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crystalflygeo · 7 months

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Mark of an Archon ft. Venti / Zhongli / Ei / Focalors / Nahida / Neuvillette + gn!reader

cw/tags: Mostly suggestive but nsfw in some parts (mostly Zhongli, Neuvillette) marking, kissing.

notes: Alright so... this is different from anything I've written before but I got inspired by the concept of the elemental symbols used as marks by the Archons to denote those important to them. Just short fluffy little dabbles I guess, first time writing everyone except the dragon men heh. I tried REALLY HARD to keep this gender neutral and be inclusive in descriptions but regardless, reader bottoms lmao. Hope y'all like it. (Y'all will NEVER guess where did I get the inspiration for all the marks' placements hehe) Edit: Y'all I have never played obey me WHEEZE the marks placement actually comes from a very old magical girl anime I loved as a kid XDDDD (except geo, it was on the belly button but-//hit)

It is said that the Archons place a mark on the body of their loved ones. A symbol of protection, perhaps of “ownership”, imbued with their elemental energy. Legends has it that they remain mostly invisible to the naked eye, glowing brightly only when the Archon in question touches it, but leaving behind a distinctive trace able to be identified with elemental sight.

However, none of this has been proven at all, and remains mostly as a fantastic tale, just a rumor…

Or is it?

-Barbatos

Venti’s mark rests between your shoulder blades, the small Anemo sigil emulating tiny wings in the most appropriate of places. It makes him fond of calling you his “angel”, though, you know it cannot compare to his own real wings... it makes your heart flutter nonetheless.

It remains mostly covered, and yet without fail, Venti’s hand would always gently rest on it before his hand slides over to your shoulder or waist. At this point the touch soothes you and you’ve come to expect it every time you enter Angel’s share and bright Aqua eyes land on you.

In the dark of night, those precious moments of closeness and passion among the bedsheets, Venti’s nimble fingers, calloused by the Lyre and the bow alike, trail along your spine and stop at the mark, before he leans in and places a kiss on it.

For the God of Freedom to brand someone like this… it would seem as a contradiction, but you know it to be his blessing, his vow to you and your love. As his lips go up to your shoulder and his hands slide down to your waist, sneaking between your legs, he closes his eyes and hums a soft tune.

-Morax

The Geo mark is found on a rather unusual place, and to tell the truth, it even embarrassed you a little at first. The golden diamond placed just below your navel, partially hidden by the line of your underwear. When asked about it, Zhongli simply murmured something about dragon mating, fertility or virility… his cheeks dusted red.

You admit though, that once you get used to it, you do find yourself idly tracing it from time to time. Sometimes it seems to glow softly, or feel warm, perhaps responding to the Archon when he thumbs gently at it, contrasting and comparing with his own blackened arms, etched with veins of gold. Amber eyes staring up at you with love and desire as he places a kiss on it making you shiver.

Zhongli constantly wants to mark you more, in all sorts of ways. Drape you in silks and cover you in gemstones and gold. Leave bite marks along your skin. Douse you in his scent. It appeases his draconic instincts. But nothing compares to that little geo sigil, a personal indisputable claim, tattooed on your skin.

In a way, the mark could be taken as the God of Contracts’ signature and an unbreakable oath to you, his mate. It makes the dragon purr as he rolls his hips into yours, sinking deep inside you and making you whine as his palm presses against it.

-Beelzebul

Right at the center of your collarbone, like a pendant held by an invisible necklace, that is where the Electro mark was placed by Ei. Sometimes it’s a real shame it can’t be seen normally by humans, it would make for a pretty nice tattoo…

It’s not like the Electro sigil is rare to see anyway, quite the contrary, a rather popular choice and common sight all over Inazuma with deep cultural and religious meanings alike honoring Her Excellency. But one look from a youkai or one of the mikos at Narukami shrine and you know this is different.

Ei could act aloof and have a hard time expressing or understanding feelings, but the way she looks at you as she straddles you… dark violet hair cascading down her back and sides, hands roaming your chest and settling at your shoulders. She pins you there under her intense purple gaze and then bends forward to kiss at the sigil before moving to your lips.

The Goddess of Eternity considers her choices deeply and rarely ever goes back on her word or breaks a promise, and that is what she bestows upon you with her mark, a promise. Of love, of respect, of loyalty. Who would’ve thought the Electro Archon could be so… passionate?

-Focalors

You couldn’t believe just where Lady Furina had placed a pretty, blue, Hydro symbol on your skin. When asked about it she’d just giggled and said everything had a reason when it came to divine marks such as these… then proceeded to not explain at all. But seriously, your inner thigh?!

You could only sigh but smile softly at her antics as she laid across the couch, head rested in your lap, taking a nap by using your thighs as pillow, or demanding to be fed more sweets and sputtering indignantly when you poke at her nose or cheek instead, blushing.

She often drives you insane, paying special attention to the hydro marking with kisses and nibbles when you need her lips to go just a little more to the side… but oh, how she enjoyed teasing and riling you up. Mismatched blue eyes blinking coyly under thick eyelashes.

This is Lady Furina’s pledge to you, her word of honor as the Goddess of Justice, to love and cherish you no matter what. For despite her innocent act, she is guilty of having fallen for you.

-Bonus: Buer (Platonic)

Many people underestimate and doubt Nahida. A grave sin, in your opinion. When she places her mark of Dendro softly in your forehead, you feel nothing but pride, willing to follow and defend her and her teachings, for it is an honor to be her acolyte.

You see her wisdom in her actions, in the contemplating looks at her beloved city and people, in the way she always tries to solve problems and learn from difficulties, in her kindness, gentleness and little smiles. You see her love in the way she helps the elderly and soothes the children, in the candied ajilenakh nuts she shares with everyone, in the sparkle of her unique green eyes.

Like any other Archon, her nation and all its inhabitants are like her children. Despite her preferred appearance, the way she holds your hand as she guides you along and brushes at your hair gently with comforting words and praise feel more akin to a mother.

Just as you trust her, she trusts you, that is the covenant her sigil represents. And in the eyes of the Goddess of Wisdom, one day you’ll reach the sky and stars above.

-Bonus II: Hydro Dragon Sovereign

You stare at the sigil in the palm of your hand. An ancient symbol of power, no doubt, but with a meaning long since lost to time and shrouded in mystery. Yet, its significance is crystal clear to you: “I am yours as you are mine.”

The way the Iudex would always, without fail, hold your hand gently and kiss your palm instead of the back of it as it was traditional would no doubt confuse some people, but it makes your heart skip a beat. This special connection, the knowing look from those gorgeous lavender eyes and the hidden smile pressed against your skin…

Your back arches with a moan as Neuvillette ruts softly into you, slow and reverent, peppering kisses and nuzzling at your neck. His hand takes a hold of yours, fingers intertwining and you shiver as the marking in your palm seems to react. Your grip his hand tighter, canting your hips as well and surrounding him with your legs, asking for more, more, more-

It’s unknown if one day his kind will return to power, just as it’s impossible to predict the flow of the elements and the energy in leylines or just what the future will bring. But for Neuvillette, having you by his side feels like the most refreshing spring water and makes life that much sweeter.

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mortal-kingss · 5 months

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for once, for once in life, i finally felt that someone needed me…

[ID: A fully rendered piece of Jonathan Sims and Martin Blackwood dancing. The background is stark black, and the main lighting source is warm, coming from slightly below the camera. Jon has his back facing the camera and his face turned to the side, and Martin has his body facing the camera and face also turned to the side. Martin is a tall, fat white man, with vitiligo, and is an avatar of the Web. He has brown hair with white streaks, square glasses, and eight entirely black eyes. He’s smiling with fangs peaking through slightly, and scars in the patterns of cobwebs on his cheek. He’s wearing a brown suit with a white shirt and brown tie. There is a small web design on the collar of the suit with a pendant of a spider, made out of wire and amber. He’s wearing a belt and dark grey pants that fade slowly into a light grey. His left hand is holding Jon’s, and his right hand is pressed against her back. Jon is a shorter, thin Indian person, wearing a dark green satin dress with a small amount of black mesh material on the upper back. Her dark brown and grey hair is long, and is tied back in a loose ponytail, with a gold hairpiece in the shape of an eye, connected by small chains with green gems, to Jhumka earrings. He has multiple eyes on his face, and all are green, looking up at Martin, except for the normal placement of eyes which are closed. He’s wearing gold arm jewelry with eye patterns on them, and his right arm has a henna design and a ring on his finger. His left arm is perched on Martin’s shoulder. End ID]

#tma #the magnus archives #HES BAAACK #web!martin #IS BACCCCKKKKK #martin blackwood #mag pod #martin tma #AND ALSO #fem!jon #jonathan sims #jon sims #jonmartin #jmart #WERE SO BACK #tma fanart #the magnus archives fanart #my art

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lovebugism · 2 months

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Shy!reader who has never had a valentine and Steve who pulls out alllll the stops to make up for this—flowers, chocolate, jewelry, candles, a nice dinner, even stuff like a teddy bear and those cheesy kid valentines

happy love day <3 — steve helps his shy gf celebrate her very first valentine's day (shy!reader, established relationship, cw for brief mentions of anxiety, 1k)

Valentine’s Day afternoon is grey and gloomy, but your beaming makes up for it. You’re smiling wide and sparkling with it the second you see Steve waiting for you in the parking lot outside your work. He’d promised to pick you up, yes, but you’re always giddy at the sight of him.

“Hey, babe,” the boy greets with his own grin, crooked and perfectly pink.

He looks all cool, leaning against the driver’s side of his car. Pristine sneakers crossed over one another, sweater sleeves pushed up to his elbows, strands of cinnamon hair draping his forehead — how are you supposed to do anything but melt for him?

“Hi,” you respond in a tinier voice, walking closer to him now. You duck your chin to your chest and peer at him through your lashes, always so painfully shy.

“Did you have a good day?”

“It was alright,” you shrug and plant yourself in front of him. The deep scent of cologne staining his shirt combines with the earthy scent of impending rain. The concoction makes you dizzy. “Kept thinking about seeing you the whole time, though.”

Your confession makes the bridge of his chiseled nose scrunch.

“Well, that makes two of us,” he quips before revealing the bouquet of flowers hidden behind his back. A small thing wrapped in pale pink tissue paper — pastel lavenders and pale baby’s breath — as pretty and delicate as you are.

You light up instantly, eyes glittering as they flit from the bushel of flowers to Steve’s proud grin. “You got me flowers?” you wonder, quiet with disbelief. You take them with a soft, trembling hand.

Steve shrugs. “‘Course I did.”

You bury your nose in the perfumed florals and flash a sheepish look over them. “No boy’s ever gotten me flowers before…”

Steve knows this. He knows you’ve never had a valentine before him — that you’ve never been with anyone the way you’ve been with him. It’s why he’s always so soft and perfectly patient with you.

“‘Cause other boys are stupid,” he says, grinning when it makes you giggle. He takes another step closer to you and smooths his warm palms over your arms. His thumbs rub gently along the outsides of your elbow. “Do you like them?”

“I love them,” you insist, smiling so wide it hurts. “They’re gonna look so pretty in my room.”

“Want me to take you home then? So you can get ready for tonight?”

Your brows pinch at his mischievous tone. “What’s tonight?”

“Dinner. I wanna take you to that fancy, new Italian place in the city.”

“Oh.” Your panic is subtle but still written all over your face. You’re not good at going out — you’re worse at trying new things. Steve’s certainly made you braver, but you’re always a little timid at heart.

Steve knows this and assures with a soft smile, “But we don’t have to if you don’t want. It was just a suggestion.”

“I want to,” you hear yourself say.

His brows raise, visibly shocked. “You do?”

There’s something about the way he looks at you, with a glimmer in his deep brown eyes, that makes you bold. You nod once, firm and foreignly confident. “Yeah.”

Steve tries not to be too obvious about his smiling, but he wears his love for you all over his face without trying. “Then let’s go.”

—————

Rain beats heavy against the window of the candle-lit restaurant, a wild and delicate cadence. The flickering flame paints Steve’s smile golden while his eyes glow a shining amber. He tries to woo you like you’re not wearing the pretty dress he bought you — like you’re not wearing his initial in a pendant dangling between your breasts.

“You’re the Obi-Wan for me,” he jokes before taking a hearty bite of his steak. He chews through the mouthful and gestures with his fork. “You know. Like only one—”

“I get it,” you assure with a sickly sweet smile.

He’s been doing this for a better part of an hour. The Valentine’s Day crowd rushed in, and your waiter got your order wrong, and the whole thing spun you into a tizzy. Steve’s been trying to distract you from your nerves ever since. And it’s worked. Mostly.

“Well, you’re not laughing!” he retorts, playful in his solemnity. “That one was good— you gotta give me some credit.”

“It was,” you assure with a quiet nod. You don’t say it like you mean it, but more like you’re trying to appease him.

“Are you saying you can come up with a better one?” he teases.

You think for a moment, doe eyes flitting across the droplets sliding down the window beside you. Your glossed lips purse all pretty to the side with the weight of your pondering. A smile tugs slow at your lips when you turn back to him. “Obi-Wan Ke-bone-me.”

A laugh sputters from Steve’s mouth. As pure and innocent as sunshine. He nods with a proud, lopsided smile. “You’re right. That was way better.”

“I Obi-Want you tonight,” you follow, giggling still.

“You are on fire tonight, you know that?”

You laugh again, louder this time. Steve beams at the pretty sound and waits until you’ve scooped a too-big bite of pasta in your mouth to compliment you. “You’re so pretty…” he murmurs in a low, honeyed tone. His eyes sparkle with amber, warm and visibly fond.

You stop mid-chew to scowl. You’re too cute to look threatening — especially when you’ve got spare sauce dotted on the corner of your mouth. “Stop…” you scold after you’ve swallowed down the mouthful.

Steve laughs, loud and boyish. “You are!”

“You’re being too nice…” you grouse with your nose scrunched.

“I’m your boyfriend. I’m supposed to be nice.”

“But not this nice,” you insist, smiling despite yourself. You twirl noodles around your fork to busy your fidgeting hand. Your sheepish gaze flits from the half-empty plate to the beautiful boy in front of you. “I think you’re starting to ruin everyone else for me, Stevie…”

His chest sparkles with a warmer feeling. “Well, yeah,” he shrugs. “That was kinda the plan here, babe.”

“Was it?”

“Uh-huh,” he nods and folds his arms over the white-clothed table. He grins wide and leans in close. His cinnamon eyes sparkle with a mixture of adoration and mischief. “You fell right into my trap.”

You smile back at him, so happy that you did.

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #stranger things imagine #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #st drabbles #stevie drabble

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blueparadis · 9 months

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❝ SAY YES TO ME ❞ + JING YUAN.

CW :: female!reader, husband!jing yuan, mostly fluff, ‘baby talk’, angst and smut undertones // synopsis. Jing Yuan wants a little bundle of joy. // word count.1k

notes :: back with my bullsh!t again. atp, jing yuan and his wife has become my new song on loop. this is a sequel but you can enjoy it as a one-shot too. REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED. back to blog navigation.

Never in thousand light years Jing Yuan thought he would witness this sight: his wife sleeping on same bed with him using his arm as a pillow. Not that he has not slept with you before, he has but not like this: like fine silk threads that are too tangled to be spruced up for weaving. He swiftly moves his arm by an inch not to wake you up but enough to let you shift in sleep.

Jing Yuan’s dawing amber eyes flash on the pendant that rests on your chest and his mind is immediately occupied by the visions on that pendant kept dancing as he fucked you deep and full, along with your tits. He groans getting out of bed and spotting the nightgown you had on last night. That's odd. You are not naked now. Maybe when he was asleep you cleaned yourself up.

Jing Yuan walks to your side of the bed grazing your cheeks with the back of his palm. You look so at peace, so beautiful like this. He leans towards you blowing air into your ears, hands resting on the edge ready to catch you if you fall. A sharp intake of breath, slow blinking of heavy eyelids as a husky voice penetrates your lulled state. “Good Morning, my little sparrow.”

“Good morning ’my lion.” you barely mumble stretching out your limbs to be properly awake.

As he ties the sash of his robe you sit up, looking around your eyes fall on a carved piece of wood that seems like a bird. “What is that?” You asked briskly grabbing the piece from the side table and inspecting it. “Have you been taking Yanqing’s toys? to punish him? Again? ” Your voice spiked up at each turn of a question.

“No,” He protested immediately yet it did not satisfy you. You narrowed your gaze on him and then shifted your attention to the carved wooden piece.

“Did you make this?”

“Hmm-ummm” Jing Yuan responded. He is tapping his feet on the ground with his arms tucked across his chest. Unable to keep his bubbling thoughts to himself he blurted out “It’s for you.” You snap your eyes at him with surprise. He sat at the edge of the bed explaining further, “I — I made this for us. For you know, our baby.”

“Oh.” Your eyebrows grew closer as you looked at him holding the wooden eagle in curled palms. “oh” You realized what was going on with him all these, getting handsy with you, spending more time with Yanquig, looking at you with bedroom eyes every time you went in his quarters during his working hours and as such.

“Oh I see.” At this point you could hear every swallow of breath you took. “Will you...will you really discard me...if i don't want— You murmur with tears in your eyes, vision so blur that you can barely see his face properly. You looked down curling your palms in fists on your lap. The rough surface of the wooden eagle pinches your skin.

You remember how your father wedded another woman to produce an heir, always looked down upon since the moment your half-brother was born and when things did not go as planned he decided to use you as a weapon, to mend his torn kingdom. In your memory, your mother has always been a spectator, an audience of the sabotage your father inflicted on you, and your mother — always will be; but shall you too go down the same fate?

— or rather can't give you an heir? Tell me. Now. Will you? ”

“what? No. No. I married you because I liked you. Anyone who says otherwise is just lying. Moreover, you don't have to give me an heir.” Jing Yuan buried under the debris of some fairly tail happy endings he concocted about you crashed into pieces. Who made you like this? Who hurt you so bad that — “I just... I just want us to try for a baby. A symbol of our love.”

“symbol of our love?” You question it as if you never thought of him having any iota of affection for you. You question it as if you never considered that this marriage of convenience could offer you something more.

“yes.” Jing Yuan sternly spoke taking your hands into his. He cupped your cheeks swiping away the tears that trickled down your cheeks. “You know,” he starts “I always wondered why you didn’t cry that day. . . when I brought you here for the first time. I was under the impression that girls generally cry when they have to leave their home.” He chuckles softly scooting towards you. “But i think I have an idea now. . .” he trails off. Ducking his head a little he meets your eyes that has been stilled on the crumpled bedsheets for a while now.

“I— I felt caged there. My father isn't a kind man.“ You admitted .

“Oh Trust me, I’m aware.” A cackle followed. You glanced at him from the corner of your eyes.

“Let me think about it. I promise. I promise to think about it.” You muttered flinching at the sudden jolt that made you close your eyes. When you opened them, you were inches closer to his face, your knees touching the soft mattress as one of his thighs support you in V - position. He is deflecting the hurt, there must be some isn't it? After all, Jing Yuan did not anticipate this kind of reaction either. Sure, he expected you to throw a tantrum but not to be so dipped in dread.

“Sure.” He quips resting his chin on the apex of your cleavage. “Meanwhile. Give that to me.” He eyes the wooden piece of the eagle before continuing, “I don't want you to stress about this. We have time. We can talk about it tomorrow, the day after, or maybe never. I'll wait,”

You parted your lips to speak in hopes of soothing the hurt. If you know him well, then you can assume that he is hurt, so much so that he might have reopened some old wounds.

“I’ll wait my dear.” he beams before kissing between your collarbones. Ah! He is a walking wound now.

sequel to void.

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frostironfudge · 10 months

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Devour - Bucky Barnes

Summary: the new pics of seb have me in a vice grip so here is Bucky on a Mediterranean getaway with you

Pairing: mafia!bucky x fem!reader

Word Count: 880

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, sm/ut, or/al fem receiving, dirt/y talk, allusions to previous smu/tty times, d/s vibes, sorta mafia bucky?, sorta soft moments, also prinţesă means princess (romanian)

A/N: this picture got everything to life for this drabble @sebsgirl71479 thank you for this picture

Main Masterlist

The heat is sweltering.

Drops of sweat mimic the condensation on your pink drink’s glass. Taking another sip you grumble the ice watering down the sweet and sour concoction.

“Something amiss?” Bucky’s tone is light teasing from behind you.

“Drinks all watered down.” You pout, still not turning to look at him, too comfortable in the lounge chair, kindle resting on your thigh.

The breeze finally comes in drawing out a sigh from you and your eyes close. Soon enough the sun’s heat diminishes and your breath hitches.

The scent of amber and bergamot fills your senses urging your eyes open. Bucky leans over you, gold sunglasses perched atop his head.

Your eyes trail over his stubble growing in, as he swallows you watch his throat and then follow that trail to the necklace that half dangles still caught in his white tank top.

That same necklace that grazed your kiss bitten lips last night, soothing the heat spreading over your skin.

An easy smile on his face, his ring clinks against the glass. “Here,” he says handing you the replacement drink and he stands, “Can’t have my best girl pouting can I?”

You roll your eyes and he pinches your cheek a habit he formed early on both out of endearment and knowing it annoys you.

You admire his outfit, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. Fuck the drink you want to drink your man in.

“See something you like prinţesă? You have that look on your face.” Azure eyes that put the Mediterranean seas to shame glint with mischief.

“Oh, I see something I love.” You flirt back, admiring the way his eyes crinkle as his grin takes over.

“A moment ago,” He returns to his original spot, the one where he hovered over you.

“You seemed as though you saw something you want to devour.” He smirks, head dipped low, lips brushing below your ear, you whimper.

The pendant of his necklace brushes over your sternum. Cold against warm.

“Bucky—,” Your words meld into a moan when his lips trail down your neck, he leaves open mouthed kisses and your hands find his shirt tugging on it wanting him closer.

“A little temptress in this swimsuit of yours,” his larger palm traces from your knee up your thigh and you arch but he only continues over your body till he pinches your hardened nipple through the fabric, “Fuck.”

He reclined the lounge chair further back, caging you in, your leg now wrapped around him.

Bucky’s lips are on yours, needy, frantic, cock straining against his pants and your hands wandering but pulling him closer.

He chuckles into the kiss as your fingers aid in the fall of his sunglasses and his hair coming loose from the bun. He loves how needy you become for him.

How beautiful you look sun kissed and kiss bitten from the night before all of his marks proudly displayed across your chest, shoulder, the one he left on your inner thigh.

Bucky growls as a particular grind of his hips makes you moan as your clit begs for more attention.

“Please, Bucky, please,” You plead pushing the soft blue shirt off of his shoulders.

“Want to taste you, my temptress.” He cups your jaw, thumb stroking your lips, you suck on the tip of his finger.

“I want to taste you too.” You nip at the flesh, Bucky smirks above you.

“I’d have whipped this outfit out sooner.” He laughs when you huff frustrated, then groans as you grind your hips to his, smirking up at him when he affixes you with a pointed glare to behave.

“I’ll eat you out right here, prinţesă.” He says in warning, hand moving to cup your mound. He can feel the heat of your skin, his own favourite concoction waiting between your thighs.

“Is that supposed to scare me?” You raise a brow, “Because if I remember right, no one else sees what belongs to the White Wolf.”

His eyes blaze with something deeper than lust, his possessiveness and protectiveness for you a known fact in his ruthless world.

“Hmm, well if anyone does see,” He kisses your cheek, then trails his lips down your neck, over your chest the warmth of his mouth preceded by the cool necklace over your abdomen. Bucky settles between your thighs, pushing them apart but pulling you close.

Nose brushing over your clothed cunt and the sight is so erotic you can’t help but moan.

“If anyone does see you pleading and pleasing me they know you are mine temptress. As they should.”

The fabric is peeled away and your folds are soaked, he hums pleased before his tongue runs over your aching cunt.

You keen as his lips latch onto your clit, your fingers tangle in Bucky’s hair.

“Which one of us is in for a treat?” Bucky questions rhetorically as you tremble beneath him, his rings digging into your thighs.

Bucky moans, at your taste, “We’re to remain here my temptress. I want to have my fill. You will give me how ever many I want won’t you?”

You nod.

“My good fucking girl.” He praises, mouth back on you, your moans pleasing his ears and your taste satiating as well as growing his hunger for you.

-x-x-x-x-

Bucky Taglist: @slutforsexyseabass @almostcontentcreator @stevesmewmew

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ash-and-starlight · 1 year

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Do you have any really specific and/or personal Zukka headcanons that you’d be okay with sharing? I eat up every hc you put into your drawings like they’re candy, I was wondering if you had any others :D :D

OH boii i sure have,,, nothing coherent is coming to mind atm so ill just expose my Extensive backstories of zukka bethrotal armbands that idk if i will find a way to sneak into art.

sokka’s armband for zuko is forged back at Piandao’s mansion, and it's one of the most fine stunning pieces of jewelry ever crafted. it’s not the usual southern ivory but metal, more similar to the armbands worn as an accessory in the fire nation. it’s made of intertwining bands of gold and black meteor metal, with patterns of waves and dragon scales that seem to ripple and move when the light catches on them just right. and the pendant is a traditional blue stone from the swt.

There are no particular engagement gifts traditions in the fn, so zuko goes on a deep dive into southern water tribe ones, asking sokka’s family and friends about jewelry making and learning to engrave over the course of several trips to the swt. He makes sokka’s armband with ivory from his own first (successful) solo hunt. i’m not sure abt the material of the pendant lmao maybe gold? but amber would also be cool methinks

as for the pendant engraving they display a unique single braincell moment (untrue i just want them to match). love the fact that both of them are sea savvy navigators, love to think that in their pining era they spent a lot of time watching the stars and showing each other the different constellations and navigation pointers of their nations, so in both of their armbands’ stones are depicted the constellation used to guide sailors back home, sokka engraving the swt’s one on zuko’s armband and vice versa.

if they were sun’s out guns out kinda guys before this only gets worse during the first weeks of their engagement. shirts are banned. everyone look at the bethrotal armbands NOW.

#id in alt text #welcome to my cringe and twisted mind #extra headcanon brought to u by the art is that zuko’s knuckles are scarred over bc he spent a lot of angry teenage years just punching shit #also! extra worldbuilding hc just because #since every man in the water tribes is pictured with a necklace i hc that it holds a bit of status/coming of age significance #like everyone makes their own with bone/ivory from their first hunt and then it can be changed or have new elements added later on #zukka #my art #ash replies #OH EDIT EXTRA THOT #since i hc they spend time apart bc zuko has to stay mostly in the fire nation (especially in first years of his reign)#while sokka travels everywhere fixing the world along the way #the constellations could be an extra way to tell each other that they’d always come back #uwu #im so ill

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boyfhee · 7 months

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AMBER AND ALCOHOL

g fluff w kissing, mentions of drinking, hee's tipsy n ri talked about tipsy hee from prada after party and i had to do this

“hey beautiful,” your soft gasp spins in the air as heeseung’s arms wrap around your waist from behind, his face nuzzled up in your neck; something that makes you freeze in your stance as you’re cleaning the kitchen counter after dinner.

“hee?” you say a little above the silence in the kitchen. the pendant lights being the only source of lighting around, it only reminds you how pretty he looks under the dim yellow glow— exactly what he’s thinking right now, about you. “back already?”

and you had expected him to stay out at least till an hour after midnight. after all, evening plans with the guys always keep him out of the doors of his apartment, usually inside a karaoke bar or someone's house, watching a movie. “hm, just missed you, my love,”

his arms wrap a little tighter around you as those words fall off his lips and you chuckle, assuming he’s feeling a bit clingier than usual. you feel his lips softly grazing against your shoulders, a touch that takes you to heaven and back. and it’s nice— to stand in the plain silence of the night, just the two of you and the sound of your soft conversations whispered into the air, just his kisses that trace along your neck, just the way you could stand there and soak in his presence forever.

you turn around, his arms not leaving your waist even for a second, pushing you against the counter instead as he steps closer, just close enough for you to feel his warm breath on your lips— your furrow your brows in dubiety. “did you drink?”

“a little,” he nods in response, whispering against your neck. “you smell so good, angel,” he leans in again, stroking his lips over your collarbones. “did you get a new perfume?”

“yeah, yesterday,” you reply with a soft hum.

and heeseung looks up at you, pulling you a little closer by your waist as he goes in for a kiss, his nose brushing against yours, lips just a few centimetres apart before you put your finger in between. “you reek of alcohol,”

“ah,” he pauses, looking at you before chuckling ever so quietly, burying his face in your neck once again, enamoured, drowsy, tipsy, against your clavicle. “guess i don’t smell as good at you,”

you feel his breath against your skin as you both laugh, a sound that resonates with melody and melancholy. you fingers fiddle with the tips of his hair, lips planting the softest kiss on his cheeks as if you’re muttering the sweetest confession. he feels the love he has for you overflow, it’s so much, so deep, it scares him. he knows it will drown him, he knows he will let it.

“wash up,” another kiss pressed against his cheeks, he nods slightly against your neck. “let’s go to bed,”

“if you keep using this perfume,” his hands fiddle with the hem of your dress, fingers slowly sliding under as he paints invisible patterns over your skin, now looking at you with the same half drunk expression in his eyes, not sure if it’s from love or alcohol. “i might not be able to stop myself from kissing you,”

and his gaze puts you in a light trance, unable to move or respond, far too spell bound by his voice that nothing else seems sensible enough. your eyes settle on his lips and he gets the hint, leaning in once again, an action, this time, mirrored by you as you whisper against his lips. “then i’ll make sure to wear it every day,”

his lips taste of love. a bit bitter, half chapped yet still so soft as they move against yours. you feel the slightest of beer on your tongue, the air smells of the bergamot in your perfume, accompanied by amber. it smells of alcohol as he pressed himself against yours, the feeling just as intoxicating as the drink he had. it smells of him and you,

and it smells of love.

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yellowharrington · 10 days

Text

all i really want (is you) -- carmy berzatto x reader

pairing + fandom: carmen "carmy" berzatto x reader, the bear fx

word count: 3k

warnings: smut! 18+, minors pls dni. afab!reader with pullable hair, no use of y/n. light daddy kink and dom/sub undertones. spanking, exhibitionism, oral (m + f receiving), unprotected piv + creampie, reader and carmy both drink alcohol. please let me know if i missed anything :)

a/n: this is depraved. thanks @wtfsteveharrington for reigniting my need to write about carmy lmao. title is from "all i really want is you" by the marias. please leave comments or reblogs if you liked it <3

divider by @cafekitsune

summary: carmy secretly books a lake-front hotel room in chicago for your anniversary.

Carmy would be the first to admit he’s not very good at being romantic.

He forgets, lets things slip through the cracks, time and time again. He makes up for it, and you understand of course, but he’s working on it.

When your anniversary is approaching, he knows he has to make a plan. Busy with the restaurant, the menu, the money - all of it was overwhelming, but your not-so-subtle reminder of the date gave him the idea.

“So…” you had joined him in your shared kitchen, hand brushing through his curls as he slaved over a pan sauce he’d been perfecting.

“Yes?” He wasn’t annoyed - never annoyed, by you - but in the thralls of cooking, nonetheless.

“It’s our anniversary next weekend and I was thinking we’d try out that new restaurant you were talking about. You know… the one that’s suuuuuper hard to get a reservation at?” You smiled coyly as he held out the spoon with the hot liquid on it, wordlessly asking you for a taste-test.

“Sounds good,” he had remarked, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek and returning to the task at hand. “I’ll make a call.”

“Thank you, Carm,” you let your hands roam his clothed back as you feel the sauce between your lips and on your tongue. “That’s delicious.”

He hummed in response, as your hands drifted down to his sides and played at the hem of his t-shirt. “After our anniversary dinner I have a little… present for you.”

Before he could respond, you had slipped away to the bedroom, only flashing him a smirk before closing the door.

The weekend of your anniversary had approached quickly, and Carmy had actually managed to get everything in place. The reservation for dinner was set, his gift burning a hole in his pocket, and thoughts of what your gift to him may entail swirling around in his head.

You walked out of your shared bedroom, adorning a black dress that hugged your body perfectly. Jewelry to match - done up just right, effortlessly perfect for the occasion. His hand came up to his mouth as he took you in, thanking whatever God above that brought you to him.

“Too much?” You asked, toying with your hair in the mirror and correcting the edge of your lipstick.

“No,” Carmy answered, coming up behind you in the mirror and admiring your form. “Perfect.”

You felt yourself blush as he took your hand and held it to his lips, kissing your knuckles and pulling you into him. “Ready?”

Dinner came and passed, shared glasses of wine between the two of you as you reminisced about past times together. Carmy had always been shy, but easy to talk to, especially when he had some time to open up. You gave him space to do that - he’d never felt more comfortable with anybody before, somebody he trusted with everything. You listened, told him what he needed to hear when he needed to hear it, and kept him in check all while supporting him from the sidelines and meshing perfectly into his insane life. He was eternally grateful for finding you.

He slides a small box across the table at dinner, and when you open it up, you gasp at what’s inside. A dainty necklace, a glossy “C” hanging on the end of it, where it would sit against your chest.

You let his deft fingers close the tiny clasp behind your neck, the pendant hanging perfectly, glimmering in the amber candlelight of the restaurant. “You’re gonna make me cry,” you laugh through a watery smile, Carmy’s hand crossing the table to slide into yours. Warm skin against warm skin, you smile at his small display of affection, tilting your glass towards him as he clinked it with yours.

You notice something might be up when you get back into his car, and he doesn’t take the turn off back to your shared apartment. Instead, he veers off into another lane, holding onto your thigh and giving it a gentle squeeze for encouragement.

You’re down by the water now, making a confused expression at your surroundings. City lights around you, the bustling of other people on dates or nights out, as Carmy pulls into the parking lot of a hotel.

“What are we doing here?” You look at the people stepping into the hotel lobby, some dressed in clothing that was probably more than your rent. He wordlessly turns off his car and exits through the driver’s side, saying something to the valet before grabbing a bag out of the back seat and rounding back to your side. He opens the door for you and takes your hand, before leading you through the doors and into the grand front lobby.

Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling above as he took your hand and lead you to the front desk, a confused scowl still across your features. The person at the front desk waved you two over, typing something into the computer. “Good evening. Checking in?”

Carmy nods, handing over his ID and credit card before smiling down at you.

“We’re checking in?”

“Happy Anniversary.”

You have to make sure your mouth isn’t hanging open, as Carmy’s coy smile plays along his lips.

“You didn’t have to do all of this,” you whisper to him, feeling heat spread across your cheeks as you take in your surroundings. Your hand slips into his as you press your cheek to his jacketed shoulder. “Let me show you to your room.”

An elevator ride to the top floor has you antsy, as the attendant opens the door for you to your room. She reveals a lake-front room, with views of the harbour, twinkling lights in the distance reflecting onto the massive floor-to-ceiling window. “Is it to your liking, Mr. and Mrs. Berzatto?”

A blush runs up your cheeks as the insinuation. Carmy didn’t correct her, just slipped her a tip and assured her the room was perfect. The door clicked politely behind you as you stepped into the room and kicked off your shoes. You turned around to meet Carmy’s eyes as his expression softened, your hands coming up to cup his face.

“I can’t believe you did this.” You’re breathless, still taking in this grand gesture he’d somehow planned completely behind your back.

“You deserve it,” he said simply, tongue darting between his lips as a strong hand came to overlap yours.

The sun had gone down now, navy sky further illuminating the lights below. Rain slacked against the window, simultaneously hard and soft, the glow of the bedside lamps casting shadows on the walls as you got yourself settled. Carmy had abandoned his jacket and tie, leaving him in a crisp white button-up shirt and black slacks. He was laid back on the bed, one hand behind his head, taking some time to relax.

You dipped into the bathroom, smoothing out your hair and checking your makeup in the mirror. You undid the back of your dress and let it slip down your body into a pool on the tile, revealing the gift you’d picked out for Carmy. A black lace set - cupping your breasts perfectly. Lace panties to match, connected to stockings that came high up on your thighs.

You stepped out, stocking-clad feet soft against the carpet. Carmy immediately notices, eyes blown wide as he sits up to take you in.

“Thought you might want your gift now,” you sauntered towards him and met him at the end of the bed, his thighs spread for you to fit between them. His hands immediately came up to touch - to confirm you were real, mostly - because his brain was telling him you weren’t.

You looked down at him, cupping his chin with your hand and the other coming down to his shoulder. Pushing down on him gently, his back hit the mattress, wild eyes not moving off of you for even a second.

You move to straddle his lap, fingers coming down to start unfurling the buttons on his shirt, revealing the soft skin of his chest. Carmy’s rough, calloused fingertips pressed into the plush skin of your hips, eyes wanting to flutter closed but being too entranced by the sight before him to look away.

His fiery eyes fell to the swell of your breasts, hands coming up to press and squeeze at the skin there, thumbs ghosting over your hard nipples. You felt your back arch, pressing against his palms, wanting more, as much of him as you could get.

Carmy’s hands slid down your body to find your clothed core, eliciting a small moan from your lips. You rutted into his hand slightly, feeling his skilful fingers start to work at you over the lace.

You weren’t expecting to give him the upper hand, but it was hard not to submit to his touch - wholly his, looking down at him but still feeling as though he had all the power.

He was sitting up now, pushing your panties to the side and feeling the slick between your folds, maintaining eye contact with you through it all. “Carm,” you panted, strained, embarrassed to be coming apart for him already.

As if he knew, he pulled away, wordlessly bringing his fingers up to your lips. You wrapped your mouth around them, letting your tongue dart between the digits as he wet them with your spit.

“Pretty girl,” he muttered, only loud enough for you to hear, earnest eyes looking up at you, fuzzy around the edges with lust. “My pretty slut, aren’t you?”

“Just for you,” you replied, a smirk on the corner of your lip as he swiftly grabbed your hips and flipped you to have your back on the soft hotel comforter.

He stood before you, giving you a chance to unbutton the rest of his shirt and undo his dress pants, his hand now cradling your chin. You pushed his slacks to the floor, rubbing his thick cock over the fabric of his black boxers. His hand came down to pet your hair, taking a fistful of it at the nape and pulling it back to reveal your shiny lips and eager eyes to him. The pendant he purchased for you glinted in the light.

“Tell me how bad you want it.”

His firm hand on the back of your neck was enough to make your cunt weep, even without his touch. “Please, I need your cock. Please.”

“Good girl. Sit up, all fours.”

You quickly found yourself on your knees on the soft bed, as he let his cock free. He pumped it a few times, angling your mouth with his grip to allow it to drop open. He pressed forward, slipping in between your wet lips and eliciting a carnal groan from his throat. You let yourself submit to his face-fucking, using your mouth to get himself off, leaking tip pressing against the back of your throat. You gagged around him, throat constricting, which only emboldened him to continue. Spit escaped the corners of your lips as you took him in, swallowing him down, all while looking up and batting your long lashes at him.

“Taking it so good,” he remarked, with a particularly long thrust into your throat. Leaning forward, his broad hand found a fistful of your ass, squeezing it before planting a firm spank. A yelp escaped your lips, as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes from the force of him in your throat.

He pulled you off, cock bobbing between his legs before he smeared the spit that had collected all over your plush lips. “So fucking good for me, baby.”

You smiled triumphantly as he leaned down to kiss you sloppily, mixing your spit with his and taking the time to undo your bra and throw it to the ground.

You didn’t even mind when he pushed you back onto the bed, pulling the stockings and panties off to meet your bra on the floor, surely ripping them. His hands pushed your thighs apart, wet pussy on full display as he dove right in, not giving you even a second to catch your breath.

“Fu-uck,” your voice was hoarse and jagged, his warm tongue feeling like it was everywhere. You squirmed beneath his strong squeeze, forcing your back off the mattress as he licked a broad stripe up your centre and flashed his eyes up at you.

Your eyes were trained on his movements, knowing better than to close them. Your hand came down to his sandy curls, feeling your breath quicken as he suckled on your clit, moving his jaw in such a way that was sending an electrifying pulse up your spine.

He moved one hand from your thigh to circle your entrance with his middle finger, enjoying the way you shuddered at the feeling. “Please,” you begged, watching as he detached his tongue from your clit to simply play with your hole. “Please, I need you inside of me.”

His lips pursed as he waited for you to understand why he wasn’t proceeding. A knowing glance, a sob from you as he teased you. “Are you talking to me? I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

“Please, daddy. Please fuck me with your fingers.”

“That’s better.” He plunged into you, thick finger curling inside as you let out a choked sob, your cunt pulsing around him as he moved in and out. His lips attached to your clit once again, sucking and grinding his tongue into you, other hand coming up along your stomach to grab your tit and pinch your nipple.

You rasped his name, throat raw from his previous fucking, letting it pour out of your lips over and over. He lapped at you - feeling every quiver from your pussy and shake of your legs as he continued at a bruising pace, not letting up no matter how much you squirmed beneath him. Still pushing you into the mattress, his own cock rutting against the sheets and growing harder every second that his mouth is on you.

A white-hot feeling spread across the back of your thighs, back arched as you tugged on his hair and met his gaze. He rode out your high with you, letting you gush around his fingers and feeling waves of pleasure rise and fall as your breath steadied. Your chest heaving, sticky with sweat, mascara smeared at the edges as you laid back, feeling Carmy’s fingers pull out and his mouth detach from you.

He found himself between your thighs once more, rock-hard cock sliding between your slick folds to tease your overly sensitive clit. He kissed you, a hunger within him, arms coming up under you to hold you as close as possible. Bare skin against bare skin, his mouth sucking in your bottom lip and biting down slightly, eliciting a smile from you and a depraved moan from your lips.

You reached down between your two bodies and slipped his cock into your ready pussy, swallowing him inside of you and hearing his gasp against your lips at the friction. A shameless grunt as his hips drove into you relentlessly, his curls falling into your face as your head tipped back, letting his mouth attach to the side of your throat and suck a bruise into the soft skin beneath your ear. Your hands found the strong muscles of his back, digging them into his skin and finding your legs wrapping around his middle.

An assaulting pace, languidly in and out of you as you met his eyes, pure lust and fire behind them. You could see the idea flash across his eyes.

He pulled out of you gingerly, as you winced at the loss of contact. He pulled you up with him, towards the windows of the hotel room.

He lightly pushed you against the cold glass, earning a sinful moan from your lips as he took your hands hostage behind your back. The rain still pelted down outside, a symphony against your hard and fast breath.

“Why don’t you show all those people how you like to get fucked, huh? Show them what a slut you are?”

A devilish smile on your lips was met with your cheek against the glass, a broad palm on the opposite side of your face, as his cock slid back into your pussy with ease. Your ass was pushed out for him to land a firm slap on it once again, picking up his pace. His hand came around to push your legs apart, playing with your clit and drawing you close once again, as he released your hands to leave prints on the glass.

“Fill me up, please daddy,” you moaned, letting your head fall slack. “I want you to cum so fucking deep inside of me, fuck,” — another spank, paired with jagged thrusts as Carmy got closer to finishing — “fuck me like you own me, baby.”

“I do own you,” he growled, forehead pressed against your shoulder blades as he felt your pussy clench around him. “Cum baby, cum with all those people fucking watching you.”

“You own me Carmen, I’m yours.” you chanted, turning around to meet his eyes. You watched his eyes glaze over and jaw hang open as his thrusts slowed, making a mess of your pussy as he came deep inside of you.

Your second orgasm followed soon after, cock twitching inside of you as you clenched around him. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder as you stepped away from the glass, legs unstable as a furious warmth came up over your cheeks.

After getting cleaned up together in the bathroom, he flicked off the light as you turned towards the window. His body pressed up against yours, arm secured around your waist as he peppered kisses along your neck and shoulders, musing about how beautiful you are.

“Best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he whispered, another kiss to the outer shell of your ear that made a shiver go up your spine. “I love you more than anything.”

You curled into him and listened to the relaxing rain, his steadying breath and strong arm lulling you safely to sleep.

#carmy berzatto x reader #carmy x you #carmy berzatto fanfiction #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmen berzatto smut #carmy berzatto smut #the bear fx fanfic #the bear fx fanfiction #the bear fanfic

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 21 days

Text

1968 [Chapter 2: Hera, Goddess Of Childbirth]

A/N: Enjoy Chapter 2 a little early! See you on Sunday for Chapter 3 🥰

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 5.4k

Tagging: @arcielee @huramuna @glasscandlegrenades @gemmagirlss1 @humanpurposes @mariahossain @marvelescvpe @darkenchantress @aemondssapphirebussy @haslysl @bearwithegg @beautifulsweetschaos @travelingmypassion @althea-tavalas @chucklefak @serving-targaryen-realness @chaoticallywriting @moonfllowerr @rafeism @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @herfantasyworldd @mangosmootji

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

You are buzzed at a private party in the Rainbow Room of Rockefeller Center, Midtown, February 1966, chandeliers and candlelight, pink and red hearts made of paper hanging from shimmering strings and littering the floor. Your roommate Barbara Nassau Astor—yes those Astors, Astor Avenue in the Bronx, Astoria in Queens, “the landlords of New York”—brought you along tonight, and the chance to be swept up into her glittering existence is precisely why your father sent you to a school like Manhattanville College of the Sacred Heart. Barb knows people who know people who know other people and every single individual in that grand design is wealthy and worldly and could possibly lead you into the generous arms of your future husband. You are from Tarpon Springs, Florida, heiress to a sea sponge fortune, and your father nurses powerful ambitions of intermingling his blood with the Northeastern elite.

You scan the selection as you sip your Pink Squirrel. You could marry a doctor and sit in the living room waiting for him to come home at 9 or 10 or 11 p.m., fix him a Whiskey Sour or a Sazerac, listen to him bemoan the complexities of nerves and veins before accompanying him to bed and repeating the whole process the next day. You could marry a lawyer or an advertising executive, and your fate would be much the same. Your own parents are partners in life and business, but you have seen enough to know how rare this is. These men of the Rainbow Room, 65 floors above icy streets radiant with headlights, want a wife whose hands will stay manicured and idle: nannies will tend to the children, maids will clean the house, mistresses will massage the knots out of the muscles of his back. And you—a relative upstart, new money among ancient bloodlines—will have no right to demand otherwise.

A man interrupts your reverie. He wants to know about the pendant you wear around your neck. You sigh before you turn to him; you resist the instinct to roll your eyes. And then you see him. Tall, blonde, blue-eyed, with a curious intensity and a teasing little smirk, an Old Fashioned in his grasp like molten gold. You don’t know it yet, but he is a senator from New Jersey, very recently elected, victorious yet still hungry. He steals the oxygen out of your lungs. He drowns you in the amber-musk warmth of his cologne.

“It’s Athena,” you say, touching your fingertips to the silver medallion self-consciously; and you are rarely self-conscious. The black polish has been scrubbed from your nails and replaced with a soft, shimmering champagne. You spent two hours this afternoon having your hair painfully teased and arranged into a Brigitte Bardot-inspired updo.

“Goddess of wisdom.”

“And war and peace. And math.”

“Math?” He is intrigued.

“That’s what I’m studying at school. Math.”

“And yet you are not disinterested in the humanities. You know Greek mythology.”

“Well, Tarpon Springs has a lot of Greeks, and that’s where I’m from, so.”

“Studies math. From Tarpon Springs, Florida. I’m learning everything about you.” He smiles, this magnetic stranger who has captured you like a moon lured into a planet’s gravity. He swallows a mouthful of his Old Fashioned, moisture glistening on his lips. “Do you like Greek food?”

You can’t seem to follow his words. Blood is rushing into your face, hot and dizzying. “What?”

“Greek food. Have you tried it? Hummus, tzatziki, gyros, spanakopita, horiatiki, baklava.”

“Oh yeah, I’ve had it. It’s great.”

“My family owns a house on Long Beach Island,” he says casually. “We eat a lot of Greek food there. You should join us for dinner sometime soon.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Very soon. Maybe this weekend. Are you free?”

No, you’re not; but you’ll cancel plans until you are. “Um, okay. Sure. And who…sorry, I might have missed it, but…who are you…?”

“Aemond Targaryen.” And he shakes your hand like you’re someone who matters. “I’m a senator. I’m trying to end the war.”

With him, you could be a part of something magnificent. With him, you could help save the world.

~~~~~~~~~~

Asteria is the goddess of falling stars, but the home of rising ones. On the north end of Long Beach Island, New Jersey—only 100 miles south of the sleek bladelike skyscrapers of Manhattan—lies the sprawling Targaryen estate. The nine-acre property features one main house and another three for guests, a swimming pool, a tennis court, a ten-car garage, a boathouse, a pier, and an ample stretch of beach that abuts the Atlantic Ocean, open water with nothing interrupting the infinite, miles-deep blue from the East Coast to the Iberian Peninsula. It is the first week of July, 1968, and your 23rd birthday. You are lazing in a lounge chair on the emerald green lawn and eating your third slice of melopita, a cheesecake-like dessert made with honey and ricotta. It originates from the Greek island of Sifnos.

“You two can’t murder each other while I’m gone,” Aemond says. He’s sitting between you and Aegon. His stitches have healed, the worst of his pain has subsided, his poll numbers have only improved since the assassination attempt. He has a glass eye that he can insert for public appearances, but he dislikes it; at home he wears a leather eyepatch that still unnerves the children. Tomorrow, Aemond is flying to Tacoma to campaign ahead of the Washington State Convention on the 13th. Most of the family will be joining him, with only three Targaryens remaining at Asteria: ailing Viserys, useless Aegon, and you, officially too pregnant to travel by plane. You are wearing a floral, flowing, two-piece swimsuit. The sun is blazing in a clear sky. The record player is piping out Time Of The Season by the Zombies.

Aegon waves a hand flippantly, then adjusts his preposterously large blue-tinted plastic sunglasses; he is shirtless, flabby, very sunburned. “I’ll barely be here.”

Aemond looks over at him, amused. “Oh yeah? And what pressing engagements do you have to attend to? I’d love to know.”

You take a bite of your melopita and scatter crumbs across the swell of your belly: seven and a half months along. “I’m sure the prostitutes miss him.”

“They do,” Aegon snaps. “I’m their favorite customer.”

“Well you’re a reprieve for them. It’s always over so quickly.”

Aemond is snickering. Aegon says to him: “23, huh? A 13-year age difference. She could almost be your daughter.”

“And 17 years younger than you. She could definitely be yours.”

“That’s how Aegon likes his girls,” you say. “Too inexperienced to recognize end-stage degeneracy. Still stumbling their way through Shakespeare for English class.”

“Why can’t she stay at the brownstone?” Aegon asks irritably. Aemond owns a historic townhouse in Georgetown for when Congress is in session, though he’s rarely been there since he announced that he was running for president.

“Because Doxie is here to make sure she’s taken care of,” Aemond replies. Eudoxia has been the head housekeeper of Asteria for decades, a formidable battleaxe of a woman who speaks very little English and has a seemingly endless supply of patterned scarves to wrap around her ink black dyed hair. There currently aren’t any permanent staff stationed at the brownstone, and Aemond does not trust strangers. “And because my future first lady is hosting a tea party on the 10th.”

“A tea party!” Aegon gasps, mocking you. “Surely that will patch the wounds of our troubled nation. She’s an inspiration. She’s motherfucking Gloria Steinem.”

“She’s Aphrodite,” Aemond says, beaming with pride, his remaining eye fixed on your belly. He’s lost one piece of himself, but in a month and a half he’ll gain another. “Goddess of love.”

“There must be a more appropriate mythological character. Medusa, perhaps. Lyssa was the goddess of rabies, Epiales was the goddess of nightmares.”

“Aegon, I had no idea you were so…” You search for the right word. “Literate.”

“Io was turned into a cow.” He grins at you, toothy, malicious.

“She’s also one of Jupiter’s moons,” Aemond muses. He draws invisible orbits in the air with his long, graceful fingers. “Beautiful, celestial, pristine…”

“A satellite,” Aegon says. “Mindless. Aimless. Going wherever she’s told.”

Aemond insists as he twists the bracelet around your right wrist, a delicate gold chain he bought during your honeymoon in Hawaii: “Aphrodite.”

“Didn’t she fuck around with, like, everyone?”

“Maybe you should be Aphrodite,” you tell Aegon.

Mimi appears, tottering across the lawn with the straps of her sundress sliding off her shoulders and her Gimlet sloshing precariously in its glass. The children are playing in the surf with the nannies and Fosco, who is entertaining them by diving for seashells and delivering his treasures into their tiny, grasping palms. Criston is supervising from the sand, though he steals frequent glimpses of Alicent as she feeds a wheelchair-bound Viserys—much diminished after a number of strokes—his own slice of melopita, one careful, patient spoonful at a time. “Can we…” Mimi bursts out laughing and almost falls over. She claws her way upright again using the back of Aegon’s chair. “Um…I was thinking…”

“What?” Aegon asks, annoyed, avoidant. If they’ve ever been happy, it was a transient epoch that came and went long before you joined the family. It was before the asteroid killed the dinosaurs.

“We should go back to Mykonos. We had such a nice time in Mykonos. Didn’t we? Didn’t we just adore Mykonos?”

Aegon sighs, glowering out over the ocean. “Yeah, we sure did. Ten years ago.”

“Exactly!” Mimi gushes, oblivious. “When can we go? Next week? Let’s go next week.”

“Mimi, you and the kids will be in Washington, remember?” Aemond says. Alicent will have to be her handler; usually it’s your job to make sure Mimi is ready for photos, eats enough to stay conscious, doesn’t trip over her own feet, doesn’t talk too much to the press.

“Washington?” Like she’s never heard of it.

“The state. Not the city. For the convention.”

“Oh right. Right.” She gulps her Gimlet. You could set your watch by Mimi’s drinking. Tipsy by lunch, drunk at dinner, crawling on the floor chasing the dogs around by 8 p.m. The Targaryens keep a drove of Alopekis, small and white and foxlike. “Well…maybe some other time.”

“After the election,” Aemond says with an abiding, encouraging smile. He tolerates Mimi because he needs her: happy wholesome family, American Dream. Down at the water’s edge, the nannies are giving towels to Fosco and the children as they scamper out of the frothing waves, Mimi’s five and Helaena’s three: Daphne, Neaera—no one can ever seem to spell her name correctly, least of all the six-year-old girl herself—and Evangelos.

Mimi departs, on the hunt for a fresh Gimlet. Aegon reaches into the pocket of his swim trunks—Hawaiian print, royal blue—and pulls out a joint and a Zippo. He sticks the joint between his teeth and goes to light it.

“No,” Aemond says immediately, yanking the joint out of Aegon’s mouth and stomping it into the earth. Then he points down the beach towards the sand dunes. “You know journalists will sneak around trying to get photos. You know we’re never truly alone out here.”

“They can’t tell what I’m smoking!”

“Don’t argue with me.”

“You know there are teenagers getting their limbs blown off in Vietnam right now? I think society has bigger problems than me smoking grass.”

“And yet to solve those bigger problems, I have to win in November. And the suburban housewives will not vote for me if they think I support legalizing marijuana. Trust me, I know. I’ve met them.”

“I wouldn’t want those people’s votes,” Aegon says derisively.

“You’d rather Nixon get them?”

Aegon doesn’t have a speedy rebuttal this time. He contemplates the Atlantic Ocean, the wind tearing at his hair.

“It’s hot as hell,” Aemond says to you, gathering up the newspapers he’s been leafing through, never not thinking about the election, never not strategizing. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”

As you accompany Aemond towards the main house—and of course you follow him, always, anywhere—Alicent waves you over to where she and Viserys are sitting to wish you a happy birthday again. From this vantage point, you can just barely spot Otto and Helaena strolling through her garden, a jungle of butterfly bushes and herbs. The stricken Targaryen patriarch beams at the swell of your belly. Viserys likes you, you are his favorite daughter-in-law, though perhaps this is not so lofty an achievement. Moreover, he likes that you are carrying the child of his decent son. Aemond has already decided on the baby’s name: Aristos Apollo. If it is in fact a boy, you suppose you’ll call him Ari, but he doesn’t feel real to you yet. He belongs to Aemond, to the Targaryens, to the nation, but not quite to you. He is more myth than flesh.

“Nothing is more precious than children,” Viserys tells Aemond, raspy and frail. “I would have had at least five more if I could.” Alicent bows her head, an acknowledgement of her failure in this regard. Viserys expects it. You and Aemond politely avert your gazes.

“Thank God for this baby,” Alicent says. “After the year we’ve had? That the whole world has had? We all need something to be grateful for.”

“Yes,” Aemond agrees, smiling. It must be the promise of a son that has made his maiming go down smoother, and maybe it is his soaring poll numbers too, and maybe it is gratitude that he escaped with his life, and maybe it is even the fact that he has you.

But long after dusk when you’re getting ready for bed—slathering yourself in Jergens, stepping into your chiffon nightgown—as you pass through the sliver of light pouring out of the bathroom, you catch a glimpse of something that stops you. Aemond is standing in front of the mirror with his hands on the rim of the sink, his eyepatch slung over the towel rack, his voided eye socket exposed and gory and irreparably wounded. There’s something in his scarred face that you can’t recall ever seeing before. There is a seething, secret, animal rage. There is fury for everyone who has ever denied him anything.

You remember who you were before you met Aemond at the Rainbow Room in Manhattan at a party you were almost not illustrious enough to attend. You wore your hair long and loose, you downed shots, you smoked, you swore, you slept through class almost every Monday; and then you packed all of this away in your allegorical attic and became someone who could stand beside a senator, and then a candidate, and then a president, someone who could tip the scales of fate.

And you think as you lurk unnoticed in the doorway: Maybe he’s been hiding parts of himself too.

~~~~~~~~~~

July 10th, 10 a.m. He’s snoring on a couch in the living room, the one patterned with sailboats. He’s hugging his acoustic guitar like a child clinging to a teddy bear. Sometimes he plays it for the kids: Get Rhythm, Twist And Shout, Stand By Me, You Can’t Hurry Love. That’s about the extent of his involvement in their lives. He has a law degree from Columbia that his father bought for him. Aside from a brief and disastrous stint as the mayor of Trenton, he has never been gainfully employed. You pour the cupful of ice cubes you collected from the freezer all over his bare chest.

“What the fuck!” Aegon screams as he startles awake. “What is wrong with you?!”

“The guests are arriving in two hours. And you’re going to help me host.”

“I’m not slobbering at the feet of those manicured elitists.”

“It’s easy to say ‘vive la révolution’ from your family’s mansion that you reside in as a professional failure.”

“Yeah, you’re right, I’m so worthless. If only I spent more time hosting tea parties.”

“I can’t small talk with governors and congressmen, so I have to charm their wives instead. That’s how it works, you idiot.”

Aegon rolls off the couch and rubs his forehead, wincing, hungover. In the dining room, Eudoxia is readying cups and plates, polishing silverware, folding napkins. The caterers will be here soon, and there are also three dishes that you made yourself: stafidopsomo, a bread with raisins and cinnamon; rizogalo, Greek-style rice pudding; and baklava you spent hours chopping walnuts for. At least one show of domestic prowess is an expectation, two is impressive, three is above and beyond, something for the other political wives to chatter about. You know the importance of making a good impression on them. They are as much a part of their husbands’ careers as the speech writers, communication directors, fundraisers. “I need a Bloody Mary,” Aegon groans.

“You need to pull your goddamn weight. Everyone else is working to get Aemond elected. Your five-year-old kid is out on the campaign trail and you can’t walk around with a tray of hummus and mini spanakopitas? Are you serious?”

“I’m dead serious,” he says, standing with some difficulty and then shoving by you. “Fuck off, Miss America.”

“Aegon!”

But he’s padding off towards the kitchen with his bare feet, tiki print boxer shorts, bedraggled hair. You follow after him in your spotless white heels and sundress patterned with common blue violets. Your earrings are pearls. You’ve wrangled your hair into a tidy French twist. Aegon is getting a pitcher of tomato juice out of the refrigerator, a bottle of vodka from a cardboard Apple Jacks box. He keeps booze and pills hidden everywhere; you’re always stumbling across his caches.

You open your mouth to unleash something hurtful, something hateful, but then you feel the cold flare of liquid on your thighs as the ocean breeze gusts in through the windows. My dress, you think, alarmed. What did I spill on it? One of the ice cubes you threw at Aegon must have caught on the skirt somehow and melted. That’s your first guess, and it is welcome; water doesn’t stain, and you aren’t sure if you have another outfit that is both formal enough and will still fit you. But when you reach down to touch your leg—now the liquid reaches your knees—your hand comes away red.

You look up at Aegon. He’s staring back at you, thunderstruck, horrified. His Bloody Mary ingredients are now forgotten on the countertop. He shouts for the housekeeper: “Doxie?!”

There is indistinct, cantankerous Greek grumbling in return.

“Doxie! Call an ambulance!”

“I don’t understand,” you say to Aegon, bright clotless blood dyeing the whirls of your fingerprints. I ruined my dress, you think nonsensically. “It doesn’t hurt. Shouldn’t it hurt?”

“Don’t move, don’t do anything, just wait for the paramedics.”

But the edges of your vision are going dark and hazy, and the room spins like a flipped coin. Your knees and ankles fold, bones turned to paper. As you drop, Aegon dives for you. You clutch at him, but there’s nothing to grab onto, no suit jacket, no tie, only skin that glows with sunburn. “If I don’t wake up, tell Aemond—”

“You’re not dying, bitch. My luck’s not that good.”

But his eyes are panicked; and they are the last thing you see before you black out.

~~~~~~~~~~

Arteries of cement, bones like lead, heavy eyelids opening to reveal strange white walls.

Am I dead?

But no: you hurt all over. Heaven isn’t supposed to hurt. There are needles pierced through the backs of your hands, a splitting rawness in your throat.

Was I intubated? Did I have surgery…?

You try to sit up. The pain is blinding; the severed and sutured latticework of your abdominal muscles is a pit of glass. You gasp, moan plaintively, fumble for the nurse call button on the wooden nightstand.

“Will you stop moving?” Aegon says as he walks into the room. He’s slurping on a straw that pokes out from a Dairy Queen cup. The fluid inside is clumpy and red. Instantly, you think of blood, and a wave of nausea punches through the shredded gore that was once your belly. Aegon flops down into the salmon pink armchair beside the bed and props his combat boots up on the ottoman. “They sliced you up like the Black Dahlia. You’re gonna rip your stitches.”

“They did a c-section…?”

“Yeah, you had some kind of uterus…thing. I don’t remember.”

The baby?? Is the baby alright?? “An abruption?”

More slurping. “No…I think it started with a P.”

“Previa?”

“Yeah, that one.”

You remember waking up a few times: on the kitchen floor as men were lifting you, in an ambulance as the siren shrieked. Someone said you were being taken to Mount Sinai in Manhattan. And that makes sense, that would have been Criston’s plan. Mount Sinai is one of the best hospitals in the country. You look around the room for a bassinet or a crib. Instead you see a wheelchair and a myriad of flower bouquets; word has already gotten out, and so the customary well wishes are pouring in. Lady Bird Johnson sent bluebonnets, the state flower of Texas; Abigail McCarthy sent lilies of the valley; Muriel Humphrey sent roses, traditional, safe, uninspiring; Pat Nixon sent blood orange gladioli. Mrs. Wallace, newly deceased, neglected to call a florist. “Where’s the baby?”

“He’s fine. He’s downstairs in an incubator.”

Ari, you think, though he still doesn’t seem real yet. “What…?”

“His lungs are underdeveloped. But the doctors think he’ll be alright. You want a Mr. Misty? There’s a Dairy Queen like two blocks from here.”

“No, I don’t want a Mr. Misty,” you say, incredulous. “I want to see the baby.”

“Well they can’t move him and they can’t move you, so you’ll have to wait.”

“I’m going to see him—” You swing your feet off the bed and feel daggers, fire, a splintering like someone has taken a hammer to your bones. You almost scream; it takes everything in you to choke it down and only gasp as your flesh becomes an inferno. I want a joint, you think randomly, an urge you’d believed you had exorcised from yourself, an archaic relic of a past life.

“Told you,” Aegon says smugly.

You lie panting, helpless, glancing at the phone on the nightstand. “Aemond knows?”

“Oh yeah, I’ve called everyone. He knows.”

“Good. So he’ll be here soon.”

“Sure,” Aegon says, perhaps a tad noncommittally.

“Okay.” You’re still trying to catch your breath. Tacoma is a six hour flight away. Even if Aemond doesn’t leave until morning, he’ll be here by sundown tomorrow. “You can go now.”

“Go?!” Aegon exclaims, then laughs, one of his reckless, taunting cackles. “Oh no. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You definitely are.”

“No, I’m not,” he insists, grinning. “For once in my life, I’m the person who’s exactly where he’s supposed to be. I’m the honorable one. The sacred heir of the favorite son has just been born, and the blessed mother has been sawed in half like Saint Simon the Zealot, and where is Aemond? Where is literally everyone else? Across the continent shaking hands and forcing smiles to win him the great state of Washington. I’m not going home. I’m collecting every second I spend here like coins from a slot machine. I won the jackpot, babe. No one is ever going to be able to call me the family fuckup after this.”

The pain is horrible, insurmountable; you can’t think through it. You close your eyes and try not to sob, to wail, to split yourself open in body and soul. I can’t let him see me break down.

“What’s up?” Aegon asks. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I want a Mr. Misty. Go get me a Mr. Misty.”

“Okay,” Aegon says doubtfully. “What flavor?”

“I don’t care. Not red.”

“They have orange, lemon-lime, grape—”

“Just pick one!” you shout, tears brimming in your eyes. Get out, get out, get out.

“Calm down, psycho!” he yells back, heading for the door.

As soon as he crosses the threshold, you snatch the call button off the nightstand and press it frantically until a nurse arrives. You get more morphine and sink into a stillness like deep water, down, down, down.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s dark outside, stars and a crescent moon. On the television is grainy footage from the Battle of Khe Sanh. American soldiers younger than you are dragging their wounded brethren to a Chinook helicopter for evacuation: bandages, burns, missing limbs and faces. Aegon had dozed off in his chair—assisted by an ample amount of Vicodin, surely—but is stirring awake now. He blinks groggily at the screen.

“It’s so fucking awful,” you say, and Aegon’s eyebrows shoot up; it’s the first time you’ve ever sworn in front of him. You trained yourself to stop when you met Aemond. “30,000 Americans dead, God knows how many Vietnamese peasants, Buddhist monks setting themselves on fire, and for what? So we can say we did everything we could to stop communism? So we can humiliate the Russians? There is no liberation of Vietnam. All we’re doing is making those people hate us. And we’re destroying ourselves too.”

“I didn’t know you cared about the war.”

You look at him, mystified. “Everything I do is about the war.”

“But you never really talk about it.” Aegon yawns and stretches, reaching up towards the ceiling. “You talk about Chanel dresses and tea parties.”

“Well yeah, because it’s…it’s unseemly, I guess. For me to speak on the war. Me specifically.”

He snorts. “Because you’re a woman? Who told you that? Aemond?”

You hesitate, watching the television again. Now there are napalm bombs incinerating villages and rice paddies. “I had a boyfriend before Aemond, you know.”

“What, in kindergarten? Chasing each other around the playground? Illicit snuggles beneath the slide?”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “A real boyfriend.”

“No way. You did not.”

“I did,” you insist, smiling a little. “We met at a party my freshman year of college. He was at NYU studying…oh, I always forgot, that was one of our jokes. It was either archaeology or anthropology. I actually thought I was going to marry him for a minute there.”

“Scandalous.” Aegon is gazing at you with his murky blue eyes, grinning, playful. “What happened?”

“He had a moral crisis about poor kids getting shipped off to Vietnam to be slaughtered while he was tucked safely away in his ivory tower. So he enlisted, and honestly it was shocking how quickly I started to forget about him. We exchanged a few letters, it didn’t last long, I think he was forgetting about me too. But he ended up getting killed in action in October, 1965. His old roommate told me.”

Now Aegon is thoughtful. His crooked grin dies. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s his parents I feel bad for. He was an only child. I heard his father drank himself to death.”

“You’ve been carrying a story like that around with you and you never used it? Not in an interview or an article, not at one of your asinine little tea parties?”

“I can’t,” you confess. “Aemond doesn’t want me to. He doesn’t like to be reminded about…you know. That there was someone else before.”

Aegon throws his head back and cackles, combing his fingers through his disheveled blonde hair. “As if Aemond was a virgin when you met him.”

But it’s not the same. It isn’t to Aemond, and it wouldn’t be to the rest of the world either. It is your eternal disgrace. It is something you will be expected to atone for until you’re in the grave. “Give me a joint.”

Aegon is amazed. “What?”

“I know you have some, you always do. I want one. Give it to me.”

“You smoke grass?”

“I used to. Then I gave it up. But I’m making an exception.”

He gawks at you for a while, then slips a joint out of one of the front pockets of his green army jacket. He places it between his lips, lights it with his little chrome Zippo, and inhales deep and slow. Then he offers it to you.

“I don’t want herpes.”

Aegon laughs. “I don’t have herpes. I swear.”

“Not yet, maybe. Give it time.”

“Are you gonna smoke or not?”

You take the joint and fill your lungs with earth, floral notes, a tinge of spice. It’s been years, but it comes rushing back in an instant as the high hits your bloodstream: calm quiet weightlessness, a sense of wellbeing that fills the honeycomb hollows of your bones. “I need to see the baby.”

Aegon stalls. “The doctors were really insistent that you stay here.”

“And all the sudden you care about rules.”

He considers this, drumming his palms on his thighs. His jeans are ripped; he’s biting his lower lip. Then abruptly, he stands. “Alright.” He grabs the wheelchair and pushes it up against the bed. “Let’s go.”

You take another drag and then discard the joint in your empty Dairy Queen cup. You throw off your blanket and try to touch your bare feet to the cool linoleum floor. It hurts, it feels like razor blades, but you keep going. Then you remember you still have one IV in the back of your left hand. “Wait, how am I going to…?”

“You’re in luck. I am well-versed in needles.” Aegon holds out a palm. Nervously, you give him your hand. He peels off the medical tape, takes a moment to examine the vein, then slides out the needle so smoothly you don’t feel it at all; it barely even bleeds. He balls up a Kleenex from the box on your nightstand and secures it to the wound with the same strip of tape. “You’re welcome.”

“Junkie.” You try to lower yourself into the wheelchair and a yelp rips from your throat.

“Oh, this is pathetic,” Aegon says, but not quite unkindly. “Here.” He leans down in front of you. Too desperate to be prideful, you link your arms around the back of his neck. Aegon’s shaggy blonde hair tickles your cheek; his hands skim gingerly to settle on your waist, steadying you without too much pressure. He helps you into the wheelchair, where you collapse gasping and sweating bullets.

“If you ever mention this again, I will guillotine you.”

He winks. “Relax, little Io. I never kiss and tell.”

“I’d assume you’re usually too plastered to remember the details.”

“Be nice. I could roll you down a staircase.” But he doesn’t; he rolls you into the hallway instead.

The lights in the corridor are dim for night, for dreams. You see a few nurses shuttling in and out of other rooms from a distance, but none seem to notice you and Aegon. He steers the wheelchair into the elevator and you ride it down two floors, then cross another hallway and pass through a set of doors. There must be a dozen incubators, half of them occupied. The nurse on duty—currently cradling a tiny infant in her arms, a girl judging by the pink hat, and feeding her from a bottle of formula—gapes at you.

“Ma’am? You aren’t supposed to be—”

“Shut up,” Aegon tells her, and the nurse doesn’t say another word.

Aegon pushes the wheelchair down the line of incubators until you reach the one with a name card labelled Targaryen, Aristos Apollo. And there he is: unmistakably fragile, impossibly small, blue veins like a roadmap beneath translucent skin, tangled in tubes and wires. In his sleeping face you don’t see Aemond or even yourself, but rather an inexplicable familiarity. You feel like you’ve met him before. You feel like you’ve known him all your life.

You press your hand to the clear, domed wall of the incubator; shadows in the shape of your outstretched fingers fall over Ari’s face. “He’s real.”

“Of course he is.” Aegon is watching you; you can see him on the periphery of your vision, a blur of blonde hair and high cheekbones. When you turn to him, he immediately looks away.

“What?” you ask.

“Nothing.” But his voice is distracted, bewildered, like someone fumbling for a light switch in a dark room.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii fanfic #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen ii x you

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upsidedownwithsteve · 1 year

Text

Eddie Munson x fem!reader [1.1K]

To say you were weird would be unkind, Eddie thought. Certainly hypocritical. But you were most definitely odd, a strange, little thing in the most fascinating of ways and Eddie Munson was absolutely enthralled by you.

He wasn’t sure when it had happened, or even how, but he found you in the passenger seat of his van most mornings, riding with him into town so he could drop you off at work before he began his own shift at the record store. You’d merely been a new neighbour, moving into a trailer two spots down and you’d waved one morning, arms stacked with odd bits. A book, a hideously green cardigan, two balls of yarn, a potted plant that looked a little worse for wear and a jar full of coloured beads.

It started with him staring, wide eyed and unsure, listening to you quietly tell him all about each dog in the trailer park - their breed, their name, their favourite treat. Honestly, Eddie wasn’t even sure if the names you’d told him were real or simply ones you’d christened them with yourself. Either way, he was smiling by the time he dropped you off outside the bookstore, sundress erring on the side of too short, cherry red and floaty and completely mismatched to the odd socks and chunky boots you wore.

You jingled when you walked, too many bracelets and bangles stacked on each wrist, gold chains wrapped prettily around your neck, a pendant that had a bug trapped in amber hanging from it. You were like a little music box, Eddie had thought, always hearing you before seeing you.

He found you awfully endearing, too pretty to put into words, everything you did was done softly, delicate, like the sleepy way you spoke, like the way you said his name, all gentle and musical.

You had a thing for pushing a finger to his cheek when you wanted his attention, fingernails always painted lilac and on the hot summer days, when you were both too lazy to do much, he’d join you on your trailer roof, blankets and towels laid out to protect you both from the hot metal, stretched out and half undressed as Eddie let you colour in his tattoos, work tiny braids into his curls.

So yeah. To say Eddie was smitten with you was an understatement.

It’s why his mouth went dry and his jaw fell slack when he picked you up from work one evening, van idling outside Main Street as he waited on you climbing in.

It was still too warm, despite the way the sky was turning all the prettiest shades of orange and pink, and you clambered into the front cab in your floatiest dress. A too short white thing, printed with tiny sunflowers and Eddie grinned at your big boots, one knee bruised, the other scraped.

“Hey, pretty,” he greeted softly, watching fondly as you got settled, kicking your feet up onto the dash and looking over at him.

Your lips were glossy, a pretty pink colour that matched the flush on Eddie’s cheeks ‘cause you were staring at him in a way that he’d never quite gotten used to. Unabashed, without any shame, like you thought he was as pretty as he thought you were.

“Hi, Eddie,” you replied, still watching him, cheek pushed to the van chair.

“You’re up to something,” Eddie mused, making no move to drive off. He liked these little moments with you, before he drove you both home and had to watch you walk away. “You’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“That one,” Eddie grinned, poking a finger to the tip of your nose, every small touch of his unbearably affectionate. “See?”

You’d tilted your chin up, tried to nip at his hand, barely catching his pointer and you huffed when snorted, pulling away. The setting sun was turning him rosy, all tangerine shadows and bright gold light. His brown eyes were a whole other shade of honey, your new favourite colour, you’d once told him.

“I have something for you,” you said as if that explained it, that nervous, shy look that was on your face. You tucked your bottom lip between your teeth, feeling awfully unsure before holding your hand out and Eddie didn’t know whether he wanted to pull your poor, chewed lip from your teeth or accept your present.

“You do?” Eddie blinked, leaning in a little more, curious, stomach lifting and dropping with excitement.

“I made it for you,” you told him, breath hitching as he took it from your hand, the threaded bracelet that you hoped fit him. The braided strands matched the colours that were wrapped around your wrist, something that Eddie didn’t miss, a little detail that made his heart tumble in his chest. “Do you like it?”

Eddie looked a little dumbfounded, lips parted prettily as he blinked at you, holding the bracelet in his hands like it was made of gold dust. There was a tiny charm hanging from the end of it, a little bronzed bat that spun when he twisted the treads.

“I love it, sweetheart,” Eddie murmured, finally looking up at you to smile wide, that pretty, slow stretch of a smile that made his dimples appear. “Fuck, ‘course I like it, it’s sick.”

You lit up and Eddie melted. You were too much, too sweet, too lovely. You scrunched your nose at him, overwhelmed with the praise and you didn’t hesitate when he held out his arm to you.

“Help me put it on, yeah?”

So you crawled onto the middle seat, knees pressed to the chair, old sheet music wrinkling under your shins and you guided Eddie’s hand to sit in your lap. If you both shivered at the touch of him against your bare thighs, neither of you acted as if you noticed.

You took your time, making sure the threads were straight and the knot was tied securely but not too tight, the little bat you’d chosen sitting nicely against his wrist. You hummed a little tune as you did so, one Eddie didn’t recognise and he wouldn’t have been all that surprised to learn you’d made it up on the spot.

But he smiled as you worked, head bent so you couldn’t see the way he was gazing at you like a lovesick fool. But maybe, he thought, you sensed it anyway. ‘Cause when you were done, you lifted his wrist to your face, turning him gently until you could press the sweetest, little kiss to the inside of his wrist, just above where his new present sat.

He cleared his throat when you caught him blushing, the highs of his cheeks all rosy and he had to duck his head as he fumbled with the keys, stalling the van, once, twice, before he managed to pull away.

You were both grinning the entire way home.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson imagine #UDWS10K

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nelapanela94 · 4 months

Text

The music blasts in the dining hall. The band plays non stop. The night is enlivened with alcohol and mountains of food sponsored by the Reeves. Flustered cheeks; people dance, swinging and clashing tumblers, spilling booze on the tables and floor. A pair of bored gray eyes scan the room. The back of his hand threatens to leave a red mark on his cheek. Hange pours more beer, he watches them askance, mindlessly swirling his cup.

Too noisy.

Too hot.

Sweat drops paint a map on his back. He closes his eyes, scrunches his forehead, and wishes he could be somewhere else. At the stables or his quarters.

Signing never ending stacks of files.

Reading.

Wiping the window frames.

He imagines himself sweeping a finger, feeling the grit, his nerves raking against a chalkboard.

A vein is popping in the side of his head.

“Relax” someone elbows him on the side and his eyebrows snap, then sink into a frown.

Hange. “Look, Y/N is coming this way.”

And his nerves tense even more. Every inch of his skin is burning, his cheeks tingle like every time you come around. That dreadful sensation creeping under his chest.

He takes a deep breath. You look beautiful in that dress. He’s not used to seeing you in a dress.

He clears his throat, looks away. Ignores you. He tries. Damn for eyes is waving at you.

“Hey.”

That sweet voice that soothes his strings.

“H…hey.”

“You look very handsome tonight.” The red on his cheeks deepens. His heart is banging, trying to breach out, but the music clobbers his erratic thump. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“He would’ve never missed it.” Hange winks and Levi doesn’t bother anymore. They slide to the end of the bench and shove a finger over their shoulder, pointing to the buffet. “You should taste the ham.” Finally, alone.

With you.

His Adam’s apple bops, he rubs his clammy hands down his thighs. “You look pretty.”

“Thanks.” You fiddle with the pendant of your necklace. “I was wondering if you’d dance with me.”

His eyes widen, staring in disbelief. “I can’t… I don’t dance.”

A little smile curves your lips. “It’s never to late to learn. Besides,” you reel closer, your mouth whispering to his ear. He smells like sandalwood, notes of amber, vanilla. Confidence switches on. “It’s an excuse to be closer to you.”

#levi ackerman #attack on titan #aot #levi attack on titan #snk #shingeki no kyojin #snk levi #levi aot #levi x reader #levi x you #levi is so adorable #Levi Ackerman x you

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jjasen · 1 year

Text

have you ever been in love?

summary: confessions at Midsummer’s with JJ

warnings: alcohol, cursing, angst aplenty

a/n: for context, reader is Kiara’s childhood best friend and hangs out with the Pogues, and is also family friends of the Camerons ❀

word count: 2.9k

You and Kiara made your way across the neatly manicured lawn of the country club towards the Heywards, who were setting up the grill, arms linked as you tried not to stumble in your heels or trip over the hems of your dresses. Kie disentangled herself from your arm in order to approach Pope as she called out in an absolutely atrocious British accent, “Excuse me sir, but are we supposed to shuck these ourselves?”

Pope spun around, ready to chew out another entitled kook, but relaxed when he saw it was the two of you. He nodded at you, then addressed Kie, “That accent was really bad,” he laughed. She made a face and scrunched her nose at him.

“Looks good, Pope,” you smiled at him. “What are you making?”

“Oysters,” he replied. You wrinkled your nose, and seeing your expression, he offered, “You know, oysters are supposed to be natural aphrodisiacs.”

“You’re not really selling it well, Pope,” said Kie, rolling her eyes and adjusting her purple flower crown.

“Oh, shut up,” he said, “Anyways, I thought the two of you weren’t coming to this Midsummer’s shit.”

“Kie’s mom made her go, so she forced me come to ‘suffer in the oppressive horde of elitists’ with her,” you explained, turning your head as you heard somebody call out your name. Sarah waved at you from the porch and beckoned you to come over.

“Little miss Kook princess is summoning your presence,” Kiara grumbled. Pope snorted, glanced at you, and unsuccessfully tried to play it off as a cough.

“Kie, you know I’m not getting in between whatever happened with...that,” you said patiently, rolling the shell pendant of your necklace between your fingers. She rolled her eyes but waved her hand at you and smiled gently, signaling you to see what Sarah wanted. You trekked back across the lawn and smiled as you approached the vivacious blonde.

“Babes, you made it!” Sarah cheered, looping her arms around your neck and pulling you in. You could smell her flowery jasmine perfume, and her wavy blonde hair tickled your nose.

“Yeah, I did! Sorry I missed your entrance, though, Kie and I were running late. You came with Topper, right?” You asked, glancing at her aforementioned boyfriend, who was sulkily nursing a crystal tumbler full of amber liquid and glowering at everyone who approached him.

She winced. “Sore subject. Let’s go get something to drink, yeah? I’ll tell you all about it.” You followed her to the bar on the edge of the dance floor, where Sarah ordered you both glasses of lemonade with sparkling water, sprigs of edible flowers and mint adorning the glasses.

You smiled as you sipped your drink at one of the tall bar stools. “Tastes like childhood,” you said, having drunk countless glasses of the fizzy lemon beverage at Tannyhill with Sarah. The two of you continued to chat, watching couples, including Ward and Rose, drift in their finery and flower crowns across the dance floor.

“I swear to god, she’s going to poke Wheezie’s eye out with that thing,” Sarah laughed as you watched Rose squeeze the youngest Cameron sibling to her side as she talked to the Dr. Thornton. She suddenly frowned and glanced over at you, fiddling with her necklace and biting her lip.

“Do you think you’ve ever been in love?” she asked, her face solemn, her honey-brown eyes widening.

You thought of your friends, of the Pogues, all of you laughing together at the Chateau. You thought of JJ slinging his arm around you, belting out Taylor Swift lyrics with you, a beer can in his hand, of his casual, lopsided grin when he called your name.

“I don’t know,” you said uncertainly. “Maybe. Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. I just- I just don’t think Topper gets me, y’know?” Sarah said, eyeing him and Kelce, who were downing shots and laughing on the porch. She traced a finger absentmindedly across the rim of her glass. “He’s just...so serious about everything. I don’t know, he’s getting really possessive all of a sudden, and I feel so- so suffocated, I guess.”

You nodded and hummed in contemplation, understanding that she already felt smothered by her father’s expectations, but in the back of your mind you were still thinking about Sarah’s question.

Had you ever been in love?

Was it love that you felt when JJ plucked a blushing pink beach rose off of the bushes that lined the boardwalk and tucked it in your hair, saying it reminded him of you? Was it love that time he taught you how to surf and applied aloe to your sunburnt back, and every muscle in your body tightened when his touch lingered a moment too long over you? Was it love when you answered his drunken 3:00 a.m. calls, and he slipped through your bedroom window just to hold you tight as he cried over his father?

You blinked rapidly, trying to clear the thoughts of him from your mind, and turned to Sarah, who sprung up off of her stool all of a sudden. “Come on, let’s dance!” she exclaimed, grabbing your hand and dragging you onto the dance floor impatiently, her hand gripping yours tightly, and you tried not to stumble over the hem of your dress.

“Sarah, you know I don’t dance,” you insisted, resisting her insistent tugs on your arm.

“It’s not that hard! I’ll teach you, I promise. It won’t be the same as our Just Dance battles, I swear, I’ll go easy on you,” she wheedled. You rolled your eyes and relented, allowing her to take both of your hands and place your left hand on her shoulder, the other resting on her waist. She guided you through a basic waltz, despite the jazzy, fast-paced music that was floating through the night air, the string lights bathing everything in a warm, golden glow.

“Okay, I’m going to spin you now!” she exclaimed gleefully, twisting her arm and letting you go. Your eyes widened as you felt her hand slip from yours, and you stumbled into Rafe instead of whirling back to Sarah. He was standing at a table alone, tumbler in hand, and he grabbed your waist with one arm, lifting his drink higher with his other hand so as not to spill it.

“Hey, watch it!” He exclaimed gently. “You okay?” His forearm clenched around your waist to steady you as he looked down at you and set down his drink, a mixture of concern and amusement in his eyes.

“Yeah, sorry,” you said, avoiding eye contact and tucking your hair behind your ear. You were unsure with where you stood with Rafe after his altercation with JJ and Pope at the annual summer movie night. “Sarah was trying to spin me, she was teaching me to dance, and I-”

Rafe cut you off, waving his hand. “It’s all good,” he said absentmindedly, his eyes focused on something over your shoulder. If you had looked behind you, you would have seen JJ drawing near. “Here, show me what you got.” You glanced up at him as he caught your hand smoothly and twirled you, the skirt of your dress gently swirling out around your legs.

“Okay, okay, pretty good!” He encouraged, looking you up and down. You laughed and let go of his hand, turning around to look around for Kie and biting your lip.

Instead, you saw JJ approaching the dance floor, a tray of empty glasses perched with ease on one hand. He adjusted his bowtie with his other hand as he jogged down the porch steps towards you, looking dashing as ever in his server’s suit despite the purple bruise shadowing his jawline. You furrowed your brow, sure that you’d asked him yesterday if he was serving at Midsummer’s today, and that he had replied that he wasn’t.

JJ strode past you and lightly brushed your waist as he slipped behind you to hand a note to Sarah, and a shiver rushed down your spine at the brief contact. He glanced at you, at your dress, his gaze hardening as he saw Rafe standing behind you.

“JJ!” you greeted him, “I didn’t know you were serving tonight.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t know you were here with him,” he said, jutting his chin at Rafe, “so I guess we’re even.”

“What? No, I’m not-” you faltered, but he turned around to go back inside.

“While you’re at it, get me a Mai Tai, huh, buddy?” Rafe called out. “Make it two!” Kelce jeered, making his way over to you.

“Rafe, please stop,” you said coldly, sending him a scathing look as you tried to follow JJ up the steps, where Kiara’s mother grabbed your wrist.

“Mrs. Carerra!” you exclaimed, startled, straining to to see if JJ was okay. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Rafe, Kelce, Logan, and Noah follow him into the club. Your stomach sank with dread. Not again, you thought, please, don’t hurt him.

“Honey, just let him go,” she said, with sympathy in her eyes. “Boys like them, they’re not worth it.”

You jerked back, unexpectedly stung at her words. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Carrera, but I really have to go,” you said, looking for JJ desperately through the club’s windows. “He’s worth it to me.”

Striding in purposefully, heels clicking on the floor, you ran through room after room of the country club in search of the blond pogue. “JJ?” you called out, hearing nothing but the distant music and chatter of the people outside in response. You made your way back outside, disheartened, hoping to find Pope and Kie to help you find JJ.

You hurried across the wraparound porch, looking for a glimpse of Kiara’s lavender dress or a flash of brown curly hair as you rushed down the steps.

“Look- look, man, I can walk myself, I got legs,” you heard. JJ. Wide-eyed with disbelief, you watched as a security guard roughly manhandled JJ across the porch. Heads turned to watch the confrontation.

“Hey, Mr. Dunleavy, I see you got your drink there, I’m actually gonna down that,” JJ rambled, “Whew!” The security guard tightened his grip on him and jerked him down the steps. “Thanks, Daryl, really appreciate the discretion,” he said sarcastically, “I actually just need to find my date and I’ll be going...oh, there she is.”

JJ turned to Daryl, spreading his arms wide and giving him a mocking salute before snagging your hand. “JJ, what are you even doing?” you whispered, taken aback. He shushed you. “Pope, Kie, Rixon’s cove! Let’s roll!” he called over his shoulder, and you could hear Mr. Heyward and the Carreras admonishing their respective children as they ran to join the two of you, whooping with delight.

Your heart began to pound as JJ took your hand and led you through the crowd with ease. You grinned despite yourself as the two of you broke into a run across the grass, hand in hand, veering around the club to where his motorbike was parked. Pope, Kiara, and John B were right behind you, panting and laughing, as JJ grabbed the extra helmet he kept for you and held it out.

“We’ll meet you guys there, just give us a sec,” he announced, leaving no room for discussion. You wondered what had happened with Rafe, what had been said or done, that had gotten him so worked up. Once the others had loaded into the Twinkie and left, sending the two of you curious, questioning glances, you turned to JJ, helmet in your hands.

“Okay, what’s going on?” you asked gently, stepping towards him and setting your helmet on the seat of his bike.

“Did you come here with Rafe?” JJ asked, his voice rough and scratchy, a strange tone of urgency in his question. The way he was looking at you made you feel feverish, a flush rising to your cheeks, and you were the first to break the intense eye contact.

“Why do you care, JJ?”

“Because- because I just do, okay?”

“That’s not a reason,” you frowned. You fiddled with your necklace, the grooves of the seashell familiar and soothing to your touch. It was a tiny white clam shell that JJ had pressed into your palm once at the beach, a hole already bored into it. “For you,” he had said, grinning, his blue eyes sparkling in the sunlight, “a good-luck charm.” Later that day, you had strung it onto a dainty chain and clasped it around your neck, and hadn’t removed it since.

JJ ran his hands through his hair roughly, pacing back and forth in front of his motorbike. “Fine. You really wanna know?” he snapped. He gesticulated wildly in the direction of the dance floor. “That was supposed to be me and you out there.” He huffed. “Listen, I like you, okay? I fucking- I fucking really like you, and I hate that I feel this way. I hate that I let myself think that I could ever deserve you. Shit, I’m falling in love, and I don’t know how to stop.”

He rubbed his hands over his face and glanced at you, his gaze softening.

“We- we can pretend this never happened, I swear- shit, this wasn’t supposed to happen. I’ll get over you, I promise, just please- please don’t leave me,” he said desperately, his voice breaking and his blue eyes shining with unshed tears, begging you to respond with something, anything.

Something in your chest broke at the thought of JJ believing you could ever be capable of abandoning him. “JJ,” you whispered. You wanted, in that instance, to touch him more than ever, to pull him close to you. To hold him tight and never let him go.

“Listen, just tell me nothing is going to come out of this so that I can stop hoping, ok? I just- just please -” he rambled, before you reached for his face. You gazed into his clear cerulean eyes so intently you could have counted each of his eyelashes, and flickered your eyes down to his lips.

“JJ, stop,” you whispered. “I didn’t come here with Rafe. I would never do that to you.”

“What?” He blinked at you slowly, scanning your face in confusion, furrowing his brow.

There was a blond eyelash on his cheekbone, and you brushed your finger over it, your cheeks burning, warm all over. You looked down. “I think this is the part where you’re supposed to kiss me.”

“What?” he said in disbelief. You gave him a gentle smile, and leaned in closer. You could feel the contours of his chest, feel his biceps flex as his arms hovered unsurely around your waist, the heat of his body incandescently burning through the thin silk of your dress.

Standing on your tiptoes, you pressed a careful kiss to his cheek, light as a feather. You continued to brush your lips down towards his jaw, stopping at the sultry curve of his mouth. You could feel the pounding of JJ’s heart, his pulse quickening at your touch and his breaths shallow. Pulling away, you looked into his blue eyes questioningly. Was that ok? Did you like that as much as I did? You tried to communicate through your gaze.

“Oh,” JJ mumbled. “Oh.”

Leaning down, with that casual crooked grin of his, he brought his hand up to cup the bare skin of your neck, the other now firmly pressed into the small of your back, drawing you into the delicious heat of his body. Before you could blink, his lips were crashing down on yours and your hands were tangled into his hair and his hand was tracing your jaw, blissfully hot and feverish and oh, so this is love. This is what love feels like.

Breathless, you moved to gasp for air as JJ continued to lean into you, wanting more, nestling into your neck and trailing hot sloppy kisses down your collarbones. “I thought,” he murmured between kisses, “that I’d never get to do this with you.” He pulled away to look at you, his expression soft, vulnerable, blue irises gleaming beneath half-closed eyelids, the crescent shape of his mouth curving gently. You felt giddily intoxicated with his proximity, as if the edges of your body had melted into him, and you pressed him closer to you.

JJ cleared his throat and let out a low laugh. “We should, uh- we should probably head over to the cove,” he whispered, his breath heady and hot against your cheek. You nodded, reluctant to let him out of your embrace as he tenderly put on your helmet and clasped it beneath your chin. You straddled the bike behind JJ, and he glanced back at you, as if to check that you were really there, that this was real, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight. You smiled at him widely and pecked his cheek in reassurance.

And then you were flying through the air, cheek pressed against JJ’s neck as the wind whipped through your hair, your arms wrapped around his waist. You could feel the muscles of his abdomen flex as he leaned forward, accelerating, and you thought, yes, yes, I have been in love. I am in love.

#jj maybank #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x kook!reader #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank fanfiction #obx jj #obx fanfiction #outer banks #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank smut #jjasewrites

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augentrust · 2 years

Text

essek wearing amber on delicate chains under his collars. caleb with pearls dangling from his ears. obsidian rings, corded platinum bracelets, fragile pendants filled with gold dust. shadowgast who appear to love gifting each other jewelry (and do!) but who are actually armed to the fucking teeth with spell components at a moment’s notice

#no focus? no problem #critical role #shadowgast #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #is this an excuse to say i think caleb should wear more pearl earrings?#maybe #august chats #cr2

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writerfae · 6 days

Text

A gift for Callan

This is both a gift for Callan's birthday and a story in which Callan gets a gift, thus the title. Fun, isn't it? I hope you enjoy!

Callan stood on one of the ballroom's balconies, hands clasped around the railing as he looked out into the night.

From here he had the perfect view over the palace garden. Bathed in moonlight, it was truly a sight to behold.

Someone else entered the balcony. That someone closed the door, blocking out the sounds of the festivities taking place inside the palace, then they came to stand right behind Callan.

He knew who it was even before a pair of warm arms wrapped around him.

"Beautiful," Henry whispered, his voice close to Callan's ear. It made him shiver despite the warmth of spring.

"Yes, the garden at night is really something."

His fiancé- husband, his mind corrected itself - chuckled. He kissed Callan's neck. "I wasn't talking about the garden."

A bright blush erupted on Callan's face at the words.

Henry never failed to coax this sort of reaction out of him and sometimes it seemed to Callan like he did it on purpose, taking pleasure in Callan's flustered reactions.

His suspicion was confirmed when Henry kissed him again, this time right behind his ear, a grin clearly evident on his lips against Callan's skin.

The prince couldn't help but to smile, too. "Charmer," he accused Henry fondly.

"I'm just being honest."

Callan let go of the railing in order to lean more into his husband's - Callan very much liked that word - embrace, holding on to the arms encircling his waist.

"It was getting lonely in there without you," Henry broke the silence after a while.

"I'm sorry," Callan said. "But after Rhys' speech I needed some fresh air."

Of course his best friend, in true Rhys fashion, didn't miss the opportunity of lovingly embarrassing Callan in front of everyone by sharing stories about Callan’s "insufferable and painfully obvious pining".

Callan wanted to die of embarrassment right then and there.

Henry laughed quietly. "I found it quite interesting. I didn't know that you liked me that much when we were younger."

Callan glared at him, cheeks burning, but it only made Henry laugh even more.

He buried his head in the crook of Callan's neck. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

He shook his head, his hair tickling the side of Callan's neck. "I probably wasn't much better, I just didn't have anyone to ramble about you to," he admitted.

Lifting his head, he kissed his husband's cheek apologetically.

Callan, who had already forgiven him (he couldn’t be mad with Henry for long even if he tried to, especially not for such a minor thing), smiled.

"What a shame, I really would've liked to hear what you thought of me back then."

Henry hummed. "I can tell you, if you really want to know. Later."

Callan turned his face to look at him, amused. "Why not now?"

"Because," Henry leaned in to place a quick kiss on Callan's mouth, before pulling away just as quickly. "Right now there's something I want to give to you. Close your eyes."

Callan smiled and did what he was told. The arms wrapped around him disappeared and he could hear the rustling of Henry searching for whatever it was he wanted to give Callan.

The prince wondered what it could possibly be. But he didn't need to wonder long, because Henry soon leaned back in and whispered close to his ear.

"You can open them now."

He didn't need to tell Callan twice. The young man opened his eyes. What he saw made him gasp.

It was a necklace, simple, but beautifully made. The plaited brown leather band already looked a bit worn out at the edges, but the leather was still shining.

The pendant was made out of apple tree wood with runes carved along the frame that surrounded a gemstone that almost seemed to glow in the reflection of the moonlight.

The gem had the exact same color as Henry's eyes. An Amber.

Callan recognized it immediately. He turned to look at Henry in awe. "Isn't this…?"

He didn't need to finish the sentence. Henry nodded, a smile on his face. "My mother's. A wedding gift to her from my... from Milan."

He moved to gently put the necklace on Callan. It fitted perfectly, like it was meant to be around his neck and his neck alone.

"And my wedding gift to you," Henry finished, voice soft with fondness. Callan touched the pendant around his neck in awe.

"Are you... are you certain? It's all you have of her."

He knew about the meaning of this necklace, one of the last remains Henry had of his mother. It was of immeasurable value for him.

And he decided to give it to Callan.

"I am." Even though he couldn’t see him, Callan could tell that Henry was smiling.

"This necklace was always a sign of love. So what better way could there be to honor my mother’s memory than to give it to the person I love more than anything? I want you to have it.

And I know she would've wanted it too. She always wished for me to be happy. And I am, with you."

Callan turned around immediately, tears gleaming in his eyes.

He put his arms around Henry's neck, who in turn wrapped his arms around Callan's waist again, and pulled him into a kiss, one of many yet to come that night.

"Thank you," he whispered as they pulled away, still holding each other close. "I love you."

Henry laughed quietly, kissing Callan's temple. "And I love you. Now do you want to go back inside? Or should we dissappear from here altogether?"

Callan laughed, raising his eyebrow at Henry. "You mean leaving our own party?"

Henry grinned. "Why not? It's our wedding, isn't it? So we can do whatever we want."

"And what do you want to do exactly?"

Henry's grin only grew. He leaned close to whisper something into Callan's ear and that something made the blush on Callan's face flare up all over again.

Henry only laughed, before taking Callan's hand in his and dragging him along into the moonlit garden.

...

tag list: @andifthestarsweretodie @bloodlessheirbyjacques @bluehourskyeli @deadlycupid @dustylovelyrun @justafrogandherumbrella @ladywithalamp @magic-is-something-we-create @myhusbandsasemni @my-cursed-prince @phantasticdomains @rhikasa @saltysupercomputer @sleepy-night-child @soupopoireau @theguywithnonickname @thewalkingnerd @vampywriter @vsnotresponding @writing-is-a-martial-art (if you want to be added or removed from the tag list let me know!)

#writer speaks #writeblr #wip: the knights of the alder #writing #my writing

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sihtricfedaraaahvicius · 3 months

Text

The Goddess

Note: requested by @foxyanon! I really hope I did justice to your idea.

Warnings: 18+! smut, primal play, sex magick, knife play, blood.

pairing: Modern!Sihtric x you (f)

summary: you and Sihtric did a new ritual together.

wordcount: 2,2k

Masterlist

You and Sihtric simply couldn't get enough of each other. You had just moved into your first home together. The furniture was scattered all through the apartment, as were unpacked and half unpacked boxes. The only room that was completely finished was the bedroom. The walls were painted a pleasant colour of green, while the cabinets and decorations were a mix of golden and rose. The colours represent the goddess you both honoured, Freyja, for whom you also had made a little altar in the corner of the bedroom. You and Sihtric had done rituals together to honour the goddess and to ask for her help, and with her help you had managed to successfully obtain the wonderful apartment you now called home. So when you told Sihtric a ritual was in place to thank the goddess, and also to ask her to bless your relationship in this new phase of your lives, he immediately was onboard. And it wouldn't be just any ritual, no, it would be the first time you performed sex magick together.

The bedroom was smoke cleansed earlier that day, and now incense burned and the scent of amber spread in the air. Flower petals were scattered on the floor and candles were lit in safe places. All the lights were switched off, your new home was completely dark, apart from the several burning candles that were safely placed in every apartment room. You and Sihtric had both taken a cleansing shower, separately, before you met again for the ritual in the darkened bedroom. You were dressed in a silky white, short nightgown while Sihtric was wearing just his grey sweatpants, comfortable and light clothing were important because you had to feel at ease and not restricted.

Sihtric's dark, shoulder length hair was still damp and pushed behind his ears. The scars on his face, arms and torso were visible as the candles casted a faint and romantic glow. Your almost dried hair was tied back into a bun and you were both barefoot as you sat on a large blanket made of black feathers, which you had spread out on the wooden bedroom floor. Next to you, on the feathery blanket, was a round wooden plate on which an athame was placed. The silver double edged dagger had a black handle and runes carved into the blade, and it was purely used to draw blood or cut flowers and herbs during rituals. Next to the athame was an amber necklace and a first-aid kit, just in case, but you trusted each other and knew you both would be careful when it came down to using the blade.

Sihtric's Mjölnir pendant dangled as he leaned in to secure the amber necklace around your neck, which would later be an offering to Freyja. He then sat back and mirrored your position. You had thoroughly discussed the ritual beforehand and were clear on what you wanted to manifest and achieve. Sex and magick had never been an issue in your relationship, but combining the two was new and you were both filled with adrenaline. You both sat back on your heels, knees touching, and you lightly held each other's hands and looked into each other's eyes. Your breathing slowed down, as did Sihtric's, and soon you both breathed calmly and in sync. You gazed into Sihtric's mismatched eyes, one light and one dark, and your focus was purely on him, his body and your own body. You felt your muscles relax and your thoughts stopped racing, a trance like feeling washed over you, nothing but calmness, safety and love. Pure, primal, raw, real, deep, lustful, passionate and honest love. That is what you felt for each other and that is how you planned on honouring the goddess as well as each other.

You felt your heart begin to beat faster while your breathing stayed calm, but became heavier, and your lips parted slightly while your relaxed state slowly filled itself with desire. You saw Sihtric's eyes darken after he experienced the same feeling, and he slowly but firmly rubbed his thumbs over your hands. You both smiled softly while your eyes wandered all over each other, and the loving gazes transformed into lustful gazes. Sihtric slowly licked his lips, then his teeth, and he swallowed hard to keep his breathing steady. His eyes darkened even more and then he slowly got up on his feet. He held your hands and helped you up to stand in front of him, he turned you around, your back towards him, and he slowly trailed his tattooed fingers up your arms and to your shoulders. He lightly touched the amber necklace around your neck and, when he leaned in as he towered over you, you felt his cold bronze pendant touch your back. It sent a pleasant shiver down your spine, and your breath hitched in your throat when you felt his warm breath on your neck.

'Hide, my little bunny,' Sihtric whispered, his lips grazing your ear while his low voice made you shiver with anticipation. 'Run and hide,' he chuckled playfully, 'and I will hunt you like a falcon. And when I find you,' he husked, 'you're mine to play with.'

You held your breath until Sihtric stepped back, and you felt his hands slowly pull away from your bare arms. Then, when you lost his touch… you ran. You ran as fast as you could through the dimly lit halls of your apartment, away from the bedroom, and you began to tip-toe through the half dark in search of a hiding place. You hid between a few unpacked boxes in the spare room, knowing that if Sihtric stepped into the room you could escape through a second door that led to the storage room next door. You listened carefully for any movements, but Sihtric was quiet and had no trouble sneaking around. He had done it often in his own home, when you stayed over, just to scare you. But now it was different. Now you were hiding from him because you knew he was sneaking around, and you knew he would carry the athame that had been in the bedroom. It was all part to honour the goddess and to become even closer to one another, through exploring sexual desires without fear and shame and to be aware of all your senses.

You felt the excitement in your body; in your core, as it tightened like a spring that needed to be released. You shuddered when you suddenly heard your boyfriend's light footsteps nearing the room you hid in, and you had to bite down a nervous and elated giggle.

Sihtric quietly entered the room after he had searched the living room and the kitchen, but there his instincts told him to look in the spare room, and once he stepped through the door he smiled. He chuckled softly, the sound of it setting your lower abdomen on fire. He chuckled because he knew you were in the room. He knew he had found you, because he smelled you. He smelled the scent of your body lotion, which he loved, but there was another scent he caught which he loved even more.

'I know you're here, bunny,' Sihtric purred, 'I can smell you, darling. I smell the scent of lavender and eucalyptus,' he inhaled sharply and smacked his lip, then exhaled slowly, 'and the scent of your soaked pussy,' he almost growled. He pulled away the box you hid behind after you let out a soft moan at his words, and you jumped up. You laughed and screamed, then tried to run to the second door but Sihtric was fast, like a falcon, and he grabbed your arm. He yanked you towards him and pushed you down on the floor, where he crawled on top of you. Sihtric was just a shadow above you, as the candle casted its glow from behind him, but he could see your eyes widen with arousement and anticipation, and he laughed threateningly as he leaned in. You caught a glimpse of the blade in his hand as he held it up, and then you felt the cool steel being pressed against your throat.

'You're mine now, little bunny,' Sihtric cooed in your ear.

You then felt his tongue on your neck, licking up to your earlobe which he bit teasingly while his free hand moved up your thigh and underneath your nightgown. He trailed his fingers up between your thighs, lightly teasing your folds which he had free access to as you wore no panties, and he then smoothly pressed one finger inside you. You didn't speak, but your heavy breathing and the wet fluid that coated his finger told Sihtric all he needed to know. He got up and swiftly threw you over his shoulder, and he gave your ass a hard spanking as he carried you back to the bedroom. You pretended to fight his grip on you, just to rile him up, and it worked. Because he threw you on the bed and smoothly cut through the silky fabric that covered you up with the ritualistic dagger. Sihtric tore off your ripped nightgown and he was fast to remove his sweatpants. He then pinned you down on the bed again, the dagger held lightly against your throat. Sihtric's breathing was heavy and he bared his teeth at you, he then removed the blade from your neck and his lips took its place, sucking your sensitive skin, marking and claiming his prey.

You felt his markings as he made them, and you raked your hands through his wild, loose hair. You pulled his locks, hard, to which Sihtric growled like a beast and began to tease your pussy with the tip of his hard, leaking cock, his pre-cum mixing with your own arousal. You moaned and dug your nails in his back, clawing at him and scratching his back while he sunk his teeth in your shoulder, leaving his teeth marks. Strangled moans and heavy grunts left his lips when you began to push your hips up against his, desperately wanting to be taken by the man who owned your heart. You wrapped your legs around his waist, another silent beg for him to take you. He then flipped you over, on top of him, while he laid back on the bed and looked up at you with hooded, adoring and lustful eyes. His big, warm hands grabbed your hips and he grinded you down on his cock.

'Ride me,' he commanded, yet half begged.

You obeyed and sunk down on his twitching length. You both gasped softly as you took him all in, and you felt his fingers dig into your skin, holding you with a bruising grip. You began to rock your hips, slowly at first and gradually speeding up. The candle flames flickered as you looked into each other's eyes, both completely in awe with one another and so in love. Sihtric smiled at you, sweetly, and he bit down on his lower lip as he hummed in pleasure, watching you bounce rhythmically on his cock while your hands were placed on his broad shoulders. You dragged your nails down over his muscular chest, leaving red marks and drawing tiny droplets of blood from him, with which you painted your fingertips and you then brought your hands up to your neck and trailed them down your breasts to your stomach, painting yourself with light and thin strokes of his blood, until you reached your clit and began to stimulate yourself with your reddened fingers.

Sihtric took your free hand and kissed it, then licked and sucked his own remaining blood off each of your fingers while he watched you pleasure yourself as you rode him so perfectly. He carefully took the athame and he made a light, shallow cut on the palm of your hand and he pressed it onto his chest, his heart, which you owned, and your blood left a mark before you smeared it over his torso and then onto your own thighs. And as you continued to make that raw and passionate love, you both envisioned yourself together in the future. You were manifesting your wishes, dreams, desires and goals while you made love. And when you both felt your climax approach, Sihtric cut the amber necklace around your neck with the silver blade and you both held it in between your blooded hands, as they were pressed together, coating the amber with the colour of two lovers who were destined to be together.

And as you both came, your desperate gasps and moans and his groans and deep grunts mixing together, your fingers locked even tighter as you held each other's hand. And Freyja's offering, the amber necklace painted with blood and charged with the energy of both your orgasms and love, was held tightly as you both came down from your highs. And once cleaned up, you and Sihtric would place it on the little altar for the goddess, and afterwards you would fall asleep in each other's arms; safe and loved. Forever.

taglist: @clairacassidy @finanmoghra @uunotheangel @hb8301 @bathedinheat @neonhairspray @anaeve @bubblyabs @travelingmypassion @sylasthegrim @andakth @succnfuccubus @willowbrookesblog @lady-targaryens-world @skyofficialxx @elle4404 @alexagirlie @sweetxime @solango @gemini-mama @cheyennep3107 @little-diable @jennifer0305 @drwstarkeyy @mrsarnasdelicious @verenahx @urmomsgirlfriend1 @foxyanon @djarinsgirl27 @sigtryggrswifey @diiickbrainn @sihtricsafin @lexwolfhale @dixie-elocin @m-a-s-h-k-a

#sihtric x reader #sihtric x you #sihtric kjartansson #the last kingdom #sihtric #tlk #the last kingdom fic #sihtric fic #modern!sihtric

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harryforvogue · 1 month

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something from a fic i'll never write. i've been reading way too much about faeries, changelings, and heirs

***

She spots him as soon as she enters through the threshold, eyes snagging with his. He looks away quickly though, and then glances over his shoulder to make sure the person he sees is just a trick in the light, and that her hair isn’t really billowing around her in white fans, and her eyes aren’t the color of obsidian rock found in the depths of the caves of their homeland. She knows it, however, that he’s seen her, because to the regular mortal eye, she’d subdued herself to have gentle brown eyes, hair with white highlights, and a figure that isn’t so sickly and thin.

Sauntering her way through the crowded bar, she’s sure he feels her approach. His back tenses, and his handsome face contorts into a look of dread. But he doesn’t move, showing the bravery of the prince of Faerieland that he is. She fixes her blouse as she sits down on the seat beside him, resting her elbows delicately on the bar.

“Hello.”

The man looks at her for a second too long, noticeably looking at her shoulders to find her hidden wings, before returning to his amber drink. “Sprite.” His tone is cutting, abrupt. “I’d like to be left alone.”

“Worry not. I’m not here to gloat or embarrass you, changeling heir. I’m here to welcome you to the mortal lands and ask that you speak truthfully with me. Now that you’re no longer bound by the rules of Faerieland and are able to lie of course.”

She orders herself water with a lemon wedge.

His eyes rush over to hers, dark with anger. “Do not call me that.”

She shrugs, taking a sip of her water. “What do I call you then?”

“Nothing. You stay the hell away from me.”

She clicks her tongue. “Sure, I can do that. After you do something for me. And I’m not hard to please. All I need is a vow that you’ll leave these mortals alone, and I’ll never speak to you again.” Another sip. “That is, well, until you leave me a bloody mess to clean up. Then I leave you as a bloody mess for someone else to clean up.” She smiles at him.

The man, or rather the abandoned adult changeling that would have been a false king, doesn’t say anything for a moment. He observes her as she finishes her drink and orders another one from the bar. The bartender looks at her hazily, the fog over his eyes registering a young woman who happens to be pleasantly chatting with her date at the bar.

She’s not so sure what the mortals see when they look at this new arrival though. How good is his glamor? Is it an intentional glamor, or whatever has remained on him from his journey to mortal lands?

What she sees, though, is a man likely in his late twenties, with dark curls tucked behind his ears, in casual dark jeans, and a white shirt. Around his neck is a pendant, an ancient one that shows his heritage and his lineage. He is incredibly beautiful, as all royal faeries are.

She sits in the presence of the heir. Or now, the exiled heir. Removed from the lineage after being humiliated before the court. She’d heard about it through her spies in Faerieland. She never would have expected him here though.

He stares back at her. Clearly he’s used to seeing various different faeries, trolls, nymphs, and other woodland creatures (which she is) because he doesn’t blink an eye at her appearance. She’s long come to terms that her haggard, wild, looks cannot come close to the beauty of mortal women, but it’s nice to be seen. The heir looks at her real features, and not the ones she’s applied with glamor to look like the rest of the women in the bar.

Finally, he looks away. Looks back at his drink. “I’m not here to kill anyone.”

“That’s a relief,” she answers brightly. “Now I don’t have to kill you.”

He doesn’t answer.

She barrels on. “They call me the Queen Sprite here. Because this land is so close to the land of Faerie, many exiles and defectors come here, but their nature gets the best of them. They terrorize the mortals, often killing them. My job here is to prevent that. I’ve grown quite sentimental of the mortals.”

“And who put you in charge of that?” the heir says icily. Clearly he doesn’t want to be bothered. She doesn’t care.

“I did,” she replies. “I’ve been here for 26 years. A changeling myself. Though only 9 of those years have I been called Queen Sprite.”

“By whom?”

The heir’s lingering authority remains in his voice. He must be used to ordering about faeries and servants. She feels the pull of his magic trying to draw out a truthful answer from her.

“There’s no need for glamor,” she says. “I’ll answer any question truthfully. You’ll find it’s possible to lie here, but I will not do so. Not for a fellow changeling.”

“I am not,” the heir hisses, catching the eyes of several bargoers, “one of those.”

“You are,” she answers calmly. “Just as I am.”

“I am not like you.”

She finishes her drink and holds a hand up kindly when the bartender approaches her again, signaling she’s done with drinks of the night. “I put myself in charge. And it’s gone quite swimmingly, and it will continue to do so as long as you don’t raise your voice at me or threaten me.”

The heir’s eyes are darkened. He looks down at her with a sneer, eyebrows dipped low. His hands are in fists on the bartop. “We will have no problem as long as you quit calling me that.”

“You must have known your whole life,” she presses. “How different you are. A man in Faerieland that is more mortal than fae. And a royal. One that looks different from his family, though his internal characteristics may be similar to the King.”

“Leave the hell alone, sprite.”

She ignores him, pressing on the bruise some more. “You must have known that your abilities were all learned. That the longer you stayed in Faerie, the less human you became, and maybe you were scared at first, waiting for you to be returned to your human parents in exchange for the other changeling, but it never happened.” She shakes her head sympathetically. “Really, it’s a tragedy. Instead of being sacrificed, you were made to believe you were truly a member of the royal family. That you could in fact rule your court.”

“That is enough!” the half man half fae shouts, slamming his hand down on the bar. “I don’t know who you think you are, but you’d do best to walk away before I do something we’ll both regret.”

She glamors their conversation to make it look like a lover’s spat.

“I told you not to threaten me,” she answers, tapping her long fingers on the top. “I’m not your enemy. I’m like you–”

“You are nothing like me,” he seethes. She watches him throw back his drink. “And you’d do well to remember that.”

The anger lingers in the air like a dark cloud. Instead of leaving, he sits there, gripping his glass so tight, it cracks at the rim.

“You can’t leave,” she says. “Physically, you’ve been unable to leave the bar. I’ve watched you for three days now. The drinks don’t affect you. The people don’t affect you. All you’ve done is sit here and feel sorry for yourself.”

“I’m not tearing mortals apart limb from limb so let that be solace for you, and proof that I don’t intend to harm,” he growls.

She sits up straighter in her seat. “How do I know that? You may as well be like a ticking bomb waiting for the right moment to explode.”

“And I supposed you think you’re the diffuser?”

“I am. I told you, I’m the Queen Sprite of these lands. I’ve sat with my council and we’ve talked about it. I need to deal with you personally. You’ve got to figure out if you’re going to stay here or if you’re going to barrel your way back to Faerieland. And if you do leave, you’ll return angrier.”

“So you say my only choice is to stay here.”

She shrugs. “If that’s what you got from what I’ve just said.”

He stares at her, enraged. “You live up to your name.”

A low blow, but she swallows it gracefully. “I live up to my nature. As do you.”

She leaves then, putting some bills on the counter to pay for both her drinks and his, giving him a once over before leaving.

***

The next day, the heir is still in the bar. He avoids her by talking to a young woman beside him. By midnight, he’s kissing her, so the sprite leaves.

***

The day after, the heir is still at the bar, in a booth now. He nurses a couple shots, knocking them back one after the other. She watches from a distance, and then approaches when he’s taken at least ten or eleven.

“You know they won’t affect you,” she tells him.

He turns his head to look at her, eyes clear. “I can snap your neck right this very moment, sprite.”

She leaves, letting him lick his wounds.

***

The following day, he sits at the bar without a drink before him. His hair is unruly, falling into his eyes. His knuckles are red and raw, which alarms her, but she soothes herself with a reminder that men do many stupid things. He could have just punched the wall in anger.

He doesn’t look like he’s been to Faerieland because his magic seems to be slipping. When she looks at him, she sees him in his usual white shirt, but sometimes when she blinks, he’s in a black shirt.

“Hello, prince.” She sits beside him.

He turns his head to look at her. His eyes are red and filled with sorrow. “Sprite,” he answers.

“How are we feeling tonight?”

“I need to go home.”

She orders herself a drink. “I’m afraid the court isn’t home for you anymore.”

He surprises her by putting his head down on the bartop, dropping his hands to his lap. He looks younger, though more ruffled, not longer with the air of royalty. He’s looking more human, more exiled. His shirt flickers in color.

“I was the crowned heir,” he says, voice muffled. “I was the one they wanted.”

They stay silent for sometime.

Then, the prince says, “I tried to go back. They’ve locked all the doors. Some magic I don’t know. Magic I’ve never been shown.”

“I figured they would.”

“I feel like a child. Like my parents have abandoned me again.” He raises his head to look at her. “I remember it very well. When they took me. I think the fae part of me enhances those memories. I was barely 3 years old. Pretty old for a changeling, though. But after I got over it, I adjusted to palace life so well that I..I guess I just thought…”

He takes a deep breath, eyes golden. She wonders what his real eye color is.

“But clearly I’ve thought wrong.”

“What is your name?” she asks him. “We always have space for new exiles.”

At the last word, he shudders, but his shoulders fall with defeat. He stares down at her for some moments before he says, “Harry.”

A ripple of magic runs through her. Half human or not, his true name willingly rolling off his tongue makes her shiver. She stares back at him with largened eyes.

“Okay,” she says carefully.

“My true name holds no weight. And despite being an exiled prince, you cannot have control over me with that name. These limits, at least, can be upheld in the mortal world..”

Harry stands up, taking a deep, shaky breath. “Show me where you hold council, sprite. And be prepared to be dethroned.”

She stands as well, fluttering to get ahead of him as they leave the bar together. She feels a warm glow in her chest at the sight of him in the dark night, face illuminated by a weak lamp on the street.

“Welcome,” she says earnestly, “to the mortal world, your highness.”

#harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles x oc #harry styles fanfiction

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