#warrior aisling

[greypetrel]

22 for aisling for au prompts :3

At first I thought about her as a rogue. Then I thought that she would have been funny as a Warrior with a two-handed giant sword, Fenris style. Only, she’s SMOL. If you look at her from behind, she’s a huge sword with legs.

I died from my own laughter and ascended to the next world at the idea, so of course I went with that.

Jokes aside, I think so many things would change for her. She'd be much elfier, and much surer of herself and... Let's say she won't stop yelling left and right that oh no the Herald thing? It's a lie, I'm not, please stop. So, something very very VERY early on!

Tis the prompt list

Discombobulate

22. The MC as a different class (mage/warrior/rogue)

The crowd cheered around them when the proposition got expressed aloud, and Aisling could observe how the Commander frowned hard at the dwarf.

“What? It would be good for morale, Curly, you heard them!”

“It’s highly unproper, and we don’t have time to lose with-”

She was in Haven since a week, alone and suspected of having murdered the Divine through a magical explosion she had no idea how could she have casted, since she wasn’t a mage… And with some magical scar on her hand that glowed in the dark and itched like crazy. Not enough time to fully adapt to her new environment, but plenty to understand that shemlen were a little too fussy with the concept of propriety and personal space… and now, apparently, something that she wasn’t exactly eager to discover whether it was concern over her gender, her race or her stature. Because when she had gone to the smith, Harrit, to discuss about her equipment for the upcoming mission in the Hinterlands, she had seen her request for her weapon of choice refused. After insisting that she knew what she was asking, she was useless with a bow and arrows thank you very much, and slightly less so with daggers as they somehow all assumed she would have been, and still it hadn’t been enough to have the sword she wanted, she had marched straight to the Commander to perorate her request and know what weird thing she had to do to have a goddamn sword in this place. Sadly for her, the Commander had taken a good look at her, up and down, and asked if she was sure about what she was asking.

It had been excuse enough, apparently, for the dwarf -Varric- to barge right in and propose that Cullen proved her in the training ground.

After three councils she was -somehow- asked to participate in, it had been pretty clear that the Commander didn’t exactly like her. Everything she tried to say, he was there to counter it, point out how unorthodox her method were, how little knowledge she had over the real situation of the Inquisition. He was right on how little of the Inquisition and the shemlen world she knew, of course, she listened to her mother enough to had a vague idea of what it meant leading a group of people, but this Inquisition was hardly comparable to their clan. Still, it tasted a little like he was competing… And Aisling was all for bringing a competition in a field that was more favourable. She was there against her will, and she wasn’t staying just to be the emotional punching ball of the first Templar around. If he wanted to compete, that was fine with her: he wasn’t the first human to underestimate her just because she was short, he wouldn’t have been the last.

If this was a way to have less humans to underestimate her for her physical appearance, and at the same time scratch an itch and maybe peg the Commander down a little, who was she to refuse?

“Afraid of losing, Commander?” She chirped amiably, with a smile in the man’s direction.

He turned, and this time he frowned at her as well, as someone in the crowd ooh-ed at her provocation. Good.

“Hardly so. But it’s past my duties to provide you with some physical exercise. I have recruits to train, and we can’t waste any more resources for you.”

Another ooh from the crowd.

“Oh, it’s hardly a waste of time and resources. A trained Templar, the Knight-Commander of Kirkwall and now Commander of the forces of the mighty Inquisition against a lonely wood female elf that barely reaches your collarbone? If you want to flatter me, you could invite me to dinner, first.”

“I have much better things to do.” He squinted at her, irritated, in the same expression he had for the greenest recruits that spoke back to his instructions.

“I am a big girl, I can take it.” She smiled wider, keeping her voice kind and stepping forward, steps light and airy. “Come on, Commander, it will only take five minutes. It would do some good for all the recruits to see a duel between two warriors, don’t you think?”

“She’s right, Curly.” The dwarf -Varric- insisted, as he turned to the elf and winked mischievously at her. “It will be a good example, or are you too old to take a pretty elf?”

Aisling smiled at her newly found ally for the afternoon, and turned back to Cullen, nodding to her side invitingly and waiting for his answer. He was still there, arms crossed and glaring. From what she saw of him in the former days, when she had been training alone against a dummy, that was the expression that either preceded him admitting defeat, or him sending the unfortunate recruit to clean the latrines.

“Don’t worry, I won’t bite.” She kept on smiling at him. “Unless you want me to.” She hoped she wasn’t destined to clean the latrines, after all.

After a full, tense minute, and a side glance to someone in the crowd Aisling couldn’t distinguish, the Commander exhaled loudly, grunting a “Fine.” That sent the crowd cheering around them.

“One match alone, no rebounds, and I don’t want to hear a complaint on the weapons you’re assigned for training ever again.” He grumbled, gesturing to his field assistant -a stout woman in a Templar armour Aisling didn’t remember the name of- to get inside the tend he usually stood in front of.

“Fine for me. And if I win?” She asked, innocently enough as she observed the crowd making more space for them, opening up in a wide circle around them.

“What?”

“If you win, I will accept any weapon you and the lovely Seeker deem me reliable enough to wield without emitting a syllable. I’ll be quiet as a mouse, Mythal be my witness, cross my heart.” She crossed her heart with her right index, left palm up in the air most solemnly as she stepped back a couple of steps in the snow. “What if I win?”

Cullen rolled his eyes at her. “Name your wish.”

“If I win, you’ll have to say in Council, in front of Sister Woodpecker-”

“Sister Nightingale.”

“Whatever. In front of Leliana, Seeker Pentaghast and Ambassador Montilyet, that I am right and the wisest, prettiest elf in the compound.”

“Are we really-”

“We are. And you will tell everyone you hear calling me so, that I am not the Herald of Andraste.”

The crowd fell silent at that. Cullen finally stopped glaring at her like she was giving him a headache, and stared at her not understanding where this came from. She didn’t explain herself any further, just contracted her eyebrows up and waited. Miss Templar -Elyse? Elizabeth? Lizzy?- returned back with two training poles, which she gave to her first.

“Thank you.” She nodded to her, with a smile. “So?” She prodded the Commander, slipping one foot behind her and getting in position, the stick held loosely in one hand and the other bent behind her back. She contracted her toes, feeling the terrain under them. Beaten earth, compact from being stepped upon so many times and soaked with snow and humidity. Not the best terrain ever, but it would hopefully offer something to grip upon for her bare feet. A small advantage that her adversary, if he took the bet, wouldn’t have.

He took some more time to answer, clearly studying her with half-lidded eyes. In the end, tho, he sighed and shifted in position as well, nodding to her without taking his eyes away from her.

“Fine.” He finally said, bending his knees twice and swinging the pole in front of him a couple of time, to get used to its weight.

Before he could start, Varric spoke again, announcing loudly the epic duel between Commander Rutherford and the gem of Clan Lavellan -Aisling was grateful that he caught on the Herald of Andraste thing. Camaraderie between prisoners, she guessed. Not real friendship, but it wasn’t a bad starting point if they needed to fight together. He was still speaking, but she didn’t listen to what he had to say: studying her adversary was more important, right now. Way more important, if she wanted to win this thing. And she wanted to.

Being kept there was bad enough, but if the mark on her hand really was the key to repair the big jagged vortex that opened up the sky, she needed to stay. Her mother taught her as such. She may not have inherited her talent with magic and her capability as a somniari, but she was her mother’s daughter: proud and capable and not turning her back to her duty. She had been taught well. And she had been taught well enough as to not blindly accept a bunch of humans to use her as their religious figurehead to convince the Chantry to approve of their organization. She could agree with what they were doing, but she was a Dalish warrior, she bore the Vallaslin of Mythal, she was the firstborn of the Keeper, sister of her First, and she would not bend her knee to a foreign faith. Absolutely no, and she needed at least one other voice to perorate aloud she wasn’t sent by their Maker.

She needed a victory, and she needed this victory.

So, she stood in position, careful to hold her staff in a way she saw the other soldiers around using and was unfamiliar to her, and studied her adversary. Bigger than her, taller with a full head and heavy with muscle. Armoured, but since she never once saw him without it, he was used to its weight, and he would have not been sensible to direct hits. He was a little taller than the average, she noticed, meaning he was used to enemies smaller than him. She needed all the advantage she could get.

“Ladies first.” He nodded to her, a sharp look in his eyes that hinted that he was studying her as well.

“What a gentleman.” She smiled again.

She lounged forward, swinging the bottom of the staff in an upward circle. He parried easily enough, with a clack of wood. She stepped back and tried again, aiming at his shin with the bottom of the pole, and as soon as he parried, at his opposite shoulder with the up.

Parry, parry, movements fluid and easy, automatic.

She circled around him, retreating a couple of steps, and he circled back to keep facing her. Some murmuring around the crowd, but she paid them no mind. She had to learn about her adversary to win this, and she needed to learn it quick.

She snapped forward again, keeping her movement basic enough not to pose a real challenge and not to be too “foreign” to put him on guard. Not really. He was a Templar, he shouldn’t be used to fight against Dalish, and that was, hopefully, the path to her victory. She just needed to have an educated guess on how much similar in fighting he was to the Templars she fought back home, in the Marches. None of them had known what to do with her, but she had been at her full advantage, in the woods she trained in, with her sword in her hands, not a light training stick that weighted nothing at all and the battlefield severely limited by a cheering crowd of soldiers.

They kept it on, she attacking by the book, probing him, and Cullen answering hit for hit, lightly and effortlessly, as he was playing. He was, in a sense, not engaging if she didn’t, not lunging forward. Trying to study her or tire her out, most likely. Too much at ease, she decided, to be holding back. He wasn’t attacking on purpose, and she could play with it.

She frowned and pouted at him, too visible not to be noticed, and saw him raise one eyebrow at her. She said nothing and sped up the rhythm, quickening her steps and her attacks, but never straining away from basics. Left and right, up and down step back and swing in a wide circle, let him duck down and- ah.

His knees were a little stiff, he ducked at the very last minute. She could work with it.

But before… She kept it on, huffing more and more often as they swung around each other, the clacks of wood becoming a syncopated rhythm that filled the open circle. She didn’t hold back too much, not really, and hit him with strength. He could be left thinking she couldn’t endure this too much. After all, she was small and lithe for human standards, and most of them didn’t know how to distinguish a buff elf from a thin one, if her asking for a greatsword caused so much fuss. Different muscular structure, maybe, or simple ignorance. In any case, it played in her favour.

After ten minutes, then, she grunted aloud and did a too wide movement, getting it wrong mostly on purpose. She wasn’t used to such a wide grip, after all: it mattered little. Cullen took the opening -the bait- and slipped his staff between hers and her body, quickly inclining it so he positively hooked her. To his advantage, he was quicker than her reflexes could let go of the staff: he levered her and used her own weapon to unbalance her, making her roll and fall back in the ground on her back.

He was a little slower to come and point his pole to her throat: she expected to be unbalanced, the mistake was done on purpose. She batted the stick away with her own weapon, with one hand, and swung the other end to hit his shin with the other hand.

The crowd cheered, as Cullen stepped back quickly, hissing something through his breath, and she quickly rolled on her side and on her feet, crouching down low and wielding the staff on her back, close to her arm.

A more familiar grip, and the low position could give her some advantage more. Namely, that it was something not doable if you wear heavy, metal armour.

“Get up.” He invited her, breath a little ragged.

“I’m right where I want to be, thank you.” She quipped back, with a polite nod. “Your old joints can’t reach down here, perhaps?”

He huffed in annoyance, but weirdly enough, the next hit was stronger and less precise than before. As if-

She swung around, ducking under his hit and his arm with a quick cartwheel. Wielding her weapon -considerably lighter than what she was used to- with just one hand, let the other free to assist in the maneuver, and as she rolled back to position, she could turn on herself and swing the pole right at his back with both hands, hardly.

It clanged against the metal of his cuirass, but he stepped forward and turned back quickly enough, coming back to face her. He was good, she had to admit. Better than she thought at first and better than she faced before leaving the clan. And yet, there was something stiff in his movement, his reactions came all some seconds behind, as if he was tired. An opening. She just needed to-

The duel became more serious, with both of them, now, putting more effort into it, surer about how their adversary moved. Aisling kept ducking and running around him, taking advantage of being smaller, lighter and more agile, as Cullen put more strength into his hits. She wasn’t in any armour, and he indeed just needed one good hit, and knew which points to aim at. He just had to catch her, first, which she put all her efforts to prevent.

The crowd cheered aloud when the Commander stepped sideways, anticipating the elf’s next movement, and lounged at her. A good hit, but still a little slower, and not taking advantage of the bare feet. Aisling snapped her staff behind her, planting the bottom in the soft ground. It didn’t go much deeper, the dirt was too cold and half-frozen for it, but it was enough to allow her to bend her back backward and slip right under the lunge, holding up with her toes gripping the terrain and sustaining her weight on the training pole.

She smiled, looking at the hit that would have caught her, 10 cm up her nose: it started as a tease, but she was indeed having fun with it. It had been a while since she last sparred with such a capable adversary, and she relied in it. Alas, she had something she really wanted at stake, and he was right in saying the recruits needed their Commander to train them more than she needed a good sparring partner.

As he retreated the stick, with a grunt of annoyance, she rolled back up and quickly engaged him back again. She moved her pole up and then down, with strength enough that he was forced to step back as he parried.

She put some more strength into her hits, and he was taken aback, at first. It lasted little, but it put them in a rhythm enough, with him now stepping backward and her attacking and going forward.

As she parried one hit, she moved her weight on her left foot and kicked his knee in the side, hard, with the right. She grunted in pain – the boot was studded with metal, she hadn’t thought about it, but it was enough to have him stagger minutely.

Enough for her to, ignoring the dull pain on the bridge of her foot, try the same move he did at the start: hook her pole with his and move it sideway, to lever herself up and-

“You’re not heavy enough to flip me over.” He remarked, annoyed.

“I’m not trying to flip you over.”

She informed him, as she pushed on the centre of his weapon, sent him stepping back and put enough distance between them to jump right on the cross of their weapons, her full weight and the force of the jump leaning heavily on him.

He was left surprised, and with two choices: let go of his weapon and make her fall, but with now both weapons at her disposal, or grab on and try to counter. He staggered back and didn’t let go, and the force of her jump and her weight was, apparently, enough to sent him fall back.

The crowd cheered aloud, as Aisling fell right on the Commander’s chest, sitting down heavily to pin him to the ground, slipping her pole free and lean it on his throat. She ignored the dull pain on her knees and shins, where she landed.

“Dead.” She announced, with a satisfied grin.

The crowd kept cheering around them, and she caught her breath, not moving from where she was

“You’re dead as well.” He rebuked, looking up at her.

“What?”

Something pressed in her back, right where her kidney was, and when she turned around, she could see he was pointing a dagger right there. A fatal wound, if it was a real fight: she would have sliced his throat, but he would have stabbed her in her back, in a point that would have had her bleeding to her death if no healer was around.

She blinked twice, surprised.

“You never said anything about second weapons.” He pointed out when she turned to look at him, some glint in his eyes that on a person with less of a stick up their ass could also have been mistaken for amusement.

“I didn’t peg you for one who fights dirty, Commander.” She admitted, still smiling at him.

“Your bad, 10 years in Kirkwall have that effect.”

“Heard it’s a bit of a shithole, indeed.”

He snorted, not fully laughing. They both lowered their weapons, and when Aisling finally got back to her feet, she offered him a hand to haul him up. They smiled and nodded at each other, begrudgingly recognizing some mutual respect as Varric called it a draw and the crowd kept congratulating.

“So.” Cullen told her, after some minutes of batting dirt away from their clothes. “No Herald of Andraste for you, I see?”

“Thank you.” She blinked twice, surprised he got the hint. “And I’ll stop complaining about training weapons.”

It wasn’t that big of a concession, and she could step forward to him. Her mother would have frowned at her, and at her giving anything to a human. Surely her mother would have marched right off that village, and she will not be happy of her being kept there. Her mother wasn’t there, tho, and she’s never been the fondest elf towards human.

Her mother wasn’t there, tho. Her mother was never shown respect as Aisling was, with loud pats on her shoulders by recruits and soldiers she didn’t know the name of, congratulating on her. Her mother wasn’t there, when the Commander bid the smith to provide Lady Lavellan -not the Herald!- of whatever weapon she requested.

“Let her fall under the weight of a greatsword, if she so chooses.” He commented, begrudgingly still but holding a hint more of respect than he had before.

She smiled at him and nodded. “Ready for a rebound whenever you’d like.”

Maybe her time amongst humans wouldn’t have been so bad as she had thought at first.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #cullen x lavellan #dragon age fic #fanfiction #ficlet #writing petrel #warrior aisling #cullen rutherford #it's been a while since I last wrote some action I hope it's fine #for your knowledge: this Aisling listened to Erimond's plan and answered him by belching aloud. #“What? That was the only suitable answer to such bullshit why are you all looking at me like that °-° ” #Raina asked her if she wants to be the fourth member of the polycule right after.

[a-bluedream-posts]

Aisling by GenXWolf (Whatever122t)

#Aisling #celtic #celtic woman #celtic warrior #female warrior #tattoos #tattooed #tattooed girls #tattooed women #pinup art #ai art #ai artist #ai artwork #ai art generator #starry ai #genxwolf

[almoststedytimetravel]

Xander and Peri honor dueling for who gets to walk Laslow down the aisle.

#peri thinks she should because Laslow compares her to his dad #Xander thinks he should because actually he spoke to Laslow's mom and she said that Laslow is like a son to him #They both deside to walk him down the aisle #Laslow has two hands after all #fire emblem #fe14 #Xander fe #Peri fe #Laslow fe #Olivia-Xander warriors support my beloved

[nando161mando]

#say shoppers after only one checkout aisle manned in walmart #aldi v walmart: we break down the cheapest place to buy your thanksgiving staples so your holiday is complete #‘good and heavy’ is how shoppers praise walmart’s $400 tiny home that comes in three sizes with ‘perfect delivery’ #‘i don’t worry about shady chemicals and unfair wages’ say frustrated customers boycotting walmart for key reason #walmart wallis #walmart #frankie bridge shows ‘what’s in my bag’ including christmas snack & item she had to stop husband wayne stealing #steal #stealing #supermarket #eco warriors raid glasgow supermarkets in bizarre halloween shoplifting stunt #supermarket sweep #supermarkets #coles #woolworths #iga #ausgov #politas #auspol #tasgov #taspol #australia #fuck neoliberals #neoliberal capitalism #anthony albanese #albanese government #eat the rich #eat the fucking rich #class war #antifa

[duperderedere]

Aisling was happy to spend All Saint’s Wake with the Scions that stole her heart! But sometimes Estinien gets a smidge distracted when Urianger is going on…

#ffxiv #ff14 #final fantasy 14 #final fantasy xiv #warrior of light #wol #my wol #aisling surrow #estinien varlineau #urianger augurelt #estinien #urianger #wolstinien #wolianger

[rockmiyabideusexmachina]

Megaman Production Art Scan of the Day #592:

N1 Grand Prix Dome Shopping Corridor Background Design Sheet [<Rockman.EXE> #11 ~ Mechanical Floating Venue ~ Main Dome ~ Aisle]

Notations include:

- Wall [left most panel]

- Glass (Sky) [ceiling panels]

- Light [on ceiling]

When you go in to shop at Metz and Company, you are greeted by Mets and their company...

Full Resolution Scan: https://imgbox.com/bKaoV7hq

#Megaman Production Art Scan of the Day #Rockman #Megaman #Mega Man #Rockman.EXE #Megaman Battle Network #Megaman NT Warrior #Mechanical Floating Venue #Main Dome #Shopping Corridor #Aisle #Background Scenery #EXE Locations #Miyabi Scans Stuff

[zahra-hydris]

isabela, my beloved

#I completely finished aisling's run (awakening + witch hunt) yesterday so it's da2 time #my new hawke (allison) is a two handed warrior who is (initially) serious about nothing but her family #me: ally flirts with anyone and everyone so let's just see what romance feels right for her #me: recruits isabela #me: what if I romanced isabela again #jessica plays dragon age

[junosartz]

media that altered my life drastically

#the secret of kells #tomm moore #aisling #warrior cats #bluestar #warrior cats fanart #subahibi #subarashiki hibi #wonderful everyday #otonashi ayana #digital art #artists on tumblr

[bethrnoora]

i think faolan canonically would be extremely bad at pickpocketing on account of he and his sister would steal stuff from their older brother but faolan was always the distraction

#faolan and his siblings each are characterized as one of the DA character classes btw #faolan is obviously already a mage. aisling would be a rogue and oisin would be a warrior

[slvrdlphn]

Beyond Beta's Rejection by Aisling Elizabeth

Beyond Beta’s Rejection by Aisling Elizabeth

When I started reading Beyond Beta’s Rejection by Aisling Elizabeth I already knew there would be a rejection. After all, it is right there in the title. But when it happens (and very early in the story) I was angry and appalled and shocked and … there were just so many emotions going through me, none of them good, that if I could, I would have climbed into the story and whooped Beta heir…

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#Aisling Elizabeth #book recommendations #shifter romance #warrior woman #werewolf romance

[saradika]

— beneath the mask

din djarin x f!reader

rated t - 1.3k

tags: medieval!au, light angst, anxiety, arranged marriage, soulmate au, reader has a mother & father

prompt: "I wanted it to be you, I wanted it to be you so badly” from the writing challenge hosted by the amazing and lovely @moonlight-prose 💖

when a mysterious stranger wins your hand at the tournament, you can't help but wonder about his intentions

With each step down the aisle, your legs threaten to give out.

A clicking of your teeth as you tremble, before you're gritting your jaw, biting your anxiety back. You have a reputation to uphold, even if you're only the daughter of a lord from a lesser house.

You're still a lady.

And this marriage would ensure a home for you. Protection. More than, if this man is what he says he is.

But a part of you desperately wishes that it was someone else at the end of the aisle.

You'd searched for a long time. For the glimpses that flash in your dreams at night. Knowing that he was out there - the one you had begun to think of as yours.

Your soulmate.

Never managing to meet the same eyes that reflect back at you in the darkness, just before you wake. Not once in the hundreds, thousands of people you’ve looked at, throughout your years.

And when none were found, you slowly gave up. Knowing the world was too large and you were too small, too poor, to seek them out.

Eventually agreeing to the match that your mother and father arranged.

If you could not have him, then you did not want anyone.

And now - the figure that waits for you stands tall.

Encased in gleaming armor, showing none of the nerves that wrack you. Making you wonder if you should have protested. Taken the path of the unwed, even if there was hardship in your future.

The stranger had won your favor, in the tournament. That is how the story will be told, passed on by your father.

Looking back, you remember very little from it. Knowing deep down that the winner would be the one to have your hand, whether you liked it or not. So much of it had turned to haze, as you had sat frozen there.

All but too nervous to watch, as weapons clashed, shields splintering.

Men you had known and grown up with falling beneath the sword of the mysterious man, clad in silver armor.

A Mandalorian, it was rumored.

Something from stories, you didn't know they still existed. An ancient clan of knights and warriors, honoring weapons and myths over sworn deities. Never revealing their faces to outsiders, and sometimes even to their own.

He had never killed any of them, and there was some comfort in that.

But that didn't mean he did not wound.

That he wasn't vicious, ferocious on the battlefield. Driven by an unseen force. Unrelenting, even when blood was drawn - splattering a bright crimson against his armor.

Showing just how he came to earn his station. The leader of his tribe, from the whispers you heard. Traveling far - slipping into the last few open brackets in the tournament, just as the first morning was starting.

Ripping through them all, in the days that followed.

You were given as the prize, in the end.

Even before the day ends, you would belong to him - ferried off to a new life tomorrow.

And this is what also slows your feet.

Wondering why such a man would come for you.

At the end of the aisle, you halt. The clergymany is speaking, but it's all white noise. Your own eyes wide and face solemn as you stare at your betrothed - your features reflected back at you in the tinted glass of his visor.

Acutely aware that you haven't seen his face. Not knowing what your husband was to look like.

Was he younger than you? Or older... older than your father?

Was his face kind, or was it as sharp as his movements? Was it all snarling teeth, beneath?

Were his eyes blue, or green, or just maybe... brown? Like his?

You don't know. You think not. Leaving you to wonder how you will bear it - to spend each day staring into their eyes while dreaming of anothers.

It's only when a voice raises that you're snapped from your thoughts. Realizing that the ceremony is waiting for you.

Managing, with a stammer, to repeat the words. To pledge yourself - your life and love - to this stranger.

The words repeated after, a low voice layering with metal. The shaking of your hands is still visible when they reach out to meet his, the tips of yours resting against wide, steady palms.

Covered in gloves but solid, like the rest of him.

Only the peek of tanned skin visible when he peels the glove from his hand. A small comfort coming in the warmth of his hand, as you slip the ring on his finger, settling it just above a scarred knuckle.

The careful brush of his fingers - a calming stroke against your skin, when he slips a matching one on yours.

Gentle, after everything.

Not him.

But perhaps, not a monster.

The celebrations swirl past you. There's music you don't remember. A meal that sits heavy in your stomach, from the meager amounts you managed to swallow.

A smile plastered on - assuring your excitement to family and friends - all while you worry about the hours to come.

Will he be as gentle as he was during the ceremony?

Or will it be more like the battlefield?

These thoughts linger, as the hours pass. Until the sun dips below the horizon, until the stars blanket the sky.

And then, you're alone.

Waiting in the finest room prepared for him in the guest wing. The pretty, ivory gown stripped from you, replaced with something thin and fine and silver - hand-sewn and intended to please him.

Pacing, until you hear the heavy steps approaching - as he returns from a meeting with your father, your dowry and your life handed over.

Leaving you frozen in place, as the door opens. Where he lingers, filling the space.

A different man than before, you think.

There had not been a slope to his shoulders, the way he moves as if afraid to frighten you.

His voice is different too - soft now, coaxing.

"I wish our meeting had been under more pleasant circumstances." Your husband tells you, as the door slowly shuts behind him.

Trapping you, now. The iron latch heavy, as it locks into place.

"But I could not bear to stand by." He continues, that hard edge creeping into his voice again, "You must understand."

"I don't." You manage - your brow pinched, shifting the smallest step backwards as he moves forward.

He goes still, at your retreat.

"Do you not, ner kar’ta?" His head tilts, "Do you not know why I have come?"

The shake of your head is small. Not understanding the name he calls you, his intentions.

He hesitates then, for a second. Before his hands are reaching - grasping the edge of his helmet. Slipping it from his head, as his head dips.

His hair is dark, beneath. Messy and curling, greying at the temples, down to the scruff that lines his jaw beneath plush lips and the curve of his nose.

And his eyes. That pretty shade of brown, the dark fan of his eyelashes.

You know them. Though you've never seen them, yourself.

For a moment, you can't breathe. Frozen for an entirely new reason - starting back at the eyes that you've seen so often.

"It's you," You manage. The words are no more than a soft gasp.

He lets you touch him, then. Fingertips tracing his jaw, those eyes slipping shut when your fingers brush the nape of his neck. Somehow knowing how the curls would feel against your fingers, already knowing each detail of his face.

Hidden deep down, revealed bit by bit in your sleep.

Only now, do you see all of him.

And only now, do you lean in. Your head tipping towards him, just as his forehead presses against yours. And it's now that you understand the warmth of his touch - the way it seems to soak into your skin. A lost piece of you, now becoming complete.

You hadn’t been able to find him - so he had found you, instead.

Unable to help the smile, as the dark pit in your stomach blooms into spring.

I wanted it to be you, you think - as your heart finally starts to beat again. I wanted it to be you so badly.

There's a hitch in his breath, with your touch. Fingers that stretch out and then curl, until you're taking them yourself, slipping yours between them.

"Now do you know?" Your husband murmurs, in the voice that you know as well as his eyes.

And you do - the answer coming easily, as you nod, "Because you're mine."

"Yes," He smiles.

"Yours."

i cant stop writing soft!soulmate din 💖 thank you for reading!!

ner kar’ta - my heart

#so sorry I am late my love #I have been thinking about this so much - such an great prompt and event!! 💖 #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #writing challenge #din djarin imagine #din djarin

[blossomingmoonlight]

I am yours and you are mine, whatever may come.

Summary: after your mother Rhaenyra ascended the iron throne you were finally able to wed your betrothed. But with a royal wedding comes a bedding ceremony.

Jacaerys Velaryon x sister!wife!reader (characters are +18)

Warnings: smut, vaginal, making out, handjob, grinding, humping, cussing, creampie.

word count: 2202

You anxiously played with your hair as one of your handmaidens braided it. Your other handmaiden standing in front of you, adding the accessories to your beautiful ivory gown. Today was your wedding day. It was a joyous day in King’s Landing, your mother, the queen,  having ascended the iron throne and having slayed your traitorous uncle, she could finally rule. You were already betrothed to your brother Jacaerys before the war but the wedding was put on hold because of the events. But today was the day, you were nervous but also excited. After 7 days of celebrations the royal wedding would take place, in the very room the iron throne was in. After some time of preparing you were ready to head down to the doors that led to the throne room. As you stood there nervously waiting for the doors to open you felt a hand on your shoulder, your step father prince Daemon would walk you down the aisle. He offered his arm with a smile and when you took it the doors opened revealing the huge room decorated with candles, feathers and flowers. And not to mention the hundreds of people from court within. Your eyes immediately shot to the end of the aisle where your soon to be husband stood next to the high septon who would be officiating. 

You were pulled out of your thoughts when Daemon started walking, all the eyes in the room were on you, soft gasps all around at the sight of your beautiful dress and hair. You walked alongside Daemon down the aisle and when you reached the end, Jace took your hand so Daemon could join your mother and brothers at the base of the steps. Jace walked you up the few steps to where the high septon stood. Both of you taking each other's hands and giving each other a nervous smile. Then the high septon spoke. “The love of The Seven is holy and eternal. Source of life and love. We stand here today in thanks and praise to join two souls as one. Father, Mother, Warrior, Smith, Maiden, Crone, Stranger hear now their vows.” You kissed Jace’s cheek before he spoke. “I am yours and you are mine. Whatever may come.” Then you repeated the words. “I am yours and you are mine. Whatever may come.” You smiled, which was returned by Jace. The high septon continued. “Here in the presence of gods and men, I proclaim Jacaerys of house Velaryon, (Y/N) of house Velaryon to be man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.” The septon ended. Jace gave you a light kiss on your lips and the room disrupted with applause. You both looked at your mother, brothers and Daemon, and they smiled. Then Jace took your hand and walked you down the steps, now the celebrations could begin. 

After hours of dancing, feasting and entertaining your guests you started getting nervous for the next part of the wedding, the bedding ceremony. Even though the old tradition of people “making sure” the ceremony actually took place was dropped years ago, it still scared you. You knew the basics of it, of course. But still, you didn’t know what it would actually be like and it made you nervous. Obviously Jace was a sweetheart and would take care of you, so you expected it to still be a positive occurrence. What you didn’t know was if Jace had any experience already, of course as a man he was allowed to bed whomever, whenever he wanted but you always thought it didn’t fit his character, and he rarely left the Red Keep, so you decided you were both clueless, which made it a little less intimidating. Jace sat beside you at the large table in front of the guests. Your family all sitting next to you two. And alas the feast was declared over by the queen and you and your new husband left the room to his bedchamber.

His bedchamber was a place you have been to many times before but now it was different, you were going there with a completely different intention. An intention that made the heat pool in your belly. As if Jacaerys read your thoughts he asked “Are you alright? It’s okay to be nervous, I’m nervous too.” You were glad that even though wine was poured as water tonight, he didn’t overflow his cups. Wanting to be sober with just enough of a buzz for confidence. “I’m alright, yes, but I am nervous. Ha- have you had any...well experience?” You asked him anxiously, getting ever closer to his bedchamber. “No not really, I wanted to save myself for marriage too, it’s only fair. And I have to admit that I also didn’t want to uhm- father bastards, you know.” He explained, grabbing your hand and ordering the guards by his door to leave you, you both certainly did not want anyone listening in. As he led you inside your nervousness grew and you started to feel hot all over your body, and he hadn’t even touched you yet. 

“Jace, do you know...well you know, how to do this?” You asked him, looking him in his beautiful chocolate eyes. “The basics, yes, don’t worry. I’ll make sure to never hurt you, and if you want to stop you can always just tell me, okay?” He told you sweetly, as he put his hands on your waist, taking in your beautiful figure. “Okay, I trust you.” You mumbled putting your hands on his chest. He looked in your eyes and brought his lips closer to yours. You could feel his warm breath on your lips and you slightly parted them, waiting for him to close the gap. At last his big soft lips were on yours, the moment heating by the second and you grabbed his brown hair slightly tugging at the roots, which earned you a groan from him. He then walked you back towards his bed pushing you down before confirming you were still okay with it. 

After you told him it was okay he immediately had his lips on yours again, his tongue now asking for permission to enter. Something that you eagerly permitted, as his tongue came in touch with yours, you softly moaned in his mouth. You could feel your wetness between your thighs and you wanted him to touch you so badly. “Jace, please touch me, just touch me, anywhere.” You begged as you removed your lips from his for but a mere moment. “Anything for my wife.” He muttered. He kissed your cheek and started removing your dress and undergarments. After he undressed you he started removing his own clothes as well. And holy fuck did he look good, his toned abs, his biceps, you didn’t know your husband was this well gifted under his clothes. But as you observed him, your eyes landed on his already hard cock, glistening with precum at the tip. He was big, at least you assumed that he was bigger than other men, he sure looked like it. 

Jace saw you observing him and smiled. “I hope I am not disappointing you my love.” You looked at his face again and a blush spread across your face. “No no, not at all. You are incredibly handsome Jace.” You admitted, he grabbed your face again and kissed you deeply. You moved your hands over his toned chest, which made Jace groan against your lips. “Let me touch you Jace, please.” You pleaded with him, you wanted nothing more than to wrap your hands around his slightly dripping cock. “Of course, please touch me.” He moaned at your touch and you started to move your hand experimentally. Gripping him sometimes harder and sometimes softer again to test how he would react and what he would like best. A firmer grip clearly got the best reaction so you firmly started jerking him off until he begged you to stop. “Why? What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” You asked him nervously, had you grabbed him too hard and hurt him? “No no not at all, it’s just- if you had continued... I would’ve... finished too early.” He smiled awkwardly. 

“Oh- of course, I’m sorry. I just wanted to make you feel good.” You smiled. “Ooh fuck.” He mumbled to himself, loving the way you said that. “And it did feel really good, I promise but I need to make you feel good now. So that I might prepare you for...the actual activity.” He expressed. You smiled at him and he pushed you to lay down, while trying to remember the words of the book he had read about sex he decided that he would be better off experimenting himself to see what made you tick. So he slid his hand up your thigh and touched the mound between your legs softly. He decided that that was the right move as you moaned at his touch. Again he touched you only this time he added a bit more pressure and moved to try and find the spot that made you moan the loudest. Then he found it, the nub that made you moan his name in pleasure. “Yes- please- right there Jace.” You moaned, grabbing his wrist out of want. 

He smiled to himself and felt himself become even harder, unable to stop himself he began humping the bed softly while rubbing circles on your clit at the same time. He joined you in your moans and soon you trapped his hand between your legs when you closed your thighs shut as you came, feeling the wetness gushing out of you, almost screaming your husband's name. Jace stopped moving to avoid cumming and removed his hand when you had calmed down and opened your legs again. “That was amazing Jace, I think I’m...prepared enough now.” You smiled hazily at him. “Alright, as you wish.” He said before moving his hips close to yours, gripping is cock and sliding his tip across your slit, trying to find your entrance. When he slipped in, you both let out a moan. He stayed still for some time to let you get used to his size. After a while he moved deeper into your wet cunt making him moan again, never in his life could he have imagined the pleasure, finally understanding why men are so desperate for it. 

“Are you alright? Can I start moving?” He asked you not sure if you had adjusted enough. “Yes I’m okay, it doesn’t hurt as bad as I thought it would.” You reassured him, it was indeed better than you thought. So he started moving his hips slowly, grinding against you while trying not to moan too loud, he was clearly in heaven. After a couple of thrusts he began moving faster not being able to help himself, you just felt too good. “Oh Jace, yes- you feel so good.” You moaned his thrusts starting to feel better each time he moved in and out of you. Jace then moved closer against you, pressing his chest against yours, burying his face in your neck, now absolutely pounding into you hard. He couldn’t help but moan your name over and over again against your neck. 

But he really did it when he moved to be hitting you right against the spongy spot that made you scream for more. You begged him to finish inside you, all you could feel, see and smell was Jace. He was filling your every sense. The slapping of your skin and your moans surely to be heard in the halls, but you were too focused on Jace and chasing your own high to notice. Jace’s balls pounded against your ass and even that felt good. You could tell by his moaning, stuttering and heavy breathing that he was getting close to his release. Luckily you were dangerously close yourself, and this time it felt different somehow, like it was going to be more consuming. You moaned Jace’s name at every thrust and he started to get sloppier. Just as he was about to cum you felt yourself squirting hard, soaking the sheets underneath you, you arched your back and your hands gripped on to the mattress for dear life, screaming your husband's name. Your walls tightening around him made him fill you with his seed, as he moaned loudly. You gasped for air as you had apparently been holding your breath due to the intensity of your release. Confused as to what just happened. 

Jace kissed your neck and moved to your side to hold you in his arms. “What just happened?” You asked him, slightly embarrassed at the soaked sheets. “It’s okay, I read that it can happen when women feel extremely good, so it’s quite the compliment I suppose.” He grinned. You smiled at him and wrapped your arms around him, hugging him close. “I love you Jace.” You said, kissing his cheek. “I love you too, my beautiful wife.” He said, stroking your hair. You definitely didn’t need to be nervous anymore and you knew for sure this would become a frequent activity.

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Let me know what you think of this one, and I hope you like it! xx

#hotd #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys velaryon #prince jacaerys #hotd jacaerys #jacaerys velaryon x fem reader smut #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader smut

[sweetercalypso]

Pearl Rosary || Din Djarin

Word count: 1.7k

Summary: Priest of Mandalore!Din Djarin listens to your sins during confession

Notes: part three in my week of horror series! minors dni; public(ish) sex, finger sucking, deepthroating, cock worship, facial, reader is a Mandalorian who takes her helmet off, so much religious imagery

In the Cathedral of Mandalore, there’s only just enough light to make out the back of the wooden pew in front of you. The doors and windows are adorned with an ornate red glass that wash the chapel in a somber crimson gloom, a reminder that only those dedicated to their creedal faith are permitted inside.

The nave is silent beyond the occasional clink of beskar and the solemn bells ringing overhead in hourly intervals. You’d counted three resounding chimes, then four, then five, as the day stretches on outside the walls of the chapel.

In your tightly coiled spiral of pensive rumination, time seems to stand still.

Your eyes snap up as another Mandalorian passes by your aisle in their departure from the confessional. The small curtained booth at the front of the church has a strangely foreboding presence, and you’d been working up the courage to step inside all day.

The front doors close, and you’re left with your guilt once again.

If you admit to the thoughts weighing on your conscience, maybe you’ll have the chance to repent. Or, if the pit of dread in your stomach is any prediction, you’ll be cast out for your inclination towards a life of sin.

Before you can work up the nerve to decide whether to gamble your fate, the head of the church, Din Djarin, steps out of the other side of the confessional, rolling his shoulders to relieve the stiff ache of being confined in his narrow compartment.

His armor has grown dull with age and wear, buffed with a flat luster that speaks of its obstinate strength.

Others have said that his appearance makes him seem ordinary, but you’ve always thought that his mannerisms were what set him apart. His imposing stance, his commanding way of speaking, the way his head tilts when he’s deep in thought – he’s beautiful if you know where to look.

When he turns in your direction, your breath catches in your throat.

“You’ve been here for quite a while.” His voice has an unexpected warmth that licks up your spine. “Are you here to speak with me?”

Your eyes flicker warily to the confession booth. “I’m not sure.”

He seems to pause for a moment before making his mind up to join you, floorboards groaning under his heavy boots as he draws near. You shift uncomfortably on the hard bench, squirming under the spotlight of his attention. He stops at the end of your row and rests a hand behind you on the back of the pew.

“We can speak out here if you’d prefer.”

You’re surprised that he’d recognized the source of your unease, though you’re not sure if he realizes why the embrace of the confessional is so distinctly unnerving.

The people of Mandalore are not known for their empathy, especially not those held in high regard by the church. Din Djarin is a fiercely orthodox man, and you doubt he understands the position you’re in.

“I’ve seen you during services,” he comments. “Always so attentive.”

Heat rises to your cheeks at the thought of being recognized in the mass of devoted warriors that frequent his sermons. Is your shame so pronounced that you stand out in a crowd? “I didn’t know you paid attention to the assembly.”

He hums in response. “I care deeply for everyone in my congregation, especially those who are in danger of losing their faith. Tell me, what’s been troubling you?”

You hesitate before answering, skirting around the truth as much as you can, as much as he’ll let you.

“I’ve had… impure thoughts, father.”

“Oh?” His voice is rich with interest. “Indulge me, cyar'ika. What tempts you?”

His smooth, full baritone makes it impossible to deny his entreaty, like he’s wrenching your secrets from the far reaches of your mind.

“I’ve thought about… taking my helmet off in the witness of non-believers. I’ve thought about what you look like underneath your armor.” You pause for breath. “I’ve thought about your image at improper times.”

His chest falls with a heady sigh, though the sound is lost beyond the rasp of his modulator. “I see. And how do you think you should pay for your transgressions?”

The presence of other Mandalorians can be heard from outside the chapel – an admonition of what you have to lose if you are turned away. The air in the room shifts. Your hands flex at your sides.

“I’ll do anything.” You push forward onto the edge of your seat, ardently pleading for your chance at repentance. “Tell me how to make things right.”

He shifts in place, mulling over his options for what feels like an eternity. You swallow the urge to scream as silence rings in your ears.

Finally, he speaks.

“Maybe you’re too curious,” he decides. “Too concerned with things you cannot have.”

Your fingers dig into your palms, awaiting the final blow of his judgement.

“I think you need to experience firsthand the gravity of your desire.”

He leans down like he’s sharing something that no one else can hear, a sentiment too clandestine to be born in a house of worship.

“This is a sacred place,” he explains. “If you’re going to commit an act of sin, let it be here.”

You’re taken aback by the implication of his words. You’d been expecting a show of indignation, maybe even outrage for your betrayal of the Way, but it seems like he’s encouraging your lapse in faith. Surely, you’ve misunderstood.

The hand caressing your shoulder tells you that you haven’t.

“Revealing yourself to anyone a sin, and the public would have you exiled for removing your helmet. But here, in the presence of a higher being, I will make an exception.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before his hands are on the underside of your helmet, tipping your head back with the force of his grip. The fabric of his gloves glides against your jaw as he lifts your beskar veil and exposes you under the chapel’s dim, ruddy glow.

You squint at the sudden shift in the light, surprised to discover what your dark-tinted visor had been hiding from you. The red halo cast around him is much more intense without the obstruction of your helmet. His outlined form burns with a fiery sanctitude that makes you shudder.

Your attention is drawn to his hands ghosting over your face, cradling your cheeks with a curious touch. The pad of his thumb presses against your mouth, tugging at the plush of your bottom lip. “Is this what you wanted?”

You swallow thickly and chance a look up at him, finding your face in the reflection of his visage. Your lips part in fascination at the sight of your own eyes staring back at you.

“That’s it, open up for me.”

His thumb presses further into your mouth and hooks behind your teeth. The taste of the holy chrism melts across your senses, balsam and olive oil and something you can’t name. When your tongue swipes out to meet his digit, he hums low in his chest and pulls his other hand back to curl around his belt.

“Does this make you feel good? Corrupting a man of faith?”

You whimper around his thumb, eyes blown wide with lust. The metal buckle at his waist glints in the low light, seemingly pleading for your touch. You don’t know how far he’ll take this lesson, but you’re hoping it ends in a mutual exchange of sin.

As if persuaded by your thoughts alone, he works open his belt and the fastenings of his pants, revealing a patch of tawny skin that contrasts the muted tones of his beskar.

“You need more than this, though. Don’t you?”

With a low hiss, he pulls his hardening cock from its confines, and your mouth waters at the sight. He’s eager, alive, twitching in his tight grip. The tip of his cock weeps as he bucks into his hand.

The heat simmering in your belly has grown into a blazing flame. When he swaps his thumb for the head of his cock, your thighs clench with the urgent need to consume him in every way.

His warm, salty taste is so human, so unlike the righteous figure he’s made out to be. You can almost picture what the rest of him looks like by the glimpse of what he’s offered you.

Your lips wrap coyly around his length, an earnest appeal for his approval.

The tint of his visor hides his eyes, but you gaze up at him anyway in hopes that he meets you halfway, that he commits the image of your debauched affair to memory.

“C’mon, this is your chance to atone.”

You trace the vein on the underside of his cock, tongue laving over him in search of a reaction, in search of redemption through your greedy act of worship. His hips stutter in response and the head of his cock twitches against the roof of your mouth.

He mumbles something akin to prayer and focuses his efforts, sliding further into your mouth until your nose presses against his pelvis and his cock settles in the back of your throat. You gag at the foreign pressure and try to pull away, but he settles a hand on the nape of your neck to hold you in place.

“That’s it, take it all.”

His thrusts are slow, lazy, careful not to overwhelm you. When he moves, it’s a gentle drag over your tongue, not the heedless intrusion you’d expected from him. He bucks his hips like he wants to know you’re enjoying it too.

“Fuck,” he grunts, chin dropped to his chest. “Your filthy mouth was made for this.”

You wish you could see him without the beskar disguising his reaction. The heave of his chest, the flex of his hands, the jump of his cock when you tongue the right spot – his body is so expressive, you have no doubt that his face would be too.

A few more juts of his hips and he’s pulling out of your mouth and forming a fist around his length, flushed skin glistening with your spit.

He chokes out a broken noise and angles his hips towards you, painting the evidence of your transgressions over your cheeks and your lips.

You touch your fingers to your face when he pulls away, eyeing his handiwork with a sound of approval. This part of yourself, it’s his now. Desecrated for the use of someone more sacred than yourself.

The corners of your mouth stretch into a grin. This is exactly the forgiveness you were looking for.

#sweetercalypso’s week of horror #Din Djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin smut #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian smut #pedro pascal x reader #din djarin x y/n #din djarin one shot #the mandalorian x y/n #the mandalorian fic #din x reader #Star Wars #star wars x reader #star wars smut #priest!din #priest!din Djarin

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

Kinktober Day 26: Overstimulation- Ivar Ragnarsson

Summary: Ivar shows his new wife just how much pleasure a cripple can give her

Word count: 2, 002

Many people would think that being wed to a prince would be a blessing, especially if he was a brave warrior as well, but those people did not have to marry Prince Ivar. Your mother had assured you that he couldn’t be too bad, but you had heard differently. The many awful stories from many people ran through your mind when you had to walk up that aisle.

Now you sat beside him at the celebration of your arranged marriage and he had still not spoken a word to you. He’d barely even glanced at you since you’d wed five hours earlier, even the kiss he had to give you was barely a peck. Although it was disappointing to have such an inattentive husband, from what you heard it was better than the wrath he could inflict on you.

Despite Ivar’s actions you still managed to have a good evening thus far, his three elder brothers being a lot more charismatic and funny than your new husband. Your previous anxieties were beginning to dull as Hvitserk and Ubbe continued to make you laugh with tales of their childhood and adventures.

While the alcohol seemed to make you feel more excited and Hvitserk and Ubbe to be more funny, it seemed to have the opposite affect on the youngest of the three, Sigurd. The more he drank the more passing comments and glares at Ivar he seemed to dish out. The other two brothers did a good job of distracting you to not notice, but the elder brothers, and unfortunately Ivar, definitely did notice.

So far others had managed to distract Ivar enough that he didn’t react as violently as Sigurd had hoped, that was until a certain comment seemed to cut just a little too deep.

“You know, Y/N, if you ever notice that Ivar is lacking as a husband, I’m more than happy to keep your bed warm in the evening. I mean hahaha I am sorry to say but he is a cripple with a cock that doesn’t work!” He loudly laughed, unknowingly embarrassing himself as he was the only one laughing.

The room stood still, most people in the large hall having heard the suggestive comment.

At hearing such a crass comment you couldn’t help but choke on your wine. It was the forwardness of such a suggestion that caused you to cough out your wine, but unfortunately Ivar thought you were laughing.

“This is my wedding, Sigurd! Y/N is my wife!” His intimidating voice boomed at his brother, startling you slightly.

“Ivar, careful.” Ubbe gently warned as all eyes landed on your table.

With dangerous eyes, Ivar snarled at both you and Sigurd before angrily hobbling away on his crutch.

Even though Ivar was apparently a brute and hot-headed, he was still your husband and you believed his reaction was warranted.

“Wait! Ivar!” You found yourself calling after him as you ran to catch up with the surprisingly fast Viking.

Ivar made you follow him all the way to your shared bedroom, his steps fast and full of understandable rage. If you hadn’t been quick enough to catch the door with your palm, it would have slammed right in your face.

Stepping into the spacious room you make tentative steps towards your rage-filled husband.

“Ivar?…” you quietly call to him.

His head quickly whips around to you, a rage-filled look etched onto his face. Before you could even attempt to calm him, he had you pinned to the door, his strong forearm digging into your chest.

“You are my wife and you laugh with my brother about me.” He angrily growled at you.

“Ivar- I-I…” You began, before his strong hand around your throat stopped you in your tracks.

Seeing your startled reaction to his anger seemed to switch something in Ivar. Though he was infamous for his rage and his bloodthirsty reputation on the battle field, you were his wife and though many saw him as a brute, he didn’t want you to despise him. Ivar had worried what you’d think of him or that he’d ruin his chance at this relationship working out, that’s why he’d been so distant.

His breathing seemed to calm, his breaths coming out in slow huffs through his nose. Though his grip on you loosened and his breathing slowed, he still had a dangerous look in his eye.

His eyes never leave yours as his hand around your throat descends. The light touches across your chest and abdomen surprise you, there was fire in his eyes but grace in his touch. As his hand makes its way to your hip, he grasps it tightly in a strong hold. Though his hold was strong, it was not violent, it was filled more with passion then pure anger.

“What my brother says about me is true, my cock does not work. Though I can not bare you a child, I can however still bring you pleasure and consummate this marriage.” He confidently declares to you.

His gaze was so intense and his voice so powerful, you had not noticed that both of his hands had moved to the neckline of your dress. It wasn’t until you heard a loud ripping sound and you were pulled slightly away from the door that you noticed where his hands had moved to. Your eyes widened and your body shuddered, but whether it was from the strength your new husband had just shown or from the sudden warmth of the fire on your exposed skin, you couldn’t be sure.

Taking his eyes away from yours, they traveled down to your now exposed breasts. His strong calloused hands began holding and squeezing them, looking upon you with marvel.

“You are a beautiful woman, and you deserve someone who can provide you with the pleasure you deserve. Let me show you how much pleasure I can provide.” He tells you, his eyes once again landing back on yours, his gaze softer now.

One of his hands leaves your breast, making its way to cup your cheek lovingly. You lean into his soft touch as he brings his face closer to yours. His lips press against yours in a kiss that is both gentle and passionate. Your tongues do not meet, but he seems to have no problem showing his passion and causing your core to flutter in excitement.

“Take off your dress and lay on the bed for me, my beautiful wife. I will show you just how much pleasure a cripple can give you.” He tells you, his forehead resting against yours as dominance returns to his voice.

Intrigue filled your body and mind as you quickly pushed off the door, the eager way you rush to remove your clothes causing your new husband to chuckle. His eyes never leave your body as new skin is exposed to him.

Finally laying on the soft furs of the large bed, you find your breathing getting heavier just from watching Ivar make his way over to you. Though he walks with support from a crutch, there is still dominance and power in every step.

Finding his place on the edge of the bed, his fingers lightly trace from your ankle to your inner thigh, goosebumps following the path of his light touch. His passion filled eyes meet yours again as his fingers inch closer to your core. Your legs instinctively bend and spread at his touch.

Taking his other hand, his strength surprises you once again as it wraps around your thigh and drags you closer to his seated spot. Your surprised yelp quickly becomes a moan as his fingers make contact with your warm wet core. He has barely touched you and already your body is alight. Dragging his fingers up and down the length of your pussy, his eyes marvel at the way your body responds.

“You’re so beautiful and you’re all mine.” He speaks softly, almost like he’s speaking to himself.

“All yours, Ivar.” Your soft voice speaks up, causing his head to shoot up, like you’re a dream he’s just realised is real.

His eyes become slightly dangerous again as his strong fingers begin to push into and circle your sensitive bundle of nerves. The way your head pushes back into the soft bed and the sweet moan that escapes your lips, drives Ivar wild. He craves to hear more of your sounds as he positions his body to be between yours legs.

Leaning down he begins to bite and kiss your already quaking thighs, desperately trying to pull more of those sounds from your gorgeous lips.

The feel of his fingers on your clit mixed with the hot kisses he leaves all over your sensitive skin is quickly pushing you to your release. You can feel your core tightening, desperate to come undone.

“Oooh-Ooohh! Ivar, I’m gonna cum!” You call out, your nails digging into his strong forearm.

“Mhmmm. Do it, my love. Scream my name and let everyone hear who makes you feel so good.” He demands, the force and speed on your clit growing more intense.

“Oh fuck! Ivaaarrr!” You scream out in pleasure as your head shoots back in pleasure and your nails dig into his skin harder.

As you lay there catching your breath, you barely register your husband manoeuvring your body to lay against his against the headboard, until you feel his fingers on your sensitive clit.

“Ooohh Ivar! It’s too much!” You pathetically cry out.

His strong arm wraps itself around your centre, holding your squirming body still. You attempt to escape the intense pleasure by closing your legs, causing Ivar to growl and bite at your neck.

“Do not deny me your sweet sounds, my darling wife. I wish to draw as much pleasure out of you tonight as your body is able to take. Be good and keep your gorgeous legs open for me.” He growls lowly in your ear.

Though the overstimulation begins to hurt slightly, you can not deny such a command.

Your next orgasm approaches embarrassingly quickly as you loudly shout Ivars names once again, your head slamming back onto his chest. Ivar chuckles delightedly at your state of overstimulated pleasure.

Once again giving you no time to come down from your orgasm, Ivar deftly thrusts two fingers into your wet pulsing pussy.

“Oh fuck!” You shout out in surprise at the intrusion.

Wasting no time, his fingers begin to curl and thrust into you as his arm holding your middle moves slightly to rub your clit. The combined pleasure of Ivars skilful fingers hitting the sweet spot inside you and rubbing deliciously on your clit is too much for your body to handle, and once again your body thrashes and scream out in overstimulated ecstasy.

“No more, Ivar, no more.” You weakly beg him, your mind feeling fuzzy and your body heavy at the way he’s now made you cum three times.

“Just one more for me, my gorgeous princess. I know you can give me one more.” He almost begs you, sweetly kissing the side of your face as his hand strokes along your inner thigh.

“Just one more.” You weakly nod to him.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” He excitedly chants as he kisses your cheeks and his fingers return to your clit.

The light chuckle that his sweet kisses cause are quickly cut off by a loud moan of pleasure. This being the fourth time of the night you will cum, your body takes barely twenty seconds before it is thrown into a feeling of blinding ecstasy once more.

The pleasured scream that leaves your body is animalistic as your body goes completely limp against Ivar. Breathing heavily, your eyes begin to close as you feel sleep taking over you.

“You did so well, my love.” He gently coos as he positions you under the soft furs.

His strong arms wrap around you and you feel a sweet kiss on your forehead before you fall into a blissful sleep.

#Ivar #Ivar imagine #Ivar x reader #Ivar the boneless #Ivar the boneless x reader #Ivar the boneless imagine #Ivar Ragnarsson #Ivar Ragnarsson x reader #Ivar Ragnarsson imagine #Vikings #Vikings imagine

[literatureatthebowofnails]

A/N: Looking forward to your feedback

Series masterlist

Pairing: Loki x reader

Summary: Your first trip to Asgard

Warnings: Vomiting, fluff, angst

You land on Asgard, clutching Loki's arm in a death grip. Your nails dig into the black leather of his jacket, knuckles white as you fight to keep down your breakfast.

At Loki's other side, Steve Rogers grasps Thor's shoulder to steady himself. Beside you, Director Fury stands almost entirely still, the only sign of movement a slight flapping of his coat.

"Welcome to..."

"I'm going to be sick," you cut off the gatekeeper, releasing Loki and running to spill the churning contents of your stomach off the bridge.

You look up and see a grand procession approaching from further down, their guilded armor bright in the morning sun. Leading the group are four warriors: a stunning dark-haired woman, a blonde with a charming grin, a stout soldier sporting wild facial hair, and an overly serious crusader.

You wipe your mouth, feeling better but still unsteady on your feet as you return to the circular chamber. "Sorry," you mutter.

"Don't worry about it," Steve says. "I was a mess on my first visit."

"Um, thanks." You don't really believe him.

"I am Heimdall," the golden god continues, unfazed by your interlude. "Gatekeeper of Asgard, protector of the Bifrost, and seer of all things."

At this point, the entourage arrives. "May I present Lady Sif, the Warriors Three and the Einherjar," Thor makes your introductions, noting that Rogers and Fury are already acquainted with the leaders.

Three horses are presented for your journey to the palace. You perch nervously at the front of your saddle, grasping the horn for dear life. Loki swings up gracefully behind you and reaches around to control the reigns.

"It's alright, darling," he coos, wrapping an arm snuggly about your middle. "Nótt is steady and true. He will deliver us safely, I guarantee it."

You take a breath, trying not to shudder or look beyond the bridge. "It's my first time."

"And you're doing splendidly," he hugs you closer and you begin to relax as you watch Steve cling to Thor's waist.

Fury kicks his steed to a trot, joining Hogun at the head of the group.

☕

The five of you gather in an antechamber, preened and swathed in Asgardian finery. Rogers and Fury are called first, leaving to greet the court. After some time, you and Loki are announced.

He takes your hand, placing it around his arm before entering the grand golden hall. You walk side by side down the long aisle to the throne. Loki's steps are assured, his pace steady, honed jaw set in determination. The crowd claps respectfully, their observance subdued, even hesitant.

You reach the stairs below the throne and bend in a nervous curtsy. The prince gives his father a minimal bow; enough to show the necessary respect, but not a hair more.

"My son," Odin addresses Loki. You watch as his lip gives a slight twitch of irritation. "Welcome home."

"Father," comes the strained reply.

He then turns to the stately woman on your left. "Mother," he greets with a warm smile.

The queen comes to bestow a kiss on each of her son's cheeks. "It's so good to have your home." She turns to beam at you. "And you must be the gracious lady my sons speak so highly of!"

Loki provides your name and you exchange pleasantries with his parents before standing beside the queen, opposite Steve and Fury.

"Thor Odinson!" the herald bellows, followed by a roar of cheers and clapping from the crowd. The crown prince swings his hammer around, eliciting further excitement. You give Loki's hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Father! Mother," Thor greets as he approaches, kneeling before the throne. "It has been too long."

"Too long indeed," Odin beams with pride for his first born. "I fear that if it were not for these mandatory check-ins, I we would never see you."

"I was here only a month ago," Thor's brows draw together in confusion before he brightens like a lightbulb. "Loki and I will make a point to visit more often." The dark-haired bother exhales a measured breath beside you. You doubt he plans to follow though with that promise.

☕

While the king reviews his youngest's contributions to Earth's safety, Queen Frigga invites you to tea.

Guiding you along a winding garden path, the matriarch asks how you and Loki are settling into your new space. She listens with interest to the explanation of your minimalist design preferences and methods taken to assimilate his more extravagant leanings.

Eventually you reach a grand birch tree. Beneath it sits a table set for two. A tiered tray boasts bite size sandwiches, petits fours, fruit, and madeleines. Small jars of curd, cream, jam, and honey surrounded it, with a heaping plate of scones and large pot of tea to complete the spread.

"I'm impressed to hear how well you collaborate with my youngest," Frigga comments as she pours your tea. "He's not always the most amiable, but he's unfeigned when it comes to you."

You smile, adding cream to cool your steaming china cup. "I think people rely too much on first impressions. Though impulsively acting superior when he feels insecure doesn't exactly help matters."

The queen nearly spills her tea, covering a smile. "That's quite an astute observation."

As your meal comes to a close, Loki appears. "I take it you're becoming better aquainted?"

"We are indeed," Frigga confirms. "I'm so glad you've finally introduced us."

"Mother," Loki smiles, "you know you're always welcome to visit Midgard."

"Maybe we should make a formal invitation?" you suggest.

Your trio walks slowly back to the palace, discussing potential opportunities for the king and queen to visit New York. A pattern forms with Loki suggesting inconsequential dates, and Frigga being forced to "remind" him they're during occasions that require the Alfather's presence onworld.

Before you part ways, Loki stops a passing servant and requests they show you to his chambers, noting he requires a moment alone with his mother. You say your goodbyes to the queen until supper and her son assures he'll join you imminently.

Tags in comments because I got trigger-happy posting this one 😆

Main masterlist

#loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki fanfic #loki #loki odinson #loki smut #loki x you #loki x female reader #loki/reader #fic rec #14 doses of delirium drabble series #admiral at the bow of nails #loki marvel #loki fluff #loki x y/n #marvel loki #loki god of mischief #loki imagine #mcu loki #loki fanfiction #loki friggason #loki x reader smut #loki/you #dandelion fluff #my writing

[avoxrising]

The Feral One • Ch 30

Finnick x Y/N

Series Masterlist Link

I can’t believe this is the last chapter 😭 Enjoy!

Content Warnings - none :)

On the one year anniversary of Snow’s death, aka Freedom Day, you married Finnick for real. He had proposed to you in your garden a few weeks after you’d returned home from the capital. You said yes of course.

Your friends traveled from all over Panem to witness your real special day. Katniss and Peeta (who were on good terms but not quite dating yet) took the train from 12, dragging a not so sober Haymitch along with them. Beetee, who is now living in the capital as Panem’s head of military technology, arrived along with Effie and Tigris. Finally, Johanna arrived a few days early from 7 to spend some extra time with Annie (much to Mags’ delight).

Mags, Annie, and Jo had decided that wedding planning was their new favorite activity and planned the whole thing for you and Finnick. They even arranged for Peeta to make and decorate the cake again. Tigris designed your dress and Effie helped with the makeup.

Everything was perfect. Finnick had suggested that Mags officiate the wedding because in District 4, it’s tradition to have the elder of the family perform the ceremony. Although neither you nor Finnick had any living relatives, Mags was a mother figure to both of you.

The ceremony commenced half an hour before the sun was set to disappear over the waters. Beetee had designed cool contacts for everyone so they could watch the sunset behind you and Finnick without going blind.

District 4’s wedding march boomed out over the ceremony as a group of local children played it on their hand drums. Your dress flows beautifully behind you as you walk your bare feet down the sandy aisle, without the assistance of anyone else.

You catch Finnick’s eyes as you approach him and Mags. He’s standing there in awe of you as he wears somewhat casual dress pants and a flowy button down shirt. Mags signals for the children to stop drumming when you reach Finnick.

Mags pulls out a net, handwoven by herself, to drape over you and Finnick. Finnick has to help her a bit due to her height but eventually you’re both caught under the net. Mags proceeds to sign the ceremony dialogue as the net rests over both of you.

When she finishes the formalities, she has Finnick lift the net off and wrap it around your shoulders, securing it so it doesn’t slip while still allowing your arms to move freely.

You take the bowl of salt water from Mags and dip your fingers in it before gently gliding them over Finnick’s lips. He then takes the bowl from you and traces your lips, leaving saltwater in the wake of his fingers.

This is where District 4 does the vows. You both do your best to convey in words your love for each other but words can’t possibly describe the depth of your love.

Finally, your love is sealed in a salty kiss. Nothing else matters in this moment; not the watching crowd, not the scars of your own battles, nor the pain you had endured. Your life was complete as long as he was in it.

To everyone else, you’re a survivor, a human, a warrior. To yourself, you’re healing, you’re safe, you’re loved. To him, you’re everything.

The epilogue will be out sometime soonish (I still haven’t finished it lol but I promise I’m working on it).

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#hunger games #finnick odair #hunger games fic #the hunger games #finnick odair x reader #finnick x reader #finnick odair x you #finnick x y/n #finnick fluff #thg finnick #finnick odair fluff #the feral one