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xdead-writers-societyx · 7 months

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Sȳz Riña

Synopsis: When your two dragons catch you dancing with another Lord, it's safe to say neither is best pleased. Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader x Rhaenyra Targaryen

Warnings: General HoTD shenanigans such as sexual themes-oral, penetration, spanking, threesome- incest, vulgar language, and the sort so please if any such things make you uncomfortable or if you're underage do not engage with this post or I will feed you to my dragon!

1,955 words

A/N: I'm just so down bad for these two I couldn't help it, I'm sorry!

With your hand clasping tightly to the skirts of your dress you danced around the room in circles laughing politely with your partner, some Lannister Lord or another whose name you couldn’t really recall holding happily onto his hand while he spun you merrily around the marbled floor. Glancing towards the royal table you caught the gaze of your blatantly bored older sister from where she was perched beside the King, that was until your eyes drifted across instead capturing those of a dragon.

A fire was ablaze behind Daemon Targaryen’s violet eyes as he watched you floating across the floor with your hand entwined with another mans. Casting a glance to his side he saw his wife with a similar fire simmering behind her own as she tightly gripped her goblet taking a rather large drink of the sweet wine in an attempt to smother her own fire.

Having noticed them staring you smirked amused at the sight of your two dragons teetering on the verge of burning Kings Landing to the ground so you turned now wrapping your arm around the neck of the young Lord pressing yourself against him to whisper in his ear, “This has been lovely though I’m afraid I must cut our dance short my Lord.”

Before there was any chance of a reply a large hand was wrapped firmly around your wrist spinning you until you were faced with the leather-clad chest of Daemon. Your nameless Lord excused himself as the Rogue Prince’s wrathful glare bore down upon him, “Rhaenyra is quite tired, and it appears that you have had more than enough to drink Dōna Riña. We shall be retiring to our chambers for the night.” His voice was no more than a harsh whisper against your ear as the heat of his breath upon your face ignited something deep in your stomach. (Sweet Girl)

Staring up at him wide-eyed and pleading a sorrowful pout pulled at your lips, “But I’m having such a nice time with Lord Lannister, Ñuha Dārilaros.” Your voice dropped to a sultry purr at the end of your sentence knowing very well the effect your use of his ancestorial language had on the man. (My Prince)

His hand moved quick as a whip from your wrist to grasp the nape of your neck roughly yanking you closer to his strong body forcing you to face him, “Do not make me take you here in front of all these people.” Leaning down he pressed a searing kiss upon the shell of your ear before continuing, “We both know that I would do so with no quarrels.”

This pulled a whine from your parted lips knowing that he was being completely truthful and would gladly follow through on his threat, so you nodded. Seemingly satisfied with your submission he took a hold of your hand using it to lead you through the crowd of dancing bodies, into the halls of the Red Keep and all the way back to the chambers you were occupying where Rhaenyra was already awaiting the two of you.

Upon entry your eyes widened as you stared shamelessly at Rhaenyra whose bare body was proudly on display lounging across the bed her ringed fingers gently smoothing over the silken sheets. Your already hazy mind drifted even further at the sight of her unceremoniously dropping Daemons hand your steps quickening in your rush to launch yourself above her lips immediately seeking out her own.

She laughed softly at your antics before reciprocating your affections her soft pink lips now moving in tandem with your own, moaning against her you made a move to deepen the kiss only for her warm hands to take hold of your cheeks lifting your face so you could see each other, “I thought mayhap you would rather accompany Lord Lannister to his chambers tonight, Ñuha Jorrāelagon.” Despite her gentle tone, you could still see the poorly concealed embers simmering deep inside of her. (My Love)

Suddenly a pair of rough hands were lifting you from your position atop the Princess instead having you stand upon the cold stone floor of your chambers, “I have half a mind to go back out there and take that Lannister cunts head for the audacity to touch what is ours.” Daemons voice was firm with no hint of a jest in his voice as he spoke, his fingers expertly working to loosen the ties of your dress, “Don’t think you will not be paying for the fun you had yourself tonight.”

Due to the fact that he couldn’t possibly see your face you dared to roll your eyes at the overly possessive Prince, “I hardly think that I did anything wrong with a simple dance.” You drawled while accepting Rhaenyra’s offered hand as you stepped from the dress that now pooled around your feet, “You’d think I was on my knees sucking his cock for all to see with the way you are acting, Ñuha Dārilaros.” (My Prince)

No sooner had the words left your mouth did a soft yelp escape as Daemons hand harshly connected with the delicate flesh of your backside though it was promptly soothed by the soft hands of Rhaenyra, “The way his gaze never faltered from those marvellous tits of yours,” Daemons voice was deep with a mixture of anger and lust as his hand slithered up your body his fingers pinching cruelly at your pert nipple, “That is precisely what that cunt was thinking.”

Head shaking you decided to instead look down upon Rhaenyra your hands running smoothly over her shoulders as hers remained grasping the red flesh of your rear, “Please Nyra, speak sense to your husband.” Earning yourself yet another hard slap you huffed in feigned annoyance, “It was merely a dance, Ñuha Dāria.” (My Queen)

A contemplative noise left her as her hands ran around your body rubbing at the softness of your pillowy thighs while she slowly parted them from her seated position on the bed, “Mayhap our Sweet Girl is right, Valzȳrys.” Rhaenyra’s carnal stare held you captive as she moved to feather open mouthed kisses over your mound completely avoiding where you needed her the most, “It was after all merely a dance.” (Husband)

A jovial grin spread across your pretty face at her words your hand weaving itself through the bright tresses desperately urging her closer till she happily darted her wet tongue out to tease over your needy clit.

Palms still full of your heaving breasts Daemon removed his face from where it had been nestled into your neck delivering a series of delicious kisses and dizzying bites, “You are too quick to give into her every demand, Ābrazȳrys.” Despite his chiding words he easily manoeuvred you from the warmth of Rhaenyra’s mouth before carefully tossing you into the centre of the large bed. (Wife)

Finding himself as the only one remaining clothed you watched with heavy breaths as Daemon started slowly removing his garments starting firstly with Dark Sister which was hanging comfortably from his lithe hips, “Nyra..” Whining pleadingly for her she smirked crawling over to you till she lay with an elbow propping her up greedily taking your hard nipple into her mouth.

“Spread your legs.” Before you even had the chance to comprehend the command your legs had fallen open of their own volition as Daemon loomed above you his leaking cock heavy in his hand, stroking it as his sinful eyes never wavered from the attack Rhaenyra was laying upon your tits, “There’s our Good Girl.”

“Sȳz Riña.” Rhaenyra purred her agreement as she removed herself from you swinging her leg over your body and positioning herself to straddle your chest while her hands lovingly caressed your heated face. (Good Girl)

The intrusion of Daemon's finger entering you had your eyes widening and a wanton moan clawing from deep inside you, “I’m going to fuck you.” He spoke clearly his chin sitting atop Rhaenyra’s shoulder allowing him to stare down at your flushed face for any sign of discomfort as he added another finger beginning to thrust them slowly into your sopping hole, “And you are going to make Nyra cum on your tongue before you even think about cumming. Do you understand, Dōna Riña?” (Sweet Girl)

Nodding your head frantically your hands gripped Rhaenyra’s plush thighs in an attempt to pull her closer to your mouth, “I understand, Ñuha Dārilaros.” Grunting his approval Daemon disappeared from your sight moments before he was thrusting his hard cock deep inside your tight hole, “Fuck..” Taking this as her cue Rhaenyra turned herself around before lowering herself softly onto your face her hands fondling with your tits willingly taking everything that you had to offer her.

Tossing herself forward in her throes of pleasure Rhaenyra’s hips worked hard as she ground herself energetically against your skilled tongue that worked fervently to bring forth her release, her own tongue tangled against that of her husband the pair sharing a passionate kiss full of love and lust while Daemons thick cock was fucking into you at a brutal pace leading you to a fast-approaching high.

“Don’t stop Sweet Girl, you’re doing so well!” Moaning noisily Rhaenyra’s damp forehead pressed upon her husband’s strong shoulder as pleasure slowly overtook her, “Fuck, right there!” Removing a hand from her thigh you coated two fingers in her wetness before pushing them into her quivering hole which is all it took for the dam to break her sinful cries echoing throughout the room while you fucked her gently through her high.

Rhaenyra’s limp body collapsed beside you her head resting comfortably on your still-heaving chest her hand snaking to join her husband’s cock as his thrust became harder his hand moving to apply pressure to the delicate column of your throat, “Such a fucking Good Girl making her Queen cum so hard.” Keening happily at his praise you clenched around him as Rhaenyra’s expert fingers worked circles against your throbbing clit, “Fuck! I shall fill your pretty cunt full of my dragonseed.” Groaning as you gripped him tighter his body lowered capturing your lips in a searing kiss being sure to do the same to his wife as her ministrations against you sped up, “Would Īlva Sȳz Riña like that?” (Our Good Girl)

“Please..” Whimpering your hand tugged harshly against his silver locks the merciless pounding of his cock driving you impossibly closer to the edge of your high, “I want it all. Kostilus, Ñuha Dārilaros.” Your breathy words seemed to have their desired effect as the muscled body above you tensed a series of vulgar grunts leaving his parted lips as he fucked you full of his cum which was enough to tip you over the edge your tight cunt clenching around him milking every drop until his exhausted body slumped atop you. (Please, My Prince)

Laughing quietly at the sight Rhaenyra removed her hand from between the two of you moving from the bed to clean herself before returning mere minutes later with a damp cloth in hand, “Let her breathe Daemon!” Chastising him she shoved the larger man from you till he lay breathless and panting beside you while she cleaned you carefully aware of how sensitive you were, “That’s much better Dōna Riña.” (Sweet Girl)

Settling herself into your side she scattered mellow kisses all across your blissful face, “If I see that cunt so much as look at you again, I shall take Dark Sister to his head.” Having regained his breath Daemon grumbled earnestly rolling onto his side to kiss your temple his arm laying across your waist positioning you flush against him his hand rubbing patterns into the skin of Rhaenyra’s hip.

#hotd #hotd smut #daemyra #daemyra x reader #daemon x reader #rhaenyra x reader #daemon targaryen #daemyra smut #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon smut #rhaenyra smut #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x reader #rhaenyra targaryen x reader smut #daemon targaryen x reader smut #daemrya x reader smut #hightower!reader

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marthawrites · 1 month

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Could you write smut for Aemond targaryen with the prompts 17,40,44,47,53 and 54 maybe with a targaryen reader? Just something gentle, sweet and soft <3 btw I’m talking abt this prompt list

I absolutely can! Apologies for making you wait since January for this. I hope you're still around to see (and, fingers crossed) enjoy it!

"Vok" (Perfect)

Aemond Targaryen x sister reader

Word count: 2.6k+

About: You and Aemond pledged to each other long ago. Tonight, beneath the blanket of darkness, you revel in each other's adoration.

Includes: SMUT. Featuring brother x sister incest, Aemond is soft but only to his little sister, dirty talk, female masturbation, guided masturbation, praise, unprotected vaginal sex, and a splash of breeding kink

Note: Hello lovely reader! It's been a hot minute since I've wrote Aemond - the posters and trailers have me going (affectionately) insane! Triple warning: this fic is brother x sister targcest. If you do not like that KEEP ON SCROLLING. This is my first time writing this dynamic. Reader is implied to have silver hair, pale skin, and purple eyes. Everything else is up to you! As always, I hope you enjoy this fic! ❤️

To the realm, Aemond Targaryen was the cruel prince. Aloof, stoic, unforgiving.

To the realm, he was an ambitious and willful young man who rode Vhagar, the largest and oldest dragon in the world–the same dragon who helped Queen Visenya conquer Westeros.

To the realm, he was the second son of King Viserys. And, as such, would play the game of nobility by putting duty above love–marrying outside of his Targaryen lineage to seed dragons further into the world.

To you, his little sister and second daughter of King Viserys, he was your protector.

Your secret.

A poorly kept secret in some corners of the castle; nosy servants and their obnoxious fucking tendencies. But, with Aemond’s less than idle threats about cutting the tongue out of anyone’s throat who would speak about it, it ended up being a well-kept secret.

The second son and second daughter of the Dragon King; who better to love, and cherish, and pledge to, than each other?

Aemond would sooner die than see you marry off to some lowly lord of a “great” House. You were the blood of Old Valyria. Everyone–no matter their feats–was lowly in comparison to you. And you, his sweet sister, deserved only the best.

Barely a year separated your ages. Neither of you remembered a life without the other.

Long before you gave your maidenhead to your brother you gave him your heart. And your heart he held.

The night was late. These dark hours were some of the only unadulterated times you had together. Aemond kissed you slowly, passionately, gently stroking along your cheeks with his thumbs as he did. You were tangled in his bed together. You, stripped down to only your shift, and him, stripped down to only his sleep trousers. One of your shift’s thin straps kept sliding down your shoulder, and each time it did Aemond’s warm mouth kissed over the smooth lovely skin. You panted soft sounds–each feminine simper jolting right to his cock–as he lavished you in affection.

“You’re kissing me silly, lēkia (brother). My head feels full of bees and I’m hot. So, so hot,” you whispered against his kiss-swollen mouth. “Will you not feel for yourself?” He hadn’t yet made a move to touch you where you really, truly, wanted him; something that had you whining and pouting. While his hands alternated between stroking your face and groping your body–waist, hips, thighs–yours were buried in his hair. It was all down and free. The silken sheet of it spilled over his shoulders, spilled over you, and you relished the feel of it inside your hands. Against your bare skin. “Please?”

“Please what, hāedar? (little sister)” He asked, voice mellow with just the right amount of rumble from his chest.

“Please touch me,” you answered, back naturally arching to press your soft body against the hard planes of his own.

Another low sound came from him. He pressed a warm, wide palm up the perfect curve of your back until he squeezed into the nape of your hair. “Such a pretty word from a pretty mouth. Have my kisses made you ache with need, byka zaldrīzes (little dragon)?”

“Yes.” The single word, its single syllable, rolled off your tongue before your brain even fully registered his question. You stared at him desperately. One eye was so beautiful; so ancient in its color and proclamation, just like your own. The other reflected faceted edges of the sapphire he wore in place of his missing eye. You didn’t know which was more enchanting.

“How long can you go, hm? Without me touching you?”

“W-what?”

He laughed. A rumble beneath his pale, taut chest. “How long before you succumb to madness by me not touching your perfect cunny?”

“Aemond…,” you whined. Pitiful. “Not much longer! Please, lēkia, I need you, please.”

A serpent’s grin curved his mouth and darkened his eye as he shifted positions with you. Now, he sat upright with his back against his headboard and pulled you to sit in front of him.

You nestled between his legs, your back flush with his chest, and his stiff cock rested against the small of your back. A blush bloomed beneath your cheeks. You knew lust ran as wild in his veins as it did in yours.

“Tell me, sweet sister…,” he started, whispering by your ear. Both his hands cupped and squeezed over your breasts. Their softness melted against his palms and he groaned at the sensation. Perfect. You were so fucking perfect. “Have you touched yourself to peak before?”

A stammer replaced the little mewl in your throat. “H-how do you mean?”

He laughed again, pinching your nipples. “Mm… are you sure?”

Lust and need and fire roared in your blood to the point of almost drowning everything else out. “I d-don’t understand,” you admitted. But, it was a lie. You knew what he meant. You could only hope he’d go easy on you so you wouldn't have to admit, prove, or say you knew what he spoke of.

“Why are you playing shy with me, hāedar? I think you know exactly what I mean. There is no shame in it,” he spoke sly, hands pushing the hem of your shift up until he held the material in a fist upon your abdomen. With his other hand he tugged your smallclothes down your bare legs, tossing them off. The flats of all his fingers ghosted over your exposed cunt. Testing you. Feeling you. He hissed an inward breath. “Fuck–”, he growled. “‘Tis a good thing I was born a prince. Gods know if I had this wet little cunt between my thighs I wouldn’t get anything done. Ever. For how often I’d fuck myself silly on my own fingers.”

Aemond’s vulgarity sent a coil of tension wringing in your belly. Slick arousal pooled hotter beneath his touch. Your clit throbbed–the little pearl silently screaming for attention. “Yes,” you breathed, shuddering.

“Yes, what?”

Your older brother wasn’t going easy on you. “Yes. I… I know what you speak of. And.. yes, I do. Sometimes…,” you admitted with a wave of embarrassment.

Somehow he grew harder against the small of your back. He throbbed. “Show me,” he demanded.

“What! Aemond, no. Please, please, please no. Don’t make me show you.” Mortification replaced your previous embarrassment. Yet, your spine quivered with another rush of liquid arousal.

“I would love nothing more than to see how you bring yourself pleasure. Do you think of me when you do, byka zaldrīzes?”

You nodded. Dizziness warbled your brain.

“Such a sweet perfect thing,” he cooed. He'd felt that nervous energy tense you. He also saw the exquisite thrum of your pulsepoint beneath your neck, too. Two sides of the same coin: carnal desire. When he spoke again it dripped with wicked passion. “Don’t be nervous, I'll guide you through it.”

It had been quite some time since you last brought yourself to climax all on your own. Aemond was always more than eager to give you pleasure. Tonight, however, something was different. Idly you wondered what it could be. Before you thought about it too much, Aemond guided your dominant hand to that delicate space between your thighs. You gasped at the sensation of your own touch. Torture never felt so divine. Your little bud sang as you circled it, rubbed over it. You sighed sweetly. “How did you make me so wet?”

It took controlled effort to not spill himself across your back at that very moment. “Spread your legs for me, princess. Let me see and hear what you’re doing.”

You obeyed. With your legs spread wider, now, it was all the easier to resume your previous motions. Flicking and rubbing over your bud felt divine–excited little sounds already spilled from your mouth. You ached inside, too, wanting–needing–to be stretched around something. The memory of Aemond's long fingers pumping into you while his thumb claimed your clit had your face hot. You couldn't reach those same spots he could. You bit your bottom lip, whimpering.

Aemond watched from above with a hungry lecherous eye. Beneath your shift he could see your breasts, slope of belly… and then further below, your creamy thighs spilled wide open. Fuck–he was so hard his back hurt. Your girlish sounds sent his desire blazing. “Your little clit is so achy, isn’t it? I know how much you like it played with,” he said by your ear. “Do you ever go inside?”

You nodded, allowing your head to fall back against his shoulder. You stayed on your pearl, still, legs tensing with bliss as it warmed and tingled your blood.

“Show me,” he growled again. “Be a good girl. And afterward? Don’t worry, I'll take care of you. Promise.”

Without hesitation you pushed two of your fingers into your warmth. Your body squeezed around the intrusion, inner walls flexing, trying to pull them in deeper. A gasped moan left your parted lips. “I-I’ve never done this before.” You’ve never shown anyone this before is what you meant. Aemond knew what you meant.

“I know. Shh… it’s okay, I'll guide you through it.” He gently touched the top of your hand and relished your little tendons flexing with the effort of your self pleasure. He pushed–coaxing your fingers deeper, silently urging you along. More.

Soon the wet sounds of your hand against pink swollen flesh mingled with your moans. Lewd. Dirty. You tried to stay quiet. You really did. But it felt too good, and Aemond’s hand on yours guiding you along had your toes curling. Of course he would help you. Of course he wouldn’t let you do it all on your own. “Aem..!,” you whimpered, hips rocking with your movements. “‘M close.”

“I got you,” he whispered, voice heavy.

As soon as your fingers found that little patch of hidden nerves along your walls, you weren’t able to hold on much longer. The bliss, all at once, became too much. Tension snapped in your belly as colors flashed behind your closed eyelids. Your legs trembled at the tip of your peak, and as you crested downwards Aemond held you tighter against him.

“Vok (perfect),” he said as he watched you. How perfect you were with your silver hair framing your face. How perfect you looked when ecstasy became too much. How fucking perfect your eyes were as they opened and locked on his, bright and glassy with excitement.

You carefully pulled your fingers free and began to turn around to face him. Before you could, however, he held you tighter against him. Confusion furrowed your brow and whatever you were about to say was cut off by his impatience.

“I’m greedy, byka zaldrīzes. Go on, one more time. I know you can do it. Show me again how you peak.”

Without arguing you again settled back against him. You planted your feet along the outside of his legs, spilling your thighs open wider than they were before. You angled your hips to the perfect position and this time a third finger joined your previous two. This time you fucked yourself without shame–not that you held on to it long in the first place.

Aemond all but snarled behind you, absolutely ravenous at the sight of three of your little fingers pumping and curling up into your body. He moved a hand downward, too, and the pads of those fingers worked over your clit in time with your pumps.

“Gods! Aem–!” You quivered against him. The addition of his lascivious attention had your hips squirming. Wanton moans, no longer trying to stay quiet, had your mind blanking. Nothing existed outside of you and Aemond. Nowhere existed outside of the spaces in which your bodies touched. Climax found you faster this time. Your second orgasm had you crumbling against him. Sweat sheened your brow. Your face bloomed. Sated. You were wholly sated.

“Good girl,” he praised. “Such a good girl. Giving me exactly what I wanted,” he kissed you, stealing your lips in a kiss that had you floating all over again. You could have fallen asleep right there in his arms and been the happiest thing in the realm. Breaking away, he added, “now I’ve a promise to make up to you, hm?”

Honestly, you’d forgotten about it. But, now that he mentioned it, your belly did a silly little flop.

With great care, Aemond moved from behind you and stood. Offering a hand to you, he said, “take your clothes off and lay on your back.”

And with that, you both finally shed the last pieces of your clothing.

Laying like he said, you leaned back on your elbows to prop yourself up to still see your brother. Spilled messy hair, tall lean body littered with nicked scars, sapphire eye on full display…hard cock blushed angry red with need. They say Targaryen’s are closer to Gods than men, and with the hearth’s orange light reflecting on his ivory form, you believed him to be a God.

Aemond thought the same about you as you laid there bathed in the moonlight and hearthlight.

“Spread your legs for your lēkia, I want to see you.”

As soon as you did–proudly showing off the slick mess of two climaxes, Aemond pumped along his rigid length. Despite butterflies twirling in your belly, your smile up at him was purely feline.

To Aemond’s credit, his voice only broke slightly when he said, “get on your hands and knees.”

You did. You dipped your spine as low as it could comfortably go, propping your ass up for him. As much as he loved fucking you with your legs wrapped around his waist, you knew he loved this position, too. “Māzigon va, lēkia (come on, brother),” you purred. “Keep to your promise.”

In an instant one of his hands squeezed harshly into the fat of your hip while the other spread the meat of your ass apart. He planted one foot firmly on the bed, and the other stayed rooted on the ground. The position gave him more leverage, and power, and control as he loomed above you. With a flex of his entire abdomen he pushed forward; the hot stretch of your body around him had both of you gasping. “I plan on leaving a babe in your belly tonight, hāedar. That way mother will have no other choice than to wed us,” he groaned, pulling backwards only to snap his hips against the smooth underside of your cheeks once again. And again.

You fisted the sheets as Aemond fucked you. You moaned your delight at his words, nodding. “Yes, please,” you panted. “Faster,” you begged.

His thrusts were precise and brutal. The slap of your smacking skin was utterly depraved and you hated–no, loved–how it made you impossibly wetter. Aemond did too. “Already squeezing around me? Fuck–I’m not going to last much longer,” he said, strained.

You began to push back against him, meeting his thrusts halfway with a frenzied need to make him release. “Fill me. Fill me up, Aem,” you still begged, breathing heavily.

He rutted against you with the same need–a primal haze taking over as his stones began to tighten. His fingers dented firmly into your flesh as he continued plunging in and out of you. Instinct to spill his seed built by the moment and soon he became sloppy. He grunted and growled, and with a final shove–cock buried as deep as it could be inside your walls–he spent against your body’s end. Pulse after mighty pulse emptied his spend into you. Stray strands of hair stuck to a sheen of sweat upon his forehead.

You joined him in peak; left boneless and exhausted after three orgasms. Even at the top of your bliss, and his, he never eased until you were both done.

Aemond pulled his softening length out from you and urged you to fall forward upon his bed. You followed his motion and happily laid there. Naked, glowing, and full. You reached a hand out to pull him to you. “Avy jorrāelan (i love you).”

Aemond easily settled next to you, scooping you into him. “Avy jorrāelan tolī (i love you too),” he said between slow, satisfied kisses.

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider a follow, and/or reblog, and/or letting me know as it all makes me vvvery happy! ♥

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Masterlist

Main taglist: @watercolorskyy @melsunshine @girlwith-thepearlearring @arcielee @barbiedragon @targaryen-dynasty @succnfuccubus @fan-goddess @schniiipsel

Aemond taglist: @darylandbethfanforever9 @bellaisasleep @aemondsblog @khaleesihel @sirenofavalon @doublesparrows @aemonds-fire @nikstrange @abbyandizzysmum @rafeism @lost-and-founds @castellomargot @avidreader73 @snh96 @boofy1998 @connorsui

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond smut #aemond fic #aemond request #aemond imagine

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bunicate · 1 month

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rambling abt diluc’s relationship with his sister from the maid, adelinde’s pov ♡ im pretti sure dis was an ask I received on my old blog too ! !

adelinde didn’t have much expected of her besides her daily cleanings and the occasional rotation of taking out the trash, but recently she’s been burdened with the task of looking after you.

you’re a troublesome girl to tend to.

she would never say it out loud or let her feelings show, but master diluc had you spoiled rotten. you were the only one allowed to disturb him in his study and demand the most menial things for the sake of his attention.

you're often half-naked and oversleeping when you weren't bothering him.

she frequently dresses you, and brushes your hair so you could look presentable in front of your brother, and you would insist on only the shortest dresses and skirts. or flat out refuse to have your blouse buttoned all the way. she wouldn’t dare to speak out of turn, but your bosom was nearly visible at all times.

she doesn’t acknowledge her master's subtle glances towards the swell of your chest, or his hand that rests too closely to your bottom.

you both were closer than most siblings. that she knows, the other maids all witnessed it but wouldn’t speak of it lest their master would catch them.

it was an enjoyable job, and it would be a shame to lose it because diluc caught their loose lips flapping away.

adelinde was quick to regard the interactions as siblings who simply cherished each other.

although you’re a handful, you’re also sweet and thoughtful, and she could see why diluc treated you as such. she often helps you clean up your messes from making strawberry tarts, and other little gifts that you give diluc. by the end of the day, you’d be exhausted, and each time she’d lay a blanket over your slumbering body when you waited up late for diluc.

she’d watch you until she’s interrupted by her master's arrival.

“thank you, adelinde. you may go for the night. i’ll take care of her from here,” he’d say.

like routine, she’d bow.

“well then. goodnight master diluc.”

she would watch him slowly collect your body within his grasp, gentle enough not to disturb you from slumber.

he’d pull back the hair that obstructs your face and adelinde could never forget the look of utter tenderness that seeped into his visage.

a certain kind of love unbinds the furrow of his brow and eases the tension in his broad shoulders. his figure would then disappear into your room, and that would be the last she saw of you both for the night.

the next day when adelinde knocks on your door to come in, and you’re already awake.

your pajamas are revealing as always. a skimpy underwear and a strapless cotton top. your hair covers it, but she makes out the bruise on your neck, and she ignores it.

she tries not to appear uncomfortable when you walk downstairs in the same attire and diluc don't even seem phased. he just puts you on the kitchen counter, feeding you blueberries for breakfast.

touches and the palatable air isn’t enough to jump to conclusions, but she supposes she no longer had a choice anymore when she mistakenly walks into the living room and witnesses such a sweltering kiss.

her master trails his hands on the cheeks of your butt, groping the flesh while he buried his tongue in your mouth.

adelinde is stunned at the sight. her master was kissing his little sister.

a sensation she’s unfamiliar with runs down her body. his tongue is so much larger than yours, wrapping around your smaller one, swallowing your breathy cries. his hands cup your face, and it’s then she realizes how large those gloved fingers really are.

carefully, she watches them trail downwards, slipping into his pants to pull out his thickening and leaky member.

adelinde , felt fear and a tinge of arousal.

he was going to insert his cock between your folds. your pretty silken folds, that sweltered with lust. his dick was hard and angry, and your body looked too perfect — too delicate to be touched.

adelinde licked her lips as diluc entered inside of you. your back arches and your tits jiggle from the comedown of his hips. he fucks into you at a rapid pace, and the sound of wetness on his cock destabilizes the maid's ability to react appropriately.

the moistness is audible between the slaps of skin and the loud cries.

the sheets darken with sweat and cum. your skin is bitten and then kissed, and your moans reverberate in the same room.

the air is hot and sticky and adelinde feels a knot in her belly. she quickly darts out into the corridor and begins to dread the following day. anxiety pricks at her skin at the fear of facing you both once more.

she knows that she’ll have to clean you up in the morning and face the dark truth about her master and his younger sister.

#𝚜𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚕𝚎𝚜 ⪩⪨ .𖥔 ݁ ˖#lulu ❤︎#:] adelinde mite like reader jus a teeeenzy bit #jus a tiny bit #diluc x reader smut #diluc x reader #genshin smut #tw:incest

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historiaxvanserra · 2 months

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These Violent Delights | Chapter Three

Summary: The day has come for you to forsake the safety of Velaris and make your solemn oaths to Beron Vanserra; the cruel and tyrannical High Lord of the Autumn Court and his son Eris Vanserra. Your mate. Cruel and beautiful and yours.

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Archeron!Reader

Word Count: 8k

Main Masterlist

Waking from the ether feels like being torn from your old life again. You need a few moments to shed the fleeting remnants of your mortal life; the winter cold as it permeates the thin walls of the cabin, the warmths of the sister nestled at your side, that feeling of hunger like a devouring cavity that lives within you even now and that dresser-- adorned in painted flame, flowers, eternal night and the murky depths of the sea. That dresser haunts your memories almost as often as that infernal Cauldron.

In these moments when sleep still shrouds your conscious mind, you give leave to your anger; it runs like water into old wounds and it festers there. The saltwater purifies in ways that fire cannot. In a few moments, when the visions abate you, then you will be able to face the fire. To watch as the hues of your bedroom move from murky green and chalk blue into pearl and burning gold. For now, let the morning come in with the subtleness of the tide.

You're still cocooned between silken sheets, allowing the sunlight to thaw out the morning chill from your bones, when you notice the wraiths as they work. Nuala and Cerridrwen are the personification of shadow and smoke as they glide through your rooms, drawing the curtains with a flourish as golden light seems to pour into the room. Nuala tends to your laundry while her sister begins to draw your bath. The smell of steam and wildflowers from the meadow fill the air; juniper berries and chamomile soap that seems to cling to you.

The sound of the water lulls you into a misty wakefulness which is sullied by the opening of the apartment doors again. This time three sisters spill into the room, each dressed in varying shades of night; black, navy and indigo, accented with jewels strung tight against the hollows of their throats and the morning light catches in the crystals and casts the room in speckled light.

With as much grace as she can muster this early in the morning, Elain unceremoniously slumps down on your unmade bed and crawls to sit beside you as you once had when you were girls.

“Get up!” Nesta commands briskly leaning against your vanity.

“Morning, love,” Elain says, her voice airy on the morning breeze. She looks particularly wraith-like this morning, her eyes are ringed purple and her rich sienna irises are glazed over, glassy and veiled with a milky film that speaks to an oncoming vision.

Your bed shifts under the weight of movement again as Feyre places Nyx, swaddled in his favorite blanket, into the space beside you. He moves against the confines of his wrappings, coiling and loosening and he is half-free before you pull him into your embrace. His smile and quiet babbling tugs on your emotions in a way that almost feels like a carefully crafted ruse.

“Using the baby against me is cruel.” You chastise, pulling yourself to sit against the headboard as you take Nyx in your arms so that he is resting on your knees.

“I know but you really do need to get up.” Feyre says, still half-wrapped in the arms of sleep herself. Feyre is the night; dark, and vast, strangely comforting.

“The High Lord has asked to see you before the ceremony,” Nesta says. Her voice is filled with something sharp and wicked. They’re all looking at you now; each saturated in her own shade of sympathy as you resign yourself to action. Rising from the bed in feigned indifference, you wordlessly hand Nyx off to his mother, before walking over to the copper tub in front of the dying fire. The cold copper draws the heat from your skin and in its wake leaves an icy metallic sting that cuts bone deep.

“Very well then,” You say with a heavy sigh, “I best not keep him waiting.”

You look to your sisters then, once they had been three girls; mortal and each afraid and now they stand before you half-divine and formidable. And where did you stand amongst them? You don’t feel particularly formidable.

You feel fractured, all adrift in a violent sea.

So today you will wear your sisters virtues like armor. Until you have sworn yourself to him.

“We’ll not keep you,” Nesta says, cutting through the poignant silence as you rise on uncertain feet towards the tub nodding curtly at them as they disperse.

The swathes of your ivory nightgown pool like water at your feet as you wade into the tub before sinking low into its comforting warmth. The water is white-hot, burns in the most sadistic way, and when the burning subsides it gives way to a misty wakefulness saturated by the aromatic smell of juniper and jasmine. You recline your head against the lip of the tub and cast your gaze to your sisters again. .

In this light Nesta looks like a vision; draped in black and silver, her hair braided like a crown atop her head and her face has an austere beauty that could bring a King to his knees. Nesta is a silver flame; wrathful and vengeful, and should she let it, her fire would ravage worlds until all that stood between her and total destruction was herself.

Eris is flame too; terrible and red. Slow-burning, all-consuming and utterly devastating.

Like calls to Like.

Once your sisters have left you let yourself sink into the scalding waters, sinking lower and lower until you are submerged entirely; the water becomes you and you it. Nesta always said that you were water; calm and clear with a dangerous anger that swells like a storm under the skin's surface, violent like the sea. And should you let it, the tempest will tear you apart, and perhaps the world with it. Looking up from underneath the fractured rays of sunlight spill into the room and pierce through the dark waters– there is something sacred in that sinking feeling. Then visions come to you in flashes of black, red and–

“I dreamt of you last night,” It’s Elain’s voice that lingers on the edges of your room. It’s airy and haunting and her eyes are wide and glassy as she exhales. Elain is flowers; painted in the pastels of Springs early blooms and her hair shines like shadowed sunlight in the pale morning.

“I dreamt of you and him.”

“A dream or a vision?” You ask, your voice wavering and curious.

Elain takes a tentative step into the room, her fingers buried into the skirts of her dress and she broaches the subject again, “I hadn’t had a vision in months”.

“But last night I saw you.”

Elain’s soft hands brush over your own, the tips of your fingers tangling together and your draw in a sharp breath as something in you calls to her and all the breath is taken from you when she reaches out a pale hand to your cheek.

It burns through you like fire and Elain begins to speak.

'These violent delights have violent ends

And in their triumph die, like fire and water,

Which as they kiss consume.’

Elain falls through the ether with a deep inhale as the trance falls away from her and she scrambles to find something to ground herself in those moments.You brace yourself against the lip of the tub as Elain falls to the floor in tears, hands desperately grasping for anything to hold onto. Soaked to the bone and bare to the world you take your trembling sister in your arms and hold her there until the ragged breaths soothe and settle to a steady inhale-exhale. You run a confronting hand through Elain’s unbound hair, pressing a chaste kiss against her hairline repeating the words to her. It’s okay. I’m here. Elain looks up at you through dark lashes, wet with unshed tears when she whispers hoarsely.

“Please don’t marry Eris Vanserra.”

---

The cloister in the royal temple on the outskirts of Verona is steeped in near darkness save for the jade light from the stained glass windows that pierces the veil of the dark, like sunlight as it cascades down into the murky green depths of the river that flanks the Autumn’s capital city. There is a solemn silence that hangs in the air and for a moment this room feels more like a watery grave than a quiet reprieve from the ceremony below. The orchestral music plays and you pick out the sounds of lyres and harps as their music washes over you. You suck in a sharp breath and all at once you feel panic hit you like a raging tempest, wild and raging as it drags you into its merciless depths--

The sharp knock on the screen door reverberates through the silence of the cloister.

“Come in.” You say, your voice hoarse and shaky as clutch at the tight lacing of your corset, trying to catch your breath again. Light spills into the room like the tide and you turn, half-expecting to see one of your sisters standing there, her face painted in sympathy as she takes you in her arms and whispers a few comforting words to you.

The man that stands before you is a much more volatile prospect indeed.

“My Lord.” You greet him coldly.

“High Lord now, isn’t it?” Beron Vanserra offers you a saccharine smile as he crosses the threshold of the makeshift bridal apartments. He’s dressed in a deep crimson tunic, embroidered with threads of gold; It is wholly perverse for a man so cruel to look so poised and striking. You notice the way his shoulder length hair looks like polished bronze and his eyes shine like onyx in the morning light as he regards you.

“Don’t you make a beautiful bride,” Beron’s voice is laden with false flattery, undercut with an air of threat, “you’re going to make my son a very happy male.”

Beron all but leers at you. His eyes trail lazily over the curves and divots of your body in the obscenely intricate dress he had chosen for you. It is adorned in rubies and pearls that catch in the light like drops of blood. You feel your skin begin to crawl when he presses a chaste kiss to your outstretched hand.

“It is a shame about Eris though.” Beron says dangerously low, as if daring you to ask what it is he means.

“The flowers look very beautiful” you muse absently, it is all you can offer him-- some small, non-committal response to placate him.

Beron pays you no heed.

“I’m assured no expense has been spared with the ceremony.” Beron continues, picking at some stray threads on the sleeve of his tunic. His lips are set in a straight line and you notice the grimace that graces his features as he takes in the decor from your spot in the cloister overlooking the antechamber of the temple.

The walls are carved into ivory marble and sandstone, and the high, Gothic archways are adorned with carvings of mythological heroes and Princes from songs. The large circular window behind the altar is decorated with stained glass that casts a myriad of dappled light onto the marble tiles. You swallow thickly thinking of the obscenely large sum of money being spent on your mating ceremony to the Autumn heir.

“So I’ve heard, High Lord.” Beron nods at that, the use of his title softening him to you again and you dip your head in a show of false deference.

“Yes, well,” Beron says, his lips twitching lightly as he traces the swell of your breasts and the slope of your neck, “I have reason to believe you will be worth every penny.”

Beron takes a step towards you and you loose a breath as he draws nearer still. His frail, aged hand reaches out to touch you. From your position in the cloister Beron Vanserra towers over you. His presence is a looming reminder of your position in this world. His slender fingers feel warm and smooth against the skin of your throat as he tilts your chin so that you are looking in his eyes. You wonder if Eris’ touch feels as perverse.

It wasn't that night in Hewn City, you remember. That night he had touched you with such careful reverence.

Like you were a Goddess worth kneeling too.

“You should be warned,” Beron says to you, his eyes bore into yours and in them you see something akin to devilment cross them. Beron’s voice is soft and pensive in a way that seems rehearsed “The Autumn Court is an inhospitable place for outsiders.”

“Rhysand might be content for you to play at war and politics but you will find that in Autumn it is not becoming of a Lady of your position.”

“Yes, My Lord” you say, your voice equally as soft, with an almost breathless quality to it as the realization of his words takes root in your chest. Your heart is thunderous in your chest-- it beats so loud you’re sure The High Lord of Autumn is privy to it.

Beron hums thoughtfully as he lets go of your chin once more.

“Eris has a dangerous temper -- the fire runs hot in his veins” Beron’s words are chosen carefully, crafted to intimidate. “I can assure you he will not abide these foolish notions any more than I will.”

You nod meekly, recalling the words of Elain’s vision. These violent delights will have violent ends.

“He might be blinded by the thought of a pretty face and a tight cunt for now but it won’t last.” He muses to himself and again you see that light fade from his eyes and morph into a sadistic joy as his words spark outrage on your face.

You don’t dare look at him again lest he see the tears that have gathered at your waterline. Beron considers you for a moment, sweeping you up in his hold so that your arm is wrapped around his bicep loosely and he begins to lead you from the darkness of the cloister and into the light.

“And what will my position be at court?” You ask carefully, observing the harsh set of Beron’s jaw as you talk.

“As Eris’ mate you will be a Lady of the Autumn court -- you’ll take tea and play cards, attend balls -- bear him sons.” Beron laughs, casting a glance to you as you continue your descent down the temple stairs before he takes his leave. Then he is gone with the wave of a hand and he leaves the charred scent of wyrmwood and valerian root in his wake. You lose a shaky breath and try ceaselessly to wipe the unshed tears from your eyes before continuing your descent into the heart of the temple.

Your storm rages violent and cold then; You were born from the depths of the sea. To be cruel and beautiful. You are not some docile little girl or a brood mare destined to bear sons and obey.

You are a storm incarnate and by the time you are done, the whole world will know it.

The temple in Verona is carved deep into the natural sandstone of a cliff face, its sharp peak cleaving it from the valley and river beyond. The grand temple overlooks the river and on days such as this, the smell of seafoam and salt, stains the air. The stained glass windows line the junction between the walls and ceilings, and illustrated in them, is the story of birth, creation and rebirth. It breeds a strange sense of reverence in you. As the sun filters through the windows in beams of shadowed light, the aisle is dappled in a technicolor glow. The air is thick and heady with the smell of wine and smoke and from your spot at the end of the aisle, you can see The High Priestess intoning her mass. The Priestess is obscured by plumes of incense smoke and the flicker of candle flame illuminates her face. She is a vision in the lonine orange light; she is heavily veiled, runes adorn her arms and face, and her eyes shine with a cerulean clarity as she chants her blessings to the Fae in attendance. Her altar is littered with offerings to the mated pair, amphora’s of fae-wine, bouquets of lilac and patchouli, small trinkets and garlands of laurel and pomegranate. The temple is alive with ceremony; a possession of veiled priestesses, anointed with incense, leave a trail of petals in their wake, as they kneel at the foot of the altar before filing into the pews.

“Last chance to run!” It’s Cassian’s voice that jolts you from thought.

He laughs as you clutch at your chest as you reel from his intrusion. He’s dressed in his ceremonial uniform; it’s much prettier than the frayed training leathers you’re used to seeing him in. His broad shoulders seem to strain against the navy fabric that is decorated with embroidered silver brocade. His hair is pushed back behind his ears neatly, a few errant strands catch on the breeze and he looks more like the Cassian you had grown to care for.

“I think it’s a little late for that now.” Rhysand says pointedly to Cassian as he retreats into the aisle to find his seat at the front of the temple with the rest of your family and friends.

On the opposite side of the aisle Beron Vanserra stands near the altar along with Eris and his favorite courtiers and trusted soldiers that gather behind him to bear witness to the hastily brokered mating ceremony his father had managed to coerce you into. And there’s a woman. She’s tall and beautiful with hair the color of sand and a face that is bright and warm. She looks out into the aisle with contempt and then back again to Eris and from here, on the outside looking in, you can see it. Not quite love but fire; consuming and searing through her and the heat seems to seep into his bones as he turns around to meet her eyes and you can swear you see the ghost of regret grace his face.

You will make him kneel to you, you think. As you had done that night in Hewn City. He had called you Goddess then.

A storm incarnate, you remind yourself as you approach the aisle hesitantly. Violent, merciless, and beautiful. With all the force of a raging tempest.

As the orchestral music begins to sweep through the temple you feel Rhysand clear his throat and come to stand at your side, his eyes burning holes into the side of your face. Rhysand is dressed all in black. In his High Lord robes he cuts an intimidating figure. In this holy light he looks quite beautiful, in a boyish sort of way, never really having shed that youthful magnetism that seemed to enamour everyone so. On any other day, you wouldn’t have looked twice at Rhysand but as your freedom hangs precariously in the balance you want to cling to something you know-- something warm and familiar and safe. So you take his arm as he guides you out into the aisle.

Your vision is partially obscured by the light mesh veil that adorns your face. It’s honey coloured and decorated with tiny ruby crystals that fall like tears. The dress itself looks like wine red; satin and chiffon that clings to you like water as it marks the contours and caverns of your body in a way that makes you feel laid bare. The fabric is gathered about your bust delicately and accentuates the slope of your shoulders. Rhysand’s cool fingers rub comforting circles into the flesh of your arm where he holds it tight. He feels your tense involuntarily as the harps swell to a stop when you step up to the heart of the temple.

Then you see him; it’s hypnotic and slightly aggravating as he examines you, his eyes trailing over your body and coming to land on your face. He looks at you and you feel as though light goes all through you. He’s steeped in jewel tones that saturate him in autumnal light as he stands against the cool marble and stone of the temple. His hair is tousled and rust coloured in the half-extinguished candle flame and his eyes shine like amber, incandescent and devastating. His tunic is jade coloured and embellished with gold thread along the cuffs and collar.

“Come forward, child,” the Priestess gestures to you as you take a step towards the altar, bowing your head in a show of devotion. She takes your hand in hers and kisses it chastely, murmuring a blessing against your skin. She repeats the action for Eris before gesturing to you to face him. When you turn to face him he takes a step forward on certain feet and takes hold of the sheer fabric that veils you, briefly admiring the feel of it between his fingers before bringing it over your head in one fluid movement so that your face is entirely unobstructed from view. Eris burns bright; a slow-burning flame. It’s warm and all-consuming but no less volatile, no less devastating. As the priestess continues to intone her blessings, you and Eris stand, looking at each other in the light searching for something to cling to in each other’s eyes in those sinking moments. In a flurry of movement the priestess takes your hand again before pressing the ceremonial blade to your palm, the metal glints in the dappled light and a slicing burn gives way to blood that pools like rubies at Eris’s feet.

Stepping to the altar he grasps your hand in his as a pained hiss escapes you. His hands are broad and warm and his fingers are long and graceful as they ghost over your cold skin. Your fist clenches in his unrelenting grip and when he feels it, he yields to you, his hand going slack as your fingers curl around his. He had the strange tenderness of someone who has never been loved, it seems almost rehearsed. His palms and the pads of his fingers are rough and mottled with fire and the way he holds your hand in his is possessive.

Sacred and perverse.

His hand pulls away from you now and in turn he offers it up to the priestess, she turns it over in her grasp and slices into his palm as she had done to you. He places his hand in yours again. Palm to bloody palm as he sinks to his knees before you. He kneels to you in his own show of reverence; you, the visage of some ancient deity and he, the last devotee.

Eris Vanserra works diligently, threading the ribbon through your joined hands, binding your bloody hand to his. The crimson ribbon that joins you, a representation of the oaths by which you are bound together.

Your shared sin.

The words come next; spoke in unison and recited like a prayer:

Ode to my love;

Blood of my blood, bone of my bone;

Here, I surrender myself unto you;

In sight of The Mother;

I give that which is only mine to give;

My word, my bond, my fealty,

I pledge to shield your back, and keep your counsel,

I pledge that yours will be the name I cry aloud in the night,

And yours the arms in which i wake

I pledge to you my living and dying;

I am yours and you are mine,

From this day until our last day.

The next few hours seem to pass in a perpetual state of anxiety induced haze and you bear witness to it all from somewhere outside of yourself; a ghost or spectator to the tragedy that had become your union to The Autumn Prince.

Your beautiful mate.

This should have been a happy occasion; the union of two souls, bound together by the Gods themselves. Born from the same star. But Beron Vanserra had robbed you of any romantic notions that today is anything but a warning fire.

You are a vulnerability. His mate. And whether Eris Vanserra loves you or not Beron intends to exploit that vulnerability; a pretty ornament to bring Eris to heel.

The ballroom is a show of opulence; soaked in the amethyst fae-light and chandeliers glitter like moonglow on open water. The paintings hang on the wall, rich oil on canvas, framed in gilded gold and the high table is decorated with fine ivory place settings and delicate china adorned with painted autumn leaves. The retinue of Beron’s courtiers look like a jewel-toned fire; flames of amber, topaz, and ruby that burn through the cool light of the ballroom as they take to their seats. It’s a great farce. The way that the colours of night and autumn come together in a crude harmony. You wonder if Eris sees it too.

The music is soft and loud and mixed with the laughter and idle chatter the hall is a cacophony of sound, no longer ceremonial and orchestral but rather, jovial and light-hearted with an undercurrent of anticipation. From your position at the heart of the high table, you can see the courtiers of Night and Autumn mingling on the lower tables, and as the fourth course is served, it seems inebriation is beginning to set in. Their faces in the crowd are exaggerated and expressive, the distinct wine-blush staining the room a specific shade of hedonism. The air is thick with it, wine and body heat. It’s almost tangible.

The sound of Cassian’s voice echoes along the high table as he and Nesta seem to be in the midst of a heated debate. Feyre and Mor are quietly discussing court gossip with animated gasps and hand gestures that you only catch from the corner of your eye. All of that is drowned out by the conversation between Rhysand, Beron and Eris.

You only stare on, watching and waiting as the evening begins to unfold before you.

You cast your eyes along the table to see that it is laden with food; roasted meats, and seasonal vegetables, garnished with fragrant spices and herbs that taint the air with their aroma. It’s pure gluttony. More food than you have ever seen, piled high and largely untouched. It seems cruel to you. To be confronted with such abundance now, when once, hunger was all you knew. It should feel like heaven to live in the knowledge that you will never know poverty again but sometimes it feels like condemnation. To live knowing that your life, meagre as it was, had been stolen from you and in its place, this.

The stiffening of the body next to you brings you back from the precipice. Eris is a vision in the sapphire light; his face is beautiful in the most conflicting ways. He’s all delicate and angular; soft slopes and harsh lines that come together in opposing harmony. His face is a perfect juxtaposition. He’s a slow-burning fire tangled in the amethyst moonglow.

“You should eat something,” His voice is tense and low and he doesn’t deign to look at you when he speaks. Even his presence is contradictory in nature; the way his face is set in a neutral expression that arches on contemptuous, and yet, his hand, still bound to yours, is warm and tender, as the calloused pad of his thumb strokes slow tortuous circles into the skin of your hand.

“I’m not hungry,” it is a lie, an obvious one at that, as at that moment your stomach seems to betray you. He laughs then. Much to the ire of Beron who sends one measured glance to his heir, never quite looking away from Rhysand as he talks about some foreign policy or the other.

The laugh itself is not wholly cruel but teasing, meant to make you feel small as he finally turns his gaze on you. It’s fierce and piercing, warm and you think that when he is looking at you the whole world melts away for a few moments. Eris is handsome; of that there had never been any doubt. Especially in this light he almost takes your breath away.

“Please eat something, little fox.” is all he says finally, cutting through the tension that had settled over the two of you.

You laugh back at him now as he watches you carefully, his stare is unyielding and burns into the side of your face. Yet you refuse him the satisfaction of looking back at him. It is Beron’s stare that has you shrinking in place, searing and critical as it bores into the side of your face. It is then you notice the woman he had brought with him looks at you both with a peculiar mixture of envy and scorn that makes heat coil in your stomach, it creeps up on you, kissing its way up your throat and ghosting over your cheeks, leaving blush stains in its wake.

You look at him once more, forlorn and dejected when he won’t meet your gaze. You look down to the space between you to the place where your hands are bound to his. Your hands are clasped together and come to rest on your thigh innocently as his thumb continues to rub small circles into the skin of your hand. It’s absent-minded and self-soothing on his part. You doubt he realizes or cares about the comfort it has been bringing you in these moments when you feel like you are drowning. So you surrender yourself to the tide.

You are the sea; wild and untamed, sacred like salt. A force to be reckoned with. And try as he might, he will not burn you.

When your stomach elicits another growl you relent to him and decide to eat something after all even if the satisfaction on his face is enough to awaken the storm brewing inside of you. It’s not quite anger but either way, it washes over you and awakens you with a jolt.

With your free hand you grab the first thing in front of you; pomegranate, ripe and sweet-smelling and red. Red like the thread that binds you to him. You spend a few moments contemplating it before letting your free hand fall to your thigh, to the place where his body joins with yours. You begin tugging at the binding in an attempt to free yourself from his tender grip.

“No!” His voice is louder and sterner than he meant for it to sound as he pushes you away with his unbound hand.

“Why not?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at the harsh tone in his voice, “it’s just a stupid ribbon.”

You attempt to free yourself again, only this time his grip is rough and unrelenting.

“That stupid ribbon is thousands of years of tradition, girl.” It is Beron’s voice, cruel and malignant that chastises you.

“My apologies.” you say dumbly in response, looking down to where your hands are joined in shame, “forgive me High Lord.” You’re not sure if it's Beron of Eris you are apologizing to. But it is Beron’s words that play on your mind.

Eris bids you to look at him when his father is once again taken into conversation with Rhysand and you notice then how Eris’ amber gaze softens with his grip as he lets go of your free hand and he waves you off as you look on apologetically. These are the traditions of his people. And foreign as they are to you, they are his; yours now too you suppose.

“The ribbon signifies the sacred vows we have made to each other.” Eris explains carefully and those amber eyes never once leave yours. Even as he brings his free hand to cradle your face in one hand, or as he runs a tender thumb over the the smooth flesh of your cheek.

“I’m sor-” you move to apologize again though the words are cut short when Eris squeezes your hand comfortingly beneath the table and offers you a secret smile. A secret courtesy to be kept between you and him.

“Think nothing of it, wife.” There’s a little bite to the words that speak to his jest and you feel once again that you are talking to the man that had enamored you so that night in Hewn City.

He clears his throat again to speak.

His voice is measured and calm this time as he says “It can’t be removed until the wedding night.”

“The wedding night?” you ask, looking up at him as he turns away again.

“Until the marriage has been consummated.” Eris clarifies, not daring to look at you he shifts a little in his seat, crossing his boot-clad leg over his knee.

“Ahah! The bedding!” Beron leers at you and you notice the twitch in Eris’ jaw but his face remains set in a perfectly neutral expression before morphing into his own rehearsed smirk. He mutters something to his father that you can’t quite catch but whatever it is, it is enough that Beron hums in satisfaction and turns back to The Night Lord of Night with a dangerous smile on his lips.

You swallow hard.

Your throat goes dry and makes it harder to swallow your dread. Silence settles over you both again, you’re not sure that he notices or pays much mind to you in those moments but drowning in the silence, you feel his hand squeeze yours with a fond pressure that makes your heart swell with something close to affection.

After a few more moments of that awkward silence and his hand squeezing yours, you dare to look along the table again. Beside you Rhys is sat in a grand chair that marks him as a High Lord, next is Feyre who cradles Nyx in her arms as he sleeps soundly despite the music and chatter of the courtiers. Nesta and Cassian seem wholly immersed in each other, each drinking deeply from their cups as their conversation becomes louder. At some point, she catches your eye and quirks a brow at you in question. You can’t think of what to do so you only shake your head a little in response, hardly enough for anyone else to notice.

Moving on you find Azriel in the crowd, he’s pressed against the wall, drink in hand, spectating from the sidelines as he does, lying in wait for something to catch his attention. Something does catch his attention though; it’s you. He sees the way you watch him carefully. There was something dark and reassuring in his eyes, a wordless conversation contained between you and him in that moment. He’s been a friend to you this whole time, and his distrust of Eris meant he was the only one openly vocal about his reservations regarding your marriage to the Autumn prince. Apart from you of course. Azriel slinks off into the shadows and not long after you notice that Elain has also managed to escape. There is some amusement in how obvious they are in their affections for each other and yet, not one person is observant enough to take notice of it.

“Your sister, Elain,” he starts, there is a menace in his voice and a thread of amusement as he cocks a brow to Lucien who is dancing with Feyre now, “She’s my brother's mate, yes?”

“She is, My Lord.” You nod, your eyes fixed on Lucien, who had been begrudgingly invited and you find yourself enamored by his graceful movements as he sweeps Feyre up in one fluid motion, turning with her in his arms before placing her on the ground again. Lucien is beautiful you think; not in the same way as Eris perhaps, Lucien is sunlight where Eris is fire-- but beautiful still.

“Have you noticed the way she always seems to disappear in a room full of people and no one seems to notice,” It’s not meant to be a jape or a taunt just simple observation on his part as his eyes scan the room and Elain is nowhere to be found amongst the masses of bodies.

“The spymaster, too.” he adds, his tone is careful and bereft of emotion.

“How strange,” you say, offering him a weak smile in response. Any smart retort lives and dies on the tip of your tongue at that moment and you’re left trying to scrape some dismissal together but no matter how hard you try, nothing will come forth.

“Perhaps they have retired to their beds for the night.” he offers, a sly smile on his beautiful lips.

Clearly, someone else is taking note.

He turns to you then and you can see the wicked smile that takes over his features but it is gone just as quickly as he looks down at you clumsily holding your knife in hand in an attempt to tear open the fruit in front of you so that you may finally eat.

“Here,” he says softly, reaching over you with his free hand to take the pomegranate from your hands, “give me the knife”.

“Don’t trouble yourself, My Lord,” you say quickly, your hand covering his to stop him in his tracks.

“No you don’t” he says simply waving your hand away again. Eris holds out his large hand to you, his palm open and expectant as his eyes find yours. Gods, he is devastating, you think. And intimidating. You see a flash of fire cross his eyes and Beron’s words play in your mind once more.

You twirl the cheese knife in your hand once more before handing it to Eris with a trembling touch. Eris is skilled with a knife. His fingers are elegant and deft with a blade like he knows it innately. It is malleable under his touch and glides through the air as he carves into the pomegranate. Fruit flesh relents to the sting of his blade; sweet liquid spills onto his fingers like blood and the seeds shine like rubies in the candlelight. Eris takes a seed between his thumb and forefinger, holding it to the light before holding it to the sulk on your lips. Fruit flesh is cool and wet against your lips, the juice is tart and sweet and red.

Almost metallic.

Almost like blood.

It takes you a few moments to relent to him but when you do, you obediently open your mouth to him; all pretty pink lips and canines. It’s feral the way he watches you. The way you watch him. Like two predators circling their prey. There’s the ghost of a dare glinting in his eyes when you lean into him and wrap your lips around his fingers. It’s metallic and sweet, a heady mixture of skin and seed. You moan gospel around his deft fingers and when you are done he looks as though he is ready to devour you.

The little peace that you had found in those moments seems to subside with the abrupt ending to the music as Rhysand stands beside you raising a glass to the room, with others following one by one to also raise their glasses.

“As the night draws to its close, let me be the first to wish you both well; my greatest wish is to see your bond grow strong, and with it the pledges we have borne witness to today. Your union is tangible proof of the alliance between our two courts and with your love, let those allegiances too grow strong so that we may all know peace and abundance in equal measure.”

As Rhysand’s speech draws to its close you feel Eris’s hand again squeezing at yours as if in warning for what will come next. Rhysand’s words didn’t surprise you as you thought they might, they lacked any brotherly sincerity and in its place was the proof that you had been sold to Eris so that Rhysand may profit off your sacrifice.

“As is tradition, the bride and groom will now retire to their bed.” As those words leave Beron’s lips you feel yourself pale in a mixture of embarrassment and dread. It’s Cassian who draws your attention as in his drunken stupor he hollers at the mere mention of the bedding. Nesta is quick to silence him with a jab to the ribs and she sends you an apologetic half-smile. Not that it appeases you any. This is the fate they have designed for you. It is easier to resign yourself to it, and relinquish control instead of having it taken from you. Breaking is easier than being broken.

As the music begins again Eris seems to don a mask; his smile is saccharine as he rises to his feet in one fluid motion and you follow shortly after. He leads you to the middle of the ballroom and looks again at where your bodies are joined together. He places his free hand on the small of your back and in turn, you wrap your arm around his shoulder. He leads you effortlessly into a slow, sultry walk as you and he slink from the opulent ballroom and into the long, narrow corridors of The Forest House.

“Are you afraid?” Eris asks gently as he examines you carefully and you don’t miss the way his eyes linger at the swell of your breasts or the way his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your hip as he leads you up the grand staircase.

“Should I be afraid, My Lord?” you ask incredulously, offering him a sweet, amenable smile. That is what they want you to be, isn’t it? Agreeable, obedient, docile. A pretty thing to warm his bed and keep his counsel until his father is dead and buried.

He looks down at where your hands are bound together and you swallow hard.

You have already been bought and sold and with every passing second you can’t help but think your fate is to be a broodmare to birth sons and live in quiet isolation.

As Eris’s own mother has.

That behind Eris’s scheming and his initial hesitancy to claim you, there is still a lingering sense of ownership. That he felt entitled to you, to your body and your life should it come to that. All because The Mother deemed him worthy of you. For all his solemn promises he still bought you for a price.

“I won’t touch you,” there is sincerity in his voice that warms you, nerves set alight as his broad hand ghosts your uncovered shoulder.

“Not until you ask me to, anyway,” he adds, there is an air of playfulness in his voice but there is something else. At that moment you are assured that if you would have him, Eris would ravage you. He might be a cruel prince with a wicked temper, but there is an irresistible and undeniable tension between you. Something that calls your body to his. Perhaps it is the wine, or the gravity of the vows you have sworn to one another but either way, this man before you is lust incarnate.

“What if I never want you to touch me?” you retort, there is something unserious about the way you say it. Both of you know that it is only a matter of time before you permit him into your bed.

“I can’t say I’ve ever dreamed of the priesthood.” He laughs a little. It is sweet and careless as his hand dips a little lower on your hips.

“I’m sure you’ll find some pretty little nymph to devote yourself to,” you say, thinking of the sandy-haired woman who had been watching you all night. Eris’ face twists into a fox-like grin. Like he has finally got you right where he wants you.

“Who was the woman here today, the one with the golden hair?” you ask, your gaze wavering under the heat of Eris’ stare.

“Her name is Chryseis, but you needn’t pay her any mind” he reassures you, forcing you to look at him. And only him. He’s right. She isn’t important, not truly. What’s more pressing is the way her eyes trailed you contemptuously and the feeling of volatile jealousy that toot root in your body. It is unnatural and selfish. Whatever Eris and that woman share predates you, and any vows he made to you.

“She is very beautiful” You don’t quite know where the words come from but it tastes like saltwater on your tongue, “Is she what you gave up to have me?”

“She is nothing to me,” he says honestly. You think it is nice to see him like that, in those small moments where he is unencumbered by all that plagues him.

In that moment, you stand there, your hand still bound to Eris and again you allow the world to dissolve like sugar on your tongue when he is looking at you like that. His fire is gentle and slow-burning now, it comes off him in hot plumes of smoke.

“Do you always ask so many questions?” he quips as he tries to catch his breath, painfully aware of how your hearts beat in tandem, “Or only when you’re jealous?”

He’s toying with you now and humiliation coils tight in your chest.

“Why would I be jealous of your lover?” you say, all bared teeth and venom as the tension between you cools to anger. It’s unnerving, and your hairs stand on end in morbid anticipation. As he closes the gap between you so that you are chest to chest. So close that his lips ghost over your own as he comes to whisper in your ear.

“I never said she was my lover” Eris jibes, only half-amused as he takes in the way you shrink before him as his fathers words ring in your ears once again each time you bring yourself to fan the flames of his anger.

“If you want me to forsake all other women, all you have to do is ask.” his breath is hot on your neck and he stares down at you, hypnotized by the rise and fall of your chest. “I offered as much that first night in Hewn City, don’t you remember?”

“Let it be my first act as your husband.” The way he says it is full of ardour and taunt. You’ve no doubt that he would too. But you are the sea; violent and willful and you will not surrender to him yet.

You don’t say anything then only press your bound palm to his before leaning into him. His eyes pierce your soul and warmth pools in the pit of your stomach as his hot breath fans your face, lips coming to meet yours in a tender kiss. Only before you can heed the call of your soul to his, you pull away from him.

Eris hisses at the sudden loss of touch and he drops his free hand and begins to untether your hand from his. He turns his back to you, readjusting his posture to a cool, calculated slouch that exudes an aura of arrogance that he wears so well. The sounds of his riding boots against the tile cut through you like a knife. He tosses his head to the side, long russet strands framing his profile as he speaks again.

“You called me a Goddess once, do you remember?” Your eyes search his and in that strange amber gaze you see the man you saw that night is Hewn City. Wicked and vulnerable and good, despite it all. Eris nods and you watch the long column of his throat as he swallows thickly.

“Tonight I will let you kneel at my altar.” Eris Vanserra moves like a man starved; all teeth and tongue and ardent hands as he pushes you up against the wall outside of him apartments. His kiss is all consuming and devouring as he claims you with reckless abandon. His hands are warm and sure against you; one that holds your jaw gently and the other holds your hip in a bruising grip.

“You are going to be my ruin, wife.” His echoing whisper answers as his figure retreats into the darkness with the promise of what is to come.

#eris vanserra #eris x reader #eris x you #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x you #eris acotar #acotar #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction

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merakiui · 27 days

Text

perverse phantasmagoria: a tentacular theatre for the timid.

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (gender neutral) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, somnophilia, mentions of death/murder, obsession note - something short to satisfy the craving for shadow monster azul.

The monster under your bed is a marvelous magician.

Most marvelous indeed—for he can ensorcell with all manner of fantastical tricks! In flickering candlelight, shapes shift in shadow—a rabbit hopping to and fro or a bird taking flight in a flurry of feathers. A ship sinking in a sinister sea or a worm wriggling through soil. Illusions waltz upon your wall in a graceful ballet, a comforting distraction meant to soothe you to sleep when you grow somnolent.

You are the only one to witness the magnificence of this tentacular theatre. It is confined within the cubic space that is your bedroom, a nightly display projected onto the walls and ceiling, just beyond the curtains of your creaky four-poster bed. He entertains until you’re properly heavy-eyed, slipping through the slivers of reality into fruitful slumber.

While cradled in a sea of sheets, buoyed by curious, curling limbs, you dream of devilish pleasures—of treacherous temptations so visceral they would certainly scandalize the sisters at the church.

The monster under your bed never utters a word, but you know he is there.

He is cold and calm like Death, yet merciful and mystical like an angel. He carries with him odors of the ocean, enveloping you in his briny embrace every night. Tentacles loop gently around your body, sliding beneath silken nightwear, and he plays in the same skillful way he manipulates shadow. You’re strung along the highs and lows of bodily bliss, rocked gently by a creature who dwells in the darkness.

The monster under your bed does not possess a true form, but he holds bright shallows in his eyes.

Shapeless and transient, wavering through dozens of features, he mesmerizes with his stunning hues. They blink at you in the darkness, twin beacons set into a towering lighthouse. You reach for him, pushing past pitch-black phantasmagoria, and beg to see his face. He swallows all light sources, so you will never truly know if there is anything more to those beautiful blues.

The monster under your bed does not have a name, so you call him Azul. Much like his eyes when they pin you to the bed, the name sticks.

A terrible tempest rages outside, rattling the windows in their frames, battering the glass like bullets, and howling through the trees in a most fearsome gale. You lie in your bed, wide-awake and disturbed, and gaze at the canopy. Lightning cracks across the sky in a violent arc, brightening your room for a single second. The thunder follows, rumbling in deep, foreboding notes. With a shiver, you pull your duvet up to your chin. Fear is encroaching. You steel yourself, steady your pounding heart, and inhale sharply.

The monster under your bed is gentle.

He has never hurt you and you suspect he never will. But he is vindictive, a dangerous force who lurks in forgotten corridors and corners during the day. Though he remains out of light’s reach, avoiding the sun’s fingers as they spill in from windows with parted curtains, nothing escapes his glance. He is always watching. You can feel it.

The monster under your bed is brilliant pest control.

He rids the manor of rats and insects alike, swabs the ceilings of cobwebs. He feasts on venomous spiders and snakes, blood drained from carcasses small and large. Trespassers wander far enough to find themselves tangled in the tendrils of a beast. Skeletons snap and shatter in his grasp, so startlingly fast and brutal. There isn’t a scream. No tears. He does not grant them the permission to confess last words.

Flesh rots away, stripped clean from the bone. There is no distinction to be made here. Suitors are trespassers. Thieves are trespassers. Trespassers are trespassers, and they will die as such.

The monster under your bed has a sweet tooth, a discovery you’ve only recently determined. You plate pastries and slide them under your bed, and the porcelain china is returned by morning, licked clean of crumbs.

For all of his mysterious qualities, the monster under your bed is your paramour.

“Azul,” you whisper, your voice much louder in disconcerting quiet. “Are you there, Azul?”

Shadows slither up the expanse of your mattress, crawling over wrinkled linens, to meet you in the gloom. The tip of a tentacle nudges your cheek. The monster—your monster—is here.

“A detective came by today…” Blue meets you in the dark, snapped open at once. “To inquire about a select few.”

He blinks, offering silence as his stubborn reply.

“Missing lords and ladies. They say my manor is cursed and that it is these very disappearances that keep the grounds so lush. An immature accusation.” You search the shadows for a response. “You mustn’t send them to their graves, Azul.”

Another tentacle peels the duvet back to find your hand. It fits into your palm, wrapped tight like a bow on a present. Slowly and slyly, more appendages rise from the space beneath your bed to coil around your person. They massage soothing circles into your skin, exploring eagerly and peppering your flesh in frigid kisses. The effect is soporific. You slacken against the sheets, eyes fluttering shut.

“Mmh… Azul, I’m quite serious…” You close your hand around the tentacle. “You mustn’t—oh!” Your legs are yanked apart then, and a thick tentacle presses up between your thighs. You peer into his narrowed eyes. If you could see his mouth, you’re certain it’d be turned down in a petulant pout. “Won’t you listen to me?”

The tentacles curled around your thighs constrict. He teases your special spot, fine-tuning your body to sing the sweetest of songs. Two more attach to your chest like lecherous leeches, tweaking your nipples under soft suckers. You sigh, pent-up emotions unfurling from their ravel. Lightning flashes again, the rain insistent, and so he drapes a tentacle over your eyes.

“There’s no need to do that.” You run your fingers over it, but you don’t pull it off. “I want to see you. I want to hear your voice. Tell me—” you whine in relief when he pushes in, your anatomy accustomed to his size after months of midnight whimsy— “Let me… Oh, won’t you speak to me, Azul? Tell me—promise me you won’t act so callous the next time I welcome visitors.”

“Intruders,” he finally answers. Despite the malice shot through those three syllables, it is a musical intonation. His voice is deep and dulcet, tickling your ears in the best way.

“You’re being rather unfair in your narrow-minded assessment.”

“And you are not narrow-minded enough,” comes his rumbling reply, synced flawlessly with the thunder just outside. “I shall protect you and this property for as long as I continue to exist. That is my priority.”

Your lips part in a retort, but all that comes out is a shuddering sigh.

“Visitors are not villains,” you manage after you’ve found your voice. “P-Please—aah—be kind… You mustn’t hurt them. They’re—haa—only visitors. I promise you I’m safe.”

“Visitors are the same as intruders. They’re unwanted. Unnecessary. Nuisances. Pests.”

Azul rocks the tentacle deeper inside you. Your nails dig into the one in your hand, and you heave a wobbly sort of groan.

“I won’t arg—ooh—won’t argue with you. I only ask that you understand. They are not dangers.”

“They are,” he snaps, pistoning roughly. You cry out when he pierces a specific spot nestled within. “They will take you away from me. Poison your head with foolish ideas. Destroy our home…”

“T-That will never happen. Not if I can help it.”

Another beat of lightning. Thunder follows suit. Gingerly, he lifts the tentacle veiling your visage. Blue blinks back at you.

“Promise.”

His whisper is broken and sad. Strangely, your heart aches.

“Only if you promise to cease your slaughter. It’s not—” A tentacle presses against your mouth, silencing you. When it draws away to give you another chance, you sigh, knowing just what to say. “Thank you…for protecting me, Azul.”

Satisfied with your submission, he smooths his pace out into slow, sensual lovemaking. You ride the waves of mutual merriment alongside him, no longer fearing the raging storm beyond your room. The world shrinks down to fit inside your bedroom, where paradise is found in the sheets, and nothing else matters here. Swathed safely in shadow, wrapped around the monster under your bed, you drift off into sleepy delirium.

He remains, ever-present like a parasite, the sole actor standing on the stage in this thrilling, tentacular theatre.

#yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere azul ashengrotto #yandere azul x reader #yandere azul #yandere azul ashengrotto x reader #n/sfw #tw: somnophilia

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fanaticsnail · 4 months

Note

Mitski - My love mine all mine

Comfort fic with Mihawk?

Pretty plz oh my sister of mine

(Add smut if you must-but you’re really pulling my arm)

Comfort fic, you say? You get some angst too, sis.

Masterlist here.

Word Count: 1,178

Warnings: angst, longing, fluff, sleeping, embracing (no smut)

Song Suggestion: Mitsuki - My Love Mine all Mine.

Nothing in the world belongs to me // But my love mine, all mine // Nothing in the world is mine for free // But my love mine, all mine, all mine

The halls in the great castle had naught a sound resounding in the chasms. The polished cobblestone lay bare and cold, the warm light of the crystalline chandelier reflecting its small flames atop the surfaces. The darkness from nightfall glistened starlight through the stained glass windows; the moon cascading it’s crescent shape on one of the many portraits that hung high and out of sight within the room.

He had been gone for two weeks, his presence not gracing the ornate floorboards with his silhouette for nine days longer than he promised. He thought the contract would be over swiftly, the great blade Yoru able to cut through anything with one fell, booming swipe. His cloak was dishevelled, his cross was laying slightly askew atop his bare chest. The large, fluffed, white feather in his broad hat was slightly singed around the edges, tanning under the scorch marks to tint it a smoked yellow. It did not go at all according to his plan: get in, get it done, get it over with, and get back to you.

The individual he was stalking had managed to raise an army, something the world government did not anticipate him having such sway nor ability to execute. He was to be brought in alive for questioning, his bounty nullified should he perish below a blade. Dracule Mihawk was tasked with not only capturing this person alive, but also ridding the amassment of pirates that had so readily come to his defence. It took him nine days of combat; never resting, always pushing to get to his target. He was exhausted, his energy resources depleted completely.

As he stalked slowly along the grounds, his staff would turn and halt their movements and chores; offering a swift stoop at acknowledgement of his presence. Mihawk’s shoulders were slumped, hunching down from his great posture as he reached your shared bedroom. Turning the circular handle, he lifted the small latch from its brace against the door and slowly allowed the hall light to break through the darkness.

Atop his large four-poster bed lay his love, his hidden treasure known only to his staff and a handful of others he trusted enough with his secret. His eyes softened, leaning his towering form against the post of the doorframe slightly to take you in. Allowing a soft smile to rise to the corner of his lips, he raked his amber-eyes over you to take in your sleeping form.

You lay in a white silken bed-robe, the fabric of the many layers pooling at your wrists in their lengthy decline. Laying on your side, facing the door, your hair lay gracefully cascading atop his pillowcase. Your right leg bent at the knee, the duvet laying beneath it as to mimic your embrace with your lover; as you would most commonly be cradled against the chest of the warlord as you both slept soundly. Your hand was clutching a single red rose, laying wilting and dried over the mattress alongside his promise to return to you before the cut, thorny rose should ever require water. A single petal fell to the floor as you took a deep breath to indicate your slumber had become interrupted.

Mihawk quickly stepped inside and shut the door behind him, the softest click of the latch could be heard as he attempted to silence his decent. He took his hat off, placing it on the desk beside his armchair, alongside removing Yoru and laying the great blade on it’s wooden, decorative resting hilt. He sighed in relief as the weight had been removed from his shoulders, rotating them to remind his muscles how to behave without harnessing such a weapon. Slowly, he drew his arms out of his cloak, wincing as his biceps contracted beneath the material.

He had overexerted himself, went too hard for too long; something you would chastise him for, he’s sure of it. Placing the cloak on the back of his armchair, he removed his boots and socks from his feet and slotted them beneath the bed. His fingers halted their retract as you let a slow, sleepy moan fall from your lips. Your brows began to furrow as your lucidity continued to propel you within haunted dreams of your love’s demise. Mihawk hastily unclasped the buckle on his belt, pulling in one swift movement to rid it from its place within his pants and tucked the object in one of his boots.

Kneeling his right knee on the bed, he began a stumbled and exhausted crawl to fall his body next to your own. He laced his left arm beneath your right and flattened his forehead against your chest, listening to the slow, rhythmic thump of your heartbeat. The remainder of petals fell to rest atop his curled, darkened locks as he closed his honey-coloured eyes tightly shut. He lifted his right arm to rest over your manubrium, focussing more on his concentration listening to the rhythm of your heartbeat and the rise and fall of your breathing.

In your subconsciousness, you drew down your right hand and laced it within Mihawk’s hair; body completing this soft and gentle embrace from muscle memory alone. The furrow in your brows completely fell from your face and softened in your slumber once more. Mihawk smiled into your embrace, relishing being in the arms of his hidden love once again – albeit nine days late.

He hoped you did not hold such tardiness against him, tracing low circles atop the small of your back before drawing his hand down to clutch the back of your right thigh to hook your knee over the bottom of his ribcage. Sighing into the embrace, he felt your body completely relax into him with a sigh of his own to follow in reaction. The two of you feeling the weight of the absence fleeing from your bodies in this gentle embrace, falling from you in waves of bittersweet reunification.

The gentle light of the crescent moon continued to follow into the room, its light illuminating your embrace through the small partition within the heavy charcoal curtains. Mihawk reopened his yellow eyes, tilting his head up and removing his hand from your chest in favour of brushing a single strand away from your face. Your lips were parted, eyelashes forming a small shadow atop the apples of your cheeks under the light of the moon. Mihawk felt his heart swell knowing you were safe in his castle, slumbering soundly while remaining hidden away from the world government.

Finally having something that was truly his own, not an ability to be used for exploit, nor his vast array of wealth in riches and land. You were his, something that was only for him.

“Sleep now, my love,” he sighed, pressing a lingering kiss against your throat with his eyelashes flickering against the bare skin as he leant in to your embrace. He withdrew his soft touch and whispered against your flesh: “May you forgive me when you wake. I love you, may you continue to be mine. Only mine.”

#one piece #opla #opla fic #one piece live action #x reader #mihawk #Mihawk x you #mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk #fic request #moots #opla mihawk #hawkeye mihawk #dracule mihawk x reader

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photozoi · 1 day

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Mr the Mung Bean and his beautiful half sister, they make a nice brace!

Mr the Mung Bean, Friend Sister- Silken Windhounds

#Mr the Mung Bean #Friend Sister #sighthound #silken windhound #snootblr #photozoi #original photo #4-2024 #get together #puppies

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wilteddreamsofbaldursgate · 18 days

Text

Springtime Caresses

III. Angsty Dadstarion, but it's quite alright.

“Here, papa, here! You have to lie down right here! Don’t move!”

Warm grass tickles the back of Astarion’s neck. With his eyes closed to the bright sun above him, he listens to his surroundings, takes in the bird song and wind dancing through the trees. The static buzz of honey bees. Children’s play.

Life.

He’s not asleep but pretends to be. It’s part of the game, or so he’s been told.

“Sweet dreams, papa!”

Most of his dreams are sweet these days, but he doesn’t mention that, just complies.

The scents of sun-warmed soil and perfectly ripened strawberries carry a promise of summer to his nose, lulling Astarion into a twilight state of content drowsiness. Maybe he will allow himself to fall into reverie, after all. He’s tranced in worse places, and with worse company, too.

But that was a long time ago.

Now, he enjoys ruining his silken shirts with grass stains. Fresh air filling his lungs all day long. The feeling of tiny hands weaving wildflowers into his silver curls.

Even after all these years, this experience will never cease feeling novel to him—the warmth, the tranquillity. This deep sense of belonging.

Peace.

It’s not a sweet dream, but reality. It’s as real as the wild shrieks and laughter sweeping across the meadow. Children jumping over and around him, eager to slay this or that imaginary fiend. The hem of a skirt he mended only last night brushing against his legs. A young boy humming a song his mother sang over breakfast close to his ear.

Astarion smiles, or tries not to, since he’s promised to be fast asleep—even when there’s a sudden tug at his hair.

The humming stops; the laughter fades into displeased groans all around him. Astarion doesn’t need to open his eyes to know that the face eclipsing the sun above him is a much younger version of his own.

“Careful, Miri, that hurts papa!” The boy scolds as he gently untangles his little sister’s hand from their father’s locks.

“Uh-oh!” the toddler mumbles before she helps the boy pick stray sticks from Astarion’s hair. “Bad!”

“Yes, Miri—bad.”

Astarion suppresses the urge to take his daughter’s clumsy hand in his and press a soothing kiss to her small fingers, telling her it’s quite alright. That no harm was done. There never is. Not here. Not with them.

But all he has to do today is feign sleep, so he will reassure the child later when it’s his turn to braid her hair in time for bed.

“Sorry, papa,” another girl calls from near the treeline. “Miri didn’t mean to hurt you! But don’t worry, we’ll protect you from the true beast!”

This time, Astarion cannot help the faint smile tugging at his lips.

It’s a lovely promise, lisped through missing front teeth. And it’s true—most of the time, at least.

These children, this family he helped create with nothing but love and devotion, distract him from the beast prowling the everlasting darkness far in the back of his mind.

Yet, sometimes, distraction alone isn’t enough…

Astarion doesn’t like to dwell on the rare occasions when the beast eventually does find its way to him. It’s tamer now, the years have made it lazy enough, but every now and then, it will probe him. It can still sniff out the weakness he’ll never be able to shed, knows whenever he’s at his lowest.

The beast only lunges at easy prey—it always has.

So, sometimes, when Astarion’s nights are tense with endless whining, misplaced toys and sharp words, the beast breathes down his neck, whispers in his ear.

On your back, boy, right here. Do not move. It will not hurt unless you let it. Your screams have always sounded the sweetest. Are you hurting, yet? Good, it’s because I want you to. It’s what you deserve, you insolent fool. Have you no respect for yourself? That’s why they hate you so, that’s why you’re but a pathetic little boy who’s never amounted to anything that’s why you’re nothing that’s why—

Once the older children perform their duty to scold the youngest among them, the laughter returns. Their faceless fiend is fair game again and all Astarion has to do is sleep, trust in his family’s sweet promise that holds his cure.

Because, as exhausting as it is, he has learned to ignore the beast, become numb to its poison. It’s a thing of the past and he won’t let it taint his future.

Astarion lets out a deep breath. He can feel himself grow tired under the little hands stroking his hair.

“No worry, papa.”

No worry, no. Not here. Not with them. Never with them…

There’s a gust of wind coming from up north. It carries the scents of sickly sweet strawberries and petrichor and, ever so slowly, Astarion can feel his mind slipping.

He doesn’t sleep; he hasn’t in a very long time. Sleep, true sleep, is vulgar and reminds him of death. Instead, Astarion drowns in memories, but even there he’s buried six feet under today.

There are no strawberries in this freshly dug grave, only the stink of decay. The damp wood of his coffin presses uncomfortably into his back while worms and maggots tickle his neck. Eating at him. Consuming him.

His broken fingernails hurt as he claws at the darkness surrounding him—this deep in the ground, all shades of grey are tainted black. Sometimes he wonders if his eyes are even open, but they must be because they burn with tears and blood and dust.

There’s laughter coming from somewhere above. It’s rumbling like far-away thunder; it hasn’t reached him, yet, but the threat of it is already stunning him with fear.

He cannot speak he cannot see he cannot be he cannot—

The laughter isn’t coming from above, nor is it coming from anywhere, really. It’s residing inside his head, this vile laughter that won’t let him in on the joke. And why would it? He is nothing, is he not? All he is is blood and screams and death. Bodies piled atop his aching shoulders, weighing him down.

So why is he moving? Why is he digging through wet soil until he can see moonlight illuminating his path to…

The beast eclipses the moon and the stars shining down on him. It has stopped laughing, though its maw is stretched into an unnatural grin, revealing a pair of sharp fangs—the key to the wounds on his neck. A promise of endless misery.

He cannot stop moving towards the beast. It holds its claws out to him, stroking his hair, scratching his scalp raw. There you are, boy, always crawling back to me. My good, prodigal son—look at you! Do you know why you’re here? With me? It’s because, after all these years, you’re still mine. And you will always be.

“Astarion?”

There’s a light drizzle soaking his skin.

Astarion opens his eyes to a sun that’s crawled past its zenith, taking the music of children’s play with it. The silence feels oppressive, just like the calm before a great storm, and all he can feel are the small, warm bodies Astarion helped create press against him. They’re curled up against his side, lying draped over his legs, clutching his arm. Weighing him down.

No.

Grounding him, always ever grounding him.

He needs to shield his sleeping children from the rain, he thinks, but his arms are still caged somewhere between nightmare and reality.

Fuck, how long had he been out?

Astarion inhales deeply. He just needs a moment to come to his senses.

He can smell rain-soaked cotton, crisp air and that faint scent of magic he would recognise even if he were buried deep in the ground.

Oh, of course…

“Astarion.”

He allows himself a relieved half-smile as the rain above him is coming to a sudden halt a moment later.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking, my heart,” Tav says as she steps into the meadow, one eyebrow raised at the sight in front of her. “But what in the nine hells are you doing out here?”

Astarion can only watch as little droplets of rain run down the magic dome enclosing him and the children, tear drops that can never reach them now.

“I’m a sleeping princess, or so I’ve been told. But I’m rather afraid my knights in shining armour fell asleep before they got to wake me…”

Tav joins her family under her shield of magic, strokes the head of the child closest to her as she smiles at her husband.

“I see. May I kiss you awake instead, then?”

“You already have, darling,” Astarion whispers. “But do it again, yes? Just to be on the safe side…?”

His hand brushes the swell of Tav’s stomach as she’s trying to settle comfortably against him. It’s getting rather crowded—the house, life, moments like this—but there’s always room for one more, Astarion thinks.

Tav grins as she sweetly kisses her way from his cheek to his mouth, where she finally lingers.

To Astarion, Tav’s lips taste of freedom, of nightmares swiftly broken. Of home—the best distraction he never dared to hope for. One he never wants to end.

In the distance, there’s a gentle thunder rolling towards the meadow, but that’s quite alright. Astarion knows that it can’t do any harm. Not here. Not with them.

Never with his family around him.

@seaofdaydreams , my dear, I hope you do not mind me borrowing Miri's name for this one ♡

more Dadstarion content

tag list: @spacebarbarianweird @bardic-inspo @kawaiiusagichansan @darlingxdragon @herautumnmorningelegance

#astarion #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #dadstarion #astarion x tav #astarion headcanons #astarion x f!tav #baldur's gate astarion #astarion ancunin #to the best worst dad #astarion father of the year every year #emicha writes #angst and fluff #I honestly did not have the NERVE to edit this any more than this #bon appetit #brain's down the drain #if you spotted typos and such no you haven’t #not now kitten emi is about to lose her damn mind again

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thestuffedalligator · 1 year

Text

“Fairy godmothers start stories,” said the old woman. “I end them. It’s not a popular job, but fortunately I’m the only me they ever made.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, love, if you want, I can get you out of this dungeon right now and back home by morning.”

The dungeon went deathly silent. Through the high ceiling of stone and steel, she could hear the sound of the goblins marching.

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“But the chains—”

There was a silken hiss like falling sand. All that was left of the shackle was the angry, red welt around her ankle.

She stared. She said: “They have my sister—”

“Not to worry, dear,” said the old woman. “I can get her on our way out.”

“But the goblins—”

“Can’t do a thing about it. I do whatever I want – they all hate it, but they can’t stop me.”

“I signed a contract—”

“Oh, love, listen to me: I don’t care about contracts. I don’t care about quests or bargains or deals or wishes or riddles. If you want me to get you out of this story, then you’re out, no strings attached.”

There was a trickle of rainwater somewhere in the dungeon. Every drip echoed through the gloom.

She narrowed her eyes. “I’m sorry, but I don’t believe you.”

“You’re very wise.”

“What do you get out of this?”

The old woman sighed and shuffled back to sit against the stone wall. “Peace of mind, maybe,” she said. “A story is a terrible thing to bear for some.”

“How many people have you done this for?”

“Hundreds.”

“That’s a lot.”

“No, dear. Not nearly enough.”

“No strings attached?”

She heard the rainwater again, a distant, dark and echoing drip… drip…

And then – “Only one,” said the old woman. “There is a chance that someday, you’ll look back and realize that you’ll never know if you could’ve done it.”

She nearly laughed. “That’s all?” she said – and then she caught the look in the old woman’s eye.

There was something there that chilled her.

Drip… drip…

She pulled her knees up to her chest. “That doesn’t sound too bad,” she said quietly.

“And for some it isn’t,” said the old woman. It sounded like a very careful answer.

Drip… drip…

“If,” she said. “If I say no – what happens?”

“Then you save your sister and defeat the goblins,” said the old woman. “You become an unlikely heroine, and your story becomes the stuff of legends – or you die and your sister is lost forever. But no matter what, for the rest of your life, no matter how long that may be, you will know exactly how you did.

“It’s up to you, dear,” the old woman said. She rose stiffly and brushed the dirt from her gown. “Have you made up your mind?”

#short story #fantasy #narrativia

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sink-me-in-your-ocean · 2 months

Text

The Light Over the Darkness

Lucifer Morningstar x Lilith!fem!reader

WC: ~5300

A/N: @endhisbloodlineinmyesophagus thank you for reading this first. And no thank you for getting me obsessed with a new fictional idiot.

Content warnings: fingering, p in v sex, unprotected sex, praise kink (if you squint and tilt your head). 18+ only. Minors DNI.

NSFW below the cut.

It is a gorgeous day in the Garden. Though, every day is a gorgeous day. Every single day is perfect beyond comparison. It would be even better if your companion did not exist.

You went off on your own again, wholly unwilling to submit to Adam’s irritating daily routine of assigning uninspiring names to all of the things and creatures. Or - even worse - the non-routine version of simply lounging about lazily. This was your only course of action. You wandered far off into the Garden, and just as daylight began to break over the horizon, a sound caressed your ear in the lightest touch.

In the distance, you heard a voice. It sang a melancholy tune so far from the triumphant trumpet sound of heavenly melody you’d heard before. It was like a dream.

No, not a dream. This was a voice emitting an enticing tune you couldn’t resist. It called to you, pulled your very heartstrings. Your brows knit together in concern.

You must find this beautifully tragic voice.

You strolled further through the Garden, clinging close to an idle river. As the voice drew closer, you stepped along a fallen tree that cast itself as a bridge over the river. You made it across and walked into the line of trees posing as guard to what lies beyond. Past several rows of thick trees there was a clearing, open and spacious, and filled with wildflowers.

Wildflowers and the most beautiful creature you had ever seen.

Lucifer was lonely, although not any more lonely than he had felt in Heaven. His brothers and sisters never accepted his way of thinking and there was no chance of him and his Father ever seeing eye to eye.

He had purposefully gone to a most remote corner of the Garden, knowing his father would do something drastic again if he found him interacting with his two perfect human pets.

Lucifer sighed, closing his eyes and singing how he felt. The agony in his chest flowed out and he felt slightly better. He figured that was as good as it would ever get.

Until he turned over his shoulder upon hearing a snap of a twig, and he saw her.

The being attached to the - now silent - voice turned towards you and your breath caught in your chest. His face was beautiful, pale as the brightest cloud in the sky, with eyes that shone golden like the sun. His hair was the color of the very light itself, gorgeous and silken.

He wore strange, white billowing coverings, and something nagged in the back of your head at the lack of your own cover.

“Are you alright?” You chastised yourself for the tremor in your voice, but you couldn’t help it, your communication skills were lacking. Adam wasn’t a conversationalist in the slightest and the times you did speak to him left much to be desired.

“No, no I-I’m not.”

“What happened?” Your gaze snagged on the red pigment on his back, his covering gaped open - torn and bloody. You started approaching him before realizing you were moving, then you stalled out of apprehension.

“I was evicted from my place in Heaven. I am… I was… an angel. Now I’m here in the Garden, though I surmise I’ll do something to get myself kicked out of here before long too.” You had never known someone to sound so utterly defeated and broken.

You walked further towards the angel. “The blood. You’re hurt.” You shook your head, realizing you were quite literally just stating the obvious.

“Oh, this?” He gestured to his back and you nodded, continuing to draw nearer. “He took my wings. I can’t ever go home without them.” His eyes met yours, and concern colored his expression, “But don’t worry about me, the bleeding stopped, and it doesn’t hurt anymore. Well, at least not physically.”

The pity you felt for the creature grabbed your heart, wrenching it tightly within its grasp. You were about a handful of steps away from him now, and you stopped, leaving him his space as you changed the subject. Continuing to ask him personal questions felt too intimate and wrong. “Your song, it sounded beautiful.”

The sigh he let out was almost musical, “I was simply expelling the ache from my chest.”

“I see.” Your expression softened. “If you ever sang when you were joyful, I suppose it could move the very mountains.”

His demeanor changed, he tried to hide it by looking down, but you saw the smile on his face. He shook his head and raised a brow at you, “Aren’t you supposed to be, I don’t know, with a certain someone?”

“Who, Adam?” Your accompanying laugh was breathy and uncomfortable, “No, he, uh,” your tongue temporarily tangled itself, “he’s the worst.” The last three words were an admission of guilt, coming out like a tiny whisper.

His eyes widened exponentially. “He’s the worst?” He began to cross the last bit of distance between the two of you, ending up a step away.

“The worst.” You reply, feeling a weight lifting off your chest with the confession.

“Hm.” There was a glint in his eye, something was inside him waiting to get out, you could sense it. “Would you like to spend your time with me today?”

The question left you temporarily silent, then you composed yourself.

“With a fallen angel?” You paused in faux contemplation, he watched you closely, his eyes begging for an answer, “Yes.”

Relief covered his face, “Take my hand.”

“Okay.”

He led you through the flower field and back to the edge of the river you had crossed. He walked with you at a leisurely pace as the river carried along beside you, flowing downstream.

The water rushed louder and louder as you continued down its serpentine path, and soon there was a drop off. Mist curled up from the edge and you followed the flow of water with your gaze.

A glorious waterfall cascaded down the cliff side. Luscious greenery and florals edged the water - a soft border contrasting the roaring of water.

The spray of water made a strange coloring appear seemingly out of thin air.

“A rainbow.” He offered in explanation, following your line of sight.

You looked at him, the happiness that filled your soul at that very moment overshadowed anything you had previously felt in your life thus far. Even the day you discovered the taste of ripe peaches.

His smile was brighter than the morning sun cresting the horizon. It was warmer than the sun too, you felt it skin deep.

The rest of the day continued in a similar fashion, with him guiding you to new sights and sounds and life. It excited you, enticed you. It made you feel almost like light itself, like you were glowing in his presence.

You returned to Adam that night, for no other reason than you felt that was what you were supposed to do. As Adam fell asleep nearby, your thoughts were on Lucifer. His beauty, his ethereal grace. He captivated you with a mere look and you were helpless to resist his complete charm.

When he had spoken of the heavens, you were left with one question: Why?

Why would his brothers and sisters not stand by his side?

One final realization permeated your thoughts and settled in an ache within your heart as you succumbed to rest: How lonely it must be for him. A former angel. Now cursed to walk in the Garden without anyone like him. Doomed to be without his family for… forever.

A single tear slid silently down the side of your face as you stared up at the stars from your place on the cool ground. You didn’t know how long it took you to fall asleep that night, but once it took you, you were deep under.

You heard his voice in your dreams that night.

The next day you rose before dawn as you always did, though this time with a fuel hurtling you along you had never felt before. A giddiness tingled in your fingers and toes with every step as you retraced your steps from yesterday.

Days, then weeks passed in a manner just as your first day of meeting the fallen angel, sans the melancholy of his newly fallen status as he accustomed to life in the Garden.

His life with you.

He never brought up Adam again, not since your first meeting. In consideration, you didn't bring up his Father to him. It was an unspoken truce.

Lucifer took you everywhere you had not seen before, and he frequently hummed and fabricated sweet, alluring songs throughout the days. New creatures, new flowers and fruits of the trees. New feelings as well. Though that you figured was caused only by yourself, and you pushed it down, listening to him tell you about creation.

“He said, ‘Let there be light’ and I was here.” He paused, “Well, not here in the Garden here, but here. Alive. Existing.”

“So, you just floated up there somewhere?”

“Yes and no. It’s hard to explain. It feels impossible, actually.”

“If anyone can think of the words so eloquent as to describe something, it’s you, Lucifer.”

A pink color tinged his cheeks, and he looked down at the grass tangled beneath his feet. “You’ve got to stop saying things like that.”

“Have I made an offense? Oh, Lucifer, I only meant that you would be the most capable person to describe something so beautiful. You’re so beautiful so it must come easily to you to describe the beauty around you.”

His gaze timidly met yours. “You… you think I’m… beautiful?”

You felt compelled to say more than just a ‘yes’. “Of course. Lucifer, you’re the most beautiful thing that I have ever seen, or could ever dream of imagining.”

His cheeks reddened more. His golden eyes softened in a way that told you he had been waiting to hear those words for an eternity.

“Lucifer?” You took a shy step towards him.

“Yes?” He finally met your eyes fully, but took a step back until he was firmly against the bark of a willow tree.

You continued forward, propelled by a pull within your chest, until you were toe to toe with him. “Can I…” You searched his face. His soft, sweet face. “Can I do something?”

A slight smile lit up his face, brightening the space even under the dimmed canopy of the willow. His voice came out as a whisper. “Anything.”

Your hand brushed the light hair that had fallen between his eyes to the side. Your other hand touched his jaw, tracing along to the underside of his chin and tilting his face up. You angled your face slightly downward, eyes still locked on his, and leaned in. Then, you closed your eyes, letting your instinct guide you the last bit further.

Your lips met in a gentle kiss.

His apprehension and yours melted into the softness of the touch you shared. You pulled back for just a second, searching his face for reassurance. He responded by kissing you back, over and over and over again. His hands went to your face, as though he didn’t want to be apart from you for even a moment.

Your fingers entwined themselves in his silken hair and he did the same with yours.

The two of you didn’t part from each other’s hold until the sun had almost slipped away completely.

You barely had time to bathe in the stream before night fell around you. You missed his light.

The rest of the evening, even feeling the comfort of the fire made by Adam, you closed your eyes and your thoughts belonged to Lucifer. You watched Adam pass out unceremoniously and touched your fingers to your lips. The memory held there still tingled.

You felt something powerful surge within your middle. It was a deep hunger. An ache as sharp as a burr or a thorn. It dug into you, pulling and twisting within you. A thirst that could not be quenched by even the coldest stream water.

An urge within you begged to return to Lucifer tonight, but you knew you couldn’t. You needed to wait.

Wait and see.

See if he felt the same way when the sun gleamed upon you tomorrow.

The instant you saw Lucifer the next day, warmth traveled from your head to your toes.

You smiled at him and he beamed at you, holding out his hand for you to take. Your fingers intermingled with his and you let him lead you to a part of the Garden you hadn’t been to yet. The grass began to fade into dirt and small pebbles, as though this part of the world had been forgotten by the green.

“Where are you taking me?”

Lucifer reassured you with a grin, “To see something I discovered last night. It’s not much further.”

He led you to a cave entrance. It greeted you with open jaws, its mouth stretching far and wide, ingesting the light with a neverending pitch darkness.

You froze, your feet rooting themselves to the ground. You dropped his hand, placing your palm over your heart. “Lucifer, it’s dark in there. We’re not going inside, are we?”

He gave you one of those brighter-than-the-sun smiles again. “Don’t worry, we won’t be going far. It’ll be much lighter inside, I promise.”

You couldn’t so easily wipe the unsure expression from your face. He noticed.

“Take my hand. Please?” Lucifer extended his left hand to you. As you took it, the air around you cooled, bringing goosebumps to your arms, and you had a feeling that something was about to change.

You allowed him to lead you inside. The nervousness you had felt seemed to melt away with his soft hand enveloping yours. Once you were past the cave mouth, the darkness swallowed him and then you. You grounded yourself in the sounds of his feet and yours along the cave floor, which was covered with soft dirt and devoid of any sharp rocks.

“Lucifer?” The trepidation came flooding back as soon as his hand left yours. You quavered and the darkness drowned out your voice. “Lucifer?”

“This way, my dear.” His voice offered you a beacon of hope in the black void of the space. You thought you heard him lightly chuckle, the sound beckoning you, guiding you onward without form or shape.

Suddenly you saw a blue-green light. You approached it just as it faded out, leaving you in complete darkness again.

Your foot nudged something soft, then your other foot stepped into a puddle that glowed around your toes as the water rippled. You squinted and the color faded away once more.

A bright light made you wince, almost uncomfortably. Your hand covered your face to act as a shield.

“Here.” You heard Lucifer speak close by, and as your eyes adjusted, you realized he held a ball of warm, yellow light in his hand. You also realized that the soft thing laying next to your foot was his rumpled white covering.

Your mouth went dry at the sight of him. A tension wound its way into your chest. His pale shoulders, his trim waist, his…

“Watch this.” He said, lifting his palm up and the ball of light suspended itself in the air. Lucifer created another ball of light, then another, warming the cavern with soft light. When he was finished, he grinned at you, “Are you ready to see what I found?”

“Wait, that wasn’t what you wanted to show me? That was - I, I have no words, you just - you just made light with your hands.” The startlingly impressive feat had you staggering between words.

That satisfied smirk of his was enough to silence the entire world and every question in your mind. He shook his head from side to side. You could barely believe it, he had even more to show you. There was nothing left to say, so you answered his question with a resounding, “Yes.”

“Watch me.”

As if you could do anything else. You couldn’t take your eyes off him, you were entranced as you watched him step into the pool of water which you realized, connected to the puddle you were standing with one foot in already. It was shallow at this end and he waded further out.

A light blueish-greenish color swished with his every movement in the water. Lucifer paused, waist deep in the water. A sharp exhale ghosted between your lips as you tried not to focus on the small of his back. The color went away when he stood still, but came back when he dipped his hand in, bringing it under the water and then to the surface, letting the water drip down from his fingers and open palm.

You didn’t know if it was intrigue or the allure of Lucifer that guided you further forward, to be ankle-deep in the water, but you divert your attention to watching the color grow and fade around your feet. “Lucifer, what is that?”

“It’s bioluminescence.” He replied, and sunk down into the pool, his body now mostly shielded underneath the water.

“What is bioluminescence?”

He turned towards you with a look that said ‘I’m so glad you asked’, and explained in great detail what it is.

Your eyes were wide as you listened to him speak. Sure as it did before, the water sparkled to life within the ripple you made, with blue shimmering below your feet as you stepped in, the water encircling your ankles. You couldn’t help the contented smile that made its way onto your face. You also couldn't help but move closer to him, going back and forth between watching the colors fan out from around your calves, then knees, then thighs, and watching his mesmerizing expression as he shared his knowledge with you.

You stood next to him, where he sat with his head and shoulders well above the water, and you couldn’t resist touching him. Gingerly, your fingers brushed through his hair, bringing it out of his golden eyes again. He looked up at you as you spoke, “Lucifer, thank you for bringing me here. For sharing this with me.”

Even in the dim light, you could see his face turn the color of a rose, his expression becoming timid suddenly. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because you’re divine when you teach me new things.” You answered honestly, you didn’t know any better.

His eyes softened. “Will you join me? Please?”

“Yes.” You took his offered hand. The gesture was innocent - he was bracing you as you fully got in the water - but it made you feel a way that you couldn't name yet.

His hold on your hand tightened slightly and his other hand slid up your thigh as you lowered yourself in.

The two of you settled in the water, the blue fading out at the surface which sat at about mid-chest level.

You slowly moved your hands through the glowing water, when you broke the surface tension the glow ran in rivulets down your fingers and forearms. You repeated the action, mesmerized by the incredible color. Then, you flicked the surface of the water, sending a splash in Lucifer’s direction.

“Hey!” He exclaimed, returning fire by sending a tiny splash your way. “You’ll get my hair wet!”

“Oh sweet and wondrous Lucifer, I’d hate to ruin your majestic hair.” Your tone was saccharinely sardonic. You sent another splash of water his way.

“Stop that.” His gaze changed as he spoke. Something dark hid beneath his surface, and you wanted to find out what it was.

“Why?” You playfully splashed at him again, your body succumbing finally to the warm temperature of the water, relaxing in its embrace.

“When you do things like that, it makes me want to kiss you again.” His gaze drifted downward.

“When I do what, exactly?” You crawled towards him, to the shallower area. “Tease you? Or when I tell you how perfect you are?”

He just nodded, biting his lower lip. You knew it was in response to your praise. “May I kiss you again?” His words were soft, contrasted by the heat of his stare. He looked at your lips with a hunger that dwarfed the pangs you felt before a meal. This was a predatory gaze, but you gave in nonetheless.

Absolute certainly colored your voice. “Yes.”

With your permission, he leaned in, brushing a strand of hair away from your face with a gentleness that rivaled a feather’s touch. You stayed stock still as he closed his eyes and pressed his lips ever so softly to yours.

Lucifer pulled back slightly, and upon seeing your eyes still open, a question formed in his expression. He didn’t get to ask it before your lips were back on his.

You kissed him like you needed him more than breath in your lungs. Your whole body felt ignited by the action. You kissed him over and over, planting close-mouthed to open-mouthed kisses to his soft lips.

The kiss continued to deepen from there, and soon you were tasting him with your tongue. Your tongue led an exploration inside his mouth that made your head feel light and airy. His taste was intoxicating. And he was just as committed to discovering your mouth with his tongue in an even give and take.

Lucifer was the forbidden fruit, and you were too weak a woman to resist.

You were temptation incarnate, and he was too prideful to concede. Not when he had come this far. Not when he had already lost so much. He needed you more than anything.

You opened your eyes to be greeted by a comfortable darkness surrounding the two of you. “Lucifer? Your lights, they’re not glowing anymore.” Though this time, you were no longer afraid. The blueish shimmering in the water was brighter without the yellow lights. It was enough for you to see the shape of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the sparkle in his devilish eyes.

“I’m sorry, I guess I forgot about them when I was kissing you.” A tremulous breath left his lungs. “I could forget about the entire universe when I kiss you.”

“Then kiss me again.” The demand spoke itself before you could even think.

With the way he responded, you would have assumed he never intended to ask your permission. His kiss stole the breath from you, stole the thoughts from your mind. Every press of his lips to yours, every stroke of his tongue to yours, was shatteringly delicious. You could think of nothing except him. Him and a previously unknown need rapidly surfacing.

“Lucifer.” You felt a change happening in your body, a fire that started from the kindling of his kiss. Almost weightless in the water, your hands clung to his shoulders as you crawled into his lap and he sat back to welcome you. Your legs were bent on either side of him, your knees resting in the soft silt of the shallow pool.

You lowered yourself down to sit in his lap and almost moved back, jolted by his body’s reaction to yours. Something hard and thick pressed against your middle.

He pulled back, breaking a particularly heady kiss to offer an explanation you didn’t ask for. “This is how you make me feel.”

You understood. In that moment, your base instincts took over. His feeling was evident on the outside, while yours was purely internal.

At least, you thought your reaction to him was all internal, until he moved his hand from your waist. His hand moved slowly around the swell of your bottom to where your leg met your center.

“Lucifer,” you jerked slightly, nibbling his bottom lip, “that tickles.”

“I mean to please, not to tickle you, my sweet.”

You were about to ask him what he meant when his long fingers swiped along your center. A sound escaped your lips that sounded animalistic, almost a whine.

“I truly mean to please you.” He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips. “Tell me if you want me to stop at any time.”

You shifted in his hold, seeking his delectable fingers again. When you spoke your voice was low and demanding, “You’ve already stopped, and I want to feel that again.”

“Yes, my lady.” He nodded his head in reverence to you and his fingers found your center again. He parted your folds, rubbing the length of his fingers along your slit before brushing them against a part of you that sent a shockwave to your spine.

You jolted this time slightly, your eyebrows pulling upward in surprise at the foreign feeling.

He noted your reaction. “If you need me to slow down I will.”

“Don’t you dare.” Your lips found his again, the blueish glow of the water sloshing up between the two of you as you sought to be closer to him. You slightly rose back up on your knees to give him better access to your intimate flesh.

Lucifer continued his ministrations. He was only too happy to take advantage of your position. His fingers caressing your sex made you whine again. Then, he pressed one finger inside of you and you inhaled in a ragged gasp.

“Is this okay?” You barely registered his words as he languidly pumped his finger inside of you.

You nodded, delighting in the sensation his finger was providing, and delighting in him. Once you were used to the feeling you whispered, “More.”

He pressed a second finger inside you. Your body temporarily shuddered as it adapted to the intrusion.

You felt an ache eclipse your body, deep inside you, and your instincts told you you needed to be closer to him. In a way that two people could be joined together. His fingers continued to stroke you and he kissed you deeply again, tasting you, cherishing you.

“Lucifer,” you pulled back, lightheaded, a pleasurable feeling was building in your middle, but you needed more. “I -”

Your words failed you as he removed his fingers. You were about to protest when you felt his hardness between your legs. Your center was throbbing with need, and you felt fevered and frenzied without him. Your body craved him.

“I need you inside me, Lucifer.” You wiggled your hips, sloppily kissing his neck and up to his earlobe.

“Are you sure?” His voice was so dark and low.

“Yes.” Holding to his shoulders, you dragged your wet center along his length to punctuate your answer.

“How could I possibly resist you?” Lucifer’s expression was that of a man starved, and you were certain he meant to devour you. “Eyes on me, I want to see those beautiful eyes of yours as we do this.”

You obey him as you feel his hand reach between the two of you. Then you felt the tip of him. Right there. Right against your core. Just the tiniest movement and he would be inside you.

Greedily, you shifted your hips down slightly, never taking your eyes from his gaze. Unable to stop yourself from the all-consuming closeness you felt to Lucifer. Watching him, wanting him; all the while knowing there is no going back now. And yet, not wanting to miss a single moment. The sensations below and Lucifer - curse his name - drove you to this madness, this ecstasy. He pulled you down, his fingers digging into your waist.

There was a sharp pain as you felt yourself stretch to accommodate his length. A burning sensation that made you want to move in the opposite direction. Then, as soon as it came on, the pain subsided. It was replaced by a delicious, honeyed heat that speared through your middle as he gave you more and more. He moved slowly, holding you as delicately as he could.

You watched his lips change from a thin line of steely determination to an open-mouthed pant, a groan escaping from his throat. The two of you were finally hip to hip, as close as you could possibly be, with him hot and heavy and incredible inside you.

You couldn’t tell if it was you that was trembling or him. Maybe it was both. His grip on your hips tightened, drawing you up, your sensitive spot grazing the plane of his pelvis in a torturous motion.

“Open your eyes, my sweet, indulge me.” You didn’t realize you had closed them.

You obeyed his ask, “Oh, Lucifer.”

“How does it feel?”

“You feel - ah - better than anything,” you cried out as he snapped his hips to you, “What are you doing to me?”

“I’m acting on our desires, my sweet.” His breath stuttered, as though he was fighting something internally. “No one else will ever have you like this.”

“I’m yours, Lucifer, all yours.” Your sensitive spot grazed his pelvis again, making you gasp. “You’re perfect.” Your fingers tangled in his soft hair as you kissed him deeply, fervently.

He responded by groaning into your mouth, and when you broke the kiss to lay siege to the skin of his neck, he moaned breathily in your ear.

You were a quick learner. “Darling Lucifer, do you like it when I tell you that I’m yours?”

“Yes -” He hissed. His breath was rapid now, and he picked up his movements, meeting every thrust and guiding you with his hands on your hips.

You felt a buildup starting again in your center, picking up from where his fingers had left off earlier. The friction was driving you to a point of no return. A moan tore its way through your chest, reverberating off the cavern walls.

“Lucifer, I’m yours, all yours.” You cried out his name as he slipped one hand between the two of you, using his finger to gently apply pressure to that spot that made the edges of your vision cloud over.

His name was a litany of prayer as he thrust into you over and over while his finger sated your clit. You clung to him with your remaining strength as you felt your body collapsing under waves of pleasure. The sensation was enough to drown you, to pull you under, but his continued motions kept you afloat.

You gasped, whined, moaned for him, telling him with and without words how you felt. Your legs shook and your hands trembled as they went from his shoulders to around his neck, pulling him in so you were chest to chest. Your entire body felt like it was falling apart and being made whole simultaneously. Your release crashed over you in a multitude of waves.

“I’m yours, Lucifer.” You felt him still inside you, thrusting as deep as he could as he breathed raggedly, filling you with a deep, pulsating heat, a broken sound leaving his lips. He held you like that for a while, the two of you clinging to one another tightly. The rising and falling of your chests and shared breaths returning back to normal.

How could anything return back to normal after this?

With one hand you caressed his cheek, opening your eyes and seeing the weight of his expression, “Luci-”

“You meant that, didn’t you?” His eyes searched your face, looking for hints.

You didn’t need to confirm what he was asking. You knew. He knew the answer as well, but he sought reassurance. “I do. I’m yours.”

He sighed heavily, resting his forehead to yours.

You kissed him, savoring the feel of his lips against yours. “And you’re mine.”

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