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envy-of-the-apple · 2 months

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Dark!Naga!Gojo Satoru x reader x Dark!Naga!Geto Suguru

Top of the Food Chain

I've always wanted to continue my naga!mha fic but considering i dont write for deku+co anymore, i decided to move my au a couple fandoms over:D 1.8k wc

Part two

(Warnings: animal deaths, blood, obsession, dark content, slight gun threat but not rlly, polyamory, gender ambigious!reader)

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Despite being here for nearly a week, you still don't think Satoru understood how delicate you are.

He's overbearing, in that sense. Constantly poking and prodding and squeezing until your lungs give and you're forced to squeak. You can't blame him for not understanding. He's an animal, after all. Inhuman. Despite his skin and hair, the scales coating his tail give away just how different he is. He was probably born fighting, kicking, and screeching his way through the foliage, hunting, chewing, and biting.

He's not like you when all you knew when you were younger was coddling and softness. You can see it in his scars, and bruises, and marks.

Luckily, for you, Suguru had an inkling that you weren't made for sharp claws.

It's not a fight, you can tell when they're fighting, it's more like a warning? A minor disagreement. Suguru hisses at the other naga, scrunching up his face, showing his teeth. Satoru is quick to respond, but a little more playful. Fortunately for you, the black-haired male seems to win the argument. Satoru's coils loosen around you. Air stops fighting its way to get into your lungs.

You finally go lax in his hold. Satoru seems to enjoy that, dipping his head to bury his face into the base of his neck. The first few times he did that, you were afraid he was trying to bite off your jugular. Now, you think it's just another way he can soak up your body heat.

Maybe you've been here for longer than a week. At this point, you couldn't really tell. Hope that you'd be found was starting to slowly fizzle away. The explosion had been massive. The ship had sunk in a matter of minutes. With a disaster that huge, you doubt anyone would still be looking for survivors. Especially on an uncharted island, where myth had turned into reality.

Satoru had been the one you'd woken up to. Washed ashore, barely conscious. You were half-certain he was planning on eating you with the way he held your leg, watching your muscles bend and turn. In his defense, he must have thought you were dead. Your shrill scream quickly convinced him otherwise.

It was barely a fight. More or less, a pathetic kidnapping as he grabbed your body, slinging it over his shoulder. You've never remembered screaming and crying so loudly before, convinced you were about to be eaten. Suguru probably heard you before he saw you.

Satoru's mate was a little less impressed with you. Back then, they didn't bother learning your tongue, speaking in hisses and snarls, unaware of your misery. Suguru's frown was glued on his face, but the naga never let you run away, always keeping a hand or a tail on you at all times. It was a rough first day; you didn't know they weren't interested in eating you until they tried to feed you.

Things were much different back then Nowadays, they are a lot more considerate of yourself and your soft body. You think you've come to an understanding with these strange creatures.

Suguru was the nicest out of the two. In that, you mean the least rough. Compared to his counterpart, he's a bit smaller, but that's not saying there's any real difference. If it comes down to it, you are more than certain he'd be able to kill you off as quickly as his mate. You thought he hated you, at first. Now, you think he has a hard time showing blatant affection. His touches typically come in the dead of night, when you're barely conscious. A clawed finger gently raking over your soft skin. Large hands sculpting your face.

Satoru's eyes were the first thing you noticed about him. Glittering like blue sapphires. You had a feeling they weren't just for show. Time and time again he's proven that he can see better than Suguru could. He smiles a lot more, but you're starting to wonder if that expression translates across species. He can speak your tongue slightly better than Suguru could. It most likely has to do with his insistence on staying with you. The more time you spend with him, the more you have to say 'No' 'Don't touch there' 'Stop'.

In the rare times you manage to escape their hold, you like watching them interact with each other. They often sunbathe for hours, lazing around hot rocks to soak in the heat. They like touching each other. Sometimes it's aggressive, like when Satoru chomps on Suguru's neck and you're suddenly much more aware of how careful he is with you. Other times it's: soft, unintentional, meaningless. Languid cuddling when you are finally able to braid Suguru's hair.

At this point, you've surmised they won't eat you. At least, not for the moment. You don't exactly know what they think of you. Do they have the concept of pets in their worldview? Maybe that's the closest thing you can place yourself as, at least in their eyes. They must think you're helpless. To them, you have no claws, no fangs, no venom. They probably don't know you come from a species that's hunted others to extinction and currently burning down the planet. You must be the first time they've ever seen your kind, stripped away from your weapons, when you're the least dangerous.

"You should be more scared of me, you know," you once whispered to Suguru in the dead of night.

He was dozing off, blearily keeping his eyes open to stare at your moving lips. There was a grunt behind you, and Satoru tightened his arms across your waist. Greedy for affection, even in his sleep.

"Humans are terrifying," you said, reaching out to touch, "top of the food chain."

Suguru had smiled at that. You found yourself smiling back.

"You're lucky I didn't have a gun on me. You probably don't even know what that is." It's dark humor to press two fingers into his forehead. Your way of coping maybe.

Or perhaps your actions prove that humans will always desire to be violent, no matter how perilous their fight may be.

"Bang." He leans into your touch, unafraid. Oblivious to the threat that you are.

You're guessing Satoru only let you go because of the food Suguru brought.

You're able to feel the ground again as he glides over to Suguru having just come back from a successful hunt. The carcass of the largest deer you've ever seen is slung across his back. The smell of blood already makes you nauseous.

You think Suguru had been the most panicked when you refused to eat, clicking and cooing while he tried to force-feed you the bloody leg of a bear. Back then, your communication was even worse than it was now. You were smeared in crimson by the time he relented. Practically dripping in it.

Now, Suguru knows you have different tastes than them. You're not a big fan of raw. The fish and the handful of berries are more than enough to sate you as you gather the items he's given in your hands.

"Thank you," you say. You reach out, touching his face with warm fingers. He purrs into your touch. You smile. It's the least gratitude you can give him. After all, he's not asking for much. If they hadn't found you, you would have been dead long ago, or at least, significantly less weaker. It's the least you can do.

For a moment, you delude yourself into thinking they were your pets. It'd certainly be easy too. They have little to no regard for personal boundaries, much like dogs. They're more animalistic than they are human.

It's funny to think of these monsters as lovable pets.

"Thank you," Suguru repeats. You giggle. It's not like they actually understand you. It's simple mimicry. Like talking to a parrot.

"Thank you!" Satoru chirps, never one to be left out. He pushes his mate out of the way, eager for your pets as well. Suguru hisses, but doesn't argue. You've learned they like to be scratched right there on the bottoms of their chins.

Suguru's less obvious, but Satoru has no desire to pretend. He melts into you, practically slumping his weight into your weak hold. It's a little adorable actually. You give a little laugh. He seems even more pleased at that.

They're fun to be around, but this can't last. You belong with other humans, far far away from this island. So far, you hadn't seen any boats in the horizon, but you hope one would come by soon. A plane would be even better. Close enough to give you hope. Maybe if you built a big enough fire, it'd reach someone eye.

Hopefully, in just a few weeks, these creatures will be a very cherished memory.

You frown when Satoru reaches over to grasp at your food, the meat specifically. You glare, moving away from his hold. He titters in clear disappointment. You hate seeing him sad but you already have so few food sources. It's best to conserve whatever you get.

"No," you pointedly tell him, "It's mine. Mine."

His frown deepens, and he opens his jaws to let his fangs pop out.

"Mine," you repeat.

He leans back, huffing. You laugh because you know his expression is more out of frustration than any actual anger. Again, animals. You pet his head in apology, before turning away. You'd have to start a tiny fire to start cooking. Raw fish is edible, but it's hardly desirable.

A hand grabs yours, clawed, the grip is tight around your frail skin. When you look back, Satoru is staring at you. Eyes wide. Eager.

"Mine," he says, but it's more like he's testing the word. Tasting it on his lips.

You scoff, unamused. "That's my arm. Not yours."

Satoru smiles. Sharp teeth. You suddenly remember he's a carnivore.

He's slow when he draws you in, practically dragging you into his arms. You're used to his spontaneous hugs, tight and suffocating. You can't fight him off, so you typically wait until Suguru has enough of his behavior and drags him off you.

"Mine," Satoru repeats. Alarm bells ring in your head but it's easy to brush them off. It's mimicry. They can't understand. It's like talking to a parrot.

You feel the weight of the other naga at your back. His arms wrap around your waist, pushing you against Satoru's chest. You stiffen when Suguru's fangs lightly graze up your neck. Never quite punctures, but is terrifyingly close.

"Mine," Suguru says into your skin.

You laugh again, but it comes out less hesitant. More airy. Amid their hold, a sudden thought comes to you.

If you weren't at the top of the food chain anymore, then who was?

#yandere #dark content #yandere jjk #non con touching #yandere gojo satoru #yandere geto suguru #dark gojo satoru #dark geto suguru #naga au #naga gojo satoru #naga geto suguru #animal death #language barriers #polygamous relationship #Top of the Food Chain

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asumofwords · 6 months

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Lighthouse - Sailor!Aemond x LighthouseKeeper!Reader - Mini Series 1/4

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

Warnings: This fic is 18+. Readers discretion is advised. Warnings will be added in their relevance. She/Her Pronouns. Drowning, descriptions of drowning, shipwrecks, dead body, fever, storms.

Note: Here is chapter one of Lighthouse hehe. This fic was inspired by me listening to the song 'Lighthouse' by The Waifs. Thank you all for being so patient for this. A it is going to be a mini-series, its going to be between 3-5 chapters long! I hope you enjoy! <3

Chapter 1: Cruel Seas

The waves rolled up the side of the rocky cliff face, salty sea spray disintegrating into the air like mist. The sky had turned a deep grey, a storm having rolled through the vast sea the evening before, which was now beginning to turn its way towards your little island.

You knew immediately from the sky that you would have a long night ahead of you, tending to the lamp at the top of the lighthouse to ensure that it stays lit for the duration of the dark night to come.

It was an arduous and tedious existence. Day after day, the same routine, and not once could you stray from it.

Each evening before the sun would set, you would climb the many stairs to the top of the lighthouse and light it, ensuring that its wick was good for use and would last the night. And then when daybreak came, you would extinguish the flame as soon as the sun rose, unless of course, a storm or fog had crawled amongst the salty waves of the sea, which caused for extra vigilance and keeping it lit at all hours.

The lighthouse itself was perched on the top of the cliff of the small island you lived on, just off the coast. And on that island, you had all that you needed; A small cottage with one bedroom, a kitchen and a small privy out the back.

Outside of the cottage was your own modest vegetable patch where you grew what could survive the acrid sea air; potatoes, pumpkins, and any sort of hardy vegetable that was good for pickling and hearty meals. All other food was brought to you once a month by boat, or if you dared to leave your post, you would take your small boat back to shore, not too long of a journey, weather permitting, to go to the local stores or market to buy your wares. But if you were truly in a spot of trouble, you had a small messenger pigeon that lived in its own hut by the garden that would send word to shore about your dire needs.

You had lived and worked at the lighthouse for years, happy to be alone and in your own solitude, finding companionship in the books that you read, or the occasional ship that sailed by.

A man named William came every one to two weeks, an old friend of your father who would bring your reprieve, to deliver you food and any other supplies that you may need to keep the lighthouse in check; more oil, more wicks, paint, or items to repair any damage from the raging winds that raced across the surface of the small island.

William was a kind man, older and sea worn. He had a wife and three daughters back on the coast, and on occasion would bring them to join you, or extend an invitation for you to join them, weather and duties permitting. They lived in the small town by shore, where you had been lucky to befriend shopkeepers and locals on your short visits.

It had been only a few days since William’s previous drop off, and for the most part, the weather had seemed fair. Each morning and each evening you would log the skies and seas conditions into a worn little leather book for any changes, and then, you would prepare for the lighting of the lamp. But the evening before, the wind had changed drastically and the sky had darkened, and you watched from the top of the lighthouse as a storm broke just on the horizon, black cloud glowing with strikes of lightning that cracked through the darkness.

You hadn’t risked going back down to your cottage to retire for the evening, instead, sitting yourself in your old wooden chair to watch the storm and ensure that the lamp was lit, and if any ships were to come to close to shore, they would be alerted by the light.

However, now it was morning, and the lamp no longer needed to be lit. For now. Though on the horizon, the storm continued to barrel towards shore, and you knew that you would have light it again soon.

Extinguishing its flames, you took the long winding steps down, crossing the small grassy knoll to get to your cottage, opening the old wooden door, which hinges squeaked and whined, salt rusting the joints. You whispered to yourself that you would fix it eventually, as you trudged to the fireplace and began to set it ablaze.

The cottage was cold with the winds of the storm that approached, and you shivered as you slowly lit the kindle, piling log after log into the hearth as you heated the home up. Your stomach growled loudly as you stood from your crouched position by the fire, joints complaining as exhaustion from lack of sleep, or food, finally caught up to you.

You decided that now was the time, more than ever, to eat and rest before you’d have to return to the lighthouse. You lit the stove with a candle by the fire and sat your kettle atop, water inside ready to boil. On William’s last relief drop, he had brought a large sack of flour and even some milk for you, and so with this, you had churned your own butter and made a large supply of scones and bread for the coming week.

The loud whistle of the kettle alerted you to the water boiling on the stove, steam pouring from its nozzle. You poured it over some tea leafs and unwrapped a scone from the cloth pile you had on the bench. As the tea steeped, you decided to spread some of the jam William’s wife, Celia, had made for you, using it sparingly before sitting before the hearth.

You ate slowly and sipped on your tea with ease, eyes cast out one of the many windows to check the progress of the storm. The dark clouds were slowly rolling in, and by your estimate, wouldn’t reach you until at least the afternoon, and with time on your hands, you decided to allow yourself a small rest, laying your head back against your worn couch, closing your eyes as the warmth of the fire lulled you into a shallow slumber.

The distant rumble of thunder pulled you from your light rest, half eaten scone wrapped in a smaller piece of cloth and shoved into the pocket of your skirt at the front. You would eat that later as you lit the lamp again before the storm arrived. As you cast your eyes out of the kitchen window, looking out to sea, you saw that it had approached far quicker than expected, and in fact, seemed to have regrown in size.

You made quick work of it, throwing on your large waxed coat that swept around your ankles, buttoning it up to your neck as the beginning spray of water began to lightly mist at the windows of the cottage. Racing to the lighthouse, you climbed the steps with ease, years of the same routine causing you to be fitter than most. Once you reached the top you looked out to the swell, watching as the waves crashed against the rocky cliff face below, and then swept up against the small sandy beach of the island on the side.

But it was not the storm that peaked your interest, you were no stranger to those. It was the objects that bobbed amongst the crashing waves, and lined your small beach. Concern coursed through you as familiar wooden planks, barrels, and other ship items crashed onto shore.

“Fuck.” You cursed.

There had been a shipwreck.

But not at your island.

It must have happened out at sea last night with the storm.

Your eyes cast down to the sandy beach again, gaze darting up and down the shore, looking, searching, and hoping for any sign of survivors, if they had been lucky or fortunate enough to be swept this far to shore after.

Another crack of thunder pulled your gaze away, the storm rapidly approaching. If you lit the lamp now, you could race down to the shore to look out in the water for any sign of survivors, or what kind of ship it had been to report back to shore. So with determined hands, you lit the large oil lamp, ensuring that the flame was strong and the glass that surrounded it was clear and in position to amplify it out to sea.

Rain began to beat against the glass of the lighthouse, and with one last glance cast at the lit lantern, you raced down the steps, two by two, skirts pulled into your fists as you flew down them, all but throwing the heavy wooden door open to begin to race down to the small sandy cove.

Thick drops of rain began to pelt down from the sky, the rumbling of the storm growing closer and closer, clouds growing darker with lightning striking through them. You squinted at the shore, skirts in one hand as the other hand came to try and shield your eyes from the growing downpour, looking for anything that could identify the vessel.

Your leather boots sunk into the sand and you raced along the shore line, eyes looking down to the broken wooden planks, and a large hoisting rope tangled amongst half a mast. Further ahead, a tangle of what looked to be shrouds, sail and hull.

The waves crashed against the sand as you moved towards the next clump of shipwreck, passing smaller pieces of debris as you went. The water that crashed against the shore was dark and unforgiving. Amongst the crashing waves, more planks of wood, net and barrels of something.

Chill dripped down your spine as your coat, as waxed and as warm as it was, took in the blast of rain and wind that blew into you with every gust.

The storm was coming, and it was coming with a vengeance.

You needed to move, and fast.

There ahead of you, amongst the tangled shrouds, was a large chunk of hull, with what looked to be the remnants of gold paint.

A name.

The name of the ship.

You almost tripped into the sand as you ran towards the mass, shoes now filled with water, socks soaked against your skin, toes numb from the cold. You bent down, pulling at the shrouds, the wet rope heavy in your hands as you looked at the broken hull.

'Vhag-'

You blinked.

Gods be damned.

Your hands moved faster than you thought humanly possible as you ripped the rope away from the hull, revealing the glimmer of silver beneath that had caught your eye.

There, tangled amongst the shrouds, trapped atop the broken hull, was a man.

Your knees hit the sand, wet soaking into your skirts immediately as you began to pull him from the wreckage, yanking at the ropes to untangle the body that was ensnared in them.

He lay on his stomach, face obscured by a mess of wet, silver hair that draped across his cheek and forehead. His clothes were soaked, and his skin was as pale as moonlight, blue veins prominent under the surface.

“Hello?” You called to him frantically, moving to turn him onto his back, his head lulling to the side.

You brushed away the hair from his face with haste, and your breath stilled in your chest.

His lips were blue, and across one cheek, cutting up through an eye, was a long and deep scar. The man’s nose was sharp, and his jaw even sharper, slender neck and shoulders peaking through the half ripped tunic that he wore, the white see-through as it clung to his body soaked.

Another crack of thunder boomed above, your head momentarily darting upwards to look to the sky, the storm having begun to move closer, crawling above the small island you called home.

You prayed in that moment to the Drowned God that he was alive.

Please, spare this man. Bring him back to the living.

“Please.” You whispered, hand at his neck as you tried to feel for a pulse, tried to feel for any warmth of his body that may indicate life. That may lead you to believe you had a sole survivor that washed ashore your tiny island, surely blessed by the Gods.

His head lulled in your hand as you looked out at the shore for any more bodies, whispering to yourself as you thought of what to do; If you should take him back to the cottage and send word that a body had washed ashore, that a ship that began with ‘Vhag’ had met its untimely demise in the cruel sea. Or if you should leave him at shore and hope that the waves do not carry his body away by the storms pass.

Your teeth began to chatter in your skull as your hands slipped around him, checking over his body for any grievous wounds or indications that he had died from anything other than drowning. But his body was fine, all bar his cold and pale skin.

Shifting to a crouch, you made your decision, and it pulled at your heart.

He would be too heavy to carry up to your cottage, but you also didn’t want to risk his body being taken back out to sea with the storm, this man, whoever he was, deserved a burial of some sort. So your option was to carry him further up the beach, to where the grass meets the sand, and send word on the morrow once the storm had passed.

You felt a pang of guilt for the man, a man who looked to be a handsome and skilled sailor, young but not naive in age, taken too soon. Though no sailor was skilled enough to survive the rolling waves, or the wrecking of a ship. The sea was a cruel mistress, and she took when and if she pleased with no repentance, rhyme, or reason. Your hands curled beneath his arms and you pulled, his dead weight dragging you down almost to fall in the wet sand.

“Bless him with salt,” You began to endlessly pray, something your father had once taught you many years ago, “Bless him with stone, bless him-“

The man’s chest erupted with a cough, sending you falling into the sand in shock, dropping his body back onto the beach as water spluttered from his lips.

“Gods be good.” You scrambled to him in the sand, turning him on his side so that the rest of the sea water would come out easier.

It seemed to go on forever, the jerking of his body as his lungs expelled spray after spray of water, until all too soon, he stopped again, a weaker cough or grunt falling from his lips as the last of the water was expelled.

The crack of lightning above you made your heart race faster than it already was, and so reaching beneath his arms again, you began to drag him up the sandy shore and back to your cottage.

He was alive.

A survivor.

It was no easy feat, taking him away from the furious waves, and by the time you had gotten to the cottage, your lungs and body ached from dragging him up to your home.

The man had groaned once or twice as you made the journey, storm full above the both of you, and once you finally were inside your home, you collapsed on the stone floor beside him, lungs burning as you sucked in air.

But now was not the time for you to rest, the man had grown paler since moved, and you watched as he shivered on the stone floor. Your teeth clicked in your mouth, from nerves and from the cold, your dress and coat soaked completely and shoes filled with water.

Your clothes weighed you down, but you only moved to take your coat off, dropping it by the hearth with a wet thump before you laid an old blanket from the couch by the fire, dragging the silver haired man to lay atop it as you surveyed what you could do.

First, you needed to get him warm, and the clothes that he had on were chilled from the sea and rain. You removed his torn tunic, his face creasing with pain as you ripped it off of him, pulling his leather boots and socks off after. His pants however, you faltered at, looking down at his dark breeches as a blush rose to your cheeks.

Not now, this man needs our help.

His privacy can come later.

You threw the last thick woollen blanket that sat on the couch over the top of him for privacy before you pulled his breeches down without looking, throwing the soaked article of clothing in the far side of the room before you laid him on his side to face the fire. You tucked the thick blanket around his body, noticing the chill of his skin that seeped through immediately, before pulling his wet hair away from his face and neck.

By then you were out of breath, muscles burning and joints aching, collapsing beside him again as you looked at the man, watching the way his chest rose and fell weakly with every rattling breath he took. You prayed he would survive, but you had your doubts. The amount of sea water he had swallowed, and the way he looked so pale that he was almost translucent, gave you little hope.

But there was nothing else you could do.

Nothing more that you were able to do but wait.

And all you had was time as the storm raged outside.

Unlacing your boots you pulled the from your feet, toes beginning to prune and ache as they were soaked inside and cold, water dribbling out of each shoe as you tipped them upside-down in front of the fire, pulling away the soaked woollen socks with it. You shook as you began to peel layer after layer of drenched clothes away from your body until you were left in your shift, shivering by the fire as you desperately tried to warm yourself up.

Your hair lay wet against your back, drying as you slowly warmed, the light of the fire being the only light source in the cottage until you finally moved and began to light your various lamps and candles around the home.

It wasn't until you were back by the fire did you spare the man another anxious glance, eyes immediately watching his chest rise and fall weakly, much to your relief.

He wasn’t dead.

Yet.

But you hoped he would at least save the night and storm until you could send word for help, and perhaps even send for a doctor to come to you. You suspected he would be too fragile to move just yet. So now, all you had to do was wait.

Wait until the man either rose to consciousness, or perished from the sea’s assault.

But the longer you looked at him, looking at his silver hair, to his sharp features and plump lips that were almost blue, to the golden ring that sat upon one of his fingers, you couldn’t help the thoughts that turned over your head about this man. But one question in particular seemed to rise above them all.

Who was he?

The storm raged on, day and night, wind howling outside your cottage causing the old home to shudder and groan. The windows rattled with the force of the gale, rain pelting against its surface loudly. All the while, the lamp in the lighthouse never went out, thanks to your constant checks, back and forth up the many stairs, bracing yourself agains the rain and winds.

The silver haired man had not moved, nor woke since you dragged him up from the beach. The only sign of life given being the rise and fall of his chest that occasionally jerked with a cough or wheeze. His long hair lay like a halo around his head, soft waves teased from the salted water and dried from the warmth of the fire. The mans skin stayed the same inhuman paleness as before, though some colour rose back to his cheeks and his plump lips.

You had been sitting at your small table writing notes on the weather in your log book, fearing that perhaps there was a larger storm that lingered out in the back of the sea, which caused the one on shore to rage for so long, when a soft groan caught your attention. Your eyes immediately flicked away from your notes and down to where the man was laying, the slightest shift of his head to be seen.

Swiftly you made your way over to him, kneeling back down beside him, knees pressed into the hard stones as you looked him over. His brows were scrunched shut, and lips pulled slightly down. But that was not initially what caught your attention; It was the sheen of sweat that covered him head to toe. Lifting a gentle hand, you placed the back of it against his forehead.

A fever.

The man was burning up, and the sweat beneath your hand was proof of it.

This was not good.

You stood and made your way to the kitchen, riffling through a draw to find one of the many warn, and scraggly cloths inside before you pulled it out. You grabbed an empty bowl and took it to the dry sink and began to use the cistern pump to fill it with rain water. When the bowl was half full, you threw the cloth inside and made your way back to the feverish man on the floor.

You wrung out the cloth of its water and began to wipe at the sweat on his face and neck, hoping that the cool rag would help to fight the fever that was causing the man distress.

Fevers were dangerous things, and after what he had survived, you worried that the fever may be the final nail in his coffin, so to speak.

The silver haired man shivered in the warm glow of the fire, though his body ran hot. Each swipe of the wet cloth caused a crackled breath to fall from his lips, the scar on his face crinkled with movement. With every moment or so, clearing the sweat from his face and neck, you would dip the cloth back into the bowl to then wring it and begin again, hoping its coolness would have some effect.

His chest rose and fell shallowly as you wiped away the sweat and salt from his collar bones, small pink scars littered amongst the flesh of his chest. As you worked, you could not help but admire the man. His sharp features and strange hair was unlike anything you had ever seen before, and had only heard once or twice in tales from town about people who lived in lands far from yours, with silver hair and violet eyes.

You had never believed those tales, for who could have such Godly hair, and even stranger eyes, and whilst the man had not opened his one seeing eye as of yet, you wondered if you would find it to be violet, or perhaps a more common shade of blue. The scared and clouded one was no indicator of what could be revealed on the other side.

A part of you hoped to see that the tales were true, that perhaps your world was much larger than you had thought, but for the most part, you just wished for him to stay alive.

As you rinsed the cloth once more and brought it to the scarred cheek of his face, you took caution with the skin, looking at the way it deeply marred the flesh around it, and prevented the clouded eye from ever closing. You brushed the cloth gently by his temple when suddenly you were greeted with a vision of lilac.

The man gasped, hand shooting out to grab your wrist holding the cloth tightly, pupil of his eye widening and shrinking as his brain tried to focus on the person touching him. Your heart beat in your chest, your own gasp falling from your lips as you looked down at him, his eye on you.

It was true then.

He was one of them.

The grip on your wrist tightened and you hissed, the wet cloth falling from your fingers onto the stone floor beside him as his brows furrowed, looking at you.

“Skoriot iksis… ñuha…” The man gasped, language foreign to your ears.

You shook your head down at him, his breathing becoming shallow, grip on your wrist faltering, “I don’t know what you’re saying.” You told him, voice slow and clear as his head rested back against the flagstones, lone eye blinking sluggishly up at you.

“You’re safe here. You need to rest.” Your hand hovered above his shoulder, unsure if touching him again would cause him more distress. Instead, the hand that held your wrist slumped back to the stones, and his lilac eye fluttered shut, mouth parted weakly.

You pressed your fingers underneath his jaw, and were relieved to find the slow, but steady, beat of his heart.

Your heart on the other hand was another story entirely. It raced rapidly within your chest, breath coming in short pants as your knees began to ache from how you were sitting over him. Gaze roaming over his soft skin and hair, you came to a mind spinning conclusion that the tales were true, and people who looked like him did exist, which only meant one thing.

This man was a long way from home.

Feeling as though you didn’t want to startle him from his rest again, you took the bowl and cloth to the table and placed it by the ledger. If you needed to ease his fever again, you could repeat the process later, just not now.

Outside the storm raged on, rain flying sideways and the crash of thunder above. At one point you had brought your pigeon inside with you to place in a smaller cage out of the rain and wind. She was much happier now, and sleeping restfully upon her perch.

You had to stifle a yawn as you sat back on your chair by the table, noting that you had had scarcely more than five hours rest over the past two days. You were running on fumes, and if you needed to keep the lamp safely lit, and the man by the fire alive, you certainly needed your own rest.

By that time it was midday, and you could safely rest a few hours before you would need to check on the lamp once more. Your limbs felt as heavy as stones as you trudged to your bedroom, pulling your heavy dress from your body and shoes from your feet before you slid into the warmth of the covers in your slip.

When you woke, it was not to the sounds of the storm outside, but rather to the unfamiliar groans and grunts of a man. Ripping the covers away from your body, you wrapped a robe tightly around you, fastening it against your waist with its belt in a knot. It had been your fathers, and was entirely too large for your smaller frame.

He lay where he was, still on the hard stone floor, the fire having shrunk during your slumber, but still, his eye did not open again. So you piled more logs into the hearth, stirring the embers with a fire poker before moving to fill the kettle with the pump by the stove.

When you looked out the window, the lamp was still lit, and the storm still raged on, rain and wind flying through the air, booms of thunder booming above you, and the constant shrill whistling of the wind through the cracks of the windows and doors. It was an eerie sound if you were not used to it, but after all those years in solitude already, it was as common as a birds cry, or a bugs chirp. You lit the coal stove and placed the kettle on top, casting your eyes back to see if he had stirred again.

There hadn’t been a minute that had gone by where you hadn’t wondered who this man was. What he did. If he had a family to go home to, a wife, children.

Were his parents still alive? Were they fretting for his arrival or communications? Wondering where their son had gone? Or did he have no-one? Were they too lost to the sea and not fortunate enough to have washed upon the shores of your small island?

By the time the kettle whistled loudly, you poured it into your tea pot, but behind you came a groan again, this time, much louder, and to your surprise, more conscious. Forgetting your tea, you raced to his side, the mans face screwed up in confusion and pain, eye blinking sluggishly up at you. You pulled your robe against you tighter as you knelt near him.

“Take it slow, you’re okay.” You reassured him, hands unsure of whether or not to touch him or stay limply by your side, “You’ve survived a wreck. The Gods saved you.”

The pink of his tongue darted out to wet his cracked lips, but his tongue was just as dry. His mouth parted, and a broken and confused echo came out, “Gods.”

You nodded, “Yes. The Gods surely showed you favour when they washed you on this island. We are the lighthouse just off the coast.”

It seemed to be a lot for the man to take in, his brows pulling downwards from either pain or confusion or a terrible mix of the two, but a more burning question came forth from your lips, “What is your name?”

The silver haired man, who’s cheeks had more colour than when you brought him inside days before, blinked at you sluggishly, mouth parting and then closing, before a rasping request came forth.

“Water.”

You jumped up from your spot beside him and raced to the pump, filling a glass before coming back to his side. You knelt on the stones, helping him to lightly sit up with a hand at the back of his head, leaning the glass up to his lips. At first he spluttered the water back into the cup as he tried to drink, a lone dribble trailing down his strong chin and neck, but then after a moment, he drank greedily, hand coming to grasp yours to tilt it quicker down his throat.

“Slowly. You don’t want to drown again.” You tried to make some light, and the man seemed to enjoy it, as he coughed into the glass, or at least, you assumed he did, as one side of his lip pulled into a weak smirk.

He coughed again once finished, and you asked him if he wished for more, to which you got a weak shake of his head, ‘no’. You gently laid him back down as you looked at him, pressing your hand against his forehead. Although the fever had seemed to settle, he was still hot to the touch, yet despite this, he shivered.

“...Cold.” His voice came out smoother this time, no longer dry and parched from dehydration, though it was still raw and ragged from the sea.

“You have a fever,” You explained, pulling the blanket only a little higher on his chest, not wanting to exacerbate it, “But it looks like it shall break soon.”

The man watched you with a half lidded gaze, lips mumbling in a foreign language once more, “...Issi… se… Riña…”

“I don’t know what you’re saying.” You frowned at him again, "Do you speak the common tongue?”

The man watched you with his half lidded gaze before he nodded. You couldn't help but look at his cloudy eye that didn't move.

Now that he seemed more conscious, and had even asked for water, it seemed to you that perhaps this man would not die in your home after all.

“Are you hungry? Do you want food?”

A nod.

You went back to the kitchen, filling his glass with water again before grabbing one of your scones to bring back. You came to his side and began to break the scone in your hand into smaller pieces, lifting his head once more to feed it to him. He ate slowly, coughing occasionally to which you’d give him more water to help him wash it down, but you could tell that he was grateful.

“...Thank... you.” It came as barely a whisper, but it was there none the less.

You still didn’t know his name, and it ate at you.

“What is your name?” You asked again, hoping now that he had both food and water in him, that he would be able to answer you, but instead he just stared at you blankly.

Perhaps he had hit his head in the wreckage and forgotten?

And then another thought came.

Or perhaps, he was a pirate, and hiding his identity for fear of capture.

You stood and dusted the scone crumbs from your skirt, leaving the man beside the fire as you moved to the kitchen, pulling some carrots, potatoes and onions that you had grown in your garden out of your basket to rinse and begin to prepare.

“I’m going to cook a stew.” You cast your head to the side, voice calling out to the man, “I think it would warm you. I have some dried meat I can use in it too. I think it would-“

You turned around to find the man asleep again, “-Do you some good.” You finished quietly, moving back to the task at hand.

It didn’t help that a strum of disappointment raced through you at his unconsciousness, but it couldn’t be helped, after all the man was practically with the Stranger when he washed ashore.

Steam rose from the pot of vegetables and broth, the dried meat you had cut and put inside having absorbed the stew and become soft again as you stirred it. It smelt good, and as you had helped to bring it to boil, you had had enough time to check on the lamp in the lighthouse, ensuring that the oil and glass was all in order.

The storm seemed to have settled somewhat, but from your experience, it meant only that the eye had reached shore, and the worst of it was soon to come.

Not once had the man moved as you cooked, nor when you walked past him to put back on your dress, coat ,and shoes. He looked better, and somewhat peaceful on your floor, but you knew the harsh stone would do naught for his rest, and so as you stirred the stew you thought of ways in which you could get him up and into your bed.

You blushed immediately at the thought of him spread out inside of it, silver hair around his face, soft lips parted as he breathed, the furrow of his brow having softened as he rested, properly rested. And although it seemed indecent to have a man inside of your bed, to have him inside your house and bare, you had to remind yourself that it wasn’t anything untoward, nor would you be touching him, and it was just until he was well enough to leave.

It didn’t help however, that he would be the first and only man to ever be in your bed.

You stifled a laugh at the thought.

The first one in your bed, bare and handsome, only because he was on the brink of death.

The laugh proved to not be as stifled as you had thought, as the voice of the man startled you from your slow stirring.

“...Who are you?”

You placed the spoon down by the stew, turning around to look at him from the coal stove, to tell him your name. As you spun however, your name came as a bare whisper, eyes finally landing on the man by your fire.

Not only was the man conscious, he was sitting upright, leant heavily on one arm as he looked at you, legs stretched out in front of him. Your mouth went dry and you blinked, the blanket that you had carefully tucked around his body having fallen to his waist, bare chest on display.

You swallowed thickly, feeling heat in your cheeks as you tried to avert your eyes, but the image of his toned and lean chest blared in your minds view.

“Do you often strip drowned sailors?” The man mused, clearly having noticed his undressed state. His voice still crackled, but underneath, it was as smooth as honey.

The heat in your cheeks increased tenfold, and your feet took you swiftly over to the table where his now dried tunic and breeches were neatly folded on top. A crack of thunder boomed over head as you looked towards the kitchen, holding his clothes out to him to the side, feeling the weight of them being taken out of your hands.

“You were soaked and close to death," You explained, "I saw no other choice.” You cleared your throat awkwardly as you heard rustling beside you, moving yourself back to the kitchen as you kept your back to him to stir the stew in avoidance, “I kept your modesty with the blanket. My one priority being-“

“-A joke, Madam.”

“Miss.” You corrected him.

You were no married woman.

You didn’t dare turn back around, instead, beginning to pour stew into two seperate bowls using your ladle, ensure that his had an ample supply of meat and broth within to help give him his strength back.

As he dressed, you could hear him grunt and struggle, but offered him no help. A man of his breed would likely suspect you meant something untoward, and you had learnt from a young age that a mans strength and will should never be questioned, for their ego's, fragile as they are, shall bruise.

You could feel him watching you as you continued on, shaking the embers beneath the stove loose to put them out slowly, allowing for the stew to finish its simmering before putting the large lid on top.

“Who are you?”

You frowned.

Had he forgotten already?

You told him your name once again.

“No." He sighed from behind you, "Who do you serve here?”

Turning, you faced the man.

His tunic was thrown back on, but it gaped at his chest where it had been ripped, revealing the soft pale skin beneath that you could not help but admire. But despite his handsomeness, his question served to insult you.

“I serve no one.” You said stiffly, dusting your hands down on your apron, before grabbing two spoons to throw into the bowls.

This seemed to dissatisfied the man as he hummed, “And the man who tends to the lighthouse?”

The man?

Hands on your hips you glared at him, watching as his brows lifted slightly waiting for your response, “There is no man here. None but you.”

His brow furrowed, “Then who te-“

“-That would be I.” You snipped, turning back around to grab his bowl before handing it to him with his spoon, “I take you can feed yourself now?” All patience gone from your body.

And to think, you had brought this man back from the dead, and he still thinks that a man must tend to the island and not you.

Clearly the silver haired man was shocked by your station, and also your brazen way of response, “I meant no offence, Miss. I have only known men to tend to Lighthouses.”

You huffed through your nose, exhaustion from the almost week of storm, and nurturing the man on the floor back to health nipping at you cruely.

“And now you know a woman.” You moved back to the kitchen to grab your own bowl and plate of sliced bread, sitting at your table to eat your stew, all the while feeling his eye on the side of your face. You grabbed the plate of bread and offered him a slice, a small thank you coming from his lips as you ate in silence.

There was minimal talking between the both of you as you ate, and the sound of the storm seemed to fill the space instead. By the time the both of you finished eating, you knew you had to brave it outside once again, and climb the never ending stairs to check the oil and wick of the lamp.

You took your bowl and his to the kitchen, before coming back, standing above him as you pulled on your coat.

“I have to tend to the light.”

He nodded.

You shuffled on your feet as you looked at him, thinking of your earlier plan to move him into your bed so that the had a reprieve from the stone floor.

Now was the time if there ever was.

“Do you think you can stand?”

The man blinked at you.

“I won’t cast you out in this storm,” You reassured him, though his face didn’t change, “But you shouldn’t lay on the flagstones to recover. They’ll do more harm than good.”

A nod.

He shifted, pulling the blanket off of him to reveal his long, now clothed, legs, bare feet stretched out at the end. You came to his side, pulling an arm beneath his and offering your other hand as you slowly brought him to stand. The man swayed and groaned, and his face grew pale.

“The bedroom is not far.” You reassured him, steering him down the small hall, each slow step, moving slowly, and his breath coming out with a rough rasp. His weight was heavily leant around your shoulders, and you felt your muscles strain to hold him up. The man stood at least a foot and a half taller than yourself, and yet slumped over was still nowhere near your height.

He grunted as moved him to the side of the bed, sitting him down on the edge as gently as you could, pulling the sheets back before helping him to lay down. He coughed and wheezed and groaned as you moved him, eye scrunched tightly shut, as you lifted his legs up and onto the mattress. The man looked paler than before, and his seeing eye became half-lidded with fatigue.

You pulled the sheets up to his shoulders, ensuring that he wouldn’t roll out of the bed on either side.

Then suddenly you were hoping that he didn’t mind the feel of your sheets, or the spring of the softness of the mattress, or the plump of the pillows.

You shook your head.

Why were you worried about that?

“Rest.” You told him, but his eye had already slid shut, and so away you went.

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

Tag List:

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

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

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crepesuzette2023 · 1 month

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Hi, I would love recs for mclennon fics dripping in sexual tension, like six hours in August by stonedlennon. It doesn't need to have explicit sexual content. Thank you!

Thank you so, so much for this ask—this is a category of fiction I personally enjoy *a lot* (imagine Paul's "I slept with John..." pronunciation).

Here are some favorites that came to my mind. Some have sex on the page, others do not; I remember all of these as having excellent Tension™. I hope you find something you like here! Young J/P:

Streets of Your Town (@with-eyes-closed): Sensual. The upheaval in young Paul's mind as he falls in love with music and John, without putting a name to it. As of yet unfinished, but it's so good I rec it anyway, because it's...[read to find out, take a fan]

All I Know Since Yesterday (RedheadAmongWolves): Paul and John's first kiss at Paul's, after long, sweet hours of trembling fear/excitement. Paul POV.

The Way Things Sometimes Are (@paisanas): Young John is troubled and pining for Paul. Paul is mesmerizing through his eyes.

now and then (there's a fool such as I) (@stonedlennon): The Nerk Twins take the bus to Caversham and share a bed. You can smell the summer grass and the sweaty leathers...

(Ain't no cure for the) summertime blues (orphan_account): John and Paul alone on a hot summer day.

The Photograph (thinkpink20): John finds a Photograph Mike took of Paul and notices...things.

Hamburg:

ageless children, animal sweat (eyeball2eyeball): Read this story to spend time in John's throbbing, unhinged Hamburg mind. No sex on the page, and yet. It's *everywhere*. For such a short story, it takes up a lot of room in my brain. The Paul in this story is one of my favorite Pauls.

Sinful City (thinkpink20). Days and Nights in Hamburg. Paul needs John, and stops questioning things.

In Margaret Asher's music room:

Tell You Something (@louiselux). Lennon and McCartney write "I Want to Hold Your Hand." The tension rises.

In or near Paul's Geodesic Dome:

shotgunning (@pauls1967moustache): John and Paul languidly try something new...

Chrysalis (cloudy_blue): Tension in 1967. Hypnotic and stylish, I love it.

Stop all the Clocks (@javelinbk): After Brian's death, John and Paul retreat to Scotland. Grief and awakening ensue...slowly and sweetly.

Greece:

Way Up Top (@boshemians). Snapshots of J/P desire and spiraling doubts, contained in the Beatles' trip to Greece to buy an island.

Nineteen Sixty-Eight:

Outro (bakerstreetafternoon). From the Summary: 'Had it been this tension that had kept them together? Had it always?'

Bad Luck to Talk (7intheevening): Paul chats with JohnandYoko at a party and follows them home for a cup of tea. What hurts more exquisitly than pining? Unacknowledged pining.

John I'm Only Dancing (@skylikeaflame): Amidst the insanity of the Mad Day Out, desire erupts relentlessly.

The 70's as they should have been:

Down on the Farm (RosalindBeatrice): Incredibly hot and realistic (and funny in just right amounts!). John visits Paul in Nashville; Paul shows off Wings and the family, John stays the night. Dot dot dot.

I can only speak my mind (@paisanas): John's diaries are leaked to the press and printed; Paul reads them. What follows is the sexual awakening of James Paul McCartney as he reads of John's feelings for him. First rate pining, past and present.

I still miss someone/ I know that I miss you, but I don't know where I stand/ close the door lightly when you go (RosalindBeatrice): John and Paul meet in 1976. There is a spark. Few and far between meetings follow.

The Other Eighties (John lives and experiences sexual tension with Paul):

and when broken bodies are washed ashore (who am i to ask for more) (wardo wedidit): John divorces Yoko and visits Paul in Scotland. Soul searching and relationship mending.

The Birthday Party (@merseydreams): John and Paul meet at Ringo's Birthday Party. There is only one bed.

Tension through the Years:

Smoke Gets in Your Eyes (@savageandwise). John is turned on by Paul smoking. 1958—1969.

#asks #fic recs #tension fic recs #mclennon #mclennon fanfiction #mclennon fic #tension #pining #slow burn #all the good things #beatles fanfiction

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lychniis · 3 months

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tagged by @pearlsxandxpeonies on my main ( @ainescribe ) to share my wip folder!!! which is *laughs nervously* kind of maybe full of a whole lot of abandoned works but okay kijhgvfbghnjmk.

rules: post the names of all the files in your wip folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! tag as many people as you have wips!

GENSHIN IMPACT —

memory ( zhongli x reader ) ;

this project was written then rewritten so many times it may as well be a meme. the premise of this one is the reader being a god birthed from a human, who is sustained by the faith and belief. however, due to some mishaps in their early days. they've been cursed to be forgotten. i was heavily inspired by noragami in how yato struggled to be remembered by people around him to stop himself from fading out of existance. // angst, hurt - no comfort, chaptered fic.

in the sky, on the earth ( zhongli x reader ) ;

a oneshot ( a long long oneshot ) about zhongli meeting a khaenri'ahn doctor and falling in love. once more, we fall into angst territory because i like making people cry apparently. this is kind of based off of one of my oc's, one silentmoth and i keep yammering about ( we have pour own little found family scenario involved as well - it's fun kijhbgvbhnj ). // angst, hurt - comfort, eventual happy ending, oneshot.

the earth, encased ( zhongli x reader ) ;

this one is zhongli grappling on your mortality ( yay ) after a near death experience grants you a vision. and it's geo. and he's having a crisis. // angst, hurt - comfort, near character death, lots og hugs, oneshot.

sehnsucht, or the taste of longing ( diluc x reader ) ;

and old old concept i want to revisit. set during the three year period in which diluc was investigating the fatui, he poses as a fatui recruit and marries the reader, a snezhnyayan citizen and a double agent who works alongside him. its mostly marriage of convenience, blossoming feelings and diluc and the reader being sneaky sneaks while they fall in love. // angst, fluff, slightly domestic, arranged marriage. oneshot.

arare litus ( neuvillette x reader ) ;

a mermaid is washed ashore and nevullette finds kinship in them. but there are murders going on, the reader learns how to human ( very little mermaid esque ) and pretty soon the killer is kind of revealed to be an unexpected face. this fic took a darker turn when it was supposed to be fluffy. i had crys screaming in my dm's it was a doozy and i loved it XD. // fluff, smut, oneshot.

HONKAI : STAR RAIL —

and this all consuming hunger ( jing yuan x reader ) ;

a guideverse fic featuring a sentinel jing yuan and a guide reader. it touches on touchstarvation, mortality and loneliness and i lowkey a catharsis in a sense. it's very self indulgent, everyone is tired and needs a hug. // hurt - comfort, fluff, oneshot.

from a warm climate ( jing yuan x reader ) ;

a bit of an au fic with a small dash of ancient magus bride. jing yuan is a retired warrior and a pathstrider who works in a society where magic is urbanized yet practiced on the downlow. he finds the reader, a kinnara who was abducted by hunters and managed to escape badly wounded. they can't quite bounce just yet due to having their veena, a sentimental object and a source for their use of magic, taken away as well and seeks to find it out. jing yuan just accepts it lol. it's mostly domestic, with found family elements to it. // angst, fluff. hurt - comfort, found family, chaptered fic.

like real people do ( jing yuan x reader ) ;

kjhgfdcfvghj this is also a wip in my folders for a while now. but in short. the reader was once a follower of the abundance and now seeks to live a normal life post lan lux - arrowing their planet apart. contrasted with memory ! reader who wants ti keep living, this one wants to live a good life and die a peaceful death. the ending is flat out tragic. do not touch if you hate angst. // angst, hurt-comfort, no happy endings lol, still debating on chaptered or oneshot.

it will come back ( blade x reader ) ;

the premise is blade finding the reader who runs a clinic on a planet overrun by shady businesses and crime. their meet cute is basically them driving a scalpel into his medulla and killing him. blade in turn just...keeps coming back lol. i really need to stop wolfing on hozier songs for my titles but then again most of his tunes serve inspiration kjhbgvbnj. it might contain mature content. i'm still mulling over it. // slight yandere??? idk, violence, blade is a walking red flag and a sad sad man.

tagging — @crystalflygeo @perpetualcynicism @euniveve @moraxsthrone @masuchu @silentmoths @silkjade @thesparklingwriter

feel free to join in, whether you are tagged or not! thanks for giving me this chance!

#tag games ;

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wangxianficfinder · 4 months

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Fic Finder

~*~

1. I'm looking for a story that was set in more modern times and Wangxian are both female, LZ moved to America and was chronically injured, sometimes stuck in a wheelchair, believes WWX dead until she runs into her in America, LSZ is being brought up at the Lan compound by LXC @readingdj

FOUND? 🔒 everything's going to be discovered by everythingispoetry (M, 98k, wangxian, F/F, Modern Cultivation, Reunions, Soft Wangxian, Female LWJ, Female WWX, Family Feels, Soft LQR, they are all softies, Starts with angst ends with fluff, it's a progression, bamf everyone really, Hurt/Comfort, Disability)

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2. I remember it was on ao3 and Wei ying was presumed dead from the waterborne abyss but then washes ashore some days later alive I think he was found by LQR or LXC @i-cant-think-of-one-meh

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3. Hi I have two very vague fics that I'm trying to find A) a fic where yuan named the burial mounds bunny mountain or valley? Something to do with bunnies. I remember it was a yiling Wei sect fic but that's it. B) a fic where Wei Wuxian pretends to date lan Wangji. I remember lan Wangji had like a see through wall in his bedroom or at least a big house/apartment? Or something and Wei Wuxian stayed with him for a bit. It could have been a sugar baby AU but I know it was fake/pretend au and that they slept together. I think they had a misunderstanding or something and broke up then confessed to each other? Sorry all I really remember is them going to Lan Wangji's apartment at one point 😅

3A)

FOUND! 🧡 Never Again by Hauntcats (T, 67k, WangXian, WWX & WQ & WN, Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, Angst, Not JC Friendly, BAMF WWX)

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4. So I came back to the fandom after about a year and a half and I can’t for the life of me find a story. I don’t remember much, but it was like a murder mystery or something. Or a threat to Jin Ling’s life. But at the end, a girl was killing people with voodoo dolls and was trying to kill Wei Ying with one.

I’m hoping this is in the same story, but they were in a lighthouse and a resentful ghost was murdered and sealed in the structure.

I’m sorry I’m not giving you much, but hopefully someone knows what I’m talking about. Thank you!

FOUND? And I Will Call You Home by Spodumene (E, 42k, WangXian, Case Fic, Post-Canon, Getting Together, Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, Love Confessions, Canon-Typical Violence, Blood, Ghosts, Suicide, Explicit Sexual Content, Attempted Sexual Assault, LWJ whump, Original Character Death(s))

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5. Hii hope you all are well. Um this fic was modern wwx somehow getting transported into the wuxia version and kind of gives therapy to everyone I believe they were also viewing the past it's not rly a jiang family fix it but I think the ppl that died came back. I think wwx mentions that ljy in the modern world is older than lwj @thatperson0-0

Hi I'm number 5. Sadly the fic was not found :(. If it helps, modern wwx is engaged/married/dating modern lwj and when the two wwxs switch, past wwx and modern lwj have yk in the modern world and when he comes back he mentions wanting to try the stuff he learnt with past lwj.

NOT FOUND! Wrong Turn, Right Place by diamondbruise (E, 71k, WangXian, Time Travel, kind of, it’s more reality travel but there’s modern wwx and cultivator lwj, Mutual Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, Jealousy, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Misunderstandings, Cultural Differences)

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6. hello I would like to request help in finding a modern Wangxian fanfic on Ao3 in which they are I think starting university & WY has 2 cores one golden core and a dark core from resentful energy with I think a reincarnation theme too for WY seeing LZ triggers both his cores & memories then faints which leads to LZ building a barrier around them & helps WY merge both cores together to save him also both their families are alive with baoshan sanren being close with Wangxian like a grandmother also LZ burns baoshan sanren hand when activating the shield also LJY & LSZ are immortals with LSZ gone into a meditative state and that JWY is an idol as he is unable to cultivate as he returned the core back to WY this particular piece of info I think was mentioned in the ending notes, this is all that I remember of it hope it helps. thxs @1p1rose1

FOUND?🔒 Because you loved me by ThisIsWhereTheMagicHappens (T, 133k, WIP, WangXian, NieLan, SongXiao, Canon Compliant, Modern AU, College/University, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, supportive family, POV Alternating, a lot of cultivation, they reincarnated, but not everyone remembers, the lan and wei parents are alive and caring, Happy Ending, No war, Hurt/Comfort, Mpreg, magical mpreg) but it doesn't match exactly

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7. I need fic finder help 😭 I cannot for the life of me find this one fic or remember the name, but I remember it very clearly.

So the premise was that the Lan soloed the SSC after the Wen attacked Cloud Recesses, and LWJ was sect leader (and chief cultivator??) after. He demanded a person be given to him (as compensation?? To show the sects alliance to him?? I forgot the exact reason) and WWX saw it coming a mile away that it would be him chosen to be handed over. Everyone was terrified of LWJ and was certain WWX would be miserable, but LWJ knew it would be WWX they sent and because Wen Qing vouched for him LWJ treated WWX like he deserved instead of how the sects thought he'd be, and got the shock of their life when they ended up married.

The last chapter I read (and the last update I saw, it was a (nearly finished?) wip last I read) Wen Qing sent a notice that LXC, who'd been in a coma for the entire fic up to that point, was awake.

If anyone can find this fic, I'd be eternally greatful 😭

FOUND! golden when the day met the night by glitteringmoonlight (Not rated, 95k, slow burn, sugar daddy LWJ, light, angst, fluff, developing relationship, eventual smut, WIP)

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8. There is a fic I'm looking for. After wwx comes back in Mo village he decides to just stay there and run the town for several years as mo xuanyu and I can't seem to find it on AO3 @mortavita

FOUND? focal, filler, and line by bosbie (T, 26k, wangxian, canon divergence, flower shop au, fluff, hurt/comfort, pining, falling in love, WWX is not recognized in Dafan mountain, slice of life, WIP) WWX stays in Mo Village and is noticed by LWJ 3 years later the out-of-season flowers "Mo Xuanyu" sells have touches of resentful energy on them

FOUND? Gave my Heart and Soul by mel_darling (T, 47k, WIP, WangXian, Hurt/Comfort, References to Depression, Survivors Guilt, Angst with a Happy Ending, Misunderstandings, wwx knows Lwj was the one who kissed him, Canon Divergence, Panic Attacks, AnxietyPining, Healing, Gardening for the soul, Accidental Child Acquisition, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Nightmares) It doesnt take place over years but the premise is similar.

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9. Does anyone have that threadfic where omegaverse a!WWX donated sperm for money and o!LWJ bought it? LWJ had two(?) kids with the third on the way when the two of them met and toward the end one of the kids got injured and had to go to the hospital which is how they found out that WWX was the donor

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10. I’m looking for a fic where Wei Wuxian is helping Lan Wangji move in, only to get pinned to a sex bench. Turns out Wei Wuxian is one of a very small subset of males who can get pregnant, Lan Wangji found his e-reader, and calmly decided to divest them both of their virginity. It is not nearly as dark as it sounds.

FOUND? Touch me, tease me, fill me up by Lanwangjisnights (E, 5k, WangXian, Modern AU, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, BDSM Scene, Domestic BDSM, Restraints, Bondage, Rope Bondage, Double Penetration, Double Penetration in Two Holes, Boypussy, Vaginal Sex, LWJ Has a Big Dick, Daddy Kink, Pregnancy Kink, Consensual Non-Consent, Vibrators, Sex Toys, Rough Sex, Overstimulation, No Refractory Period, Aftercare, Marriage, Proposal, WWX POV, First Time)

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11. Hi! I’m looking for this fic, I don’t know if it was time travel, but one of the main things was that Wei ying, lan zhan, jiang Chang, and Jin Zixuan became martial brothers. Thank you!

FOUND? Quartet series by WithBroomBefore (T, 69k wangxian, JZX & JC & WWX & LWJ, Canon Divergence, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, WWX's canonical comfort with the prospect of his own death, Hurt/Comfort, JZX makes friends, Eventual Happy Ending, some unhappiness along the way, Canon-Typical Violence, JC keeps his golden core, JYL Lives, WQ Lives, Minor Character Death, Kissing, WWX Lives, no golden core transfer, JZX Lives, Fix-It, WN Lives, Weeping, temporary major character death, Murder Road Trip, Implied Sexual Content, Sunshot Campaign, Nonbinary NHS, Telepathy, platonic group soulbonding, Family, Found Family, POV WWX, Podfic Available, Siblings Sworn Brothers, aroace JZX, Happy Ending, all the Wen remnants live, POV JZX, JGY is less murdery, Asexual Character, Aromantic Character, JZX's social awkwardness, Poison)

FOUND? The Same Moon Shines series by sami (E, 799k) since the asker specifically mentions time travel, I wonder if it's Sami's time travel series? at least the main continuity, where WWX is the time traveler. the sworn brotherhood isn't central like in Quartet but it's still a key plot point.

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12. Hi, I’m looking for an abo fic (o!wwx and a!lwj) where wwx is sent to the cloud recesses in an arranged marriage bc madam yu thought he would be miserable there. Lwj is super cold to him at first and I think wwx is left kneeling in the cold during his preheat? Lwj also doesn’t want kids with him, which makes wwx upset. Xichen and wwx end up becoming good friends, wwx solves the water abyss with talismans, and lwj warns wwx about associating with xichen since the elders would cast them in a bad light, and wwx takes this as threatening him. @vellialavellious

FOUND! To Bring You Back Within My Reach by ablaiseofglory (M, 20k, WIP, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, No dubious consent, Adopted Children, Kid Fic, A/B/O Dynamics, omega wwx, Alpha LWJ, Orphanage, canon levels of physical abuse, aka cloud recesses punishments, Verbal/Mental Abuse, Misunderstandings, so many of them, a comical/horrifying amount, Depressive Thoughts)

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13. Hii this I'd for fic finder

I'm looking for a fic where wwx and wq pretend to be married, a yuan as their child when wwx confronted the jins about qionqi path, in the end I remember he also married lz ( after a misunderstanding where he accused him of infidelity). Thank u ☆

Hii I'm number 13 on the recent fic finder, it's unfortunately not what was recommended :')

I remember more of the story , wwx and wq were married out of convenience to save her family, they had children together but never slept together, when wwx told lwj he loved him , lwj accused him of being bored of his wife or something (they got married in the end, there was implied mpreg I think & lwj was referred to as second madam wei)

Not FOUND that is a door by ShanaStoryteller (Not rated, 7k, WWX/WQ, Marriage of Convenience, POV WQ, Post-War, Canon Divergence) if the asker is certain about marrying LWJ then it's not ShanaStoryteller's this is a door, but otherwise it might be

Not FOUND🔒the tragic and entirely true story of the romance between the yiling patriarch and his wife, most renowned doctor of her generation by ravenditefairylights (T, 18k, WangXian, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Canon, but also during canon, Character Study, Canon Temporary Character Death, excessive use of personal headcanons, Baby LSZ, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Oblivious WWX, Rumors, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, Heteronormativity, Fake Marriage, Chronic Pain, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining)

FOUND? 💖 The Epic Lie of the Yiling Laozu and His Wife by JaenysBloodcourt (T, 9k, wangxian, WWX/WQ, fake/pretend relationship, fake marriage, misunderstandings, lies, jealousy, BAMF WWX, yiling wei au)

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14. Hello I am trying to find a fic that is a modern reincarnation au, wei wuxian and nie huaisang are reincarnated roommates, but lan wangji is immortal and from the canon time and he fights a big ghost head in their apartment which is wuxian and huaisang’s first experience with cultivation in this time

It had maybe two chapters then didn’t update for like a year and I gave up and closed the tab for it but that was a big mistake because even unfinished I still think about it for some reason

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15. Hellooo im really trying to find a fic where weiying travelled back in time to gusu classes and tried to end his life with his sword and everyone get scared there's a similiar fic called (un)hidden but it's not the one im trying to find can u please help me find it

FOUND? 🔒 Without end by barisan (M, 69k, WIP, WangXian, Time Travel, Suicide Attempt, Hurt/Comfort, Depressed WWX, WWX Needs a Hug, WWX Needs Therapy, Protective LWJ, Good Uncle LQR, Bad Parent YZY, Bad Parent JFM, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Canonical Character Death, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Time Travel Fix-It, YZY Bashing, JFM Bashing, WWX Protection Squad, WWX Has Self-Esteem Issues, YLLZ WWX, Forehead Kisses, hand holding, Scheming NHS, Wēn Remnants Live, Broadway References, Yúnmèng Jiāng Sect Bashing, Literal Sleeping Together, Feelings Realization, Like Speedrun, First Kiss, sentient resentful energy, Medical Inaccuracies, Sentient Burial Mounds, Protective Siblings, Soft WangXian, BAMF WWX)

FOUND? Better Off Without Me by lindgrsl77 (M, 2k, WIP, WangXian, Suicide Attempt, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, WWX is not okay, Time Travel, Happy Ending)

FOUND? For the Best by Weiyun (T, 5k, WangXian, Suicide Attempt, Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Angst, Canon Divergence, Time Travel)

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16. Hi ☺️ I'm here again for finding recs that I have forgotten the title but not the storyline part ... Well for starter it's like watching their show but they time travel(?) Also there was a scene that while they were watching the library punishment when they get to the book that's when LZ thoughts of the library incidence were broadcast to everyone and any other fantasies he has but they realized it was only his not really happened. And they didn't know this until they watch it... I dunno how to find it 😔 @myst1210

FOUND? Song of Joy and Regrets by HelloKitten (Not Rated, 134k, wangxian, hualian, WIP, TGCF, Angst, Self-Harm, Child Abuse, characters watching their series, Time Travel Fix-it) chapter 31

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17. hello this is for ficfinder.

A) it was a modern au in which wwx is lan yuan's art teacher and i think lwj has adopted him, the fic starts w lwj being late to pick him from school. wen ning is the receptionist at the school. at some point wwx and lwj and a yuan also meet at a market and end up eating together.

B) there is a series in which basically everyone ia simping over wwx and he also finds a way to get his own body back and everyone is like oh you really wee HOT and i think the series named smth similar to simping over wwx but i cant seem to find it.

thank you

17A)

FOUND! 🧡 paint smears on sunny days by SnowshadowAO3 (E, 53k, WangXian, Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Everyone Is Alive, Modern AU, Dadji, Mutual Pining, Happy Ending, Brief Alcohol Mention, Masturbation, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Accidentally co-parenting with your son's art teacher, Fatherhood)

17B)

FOUND? Simping over WWX is my fave hobby Series by brrrrrRawr (T, 10k, WangXian, WWX's original body, Fluff, Pet Name,s Blushing, No Smut, Genius WWX, yunmeng bros reconciliation, endgame lotus pier, big bro wwx rights, also dad wwx rights, BAMF WWX, Bad Writing, Body Dysphoria So OOC, world building, cliff diving, corpse wrestling, OOC, Canon Divergence, god WWX, god WN, god WQ, child JL, teenager MXY, xuanli get resurrected, rip nmj tho, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, BAMF WWX, BAMF WN, BAMF WQ)

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18. hi! I just remembered a fic I read a while ago but I can't find it now and I really wanted to read it again. So what I remember about it is that it's set in cql verse and wei wuxian was taken to the nightless city. He was planning on learning about wrh's demonic cultivation and so he kind of tries to make wen rouhan favor him while secretly learning demonic cultivation. Wrh fell for it and he kinda made wwx his consort and lwj thought wwx really betrayed them. please help me find it T~T

I can remember but I can't find... But I remember that I think WWX still had a golden core. He made Chenqing to let WRH think he was only playing music to help him concentrate on creating the Yin Tiger Seal but actually WWX was using it to use demonic cultivation to create weaknesses in the Seal that he could exploit later (and also to try to protect his golden core grin the resentment). Chenqing becomes semi-sentient and wants to help and protect him. In the end he shatters the Seal while shielding everyone else from the backlash and almost dies in the process, because he drops Chenqing and so she can't protect him.

FOUND? 🔒 Pendulum by ShippersList (M, 69k, wangxian, graphic depicitions of violence, rape/non-con, underage, A/B/O, Canon Divergence, Non-Traditional A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Misunderstandings, Canon-Typical Violence, Spies & Secret Agents, Fake Character Death, Slow Burn, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, BAMF WWX, Attempted Sexual Assault, Canonical Character Death, Mutual Pining, Good JGY, Introspection, Self-Sacrificing WWX, Love Confessions, Protective LWJ, past child sexual abuse)

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19. Hi! 🥳 Happy new year! And also thank you so much for your hardwork for the past year. I hope you will also help me with this as well.

I’m looking for the fic wherein Wwx went to the bunnies. Wwx was shocked because they went to him and some bunnies actually nuzzles his tummy. Wwx find it odd since usually bunnies don’t like him. Eventually, they learned that the reason why bunnies wwx now because he’s pregnant 🫄.

Hi! I’m the fic finder #19. Thank you for helping but unfortunately I think this is not the one. Though they are similar, it still different because in the fic I read, there is a scene where wwx scolded the bunnies like saying ‘You only like me now because I’m pregnant’ like that.

NOT FOUND! How strange... the bunnies like me! by Selene210 (M, 3k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Using bunnies as a way of discovering pregnancy, Mpreg, Mild Smut)

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20. Can you please help me find a fic? Lan Zhan decides to leave the Lan clan and to do so he has to cut his hair. Wei Ying finds him by a river and helps him with the hair cut. I don’t think they had met prior to this, it is possible Wei Wuxian had already also left his own clan? Anyhoo, they go on to live together and it is very domestic and sweet.

FOUND? my life’s journey is far from over by thelastdboy (E, 148k, wangxian, modern au, canon divergence, PTSD, post-sunshot, everyone lives au, depression, suicidal thoughts, unhealthy coping mechanisms, slow burn, case fic, recorvery, healing is a slow process, kink negotiation)

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#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic finder #wangxian fic search #the untamed #wangxianficfinder #long post

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evilhasnever · 2 months

Note

xiyao Pacific Rim au?

Hell yes. I have been thinking about this for about 3 years, but never wrote any of it. I just opened a doc and jotted down this snippet for you! Hopefully someday I can turn this into a whole fic.

I give you 500 words of stranded/traumatized Jaeger pilot Lan Xichen in post-apocalyptic Yunping:

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“Meng Yao… what are you doing?"

“The Kaiju won’t wait for us to run,” Meng Yao replies without taking his eyes off his work, “according to my scanner it is only 160 minutes out, unless it changes course.” The scanner in question looks like it was salvaged from parts, but it is beeping in a very believable, alarming manner. “We cannot evacuate the town in time, and we are unlikely to save ourselves even if we start running very, very fast. We must fight back.” He dives back elbows-deep in the cockpit with feverish focus, ripping and soldering cords like he knows what each of them does. Lan Xichen is once again overtaken by awe and instinctual faith in this small, brilliant human being.

When Lan Xichen had washed ashore near the refugee encampment, banged up and near-catatonic from the loss of his brother, he had never imagined someone with Jaeger training would be hiding in these backwater ruins. His savior was one Meng Yao of Yunping, a wiry young man in ripped overalls, with too many tools hanging off his belt and too-hard eyes in a gentle round face. As it turned out, his clever mind could rival Lan Xichen’s own AI navigator - he’d taken only a few days to assess the damage to his Jaeger and write up a repair plan.

Twin Jade was stretched out on the beach, looking like a sleeping giant half-covered in brine. She was not in a bad state overall, save for the smashed cockpit - but she was down one co-pilot, so Lan Xichen had given up on resurrecting her altogether. Meng Yao had not.

While Lan Xichen consumed himself with worries over Wangji’s fate and his lack of communications, his savior worked day and night to get both pilot and Jaeger back to some semblance of functionality. (Lan Xichen paused to chuckle over the mental comparison of hot soup for himself and scrapyard parts for Twin Jade, both sourced by Meng Yao with unfailing efficiency).

“The repairs are only temporary," Meng Yao's voice brings him back to the present emergency. "But I can essentially jumpstart her for long enough to keep it running in emergency mode for a couple of hours. I’ll need you to do most of the fighting while I keep an eye on the systems.”

“You want to pilot with me?” Lan Xichen’s eyes widen.

“Well, you can’t pilot by yourself, can you?” Meng Yao chuckled nervously, without looking back from the console. “And even if you could, your leg is broken.”

“Drifting can be very dangerous if you have never…”

“I have trained before,” Meng Yao interrupts him. “I can pilot, Lan Xichen. I can,” he swears, pushing his bangs out of his eyes frantically. “I know I am asking a lot, but–”

“I trust you,” Lan Xichen says unthinkingly, reaching out to wipe a smear of grease from his cheek. “I only… wish to apologize for what you may see in the drift.”

Meng Yao only laughs, shaking his head. His eyes are avoidant. “Likewise.”

Neither of them paused to doubt whether they'd be compatible. That much was a given.

Lan Xichen enters the repaired cockpit, leaning all of his weight on Meng Yao. He plugs in with slightly-shaking hands.

It is terrifying to let Meng Yao see all of what you are. But he is scared, too. He is, you realize, more afraid than you are. As if his secrets could be any worse than the monstrosity inside yourself. You smile at him with all the warmth you can muster, smiling past the fears in your head. You suddenly want to see him more than anything.

#pacific rim AU #xiyao #xiyao in yunping #lan xichen #jin guangyao #meng yao #in which I make meng yao the specialest boy ever as usual #of course wangji is fine btw #it is canon #shiome fic #xiyao drabbles

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huramuna · 4 months

Text

wine red, tears gold - chapter 3.

king aegon II x baratheon ofc

previous chapter | next

a 'what if aegon didn't get poisoned and the greens technically won the dance but at what cost' au. basically aegon, alicent, otto and jaehaera are the only greens alive. and larys i guess. someone get rid of this guy.

word count: 3.8k

no more taglists unfortunately (i always forget and then feel bad) so please follow & turn on notifs for @huramuna-fics

content: smut (specifics below cut), canon typical misogyny, canon typical violence, angst, fluff, arranged marriage, touch-staved aegon, aegon isn't a r*pist in this au but he is still a bad person and has his vices, ofc and aegon need to go to therapy together, justice for jaehaera, awkward sex, kind of a slow burn, infidelity

jealous sea - meg myers • drinking lightning - AWOLNATION

warnings: oral (f receiving)

Waves upon a placid sea, bobbing with the tide. The warmth of the water enveloped her and was something akin to comfort— something she was severely lacking these days.

Lyanna imagined herself as a piece of driftwood lost in the ocean, strewn back and forth with the motion of the swells, wishing and hoping to wash ashore, but not actually moving.

Opening her eyes, she sat up in the tub, filling her lungs with air. Her maids gasped and fretted over her, citing that she could drown doing such things. Mayhaps she could, but it was unlikely. If the Gods were to strike her down and have her drown in a bathtub after being the queen for approximately a fortnight, then so be it. She would be of a similar laughing stock as Rhaenyra was around the Keep. The two of them would be dubbed ‘The Half-year Queen’ and ‘The Drowned Queen’. The jest almost brought a smile to her face– almost.

It had been a half-month since she had moved to her own chambers, since Aegon had dubbed her hideous and unworthy of his time. She fell into a deep depression for about three days, only allowing Alicent in her chambers. Tears weren’t shed, no– she was too numb for it. She felt as if she was living outside of her body, chained to her husk like a ghost.

On the fourth day, something in her snapped. Mayhaps it was the last of her innocence, of her girlish and naive view of the world finally shriveling up and dying– but the numbness didn’t hurt any longer. It was just there, an ever present reminder that this was her life now. As melancholy as she was, she felt it a duty to herself to atleast make an effort. So, on that fourth day, she picked herself up and requested a golden and green dress to wear, having her hair up in a half-do with intricate braids. Her posture was set rigid, her hands clasped over one another, now adorned in rings. She walked the gardens with Alicent and some other ladies, visited the Sept, and read in the library.

Aegon was nowhere to be found during those times and she wondered if he was avoiding her– it would be good, if so. Let him.

She decided to make a statement– to attend the Small Council meeting, another one of Alicent’s suggestions. Lyanna wished to be taken seriously, and should have her hand in many pots, so to speak, at the Keep and in King’s Landing. The Small council was one of those.

This morn, a half-month since her wedding, it was particularly dreary. Storm clouds hung above King’s Landing like an oppressing force, hiding away the sun and churning up the seas. Instead of indulging in the gloomy weather, she had her maids dress her brightly– a dress yellow like the sun, embroidered with gleaming jewels and a sweeping decollage to match, leading to an ornate depiction of a golden stag. Her hair was braided into two buns, fixated to her head with interweaving golden accents and pearls.

As she entered the council chamber, which was already in session, the heads at the tables turned to her. All of the men at the table stood up and bowed their heads except for one.

Aegon sat across the table, leaned back in the chair like a sloven cad, looking less than enthused at Lyanna’s presence. “My dear wife, dressed so brightly,” he mused, his fingers grasping around the marble ball at the table– his was golden and pink, an homage to Sunfyre– “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Husband,” she greeted back in a similar temperature, her facade warm. She looked at him head on, unwavering in her stance. Outwardly, she was the symbol of stalwart, a small smile gracing her lips. On the inside, she was remembering everything he had said, what he had done– she wanted to run away, to cower like a little girl. Lyanna smoothed down her skirt, “I simply wished to sit in on the meeting. Forgive me for my absence these past two weeks, my lords. I’ve needed much time to adjust to the capitol– but I am ready now to attend each meeting going forward.” she spoke evenly, moving towards an empty seat. It was across from Aegon’s. She pulled her own marble out from her pocket and put it in the circular ramekin– hers was colored gold and green.

“Each meeting?” Aegon drawled. “Certainly there is no need for that– mayhaps your time would be better spent with the court ladies, organizing luncheons and the like.”

Lyanna seethed beneath the surface, resisting the urge to pick at her cuticles. She took a deep breath. “Yes, each meeting. I don’t see why I cannot attend each small council meeting and organize luncheons with my courtiers, husband. Now, what is the topic of discussion?”

One of the lords spoke up, she recognized him as Ser Wylde, “Ah– yes, your grace,” he bumbled slightly, trying to remember the subject of conversation before she had come in, “There are… some emissaries from Dorne arriving on the morrow. We are ascertaining what sort of welcome they should receive.”

Otto Hightower was sitting near Aegon, his eyes not leaving Lyanna since she had arrived in the chamber. He seemed amused. “We were speaking of the cost it would be to give them a warm welcome. A feast, a celebration and the like– the coffers won’t support such an event.”

Lyanna perked a brow, her thumb and forefinger rimming around the marble idly, not dissimilar to how Aegon had been fiddling with his before– this was by coincidence, however– “Well, if I may be so bold as to put myself in their shoes,” she began, “It is quite a long and tenuous journey from here to Dorne, if I recall correctly. If I were a diplomat from Dorne getting off the boat after such a dreary travel, the last thing I would want is an extravagant party and hundreds of people to meet and entertain. What if we gave them a warm, intimate welcome? Mayhaps dinner with the King and I, some food and music, wine and a bit of dancing. Nothing overly… pompous.”

“They are from Dorne. They are overly pompous. Surely they would be bored of a small gathering and take it as an insult?” Aegon countered.

“What would you suggest then, my king?” Lyanna quipped back, leaning forward in her seat. Her leg was bouncing under the table errantly as she tried to contain her anxious energy.

Aegon stared blankly at Lyanna, the marble still rolling between his fingers. Then, he slammed it back down onto the wooden placing. “It is the best idea we have had. Very well. Small and intimate. Grandsire, you and mother shall attend as well. You’re much better at… diplomacy than I. Mayhaps we shall see how my dear Lyanna fares at her first taste of it, hm?”

After about thirty more minutes of back and forth about other subjects, the meeting was adjourned. The Lords left, leaving Lyanna and Aegon alone in the chamber.

She picked up her marble and placed it back in her pocket, straightening her skirts as she got up.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Aegon spoke then, having come up behind her quicker than she could register.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You haven’t spoken to me in over a ten-day and you show up to the council meeting looking like… a beacon of the sun– and challenging me in front of the council. That is what I am speaking about.” Aegon’s hand grabbed her wrist as it came back out from her pocket, looking over it.

Lyanna glowered at him. “I am simply doing my duty as Queen. A good queen is informed about the going-ons of her small council, is she not?”

Aegon snorted. “Oh, yes– another page out of my mother’s book. Arriving somewhere you weren’t invited to fashionably late wearing the loudest outfit possible with the subtext of wanting attention. Do you even have an original thought in your head, wife? First, you could only parrot your oaf of a father’s words, and now my mother is trickling her spew down your ear. Truly, you’re like a fucking puppet. Where are you strings, puppet?” he sneered, pinching at her bare collarbone.

She let out the tiniest of whimpers at his pinch, doubling down and smacking Aegon right across his face.

He answered with a whimper of his own, his bottom lip pouting out for a moment. “Still not original, little rabbit.” he growled, squeezing her wrist tightly.

Over her stint locked away in her room, she thought of many things she wished to do to Aegon– anything to make him feel a semblance of the pain he had put unto her. Her knee came up, knocking him straight in his balls.

“Fucking, fuck,” he groaned, releasing her wrist and doubling over.

She expected him to explode at her, unsheathe his sword and cut her down for raising a hand– and knee– to him. But, when he looked up, he was smiling. “T-that… was original,” he croaked out, chuckling. “I kind of enjoyed that.”

Lyanna’s lip curled up. “You’re a pig.” she promptly picked up her skirts and left the room, not entirely sure what had just happened.

–

Up until that moment, Aegon hadn’t felt anything but mostly indifference to Lyanna. She was boring, plain featured and nothing to write home about.

Still, even after all he had said to her– he had meant it– he still felt… odd that she hadn’t spoken to him since then. Being married to Helaena was a hell in itself, but even hell can become familiar. Aegon was a creature in need of affection, of touch. Even when it was his mother slapping him or his grandsire pushing him– that meant that they loved him, in some way, right? With Helaena, she didn’t like touch like he did, shying away usually. They came to a middle ground during some point in their marriage that when Aegon needed touch, he could lay his head in Helaena’s lap while she embroidered or talked to bugs. They wouldn’t speak to one another– they just knew, and so it was.

Helaena was gone now, though. And now it felt that the only physical contact he got from others was those that he paid for and those that he earned from his mother and grandsire. And now, Lyanna, apparently. Her hand was warm when it came across his face and her lip quivered like she was on the verge of tears again. He couldn’t resist getting another jab in– and neither could she, apparently, as she kneed him in the balls. That was a new one for him and it fucking hurt– but it sent an electric shock to the fucked up part of his brain– wasn’t that all of it? – and he somewhat liked it. Not in a sexual way, contrary to what one might think, but in a way that he needed… contact.

He mulled it over for hours after it happened, deep into the night. He wanted to knock at her doors and explain the entirety of his fucked up life and his previous fucked up marriage to his sister and how she used to let him lay his head on her lap– and if he could do it with her.

But he would be an idiot if he thought that would work.

The following day, into the feast welcoming the Dornish emissary, an unfamiliar feeling bubbled up in his chest as he sat at the table.

Lyanna, dressed in sunflower yellow, looking as radiant as the sun, was dancing with one of the Dornish men. Prince Qyle, he remembered. His hands were grasped firmly around Lyanna’s waist– she was corseted tighter than normal today, he noted– as they danced.

He tried to pinpoint the feeling– it was a warmth simmering in his gut, threatening to boil over at any moment if this man didn’t get his hands off of his wife. Aegon’s pulse thrummed in his neck, his blood searing hot in his veins.

She laughed– Lyanna laughed. Aegon didn’t think he had ever heard that noise before but he longed to hear it again. He bit down on his lip, drawing blood. Why did he care if she was dancing with him? Aegon didn’t even really like her– she… she wasn’t hideous, of course, and in the right light and colors, she was pretty but– she was boring! A boring woman with nothing to offer him, when he could easily procure any woman of his choice just outside the castle walls. A boring woman who… he had made cry. Who he had said horrible things to– who was now dancing with a fucking Dornish prince and laughing. A Dornish prince who had his hands on his wife, the fucking queen– he was jealous.

Jealous? Jealousy never really permeated him until he was intertwined with Lyanna. At their wedding, with the men pawing at her– and now.

His blood was on fire and he needed to quell it. Immediately.

Hours passed during the feast and Aegon didn’t make a move– until he saw Lyanna leave the hall and go back to her chambers. It was a horrible idea, in truth, to follow her– but he couldn’t help it. As she went to close the door behind her, Aegon stopped her hand, slipping in and closing it.

“Hello, wife,” he murmured, trying not to sound as if he was in pain– which he was, the blood of the dragon running through him like sweltering lava. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

Lyanna looked surprised to see him, her big brown eyes glazing over once more like they had when they first met– like a rabbit in the snare of a predator. “Husband,” she responded slowly, her hands reaching up to pull the pins from her hair. “Yes, I enjoyed myself quite thoroughly. Prince Qyle is a fantastic dancer.”

“Oh– I’m sure. You let him put his hands all over you like you’re some sort of commodity.”

“Excuse me?”

“Tell me, did you like him touching you? Holding you close and no doubt whispering sweet nothings in your ear?”

Lyanna simmered for a moment, plopping down the pearl pins onto her boudoir. “Are you quite finished yet?”

Aegon bit the inside of his cheek, his blood still stoked to a flame. “No, the opposite in fact. It’s hilarious, really— how I was so ready to grovel at your feet last night, offer an olive branch to you,” he paced back and forth, twisting his rings, “But then you just have to throw it back in my face, hm? Parade yourself like a whore with a fucking Dornish prince of all things. Is this your idea of getting back at me? Hm? Notching your corset tighter and… looking like the sun itself and letting another man put his hands on you?”

She stopped fiddling with her hair as the last pin came loose, letting it fall down her back in dark brown waves. “You really have the audacity to call me a whore, Aegon?” she murmured, fingers gripped on the wooden edge of her vanity. “You are a whore, Aegon. As much as any of the ones you pay to sleep with you.”

The king scoffed, an unbelieving chuckle coming from his throat. “A whore. You call me a whore?” he glanced at her with red rimmed eyes, brow furrowed.

“Yes, you’re a whore. Mayhaps I should treat you like one. If I threw you some coin, would you grovel at my feet as you were so ready to do so last night, apparently?”

His mouth went slightly dry at the notion, his clothes feeling a bit tighter than before. Clearing his throat, he adjusted the collar of his doublet. “I have no need for your coin,” he retorted, “I’d do it for free.”

This caught her off guard and she turned to him. “… what?”

“I’ll grovel. I’ll prostrate myself for you like a whore— if,” his voice changed tone, something akin to uncertainty. It reminded Lyanna of their wedding night. “If you… will indulge me for the evening.”

Lyanna looked dumbfounded, her abashed confidence melting away. “You want to… couple with me?” she murmured with confusion.

“I can make you feel good if you just… let me sleep here tonight.”

She blinked profusely at his seemingly timid offer. She didn’t exactly know what he meant by it, but it made a warmth tingle within her at the thought. “… okay.”

Aegon’s eyes flicked up to her in disbelief, he didn’t expect her to say yes. He resisted the urge to smile smugly, as not to irritate her further. “Can I touch you?”

Lyanna nodded slowly.

He came before her as she sat at her vanity, very much still dressed from the feast. Kneeling down, he rucked up her skirts and dragged a testing finger near her inner thigh.

“… tickles.” she mewled, twitching slightly. They both must’ve indulged too much in wine this eve, or else this may not be happening.

“Damned skirts,” he growled, flitting through layers of tulle and silk. Throwing caution to the wind, he unsheathed the Valyrian Steel dagger at his hip, “Stay still.” he started at her chest, bringing the blade downward to slice the fabric apart like butter, effectively cutting her out of her outfit. She was left in her underclothes and corset.

Her face went beet red at the gesture, the unexpected precision of Aegon made that heat within her continue to build. “Y-you could’ve taken it off like normal, Aegon— this was Myrish lace!”

“Too much time and effort. I think you quite liked it as well,” he hummed, bringing the pad of his thumb to the apex of her thighs, feeling a growing wet spot. “Seems I was right.”

“… hmm,” she murmured, hiding her face behind her hands.

He pressed a hand to her corseted chest, leaning her back against the desk, his other hand prying open her legs further, to where she was positioned exactly how he wanted her. He hooked his arms under her thighs, effectively throwing both of her legs over his shoulders. Peering up at her from below, the way she hid her face, the edges of red blush eking out from her parted fingers, her now tousled hair falling over her like a curtain— it made something deep within him stir, something he couldn’t quite name yet.

Sliding the soft cotton of her panties to the side, he observed her form. He had been up close and personal with his fair share of cunt, but not usually in clear lighting and not black-out drunk. Her folds were a lovely shade of pink, curtained by dark brown curls. Parting them with his fore and middle finger, he found what he was looking for. His tongue prodded at her pearl experimentally, testing her reaction.

Her fingers opened slightly, the deep color of her eyes staring at him hazily. “W-wh— what was that?”

Aegon almost felt bad for her, poor thing had likely never touched herself before— surely this had to be an act of kindness and service that he was introducing this to her. “Your clit, dear,” he spoke before rasping at it again with his tongue, extracting a surprisingly delightful little whimper from her. “Feels good?”

Lyanna’s fingers were closed once more as she hid. “Mmhm…”

Wishing to hear her little noises again, he pulled her closer to his face, his hands gripping her bottom like a lifeline. He started slow, licking up and down her folds, savoring and enjoying her taste. Then, he decided he was done being merciful. His mouth latched onto her clit, suckling at it like he was a man starved. Her whimpers of pleasure turned into a siren’s song, breathy moans, broken strings of his name— she didn’t even know what she was asking for, but she wanted more.

“A-Aeg— w—,” Lyanna cried, the coil of warmth within her coming to a searing height, “S-some… something—,” her hand had autonomously threaded into his hair, pulling on his strands. He had seen the expression of bliss and ecstasy on her face, with the light of the candles illuminating the delicate planes of her face as she came and he thought she looked… beautiful. Her climax hit her hard and fast, her legs shaking as she unraveled completely, thighs snapping close around Aegon’s face.

He didn’t mind, of course— if he was to suffocate between a woman’s thighs after making her come, so be it. As a bonus, he kept up his ministrations on her pearl, not letting go until she pulled him off like a leech.

“S’too much— t-too much,” she heaved. Lyanna’s skin was pinkened, legs shaky still like a newborn fawn. “W-what was that? That wasn’t coupling— it wouldn’t result in a child.”

Aegon wiped his face with the back of his hand. “No, it wasn’t. It’s called pleasure, Lyanna. You surely have a lot to learn about it, it seems.”

“… I don’t understand.”

“That’s what whores do, they are experienced in the art of pleasure. It all isn’t just to make children— that isn’t the end all be all of it— sometimes, you can do it just for fun, for release, for pleasure— and also for love and romance and all that.”

“Hm.” she huffed, “So you aren’t… going to fornicate with me?”

Aegon smirked. “You put it so delicately, my queen,” his grin was toothy and made Lyanna feel faint, “No. Not right now at least— although, I am not opposed to it in the future. It is expected to conceive an heir but we have time for that.”

“Oh. Well… what about your… pleasure? Your release?”

His brow furrowed for a moment. This was the part where he’d have a whore ride him to completion or take him in her mouth— but he didn’t exactly feel the need to do it now. He was aroused, to be sure, but it wasn’t an overwhelming need like usual. He felt… satiated by satiating her. “No need.”

He helped her out of her corset and into her nightgown, relishing in how she subtly leaned into his touch.

“So, you just wish to sleep here tonight?” she asked as she climbed into bed.

“Yes— and I have… a request,” he climbed in after her, discarding everything but his small clothes on the floor. “Can I rest my head… here?” he pointed to her lap.

He fully expected her to laugh at him, to berate him— even if, deep down, he knew she wouldn’t— but she just nodded. “Just… lay?”

“Just lay.”

She pat her lap and he slowly descended, putting his head down. It felt… good. She was soft in all of the right places and she smelled… pleasant. And she was warm. He curled up next to her, bringing his body into itself and closing his eyes.

Sometime during the night, he felt her fingers glide through his hair, drawing soothing circles on his scalp as he slept.

He hadn’t slept better since he was a child.

this is what lyanna's 'revenge' outfit looked like.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon ii targaryen fanfiction #aegon ii targaryen smut #aegon ii targaryen angst #aegon ii targaryen fluff #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii #aemond targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon #my writing #wine red tears gold

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lostinwildflowers · 11 months

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Dragon Island

Eijiro Kirishima x Reader

Summary: Kirishima is nothing but loving toward his dragon. When she disappears with no trace, he panics. When set out on a voyage to find her, he finds something he wasn't quite expecting.

Word Count: 4.7K

Warnings: strangers to lovers, also kind of idiots and enemies to lovers, fluff, very slight angst at the end, and slightly more mature language, a little *tiny* but spicy but still SFW :3

A/N: Wow, wow, wow, it has been a hot second. I have been so insanely busy with work that I am completely exhausted by the time I get home. Please enjoy this Kiri fic. -Birch<3

Useful Info:

Part i. Romantic Flight- Katsuki Bakugou x Reader

Nothing is stronger than the bond between a dragon and its trainer. The relationship is strong as the metal forges that build their armor, it's as tough as the gnarled skin of the dragon. It even is as tender as the love between a married couple, soft and kind.

This rings especially true for Kirishima, who loves his Rumblehorn, Honey, with all of his heart. She is a remarkable dragon; obedient, protective, and most importantly, loyal.

You see, Kirishima raised Honey when he found her egg abandoned in the mountains of his home. There was no clutch of other eggs, no mother dragon in sight. There was no indication of a home for the egg, so he took it to his village to raise on his own.

Kirishima spent countless hours incubating the egg, monitoring its temperature and position until it hatched. That is when Honey joined the world.

Honey, once hatched, was identified as a Rumblehorn, a medium-sized tracker dragon. Known to be tough skinned and thick-skulled, Kirishima knew this little dragon was going to be his entire future.

That's why it stung so much when she disappeared into thin air.

The roar of the ocean was loud in Kirishima's ears, the dark, steely blue waters slapping against the keel of the ship. It was a rhythmic crash and pull, one that seemed to tug him deeper and deeper into his mind of worries.

The crew of men was working together on the ship, following the maps and comparing them to familiar landmarks. And the path of the dragons.

The longboat was one Kirishima had been in many times as a young boy, but now he found it dreadful and confined. He felt trapped by its mossy walls and soggy floorboards, wishing at any moment he could step onto dry land.

A cry from the darkened sky above crackles the air, and the sight of fire breaking through the blackness of the night makes Kirishima's throat tighten. Yet a moment later, it's silent again, or at least back to the sound of waves crashing.

After the brief interruption from whatever dragon was in the sky, Kirishima attempts at busying himself, sharpening his blade, sorting through his rations- anything to help him stop fretting over the disappearance of Honey.

At least, he tells himself, At least it wasn't just Honey. That Nadder from the family up on the hill has been missing, and even Mrs. Oonlouck's Grockle flew off.

So, the hours on the ship slowly ticked by. A night full of dangerous waters and old shipwrecks merged into a light blue dawn full of hope and prayers.

And, Dragon Island.

The island was beautiful, to say the least. Soft, white sand edged the beaches, with nothing but clear waters washing the shoreline clean.

The island was mountainous, with a high peak in the far-off distance carving into the sky, while smaller trees and bushes coated the rest of the land. Kirishima could see the small, colorful specks of flowers and wild grasses where the sand faded into the dirt.

And that's where the dragons were.

Many distinct dragon species dotted the skies and the ground as the longboat came ashore; Gronckles, Deadly Nadders, Hideous Zipplebacks, and even the occasional Monstrous Nightmare.

Some of the dragons were fishing in the clear waters, rendering themselves full of fat fish. Others were scavengers, hunting down deer and elk further inland. And those that were full sat basking in the sun, soaking in the heat of the day from the warm rocks they laid on.

Crimson-colored eyes raked the sky, the water, and the land, but there was no sight of the green-toned Rumblehorn anywhere. Kirishima tried to keep his hopes up as the men prepared the ship for docking, but he couldn't help the feeling of his stomach sinking at no sight of Honey.

He tried to push off the nervousness and help his mates settle the ropes and unload the supplies before they set up camp. It was no easy task, skirting around the dragons and trying to find an unoccupied and central location where no one would burst into flames, but after a while, they found the perfect spot to set up.

They had to hike a good distance inland, as many dragons liked to nest on the beach, but they eventually found a quiet field with the cover of some tall pines as protection. As brave as the viking men were, there was always a minor fear of getting blasted by an angry Thunderdrum or Scauldron on the beach.

So the men set up tents and a main fire to cook their dinners and soon set off on their own paths to find the missing dragons.

Every dragon roar that hissed through the air made Kirishima's heart flutter, but there was still no sight or sound of his beloved Rumblehorn.

He recalled that when he found Honey, he was deep in the mountains, so he would set off for the tall peak that signified Dragon Island first thing the following morning.

The next morning, Kirishima gathered the most he could in his pack and started his hike deep into the heart of the island. Alone.

Many of the other men were missing their dragons too, but they figured that based on their dragons' personalities and species, they would be lower in altitude, more likely to be by the beach or lower forests.

So, the redhead picked his way through the underbrush on the outskirts of the camp, his heart pounding in his chest. He traveled as carefully and efficiently as he could while he hiked, the small pack on his back carrying a canister of water and a couple snacks, as the climb wasn't easy.

Up and up he climbed, the ground changing from lush, brown soil to rocky outcroppings, with loose stones underfoot. The stone was smooth under his boots, and Kirishima stumbled a few times and had to slow his pace down so as to not hurt himself.

Why am I doing this? Kirishima thought to himself as he rounded a bend leading to a flat clearing near the top of the peak. There was little grass, but he could see the mouth of a cave up ahead.

He was tired and sweaty, a thin sheen of sweat coating his entire body and dripping down his forehead. The sun was almost setting at this point, and Kirishima knew he wasn't going to make it back to camp tonight.

Instead of dwelling on the fact that he'd miss dinner, Kirishima focused his attention on the cave he saw in the distance up ahead.

Well, this could be it, he wonders as he makes his way over to the inlet. It was dark in the mouth of the cave, the sun's orange and pink rays only lighting up the very edge of the cave, but nothing deeper inside.

He slowly cranes his neck into the darkness, but the cavern was damp and quiet. When he doesn't see anything initially, a crestfallen sigh breaks past his lips as his crimson eyes trail to the ground.

Nothing.

But then, an ear-splitting roar sounds out, and Kirishima whips around just in time to see a flash of green armored skin, and he lunges into the bushes just outside of the cave as the scaled creature dives into the cave.

His heart racing in his chest, Kirishima peaks out of the bushes to try to see what just dove past him, but he couldn't make out a figure. It's silent, so he peaks around the edge of the cave entrance, where he had just been standing, to lock onto the unmistakable golden glow of a dragon's eyes.

Kirishima starts, "What the-", but is interrupted when the dragon turns to face him head-on, and a soft "Wait," falls from his parted mouth.

The redhead squints, trying to dig through his memory, and takes a hesitant step closer to the dragon. He slowly offers his hand, the tips of his fingers shaking ever so slightly, and lets his eyes flutter closed before standing perfectly still.

A beat passes. And then another one. And just as he thinks about opening his eyes to see if the dragon is still there, the smooth skin of a dragon's horn brushes against his hand.

A shaky breath falls from his lips as he feels the warm breath of the dragon puff against his face. Kirishima's crimson eyes gradually slide open, only to be met with the face of the dragon he so desperately missed.

"Honey!" he immediately calls out, lunging excitedly into the chest of the large green Rumblehorn. His muscular arms wrap around the neck of his beloved dragon, and he can feel Honey chitter underneath him in happiness, her eyes soft as she nuzzles at his back.

Kirishima does his best to keep his emotions under control, but he can't stop a stray tear or two from sliding down his cheeks. However, he rapidly pulls back from the hug when he hears a small cry from deeper into the cave.

He glances at Honey in worry and asks, "Did you hear that, girl? Sounds like someone's in trouble."

He untangles his body from around the large dragon, and picks his way around to her tail. Moving cautiously and with his hand on a knife in his belt, he plunges into the darkness of the cave.

It's dark for a minute, and then fresh air hits his cheeks, and it opens up into a wider den. The gentle cast of an orange glow can be seen dancing on the walls of the cave, but his attention is soon drawn away from that.

And it is pulled to the figure of a woman.

The woman was crouched over what he quickly identified as a baby dragon, her hair color warmed by the small fires in the edges of the den.

"Hold still, you little rascal," you mutter as you try to wrestle the baby Rumblehorn. He was attempting to slide out of your grasp and toward Honey, who had appeared from the cave tunnel.

Kirishima stood silently next to his dragon, almost blending in with the wall as he watched his, his hand relaxing from his knife as he watched you try to help the baby dragon.

You didn't notice the redhead as you called out to Honey, whose footsteps you heard, "Mama Dragon, you're back! This little one had a crack in his tooth and wouldn't let me look at-"

Your words trail off as you catch sight of the tall man standing next to Honey, and you instinctively reach for your blade strapped to your back, pushing the baby dragon behind you. A war cry falls from your lips as you draw your blade and you dash toward him, sword swinging straight toward Kirishima's head.

He's fast though, and reads the attack from across the room, easily ducking out of the way. Working on instinct, he grabs one of your arms, and folds it behind your back, pulling the blade out of the hand.

Since he was close to the wall when you attacked, he uses it to his advantage, pressing you into the cave wall with his hips and knee.

Pain blooms in your chest as the air left your lungs, your collarbones cracking against the hard stone. You can feel his larger frame and muscular chest push against your back, and you hiss in frustration at his simple move.

Kirishima takes his free hand and reaches up to pull the blade from your hand that was still grasping at your sword. In a swift motion, he throws it a couple of feet away, far enough away that you won't get it, but not too close to the dragons to be a threat.

He keeps you pressed against the wall like this, and you tried to struggle and get free, but it was no use.

"Who are you, and what are you doing with my dragon?"

Kirishima could feel you stiff under his touch at the harshness of his words, yet he remained quiet in wait for an answer. When you don't say anything, he sighs and repeats, "What are you doing with my dragon? She disappeared into thin air a little while ago, and now here she is."

You shift ever so slightly in grasp, a disgruntled look on your face as your cheek laid flat against the cool, damp wall of the cave. A quiet gasp falls from your lips as you back pops from the pressure he's applying with his hips and knee, and you can feel him loosen his grip ever so slightly.

Kirishima sighs again and reiterates, "Look, I don't want to hurt you or fight. I just want to take Honey home?"

"...You call Mama Dragon Honey? Wow, I can't imagine how she puts up with that," is what you spit out. Kirishima blinks in hurt at the harshness to your words, but a look of confusion passes over his features, not that you could tell.

"Ma- Mama Dragon?" he stutters, his grip completely relaxing and letting you free. He takes a step back, giving you space as his hands run over his face.

You groan in relief and shake out your arms before you grumble, "Yeah, Mama Dragon, didn't you know she was pregnant and carrying eggs?"

Kirishima's jaw drops, "HONEY WAS PREGNANT AND SHE LEFT ME?!" You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration at this stranger and you reply, "Yes. Sometimes it's hard to tell when a Rumblehorn is going to lay eggs because they are already built so wide."

You walk around Kirishima to your fallen sword, reaching down to pick it up from the stone. Kirishima's hand instantly falls to the knife on his belt, but he doesn't move as he watches you pat Honey on the chin before walking back over to the baby you were tending to.

"So... how many babies has Honey had then?" Kirishima asks quietly, walking over to Honey's side and gently rubbing at her face. His crimson gaze watches your every movement, waiting for any sign of hostility, but he didn't see any.

You turn back toward him, the baby you were working on in your arms. There is surprise lacing your features, and you shrug and say, "She laid 4 eggs, so now she has four babies. 3 females, 1 male."

Kirishima just nods, processing the new information. He points to the one you are holding and questions, "Which one is that?" You smile fondly down at the newborn dragon and say, "I call him Boulder, he's the only boy from the clutch, and he already thinks he's the strongest."

The little red-toned Rumblehorn just yawns in your arms, curling up for a nap. You just giggle down at him, walking over to the large wood-built nest near one of the fires.

Kirishima watches you set him gently down on the dried grasses, and he suddenly notices the other three dragon newborns curled up, asleep. He gazes in awe, and can't stop his feet as he walks over to stand next to you.

He is completely starstruck by the colors of their scales, and kind expressions on their faces as they cuddle up together. His mouth falls open before he stammers out, "I- I am so sorry for fighting you like that. All this time Honey's been away, and you've been taking care of her?"

You turn to face him, and you have to look up to catch the corner of his red gaze, but you nod in response. "Yes, I have been watching over Honey. This den isn't usually occupied because it's so far from the water, but I knew a special dragon must have chosen this den for a reason."

Your (colored) gaze flicks over to Honey, and with a gentle smile, you continue, "She is the first Rumblehorn I've seen in a few years. You are very lucky to have such a strong dragon at your side, Sir...?"

Kirishima just looks down at you, his eyes glazed over. In the time of your fight, and his whole world being flipped upside down at the factor his dragon left him to become a mother, he didn't realize how beautiful you were.

Your (colored) hair was pulled back into a couple of intricate braids that cascaded down behind your neck, a few stray pieces lingering to frame your face. There was a firmness to your eye that let him know your guard was still up, but he could see the kindness written on your features.

"Hello?" you repeat, "What can I call you?" Kirishima shakes his head back and forth for a moment, a warmth blooming on his cheeks as he chuckles and offers you his arm as he replies, "Sorry, this is all a lot to take in. Please, call me Kirishima."

You nod and reply, "Nice to meet you, Kirishima. Honey is an excellent mother and a very gentle dragon. I can't imagine how much training it has taken for her to be as good as she is."

The tall man shifts on his feet and glances over at Honey, who had made her way over to the other side of the nest and laid down. She had closed her eyes to rest as well, it seemed.

"To be honest, I really didn't do that much to train her," Kirishima started, "From the moment she hatched out when I was a boy, she always was the sweetest dragon. It's sort of how she got her name."

You just giggle at that, and Kirishima immediately finds your (colored) eyes, genuine happiness coating your features. Your giggling persists for a moment before you wave at him, "It's nothing, it's nothing, I swear. That's just a funny origin, that's all."

Kirishima just tuts and gestures toward you, "Well then, miss, what name can I call you? Especially if you think Honey's name is so ridiculous."

You get slightly shy at that moment, glancing down at your boots as if they were the most interesting thing at that moment. You shrug and mumble, "I'm just the caretaker for the dragons on this island, that is all."

Kirishima steps closer to you and insists, "Well, you must go by something," he feels butterflies bloom in his belly but he gushes, "You have a gorgeous face, I can only assume your name is equally as stunning."

You freeze at his words, and you swallow thickly as heat spreads from your cheeks to your ears, and down your neck. Kirishima seems to understand the weight of his words, and he shuffles back in embarrassment and stutters, "I- I, I only mean-"

"Y/n," you cut him off with a smile, glancing up at his obviously flustered appearance, "You can call me Y/n L/n of Dragon Island."

He dips his head in acknowledgment and replies, "Seems as though I was right... Miss Y/n." He tests your name out like it's delicate, and yet he revels in the way your name rolls off of his tongue.

It's silent for a moment before you point to the back of the cave, even further into the den, "Would you like to sit with me? I can explain more of what I do and know."

Kirishima opens his hand and points to the narrow opening and replies, "Lead the way, milady."

You and Kirishima talk through the night, conversations of Dragon Island, breeding season, and travels filling the late-night air. You told him of your place on the island; helping dragons that were sick or injured, tending to their young, and the general welfare of the sacred breeding place.

Kirishima, in turn, told you of his travels across the seas, all of the dragons he's encountered, and the people of his home. The conversation flowed so easily that it was hard to remember that the two of you had only met a few hours prior.

It had been silent between the two of you for a while, comfortable and peaceful.

"You should come to my homeland sometime," Kirishima murmurs quietly, his eyes gazing deep into the embers burning in front of the two of you.

You are quiet for a moment, and then you shake your head, "I couldn't. There is so much for me to do here year-round, and there are always dragons that need my help. I cannot leave."

Kirishima nods but doesn't say anything, but sits there and crosses his arms across his chest. Your (colored) gaze snaps over to him, gauging the contemplating look on his face.

He can feel the heat of your gaze on him, and a soft smirk rests on his lips as he then states, "Then I'll just have to come visit you then, right? So we can catch up and talk about Boulder, Honey, and the other babies?"

You mirror his smile and reply, "That would be lovely, Kirishima." He sighs and pokes at the fire with his boot before he asks, "Do you ever get lonely here? I mean you have the dragons, but I bet you hardly ever see anyone."

You feel the weight of his question more than he realizes. Yes, it does get lonely. Yes, I do crave connection and human attention. But my lifestyle cannot afford that.

All you can do is nod and whisper, "I do get lonely, Kirishima. More than you could ever know." The redhead's gaze is on you this time, your own eyes latched onto the dying flames of the fire.

He shifts from his wooden seat to stand next to your own, offering you his hand. You look up at him, vulnerable in a way you never would imagine with a stranger, yet he made you feel so comfortable.

"I get lonely too, Y/n. You don't deserve to be alone all the time. Please consider joining my village, or even coming to visit. The invitation will always be open for you," he whispers back.

He leans down slowly, placing a soft peck to the top of your head before retreating back into the main den where Honey and the babies were sleeping.

"W-wait!" you call out after him, your cheeks burning and your mind racing. He stops in the doorway and looks over his shoulder back at you, waiting.

"D- do you really mean that?" you manage to choke out. He gives you another gentle smile and states, "Never been more sure in my life." And he walks down the hall as the dawn light starts to flood into the den.

The trek back down to the ship seemed to come quicker than the hike up the mountain. Maybe it was because of Kirishima riding down on Honey's back, or the way he had to chase Boulder and the dragon babies as they rolled down the grassy hills.

You bid him farewell at the mouth of the den, promising that you would see each other again. Neither of you discussed the kiss on your forehead, but there was tension in the air as his figure disappeared in the direction of the ocean.

You could feel your heart splintering at the thought of him leaving. You knew you didn't truly know him, but you could tell your body felt like it knew him, that your souls were somehow akin.

You didn't know what to do, so you let him walk away.

But then you heard a soft cry from the back of the cave, toward the edge of the nest you had helped Honey build. And there, sitting in the depths of the nest, was a tiny, and freshly hatched Rumblehorn baby,

You dug through the straw the find the remnants of the shell, and you gasp in disbelief that you somehow missed an egg that Honey laid.

Crap, crap, crap, you thought to yourself as you looked at the newborn in front of you. This little fellow really needs his mother, but I bet Kirishima and his mates have probably loaded up and left at this point. What do I do?

Another glance down at the newborn told you everything you needed to know. You needed to get to the water before their ship sailed off.

So you wrapped the baby in a spare shirt that you had, tucked him under your arm, and ran as fast as you could in the direction you knew Kirishima set off in.

Your lungs burned for air as you ran, your feet sliding on loose shale, your calves aching as you pushed your body to its limit. You could feel your arms growing weaker from the weight of the newborn, but you pushed yourself on, determined to find Kirishima before he left.

You ducked under low-hanging limbs and jumped over dense brush, swerving and dodging everything in your path. C'mon Kirishima, you think, Please wait. I know you don't want to leave yet, so please wait!

It seems like hours as you rush down the mountain, time somehow flying by and slowing down at the same time. You swore your heart was about to explode in your chest, but you were so close to the shoreline, you couldn't give up now.

But by the time you get to the white, sandy beaches, you can see the viking's longboat sailing into the horizon, and you can't stop the sob that rips itself from your throat. Your body crumples to the ground in sheer exhaustion, and you bring the small dragon into your arms to hug closely.

"I- I'm so sorry, little one," you hiccup out, tears streaming down your face as you pulled back to look at the little green Rumblehorn baby, "I couldn't get you back to your family in time."

It just peers up at you, curiosity and innocence emanating from it's sweet face. This only makes you cry harder, and you clutch the little dragon back to your chest.

You sit there in the sand for a few moments, blinking through the tears and emotion as you watch the ship float off into the distance.

That is, until you feel warm pressure on your shoulders, and when you look up, a tall figure is blocking out the morning rays of the sun.

"You're missing me already? I don't think gorgeous women like you should cry, Y/n," comes the voice.

A loud sob pulls past your lips, and you scramble up to crush Kirishima in a hug with one arm. You cradle the baby in the other, careful to not hurt him.

The tall redhead just chuckles and steps back at the force of your hug, but wraps his arms around you closely, holding you tight, "I've gotcha... I've gotcha," he whispers as you settle down.

You pull back a minute later, wiping the tears from your eyes, you punch him in the shoulder and yell, "You forgot something, dammit!"

Kirishima yelps in pain and shies away from you as you hold out the small baby Rumblehorn, and awe takes over his face as he cups the delicate dragon in his large hands.

"I didn't know there was another one," he mumbles as he glances back up at you, "Thank you." You roll your eyes and mutter, "That wasn't the thing you forgot, dummy."

In one swift movement, you grab the front of his shirt, pulling him down to meet your lips. Your mouth collides with his own a second later, and he can't help but let out a groan at the taste of tears on his tongue.

The kiss is short but sweet, and it's enough to send both of your minds into overdrive. You both pull back at the same time, staring blankly in shock at each other.

The moment is interrupted when Honey chuffs, nudging Kirishima to give her the last baby. He quickly sets the green-scaled baby on the ground before turning back to you.

"Now, where were we?"

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charmac · 4 months

Text

Bit of a (late) long-ass personal post, but this past year has been insanely monumental for me and a lot of it, if not almost all of it, was centered around this silly comedy show.

Starting the year adopting the most perfect cat in the world purely because he looked like Agent Jack Bauer, I've ended up meeting amazing people and making great friendships, both online and in person, I met Glenn and Charlie and MEE and Meg (and Humphrey) and Danny?? got my first tattoo, bought way too much whiskey, and I've just really, genuinely enjoyed my time posting on Tumblr, making shit, and writing fic more than I have in half a decade. It's stupid, and sappy, and probably pretty parasocial, but I owe so many of my best experiences this past year not only to the show, but to joining this community. Because I wouldn't have experienced much of any of this if I hadn't jumped the casual fan on r/IASIP ship and washed up ashore here. And being here has improved my life and my mental health in ways I can't even begin to properly express.

So here's a photo dump of what I have to dub "A Very Sunny 2023":

To everyone here, thank you for being a part of my 2023. I'm not sure what 2024 has in store, but I'm happy I'll be here, creating and experiencing whatever it is, through and beyond.

#personal #sunny 2023 #sunnyblr #sorry to be really annoying but yk #this is my blog and i like to use it to document things #and this is the best format for this kinda thing :) so excuse me #this has been a crazy year when i look at it all #i had a shortlist of photos for this post and it ended up 72 photos #lmfao like damn.. gotta be selective STILL #the expansion of my sunny wall is like poetic you see #again im sorry i think thisi s probably peak absolute insanity to most ppl who follow me #but so much shit happened i wouldnt have dreamed of #like crazy insane wow i still cant believe this was all real #glenn flipping me off remains my favourite thing to have captured #i love that stupid video it makes me go crazyyyy #but yes obviously top moment goes to charlie calling me out in the audience about the tattoo. then finding out he told mee about it #again thank you. like. i straight up owe all of this to sunnyblr existing #if it didnt i would just. not have been this deep and able to meet people and experience all of this

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the-possum-writes · 1 year

Note

Hey hun! I fricken love Adventure and its so hard to find fics of it but your blog is great! Could you do a Finn x reader where its just our boy being super affectionate and playful he chases the reader and then tickles them, gives lots of smooches and just lots of fluff? Thanks!

Call me sunshine

❥Character: Finn Mertens

❥Tags: Fluff, SFW, playful banter, Gn!reader

❥Synopsis:

After spending weeks digging through underground tunnels, both you and Finn coincidentally resurface near a flower hill.

❥Taglist: @watchingfromthefloorboards

With only dirt and rocks in the way, you and your buddy had to spend several hours using pickaxes and shovels to break through the obstruction. Eventually, the soil began to soften, making the task simpler for you both.

"How much longer till we leave this place? It feels like we've been digging nonstop for days."

The map crinkles beneath your calloused hands, which are covered in fabric bandages, clearing the dust so you can see your math equations in the corner. "It should be a few feet away; once the ground turns to sand, we're good."

"Do you mean this?"Finn switched to a shovel to remove the few rocks that were intertwined with streams of gray sand and seashells. The dust filling the cave became so overwhelming that you raised the bandana on your neck to your lower jaw, stuffing the map in your pocket in order to help Finn before he gets buried alive. Once the sand broke away into a hole on the cieling the two of you are showered in natural sunlight that burns your pupils like lemon juice on an open wound.

Finn burst into a cheery laugh. "I never knew I'd be so happy to get blinded by the sun." he rubs his eyes a few times before getting used to the exterior, stretching and arm out to help you climb out of the hole.

"I'm not in a rush to go blind but I'm glad we got out of those caves, it was starting to feel claustrophobic." you tug the cloth from your face, feeling like its suffocating you now that it isn't necessary. While you drop down on the sand dunes soaking up in the sun, Finn started jogging downhill to probably stretch his legs or something. After spending weeks underground you regret taking the sun for granted, relishing the warmth it lays over your dirt ridden skin, listening closely to the seagulls and the nearby shore like a natural lullaby. You could've easily taken a nap right there if it wasn't for a shadow blocking the light from your face, opening your eyes to a drenched young man in front of you.

In the few minutes you laid down Finn had already ditched his clothes and his caving gear and ran off to dip in the oceanside without you.

"What's up with you?" Finn asked, with his hands on his waist eyeing you like an oddity that washed ashore.

You scrunched up your nose when a few droplets landed on your heated skin. "Me? What's up with you?" you retort.

He squeezes the water out of his wild medium length hair. "I needed a dip after getting all dusty in there, you should try it!"

You scrunch your nose a second time and casually rest your arms behind your head. "Thanks but no thanks, I'll take a hot shower when I get home."

Finn laughs, pinching his nose. "You're gross, why wait for a shower when you got a giant bath out here." he waves a hand where the ocean is.

"No way, fish pee in there." you say jokingly while sticking your tongue out.

"So what? I pee in the shower too." Finn responds almost immediately, with you taunting him with gaging noises.

"That's even worse!"

"Come'on, if I can't take you willing then I'll have to dunk you in myself!" Having enough of your tomfoolery, Finn playfully tries to grab hold of you.

"Heck nah! Get away from me ya seadog!" you immediately scramble to your feet and take off running with Finn chasing right behind your tail like a starving animal. The sand kicks up with every step you take, slows you down a bit as you run uphill, but the scenery changes the farther you run, with patches of grass becoming more common and colorful. Eventually you reach the top of the sand dune with a heaving chest, seemingly forgetting why you were in a hurry when your eyesight was blessed with grassy meadows and soft flowers swaying peacefully in the breeze, after growing used to dark browns and grays caverns its easy to be captured by such an cheery display.

"Gotcha!" Finn catches up to you by wrapping his arms around your midsection and promptly sent you down the grassy hill with him. There's leafs and petals flying everywhere as your vision blurs like a carousel with the ground replacing where the ground should be over and over again, the only thing keeping your limbs together is Finn holding you tight, eventually landing at the bottom of the hill with an "Oomph!" as flowers crumble under the two of you. "Bleh!" you spit out the petals that got into your mouth. All the while Finn is contently laughing to himself even though he's trapped under you, it's tempting to spew some colorful words at him but you're unable to stay mad at him because his laugh is that contagious.

"...I guess I could use that ocean bath now." you admit in defeat.

Finn out stretches his arms to you embrace you in a smooch, you pull back slowly to repeat the kiss but it got interrupted by the flower petal that got in your mouth, causing Finn to blow a raspberry. "Bleh." he pouts and this time you're the one laughing.

#adventure time x reader #finn the human x reader #finn the human #finn mertens x reader #reader insert

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asumofwords · 5 months

Text

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

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

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

Chapter 2: Unfamiliar Changes

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

The lighthouse, you knew.

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

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

But now, there was a man in your home.

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

Was he a pirate?

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

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

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

Two plates or bowls of food.

Two cups or glasses of water, or tea.

Two of everything.

One for you.

And one for the man.

A man who still had not told you his name.

That was until that evening.

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

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

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

And plump.

And soft.

And-

“-Aemond.”

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

“Pardon?”

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

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

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

“Aye.”

“Your ship-“

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

You nodded solemnly, “Was your family-“

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

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

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

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

“-You prayed?”

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

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

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

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

At least you could be blunt.

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

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

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

And that was what scared you.

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

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

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

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

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

To what you had said.

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

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

“Is your father-“

“-Dead.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gods, what was wrong with you?

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

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

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

In fact, it had almost happened.

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

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

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

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

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

The convenience was lost.

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

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

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

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

Would his lips be as soft as they looked?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then sleep came just as quickly as your eyes closed.

It was hot.

Too hot.

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

Then, came the weight.

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

Arms.

Two arms.

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

Not someone.

Aemond.

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

You had been in bed.

With him.

Tucked into him.

Oh Gods.

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

Do you apologise?

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

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

He must-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gods be good.

The embarrassment made tears prickle at your eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

Gods.

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

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

Gods be good, you were in trouble.

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

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

A soft clunk came from the bottom of the lighthouse.

You mustn’t have shut the door properly.

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

The sound of rustling came from behind.

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

In his hands, your coat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“-You’re a terrible liar.”

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

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

“Please let go of me, Sir.”

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

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

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

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

Okay. You were sure of it.

Perhaps he was a Siren.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Would he be fine to get down himself?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are not married.”

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

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

He was already watching you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Did you?

You didn’t think you did.

At least, not until he arrived on your shore.

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

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

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

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

“A shame?”

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

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

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

He was just like the others in town.

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

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

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

Court you.

Court.

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

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

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

The door thumped behind you as you swept yourself outside.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Speechless.

That was what you were.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

“-Sīr byka.”

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

“What does that mean?”

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

Gods, he was infuriating.

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

“I said you were little.”

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

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

“-Nyke kessa mazverdagon ziry-“

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

You were in trouble.

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

“Stop what?”

You wet your lips, “T-that.”

“What, byka ōños?”

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

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

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

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

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

“What does ‘what’ mean?”

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

“-Little light.”

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

“W-what?”

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

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

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

“Byka jelevre.”

“What does t-“

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

Then as sudden as it came, it stopped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Did he mean-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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