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preciouslandmermaid · 2 months

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of songbirds, swords, and spice (5)

pairing: Opla!Zoro x Opla!Sanji x Fem! Reader (no use of Y/N or L/N)

tw/cw: alcohol/drinking

🏴‍☠️ read on AO3 🏴‍☠️

(masterpost)

<- (previous chapter)

The Going Merry glittered beneath the night sky. A rich, flavorful aroma wafted across the cool breeze from the kitchen, but Sanji assured everyone that dinner wasn’t ready yet. Zoro downed his third—or was it his seventh?–cup of sake. Your skin buzzed. Your heart rate was erratic. You drank slower than everyone else and wondered idly if they’d start spilling all their secrets. Luffy seems too earnest for secrets, you thought with a measured glance at the captain of the Straw Hats. Nami on the other hand...Your eyes flickered to her while you refilled Usopp’s cup. Nami’s wary trust and frank pragmatism reminded you of yourself, which meant she couldn’t have had a childhood of kittens and roses. Sanji approached, carrying appetizers for you and her.

“Dinner is going to take a little longer than I expected,” he said smoothly, “but I couldn’t bear the thought of you starving on my account.”

Nami rolled her eyes as you reached for a flaky, triangular pastry. You had one more day of Sanji’s cooking and wouldn't waste it. If the winds stayed true, then the Straw Hats would leave Nightingale Island by tomorrow afternoon. They’d become a story you’d repeat to Clover, Aiden, and the other children at the orphanage. ‘Tell us again’, they’d cry, tell us about the Straw Hats!’. You bit into the pastry, and its crumbs caught your lower lip.

Luffy asked, “Where are my appetizers?!”

“Ah.” Sanji clicked his tongue. “They’re cooking. I wanted Nami and—” he looked at you, gaze dropping to your mouth momentarily, and a flush tinged his high cheekbones. “Well, let’s just say they’re better when they’re fresh.” He looked away and cleared his throat. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and flicked away the loose crumbs.

“Stop playing favorites, cook!” Zoro yelled from across the table.

“I’m not playing favorites.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Does anyone else feel like it’s unfair that the captain didn’t get to try them first?” said Luffy, holding one finger up. Before anyone could argue further, or make complaints, you grabbed one of the pastries and held it out to Luffy.

“He never said we couldn’t share,” you said.

“Oh.” Luffy smiled and plucked the pastry from your fingertips. “Thanks!”

You didn’t miss Sanji’s relieved, grateful smile. Nor did you miss the sudden, fluttery swoop of your stomach. You knocked your drink back, and let the harsh rice wine hit your throat with an uncomfortable, hot splash. You coughed, your eyes watering, and Zoro smirked at you. You sharpened your blurry gaze into a glare. The background conversation muddled and fell away. Zoro filled your vision, taking up too much space, his dark eyes awakening something slumbering inside your lower abdomen.

“What?” You weren’t going to let him mock you, the cocky bastard.

“Seems like someone can’t hold her liquor,” Zoro said. His index finger mindlessly trailed over the rim of his cup before drawing away and gripping the neck of the sake bottle. You swallowed your sore throat.

“I can hold my liquor just fine, thank you,” you replied and ignored the hoarse croak of your voice. You wiggled your fingers as you held out your hand for the bottle. Zoro’s dark eyes dropped from your face, and so did your stomach. His gaze lingered on your fingertips, the digits softly curled in supplication.

“Sure.” He scoffed. “We’ll see.” Despite his doubtful tone, he passed the sake bottle, and you were careful to ensure your fingers didn’t brush along his.

“I’m not rising to the bait, Zoro. I’d be an idiot to get drunk around strangers.”

He tilted his head and the orange-white bulbs hanging from the sailing rigging flashed his golden earring. “We’re strangers?”

You shrugged and didn’t drink. “Close enough, right?”

“We’ve fought together three times.” He refilled Luffy’s cup for him. “I fought alongside Luffy once before joining his crew.”

You couldn’t understand Zoro’s words. Was he seriously that drunk? Fighting together didn’t automatically equate to loyalty or friendship. Once, you saw Marines fighting alongside rebel fighters against a common enemy, but the Marines returned to arresting the rebels once the mutual thread was gone. You couldn’t imagine a world where Zoro of all people wanted you to join the Straw Hats. You blinked slowly.

“Are you trying to ask me to join you?”

“No,” Zoro said while crossing his arms.

“Then what are you saying?”

“I’m saying we’re not strangers.”

“Because we fought together?”

He nodded. His eyes were cast toward the heavens and you frowned. If this was how Zoro made friends then it was no wonder he traveled with this motley crew. There was no friendship between you. Estella hired them. You were the babysitter for this job because she trusted you more than she trusted a handful of inexperienced pirates. Friendship and loyalty? No. No way.

“I could betray you,” you reminded him, “take the box and tell my grandmother that everyone died while we were collecting it.”

“You won’t.”

You cringed, and hot, prickly heat pooled within your cheeks and along your throat. How dare he presume to know you? Okay, he was right, you had no intention or desire to harm any of the Straw Hats. Still, he shouldn’t know. He shouldn’t. You drank and didn’t cough. Zoro’s mouth twitched. Your silence was proof for him. Proof of your loyalty, your compassion, and the tentative bond forged between you. You needed to clear this up.

“How do you know?” you snapped, “you were the one who threatened to chop me into little pieces if I betrayed you!”

Zoro’s lips thinned. Hah! I win! You thought, your shoulders lifted. You had overreacted – Zoro didn’t know you. He was spouting bullshit to try to get under your skin because he was drunk.

You reached for the last pastry, but Zoro snatched it before your fingers touched the thin, airy crust.

“The cave,” he said lowly with his eyes locked onto yours, “you wouldn’t have survived the drop.”

The heat returned and simmered. Your words had been impulsive, half-formed by your worries for the lack of treasure, and reeling from the adrenaline spent from the fight on the beach. Would you have let go of Luffy’s hand? You bit your lower lip. You didn’t want to die, but you also didn’t want any of them to die for Estella’s treasure hunt. If anyone had to be sacrificed for Estella’s sake, it had to be you, and no one else.

“So what?”

“Doesn’t sound like the action of someone willing to betray her allies.”

“You’re reading into it.” You shook your head. “I didn’t want Luffy to fall into the cavern with me, that’s it. I didn’t think he could keep holding onto me.” The Straw Hat captain was surprisingly strong.

“Whatever you say.”

Annoyed by Zoro’s nonchalant perception of your character, you stood, and grabbed the sake bottle, smirking.

“Hey!”

“Get your own,” you quipped before ascending the steps to join Nami at the upper deck. She knelt beneath the tangerine trees with a large map sprawled before her. Her head lifted at your quiet approach and your hand tightened around your small cup and you offered Nami a tight, awkward smile.

“Zoro,” you said, waving your hand vaguely by manner of explanation. “I don’t know how you put up with him.”

Nami smiled. “He’s not so bad.”

You huffed and sat cross-legged beside her. You weren’t inclined to agree with her. Zoro was strong, and a capable fighter, but his social skills needed work. Hell, even when fighting, he managed to annoy you. He bumped into you, pushing you out of the way of an attack without asking, and he made reckless attacks by jumping at vicious, deadly spider-women. You set the sake bottle between you and Nami.

“What’s that?”

“It’s the map to the Grand Line.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“Isn’t it always?” She shrugged one shoulder. “You know, I heard what you said on the beach about your dream.” Her eyes turned to Luffy, standing on top of a barrel and laughing, and her smile softened. “I know what it feels like to have an impossible dream, but traveling with Luffy has taught me that some dreams...you can’t accomplish them on your own.”

Your heart pounded into your ribs. You knew Luffy’s dream—he never shut up about it and announced it to everyone, it was a point of pride for him. Sanji shared his dream with you, his thread of connection with his savior and mentor, Zeff. But, everyone else on the ship was a mystery. It’s my last night with them, you thought, I might as well learn all I can. It’ll be good for the stories.

You asked, “What’s your dream?”

The tangerine trees rustled overhead, the sharp citrus scent mingled with the mouth-watering scents coming from the kitchen below. Nami rubbed her hand over the tattoo on her shoulder.

“It started with Arlong,” she said. She shared her story, about Arlong’s deal, and how he betrayed her after she had collected enough berry. You listened, your heart twisting and tugging into strange shapes inside your chest. Usopp said the Straw Hats defeated Arlong, but he hadn’t told Nami’s side of the story, and you found yourself emphasizing with her. You knew what it was like to work for someone you despised, to be trapped, and you knew what it was like to be removed from your home. You angled your gaze downward, toward the map of the Grand Line, and blinked away the burning, sharp prickle behind your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you said after her story was finished. “I’m glad you were able to escape from him.”

“Me too.” Her fingers smoothed across the map. “What’s your dream?” she asked quietly, “is it really so impossible?”

Nami’s bright orange hair brushed along her pale cheeks in the wind, her expression was thoughtful and kind, and you didn’t think she’d pressure you to say anything if you didn’t want to. Your eyes followed the swooping design of her tattoo. A symbol of her freedom, of reclaiming her destiny, and navigating her life without abuse and control. You closed your eyes. You saw the endless blue waters, stretching forever, and the shadows that loomed over the islands and pulling the invisible strings. But then you thought of Nami. Brave, determined Nami, a child willing to chain herself to Arlong to work for her home’s freedom. A hundred million berries – an impossible dream. Yet, she had collected the berry, and with the help of Luffy and the others, they removed Arlong’s influence from Cocoyasi village. And now Nami was free to chase her true dream of creating a map of the world.

You had always believed your dream was unattainable. However, this conversation with Nami set you off-kilter, and a tangerine-shaped seed of doubt took root in your stomach.

You said, “I don’t know.”

“Maybe,” Nami said carefully, “you just need friends to help you.”

For the second time, one of the Straw Hats implied friendship with you, and your heart skipped at the idea. How can we be friends, you thought bitterly, when you’re going to leave in a few hours? You'd never see them again once the Straw Hats passed into the Grand Line.

“Are we friends?” you asked.

“Don’t know.” She held up her glass to you. “I’d like to be.”

You lifted your cup and knocked the side against Nami’s. “Me too.”

After dinner, you returned to the upper deck to sit among the tangerine trees and clear your head. You laid on your back, arms crossed and pillowing your head, and watched the stars float aimlessly by as the Going Merry drifted through the calm, dark-gray waters. Your heart had fluctuated between heavy and light. You liked the Straw Hats, but you couldn’t stay with them. Estella needed you. How would the Golden Cupid survive without you? It couldn’t! Your devil-fruit powers allowed Estella’s business to rake in more berry than they ever could through regular performances. You trailed your fingers across your throat, ghosting along your collarbones, feeling the slight pebble of goosebumps beneath your fingertips. Your voice was your greatest weapon and your greatest asset. I can’t stay on a boat, either. The ocean sapped your strength. Estella needed you, the children needed you, and you couldn’t leave them to chase your dream.

Nami’s story, so similar to your own, was an outlier. Most people don’t get to achieve their dreams. You lifted Pandora's ivory box from your pocket and held it aloft in front of your nose, except Estella. Her dream is complete once we deliver this. The ivory surface absorbed the moonlight, turning the angles and divots along the carved surface into luminescent cracks. Estella never wanted to solve the puzzle boxes. She said there was no point. ‘Pandora wouldn’t hide berry in them,’ she said once, ‘they’re too small.’ You figured her desire to have the boxes wasn’t about berry but about the prestige of having something that once belonged to a famous, female pirate.

The wooden floorboards creaked. “There you are,” Sanji said, “care for company?”

You sat up. “Sure.” It’s our last night together.

“I have a personal question,” Sanji said, sitting next to you, though you noticed he was careful and gave you space. “If you don’t mind humoring me…”

Down below, Luffy shouted, “Guys! We have a cat!” He held Mimi from under her front paws, her lower body swaying as he twirled around, and you were surprised that she tolerated it. She never let you pick her up. Oh, Luffy. You chuckled under your breath and shook your head. I wonder if Mimi will stay with them.

“What’s your favorite dish?” Sanji asked, lifting one leg and resting his wrist on his knee. His lighter sparked and illuminated his profile in a brief, flickering glow, his pale eyelashes casting shadows across his cheeks, and his lips pinching to hold the cigarette between them.

“Why do you ask?”

“I’m a chef,” he said, exhaling smoke. “And I want to make you something special for tomorrow to celebrate.”

A swarm of butterflies hatched inside your stomach. You quelled your desire to smile, at his thoughtfulness, and the sight of his longer fingers tucking his lighter into his pocket. You toyed with the puzzle box, passing it back and forth between your hands, and watched the dark, green tangerine leaves rather than continue to stare at Sanji.

“What if you’ve never heard of it?”

“Describe it to me in detail.”

You squinted at him. “And you’ll just – what? – figure it out?”

“More or less,” he said, then smiled.

You asked him to give you a few minutes to think. Your favorite dish? You had plenty of foods you liked, plenty of dishes you’ve tried from years of traveling and being on the run with Estella, from street food that dripped over your fingers to expensive cuisine that you could barely pronounce. Your thumb flicked over the puzzle box’s corner.

“Before I…” You stopped yourself, unable to complete the sentence with honesty, and licked your lips. “Before I worked for someone, we had this cake every year during the Festival of Limitless Water,” you said, “we had all these rivers that ran through the mountains.” You made a swooping gesture, following the memory of hills and streams, and your heart hardened to lead.

“Anyway.” You cleared your throat and were well aware of Sanji’s focused, blue eyes on you. “They’d make them in the shape of fish, and fill them with red bean paste, or custard, or…” You trailed off and realized you couldn’t remember what they tasted like.

The act of remembering your home, your past, felt like razors clawing up your throat. You were barely seven when you left the Yama Archipelago. You remembered it in pieces. The clouds that swelled and wrapped around the mountains like heavy blankets, the fish-shaped cake warm inside your hands, the yellow paint on your childhood door, your parents–

“Keep going,” Sanji said, breaking your trail of thought before you spiraled. “Was it flaky and layered? Or flat?”

“It wasn’t flaky. Sometimes, when it was warmer, we’d eat ice cream from inside of them.”

Sanji nodded. “If it could hold its’ shape, then they must’ve used molds.”

“Probably?” You shrugged. “But, if that’s the case, then I don’t know where you’d find the mold before everyone leaves tomorrow.”

“I’ll improvise.”

You sighed, twisting the puzzle box in your hands. Sanji wouldn’t be able to make the dessert before everyone left. You knew it. He knew it. But for now, beneath the starlight and swaying lights, you would pretend that he’d fulfill his promise—and that you’d see one another again. The smoke trailed out of Sanji’s lips, faint and blue-tinged.

“What’s yours?” You asked, watching the smoke curl into faint wisps before they dissolved.

“Spicy seafood pasta.”

“I should’ve made my paella spicier then,” you said. Who’s cooking for Estella if I’m not there? You hoped she wasn’t worried about you, or Mimi. You hoped she was looking after herself.

“It was perfect as is.”

The nape of your neck tingled, and a flush of hot and cold danced through your veins.

“Thanks.”

“But I’m always available for private lessons,” he said, “if you ever want to advance your culinary prowess.”

“Right.” You laughed. “I’ll just come find the Going Merry in the middle of the East Blue and take you up on the offer.”

“Or you could stay,” Sanji offered gently, his voice a whisper on the smoky, tangerine-scented wind.

“I can’t.” Your reply was quick and pointed. “Estella needs me.”

Sanji of all people should understand your predicament. You wouldn’t abandon her.

“I thought the same about Zeff, but then he reminded me that spending my life at the Baratie was foolish. I was meant to find the All Blue for the both of us.”

You held up the puzzle box, admiring the fine craftsmanship, and said, “What happens after you accomplish your dream?”

Will Estella be content to place this puzzle box among the others? Your dream wasn’t attainable, but hers, Luffy's, Nami's, and Sanji’s dreams were. Where did the passion go once the dream was fulfilled? Sanji held his long, dexterous fingers out to you in a silent request and you wordlessly passed the puzzle box to him. You watched as he attempted to open it, but nothing worked. A little furrow worked its way into Sanji’s brow before he gave up and held it back out to you.

“You find a new one,” he said quietly.

#fic: songbirds swords and spice #one piece fanfiction #reader insert #zoro x reader #zoro roronoa x reader #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader #zoro x sanji #poly fic #zoro x sanji x reader #opla fanfic #one piece live action fanfic #zoro x you #sanji x you

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thebirdandhersong · 11 months

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@incomingalbatross !!!!!

#songbird reads bleach #you're so right he does not love the sword for its sharpness but for what it defends!!!

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m3chanical-rhythm · 2 years

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“I’m not sure that ‘punk’ really suits someone like me...but since you were kind enough to help me pick it out, I guess I can wear it for today. ////”

@dsn-001 convinced Aria to go out shopping for some new clothes since she likes what Moon wears so much. She’s a little unsure about how it looks on her, though. (cute details under the cut)

#mun art #my art #muse art #singing songbird (aria)#reploid #reploid oc #mmx #mega man x #megaman x #mega man x oc #megaman x oc #(( bless you willow ))#(( full inspo credit goes to them ))#(( peep the feathers and the lil magnetic earrings ))#(( yes that is just the kind of sword you think it is ))#(( and she bought it for exactly the reason you think ))

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starlight-ascension · 1 year

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thinking about my aikatsu stars/precure crossovers again and i'm now imagining a collab between makopi and one of the aikatsu girls

#who should she feature on her next single #someone whose themes and motifs complement hers #ok so makoto's symbols include spades suits and swords and the colour purple #those are the obvious ones #hang on lemme just *pulls up my text document where i came up with aikatsu auras for the cures*#in that i also incorporated music notes but more importantly i incorporated little wings #bc her big hit single is called songbird and she has those wing shaped sleeves #...what would makoto's star wings look like?#what would urara's star wings look like? yuni's? emiru and ruru's?#wow this is carrying me away i'd say i'm on a roll with this crossover but it's more like the crossover picked me up like a flowing trail #of rainbow light and glitter and magic energy on the wind #and then it carried me off into the stars to show me the wonders

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comfortless · 3 months

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Only Other

chapter one of three.

Goth soldier! König x fem, Roman! reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. historical au (set around 350BC); potential inaccuracies as i am no historian!, König speaks some German here (as opposed to Gothic), mutual pining & worship, mentions of an arranged marriage with a large age gap, slight sexism, descriptions of gore, groping, dubcon sword/knifeplay. additional warnings will be added to the next two chapters.

notes: for @writersdrug’s request. ^^

wc: 11k.

The barbarians are here.

The dream of river water lapping over your knees and songbirds in swaying trees fades out into a hazy fog as you begin to rise, dropping your legs from the mattress to spur yourself to move across the small room as quietly as your feet can carry you.

Heavy footfalls and staggering hoof beats from their horses weighed down by heavy sacks of supplies is what has pulled you from sleep.

The flames of their torches crackle, accompanied by the shrieks of clanging, well-polished metals singing out as if in the throes of war becomes a dull song; weapons, wicked and crudely crafted unlike the spears of the soldiers donned in red you were so accustomed to by now.

You had heard the whispers on the wind of the untamed beasts from Germania filtering in, settling down here; their arms and their blood for just a sliver of land to claim, soil to birth farmland, a semblance of peace from within the walls of the great empire.

Never, in these small words from gossiping tongues, did you suspect that these rugged men would be taking to camp so very close to your city. Not only that… they’ve been accepted into the walls, the door flung open for them with their gnashing teeth and thick, ugly weapons. These men of myth were usually set further out into the countryside, far from view of polite people to sow seed in soft fields, build the little shacks that seemed far too fragile for their rugged forms that could never compare to the villas built here.

Peering over the sill of the open window, stretching your upper half out into crisp night air to catch a glimpse of torches sailing along the breeze, flames just as ever-shifting as their darkened silhouettes, your breath seems to halt entirely. They look the trueness of harbingers like this: each somehow more imposing than the one they follow behind. You count only two horses split between the eight men of this small band.

Could any of them even speak in your tongue?

What stories could they tell?

Had any of them ventured as far as the sea or had they only bathed in waves of warm blood?

With eyes wide, you even dare to perch there to watch on, never bothering to conceal your underclothes with the faith that the darkness would hide away anything more than a illusory view of your shape.

Through the faint glow of the yellow-red flickering flames, your gaze drifts to something large, hulking and brutish, darker still against the backdrop of a sable horizon.

The shadow walks in line with the others, their proud and raucous foreign voices feathering through the otherwise quieted air… only he does not speak, does not make a single utterance of mirth or glee. He stares only forward as his feet tread on just paces behind the rest of the group.

Nine, then.

Like the tales you’ve heard of the Goths, you’ve also listened in on the children spinning wild stories of monsters, the legends of heroes of old slaying cruel beasts told by their elders. You had always believed them, even without the evidence currently striding through the sleeping streets, dark like a crypt, like the underworld itself. A true titan.

Just as your eyes track the brooding, silent form, he abruptly turns his head in your direction.

The glow of a nearby torch paints the shrouded face in the color of a dying sun, casts a glint on the thick seax strapped to his hip.

In that moment, it isn’t wonderment curling through your blood, but surprise, maybe even a tinge of fear.

Your heart hammers as you pull yourself from the window to whisper hurried, hushed prayers to Juno, protectress of women, as you reject your curious nature and climb back into your bed. You’ll bring your offerings to her altar just as any devout: incense and a sweet pastry so long as she keeps you safe, chaste.

Buried beneath cushions stuffed with straw and thin fabric sheets to tuck yourself away, you wish only to return to dreaming of the river’s silt beneath your feet and colorful birds parading past in the open air that smells only of violets and honey.

Instead, you dream of fire.

You dream of the city bathed in gold, molten and angry as the walls come down around you.

You watch as your neighbors, friends, all begin to writhe and shriek as their skin begins to blister, boil beneath until it melts layer by precious layer to puddle like oil where feet once stood until the mighty, wraithful scorch takes even that away too. What once was human becomes smoke: women, men, children, it made no difference. It all becomes a mighty roaring flame as the structures wail and crumble around you.

Yet, you remain untouched.

Dawn breaks with the puppets sewn in shadow all but entirely forgotten, washed away in the fearsome tides of your own dreaming.

You startle and bolt upright as you wipe cold sweat from your brow with the back of your hand.

You’re no oracle: it’s just a dream… Vulcan would never turn his fiery gaze to your people after you’ve all honored him so, the offerings paid at his altar had been plentiful this past year with the steady expansion of the empire and the need for well-smithed weapons.

There were no volcanoes here to sweep away your life with magma and sulfur… only the lemures that haunted old shacks with their wailing had paid a visit to you last night. You let them in with your fears, and you would ward them away next with your courage.

The sun’s warmth creeps its way in, sweeps up from your blanketed legs until it curls and caresses at your cheek. From its positioning, proud and impossibly high in the sky it’s almost as though Sol himself were staring down at you, radiant yet scolding.

You’ve overslept.

Hurriedly, you ready yourself for the day, cinching your waist, clasping the shoulder of the stola, and dutifully washing your face with still water held in a clay pot. There was little else to do than bide your time with tedium: the animals loitering about needed tending to, a neglected sewing project lay strewn across the floor that had long-awaited its completion, and as the questions began to stir in your mind again… perhaps, gods willing, you would safely be gifted the opportunity to peek at the barbarian camp. To see that peculiar titan that they kept tethered at their sides.

It was dangerous and unheard of for a maiden, of course, but with little else to do than work and practice stitching threads for a betrothed you held no true affection for, this was a significant reprieve from the humdrum of what was scrawled out into the stars.

You weren’t given the luxury of further studies and communing with the aristocrats at their hearty banquets, sipping wine and prattling onwards about politics and how to further Rome as a whole. A part of you preferred this simple life of taking to the street, to peruse the market with what little money you held clutched in your palm, to pet the horses and watch as bulls sparred out in the fields beyond. Returning home to an empty house was a comfort, too.

As always, the market is a lively place, full to bursting with people exchanging anything under the sun, either beneath painted wooden stalls or from the first floor of their very homes, all with very little regard for you.

The city was simply too full to take in every name and face, and only their chatter seemed to intrigue you anyhow. You didn’t need a scroll or a song about each individual, your people were easy enough to read: war, pride, and duty all embedded into their very blood. The only ones that drew your attention were the poets and bards, entertainers who spun their stories of lives vastly different from your own… but there were none awaiting coin on the streets today.

A man passes with his wife at his side, loudly bolstering onward about his progress on some expedition.

Women with flowers woven into the braids of their hair laugh softly behind their palms as they exchange their secrets in singsong whispers.

The children play and pocket with eager palms when salesmen are unaware, likely to be caught later on and have their hands whipped raw.

There’s no talk of the Goths.

With these foreign men, most of your people seemed unbothered, taking solace in the knowledge that the empire’s cavalry would ride to strike down any opposition. A tentative, arrogant sort of comfort that you knew very well not to trust entirely. Most were simply not as educated on the potential of what could be, hadn’t snuck around on quiet feet to listen in on the men discussing failed treaties and negotiations.

The Goths could find their own food, their own women and shelters after fighting for the empire for a time: likely what they were here to do… give up their lives in exchange for a sliver of a Roman dream. A band as small as the one you witnessed could never quite hope to topple an empire, anyhow.

That sense of safety brought forth disinterest and smug little grins with little else to say, whereas your mind only took to further conjuring curiosity.

The more you wander the more you question whether you saw them at all, or if they were mere specters, already slain and silenced on some field far off from here, long dead and forgotten by all but the sleep-addled mind of a maiden.

You’ve never felt so disheartened. Though the city remained constantly bustling and full of intrigue when you knew where to look, these days the ease of it all only seemed to further the boredom. If nothing were to come, it would be no surprise to find that Juno would serve her purpose, looking after all with her blessings. You almost regret calling for her safety last night.

If the barbarians were indeed real, had some plot to overthrow an empire with their small numbers, perhaps only a vulture would be pleased with your thoughts now: teetering on the cusp of anticipation and wonder. You would never think yourself treasonous, but to learn, to see more… Your appetite for something further than a life spent sewing and child-rearing after marrying a man that made your skin prickle with distaste in the coming winter was rational.

Maybe not to most, but to you.

The fruit stall pulls you from thought with its sappy, honey-sweet scent and brilliant colors littered in crates: reds, greens, even some soft and blue… You only then notice you’ve been standing entirely still here, lost in thought, as if expecting a bolt of lightning to split the world in two.

Two apricots were purchased, one for you and the other for the gray mare in the stable you had grown fond of. You give the merchant a smile and a few bronze coins and carry on your way, nibbling at one of the fruits on your walk.

There were usually servants tending to the horses just beyond the city's paved streets, but it seemed today they were busy with other affairs: Quinquatria would be upon the city soon, and there was much to prepare for such an important festival. The place was empty all apart from yourself and the horses, some off in the fields to gallop to their heart’s content, while others like your mare, secured by wooden gates and paddocks.

You feed her, cooing gently as she takes the pitted fruit from your hand and between her blunt teeth; then, allows you to lead her into the grass with your honeyed words and languid steps.

One day, you hoped to have the opportunity to ride her, perhaps far away to touch the waters of the ocean, to see the foreign trees in some great adventure that would leave you more fulfilled. Ideally, without being weighed down heavy with child.

Your hand strokes at her nose before she begins to tense, eyes wandering from your form to something just beyond, far off and nestled in tall, fluttering grass and small bushes. You track her gaze for a moment, finally turning to look over your shoulder.

The wind has the tops of the trees swaying along the hills, grass pushed down to kiss the earth with each flutter of air. It all smells and feels so gentle, carrying the scent of wildflowers and the soil and salt of the earth itself. Ceres would have found herself prideful at the sight; everything rich and lush with the spring… Harvests would be bountiful this year, and everyone would be well-fed and contented. It’s no surprise that after pilfering through old calendars and running his tests upon the soil, Gaius had declared that this was the year he would take you to be his wife.

Past the expanse of soft blossoms and a cavalcade of greenery, all sweeping and rolling, a beauty that would stifle anyone should they think to look hard enough… but amidst all of this sits a man that you recognize immediately. Though he remains utterly faceless, his stature is somehow enough to make a gladiator blush and turn tail in shame.

There, just where the hill dips down and gives way to the soft rush of the stream, sits your warrior. His head is lowered as he crouches by the water, hands tucked to his front as he busies himself with something in his lap. The bare expanse of his back presented to you is unfathomable even from such a distance.

The men from Germania were said to be huge, dwarfing those that you were accustomed to by lengths, tall and thick like the weapons that they carry. They were said to be handsome, too… and like some hazy dream you were already certain that he was, somehow, beneath the pelt tied round his waist to keep him warmed at night, the sable shroud hanging over his head as he works away at sharpening the blade laying over his lap.

Your legs feel weak like a freshly birthed lamb’s as you watch him; the muscles of his bare arms bulging and quivering, his nude back tensing with effort. The soft rays of the sun beaming down only seem to paint him golden, untouchable except by higherborn women and men who could pay well to have him dirty his blade or his cock. Radiant, cruel, maybe even a bastard son of Mars himself, because what better a place for a man so vast and laden with scar tissue to be than in the midst of some great war.

Someone like this, you know with a certainty, would have no time for fickle maidens with their heads filled with the fluff of fantasies, and in a way that only seems to solidify a plume of possessiveness stirred up within your head.

You wonder even, if he calls to Vulcan as he pauses to hold his blade up to the sun to marvel at his work, the sharpened silver glinting in the light. The weapon casts its rays to only further illuminate the paleness of his flesh, coupled with the gleam of the flowing water ebbing past it only serves to make him look the very picture of those old stories and myths. The older women in the city would have tapestries embroidered of this scene, no doubt, if they could see through your eyes now.

Your horse trots off, satisfied that there is no true threat here, and you feel yourself begin to creep forward.

The gods and goddesses must play their tricks, because you are no fool. The pull only feels undeniable, something that you could not fight with a stern will alone. You pacify your impromptu decision with the thought that you could turn away at any point in the meters it would take to reach him. Surely, if he turned to face you before then that same fear from the night before would come to surface and you would sprint, startled and wary.

Perhaps he would even give chase…

There’s no excitement to be held on him, either acutely unaware or ignoring your presence entirely as you draw ever-closer. The grass softens your footsteps, the breeze blanketing any sound from each shift of your legs beneath the linen stola. You’re near silent in your approach, only halting where the hill crests over the bank several paces away from where he remains seated.

Only then does he turn to look your way.

There’s no greeting, no display of friendliness. His body language remains closed off, distant, like that of a wolf in cautious preparation; deciding whether or not it would be necessary to bare his teeth, to snap and growl until your flesh rends beneath him.

So it’s left up to you and to Juno who remains harbored in your heart. The goddess would protect you most assuredly, you’ve left her offerings for as long as you could remember, prayed at her altars and devoted yourself entirely— perhaps not in the same way of the temple maidens, but certainly more so than most.

You take a breath, watching him with kind eyes and an air of unease about you that only seems sweet by comparison to the very danger that his presence proposes. He only returns your stare with something colder, detached and unamused beneath that ugly veil he wears: two holes for the eyes, dyed beneath with the red rimming yellow like the tissue a butcher may find in a plump calf.

“Can you understand me?”

There’s a long, tense silence that follows your frail question. The titan stares, looks you over from the crown of your head, briefly pauses midway- at your hips- then further. It’s both heated and cold, coaxing yet analytical.

Finally, the barbarian gives a curt nod in response, seeming no less frigid and closed off even as your voice feathers over the breeze. But he understands, can decipher your language, that’s a start.

“You are… one of the barbarians, yes?” Is that even what they preferred to be called? The word certainly sounded prettier on your tongue than the brutish pronunciation of ‘Goths’. There would certainly be some price to be paid if your blood was spilled over a mere insult…

Graciously, he only seems to overlook it as he sheaths his blade and rises to his full height, tall like the mountains you had only heard stories of, where gods and goddesses sit in council not meant for mortal ears.

Freed of any covering upon his upper body, you find yourself reluctantly mesmerized by the trail of light hair that runs from chest to abdomen and down further… until a little tuft peeks from the hem of the pelt tied around his narrow hips. The layer of fat over his midsection paves a way upward to reveal the muscles of his chest, wider and more prominent somehow than most breasts you’ve seen.

Unruly thoughts clutter that would have others questioning your status and devotion to your Gaius if they could hear them. It couldn’t be helped, you reason; you had never seen a man quite so vast, so meant for battle and breeding.

“That is what your people call me,” he huffs, bull preparing to charge. His words come out with a thick accent, northern. The trees and mountains would sound similar if they could speak at all.

He drinks you in with his eyes, fingers twitching at his sides as though itching to touch your most sensitive parts. Though he doesn’t move yet, you get the sense that all it would take is one false move, a skitter in your step that leaves you tumbling to the earth, and he would be upon you like the downpours of spring. You even wonder if he would roar like the thunder delivered from Jupiter’s weighty palms if he were to mount you.

Of course, what he sees before him is not a maiden of Rome. His people didn’t care for purity, for your religions and ideals: you’re a fertile little doe, wandering straight to a buck in his prime.

You swallow hard, a little bob from your fragile throat, to force those treasonous thoughts from your mind. Even talking to this man was a risk to your reputation… Your poor betrothed, nearing thrice your age and horribly delicate by comparison to this beast, would be up in arms if he were to find you here. More concerning, you couldn’t find it within yourself to care.

“What do you call yourself, then?” Your voice comes almost breathless, thighs pressed together beneath your stola as your own body sends its signs and omens to tell you that you’re precariously close to the underworld just by gracing him with your presence. Perhaps it would be that dark, too, if this giant decided to push you to the soil, hover over you as he plucked you apart like petals from a flower.

His eyes track that subtle shift of your legs, crinkling at the outer corners when they roam back upward to your face. The beast grins beneath his hood, you’re certain of it, and those eyes of pale blue seem to glitter like the sun's rays on the stream to your side. He shifts, crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his hips just slightly forward, some strange display undoubtedly meant to tempt and charm you.

You don’t budge from your perch, despite your body’s persistent singing for him. Enticing scents and views of flesh could do that… this man wasn’t special, you were just curious. That’s all that it was.

“König.” He answers things plainly in that lilted voice, as though he’s trying to seem more of a man to spite that boyish way of speaking. And gods help you- it’s cute.

“Does it have meaning?,” you settle to ask when he does not request your name in turn. A bit rude, though you do wonder if perhaps the bullish men in his settlements see delicate things like you more like pets anyhow. The thought of this warrior whisking you away and naming you one day… You swallow that lump in your throat again, teetering back on your heels as if to place more distance between you two.

“What do you think it means?”

That simple non-answer does finally allow your pulse to settle, only to rise immediately to find it insulting— as if this wild man with no proper education had the right to insult you at all.

He only smiles again beneath that veil when your face sours. Awful, wretched, gorgeous creature… You’re no threat to him and he knows it. He’s only playing with you, dodging your pretension with a bit of his own, and unfortunately… This is the most pleasant conversation that you’ve had with any man.

Your betrothed was only arrogant and dull, there’s no light in his eyes when he smiles at you- everything is duty. Not here. Not with König, and surely the goddess of marriage and love is frowning down at you from her lofty throne, because you’re almost certain you’re infatuated with the brute by now.

“You’re a bit rude.”

“King.” He grins, a grin that you can see when he frees the leather flask from his belt and shoves his mask upward to take a heavy gulp of what is undoubtedly Roman wine. The glimpse alone makes you weak again, honey drips from your thoughts to your cunt, and you know now that you were never simply curious.

No, this brute would be the end of your engagement and even you if you allowed it.

You watch him take his fill, catch the bitter scent in the air as a bit trickles down from his rough jaw to his throat, all covered in scars. He’s been in battle for a long time, likely why he wears the hood at all. The rest of that handsome face is undoubtedly a wreck just as what could be seen of his body, all covered in memories of where he’s had scrapes and dances with daggers only to fell his foes one by one with that long seax dangling from his hip.

After the hood and the flask are in their proper places once more, he gives you a nod, then speaks, “How many coins?”

It takes a moment for the question to register in full; he isn’t asking what you have on your person, but how much you’re worth. How much it would cost for you to spend a night in his bed, tolerating this giant between your legs…

Your attractions billow up in smoke immediately, just as you expression sours and your hands curl to fists at your side, crushing the half-eaten apricot in the process. You toss the ruined fruit to the ground, allowing the sweet juice to coat your fingers as it flows downward.

You wring your hand as you very nearly shout, “You are an animal. I’m not here to sell myself.”

Your voice falters to a meek, little whisper with your final words, the breath a weak gust through the first tiny blossoms of spring.

Of course he catches onto your body language, to the way your thighs rub and tense beneath your skirt, the way your nipples peak at the mere sight of him and all of the infatuation and curiosity in your eyes. Men knew things like this, offhandedly, it seemed; if the others were correct then this beast could surely smell you, too.

The bastard only stares, eyes narrowing as his brow pulls together beneath the hood in some strange confusion. The whores wore their togas, not the stolas of maidens and married women, even a barbarian should have known that: his men were certainly no strangers to the sweet women with their faces chalked in lead.

Then, his shoulders pull up to fall in a shrug.

“Run, then, little one.”

It’s almost as though he knows your thoughts in and out, a lemure himself as he presents the bulk of him that would strike fear into any man, taunts and goads. You don’t want another fire dream. You force your courage and mirror his stance: chin up, back straightened as you look down upon him like a goddess sent to deliver her fury with… a pitted apricot at your feet rather than bolts of famine and misfortunes.

His eyes become stars, twinkling in earnest when he sees you then. You’re no aristocrat, no empress, but you certainly feel the part when the giant’s gaze finally relaxes its pilferage and settles upon your face instead.

Your act is all for naught, because you realize that his men are approaching, opposite the stream. One of them was enough, but a hoard of others… You were not even certain that he could understand you properly, and the others could be even less patient. Your gaze travels over their forms, smaller than this ‘König’, but each equipped with their own weapons and their own scars from battle.

They look from their leader to you, eyes grazing over the plush flesh that your stola dutifully conceals like starved dogs. One of them mutters something in a foreign tongue, harsh and guttural, his eyes never leaving your shape in a display of brazen appraisal.

König responds in turn, voice taking on a lower octave as he all but barks his response: harsh, unyielding language that you couldn’t hope to interpret… but if you had to guess, you were nearly certain that his men were asking who would lift your skirts and have their way with you first.

You depart from them with tentative yet hurried feet, and you don’t look back as you cross across the lush field. There’s no stopping at the stable, not a thought in your head except that you would most assuredly not be returning. The barbarians could have the field, the stream, whatever the city’s officials had allowed them.

Just not you.

It’s Gaius that greets you when you arrive home, to the little villa he had secured for you; to the place that would become less of a home and more of a prison once the two of you were wed. You’re barely a foot in the door when the man’s gaunt face turns to you, his lips set in a stern line.

“Where were you?”

You knew that look, it’s the very same that he gives to his slaves when he’s about to bleat out his orders like an enraged goat, shove them or grab at them to feel less small than he truly is.

Your brow pinches, a shaky breath leaving your mouth as you try in earnest to look the part of an innocent lady who had not just crossed a field and fantasized endlessly of some rude, barbaric oaf.

“In the field. With the horses,” you deliver your half-truth with practiced ease. This wasn’t the first time you’ve lied to him, and it certainly would not be the last. If the protectress of Rome could overlook your stunts and recognize your discomfort in this wretch’s presence… then she might even side with you; save you from a future of sharing this man’s bed.

Gaius relents then— as much as a stoic, old man could. He reaches out to cup your face with one weathered hand and you have to force back to urge to shudder.

It’s not that you mean to be cold, not after all that he’s done to care for you… it just comes as naturally as the seasons and the wills of the gods. Something about him always made you feel ill.

You eventually, tentatively jut your chin forward just a bit to force yourself into leaning toward the touch of his cold hand.

His lips curl into an unsightly grin; then, he pats your cheek and draws away enough to bless you with fresher air to breathe without his withering presence alone contaminating it.

“I brought you a gift, meum corculum.”

“Oh…” Your words come in a little hiss, your heart stuttering in your chest as you teeter back on the heels of your sandals. The straps along your calves feel tighter now, your stola too… maybe even the room itself: everything seems to close in, and you could only silently hope he doesn’t request your affections for doing such. “… you didn’t have to-“

“Nonsense.” Gaius raises both of his hands, arcs them before stepping out of your path to reveal a new dress lying on the wooden table just beyond him, dyed a light blue.

It’s pretty, well-spun and soft-looking… yet you still hesitate a bit when you step closer to run your fingertips over the fabric. It yields beneath your touch, bunches when you move each digit along the pliant linen, and it’s the softest thing you’ve ever touched, maybe even softer than the lambs and kittens you’ve played with in the streets.

“I thought that you might like something nicer to wear during Quinquatria,” he adds from just behind you. You feel his hands trace along your arms, further, until they reach your shoulders and give a gentle, but almost demanding squeeze.

It’s meant to be affectionate and he is your husband-to-be… but he still manages to make you feel ill. It’s only a blessing that he’s never requested more from you than a peck for his offerings to you.

What a man in his late stage of life could see in you, you couldn’t hope to imagine. A fertile womb, likely, and you could only hope that that isn’t also what he saw in the women he kept as slaves in his own home further toward the city’s center. Nosy, dull man that he was, of course he needed to be closer to the housings of banquets and discussions to feel some level of importance while he kept you locked away toward the wall and the slums like some filthy little mystery.

“I’m tired, my love,” you manage, voice thin as you slowly pull yourself away, from both Gaius and the delicate blue thing you would be forced into wearing for the coming festival.

The man balks, but doesn’t push. A few seasons and he would have what he’s awaited for years, the confident gleam in his eyes tells you that he’s certain of it.

It’s difficult to believe that someone you had once considered a hero and a friend could make you feel so much disgust now. You were naïve, then, and now you only feel how those poor horses locked away in the stables must feel, burdened with a constant yearning for your own freedom.

“Then rest.”

When the door shuts behind him, you’re only then able to expel your relief. The weight of what you must do settles upon you, heavy and unyielding, the boulder of Terminus.

You can not marry Gaius. You can not continue to breathe in the stink of the city from its miasmic aqueducts, perfumed only by the crowded marketplace full of mortals so contented with their own tedium. The unknown calls and calls, howling like a mother wolf to guide you. Even with the stories told of what fiends and horrors lie outside of the city you could almost feel with a certainty that you were destined for it.

You light your incense with a lump of coal in the burner of a clay pot. Just cinnamon would have to do for now. You make your peace with that promising Juno whichever sweet, flaking pastry that appeals most during the festival of Minerva.

Though you were more than content with your wish for nothing more to do with the barbarians after meeting with König earlier… he comes rushing back into your mind, rolling and lapping like waves as you begin to prepare yourself for sleep. The polished tin of your hand mirror reflects your face as you twirl the handle in a curled palm and you stare. Did he see beauty or simply a womb…? Had you taken offense to nothing? The questions stir up remorse as you strip away your gown and take to the bed.

Just one more meeting with the foreigner, maybe. Just to say your farewells, wish him luck in future battles, bless his seax and his shield with a touch and a prayer (if he even had the sight to keep any form of defense on his person).

When Quinquatria comes, when the people are busy and satisfied with their food, fortune telling and the gladiator games, you will take your mare and ride off into a sea of stars. Each light will be a point of guidance until you reach the riverbed you’ve only ever dreamt of, until you scale the mountains that sang so sweetly from the goth’s tongue…

And perhaps he will chase you.

— — —

Quinquatria used to be one of your favorite festivals. The fortune tellers were your favorites, always seeming to know so very much with so little insight into your life. Then there were the revelers donning their colorful masks, barking out song with bitter wine painting their tongues.

You try to listen in on them as a woman traces over the patterns in your palm, the curved lines and straight, fine indentations. Palmistry, rather than any proper reading with sacrifices and proper seers stood before a temple. You reason that this is for fun, just like the wine-drinking and the gladiators fighting for their lives and the horrible stink of the city’s streets: natural, reasonable, and dreadfully normal.

The fortune teller hums as she reads you through your hand, laughs a bit when she seems to note a secret or… something. You were not entirely sure. The woman was young, her belly likely as full of fermented fruit as everyone else’s as they dance and crowd the street where you two are stood.

“You’re unhappy, girl,” the woman muses, giving you a sympathetic look before another laugh pulls from her lips.

You give her a nod but don’t say a word as she continues to stroke at your palm. Of course you were, anyone could tell just by the frail look upon your face, as if you were indeed bereft and ready to cry at any moment in this horrible, dainty dress with your betrothed fondling some lady mere paces from you.

“Yet, so lovely,” she continues, nimbly running her fingers to your wrist. She curls them around you, turns your hand over and gives it a soft pat to signify that your reading is done.

“You’re destined for a summer wedding.” Winter, you want to correct. “And your husband… strong and brave like the sacred wolf.” Weak and old, you force back with a clenched jaw.

She releases your wrist with one last assessment, “Juno favors you, sweet girl.”

You want to call her a fraud, but instead you merely part with the bronze you had promised to her. With Gaius preoccupied, his wrinkled hands already tucked beneath the skirt of the other woman’s stola, now would be the best time to wrench the door of your little cage wide open… not make a scene.

Your chest feels tight, and for the first time it isn’t from some unknown fear, it’s excitement. Your heart hammers as the blood stirs within your veins, belly tense and breathing shallow, taking a stiff pace to walk along the shadow untouched by silver paths of moonlight.

There’s a bellow, a wail as the gladiators fight some distance off. Soft words and whispers filtering past like eerie words from something ghastly, moans from a brothel, bells on the wind, the stink of rot and perfume all from all that you’ve known for so long as you leave it all behind.

Your mare is pacing restlessly in the field, her ears flicking and tail swaying behind her. You’ve no saddle, you hadn’t even thought to procure food or any supplies. You’re not even certain that she’s been ridden by anyone, but you coax her over to the wooden fence that your body rests over; hands find the velvety fur of her gray snout, fingers moving to gently caress her mane and ears.

“We are going to be free,” you whisper as your hands curl over her neck. The mare makes her displeasure known immediately, huffing and tensing immediately… and you realize that this isn’t going to work, not without her bucking you off and leaving you injured or dead. You’re not stupid or brazen enough to break a horse or anything, really. Not Gaius. Not…

You would find König. Perhaps you could even trade the Goth for a horse already accustomed to being ridden… he had already revealed his intentions, and he was easy enough on the eyes to entertain the thought.

You give the mare a kiss farewell, right on the softness of her cheek and detach yourself from the fence to wander past the silver field, the gently flowing stream. The water dampens your dress, embeds it’s cold into your very bone where the sandals fail to protect. Spring or not, it’s hardly warm at night, and there are only so many rocks lying in the water to keep you from sinking in.

The clothes are drenched by the time you crawl to the other side. On the opposite bank, it’s only then that you turn back to look over at the city, one final glimpse of a place bathed in gold; cinder and ash from torchlight, flowers and the creeping scent of decay carry on the breeze. Even from the distance you can hear the music, chimes of steel on steel, the laughter and cries of mirth and pleasure.

Begrudgingly, you feel the first seeds of regret plucking at your heartstrings. You’ve nothing to your name apart from a few coins in a pouch strapped to your hip, no weapons, no food. You could die, you verily would if you went at this alone. And still, you force your face forward and continue your steady waltz to look the unknown straight in its bloody maw.

You won’t panic, won’t fear. Whatever awaits would be better— it had to be.

The barbarian camp comes into view some time later. You couldn’t be certain how long you’ve been walking, as though some spirit had plucked the chords of your mind and left you in some confused daze. It couldn’t have been your own desperation. Something greater had to be at play, a proper destiny: one much better than the life of Gaius’s wife, owned like a hound, imprisoned and uninspired.

Though their torches burn, their tents stitched together amalgamations of old pelts and cloth, the air is fresher here. You expected the reek of death, heavy on their skin, bathed in blood and the rot like visions of Mors herself. Instead, you smell smoked meat and wine on the air: a boar and fermented grape, fruit from the surrounding orchards, the heavy scent of men. There’s no celebration here, a few men talking quietly as their eyes wander over what you can only assume to be some sort of map— tactical discussion for their next bloodbath.

You puff your chest and steel your gaze as you walk towards them, expression set not unlike the stern looks your betrothed would give.

Your attempt at intimidation only earns a flicker of hunger in the gazes of these men, and then a bout of grating laughter. They glance at one another, discussing you in hushed voices in their mother tongue before one finally looks to you and asks a simple, “Was?”

“König,” you answer simply. “Where might I find him?”

The question undoubtedly goes uninterpreted, but the name does spark a wave of interest that passes between their faces. Finally, one points toward the tent at the far side of the camp: ugly thing, vast and layered in dark tones of gray and maroon, the very structure is a bleeding animal.

You hear the laughter behind you, the lewd whispers and jeers and only a simpleton wouldn’t be able to interpret the meaning; the titan that heads their little group has a lovely woman seeking him out like a wayward dream, and with adrenaline already coursing through you the thought of spending your night here doesn’t even seem an insulting prospect.

The flap serving as the door of the tent parts as your hands move to lift it, and sure enough… the beast lies in wait in his den, seated on a mattress made up entirely of fur. His hood remains over his head as he traces the carvings on the handle of the seax, under flickering flame and the shadow of the tent König seems further unearthly, god walking amongst men as he toys with his weapon in some strange sort of ritual.

The ritual only seems to be one of boredom, because his eyes light up when they rest over you, standing like a dream as your dress billows with the breeze creeping in. You’re drenched and dirty and pitiful in his presence, but he only seems to soften when he beckons you toward him with a curl of his fingers meeting his palm.

You obey with tentative steps, stopping next to him as he waits on the bed. If it were possible for your heart to seize and halt entirely without you collapsing to sink beneath the earth, it surely would now, so close to him.

“I need a favor,” you explain in whispers. “A horse.”

“A horse,” he repeats as his weapon is set aside, “Warum?”

You don’t want to explain a thing. He’s working with the very men that could drag you back to the city after being paid heavily by Gaius… your trust is blind and foolish and you almost want to break apart right here. How stupid to believe that you could find some solace here, with a giant that walks along the cusp between men and beasts. Your shaking hands reach out to drag along his vast shoulders, lingering on the healed wounds that dent and give rise to his flesh.

“I’ll do what you want,” you offer quietly, earning a pleased rumble from his chest.

Though after a moment, he only sieges your wrists, pulls you down to the mattress at his side. He touches you no further, only stares down at you in a twist of amusement, reverence and confusion.

“Warum?,” he repeats, “Tell me.”

You wind over onto your side, staring up at him with a desperation that you’ve never known until this night, clawing down from your throat to bed it’s way into your roaring pulse, frightened and pleading. Just give in, ask no more, you want to wail to him as your vision begins to blur with tears.

Mercifully, he doesn’t ask again. König lies at your side, mimicking the way you curl onto your side and again… he smiles, though this one is unlike the way he looked upon you by the stream. It lacks that boyish twinkle, the intensity of the lines forming beneath his eyes: it’s more of a pleasantry than anything genuine.

“You are married?”

“What? No…” You swallow hard, toying with a thread that’s begun to pull free from your hip, twirling it between your fingers. “…not yet.”

“Ach… but you belong to another, ja?”

You want to howl out your frustrations up to every god and goddess above, burn through the Elysian with your misery alone. You wish, yearn for the courage to cast off that mask and lure him in with a kiss, erase any memory of Gaius with the kindling of a truer passion.

Your voice doesn’t come, and your fingers steadily pluck at that thread, feeling more unsure of yourself with each passing second.

Again, your bastard god grants his mercy as he raises a hand to cup your jaw, the warmth of him singing away the memory of the weathered hand that had touched you there before. His hand is so much larger, strong and riddled with calluses; you swear that you can feel his own fluttering pulse through his fingertips when they press against your bottom lip.

“Not after tonight,” he hums.

When the shroud is tugged up and his mouth meets your own, König’s kiss is exactly what you had expected: a sloppy, eager clash of teeth and tongue. He steadies you with a hand pressed to the back of your neck as his grunts filter past your own lips. Your eyelids flutter, then close as you allow your mind to finally relax, coaxed into the ethereal with each swipe of his tongue and pleasured sound drawn up from the well of his throat.

He pulls away with a gentle peck to the corner of your mouth, gazing down at you as though he’s been deprived of light for the entirety of his being and had only now met the sacred flame. It’s incomparable to how easily your betrothed would cast his scrutiny; though the hunger is similar, there’s something far more enticing here.

“Do you trust me?”

König’s voice holds no apprehension as he speaks; the question is just as blunt as each bulge of muscle and peek of teeth through the grin on his face, only set aglow by dim candlelight in the tent. You don’t nod, don’t even reply immediately as you stare at him a little dumbly, still intoxicated by the ferocity of his affections.

“… I don’t know.”

He moves a hand over your eyes then, gently presses his palm over you until you’re bathed in such darkness that you shudder. It’s a disconcerting feeling— not because you fear him so much anymore, but because if this were Gaius you would have already been squirming away, rushing to hide. You want to kiss his palm, revel in whatever piece of him he gives to you.

“Sehr schön,” König coos to you in a whisper. You settle further, allowing the tension to leave you almost entirely as you fall into the velvety embrace of all of this darkness and the pelts beneath your back.

He shifts at your side, and almost immediately there’s a cold chill at your collar, something sharp that he rakes over the softness of your flesh, then down, down to snag at the top of your dress. Your gasp is quieted by a kiss as you feel his weight shift over you, and just as you begin to melt into it… the fabric begins to tear, shreds as he guides his blade further, past your breasts and along your sternum, your belly, further.

“Don’t..,” you manage to hiss against his mouth, immediately taken over by the feeling of his tongue lapping at your teeth. Your nipples peak at the sudden chill as your dress lies ruined to either side of your body, thighs trembling as the blade hooks along the linen concealing your maidenhood.

One more generous, gentle cut and that comes away too.

You’re entirely bare when he retreats to your side again, one hand still clutching the blade as he moves his head to lay over your breast and… never, never had you heard of a man lapping and suckling at a woman like a pup, but that’s what he begins to do; his tongue circles over the bud, tugging it between his teeth until you feel the wetness between your legs beginning to drip to smear upon the mattress.

It’s caught, quick, as he turns the blade in his hand to slot its grip against your sex. It’s cold, but his mouth is warm, attentive as he licks between the valley of your breasts to capture your other nipple.

The noises that leave your mouth are filthy, rivaled only by the sounds you’ve heard in brothels… König only seems appreciative of them, muttering praises as he grinds the cold metal against your cunt, careful as the ridges of it graze your throbbing bud, gathering your slick to make the glide that much easier.

When he moves to dive for your breasts again, you cradle his jaw in your hands, peering up at those moonlight eyes in silent pleading as you capture him in another burning kiss.

The blade turns again, its sharpness directed down so as to not bring you any harm as you desperately roll your hips against its coldness. He groans into your mouth, panting softly just as you begin to whine.

You’ve never heard of a man making love to a woman with a weapon… or of one suckling at her as though she’s lactating when she is not, but… it has the desired result when your body tenses and all that can escape you is a frail whisper of his name.

The heat sweeps from your foggy head to your middle as your thighs squeeze around the damned thing and König presses his lips to your temple. You climax for him, chasing wave upon crashing wave of intensity with stilted bucks of your hips. He clicks his tongue in approval when you’ve finished, holds up the seax again, smeared wet with your essence and twinkling as though it had been bathed in the stream once more.

You know with a certainty you’ve lost Juno’s favor. If he chose you to carve you open with his come-stained blade the goddess would not make her descent to save you.

“Gut,” he whispers into your hair. To your horror, maybe even fascination, he raises the dirtied silver to his lips and licks your sweetness from it with another low groan.

“Wh… why would you do that..?” Your rapture feels almost shameful as you watch him lap at the weapon, the long tongue meeting silver only warmed by your heat.

He’s mad, certainly, and you only find yourself further infatuated: you reason that you must be too…

König doesn’t answer you as he sets the seax aside again, not in words. Instead, he cups your face and directs your lips to his own where he laps at your tongue, suckling it in the same way he did your tits. It’s slow and sensual, and you can taste yourself in his mouth, smell yourself on him as his hands find your waist and tug you closer until you’re lying almost entirely over him; one leg thrown over his thigh with your hands splayed over his chest.

The titan is hard beneath the pelt he wears, felt against the plushness of your thigh, the brown fur wrapped around his hips is pushed to rise where it’s harboring something akin to a pillar… but he doesn’t force you to settle over it, makes no attempt to tug it free, despite its throbbing against your leg,

“I needed your blessing,” he mutters, a hand settling over your naked hip, tracing small shapes with his thick fingers. The other finds your shoulder to pull you into a cuddle, pulled so tightly against him that you’re hardly able to discern where your warmth ends and his begins.

“A.. a blessing?” Your voice comes as a trembling croak, head pressed into the gap between a broad shoulder and the column of his throat.

“We are leaving in the morning.”

“Oh…”

“I will give you the horse when I return.”

Your head feels like a mess. You’re not even certain of what you’ve just done— did that count as sex? Would he tell the Roman soldiers he works alongside of how he had convinced some pompous aristocrat’s lovely bride to lustrate his blade with her essence? You could hit him, demand the horse now and bolt, but you only melt against him: eyelashes fluttering as exhaustion takes hold and the tension leaves you entirely.

“That’s all?”

König pets you, running a hand along your spine and back up to repeat. He presses his nose to the crown of your head, nuzzling against it until his hand is freed from your form and only then does it coax its way beneath the fur covering his groin.

He laughs at the weak sound of surprise you elicit when that beast is pulled free, another, thicker weapon curled in his hand. The thickness, the length of it that tapers off to a layer of skin, eager and pulled back from the tip, leaking beads of milky white: something that would surely tear you if he were not careful, and the thought brings you to squeeze your thighs together, concealing the leaking, thrumming thing between.

“I will fuck you when I return, too,” he huffs into your scalp, causing you to further bury your face against him, intent not to let him see the effect his derangement seems to have on you. You would let him bury himself into your chest, steal the breath from your very lungs, but you don’t breathe a word of it. Something tells you it’s a mutual thing, perhaps it was all spelled out for you when he asked for your favor rather than from any of his foreign gods.

You count your undeserved blessings. He seems sated only ruining you with his touch for the time being, you’re very comfortable here, and though you dare not speak it… you do find this brute charming. He speaks where you fail to, whispers of your beauty being like that from myths and dreams.

He doesn’t force you to leave, either, only paws at and squishes your breasts until you squeak and whine your protests, already sore from his teeth leaving their marks all over them. When he tires of his fun, you’re pulled into a crushing embrace where he rests his head against your own, blankets you in himself entirely. You were right… the shadow he casts over you blackens out the sun, moon, stars all of it; dulls the haze of carnality with something far more tender.

Your night becomes entirely made up of König: his scent like forest and sweat, the furs from beasts he’s chased down and slain, his soft breathing and gentle snores when he does fall asleep against you.

No dreams come to you, no lemures to haunt you with their wails and flames. Not even Juno descends to punish you. You’re warm and soft and contented like the kittens curled up in clusters along the streets on cold nights.

It’s the first night of peace you’ve had in some time.

When morning comes, the brightness of the sun peeking through the flaps of the tent, you wake to find König already out of bed. He stands at the far side of the tent, strapping on pelts and gear and the leather pouch filled with wine. His seax is held up in utter revelry, and mortifyingly enough… you immediately note that he hadn’t cleaned away the remnants of what occurred last night either.

When you bring yourself to sit upright, the giant only drops to his knees at your feet and curls his arms around your middle, pressing a kiss to the valley between your breasts through the thick fabric of the hood.

And… it almost hurts, to realize then that this is something you’ve longed for. You’re not arrogant enough to believe yourself worthy of some foreign worship, but he seems to liken you of some devout little acolyte, as if your come and kisses could grant him favor while he butchers poor souls all in favor of your empire: the people he had likely been communing and trading with only months before. Traitorous, mad, utterly enthralling man… You’re not certain whether you want to relieve yourself from him or guide him back into bed for more frenzied pleasures.

“You will stay?,” he murmurs into your skin as his kisses trail up to your neck.

You hadn’t even considered what you would do, it never came to mind, but staying in a shoddy tent in wait for him to return with the horse he’s promised was far from favorable. You’re out from the city, still without food or weapons, your dress and underclothes are a torn ruin on the floor, nothing but the wind and the stream and König’s stinking furs… The bathhouse seems to call to you now more than ever. Your lower lip trembles when you think of returning to that stale place, to be questioned endlessly about your affairs from your ‘doting’ husband-to-be…

Your head shakes solemnly. “I’ll wait for you at home.”

König drags you up onto your feet and closer as he savors in another embrace. You’re cloaked in a gray pelt, tied up and over your shoulders like the gaudiest tunic in the world, but you bur your nose into its shoulder, humming in contentment when you find that it smells just like him.

He’s more confident and proud than you’ve ever seen him now. The filthy blade remains strapped to his hip when he gathers you up to sit at his front on the back of his horse— a dark stallion with a pelt the same shade as the night sky. It doesn’t even seem to flinch at your combined weight, just canters along smoothly as König directs it through the sprawling field and past the stream to lead you back towards the city’s gates.

You’re not thinking of Juno or Gaius or traditions when König cinches your waist with a thick arm to draw you in closer; there’s nothing but fluffy warmth pooling in your chest sent by Venus when you feel his hips shift to press himself against your back. His head dips to kiss at your neck, your burning cheeks, shoulder, anyplace that he can.

When the horse comes to a halt with a sharp tug of its makeshift reigns, some length of rope and twine, his hand is at your rear.

Everything’s incensed and floral when you’re lowered to the ground, when he lifts the hood to grin down at you, not only with his eyes this time. It’s a sheepish, gluttonous grin, drunk off your very presence.

“I will come back for you, meine Göttin.”

And you know now, that the palm reading had been true— there’s your wolf in preparation for a hunt, the man who’s unwittingly aiding you in your pursuit of freedom painted with mountains and vast, blue skies. You will convince him to come away too, lay down the blade you’ve blessed with your pleasure. A summer wedding… far from wars of greed and smirking old men.

Your head swims when he bids you farewell, rides off on his massive horse back to his camp to gather his own men to march. You watch him go, breath caught up in your throat, a burning longing in your chest that you can not entirely dismiss.

The walk of shame only comes when you’ve crossed the threshold separating König’s world from your own.

The stink of the streets immediately washes away any lingering scent of him on your skin, on his pelt you now hide away with your arms curled around your waist.

You catch your reflection in stagnant water held in a pot, swaying and ebbing gently as others breeze past you.

You’re in a foreigner’s clothes that just barely crest your thighs, hair a mess and the carmine you had worn to bring a false blush to your cheeks is smeared over an eye and down to your jaw. You look the part of an adulteress, maybe, even as you dip your hand into the water to wash the makeup from your face.

There isn’t much to be done about the marks left over the hints of your chest revealed beneath the fur, but you make your way home without anyone even bothering to ask. If anything, the festivities from the night prior only seemed to subdue the standard bustle. You could only imagine how exhausted the hungover soldiers may have been as they undoubtedly prepare for the expedition König had mentioned.

That overrides your shame, sobers you from that sugary elation somewhat. You’re worried. It’s not just about König himself, not about the threat of fucking you when he returns left unfulfilled— though, those are enough to make your heart begin it’s hammering, rabbit in the throes of a chase. The horse, too. That proud stallion, your hope of a swift escape before winter comes and it’s all lost. If his drunken allies fail him in battle, if some other barbarian’s spear strikes true and fells your titan then the dream is dispelled into smoke, sunken down to river bed to be lashed away by frothing waters.

Whoever decided that the day after revelry would be the time to move was a fool indeed. The deities couldn’t look at you after last night, you know if they saw their noses would be turned up in disgust… perhaps not Jupiter’s, he’s more guilty than you could ever be, but your offerings had never been for him had they?

You fret and hiss below your breath as you wind your way back to the villa with its white walls and terracotta-tiled roof. The sun bears down on you like the flame of your dreaming. You’re afraid again, letting the lemures find their way in through the gaps in your shivering limbs to haunt your dreams.

Gaius is not there to greet you, likely still recovering from his own fevered night. You’re grateful for that.

The little altar to Juno still stands atop a table in your room, the burner still smells of cinnamon, dried flower petals and a dish of honey still sat there entirely untouched. She hasn’t split it in two, abandoned you, but it does feel that way when you peel away the fur.

Your fingers nudge at the bruises laden into your skin, the marks that look like teeth to either side of your breast. You press into them, gently, immediately feel that coil of heat, and you don’t want to sleep. That fire from your dream only seems to have become a part of you: you know it intimately now, it comes with pleasure and bite marks and a heavy weight harbored in your chest.

You cinch your waist and tie your stola at your shoulder, brush your hair out with a comb made of ivory. You rub your bruises with a salve made of honey, bandage up what you can and hide away what you can’t by tugging up your breast band.

The same as any other day, you take to the streets of the city and peruse the marketplace, take to the empty bathhouse to wash away all that’s consumed you over the past day. And you watch the soldiers go as they march through the streets, women and children waving away their fathers and brothers with prayers and sentimental words.

They don themselves in red, clutching their gladiuses, spears and heavy shields as they filter out and away where your very being longs to be. Their faces are giddy, almost: the prospect of pillaging and felling each enemy another delightful treat just like those found in the gladiator pits and amidst rolling with the whores in their brothel beds. You can not hope to understand their mirth, the happiness in any of the civilians either.

You watch them leave wistfully, lips pressed to a thin line, fingers digging into the waist of the stola. You down your fair share of the wine Gaius has left in your cellar. The day merely passes you by, the sewing left undone on the floor, altar bathed in cinnamon and saffron as you make your prayers and beg like any dog.

The mattress feels lonely and sad without the warmth of a body made for war curled against you, without his breath in your hair and his arms wrapped around you. It’s cold, too, and far harder than his, all straw and thin sheets. None of this feels like home.

Your eyes eventually close as the last of the sun’s rays begin to die, blotted out by the dark, untouched by torchlight.

You dream of fire.

#könig #könig x reader #könig x you #konig x reader #konig #konig x you #cod fanfiction #f: only other #tw: dubcon

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azure-cherie · 4 months

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PAC :

What's in your store for January

Pile 1 -3

Hello love's hope you had a very happy and fruitful new year , I'm praying for the happiness and well being of all of us one more year together I'm so grateful for each one of youuu

Please choose using your intuition and take what resonates

If you'd like a personalized reading for new year

Paid readings , paid readings 2 , masterlist

Pile 1 :

First of all what are you guys even dealing with good lord The energy is pretty heavy , I will not be surprised if you have prominent Saturn in your charts this month I believe you are dealing with karmic cycles , Things ending in general, you might be a bit shaken up soon something you thought never would happen will happen

I'm sensing career or home sector fights could be there as well as inner conflicts beware and take precautions don't get too caught up about what others have to say rather choose your own story this also indicates you might soon take a stand for yourself its really required something has to come to an end because the time is over now you are to urge for more ! Financially! Abundance is written for you this time your creativity will pay off I know you like you play with fire but remember life moulds you like a clay some fire glazes some melts you gotta choose your own battles why do I feel like I'm talking to myself lol .

You will understand the worth of spontaneous plans soon sometimes you gotta do stuff for the sake of doing it and you just gotta act wild just be careful about the fact that everyone you go out with isn't a friend every co worker doesn't mean good for you learn to see through people's mask ! Theres one video by persephonesmind its perfect she explains it really well , followed by ten of swords some of you might experience a rock bottom moment however it isn't for everyone but with the world be assured you will pick yourself up this might seem like a bad ending but it's a good one or turn out to be good it's a matter of time bae anyone who tries to play you cheat on you will be ashamed themselves because they will see the purity in your heart .towards the end of the month I see some enemies becoming friends.

Pile 2 :

You're a bad bitch period !! This month is about embodying the best version of yourself move on despite the snakes around you ignore the people you're gonna be investing on something that is worth it it's a sign ! Friendships are something you will be blessed this month new and old you will also actively let go of a fear of yours I heart heights and abandonment issues.

If you're looking for commitment from someone it will be given this month like engagements marriage yay social media fame is also written there would be more family functions to attend to I see more active energy in this pile. You will understand the worth of standing alone and work your intuition through difficult situations .Your dreams might be a clear indicator of something also I feel you're making someone cry or someone is making you cry ask advice from someone who's been there in your situation you can also ignore if the situation isn't as important I also feel ignorance energy I guess it's good because you're also healing from abandonment issues .

You'll be doing some course on money management or get advise from your elders on your resources. Sometimes we make our own problems dont get sucked into that take time but let your loved ones know that you need it ! Also you really need that money management advice as you might end up losing something but I also don't think it will he a bad loss ! Sometimes sacrifices are necessary you might understand the worth of small losses now but that will protect from bigger issues later.

Pile 3 :

I don't dress for women I don't dress for men lately I've been dressing for revenge! That's your main mood this January you're gonna show everyone who didn't believe in you what you're capable of you're going new heights reaching new goals making new ways I'm so proud of you

You have struggled a lot to do this actions manifesting you are getting closer to what you want , might fetch yourself a new leadership position this month you're gonna be an example an epitome of grown beside the struggles because you're so ready to work despite all the sneaking going on behind your back you're gonna be doing the thing needed to defeat your enemies you will undergo momentary defeat and might cry for a while because you might feel all forces are against you this is the time to pour into your inter child

When trauma shows up remember to shadow work nothing ever goes away one needs to heal with it don't get swayed away with temptations and fake promises I heard devil is strong but so is the knight know that your emotional strength will lead you through this you have to be more intune with your emotions but also lead with logic it's a hard balance to learn but once you're on it you become undefeated and you will be I'm so sure about that.

Thank you so much for reading

Have a great day/night ahead ❤️

#Spotify #pac tarot #tarot pac #pac readings #pac reading #pac #pick a deck #pick a photo #pick a card reading #pick a picture #pick a card #pick a pile #tarot card reading #tarot deck #tarot cards #tarot reading #tarotcommunity #tarotblr

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aemxnd · 1 year

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midnight rain | daemon targaryen x niece!reader

Can the sunshine win over the darkness?

Heavily inspired by a gender-swapped Taylor Swift’s Midnight Rain as requested by @prettycutebunny, I hope I did your idea justice (and apologies for changing one lyric to suit the plot!)

WORDS: 5.3k (I’m so sorry)

WARNINGS: canon typical incest, dubcon, angst everywhere you look, p in v, v fingering, physical violence, breeding, degradation, praise, pain kink, Daemon being a real asshat, reader is Viserys and Alicent’s third child, reader has silver hair for plot point, Stockholm Syndrome, terrible High Valyrian translations, crying, power imbalance due to age difference.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

My requests are open! 🖤

Such a pretty little songbird.

Little Starling, your mother had once named you as a child. A free spirit, bound only by the towering castle walls that clipped your wings as the youngest child of the King and his second Queen. Weeks, months, years passed daydreaming beneath your favourite tree, reading the same fantastical books and listening to the same wistful odes from your minstrel.

All the while under the careful eye of your kepus.

Life’s tragedies and horrors had never crossed your path, never entered your realm, therefore could never harm you. Your childhood as idyllic as you could imagine, save for a loving father. That void was dutifully replaced by your uncle Daemon, whose unrivalled care and indomitable attention ensured you never wanted for anything more, evermore understanding that your father’s duty to his throne far exceeded the loving relationship expected toward a daughter and that his brother could offer the closest companionship to his. Yours was an unbreakable bond that defied all secrets, surpassed all proprietary expectations and often branched into full conversation in High Valyrian to remain undetected by outside ears.

Meanwhile, your elder brothers Aegon and Aemond sought to salve the absence of a protective male role model closer to your own age, ensuring they trained in the sword to their own degrees should their little sister ever need rescue. No matter how often you reassured them, they refused to share your belief that no danger could come to you, for danger did not seek you. With the guard of three silver-haired Princes, you thought yourself invincible.

As you matured together, however, your brothers discovered distractions. For Aegon, it was women, cups and the sordid activities beyond the castle walls. For Aemond, it was Vhagar, studies and bitterness. You could not begrudge them the right to grow, to extend their roots beyond your all-too-comfortable sibling unit, as you too had become distracted by literature, music and the pursuit of a quiet life with precious few responsibilities. Somehow your tranquil existence had eluded the conversation of marriage, recognising your unfettered spirit aspiring to greater things than a life secluded within the Red Keep.

But not in the eyes of your kepus.

~~She was sunshine, I was midnight rain~~

“What troubles you, little starling?” Called a familiar voice from behind your favourite reading spot in the Godswood. You squinted against the midday sun to find your beloved uncle Daemon watching over you, an uneasy frown skewing his lips. “Why are you so often here alone?”

“Good day, dear kepus,” you closed the tome in your lap, clasping your hands together. “My brothers are at the Dragonpit, where I fear a princess may never tread.”

“And you are content with reading in solitude?” Daemon stepped closer, treading carefully over the gnarled roots of the tree upon which you sat. “Would you not prefer company?”

“I am sure others would not wish to read the tales I choose to indulge,” you clutched your book closer to your chest, hurriedly attempting to conceal its cover from him. Sighing thoughtfully, you smiled up at your uncle. “I am resigned to the life of a quiet Princess Regent, neither an heir nor a common-born. No responsibility, no authority, yet still no freedom.”

Daemon approached and perched on a root beside you, chuckling softly under his breath. “I suppose that notion is all too familiar to us both, Princess.”

“Then how did you assuage it, uncle?” You looked over to him, noticing a distinct pain behind the considerate smile on his countenance. “How did you counsel yourself to contentment with such an existence?”

“What in the Seven Heavens makes you believe that I have?” Daemon snorted, gaze dropping into his lap. “How do you counsel yourself to contentment with a life of loneliness, niece? You are but seven-and-ten, do you not wish to take a husband? Make an honest man out of some egotistical Lannister?”

You smiled warmly. “I do not wish to marry, uncle. No aspect of marriage or childbearing holds any attraction for me, for I could never find the love of which I read in literature.”

“That I find hard to believe, Princess. If you wish to marry for love, your parents would be only too happy to oblige.” His hand reached to clasp over your thigh reassuringly. “One day, you will find the Prince you deserve.”

A comfortable silence fell between you, enough to hear the rising volume of the wind in the Godswood. You glanced up in tandem to see the once-turquoise sky fading to an ominous grey.

“A storm is coming, Princess,” Daemon clicked his tongue, slapping his knees demonstrably and rising to his feet. With a kindly hand proffered in the space between you, he beamed down at you. “May I accompany my little ray of sunshine to shelter?”

As you reached to accept, Daemon finally caught a glimpse of your book’s cover and smiled to himself. “The Tales of Persephone and Hades, I see.” His voice lowered to a mutter so indistinct you could not hear him. “How apt, vēzos.” Sun.

You paced slowly toward the library together, Daemon always one step behind, his hands clasped studiously behind his back as you meandered around hallway after indiscriminate hallway, wordlessly travelling as if no conversation could be found. You would never notice the manner in which Daemon consumed the image of you before him, a woman grown so distinctly from the small babe he had observed in your youth, born with gleaming silver hair which now tumbled to the length of your hips. Your regal green gown swayed as you moved and swept the hallway before his intrepid footsteps, Daemon swallowed harshly as he imagined the frame concealed by your bodice and boned skirt.

~~She wanted it comfortable, I wanted that pain~~

Upon your arrival at the dimly-lit library hall, you turned to nod a farewell to your escort.

“Thank you, uncle,” you smiled before quickly turning on your heels in search of another book to lose yourself in. As you paced, you heard your footsteps echoing with another, realising that Daemon had followed you. After a few more steps, you ground to a sudden halt, giggling gently as he bumped into you and nearly lost his footing. You grasped his arms behind you and steadied him, the gentle clearing of his throat behind you making you chuckle harder. “Kepus, are you following me?”

His hands searched for your waist and skimmed the contour of your hips, pulling you flush to his chest so close his warm breaths fanned your hair. Your laughter silenced with the sudden realisation that this was no child’s play.

“I would follow you to the ends of the earth, little starling,” he whispered into the shell of your ear, venturing a hand to brush your tumbling silver curls from your neck so he could blaze a trail of butterfly kisses unimpeded. Your breath hitched in your throat, eyes fluttering closed as his gentle touch melted your resistance immediately.

“Kepus… what do you mean?” You asked timidly, almost afraid of the response.

His next searing kiss into the base of your neck lingered a while, his lips wrapping you up in anticipation and longing for a touch you had never before desired, but now that you had it, you craved it more than the air you breathed. Your head threw back into the blissful sensation, earning a low groan from Daemon that vibrated softly against your skin.

“You have always been the midday sun to my midnight rain, haven’t you, little one?” Daemon whispered. “You were born into this world when I returned from the Stepstones, a ray of light when my world was shrouded in darkness. Whenever my life has succumbed to the pitch black of night, you were always there to illuminate the way.”

Your hands rested on his as they traversed deep into the valley of your pelvis, hovering over the position of your most sensitive place concealed only by the structure of your dress.

“Uncle, please…,” you muttered in a form of weak protest that came out as an encouragement, unable to scramble through your mind for a reason why you should reject his advances. He had lost Laena, you were unwed, there were no marital connections to stop you. Your beloved uncle, who more or less raised you in the absence of your father, had been the deepest love in your heart all your life. Whether or not that had been a romantic love or not, you could not deny the way your body responded to his touch as if you had yearned for this moment ever since you first read of love. Holding him this close felt as natural as breathing.

“Hush now, little starling,” he cooed as his lips blazed a trail up to your earlobe and nibbled gently, all while pressing his palm into your skirt so his fingers could make contact with your mound beneath, making featherlight strokes into the fabric and causing your hips to buck into his hand. “Tepagon aōla naejot nyke.” Give yourself to me.

The darkness enveloped the daylight as you nodded in agreement, and in the blink of an eye Daemon gripped your hips, spun you to face him and captured your lips with his. At first tentative, he pulled back to scan your face for a response, only to growl hungrily as he watched your gaze journey to his lips eagerly awaiting their next contact, consuming your mouth with his before you could mutter a protest. Your hands instinctively reached to lace around his neck, drawing him closer and dipping into the kiss as if your hunger could not be sated, craving as much contact as physically possible.

Without you knowing, Daemon had steered your clinch across the room toward the nearest desk, lifting you to rest on the wood and swiftly hitching your skirt up around your hips in the process. His lips refused to part from yours, nudging his nose into your cheek and humming contentedly against your mouth. With one hand cupping your cheek, the other ghosted a featherlight trail from your knee to your inner thigh, blazing toward your smallclothes between your legs, grazing the sodden fabric as it clung to your core.

“You already want the darkness, don’t you niece?” He pressed, groaning greedily and venturing both hands to rip the weak cotton apart at the seams. With his last obstacle laid to waste and clinging to your hips, his fingers grazed your pulsing folds and collected the waiting droplets of your anticipation. “I have waited so many years to feel your heat, ñuha vēzos.” My sun.

Your vision swirled like a hurricane, conflicting emotions and thoughts blurring the image of the silver-haired prince gazing down at you through lust-blown pupils as he watched his fingers daring to breach your folds before you gave him permission.

“Kepus, not yet,” you pleaded against your own better judgement, a whimper escaping him as you planted both palms on his chest to keep him an arm’s distance away. “We are not yet married, I don’t think this is right.”

Daemon chuckled to himself before grasping both your wrists in one hand and raising them above your head, his free hand pressing your chest to lay you flat on the desk. Pinning your wrists above you and leaning down to hover over you, two fingers rediscovered your folds and slipped inside in one smooth motion.

“Then don’t think, sweetling,” he whispered as he buried his fingers inside you to the knuckle, fingertips eagerly curling into your spongy walls and stroking slowly. Your hips tentatively reared into his touch, a palpable trepidation leaving you worrying about your maidenhead, the pain of coupling that literature failed to address yet had always remained on the lips of every birthing woman within the Keep. Daemon noticed your hesitation and thrust his fingers deeper, eliciting a strangled gasp from the depths of your lungs and revelling in your back arching into his motions. “It’s alright starling, the darkness has you now.”

You swallowed harshly, eyes roving to the ceiling as the full sensation in your cunt overwhelmed you. With a disapproving click of his tongue, Daemon tightened his grip on your wrists and slammed them against the hard wood, making you hiss gently.

“Don’t take your eyes off me, niece,” he commanded until your gaze met his again, ramping up the pace of his pumps as you buckled beneath him. “You need not be ashamed of letting go. Let your kepus take control.”

Daemon’s thumb journeyed to settle on your clit, tracing lazy circles around your bundle of nerves while his fingers drove fervently in a race to reach the furthest points inside you, the wet slaps of his motions echoing through the library. Watching closely as your back arched against his restraint, your eyes fluttering to close as if your climax were nearing, the edge of your pleasure cliff was cruelly snatched from you as his fingers withdrew from your soaking folds with a lewd pop. In a determined hurry and a rustle of fabric, Daemon fumbled with his breeches and freed himself before quickly replacing his digits with a smooth thrust of his length into your cunt. Your determined lubrication enabled his swift entry to sheath himself inside you, but not without discomfort as you winced to handle the stretch of your walls around his girth.

“Easy now, vēzos,” he soothed, pressing a palm into the valley of your hips to feel his tip grazing your innermost core and sending a shallow shiver throughout your body. “Soon the pain will become comfortable, I promise.”

You swallowed deeply, nodding in compliance and dutifully wrapping your legs around his waist to allow him easier access within you. Daemon grunted, making his next thrust deep and punishing to the point you yelped out, filling the library with the echoes of your cries.

“That’s it, little one,” he hummed contentedly, working your cunt with his bucking hips like a man possessed, his free hand gripping your hip to impale you further. He leaned further over you to hover his lips over yours, his towering stature blocking out the dim candlelight of the room and enveloping you in pitch black night. “Give yourself to me, let the darkness take you.”

With every merciless thrust deep into your cunt, your helpless mewls grew louder which only encouraged Daemon’s animalistic plunges within you. Gathering what little strength you could muster, you weakly pulled your wrists against his restraint.

“Please… need to… touch you,” you stuttered, fingers clamouring into mid-air for contact. Daemon’s sadistic grin faded as he acquiesced, your hands firing to curl around his neck and pulled him in for a searing kiss so you could silence your screams into his mouth, his relentless force pummelling you into the hard wood of the desk beneath which was sure to leave flayed grazes on your spine the next day.

“My little sunshine, you feel like heaven around me,” he cooed against your lips, curling his thrusts to bottom out inside you so hard your blurred vision of him would glitter with stars. “Does this not feel like heaven to you?”

You whimpered an unintelligible response, unable to compose any coherent thought as his cock filled you to the hilt. The searing heat swelling inside you brought the vision of your cliff edge back into sharp focus, begging you to drive your hips up to meet his in a desperate race for your release. Daemon recognised your eagerness and met it with a newfound brutal pace, pounding into you so fast the lewd skin slapping that echoed through the chamber became staccato and relentless.

“When you are carrying my child, your father will wed you to me,” he leaned to whisper in your ear, anchoring himself by wrapping his hand around your throat, his fingers and thumb pressing eagerly into each side to stem your blood flow rushing to your head, leaving you breathless and helpless. “And I will return inside your pretty little cunt every single night for the rest of our lives.”

His thrusts became jagged, betraying his own approach to the precipice.

“You see, every night the darkness consumes the light.”

With one last devastating thrust, your high flooded through you like a tidal wave and crashed against Daemon’s incoming climax, flooding your walls with his release and blending with your own, his gaze travelling to watch the space between you as his glistening cock hammered into your depths and stuttered as he poured inside you. The once-deafening lewd sounds of your coupling now replaced with ragged breaths, gasps for air and Daemon’s contented grunts as he rode out his orgasm within you, you threw your head back against the wood in sheer realisation of your own weakness.

Not yet married, but most likely to carry your kepus’ child before long.

You threw your hands to your belly, clutching at the flatness between your pelvis. Pulling out from you and admiring the soaking mess between your folds, Daemon’s hands rested upon yours as you looked up to find him gazing lovingly at the same space which terrified you to the core.

“Byka vēzos,” he hummed. Little sun. “If you do not conceive this time, we have the rest of our lives together to ensure you will.”

~~She looked like a bride, I was making my own name~~

Some flowers bloom only when the sun sets.

You blossomed for Daemon in a way he could never have anticipated. His bravery in the battlefield garnered him the courage to risk it all for a chance to make you his wife, but he found so very little resistance in your kind reception that his claim over you simply fell into his lap. The thrill of the chase evaded him, as you caved so effortlessly to his will.

Each time he requested your presence in his chambers, you parted your thighs and accepted him willingly. Yet each time you requested his presence in turn, he refused, ensuring he kept you wanting more and more, the suspense crafting a new height of pleasure each time you were called to his chambers, bent over his bed and pounded within an inch of consciousness.

Daemon Targaryen had laid his claim to your body and mind, yet all that remained was his possession of your soul.

Unbeknownst to you, Daemon had long pleaded with your father to wed you to him. Informally at first, often disguised as a joke to strengthen the Targaryen bloodline by betrothing two dragons to each other to fight for all eternity. But since the night in the library, his requests increased in volume and tenacity, resulting in a physical confrontation in the throne room between dragon brothers. Dismissing Daemon’s demand as nothing more than a vicious clamour for the Iron Throne, your father sought to banish his brother from King’s Landing to Dragonstone, where he would live out his days out of earshot of the Red Keep, where he would never again hear the pathetic whimpers of a man desperate to bed his youngest daughter for power.

To you, that night came as any other, as Daemon’s maid requested your presence in his chambers at the dead of night and you dutifully obliged, pacing the Keep corridors in eager anticipation of meeting him once more. As you crept through his door, a heavy fabric flew towards you and you grabbed it in mid-air. A dark cloak.

“Kepus, what—?”

“We need to leave. Tonight.” Daemon’s voice was short, snappy, panicked as his face came into view in the darkness. His brows knitted together, his lips skewed with fear.

“Wh… why? Did my father refuse our betrothal?”

“Of course he fucking did,” Daemon snapped through gritted teeth, grabbing the cloak still laying in your shaking hands and throwing it over your shoulders for you. “We need to leave for Dragonstone now, there’s a boat waiting for us in the harbour.”

“I don’t… why do we… what happened?” You were frozen to the spot, confusion washing over you in waves. Daemon’s hands balled into fists as he adjusted the hood over your head.

“Will you stop asking so many fucking questions? Just get down to the harbour, I’ll meet you there soon.”

“Kepus… I’m scared,” you stuttered, hands held out in front of you as if still holding the heavy cloak. “Will I ever see my parents again?”

Daemon smoothed the fabric over your shoulders and tucked the hood over your eyes. Pressing a quick dismissive kiss to the fabric laying over your forehead, he clasped your face and pulled it upwards.

“Whatever happens, little starling, we are each other’s family from this moment on.”

Suddenly, the tense silence between you shattered to the sound of deafening bangs on the door to his chambers. Immediately hunching his back defensively, he ushered you across the chamber toward a dark passage where a rogue guard waited to take you onward. “Place your trust in Ser Baleon, I will meet you at the shore.”

The crashes against the wooden portal intensified as you fled, the distinct swoop of metal from the chamber behind you suggesting Daemon had armed himself against the ambush. Searing hot tears blazed volcanic streams down your cheeks as you fought to focus on your steps down the dark spiral staircase to safety, wondering if you would ever see Daemon alive again.

~~Chasing that fame, she stayed the same~~

“Your father is a cunt,” Daemon hissed, storming into your Dragonstone chambers and crossing the room in three great strides to tower over you.

“Surely not, kepus,” you attempted to calm his temper with a reassuring palm pressed to his chest. “What has he said to irk you so?”

“He’s sent a raven to enquire after you,” he seethed, his jaw clenched tightly as if it might snap at any moment. “He claims that I kidnapped you in the dead of night and will not return you to your birthright in the Red Keep.”

“But I came to Dragonstone of my own free—,” you were cut off by Daemon’s hand firing to grasp your throat, your fingers racing to claw at his grip and prize yourself free.

“Well why don’t you speak those precious words to your beloved father instead?” He half-growled, sneering down at you as if you were his prey. “He seems to be the one that needs persuading of your own free will, Princess.”

“If you… if you let me, I will,” you stuttered against his restrictive clutch, weakly attempting an escape to breathe properly.

“You would love that, wouldn’t you?” He snarled, using one hand to spin you by your waist while retaining his grip on your throat, pressing his chest flush to your back and steering you to the bed. “You could run back to the Red Keep and your books and your perfect little boring life.”

“Kepus, please,” you protested weakly, reaching a hand ahead of you to cushion your fall as he dropped you face-first into the sheets. “Please, don’t…”

“Please don’t what, starling?” He chuckled, bunching your skirt over your behind and battling with his own breeches. “Don’t fight for my family, or don’t take my wife whenever I so wish?”

You scrunched your eyes closed, willing to block out whatever was coming next. This was not the careful husband you knew, this was not the devoted uncle who raised you in place of your father, this was certainly not the man who you fell in love with under a stormcloud amongst ancient tomes. This midnight rain will pass, no matter how much love it unravels in the eye of the storm.

Delivering a swift nudge to your thighs, your legs were parted and Daemon crawled between them, grasping your hips and drawing you up to impale yourself on his hardened cock. With no preparation, you yelped at the intrusion and hissed gently.

“The pain will soon become comfortable,” he declared as he ruthlessly bottomed out inside you. “I promise.”

Tears welled in your eyes, threatening to burst their banks as the agony coursed through you in waves, slowly replaced by bolts of pleasure as his tip grazed your innermost walls.

“Please… take me easily, my Prince,” you wheezed out between merciless thrusts stealing your breath from your lungs. “I am… I am with…”

“You would do well not to give orders when I can ensure you lose consciousness in a moment, little one,” Daemon hissed, pounding into you with an inhuman pace, sending your eyes roving to the ceiling as his nails dug crescent dips into the flesh of your hips. “You want to stay awake while I fill you up, don’t you? Maybe this time you will bear me a child.”

“Daemon, please be gentle…,” you fought to finish your declaration while balling your fists into the sheets, your elbows caving beneath you. “I am with child.”

With your last syllable, Daemon’s thrusts ceased instantly, leaving you whimpering at the immediate loss of friction. He stilled completely, not so much as a laboured breath escaping him behind you, his length still nestled halfway inside you.

“My Prince, I… I’m sorry,” you reassured, venturing a hand back towards him as if willing him to hold it. “I should have spoken sooner.”

You breathed into the deafening silence, wondering if he did not wish you to deliver the news in such a manner. Suddenly, a cool splash of water hit your scalding spine. A tear. Daemon’s tear.

“I have failed you, starling,” he sighed, completely shattering his blind rage into a self-deprecating reflection. Allowing his length to slip out from your folds, he released your hips and collapsed onto the sheets beside you. “After all this time, I could have destroyed our child with my recklessness.”

“You have never failed me, kepus, our babe is safe inside me,” you purred, reaching to brush another tear from his cheek. “If he’s anything like his father, he can withstand any amount of force.”

Daemon’s saddened gaze turned to you, still on all fours beside him. He ventured a hand to brush your cheek.

“I do not deserve you, vēzos jehikagon.” Sunshine.

In the blink of an eye, you threw a leg over his own to capture him between your thighs. Hovering your waiting folds over his length, still hardened and bobbing between your bodies as you awaited a signal to proceed.

“Let me please you, my King,” you pleaded, one hand venturing between your legs to stroke his cock and line his tip with your aching entrance.

Daemon’s gaze met yours, his wounded pride hooding his eyelids in contrast with your wide-eyed anticipation. You smiled at your silver-haired captor so warmly, he could not resist your brilliant sunshine blinding him to walk into the light. Gently bucking his hips to meet you in the middle, you lowered onto his length and shared a gratuitous moan as he filled you slowly and completely.

“You are truly carrying my babe?” His hands journeyed to your belly, swelling softly beneath his palms as you rocked gently into him.

“As true as the sun shines above us, ñuha jorrāelagon.” My love. “The Maester says it is early, so I should rest as much as possible.”

Daemon stilled, concerned. “Then you should cease at once, allow me to…”

“And deprive me of this moment with my beloved? Never,” you asserted, sinking down carefully and bucking your hips to graze his tip against your walls, dropping so far you could swear you felt his cock deep in your stomach. “Besides, I may not be able to ride my dragon for much longer so I will take any chance I can get.”

“When you grow too weary to ride your dragon,” Daemon’s fingers splayed out across your belly as you bobbed above him, his eyes journeying to the ceiling momentarily as the sensation of your walls tightening around him stole his breath. “Rest assured that your dragon will take good care of you, little one.”

The mere implication of his words sent you careering to your precipice, clenching tightly around his cock as your walls rippled and pulsed with the approach of your orgasm. Noticing the sensitivity of your walls to his every motion inside you, jolting and surging around him to bring his rhythmic rutting up into you to a jagged pattern, signalling the arrival of his own climax.

“Let go for me,” he commanded through a whisper, keeping his palms pressed to your abdomen and revelling in the strangled gasps you could no longer hold back, grinding your hips to ride through your high as he deftly painted your walls in staccato thrusts.

Filling the chamber with your mixed groans and deep pants as you slowed your motions above him, you couldn’t bear to move from atop Daemon for fear of losing the moment you shared. Instead, he gripped your hips and turned you onto the sheets, keeping his length buried within you as you lay beside each other.

“Gevie muña,” Daemon muttered under his breath as he reached to brush your silver hair from your face.

Beautiful mother.

~~All of me changed like midnight~~

It had taken you the best part of half an hour to muster the strength enough to heave yourself from the birthing chair. Propping yourself up on the fruit table stacked high with pomegranates, you gazed out from your Dragonstone chamber to the harbour beyond. The day was bright, gleaming, the waters mirroring the same blissful turquoise sky beneath which you used to read your books, drift off into fantastical realms and dismiss your own captivity as the Princess Regent with no responsibility and no freedom.

The Maester said your third birth would be easier than the initial two, but so far he had been proven catastrophically wrong. When sickness could not claim you, tiredness and weakness took hold. Days blended into each other, weeks dragged for months, your belly swelled overnight as you lay helpless in the birthing chair simply waiting for an end to the monotony of childbirth. After delivering Daemon two sons, you assumed your duty as a birthing mother had been fulfilled, yet another child swelled no sooner than the second had left your womb.

A pair of hands snaked around your hips to cradle your blossoming belly, fingers spread out over the span of the bump to feel every sensation beneath your skin. A chin rested in the crook of your neck and peppered lazy, haphazard kisses over your ear.

“Good morning, ñuha byka vēzos,” he cooed softly, his breaths warming your neck. My little sun. “You are not usually out of the chair so early, are you not well? Is our Prince keeping you from rest, little starling?”

You sighed as you dipped your head against his, placing your hands atop his as they surveyed your belly.

“I am quite well, husband,” you comforted him, tracing idle patterns over his hands, still as delicate as the day he first held you as a babe. “I’m always well when I am with you.”

Gazing out beyond the Dragonstone harbour, you could make out the faint outlines of the Red Keep from the safety of Daemon’s arms. Word from court suggested your father’s physical strength was at its last. Your mother sent a parchment requesting your presence but your husband intercepted it before it reached your hand, dismissing your concerns and reassuring that a raven would arrive at once if the King was indeed on his deathbed.

King’s Landing lay just beyond the dock, a symbol of the life you gave away for the sake of love. When you once believed you could never attain the love as told in literature, you failed to notice you had already fallen into such an affair. Persephone and Hades, the blinding sunshine tempted into the all-consuming darkness.

Such a pretty little songbird.

In such a pretty little cage.

#daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen smut #daemon targaryen angst #daemon targaryen yn #daemon targaryen fanfiction #daemon targaryen imagines #daemon x reader #matt smith #matt smith fanfiction #matt smith imagines #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfiction #hotd smut #hotd angst #daemon fanfiction #daemon imagines #house of the dragon matt smith

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bats-and-the-birds · 29 days

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I like to think about young Dick Grayson a lot, and right now I'm specifically thinking about him from the Justice League's perspective.

Like, imagine you're in the Justice League, maybe you've been there for a few months, maybe for a few years, but either way, you know how it works. Superman's terrifyingly powerful, but you get over the fear factor as soon as you see him cry over a sad cat video, and Wonder Woman's still a bit intimidating, but as long as you're good and truthful, you can trust that she won't crush your head like a grape.

And Batman... well, you've made your peace with the fact that you'll never figure him out. You know literally nothing about him, other than the fact that he claims to be fully human, but you're not even really sure about that, because you're pretty sure he just materializes in the shadows sometimes. The only things that you're 100% sure of is that you're terrified of him, and you're so glad that he's not on someone else's side.

And then, suddenly, he has acquired a child. Just like everything else, you don't find out immediately, because god forbid that man tell his team anything. But you start to hear vague reports of another shadow trailing behind Batman in the night. Superman asks him about it one day, but of course, he doesn't respond, and they all wonder, but it never gets brought up again.

But one day, unexpectedly, that shadow is at a league meeting, and he's not as shadowy as you would have thought. In fact, he's wearing the most vibrant costume you've seen, and you spend all of your time with other heroes in spandex. He's also young. Terrifyingly young. It's his twelfth birthday, actually, he explains to the league, and he pestered 'B' until he agreed to take him to a meeting. You all agree later that he looks younger than twelve. And you worry about him, because why is this child in Batman's care? Can he really be trusted to look after someone so small, so young, so seemingly fragile?

Besides, Robin (Robin, his name is Robin, he's a songbird for christ's sake), is everything that you'd think Batman would hate. He talks everyone's ear off with a giant grin stretched across his entire face. He begs Superman to fly him around and cackles and claps as Wonder Woman demonstrates basic sword maneuvers for him. Before long, the whole team is in a better mood. Meanwhile, Batman stands in the shadows, his face impassive, with no explanation about the little masked boy that walked into the room hiding under his cape.

He leaves just as he came, disappearing under Batman's cape as the two exit the watchtower together, and the whole league is left to wonder how the fuck that child ended up in Batman's care, and whether or not they should intervene, because spending prolonged time in Batman's company cannot be healthy for a child.

But then he starts showing up more and more, popping up in some places that you know from Batman's glare he's not supposed to be. He's teamed up with that speedster boy and the two of them cause havoc, but Robin takes the lecture he gets with a grin and gives a half hearted promise to behave.

You steadily start to realize that he might not be as out of place in Batman's company as you originally thought. You realize that the boy is a performer through and through, and that extends to that grin of his that dazzled the team when they first met him. You get the impression that sometimes its genuine, yes, but you'd never know if it wasn't. His exuberance is a persona held in place as meticulously as Batman's grim seriousness.

And though you'd assumed that Batman's sidekick (partner, the boy insisted, rather intensely, though his smile never faltered) would be well trained, this kid could take down league members, you're sure. You quickly realize that he enjoys fighting, and he fights viciously, giggling and putting on a show, but leaving broken bones in his wake. Your first impression is that Robin was more human than the demon they called the Batman, but you quickly start to question that too. If Batman can materialize in shadows, then Robin can fly. He twists through the air like gravity doesn't affect him and lands with so much grace that you'd think he had hollow bones like his namesake. You're not fully convinced he doesn't, considering he climbs up the bat with no warning, clinging onto his back like he belongs there (you quickly start to think he does), or he'll throw himself through the air with no more warning than a quick 'catch' yelled to his partner. And Batman catches him. Batman always catches him. Everyone keeps an eye on him when he's up high, but there's a part of you that feels like it's impossible that he'd ever fall. Or at least, impossible that Batman would ever let him hit the ground.

And you start to think that Robin's exactly where he's supposed to be; perched on Batman's shoulder, hiding in his cape, or fighting by his side. You still hope there's a normal boy behind the mask, going to school and making friends with someone to tuck him in at night, but you also can't imagine anything normal about Robin, and maybe that's why he needs to be by Batman's side, and maybe that's why Batman needs him too.

#batman #comics #dc comics #dick grayson #justice league #robin #batman and robin #dick grayson robin #dick grayson headcanon #batman headcanon #justice league headcanon #headcanon #sorry this is so long #i had more to say than i thought about tiny dick grayson #and kinda just kept typing #i'll write a fic if people want it

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loonarmuunar · 2 months

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Pauper, protector, prince.

I wanted to give a proper tribute to the chokehold of a broken family bond by @dekupalace! So. Take this‼️‼️

Extra under cut!!

Some contrived stuff bfkgk:

Siffrin’s head is turned up, towards the crown. A reference to how Siffrin mentions many times how he has to loop up higher and higher to see the King.

Flowers resembling the party! This is a reference to another fic, Bloom! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE check it out!! Siffrin is crushing the flowers under his heels.

The flower in Siffrin’s hair is a nadine jessie, a type of dahlia. Obviously supposed to represent Nadine, but I wanted it specifically in Siffrin’s hair bc of the festival :) (couldn’t get it on their hat bc of the angle lol)

Siffrin holds a rose tucked between his palm and thumb, representing the King. I chose a rose, because of its connection to theatre, and its thorns.

Siffrin’s pose is knightly in nature, but without a sword or any grand weapon. They hide their dagger behind their back, alluding to the role he’s supposed to play. He is a knight, a protector, without any of the grace or nobility.

Siffrin faces away from the stars, and his face is shadowed, kinda alluding to Siffrin’s doubts of if this is really the right thing, if they are truly doing what the universe wants. Siffrin is, literally, turning their back to the stars.

Songbirds- I talked about this in a comment, but basically in my mind Siffrin taking the plunge into having to assassinate Mirabelle kinda reminds me of Eurydice from Hadestown agreeing to go to Hadestown.

The songbirds are specifically loggerhead shrikes, songbirds that impale their prey on sharp things like brambles and wire. Beforehand they paralyze their prey by biting down on the spinal cord with their tomial tooth. This made me think of King’s time craft freezing, or “paralyzing” Vaugarde.

I was inspired by this wonderful animatic for it! Also I just really love birds and will take ANY chance to include them in a drawing. (and Loggerhead shrikes translate very well to a desaturated color scheme—)

The king’s hair is staining from white to black/black to white, like Nadine’s hair dye.

ANYWAYS!!! YEAH!!! This is kinda a love letter, so to speak, for this fic, but to these fanworks in general :) If you haven’t already seen them, please check out these wonderful and creative works. I absolutely adore them all, and they deserve love!!

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preciouslandmermaid · 3 months

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something something the inherent poetic energy of Sanji being "splashed in summer tones" and cooking in a warm kitchen filled with enticing spices and soft smiles VERSUS something something running into Zoro "bathed in pale moonlight" interrupting your anxiety-induced walk in the fresh salty air, an unsaid tension beneath the dark, roiling waves pulling the tide out.

#fic: songbirds swords and spice #SUN AND MOON IMAGERY #SUN AND MOON!!!

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gingernut1314 · 2 months

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Songbird Pt. 9

Buggy x F!Reader

Summary: Buggy pulls you from your girl's night only for you to find your captain's emotions running wild.

Warnings: fluff, angst, smut (drunk sex, misuse of Devil Fruit powers, oral f.receiving, slight restriction, p in v, biting), use of Y/N

Word Count: 6.0K

A/N: Heyyyyy guys!! Back with some of the main story!! Sorry it took....a while 😬. I hope you all enjoy!!! 🩷🩷🩷

Requested by: @srgtjamesbarnes

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Girls night.

You hadn’t had a proper girl’s night since you were very little with your mom. Those nights where it was just the two of you played a card game together whenever she had a day off from work, which had been far and few in between.

You had no siblings to account for and, though Nami had been a good friend, she had been too worried about Arlong and her family to truly be able to relax and have fun. Understandably so.

So when Esmeralda and the other girls aboard the Big Top told you of their tradition, which took place whenever they made dock and the boys went to some crummy bar to drink, you were ecstatic.

You helped them gather supplies of cheeses, meats, grapes, and copious amounts of alcohol and you all huddled together in your shared quarters, gramophone playing the latest songs Esmeralda had collected that day.

So far, Emi had shown off her sword-swallowing skills, Seqii and her Aerial Ensemble had done shots standing upside down in a pyramid, you had sung three silly drinking shanties, and Esmeralda had cried about her horse-turned-cat food.

You now sat in a circle on the ground, shoving the remaining meats and cheeses into your faces, talking about anything and everything that happened within the varying relationships amongst the crew.

“Cabaji made me scrub the deck two times. Two!” Seqii complained, her drink sloshing around dangerously in her cup as she turned towards Emi, who was equally as off-balanced as her friend. “Can’t you swallow his sword, Emi? Make him loosen up a bit.”

“I swallow his sword every godsdamn night and --hic-- he still makes me re-tie lines even though they were perfect--hic--before.” Emi hiccupped, downing the rest of her drink. “Just how the guy is. Commanding. Just how --hic-- I like ‘em.” Seqii gave a dramatic roll of her eyes, loudly disagreeing with that statement.

“What about nice? Gentle?” Esmeralda slurred horrendously from where she sat next to you, one arm looped through yours while her other hugged the skittish contortionist, whose head lay in her lap. Emi and Seqii both booed her, making the ex-equestrian huff.

“The difference between you and --hic-- the rest of us is you like like Mohji.” Emi hiccuped, spurring Esmeralda to pull from your hold, flabbergasted.

“He’s nice to me and he loves me. Sorrrryyyy.” She all but shouted, making Emi and Seqii laugh like a pack of hyenas. Esmeralda snatched the bottle of wine Seqii had just picked up in something like payment and the aerial performer let her with a wide grin. “I’m not the only one who like likes who we are with. Y/N like, likes the Captain.”

Your own laughter was cut short as your heart nearly stopped in your chest. All eyes around the room snapped to you to see if what Esmeralda said was true.

That warm, fluttery feeling rushed around in your chest at the mention of your captain. A feeling you had been struggling to get back under wraps, but nothing you did ever could lessen the happy feeling.

The thought of his smile had that feeling soaring. The thought of his sea-glass eyes and his bad jokes and the gifts he would shower upon you--

You gave an elongated, scoffing pfftt with a dismissive arching motion of your hand…and then another and another.

“Shit. She more than like likes him.” Seqii said, her grin turning shit-eating.

“I like no man. Men are gross. Ew.” You hissed, wobbling a bit as Esmeralda all but crashed into you on her way to flop on her back.

“Ughhhh--you’re in denial.” Seqii continued, grabbing the wine bottle back from Esmeralda before she could spill it all over the floor.

“It’s no --hic--fun.” Emi popcorned in, snagging the bottle from her friend and taking a long swing.

“You know what is fun?” Seqii asked, fixing you with a mischievous smirk. “Telling us about how good in bed he is.” You felt your face flush at the statement, a few girls giggling and gasping around the room. Others egged you on, all but begging you to tell them.

“That’s priv--” You started, only to be cut off by Esmeralda popping back up with a near-matching mischievous grin.

“How big is he?” Your mouth fell open at her bluntness, but the woman only laughed away like it was no big deal. “Tell me when to stop, okay!” She said excitedly, placing her hands together before gradually pulling them apart. “Tell me when to stop--tell--there's no way--Y/N! Tell me when to stop!”

“I’m not--” Again, you were cut off by a loud burp from Seqii who had regained the wine bottle back from Emi.

“Who cares --hic-- how big he is. I need to know if his dick can --hic-- chop off like the rest of his body.” Emi hiccuped, her question earning a collective eagerness to know from the gathered group.

“Pleaseeee!” Esmeralda begged, latching onto your arm and shaking you. “I’ve told everyone about me and Mohji--”

“You and Mohji’s sex life is vanilla.” Emi started, making Esmeralda gasp.

“It is not vanil--”

“I want the juicy --hic-- details. Tell us, come on!” Emi finished, everyone quieting down again to watch you, waiting for any snippet you might give up.

You thought about it for a second. Thoughts that were fogged and blurred from all the drinks you’d had. Loose thoughts that had you thinking of all the dirty things Buggy did to you and you did to him.

Had his dick ever detached during your escapades?

“I don’t know.” You slurred on a shrug, earning a collective groan from the group. “I’ll ask geezzzz. But Buggy does this thing where he detaches his--” A loud thump sounded at the door, cutting off your story and earning yet another groan from a few of the girls.

Another thump sounded and you thought it reminded you of a body getting slammed into a wall. A body that kept fumbling back a bit before attempting to knock once more.

“Shit--the fucking boys are back,” Seqii grumbled as another thump sounded through the room. She grumbled some more as she stood, wobbly navigating her way through the collection of bodies sprawled over the floor. The door was flung open, letting in a chilled breeze that rose goosebumps to your skin.

Standing there, looking just as drunk and disheveled as the rest of the group, was Buggy in all his Buggy glory. His make-up smeared over his skin, his smile wide and bright, and his hat sitting a-skewed on his head, hanging on by some miracle.

“Captian Buggy!” The girls all cheered at his appearance. Buggy grinned widely as he dug his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

“Girls! My loyal crew!” He cheered right back, pulling his hands from his pockets and into the air, wiggling his fingers in his excitement as confetti in a rainbow of color rained down onto the floor. You giggled with Esmeralda as more cheering filled the room.

“How’s your night going? Hope I’m not interpreting.” He said, a few of his words coming out elongated and awkward, but no one truly seemed to notice or care because you were all giggling, wobbling, drunk messes.

“You could never --hic-- interpret captain! Come in!” Emi said, her tone shifting the slightest bit to be more kind towards her captain. “Y/N was just telling us--” You shot her a warning glare that only seemed to amuse her. “How much she likes it here!”

“Oh was she? Heh. Good.” He said, stumbling into the room, Seqii shutting the door behind him. Those green-blue eyes found you and filled with that softness you had spotted here and there in them. A look that spoke to the same feeling thrashing about in your chest, wishing to meet it.

“Baby--ugh I mean Songbird--Y/N,” He finally got out. You’re name felt strange spilling from his lips, but you loved it just as you did hearing the nicknames he conquered up for you.

A few girls around the room gave giddy little laughs at the nicknames, which you shot them their own warning glares for.

“I always love to hear feedback from the crew. ‘Specially from you newbies. Helps me know what’s workin’ and what’s-” he gave a little burp in the back of his throat as he came to a wobbly stop next to you. “-what’s not.” He stammered on, waving his hands around as if to emphasize what he was saying, confetti that had stuck to his gloved hands falling into your crossed lap.

You huffed with a roll of your eyes as you pulled yourself up, bumping into his leg as your wonky vision threw you off balance. Strong, gloved hands grabbed you under your arms and helped hoist you up, making your face burn.

“Are the others back?” Esmeralda asked hopefully, sitting herself right-side up.

“Only lil ol’ me. Sorry, Es.” Buggy said, a hand falling away from your body only for the last to stay glued to your back. You leaned into his touch, loving the feel of his warmth, a warmth strong enough to seep through the white fabric of his glove and your shirt.

“Captian, before you drag our glorious singing songbird off, could we hear one more song?” Emi asked, raising the last wine bottle. “We still have this whole bottle left,”

“Sure. No skin off my nose.” Buggy said, turning to look your way with a shrug.

The room went deadly quiet at his words.

Breaths were held and prayers were muttered.

They were words that, under any circumstance would have gotten someone mamined--killed.

But as he looked at you, all that flashed in his eyes was that softness which had never once left them since his arrival. He looked--at ease, almost.

It was probably just all the alcohol he had drank that night.

Probably all the alcohol you had been drinking, making you see things.

“Heh. Nose.” He said, bopping your nose. You watched his grin grow wider--a grin that sparked your own to cross your lips. “Sing the one ‘bout that bottle of rum that’s hard to open.”

“Aye, aye Captain.” You said, giving him a little salute, which he wobbly gave back.

You instructed everyone who wished to participate to form a circle, snatching the bottle of wine from Seqii before you hopped into the middle, starting the fun and upbeat shanty about a crew of pirates who find a mysterious bottle of rum floating in the sea. A bottle whose cork was too tough for the captain to open, so it was passed around and around the crew, trying desperately to find someone who could open it.

Once the first verse was sung, setting the disastrous scene for your own crew, you passed the wine bottle to Buggy as you began singing the chorus. A chorus that spurred your captain to pass it to Emi who passed it to Esmeralda and around and around the circle of the bottle went. You followed it, skipping and hopping and dancing away as your crew joined you in singing the chorus.

You froze as the chorus ended, the bottle landing in Buggy’s hands on a last pass from Seqii. He winked your way, making your mouth run dry as he raised the bottle to his painted lips.

You almost forgot all about the silly little song you were singing as you watched him, but found the will in your foggy brain to sing the second verse. Buggy chugged and chugged, his throat working with each swallow of the liquid. It had your alcohol-flushed body burning up that much more.

The girls gave another round of cheers as Buggy detached his head and hands so that the rest of his body could do a twirling dance to the music you provided.

When the verse came to an end, his head and hands popped back into place and he quickly passed it to Emi who passed it to Esmeralda and so on and so on as you sang the chorus once more.

Several verses later, the bottle ran dry with a hiccupping hoot of triumph from Emi, who held the bottle high as you finished the song.

You gave a flashy bow as the girls and your captain cheered for you, blowing kisses here and there around the circle. Buggy detached a hand to pretend to catch one high up, holding it carefully in his palm as he put it in his coat pocket.

“Thank you, thank you! I’ll see you all bright and early tomorrow morning!” A groan spilled from a few of the girl's lips at the thought of what tomorrow held in store for them. Mainly; all the chores to be done that Cabaji, no matter how hungover, was sure to have to get done.

You looped your arm through Buggy’s and let him lead you out of the room, which you took one more look over your shoulder to look at your friends in their varying states of drunkenness.

“Ask him!” Emi mouthed your way as Seqii did the simple magic trick where one pretended like they were pulling their thumb from its joint…but she had positioned her hands at her crotch with a grin so wide it almost spilled off her cheeks.

You shook your head at their silliness and persistence to know of your private endeavors…but it had piqued your interest if not in the slightest.

The hall was chilled compared to the body-filled room you had both just been in, which erupted in more laughter as you shut the door behind you. A chill that Buggy’s body, instantly wrapped around yours, shielded you from.

He placed a big old, smacking, wet kiss on your cheek, making your heart flutter like some caged butterfly.

“That was so fucking sexy, songbird.” He said, words still coming out warped from all the alcohol he had drank against your temple.

“Oh yeah? You liked my little jig?” You murmured back, turning your face to steal a glance at those eyes you couldn’t look in long enough.

“Hell yeah. Got me all hot and bothered.” His lips kissed your temple, then your cheek, before latching them onto your neck. You hooked your fingers over the back of his neck and pulled him in closer, savoring the tingling sensations that shot over your skin at his sloppy affections

“Should I do another one?” In hardly the blink of an eye, Buggy grabbed hold of your hand and in a quick, sharp movement that had you wobbly all over again, spun you around and away from him.

“Please do another one.” He begged, eyes eating up your body as you fought to regain your steady footing.

“Aye, aye captain.” You laughed before starting to sing an upbeat shanty as you spun and moved your body to the phantom beat down the hall and around the corner towards the stairs. Buggy followed after you, joining you in song and grabbing hold of your hands here and there to give you a little spin.

When the song came to a close, Buggy gave a loud hoot that echoed back at him and mixed with your laughter. He was quick to scoop you up into his arms, lips finding yours in a sloppy kiss that had your alcohol-fuzzed brain going near blank.

“Sing again for me, songbird.” He asked against your lips. You kissed him again before pulling away, Buggy giving a little whine to let you know you had pulled away all too quickly. “Did you eat dinner?” Buggy rolled his eyes, his arms snaking around your waist once more.

“Baby--”

“Baby.” You insisted, wrapping an arm around his neck. “I’ll sing for you while you eat? How does that sound?” Light lit up Buggy’s eyes as he nodded several times at this, making his face, in your drunken state, go all fuzzy.

“I should really promote you to be my negotiator. You’re--” He gave another burp in the back of his throat that you crinkled your nose at in disgust. “Soooo good at it.”

“Only for you, Captain.” Buggy’s grin widened and he leaned down to claim your lips in another sloppy kiss, but you were quick to place a finger over his puckered lips. “Food first.” Buggy groaned dramatically, grabbing hold of your wrist to pull your finger from his lips.

“Fine.” He gruffed, all but dragging you to the kitchen so that he could eat and get on with kissing you.

The kitchen had been left in a state of disarray thanks to you and the girls ransacking its stores as soon as the kitchen staff left for the night. Kitchen staff you knew would set Cabaji on you all to clean it all up in the morning.

Buggy gave a groaning oof as he flopped himself onto one of the stools sitting before the island, plunking his forehead against the wood. You chuckled at him and opened the fridge.

“Why’d you come back so early, baby?” You asked, rummaging around for the leftovers you had saved from the diner you and the girls had gone to dinner at.

“I’m too old to keep up with the others anymore. Got tired.” He grumbled making you roll your eyes.

“Oh is that right? Then we should head to bed after this? Get my old man his full eight hours of beauty sleep?” You teased, grabbing your leftovers up.

Even in your alcohol-fuzzed state, Buggy having yet to snap something back at you was strange.

Turning around, fridge door shutting softly behind you, you found Buggy’s face buried in his hands, shoulders quivering.

Crying.

Buggy was crying.

It had panic and concern shoot through your chest rapidly, your leftovers abandoned as you rushed to his side.

“Buggy? What’s wrong, baby?” You asked, smoothing your hands over his back and arm to try and get him to look at you. To comfort and console him. “D-did I say something to upset you? I’m sorry, baby, you know I don’t think you’re old--”

“I missed you.” He moaned out. His words--they more than shocked you.

He had missed you. He had missed you so much he had left the bar early and was now crying about it.

It was…sweet. And doing nothing for that warm, fluttering feeling invading your every sense.

“You--you missed me?” You asked, gently grabbing hold of his hands to pull them away from his face. His make-up was done for, smudged so bad it had all but blended into his skin. His watery blue-green eyes looked up at you, only overflowing with more tears as he nodded.

“Baby I missed so much.” He whined, grabbing for your shirt weakly as if it was his anchor in the raging storm that was his emotions. “They can’t sing like you--they don’t know half the lyrics.” Tears continued to spill down his cheeks as he pulled you closer. “And--and I just--missed you.”

You smiled kindly at him, cupping his face with your hands and wiping away each tear that escaped his eyes.

“I’m here now. And I still owe you a song.” More tears fell from his eyes despite your attempt at comfort, his face falling against your chest as a sob shook his shoulders.

You were trying not to laugh--not to let that giddy feeling escape your chest through a silly giggle at your captain's confession. At the discovery that Buggy was a drunk crier.

You pulled his hat off his head, placing it on the island counter before going about taking his bandana off so that you could brush your fingers over his blue hair, which he had put in a singular braid.

“Fucking gods I missed you.” He sobbed again, burying his face deeper. “You’re--you’re just so beautiful and too kind to me.”

Beautiful. He was calling you beautiful.

Your heart was beginning to race with that feeling. With that overwhelming swell of that naggingly warm emotion.

A swell that the alcohol in your system was threatening to spill.

To spill the three words you had been struggling to hold at bay. Words that were just on the tip of your tongue--words that began to form and fal--

“And--And your tits are so soft and round and I missed them so much.” And that feeling was swapped with utter annoyance.

“Really?” You asked, placing your hands on his shoulders to try and shove him away, but his grip on you was iron-like.

“What? It’s true!” He moaned out mournfully as he nuzzled his face between them. You huffed, feeling just the tiniest bit hurt in that moment when you had thought you were getting a sweet, tender confession from your captain.

“You just missed my tits? Is that all you missed?” You snapped, Buggy’s face pulled from your breast so he could show you all that sadness welling in his soul.

“No.” He whined, resting his cheek again on your breasts. “I missed your ass too.”

“Jackass.” You grumped, yanking yourself away from the clown who gave another pitiful moan.

“Baby--” Buggy started, grabbing at your arms and hips to try and keep you close. You fought not to give in and fall back into his arms, especially when a wave of fresh tears were rolling down his red and blue smudged cheeks.

“I don’t think you deserve a song now, since you only missed my body” You huffed, crossing your arms and turning your head away from him.

Buggy moaned yet again, his head flopping onto the kitchen island once more and falling off. His shoulder drooped and his arms fell off, chop-chopped into pieces on the floor. It was a pile of chop-chopped limbs that continued to grow the longer you stayed away.

“Noooooo. I missed your voice.” He cried, his gloved hands inching their way up onto the island surface. “I missed you being mean to me and I mi-missed you takin’ care of me even when I don’t deserve it.” Those chopped hands continued to cross the wooden surface towards you like some strange spider. Fingers that brushed against your arm in a weak attempt to pull you back.

“I don’t deserve you--you’re too good for me. I’m a shitty shitty fool and you’re a perfect dove who's too bright for me.”

And now you felt like the asshole. Because none of that was true. Because Buggy was perfect for you in every way. He was more than you deserved. He was better to you than any person you had had a semblance of a relationship with had ever been before.

You didn’t deserve him.

“Buggy. No. That’s not true.” You started, going right back over to the chopped-up pile he had become. Buggy was quick to pull himself back together and was pulling you eagerly into his orbit once more.

“It is.” He cried, knuckles no doubt going white under his gloves at the tight he was holding onto your shirt. “I’m the East Blue’s biggest loser. The biggest in all the Blue Seas. You deserve someone who is better. Someone like that fucking shit-for-brains swordsman or shitty blond pretty boy.” You shook your head, gently pulling his fingers from your shirt to hold his hands tight.

“I don’t want them. I’ve never wanted them. I’ve only ever wanted you.” Buggy shook his head and you took his chin in a gentle scoop, keeping those sad eyes on you. “And I don’t think you're a fool. Not one bit.” Doubt and self-hatred continued to bubble in Buggy's watery eyes. Emotions you never ever wanted to see shining in them. Emotions you had put there.

It had your heart beating painfully in your chest. Had your hands sweating and blood running cold.

You were making him cry. You are a burden to him.

“I--I don’t deserve you.” Buggy scoffed at this, disbelief thankfully lessening those hurting feelings in his eyes. “I don’t. Before I met you--I was nothing. No one. Just an empty vessel floating around on some godsforsaken ship. A husk trapped in a cave. And now--now you make me feel--full. Like a real person. You make me feel so--so happy.”

“But you would be happier with--”

“I wouldn’t. I know I wouldn’t because I wasn’t.” Buggy’s bottom lip quivered in warning of another body-shaking sob. You couldn’t--wouldn’t see him upset. Upset over something you had foolishly started.

“I lo--” Your words lodged themselves in your throat. Words that had been threatening to spill from your mouth from the moment you had caught him singing your song to the night air all those weeks ago. Words your heart and soul begged to speak but your mind caged--bulling them away in fear. Fear of him rejecting such words. Words that were more than just words.

Words that sobered you right up, letting every last bit of panic flood your chest now that the dulling fog had vanished.

Buggy’s own breath hitched in his throat. That warm look you had spied in his eyes more and more often flashing through their watery depths. A warm look that was overpowered by those hurting feelings you had been trying to save him from.

“You are special to me.” You managed to croak out. Your heart was beating faster. So fast you were sure it was bruising itself against your ribs, making it hard to breathe. “And--and I want to be here. With you. And I don’t want you to feel that way. Not with me. Because--because you’re too special to me.” More tears fell from Buggy’s eyes and your panic gripped at your heart tighter.

Had you only made it worse? Had you said too--

A hand grabbed hold of your jaw, pulling you against Buggy’s smudged lips. Lips that kissed you soft and sweet.

He kissed you slowly. A slowness that spoke louder than any words he could have possibly said in that moment. A kiss that had your eyes sparking with tears right alongside his own.

You grabbed him closer, pressing your body against his as much as the stool would allow. But it was nowhere near close enough. It would never be close enough.

Your hands moved over his braided hair, down his stubble-lined jaw, and neck. Hands you moved under his coat to try and shrug it off his shoulder so you could feel his warm skin against yours. He chop-chopped his arms from his shoulders to let the coat slip off more easily. Arms that were instantly around you once reattached, hands finding their way under your shirt.

The kiss grew more hungry--needy, but that passion never once fled. A passion that burned through your heart, which struggled to keep the balance between your fluttering feelings towards this clown, and your darkened ones.

You felt the muscles in his arms work against your hands as he grabbed you up in them, laying you out on top of the kitchen island.

Random bottles and bits of trash you and the girls had littered it with clattered to the ground, but it hardly mattered. Not when Buggy was trailing a wet line of kisses over your jaw and neck and the swell of your breasts. Not when he pulled your shirt up to continue to leave opened-mouthed kisses along your stomach.

You breathed his name as he began to tug your brightly patterned pajama pants over and off your legs.

Those sloppy kisses attacked your calves and thighs--lips that turned biting every so often and had your body sparking, mind fogging in utter lustful need.

“F-fuck, Songbird,” Buggy spoke around a mouthful of flesh. “Always so ready for me.” You gave a shuddery gasp as a detached hand came to rest over your pelvic bone, thumb running over the thin fabric that still covered your dripping core.

“Always, captain.” You moaned out, reaching to feel over his cheek and jaw. Those damned fingers passing over your clit, sending a jolting shock through your near-burning body. “P-please--baby, I need you, please.” You begged.

“Let me taste first, baby. Please let me taste you.” He begged right back, his kisses growing ever closer to your weeping pussy. You whimpered but nodded at his request. A whimper that turned sharp and whiny when those wet kisses were placed over your covered core. Buggy moaned against you, tongue creating a dampened patch on your underwear right above your entrance.

“B-Buggy--please.” You moaned out, hips starting to ground against his mouth, fingers, and nose to create more and more beautiful mind-numbing frustration. Buggy cursed, that detached hand pulling away from your covered clit to start pulling your underwear down.

They didn’t get very far over your thighs when Buggy’s tongue ran through your folds. You cried out his name, underwear restricting your legs from opening further for him and all but clamping down around his head.

You couldn’t find the strength within yourself to stop rotating your hips against his mouth--to try to stop chasing your high long enough to loosen your grip on his head or make sure your underwear wasn’t choking him out.

But those chop-chop abilities handled all your worries.

His head detached from his neck, freeing your legs from their awkwardly folded position and allowing his hand to finally yank your underwear from your legs, giving you the freedom to hook them over his shoulders, granting him full access to your needy pussy.

His head popped back into place just as his tongue dipped into your fluttering core, lapping up every last bit of your ever-growing arousal in sinful slurps.

Your fingers wove their way into his hair, messing up that braid, as your hips ground against his mouth near frantically as that build deep within you began to wind. That detached hand crawled over your stomach and found home once more over your pelvic bone so that it could rub circle after circle into your clit, winding that coil ever tighter.

You moaned Buggy’s name like a prayer as he continued to fuck you on his tongue. As his own moans vibrated through you and set into motion that snapping release within you.

A release that tingled through your arching spine and sent that white buzz flooding through your thighs and core, which constricted around Buggy’s tongue.

You fell back against the counter, sweat making your skin stick to it and chest heaving up in down to catch your breath. Your fingers mused through Buggy’s hair, your thighs twitching and whimpering gasps falling from your mouth as Buggy’s tongue remained buried deep within you, licking up every last bit of your finish.

“B-Buggy,” You moaned, yanking weakly at his hair. “Ne-need you in me. Please.” Buggy mummed in acknowledgment, sending pleasure-filled vibrations through your sensitive core. You bit your lip as he continued to eat you out--as his fingers continued to rub mind-numbing circles into your clit that had your hips and legs twitching as if to try and get away from the persistent assault of your sensitive body.

“Buggy.” You whimpered, yanking at his hair just the sharpest bit tighter. He pulled from your core then, but not without trailing his drooling tongue back through your folds one last time. You wiggled your hips against the burning feeling that shot through you.

“M’kay, baby.” He murmured, kissing back up your exposed stomach to find your lips once more. The feel and taste of spit and your release had your mind spinning all over again. Had you hooking your legs together around his waist, pressing his hardened cock against your reignited arousal.

You moved to fidget with his belt buckle, spurring that detached hand to help you loosen it as well as yank his pants and stripped boxers down far enough to let his cock spring free, it tapping against your sensitive clit. Buggy hissed at the feel of your slick against the reddened tip of him.

You scooted closer, your ass all but hanging off the edge of the kitchen island so that Buggy’s cock lay flush against your throbbing folds. His lips left yours, resting his forehead on your collarbone so that he could watch as he split you open on his cock, that little whimper of his you loved spilling from his lips with every inch inwards.

You cradled the back of his neck as your walls flexed and adjusted for him, that shimmering pleasure starting that coil deep within yourself up once more.

“Fuck, songbird.” He groaned lowly as he bottomed out, his lips kissing the valley between your breasts. “So good--always feel so good.” Your lips kissed the bit of his forehead you could reach with a stratified hum. “A-always so good for me. A-always take care of me.” He mumbled, pulling himself out to his red-flushed tip before quickly thrusting back into you, pulling a gasp from your lips.

That shimmer turned into a pleasant buzz with each snap of his hips against your own. A buzz that built with each pass of sticky, warm skin, burning lips, and biting teeth.

Buggy’s sea-glass eyes found your own once more and you’re breath hitched at the warm emotions swirling within them. Emotions that stayed, not chased away by doubt or fear.

“I-I--you’re special to me, songbird. You--you make me happy. Happier than I’ve been in years.” Tears pricked at your eyes. Tears you fought against but ultimately lost to. Buggy kissed them away, his thrusts slow and circling to keep you closer.

“I--I think--” He hesitated, his breath huffing against your cheeks as he continued those shallow thrusts. Thrusts that allowed his cock to hit every last nerve ending within you, starting that white buzz you knew meant the coming of your second release of the night. “I--I missed bein’ ‘round you and it had only been a couple of hours. Fuck--you’re so godsdamn special to me it hurts, songbird.”

You huffed against the rise of emotions flashing through you. Emotions that only swelled that much more when he nuzzled his nose against yours. When he purposely brought attention yet again to his nose. His nose he protected against insult with rage and violence--but he was letting you near it--feel it.

He pulled away to look into your eyes again and you found tears were pricking at his own eyes once more.

Slowly, as to give him more than enough time to pull away, you leaned in to place a small kiss to that nose of his--a nose that complemented him and one you loved. Buggy blinked, those tears rolling down his cheeks. You smiled at him through your pants, wiping his tears away.

Your lips found his once more in a slow, open-mouthed kiss that brought you two that much closer.

That white buzz zapped through your thighs and spine and toes as it shot through down your core once more, Buggy’s name moaned into his mouth.

He moaned your own name into your mouth, cock twitching and balls pulling tight before spilling ribbons of hot come deep within you.

You both fell slumped against each other, taking in each other's air as heavy panting filled the air.

“I’m…I’m sorry for cryin’,” Buggy mumbled as he pet over the bits of your exposed skin he could get at. You placed a kiss to his neck, fingers messing with his braid.

“It’s okay, baby. Crying just means you had a good night.” Buggy gave that funky laugh of his, kissing your cheek as he made to look into your eyes once more. His smile, so bright and wide, nearly took your breath away.

“You’re right. I did.” His lips claimed yours in a kiss just as sweet as the words he had uttered to you moments ago.

“Hey…Buggy?” You asked once you had fully caught your breath.

“Yeah, songbird?”

“I was just wondering…what all can you chop off?” Buggy blinked at you in thought, not truly understanding your motives.

“Well--everything, I guess. Why--” Buggy cut himself off when he spied the mischievous smirk pulling at your lips. You clenched your tired walls around his softened cock in way of question. “Fuck, songbird.” He cursed, his pupils slowly growing larger in lust.

“Can it?” Buggy leaned so close that the tip of your nose touched his. It had your heart fluttering all over again.

“Want to find out?” He asked with a smirk to match your own.

“Yes, Captain."

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