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#not that i begrudge you if you ship them

utilitycaster · 6 months

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I don't begrudge anyone their campaign preferences, and I think there's plenty of valid reasons to like Campaign 3 the best and this is not directed at people who are genuinely having a great time with it, but it feels like virtually all the nostalgia and wishful thinking I see surrounding Campaign 3 is screaming "you guys want Campaign 2." You want more slow travel and downtime and interparty conversations and slow-burn romance? You wish their main focus was fighting governmental corruption? You want a party that only semi-settles down at the end and keeps adventuring and remains very close? You're frustrated by how everpresent and overarching the moon plot is? You miss when they were just fucking around in a city? I genuinely believe you want Campaign 2, or at best you love a specific ship or a character from Campaign 3 but aren't happy about basically anything else, and would vastly prefer the tone and events and plot of Campaign 2. And I don't really care if you watch Campaign 2, or if you think I'm being annoying here; I simply genuinely believe you'd be happier watching Campaign 2 than Campaign 3 and are so deep in a sunk cost fallacy well you can't see it.

#the number of people who SCREAM if you imply campaign 3 is not the greatest campaign but also openly resent the moon focus is. high.#i've had my complaints about the people from c1 who would shit on c2 but i'll give them this: they actually do love c1.#it feels a lot of people just want bells hells at a chuck e cheese birthday party and like. that's not campaign 3 babe.#i actually have grown to really like the moon plot once it finally took off #and c3 has had some satisfying lore resolutions and new places #but it feels like the people who showed up to ship kind of hate the core plot of the campaign which. is the core plot of the campaign.#cr tag #this is intended to be read in conversation with the post from earlier about things not being deep too #like it's ok if your blorbo or otp is in c3...but if that's the only thing you love do you love the campaign or do you just love them #also. i also don't begrudge anyone their reasons for watching a show #but I've seen like three people i follow try to watch wot solely bc Lanfear is hot and give up bc there's so much lore #and people get mad candela didn't give them a happy ending for their ship #it really is like did you show up for c3 or did you show up for a blorbo delivery system #not realizing this is prix fixe instead if made to order

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isaacathom · 1 year

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i should like very much for my fucking package to ship, because the longer it languishes in "we're preparing your order :)" the more convinced i become that there was some horrific currency conversion mistake that theyve been spending days discussing how to rectify

#im basically convinced there was a conversion error but like. thats not my fault #i wouldnt begrudge them if they didnt honour the original order but id like to fucking know whats happening #their sites like 'we ship out within one business day :)' its been a week #just fucking email me. come on. ill play ball #like i dont care if i gotta redo shit or whatever. just TELL ME. i sent you money i want to know whats HAPPENING

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reverie-starlight · 2 months

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...some atsumu fluff to warm up for the birth month of me AND this blog bc he is my husband. extremely self-ship coded bc I set a million alarms and snooze them all and it would piss him off, which I love doing <3

gn!reader, no physical descriptions, university student reader. fluffy fluff. very short.

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atsumu groans when he hears your alarm go off for the fifth time that morning. it's loud enough that the sound travels from behind the closed door of your bedroom all the way to where he's leaning against the kitchen counter, drinking his morning protein shake. he hears the exact moment you cut off its wailing two seconds later.

"looks like it's gonna be one of those mornings," he mumbles to himself, taking another sip. he tries to savour his last moments of early morning peace before chaos breaks out.

getting you up in the mornings could be... challenging... to put it kindly. there are just some days you don't want to get up for class or make the trek to campus. he regularly hears you whining about how you screwed yourself over with choosing too many early classes. if he's being honest, it makes him even more satisfied with his decision to not attend university. he's spent many mornings trying to coax you out from under the covers to no avail.

but thankfully miya atsumu loves a challenge.

his success rate has been 100% lately, much to your dismay and begrudging appreciation, because you both know you care too much to actually miss a lecture, no matter how much you value your sleep. so after downing the rest of his smoothie, he puts his glass in the sink and pushes himself off the counter, heading to the bedroom.

he enters the room with no intentions of being quiet and jumps right onto his side of the bed. he bites back a grin when you startle and mutter some colourful words under your breath.

"babyyyy~" his voice is full of excitement and he just knows it's making you regret shutting off your alarms.

"atsumu, please, five more min-" you begin whining, but he cuts you off.

"nope! ya gotta start your day, or you're gonna be late." he places a hand on your shoulder and shakes you a bit.

you groan. "'tsum, please. I'm so tired..."

he tuts a little. "no can do, I'm afraid. you're the one who told me you've got an exam comin' up next week."

you don't respond and he grins, knowing he's getting closer. he moves his hand from your shoulder to the comforter covering your body and rips it off.

"ATSUMU!" you shriek, trying to steal back its warmth and go back to sleep.

the blonde just laughs and presses a kiss to your forehead when you lunge for the covers. he relents and lets you believe he’s showing mercy, watching as you bury yourself back into a burrito.

“five more minutes, but if you’re not up by then I’ll really make ya regret not listenin’.”

you scoff and wave him off, incorrectly assuming he’s gone soft on you.

four and a half minutes later, he’s sneaking back into the bedroom and waiting until his timer hit exactly five minutes to pounce on you.

you yelp a little, but it quickly dissolves into peels of laughter as his hands attack every side of the blanket prison you had unknowingly trapped yourself in.

“atsumu, nO!” you attempt, but you can’t reach him from inside the blanket and he knows.

"ya brought this on yourself, sweetheart. could've had me waking ya up with kisses and some sweet talk, but ya just have to make things difficult for me, hm?"

“nooo I’m sorryyyy-“ you plead for forgiveness, beg him, anything to get him to stop tickling you.

he finally relents a bit when he realizes that you might not be able to breathe under there and watches as you peek your face out a bit, weary eyes glued to his form.

“are ya gonna get up now?”

he snickers when you nod fervently and pats your leg over the comforter. “alright, hurry up, then. I made ya coffee. I’ll walk with ya to the train.”

“won’t you be late, then?” you ask on your way to the washroom.

he shrugs. “worth it.”

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again, super short, but very sweet I hope. birth month calls for lots of content for my favs, so get ready <3

#atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu miya x reader #atsumu fluff #atsumu x reader fluff #haikyuu x reader fluff

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pinkanonwrites · 8 months

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Handle with Care

Rodimus has finally been allowed to bring you into a meeting to hopefully curb some of his rampant fidgeting problems. It ends up having unforeseen consequences.

First Contact AU! Rodimus/Human Reader

NSFW, DUB-CON, Accidental Stimulation, Rodmius has ADHD and you can pry that fact out of my cold dead hands

(Since this is a First Contact AU Rodimus uses Cybertronian words for body parts instead of human ones for you, but the Reader is a human!)

Rodimus knew he always did his best thinking when he had something to do with his servos. As insistent as Ultra Magnus was that his endless tapping, bouncing, and desk-carving was simply "an untapped well of craving for mayhem", Rodimus knew that having even a little something to fiddle with would make those endless, droning safety meetings into something just barely bordering on tolerable.

And since Ultra Magnus was also sick of his relentless desk vandalism, he finally gave the begrudging all-clear for Rodimus to bring his favorite organic to the meeting room.

"They can remain so long as they are not a distraction." With his soft little buddy cupped carefully in his servos, not even Ultra Magnus's stern words could sway his captain's notable enthusiasm.

"You say that as if they could be any more distracting than the bot carrying them." Megatron added.

"You worry too much! We'll be quieter than moon mice, right bud?" Rodimus ran a thumb over your soft, fuzz-covered helm as he took his seat. You were sitting comfortably in the center of his right palm, legs dangling over the edge between his digits. He kept his middle and ring digits curled up slightly to keep you from toppling forward, and you'd settled yourself in with your arms folded atop them and your chin resting against the tips of his digits. He gave you another soft stroke to the helm and beamed at the content little chirp you let out in response.

Ultra Magnus cleared his vents. "If we may begin, we have a lot of ground to cover. Starting with the grievous filing system Brainstorm has insisted on using for the weapons bay. It flaunts any Cybertronian standard known to bot and presents a massive safety risk when considering…"

Yeah, if Rodimus hadn't brought you along he'd already be itching for a dagger to start carving caricatures with. Instead his left-servo digits wandered lazily over your helm and shoulders, absentmindedly petting as his processor already started phasing out the dialogue of his second-in-command. Primus, organics really were so soft. Even your little coverings were soft, he noted as he ran a digit tip over the fabric covering your torso. You let out another quiet hum, melting ever further into Rodimus's grip as he patted you.

"And if you think your petition to install turbo-thrusters on your private vehicle was approved, Rodimus, I assure you it was not."

"WHA-?! What's wrong with the turbo thrusters? Brainstorm already approved the prototype!" He sat upright and forward in his seat, left servo cupping around your back to make sure you weren't overly jostled. "And they'll look great on the Rod Pod, too. Already painted and everything."

"We can't have one of our captains blowing himself up meteor surfing just because he wanted a thrill. And must I emphasize the use of the word 'prototype'? Meaning 'unfinished and untested'?"

"What better way to test them than on my ship?"

"Do you want them listed alphabetically, or by order of safety protocol?"

Rodimus grumbled, a buzzing charge of irritation spiking through his frame. He cupped your back tighter with his servo to make sure you were still settled in as he flumped back into his seat with an overly dramatic ex-vent. The motion pushed your entire soft fore up against his wide digits, and he could feel a shiver course through your small frame.

"You bored yet?" He murmured, knowing you couldn't fully understand him but also knowing his comments would needle at Ultra Magnus. "Or are you cold? You feel pretty warm." A single digit stroked down the length of your spinal strut and Rodimus startled at the sudden, shaky in-vent you'd failed to stifle. "What was…?"

"Affectionate little organic you've found for yourself, Rodimus." Megatron's comment nearly made Rodimus leap out of his own plating. The taller mech gestured to the way you'd wrapped both of your arms around Rodimus's digits, your cheek pressed against the metal tip of one.

"W-Well yeah! I am their favorite, after all." He asserted, though his free digits kept wandering up and down the expanse of your back. The last thing he wanted was for Megatron and Ultra Magnus to think something was wrong with you. That would just give them more reason to not let him bring you to meetings. No, as soon as he could slip out of here he'd take you to Perceptor himself to get you checked out. Hopefully you could wait it out that long.

But as the meeting progressed Rodimus found that everything that was being said to him was going in one audial processor and straight out the other. He was too focused on your movement, each tiny rock and wriggle. He kept the palm of his other servo pressed against your back to keep you snug and warm, though his own sensors didn't indicate anything out of the norm for your current ambient temperature. Maybe you got bored like he did? Absent-mindedly he began bouncing you in his palm, just barely enough movement to jostle your frame. The dull motion would keep you occupied and keep Rodimus from going stir-crazy with nothing to fiddle with. He was killing two birdbots with one stone!

"...And if we're going to allow Swerve to continue his antics, I must insist that he is at least properly licensed and certified."

"C'mon! It's good for-!" Rodimus had tried to interject, but before he could he was interrupted by a strangled yelp from his palm. All three bots' optics were drawn to your form as you shuddered in Rodimus's servo, arms and legs squeezing around his digits and your helm hanging over the tips of them, hiding your faceplate from view. Your own little servos pushed pathetically at Rodimus's, trying to shove your fore away from his touch as you whimpered.

"You didn't squash them, did you? Rodimus."

"They don't appear to be harmed. Merely… distressed?"

"No worries everything's fine let's pick this up next cycle sounds good okay BYE!" Rodimus spat out a flurry of placations and excuses as he scrambled to leave, cupping you close to his chest the entire sprint back to his own habsuite. Only once he was over his desk, littered with your various human-sized furniture and items, did he carefully uncup his hands and let you sprawl out across a single palm. You remained lying flat on your back, fore heaving as you vented, helm fluff sticky with your organic-made coolant where it clung to your face. As you made optic contact with him you let out the tiniest, most pathetic whine as your servos flew up to cover your face.

"Rodimus…" Though you couldn't fully understand each other, you had settled on a throaty, metered recreation of his name, doing your best to mimic the mechanical warbles he had used to introduce himself to you. He'd heard you use it a handful of times before, mostly to get his attention. But now? Now you seemed absolutely distraught, whining out the word in a high, flustered pitch through your cupped servos.

"What?! What did I do wrong?" He blinked owlishly down at you, poking ever so gently around your form with a free digit. He prodded at your helm, your shoulders, your chassis… But as his digits trailed down your fore you whimpered, hips jerking pathetically up as he neared your pelvis. You let out another embarrassed squeak, one of your pedes kicking frantically against his digit with a metal 'bang!' to shove it away.

Oh. Oops.

Rodimus wasn't stupid, he knew that humans didn't have armor plating. Instead you delighted in covering yourself with various colorful fabrics for different occasions and times of day, a freedom of self-design that he both greatly admired and slightly envied.

But Rodimus had never actually considered that no armor really meant no armor. Not even a modesty plate.

"I'm so sorry!" He hissed, heat rushing to his own faceplate as well. Accidentally making you overload in the middle of a meeting wasn't even on the list of possible ways Rodimus thought things could go wrong, but apparently now it needed to be added. He'd used the vibrating buzz if his digits many a time on other mechs and femmes, but he never intended to use it on you. At least not in that way! Letting you slide oh-so-carefully from his palm and onto the surface of the desk, you continued to languish in your humiliation sprawled out on your back. "I really didn't mean to! I know you don't know what I'm saying but I promise it wasn't on purpose!"

You glanced through your fingers at his faceplate and his apologetic frown, letting out another huff. This one sounded less overwhelmed though, more resigned. You gestured for him to bring a servo closer and he did, only for you to duck your helm under one of his digits and let him pet your soft organic head fluff.

"You forgive me?" You couldn't understand him but gave him a small, reassuring pat on the palm. "Ahh, thank you! If it's any consolation, I don't think either of them noticed."

But as he carefully stroked your helm with two digits, a teeny tiny part of Rodimus's processor was curious. How hard was it for you to keep quiet? Was the wiggling around from you trying to get away from the stimulation, or chase it? Were you scared, overloading in a room full of giant mechs? Or was there a chance that part of you might have… enjoyed it?

Weird. He was weird. And he was going to file those thoughts away behind a door in his processor to only be opened when he needed things to feel self-deprecating about. Rodimus of Nyon, Captain of the Lost Light, secret fantasizer of human overloads… Yeah, that probably wouldn't go over well.

And yet, Rodimus couldn't help how little he actually minded that.

#transformers #transformers x reader #rodimus #rodimus prime #rodimus x reader #rodimus prime x reader #first contact au #valveplug #maccadam

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unholyhelbig · 5 months

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Natasha Romanoff x Reader with "Who did this to you?"

Title: Hallway Meetings

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Wordcount: 2077

Warnings: Injuries, blood, bruising, mugging, Bad Grammar

[A/n: I haven't written Nat in awhile, so here is some hurt comfort!]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

By the time you made it back to your apartment, the adrenaline had sufficiently worn off. The rush of energy that kept the pain at bay was the only thing that made it possible for you to sit through the bus ride across the city, the lights were much too bright and blue, your head pounding. You pressed your fingers against your ribs on the ride home, each exhalation trembling.

Somewhere along the way, the bus came rolling to a stop and the man behind the wheel huffed out at you. “End of the line.”

You were the only one on the bus, and by that time, you were fighting sleep entirely. There was no one else on the bus, and you didn’t see the point in arguing with him. His eyes were tired and dark. Something told you he was having a worse day than you were.

With begrudging compliance, you walked the three blocks to your building. You had forgotten your coat, and by the time you made it to the entrance, there was a numbness to the fingers that you refused to realize until you typed your code in and felt what real warmth was for only a moment.

The lobby smelled damp, as it always did despite the dry winter that the city was experiencing. Sickly yellow lights changed the tile on the floor from beige to green, and you lamented the fact that the elevator that had been busted since your move-in date was still in the same condition.

Any other day, it wouldn’t’ bother you. But you let out an involuntary groan at the sight before making your way up the first flight of stairs, your fingers still pushed against the aching of your mid-section. You were certain that they were broken, or at the very least, bruised. It pained you to take a deep breath.

Two more flights of stairs and the excitement of the night had worn away entirely. Your whole body pulsed with pain, with fatigue and regret for not listening to your mother the million times she told you to be careful on your way home, to keep an eye on your surroundings.

It’s not you that I don’t trust, it’s other people. Her words echoed listlessly in your mind as you searched your pockets for your keys. The group of men who had jumped you must have snagged them too, or they were lost in the shuffle of things. Either way, you were locked out, and the damn was about to break.

“Come on,” You whispered, pressing your aching head against the cool wood of the door. You suppose you should be thinking whatever higher power was up there for letting you escape with your life, just not your cell phone. But right now, it all felt like a cruel joke.

You weren’t sure how long you lingered there, but it was long enough to slide down to the carpeted hallway and lean your head against the wall. It was much too late to call your landlord, even if you could. You were suddenly content to sleep the night off in the corridor. Concussion or not, unconsciousness called to you.

At some point, you’d drifted off to the buzzing sound of the overhead lights. When your neighbor approached, you didn’t’ make any attempt to unfold yourself at the sound of her soft footsteps. She had always been so courteous when she was home, making as little noise as possible, even when she arrived well into the night. This was no different.

She put her hand on your shoulder softly, it was a stark difference from the cold of the hallway, and you startled all the same, inhaling deeply and with enough haste to make you wince, a soft “ow,” escaping your lips.

Natasha was knelt down in front of you, an undeniable look of worry on her face. The two of you had been neighbors for over a year now, and you would be the last to admit that you wanted to get to know her better. She was quite elusive, and always kind. She was a mystery to you, and that made you all the more curious.

The two of you operated on the same schedule when she was home. You often ended up walking down to the mailboxes together, sharing in small talk. She was guarded at first, but the first time you had gotten her to open up, to laugh at a joke you couldn’t even recall, you knew that you wanted to hear that sound more than once.

Natasha would help you up the stairs with your groceries, despite your protests. You would help her learn how to cook something other than boxed mac and cheese. The two of you had shared a six-pack of beer during the buildings holiday block party on the roof, despite the cold. That night, Natasha had taught you how to peg a stop sign with a snowball, her aim impeccable.

The moments were few and far between, but they meant something to you both. You hadn’t seen her for about a month at this point and figured that she was traveling. There was no mention of what she did for work, and she seemed content not to tell you, just as you were content to let her do so in her own time.

There was a suitcase next to her door, something you had never seen her with before. She was dressed in sweats, looking casual from a long day of travel. Her auburn hair was up in a loose bun, strands falling and framing her face. You couldn’t help but think that she was stunning.

Your face must have looked pretty banged up, because you could audibly hear her breath lodge in her throat. You hadn’t bothered calling the police, nor did you see much benefit in lingering in the spot that you’d been attacked. The only thought on your mind was getting back here, certainly not with the intention of seeing Natasha.

“Y/n,” her voice was gravelly. There was a coolness to her fingers that you wanted to lean into as she lifted your chin to get a better look at the pulsing feeling around your eye. You winced as her thumb moved against your busted lip, smearing away a streak of blood. “Who did this to you?”

Her voice was hard, almost with an edge of a threat on her tongue. You’d never heard her sound this way before. She was always soft, if not quiet in her calculations. Now, you saw worry and anger etched onto her beautiful features.

“Just some guys,” you said in an exhalation. “It’s not a big deal I got locked out.”

The attempt to diffuse her worry was going poorly. Natasha frowned at you and released your chin. You struggled to voice your protests as Natasha eased her arm tightly around your center, pulling you to your feet. You saw stars, not quite sure if it was from her sudden closeness, or the exhaustive injuries.

Natasha was strong. She held you with little effort, even as you threatened to slump back down into your previous position. She unlocked her door, and you were welcomed with a warm darkness until she flicked on the light by the door.

Her home was modest, and understated. It overlooked a beautiful part of the city, the walls lined with novels that you’d otherwise be interested in. There were undertones of vanilla and tobacco, the same scent Natasha carried like a sword, your nose pressed against the small of her neck as she led you to the sofa and deposited you there.

Natasha vanished down the hallway. If her apartment mirrored yours, she would move towards the bathroom at the end of the hall. You nudged yourself up taller on the sofa, trying not to let your blood wick into its fabric. When She returned, she sheepishly shook a first-aide kit.

She set out her supplies and you groaned when you saw the bottle of iodine and cotton pads. She had done this before. Natasha worked with ease, she unscrewed the cap on the bottle before flipping it onto the pad, a sick brown liquid sopped into the surface. You could smell it from here, nose crinkling in response.

“Stop squirming, this will help.”

You highly doubted that, but all the same, let her work at the cut that was slit across your eyebrow. She dabbed the antiseptic and you refused to pull away. You knew that you would never try to get out of Natasha’s grasp. Her hand was warm and guiding. The sting eventually eased.

She asked, “Do you remember where you were when this happened?”

“Whoever they are, they’re long gone.”

You drew in a sharp breath when she nudged your ribs by accident. A discontent frown fell across her features. It wasn’t the same look of heated anger that dawned on her in the hallway. Instead, this was one of pure concern.

“We should really wrap that, you know? There’s no cure for broken ribs, but we can ease your suffering a bit with some plastic wrap.”

Before you could answer she put the iodine on the table and walked towards her kitchen. You watched her carefully. Each movement was calculated. “How do you know so much about this?”

“I’ve been put into some unsavory positions.” Natasha returned with a meager roll of cellophane. She stood, a pink color on her cheeks. “You’re going to have to take off your shirt.”

Now you were sputtering, mumbling a few things under your breath. The thrumming of your mid-section was enough for you to agree, even though your own cheeks heated up at the thought. She had a bit of a quirk to her lip, both eyebrows raised in amusement.

You got stuck halfway through, a twinge of pain shooting through your core. You must have winced, or Natasha could read the pain in your eyes because she mercifully helped you the rest of the way out. When she was done, the two of you were incredibly close, her breath warm on your skin, goosebumps coating every inch of your body.

A budding bruise stretched across your ribs, marring the tender flesh there. Natasha exhaled deeply, you felt the action everywhere. Her fingers moved across the deep smudges of brown and black and purple. Your mouth was suddenly dry as her forehead leaned against yours. She was quieter than usual.

“This shouldn’t have happened.” Natasha was knelt in front of you again, glowering as her soft touch soothed your aching. “I’ve spent my entire life making up for mistakes that I’ve made. Trying to stop the big bads of the world when… when horrible things happen everywhere, and the truth is, I can’t stop everything.”

“You don’t need to shoulder that responsibility, Natasha.” You mindlessly cupped her cheek and she sighed into the touch, her eyes closing for a moment of gratitude. “That’s not your job.”

“It is,” She swallowed hard “it is. And it pains me that you’re hurting like this. That I couldn’t protect you. All I’ve wanted to do since the moment I’ve met you is protect you from me, and seeing you like this, God, it shouldn’t’ have happened.”

She was crying, and you thumbed them away as she had done with your blood a few moments earlier. If there was any hesitancy in her emotion, it washed away with the simple gesture. Her nose brushed against yours, cold from the journey home.

Nat smelled of melted snow and you remembered the night on the rooftop. The way your elbows brushed together as you watched the lights over the city. You almost closed the distance then and there, but she’d pulled away, and you awkwardly downed another frothy beer before she threw a second snowball, nailing the stop sign where you had fallen short.

Now, it was her that leaned in. There was a slight nip of pain where your lip had split, but it eased slowly into pleasure. She tasted like hazelnut coffee from the airport, of an edge of mind. Your fingers traced her jaw. She sighed into the kiss, the most fragile sound in the world.

You broke the embrace regrettably, sucking air through your teeth “oh, ouch.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry” she chuckled softly, nudging her forehead with her own, touch dancing over your midsection. “We really should get you patched up.”

#Natasha Romanoff #Natasha Romanoff x reader #Natasha Romanoff x you #Natasha Romanoff x y/n #Soft Natasha Romanoff #Hurt/comfort #request #Marvel #Marvel Fanfiction

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asumofwords · 6 months

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Lighthouse - Sailor!Aemond x LighthouseKeeper!Reader - Mini Series

Summary: You work as a lone Lighthouse keeper on a small island just off the coast. Everyday was the same routine, tending to your duties and the lamp with not much time to spare. But what will happen to your routine when a storm rages across the sea, and a handsome man washes ashore?

Warnings: This fic is 18+. Readers discretion is advised. Warnings will be added in their relevance. She/Her Pronouns. Slow burn, pining, kiss.

Note: EEEE! Here is chapter two of my little mini-series! Thank you all so much for your patience for this update, to say it has been hard has been an understatement. An odd thing to put into the notes of a fanfic, but From the River, to the Sea. 🇵🇸

Chapter 2: Unfamiliar Changes

The next few days were the same routine as usual, but with a new addition; A man who had been at deaths door, recovering in your bed.

The lighthouse, you knew.

You knew the way to light it, tend to it, care for it. It had been your life for many years ever since your Pa had died, leaving its responsibilities to you.

It had been him who taught you everything. He who had raised you to know what you now do, to do as you now do each day. And you were thankful. Thankful to not be married to a Fishermans son, or market boy at a young age, to squeeze out child, after child, in a marriage that had no love or care but rather a societal duty.

But now, there was a man in your home.

A man on your small, little, isolated island which you sought refuge in. An island and isolation that had been all you had known, and yet now, here he was, laid in your bed with hair like spun silk that lay around his head, a violet eye you had only heard in the tales on shore, a scarred cheek and sharp mouth.

Was he a pirate?

You had heard of those, but for some reason, he didn’t seem to be as brash and roguish as those stories either. And whilst his presence was not all begrudged, it did throw your small little world into a loop. So with the duties of old, came the duties of new.

You would rest, only shortly, wake, and tend to the lamp, the storm slowly moving away inland, but the winds too high to take your small boat alone, or send your pigeon with a letter to alert them of the wreck and lone survivor.

Thereafter, you could come back inside, fix yourself a tea, and here began the new routine; you would make two instead of one.

Two plates or bowls of food.

Two cups or glasses of water, or tea.

Two of everything.

One for you.

And one for the man.

A man who still had not told you his name.

That was until that evening.

The winds had begun to yield, but the soft grumbling of thunder still prevailed in the near distance.

You were eating the last of your stew together, though this time, he was seated at the table. You having dragged the only other chair on the island down the many stairs of the lighthouse to the cottage.

He was still rather pale, and wheezed and coughed on occasion, but after his many days in your presence, you realised that he was not pale because of his ailment, but rather, his skin was just as white as the porcelain William’s wife owned. His cheeks however, gained some colour, and his lips were no longer cracked and dry, but now hydrated.

And plump.

And soft.

And-

“-Aemond.”

The spoon you were holding clinked back onto the side of the bowl.

“Pardon?”

“My name,” The man put another spoonful of stew into his mouth, chewing before swallowing politely, “Is Aemond.”

You tested the name on your tongue. It was definitely not a common name from around your part of the world.

“I take it you are a long way from home?” You chewed on a chunk of potato, watching as the man nodded.

“Aye.”

“Your ship-“

“-Vhagar.” So that’s what its name was, “Sunk to the bottom of the sea, I presume.” His lips pulled down at the sides.

You nodded solemnly, “Was your family-“

“-No. No family. Just me and my crew.”

You cleared your throat awkwardly before nodding, “I’m sorry. Though we have the Gods to thank. They favoured you when they washed you ashore.”

Aemond, the man before you, scoffed, “Favoured. Sunk my ship and my men. Drowned me.”

You sucked your teeth, feeling slightly guilty about your choice of words, “Yes, and yet you are here. I prayed-“

“-You prayed?”

A nod, though his gaze seemed more intrigued than mocking, “To the Drowned God. Prayed to anyone who would listen to spare your life.”

You watched as the corner of his lip twitched, “And why should a Lady such as you, pray for a sailor such as me?”

“I’d hardly like to deal with a corpse on my beach." You stirred your stew, "And I am no Lady, I have told you this.”

The snort from his nose made way into a smile that was contagious.

At least you could be blunt.

And in some ways, you supposed that he liked this bluntness.

You shared your meal together quietly, the crackling of the fire and sound of rain and occasional thunder outside. You found, much to your displeasure, that you did not mind having his company after all.

He did not talk to fill the space, and seemed to think deeply before he spoke, at least when he was not irritated or slightly offended by your own remarks. All in all, he was a welcomed presence in your modest home.

And that was what scared you.

“Do you often have drowned men wash ashore?” His spoon was delicately placed in his bowl, bread devoured shortly after given to him. The way in which he ate, the manner in which he sat back, rod stiff, indicated to you that he came from some form of high society, far higher than you, and likely came from money and wealth that you could do naught but try to imagine.

You smiled coyly, “You’re the first. An achievement to some end, I am sure.”

The corner of his lips pulled again, yet this time, it developed into a full smirk, “Then I am honoured to have been the first, Miss.”

A blush rose to your cheeks, and you had to look away.

The way in which he spoke, the way his voice became deep and smooth like the whiskey in your cupboard, had sent shivers down your spine with the implication that perhaps there was a double meaning to what he said.

To what you had said.

But then he continued, “And how does a woman of your stature become the keeper of this Lighthouse?”

“My Pa. He was the keeper before I. Taught me all there was to know. It was just me and him on this island for a long, long time, and now it is just me.”

“Is your father-“

“-Dead.”

“I see.” Aemond nodded, “I am sorry for your loss.”

“Don’t be.” You gave him a small smile, “He died doing what he loved.”

A silver eyebrow raised above the man’s seeing eye, “And what was that?”

“Drinking on the job.” You poked your tongue in your cheek to stifle the laugh as you watched Aemond’s composure become flustered, “It’s okay,” You reassured him, “You can laugh. My father was not a solemn man. I like to think he enjoys my humour.”

A hum was all you received, though he did not smile as you had hoped.

You had not fully seen him do so yet, and although there was glimmers of a more playful and relaxed man, you wondered in that moment if perhaps he was simply just a rather stern and serious sailor after all. That his nature was to be stiff, and bold, and unbendable.

And if he was to be that, a small flicker inside of you wished to make him bend.

Gods, what was wrong with you?

Had you grown so lonesome in your isolation that the first man to wash upon your shore, literally, was whom you would grow some sort of desire for?

Sure, you were no stranger to pleasure, chasing your own peaks with your hands as often as you’d like, of course, if it did not endeavour to endanger the care of the lighthouse. And now, that a man was sat before you, kept in the confines of your home by storm and ailment, you wished to taste what it truly meant to be pleased.

It had of course crossed your mind once or twice on your rare travels to shore. Speaking to the locals in shops or on the street, friends of William, or any decent man who cast you a glance. You had thought about it seriously, allowing some sort of dalliance to form, to warm a mans bed and then leave on the morrow to go back to your life of solitude.

In fact, it had almost happened.

A sailor named Dalton Greyjoy had caught your eye on the occasions he would be on shore at the same time as when you were. He was sailor from a well known, and well to do family. He came and went as he pleased, and it was no secret that he liked his women. Dalton's hair came below his ear, curling slightly atop his head, the colour as black as night and with his eyes to match his hair; a piercing, deep black which captured and lured anyone who caught his gaze.

And you had caught his, on more than one occasion, and each time, he had tried to woo you. Tried to offer a trip on his sturdy ship which carried more than one hundred men. Or a tour of his home which lay on bountiful lands on shore.

He had even offered a drink in the local tavern, and a meal, with a desire to speak to the ‘beautiful woman who keeps my ship from ruin’.

And you had thought on it, had almost given in, and when you had rejected him the last time, you had meant to offer him refuge on your island, should he ever so need it. If he was ever so inclined to have a tour of your own homestead, of your lighthouse which kept him from ruin.

But when you had moved to tell him thus, he was gone, back to the seas for the Gods only know how long, perhaps months, before he returned to shore. And that had been two months ago, and you had almost kicked yourself at the missed opportunity of having a man warm your bed, and then leave.

The convenience was lost.

You were under no impression that it would be anything more than a release for the two of you, and in your eyes, it was perhaps, a perfect arrangement. Yet, you had strung him for too long, and the seas had called him once more.

You had thought to wait to look for his ships arrival as it passed from you to shore, and lowered its anchor within eyesight. You had thought that perhaps at the sight of it, you would send your pigeon to her, the large ship, or to shore to send word of your request of his presence. But then, you thought, perhaps you would make a quick stop to the markets, weather permitting, and keep your eyes widened for the dark black hair which you sought.

But now, as the man you had come to know as Aemond, grew stronger with each day, the desire to meet your desires with Dalton faded, and were now replaced for the desire of a man who was the stark opposite.

No black hair, only silver. No black eyes, only lilac.

Would his lips be as soft as they looked?

Would he hold you passionately? Whisper in your ear? Give you pleasure that you had only read of?

This was what you thought of, thighs clenching as you pulled the old wick from the lamp to replace it with a new one, careful to not spill any oil around the lamps enclosure or yourself. You were exhausted as you lit the flame, night crawling towards you rapidly.

There was not much rest that you could get when sleeping on the worn down lounge of your home, mind reeling at the thought of the handsome man not too far from you in the warmth and plush of your bed.

Once you were positive the lamp was fine and well lit, you trudged down the stairs, eyes struggling to stay open as you made your way back to the cottage, the wind blowing your hair roughly as you closed the door behind you.

The fatigue dragged you down, limbs feeling as heavy as stone as you moved to make yourself some tea, feeling all the more exhausted than before, eyes half shut.

Once your tea was made, you sat on the couch and stared at the fire, blowing the steam away and sipping on it to warm your chilled bones. The lighthouse was cold inside, no warmth but the lamp, and despite wearing your warm layers, the cold still nipped you to your core.

There were no thoughts as you moved half asleep around your home, pulling the heavy waxed coat from your shoulders to place on the hook by the door.

Your boots came next, and then your socks, and finally you pulled away at your dress, untying your stays as it slid down your hips to the floor.

You trudged to your room, having extinguished the lamps and candles in the cottage, leaving the fireplace to burn through what was left of the night.

It was dark as you pulled back the sheets, mind in memory and eyes already shut, as you slid into bed in only your slip, pulling the sheets up to your neck as you lay on your side.

Then sleep came just as quickly as your eyes closed.

It was hot.

Too hot.

There was a warmth that radiated around you as you slowly rose to consciousness.

Then, came the weight.

A weight of something wrapped around you, behind you, heat seeping into your spine. You blinked sluggishly, confused as to what it was as you shifted, feeling whatever that warmth was shifting with you. Solid.

Arms.

Two arms.

One under your head, the other draped over your middle, hand splayed across your stomach as your back was pressed into the flush of someones chest.

Not someone.

Aemond.

You jerked, suddenly awake and out of the bed, looking down at the man who looked tiredly up at you, corner of his mouth lifting slightly as he fought away a smirk. Heat rose up your neck and into your cheeks in embarrassment.

You had been in bed.

With him.

Tucked into him.

Oh Gods.

Your mouth opened and shut as your brain misfired, unsure of what to do our say.

Do you apologise?

Gods, you had been so tired you hadn’t even realised.

You were suddenly mortified at the thought of what he must now think of you.

He must-

“-If you want to get into bed with me, all you must do is ask.” Came the low timbre of Aemond, who now smirked freely at you.

Your heart raced in your chest as you became flustered, a small squeak escaping your lips.

Aemond’s eye bore into your own as you stood there, bare feet on the cold flagstones below, chest heaving as you were at a loss of words. His eye then roamed lower, taking in your appearance as you felt the heat of his gaze blanket over you.

It was then, that you realised, you were in nothing but your thin shift.

“Gods. Fuck.” You swore, turning quickly to throw on an old dress, foregoing your skirts, stay and stockings.

You kept your back to him as you hastily did up the many buttons, suddenly cursing each and every one of them as your fingers struggled to do them up the more you become flustered, all the while you could still feel his heated gaze upon you from the bed.

You uttered an embarrassed apology, too ashamed to even raise your eyes to look at him, before you fled from the cottage, forgetting your coat, and not even doing up the laces of your boots as you shut the door behind you and raced towards the lighthouse.

You had never quite climbed the steps as fast as you had in that moment, desperate to get away from his salacious gaze, and your burning embarrassment.

What had you been thinking? Climbing into bed with him like that? He must think you desperate. Depraved. Unkempt.

Gods be good.

The embarrassment made tears prickle at your eyes.

Though the lamp in the lighthouse was fine, and there was no true reason for you to monitor it, the worst of the storm having moved away, you did not return back to your cottage. You stayed in the cold, no coat and shoes half tied, shivering in the stone walls of the lighthouse to avoid the mortification of that morning. And yet, despite trying to avoid him physically, there was no possible way, you had tried, to avoid thinking of him.

Thinking of his touch, how warm he had been behind you, how his large hand had completely spanned across your middle as he held you to him, how his fingers had twitched and pulled as you wriggled in first wake. How he smelt of the sea, and sweat, the stew you had cooked him, and the smell of your own sheets, but beneath it all, there was his natural scent, something earthy and musky and like sandalwood that surrounded your every waking moment.

If it wasn’t for his legs and his near death, you would think the man was a Siren.

You thought of how cold he had been when he washed ashore, how pale and almost blue he looked, and now he burnt hot, and although he was still pale, the flush of life coloured his cheeks and lips. His lilac eye devouring you every chance he had.

At first you had thought you were mistaken, that he was simply looking at you, but now you were sure of it. His eye, the seeing one, unclouded by injury and simmering a bright lilac, watched you almost always half-lidded and ablaze with something you now thought could perhaps be lust.

Gods.

You buried your head into your hands, deeply exhaling before standing up straighter, trying to erase the images and thoughts of him from your mind, but it was hopeless. He was all you could think of, all you could smell, or see behind your eyelids, and you yearned to reach out and touch him. Hold him. Caress him.

Your thighs instinctually squeezed together and you sighed, feeling a wetness that had settled between them.

Gods be good, you were in trouble.

You shivered again, rubbing your hands together as you looked out at the sea, mentally cursing yourself for not having more than two chairs on the island, but you had never needed more than that.

Your legs ached from not having sat in the hours that had passed, and you had turned to pacing the small landing back and forth to try and keep yourself warm.

A soft clunk came from the bottom of the lighthouse.

You mustn’t have shut the door properly.

You continued your pacing, back and forth, breathing into your icy palms as you tried to warm them, mind straying to a body of warmth that you knew, if you pressed your palms against him, would warm in an instant. Your hands coming beneath his tunic to splay against his stomach, working their way-

The sound of rustling came from behind.

You spun on your heel in fright, breath caught in your throat to find Aemond behind you. Now standing straight, the man towered over you, looking down his sharp nose at your shivering form. His hair was slightly wet, stuck down to his shoulders and dripping from its ends onto the floor of the lighthouse. The tunic he wore, stuck to his skin where spatters of rain wet the material.

In his hands, your coat.

“Gods be good.” You cursed at him, hand immediately shooting out to press against his forehead, having to rise slightly on your toes to reach, “Have you gone mad? You’ll catch cold and grow ill again.”

Snatching your coat from his hands, you threw it up and around his shoulders, pulling it together tightly at the front, watching as his brows furrowed at you.

His hands caught your wrists as you fussed over him, and you immediately could no longer meet his eye. The warmth of his hands seeped into your bones, and a barely contained sigh fell from your lips.

Aemond was so close, so close to you, you could feel his warmth, smell his-

“Go back to the cottage before you become feverish again.” You tried to pull your wrists away from his hands to push him back to the door, but the man did not budge, his grip only tightened.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Came his low response, jaw tensed as he watched you.

You swallowed, looking anywhere but his eye, “No.” You lied terribly, hoping he couldn’t feel the way your pulse quickened at your wrist, “I have to tend to my duties.“

“-You’re a terrible liar.”

You bristled, heat rising in your cheeks again before you met his eye.

Exhaling shakily, you tried again to get him to release your wrists with no avail.

“Please let go of me, Sir.”

Aemond’s cheek twitched, before finally he let go, and you begrudged his warmth leaving you the second he did.

As his hands dropped to his sides, your eyes flitted to the exposed skin of his chest, if only for a moment, where his tunic was ripped down the middle. He moved, arms coming up again as he pulled your coat from his shoulders, stepping towards you suddenly.

You stiffened, feeling his warmth envelop you and the subtle scent of salt and sandalwood engulf you as he wrapped you in your coat, pulling it tightly against you at your front. Your arms were trapped beneath it as he kept his hold on you, the coat pulling tighter as he stepped closer.

“You’re cold.” He whispered, head ducking slightly as he looked at you, long strands of silver cascading over his shoulder.

Okay. You were sure of it.

Perhaps he was a Siren.

And now he was going to drag you to the sea and-

You watched in a confusion, or horror and delight as his head began to dip down towards your face, eye watching you intently as you held your breath.

Oh Gods, was this really happening? Was this man-

“Sīr gevie.” Came a deep purr from the back of his throat, and there it was again, that half lidded gaze.

You parted your lips instinctually, feeling his nose brush against yours, your eyes fluttering as you looked down to his lips which were parted a hairsbreadth away from you, “I don’t know what that means.” You whispered, feeling his breath fan across your lips warmly.

“Beautiful.” Came his response, less purring than the last, more of a whisper, more delicate, like the silk that spun his hair, ready to break.

His face loomed closer, the tip of his pink tongue coming to wet his lips, and all you could think of was how you wished to close the distance, to press against him, taste him, have him.

Your lungs ached from the breath you had been holding, and a sudden gust of wind knocked at the windows of the lighthouse. It seemed to have broken the spell, jerking you away from the man in front of you, who blinked longingly at you.

Swallowing thickly, trying to ignore the ache in your core, you uttered, “I need to prepare supper.” Before you dashed away from him and down the stairs, almost tripping over your half laced boots in the process.

As you wound down the stairs, you felt a pang of guilt leaving him up there.

Would he be fine to get down himself?

What if he grew ill? It was cold, and he had no coat, and you had just-No. If he had made his way up those stairs, then he could surely make his way down them.

You wasted no time preparing dinner, darting about the kitchen noisily as you began to prepare your meal, cutting the vegetables on the chopping board, and moving for some more dried meats to add with it, soaking it in some bone powdered broth you had made days earlier.

When the door of the cottage opened, and then clicked shut, you ignored the mans arrival, keeping your back to him, pretending that you were all too busy preparing the dinner to spare him a second glance, and not only that, you were far too engrossed of thinking what was coming next, and not at all how his lips might have felt on yours.

You heard him settle at the table by the fire, and without looking, cast your voice behind you, “I still have my fathers belongings,” You told him, voice shy, “Seemed a waste to be rid of them when he passed. You may fit them. I’ll let you look through the trunk after supper so that you may have some cleaner, warmer clothes.”

A hum, and then, “Thank you. You are a gracious host.”

You blushed at his compliment, thankful that your back was turned to him so that he would not see you shy once more. Once your meal was cooked, you brought it over to the table for the two of you, including a plate of some of your scones, as well as the jam from Celia to go with them after.

It was a mostly silent affair, a tension strung between the two of you, pulled taught as the minutes went by. That was until-

“You are not married.”

It wasn’t a question, more of a statement of fact.

You blinked, taking your eyes away from your meal as you looked up at him.

He was already watching you.

But there was nothing malicious about his statement, more so curious as to why.

Aemond continued, “You are a beautiful young woman, a shame that you are not out in society.”

You swallowed thickly, feeling vulnerable at the turn of conversation.

You knew it was unheard of a woman of your age to be unwed, and not only that, alone in a usual mans position. You knew that the townsfolk at shore talked about it, whispers behind your back at why that was.

There had been a cruel rumour once that you simply enjoyed the coming and goings of the many different sailors who came to and from the port. It didn’t help that Dalton was not quiet about his interest in pursuing you, at least, not as his wife anyway.

“I am content where I am.” You sighed, “I have no desire to be flaunted on a mans arm as merely decoration. I have a responsibility to those on shore and on sea, and I doubt any man in town would know more about the mechanisms of working such a lamp than I do. They would be more of a burden than a blessing.”

Aemond blinked before lifting another steaming spoonful of food to his lips, “And do you not grow lonely on this little island?”

Did you?

You didn’t think you did.

At least, not until he arrived on your shore.

“Not at all.” And unconvincing lie, or perhaps not a full one, “William comes to bring my reprieve, and I go to and from shore as I wish for the whims of societal company.”

The man swallowed his mouthful of food, head cocked as he looked at you, “William?”

“An old friend of my fathers.” You explained, watching as he relaxed at the explanation, “Brings food and goods to me when I cannot get them my own, which is more often than not. His wife and daughters join him here on occasion.”

Aemond hummed, “It is a shame you have no feelings of loneliness.”

“A shame?”

The corner of his lip twitched, “I thought you might have enjoyed my company.” Before you could respond, he spoke again, “Though, perhaps it is not a shame after all. There is no husband that I need worry about.”

Heat rose into your cheeks fast, and a flush of hurt crept up your throat.

Of course he would make a comment about you being unwed.

He was just like the others in town.

“You mock me.” You grit angrily, hands twitching on the table.

You watched as a flash of regret creeped over his face.

“I don’t.” His tongue darted out to lick at his lips again, the hungry look in his eye not at all for the food on his plate, “I would worry that my attempt to court you would be burdened by a disgruntled husband.”

Court you.

Court.

Your stomach turned tightly, and you found yourself pushing your chair behind you quickly as you stood, grabbing your empty plate as you moved to take it to the kitchen, unsure of what to say, mouth dry and mind reeling.

As soon as your back turned, you heard a deep chuckle behind you, making your cheeks flush with heat once more. You did not even bother to clean your plate, instead dumping it into the dry sink before you snatched your coat off of the coat hook and moved to open the door.

“You cannot avoid me forever.” Came his low purr, and would if you tried.

The door thumped behind you as you swept yourself outside.

By the time you finally returned to the cottage, the night had flown away from you, having spent the majority of it trying to cool the heat in your body that he had stoked, resting your cheeks against the cool class of the lighthouse, anything to soothe the molten blood that coursed through you.

The storm had mostly passed, and your home was quiet as you snuck back inside, darkness filling the majority of the space bar the fireplace as you pulled your coat from your shoulders, back facing the room.

When you turned to walk further inside a small gasp pulled into your lungs.

“You’re awake.” You blinked at Aemond owlishly, watching as he leant back on the small worn couch, his long limbs stretched out in front of him by the fire, with one arm resting against the back.

“I am.” You shifted on your feet, unsure of what to do or say.

Damn your anxious mind, reeling in circles at the thought of him, and his desires and if he desired you as much as you desired him. And what if-

You shook the thought away, “Well, you must be tired. You need to rest so that you may go home. The storm is passing, and I’d wager that you could return to shore now.” You wrung your hands together.

You didn’t want him to go, but you knew it was logical.

He would have to leave. He would have to go home. To his family. To his friends. To his land. And then, you would be left alone with the spiralling 'what if's' of his stay.

“You speak of fatigue as if you sleep more than I, and do less.” Came his pointed remark, “I am well aware of my need to recover, and my abilities.”

Speechless.

That was what you were.

The fire crackled loudly between you as you watched him shift, moving to lay himself down onto the couch which was comically too small for him. His long legs stretched over the arm, feet dangling almost to the floor whilst his head was tucked at an awful angle on the opposite arm.

He looked like a doll that had been carelessly tossed onto the couch by a child.

“You need rest.” He mused, eye roaming over your body shamelessly, “I shall sleep where I am.”

Your brows furrowed, “You can’t suggest that you wish to sleep there.” Your hand pointed to where he was uncomfortably lain, “You do not fit. You shall see no rest and I will have to nurse you to health once more.”

“All the more reason for me to stay here.” His eye slid shut, seeming to make a point of sleeping on your lumpy and aged lounge.

You guffawed at him and his brazen flirting, mouth hanging open as your hands moved to your hips, “Go back to bed.”

His brow lifted, but his eye stayed shut, “A command or request?”

You blinked, “A request, if you know what’s good for you.”

“Will you be joining me?” Came his purr, eye cracked open at you, the bright lilac having turned as stormy as the sea once had been.

“No.”

Another hum, something you had grown used to by now, his eye sliding shut, “Then I shall stay put.”

You stormed towards him, looking down at him, trying to not notice how soft his hair looked, or how the pale skin of his chest looked like a cozy place to-

“Really, Sir.” You sighed, exacerbated, “I must implore you to sleep in the bed tonight. You will only hurt your neck and back. I am far smaller than you, and-“

“-Sīr byka.”

The language was smooth, the r curling in the front of his teeth, all creamy, and soft like syrup and warm. It sent heat straight into your core.

“What does that mean?”

His eye opened again as he sat up, “Would you like to know?”

Gods, he was infuriating.

“Yes.” You grit out, “Or else I wouldn’t have asked.”

“I said you were little.”

Embarrassment curled in your chest, but not only that, something else that sent heat striking through you.

You tried to blink it away, “An obvious observation. And the bed would fit you perfectly well, if only-“

“-Nyke kessa mazverdagon ziry-“

“-Would you stop that?” You snipped, chest heaving as you blushed, watching as the tall man pulled his legs down and sat up, looking at you predatorily.

You were in trouble.

Every hair on your body stood up as he watched you beneath his lashes.

“Stop what?”

You wet your lips, “T-that.”

“What, byka ōños?”

“That!” You pointed, running a hand through your hair, “You- You make a mockery of me.”

His head tilted, “I do no such thing.”

“You do.” You countered, looking anywhere but him, “You speak in tongues that I do not understand. For all I know, you could be throwing insult at my person. I know that I am not as educated as you-”

“-Do you want to know what it means? You only need ask.”

“What does it mean?” You breathed, watching as he stood from the couch, sucking all the air from the room as his head slowly came up to your height, then finally looming over you down his nose.

“What does ‘what’ mean?”

“Fine." You huffed, "You shall stay on the couch, and I shall send word tomorrow-“

“-Little light.”

You lashes fluttered against your cheeks as you felt him step closer to you, your chest heaving as one of his hands reached out to caress a lock of your hair, tucking it behind your ear. You shivered as his fingertips grazed a path down your neck, his eye intent on you.

“W-what?”

“Byka ōños,” Aemond purred, “It means ‘little light’.” He took a step closer to you, his chest brushing against yours, warmth immediately seeping into your dress as you craned your head to look up at him, "Byka perzys.”

“And what does that mean?” Your voice was quiet, unsure, the air around you crackling with the tension that had been building for days.

“Little flame.” He translated, large palm moving behind your neck as he gripped the back of it softly, fingers tangling in your hair. Your breath hitched as he moved forward, his eye on your lips, yours on his.

“Byka jelevre.”

“What does t-“

Aemond’s lips crashed into yours hungrily, silencing your question. You squeaked, eyes widening before they slowly slid shut, hands coming to the front of his tunic as you fisted them tightly, rising on your tip toes to meet him. His kiss melted you, a fire being stoked in your gut steadily as the fingers in your hair tightened.

Then as sudden as it came, it stopped.

You were both panting, looking at one another as his tongue wet his lips.

“Fuck.” He growled, before crashing into you again, teeth nibbling at your bottom lip as you sighed into his embrace.

His other hand wrapped around your waist pulling you tightly against him as his tongue licked at your bottom lip. It was unfamiliar, uncertain, and your lips parted in a small gasp, immediately feeling his tongue lick tentatively at your mouth.

You were still, frozen as you thought of what to do as the hand on your waist moved to pull at your skirts hastily, dragging them up your legs.

And then, it was as though the fog was cleared, and your mind re-emerged. You pulled back with a gasp, hand gripping the wrist that was pulling at your skirts, your eyes searching his face with uncertainty.

And then, slowly, it dawned on him, realisation washing over his features.

“You’re untouched?” Came his quiet breath.

You swallowed, shutting your eyes to avoid his prying gaze, too afraid of his next reaction as you answered him.

“Yes.”

The warmth of his body left yours, and you almost subconsciously followed it, eyes reopening.

He looked at you with a new expression you could not quite understand.

Your chest ached to be held again, to feel his want and his hands pressed against your body. To feel his chest against yours, his lips on your own, his tongue teasing yours as you sighed into it. You wished to feel the calluses of his hands, and smell the salt and sandalwood that lingered around him.

You felt stupid for having told him, for having stopped him. You wished you hadn’t. You wished you had just let him have his way-

“-Apologies, Miss. I did not mean to overstep.”

Any thought that you had vanished, and you found yourself gasping for air like a fish out of water.

“I shall retire for the evening.” He took another step back, his eye not once leaving yours as he shifted his body towards your bedroom, “But if I do take your bed, I would like to earn my keep around your home as I recover.”

If this man did one more thing out of the ordinary, you thought your head may spin off your neck.

“Your keep?” You echoed, feeling the tingle in your lips from his kiss. '

Did he mean-

“-Work around the island. Cleaning, gardening. Anything that you need or want from me. I am yours.”

You felt that his last offer meant more, but you did not have the wherewithal to ask for elaboration, nor did you have the courage.

Gods, what was it about this man that turned you to syrup?

You nodded slowly, watching as relief washed over his features, “It is much appreciated, though I will be hard pressed to find things for you to do yet.” You shifted on your feet, hands wringing together once more, “I shall send word soon of your survival to shore. My pigeo-“

“-No.” Aemond said hastily, to which he recovered a moment afterwards, “No need until I am hale and healthy again. There is no point for false hopes, I may turn on the morrow.”

You shook your head, a small laugh falling from your lips, “I see no possibilities of you turning to meet the Stranger tomorrow. You-“

“-Please.” Came his voice once more, rough and quiet, and more strained than before, “Let me stay dead for a while longer.”

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the general tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

@blackswxnn @marihoneywk @targaryenrealnessdarling @namelesslosers @aemondsfavouritebastard @dahlias-and-marigolds @aemondsbabygirl @toodlesxcuddles @jemmaagentofshield @malfoytargaryen @bellaisasleep @aaprilshowers @assortedseaglass @elizarbell @xpersephonex @lijeno @likeanecho344 @coffeeobsessedtrencher @diannnnsss @lexwolfhale @notasockpuppetaccount @at-a-rax-ia @spinachtz@marysucks-blog @generalkenobitrash @zenka69 @shygardengalaxy-blog @kittendoll05

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen fanfic #hotd #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fic #aemond #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond x y/n #hotd fanfic #lighthouse!Aemond #asumofwords lighthouse #sailor!aemond #LighthouseKeeper!reader #sailor!Aemond x reader #Sailor!Aemond #LighthouseKeeper!Reader #Asumofwords Lighthouse #shipwreck!aemond

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qprsmackdown · 8 months

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Gillion, Chip, and Jay (JRWI Riptide) vs Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo (DSMP)

Propaganda beneath the cut!

Gillion, Chip, and Jay propaganda: They're three gay ass pirates who; despite coming from very different backgrounds, found eachother and formed the riptide pirates! All three of them are co-captains on their crew and they're trying to destroy the government HI HI HI I ALREaDY SUBMITTED FISH AND CHIPS AND IN THIS AREA I tALKED ABOUT HOW I WISHED JAY WAS ALLOWED AND THEN I SAW YOU ANSWER THAT ASK THAT SAID YOU CAN HAVE MORE THAN 2 PEOPLE SO IM SUBMITTING THE ALBATRIO INSTEAD THANK YOU LOVE YOU Gillion is canonically asexual and shipped with both Jay and Chip respectively. I just think they are all very queer and platonically in love is all. I love polyamory. Put those guys in a relationship.

Benchtrio propaganda: My friend wrote a fanfiction detailing their platonic relationship from childhood friends to spouses. It is over 1 million words long. Pls he needs this

my good friend sunny wrote over 1million words of fanfiction about them that was so good it permanently altered my brain chemistry. also i think the feat of over 1mil words is worth the win (:

Ranboo and Tubbo are canonically married, semi-canonically platonically so. Tubbo and Tommy have known each other for years, and have an understanding of each other that no one else does. Tommy and Ranboo went through a very awkward and begrudging beginning of their friendship, but Ranboo would go on to make Tommy's grave when he died.

I want to start off by stressing that these 3 are characters and are not at all connected to the real world creators that portrayed them aside from having the same name.

c!Ranboo and c!Tubbo were canonically married, with the nature of their marriage being largely ambiguous and up for interpretation! They live together in a mansion with their adopted child, Michael, a tiny baby piglin! c!Tommy was never an official part of their marriage, but the three spent so much time together(before the series' writing took a very unfortunate turn due to behind the scenes stuff) that they might as well have been a qpr polycule! It is confirmed that c!Ranboo(an 8'5 foot tall enderman hybrid) can only look 2 people directly in the eyes with it being STRONGLY implied those 2 people were c!Tommy and c!Tubbo! Their relationship didn't get as much time as it needed due to the series's unfortunate downturn near the end, but while it was there, it was a very comforting, very tender relationship between 3 traumatized young queer teens who were their for one another through their journeys in healing from their various traumas. Also one time c!Tommy and c!Ranboo got high together in a tiny smoke box they made(they also met when Ranboo hit him on the head with a giant flower. An allium, to be specific!).

#mod zazie #round 1 #side 2 #qpr smackdown #qpr tournament #gillion tidestrider #chip jrwi #jay ferin #tommyinnit #tubbo #ranboo #By the way I know it says fish and chips on the bracket but it was meant to be gill/chip/jay. i thought fish and chips was their shipname #whoops #anyways! fixed :D

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noisycroissant · 6 months

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"It's you..."

Astarion x Reader

She was one of those marks that broke his chipped heart. The trusting ones, the doe-eyed ones who looked at him like he hung the stars in the sky. It hurt every minute he spent with her knowing that he was simply leading her to a fate worse than death.

He remembered the look in her eyes when they took her away with the others at the party where they lured all their marks to once a month. He dreamed of that look for years only to wake up to find himself shaking, face wet with tears. He didn't want to keep doing this, but another year of being confined and tortured and starved with no hopes of escape, freedom or otherwise...no, he couldn't survive that. Not again.

But then, he saw her again. He was sure it was his fragile mind playing tricks on him. Constant torture can do that you, y'know. But then he saw her again. The same hair. Skin paler though. And then he heard her voice.

"Astarion?"

When he heard his name in that voice again, his heart dropped to the pits of his stomach. He'd do anything, beg at her feet, grovel for forgiveness, anything to not hear that tone in her voice.

"I am angry for what you did to me. To my life. But I also understand why... I've had to do it myself."

I've had to do it myself.

If he ever had thoughts of murdering Cazador in the darkest ways possible, those thoughts just became a million times darker.

"Where you here all these years? I never saw you. I thought I knew every turned spawn in the palace."

"I was locked up for "lack of respect" and "till I learnt what was good for me "."

He knew what that meant. Lashes, pliers, blood, pain, hunger, tears.

Desperate prayers falling on deaf ears.

"I'm.. I don't deserve to say sorry. You'd have been... anywhere but here..if it weren't for me."

"I know. But you did what you did to survive. I don't begrudge you for that. I had enough time in that cell to know that choice does not live in these walls."

*******

And that's how it began. That was how hope came back into two people's lives. How it grew and bloomed with each passing look, each time fingers brushed while walking across hallways, each time a secret letter was found under a pillow.

After 150 years, Astarion dared to dream.

He would always curse himself when he remembered that night. It had taken them almost a year to plan, another year to talk courage into themselves to go through with it.

He remembered how soft her hands were when he held them as they ran through shadows.

Freedom. It was so close. Just a breath away.

And in the blink of an eye, it was gone.

Of course. What had he been thinking? They'd never be free. Not as long as that monster had a leash on them.

"Don't let them see each other, Godey. But make sure they hear."

Astarion remembers the day his heart finally crumbled to ash.

*******

Decades later, when he was finally let out again, the very first night he goes to the highest roof he could find in Baldur's Gate. And he sat there. Waiting for the sun. The only way he could be free of this hellish life. The only way he could forget the sins.

His skin prickled and he cried as the sky turned pink.

The next thing he remembers is waking up on a beach with a unholy squirming in his eye. A crashed ship, fire and smoke bellowing. Intellect devourers running amok. But he was out in the sun and it didn't burn. It didn't hurt.

The confusion was enough to drive him mad. 200 years of rage and pain, and he finally had a chance to end it. But even that was taken from him.

He heard footsteps and chatter. Hand goes to his dagger naturally. But then he hears a voice.

Her voice.

This must be the tenth circle of hell, he tells himself. This is where depraved sinners like him go to. Where they're tortured for eternity with the things they'll never see again.

Like the sun.

Or her.

But hope survives in the darkest of hells.

And it had found him again.

"Astarion?"

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seat-safety-switch · 3 months

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Relying on a network of package delivery folks to sustain ourselves is an interesting new way to live. My grandparents probably got one or two parcels each a year, and it was a whole-ass event when it happened. Crowd the whole family around. This box came from another town. Let's open it together.

Now, I get thirty or forty packages a week. That's only a slight exaggeration, but you can understand the scale of the problem we're dealing with. As with everyone else in this era, we are constantly ordering things from faceless automatons and expecting them to get here on time. So it's extra mysterious when you see a message like this in the parcel-smashing-company's online parcel tracking:

"Due to an emergency situation, the package has been delayed."

That's okay. The roads were pretty bad. I can't judge another worker for preserving their own safety, especially not when they're just delivering me some old car parts. They are, of course, car parts that I desperately need this weekend so that I can put them on a shelf while I wait for more car parts to arrive in order to complete the job. The next day, though, I got a whole different message:

"Uncontrollable events have delayed delivery."

Okay, that's enough. I decided to call in to the faceless parcel-smashing corporation's customer-support line, figure out what was wrong, really get to the bottom of all this. How dare you hold onto my garbage? How dare you not deliver it?

Turns out that the driver, my fellow working comrade, had taken a look at his options. He could drive through the blowing snow to deliver me a bunch of junk. Or, he could look at his gas gauge and realize he had just enough fuel to make it all the way to Mexico. Start a new life. Make different choices. Be a better person this time. Stay warm. I can't begrudge him a vacation, but I hope when his conscience is back in control that he ships back my parts using a different courier than I did.

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milksnake-tea · 11 months

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Imagine Yaoshi x Reader x Nanook. With how they act in lores and how there is not much canon information about the personalities + encounters or interactions yet. My brain already has so much ideas about what's gonna happen if we put them both together :)

pairing: nanook x gn!reader x yaoshi (general relationship hcs)

word count: 785

warnings: possible spoilers for hsr !! involves xianzhou stuff iykyk

a/n: it's the way that i knew this would be a request- also this got long i apologize HAHSHSHH

First off, congrats. I have no idea how you managed to coerce these two into sharing because the last thing either wanted was to share something with the other.

Compromise is absolutely fundamental in this relationship. Yaoshi and Nanook are Aeons whose ideologies are in direct conflict, and you'll have to act as their middle ground. Arguments aren't common (they both believe that they're above such petty disputes), but in the beginning of the relationship, the tension was undeniable.

Nanook firmly believes that civilization was a mistake, and neither Yaoshi nor you can change that. Yaoshi can pout and give Nanook the look all they want, but nothing is stopping Nanook from bringing planet after planet down.

Likewise, Yaoshi's gifts of immortality, along with their side effects of mara, tend to irk Nanook, only furthering their belief that destruction was the only salvation left for the universe (Yaoshi would continue to assert that the mara wasn't their fault).

But when you come into the picture, you force them to put their differences aside - because if there's one thing that the two of them can agree on, it's you. If it's for you, they're willing to push aside their ongoing war with one another. If it's you, they'll ignore the fact that they openly hated the other.

Yaoshi thought that such a cold being as Nanook wasn't deserving of a partner such as you. Nanook didn't love or embrace you like Yaoshi did, didn't cradle and pamper you like the Abundance.

As a result, Yaoshi loved to remind them of their negligence, although now, it's more of a playful jest if anything. They'd whine about how Nanook was barely home, despite Yaoshi constantly being on the run themselves, and the fact that as Aeons, they don't have a set "home".

For the most part, Nanook was unbothered by Yaoshi's remarks, with the most coming out of them being a roll of the eyes. They didn't care how their affection may have come across, the only thing mattering to them was that you were safe and happy.

The two of them used to fight over you all the time - Nanook would often snatch you right off of Yaoshi's lap, and Yaoshi would refuse to hand you over. But soon, they learned to tolerate the other's existence, and eventually that tolerance would turn into a begrudging adoration.

In this relationship, Yaoshi is inertly more affectionate (and possessive) than Nanook is. Nanook isn't... They're not exactly in tune with desires of any kind, much less the kind that comes with a romantic relationship. Yaoshi, on the other hand, is an empathetic soul who loves and sympathizes with creatures from all walks of life.

Yaoshi coddles you, and makes sure that not only are you loved, but that you feel loved. They are gentle and tender with you, often playing with your hands or hair, and pressing kisses wherever they can. They sing you praises to their Disciples and the Denizens, who adore you just as much as their Aeon.

On the other hand, Nanook's "love", if you could even call it that, comes in the form of protection. The Antimatter Legion, when they're not wreaking havoc upon other planets, become your personal bodyguards. Yaoshi in particular takes advantage of this, often using the Legion to fend off any Xianzhou ships looking to hunt them down.

But this isn't to say that Nanook doesn't have their moments. When they manage to pry you away from Yaoshi's arms, Nanook likes to hold you as they go about their business. You'd be laying in their arms, pressed against their chest as you watch the destruction of a planet as you would a movie. Rarely are any words said in these moments, but they are just as intimate as Yaoshi's affections.

The universe knows you as the Mediator, the tamer of the two most hated Aeons in the universe. Being the significant other of not one, but two Aeons certainly comes with its benefits - and that being that practically nothing can touch you. There are some who feel pity for you, others who envy you.

But there are also those such as the Aeon Xipe who are grateful for your existence, for you are responsible for keeping Yaoshi and Nanook in check. In Xipe's eyes, if such opposing Aeons as Yaoshi and Nanook can work in tandem, then there is hope for a unified universe.

All in all, this relationship can only work if each member puts forth the effort to make it work. It's rocky in the beginning, even more so than others, and requires so much more patience. But if you can manage to pull through, the rewards are sweeter than any fruit.

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disillusioneddanny · 8 months

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Spread the Love Fic Recs <3

There's been a bunch of negativity lately and I think that means we as a fandom need to spread some love around. If you get tagged please add some fics that you think deserve more love, only request is that they aren't insanely popular fics (think like fics with less than 50k hits) this way we can get some other fics out there for others to read and enjoy!!

1.) Premeditation by Chromatographic (Lia)

The problem is that so few people are even able to see what the problem really is. The problem is that things that manage to find the balance on the knife’s edge of life are so, so hard to kill. The problem, Jasmine Fenton realizes, two weeks after she moves into Gotham, is one that almost no one, in any dimension or realm, is able to solve. The problem is simply put, though, even if it’s almost impossible. The problem is this: The Joker is a Halfa.

this fic has the hardcover ship (Jazz/Jason) and everlasting trio (danny/sam/tucker) it's beautifully written and keeps you on the edge of your seat as you watch the story progress. Absolutely amazing. The writing is just amazing, Chroma sucks you in with beautiful storyline that just blows my mind. And the ending is just absolutely perfect!

2.) Halves by TourettesDog

Jason wasn't sure why Dick thought it was a good idea to drag him along with Tim to Amity Park. His brother seemed to think the strange case would offer a decent opportunity to bond-- without Gotham (and Bruce) close at hand, perhaps it wasn't the worst idea he'd ever had. Unfortunately, Amity Park is far stranger than Dick anticipated, and Jason hasn't quite been himself since they arrived. Going to FentonWorks for answers was their first big mistake.

honestly one of my favorite fics atm, I just love Gothamites going to Amity Park, i'm just such a sucker for the idea and we just don't see it enough so this fic is just my dream come true!

3.) Pitch-Dark Shades by SummersSixEcho

Danny Fenton is trying to build a new life in Gotham after closing up the connections to the Ghost Zone. Not that all connections are entirely broken, still being able to perceive shades and give them strength when he connects to one of their prized objects. Tim Drake is trying to find his own place in the world, focusing on becoming a better detective by solving cold cases in his spare time. When Tim and Danny meet, a new (begrudging) partnership starts to bloom to solve even the hardest of cases. Or it would if only they told each other the truth.

I truly just love Danny and Tim together in literally any kind of capacity. They just cause so much chaos together and it's amazing. This fic is just absolutely lovely and the prose is amazing. Summers fics are truly enrapturing and just pull you in so easily.

4.) Beneath A Different Light by AKelaNakamura, SummersSixEcho, TourettesDog

When a convergent event hits unexpectedly, Damian and Danny find themselves in the last place they’d expected: In the body of the twin they’d thought long dead. With the after effects still coursing through them and danger lurking in both cities, the brothers must figure out who they can trust—all while slowly learning about the life their twin has led without them. Or, none of these bastards can catch a break.

Demon twins. Just--just Demon Twins my beloved. This fic is two chapters in and i'm just so utterly in love with it. Summers, Akela, and Dog are just a match made in heaven when it comes to cowriting a fic. The fic just yanks you in so easily and you find yourself thinking about it even after reading the fic. Just a wonderful fic!

5.) Come Little Children by Die_Erlkonigin6083

American Chestnuts were once one of the most important trees along the East Coast. The blight destroyed most of them, but not all of them. There was one chestnut tree, one that entranced a child, and then, what it wrought, enchanted an entire city or two

YALL when i tell you that the storytelling in this is absolutely breathtaking I'm serious. This fic has brought a tear to my eye because of just how beautifully it's written. It's got cool fantasy aspects to it, it's based off of an old fairy tale, it's just so amazing and it's one of my favorite fics to reread if i'm having a bad day. Just truly a lovely fic.

Now, I would like to see @halfagone @spite-sapphic-starlight @noir-renard and @midnightenigma recommend some of their favorite fics if they're willing <3333 let's spread some more love in this fandom!

also even if you aren't tagged--please feel free to recommend any fics you enjoy!!

#dpxdc #dpxdc fic recs #danny phantom #dc universe #detective comics

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loth-creatures · 7 months

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Wolfwren is just so funny to me. I can't quite take them seriously, but well if they're gonna be that goddamn homosexual on screen I guess I have no choice.

They're like the opposite of otp they're like one true divorce.

They never really get past wanting to kill each other but they wanna fuck so bad it makes them look stupid but they still hate each other but they're also both lonely af and circumstances are circumstancing so they form a begrudging and mildly toxic attachment/friendship/fuck-buddy-ship that there's no getting rid of but every time it almost starts working they end up trying to kill each other again. They never actually date but they have broken up 1 million times.

Ezra or Ketsu find Sabine moping and glowering over her phone and a bottle of whiskey and they're like what's wrong- oh you unblocked her again didn't you :(

Baylan finds Shin crying about it and he's like you know you could still just kill her 🙄

Disaster lesbians of all time

Ehahaaaaa I had this in my drafts before the finale we pretend it did not happen I'm fucking off to au land bye

#wolfwren #sabine wren #shin hati #shin hati x sabine wren #ahsoka series #ahsoka show #eel thoughts

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