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imagineaworld · 1 month

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stray shadow 🗡️ azriel

summary: azriel loses a shadow, only for it to lead him straight to you

warnings: 18+, oral (f receiving), fingering, public place (kinda), dirty talk, swearing, mentions of alcohol

word count: 1.5k

Azriel seemed to have lost one of his shadows.

He had been too busy observing the crowd for potential threats to notice the shadow sneak off somewhere. After deciding there were no current threats amongst the crowd gathered in the Court of Nightmares, he slipped off in search of the stray.

Following the gentle tug that was beckoning him to the other side of the cavernous hall, he kept to the outskirts to avoid the mass of bodies talking, dancing and drinking.

As the tug grew stronger, he wondered curiously where his shadow was leading him. Had it sensed a threat that even he hadn't spotted? It seemed unlikely, but not impossible.

Eventually, he approached a small crowd loitering by the table littered with glasses and flutes of wine and champagne. His shadow was close, he could sense it. He scanned the small group, seeking the familiar darkness of his shadows.

There. He spotted it; slinked around a high-heeled ankle. His eyes trailed upwards, following the exposed bare leg, continuing up a gossamer-clad torso, a plunging neckline, a long slender neck, before settling on the face of the most beautiful female he had ever seen.

You hadn't noticed it at first. The soft brush had just felt like the fabric of your dress sweeping against your ankle. But when you looked down, you noticed a black shadow slowly wrapping itself around your ankle. It tickled, pulling a smile from you as you watched it wend its way up your leg, exposed through the slit in your dress.

Curiously, you reached down to touch it as it skated your thigh. In answer, it wrapped itself around your fingers. Bringing your hand closer to your face, you watched in wonder as it danced in between your fingers.

You were so distracted by the shadow that you didn't notice the owner of the shadow approach until he spoke.

"They seem to like you."

It was the only thing Azriel could think to say as he watched you smile at the shadow flitting around in your hand. All thoughts had left his mind, the sight rendering him speechless for a few seconds.

At the sound of his voice, you looked up. Your eyes locked onto his, amusement dancing in them. He felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him.

"Lose something?" You spoke, your voice like caramel.

Struck dumb, Azriel could only watch as you gently flicked his shadow in his direction, returning it to him. Reluctantly, the shadow rejoined the mass swirling around his feet. Az realised he should say something.

"I apologise for disturbing you," he managed. "I usually have them under control, but they're feeling rebellious today."

You laughed, and it was the single greatest sound he has ever heard. Azriel couldn't contain his own smile, self-consciously rubbing his hand on the back of his neck.

"Should I be concerned about drawing their attention?" You inquired playfully.

Az chuckled. "No, not unless you plan on causing trouble."

Something like mischief sparked in your eyes. "Oh, I always plan on causing trouble."

Gods, save him.

You extended a hand and introduced yourself.

"Azriel." He said, his scarred hand clasping yours as he suppressed his disgust at marring you with his touch.

You repeated his name, just a murmur, but loud enough for him to hear. Perhaps he had been wrong, it was not your laugh that was the greatest sound he had ever heard, but the sound of his name of your lips.

You weren't quite sure how you were playing it so cool. The male standing before you was quite simply the most handsome male you had ever seen. Talking to males never normally intimidated you, but you felt the need to leave a lasting impression on this one.

Just the touch of his hand on yours had sent tingles down your spine. The feeling was unfamiliar, yet not unwelcome. It was safe to say, for the first time in your life, you were out of your depth.

The musicians began playing a tune that had hoards of people flocking to the dance floor.

"Well, Azriel," you began, holding out your hand. "Do you or your shadows dance?"

Wordlessly, with a glint in his eyes, Azriel took your hand and led you out into the crowd of couples on the dance floor.

Az took the lead in the dance with a newfound confidence. You placed a hand on his shoulder, feeling the hard muscles beneath his jacket. His large hand on your waist felt equally as strong, but he held you at a respectable distance.

As if unhappy with the distance between you, his shadows reached for you. They pulled you in closer, wrapping round the two of you as you moved gracefully on the dance floor.

You huffed a laugh, your breasts now flush against Azriel's broad chest. "They're definitely rebellious."

Az only grunted in response, as though words were beyond him.

Looking up at him as he towered over you, you bit your lip, anxious that your closeness had made him uncomfortable.

He was already looking down at you when your eyes met his, dark with lust. "Don't look at me like that." He ground out.

"Why not?" You challenged, your own newfound confidence coming through at the realisation he was growing hard beneath you as your bodies pressed together.

He growled lowly. "Drives me crazy."

His gravelly voice went straight to your core, and as his eyes darkened further, you knew he could scent your arousal. Refusing to blush, you held his gaze and he inhaled, a restrained groan building in his throat.

"You smell divine."

You bit your lip again. "Why don't you find out how I taste?"

You refused to break Azriel's gaze, which had turned feral at your words. In that gaze, you could see an internal battle between desire and logic.

"Offer's on the table," you told him. "No strings."

Azriel whirled around, leading you by your joint hands to the nearest exit. Once outside the hall, your heels clicked on the stone as he led you down a handful of dim corridors. He stopped beside an alcove, pushing you in with his body. The alcove was just big enough for the two of you, his shadows blocking you from sight of any stray passers-by.

Not wasting any time, Az connected his mouth to yours in the most sensous kiss you had ever experienced. You leaned into the kiss and tangled your fingers into Azriel's hair, drawing a low groan from the back of his throat.

He trailed kisses from your mouth down your neck, sucking and nipping with his teeth. You let out a breathy moan as his teeth grazed over your nipple, the fabric of your dress pushed aside.

Through the slit in your dress, Azriel stroked your thigh, higher and higher until he reached where your underwear should have been.

"No panties?" He growled. "You really are looking for trouble."

His fingers toyed with your pussy, gathering up the slick before sliding one finger inside.

"Azriel." You breathed, the sensation overwhelming you.

He moved his finger in and out of you, curling it just right as he added another.

"Feel so good round my fingers, baby," he praised, watching as you started to unravel. "Let's find out how you taste."

He dropped to his knees before you, gathering the fabric of your dress and bunching it round your hips. The scent of your arousal and the feeling of your slick had hardened his cock beneath his trousers. He licked a long, slow line along your pussy, teasing you.

"Please," you begged.

"So needy," he taunted. You could hear the smugness in his voice. Putting you out of your misery, he pressed his mouth to your pussy. Like a man starved, he licked, sucked, nipped at you, all the while sliding his fingers in and out.

You moaned his name, fingers tugging at strands of his hair. He growled at the sensation, which reverberated against your clit. You felt your release building.

"Fuck, you taste so good," his voice full of lust. "You gonna cum for me, baby?"

"Yes," you breathed. "Fuck, don't stop."

Obliging, he picked up the pace of his fingers, and focused his mouth on your clit. Your moans were obcene as you came, his name spilling out of you for all to hear. Azriel only slowed his pace once your pussy had stopped clenching round his fingers.

He looked up at you with a devilish grin, lips wet with your slick. Slowly, he pulled his fingers out of you, raising them to his lips taste you again.

He raised up to his full height, towering over you. His hair a tussled mess, his eyes still dark with lust. "Until next time," he said, and vanished off, taking his shadows with him.

The sound of you moaning his name, the taste of you on his tongue, they lingered for hours. He thought about it - about you for the rest of the evening. Later that night, he fucked his fist and came at the thought of you.

#azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #acotar #acotar smut #azriel smut #azriel x reader #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #a court of thorns and roses #sjm universe

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foldingfittedsheets · 4 months

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One thing I’ve inherited from my mother is my feet. Not only are they the same size but we get the same utility out of them, which is to say both of our big toes are unusually long and flexible.

When she was pregnant my mom used this fact to just pick up things with her feet instead of bending down. She never lost the habit, so when I was young I hopped immediately on board the fun game of picking up stuff with my toes.

Laundry, pencils, I’ll casually grab stuff laying on the floor with my toes without bending down. It’s proven itself as a useful skill with my chronic illness or when my back is thrown out.

But there is a dark side to these toe powers. My mom uses her toes for evil more often than not. Because they’re ideal for pinching. A common cry in the house was my dad from their bedroom going, “Ah! Don’t pinch me!” Followed by my moms evil giggle.

Tragically it is so fun to use pinchy toes for evil. The most fun thing to grab is someone’s Achilles tendon or calves but y’know. They tend not to like it. Cause it pinches.

I’ve never done more than gently grip my betrothed with my pinchy toes, an act of love and a testament to my iron willpower because again, it’s so goddamn fun. But one night after they told me to knock it off I started telling them that my mom is always pinching my dad when they cuddle.

“It hurts?” they asked me in perplexity.

“Well yeah, like, I could be hurting you, but I’m not, because I love you. It so easy to pinch hard.”

They radiated disbelief at me.

“Do you need me to show you I can pinch hard enough to hurt?” I asked.

“Sure, show me.”

I greedily reached for their legs with my evil toes unleashed and in seconds they exclaimed, “Ow! How are you doing that!”

I snickered and subsided. They processed the breadth of my toe skills while I savored the tiny mischief I had indulged.

Finally they said, “I want to try.”

“Sure.” I laid passively while they clumsily attempted to grip any part of my leg between their toes. They grew increasingly frustrated while I stifled giggles. Their toes gripped helplessly at me like toothless gums, failing to gain purchase.

Finally they managed to grip my Achilles tendon and gave a triumphant laugh. By no definition was it remotely uncomfortable, let alone painful but I indulgently said, “Ow,” for them.

“Don’t patronize me,” they whispered venomously. Then they snuggled close and my toes returned to their humble life picking up socks that have fallen from the laundry basket.

#ramblies #story #my betrothed #writing #funny story #ffs foibles

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romanoffsbish · 2 months

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Double the Trouble

Yelena Belova x F!R (Platonic / Focus)

Natasha x F!R / Wanda x Yelena (Romantic)

Warnings: Drugs (Weed) | Alcohol Referenced

When your girls are off to save the day, you and Yelena have plans to stay and play. | WC: 1,852

Behave; this is what your girlfriends said when they left for their mission this morning, it was offensive and truth be told, only likely to warrant the opposite.

Who were they to tell you what you and Yelena should do? They being Wanda and Natasha, who lived their life off of some moral code, whereas you two didn't.

Quite the contrary really, at your cores you two were on the right side but you both also craved mischief.

To behave is to concede, and you two were far too stubborn to; to see their intentions weren't malicious.

——

Which is why neither of you listened to your lover.

There was a distinct odor to the room, bouncing off the cement walls of your garage that was decorated to look like a lounge. In one corner sat a record player that currently spun a random vinyl of Natasha's to fill the otherwise quiet space. An unlikely find when the both of you were usually in the same room together, but you were rather preoccupied and the blonde was irritated.

"Cyka," Yelena groaned, "stop hogging the blunt!"

You smirked around the damp filter, rolled your eyes then continued on, sucking on the burning stick until the smoke circling your chest sufficed you enough to allow Yelena a turn. "I am not giving this back."

"Whatever," you chuckled as you pulled another joint from the pile you'd spent an entire hour rolling. To be honest there was no reason to share the blunt, but in your sober state you'd deemed it the cautious play.

Now though, with the weed already infiltrating your mind you decided to throw all caution to the wind and sparked up another in mere seconds of losing the last.

The lack of conversation was no longer a concern, the tense atmosphere gone as you both settled into your highs... "Do you think babies can understand us?"

You snorted harshly, nearly choking on the inhale you just took in but you somehow managed to turn the cough into a burning sensation instead. "What?!"

"Listen to me Y/N Y/L/N!" Yelena pointlessly shouted, your attention was already on her. "What if when we are born we have the ability to just understand? Like, maybe our soul is still attached to our old lives?"

You hummed, "interesting," then took a final hit before putting the nearly finished blunt out so you could shift to face the blonde, with the amusingly low tolerance.

Yelena pouted, her signature expression. "What?"

"Oh, it's nothing serious Lena, it's just—I didn't really peg you for the type to believe in reincarnation."

"I don't fully," she replied with furrowed brows, and pursed lips, "I think old souls live in us momentarily before they leave to their afterlife. Leaving only a small part of themselves behind so we can be individuals."

You nodded, though you didn't quite see it the same.

"I think the ones that look like old people understand us—like, a two month old fella with hella wrinkles."

Yelena cackled, "Oh no, those babies are so ugly!"

You slapped her shoulder that had jerked off the couch with just how intensely her amusement had flowed.

"Hey, they need time to grow into their features!" You shook your head, "You can't call a baby ugly, asshole!"

"I did," Yelena flatly replied as she took another drag, smoke following her next words, "and I always will."

You looked at her astonished and she shrugged her shoulders. "What? You Americans need to face the cold hard truth, not everyone thinks your living, breathing potato looks cute. Some babies are ugly, it is simple."

You huffed, "but they're just babies, you can't—."

"Why can you call adults ugly?" Yelena cut you off.

"I don't," you groaned and she laughed, "Y/N, you literally told Bruce he was uglier than a pile of shit."

"That's different," you whined, "he flirted with Nat."

"Potato, po-tato, either way babies can be ugly."

"But-."

"Move on, I have more thoughts to explore."

"Are they all offensive?"

Yelena smirked. "Oh, most definitely..."

"Then I'll need another one of these," you concluded, one hand rubbed at your temples while the other reached for a packed joint. "Give me one too, cyka."

You passed the blonde another one then moved off of your bean bag so that you could lay on the furry rug. A shiver ran down your spine as the cold material rubbed against your bare arms where goosebumps rose. You giggled as you released a cloud of smoke and peered up at your pouting best friend. "Why so glum, chum?"

Another giggle left you as she grunted and dropped to sit down beside you, her legs crossed over one another. A rough hand gently caressed your cheek but you knew better than to trust the moment to remain sweet. In less than a seconds time she squished your cheeks and laughed maniacally as you struggled in her grasp.

"I hate you," you spat, words slurred as she hadn't let go yet. Once she did you continued to bitterly rant on, tone full of faux resentment, "I don't know why I even put up with you Belova. Wanda must be a saint."

"Because my bud is premium," she deadpanned, then her lips upturned softly. "And I'm your best friend."

You grinned then sighed, reluctant to admit, "You are."

"Come on," she shook your shoulders as she jumped to her feet. "We cannot let the weed slumber kick in yet!"

Reluctantly, you stood to your feet and wobbled over to the blonde who was stood waiting by your foldable table. Just like every time before you faced her and settled your elbow down on your side of the table.

"I am tired," you grumbled but the blonde didn't care. Her jacket was shrugged off and her hand linked with yours. "We have to be stronger than the weed loser."

"But why?" You exasperated, hand slamming hers into the table in the heat of the moment. "Oh my god!!!"

"No," Yelena immediately negated, "I wasn't ready."

"I don't care," you squealed and did a lap around the couch to release your excitement. "I finally won!"

Yelena shook her head, afraid of what you were about to say. "I get to pick your wedding entry song!!!"

"No," she growled, knowing damn well what this likely entailed. Your love for jokes superseded your loyalty.

A fight ensued as you turned the record player off and spoke, "Hey Siri, play my Yelena's entrance playlist."

"Y/N, I swear to god," she groaned, her arm swung out to swat your phone from your hand as a universally familiar tune played—clown music, how funny; not.

Yelena chased a giggling you around the room for several minutes before you started to slow down. Giving her the perfect opportunity to tackle you onto the same carpet she forced you to vacate earlier.

"Say sike right now or I will do it," Yelena threatened, her hands par curled beside your sides, you gulped knowing exactly how ruthless of a tickler she was.

"Hey siri," you squeaked, "play Lena's wedding song."

Yelena's eyes widened as she recognized the familiar tune of her favorite song, American Pie, but it was not the exact same. Instead it was void of the usual lyrics, slowed down on a piano alone and pitched upwards.

It brought tears to the blonde's eyes and she dropped to the floor beside you with a warm smile. "I hate you."

"I hate you too," you yawned, lips smacking almost dramatically as the cotton mouth hit you full force.

In contrast to the both of your baseless words you didn't let go of the blonde, you actually only held on tighter and she cuddled up to you as well, as sleep consumed the both of your drugged up minds entirely.

—

On a bed, only a city over sat your fiancé with a hand on her stomach as she came down from her laughter. Wanda was on the bed beside hers in a similar state.

"Do you think she'll call our baby ugly?"

Natasha smirked. "Oh, most definitely..."

"Shut up," the witch groaned then averted her gaze back to the screen where the tomfoolery took place.

"Do you think they'll be mad when they find out?"

Natasha blinked away her tears of amusement and shrugged, this was truly their favorite past time. Every month, without fail, the women announce an overnight mission knowing you and Yelena would use that time to unwind together with your favorite substances.

Most of the time you two smoked weed, but on the rare occasion, her birthday, Yelena could convince you to down a bottle or two of pure vodka. Those times were usually under semi-supervision though. The one time Natasha or Wanda didn't they found the both of you passed out on the rooftop in clothes bigger than you.

No explanations were given, and quite frankly they preferred not knowing. Fortunately weed slowed the two of you down more than anything, so for a few hours they'd get endless laughs before you succumbed to the glorious sleep that always follows a dank sesh.

"Honestly, I think they know us enough to expect this. Y/N's even hinted to me that she knows, but this is harmless and helpful since they respect us too much to engage in their nefarious activities when we are there."

Wanda smiled, feeling more confident as she settled back into the plush pillow that lined the hotel bed. It was foreign to her to experience such comfort when Yelena insisted on hogging the pillows so that the witch had no other choice but to use her chest as a cushion.

Normal partners just ask to cuddle, but Yelena says, "I'm pretty sure I have scoliosis, I need them," and yanks the brunette into her embrace without fail.

With the two of you in your weed induced slumber the witch found herself near the same outcome. Then as if annoying others ran in the family, Natasha spoke tension into the peaceful air, "But since you lost our bet, and will be playing these clips at your wedding reception next month Lena will most definitely make you sleep on the hotel couch on your honeymoon."

"I hate you," Wanda groaned and threw her pillow at the smirking redhead who caught it with ease. "And yet you're signing on for a life of being my sister in law."

Natasha winked then laid the witches pillow beneath her head, "thanks for the extra cushion, I needed it."

Wanda fell back on her mattress with a sigh, "Cyka." Then a soft smile followed as she felt warmth in her chest at the reminder that she had a family, again.

Natasha flipped her off, but as she laid on her side with her phone propped on the stolen pillow she smiled just the same. Yelena was cuddled into your side and you unconsciously held her with such care that it made the redhead thankful as she reminisced your relationship.

This was all she ever wanted, her little found family.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff blurb #natasha romanoff x female reader #natasha romanoff x reader #gxg #natasha x reader #yelena belova #yelena belova x you #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova imagine #yelena belova x wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x you #natasha x y/n #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha x fem!reader #natasha x you #natasha romanoff fluff

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dondeeee911 · 7 days

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How would your FS feel about your past?

It's hard to let go, isn't it?🥹

1> green tea cup 2> blue tea cup 3> pink tea cup

Pile 1

Your FS can sense that you’ve experienced perpetual events in your past. People and mental blockages may have got in the way of your unique path, your FS can instinctively point that out. Overall, healing has become extremely important to you and your future. Some of you may look into your habitual habits and unwanted behaviors, wanting to cut ties with these inherited traits. They see you as a seeker of high morality; exuding selfless energy. A humanitarian-like personality, someone who is truly devoted to their family and peers in their community. They understand that you may have lost a sense of self when it came to being of service to others, even in the relationship you have with them. Your person is in constant admiration of you! In their eyes, you are someone who has transformed their triumphs, wounds, and goals into fruitful rewards. Your FS won’t let you slip away into the depths of your past, they are here to save you, from all of it. 🥹Your past inspires them to collaborate and do some kind of healing work with you!

Pile 2

Nothing about your past you regret, confidently! Your FS gets this perfectionist streak about you. You could have advocated for something or got into leadership roles in your community. I mean nobody is perfect, but you on the other hand have managed to get through the loopholes in life effortlessly. A wise, discerning, calculated person who just knows where their next venture is. They could feel like you may have been a bit of a self-absorbed person in your past, not wanting to be interfered with. Your person understands you have an urge for forward movement and not letting too much of anything get in your way. Your FS could be intimidated by your past seeing you as an evolved person who made better choices than they did. There could be some emotional manipulation and mischief coming from your person. They could secretly try to get you off track by over-caring for you or feeling the need to make an opinion on what you could do better. Don’t let them make you feel the need to second guess yourself or feel guilty for wanting to act on something new. Can you see through the BS? You can even sniff out your person’s deceit! Can they handle your extreme confidence or their lack of resilience?

Pile 3

Artistic expression and Romance consumed your past. Your FS could be someone you already know or a supporter of your lifestyle. Due to your need for status and constantly being desired by numerous suitors, they could have been a secret admirer of yours just hiding behind the scenes! You could have been into artistic pursuits that consisted of music, beauty, local arts, or photography. Maybe they saw your work displayed on social media, in a gallery, or just heard about it through familiar peers. You became their muse and didn’t even know it! When they acknowledge you and what you’ve overcome in life they find meaning in the work you’ve created as if you healed yourself through it. Making you the person you are today. It heals them, you are their masterpiece, the melodic tune to their heart, they loved you through every era, your biggest fan! I wonder who it is👀 whose heart longs for YOU? If you felt called to choose pile 2 at first, I suggest you go back and read it.

#channeled message #pick a pile #pac #pick a card #intutive reading #future spouse #love #romance #oracle

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greynatomy · 15 days

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dazed & confused

leila ouahabi x reader

it’s your bday @sleekswosobession !!

———

You’ve been dragged to the go out by your friends after a stressful day. Declining at first, they insisted, so you were now at the bar, drink in hand.

The bass was thumping in the dimly lit club, tension radiating off of everyone. Watching everyone let loose, your eyes lock on a mysterious figure from across the room.

You came in swinging like Apollo I'll be feeling it tomorrow No, I ain't seeing straight, hyperventilate Knees begin to wobble

Igniting a spark of curiosity and attraction, your feet began to move, pushing you through the crowd of people, with determination in each step.

You cut my brakes and hit the throttle I couldn't stop it if I wanted Dizzy silhouette, makes me break a sweat I'm in trouble

“Mind if I join you?” you shouted, over the music, giving her a charming smile.

She glanced at you, lips quirking up in a grin. “Depends on whether you can keep up.”

It was a challenge that you willingly accepted. The club was dark, bar from the little spotlights all over. You matched her movements, bodies syncing as one in a dance of seduction and intrigue. Tension growing with each beat.

“So, what’s your name?” You lean in closer, lips brushing against her ear.

“Leila.”

“Leila, hmm.” You smirk, leaning back, face still close together. “I like that.” Leila shakes her head, flustered, but trying not to make it obvious. “So, what brings you here?”

“Maybe I’m just here to look for a dance partner.” She shrugs, a look of mischief on her face.

“Well, you certainly found one.”

Your bodies moved in perfect symphony, Leila could feel your breath against her neck as you moved to the beat. As you lean in closer, Leila pushes your face out of her neck and puts you face to face.

“It was nice dancing with you, but I gotta go.”

With that, she bids her goodbye, leaving no trace of her. Days turned into weeks and Leila was someone who you couldn’t get your mind off of.

People would call you pathetic, but you’ve been back to that same club every few days hoping to catch a glimpse of her again.

Oh, I've been dazed and confused From the day I met you Yeah, I lost my head And I'd do it again

Nursing on a drink, the ice began to melt as you swirl the glass around. Sighing, you look up, eyes scanning the crowd for a second before they’re back staring down at the glass.

“Who’re you looking for?”

Your head shoots up, eyes widening at the sight of her.

Either I've seen the light Or I'm losing my mind There's something 'bout you That's got me dazed and confused

“You look like a lost little puppy.” Leila jutted her bottom lip out in a pout.

“Leila.” You manage to get out.

“That’s me.”

I bet you know just what you're doing You're not the type that's used to losing First, you build me up, then with just a touch Leave me here in ruins

Her eyes meet yours and you swear that time stopped.

Something 'bout your eyes I can't even walk in a straight line Under the influence

You felt your knees buckle, barely able to keep yourself upright. The world around you is spinning while Leila was the center of it all.

She grabs your arm, dragging you to the dance floor. You forget about everything else, focused solely on her. The whole night felt like a blur.

You’ve picked up where you left off, the heat between the two of you was undeniable. You’ve, once again, surrendered yourself to her, following the way her body moves against yours.

I don't know if this is real life, real life What happens if I open my eyes, my eyes? Will I ever get my head right, head right? I don't know if this is real life, real life

You wonder if all of this was just a dream, that once you open your eyes, everything disappears. But it wasn’t a dream. You have this beautiful girl in front of you, dancing with you. You are in euphoria.

“Hey.”

A whisper breaks you out of your thoughts. Leila pulls you in by the neck, noses touching.

“Why don’t we get out of here?”

Goosebumps littered your body, words getting stuck in your throat. She grabs your hand, leading you out of the building.

It was a question that never needed answering.

#woso #woso x reader #greynatomy #woso community #man city wfc #man city women #manchester city wfc #espwnt #espwnt x reader #leila ouahabi #leila ouahabi x reader

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amethysttribble · 3 months

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“I do believe I am a very bad person,” Finrod said, and Celegorm sighed around the lip of the bottle.

“We were having fun, I thought we were having fun,” he groaned, stretching languidly over the arm of the couch. He and his ‘king’, the King of Nargothrond, were laying together, legs tangled together like a couple of youths, drinking wine. They’d been laughing, singing, naught but a second ago. Ah, but wine was a changeable drink.

“I was just thinking,” Finrod said, cradling his own bottle to his chest tenderly, “about the time Grandfather found us in the royal wine cellar, how scared we were that we were in awful trouble, how he smiled and said, ‘well? Won’t you pour me a drink?’ I loved him so much.”

“We all loved him,” Celegorm muttered bitterly and he tipped the drink back and drank until only droplets were coming to his tongue.

He tried not to think of Grandfather. Or the other grandfather. Or Mother. Or Father. Or-

“I wanted to rule something beautiful like he did,” Finrod was sighing, “Something glorious; powerful and intricate and built entirely in my image. Mine. All mine, in the palm of my hand, and then people would look at me like they looked at Grandfather. Someone beautiful, glorious. Worthy. Worthy of his name, not because I did what he did, but because I made something all my own. I wanted it. I wanted it so badly I spat on my father’s kind heart, and trampled over my cousins’ blood, and scorned our uncle, and… Turko, Grandfather never wanted us to come to this land.”

“‘Two sons at least thou hast to honor thy words’,” Celegorm said with a sneer. He let the bottle roll from his hands and stared at the ceiling, not daring to close his eyes and face the spinning. “I remember. Those words ruined my life.”

Those words spoke in jealousy by Fingolfin had seen Father banished and started this unending nightmare.

It always came back to the same question, stay or go.

Oh, but Celegorm wished he’d stayed.

“He would be disappointed in us now,” Finrod said, “If he caught us now. No drink for him but tears, to see us in this land, that wasn’t what he wanted. We did all this in his name, but it wasn’t want he wanted. What selfish children we are, always pilfering from his stores and caring nothing for how long that wine aged. Now we age it ourselves and it is vinegar. And yet I still want all the glitters. How foul is that?”

“Why are you telling me all this, Felagund?”

“My brothers are dead.”

And that was all there was to it.

“Right,” Celegorm grunted as he swung his feet to the floor and sat up. “I’m going to go throw-up, and I suggest you do the same before you vomit up anymore useless words.”

He swayed on his feet but managed to stay upright. He might have made it to the privy had Finrod not grabbed his hand as he passed. When Celegorm looked down, it wasn’t the king who looked back. It was the little cousin Tyelkormo knew, full of sunshine smiles and mischief, who he used to have such fun with; but now that boy’s face was blotchy with tears and sorrow.

They had been having fun. Weren’t they?

“This doesn’t end well, Turko.”

Yes, well, Celegorm had guessed that. Had felt it in the gnawing void in his chest that called and called and called and received no answer. It was shredding him, and in the open wounds crept in fear. Celegorm was so tired of being scared.

Finrod’s eyes did nothing to quell his fear, instead they inflamed the terror. Those eyes… Celegorm suspected this ended pourly, but Finrod’s eyes knew. An animal sort of fear wrapped around his throat, and Celegorm’s chest heaved, his heart hammered like he was naught but a rabbit caught in a snare.

He didn’t know what to do with the knowledge that dauntless, peerless, kingly Finrod was frightened, too.

And it was not quite the same expression on his little cousin’s face, but it bore a distant relationship to the nervous, startled look Finrod had shot him when Grandfather caught them drinking in the wine cellar. Turko, Turko, he asked, what do we do? Both times, Celegorm wanted to demand, how should I know?

He really wasn’t that much older.

And yet-

He meant to sink to his knees, but instead collapsed onto his ass heavily, and, ah, that was going to smart in the morning.

“Felagund,” he slurred, reaching up to take the bottle away and then to run his fingers through Finrod’s hair. “Shut up and go to sleep. When the night’s not fun anymore, that’s when you should go to bed. Isn’t that what I taught you? Go to sleep before you make mistakes you can’t take back.”

“Don’t go,” Finrod cried and Celegorm shushed him. He started to sing.

And, as Finrod’s eyes slipped shut and his quickened, guilty breathes evened out, if the words Celegorm moaned were the hymn they would sing to the doomed and dying animals…

Hopefully, they were both be too drunk to remember in the morning.

#let’s give it up for random stuff I wrote in bed at 11 o clock at night #celegorm #finrod #tolkien #the silmarillion #Tribble post #fanfic

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saffronsplace · 5 months

Text

Come away...

pose @ FOXCITY. Brat

Raindale - Sparrownest magic sparkles Elm. Mushroom Pathway Heart - Autumn Leaves

earrings @ RAWR! - samhain ring & nails by pure poison @ collabor88 - octavia ring & nails

tattoo @ A.D.D.Andel - woodland fae tattoo

hair by wasabi @ uber - vanya dress by Just Because @ faMESHed - Tamara dress

#second life #second life blog #second life fashion #second life roleplay #second life mischief managed #foxcity #raindale #elm.#heart #rawr!#pure poison #collabor88 #a.d.d #andel #wasabi #uber #just because #faMESHed

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hannibals-favourite-meal · 3 months

Note

15 and 20 with Eddie Brock/Venom please!

.⋆｡At Last｡⋆.

Eddie Brock/Venom x plus size reader

A quiet weekend in the mountains with your boyfriends is just what you all needed (and totally wasn’t because you’re on the run from the law)

Warnings: reader is a bit of a brat, mentions of getting shot at and abusive parents, past murder, fluff, implied smut

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

5k Celebration

Peace to Eddie Brock seemed to be an entirely foreign concept. His whole life was one shit storm after another, there had never been a moment of calm between his abusive father, his struggles in school, the endless fight between him and his bosses, the breakup with Annie, and then discovering Venom. He supposed he chased the chaos, needing that dose of adrenaline and fear in his blood to remind him that he was still alive and fighting.

But the second that you came crashing into his life (quite literally too, you hit Venom with your car), all he had known was that he could finally breathe. You pulled him from the fire countless times and this weekend was yet another one of those times.

Eddie had begun to get lazy in controlling Venom, letting him do what he pleased during nights when Eddie simply couldn’t be bothered to even wake up to go on patrol with him. And as a result of that, Venom accidentally ate the head of the leader of the most powerful gang in San Francisco so the three of you had to lay low for a while. Using the last of your savings, you bought a shitty cabin in the Rocky Mountains and settled there with your boys.

The whole day had been spent in silence but it was far from uncomfortable, for you at least. Venom and Eddie currently weren’t talking to each other though both seemed adamant that they stay close to you as the sun began to set over the mountains and the chill started to creep in through the poor insulation.

Eddie’s head rested on your chest, his thick arms wrapped around your waist as Venom had nuzzled into your neck, purring happily every time you gave him a small peck between his huge milky eyes. Your nails trailed up and down Eddie’s bare back, tracing every imperfection on his skin, slowly easing the stress from his body.

All he could hear was the steady beat of your heart beneath his ear. Eddie smiled softly, rubbing the tip of his nose between your breasts. You giggled at the feeling and dug your nails into the small pudge of fat at his hips. “What’s got you so affectionate, Brock?”

“Jus happy.” He muttered, squeezing your waist even tighter than before. Venom nodded against your skin in agreement.

He is right nibble, we are very happy.

“So you guys are finally done with the silent treatment to each other?”

“No.” No. You raised an eyebrow at your partners to which Venom chose to continue speaking. We just love you, that is all we agree on. You rolled your eyes at them.

“Are you sure you’re both not just sucking up to me because you think I’m mad about having to quit my job and go on the lam?” Venom growled at that, making the entire bed rumble with the force of it as Eddie felt his blood pressure start to rise. Yet, no part of him felt that usual tensing of his muscles or pounding in his ears that usually came with anger, just a buzzing in his veins that only appeared in your presence.

You said you weren’t mad. Venom pouted, making you coo at him.

“Aww baby, I’m not, I promise. I just like teasing you both.” The chill in the room didn’t stop Eddie from sitting up between your plump legs, the thick duvet that had been covering you both falling away. Your eyes, though they still sparkled with mischief, grew darker as you looked at the half naked man currently towering over you. He smirked when your gaze dropped to the old sweatpants that sat low on his hips.

Venom slid back into Eddie but you knew he was lurking below the surface, waiting to strike. “Do you now?” You captured your bottom lip between your teeth, barely managing to suppress a whine at the deep timbre of his voice.

“Well, I think it’s only fair. We’re in the middle of nowhere and you didn’t let me keep my phone. I have to entertain myself somehow.” Eddie’s muscles rippled as he leaned forwards, pushing your soft body into the mattress, keeping you pinned exactly where he wanted to.

We can smell her. Venom purred in Eddie’s mind. “Yeah buddy we can.” He agreed, taking in a deep breath and letting the thick scent of your arousal wash over them.

“The last time you two had a secret conversation in front of me, it led to me getting shot at.” You snapped though there was no bite in your tone. Eddie groaned under his breath and rested more of his weight onto you.

He gripped one of your thighs tight enough to bruise as he brushed his lips against the shell of your ear. “Oh you’re getting pregnant tonight. Fucking brat.” You shuddered beneath him.

“You’re all talk.” Venom snarled and a black tendril shot out from Eddie’s side, wrapping tightly around your wrists, pinning them to the bed above you.

“Try us.” Their voices moulded together and you smirked.

At last, Eddie Brock had his peace.

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pigeonpeach · 3 months

Text

Arranged marriage

Aka yanderes who manipulated circumstances to make you theirs

Character: Jean, Diluc, Pantalone

Cw: murder

Jean Gunnhildr, the Acting Grand Master. Jean Gunnhilr, the dandelion knight, Jean Gunnhildr, a murderer and your future spouse. You do not hate her, it is hard to do so. She is thoughtful and sweet, a friend of yours as you two were both upper-class daughters of traditional nutjobs whose traditions remain rigid. But Jean’s mother was better than yours.

Your mother had been eager to marry you off, your family owned a variety of homes and apartment complexes in Mondstadt, there isn't much skill to learn when it comes to managing properties; Just mark the list of who’s paid, send someone to collect payment or to pester the tenants. You were the only child, so there were no issues with who this would go to. You were well-liked and generally regarded as a beautiful and sweet woman. What did you do to attract the attention of some old and ragged man from Fontaine then? You had no clue why anyone didn’t see a 50+-year-old man who had 3 brides fall ill or die suddenly wasn’t suspicious for seeking another young bride with properties. Jean did however, she’s the one who told you so of the investigation she privately conducted. The second she heard of him she hated him, you hadn’t even mentioned his age when she scowled. The words “arranged marriage” seemed to already irritate her. But your family threatened to disown you if you rejected it, what would you do then?

Murder that's what. Jean swore to you she’d get you out of this situation. It felt cliche almost, the childhood friend saving the damsel from the marriage to a grumpy old man. You expected her to talk to your parents or dissuade them in some way. She had the evidence to do so, yet she chose murder. Your suitor was slain mysteriously while on a walk outside of Mondstadt. The knight concluded it was treasure hoarders, his fancy and expensive attires were stolen. But you knew from the look in Jean’s eyes that she had some part in it. She refused to tell you how it happened outside the version everyone in Mondstadt knows, but you know better. She quickly offered to marry you instead. Your parents seemed complacent now. You never knew quite what she did but you hadn’t expected it to unfold like this. She did a good job framing it as well, investigators from Fontaine came and came to the same conclusion. An eye would be kept on pawn shops or second-hand stores.

But maybe it isn’t so bad? You are married to your best friend and Jean is nothing but a devoted and perfect wife. She is loyal to you, kind to you, protective of you, and deeply in love with you. You don’t mind, she is a good wife and you have no reason to complain. You just wish she didn’t act like you couldn’t tell she had done it. Other than that, you are sticking by her side closely, to keep her hands clean of any new blood.

You didn’t know Diluc Ragvindr that well prior. You were set to marry someone else, not the worst situation. Your suitor was a decent man, you could see yourself living a quiet life with him. You weren’t infatuated or attached to him but you accepted him as your future husband. Until he just died one day. A mysterious death, possibly from an assassin? In his absence, Diluc emerged from seemingly nowhere to offer his hand to you. You weren’t skeptical then, you had met him at balls and events when you were kids. He caused mischief and you found that charming then. Nowadays he’s completely different, however, a well-put-together gentleman who was admired and almost worshiped in Mondstadt. You were a bit worried about his safety but he assured you he’d be fine. And he was, he promised you’d live a quiet and peaceful life. He was a bit off-putting for a husband, however. He seemed both reserved but also eager for your affection. You were happy to marry a wealthier man yes but also concerned about what happened to your previous suitor.

As a husband, Diluc is a very good one. You are comfortable and at ease with him yes. He is also an affectionate husband, a passionate love that had been hidden underneath a stoic mask. You were pleased, reciprocal with his advances, and even eager at times. You couldn’t help it, he’s a handsome and well-built man after all. You were happy.

While looking for a pen in his office you noticed a pin that unmistakably was from your deceased suitor. You could’ve turned him in sure but… you didn’t want to ruin things now. Your suitor wasn’t nearly as influential compared to Diluc, not as passionate or fiery as him. Diluc was extremely loyal to you. He’s known in Mondstadt for being a devoted husband, proudly displaying his ring at any hint of advances from some lowkey home wrecker. You had no say in either arrangement, but with him, you do now. Your family cannot push you around for you now belong to his clan and not theirs. He will not entertain any disrespect to you at all. You have more agency than you were used to here. Adelinde is fine with skipping corsets or preparing dishes that are more delicious than healthy. You love your new life here.. So what if you don’t tell the family the truth? Would you be divorced then? Returned to your more mundane life as just a bachelorette?

Maybe you’re guilty of knowingly hugging and kissing the man who murdered someone, but maybe that's also rather endearing. Every lady dreams of a devoted man like this… so what if he’s a murderer?

Pantalone was no less terrifying than being tossed off a cliff. You were shy, hardly outgoing. At parties, you clung to the wall and only chatted with friends. You found any excuse to hide yourself or dismiss yourself despite the dismay of your parents. You just HATE having so many eyes on you. You still do.

How you attract an actual harbinger is beyond you. But you had passed your parent’s office when you heard him talking to them. You didn’t know it was him then, you thought they had simply ticked off a business partner. Never had your father sounded so obedient or fearful to you. You didn’t stick around then.

Suddenly the arrangement had been tossed onto you with little preparation otherwise. You weren’t happy, you asked more questions than your parents liked. To your surprise they didn’t seem angry, for the first time, rather than yelling at you to obey, your father looked you in the eye and with a calm voice told you to go along with it. Fear in his eyes, and a stutter. Nothing like the man you had come to know. You just shut up after that. Nodding or shaking your head during the preparations. What was worse to you was probably that you didn’t even get to see Pantalone for a while. Your maids just told you he was handsome. When you met him for the first time, you felt like you were about to die. He seemed amused with your nervous nature and awkwardness. You wondered if you were a human marrying a human or a mouse handed to a cat. He delighted in hearing you stammer and shiver. He was bold as well, often he had at least a hand on you, your shoulder or waist were his preferences. He enjoyed your fear and obedience.

Your best days as his wife were in his absence. You had gotten used to him, yes, but he seemed delighted in how you were so nervous. His favorite thing to do was have you sit on his lap and then focus on his work. You were timid so this was quite nerve-wracking. Especially because you weren’t sure what to expect, what did he want you to do? But once you got used to just doing nothing and became more comfortable, he’d suddenly start to nibble at your neck. He always chuckled at your reactions.

He was a loving husband though, just maybe not the normal kind. He seemed obsessed with you at times, his hands mapping your body as though it were some sculpture. He was possessive, if you seemed to grow too fond of employees or guards, they’d be switched or ‘disposed of’. Your only company and ‘friend’ would be him. The mansion acts as a prison, and he is your only visitor and cellmate. You would prefer the cliff to his hand

#genshin imagines #genshin x y/n #genshin impact #diluc x you #jean gunnhildr x reader #pantalone x you #yandere themed #fem reader #short

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beatificwrites · 10 months

Note

Can I plss ask for a miguel O’hara x fem!reader fluff piece where readers second language is french so their constantly speaking to each other in different languages but they both find it so endearing? I just need it as a french speaker pls thank you so much

JE T’AIME, TE AMO ✦✦

pairing: miguel o’hara x fem!french speaking!reader

a/n: ofc!! here ya go! BTW: i’m fluent in spanish, however i don’t know french that well because i’m still learning, so, please bare with me on anything that doesn’t makes sense ;( this is my best effort ;; i was extra with the fluff part too lol

word count: 1.1k

content: pre-established relationship, implied that reader is a spider

premise: just a day in the life of two lovely bilinguals, you and miggy

Your day begins with Miguel’s annoying, blaring alarm clock going off and you having to reach over to his nightstand to turn it off.

It always wakes you up first, then he wakes up right after you pepper his face with good morning kisses. Miguel always pretends to still be asleep, unaffected by the noise, so he can bask in the softness and gentleness of your sweet pecks.

He believes you have yet to figure out his little mischief, but you caught on pretty early in the relationship. You happily play along because the thought makes your heart swell at how cute he unknowingly is.

You start by giving his collarbone a few smooches, then slowly work your way up to his chiseled jaw. You can hear his smalls breaths and you know he’s about to “wake up”.

As your lips inch closer to his cheeks, you can feel his jaw move slightly upwards; signifying he’s smiling.

You lift yourself to straddle him and to look him in the eye, and he only chuckles before you carefully lean downward to kiss those precious lips.

“Bonjour, mon chéri.” [good morning, sweetheart] you whispered.

Oh, how he loved the sound of the smooth French that would escape your lips. He found the language to be incredibly intriguing and just as romantic sounding as his own mother tongue.

His large, rough hands place themselves on your hips before his gruff morning voice greets you with, “Buenos días, hermosa.” [good morning, beautiful]

The corners of your mouth lift instantly at the cadence of his crisp, baritone-y Spanish. That voice not only drives you crazy, but also makes you fall in love with him even more.

His Spanish is crisp and your French is smooth, and you both find the language exchange between yourselves to be the most endearing of all.

For sure, the exchange was difficult at first; you both having to become accustomed to one another’s different language. It was easier to use English for the most part, and still is, but you each wanted to go the extra mile and truly learn each other’s language.

Therefore, the exchange is the most endearing above all things in your relationship because you two can see just how much the other cares due to the great effort they’re putting forth.

Miguel lifts his hand to gently caress your face. “Vamos a prepararnos para orto día dificil, ‘mor.” [let’s go get ready for another difficult day, love.]

You giggle at the small jab he made at managing the spider society. Of course, you understand as co-leader in charge of protecting every multiverse that stands.

“Oui, mon beau!” [my handsome] You chuckle lightly before kissing him once more.

With that, your morning concludes and the segue into your afternoon commences.

You two work in the same office and your afternoons are always spent analyzing anomalies and deciding what needs to be discussed in the next spidey meeting.

Today, you and Miguel were focused on one anomaly in particular who had been hard to catch in yesterday's mission. Thus, you two are figuring out how today's mission must play out in order to catch this anomaly and finally send it back to where it belongs.

You're looking at the holographic screen in front of you, tapping and swiping away. Miguel is watching you and you notice from the corner of your eye.

"Ou qu’est-ce tu regarde?" [what are you looking at?] you ask playfully.

"I was just looking at your screen. Nada mas, preciosa." [nothing more, precious] he replied nonchalantly.

"Tesoro [treasure], you don't need to lie to me and pretend like you weren't just looking. Regarde tant que tu veux. [look all you want]" you said with a wink.

At times you would pick up each other's words.

"Dios mio [my god], this whole place would fall apart if I stared at you all day, ma bijou. [my jewel]" he exaggerated, half-jokingly.

"Miguel O'hara joking with me? Mais non!" [no way!] your hands hit your chest as you gasp exaggeratingly.

"Cállate. [shut up]" he shook his head as he held the bridge of his nose and gave a low chuckle.

"Viens ici." [come here] you said and he took a step forward. You believed it was time for a tiny break from the bright screens.

You scooted closer while on your rolling chair and he bent down in front of you as if on command. You cupped his face and gave his forehead a smooch.

The man was like puddy in your hands and he allowed you to caress his cheek with your thumb. You brushed your fingers through his soft, brown locks.

"Me encanta cuando me haces asi, cariño." [i love it when you do that, dear] he sighed as his eyes closed, relishing in your loving touch.

“Je sais, mon cher” [i know, dear] you beamed.

“Uhh…spiders incoming.” Lyla announced as she appeared abruptly, then left equally as fast.

The spider-people began to trickle in the office and Miguel was quick to pull himself out of the temporary relaxed state and get back up from his knees.

He heavily disliked being lovey-dovey in front of anyone. Jess and Peter would never live it down.

You suppressed your laughter with a cough before situating yourself in order to address all the spiders now in your company.

From that moment onward, Miguel addressed everyone with that sternness of his, all while keeping that hand of his on your lower back. He loved at least doing that in front of others.

It’s decided who’s assigned to the mission and you both join the fight as well.

The rest of the afternoon is spent on Earth-45789 attacking the current anomaly on a second capture attempt.

You and Miguel return to your apartment complex extremely exhausted, but with less weight on your shoulders—especially Miguel—because the anomaly was finally caught and that universe is no longer in severe danger.

You both wash up together before heading to bed and preparing for another action-filled day at work tomorrow.

“That guy was insane, mon amour! [my love] I can’t believe he almost had Peter for a second, good thing I sensed it.” you recalled.

“Si, I thought we were gonna have to put up with some trouble for the next few days.” he admitted as he used his hands as a headrest.

“Ugh, carrément. [for sure]” you definitely agreed.

“C’mere.” he simply said and you moved over to lay on his chest.

This time, Miguel’s coarse fingers messed with your hair. He took care and tenderly massaged your scalp.

You hummed at the pleasant sensation and Miguel gently dragged his fingers up and down your back.

“Te amo, mi reina [i love you, my queen]”

“et je t’aime, l’homme de mes rêves [and i love you, man of my dreams]”

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mcntsee · 10 months

Text

There was this boy…

Summary: Y/N shares a tale of her first love with the Crows.

Warnings: Not much other than ooc Kaz and alcohol consumption.

Note: I’m more of a angsty writing typa gal, so here’s some fluff for now. Let me know what you guys think.

In the dimly lit confines of the Crow Club, the Crows gathered around a secluded table, basking in the afterglow of a successful heist. Glasses clinked, and raucous laughter filled the air as the alcohol flowed freely. Kaz, Y/N, and Matthias sat with relative sobriety amidst the drunken revelry, observing their inebriated comrades.

Jesper, his cheeks flushed and eyes gleaming, leaned toward Y/N with a mischievous grin. "So, Y/N, have you ever been in love?" he slurred, barely able to contain his curiosity.

Y/N's lips curved into a knowing smile. "Of course, Jesper," she replied, her voice carrying a hint of mystery. The Crows leaned in, their drunken curiosity piqued.

"There was this boy," Y/N began, her eyes sparkling with memories. "I met him near the harbor when I was just a wide-eyed nine-year-old. He had this mischievous smile and eyes that seemed to hold a million secrets. A captivating presence that drew me in. He was the first person I ever truly loved."

Confusion clouded the faces of the Crows. They exchanged glances, unable to decipher who Y/N was referring to. Only Kaz, ever perceptive, held a hidden smile, understanding the truth behind Y/N's words.

“We were inseparable. We would spend our days exploring the harbor, sneaking into places we weren’t supposed to be. We had a sweet tooth that knew no bounds, and we’d devour candy like it was our secret treasure.” Y/n paused for a second to compose herself from the small chuckle that managed to escape her lips, “Whenever times got tough, we’d help each other steal food, laughing as we escaped the clutches of hunger.”

The Crows listened with rapt attention, their faces reflecting a mix of curiosity and sentimentality. The image of two children forging a bond over stolen treats warmed their hearts.

Y/N’s voice grew softer, her eyes distant. “We shared our hopes and dreams, our fears and vulnerabilities. It was as if we created our own little world, shielded from the hardships that surrounded us. He was my confidant, my partner in mischief, and my first taste of love.”

Nina, her words slightly slurred, leaned closer. "What happened to him, Y/N?" she asked, her voice tinged with genuine curiosity.

A tender smile played on Y/N's lips as she replied. "He changed. Life took him down a different path, one far from the innocence we once shared." she replied, her voice steady, "but my love for him didn't."

Y/N’s gaze drifted across the table, locking eyes with Kaz, the only one who knew the true identity of the boy from her story.

The Crows, their senses dulled by alcohol, cooed at the sweetness of Y/N's confession, their questions dissipating into laughter and sighs. Meanwhile, Matthias, ever vigilant, noticed the lingering glances between Y/N and Kaz throughout the evening. An inkling of suspicion gnawed at him, planting seeds of curiosity that would bloom in the days to come.

As the night wore on and drinks were consumed in abundance, the Crows bid each other goodnight and stumbled off to their respective rooms.

What they didn't know was that Y/N's steps veered away from her designated room, drawing her toward Kaz's quarters instead. The door closed behind them, and the atmosphere shifted from the revelry downstairs to a more intimate setting.

In the hushed whispers of their shared secret, Y/N and Kaz laughed and marveled at the obliviousness of their companions. They reveled in the fact that the Crows had no inkling that Y/N's tale of first love was a covert homage to their own hidden bond.

As silence settle, Kaz moved from his previous position near y/n. His gaze met Y/N’s, and a mischievous smile played on his lips.

“Care to join me for a moment?” Kaz asked, his voice holding a hint of intrigue.

Curiosity piqued, Y/N nodded, joining him near the record player. The room was enveloped in a nostalgic melody, its soulful notes casting a spell of tranquility.

As the music filled the room, Y/N couldn’t help but remark, “What a lovely choice. I didn’t know you were a fan of this genre.”

Kaz’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “There’s more to me than meets the eye, y/n,” he replied, his voice infused with a touch of playfulness.

They stood there, amidst the gentle hum of music, engaging in lighthearted banter and sharing whispered stories of their day. Their laughter mingled with the nostalgic tunes, creating an intimate symphony that resonated within their hearts.

A comfortable silence settled between them, a testament to the depth of their connection. In that moment, Kaz extended his hand with a gallant gesture, “Care to join me for a dance, Mrs. Brekker?”

Y/N’s eyes sparkled with delight as she placed her hand in his. “I’d be honored, Mr. Brekker,” she replied, her voice filled with a warm affection.

They swayed to the timeless melody, their steps graceful and in perfect sync. The world outside seemed to fade away as they reveled in the simple joy of being together, their laughter intertwining with the music.

In the embrace of their dance, Y/N and Kaz spoke volumes through their movements. Each twirl and sway conveyed a love that transcended words—a love that was hidden, yet tangible.

As the music played on, they allowed themselves to get lost in the moment, cherishing the intimacy they shared. Their smiles spoke of a shared secret, a commitment that only they held dear.

And as the final notes of the song faded away, they remained locked in a tender gaze, their hearts speaking a language known only to them. In that stolen moment, they were reminded of the strength and beauty of their hidden love.

Their laughter resonated in the quiet room, an acknowledgment of the unspoken bond they cherished. They knew that their story would forever remain known only to them, a treasure woven into the tapestry of their lives, while the Crows slumbered, oblivious to the truth that danced in the shadows of their own revelry.

#fanfiction #kaz brekker x reader #six of crows #six of crows x reader #fluff #kaz brekker #shadow and bone #shadow and bone fanfiction

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its-actually-minicika · 1 year

Text

Letters Perished in Dried Ink (18+)

Pairing: Aemond x Reader;

Warnings: vivid descriptions of male masurbation, slight angst, a lot of lousy grandpas who have and will continue to butt into your situationship with Aemond;

Word Count: 6.5k;

Author's Note: I struggled with major writer's block this month. I suppose it happens to the best of us :") While I'm still working on the three fics I promised you guys, have this tiny one-shot to make up for the lack of updates ♡

I tried to be poetic. Alas, I miserably failed. See you in the next update (which is going to hopefully present much better)!

How could a misunderstanding ruin everything seven years of love has built?

Her steady hand reached for the quill, and the girl settled her feather over the small and modest piece of paper. For two, mayhaps three seconds she paused, thinking well on what she would like most adherently to convey.

Her eyes glossed over with the swirl of mischief, and the Lady smiled to herself, while expelling a tantalising and brisk breath.

To my dearest, Aemond

While I was afraid that my time in King’s Landing would change the perception I had of my homeland, I must admit that I was wrong. I might push as far as to say that everything remains the same; not a change since I last saw it. My chamber, with the dolls I left on the goose-stuffed pillows, the training grounds – none the grander as the ones in the Red Keep, mind you –, and the large halls of Riverrun… all seemingly frozen in place.

Albeit the doors feel smaller now, and I can reach without the help of a stool where I once could not, I find that I am underwhelmed, and dangerously melancholic over the time I spent in your company, which accounted for so much of my early girlhood.

Grandfather has taken to my return quite well. He is still bedridden, but somehow more vivacious that his blood is nearer yet.

I look at the portraits that adorn the walls of our darkened castle, and sometimes think back to my elder brothers. I think grandfather does so, as well.

But such terrible quarrels have no place in my dull writings! This new life isn’t as tedious as I make it out to be. I was acquainted with my Septa, though much of my education will be taken care of by grandsire now. Yesterday I walked the grounds for hours on end, and managed to spot some old and familiar faces. I had forgotten how kind the riverlords can be.

One thing that must be noted – and recognised as drastically peculiar – is how quiet it is here. Naturally, there is no active Court to gossip and flaunt back their wealth and actions.

You would like it here.

And I’ll say this much: I’d like it better if you were here, too.

I end my musings with burning questions, that you simply must answer in your next correspondence:

First and foremost, how have you been? Secondly, how are our good Queen and King? Word reached the Trident that your father’s fallen sick, and so I pray piously without stray that he recovers well and quickly. Thirdly, how is sweet Helaena fairing? Last I heard of her, the babe was close to being born.

I readily await for your reply, and urge you to make haste with it!

Until then I remain, as always,

Your inquisitive and loyal friend

His eye trails over the slight curve of her writing. And the Prince catches himself smiling, humming in admission at her carefully picked-out words.

He notices, with great perplexion, that despite his hardest efforts of stifling such impropriety, the ache inside his chest arouses. His heartbeat hammers out of him, granting a slight tremor in his lax and calloused hand.

And he stands this way, hovering over the pristine parchment, whilst bringing his hand out to pinch the bridge of his nose – rub his throbbing blinder with the back end of his hand. His broad chest heaves with every laboured exhale, and Aemond sighs with proper longing.

To my good friend,

I hope this letter finds you in good health, and in higher spirits than the day you wrote to me. It is very unlike you to barely fill a page. I expect your next communication to hold greater details of your life in the Riverlands.

King’s Landing is the same as you remember. Smells like shit and feels like shit, especially now, as I'm denied from the raptures of your company.

My routine too, remains identical. I am seated next to Aegon when we break fast as of late, and I must stress how greatly I preferred my view beforehand.

I report with great sorrow that hardly any intelligent conversation has been had since your swift departure. I'm left longing at the dinner table, for your calculated thoughts, for your sweet melodic voice, and for our elbows to be lightly touching.

Mother is overwhelmed with higher duties of the Court. I try to help her as best I can, with whatever tasks she may yet entrust me with. I lack the patience to sit idly, and so I’ve taken to Aegon’s share of duties. I fulfil them better than he ever could, and the exercise proves itself useful: for I scarcely find the time to think of you throughout the day.

The nights and morrows are harder yet, as my thoughts reach out to you, wondering helplessly how you spend your better days, so painfully far from me.

A dozen maesters tend to Viserys, each saying he will get better as time has its murky say. Yet ‘til that “eventual better” makes itself known to us all, he nurses his body with milk of the poppy, and lets mother do all his work.

Helaena is well. She dreamt the babe would be a boy, and already settled on a name for him. She wishes to call him Maelor, something that hasn’t been rebuked by Aegon.

She misses you greatly. As do I.

As does Vhagar.

The Red Keep feels empty without your fits of laughter.

Beckon your reply quickly.

Your most dutiful servant,

Aemond

A little over a week had passed since his Lady’s last reply. One week and four full days, to be exact... though Aemond would never own up to counting.

His sour mood grew to exceed all expectations, and the Prince bit his tongue through most of dinner, barely uttering a single word. His quiet nature wasn’t something to be troubled of, but even his drunk-out-of-his-mind brother noticed something had been irking him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so brooding, brother.” Aegon voiced out his concern, after another hefty gulp of alcohol. An impish grin spread across his puffy face, and Viserys’ first-born son leaned over in his chair to soothe him. “Am I right to assume that this has something to do with the lack of reply from a certain lady of the Riverlands?”

A low growl etched from deep within the youth’s throat. Aemond regarded Aegon with a cutting look, and extended his arm forward to grip the base of the wine pouch. He took a moment to ponder on the gaucherie of getting drunk, but settled on thrusting himself to the momentary relief that a hazy mind could offer.

Briskly, he took a swing of the burning liquor, and disregarded the way in which his mother absent-mindedly glared at him.

A loud snicker echoed through the quiet room, and Aegon clasped his hands together, pouting acutely at his brother's actions. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

A knot of heartfelt disregard tightened in Aemond’s throat, and his fist clenched painfully right above the wooden table. His free hand gripped the handle of the knife with a knowledge untoward, and the Prince shared a look with his elder brother, while rotating the blade about.

“Careful, Aegon. There are plenty of sharp objects around this table. And you haven’t been spotted in the training yard for quite some time."

His purple eyes widened to rounded specs of unreliant fear. Still he put on a lazy smile, and merely shrugged his shoulders. Aegon’s mouth opened again, threatening to spew out words that would grant no happy ending to their cosy dinnertime.

Eventually, it was Alicent’s glacial tone that interrupted their clash of wits.

“Boys,” She warned them both, not even bothering to look at them, “That is enough.”

Aegon’s mouth slouched childishly, and the man scoffed in rebuttal, while pointing at his rowdy sibling. “I was merely expressing my concern for Aemond, mother. He’s been very affected, now that his lady love abandoned him.”

Immediately Aemond rebuked his cutlery, and in the span of a single second, the Prince latched onto his berating brother. A dangerous look drew across his Targaryen features, making them all the sharper and unforgiving. Woefully he gripped his collar, hoisting him off the ground with an unnatural and vexing ease, and settled on squeezing Aegon’s gorget as he muttered to him darkly. “Either keep quiet on your own accord, or I’ll gladly silence you.”

Four white cloaks swarmed around them, and Otto Hightower nearly screamed, but the brawl reached an early end as the elder nodded rapidly at Aemond, and the latter loosened the hold he had over his bouchered vest.

“Seven Hells…” Aegon had cursed, mumbling lowly whilst feeling his neck for any sores, “Didn’t know it was such a delicate subject.”

Throwing a jaded look around the table, the One-Eyed Prince clenched his jaw.

He frowned deeply, and let out a tired hum at the notion of his sister’s face, so shocked and confused by his sudden outburst. As he felt his own grow numb, no doubt reddened by the scene he’d single-handedly played out, Aemond’s lips pursed to a tight, embarrassed line.

Whilst his hands itched him in shame, and his eye desperately avoided his mother’s, the young man instead focused on the erotic tapestries that adorned the stone-hedged walls.

His lone orb remained fixated on their arched positions, but, as his brother laughed again, Aemond begrudgingly returned his stare.

“Pardon me.” He muttered coldly, whilst giving a slight bow to the silent gathering, and, with one elegant but hurried movement, grabbed the full cask of wine, as he turned tautly to retreat to his chambers.

He swallowed thickly at his swift undoing, and chastised himself for losing touch with what was proper and allowed. His long fingers clasped painfully behind his back, digging at the flesh of his calloused palms, making him click his tongue in disarray; he notices, mayhaps too late, that all his blood had run elsewhere – thus the man takes wider steps to reach the confinements of his room, and lets out a choked-out breath, as the clogged air of his chamber finally hits his nose.

Methodical, aware and present, he sets the wine aside from him, pouring himself a generous cup, and fiddles with the expensive sheets that lay across his wooden table. His hand stumbles over the ink bottle, and the Prince levels out his rapid breathing, preparing himself to write again.

To My Lady,

A gulp of the liquid courage is all he needs to decidedly settle his red feather over the wilted paper.

Your lack of response to my latest confession irks me to no bitter end. I am a patient man, but I will not be denied entrance to your life. I will not have you refuse me the candour of communication.

Not when I spent my entire life waiting submissively by your side.

If your perpetual silence is owed to something I said, or something you’ve heard about me, I demand that you scorn me for it. Write a lengthy paragraph of all my near and far shortcomings, as you so often did when we were children. I promise to make a praying altar of that letter, grovel over it and at your feet, until my indiscretion should be forgiven.

Do not attempt to drive me away with petty ignoring. Such a feat is beneath you.

Another gulp of bitter wine is what allows his hand to flow more freely.

I confess that days and nights I have spent laying restlessly in bed, praying to the Seven to grant me passage to a single thought of yours. I ached to hear your words and feel your voice touch me so deeply. I am afraid I became brazen and unkind in the tortures of your absence.

I lest conclude that this should be a leisure letter to write – words should come easily, and in short, it should be simple for me to tell you how desperately happy I was to open your communication, and see your sweet and narrow writing.

Aemond halts his hurried musings, and encouraged by the hotness of the room, thinks back on the sinful indulgence he’d committed with her letter.

How he kissed over the parchment a million times thereafter, and how he licked at its bent corners, shuddering at the thought that her hand had ghosted over – perhaps even rested on – the marginal and flimsy paper.

He abjures his thoughts to the back of his mind, and lets out a low curse at the throb that forms over his missing eye.

A Prince should never bow, nor beg, nor relent. Yet here I stand, forever obediently at your beck and call, begging you to write again.

His patch fell heavily upon his skin. The nerves of his face stung the stimulated bit of skin, and Aemond huffed out an exacerbated breath, as he decidedly yanked the blinder away from his handsome face.

My duties at Court make it such that it is impossible for me to leave the proximities of King’s Landing. But should you make the mistake of not replying to me again, I’ll have no choice but to mount Vhagar and fly over to you myself.

… So reign your anger on me, should you need to. And just grant me with a quick reply.

Aemond.

Not even bothering to read it over, the man reached for the stamp she gifted him, inspecting its sapphire hilt with a scorned look over his face, and an angry furrow to his brow. His tongue poked the inside of his cheek, as he passively set the hilt aside.

His next movements were slow, methodical – Aemond folded the paper in half, and poured the hot wax over it; grabbing the stamp, and lowering it on the paper, allowing the Targaryen seal to leave its mundane mark behind.

Harsh thoughts swirled inside his head, and the Prince lowered the parchment, promising to send word out on the morrow, and personally deliver his Lady the much-improved, insistent letter.

‘The best of friends for seven years,’ he scoffed bitterly to himself, recalling the oath they’d made each other.

He wouldn’t allow her to walk away. He wouldn’t allow her to forget about him. And he would force her to look at him, and explain the means of her reaping silence.

The gentle rays of morning wash themselves over his handsome features. The heatwaves of summer lick over his translucent skin, and the golden rays of daybreak thread themselves into his silver hair.

Aemond groaned in roaring anguish, as he ran a calloused hand up and over his throbbing cheek.

The discarded eyepatch, now resting on the floor. The littered parchments, still laying on his table. The lone letter, which had been written so angrily, just to be resentfully abandoned as his ire simmered down the night before.

Each object served as a dull and pained reminder of his lack of princely conduct, of the effects of the wine… of her brazen and determined silence.

The Prince bit over his lower lip, and fluttered his eyelid tightly shut. Enwrapped in his fine silks, and under the comforts of his chambers, he allowed his mind to lead to her again. To the image of her sprawled-out form, waiting for him inside his bed.

He sighs deeply, and questions his sanity – or lack thereof –, his patience, his virtue. What he wrote in his confessions was the fair and honest truth – In the few moments of solitude that he grantedly took for himself, the riverlander scarcely ever left his thoughts.

Aemond writhed into the mattress, and peeled the cover away from his heated body. He needn’t have looked down upon him to see the quaint trailing effect that his friend had had on him; but he did, and in the process, hastily pulled his throbbing cock out of his breeches, to begin to pump himself – mayhaps relieve the stress and anger that ruled over his very being.

A tender hiss escaped his lips, as his movements sped up in pace. The Crown Prince bit over his lower lip, and a shaky hand came to rest over his parted mouth, to dull the shameful and alluding sounds that escaped his burning throat.

He ran his thumb over the leaking tip, gathering up his seed in singular and striking swipes, guiding the clear droplets of liquid to trail towards his aching stones, and coat over his impressive length.

A low grunt slipped past his hand, and Aemond sank his teeth into the tender flesh, stifling down any further moan or laboured breath.

"F-Fuck… my Lady…"

His back shuddered from the blinding pleasure, and his free hand came to rummage under his pillows in the most desperate of searches.

His eye opened but for a moment, as his digits grazed the bent edges of the first letter she'd addressed him – the one he'd cherished with ample reverence, and secretly carried with him to every place he went.

His lilac orb trailed over the contents of the wilting parchment, which by then he knew by heart, but stopped at the very beginning of her scattered and bereft writing.

'To my dearest, Aemond' – either by crude mistake or heinous design, she'd flicked her wrist right after dearest, drawing out a bold and elongated pause, that hence consumed his wakened days.

It must have taken her no more than seconds to descend her quill upon the page, yet for Aemond, the mundane piece of calligraphy became his most burdensome slither of hope.

Before he could catch himself in his lustful daze, the Prince brought the letter to his lips, and kissed over the dried ink with devotion untoward, accelerating his ministrations as he pressed into it harder.

He pictured her alone and writing, enraptured by the dead of night, dressed up in her modest nightdress, and her hair loose from her bun. She must have made some able pauses, to glance up at the moon, perhaps, or sigh in puckered concentration.

Had she shared with him everything that was on her mind back then? Or did she hold her secrets in, choosing instead to only hint at all that they had left unspoken?

Did she also think of him, as he nightly thought of her, and in her attempts to clear her head, brought her hand out to her ruddy pearl? And did she dare to rub it gently as sinful fantasies of him emerged?

Did he plague her every thought – visited them, at the very least, nestling inside her mind, as she so oftenly did to him?

His unanswered plethora of questions only fed into his fire. His hips began to move languidly against his hand, and the familiar licks of release beckoned in his tired loins. But fucking his hand would never come close to how he envisioned fucking her would be like. How tight and welcoming her cunt must be, how she herself was so untouched, so pure, unaware of the pleasures he alone could make her go through.

How breathlessly she’d gasp against him, and leave her lascivious mark over his skin, in the form of clawed-out patterns, adorning his pale and muscled back. He would return her favour in kind, pressing himself deeper inside her, molding her warmth to the shape of his cock, leaving bruising kisses over her breasts and neck and claiming her – over and over, again and again.

His. His, his, his and his alone.

Propriety be damned, he’d have her. Ensure she’d never leave his bed thereafter.

She’d make for a fantastic mother, he caught himself thinking with abhorrence, and a new heat wave of pleasure enveloped his arched, unyielding back.

His despair reached new peaks of torture, as his mind led him to the memory of her crouching form, playing with Helaena’s twins, with such a pliant and kind smile upon her agonizing lips. How she’d chase them through the royal gardens, how the sun would catch her hair aflame…

Often during the long nights of winter, he’d shut himself inside his chambers, and touch himself repeatedly with the oils gifted from Aegon – with only that specific recollection playing tricks inside his mind.

Whilst elating her as his wife inside his head, the man slumped further into the bed, focusing on working his shaft up and down in blinding delight.

Her voice, her laughter, her handwriting and eyes – so wide and curious and always ready to look upon him, to really see him for who he was. She’d been the only one who never glanced directly at his scar. She’d focus in on his remaining eye, and listen to what he had to say. Intently. Remarkably so. She would remember his favourite book, the passages he’d read her last, and would partake in conversation – urging him to share his thoughts.

His climax neared him closer still, and Viserys’s second son focused on fucking his fist at a wilder pace than done before. Droplets of precum rolled down his cock, as forming sweat coated his brow. A final swipe of his rough thumb over the tip of his manhood, and a tender caress of his tightened stones was all it took for the man to drive himself over the edge, and feel the warmth inside his chest spread across his lower body.

He hissed painfully into the open letter, spending all over his chest and stomach and spilling her name from his parted lips.

He heaved out one breath after the other, and gingerly ran his hand over the written testament of her thoughts. He wanted to curse the Gods for making him so, for giving him the thirst for knowledge of a man fitting his station, but the crass bashfulness of a ruddy stable boy.

For the first time in his life, Aemond wished he were born different. A softer and more patient man, who’d find himself worthy of her; one more handsome, courageous and outspoken – a man who could express his feelings, without so much as a second thought, who didn't allow hesitation and carelessness to break his strengthened up resolve.

He ached to tell her all the things he’d left unsaid, when he saw her leave his sight. That she was lovely and brave and better than anything he deserved. That he was twisted, crooked, wrong – but not so wrong that he couldn’t pull himself together into some semblance of a man for her. That without exactly meaning to, he’d begun to lean on her, to look for her, to need her near.

That love within him laced with doubt. Longing with predestined pain. That he prayed night after night, obsessively, tentatively, that she’d grant him passage into her life again – that whatever held her from speaking to him would absolve itself with time, and he’d finally be free again.

Free to love her from afar, to revel in the bottled hope she’d grant him with the lightest touch, the faintest smile, and the most mundane of glances.

To delve further into the sweet delusion that mayhaps she'd learn to love him. That somehow he’d be deemed to be enough.

As he stood there, unmoving in his very bed, his warm seed rolled off his stomach, staining onto the silken sheets. A long sigh escaped his lips, and Aemond propped himself onto his elbow, cleaning the mess he’d left behind.

His want for her ran hard and deep, and the Crown Prince tensed once more, feeling his stomach tighten in such familiar hot knots of pleasure, that his cock went stiff again. He hummed in admission of his solitary fate and reached for the sinful oils with a shaky and extended hand. Through the musings of a quiet moan, he aligned his hips to his waiting hand, preparing to grant himself the second peak of his cursed and debauchered morning.

Alas, a lacklustre knock put an end to his self-indulgence, and Aemond stifled back a groan. He swallowed up his lust with haste, pushing himself back into his linen breeches and off the ruined satin bed – running a hand through the forming mats of his silver hair, to make himself seem more presentable.

Frustration and madness welled up within him, but he merely sucked in an irritated breath, whilst grabbing forth a shirt to adequately front himself.

“Yes, what is it?” His shaky voice barks out for him. He listens intently for any noise outside his door, and a great displeasure settles in his gut, as the voice of a servant boy echoes through the quiet walls.

“A letter for you, Your Grace. I beg your pardon for disrupting you –”

Readily he jumps out of his bed. And as if burned, as if possessed, Aemond opens the door with a readiness unperturbed, descending his anger onto the poor, expecting boy. The letter rests upon a silver platter, shaken with the messenger’s panicked voice. The Tully emblem that seals over a vast calligraphy drives the Prince to the brink of hysteria, and the Targaryen grabs a hold of the boy’s bouched shirt, pushing him further down into the hall.

“When.” He questions breathlessly, “When did the letter arrive.”

“L-Last night, Your Grace – near the hour of the wolf –”

A feral scowl settles over his sharp features. Aemond takes a step forward, tightening his fist over the cheap material, and calmly professes to the whimpering boy.

“For waiting so long to bring it to me, I should have you flogged and executed.”

The child's blabbering reaches deafened ears, as Aemond reaches for the letter crassly presented to him, and offers the youth a pressing look.

“Get out of my sight, before I should make the call of feeding you to my dragon.”

A clumsy courtesy is followed by a tantalised “Your Grace”. The echo of footsteps gets lost through the depths of the narrow hallway, and the man hums absentmindedly, before shutting himself inside his room again.

He wants to rip the envelope in a violent and perusing fashion, but his first instinct is to trail over the paper gently, to run his digits where her hands had been, to touch the edges of her writings with such a desire to be close to her that it scared him.

In a slow and gentle act, he peeled her seal away from the pesky parchment, and sucked in a hectic breath, as he scanned the contents he’d so longly dreamt about.

His hope shattered as rapidly as it came. And Aemond nearly ripped the letter, as his heart clenched painfully inside his chest.

To Aemond,

I thought about what I might say, and word it out in such a way that won’t leave you perplexed or angered.

I think it’s best for us to move along, and stop with these childish musings, that have hence occupied our time since I moved from the Red Keep.

I will forever cherish our acquaintanceship and hold your friendship in the highest regard. But I am a woman grown now – you, a man in all his right –, and we must both start to think about the survival of our families.

Please do not send me any more letters, as I won’t reply to them, and focus instead on your best interests.

The Lady Tully of Riverrun

His feet carried him close to his bed, as he grabbed a hold of her first note. Desperately, he began searching for differences – in the means that it was written, in the handwriting he’s known since his early adolescence, in the marginal and flimsy paper.

The sting of rejection fell heavily over his shoulders, but rationale trumped his crushed spirits – for there must have been something, anything inside the new communication, that would explain its fabrication.

It was impossible those were her words. She’d never been a jousting woman – never regarded her tens of suitors as less than wanting, for the simple fact she didn’t desire them. She would have let him down more softly. She wouldn’t throw away his company.

Contentment can emerge in the quietness of separation, but their friendship endured years of scorn from the gossips of the Court. Her good opinion of him just couldn’t have changed so suddenly.

A final reach entered his mind, as he folded the paper roughly, and settled it atop his table.

If those were truly her words within that letter, and she wanted him to keep his distance, she’d have to tell him to his face.

More than a week had passed since she’d sent him her first letter. A week since she’d awaited his reply, inquiring every messenger within the castle on the arrival of a straying raven, all the way from the Red Keep.

In spite of her avid efforts, each day repeated the same encounter without so much of a hitch – the scrawny boys shaking their heads, as they ceaselessly informed her that nothing addressed to her has reached the tower of the West Wing.

Since then she’d sent out two more hurried manuscripts, despite never once being graced with a reply. All hope seemed lost when she’d woken up that very day and was still met with livid silence.

Through all their years of rapid friendship, Aemond had never ignored her so. As she cut into her plate, the Lady gnawed at her bottom lip, thinking hard on what possibly could have happened to make him turn so cold towards her.

If her status quo were any different, she’d have taken the Red Fork road on horseback, to reach King’s Landing, and confront her oldest friend on the reasons for his dreaded silence.

But her grandsire had fallen ill, and little to no progress was made on his state of brittle health. Her duty thus assigned her to the Riverlands, despite her need of seeing him.

“You have been very quiet, sweet girl.” The husky voice of Grover Tully echoed through the silent chamber. The girl’s cutlery stilled upon the half-full plate, and her eyes raised from her lap, clashing with the stilling blueness, the knowing assessment of his own.

“Apologies, grandfather,” She uttered rapidly with a forced smile upon her face, “My mind was otherwise engaged.”

“As it has been for the past week.” He concluded with a quirked-up brow. The softness in his gaze enveloped her, giving her a rapid sense of security, and her grandfather coughed in the back of his hand, drawing a pattern over the motifs of their tablecloth.

“I suppose I miss some aspects of King’s Landing. I have spent most of my youth there… – though the Riverlands are just as beautiful.” She was quick to intervene.

“Is King’s Landing all that you miss, or is it a certain boy from there?”

Her bright orbs widened with her grandfather’s suggestive tone, and her cheeks reddened in place, as her voice denied it brashly, “Certainly not, I – Aemond and I are friends.”

“It might seem like a long while has passed since then, but I’ve also been young once.”

When her reply was met with sarcasm, she swallowed thickly and drove on, “We are… really good friends, but that is all.” Once again, her stare dissolved, “Though… I’m not sure we’re exactly friends anymore.”

A knowing look adorned his face, and Grover turned his attention to the family crest above their heads. He took a while to pounder, thinking longly on a vast reply, but he eventually nodded to her, and graced the child with an unperturbed, brilliant smile. “I’m sure the Prince is very busy – as are you, my sweet child. Men, and young men especially…” He muttered the latter of his teachings, “Aren’t exactly prone to sentimentality. Not in the way that women are.”

Her lips pursed into a tight line, as his words rang in her ears.

But not Aemond, she wanted to say. He was hardly like the other men she knew – he could be kind and good and comforting. He cared for her, and for their friendship. He wouldn’t just ignore her, just for the sake of not being overly attached to writing.

Although she couldn’t possibly say such a thing – for then her grandsire’s teasing would have been a certain. The girl made herself busy cutting up a piece of meat in carefully drawn-out halves, until she beckoned a reply.

“Indeed. … You’re right, I should stop being so concerned.” She strained herself to answer him. The older man hummed disconcerted, and returned upon his plating. They continued eating in silence, till he mauled himself to tell her.

“... I know how hard this is for you. But our family depends on you. I had to bring you back to Riverrun, to get the other Lords used to the image of a woman in our ancestral seat.”

“Gods, of course, grandfather – and for that, I’m more than thankful.”

Grover raised a shaky hand, and cut her off with a gentle smile, “You do understand… as much as we both hate the idea, I’ll have to soon match you with someone.”

She gripped the goblet of wine before her, and wet her lips with the bitter liquor. “... Of course I do. It is my duty.”

“Your claim will be stronger with an able man around. And if the Gods are good and you also bear a son…”

“I know.” She sighed into the ample cup, “My claim would be thus undisputed.”

“Aemond was not the right match for you.”

The girl bit over her lower lip, wanting to both negate her feelings, and contest upon his honoured values. But she simply nodded to the greying Lord before her and offered a lacklustre smile.

“Perhaps a change of scenery will do you good. I was thinking that you might like the Reach better than the Riverlands... Lyonel Tyrell is an especially kind and thoughtful host.”

A relocation was the last thing on her mind, no doubt, but the Bliss of Riverrun turned her attention to the latter of his eversion.

“Visit the Reach? You think of marrying me off to the boy of Highgarden? … He’s not yet fourteen.”

Silence washed over their council.

“Boys grow swiftly into men. I'm assured he'll be a good one for you."

“He’s a child.”

“You’re seventeen.”

“It still makes for quite the difference.”

“You won’t have to mother children until he’ll also come of age. It gives you three more years of freedom – other ladies would kill for a faction of what you have.”

“I don’t like the finality of your words."

A long and pressing breath beleft his pale and tired lips.

“I couldn’t send you to the North. Jason Lannister has no sons. The Greyjoys are ghastly savages.” As he presented her his trail of thought, Grover Tully shook his head, “And the Targaryens…”

“You’re childhood friends with King Viserys. A match would not fall outside our rank." She slipped and added restlessly, much like a frail and foolish child. Even before he could answer her, his granddaughter raised her hand, as she brushed off her latter thought. “A succession crisis will ensue.” The young woman muttered in his stead.

“I’m old – I’ve seen disputes start for much less. But here we’re talking of the Iron Throne.”

“You think a war is in its midst.”

A cutting silence washed over them. Grover lifted first from the dinner table and breathed in an anxious breath.

“I pray for the sake of the Realm that such a thing will not take root.”

The languid fires of their threshold illuminated her conflicted face.

“Then it’s a good thing Aemond didn't bother to reply to my letters.”

For but a second, Grover’s face was etched with guilt.

“We all have to protect our own.” Sometimes the means to do it are less honourable than we'd wish to.

For all that was worth on that rousy and portentous night, her fate had been agreed upon. And ever the loyal and oppressed servant, the young lady of the Riverlands left with the first callings of dawn, for the impetuous and striking gardens, which were smugly kept inside the Reach.

She would then leave, with her soul and heart all torn to pieces – yet still completely unaware that she’d never see Aemond again.

Never, at the very least, to how she’d known him to always be.

His wide and calculated steps led him to the stronghold’s gates. So easily it came for him to pass the cluttered training grounds, and disregard Ser Criston Cole with a mere shake of his head.

Above all else, he thought it then, he needed to feel his love again. He needed to hold her near once more, and ask all the outlandish questions he endured inside his head, counting for so much of his weakened days. He needed to reach a resolution, after being disregarded for so long. He needed the closure that her voice could offer him, that her mouth would utter out – that this had all been a grave mistake on her behalf, that the note never belonged to her, that she loved him as he loved her, and had merely been scared of it.

His morning session could very well await him, as he so viciously awaited the perfect chance to get away.

Two days away from the arrival of the pesky letter, Aemond had finally managed to slither unperturbed from his neat and tidy prison. Neither his mother nor grandsire had caught him in the act of it, Aegon had been too drunk to notice him dress up for a morning ride, and Helaena had solely clicked her tongue and scowled at him.

As he anxiously secured the belts of his dragon’s saddle, the man hummed in disarray – Riverrun was but a short flight away, but the despair he felt to hold her inside his arms again trumped over his better senses.

With any luck, he figured, she should still be found in bed. His love had never been an early riser, and she loathed getting out of bed in the damning morning light.

He didn’t waste time figuring out pleasantries to share with Grover – much less the words needed to explain his unprompted visit.

His sole purpose was to get to her, ask for her hand, make her his wife and forever be done with it.

He had the biggest claim to her – a Prince bonded with the largest dragon in the world, the one who’d seen and grown with her so many years inside the Keep.

The command of flying was given to his formidable dragon, and the Prince took off for the Trident's three heads.

Hopefulness emerged with unforsaked determination – but as his actions would dictate him from then on out, his efforts would be all for nought, torn apart in stinging vain.

Perma Tag-List: @welcometothelioncage

Specific Tag-List for the Fic: @howyouloveyourdragon @diamantesprincess @carriellie

#aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond imagine #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon aemond #prince aemond #aemond one eye #hotd aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond x fem!reader #aemond the kinslayer #hotd aemond #yandere aemond

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ellebakers · 7 months

Text

☆ Make me your Aphrodite (+18)

Dalton Lambert x reader

Summary : Dalton put your ex Ethan Landry in his place.

Warning(s) : SMUT, Language.

You threw your head back, your mouth wide open with moans escaping while Dalton continued to pleasure you with his tongue.

“Dalton, please don’t stop.” You whispered to him, trying to make as little noise as possible so as not to wake up your roommates. But you're pretty sure they heard you moan when Dalton slid his tongue inside you.

The blond looked up at you, and a flash of mischief crossed his eyes. “I wasn’t planning on stopping.”

He went back to his work and took you closer and closer to your orgasm. As you were about to cum he suddenly stopped and placed light kisses on the inside of your thighs, making you groan in frustration.

“I thought you weren’t planning to stop ?"

Dalton couldn't help but smile at how disappointed you were that you didn't cum.

“You’re the one who turned me on all week.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling. “And you woke me up in the middle of the night to fuck.”

your boyfriend moved back up to your face and placed a kiss on your lips. “Can you blame me ?”

You grabbed his face and kissed him again.

“Not at all but.” You swapped positions to find yourself on top of him. Grabbing his hands, you slipped them under your, or rather, his, t-shirt and placed them on your breasts. “I want you.” You sucked through your teeth as he kneaded your breasts and rolled your already erect nipples between his fingers "Now."

He bit his lip. “Is my girl impatient ?”

You moved your pelvis on his erect member, making him growl. You tilted your head, a mischievous smile. “Can you blame me ?”

He shook his head, smiling. "I'm so in love with you."

You couldn't help but smile as you leaned in to kiss him. “I am even more so.” He smiled against your lips. “Now fuck me, please.”

He stifled a laugh. “I love it when you beg.” With one hand he freed his cock from his underwear, you helped him get rid of his underwear completely and you grabbed his cock then impaled yourself on it making you both moan.

He immediately grabbed your hips to hold you. You started your movements and you thought you would die of pleasure as the pleasure rose in you.

“You like it don’t you ?”

You couldn't form a coherent response so you nodded. He put his hand around your throat and squeezed lightly making you moan even more, and wet at the same time.

Even though you loved having the upper hand on him in bed, you loved it even more when he was aggressive and dominant.

You hadn't had many sexual partners. You lost your virginity in high school, to a guy in your class who fucked you in the back of his car on prom night, not very romantic.

Subsequently you dated a boy, your best friend's roommate. Ethan Landry, and it had been the worst decision of your life, he was jealous and toxic, not to mention that he had never managed to make you cum. Your relationship must have lasted a month.

Then you met Dalton, you had been together for four months and he fulfilled you, in every way.

It's like the sky had shaped your two bodies so that they fit together perfectly. He found your G-spot in no time, every time you slept together it was like he read your thoughts, when you wanted wild sex, he took you in positions worthy of a porno, and when you wanted it to be romantic, he made love to you under the light of candles and the moon.

But now, you wanted him to fuck you so violently that you wouldn't be able to walk the next day.

“Dalton, go harder.” You whispered to him, and a mischievous smile appeared on his face.

In a second he turned you around, your stomach on the mattress, he spread your legs even further and penetrated you in one movement making you scream, camouflaged by a pillow. His thrusts became more and more violent as you cried out with pleasure into the pillow.

Another thing you loved about Dalton was that he talked a lot during the act, and god, his words alone could have made you cum.

“Don’t be shy, let me hear your pretty noises.”

“They will hear.” You moaned your sentence as you felt your orgasm approaching.

He withdrew and turned you over again, this time on your back, you knew very well what that meant, he was going to cum soon, and since he wasn't wearing a condom, he preferred to withdraw.

You decided to taunt him a little “already ?”

He came on your stomach with a grunt, once finished he caught his breath. "Don’t worry I have plans for you."

You let out a little surprised cry when he turned you around again, he took one of your hands and locked it on the pillow, then he sucked you

"I intend to make you cum until you begged me to stop."

And oh, Dalton was a man of his word, he positioned himself behind you, and for the second time that night he inserted his tongue inside you, making you see stars, in no time you were cumming on his tongue, but he didn't didn't stop there, he gently put you back on your back and devoured you for the rest of the night until you begged him to stop.

The next morning, Dalton woke you up with gentle kisses on your shoulder. "Hello Princess."

You stretched, smiling at him. “Hello handsome.”

He kissed you passionately while sliding his hand between your legs, making you moan.

“Still so sensitive.”

You laughed against his mouth. "Your fault."

He inserted a finger inside you and you moved your pelvis to follow his movements. “Fuck, if I could I’d be inside you all the time.”

You arched your back when he did the scissor.

You placed your hand on his to prevent him from removing it. “I want your-”

“Y/n do you have my-”

Dalton threw the blanket over you to cover your naked body as Samantha entered your room.

When she saw you, she quickly understood what was happening and she hid her eyes. "Oh shit, I'm really sorry. Take your time, breakfast is served."

Then she came out, closing the door behind her. You burst out laughing as Dalton hid his face in your neck. “I think they’re waiting for us.”

He nodded and let you get out of bed, he watched you put your panties and t-shirt back on, when you didn't see him move from the bed you frowned.

"You’re coming ?"

“I need five minutes.” You laughed again and threw a pillow at him. "

Take your time."

You sat down at the table and Tara held back from laughing as she met your gaze, you bit your lip to do the same as the others arrived at the table.

"Slept well ?" Quinn asked.

Mindy poured herself some orange juice "Great, well I think I slept more than someone else." She said, looking at you with a mischievous smile.

Chad threw a piece of bread to his sister. “Stop bothering her.” He turned to you and asked, “Where’s Dalton?”

You brought your cup of coffee to your mouth and avoided his gaze. “Um, he needed five minutes.”

Your friends burst out laughing while you tried not to do the same. Everyone was laughing except Ethan of course, he gave you murderous looks.

Dalton walked out of the room, stretching and sitting next to you, he kissed your temple and poured himself a glass of orange juice.

Tara winked at you. "So Dalton, were these five minutes satisfactory ?"

He choked on his drink making everyone laugh including you. He turned to you and rolled his eyes. “You had to say it.”

You kissed him. "Sorry."

He put a lock of hair behind your ear and breakfast resumed a normal rhythm, not for you, you were stressed, not because your friends had heard you moaning last night but because you felt Ethan's burning gaze on you, and Dalton had noticed it too, he put a protective arm around your waist up and slide your chair closer to him.

“And you Ethan, your night ?” Tara asked him.

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I have known better, if only some people learned to shut their fucking mouth everyone would be better.”

His comment chilled the table, Dalton sat up slightly in his chair. “What is that supposed to mean ?"

Ethan had the nerve to smile at your boyfriend. “You know very well what that means.”

Everyone exchanged awkward glances, while Quinn tried to lighten the atmosphere. “Ethan can you go get the sugar please.” But the brunette didn't listen to her, he had a mission, to destroy Dalton.

"You know some of us have real career ambitions. So hearing you fucking your girlfriend keeps me from sleeping and therefore from being productive in class."

You glared at Ethan, while Dalton snickered. "Real career ambitions ? Like what, being an asshole in chief ?"

Ethan stood up abruptly, Dalton did the same and the tension rose. Suddenly your ex showed a smile. “But, I understand you.” He looked at you. “I fucked her too, I know how good she is.”

You expected your boyfriend to lunge at his throat but instead he smiled at him. "You mean when you lasted two minutes and you didn't make her cum ? You see, I can make her cum unlike you."

You stood up, grabbing your coffee cup. “Thanks guys, I love being talked about like I’m a fucking object.”

You gave Ethan and Dalton a murder look, the two boys watched you leave, Ethan with hatred, while Dalton quickly understood that he had screwed up. "Shit." He whispered.

“Are you going to fuck her to make things right ?” Your ex asked him.

“Ethan stop.” Chad intervened, annoyed by his roommate's behavior, Chad’scold tone and the mean look of the others silenced him as Dalton headed towards your room.

He found you sitting at your desk, an animal medicine book open in front of you as you took notes.

He approached slowly and kissed your neck, seeing that you didn't push him away he placed his head on your shoulder. "I'm sorry." He whispered to you.

You put your pen down and sighed. "I know." He gently turned your chair towards him, once you were face to face he knelt down and took your hands in his.

“I didn’t think, it just came out.”

You met his sad gaze and you quickly forgot why you were angry with him, then it came back to you.

"I don't like the way you talk about me. It seems like I'm just some kind of prize, some fucking competition."

"I know, I'm sorry, he pissed me off and I really wanted to hit him but I know you don't want me to give him that satisfaction so that's the only thing that came to mind has the mind to hurt him."

You put your arms around his neck and nodded. “I understand, but please don’t say things like that again.”

"Promised."

He nodded and kissed you. “I love you so much y/n.”

You lightly bit his lip. "I love you even more."

Suddenly he stood up abruptly. “I have to show you something.” He went to get his sketchbook and showed you his latest work.

“The exercise was to give our image of Aphrodite.”

You were speechless when you saw what he had drawn. You.

"But it's me."

He pressed his forehead to yours and nodded.

"You are my image of Aphrodite."

You grabbed his face and whispered against his lips, “Then make me your Aphrodite.”

#scream vi #ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry x y/n #ethan landry x you #scream #scream x reader #dalton lambert #dalton lambert x you #dalton lambert x reader #insidious

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