson. Under one condition.”

Steve narrows his eyes at him. “What?”

“Read to me?”

Steve blinks, clearly not expecting that, but then the corners of his mouth tug up slightly. “I can do that.”

He sits down on the chair after grabbing the book, and Eddie carefully rolls onto his side, facing Steve, and wrapping himself up like a burrito in his new fuzzy yellow blanket.

He feels real warmth for the first time since he went through that portal, and he doesn’t know if it’s because of the blanket or the sweet voice reading to him.

Or maybe it’s just Steve.

#steddielovemonth #day 25 #hello i have another prompt for you i managed to keep this one a little shorter but hopefully just as sweet #steddie #stranger things #stranger things fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #monse writes

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everythingacotarbxm1012 · 4 months

Text

They're Mates Pt 2

Summary - Feyre learns about Azriel and Vee's story as she and Rhysand make their way to the prison

Part One

✨💫

Even days after the dinner, Feyre still had questions about Rhysand and his Inner Circle. Specifically questions about the spymaster, about the emissary. What was Azriel’s story? What was Vee’s story? What were those burns from? If Vee was Illyrian, why did she still have her wings? And the shadows…? Feyre shuddered at the thought. She fell asleep repeating those questions in the back of her mind.

Feyre didn’t so much as move.

Amren leaned forward slightly. “Let me be very clear. This is not some toy. I do not give it lightly, but I’ll allow you to have it while you go to the prior and do what must be done. When you are finished,” Amren took a breath, “return it or suffer the very unpleasant consequences.” Amen was gone the moment Feyre had her fingers against the cool metal.

Feyre quickly dressed for her visit with Rhys to the prison. The questions still mingled in the back of Feyre’s mind, but the prospect of the prisoner dulled the curiosity.

“What?” Feyre asked when she noticed the High Lord looking at the amulet around her neck for the tenth time.

“She gave you that amulet,” Rhys stated.

“It’s serious, I suppose,” Feyre responded. “I, well, the risk––”

The High Lord shook his head. “There is nothing to be sorry about, Feyre. You are here now. And don’t worry.” He winked. “Your pay won’t be docked.”

“Oh, don’t look so surprised,” he said.

“I’ve just never seen you with a weapon before,” Feyre responded.

“Cassian would laugh until he couldn’t talk if he heard that. Then make me spar with him.”

“Could you beat him?” Feyre asked. “Cassian I mean.”

“Hand-to-hand combat? Certainly.” Feyre noticed the lack of pride and arrogance in Rhys’s tone. “He wouldn’t win easily, but he would win. He is the best warrior I’ve ever met, ever. The reason I’ve entrusted him to lead my armies.”

There were a few short moments of silence as Feyre thought. The other two. Azriel and Vee. “Azriel, his hands,” Feyre questioned. “The scars, I mean. How did he get them?”

Another pause ad Rhys’s voice softened. “When Azriel was eight, his brothers thought it would be fun if they mixed an Illyrian’s quick healing oil and…and fire. His father’s warriors heard his screams, but they found him too late. He was left the scars from the burns.”

The image of Vee gently kissing Azriel’s hand when she had met everyone flashed through Feyre’s mind, the action having a whole new meaning to her. But Vee. She said she was Illyrian, but she also said Illyrians have a habit of ridding females of their wings. “And Vee, her wings.” Feyre searched for the right words for a moment. “She is Illyrian, but still has her wings?”

The most subtle sigh escaped Rhys. “She is, she does. Her story is intimately tied with Azriel’s. She was born to an Illyrian family, who trained her from a young age to attract the attention of males. Illyrian females are seen as nothing more than breeding stock. When they were both eight, a few months before Azriel’s hands were burned she was out and about when he was having his allotted time with his mother. His shadows took it upon themselves to go and say hello to the young girl. In hindsight, they likely realized the connection between Azriel and Vee before either of them even considered it. Vee interacted with his shadows before they returned to their master, whispering what she had shared with them.”

The image of the his shadows weaving through the edges of Vee’s hair came into her mind’s eye.

“At some point his shadows starting sharing secrets about Azriel to Vee. The shadows became a lifeline for the both of them, using his shadows to share messages with each other. She was the one to keep him company during those last three years of confinement. Despite there being no windows or light, the shadows found a way. When he was brought to the training camp where Cassian and I were, I suspect their messages to each other continued. Soon after my mother took Cassian and Azriel under her care too, Azriel’s shadows informed him that Vee was in distress, in danger during the night. He didn’t have to think twice, he was flying out of our home in an instant.” Rhys shuddered at the next thought, the image of Vee, bloodied and injured in Azriel’s arms that was long since buried came rising to the surface. “Azriel walked in to see her father in the beginning moments of cutting her wings up, to permanently destroy them. It wasn’t enough for her father to just cut off her wings and be done with it.”

The thought setting a nauseating feeling into the pit of Feyre’s stomach.

“I suspect that if Vee was not so badly injured, Azriel might have had a go at her father, maybe even tried to kill him. My mother took her in too and by miracle saved Vee’s wings. Azriel helped her learn to fly again after she healed. One of his shadows was always with her if he couldn’t be with Vee himself. He taught her to how to defend herself. He adopted the name Vee after she declared she did not want the name her father had given her. Vee, derived from Velaris. Their mating bond snapped about a year later. Neither of them hesitated to accept it. During the war they rarely saw each other, using the bond to communicate, to ensure the other was alive. She managed a few short, brief meetings. Azriel is my spymaster because he can infiltrate courts undetected, gather information, keep tabs on our allies and enemies. Vee is my emissary because her ability to take the information Azriel has gathered and use that charm she has to gather allies is, invaluable.”

The truth that Rhys would not share, at least not yet, was Azriel and Vee’s story was the one that gave him an inkling of hope with Feyre. Both Azriel and Vee were scarred, beaten down by the world, torn apart, but they always found their way to back to each other. All Rhysand could do was hope that the same would eventually be true for himself and Feyre.

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #actor fanfiction #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #acomaf #rhysand #feyre #rhysand x feyre #cassian #3rd person pov

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flowerandblood · 5 months

Text

The Fall from the Heavens (2)

[ dark • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: kissing, angst, arranged engagement, violence, swearing, bullying, chauvinism, mention of injury ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

She had always felt that she lacked something. Mostly when she looked in the mirror and saw instead of heavenly beautiful white hair her dark curls falling over her shoulders, which she hated with all her heart. Her eyes also had no shade of the gods, no shade of the Targaryens − her brothers laughed that her facial expressions made her look like a hamster.

She once tried, in an act of desperation, to cut her hair completely, hoping that what would grow back would be in a different shade; fortunately one of her mother's servants who brought her afternoon meal snatched the scissors out of her hand, horrified, and told her mother all about it.

That evening the future queen explained to her that there was also a Baratheon line running in Targaryen blood through her grandparents, that Princess Rhaenys also had dark hair.

This explanation reassured her a little, but she still felt that the gods had deprived them of something, robbing them of the looks that would prove who they were.

Fortunately, they had dragons.

Her dragoness, Larax, had beautiful silver-blue scales and shimmered wonderfully in the sunlight. She was still small and was just learning to breathe fire on command, but she was doing well and was her pride.

She visited her when she sought comfort.

She watched from the sidelines the only person among them who did not have a dragon of his own, namely her uncle, Aemond, only two years older than her. She could see that although he kept up appearances under a stony face, his suffering and disappointment was far greater than hers caused by the colour of her hair.

A Targaryen with a dragon was still a Targaryen.

But what was a Targaryen without it?

When Jace bragged to her about what they had done together with Aegon and Luke, that they had given him a pig as a joke, she said they were cruel.

She couldn't believe they thought it was funny.

At first she just wanted to see how he was doing, to see if he was coping, so knowing that he spent his days alone among the books she decided to visit him.

However, it turned out that his aloof nature was due to his caution and insecurity, his readiness to defend himself, although she had never intended to attack him. When he realised that her presence had no undertone he relaxed, even allowing her to exchange opinions with himself.

"I would like to be like Rhaenys in the future." She said softly, thinking dreamily that she was described as a woman of beauty, wisdom and dignity, able to solve many things with her shrewdness, wits, care and compassion.

She heard him snort under his breath, looking at her in disbelief, as if she had said something silly.

"Rhaenys? What's interesting about her? Visenya could fight with a sword and she rode the largest dragon still alive in this world. If I had a choice, I would marry her." He said lowly, as usual pretending to be older than he was − there was pathos in his posture and in his voice, he sat upright, comfortably sprawled in his chair, creating a semblance of confidence.

She raised an eyebrow at his words, unable to hide a smile of amusement and saw the expression of displeasure on his face, as he clearly thought she was mocking him.

"Aegon the Conqueror thought otherwise. Out of ten nights, nine he spent with Rhaenys." She said with a wince and saw that he pressed his lips together, rolling his eyes, impatient with her remark, and shrugged his shoulders, returning to his reading.

He was calm, he was intelligent, he was respectful.

She was really fond of him.

As a very young girl, she had given a lot of her thoughts to her future husband, knowing that as the daughter of a princess she would have her tasks, one of which would be to strengthen their lineage through marriage.

The thought that she would have to marry some boring old man by whose side she would die of despair, and with whom she would have to have many children, kept her awake at night; she wished her husband was someone closer to her in age, someone who shared her values and passions.

She wondered if it wouldn't have been better if her parents had married her to Jace − she knew him and, as his sister, loved him, so it would certainly have been easier − but on the other hand, something rejected her at the thought, she felt some kind of discomfort when she imagined their future children.

This was what she was contemplating when her mother walked into her chamber, wanting to ask her her opinion on the King's decision.

She and Aemond were betrothed.

"You may refuse, my love." Said Rhaenyra, kneeling beside her on the stone floor, taking her hands in her own, fearing apparently that this information would frighten her.

For some reason, however, she was pleased.

Although she did not have beautiful white hair, her future husband did.

He was wise, he was a role model for her, she wanted to be like him.

She ran out of her chamber, rushing into the library like a storm, his pale face expressing shock and fear as she approached him.

"Is it true?" She asked in a trembling voice and saw that he swallowed hard, his lower lip quivering as he nodded.

She covered her face with her hand, a happy giggle escaping from her lips, her heart pounding like mad.

"I'm so happy."

To her relief, it looked as if her uncle himself had no great objections to the king's decision, for he began to speak to her more, introducing her to his world, even explaining what he did during his training, apparently recognising that as his wife she should know what his life consisted of.

She absorbed everything he said, watching him from afar, feeling her heart flutter with joy when he was by her side.

Though she knew it was unacceptable, she dared to ask him to let her kiss him, and after he experienced the taste of her lips, he wanted her to do it more often, though he never said it out loud.

Their kisses were innocent, short, warm and wet, on the forehead, cheek or lips, every time she pulled away from him he smiled lazily, embarrassed. She knew he liked the feeling.

They both felt so mature then.

At his request she snuck into his chamber at night − they would lie then for hours holding hands, discussing about their future, about their children.

"When I become a rider of one of the dragons living in the caves beyond the sea, we will fly to Essos, to see the temples of Old Valyria." He said with confidence and calmness, stroking her hair in a soft, slow motion that her eyelids closed from; she loved it when he did that.

He had never tried to touch her naked body, put his hand under her nightgown or do anything else that Aegon had proudly told her about, but which she did not comprehend.

She furrowed her brow at his words, worried.

"Dragons in caves?" She asked quietly, and he nodded, swallowing loudly; she knew this topic was incredibly important to him, and he hoped to gain her support on the matter.

"Yes. Once I have a dragon, everything will be as it was meant to be. We will marry in the tradition of Old Valyria, beget our heirs, and then explore the world." He said with assurance, as if he had already planned and thought it all out carefully.

She felt warm in her heart at the thought that he had included her in everything about his life, that he saw her at his side as his companion and wife.

And then it happened.

Laena's death, her funeral and the great tragedy that followed.

That night she was roused from her sleep by the shouting of guards running down the corridor. She heard their words that the prince was injured, that he needed to be taken to the maester immediately, that there had been a fight.

With a pounding heart she put on her night robe over her chemise and ran after them semi-conscious, relieved to see her brothers, all bruised but without any wounds.

She then looked at the chair and screamed desperately, covering her mouth, wanting to somehow silence how loud the sound was − she felt someone embrace her, her mother pulled her close, stroking her head.

"He called us bastards, mother, and he stole Vhagar!" Luke whined, Alicent shouted to Viserys that she demanded justice, but the King shook his head, looking at his son.

His wound was all swollen and red, a scar running across his entire left cheek, his gaze directed straight at her, dulled surely by the poppy milk to ease his pain after his eye had been taken out.

She was unable to say anything, her whole body was shaking.

"Who told you such a disgusting lie?" The King asked him, and only then did he look away from her, staring at him; she could see that he hesitated for a moment, his gaze shifting.

"Aegon."

Her mother wouldn't let her approach him despite her despair − she lied that she would be able to speak to him later, but it never happened.

They never spoke a word to each other again.

She wrote to him a letter in desperation, crying over it, having to pause several times, not knowing how she would convey to him what she was feeling, her childish mind unable to properly put into words what she was experiencing.

My dearest prince,

know that my heart is torn by despair and disbelief. I pray for you and your health every day. I hope that as soon as you feel better we can meet. I am sending you books that I thought might interest you.

She wrote this, not comprehending that the last thing on his mind now that he had lost his eye was to read, that he had torn up her letter as soon as he had read it, a lack of response from him made her feel even worse.

She felt he was blaming her and didn't know what to do, how to apologise to him so he would forgive her.

It turned out that there was no way she could do this, and the letters she sent to him in the months that followed were not met with a response.

The guards, on his mother's orders, would not allow anyone from their family to enter his chamber, guarded by Criston Cole himself, who, looking at her indifferently, informed her each time that the prince was unwell, needed to rest and would not receive visitors.

In addition to what had happened, she was heartbroken by what Luke had found out, what Jace had known for months, and what had been shouted in their faces that night.

They were bastards.

She felt even more defiant than ever before.

She had felt little when they moved to Dragonstone, when her mother had married her uncle, whom she had clearly loved forever, when Baela and Rhaena had joined their family.

They were sweet, kind and wise, taking her on long walks among the seaside cliffs, however, she was unable to bond with them.

Although officially their betrothal was never called off, it was clear that the King's resolve was no longer in force, the Queen suggested that any of Lord Baratheon's daughters would be a better candidate for her son, and this marriage would strengthen the royal army.

Instead, her mother thought that she, on the other hand, should marry one of her cousins of House Arryn, to secure their influence in the North and seal Eyrie's support for her cause once she was to become queen.

She was unable to find herself in this new reality, despite being the daughter of a future queen, she felt like a nobody. She find fulfilment and joy in her solitary flights on her Larax, over the sea and between the clouds, only then did she feel free, only then did she feel happy.

To her surprise, her greatest support in her suffering turned out to be Daemon.

He saw her silent agony, he saw her emptiness, he saw her grief and he was able to reason with her, unlike her mother.

His mischievous, mocking nature reminded her in some ways of Aemond; as they walked for hours along the shore without any purpose and conversed, she felt she had regained at least part of her old life.

She liked him because he didn't treat her like a child, because he spoke to her about serious matters and didn't hide anything from her.

"Viserys is weak. He always has been. Your mother is making his mistakes, trying to hide Jace and Luke under her dress. She's trying to protect them from the inevitable." He said more to himself than to her, walking at her side with his hands entwined behind his back, looking off into the distance, his eyebrows arched in disapproval as they always did when he was frustrated.

She sighed heavily, agreeing with him in spirit, knowing what he meant.

Her mother was trying to protect them at all costs, her beloved boys, though the tension between Dragonstone and the Red Keep was greater than ever.

Something hung in the air and everyone felt it.

"And that bastard, that fucking traitor Hightower sits on the throne in his name and rules the kingdom, just as he always dreamed of doing." He hissed through clenched teeth, rage and disappointment beating from him, from which she felt her heart squeeze.

It shocked her how direct he was.

He was like a living, burning fire.

"When there's no cat, the mice scamper. Or maybe a better term would be rats." She said dryly, and he laughed out loud, glancing at her, his lips curving into a grin, a kind of contentment and pride in his eyes.

"You're like quiet water on the outside, but there's a great storm brewing inside you. I have heard that your would-be husband has become a fearsome warrior despite the lack of one eye. I fear that once you meet, heaven and earth will shake." He said with amusement and she swallowed loudly at his words, knowing he was mocking her.

"I have no grudge against him. Only he can have one towards me." She said lowly, pressing her lips together, feeling a tightness in her throat, thinking about how she had cried enough nights because of this event.

She felt him looking at her intently, a light summer breeze and the sound of the sea all around them, grey, gloomy clouds above them.

"You still haven't come to terms with it." He stated more than asked, and she swallowed loudly, feeling tears under her eyelids, shaking her head, unable to get anything else out.

"Sometimes it's better to rip your heart out than to let yourself be humiliated, to lose your dignity. Do you understand?" He asked, stopping, looking at her expectantly, with a kind of determination from which she felt a tightening in her stomach.

She stared at him with wide eyes, trying to behave as she should, trying not to break, but she burst into sobs as he pulled her close and embraced her, letting her pour out the grief that had been flowing inside her for years, which she didn't want to share with her mother or anyone else.

"I still love him." She whined out breathing hard, clasping her hands on his thick tunic, his hand comfortingly stroking her back.

"The boy you loved no longer exists." He said lowly and she felt her heart stop, a cold shiver went through her, a wave of disappointment and the realisation that he was right.

When Vaemond Velaryon challenged Luke's right to inherit Driftmark it turned out, to her horror and despair, that they had to appear in the Red Keep to discuss the matter before the King. Her mother wanted them all to travel there, as a whole family meant to support her younger brother.

She hadn't slept or eaten, she didn't have the strength for this reunion, she felt like flying on Larax at night and just running away.

But where to?

She thought in moments like this about how her uncle had said he would take her to Essos one day, to the kingdom of their ancestors, and she burst out sobbing again, hiding her face in her hands, listening to the sound of the rain falling outside her window.

The journey to King's Landing had been long and tiring for her − she landed on Larax alongside her foster sisters and brothers, her hair tied up in a long braid, a leather travelling attire on her body, more comfortable and giving her more freedom of movement.

They arrived in the Red Keep using the royal carriages; when she stepped outside she was struck by how smaller and tighter everything seemed to her.

She felt tense and looked uncertainly around, fearing she would see him somewhere, but that did not happen.

They were greeted by one of her grandfather's lords, the Queen not honouring them with her presence; they were informed where they would be sleeping and she shuddered when she heard she would be spending the night in her old chamber, feeling the cold sweat on the back of her neck.

Walking through the corridors of the fortress she was hit by memories from everywhere and even though this was her home, she had never felt so foreign before.

She changed with the help of servants into a more appropriate attire, her two-tone gown had bare shoulders, her long to the ground, wide sleeves were red, and the material wrapping tightly around her breasts and hips was navy blue, the colours of the Targaryens and Arryns, her expression that she supported her mother.

She wondered if she should go outside or if it would be better to stay in the chamber, but in the end she decided that she would not be a coward, that she would not allow herself to be intimidated in her own home. Therefore, she moved alone through the familiar corridors of the Red Keep, skirting the entrance to the library, feeling her heart beating wildly.

She heard the sound of blades crossing, saw, standing in the cloisters, crowds of people surrounding a pair of warriors apparently practising hand-to-hand combat, heard applause and sounds of admiration, recognised the faces of her brothers among them.

And then she saw him, first his white hair and then his eye patch − she felt her whole body freeze, her throat squeezed so tightly that she felt like she was going to suffocate.

He was so tall that she could see his silhouette perfectly, she couldn't believe how much the man could have changed over the years.

She saw that he had said something to Luke and Jace, the sight of their horror made him grin broadly, but it was a frightening smile, a sneer that didn't reach his healthy eye, his gaze cold, amused.

It seemed to her that she saw more animal than human traits in him, his way of moving, his gait was defiant, agile, he looked like a predator prowling around his prey.

She thought with pain that he was terrifying, feeling her lower lip tremble, her eyebrows arching in disbelief.

Their attention was distracted by the sound of trumpets; the gates leading into the courtyard opened and Vaemond Velaryon appeared in it, walking at the head of his retinue. She swallowed loudly as she saw his chin raised high, as if he was sure of victory in his cause even though his brother was still alive.

She saw her uncle turn towards her and walk up to one of the servants, reaching out to him impatiently, wanting him to hand him another shield and then their gazes met.

She saw the surprise and disbelief in his healthy eye; he froze and although he took what he wanted he did not turn to face Criston, even from a distance she could see his nostrils moving restlessly with each of his deep breaths, as if he was trying to calm himself, his jaw clenched tightly.

She didn't know why, despite the fact that he frightened her so much, despite the fact that he never answered any of her letters, she felt like throwing herself into his arms and crying, simply to say that she missed him, that she prayed every day that she would see him again.

However, before she had time to do anything under the influence of emotion he turned and nodded at Criston, immediately attacking him with his sword which swished loudly in the air, as if he wanted to take it out on him for what he had just seen.

She decided to return to her chamber, and it was only behind the door that she burst into a despairing sob, realising what had terrified and torn her heart the most.

Daemon was right.

The boy she loved no longer exists.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

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