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vampsywrites · 10 months

Text

forest boy. PT.2

synopsis: while tending to neteyam and ao'nung's injuries, neteyam proposes that you learn some omaticayan healing techniques from his mother. ao'nung does not like this at all and informs his mother. now, both neytiri and ronal are trying to win you over.

pairing: ao'nung x fem! metkayina! reader x neteyam

tags: fem! metkayina! reader, neytiri and ronal fighting for their future daughter in law🤷, tradition being challenged, neteyam pining so hard, jealous ao'nung crumbs, arguments, adding some tension hehe, bonus sweet scene with neteyam

a/n: there are so many fics where reader pins for neteyam who's promised to another, but what if it was the other way around?

w.c: 2.6k | part 1

"Ah! Are you trying to heal me or finish me off?" Ao'nung grunts, flinching instinctively as your hands press against his cut lip. Rolling your eyes playfully, you dip your hand into a bowl filled with cool paste, smearing it across his bruised cheek.

"You can take it," you grin mischievously, applying a bit more pressure to his cheek, eliciting a wince of pain from Ao'nung. Tsireya giggles from behind you, her hands busy crushing a cluster of corals into a fine powder. "You could have used Rubrum coral instead of Heliopora. It stings less."

"It does, yes, but I think this ass deserves it after what he's done," you remark with a playful smirk. Then, you turn your attention to Neteyam, who sits in the corner. "Oh, and don't think you're exempt from this," you grin.

Neteyam chuckles in response. He leans back against the woven walls of the hut, raising his hands in mock surrender.

"Yes, ma'am," he concedes with a playful tone. You smile back, holding his gaze for a moment longer.

Ao'nung notices this and huffs, trailing his fingers up your jaw to turn your gaze back to him, "Can you just focus on patching me up?"

"Alright. Alright. I'm on it!" Shifting in his lap, you scoff and continue to apply the healing paste into his cuts and bruises.

Ao'nung watches intently, his breath held in anticipation as your lips clamp down on your bottom lip. Your brows furrow as strands of curled hair cascade over your face, framing your features. The focused and slightly disheveled look on your face draws him in, and he finds himself leaning closer and closer until his lips were hovering over the shell of your ear.

"You would make a great Tsahìk one day," he murmurs lowly, large hands running up the curve of your hips. Snorting, you continue to massage the paste into his chest, "Ah, shut it. You're just saying that."

"No. He is right. You would," Neteyam affirms, shifting closer until he was flush against Ao'nung's side. The Metkayinan boy shoots him a blank stare, shuffling away awkwardly with you still on his lap.

Ignoring the tension, Neteyam continues, his gaze fixed on you, "In fact, maybe you'd like to learn some healing techniques from my mother? It would be a nice way for you to—"

"We've been over this, forest boy," Ao'nung grumbles, his voice laced with annoyance. He leans back, distancing you from Neteyam's proximity. "She doesn't need healing techniques from your people. My mother offers her all the knowledge she needs."

You roll your eyes good-naturedly at Ao'nung's response. "Alright, alright, no need to get all worked up about it," you say with a playful tone, giving him a light pat on the shoulder before turning to Neteyam.

"I would love to! It would be nice to know how Omaticayans practice healing," you smile, earning a giddy grin from Neteyam in return.

Ao'nung raises an eyebrow, seemingly taken aback by your genuine interest. "Really?" he questions, a mix of surprise and skepticism in his tone.

With a nod, you maintain your smile. "I mean it. Learning about healing practices from different cultures can be valuable. Besides, it's a chance to bond and share knowledge."

Ao'nung's face contorts with a mix of unease and discomfort at the mention of the word "bond." His brows furrow, lips drawn into a tight line as a fleeting flicker of insecurity passes through his eyes.

Neteyam chuckles and nudges Ao'nung roughly. "It is her decision," he says with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

The Omaticayan's words hang in the air, and Ao'nung's expression shifts. He didn't like the idea of you getting close to Neteyam's family at all, especially considering how forest boy over here looked at you with heart-eyes every time he saw you.

Ao'nung avoids your gaze, silently contemplating his next move. A plan begins to take shape in his mind, and he smirks.

Bathed in the gentle moonlight that filters through the walls, you find yourself inside the Sully's marui pod, accompanied by Neytiri and Neteyam. Excitement and curiosity brims up within you as you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, leaning in closer to observe Neytiri's actions.

With a wry grin, he murmurs, "Sure, a collaborative effort sounds… nice."

She delicately scoops up some of the wax, cradling it in her hands. Then, with a gentle motion, she holds it up to the light, revealing its mesmerizing luminous properties. The soft glow of the orange wax enchants you, and you marvel at the beauty of this exotic substance.

Neytiri smiles at you softly, moving the wax down so you could prod at it. In the few weeks that they've been here, she has already grown a soft spot for you. Every day, as you spend more time together, she finds herself drawn to your endearing child-like curiosity.

For a fleeting moment, her gaze flickers towards her son, a knowing smirk gracing her lips as she notices the warm expression on his face.

She did not miss how Neteyam's golden eyes remained fixed on you as you engaged in lively conversation with her.

There was a flicker of longing evident in Neteyam's eyes as his mind begins to wander. He weaved fantasies of a future where you would be by his side.

And although his family has left the forest, turning the likelihood of him becoming Olo'eyktan nonexistent, his daydreams persist.

Vivid images fill his thoughts: images of you adorned with his clan's ornaments, draped in hues of greens and browns that contrast with the cerulean of your skin. He envisions you seamlessly blending with his culture, embracing the natural and tribal aesthetics that define the Omaticaya.

The warmth in his chest intensifies as he thinks and longs for all the possibilities, momentarily escaping the reality that lies beyond his control.

However, Neteyam's thoughts are abruptly interrupted as a figure emerges from the entrance, drawing his attention away from you. His gaze shifts to the imposing presence of Ronal standing by the door.

The Metkayinan Tsahìk regards them with a stony expression, emitting a low greeting. As she saunters into the room, hips swaying, she circles around Neytiri.

"I have heard from my son that you are teaching ways of the forest," Ronal speaks, clicking her tongue.

"I highly doubt such techniques would be of any practical use," The Tsahìk remarks with a hint of skepticism. Her eyes narrow slightly as she fixes her gaze on Neytiri. "Moreover, even if they were viable, where would you source the necessary materials? These are the reefs, not the jungle, after all."

Despite her agitation, Neytiri remains composed, meeting Ronal's gaze with unwavering resolve. "I am simply sharing my knowledge. Eywa provides for us abundantly, Ronal. Nature's resources are vast, and the variety of trees on this island offers a wide array of barks that can be utilized."

Ronal's expression twists into a sneer, her dissatisfaction evident. "My methods have served us well thus far. The ways of the water have their own wisdom," she retorts, her words laced with venomous pride.

As the tension lingers in the air, you shuffle forward, gesturing towards the vacant spot next to you. With a reassuring smile, you interject, "Exploring new methods can expand our knowledge and enhance our capabilities, my Tsahìk. It wouldn't hurt to embrace different approaches and learn from one another."

Your words hang in the air, offering a gentle invitation to Ronal, despite the resistance she displays. Shaking her head, Ronal moves squat by you. "Is that so? Well then what exactly have you learned so far?"

With critical eyes, she watches as you scoop the orange hued wax into your hands.

As you begin to explain, your words tumble out in a blurred speech, as you find yourself overly eager to share your newfound knowledge.

"This is Yalma bark," you beam. "It possesses remarkable healing properties. And the best part is, it barely stings when applied!"

You then pause for a while, your enthusiasm momentarily waning. A hint of upset crosses your features, before you quickly continue, "Unfortunately...the materials needed for it are found only in the forests."

"Which is why I truly wish for an end to this conflict," Neytiri sighs, her voice filled with longing. Her warm hand clasps over yours. "There is an abundance of it back home and I would love to show you more about our ways. My mother, the Tsahik, would be delighted to have you."

Ronal's eyes widen in alarm as she takes in Neytiri's words. The room falls silent as their gazes lock, the tension palpable. A stern expression settles on Ronal's face as she clears her throat, moving to stand before you two.

"Let me remind you, Neytiri, that this girl is under my supervision," Ronal asserts firmly. Her tone carries an undertone of warning. "She is Tsakarem. A position not to be taken lightly. She is my chosen successor."

Silence falls once more and Neteyam keenly senses the escalating tension in the room. With a nod of understanding, he swiftly makes his exit, recognizing the need to give you all space to navigate the delicate topic.

WIth the departure of her son, Neytiri moves to stand, her eyes meeting Ronal's with unwavering resolve. "Tsireya, your daughter, is also Tsakarem, is she not?"

With deliberate steps, Ronal saunters over, reaching out to place a hand against your head, a gesture that carries both possessiveness and authority. "Tsireya studies as well, but Y/N here has excelled in her learning. And I hope you have not forgotten that she is promised to my son."

"Oh, you have made that abundantly clear. I don't need to hear another one of your lectures," Unyielding, Neytiri stands her ground, her eyes narrowing at Ronal's admonishment.

"Then you would know that their path has already been laid out before them! I do not need outsiders like you meddling in," Ronal snarls, fangs bared.

"You hinder them," Neytiri counters, her voice growing more impassioned.

"A-Ah, it is very late at night," you say with an awkward laugh, trying to lighten the mood. "I'm sure we are all exhausted. Why don't we take a moment to rest and gather our thoughts?"

Despite your attempt to diffuse the tension, the underlying apprehension remains palpable, casting a shadow over the situation.

With a huff, Ronal turns to leave the pod, bidding Neytiri a curt "Goodnight." Neytiri, clearly displeased, scoffs in response and moves further into the room.

With a sigh of resignation, you bow apologetically to the Omaticayan woman and obediently trail behind your Tsahik.

As you walk together along the intricate woven paths, Ronal turns to you, her expression grim.

"You understand where your duty lies, don't you?" she asks, her voice firm.

The moon casts its gentle glow upon the sandy beach, and a symphony of nocturnal creatures fills the air. Lost in your thoughts, you stroll along the shoreline, unaware of the soft patter of feet approaching, and the presence that looms closer.

Letting out another weary sigh, you nod your head in acknowledgement. "Yes, Tsahìk."

"Hey," a low voice greets and you turn to see a familiar forest boy before you. Smiling at him, you slow down to stroll by his side, "Hey you."

Neteyam smiles bashfully, his hand nervously rubbing the back of his neck. A comfortable silence settles between you before he finally speaks, his accented voice carrying a slight tremor. "Do you usually take walks at this hour?"

"Mhm," you affirm, pausing briefly before answering in a hushed tone. "I do. It's peaceful at night… The air feels cooler, and it's a chance for me to unwind and let my mind wander."

"Especially since there's a lot of thinking going on up here," you chuckle, tapping the side of your head with your knuckles.

"And what about you?" you question.

Neteyam perks up, his tail swishing behind him anxiously. "Ah, I just happened to spot you from afar. I thought I'd join you…If that's alright."

"Of course, it's more than alright," you reply with a warm smile, genuinely pleased by his company. The moon's soft glow highlights his sharp features, casting a dreamlike aura around him. The two of you continue your leisurely stroll, side by side, as the rhythmic crashing of the waves provides a soothing backdrop.

Curiosity dances in Neteyam's eyes as he gathers the courage to ask, "What were you lost in thought about earlier?"

You take a moment to collect your thoughts, a tad bit touched by his attentiveness. "Oh. I'm just reflecting. The…'conversation' I had earlier with both Neytiri and Ronal left me in deep thoughts, pondering the choices and paths that lie ahead."

Returning the curiosity, you inquire, "What about you, Neteyam? Has something been occupying your mind lately?"

Neteyam lets out a soft hum, and the words escape his lips before he can fully comprehend their weight, "You."

As you take a moment to process his unexpected response, your heart flutters at his confession. The poor boy's face instantly flushes into a deep rich indigo, and his nervousness becomes palpable. In a hasty attempt to backtrack, he stumbles over his words, looking utterly endearing in his flustered state.

A soft chuckle escapes your lips, breaking the tension that lingers between you. "No need to be so nervous, Nete," you reassure him, a warm and genuine smile forming on your lips. "Your answer simply caught me off guard, that's all."

The boy clears his throat, a hint of awkwardness lingering in the air as you continue your walk together. After a few minutes of ambling along the shoreline, a subtle change in the atmosphere prompts you to halt in your tracks. Looking up, you realize that you have arrived at the entryway of your marui pod.

Turning to face Neteyam, you feel a tender smile grace your lips, a silent acknowledgment of the connection that has grown between you.

In a swift motion, you close the distance between you two, leaning in to press a delicate kiss upon his cheek.

Then, drawing back slightly, you maintain eye contact, savoring the lingering intimacy of the moment. Neteyam's bright eyes were blown wide open, pools of golden bronze and sunshine yellow piercing through you.

"Thank you for the walk," you murmur, your voice tender and sincere. "I will see you tomorrow, yes?"

Dazed and pleasantly surprised by the sweet gesture, Neteyam hastily nods his head, a blush still lingering on his cheeks.

With a final, gentle glance, you turn away, stepping towards the entrance of your marui pod. The soft crunch of sand under your feet accompanies your departure, while Neteyam stands there, gazing after you with a mixture of awe and disbelief, his heart still running wild from the tenderness of your gesture.

As you enter the sanctuary of your marui pod, the fabric flaps fall shut behind you. And just as you begin to settle into the comforting embrace of your hammock, Neteyam's triumphant shout echoes through the air.

taglist. @iheartamajiki @mashiromochi

You can't help but let out a soft chuckle, the sound muffled by your palm as you cover your mouth, trying to contain the infectious delight that fills you.

#💫—vampsywrites #avatar the way of water #avatar #ao'nung x reader #neteyam x reader #neteyam x reader x ao'nung #neteyam x metkayina!reader #ao'nung x metkayina!reader #neteyam atwow #ao'nung atwow #ao'nung #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #neteyam sully #aonung x reader #ronal #neytiri

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astralnymphh · 7 months

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rouge cherries, lace panties 𖤐 | ellie williams

☠︎︎࿐-ˊˎ farm!ellie x fem!reader

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

✧˖ ° 🕯 bright blessings!

AN: a bit more simpler, lazier and shorter fic, might take a break after this but i grant you with sumn from my favorite ellie era at least!! cw/tags: NSFW 18+ MDNI! proposal, picnic, somewhat proofread, sexual jokes, takes place before santa barbara, sucking on fingers(almost choking on them), fingering (receiving), almost-oral (receiving), dirty talk, doing the deed in nature. WC: 4.2k designated song: sugar- she wants revenge

synopsis; you and ellie have been living on this farm for at least a year now, tucked in the towering mountains of wyoming and just a quaint trek from jackson. just you and her. you, her, the sun, and the moon. what could today entail? what makes this midsummer's day so special?

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

it's another day on the farm, yet like no other. it's harvest season, and your crops have got you cut out of your day and preoccupied. plucking fruit and tugging vegetables from the lavish soil in your garden with a certain ellie onlooking from your dusty oak porch. she's observing you in your most natural nature, tending to your art, the garden, and supplying you with a bountiful reaping of food for the inbound month.

there lay a tract of terrain beyond your fences, this beautiful pasture gilded in a magnificent solar ray every afternoon, and ellie's got an itching to bring you there today. with your knees sewn in the dirt surrounding a planter bed, wicker basket beside you and snapping blueberries off their stems, it's got you in a pretty tranquil state that doesn't include the awareness of ellie watching. so when dual warm hands plant on your biceps, it jolts you by instinct.

"how's the harvest babe?" ellie's silhouette looms over you and the berry bush, eyeing the pile of blueberries cradled in the basket, "looks good, when will you be done though, d'you think?" a smirk adorns her lips.

"umm.." your fingers pinch a lone berry, "I haven't gotten to the vegetables yet.." you remind her and yourself, rolling the navy berry between your fingertips.

ellie crouches behind you, "do you haaave to harvest everything now?" she whines, wrapping her lithe arms around your shoulders akin to a sloth and rocking you along with her see-saw motion.

"yes els, if you want food." a quaint giggle erupts from your chest.

"but we have food, babe. our pantry is full of it." ellie attempts to coax you, voice pitching at the brink of her sentence. her lips brush the hairs on your nape and leave damp marks of adoration.

"did you come out here just to distract me?" your mouth creeps into a sheepish smirk, extending your hand out to pluck the last cluster of berries.

"you can tell me to stop." her pecks don't falter, dotting the length of your placid shoulders, "should I stop?" the question phases through you like a tantalizing breeze.

a melody thrums from your hum, eyes drifting closed in the blissfulness that is her velvety lips, puckering against your jawline and tickling your skin slightly with her hair.

"els! that tickles.." you shrug your shoulder against your ear, nudging ellie's face off.

"so.. stop?" she reiterates and streams her steady palms down upon your hips.

you plant two cupped hands over her legs that now settle on both sides of you, whirling slowly to face her and furrowing your brows, "you're a menace. what happened to your little art project you started this morning?"

"well, I saw my wife working outside and just had to join." she draws out an emphasis.

"wife? wife? we aren't married."

"not like we can have a wedding, so I just declare it." her lips resume to your neck, chafing that earthy auburn hair against your cheek.

"you didn't even propose or anything."

"'chn ch-nge th-t." ellie's speech muffles in your collar, tender grips hugging the crests of your hips.

you don't catch her inaudible words, "huh?" you question, grasping the woven handle of your basket and returning it to your line of sight beside ellie's splayed leg.

"nothin'." her raspy voice clarifies as her head peeks up, melting foreheads and poking nose tips together.

you connect constellations dotting her cinnamon freckles with your eyes, trickling down and charting her coral lips. a smile tints yours, whispering, "what'd you wanna do today?"

"hmm?" her visage turns bumbled, "I never mentioned any-"

"you always bother me when y'want to do something.." you interrupt her, earning a hung-open-jaw look from her as she withdraws from your space.

she heaves, yet a cheeky nasal-lined smile summons on her midface, "you.. know that clearing in the woods, back there?" she juts her head in a vague direction, thumb swiping over her bottom lip.

you glimpse at the distant fence ellie points her head to and nod in understanding.

her hand lands on her thigh, "why don't we have a picnic there?" she offers, prodding your elbow with her raised knee.

"you trynna woo me, els?" you tease, easing your hand on her swaying knee.

"baabbee.." she whines, pleading for an answer that sounds a lot like 'yes'.

her whining casts a reminisce to this morning, you clawing your way out of bed, sorry, out of her locked embrace as you tried to prepare for the day. her tousled auburn hair buried in your chest, fingers drawing shapes on your back, pressing her bare torso against your side and begging for you to stay in bed.

"baabbbee.." her soft wail echoed.

"ellie, I gotta get up." her ardent skin was caressing yours and legs intertwined in a knot.

"nuh-uh, no you're not." ellie snorted and further tightened her bear hug to your demise.

"baby, we needa get out of bed, it's harvest day." you coaxed with a cherished kiss to her crown, weaseled only an inch from her before you got lulled back in.

her lengthy limbs, damn those things, can trap you well and remain unmoving. she only wore her nude toned underwear to bed last night, and you a lace panty. not a moment of your memory is blurred, in fact, what took place last night was well etched in your brain. ellie reeks of sex and so do you, she has traces of jasper red scratches on her back to prove it.

"need you babe.." she reaches for your furled hand, sowing soft and needy kisses on your knuckles.

you sighed and just gave up, curled your body with her and combed solace rows into her jumbled mullet.

"so, what do you say?" her voice in reality reels you in, breaking your chain of rememberance.

you take a gander at her features momentarily before deciding, "yes- sure, picnic sounds good." without hesitation.

"good, cause I'm fuckin' famished." ellie's face slants towards yours, her devious fingers slithering beside her, snatching up a blueberry and popping it in her mouth.

you spot this in your peripherals, "ey! don't eat my berries!" you chuckled.

"your berries? there's only one- two berries of yours that I know of, I'm actually quite acquainted-"

you lightly smack the silly smirk off her lips, fraudly disgusted by her immaturity, "you're so inappropriate!"

"not like anyone's gonna hear.." she ovalizes her lips and gusts the linear bang from her cheek.

"you're weird." you roll your eyes prior to standing up with the scratchy basket handle tucked in your elbow.

ellie follows suit, her hand wrapping and clutching yours loosely, "c'mon, I'll help you make the food." her stature stands a few inches above you, wriggling her bottom lip to the side in a crooked peculiar smile that invites those signature dimples to play.

you shun your pupils to the back of your head, giving her the once-over before pacing through the backdoor with her all giddy in hand.

♡

the iridescent glade comes into view as you're strolling towards it, ellie adjacent to you equipped with a basket in hand and worn out bookbag on her back. you haven't ventured into the woods much after moving here, but with no signs of infected in months you simply deem it safe. she hasn't taken you out like this anyways, not for a while. the last time was her birthday, since it only occurs on special occasions, so why today?

ellie fashions a proud smile shrouded by you being slightly ahead of her, definitely holding hands but you're too thrilled to explore this parcel of forest to take notice. she wore joel's buckskin leather jacket over a plaid shirt, usual jeans with slits in them and sturdy brown boots.

"hurry up babe! I can see it already.." you exclaim with a bounce to your step, swinging her arm around to usher her feet swifter.

a laugh enchants her, "i'm right behind you.. the spots' not goin' anywhere." she assures you calmly trailing a chuckle, but inside, her heart is blooming with beats and sending shrills of tension through her nerves. her mind was up to something.

"it's right there!" you steam off a squeal of elation just seeing the open pasture. the grass is of a radiant jade shade, smothered in a divine ray of sun casting down on it, it looks like it came straight from elysian fields itself. you tear from ellie's hold and dash towards the glade with eagerness.

"babe!" ellie shouts but not without a following chuckle, adoring the pure felicity you expressed brought by this mere sight of nature. she trots after you with a bit of struggle from all the baggage she carried.

you halt just as you reach the center of the glade, staring at the trees surrounding and the canopy provided by their outstretching branches creating crown shyness, all with a bright beam spread across your lips.

ellie catches up with you and sets the basket on the ground, observing the space in detail, "y'want it right here?" she peels the bookbag from her shoulders and tosses it to the grass.

"mhm.." you pump your head in agreement and swivel away from her, admiring the spires of bark and fauna that look like they came from a painting.

she unzips the bag in one swoosh, yanking out a slightly frayed, faded and old beige cotton blanket with little embroidered florals along the hem. ellie dusts it off and thrashes out all the crinkles, laying it flat against the earth and smoothing out all the ripples.

you tilt your head over to witness her squatting down, pulling various objects from the bag and hesitating before she places them down. she appeared to be deep in thought, decorating the empty canvas of a blanket like it was important to her.

ellie's forehead tauts, an arrangement of fine china at her feet, "does this plate look better here.. or here?" her voice chromatically turns gravelly.

"it looks good anywhere.."

"yeah- but I want it to look perfect for you."

"..." you stare with an amused grin.

"hmm, what's so funny?" she coos and hones her focus on you while carefully tossing the plate to one corner of the blanket.

"just you.. you're goofy." you comment with a dim-witted smile.

her gaze narrows and bares her teeth in a matching dumb smirk, tutting her head, "you wanna see goofy?" she challenges you and crawls closer.

"no, I wanna see a set-up picnic. don't get distracted." you tease and parry her with a nudge from your foot resting on her collarbone.

"tch, okay- okay." she leans back on her heel, hastily creating the idyllic picnic with your help.

soon, you're cuddling between some small pillows, bowl of dark rosewood cherries to your right and a knitted blanket draped over your bodies.

ellie lies beneath you, her legs cradling yours and advancing her fingers to the bowl of delectable cherries. she picks one up and hovers it above your lips, beckoning you to bite it.

"what d'you mean we can't get more sheep?" she wheezes a whimsical laugh, chest jittering underneath your back.

"we already have a dozen, babe." you sink your teeth into the cherry and yank it from the stem, juices oozing over the hill of your chin.

"i have more names for them in mind!"

"you can't even get the names of our current sheep right."

she flicks the leftover stem into the patch of grass, "uh- yes I can!" she scoffs and jossles her woody auburn locks up a bit.

"sure babe." you goggle.

you allow the conversation to diminish in peaceful serenity, before raising the interrogation, "why'd you bring me here today?" you shuffle atop her, jabbing her palm to keep feeding you. you're spoiled.

ellie snickers and leverages her hand towards the bowl once again, dangling a cherry from between her fingertips. her throat gritts harshly as she clears it, "i.. have something to show you.." her tone lingers on the vowels.

"oh?" a hint of subtle enthusiasm curls in your voice, "got me a present?"

"you'll see, just- get up." she heaves you upwards and hops onto her feet alongside you.

you clasp hands behind your back, a bit of a bumbled facade shadowing your expression when she just stands still like a statue. "umm.. is it not a present?"

"turn around." her lips curve into a mischievous glint across those pretty rosy lips.

"what the fuck are you gonna pull-"

"turn around!" ellie's grin broadens as she gestures to you to spin 'round on your heel, eliciting a dorky giggle from you.

you cave in and twirl on the tip of your shoe, mindlessly gazing heavenward to the scattered wisping clouds.

"you remember the day we started dating?" her voice flows past you, seeming to erupt from a lower stance like she was crouched.

"uh, vaguely."

this bestows a throaty chuckle from ellie, "and you remember what I gave you when I.. confessed?"

"yeah, you gave me bent daisies that you tore from the poor ground." you bash her, one brow inclining up your head.

"i'm not a botanist." she nicks the rear of your ankle, shambling against the fabric-veiled grass.

a tingle sprints up your leg at this contact, making you shy away from it slightly. a specter of stillness corrodes the air, so you perk, "can I turn now?"

"yes." ellie's speech trembles yet is laced with certainty, planting a seed of curiosity in your noggin.

you teeter over slowly like a creaking wheel, pupils hastening down to materialize ellie in your mind, propped by a knee, the other raised, pinching a tiny flock of daisies with their honey pistils staring back at you. her face bruising of an apple hue to her skin behind those sun specks, her verdant rings peering from those lashes and a brazen half-moon to her strawberry lips. they part as the realization begins to plague you,

"will you be my wife?"

your body goes hollow and nerves wrack up in shock, an elusive beam of emotions vibrate in your heart and collide your shaken knees to the blanket. a hand quivers against your mouth, the words stolen from you. the love just boils over.

"els- i.. i.." the boulder in your throat clogs, managing to swallow it up and brim you with warm tears, "yes.. yes!"

she practically springs up and coalesces with you, arms wrapped around you and elevating you off the ground with blazing elation. you feel her wide smile plastered against your lips as they make merry, smoothing out to drag her lips over yours in a fervid kiss.

she parts, "no ring but.. we don't need that, right?"

"mhm, don't need it.." you sever your weight from your feet to her, sticking close, "I love you.. so much."

"love' you too baby.." she hankers down and sits criss-cross in front of you, easing you into her splayed lap. "now i can call you my wife."

"should we have our own little wedding? just us, like, as if it's some ritual or.. stating our vows or.. handfasting and declaring our love before empty seats.." you ramble nonsensically, assuming it just whooshes right over ellie's head.

"we have our picnic here," she opens her arms to signify the space around you, "we can tie that all up here, including the honeymoon!"

"hmm, 'weird that you mention the honeymoon. I think you said that so it happens now."

"no! I'm just.. throwing stuff to see what sticks.." she diffuses a dumb visage, knitting her brows together.

"i think you wanna get a fuck on in the forest." you leer in your suspicions and creep over her body till' she meets back to ground.

"and if you guess right? would you?" her demeanor shifts to boot a seductive one.

ellie still had some drive in her, even to last night's depictions. the way her lean vein lined arms are still pumping with detectable lust, yearning for your body in ways that should be bound to the bedroom only, but she doesn't give a fuck. she needs to fuck. a fucking given to her.

"fuck yes I will." you grind your pelvis longingly on her thigh, kneading your confined bud in one long swipe, a good start-up.

not an inhale later and ellie already has her jacket reeled off by the sleeves, a series of stripping set in motion when her shirt's buttons get popped one by one.

you follow through with one sweep of your top over your crown, tethering the bare skin surrounding your bra to the midsummer breeze, giving you a hare of raised bumps that are quickly cured by ellie's ardent skin adjoining yours.

her lips suture themselves to your plender gap, lapping at the groove of your collarbone delicately while her keen hands roam your legs, squeezing the soft plush padding of your inner and outer thigh with her fingers.

"I'm gonna make you feel.. s'fuckin' good.." she whispers in hushed mists of heat, sanguineous nibbles forging up your chin and gluing your lips together in a lustful frenzy.

"I need you ellie.. now.." you intone against her captivating lips and take hold of her wrist, guiding it to cusp your bra-clad breast.

"so bold of you.." she rewards a praise, tucking her nimble fingers behind the clasp of your bra and pinching it free. her hands tug the straps from your arms and whisk them away to some unknown plot of grass.

the course of wind grazes past your nipples, making you shiver. you watch her pupils dilate at the sight of your two perky buds reacting to the breeze.

"mm- fuck.. love these." ellie's mouth latches to one of your breasts, suckling the nipple lavishly with a damp suction and playing the other one like a flip-switch lightly with her thumb.

the barely-there feeling of her thumb summons a flurry of carnal want in your core, preluding to your now lubricious panties sopping for physical attention. this seeps through and forms a miniscule spotting on your inseam.

the hand that still had a gripe on your thigh fleets to your crotch, distinguishing this faint blot of wetness, welcoming a proud smirk to dent her midface, "fuckin' wet already.." her voice rasps hauntingly, "gonna get my fingers all pruney.."

you chafe in desire against her stationary digits, making her snatch them away and repel your pelvis with a push.

"nuh-uh, pants off first."

her face displaces from your hanging breasts, creasing the blanket back up and crunching the grass to gaze back at you. she peruses your zipper and deftly unfastens it to pull your pants down with a might. once they're off, her hands zip into the underside of your knees, flipping you over and mountaineering over you with an undeniable hunger in her manner.

"ellie!" an entranced giggle beams from your throttle, low-key turned on by the daring action.

"god, really soaked these huh?" her voice flows in a higher pitch, referring to your ocean-drowned underwear.

"yeah.. you did that.."

"mhmmm~” she vocalizes behind shut lips, “don't think I even need to remove 'em to taste you.."

you witness her descending into the depths between your legs, biting down her cushiony lips and nearly salivating at the front-row seat view to your sobbing cunt. her own arousal starts to stain her own panties and even little riffs of repressed whimpers vibrate from her lips. she graces you with one pour-over before smashing her mouth against your clothed slit, puffing a humid cloud over your entrance and licking up the seeped puddle of slick.

you jerk in sudden sensation, "babe! oh~ fuck!"

"yup, tastes so fucking good." she's like a beast to your crotch, slathering the soiled fabric with even more wetness likes she's fucking starving. her forehead is taut and eyebrows flit in concentration, you can already hear the eulogy ringing for your soon destroyed pussy.

your fingers nest in her hair, massaging and stamping into her scalp at the pure feeling of her tongue, you need her in indescribable ways, "need your fingers ellie.. need u're.. need.." you chant in fleeing breaths.

she grumbles in swelling arousal and unlatches from your puffy slit, brazen giggle chilling her throat at the sight of your avidness.

she huffs, "kay, gonna take these off.." ellie anticipates the moment she gets to stuff your pretty pussy to the brim, drowsy eyes never drifting from the lace concave between the valley of your lips. she slews those panties off instantly and brings them down to your ankles, making sure they'd never be found among the meadow around you.

you spread your legs for her sights to soak in, burgeoning a redness to her face like time and time again, a satisfied grin tugging the corners of her lips.

she sticks two ready fingers in her mouth, moistened them up, "gonna make you see stars, hmm babygirl?"

you gnaw your lips inwards at her affirmation, eyeing the route her hand takes from mouth to lower regions, forking your slit open and running them clit to hole, hole to clit, repetitively. this coats her digits in a glistening film of your arousal, visibly pleasing her.

"mm- that fucking sound.." the parting of your drenched folds entices her ears like a melody, "hear that baby?" ellie's voice chimes in a honeyed whisper.

"yes.. yes.." your essence shudders in her thrall, vulnerability afflicted by your neediness.

ellie beholds your figure in one final glance before aiming on your center and jamming duo digits in your aching pussy that vacuums her up with the help of your dripping nectar overflowing at the base of her knuckles. you wallow in the gratifying gauge she has brought you to, a fluxing whine tinting your tongue.

"good girl.. taking my fingers in so nicely.."

you contract around her, letting her know how much those words truly thrill you and she rebounds by thrusting her fingers in and out of you at a sluggish pace.

your jaw quivers open in the whirling ecstasy that begins to dribble into your void brain strictly honed on the pumping motion of her willowy fingers.

"hmm.." a visualization prompt in her noggin convinces a plan to unravel by her hand snailing to your mouth, luring it ajar, "open babe."

you obey with moving lips, flattening the plateau of your tongue beneath her fingers.

"like this don't you? mm- fuck." ellie grunts seeing you engulf her paired index and middle in your warm mouth without a gloom of delay splitting your will. her other fingers meddle with the crux of your delight, sloshing with every insert of her lengthy fingers piping you.

"oh my heaven on eart- auck.." a spastic cough tickles your throat around her digits.

"just suck baby.. just suck."

you resolve your words and pucker your lips down, swirling your tongue around her still fingers. muffled vibrations of moans string out around them, rattling your teeth.

each flick of her skilled wrist occurs in short breaks, meanwhile pumps hasten inside of you, thumb unfurling to patten down your clit in rigid circles. she coos, "gonna cum on my fingers?" in reply to your writhing contentment.

"fast- fhster.." you shear your chords forcing a plead on fingers narrowly itching the back of your gullet.

"awhh, u're such a mess." her hand forceps your jaw, locking her fingers wedged between your front teeth.

"guh- mmmm!" your body shrivels in unfathomable bliss and an inbound phantom orgasm overwhelming your senses.

ellie starts snapping her hand at an aggressive velocity that slaps against your swollen folds with wet smacks striding the open air, scrunching her nose up at the sheer speed she’s going.

"cum baby- cum.."

"I- ahh.."

"soak my fuckin' fingers, soak them in that pretty fucking pussy." she encourages in husky mewls, finger pads jostling your g-spot in a rhythm that drugs your mind with numbness, repeating, "cum for ellie.. cum for me.."

you swear your walls convulse prior to tightening up like a wringed towel and releasing a stinging orgasm upon you, growling on her fingers still present on your tongue.

"ghnnnn.. fck!" you curl up in pleasure and screw your eyes shut. this orgasm hits you like a bullet train and it shows in practice, clawing and digging your mark on ellie's available wrist with clamoring wails from the sanctum of your chest.

"yeah? so fucking hot.." she notes to herself in a low navelly tone, slipping her sticky fingers out trickling in your juices.

you chase your breath stranded in another galaxy, "can't feel my.. legs.. fuck, ellie, where'd you come from?" you quip in emphasis, face still beating red like a volcano.

"from boston, precisely." she sneaks in a dorky response.

"shut up.." you knock on her head with your foot, gasping when she grabs it and plants it on her shoulder.

she bucks her hips into your ass, squeezing her torso between the basin of your legs, levitating overhead. there's a solace moment of a love-staring-contest casting those green circlets infused with devotion and appreciation. staring back up into those eyes assures you, she's home, she's heaven and she's never leaving you. although, ellie, like the freak she is, breaks the innocent moment, "think this'll continue in the bedroom?." she peppers a solemn kiss to your forehead hazed in underlying intention.

"probably, knowing you."

"knowing me what?"

"you know."

"I don't."

"ellie!"

"we'll find out, hmm?" ☆

hope u enjoyed!! ☆ MASTERLIST!!!!

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some-bunniii · 1 month

Text

Consoling Lucifer on Charlie’s first day of school

・❥ Charlie’s growing up, and Lucifer isn’t taking it well. Luckily, you’re there to keep the King of Hell standing on two feet.

x: just a short fic about a super soft lucifer who loves his daughter, i had some fun with this haha. reader is g/n and also has a parental role. no use of y/n.

~ 1.5k words

warning: tooth-rotting parental love

“Are you crying, Daddy?” The tiny apple-cheeked figure asked, her head tilted curiously up towards the almost identical-looking porcelain face standing a few feet away from her, his hand over his eyes as he rubbed at them feverishly.

“No,” He lied, his lips curved into a tight-lipped smile as he bit back tears, “It’s just allergies, Apple Pie.”

Lucifer’s eyes trailed back onto the poofy red dress Charlie wore. The intricate, black lines and little hearts woven into its soft fabric made her even more adorable in the outfit. She also sported snow-white stockings, and a pair of sparkly red shoes that glinted in the light as Charlie smiled giddily, excited about the new adventure.

A small red bowtie was nestled into her hair, which was styled in a large braid that ended at the middle of her back. It swayed softly as the young girl bounced in place, becoming antsy by the second.

You stood right beside him, smiling happily at Charlie as she looked up at the two of you. It was you who had gotten her ready, no doubt did you think she looked like a beautiful little princess. However, you were not expecting such an emotional reaction from your husband, Lucifer Morningstar, when you presented her outfit to him.

It was Charlie’s first day of lessons, which means—in Lucifer’s opinion—she was finally leaving the nest. Except for the fact she was still considered just a youngling when it came to being Hellborn, and Charlie still needed her father to read her a story every night before bed. She still has trouble reaching items on the counter, and remembering all the letters of the alphabet. She was far from flying off on her own, she was still her father’s little duckling.

He was already nervous the days leading up to this morning, and you had watched him flip through baby book after baby book. Each contains hundreds of photos depicting from when Charlie was a newborn, and through last Sunday.

Whenever Charlie so much and breathed cutely, Lucifer was pulling out that camera and saving it for the album. Especially when he got a hold of a yellow duck onesie? The man was a goner, and the bookshelf was beginning to fill with rows of binders filled with polaroids.

Yesterday, you had been in the process of cleaning out a closet of rarely used items, when you stumbled upon a pair of Charlie’s old baby boots.

Lucifer had just walked into the room when his eyes landed on the tiny boots. They obviously wouldn’t fit the girl now, as she had grown out of them long ago. It definitely stirred something inside the fallen angel when his lip began to quiver from the doorway, and slowly walked over to you sitting on the edge of the bed.

He took the boots from your hands, his thumb brushing softly over the small velcro straps. Charlie was old enough to start wearing laces, and she needed his help getting tying her shoes less and less as the months went by. That thought made him collapse onto you, tears brimming his eyes.

“She had such adorable little feet!” Lucifer wailed in your lap, as you soothingly petted his hair. There were multiple photos in his hands, all of baby Charlie, “Her toes just don’t look like little sausages anymore, it’s not as cute!”

“At least she’s not a hobbit,” you replied, brushing a stray tear from his face.

“I don’t even know what that means!” He had sobbed.

It wasn’t like she was going off to college or anything, yet the way Lucifer clutched her baby blanket in his free hand—which she only stopped sleeping with 2 days ago—made it seem like the girl was not coming back from a few hours of teachings.

“I packed you some snacks. Apple slices, and some funnel cake. Eat the fruit first, it’s healthy for you. Want to grow up big and strong, don’t you?”

“Uh-huh!” Charlie nodded with enthusiasm, smiling brightly.

“That’s my girl,” Lucifer choked back tears, nodding approvingly.

“Honey, she’s going to be late, hurry up and say goodbye,” you prodded gently, smiling warmly with clasped hands. You had been silently on standby, this was a much more emotional moment for Lucifer than you, he needed the space and time with his munchkin.

“You’re right, you’re right,” he growled softly at himself, “look at me, all worked up over nothing. What a joke of a King.”

Lucifer lowered himself to one knee and reached out a hand, and Charlie walked forward returning the touch. Her tiny hands were engulfed in his palm as he curled his fingers tenderly around them. The fallen angel met his daughter's gaze, before taking a deep breath.

“I love you, Charlie.”

“I love you too, Daddy,” Charlie laughed, before leaping forward and wrapping her arms around his neck. Lucifer pulled her in, nuzzling into her hair as she squeezed him tightly.

Even if Charlie grew apart from her father as she got older, you’d know she’d always be a daddy’s girl. It was Lucifer whom she invited for tea time among her stuffed animals, and it was he she asked to dance with when the radio’s soft melodies filled the lounge during the evenings as the three of you relaxed by the warm fireplace.

It made your heart flutter with how similar the two were, and the way Lucifer fawned over Charlie like he’d never seen a more beautiful soul.

“My best creation,” he had whispered with a smile one night, while the two of you were sitting on the balcony, the alcohol buzzing inside your mind as you held his hand from across the small table. Those words had made your love for him continue to grow, if that were even possible in the first place.

Lucifer and Charlie stayed locked in an embrace for a few moments on the floor before the girl released him, and Lucifer’s arms slowly lowered from her abdomen as she took a few steps back towards the door.

“Go on, now! Don’t let me keep you waiting, just remember to crush it.” Lucifer waved his daughter off, and she jumped with joy.

“Okay! Bye, Daddy!” Charlie giggled, her little red dress bouncing along with her toes as she quickly turned away towards the open door of her room.

“Have fun, Charlie!” You called after her, as Lucifer slowly rose from his position near the floor.

“I will! Bye!” She replied, running down the hall, her little bag bouncing in her hands as she scampered away to…

…her private tutor’s small classroom at the end of the long hallway. The three of you had been wishing the girl farewell in her large bedroom inside the family manor, which meant Charlie’s teaching wasn't even outside of the home.

That made Lucifer’s reaction even more humorous, but it was also incredibly sweet. The ruler of Hell, a nasty, bitter place, was a cinnamon roll behind the bad-boy act that he played so well in front of the rest of the realm.

When Lucifer stood straight again, you turned your head to face him. The sight before you caused you to clamp your lips shut tight, trying to suppress your laughter at Lucifer’s disheveled figure.

His hair looked messier than before he had said goodbye, and his face was soaked with tears. Lucifer’s lip quivered, and he quickly averted his gaze, slamming his hand over his face to contain his quiet sobs. The man was practically in shambles.

“What’s wrong with me?” He groaned, rubbing a hand down his face, “I can’t control my emotions when it comes to Charlie.”

“Sorry to break it to you, Your Highness, but you’re in love,” you cooed, shaking your head with a smile as Lucifer sniffled beside you. He pulled a hand-embroidered handkerchief from his waistcoat, dabbing underneath his eyes to clean the fresh tears.

“Come on, Lou. How about I make you some pancakes for breakfast?” You said softly, lacing your fingers with his as you tugged him towards the opposite end of the hall.

“Really?” He sniffled, looking at you with glistening eyes.

“Mhmm,” your hands lifted to cup his face, tenderly squishing those small red spots as you replied with a honeyed tone, “Heaven knows how the ‘Big Boss of Hell’ can be such a softy. Don’t worry, Charlie will be back by lunchtime, and maybe we’ll go on a picnic, hm?”

Your free hand went up toward the fallen angel’s head, and your nails softly grazed his scalp as you pulled his hair back into a more uniform appearance. After fussing with it for a moment, you leaned in and placed a tender kiss on his forehead.

“A picnic sounds nice, I have no idea how you always have a remedy to everything,” He said softly as you pulled away, an adoring smile on his lips as you turned to tug him down the hall.

“Years of practice,” you laughed, as the two of you walked towards the large kitchen, passing loving glances between the other.

At least, with Charlie away for a few hours, you and your husband could get some alone time together. God knows the poor man needed it.

lucifer is just so soft for his little princess whether it’s beating the shit out of adam or playing tea party it makes me just 🤭🥴 like damn

hope you enjoyed the lil snack, have a great day! 🤍

tags 🏷️

@ohnoivefallen @doodlebob2726 @coleisyn @undertale-is-sansational @nehy019 @mixplara @chewbrry @yellowsubiesdance @airwolf92 @lxkeee @jellybellyrulez @catnoirsleftnut @mbruben-stein @mint129106 @froggybich @moonlovers34 @just-trash-yeah-thats-it @lil-bexie @wings-of-sapphire @the-tortured-poet @enigmatic-blues @bethleeham @blue122 @cherry-4200 @azullynx @luzzbuzz @for-hearthand-home @helluvapoison @th3-st4r-gur1 @concentratedconcrete @cimadreamer @marsenbie @guacam011y @maxiskindahere @purplerose291 @fictional-character-whore @0willowwisp0

#lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel #lucifer x reader #hellaverse #hazbin hotel x reader #luci my beautiful twink #stay strong soldier

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forest-hashira · 3 days

Text

Bunnies & Bite Marks

i was able to hop onto @lorelune's spring fever a/b/o event super last minute last night, so this is my entry for that! (technically i did finish this fic before midnight but i didn't have the energy to format it then, so it's going up now, haha). i apologize in advance bc this is definitely the filthiest thing i've ever written. i don't know where most of this came from (i think the boys possessed me and ghostwrote it tbh). i was enabled by aleks to put this on paper, so... thank him lol

read on ao3 here | wc: ~8.1k | cw: a/b/o dynamics/omegaverse, hybrid au (fox geto, bunny reader, bunny gojo), gn afab!reader (afab anatomy terms used), alpha geto, omega reader, omega gojo, established stsg, oral sex (reader receiving), threesome, multiple orgasms, knotting, biting/claiming, mating bonds, intersex omega (gojo has a penis & a vagina), unprotected sex, creampies, gojo has a praise kink & a degradation kink, a little bit of voyeurism, multiple discussions of consent, i'm pretty sure that's everything! 18+ only, ageless/blank blogs & minors dni.

You were still trying to figure out how you’d ended up in this situation.

Growing up, your parents had warned you countless times about Big Bad Wolves, told you to watch out for their pointed lies and pointier teeth, but they’d never warned you about foxes and their silver tongues.

Now that you thought about it, your parents were probably being more metaphoric than you thought as a child, but it was a little late to come to that realization, seeing as you were already underneath a particularly sly fox and completely at his mercy.

But how were you supposed to not trust him, not fall for him? His dark eyes were so kind, his little smile so warm… and he’d had another bunny hanging off of him, inviting you to spend time with them, to get to know them. And somehow in just a few short months, you were coaxed into bed by that same welcoming bunny and kind fox.

A small tug at your ear brought you back to the present, and you blinked, looking up into those dark eyes, now a few shades darker with desire – hunger, your instincts told you, making your heart pound even faster in your ribcage.

“Where’d you go, little one? You left us for a second there.” Suguru’s voice was low and rumbling, but you could hear the genuine concern woven in with the lust that laced his tone.

“They zoned out because you’re taking so damn long,” Satoru retorted from behind you before you had a chance to say anything. He hugged you a bit closer to his chest, trailing his lips across your cheek as he murmured, “Maybe we’ll just have to start without him, hm? Who needs an alpha, anyways? They're just knotheads, after all.”

Despite his bravado, you could feel the way your fellow bunny’s heart rate picked up as you both watched Suguru for his reaction.

To his credit, Suguru’s composure was nearly unshakeable; the only outward reaction to Satoru’s half-threat was a slight twitch of one of his elegant black fox ears, and he cocked his head slightly. “Is that so?” he questioned, then looked away from Satoru to focus on you. “You can believe him if you want, little one, because I know you’ve never been with an alpha before, but you should know he doesn’t even believe that himself. You should hear the way he begs for my knot like a cheap whore, even when he’s not in heat.”

Satoru shuddered behind you, and a soft puff of air ghosted across your skin as his grip tightened further around your waist. You’d known he was aroused before he held you so tight, but now it was undeniable, his hard cock pressed against your back, and the size of it made you jump slightly; if he was that big as an omega, then what the fuck was Suguru hiding in his pants? You shuddered at the thought, and you couldn’t stop the hint of fear that tinged your scent.

Both men stopped then, detecting the change in your scent. They exchanged a glance, and Suguru’s entire demeanor softened as he spoke again, lowering himself so he no longer towered over you where you sat on the bed with Satoru. “Do you want to stop?” he asked quietly, tilting his head slightly. “We don’t have to go through with this if you’re not comfortable.”

“We won’t be upset,” Satoru added, lightly rubbing his thumb back and forth across your stomach in an attempt to soothe you. “If you’re not enjoying yourself, we’ll stop. Your comfort and pleasure are really important to us.”

Though you knew they were expecting an answer, you could tell they would be patient with you, even if it took you hours to decide one way or the other. You hesitated, taking a few moments to really examine how you were feeling, both physically and emotionally. The fear you felt was undeniable, but it was strongly rivaled by your desire, your prey instincts warring with your human wants.

And really, you knew you were safe with them, even if Suguru was a predator. His self control was stronger than anyone else you’d ever met, and even if he somehow did lose control of himself and begin to succumb to his instincts, you were certain Satoru would do everything he could to protect you; he was stubborn and aggressive, especially for an omega, and a prey animal hybrid on top of that.

Feeling comforted by that knowledge, you once again met the alpha’s gaze. “I want this,” you confirmed. “I want you – both of you.”

Almost before the words were fully out of your mouth, the smell of arousal grew thick in the air, so heavy it should have choked you, but really you couldn’t get enough of it. Suguru’s was more potent, but it just made his scent a little smokier. Satoru’s, on the other hand, was sharp, a burst of cinnamon against the syrupy sweetness of his usual scent. Everything combined was so heady, so overwhelming in the best way possible, that your eyes fluttered shut, and you bit your lip to keep from moaning out loud.

“Ah-ah, none of that,” Suguru chided, reaching up and squishing your cheeks together slightly until your bottom lip was no longer caught between your teeth.

Your eyes opened again at the touch, your pupils blown wide as you gazed down at the alpha in front of you.

“We want to hear you, little one. How else are we supposed to know if we’re making you feel good?”

“Sugu likes it noisy,” Satoru added, leaning in to whisper in your ear. He trailed one hand down your stomach to your thigh, rubbing little circles on the soft flesh of your inner thigh with his thumb as he spoke. “You’ll see soon enough, but he’s a talker… loves when I talk, too. Loves when he fucks me dumb and all I can do is moan and whine and whimper, all because of him…”

Though the other bunny was speaking to you, both of you had your eyes locked on the fox, all of you waiting for someone else to move first. Your heart pounded in time with Satoru’s, your bodies finding an odd, instinctual sort of comfort in each other; two prey hybrids against one predator.

Said predator’s gaze was still locked on yours, his lips curling into a hungry smirk, now that he knew that you wanted him – wanted them – just as bad as they wanted you. He shrugged slightly at Satoru’s words, and he pushed himself up from where he’d knelt on the floor in front of you, once again towering over you.

“Since you were so quick to insist that you didn’t need me,” he cooed, taking a step back from the bed. “Why don’t you two get started, hm? Get them ready for me, pretty boy.”

Before you even had time to fully process the alpha’s words, Satoru was moaning in your ear, then practically dragging you further up the bed with him.

A rather undignified squeak of surprise escaped you at the movement, but you were too taken aback to try and fight it at all. Next thing you knew, you were on your back, staring up at Satoru with wide eyes.

“You ready?” he asked, eyes glinting as he stared down at you.

“I, uh… ready for what, exactly?” You felt your cheeks burn with both arousal and embarrassment, your brain already feeling a little unfocused, and they hadn’t even touched you yet.

“Sex, duh,” he replied, but he couldn’t quite stifle the giggle that accompanied his words. The sound helped relax you a bit, and you smiled up at him.

“I’m pretty sure we’re wearing too many clothes to have sex,” you told him, a soft laugh escaping you, and he grinned, winking playfully at you.

“That we are, little bunny,” he agreed, tugging lightly on your ear. “But I’m gonna take care of that right now, don’t you worry.”

You wrinkled your nose at him, and it twitched a bit, the movement involuntary. Pulling your ear from his hold, you frowned up at him. “You’re a bunny too, y’know.”

“Ah, yes, good catch! I, however, am not small, in any sense of the word. So you’re my little bunny.” His smile sharpened into a smirk, and the sight, combined with the implications of his words and the outline of cock that had been pressed against you mere moments before, had heat stirring in your belly.

When you offered no further comments of protests, Satoru got to work ridding you of your clothes, so quickly you were worried he might tear them in his haste to have you naked beneath him. By the time he reached your bra, though, you batted his hands away.

“I’ll do this part, if you ruin this I’ll be very upset with you.” The bra wasn’t anything especially fancy, but you still took care of it as best you could, because you liked the way it made you look. “Besides,” you added, reaching around to undo the clasps. “Don’t you also have to be naked for us to have sex?”

Satoru pulled his shirt over his head as you spoke, and he huffed quietly when it got stuck on his ears for a moment. He smirked at you again afterwards, though. “Hmm, not necessarily, no. But I’ll be nice and get naked anyways.”

You rolled your eyes at his words as you tossed your bra off to the side, presumably in the direction all your other clothes had ended up. As you settled back against the pillows, you went to cross your arms over your chest out of habit, but stopped when you caught Suguru staring at you. He said nothing, but his meaning was clear: there would be no hiding from either of them tonight, or ever. You were theirs now.

In just a few seconds, though, your view of the fox was interrupted by your fellow bunny, who looked like he was ready to go all night with you and completely ignore his partner sitting in the chair across the room. “Lay back and spread your legs for me,” he encouraged. “I’m dying to taste that pretty little pussy of yours.”

His words came as a shock, and you felt your face burning all over again. “You don’t, uh. I mean, you don’t have to do that. Really.” You pressed your knees together as you spoke, unsure how to proceed. None of your former partners had ever expressed interest in going down on you, so you weren’t sure if Satoru felt obligated to do this, or what, but you didn’t expect him to frown at you.

“I know I don’t have to,” he confirmed. “But I want to. Like I really want to, if you’re comfortable with that.”

All you could do for a few long moments was stare at him, as if waiting for him to laugh at any second, for him to tease you for falling for such a silly prank, but he never did. His eyes were focused on your face, though they were now more black than blue because of how dilated they were.

“You can tell him no, little one,” Suguru assured from his seat across the room. “You’re calling the shots here. If you say no, it doesn’t happen.”

Once again comforted by his words – and baffled that you had so much control over this situation – you let out a soft, trembling breath, before looking back to Satoru. “If you really want to…” you agreed quietly, hesitating a moment longer before you complied with his earlier request, leaning back against the pillows and spreading your legs.

“I really do,” Satoru confirmed yet again, and as you spread your legs, his gaze instantly dropped to his prize. He was quick to settle down on his stomach, wrapping his arms around your thighs once he was eye-level with your cunt.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You’re dripping for us already.” He sounded almost in awe of you and your body as he spoke, and if his hold on your thighs had been any less sure, you would have slammed your legs shut again. As it was, you squirmed uselessly in his hold, face burning in embarrassment.

“Stop staring,” you whined, hoping you didn’t sound as flustered as you felt. “If you’re gonna use your mouth on me then get started already.” The attempted scowl on your face vanished as he bit down on the plush of your thigh, and you yelped. “That’s not what I meant!”

“Isn’t it?”

“Satoru,” Suguru chastised, and both of you froze at his tone. “Don’t be mean to them. Do what you promised, or I’ll have to punish you.”

Satoru’s ears dropped at the mention of a possible punishment, and he nodded slightly. “Yes, alpha,” he said, then pressed a gentle kiss to the spot he had bitten. “Sorry, little bunny,” he apologized quietly, holding your gaze as he spoke.

Still feeling a little baffled by how quickly Satoru had obeyed Suguru, you simply nodded your forgiveness.

He seemed to relax a bit then, and he dropped his gaze once again. His intense focus on such an intimate part of you had you feeling beyond flustered, so you leaned your head back into the pillows, staring intensely at the ceiling. You could feel his hot breath against your slick soaked skin, and you couldn’t for the life of you figure out what he was waiting for.

“It’s not very polite not to look at someone when they’re pleasuring you, little one.” Suguru’s voice had a teasing lilt to it, but you could tell he wasn’t entirely kidding.

Is that seriously what’s stopping him? you thought to yourself, but you didn’t say the words out loud. Instead, you replied, in a voice much smaller than you expected, “I can’t look at him.”

“Why not? Is something wrong?”

“No? I-I don’t… I don’t know,” you stammered. “Nobody’s ever gone down on me before. I can’t look at him while he does it.”

There was a beat of silence, then another.

“Can you look at me instead?”

That caught your attention. You lifted your head from the pillow once again, though this time you focused on the alpha across the room, rather than the omega between your legs. This is manageable.

“Hmm, there you are,” the fox hummed, giving you an encouraging smile. “Better?”

“Much,” you agreed quietly, and you were surprised to find that meeting his gaze was exactly the thing you needed to ground you.

“Good, I’m glad. You can start now, Satoru.”

The first swipe of his tongue up your folds had your whole body trying to jerk away from the touch, though the movement was involuntary. It didn’t feel bad – in fact it felt good, really good, as he pressed in closer, his tongue exploring places even your fingers had rarely touched. When he moaned against you, your head dropped backwards at the intensity of the feeling.

“Ah ah, little one.”

Suguru’s voice had Satoru stopping his movements, despite the fact that he wasn’t the one being spoken to. You whined pathetically as his tongue pulled away from you, and you couldn’t help but pout.

“Eyes on me,” Suguru continued, the words clearly directed at you, “or you don’t get to cum yet.”

Instantly your head shot up, and you stared at the alpha wide-eyed, breathing a little heavier than you had been before.

His expression was smug once you met his gaze, and even if you hadn’t been able to see his smirk, you would’ve been able to hear it in his voice. “Very good,” he praised.

With the confirmation that you were doing as you were told, Satoru was quick to get back to work, moaning into your skin as he licked up your slick. Some part of your brain was insisting that no omega should enjoy the taste of another omega’s slick, but Satoru had never been what an omega should be, so you shoved the thought aside.

Just as you pushed the thought from your mind, the bunny between your legs wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked. It felt as if all the air had been sucked from your lungs, and your thighs clenched around his head, though that only made him moan louder into you.

Somehow, you managed to keep your eyes open and locked on Suguru, even if your vision was a little fuzzy around the edges. When he spoke to you again, though, it took a bit more focus to really hear him.

“You can touch him, you know.”

“Wh— oh my god — what do you mean?”

A small chuckle escaped him, and he tilted his head slightly as he gazed at you. “You can touch Satoru, if you want to. You won’t get in trouble, or anything like that. In fact,” he glanced down at the other bunny’s fluffy white head, “I can confidently say he wants you to touch him. Isn’t that right, pretty boy?”

“Please,” Satoru whimpered, barely pulling away from your cunt long enough to speak, and he was quick to dive back in, this time working his tongue into you.

You weren’t sure what the noise you made was, but you didn’t really care; all you could focus on was the feeling of his hot, wet tongue working you open. Without even thinking about it, your hands flew from the bedsheets to his hair, tangling the strands between your fingers and pulling, much harder than you’d intended to. There was no room for you to even attempt an apology, though, because the sensation had him moaning louder than before, and he rutted his hips down into the mattress.

“Told you,” Suguru chuckled, but neither of you really heard him, too lost in the way Satoru had his mouth on you, licking up your slick like he’d die without it.

When the other omega pulled his mouth away from you, you whimpered, dropping your gaze from Suguru’s to Satoru’s. Before you could form any sort of complaint, though, you watched as he released his hold on one of your thighs and pushed one of his long fingers into you.

Your brain short circuited at the sight, and you let out a strangled moan, unable to tear your eyes away from his hand. He worked you open carefully, first with one finger, then with two, and before you knew it he was curling three fingers into your sweet spot, the pleasure of it so intense you were nearly cross eyed, especially with the way he was still sucking on your clit.

“I told you to get them ready for me, didn’t I, pretty boy?”

“Yes,” Satoru answered instantly, the word muffled against your skin; the vibrations of it had you moaning quietly.

“And do you think your fingers are going to be enough for that?” His voice was a little darker than before. Not scary or overtly predatory, just… more intense, more focused; hungrier.

“N-no, alpha,” Satoru panted, thrusting his fingers faster, panting heavily into your pussy. “Want to taste them first, please? Wanna make them cum all over my face…”

There was a pause, somewhat tense as both you and your fellow bunny waited for the fox’s answer.

“Well, when you ask so nicely,” he practically purred. “Go ahead, Satoru. Make a mess out of them.”

That was all the permission Satoru needed. He latched onto your clit once again, alternating between sucking and tracing patterns against it with his tongue, his fingers abusing your sweet spot until you were seeing stars.

You barely recognized the scream that tore its way out of you as your own voice, too busy thrashing in his hold, thighs clamping down around his head once again. You gushed slick everywhere – all over his fingers, all over his mouth, all over the sheets – until everything was wet and almost sticky with it.

Though you had no memory of closing your eyes, it wasn’t long before you heard Suguru’s voice, now much closer than before, gently calling your name, asking you to open your eyes for him. Eventually you managed to comply, slowly fluttering your eyes open to look up at the fox.

“There you are,” Suguru praised quietly. “Pretty boy really did a number on you, huh?” He brushed your hair out of your eyes as he spoke, and you weren’t really sure if he expected you to answer him or not. You stayed silent, more focused on catching your breath and coming down from the most mind blowing orgasm of your life, and your silence didn’t seem to bother him at all.

“What about you, pretty boy. How’re you feeling?” You managed to follow the alpha’s gaze – albeit a bit sluggishly – as he turned his attention from you to the other omega, and what you saw had your face burning all over again.

The lower half of Satoru’s face was absolutely drenched in your slick, and you could see how it was beginning to run down his chin and jaw to his neck. His hand wasn’t any better off, either: there was slick coating him well past his wrist. You were mildly horrified that you’d done that to him, but it was clear by the look on his face that he was thrilled that you’d made such a mess of him. “Feelin’ really good,” he answered, a dopey grin on his face as he sat up. The bunny leaned over you a bit then, getting as close to the fox as he could without actually moving from his spot kneeling between your legs. “Wanna taste?”

Suguru smirked slightly at Satoru’s question. “Of course I do,” he replied. Then, he reached out, lightly threading his fingers through the hair on the back of Satoru’s head, pulling him into a messy, heated kiss; a kiss that he absolutely dominated, without any sort of protest from the other man.

As you watched them, still somewhat dazed, you realized that, at some point between getting up from his seat across the room and joining the two of you on the bed, Suguru had stripped himself of his clothes, leaving him just as bare as the two bunnies waiting for him. There was a part of you insisting on looking down, on getting a good look at his cock while you could, but you were too caught up watching the two men kiss.

Some time later – minutes or hours, you weren’t sure – they broke apart, both of them panting against each other. “Delicious,” Suguru murmured after a moment, licking the last vestiges of your slick from around his mouth. “I’ll have to get a taste first hand next time, but for now, pretty boy, you need to finish preparing them for me.”

Satoru nodded obediently, though a soft squeak escaped him as the other man reached around and tugged lightly on his tail, just to tease him a bit. The bunny huffed indignantly, but the effect of his reaction was lost when you saw that his pupils were still blown wide and his eyes were still slightly glassy as he focused on you.

“You ready for more?” he asked, tilting his head slightly as he looked down at you. “Or do you need more time to catch your breath?” As he spoke, he reached down and began to stroke himself with the hand still coated with your slick, his breath stuttering a bit at the touch.

Thankfully you had managed to catch your breath by this point, and you nodded dumbly for a moment. “Yeah, I’m ready,” you confirmed, sounding more steady than you had expected, given your brain was still catching up to your body.

“Thank god,” Satoru sighed, then shuffled into a better position, hovering over you and propping himself up on the hand not currently occupied. “I’ll be careful,” he promised, his voice gentle and sweet.

You nodded again, trusting him to keep his word, and spread your legs a bit wider to better accommodate him. A gasp flew from your lips as he lined up with your entrance and slowly began to push forward. You’d known he wasn’t small, but feeling the outline of his cock against your back was not the same thing as feeling it pushing its way into your body. Your hands shot up to his shoulders, nails digging into the pale skin there as he slowly filled you, inch by impossible inch.

When you felt his hips finally meet yours, you both let out a shaky moan, and he dropped his forehead to yours for a moment, now propping himself up on his elbows so he wasn’t fully crushing you into the bed.

“Can I have a kiss?” he asked quietly after a few moments, and the question caught you a bit off guard, especially since he seemed a little nervous to ask.

Pushing on his chest a bit so you could get a proper look at him, you scanned his face to figure out what, exactly, his goal was, but all you found in his expression was earnestness and hope, and the tiniest hint of worry. “...Yeah,” you agreed after a moment. “Yeah, you can have a kiss.”

The little grin that tugged at his lips was more adorable than it had any right to be while he was buried balls deep in you, but you found yourself smiling back anyways, allowing your eyes to slip shut for a moment as your lips made contact.

Though the kiss started as a soft, chaste press of lips, it quickly devolved into deep, sloppy kisses, barely enough time to breathe in between each kiss. Your ability to breathe was well and truly stolen for a moment as Satoru began to move, gently rocking his hips up into you at first, then eventually beginning to properly thrush, pulling out a bit before pushing back into you again.

Each movement had you panting and moaning beneath him, one hand still gripping his shoulder as the other trailed up his neck to tangle in his hair. “Ho— o-oohhh — h-how is this preparing me for Suguru?” you asked, doing your best to focus on the omega above you, despite how good he was making you feel.

“He’s bigger than I am,” Satoru answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He noticed the way you tensed slightly and shuddered at his words, and he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “It’s okay,” he soothed, and you could hear a quiet purr rumbling in his chest as he spoke. “That’s what this is for, ‘kay? I keep making you feel good, make sure you’re nice and ready for our alpha when it’s his turn.”

Apparently still able to scent your apprehension, the bunny pressed a few more soft kisses down the side of your face, still purring quietly all the while. “It’s ok if you don’t think you can take him,” he murmured. “If you need to tap out after me, that won’t hurt his feelings. He’s gonna fuck me either way. After you and I are done you can participate as much or as little as you’d like, little bunny. Whatever you say, goes.”

Something about the tenderness underlying his words, and the sweet way he called you “little bunny” had you practically melting beneath him. “Okay,” you murmured, turning your head to catch his lip in another soft kiss, letting the touch linger longer than was strictly necessary, simply enjoying the intimacy while you could.

“Satoru?”

“Yes, bunny?”

“I appreciate how gentle you’re being with me right now, but my guess is Suguru won’t be as gentle.”

A small laugh escaped him, and he shook his head slightly. “You’re right,” he confirmed.

“Then I really think it’ll be better for all of us if you stop moving like you think you’ll break me and just fuck me.” Even as you spoke the words aloud, you felt flustered, but Satoru just smirked.

“Your wish is my command.”

He shifted his position slightly, guiding your legs up to wrap around his waist. Once he was confident you were settled, he started moving again. The sharp shift in the way he was fucking you was enough to make you yelp, though the sound dissolved into an unabashed moan, your grip on him tightening everywhere, desperate not to get jostled away from him.

It took an embarrassingly short amount of time for you to feel another orgasm building, but you were powerless to do anything but hold on for the ride and moan the omega’s name as he brought you to new levels of ecstasy.

Satoru’s pace faltered a few moments later, his hips stuttering to a stop as he gasped. You whined softly, but shifted until you could look over his shoulder to see what had happened.

Suguru was kneeling on the bed behind Satoru, a hint of a smirk on his face as he gazed down at you. “Please,” he said evenly. “Don’t stop on my behalf. It’s absolutely delicious to watch.”

When Satoru shivered and moaned loudly in your ear, you looked down from the alpha’s face, not entirely unsurprised to see he was currently fucking Satoru’s pussy with his fingers.

“Awe,” Suguru taunted. “Is this too much for you, pretty boy? Do you need me to stop?”

“No!” Satoru answered immediately. “N-no, feels good… wan’ more, please, alpha?”

The fox seemed to consider for a moment, his ears and tail twitching in sync, before he came to a decision. He withdrew his fingers and landed a solid smack to the omega’s ass. “Make our little one cum first.”

“Yes, alpha.”

Clearly not wanting to disappoint Suguru, your fellow bunny resumed his relentless pace from before, hips stuttering a bit as Satoru began to fuck him with his fingers again, but he didn’t stop this time, and was easily able to regain his rhythm.

Ever a quick study, it wasn’t long until Satoru found your sweet spot, and once he found it, he adjusted his hips to make sure he nailed it with every thrust. He nibbled and sucked at your neck as you whimpered and writhed beneath him, thighs beginning to tremble where they were locked around his waist.

“You gettin’ close, little bunny?” he asked breathlessly, barely biting back a moan of his own as he waited for your answer.

“Uh-huh,” you whined, tilting your head to grant him further access to your neck. “Need more, ‘Toru, please…”

“I got you,” he promised. One of his hands snaked between your bodies, his palm resting on your lower belly as he reached down with his thumb, rubbing slow circles on your clit, the pace of his thumb a stark contrast to the pace of his hips.

“Cum for us, little one,” Suguru encouraged from above.

That was all it took. You wailed as you tipped over the edge into pure bliss again, your vision whiting out for a few moments as you shook almost violently in the throes of pleasure. Satoru was still rock hard inside you when you came back to yourself, though his thumb was – thankfully – no longer on your clit. His movements were more subtle now, more of a rocking motion as he moved back and forth into the wet heat of your cunt and the welcome intrusion of Suguru’s fingers.

“Please,” he whimpered, looking over his shoulder at the alpha. “Please, wanna cum, need to cum, please…”

“Shh,” the fox soothed. “No need to beg this time, pretty boy. You’ve done very well.”

The bunny whined at the praise, blush instantly coloring his cheeks as he rocked back onto the fingers in his cunt.

“Want you to cum inside them, yeah? Get them nice and wet for me…”

Satoru moaned the loudest he had all night at the command, and he nodded, moving his hips with purpose again now, though his movements were a bit uncoordinated. That didn’t matter, though, because soon enough he was pressing his full length into you one last time before spilling into you, simultaneously gushing slick over Suguru’s hand.

The sudden warmth filling you made a shiver run down your spine, and you moaned quietly at the feeling; it was much more pleasant than you would’ve expected. You were a bit surprised Satoru didn’t fully collapse on top of you then, but when you felt a larger, more calloused set of hands gently unwrapping your legs from around the other bunny’s waist, you realized it most likely because Suguru was planning to move him out of the way.

Your theory was proven right when, rather than falling down on top of you, Satoru flopped onto his back beside you on the bed, breathing heavily and staring almost unseeing at the ceiling. A moment later, a curtain of dark hair encroached on your vision, and you turned to look up at Suguru.

His narrow eyes crinkled around the edges as he smiled down at you. “Feeling alright, little one?” he asked gently, ghosting his fingers along the hickies Satoru had left down one side of your neck.

You hummed softly, giving him a slight nod, lashes fluttering and goosebumps raising your skin at the featherlight touch of his fingers on your throat.

“Good, I’m glad. How about a little breather, hm? Pretty boy over here will get all pouty if I don’t pay attention to him, too.” Though his words teasing in nature, almost taunting, the affection in the alpha’s voice was unmistakable.

His comment made you giggle softly, and you nodded. “Breather sounds nice,” you agreed. “I just get to lay here and relax?”

“Yeah, just relax,” he confirmed. “Roll over for me, I’ll help you get comfortable.”

You did as you were asked, flipping over so you now laid on your stomach, rather than your back. You jumped slightly as you felt him lift your hips with one hand, but quickly mellowed out when you realized he was just sliding a pillow under you.

“Comfy?”

“Very,” you hummed, unable to stop the purr that began to vibrate in your throat. “Go get him off before he starts whining.” You gestured in Satoru’s direction, eyes half closed as you allowed yourself to really relax.

That made Suguru laugh softly, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek before moving over to the other bunny, who seemed to be more coherent now, given that he looked displeased, and his bottom lip was jutted out.

“I don’t get whiny, and I don’t pout,” Satoru insisted.

“You’re pouting right now, pretty boy,” Suguru teased, smiling down at him.

Satoru said nothing, just huffed and looked away from the alpha above him. “You’re so mean to me.”

“Ah, but you like when I’m mean to you.”

“In bed.”

“Yes, pretty boy, I know. Only in bed.” Suguru began to press soft kisses down Satoru’s body then, pausing at his chest to take one of the omega’s pretty pink nipples between his teeth and tug lightly.

Satoru squeaked at the feeling, body jerking and gracelessly trying to swat the alpha in retaliation. “No fair! You promised you wouldn’t use teeth on them anymore.”

“Sorry,” Suguru apologized, not looking particularly sorry at all. “Won’t happen again.”

As they bantered back and forth, their affection for each other rolling off of them in waves, you watched silently from the sidelines, a soft, if slightly sad, smile on your face. Though you’d been in relationships before, you’d never had anything like what the two of them had, either romantically or platonically. Not until you’d met them, anyways.

They had always been so sweet to you, welcoming you into their world so quickly. You knew they never needed to pretend to be anything they weren’t when they were together, and the more time you spent with them, the less you felt like you had to pretend around them, too. It was nice to have people you trusted so much, and who trusted you the same; to love someone and have them love you in return.

Because really, you did love them, and you’d told them that before, more than once. It was a sentiment you knew they returned – they’d said it to you more than enough times for you to believe them – but the longer you thought about it, the more you realized that the line between romance and friendship with them had long since blurred, and that began to weigh on you.

Do I want what they have, or do I want… them?

Almost as soon as the thought crossed your mind, you shoved it aside; now was certainly not the time to be unpacking all of that.

You were quickly pulled back into the moment and out of your thoughts when you heard Suguru say your name. Only, he wasn’t talking to you, but about you, as he ground his hips into Satoru’s, buried to the hilt in the omega’s pussy. It took you a moment to realize what he was talking about, but eventually you realized he was talking about… biting you.

“They’d look so pretty with my mark on their neck, don’t you think, pretty boy? Let everyone know who they really belong to, who loves them more than anyone else.”

Satoru whined, though the sound wasn’t entirely pleasurable. “You said you’d bite me first,” he replied, voice quiet and smaller than you were used to hearing. “You promised, promised I’d be first, even when we fell for them. You promised.”

The pain that laced the edge of Satoru’s words nearly broke your heart, and before Suguru had a chance to say anything, you decided to cut in.

“Bite him first,” you said quietly, meeting the fox’s dark, steady gaze. “Keep your promise, bite him first. I’m not going anywhere.”

His eyes flashed at your words, and an almost hopeful look crossed his face, before he looked back down at Satoru. “You heard them, pretty boy. They’re not going anywhere.”

The bunny smiled at the news, letting out a little chirp – the single most adorable sound you’d ever heard him make – at the news, though soon enough he was gasping and moaning again as the fox fucked him a little harder, kissing and sucking down his throat and pumping his cock in time with his thrusts.

“F-Fuck, alpha, gonna cum,” he whined, bucking his hips up into Suguru’s fist.

“Cum for me, pretty boy,” Suguru cooed. “Cum for me and I’ll bite you.”

The words had barely left the alpha’s mouth before Satoru was crying out, writhing and bucking his hips as he spilled over Suguru’s hand, coating his fingers in white.

At that same moment, Suguru fulfilled his promise, biting down hard on the curve of the bunny’s throat, sinking his teeth into the scent gland there and thoroughly claiming Satoru as his. Satoru tensed as he was bitten, but it was only for a split second before he went completely boneless beneath the alpha, whining and babbling his name until the alpha released his hold on his neck.

“Look at you, pretty boy,” Suguru murmured affectionately. “Even prettier now that you’re mine…”

Satoru’s answering hum quickly morphed into a whine of protest as Suguru pulled out, still rock hard and covered in the other man’s slick; he hadn’t knotted Satoru, which struck you as odd.

“It’s ok, baby,” Suguru rushed to soothe him, brushing the hair from his forehead and pressing a soft kiss to the sweaty skin there. “I’ll knot you later, alright? Gotta make sure little one’s all taken care of first.”

The words seemed to do the trick, and Satoru quieted down, nodding slightly as he rolled over to lay on his side, now facing you. “He’s gonna make you feel really good,” he murmured, reaching out towards you and taking your hand. “His knot feels incredible.”

You giggled softly at his words, though you were sure he was being entirely sincere as he spoke. You squeezed his hand gently, only pulling away when Suguru removed the pillow from beneath your hips and rolled you over onto your back once again.

“Hi,” he greeted with a small chuckle. “You ready to take me?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but the words died in your throat as you finally got a good look at him, your eyes going comically wide.

His cock was huge. Maybe not quite as long as Satoru’s was, but it was much thicker, which reignited your worries from earlier in the evening.

“Hey, look at me,” Suguru called, gently tilting your chin up until you met his eyes again. “We can stop right here if you want. If you’re not ready to take me, that’s okay. And if you don’t want to have sex but you still want me to claim you, we can do that too.”

Knowing you still had the option to back out, even now, and knowing neither of the boys would be upset with you if you did was enough to bolster your confidence. “I want to keep going,” you told him. “Want you to knot me, claim me as yours.”

“I can definitely do that,” he said, purring a bit as he leaned down and kissed you. Much like your kisses with Satoru earlier, the touch went from sweet and chaste to desperate and devouring in just a few short moments.

As the alpha broke the kiss and shifted to sit back on his knees, you whined and attempted to follow him, but he kept a gentle hand on your stomach to keep you down where you were. “Wanna see what a mess Satoru made of you,” he said, a wicked gleam in his eye.

You swallowed thickly and nodded, not protesting as he placed his hands on your knees and pushed your legs apart, staring down at your messy, dripping pussy. When he let out a low whistle at the sight, you whined in embarrassment and covered your face with your hands; you couldn’t believe he wanted to see all that, couldn’t believe you were letting him, couldn’t believe he was enjoying it.

“Pretty boy sure did a good job getting you ready for me, I’ll give him that,” Suguru said, wanting to have just a bit more fun teasing the two of you, his two bashful omegas, before he gave you what both you and he wanted so badly. “That’s good, though. It’ll make it easier for you to take me.” He rubbed his hands up and down your thighs for a moment, waiting until you peeked through your fingers at him.

“It will?”

“Yes,” he confirmed. “The glide will be nice and easy, no dry friction or anything to worry about causing any pain. It’ll still probably be a bit of a stretch,” he added. “But it’ll be much easier on you this way.”

The tension bled from your shoulders at his words, and you nodded again, slowly pulling your hands away from your face. “What are you waiting for, then?” you asked him, biting your lip lightly after you spoke; you normally weren’t one to tea or speak so playfully in bed, but these two brought out a different side of you than any of your previous partners, and for that, you were glad.

“Well when you put it like that,” Suguru replied with a grin, spreading your legs a bit wider so he could settle between them more comfortably as he leaned down over you once again. He pecked a quick kiss to your lips as he lined himself up with your entrance. “I’m not waiting for anything anymore.”

He pushed in slowly, just as Satoru had, but you could feel your walls stretch to accommodate his girth. You clenched around him involuntarily, and he hissed at the feeling.

“Deep breaths, little one,” he murmured, helping you breathe in time with him, which in turn helped you relax and release the tension in your body. Before you knew it, he was fully seated inside you, and you cradled his face in your hands as you both took a moment to breathe.

“Suguru?” “Yes, little one?”

“If you don’t knot me soon I think I might combust.”

A small laugh burst out of him then, and he easily captured your lips in a kiss. “I don’t think you’ll have to wait long,” he assured you. “I’m as desperate for this as you are.”

And desperate you were. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as you pulled him into another kiss, your fingers slipping through his silky black hair as you attempted to find something to hold onto, something to ground you as he fucked you, every movement deep and intentional, as if he had a mission to accomplish, because he did. Both of you were eager for him to knot you, to bite you and claim you as his just like he had done with Satoru a bit before.

You whined against the fox’s skin as you buried your face in his neck; he was making you feel amazing, but it wasn’t enough.

The feeling of another set of lips trailing down your arm to your shoulder had you gasping in surprise, and when you turned to see what was happening, you were pleased to see that it was your fellow bunny coming to help. He twitched an ear affectionately in your direction, and you did your best to return the gesture, a sweet – if somewhat fucked out – smile on your face as you looked at him.

Taking the gesture as an invitation, he leaned in and kissed you slow and sweet, his light purrs vibrating into the kiss and making you scrunch your nose as the feeling, but it wasn’t unpleasant. You allowed yourself to get lost in the kiss and the feeling of Suguru’s thick cock filling you better than anything or anyone else ever had, so when you felt two of Satoru’s dexterous fingers land on your clit and start tracing little infinity symbols, you gasped, beginning to writhe under the pleasurable stimulation.

“I’m gonna cum,” you warned, the words escaping you on a high pitched, whining moan, and you clenched around the cock inside you.

Suguru moaned in return, licking up the side of your neck left unblemished by Satoru before he spoke. “That’s okay,” he mumbled into your skin, placing hot, wet, openmouthed kisses haphazardly across your skin. “Let us make you feel good, don’t worry about anything else.”

You could only nod in response to his words, and seconds later you were falling apart, moaning high and breathless as you clenched around him, shuddering and shaking with pleasure. “Bite,” you begged quietly. “Please, alpha, claim me…”

A low, possessive growl rumbled in Suguru’s chest at the sound of you referring to him as “alpha”, and almost instantly he was sinking his fangs into your neck, in the exact same spot he had bitten the other bunny.

The breath was stolen from your lungs as you felt him puncture your scent gland, and while your prey instincts stiffened every muscle in your body for a split second, preparing you to flee for your life, the tension disappeared just as quickly, leaving you practically a puddle underneath your fox.

Just when you thought everything was done, that it couldn’t get any better, you felt Suguru slam into you one last time, flooding your insides with warmth; you also felt the way his knot swelled, stretching you out impossibly more and locking you together for a while.

You wailed at the feeling, nails scraping at his scalp until he released your throat from between his teeth. It was as if all the adrenaline and pain bled out of you from the new bite mark in your neck, and you certainly weren’t complaining.

A soft grunt slipped from your lips as Suguru collapsed on top of you, though he did what he could to keep his full weight off of you. When he deemed that task too difficult, though, he wrapped his arms around you, carefully rolling both of you onto your sides. Satoru was quick to snuggle up behind you, reaching across your body until he could rest a hand on your shared alpha’s hip; Suguru quickly did the same, and once they were touching each other again, they relaxed. You were sure their purring was involuntary, but it was genuine.

You’d certainly slept worse places than between two purring men who loved you.

yeah i.... don't really have anything else to say. this was not proofread so i apologize for any glaring errors. also i don't know how dicks work.

tagging: @lorelune @yutaleks @dr-runs-with-scissors @kentohours @fushigurro (not tagging my usual taglist bc uhh. this is not what y'all signed up for lmao)

dividers by saradika-graphics

#cw omegaverse #tw omegaverse #cw a/b/o #tw a/b/o #if i should tag any other cw/tw lmk & i will!#fallon's fics #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto x gojo x reader #satosugu x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #hmmmmm yeah ik the tags are a mess so that's all i'm gonna do lmao

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ijuststareatstuffhereok89 · 6 months

Text

*SPOILER FIC FOR LOKI S2 FINALE*

Do not read until you have watched or are otherwise ready to be spoiled. THIS IS YOUR WARNING!

Idunn & The Golden Apple

In the village of Time’s Ridge, they say when a little girl is sacrificed, she is adopted by the gods and granted any wish she makes. When the orphan Idunn is driven over the side, she blinks and finds herself before a mysterious entity known as the God of Stories. Luckily, in order to gain his favor, she brings a small sacrifice of her own before his glowing throne.

Characters: Loki, OFC (child), cameos of Thor and Mobius Genre: Tragedy, Comfort, Found Family Word Count: 3.3k Content Warnings: SPOILERS FOR LOKI S2 FINALE!, Loki gives off dad vibes, child sacrifice

This time, the annual sacrifice at Time's Ridge was almost a scandal. Woeful Idunn was only ten-years-old.

She stood on the precipice, overlooking the glowing green abyss she’d once played beside thoughtlessly, unaware at the time that it was about to become her grave. Her thick red hair was woven into two braids, laced with daisy blossoms. Idunn was wearing a gray frock meant to symbolize her mortality and humility, she kept her hands in the pocket of her simple, tattered pinafore, her left hand curled around a small ball hidden away.

Instead of weeping like most sacrifices did, Idunn was choosing to go with at least a little dignity (not that anyone was there to be awed by her maturity--being an orphan, no one really cared how she looked anyway). Perhaps she wasn’t even all that upset about being picked by the Leader to die on behalf of Time’s Ridge. A less-brained individual might be flattered by being selected.

Of course, Idunn knew better. The only reason she was here was because no one would miss her.

The green glow of the bottomless pit was somewhat new, and that was when The Ritual began, some two generations before Idunn was born and left to die by a helpless mother. No explanation was given, but the green aura of the trench appeared, and suddenly: the perpetual storms plaguing the fields ceased. People stopped disappearing mysteriously…at least until things began getting worse again. Then, only a few years before Idunn was born, a child fell into the trench and disappeared, but time and the weather stabilized again, and so it was accepted that only the gift of a child’s wish brought personally to whatever god watched over Time’s Ridge, the sad little village at the end of the universe, would bring safety back.

It was always such an honor to be picked to die, until it was your turn. Then, if you were fortunate enough to have a parent of means, your only hope to live to see the following year was to have them bribe the Leader to pick someone else.

“Idunn, Blessed Daughter of Time’s Ridge!” The Leader began his ceremonial monologue, which was surprisingly ho-hum for being the prologue to child homicide. “Today, you are being sent into the Higher Worlds to seek out aid for our small community--”

I’m not waiting for this, the little girl thought. Let’s just get it over with. I have nothing to stay for. She covertly pulled the golden ball from her pocket and held it up, slowly turning before the crowd.

“May I eat before I jump?” she asked. Gasps rang out.

“Where did she get one of those?” someone called out.

The Leader smiled sadly, shaking his head. “You may, Little Idunn. Though I am not sure as to where you found one. But be aware, silly girl, even one of those won’t save your conscious life now.”

Idunn twisted her lip, looking at the golden apple in her hand, shrugging and taking a large bite. The taste was as if the Creators themselves invented the perfect sweet. The crisp skin snapped between her teeth, and the delicious juices felt almost like a cool, gentle tea rolling over her tongue.

I just hope the weird peddler who sold it to me was right, Idunn thought bravely, looking down at the apple as the bite mark she made instantly healed itself, creating a perfectly full piece once more.

A bolt of lightning broke overhead, causing the little girl to jump backwards, startled, her courage failing her for the first time.

“An honorable sacrifice should not be afraid of a little lightning,” mocked a cruel adolescent from the crowd.

Idunn looked back over her shoulder at her glowing tomb. “I’m not overly fond of what follows,” she replied, deciding to turn around, the juices and magic sugars from the golden apple beginning to fall into her stomach and move around inside, warming her core.

Work quickly, work quickly…come on…

She breathed in and raised her voice, which boomed many times larger than her petite body would suggest she could utter. “I hate you all, and I would live forever with no guilt at all if it meant each one of you got to fall into the pit in my place. I hope the timeline frays and swallows you all whole!”

The disapproving murmurs from her assembly of executions gave her a small pinch of satisfaction. One last victory for the condemned. She couldn’t delay it any more when the cruel Leader signaled for the pounding, rhythmic drums to sound.

Fine, even if this is it for me, I don’t want to be here anyway.

The only regret Idunn had in the moment before she fell forward into the abyss was that she was born in Time’s Ridge, a place so afraid of the shifts in time and space that were otherwise so natural around their realm that they would throw children off cliffs in order to make the gods happy.

Gods, Idunn thought. Good thing gods aren’t real.

Idunn decided not to give the Leader the satisfaction of reciting the poetic Final Prayer of the Sacrifice, and instead did a graceful twist of her small body, her red braids flying about her face and standing out even in the twilight suns, falling over with just enough time to wave goodbye to the village before meeting her fate at the bottom of a fraying timeline’s abyss.

The little girl felt the sensation of falling…more falling…even more…then a blinding green light followed by the feeling of being lifted by a thin arm or branch---

Gods aren’t real. Gods aren’t real. Gods aren’t real. Gods aren't--

Infinite branches of time, universes, were binding Loki to his throne amidst a sea of green matter and light, where he would be sitting until time itself decided to rip his duties from him and end existence.

That…that would be soon, right?

Worse than the eons that were beginning to pass before his eyes without him, promising adventures he would never have, romantic nights he would never see, were the whispers, the noises. Loki could hear every spoken voice in every timeline, but they were all a low, maddening hum that rang in his ears as he sat, legs apart, in his supernatural throne room, nothing but the years for company. Of course, the voices of those he knew in life were the loudest and hardest to hear.

And he was hungry. So. Damn. Hungry.

Even Gods needed to eat, but what was there to find in Loki’s palace of emerald and gold, buried underneath countless layers of timeline branches, ensnared in the prison of Yggdrasil? Loki couldn't die of starvation, but the hunger pangs would frequently send surges of pain through his core, out his arms, and as a result, a few timelines would flicker for a moment before regaining normalcy. It was likely these places would only see inclement weather or a few years of time skipped over as a result.

It was painful, but the only way Loki could check on his few allies was through the branches tying him to his noble seat. Sometimes, he would follow the sound of Mobius’ slow voice and find his favorite timeline: where Mobius was happy, retired, living with his adult sons and their spouses and children on a cabin by the beach (three jet skis and an ATV in the garage, of course).

He smiled as he saw OB’s TVA manuals and novels being stored away in a timeproof capsule for posterity, ensuring his legacy. The little man was never taller.

He’d even caught a glimpse of Thor from time to time, and Loki had spent countless hours following him from afar as he traveled with a small band of space brigands. He even managed a chuckle upon seeing what Thor was getting up to: “Father would be embarrassed…and that music is terrible.”

Not that it mattered.

He was forever burdened with glorious purpose, just as he’d prophesied as an arrogant youth. Now, I’m gloriously burdened, Loki thought. He nearly smirked at the poetic irony, or perhaps it was justice for his past transgressions that fit the same meter. A Loki with freedom would have enjoyed the twist for what it was.

A tear formed at the corner of his left eye at the thought. Forever. Here. No food or love or friendship to keep his heart from slowly eroding away with the millennia.

Suddenly, the branches around Loki’s wrists began shaking, writhing in his grip, as if a blustery wind disturbed them. He looked up, his eyes following one of the timelines furthest away from his immediate sight: a gray and lethargic piece of the Tree of Life. As the other tendrils of time began shaking furiously at some invisible disturbance, this branch suddenly exploded into a thread of white hot light before curling in on itself and returning to its original state.

Loki attempted to get to his feet, but he was still bound by the thousands of other timelines he protected. No matter, the odd shift in the air quickly subsided, at least until a brief ‘pop’ was audible from somewhere ahead of Loki’s line of vision, buried behind the twisting strings of time.

“Odd,” analyzed the God of Stories, “but amounting to nothing.”

Alas, he was wrong. For almost immediately after his declaration that the anomaly was of no concern: a small, high voice cooed from beyond the branches.

“H…hello?”

Loki felt his heart still, his skin cool, and a strange current in the air moved about the green chamber, rustling the hem of his cape where it met his boots. It was the first time since he took his place on the throne that it did so.

No, it’s a trick.

“HELLO?”

No one, no mortal could survive being here. It’s why it had to be me…

“Is there someone here?”

No, that’s certainly another’s voice.

Loki dared to hope after all this time. He opened his mouth to reply…but nothing fell out other than a few sharp notes and breath. Had it been so long since he’d used his vocal chords?

Out of the tangle of time streams before Loki, a diminutive, pale figure stumbled over herself, gripping something yet unseen in her hand, wearing a disgusting, dirty gray slip. A little girl, no older to existence than a spring lamb.

Norns, it’s a child!

“Is this heaven?” the little girl asked, brushing a fiery red braid from her shoulder and walking hesitantly into the throne room. “Or somewhere else?”

Loki’s mouth hung open, but his words still somehow failed him.

“Are you The Creator, or some God? Are you real? I didn’t think you would be. I guess I’m glad you are.”

The questions were pouring out of Idunn’s mouth so quickly that Loki was reminded of himself as a child, when he’d ask his mother one too many questions.

“Maybe I should--”

“Who are you?”

Idunn was so startled at the Green King’s first successful words to her, she leapt backwards, tumbling over a branch that her ankle met by accident. Loki nearly attempted to rise again.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m Idunn,” said the girl, regaining composure remarkably quickly.

“...Loki.”

A moment of awkward silence went by before Idunn took another step back toward the throne. “Are all those a part of you?” she asked, her thoughts as aimless and unorganized as any ten-year-old’s.

Loki looked up into the time vines, feeling smaller and more alone than ever in the surreal presence of this little creature who’d managed to survive an entrance into open time without being torn into tiny threads and scattered across space.

“I suppose they are.”

Idunn sighed, shrugging and positioning herself at his feet. “I didn’t know gods were real. I thought they were just an excuse to--”

“--oh, gods are real, little one--”

“--get rid of me.”

Loki fell silent again, this time stunned at the bluntness of the child, and the darkness of her admission.

“What kind of miniature sorceress are you, Miss Idunn?” he asked, his voice starting to lighten in an attempt to alleviate the child’s fears. “Your powers must be fearsome if you stand before me now fully intact.”

“I’m not a witch,” Idunn conceded. “They just chose me for the sacrifice this year, and I had something to help myself survive.”

Loki didn’t know what part of this distressing declaration to address first. “Sacrifice?”

Idunn nodded, looking about the branches above her head, pointing to the one that was still recovering from the intrusion. “Time’s Ridge. They call it The Village at the End of the Universe. They sacrifice a child every year to stop the storms.”

The God of Stories was aware of the histories of many of his burdensome tethers by now, but even Time’s Ridge was a mystery to him.

“Sacrifice?” he repeated as the oblivious blatherskite before him went on, her fears quickly alleviating into a more normal enthusiasm that suited a youth her age.

“Yes,” affirmed the girl, “but the night before they took me to the abyss, a strange man came by my cell window and offered me this.”

She showed Loki the golden apple, causing his jaw to drop again. The girl was unfamiliar, but the apple was unmistakably Asgardian. A rare delicacy, the Golden Apples of Asgard gave the Gods their eternal youth and immortality. Every god had a single one on their person, for sometimes one could find themselves pulling back from the edge of oblivion by virtue of one bite.

They were so rare because they were so difficult to cultivate. Any one mistake during the process would render the apples lethal to even the Allfather. The only grower Loki knew to be alive was an elderly Asgardian somewhere out in the cosmos. How he made his way to this little urchin teetering at the edge of everything and knew to offer her the last apple in existence, Loki couldn’t even guess.

“Did he say where he got that?” Loki’s eternal hunger suddenly caught up with him again upon seeing the golden apple in her small hand.

“No. All I can remember is that he was very strong and handsome for a peddler. Only other thing I can remember is that he was blonde. Oh, and he had a big hammer with him, too. I think he was looking for me directly, like he knew who needed this.”

Loki’s cold skin shot back into a warm heat that made two more tears stain his cheeks.

Idunn looked regretful. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean to make you cry! Did you want a bite?”

Loki looked sadly off to his sides. “I cannot eat. I cannot let go of even a single one of these timelines, little one. I couldn’t hold an apple or a spoon.”

The child looked from Loki to the apple, and back. “So then I’ll help!” she said as simply as if it were the answer to 1 + 1.

Before the god could protest, or even ask, Idunn had taken it upon herself to climb Loki’s throne and sit in his lap, holding the unbitten apple before his lips. “Don’t you want--?”

Loki didn’t wait, his hunger overriding any sense of decorum, and accepted a large mouthful of fruit, almost unhinging his jaw like a snake to consume as much sustenance in a single crumb as he could. As a result, Loki had accounted for half of the apple with his bite. Idunn giggled at Loki’s accomplishment.

The food was not only the single most delicious morsel of food he’d ever consumed, but he felt it travel down to his stomach before warmly blossoming, artificially filling his stomach for the time being. The pains subsided almost immediately, and a surge of energy filled Loki’s veins.

Then, something remarkable happened that he didn’t expect. The timelines glowed gold instead of green for a moment, and each one that was even remotely loose or frayed was repaired and made stronger than it had been before. Small orbs of gold began appearing above their heads, looking as if golden apples were growing on the branches of the World Tree. Idunn gasped.

“Pretty!” she whispered. “I didn’t know these could do that!” she declared excitedly, looking down at the apple.

“Nor I,” said Loki, his gratefulness to the strange girl present in his tone. I wonder if this is affecting the beings within?

“Do you have children?” asked Idunn, suddenly. Loki shook his head, his large, horned diadem nearly whacking the girl off her perch.

“No. Do you have…parents?” he asked hesistantly in return.

“No. No one wanted me.”

Loki’s heart went out to the child. “I know the feeling.”

Idunn sighed. “Why do you think they picked me to jump at Time’s Ridge?”

Loki looked sadly down at the apple in Idunn’s fist, already repairing itself.

“I’m alone,” Idunn continued. “I had to come here in order to save everyone else while they move on with their lives without me. No family, no reason to expect to find one.”

Norns, am I looking into a mirror? Loki smiled, feeling an odd new sensation one could only describe as paternal. “Perhaps…when two unloved, unwanted people find each other, there’s a family to be found there, little one.”

Time passed, how much neither the entombed god nor the condemned child knew, but this was because neither cared. It was here that The God of Stories was able to share his own tales for the first time, and once he and Idunn moved past the initial shock of discovering one another here, in the darkest and least likely of places, his long stretches of details quickly became libraries’ worth.

Idunn may have been young, but her maturity was at least partially Asgardian. Loki suspected her heritage could have been closer to his own peoples’ than one would expect of one of the lowly residents of the edge of time. As such, Loki found his paternal instinct toward Idunn grow, and as infinite measures of time began to pass, he began encouraging her to eat and rest in between stories and songs. After all, she was only as immortal as the apples made her. She was not a god, nor a full Asgardian.

Before long, Loki felt compelled to say what had slowly begun to creep into his mind once she appeared: it’s so wonderful having someone to talk to.

Instead, he addressed what he least wanted to. “Idunn,” he said. “Unlike myself, you are free to leave here at any time.”

She sighed. “Are you tired of me now?”

He quickly denied her with a sad face and a headshake. “I suppose I just wanted to inform you that you could probably enter any one of these timelines and find a better world to live in than the one you knew…and the one that is here.”

Are you mad? thought Idunn. Why would I leave you, the first person to ever listen to me?

“No, I think I’ll stay here a while. You need someone to help you eat, and I need…”

Loki smiled and completed her thought. “...a glorious purpose?”

“Exactly.”

She nodded. “As long as I have this, and as long as you won’t tell me to jump off a ridge, then I will be here for you, King Loki.”

“Sweet daughter Idunn,” Loki whispered in relief, “just know one final thing: please don't call me King Loki.”

Idunn giggled and threw her arms around Loki’s shoulders in an embrace of perfect love and trust. For the moments she couldn’t see his face, Loki allowed the tears to fall freely.

Thus, the Goddess of Youth took her place alongside the God of Stories, giving him the strength and companionship he needed to hold reality aloft on his shoulders for however long the whims of fate would have him there.

For as long as she stayed there, Loki never knew loneliness again.

Yeah, this fic is basically "a wild daughter appears!" like Thor: L&T was for Thor, but Loki just can't and shouldn't be alone on top of the multiverse like that. Come on, y'all.

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TAGLIST: @acidcasualties @coldnique @fictive-sl0th @gigglingtiggerv2 @gruftiela @holdmytesseract @holymultiplefandomsbatman @itsybitchylittlewitchy @joyful-enchantress @loopsisloops @lokisgoodgirl @mochie85 @muddyorbsblr @michelleleewise @mischief2sarawr @peachyjinx @anukulee @queen-chaos-of-hell @purplegrrl27 @ozymdias @smolvenger @mrs-illyrian-baby

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teyamsgrl · 7 months

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here to help ✧ lo'ak

❗️ MDNI ❗️

this is filthyyyyyyyyy hehehe i love rut fics sm 🤭 also my apologies for not posting as frequently! i’m in uni so naturally my posting will be a bit more randomized, but nonetheless i hope everyone still enjoys!

°˖➴ warnings: fem omatikaya reader, older!reader, agedup!lo'ak, dom!lo'ak, sub!reader, younger brother's best friend lo'ak, lo'ak in his rut, messy (if that's a warning?), multiple orgasms, dirty talk, spanking, choking, l-bombs, a lot of sex period 🥴

having a crush on your younger brother's best friend wasn't necessarily ideal, but that never stopped you from fawning over lo'ak any chance you could get. he was not only pretty but also so gracious, he just never failed to amaze you. but these were feelings you restricted due to the circumstances... that is until you heard groaning from the sully hut.

upon hearing the noise your ears twitched, concerned that there may be something wrong. you do your best to announce your presence before stepping into the hut, heavily ruffling with the entrance as you opened it and calling to ask if anyone was there. all you got in response were grunts, and it all made sense once you spotted lo'ak slumped against the wall opposite the entrance, large and veiny cock engulfed by his fist, sweat coating his torso along with ropes of his own cum. he was in his rut.

any words you wanted to utter got caught in your throat, eyes frantically scanning lo'ak's current state and legs crossing subconsciously for any possible friction. his whimpers snap you out of your daze, spotting the cum shooting out of his tip. the glowing white substance drips down his stomach and joins the many other spurts that lie there. within a second his eyes are wide open and staring at you, amber eyes extremely dark and pupils dilated. "y/n" his voice is husky as he speaks, eyes devouring you as you stand a few feet away. "l-lo'ak, hi, uh-" a purple hue fills your cheeks as he eye fucks you, your pussy now forming a wet spot on your loincloth.

"come here" he orders without hesitation, licking his lips slightly. "i- lo'ak i don't know- my little brother is your best friend and-" "i don't give a fuck, come here" you whimper so softly it's barely audible, sauntering over to lo'ak and taking a seat in front of him. you knew men got sort of feral-ish while in their rut, but lo'ak's demanding nature was turning you on more than you ever thought was possible.

lo'ak's hands gripped your hips tightly and yanked you into his lap, his permanently hard cock pressing into your wet loincloth. you whimpered louder this time, resting your hands on his shoulders to stabilize yourself. he leans forward to press his face into your neck, licking and nipping it. "smell so good.. could smell you the second you were outside the hut" he groans and presses you down on his cock, your hips instinctively rolling. "fuck- gonna fuck you so hard..." he growls and runs his hands down between your legs, grabbing the section of your loincloth and tearing it open. you gasp as you hear the rip of the fabric, large hole exposing your pussy which is sopping wet.

"ride me first, pretty girl" you nod frantically, completely at his mercy and willing to do whatever he says. you line up his once again leaking cock with your entrance, sinking down smoothly due to the wetness you've expelled. the rumble that leaves his chest is loud, hands vice gripping the plush of your ass as he bottoms out inside of you. you begin to bounce on his length, bracing yourself with your hands on his chest, airy whimpers falling past your lips. your pace is decently brisk, but not fast enough for a young man in his rut. within an instant you're flat on your back, knees pushed up to your chest while lo'ak jackhammers into your pussy. your surprised gasp was laced with pleasure, squelching filling your ears quickly.

"l-lo'ak-" you whine and drag your nails along the woven mat beneath you, eyes rolling at the deepness of his thrusts, cervix getting abused each time. "so fucking good huh?" he groans, large palms holding your legs to your chest as his hips snap aggressively. you whine and lock eyes with him, drowning in the lust that cloud his. "gonna cum- fucking fill you" he moans as his cock twitches inside of you, cum shooting out and painting your walls. you gasp as he cums, watching as his abs tighten during his orgasm. you don't have much time to look before lo'ak is thrusting again, your back arching off of the mat at the sudden return of sensation. "always knew you'd have a tight pussy.." he groans huskily, pads of his fingers forming bruises on the back of your thighs as they press into your chest. "s-shit!" you gasp, knot inside of you snapping suddenly before you glaze his cock with your cum.

his chuckle is deep and his smirk is big as he brings one hand down to your clit, teasingly circling it with his middle finger while his thrusts never falter. "lo'ak-" you wince, "sensitive". "i know, babygirl.. cum again" his cock pushes even deeper if at all possible, probing your cervix while his hand strokes your bundle of nerves fiercely, second orgasm approaching quickly. "squirt all over my cock- fucking soak me while i feed your pussy again" he moans out as he releases again, stuffing your pussy with even more cum. "oh great mother!" you squeal as you squirt, covering your own thighs and lo'ak's cock, along with his abs. "good girl" he leans over you, breath tickling your lips at his proximity. you whimper softly, craning your neck to press your lips on his in a heated kiss. he sloppily kisses you, teeth nipping at your bottom lip before he pulls off, manhandling you so you're now face down and ass up.

his one hand pushes your thighs apart, the other pressing your head down as he enters you again with ease. "big, big.." you babble, eyes rolling as your mind goes blank, the only thing you're able to focus on is lo'ak's cock slamming in and pulling out. his pace is quite rapid, the sound of skin slapping unbelievably loud. "fucked you dumb haven't i?" he adds more pressure to your head, other hand coming down on your ass roughly. you whine at the spank, back arching down more to push your ass out further, silently asking for more. he spanks you twice more, skin stinging yet you can't help but moan louder each time his hand comes down. "slutty girl..." he rasps, hand groping the plush of your ass now. "yes yes yes" you mewl, body rocking with each thrust. his hand on your head trails around to your neck, holding it tightly and pulling you up on your knees.

you whine as your walls squeeze his cock, milking him further. his mouth rests at your ear, breathy moans escaping as he continues to pound you. "fucking squeezing me babygirl- you want more cum? huh? say it" he grumbles, hand tightening on your throat for the perfect amount of pressure. "more cum.. more more more" you choke out through your brain fog and restricted throat, pussy clenching again around his shaft. "that's it... good girl" he moans and pushes in as far as he can, cum filling you once again. his cum is now dripping from your pussy and down your thighs, pussy too full to hold it all in. his chest heaves against your back for a moment before he's thrusting again, your head lulling back onto his shoulder.

"too much-" you whimper, weakly trying to escape his grasp but failing miserably. his free arm wraps around your waist, tugging you back to be flush against his front. "don't you fucking move, you can take it. just one more..." he nibbles your ear before starting to drive his cock inside of you once more. your jaw is slack yet barely audible whines are escaping as you take his length, his cock bringing you to your third orgasm. you shake and tighten on his cock as you cum again, squirt flowing down your thighs and onto the mat under your knees. he groans out in satisfaction and moves his hips faster, pussy being ravished farther with each movement. "you're mine, i've fucking claimed you" he grunts and presses in deeply once, twice, and on the third thrust his cock explodes for the fourth time. you hum as he adds more cum to your flowing hole, his chest rising and falling as he catches his breath.

when he pulls out of you you sigh at the emptiness, turning around slowly as he loosens his grasp on your body. "such a good girl for me, took so much.." he smiles and kisses your forehead, gesturing for you to lie down. "rest, and then i'll take you ho-" "no! i mean- when will that-" you wave your hand around trying to find the word in your jumbled head, "how long until you feel like that again?" "hmmm.. it usually comes back every few hours.." "then, i'll stay? since you'll need help again, right?" your eyes are big as you stare up at him, hands lying against his chest. "you're perfect.." he chuckles, placing his hands on top of yours, "in the meantime, i would like to talk about... that. i really love you, genuinely..." he trails off, tail swaying in anticipation. "lucky for you, i really love you too" you giggle and lean in, kissing him more calmly now, lips moving in unison after your confessions. not only do you help lo'ak with his rut later, but you do so as his mate.

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vivalas-vega · 5 months

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mistletoe / jake 'hangman' seresin x reader

hey hi hello !!! if you couldn't tell by my previous post, it's my favorite time of the year... which means fics to go along with it! this is just the beginning, from now until new years my fics are going to be very centered on the holiday season so if you have any requests pls send them my way! this one is very short, but sweet and fluffy to kick things off :)

mistletoe / jake 'hangman' seresin x reader

add yourself to my taglist

word count: 1.3k

warnings: none really, slight suggestiveness at the end

Frank Sinatra was crooning from the record player on the console to your left… perched next to it was a still-steaming mug of hot chocolate done up a mile high with whipped cream and a cinnamon stick barely poking out of the top. There was glitter from the ornaments dusting the floor and unbeknownst to you, a rogue piece of tinsel woven into your hair as you perfectly placed each bauble on the tree before you. You were so lost in your own Christmassy world humming along to Let It Snow and narrowing your eyes at your work to make sure it was just right that you didn’t even hear the front door open and close, or hear Jake chuckling at you as he snuck up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist.

“I think it’s a little too early for this, darlin’, the Halloween decorations have barely been put away,” he said into your ear as you squeaked in surprise, squirming in his grasp to turn around and hit his chest.

“I know your mama taught you it’s rude to sneak up on people,” you chastised and he just smirked down at you. “Besides, it’s never too early for a bit of Christmas joy.”

“Far be it from me to rob you of your joy,” he said, backing away and holding his hands up in surrender as he looked over the place. You’d had the day off while he was gone at work and you really didn’t waste a second of it. The tree was nearly done, all of the pillows and blankets on the couch had been swapped out for more festive options, and garland was strewn across the mantle. He was always in awe of you and your ability to bring magic to any space… when he’d arrived home from work at the end of August he’d actually been startled by a rather gruesome statue greeting him on the front porch and the fake spiderwebs he’d managed to walk through… you hadn’t accounted for his height when putting it up, only yours. Even throughout the normal periods of the year your home exuded warmth and a little something special that was just you.

“It’s perfect timing, really… I need your help with something,” you said and he looked at you expectantly, eager to oblige whatever request you had for him. He watched as you ruffled through the various shopping bags, and he decided it was probably for the best that he just not look at the bank statements this month, before you produced several bundles of glittery snowflakes and thrust them in his direction. “I wanted to hang these from the ceiling, I thought it might be pretty.”

“I think it will be wonderful, sweetheart,” he said, setting them aside for a moment as he looked you over properly. You were wearing a red slip dress adorned with lace complete with fuzzy reindeer socks on your feet that were in stark contrast to the silk clinging to your body but somehow they made you look all the more sexy to him as he settled his hands on his waist and pulled you in, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips but you leaned back and put a finger on his lips to stop him, giggling at the look of confusion that passed over his features.

“Excuse me, sir… I don’t see any mistletoe, do you?” you asked, looking above you and he let out a sigh at your antics. “I’m a lady and I can’t go around kissing just anybody. There are rules, you know.”

“I didn’t realize I was just anybody, darlin,” he replied, digging his fingers into your hips and pulling you flush against him but you weren’t having it, you wiggled free from his grasp and turned your back on him, returning to draping tinsel along the branches of the tree and trying to suppress your giggles.

“Find the mistletoe and you’ll get your kiss,” was all you said and he muttered something under his breath that you didn’t quite catch as he began stringing the snowflakes up, taking great care to space them evenly and hang them at varying heights… something he knew to be sure to do after the great debacle of Halloween when he didn’t hang the bats to your standards. He watched you out of the corner of his eye… still humming along to the Christmas record you’d inherited from your mom as you stepped back to admire your work. It really was beautiful, and he wasn’t just biased because you had done it. You had managed to keep it nostalgic without looking tacky, modern without lacking warmth and he couldn’t help but smile at the satisfied look on your face.

You stood on your tiptoes, struggling to reach the top and place the star atop the tree and Jake chuckled as he quickly reached your side and took over for you, fiddling with it until it was straight and you leaned into him as you admired your handiwork, “I’ve always loved Christmas but ever since you came along I can’t seem to get enough of it.” you said, recalling the first Christmas you’d spent together on his family’s farm. You’d been welcomed with such open arms, and experienced a true small-town holiday season for the first time in your life and it solidified that this was without a doubt your favorite time of year.

“I was just thinking the same thing, sweetheart,” he replied, pressing a kiss to your temple before you moved to clear away all the bags and boxes, leaving behind a pristine and festive living room. You leaned against the archway leading to the kitchen, watching as he secured the last snowflake to the ceiling as you made sure to position yourself just right… legs on full display and that mischievous smirk on your face that Jake couldn’t get enough of. It was something you had picked up from him, and he always loved seeing the little ways in which you two would mirror each other. “What are you up to over there?” he asked, eyeing you suspiciously and you shrugged.

“Oh, me?” you replied, “nothing.” You truly looked irresistible to him right now… lace delicately framing the curve of your chest and the tops of your thighs, all done up in red with that sparkle in your eye as you settled all of your focus on him, walking across the room as if being pulled to you by a magnet.

“Is there a reason you’re glued to this doorway?” he asked, resting his hands on your waist as you allowed your eyes to dart upwards, just for a moment, and that’s when he saw it… the mistletoe. “You little minx,” he teased, leaning closer and your head tilted back instinctively. You had specifically chosen the area the two of you passed through the most often to place the mistletoe and that cheekiness was one of the reasons he’d fallen so head over heels in love with you. He closed the gap and captured your lips in a dizzying kiss, tightening his grip around you when you leaned into him. You moaned softly into his mouth when he deepened the kiss but were left wanting when he pulled away suddenly.

“You know, I am a gentleman… just because there’s mistletoe that doesn’t mean I can-” he’d started, wanting to get back at you for your earlier stunt but you just rolled your eyes as you jumped up, wrapping your legs around him. You never had a second thought jumping into his arms so suddenly, you knew deep in your bones he’d never let you fall.

“Oh shut up and take me to bed,” you said and just like the snowflakes he was more than eager to oblige your request, reconnecting your lips as he maneuvered down the hallway, hands gripping your thighs as you melted into him.

“Oh my god, Christmas threw up in here too.”

taglist: @callsignspirit @thegodessc @failuretothrivestuff @olliepig @cruelmissdior @underaveragefangirl @grxcieluvr @amatswimming @camilaricci @nolita-fairytale @dempy @pinkpantheris @aviatorobsessed @tiredqueen73 @pono-pura-vida @binnieslove @nik2blog @waklman @abaker74 @halstead-severide-fan @percysaidnever @memeorydotcom @eli2447 @dumb-fawkin-bitch @toobouquet @a-v-a123 (if your name is struck through it means I couldn't tag you - so sorry!)

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dreamerschroniclesofstories · 5 months

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Clementina pt4

A/n: hey guys! This is officially the final part of this series. Please do leave your opinions in the comments, leave a like or re-blog. It’s all appreciated so much xx

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR YOU TO REPOST THIS ON OTHER WEBSITES AND TRANSLATION OF THIS FIC.

Summery: The Shelby family are in for a shock when they find out they have a sister hiding in plain sight.

pt1. pt2. pt3

Word count: 1,177

Clementina did not say a word to Tommy, his icy blue eyes pierced through the air, making her feel like he could see into her soul. The man did not smile at her, his face blank of emotion.One glance of those blue eyes told Clementina that he had a lifetime of struggles that hadn't been put into words, much like herself.

Eventually, when the doctors allowed Clementina to be discharged, with the help of Polly the young girl get herself dressed into a dress that Tommy had brought her a couple of days prior since the one she had at the orphanage was ruined by the blood and dirt from the years she had worn it and the previous girls that had it before her.

It had been arranged that Clementina would stay with Tommy since he now had enough money to get Clementina proper education, clothes, food and she would be with other young children, charlie and ruby. Polly did not want the young girl to be alone since she had been brought it up a dozen of other children.

On the way home to Tommys house, Clementina did not say a word. The air was brisk, over night it had snowed, not much but enough to leave a thin blanket of white on the ground. Clementina hadn't seen snow in her young life. She had heard of it in books that she had read but had not seen it with her own eyes.

The young girl adjusts herself in the seat beside Tommy, kneeling as she sticks her head out of the window, she wanted to see and smell the coldness on her face. The weather was a sort of cold that would freeze the blood of those who did not take adequate care to be warm at heart and core.

Tommy glances at the young girl, noticing that she was smiling to herself as she looks up to the sky, the clouds were a dark silver and black, they adorn the sky as if they long to kiss the land. Tommy wouldn't be surprised if it started to snow before the end of the day.

“ you'll catch a fever” he warns, a hint of worry laced in his voice.

Clementina quickly sits back down in her seat, wrapping the blanket ,that Polly gave her for the ride home,around her shoulders it was the most beautiful blanket she had ever seen. It was woven with a wool as soft as what Clementina imagined the clouds would feel like. The blanket is the colour of lilacs. A stark contrast to the black interior of Tommy's car. The blanket brings together all the colours of springtime daydreams, bringing Clementina a welcoming heat hugging her delicate body.

“sorry” the young girl apologises, feeling a warm glow rise up to her cheeks, the young girl barely knows the old man, the only thing she knows is that he is her brother, but she knew she didn't want to make him angry like the nuns, she was scared that he would react the same way.

“why are you apologising, ey?” he smirks slightly, raising an eyebrow “ Shelby's don't apologise” Tommy shared, his tone light making sure Clementina knew he wasn't angry at her.

Clementina looks towards Tommy, not saying anything. For the rest of the car journey Clementina leans her head back on the seat, watching the trees pass.

As soon as Tommy turns the corner into his estate, Clementina sits up and her jaw drops ever so slightly, her eyes widening in disbelief as an involuntary gasp leaves her mouth quietly “woah”

Tommy chuckles ever so slightly, he drives around the fountain that sits in front of the house, Clementina quickly looks towards Tommy “ you live here” she asks amazed, she had never seen a house quite so big for only one family.

“ indeed i do, and you'll be living here as well” Tommy climbs out of his car, walking across the gravel to help Clementina out of the car. She gently grabs his hand, stepping out of the car. The curtain to Tommys office twitches making Clementina look towards the window as Tommy places his hand on her back guiding her into the house.

Clementina eyes sparkled as she looks at the different paintings on the walls, making the corner of Tommys lips to tug upwards as he guides her to his office. The young girl had been told before leaving the hospital that her other brothers, her sister and her son will be at the house waiting to meet her.

When they get to Tommys office, Clementina held Tommys hand as he opens the door, her heart beats faster in her chest, she could hear the blood pumping through her veins. She was anxious. Her hand in Tommy's begins to sweat as she glances between the group of people as she entered the office.

“hello” she whispers, her voice small compared to the others. She waves slightly, staying close to Tommy as he sits at his desk. Everyone begins to introduce themselves, Clementina immediately getting comfortable with Ada.

Tommy watched as Clementinas curious green eyes slide over her surroundings, observing everyone and everything. Could her really give her a better life? Would she be safe with him?. However, Tommy realised that it was a risk he'd have to take not just for himself but for Clementina. As she speaks to everyone one by one, she felt less anxious and more relaxed. Clementina was stood by Polly now, watching as the last man to introduce himself walks over to her.

“i'm Arthur, the funny brother” Clementina looks down at the hand that Arthur outstretched towards her. She crept closer to him, then shakes his hand gently.

“you have a funny looking thing on your face” she states innocently, pointing to his moustache, causing everyone in the room to laugh. Tommy smiles, chuckling as he shakes his head.

“i told you Arthur, you need to get rid of it” Ada joked, tutting.

Arthur scuffs “ alright.alright” he grumbles, walking back over to the seat he was sitting in.

Clementina walks back over to tommy's desk, going to sit on the seat that he had placed there for her when she sees the most beautiful horse in the field. she rushes over to the window and smiles “ you have a horse” she asks, her whole face glowing from happiness.

Tommy stands up and walks over to the window, standing beside Clementina “i have five” he corrects her, taking a puff of his cigarette “ do you like horses?” Tommy questions Clementina, looking down at her, watching as she jumps up and down on her feet slightly as she observes the horse walking around the field.

Clementina nods eagerly and looks up at Tommy “ they are my favourite animal, i had a toy horse but it broke” she explains.

From the corner of the office, Polly chuckles and shakes her head “unbelievable, we have another Thomas Shelby” she smiles.

“ god save us” Polly mumbles.

A/N: well that's the end of the story about Clementina. i hope you enjoyed it. I actually can't believe i have completed my very first fanfic series.

#peaky blinders fanfic #tommy shelby imagines #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x sister!reader #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby x sister!reader #thomas shelby x sister reader #peaky blinders masterlist

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shrubdaddy · 1 year

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elucidative | l.greenleaf

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: elucidative |. /ih-loo-si-deyt/ | verb | to make lucid especially by explanation or analysis | y/n is only a little dumb

⇢ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: legolas x reader

⇢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff

⇢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: none

⇢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.1k

a/n: Hiii - Sorry I've been MIA - work has been a bit more hectic and I've been having a hard time finding time to write! I could not stop thinking about the Bridgerton scene with Charlotte and George. Lightly inspired by @reality-warp 'Rávamë’s Bane Trilogy', quite literally one of my all-time fave fics and authors in this fandom and is a literal queen in world and character building so check out her fics if you haven't already!

“Manwë’s breath, how much higher can this wall get?”

Reaching for yet another tendril of the vines climbing up the wall, you attempt to climb higher up the stone wall.

It was a precarious situation — one in which you did not expect to be but were not entirely surprised to find yourself in.

You scaled the stone walls attempting to reach the top of the wall to escape yet another suitor. With flowing sleeves laced with snagged threads and leaves woven into your hair, you don’t quite know how long you’ve been attempting your half-scattered escape plan. At this moment, all you knew was that you’d been in this dreaded courtyard for over an hour and you would not be waiting another minute to be trapped and shackled for the next “prince” to come around.

As a ward of Lord Glorfindel, you were of course expected to adhere to the life of a lady in every way possible. You’ve studied every subject, attended every lesson from etiquette and mannerisms to reading and writing in Khuzdul, and attended each and every dreadful social event your father has encouraged.

Feeling your grip falter yet again, you stumble backward and glare at the very metaphoric yet also a very real wall in front of you.

You have always strived to be the perfect daughter in every way possible. However, in regard to love and courtship, you refuse to follow the ancient, decrepit tradition. Between the many years of dodging conversations and offers of marriage, you’ve reached way past the age of courtship, spending many years avoiding each and every suitor thrown your way.

Rather than bubbling with excitement, you felt the fear of the unknown settle in. Having so much to live for and not enough time to experience, you think of your time spent with the twins and the Rangers of the North — time spent traveling, exploring, and living.

You remember joining the twins and meeting Aragorn… meeting Legolas. He was an elven ranger you befriended through Aragorn. He was strong and sturdy, and for a moment you thought you were in love. The camp up North was a place where not many talked of their past but where they all focused on the present. It was a simple life but it was the life you were able to create for yourself.

Lost in the thoughts of the slow spiral of your sanity, you didn’t hear the footsteps coming up behind you as you reached yet again for the closest, protruding stone on the wall —

“What in the world are you doing?”

Without turning to even see who it is, you let go of one hand waving your intruding guest away.

“Please mind your own business, sir. You can escort yourself out — possibly, somewhere that is anywhere but here.”

You continue your ascent without a second thought but slipped down the wall as stone slowly tore up your hands. Stepping back, you place your hands on your hips and take a look at the growing annoyance in front of you. This stupid wall.

You hear an exasperated sigh behind you and felt someone lightly, grab your shoulder, pulling you from behind.

“Excuse me, sir. But you will unhand or you risk losing your… Legolas?”

Turning around, you were shocked by the familiar face of someone you were completely and utterly infatuated with over the past couple of years. Paralyzed and flustered, you couldn’t help but notice how clean and ethereal — you have never seen him this clean before; his muddied boots were somehow clean and the ragged pants you were so used to was exchanged for a less holey look. Somehow these fit even better. You feel your eyes gaze up but froze — you were staring too long.

“Lose my what?” he asked with a little smug grin.

“Nothing! Absolutely nothing. On the contrary, you can keep everything… It was nothing…” you rambled as you quickly turned around.

You hear him step a bit closer, coming behind you on your side to examine the wall you were so desperately climbing less than a second ago.

“What in Arda are you doing here, Y/n?” he said with his curious, blue eyes. Though a few feet away, just his presence causes your mind to go in a scramble.

“Me? What are you doing here?” you exasperated. Fiddling with your hands, you begin pacing back and forth, pretending to examine every bit of the wall, looking anywhere but him.

Look anywhere but his eyes, Y/n. That is how we’ll survive his cursed beauty.

“You are climbing a wall. If anyone should be questioned, it is you,” he bit back.

You quickly move your shoulder to release his grip and turn around.

“First of all, I live here. Second of all, please do mind your business, Legolas. I am quite a bit … oof … I’m quite a bit busy here. and I’m running out of time.”

Stepping towards the wall, you begin to attempt to climb yet again. If anything, it was to break free from his distracting grip on your body. Ignoring the growing warmth on your cheeks, you couldn’t help but notice how large and warm his hand was and how one touch made you feel like hot honey dripping down your body.

Shaking off the startling moment, you were determined to leave. And even he could not stop you.

“What in the world are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re doing something.”

“I am not”

“Yes… you quite obviously are are.”

“I am n o t.”

“Yes… you are,” he said firmly.

Relenting — you turn back around to face him. Beautiful face and all. You notice how his head is turned slightly down, his eyebrows furrowing just the slightest beginnings of a small smirk staring down at you.

“Fine,” you relented. “If you must know, I am trying to figure out the best way to climb over this disgustingly high wall and escape this dreaded meeting with this so-called ‘prince.’”

“You’re trying to what? With who? Whatever for?”

“Well, the first thing — hmph …” you grunt as you turn back around to attempt to climb for the fifth time in a row. “The first thing is that my dearest father has been parading me around to different suitors, a Lord here, a Duke there — and now, um, it’s apparently another ‘prince’.”

You take a step back because rather than focusing on climbing, you feel a sense of frustration overcome you. The situation of late has finally dug its claws into you... feeling a greater weight on your shoulder than you have originally led yourself to believe. You feel him standing behind you — the burning intensity of his stare on your back.

“No one has spoken of him… no one has spoken of this so-called Prince of Mirkwood?” You continued, “What if he has the personality of a gremlin and the looks of a troll? The Valar knows the little patience I have for men.”

“Gremlins and trolls aside — does what he looks he really matters to you? ” he asked.

“No… Of course not. It’s the not knowing and the fact that I do not know him or his heart that I do not like.

You take a step back to take a look once more at the wall in front of you. Glaring with all of your might, in hopes that your internal rage can burst a whole through these dreaded walls.

“Y/n —you must know... “ Legolas began.

Your eyes run through all the nooks and cranny’s vine-covered stone beast, ignoring Legolas’s words for only a second. There it is. A protruding stone just two feet away from the top. You found one last way you have yet to try.

“Thank the Valar! I think I found a way.”

You walk towards the wall once again, mapping out the new path of vines and protruding stones.

“I think if I can just reach this stone I can lift myself up! If you lift me just a little, I believe I can reach that vine and use these stones to climb up,” you said excitedly.”

“You want me to lift you up… so that you may… escape?”

“Yes, obviously. Did you not hear of threatening the gremlin-troll prince? Please, Legolas.”

“Your father will know that you are missing? The twins have just arrived as well?”

“Those are tomorrow’s problems, Legolas. The prince will be coming today,” you whined.

As you begin your ascent, you feel your foot slipping from the stone. Despite this, you stretched your hand above your head to grab the vine. As you reached, you feel the stone beneath your foot crumble and in a matter of seconds you find yourself falling.

“Lego—”

“Y/n,” he cuts you off. “I have no intention of helping you escape.”

Standing a little too close, you can feel the warmth emanating from his body. As you gaze up to his face, you see he’s wearing an emerald green tunic, soft and silky — something far nicer than the typical garb you always see him in.

“And why not? There is little time to —.”

Your finally glance up to look him in the eyes and —

“You’re wearing a crown,” you blankly stated.

Confused, you oh-so-slowly begin to piece the puzzle together.

“Yes, I am wearing crown,” a small grin appearing on his smugged face.

“Where in the world did you get a crown?”

“It was given to me,” he said as he looked around feigning boredom.

“By who?!” you retort.

“My father.”

“Your father? What does— is he like a king?”

“He is a king,” he said frankly.

“Which makes you a — “ you slowly piece the information together.

“A prince? Yes, a gremlin-troll prince to be exact,” he retorts with now a full grin and staring down at you.

“And you said nothing?” You frantically exclaimed.

“I figured you’d realize at some point,” he chuckled.

You stood there reflecting on all your life decisions at once. Every conversation, every hidden glance. He was a prince.

“I thought it was common knowledge and that you knew of my title,” he said quietly. “I apologize for not disclaiming it sooner.”

“So if what you’re saying is true…” you teased. “You just assume everyone thinks of you as royalty? That’s quite the assumption”

“Y/n, you know I did not mean it like that,” he groaned.

With a little giggle, you stepped away from him and asked “Should I call you, sir?”

“…Y/n, what?”

“Oh my, I’ve never bowed.” Your voice shifts into worry, “Is this grounds for beheading?”

“Y/n, no.”

“I should bow.”

“No— you should not.”

“I’ll bow.”

“Y/n — stop.”

“Please sir, I am merely a lowly peasant. Have mercy, your highness,” you exclaimed as you lower your head and drop into the deepest curtsy.

As he attempts to stop you, he reaches for your arm hoping to put an end to your jester.

As you back away and dodge, you look at him, batting your eyelashes, and cry “My liege, spare me from this punishment I only wish to live.”

Ears turning red with a desperate voice, he begs “Y/n, please.”

As you step back once more, he’s quicker this time and grabs your arm, pulling you close. your chest crushed against his, he drops one of his hands to your waist and the other to your back. You were so close you felt his breath caress your face. As you look up, you find him staring intently at you.

As you stare at each other, you couldn’t help but break into giggles over the preposterous situation. As you begin to giggle, he looks away trying to hold in his laughter, only to also laugh at the situation.

It felt nice — to feel free and silly, if only for a moment.

As both your laughter calms down, he looks back down at you asked, ”So what do you think of the gremlin-troll prince?”

“Nothing too horrid, he’s actually quite dashing,” you teased.

“Dashing, hmm?” he chuckled.

Unaware of everything around you, you were both startled to hear the courtyard doors open with footsteps following. Jumping from each other's arms, you separated a good distance away only for you to see your father and Elrond turn into the corner section you were standing in.

“Oh, good. You’ve met!”

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aokoaoi · 1 year

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could I request a ao'nung fic where the reader is a sully sister and when he takes lo'ak out beyond the reef she follows along and he panics when he gets back realising shes missing coz he secretly loveeeees her

thankuuu sm hope u have an amazing day!!!!!

ao'nung x fem!reader.

◗ pairing's :: ao'nung x fem!reader.

◗ warning's :: avatar the way of water spoilers. near death experience. mentions of near death. vulgar language.

◗ author's note :: i just feasted on a bunch of ao'nung edits, im still not full. ty for requesting<3!

Ao'nung bubbles with laughter with his friends as they returned to the village, one of the boys hands coming to give him a boyish pat on the shoulders before they all part ways. The chief's son walks on the paths of the woven materials, his eyes catching the sight of the Omaticaya mother frantically asking the whereabouts of her daughters presence.

The boy decided to listen in sneakily, hearing how you were following Lo'ak when he was going to apologize to Ao'nung and his other bruised friends. The grin on his face drops when he realized what happened, looking back at the direction where he lead Lo'ak outside the reefs.

Neteyam catches the sight of Ao'nung, his jaw clenching as he approached the chief's son with furiousness.

"You." The eldest son spat out, venom lacing his voice.

You spot Lo'ak underwater, holding his knife with one hand as he stands up for himself against the Akula swiftly swimming towards him. Before the Akula can get to him, you swam your Ilu towards him, snatching him from his place as the air was knocked out of his lungs in process.

He glances at the person who just saved him from his misery, and immediately see's his sister. He glanced behind you, seeing the Akula gaining on your tails faster. You ducked down into the water, and at the corner of his eyes he saw a ginormous sea creature harshly crush the Akula against a rock.

You feel the boy harshly twitching in your hold, making it known to you that he is losing air by seconds. You pulled your Ilu up, gesturing it to go back to the surface. You glanced at your brother, seeing him struggling to keep his breath as you both neared the surface of the water.

He faints in your hold just as soon as you both reached the air, leaving his body to limp by your side. You pulled him off you, two fingers coming up to his neck as toy checked his pulse. You panicked for a while, trying to lay down his body on your Ilu more properly so you can preform car on him.

Your eyes widened as the same large sea creature emerged from the water beside you, eyeing you with observing eyes. You see it emerged its fin from below you, making your Ilu yelp as it fried to escape from the Tulkun's fin, going back into the water. You held your brother in your arms as you were now sitting down on the Tulkun's fins, hesitantly placing him down on the fin.

The Tulkun makes a bellowing noise, and you flinched, nodding your head as if you understood what it said. You laid your brother beside you, hands placing on his chest as you started the compressions, remembering what your father said to you just in case something happened.

After thirty chest compressions, you pinched the bridge of his nose, breathing into his mouth two times before going back to chest compressions. After a few while, Lo'ak finally comes back, choking the water out of his mouth as he harshly let's out a gasp. He shifts in his position, looking around his surroundings with wide eyes.

"Oh, thank Eywa." You sighed, looking at him in concern. "Brother, are you alright?" You placed a hand on his back, watching as he looked at you with wide eyes.

"Am I in heaven..?"

You pursed your lips with a tired sigh, shaking your head. "No, you skxawng. What were you thinking?" You scolded him, contemplating whether or not you should slap him. He only groans, rolling his eyes, "Sis, I almost died and the first thing you do is act like dad?"

"Yes! Idiot, why in the ever living hell would you go outside the reefs with that boy?" You continued to scold him out of worry. You stopped when you see him look down, as if tired by your antics.

"Look, I'm sorry. I'm just worried for you." You apologized with a sigh, rubbing his arm reassuringly. He nods, looking at you. "How did you know where we went?" He then asks you, curios as well.

"I followed you."

"Yikes." He winced, embarrassed of the fact you probably heard the reason why he went out the reefs with Ao'nung. You were both distracted by a sound of another bellowing, and Lo'ak shifts closer to you, as if frightened by the sound.

"Holy shit." His eyes followed the sight of the Tulkun's body, eyes wide as he continued to stick close to you. "You're a tulkun." He says, looking at the creature in awe. He turns to you, slightly grinning as if saying 'are you seeing this?'

You chuckled at him, looking at the Tulkun in amusement as well. "You saved our life. Thank you." The boy says, nearing the Tulkun to look at it in the eyes. He signs the words either his hands, repeating his gratefulness to express it to the Tulkun.

The Tulkun let's out a few animalistic sounds, making you and your brother share a laugh. "Buddy, I have no idea what you just said" He states, smiling at the Tulkun. Then the Tulkun looks at the stub on his fin, making you notice of it as well.

"Oh, poor thing." You cooed sympathetically, touching the Tulkun's fins as if comforting him. "They hurt you, didn't they?" You questioned the Tulkun, watching as he made more noises as if communicating. You and Lo'ak looked at eachother, as if thinking the same thing.

"We'll try to pull it out." Lo'ak says, raising one foot up in a more comfortable position. Lo'ak tried to pull out the rusty stub, but was unfortunately getting jambed. You dropped yourself into the water, swimming down into the Tulkun's fin as you neared the end of the stub. You grabbed the attachment of it, twisting it around until it was off.

You swam back into the surface, watching as Lo'ak pulled off the thing, throwing it down at the pits of the ocean. Lo'ak emerged from the water, smiling at the Tulkun. "Friends?" He says, signing his words at the creature.

The animal let's out low raspy whistles, and Lo'ak grinned. "That's right, we're friends!" He laughs. You grinned at their interaction, but that grin immediately fell when you were pushed down into the water by the Tulkun's fins. You looked at Lo'ak, confused, you both turned to the Tulkun as it swam in a circle, letting out the same whistling the Ilu's make.

You clapped at the Tulkun's actions, smiling delightly as you were amused.

You were laying on the Tulkun's back after a tiring day spent with him and Lo'ak, looking up at the stars as you listened to him and the creature talk.

"You know, my dad came from the star. That one, right there." He points at one of the stars. You looked at where ge was pointing as well, smiling at the mention of your dear father. You turned on your belly, caressing the Tulkun's back with a delighted grin as you heard it let out small whistles.

"Lo'ak!" Your ear twitched at the yell, looking at the direction to where it came from. You turned to see a few clan members and their Tsurak or Ilu's, their torches exposing their locations. You snapped to look at Lo'ak, patting him in the shoulder.

"Lo'ak, we've got to go."

He looks at you confused, "Why?" He questioned, upset. You bobbed your head at the directions of the clan searching for you two. And in timing your name was loudly called out.

"Go, I will see you again." Lo'ak signed at the Tulkun, rushing his movements as you walked off the Tulkun's back. You hopped on the rocks, waving at the crowed swatching for you as you acted less suspicious as you could. "Over here!"

The clan turned at the sound of your call. Two skimwings neared you and Lo'ak, and it revealed to be your father and another Metkayina man. You looked down from your father's gaze, ears drooping down. "(name), are you alright?"

You nod at his question, glancing to sew Lo'ak take a ride behind the Metkayina man's skimwing. You hear your father sighs, his arm coming across your shoulders as he walks you to his skimwing.

...

You watched as Lo'ak approached Ao'nung, slightly glaring at him. Your father intervened between him before your brother could do anything while you tried your best to get off the skimwing without passing the creature off. You hopped on the canoe they were standing on, equally as pissed as Lo'ak.

"He's fine, just a few scratches." Your father informs after checking your brother. Your mother then emerged from the crowed, walking up to you. "Oh, my child." She looked at you, looking all over your body as if looking for an injury.

You shyed away from her hold, "I'm fine, ma." You gritted out, gently pulling her hand away from you. She does a full shift in persona, now looking at you furiously, "What were you thinking? You were supposed to look after your brother." She growls.

You sighed, rolling your eyes.

"No. My son knows better then to take them outside the reef," Tonowari speaks up, placing a hand on his son, forcing him to kneel down. "The blame is his." You looked down at Ao'nung's form, feeling slightly guilty, but then again you were petty and he did almost get your brother murdered.

"No, this is not Ao'nung's fault. This was my idea." Your eats twitched at Lo'ak's words, looking at him with slightly wide eyes. "Ao'nung tried to talk me out of it."

You pursed your lips as the parents of both sons looked at you, feeling small under their gazes. You sighed and took your brother's arms, dragging him away from the scene. You walked away with Lo'ak, not sparing the useless lectures from your father as he was only probably gonna bring Lo'ak down again, just like recent times already.

At the corner of your eye, you see Ao'nung approaching you two. "Why did you speak for me?" He walks beside you, glancing at your brother. "Because I know what it's like to be one big disappointment." Your brother says.

You glanced at the boy beside you, watching as his eyes scanned your body as if looking for something. You huffed, pushing your brother, as he was now standing between you and Ao'nung.

"Don't speak to me. I despise you." Your harsh words made Ao'nung wince, his steps slightly faltering as he tried to have a conversation with you. He stands in front of you, holding is hand between the space both of you had, stopping you in your tracks.

"Look, I'm sorry. I know I messed up." You only scoffed at his words. "Your apologies mean nothing to me. You almost got my brother killed, I mean, who does that?" You looked at him increasingly, still upset.

"I was feeling petty yesterday, and it was childish for me to do that. Fucked up too, but i swear im trying to change."

"How you change your actions has nothing to do with me. Basic decency is practiced ever since childhood, but despite being fifteen, you still act like a child." You hissed, trying to get past him. He blocked your way again, and when you went past another direction, he blocked you again.

"I know you think I'm a selfish asshole—"

"Congrats on being self-aware."

"But I am actually sorry. Genuinely sorry. What happened yesterday snapped something inside me, and it made me want to change how I act. I don't wanna be a disappointment anymore." You looked at him up and down, raising a brow as you crossed your arms.

"You should be apologizing to my brother instead." You stated, voice slightly low. Ao'nung nods, "I already did." You hummed at his words, your eyes slightly squinting.

"Well if you wanna change your shitty personality, you better go on your merry way and start working on it." You waved him off, patting him on the shoulder before you left. Ao'nung slumps as he watched you walk away, hearing the bushes near the trees rustle.

"How'd it go, bro?" Rotxo emerged from the bushes, looking at the boy excitedly. Yes, he's also the reason why Ao'nung approached you and started apologizing. Sometimes, Rotxo gaslights.

"Horrible. She called me a child, selfish asshole, and called my personality shitty." Rotxo tries to hide his snickers as his friend repeats your words, earning a slap from the back of the head by Ao'nung.

"Well I mean, she never lies, soo..?"

Ao'nung glared at his friend, unamused because of how Rotxo was acting right now. "Look, if you want (name) to notice you, don't be a try hard. She has enough of those kinds of boys begging for her attention right now."

"I don't want her to notice me, Rotxo, I want her to forgive me." Ao'nung pinched the boy slightly, sighing when he realized Rotxo had no clue what his goals for you are.

The shorter boy slowly nods his head in realization. A few beats of silence passed, and Rotxo had already came out of the bush. The boy gives the chief's son a boyish pat on the shoulders, "Well, I can't relate to you right now bro, so I've got no advice for you."

Ao'nung groaned, glaring at the boy as he cheekily walked away.

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kingofbodyrolls · 5 months

Text

Learn to Love Again (m) | myg | teaser

💜 It has been posted! Read it here. 💜 Summary: People always leave. They become beautiful stars shining bright in the night sky. When life hands you lemons, you’ve been told to make lemonade, but that is hard when your soul and heart is breaking apart. When you rescue a tiny cat and meet a handsome stranger in the cafe, you finally feel yourself healing – but when they too leave, how are you going to learn to love again?

Pairing: Yoongi x reader (female, mainly called pet names so no ‘Y/N’).

AU + genres: Hybrid!au (shapeshifter!yoongi), strangers to lovers, slice of life, heavy angst, a lot of sadness (I’m sorry!), dark vibes, smut and fluff and some humor.

Rating: Mature/explicit/R18 – this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.

Word count (for the teaser): 480 words. I’m still writing the fic and it’s currently at 12k and I’m almost done!

Warnings (general) + triggers: Heavy angst, extreme heavy sadness and grief, death of minor characters, mention of previous character death (parents), mentions of su*cide, mention of m*rder, su*cidal thoughts.

Warnings (explicit): Explicit sex (I haven’t written the smut yet, so I don’t know what it entails yet 🤣).

Authors note: I know it sounds hella sad (and it is), but it is also very sweet and heartwarming too 💜 I wanted to venture into the darker stuff again, and embrace all the feelings and sadness that I felt a few weeks ago (I’m fine, well I’m getting through it at least).

If you are triggered by any of the warnings, I suggest that you skip this. It’s not that explicit though (except the smut lol) but the heavy subjects are still there and they feature in it a lot.

Also, the quote ��people always leave” features a lot in this and I only now realize why I find it so familiar – it’s a famous quote from Peyton Sawyer from One Tree Hill.

*fun fact: I actually took the photo of the night sky myself (back in 2013 lol) and used in the breakline for this!

Taglist: If you wish to be notified and added to the taglist, just drop a comment here on this teaser, an ask or a message and I’ll add you. I kindly ask that you have your age visible on your blog, as this contains mature and dark themes, you must be over 18+ 🙂

“Yuna…,” you cry, the anguish in your voice echoing the profound pain that seems to squeeze the very life out of your heart. “Why does everyone leave?” The question hangs in the air, more rhetorical than expectant, as if you're not seeking an answer from Yuna but grappling with the cruel patterns of departure that life has woven into the fabric of your existence. Each departure, like a thread pulled from the tapestry of your world, leaves an unraveled piece that never quite knits itself back together.

“I–, I don’t know,” she stammers through her tears, the weight of the unknown echoing in her voice, mirroring the uncertainty that now shrouds both of your lives.

“Promise we’ll be there for each other,” you declare, the weight of the words hanging in the air. It's a poignant plea, an acknowledgment of life's unpredictable twists. You understand that you can't ask for an eternity, but in this moment, you're determined to hold onto each other as tightly as time allows.

“Count on it,” she vows, her response flowing effortlessly, a testament to the unspoken bond between you two.

Despite the tightening in your throat, a glimmer of happiness sparks within you at the assurance she just gave.

Why must life be so fucking cruel, robbing you of everyone you hold dear?

An overwhelming urge to reconnect with your sister washes over you, a deep yearning fueled by the ache of prolonged silence between you.

“I want to call my sister,” you manage to say through your sobs, a desperate plea lacing your words. “Will you be alright, Yuna?” you ask, your concern breaking through the waves of grief that surround you both.

“Yeah. I mean, I'm fucking sad, but go ahead and call her. Can I come to your place tomorrow?” Yuna's voice carries a subtle plea, a shared understanding that neither of you wants to be alone in the midst of sorrow.

“Yeah, I'd love that,” you respond, your voice carrying the weight of grief and the faint glimmer of gratitude for the companionship that awaits tomorrow. As you attempt to dry your tears with a throw blanket on the couch, the room feels emptier than ever, and the ache in your heart persists.

“See you tomorrow,” she says before the call ends. The hollowness in the room deepens, and you draw in a shaky breath, your gaze fixed on your phone. The background image captures a moment frozen in time, featuring you, Nari, and Yuna. God, the ache of missing her intensifies, and you can't shake the heaviness in your chest.

You tighten your grip on the phone, each tear that escapes your eyes a silent testament to the pain in your heart. Determination wells up as you locate your sister's number, fingers tracing the familiar digits, ready to bridge the gap that time and distance have carved between you.

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zeciex · 4 months

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A Vow of Blood - 61

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….

Chapter 61: The Taste of Silence

AO3 - Masterlist

*smut*

The stern tone of his mother’s voice sliced through the quiet of Aemond’s chambers as she briskly entered, flinging open the door before shutting it with a loud bang behind her.

Aemond looked up, his expression turning into a scowl, feeling annoyance flare up within him. He continued to pour himself a cup of bitter wine, taking a gulp of it, before setting it aside, as his mother stood before him, her face etched with disapproval, eyebrows knitted together in unmistakable anger.

“What were you thinking?” She demanded, her voice laced with frustration.

He wasn’t sure what he was thinking. Like a feral dog, he was poised to bite first.

Aemond leaned casually against his desk and responded with a nonchalant drawl, “Forgive me, Mother, for merely speaking the truth. It’s not my fault they’re bastards–”

“You said it to their faces!” Alicent interjected sharply. “After the ordeal with Vaemond – what if they bring this to Viserys? What if they demand your tongue? I can’t shield you if you persist in provoking them openly!”

Her words were a mix of fear and exasperation, an attempt at conveying the precariousness of their situation and her concern for the consequences of his brash actions. Aemond, however, was less perturbed by the potential fallout, his stance and tone reflecting this.

“I am not as defenseless as Vaemond; I’ll be ready if they dare to come for me,” Aemond retorted with confidence in his own prowess. He would not cower in fear of what the bastards would do to him for telling what was plain for all to see, and for what Vaemond had lost his head for. Gone was the child who had been ambushed and overpowered. In his place stood a man, fully prepared to dispense the same level of mercy that had once been dealt to him.

“Why do you persist in provoking them?” Alicent demanded, her voice ringing in volume and sharpness, her eyes blazing with anger.

“Because we are far from being a happy family!” Aemond shot back, his response laced with frustration, burning in his chest and spreading through his body. “The entire evening was nothing but a charade, a pathetic farce for Viserys’s sake. He may want us to bury our grievances, but he only deepens them with his unfair judgements! He expects me to sit amiably across from the one who took my eye, to offer forgiveness! I cannot and will not do that!”

Alicent’s frustration was palpable as she shook her head in disbelief, her fingers massaging one of her temples as if to alleviate a pounding headache. “And this is what you choose to do? To deepen the rift between us?”

Aemond responded with a tone of petulance in his voice, “There’s no necessity for me to exacerbate the divide, Mother. I merely shed light on its depth, proving that mere words and good intentions are insufficient to mend such chasm.”

“Aemond–” Alicent began, only to be cut off.

“The thread binding this family will unravel with Viserys’ death, you know it,” Aemond pressed on. “Then, the pretense can finally end! I refuse to prostrate myself before my wretched half-sister or waste my breath on pretense, and why should I? They will never offer an apology, nor will they admit any fault for maiming me.”

“And yet, you’ve gone as far as to declare that you and Daenera are betrothed,” Alicent interjected sharply.

Aemond clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding together. His declaration had been instinctive almost, driven by a desire to irk her brother’s. He had wanted to see the facade crumble, to lay bare the deep fissures hidden beneath it. He wanted to expose the truth behind the illusion and watch the ensuing chaos unravel their pretense.

Watching Daenera interact with her family had stirred a sense of disquiet in him. It was as if the months they had spent together, the intimacy they had shared, were nothing more than a fleeting dream from which she had abruptly awakened, leaving him stranded in a desolate nightmare. He felt a gnawing knot in his stomach as she offered him mere glances and polite smiles, treating him as a mere acquaintance rather than someone who knew her, someone who had killed for her, someone who had tasted her darkness and her blood, and had allowed her to infiltrate his being.

Her act of detachment had only intensified the bitterness festering within him, a poison that gnawed at his core. He yearned to shatter the veneer of civility, to reflect the decay and corruption inherent in their family. The barbed comments from her brothers, which echoed painfully in his head, combined with Daenera’s apparent indifference, only fueled his desire to reveal the true, rotting nature of their family ties.

It had been almost an instinct.

Alicent pressed on with her argument. “You must realize this wasn’t the bride you were meant to choose! You know this union with Daenera cannot happen, Aemond. Rhaenyra and Daemon will never consent to it, not after the scene you created, not after you called her and her brother’s bastards for all to hear!”

Aemond let out a derisive scoff, dismissing the gravity of the situation with a gesture of contempt.

“This is unacceptable,” Alicent declared sternly, her tone laced with reproach. “I will not tolerate it.”

Aemond’s fingers pressed deeply into the wood of the desk, blunt nails scraping over the veins in the wood, as he braced himself against the heavy tide of his mother’s disapproval.

“This dalliance with Daenera ends now,” Alicent asserted, her voice unwavering and resolute. Her hands were clasped firmly in front of her, her spine erect in a posture that exuded authority. “You are to marry a Baratheon girl – it matters not which one, but choose one of them, Aemond, and put an end to this matter.”

Her directive left no room for argument, underscoring the finality of her decision and the expectation of his compliance.

Aemond clenched his teeth tighter, forcibly swallowing down the vehement refusal that scorched his chest. The Very thought of marrying a Baratheon, or anyone other than Daenera, was intolerable to him. His mind was set on her, and he was acutely aware that if they were to marry in the presence of the Seven, their union would become irrefutable, beyond the reach of opposition or dispute. This realization fueled his resolve, even as he grappled with the constraints imposed by his mother’s demands.

With a swift turn, she exited the room, leaving Aemond to his thoughts.

In response, Aemond roughly gulped down his wine, the bitterness of the drink mirroring his mood. He set the cup down on the table with a forceful clatter and rose to his feet. As the door to the secret passageway opened with a soft click, a cool breeze caressed his skin, welcoming him into the embrace of the shadows.

The quill danced gracefully over the parchment, leaving behind a trail of ink that formed precise, deliberate strokes so meticulous and refined they would surely draw a nod of approval from Maester Geradys. The table was a mosaic of parchment scrapes, a disarray of paper balls and neatly rolled scrolls. Each fragment was an essential link in the chain of communication, carrying the weighty news of her impending departure–a decision that had not come lightly.

After leaving her parent’s chambers, a sense of unease and restlessness gnawed at her, banishing any thoughts of sleep. Instead, Daenera found solace in the meticulous planning of her departure. It was a retreat from everything she had so carefully constructed over months, a departure that didn’t align with what she had envisioned for herself.

Yet, in the current turmoil, perhaps this was a necessary pause, a chance for her to catch her breath, just as her mother had wished. And how could she refuse her mother, especially with the impending arrival of a new sibling? She had been at the birth of all her other siblings save for Jace, she would see this one into the world as well.

Her fingers traced the edge of the parchment, her mind adrift.

“I am not in the mood for company,” Daenera stated icily, lifting her eyes from the parchment to look through her lashes as Aemond slipped into her chambers through the secret passageways. “I think it’s best you leave.”

Aemond merely hummed in response, dismissing her icy glare. He casually leaned against her table, watching as she furiously continued her writing, her previously elegant writing became hurried and crude with her rising irritation until it was almost ineligible.

Daenera persisted with her writing, periodically dipping her quill into the inkwell. Each time she brought it back to the paper, a few stray drops of ink fell, splattering on the parchment and leaving unintended smudges. As her frustration mounted, she couldn't help but release a sharp exhale, breaking the silence. “What were you thinking?”

Aemond’s expression soured, the corners of his mouth turning downward slightly as he shrugged indifferently. “I was merely toasting my nephews. I didn’t know how insecure they were about their heritage.”

“You called us bastards!” Daenera retorted sharply, her patience worn thin. She discarded the quill in the inkwell, turning her whole attention towards him.

“I was merely brave enough to state the obvious,” Aemond countered, his voice laced with the same sharpness he exhibited during supper. “They are bastards.”

Daenera rose to her feet, her cheeks flushed with mounting anger. “And what does that make me, then?”

Aemond met her gaze, his posture unyielding, arms folded across his chest. “A bastard.”

“My brothers considered having your tongue removed for your insults. And they’re well within their rights to have it,” Daenera snapped, starting to regret her decision in opposing her brother’s wishes.

Aemond let out a derisive scoff. “You’d regret the loss of my tongue more than I.”

Daenera’s voice was a low growl of warning. “Be careful. The last man who dared call us bastards lost his head for it.”

Her words hung heavily in the air, a clear boundary of her tolerance for disrespect. Her fury simmered just beneath the surface, a fire raging within, clashing with the icy, mocking flame in Aemond’s sharp, blue gaze. His expression was a curated mix of scorn and amusement, clearly relishing in getting a rise out of her.

“Years have done little to improve his skill. He still throws punches like a girl.” Aemond’s retort was laced with smugness, his lips curled into a self-satisfied smirk, only serving to further fan the flames of Daenera’s anger.

Daenera’s response was laced with venom, her frustration palpable as she let out a huff, running her hand through her hair and shaking her head angrily.

“It was a well deserved hit,” she retorted sharply, tempted to demonstrate firsthand the strength of a girl’s punch. “I only wish it had broken your jaw.”

“For someone of House Strong, his punch was disappointingly feeble,” Aemond taunted, the reply dripping with malice. It was clear that he was enjoying the effect his words had on her.

“Did you intentionally seek to provoke conflict, or was it a spur-of-the-moment decision?” Daenera inquired. The answer came in the form of a smirk, its curve as menacing as a Dothraki arakh. “Well, you’ve certainly succeeded in stirring up trouble by calling us bastards–by referring to me as your wife!”

“You are my wife,” Aemond declared, his tone infused with a mix of indignation and assertion.

Daenera released a weary sigh. “It wasn’t real, Aemond.”

Aemond appeared visibly taken aback, looking almost crestfallen, and he briefly averted his gaze to compose himself, something hardening within his expression. “We said the vows, we cut our palms–”

“But the Faith doesn’t recognize it. There were no priests, no witnesses,” Daenera answered, almost softly. Her heart twisted painfully, and she swallowed the pain as it seemed to wreck through her chest and climb up her throat.

His voice dropped to a low, resonant tone, deep and dark, “You know it was real.”

In her heart, Daenera knew it was both real and unreal. A fleeting act of folly, born of desire and the thing neither of them acknowledged. It had been a dream–a fantasy. They bore the physical marks of this fantasy, and whispered the vows in the dark, with only the flames and the shadows as their witnesses. It had been a moment that belonged solely to them, detached from the rest of the world.

And now, that world was crashing in around them.

“I asked Viserys for permission for us to marry.”

Daenera’s reaction was immediate and visceral. Her head jerked up, her body momentarily frozen in disbelief. Her lips parted slightly as she absorbed his words, her eyes searching his face, delving into the depth of his gaze. Confusion and suspicion furrowed her brow, while her heart pounded so fiercely she feared its beat might echo through the room.

The air in the room seemed to thicken with the gravity of Aemond’s declaration, each second stretching out, intensifying the tumult of emotions raging within Daenera. A storm of questions and doubts raged in her mind. Was this some elaborate ruse? A way to corner her, or was it a declaration?

Her heart’s frenzied rhythm seemed to mirror the chaos of her thoughts and her throat went dry, her words hesitant as she finally spoke. “You didn’t.”

Aemond’s gaze turned steely. “I could.”

“It wouldn’t make any difference. We can’t marry, Aemond,” she answered, her voice trembling with a mixture of realism and disappointment. She could feel the prickling of tears, her heart aching. Such a union seemed impossible–was impossible. Daemon would never consent, and she suspected Alicent would oppose it vehemently as well.

In the back of her mind, the haunting prophecy whispered, a reminder of a fate seemingly preordained: Your first marriage will be loveless, and your second cloaked in betrayal. The words echoed in her thoughts, a grim harbinger overshadowing any fleeting hope kindled by Aemond’s bold assertion.

They had spoken the vows like children uttering promises whose depths they could not fathom. They had cut their palms and shared their blood with the naivete of children who could not see the storm on the horizon, but only the calm waters at their feet. They had been children playing pretend, lost in the moment of each other, neglecting the harsh reality around them and the consequences of such fantasies.

His expression had become a mask of stone, impenetrable and unfathomable. Any insight Daenera had previously gleaned from his countenance was now obscured by the cold facade he presented. The subtleties and nuances she had once been able to detect were hidden, lost behind this unyielding mask that revealed nothing of his thoughts or feelings.

The atmosphere was charged, thick with unspoken words and emotions. Daenera’s heartbeat resonated in her ears, a relentless drumming that mirrored the tension in the room. Her words, heavy with meaning, seemed to hang oppressively in the air, creating an almost tangible barrier between them. “This infatuation–”

Aemond interrupted her with a scoff, his upper lip curling into a snarl. He gazed past her, as though searching the air for the elusive words.

“It is not infatuation, and you know it,” he retorted, his voice laced with something close to contempt. “I thought I had made my intentions clear. I want you.”

His admission was laced with venom, as if the very act of confessing this truth filled him with bitterness. His gaze returned to her, cold and incisive, his look piercing her as sharply as the dragonglass arrowhead had once punctured her skin. His next words were a mix of pain and cruelty, torn between wanting to wound her with his harsh truths or to handle her with the greatest of care.

“You are insufferable,” Aemond declared, his voice dripping with venom. “Your presence is more toxic than nightshade. You’re cruel, malevolent. You’re in my veins, a poison I can’t rid myself of without being drained of life.”

He moved towards her, his steps predatory, his lone eye unyielding and ruthless.

Daenera’s heart fluttered erratically, a disordered rhythm that mirrored the chaos swirling within her. Her palms, now damp with nervous perspiration, clenched tightly in the fabric of her dress.

Aemond’s presence seemed to darken the room, the shadows coiling around him as if drawn to his mood. His hair of spun moonlight, and the soft complexity of his skin, were the only elements that stood out in the dark.

“I killed for you,” he said, his voice a mix of accusation and fervor. “I ended the lives of those who harmed you, I killed your wretched husband…I’ve spilled blood for you, I recited the vows, performed the ceremony. I want you, Daenera. Isn’t that clear?”

Aemond’s hands reached for her, grasping her with a firmness that was both desperate and tender. His calloused thumbs gently brushed across her cheekbones, as if caressing away tears that had yet to fall. His voice carried an undercurrent of raw emotion, a mixture of desperation and reverence. “I need you to look at me – look at me and see what you’ve done to me.”

Daenera’s own hands instinctively moved to his wrists, her fingers pressing into his skin as she gazed up at the wild expression etched across his face, almost feral with its intensity.

In a soft, almost vulnerable confession, he admitted, “With you, I feel more beast than man.”

Daenera’s eyes shut tightly, overwhelmed by his words. It felt as if Aemond’s fervent grip was wrenching her heart from her chest. She swallowed thickly, her voice strained as she spoke, “We cannot marry.”

The impact of her declaration seemed to resonate within Aemond. His body, taut with tension, seemed to vibrate with the force of her refusal. Abruptly, he let go of her, his sudden release almost causing her to stumble. The lingering heat of his touch remained on her skin, a scorching reminder.

Forcing herself to regain her composure, her voice became firm despite the whirl of emotions that raged just beneath the surface of her skin. “Your desire for me is one thing, but I will not allow myself to be used as a tool against my own family. And don’t pretend it isn’t part of your plan.”

Her words were a clear indictment, acknowledging the complex web of both political and personal motivations that entangled them both.

“Don’t pretend that you haven’t been using my affections as a blade against my family as well,” Aemond sneered, his voice thick with accusation.

“That isn’t what marriage is supposed to be like, Aemond!” Daenera exclaimed. Her words lingered in the space between them, heavy with meaning. She took a deep, steadying breath, gathering the fragments of her composure.

With a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the charged atmosphere, she reached out to touch him. Her hand gently cupped his face, an intimate gesture that was meant to console. He shifted ever so slightly under her touch. It seemed as though part of him yearned to pull away, yet he remained anchored under her gentle caress. His eye watched her discernibly, with a cool expression.

Her eyes softened. “That isn’t what marriage is, Aemond. If we marry, bitterness will fester between us. One of us will emerge victorious, but at the cost of destroying what lies between us”

“I would still want you, even amidst resentment…I–” Aemond’s voice trailed off. Whatever he might’ve said died on his tongue.

“I’m leaving for Dragonstone,” she revealed softly, her words carrying the weight of finality.

At her announcement, Aemond recoiled as though struck. Daenera’s hand remained suspended in the air, marking the space where his face had been just moments earlier. Her hand fell to her side.

His expression was a blend of fury and agony, his jaw clenched tightly, lips no longer in a smirk but instead in a firm line of discontent.

In the quiet that enveloped them, Daenera uttered his name, her voice soft yet laden with emotion. The simple utterance of it held a depth akin to a prayer, a silent appeal for his understanding.

“You choose your family,” he concluded, his voice filled with the bitterness of resignation.

Daenera nodded, her eyes meeting his with a sad certainty. “As I know you’ll choose yours.”

What was between them had always been destined to fall under the weight of their duty. The path had always led to ruin and destruction. Each step they had taken together, each jape and gentle touch, were always going to be bittersweet. They had danced along the edges of the destruction for a long time, and they had seen the ruins in the distance since the night they bound their souls together in a moment of hope, in the mist of dreams.

It was never meant to thrive.

But she wished that it could.

Daenera wanted to hold onto the dream a little longer. “Ask me again once my mother sit upon the Iron Throne.”

Daenera observed the tumult of emotions playing across Aemond’s face, a complex tapestry of feelings that intertwined, scoffing disbelief, disdain, and a profound, almost unbearable agony.

Within this emotional maelstrom, she saw the emergence of a cruel, venomous undercurrent, its fangs and claws ready to strike. Yet, he restrained this inner beast–this impulse to ruin, taming it with an evident effort before speaking.

“When do you leave?”

“In four days time,” Daenera replied. “There are matters I must attend to before I go.”

Aemond closed the distance between them, his hand tenderly caressing her face, gently coaxing her head back to meet his gaze. His thumb delicately traced the contours of her mouth.

“Then I have four days,” he said, his voice a resonant blend of darkness and raw emotion, “to etch myself indelibly into your soul.”

At his touch, a shiver cascaded down Daenera’s spine, the fine hairs of the back of her neck standing on end. Part of her wanted to confess that he was already an intrinsic part of her, his blood running in her veins, their hearts and souls beating and existing as one. But she held back, knowing that such admission would add more bitterness to the inevitable.

His lips lingered tantalizingly close to hers, not quite touching, in a manner reminiscent of a predator toying with its prey. There was a challenge in his hesitation, a silent dare that hung in the air between them, inviting her to bridge the gap.

A familiar smirk curved his lips, slightly parted. Their breaths intertwined in the space that separated them, a shared whisper of anticipation. Then, Daenera closed the distance, pressing her lips firmly against his. The response was immediate as he seemed to devour her, his tongue brushing into her mouth to steal her breath away.

As Daenera surrendered to the moment, the intensity of Aemond’s kiss enveloped her completely. His fiery touch seemed to scorch her lips, each kiss imbued with a desire so profound it felt as if he was trying to engrave his presence into her very soul.

It was more than a mere kiss; it was a claim, a silent declaration that she belonged to him in a way no one else could match.

His hands, both firm and gentle, found her hips, pulling her closer, molding her body against his with a natural, almost instinctive fit. He maneuvered her backwards until her spine pressed against the cold surface of the stone column.

Daenera felt his hands weave into her hair, holding her in a tender yet commanding grasp. His thumb delicately traced along the curve of her jawline, coming to rest with a gentle pressure under her chin, tilting her face up to deepen their connection. His lips, ever demanding and insatiable, moved over hers, each kiss a wordless plea for more.

Daenera’s fingers clutched the collar of Aemond’s doublet, a playful giggle bubbling from her throat as his lips began to trail down her neck. The sensation of his tongue gliding over her skin tickled and sent shivers through her. His hand, rough and calloused, gathered the fabric of her dress, gently grazing the skin of her thigh as he did so, the touch making her bite down on her bottom lip.

Her heart pounded against her ribs, a rapid rhythm that matched the quickened pace of her breaths. She shivered as his teeth delicately traced the fragile skin of her neck, revisiting the bruise he had left earlier that day, a spiteful claim meant to cause trouble. The morning felt so long ago, lost in the chaos of the day.

“Did you feel my touch linger on your skin?” Aemond’s voice was a low murmur against her, his words sending a thrill through her. His hand found the way to the apex of her thighs, his fingers weaving through the soft curls before tracing a path over her clit.

At his touch, Daenera let out a deep moan, instinctively rolling her hips into his caress. She felt consumed by a fiery need, her body responding with an eager ache, already slick with anticipation. The blend of his gentle assertive touch with the raw sensuality of the moment left her breathless, intoxicated by his lips.

Daenera’s response was a moan, deep and filled with wanton pleasure.

“Your brother’s definitely noticed,” Aemond whispered, his voice a low murmur, as he gave her clit a sharp pinch, as if to emphasize his point.

Daenera couldn’t help but moan louder, her hips instinctively rolling into the sensation, her fingers grasping at his doublet in a desperate need. “You shouldn’t have left your mark–”

“Why not?” he asked sharply. “You’re mine to claim, byka narys.”

Little poison.

Aemond, undeterred, continued his tantalizing assault, his mouth leaving her neck to trail kisses along the curve of her collarbone. His fingers, now coated in her arousal, returned to her, circling her clit with slow, deliberate movements that varied in pressure.

“I bet you could still feel me,” he teased, alluding to their earlier encounter, just before the succession of Driftmark was brought up in court. “I bet my seed was still within you–leaking out of you as your mother defended your bastard brother’s claim.”

Daenera reveled in the sensation as Aemond’s teeth gently sank into her shoulder, his smirk evident even through the touch. The resulting dull ache intensified her moan, a blend of pain and pleasure that seemed to echo their dynamic.

“Mmm, you’d think so, but I hardly even noticed you, it was over so quick,” Daenera taunted back.

Aemond’s glare was sharp, but Daenera found a certain satisfaction in eliciting such a reaction from him.

However, the moment of triumph was fleeting. Aemond’s actions turned more assertive as he pinched her clit with a firm pressure, then plunged two fingers deep into her cunt, the sensation both sudden and intense. Her body responded instinctively, her inner muscles clenching tightly around his fingers. His palm pressed against her with a deliberate force, his words a mix of accusation and desire. “Liar, I felt you clinging to me, as if you never wanted to let go.”

A shaky breath escaped her in response, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. She felt a rush of arousal, the tangible evidence of her desire trickling down her thighs.

“I should have taken you on the table, right there in front of everyone,” Aemond sneered against her skin, his fingers finding the spot inside of her that made her hips buckle against him, her teeth releasing the flesh of her bottom lip to let out a moan. “Mmh–made it clear to everyone that you are mine…”

Daenera’s eyes fluttered open as he lifted his lips from her skin, her heartbeat echoing through her body.

Aemond’s hand moved to her dress, attempting to pull at the bodice to release a breast. It resisted his tug, clinging tightly to her chest, her breasts heaving with each breath. He bared his teeth in annoyance and pulled harder, managing to free one tit. He immediately latched onto her nipple, sucking and biting at it with a fervor that made her gasp and moan. His fingers continued their relentless rhythm, plunging into her with force and precision, his thumb stroking her clit in tandem.

As her hands found his hair, Daenera pulled him back to her lips, their mouth meeting in a heated exchange. She moaned into the kiss, her other hand exploring the growing bulge in his trousers, rubbing and squeezing until he hissed.

His reaction was fierce, eye blazing as he grabbed her hand, pulling it away with a grip that spoke of his own desire and frustration.

Daenera was faintly aware of the taste of bitterness on his lips.

His fingers withdrew from her, allowing her dress to fall back into its proper place. He then firmly grasped her hips, guiding her away from the column. His lips were unyielding against hers, devouring her with a passion that propelled her backward until her spine met the canopy bed.

Her hands found their way into his hair again, soft and silk-like under her touch. She gently raked her nails over his scalp, tugging at his hair. Effortlessly, she removed the leather strap of his eyepatch, casting it aside, as her body pressed against his, her hip aligning with the growing bulge in his trousers.

Aemond pulled back, his gaze shifting to the side as if to hide the scarred side of his face from view.

Daenera felt her heart falter in her chest, a frown forming on her face as she studied his rigid posture. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen what lay beneath the eyepatch before, but the set of his jaw told her everything she needed to know.

Daenera responded with a tender touch, her hand softly caressing his cheek, reassuring him in a silent gesture. She gently guided his face back towards her, meeting the intense gleam of his sapphire eye. His expression was measured and hard, a tapestry of emotion drawn taut over cool stone –anger, bitterness, and resentment all flickering across his features. His narrowed gaze seemed to hold a storm of thoughts, poised at the tip of his tongue. There was a temptation there, a temptation to lay ruin to everything.

Yet, Daenera drew him back with a tender kiss, her lips meeting his in a soft, almost pleading manner. Each gentle press of her lips seemed to ground him, pulling him back from the edge of destruction.

Gradually, Aemond’s lips began to move in sync with hers, his tongue seeking entry between her lips, slowly reigniting the passion they had momentarily lost. The kiss deepened, slowly rebuilding the fervor until it burned bright.

Daenera couldn’t suppress the hiss when Aemond abruptly broke their kiss, her lips chasing his. He spun her around, his hands moving to the laces of her dress. His movements were impatient and eager, the strings giving way under his insistent tugs. His lips traced a path down the column of her neck, teeth grazing her shoulder, drawing out a moan.

She gripped the wooden pillar of the bed for support as he continued to work on her dress, pulling it down to expose more of her skin.

His hand then encircled her neck, gently pulling her back against him, compelling her to crane her neck to meet his lips again, all the while his other hand continued to pull at the ties of her dress.

Daenera couldn’t help but feel a mix of amusement and anticipation as Aemond expressed his frustration with her dress.

“Why must your dresses always prove to be such aggravating contraptions,” he grumbled, barely holding back a curse.

Her response was light-hearted, tinged with a playful chuckle. “I suppose it’s to give us a chance to rethink our actions before it’s too late.”

Aemond’s lips grazed her ear, his voice a deep purr, stirring a shiver within her. “A mere dress will not stop me from claiming what is mine.”

Realizing the futility of his attempts to undo the laces, Aemond seemed to decide on a more direct approach. With a swift motion, he gripped the fabric on either side of the laces and ripped it apart. The sound of tearing fabric was accompanied by a moan, only seeming to fuel Aemond’s resolve.

As the remnants of her favorite dress fell away, Daenera felt a sharp chill that sent a cascade of gooseflesh across her skin. Aemond’s hand slid down her spine, following the elegant curve of her body, eventually reaching the hem of her underdress. With a gentle tug, he lifted the soft fabric over her head, leaving fully exposed to his gaze.

His lips found her shoulder, leaving a trail of kisses as his hand wrapped around her waist, sliding down the curve of her stomach to her inner thigh, smeared with arousal. She could feel the pronounced bulge of his trousers pressed against her backside, a tangible reminder of his desire, as his lips brushed teasingly against her ear.

Daenera leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed as his hands explored her body with a familiarity that felt new each time. His grip on her breast was firm, his fingers pinching the tender flesh as the pad of his thumb circled her nipple, coaxing it into a taut peak.

His command was a low, resonant sound that bordered on a growl. “Get on the bed.”

Daenera gracefully ascended onto the bed, reclining with an air of expectancy as she observed Aemond remove his clothes. He shed his doublet and undershirt, revealing the wiry, well-defined muscles beneath his skin.

Her eyes trailed his body, captivated by the fluid grace of his movements. She observed the subtle rippling of muscle beneath his skin, a mesmerizing display of controlled strength and agility, honed over years of training. Her eyes traced the path of his fingers as they skillfully worked at the laces of his trousers, noting the prominent veins that ran beneath the soft skin of his hands and up along his forearms.

As he pushed his trousers down, she was drawn to the definition of his hips, sharply contoured and unmistakably masculine. His arousal was unmistakable–erect, pulsating with an evident need, a bead of prelude glistening at its tip. Below, his testicles hung with a weighty presence, a visual testament to his pent-up desire.

The sight was both provocative and intensely arousing.

And he was beautiful, she thought. Beautiful like a well crafted blade.

As Aemond lifted his gaze to meet hers, his pale hair cascaded over his shoulders, framing his face in a way that accentuated the intensity of his expression.

The sapphire that served as his eye caught the light, mirroring the similar smugness to that of his natural eye. The gem’s deep blue gleam added an enigmatic depth to his look, a contrast that was both intriguing and imposing. This combined with the confident tilt of his head and the slight curve of his lips, created an image of him that was both striking and captivating, leaving Daenera enthralled by his presence.

Aemond caught her angle, his thumb gently caressing the bone, his gaze intense as he looked up at her. After a moment, he released her ankle and prowed over her body, his nose trailing up her breastbone, replaced soon after by the tantalizing movement of his tongue along her neck.

Daenera tenderly cradled Aemond’s face in her hands, her gaze fixed intently into his eye. Her thumb gently stroked his skin, tracing the contours of his features with a delicate touch. She observed the subtle furrow of his brow, an expression that hinted at his confusion to the sudden tenderness.

Her thumb then followed the path of his scar down to its lowest point. She leaned in, planting a soft, reassuring kiss of the scarred skin, her lips lingering just a breath away from his.

Whispering softly, she said, “Syt bisa bantis kesan sagon aōha ābrazȳrys.”

For tonight I will be your wife.

In response, something flickered and curled in Aemond’s eye. A fleeting moment of softness, quickly replaced by a surge of bitter desire that darkened his gaze once more. His lips pressed against hers, desperate and demanding, branding her flesh as his.

Before being swept away within the fire of his touch, she caught the gleam of the sapphire, a cruel and possessive glint, staring back at her with an almost tangible ferocity. It was as if it held within it the capacity to both tear her apart and consume her entirely.

“Ñuha ābrazȳrys,” Aemond sneered against her lips, pinning her down with his body, the heat of it engulfing her. “Ñuha dōna byka narys.”

My wife. My sweet little poison.

She felt his hand venture up her thigh, moving between her legs to part her wet folds, slipping his fingers between them. A finger lightly brushed her clit before moving lower, teasing at her entrance.

Daenera’s lips eagerly sought Aemond’s, yearning for more of his taste. Yet, he evaded her with a sly, calculated movement, that familiar smug smirk on his lips. His eye, sharp and focused, the pupil blown wide, never left her as he lowered his head, simultaneously capturing a nipple in his mouth and thrusting two fingers into her cunt.

A moan spilled from her lips, her hips rolling into his touch.

As Aemond lavished attention on her nipple, his teeth gently grazed it, sending waves of pleasure and pain through her. Each nibble was followed by a soothing stroke of his tongue, a tender contrast to the preceding bite.

This rhythm was mirrored in his finger’s movements; each time he sucked, his fingers plunged into her, curling to press firmly against her inner walls, heightening her arousal with each deliberate stroke.

“Mmm,” Daenera moaned, “Ñuha qēlossās.”

Daenera’s nails found their way to his back, raking across his skin with an intensity that left behind vivid trails, marks that would linger come morning–her own form of claim.

“Please,” Daenera murmured, rolling her hips into his touch. It wasn’t enough, she wanted him, desperately.

“Please what?” Aemond’s voice was a soft tease against her skin, drawing out her desire.

“I want you,” Daenera responded, her voice raspy with desire. “Jaelan ñuha valzȳrys iemnȳ yno.”

I want my husband inside of me.

Aemond’s response was a deep, resonant growl, his lips finding hers once again in a passionate reunion.

“With pleasure,” he murmured into the kiss and withdrew his fingers from her.

Her cunt clenched around empty air, weeping to be filled with his cock.

Aemond’s hand firmly grasped Daenera’s thigh, spreading her further open in a bold, possessive gesture. As he did so, her own arousal covering his hand, was spread across her skin. He hooked her leg around his hip, aligning their bodies to brush his cock over her folds.

Daenera lifted her hips to drag her cunt over his cock, smearing her arousal up the length of him, feeling him hot and heavy against her. A hiss left his throat, the veins bulging slightly as a shutter went through him.

She felt the head of his cock against her entrance, felt the slight stretch as aligned them perfectly, her cunt fluttering in anticipation.

In one fluid, decisive movement, he thrust himself into her, sheathing himself completely within her cunt. The sudden intrusion stole her breath away as pleasure washed over her. Her hips rose to meet his, lifting off the bed and rolling into him. She could feel the pulse of his arousal, a tangible beat that seemed to merge seamlessly with her own.

Aemond then slightly withdrew, only to surge back into her with a renewed intensity. Each thrust was punctuated by the twitching of his arousal, a sensation that was echoed by the responsive clenching of her own body around him.

Daenera felt his body pressed unyielding against hers. His heat seemed to radiate into her, his skin akin to a blazing inferno, as he established a relentless rhythm. His hips moved with a fierce urgency, each thrust into her core carrying an almost savage intensity.

The sound of their bodies meeting resonated through the quiet of the night, punctuated only by her gasps and moans.

Aemond’s fingers gripped her with a bruising force, his blunt nails digging into her skin, leaving behind red crescents. In response, Daenera’s own nails dug into the sinewy muscles of his back, clawing at his skin desperately as he fucked her.

Leaning in, her lips found the pulse on his neck, feeling and tasting the rhythm of his heart. As her teeth gently scraped the skin, he responded with a guttural moan, his movements against her growing more fervent.

His pace was unrelenting, each thrust a testament of passion–and a way to lay claim to her.

Daenera was swept up in the tide of sensation, each stroke of his cock igniting a deeper fire within her, waves of pleasure crashing over her, threatening to carry her away to a place where nothing existed but the overwhelming sensation of him.

In the midst of this tempest of passion, Aemond growled out the words, “Iksā ñuhon. Iksā ñuha ābrazȳrys.”

You are mine. You are my wife.

His declaration was as much a claim as it was a growl of possession, his voice resonating with a primal intensity that echoed in the depth of her soul.

In the fervor of pleasure, Daenera found herself barely able to articulate, her voice breaking as she called out his name, “Ae–ah, mph–Aemond.”

Her nails dug into his shoulder blades as she felt herself teeter close to the precipice.

“Iksā iā narys sīr dōna, ñuha byka ābrazȳrys.” You are poison so sweet, my little wife.

Daenera could feel the desperation in his touch, a raw need to be an inextricable part of her very essence. It was as if he sought to imprint himself onto her very soul–as if he hadn’t already done so, to root himself so deeply within her being that he became unforgettable

This need was palpable in every kiss, in the fervent grip of his fingers, ad the relentless rhythm with which he was fucking her. Each action was a testament to his intense longing to be permanently intertwined with her, not just in body, but in spirit and memory.

“Ah, fuck, I–” Daenera uttered, her voice breathy and wavering as she found herself on the brink of release. “–so close…”

She nuzzled her head against his shoulder, biting into the flesh as tension coiled within her, poised on the edge of eruption. He hissed at her as she left a fine imprint of her teeth on his skin.

Aemond’s response was intimate, his lips finding her pulse on her neck, just below her jaw. He whispered into her, his words gentle yet laden with meaning, as if to leave the words imprinted on her skin. “Byka ābrazȳrys.”

My little wife.

Daenera echoed back softly, “Byka valzȳrys.”

My little husband.

A moan spilled from his lips, sweet, bordering close to a chuckle, as he turned his face towards hers. Their kiss was a tender caress, slow and sensual. Her fingers pressed into the nape of his neck, caressing the fine hairs there.

“Mmm,” Daenera hummed as she felt the intense convulsions of her walls around him, waves of pleasure cascading over her, her body prickling and thrumming with it. Her cunt fluttered and clamped down around him, and she felt the shutter go through his body as she dragged him over the edge with her.

Aemond groaned, the sound deep and resonant, his hips losing their rhythm in a final, desperate thrust as he buried himself as deep within her as he could, spilling his seed. His hips rolled against her, then stopped all together.

In the quiet aftermath, Daenera felt the gentle press of Aemond’s nose tracing the curve of her neck, culminating in the shared touch of their foreheads. For a brief moment, they remained motionless, a mutual basking in the fading glow of their release, their breaths gradually steadying as they regained their composure.

Upon Aemond’s withdrawal, Daenera was acutely aware of the poignant emptiness, a sensation that seemed to twist something deep within her.

With a heavy heart, she rose from the bed and made her way to the basin. As she cleaned herself, her thoughts turned to the necessity of brewing moontea. It’s been long since she ran out, and while she’s had her moonblood, she couldn’t postpone restocking her supply much longer.

The sound of water sloshing in the basin echoed in the silent room as she wrong the cloth once more, cleaning herself with a sense of detached efficiency. Glancing in the mirror, she saw Aemond’s reflection, his demeanor pensive, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, elbows propped on his knees.

Turning away, Daenera poured a cup of wine, its aroma unsettling her stomach and making her mouth go dry. She walked back to Aemond, offering him the wine, her gesture a silent attempt at consolation.

Instead of accepting the wine, Aemond let his head drop forward, resting it gently against her lower abdomen. This simple, vulnerable gesture tugged at Daenera’s heartstrings, and she closed her eyes against the welling of tears. Setting the wine aside, she wove her fingers tenderly through his hair, offering him a silent comfort.

The fiery mix of anger and desire that had consumed them only moments earlier had burned out, leaving behind a quiet resignation, a veiled bitterness that cloaked the sadness neither was prepared to acknowledge.

Daenera softly nudged him back, her hands cradling his face, compelling him to meet her gaze. In his remaining eye, there was a cold, resigned depth, but within the blue of the sapphire, a stormy darkness lurked. The darkness seemed to curl, and she thought perhaps, that it was like a cornered animal, baring its teeth and showing its claws out of fear.

She knelt on the mattress, positioning herself astried his thighs. Her eyes met his at the same level, her hands gliding down his neck as she leaned in, her lips hovering just above his.

In her heart, Daenera knew that some flames were destined to burn out, yet she chose to keep this one ablaze a little while longer, seeking its warmth against the impending chill of her departure.

Aemond’s hands gently moved up her thighs, his brow furrowed in a silent question.

She had no answers to give, only the shared moment between them.

Their lips met in the softest caresses, a fleeting touch reminiscent of silk. As his lips parted, their breath mingled. Daenera kissed him tenderly, a mere whisper of contact, a ghost meant to haunt.

Yet within this touch, there was a mutual imprinting, an exchange of their very essence. She deepened the kiss, her tongue gently exploring the seam of his lips, her fingers caressing his shoulder, leaning into him, her body brushing against his.

Aemond reciprocated, intensifying their embrace, his fingers gripping her hips to draw her nearer.

Tears trembled on Daenera’s lashes as their lips met, her senses awash with the warmth of his heart pulsing through her, enveloped in an earthy blend of sandalwood and his innate scent. Her hand drifted to his chest, feeling the steady, strong rhythm of his heartbeat under her palm.

His hands traveled to the soft curves of her, drawing her close until their bodies melded together, a seamless union of heartbeats and breaths.

As Daenera’s lips brushed over his, she inhaled his breath, her tears mingling with their kiss, lending it a poignant saltiness. He pulled back slightly, his hand ascending to tenderly cup her face. His eye roamed her features, a calloused thumb softly erasing the trail of her tears. She leaned into his caress, pressing a kiss to the scar on his palm, her gaze locked with his in silent communication.

It had been a dream, one that would haunt her for the rest of her life, she thought. Even as the scar would fade.

Their lips reunited, igniting a familiar warmth against her skin. Daenera felt the gentle pressure of him against her, moving in harmony with his soft sigh. Guiding him with a gentle hand, she welcomed him back into her embrace, their bodies rejoining in a dance they had known before.

Every motion was deliberate and sensuous–the rhythmic sway of her hips, the firm grasp of his fingers, their chests pressed together, hearts beating as one.

A moan echoed from his chest as she moved, her body responding with a shiver that ripped through them both. Maintaining a tender pace, her lips found their way to the pulse of his neck, tasting the faint saltiness of his skin.

Daenera and Aemond once again found themselves teetering on the brink. It wasn’t long before they both succumbed, tumbling over the precipice into shared release.This time, the waves of pleasure that washed over them were softer, more tender, enveloping them in a gentle, soothing embrace.

Exhausted and content, they lay down together, wrapped in each other’s arms.

Daenera nestled into Aemond’s side, her actions gentle and affectionate. She planted a chaste kiss upon his shoulder, her fingers delicately tracing over his chest, drawing invisible patterns that spoke of tenderness and a quiet longing. Lifting her gaze to his, she found him already looking down at her, their eyes meeting in a moment of silent understanding.

The air between them felt charged, heavy with unspoken words that teetered on the edge of expression, as if it was just waiting to be released. Yet, there was a hesitancy, a pause as if both were contemplating the weight and impact of giving voice to their thoughts.

Doomed they were, should they say it.

Ultimately, Daenera chose to break away from the intensity of his gaze, seeking solace in the comfort of his presence. She rested her head against him, choosing the warmth of their physical closeness over the vulnerability of spoken words.

The unspoken enveloped them, a reality that was palpable yet remained unacknowledged. This truth lingered in every touch they shared, in every glance that passed between them, and in the intangible space that lay between their hearts.

It was there, like a world full of colors invisible to the blind, or the melodies and laughter of life unheard by the deaf. Their connection, though voiceless, were tangible in every caress, every moment of closeness. It was undeniably present, a force both terrifying and real in its intensity.

Yet, in their silence, in their refusal to give voice to this truth, they found a semblance of solace. Choosing to remain silent was like erecting a barrier, a protective measure designed to hold back the pain and chaos that giving voice to their feelings might unleash, preventing it from wrecking havoc on their lives.

It was the only defense against its agony, and the only way to limit the destruction of its fire.

And fire, it was.

Doomed they were, even in keeping the silence.

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd #aemond fanfiction #hotd aemond #aemond x reader #aemond one eye #aemond x oc #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond smut

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altschmerzes · 11 months

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every day i see 500 posts about archive-locking fics to protect from bot scraping and every day i just want to bang my head into the wall over and over because

1. It Has Already Been Scraped, the damage is done.

2. archive-locking fics is only a Good Solid Protective Measure against bot scraping if you believe that people who have the ability to create and shape this kind of technology cannot make some fairly minor adjustments to access archive-locked fics. it would not be hard. that’s like saying ‘i’m worried about getting stabbed so i have put on a lace-woven cardigan.’

3. ao3 did not “recommend that everyone do this” as i’ve seen about 400 of those 500 posts say. they, in the post where they confirmed scraping had taken place, said that if people wanted to do something that was an option for something they could do if they felt like it. hardly an urged warning that everyone really should take this as an important safety and security measure.

4. the only people this is deterring are people who don’t browse logged in or don’t have an account. literally all you’re doing is making your fic harder to access for people who actually want to like....... read it. it’s security theatre at best and maybe this is a very small hill to die on but i’m very tired of seeing dozens of posts urging everyone to do this Right Now because it’s Critical to protecting your fics from ai bot scraping. that’s just......... can we think about this for a second.

#gav gab #ao3 #bot scraping #this is so like. this is not gonna help? this won't do anything to help you.#archive-locking fics is a good tool for many reasons #this is not one of them

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oathkeeper-of-tarth · 6 months

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Moon Above And Stars Beside Her

Me, rising from the dead after a hundred years to post fic? It's more likely than you think! These specific characters were laser-targeted and lovingly crafted to activate every single one of my neurons and I am immensely grateful for them. Please enjoy the result of me endlessly rotating them in my mind ever since I met them.

Be warned that this fic is pretty much made up entirely of spoilers for Act 2 of the game.

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Characters: Dame Aylin/Isobel Thorm, Ketheric Thorm, Balthazar, Withers, and a smidge of Selûne herself Length: ~11000 words Rating: M, for canon-typical violence and sexual content

Hurt/comfort, dealing with trauma, an overabundance of righteous anger, a smidge of Came Back Wrong, and some pretty complicated and peculiar parent/child issues.

Summary:

What of the gnawing in thine holy gut, the rage clawing up thine throat? A great weight, inclined to tip the scales once more. Which way shalt thou cast it? When you had nothing else, caged in darkness, you learned to cultivate your anger like the finest of crops. And yet there seems to be so little for you to reap.

The Nightsong is no more and Dame Aylin is returned to her most holy duties. Isobel Thorm is free of her grave. How they handle their past, present, and future is, perhaps, up to them.

Also on AO3.

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Moon Above And Stars Beside Her

"And what of thee, god-child, moon-graced, silver-blood?"

It is the Scribe who addresses you one entirely unremarkable evening, looking up from his scroll to arrest your gaze with his deathless one. They introduced him, a camp guest most unexpected, by some nonsense name you cannot even call to mind. But you would know him anywhere. And so you stop in your path, as you are bid, and listen.

"A tipping of the scales most severe: thine mother freshly spared mourning her daughter, her dark sister's triumph snatched away at the very last moment."

"You have guided these adventurers well, Scribe," you incline your head in respect and a small measure of thanks.

"I do not guide," the grave-wind voice is raised just enough to convey something resembling annoyance at a minor inaccuracy he simply must correct. "I offer what services I am bound to, nothing more."

You arch an eyebrow at him. "And yet you wish to speak to me, who did not ask any service of you."

"Yes," he responds, and leaves it at that for a few moments that feel like an eternity. A timescale he is used to, one would imagine.

"Dame Aylin. Thou art a curious creature, I admit - immortal, yet appearing in my records many times over. Moreover, thine fate stands indelibly entwined with one whose name has been freshly struck from the archives in a manner most uncommon and highly questionable."

A tension floods you as you realise he talks of Isobel, and your hands tighten into fists at your sides.

"What of her, pray tell?" It comes out more curt than you intended, perhaps, but the words are spoken before you can properly settle on them.

"She lives, and shall do so for the time that is given to her, as it is to most. And still," he nods, unnervingly calm, all taut paper-thin skin, a being of unlife if you've ever seen one, "thou wouldst cleave thine malefactors in twain and rejoice in their screams. Thou, who burnest so deeply to reflect back upon them every spear-strike, every lash, every cut, every shattered, twisted bone and sinew, every drop of blessed blood they dared spill."

You breathe in a leaden breath, knit together as you are, the divine birthright of your Mother lacing your scars with shining gold, proclaiming that the testament of your newly ended immeasurable suffering is something to be proudly displayed. You know the marks on your face glisten in the firelight much like the woven gold that decorates his skull, his sunken cheeks, as he looks upon you half-expectantly.

"I would, and I do," you can but confirm through grit teeth.

"What of thine anger? What of the gnawing in thine holy gut, the rage clawing up thine throat? A great weight, inclined to tip the scales once more. Which way shalt thou cast it?"

"I would destroy them. I would scorch the very traces of them from the world. Some, I already have - as you are doubtlessly aware, Scribe. Much like they tried, and failed, to destroy me."

"Or did they?" There is the infuriating calmness again, and a question meant for no answer, or perhaps merely a word of caution aimed at you.

His withered countenance is as utterly illegible as a weather-worn tombstone, but if this was meant to stir hated doubt in you, it does. For you have grown well aware it is not just the bright, righteous blaze of justified anger that fuels you now, but something relentless that stings and cuts you as it wants out, out, out. This is not the way of Protection, of Devotion, of measured Justice. This is not the duty you were once sworn to, the sacred oath that has resounded in the marrow of your very bones since the first breath you ever drew upon this land. No, it is something new, and yet Vengeance has served you just as well - better, perhaps - in this brief time you've been free.

"For all their infernal efforts, I have pieced myself together over and over and over again. It is my nature to do so, not a choice to be made, nor a conscious effort. Their betrayal and their sins against me are but a chapter in my tale, nothing more. My task is not done, and for as long as it is so, Dame Aylin will not stop, will not falter. You know this as well as I."

The calm of the tomb refuses to be disturbed in any way, least of all by your tirade. "And yet, along the way, a piece of thee was lost and replaced with another, ill-fitting. Many stand to win from this, as many stand to lose."

You frown as you scrounge around for a reply, and find yourself lacking one. He looks not at you, but into and through you, and it is uniquely discomfiting.

The Scribe raises his hand in dismissal, and offers solemn parting words. "A godling thou art, but no god. It is in thine nature, too, to wonder, and question, and change in response. As it is in mine to observe, and take note, and stand witness to the weaving of fate. Forget not: thou art not near as tide- and cycle-bound as thine divine moon-mother."

You are given little time to contemplate the Scribe's weighty, ominous statements. Yet another comes seeking, coveting, poaching. Craven-clever mouth full of honeyed praise for your "gift" and only ever wanting to take, take, take, all for himself.

How dare, how dare he, how dare they how DARE--

A thousand echoes of deaths upon deaths swarm and you take the vainglorious fool, lift him bodily up and--

He breaks upon your knee like a dry kindling scrap and your breaths come loud and half-choked and heaving. What was once a vile wizard is now nothing and for a moment, the briefest, most fleeting of moments, neither are you.

Until the world rushes back in, exhausting in its sheer weight. There is no glorious, triumphant rush of battle-roused blood singing through you. Vengeance didn't taste sweet. It didn't taste like much of anything.

When you had nothing else, caged in darkness, you learned to cultivate your anger like the finest of crops. And yet there seems to be so little for you to reap.

As the sounds of the city far, far below slowly fill the enchanted tower, competing with crackling magic and bubbling potions and a complete absence of words spoken by any of your present companions and allies, all you can pinpoint whirling within you is a rising despondency.

One more, and then another, and another after that, extending before you all in a line, down the endless, endless years that await you, immortal and eternal. Magus or sorcerer or ruffian or necromancer or halfwit charlatan, it won't matter much, will it? Because they will try.

Do you dare ever again let your guard down for even a few precious moments of respite, when another villain with designs on your person could be lurking, scheming just around the corner?

Worse yet, far more chilling - what if they, conniving, decide to aim their ambitions at a different target, at your soft underbelly, and come for Isobel in turn?

When you draw yourself out of the crowding thoughts and return to camp at long last, subdued, tired, painfully aware you are far removed from your usual mighty bearing, hours have flown by and the sun has already set. Isobel is there, and for a moment that is all you know. She is there, and whole, and alive, and it is all you can do not to drop to your knees once more and offer prayer upon prayer of gratitude.

She looks at you, eyes brimming with a potent mix of concern and questions, then rushes towards you and wordlessly takes you by the gauntleted hand to the small sanctuary you've carved out for yourselves in the midst of your newfound allies: a simple tent, a soft, warm rug, a comfortable enough cot. A small washbasin Isobel keeps filled with conjured, moonlight-laced freshwater.

"It was a glorious victory, my love, worry not," you rush to reassure, though even you can tell your heart is not in it. "Yet another villain slain, his devilish designs denied - as has become the habit of our merry retinue. The battle has tired my mind somewhat, that is all."

You can see the doubt writ plainly on her face, but it is no lie you tell her (never, never could you bring yourself to lie to her). It is more that… you do not know the reason yourself, or, rather, that it feels too manifold to ever encompass in simple words.

"I wish you would give yourself time, Aylin, let yourself rest," Isobel says, soft, endlessly caring, achingly perceptive, and only slightly disapproving. She starts taking your armour off piece by piece as you sit on the small campaign stool you appropriated recently, then dampens a washcloth to wipe the traces of recent battle from your face. "Please. You endured more than a hundred years of horrors I can scarcely imagine."

You grit your teeth at the mention and try, foolishly, to hide from her the tension that runs through you at the mere evocation of the thought. She palms your cheek and tilts your face to look up at her - her, standing above you and yet barely exceeding your height, though you remain seated - and oh, how you adore the sight!

Isobel frowns as she notices a scrape on your temple, slightly singed in a near-miss from one of the mage's commanded elementals. It is nothing, you want to insist, no need to fuss over it, but you know how to recognise a battle lost before it has even begun. "In Her radiance, you are made whole," she murmurs, and you feel the familiar tingling and slight warmth of the gash knitting itself closed.

Her incantations are perfect and as subtly melodious as ever. There is healing even before her spells take hold simply by the fact she is here. It is Isobel's touch that has ever been a balm when you returned from a skirmish, feathers ruffled, just as it is now when you feel burning echoes of abuse tear through you at some unintended motion or runaway thought.

Satisfied for the moment, she dips the cloth in water again, and runs it gently over you, in a cycle as regular and comforting as that of the Moon itself: brow, nose, cheek, jaw, neck, then brow again, and again. For a little while the gentle, refreshing, cleansing caress is the only thing that exists in your world, and you let go of the death-grip you only half-consciously had on her other hand.

"I confess… I hate to see you throwing yourself back into the fray like this. I understand why, and that it is necessary, but…" she trails away and pauses for a heavy moment, cloth in hand. She resumes, more determined, now scrubbing at a stubborn mark on your chin. "I wish it didn't have to be so soon. Duty or not, you shouldn't have to. You should be allowed to recover in your own time, to heal in peace, until you are ready."

You cannot help but bristle at that. "You would deem me unfit for my purpose? My duty and my self are so entwined, it is not possible to have one without the other - would you call into question a sword's place in battle?"

"Listen to yourself," Isobel snaps, harsher than you can ever remember hearing her, stopping her ministrations and standing tall to face you down, cheeks reddened. "Can't you hear what you sound like? Like a misguided Sharran, making yourself out to be nothing but a tool to be used and used and used until you are useful no more!"

You gape at her, useless, wordless. "Isobel…"

"Yes, you are the resplendent Sword of the Moonmaiden, performing great deeds in Her name… but you're so, so much more than that, and I treasure all that you are." The words are so impassioned and so openly honest you are struck silent in pure awe. Isobel, clutching a dripping, bloodied washcloth in the middle of a patched-up tent, might as well be a queen making proclamations before her devoted court assembled in a lofty palace. And oh, devoted you are, endlessly, endlessly. This can never change.

"My Aylin, my angel. You always have been, and always will be, and if it takes me years to remind you of all of these things I know you once knew, I promise I will." Her palm is back on your face, a gentle caress that soothes many wounds long invisible, never healed.

She speaks her promise as solemn as any vow you have ever made, and you bow your head to kiss her hand.

"There is no need for recklessness, after all," Isobel smiles, the slightest wry twist to it, as she tips your chin back up, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead and murmur against your freshly washed skin. "The Moonmaiden's shield is mine to wield. You know its strength, the blows it can take. Let it be a sanctuary for you as well. Give me - give yourself a chance. Slowly, step by step - there is time."

You have time, she is correct, even if you've never managed to have a very good grasp of it. All the time in the world, and then some.

Isobel does not.

You've already lost her once, had her ripped from your arms by whims of fate, or rather something far more sinister. There is no way to know, but you suspect, oh, you do. Your Mother's dark twin schemes ever on, and Moonrise, beacon that it was, surely seemed to her a provocation, Ketheric Thorm a crown jewel to be poached, and Isobel, your Isobel, a mere means to an end.

Isobel, brought back, a miracle paid for so very dearly. It would be foolish to count on another.

You stand up and reach over and almost crush her to your chest in an embrace - one she returns not a moment after completing her surprised exclamation. You hold her and hold her and allow yourself to lose track of time again.

Moonlit, timeless, subdued in her glory, you listen to Isobel recite the Words as she pours fresh milk into the small silver ritual bowl before her.

"Our Lady of Silver, whose light falls upon us all, hear me."

Her reverent voice is barely above a whisper but carries impeccably, harmonising with the gentle bells and chimes surrounding the private little altar.

"Sheltered by Your radiance, guided by Your hand, I come not to entreat, but to reaffirm."

Motes of moonlight buoyant around her dance in the rhythm of the prayer you've heard and repeated so often it feels like breathing itself. It would feel stranger not to join in, so you do, if only in your mind.

Ever-changing, ever-returning, as the silver Moon waxes and wanes, so too does life.

You lurch back into awareness in a place you have never seen before, but that you recognise without a shred of doubt. The utter absence in the dark dome of the sky above you, the storms that swirl and rage all around, the assault on your ever-heightened divine senses - the reek of the Shadowfell feels like it has sunk its claws into your lungs already. You shudder, then startle, scrambling to stand when you realise your armour is gone, your sword nowhere to be found.

Your feet are bare on the cold, cruel rock; your mind reeling, disoriented. Half-blinded by the glowing runes that encircle you, your tunic still stained with the fresh blood of your latest, very recent death, you come face to face with the two men you made the mistake of believing and turning your back on mere moments ago, in what must have been a different pocket of the dark realm.

And so, the last time you see him for what is to be more than a hundred years, Ketheric Thorm locks gazes with you and wordlessly draws a dagger. Then he cuts his palm, deep and deliberate and unflinching, and your own muscle and sinew feel the slice.

The hideous grin of savoured success on his pet necromancer's face upon witnessing your startled, pained reaction chills you to the bone. It is then, perhaps, that you begin to grasp the scope and shape of what they have in store for you.

You try to rush at them, charge and claw them into submission with your bare, bloodied hands if needs be, but the boundaries of the sickly-bright rune-inscribed circle flare up, the cage tightens around you, phantom hands grasp and wrench and restrain and keep you in place, your foes and would-be tormentors only just out of reach.

"What are you doing, you dog ?" You roar at Ketheric, your insides twisting at the sight of the dark disc newly burnished on his armour, Sharran symbols adorning his brow, his chest. "Oathbreaker! How dare you conspire against Dame Aylin, against Selûne herself! How dare you so betray Isobel--"

A heavy gauntlet smashes into your jaw as soon as the beloved, yearned-for name leaves your lips, and Ketheric's voice rises above the ringing in your ears.

"You do not get to speak her name, thief. I am the one betrayed, abandoned. By your witch of a mother who hoarded my misguided service for far too long."

Ketheric steps back and calms, somewhat - or merely restrains his rage into something crueller and colder, while you recover enough to speak.

"Shar will not help you, Ketheric Thorm. Oblivion does not heal, does not mend - and oblivion is all she offers. But what she will ask of you in return will damn you forever."

He waves a claw-armoured hand in mock-dismissal of your warnings.

"Do what you will with her, Balthazar, as long as it doesn't impede my Lady's plans. Break her, if you can. Let her rage and pace and fume and rot, if not. But I want her to know," he steps closer again, so close, almost close enough to touch, if not for those accursed hands holding you back, "when our Dark Lady's acolytes come calling, when her wretched silver-stained blood fuels the creation of an army the likes of which the world has yet to see - I want her to know and never forget: it was on my orders."

You calm your breathing enough to answer, the burning rage within you forging your words into steel - the only steel you can aim at him, for the moment. But the tides will turn, as they inevitably do. "The Moon shows many faces. Our Lady of Silver is ever-changing. You should be careful, traitor, lest the Hunter's Moon marks you as Her prey."

Ketheric scoffs, unimpressed. "Let her try! Let her come, let her send all her legions after me, when she would not lift one holy finger to help me when I needed it most, for all my decades of faith and devotion. No, you will see," the quiet conviction in him is chilling to behold, in all its sheer wrongness. "This place, this bond, will sustain me, and it will take everything from you, piece by piece, until you whine and cry and beg your moonwitch mother for salvation. And when you are met with the same merciless silence as I was, perhaps I will consider it payment enough for the precious hours of my daughter's presence you dared steal from me, interloper."

You cannot reach him to wrap your hands around his worthless, treacherous throat and wring. But the trap, the cage, is imperfect, and you spit silver-flecked blood at his face easily.

He flicks his cheek clean, all dismissal, then motions to his foul, death-reeking companion to come forward. "Start with her wings. She has no need for those anymore."

"I would be delighted, General," comes the sickening, rot-sweet voice of Balthazar from somewhere behind you, along with the deceptively gentle sound of him tinkering with his ghastly tools and implements. "How very appropriate, how symbolic, to start by clipping our little bird's wings."

You roar your rage at Ketheric's back until he is out of sight and your throat is raw and bloody and capable of nothing but a hoarse whisper. You strain and pull and beat your wings in great gusts with all the desperate force you can muster; you burn, entire, with a scorching radiance unlike any you've manifested before. But the newforged bonds persist, and drag you down, down, down, merciless, until you see and breathe nothing but dust, the magic of one of the caging runes stinging against your cheek as the sounds of what can only be termed butchery fill the stale air.

It is the perhaps unfortunate attribute of your particular strain of immortality that you are obliged to feel every wound, every hurt, every blow that seeks to lay you low. That you rise to fight again only after you have been truly felled. That your memory is one made to suit your long life - blade-sharp, exact, and infallible.

You lie there afterwards for a long, long, quiet while; unmoving, though the spectral hands loosened their grip and vanished along with Balthazar, a minute, or an hour, or a day, or a year ago. There is too much pain still, you think almost idly, feeling quite far removed from your own self. Too much for any of it to have been a killing blow.

It is the first time in your storied existence you dare to think of death as a possible mercy and wonder if you might ever welcome it.

Let all on whom Selûne's light falls be welcome if they desire.

You do not see Ketheric after that, except in gory fantasies produced by your mind's eye. But you do get to know, intimately, each and every battle he deigns to fight personally, each scrape and cut and bruise and jab, arrow and spear and sword - all unseen, but far from unfelt.

Then comes the steady stream of misguided Sharrans, would-be Dark Justiciars.

You try to speak to them, at first. Reach out. Try to make them see their terrible error while retribution might still be within their grasp.

You fail, each and every time. And each and every time you pay for that failure with a death. Some of them are more decisive about it, quick, almost merciful. Some stretch it out, savour it. Some can't bear to meet your eyes.

But all of them, in the end, do it. And you choke back to life over and over and over again, knit together anew, as the murmurings mount.

Descend to her. Look upon her. Listen to her.

Kill her.

You remember the first time you died: out on a quest taking you through a steep mountain pass, falling into an ambush, peppered by poison-tipped crossbow bolts. You remember also the slight fear, the uncertainty of what exactly would happen to you - the fact of your Moon-blessed immortality until then only a suggestion, a curiosity somewhere in the back of your mind.

You remember the gradual change into certainty over several misadventures and the ensuing determination - you were indestructible! Indomitable, as befits the Sword of the Moonmaiden, put upon this earth to enact Her will. Who would dare stand before you, resplendent, eternal, uncowable?

And you remember the long, slow slide into being utterly used to it, down in these seemingly bottomless shadows, stuck on another Sharran spear, listening to your own blood drip drip drip as the darkness grew even heavier, laced with increasingly triumphant whispers.

As we turn to the Moon, we trust She will be our true guide.

Exhaustion overwhelms even the most righteous of furies, and you fall into a fitful sleep now and then. You dream of Isobel, soft, warm, brilliant, alive, and it makes the cruelty of awakening all the worse.

Balthazar comes, sometimes, your most frequent and most despised visitor by far. He delights in letting you know how much time has passed - impossible to tell, in the umbral pocket of your prison. Regales you with tales of Sharran tyranny being visited upon the land and the people you were sent to watch over and protect and guide, your one mission and the purpose written into the very blood flowing through your veins. And yet you did nothing but fail. Precious Isobel, dead; Ketheric, lost, determined to tear down with him the world entire.

Balthazar rejoices in the disgust you cannot help but bear openly upon your face as he expounds on his experiments, hands unbound by any trace or suggestion of morality and propriety and with Selûnite victims in abundance. He crows endlessly over his successes, his sick triumphs - but oh, none as impressive as you!

He does much worse, later, and you learn you do not need a tongue to curse him.

You know nothing can come of it but even more pain and sick retribution, yet you goad the corpse-rotted bastard every chance you get. The necrotic embodiment of every foul undead creature you would have wreathed your sword in radiance for, if only it were at hand. Whom you would have longed to smite until nothing but ash remained.

There is nothing else here. Empty shadows, as befits the Lady of Loss. A void without and within, yours to fill with gnawing, searing, holy wrath. Nothing left to sustain you but the thought of a long-distant but inevitable escape and vengeance.

One day.

"I keep a tally just for you, Balthazar." You pace the infuriatingly familiar bounds of your cage, precise in your steps in order not to trigger the wretched closing in, the grasping--

He looks up from the stitching he is doing, morbid handiwork on some poor Moon-devoted stonemason he wanted you to see. "Aylin! I did not know you cared so."

"Why, yes," you bare your teeth at him in mockery of a smile. "When your little spell inevitably fails and this game of yours runs its course, I will come find you first. I will tear you apart, limb from mismatched limb, into your grave-robbed constituent parts. And then I will mince them further, until there is one rotting morsel of you for each and every hurt you have ever visited on me."

"You will find," you prowl closer, just out of reach of the necrotic claws, "I have an excellent memory."

Infuriatingly, the corpse only smiles, laughs in your face.

"I was expecting just a touch more creativity, but then I suppose that has never been much of a strong point for you moon-followers."

You scowl and swallow back a growl and want only to provoke him further, itch to make him react, to make a mistake.

"So very boring and predictable. Painfully straightforward. Laughably easy to trick."

He waves a hand and conjures a muddy image of the lost Selûnite child you were made to chase down here what feels like a lifetime ago, the perfect bait they contrived just for you.

"You were nothing, Aylin. A meat-headed little errand girl for your useless mother. I, well, I have made you into a treasure."

Balthazar's smile splits the corpse-bloat of his face. The stench makes you want to gag, makes you yearn for the duller senses of one not trained from birth to be a paladin.

"As thanks, let me leave you with a thought you will doubtlessly appreciate. Do you know, I wonder, how very little it would take for you to be freed? What little effort I had to invest to ensure your captivity? One friendly touch would break the confinement spell, a mere moment of kindness. Nothing more."

He steps forward, waving your clawed shackles into existence. Then he moves as if to pat your head or caress your face - but instead pulls at your hair, whipping your head back, and sneers.

"How lucky for both of us you will never find such a thing here. There is not the slimmest hope of reprieve, not for you."

And for a hundred years, he is right.

The Moonmaiden will never allow us to bear a burden we cannot carry.

The burning flare of indignant rage sours somewhere deep in your belly along the way. You are not of Ilmater's stock, made for the rack, proud to endure all pain, indignities, and abuse, for oh, good things would come to those who waited! With idle waiting you were long done. There was no glory to be found in suffering. No, you were made to be a beacon soaring through the sky, driving away shadows and fear and doubt, illuminating with the stark, silver light of your Mother's truth all the myriad lies your foes so loved to wield.

What have they done to you? When it might be easier to ask what haven't they, over the months, years, decades, uncountable. Tongue, eyes, wings, heart. Yours to lose, all of it, when it was never theirs to take. And then, darker still - what use it all, when your heart's love had gone already? Isobel, most cherished of all, taken so suddenly and cruelly - you always knew you were going to be painfully parted, for your nature made that an inevitability. But not so soon. Not cut so short so abruptly, when she had so much still to give, and do, and be. When you were supposed to watch her grow old and say goodbye slowly and gradually with every precious day.

You try to fill the hours between deaths with something kinder: memories of her gentle smile, her soft touch, her grace and her wit and her light. But all you can picture here among the accursed shadows is the beautiful, heartrending serenity of her laid on her bier, awaiting her final rites.

Your own words to Ketheric resound in your mind. "Dear Isobel," you whispered, reverently, words you now know fell on deaf ears, "in my Mother's care at the Gates of the Moon, no doubt, with noble Melodia by her side. One day you shall be reunited on the silver shores. One day, my mission will be deemed complete, and I will be released from my duty… and I shall be permitted to join you." A tentative, tender smile to the bereaved father, and a hand on his shoulder. Trying to meet the man's grief with your own and perhaps thus relieve both your burdens.

In a kinder world, you could have mourned your mutual loss together. But it wasn't to be. Instead - this. Instead, you, here, caged, tormented, made to carry more than just the hurts visited upon Ketheric's flesh and bone. Though in your mind it seems it has all done little to soothe his own pain, instead merely doubling it and vomiting it back into the world.

Your contemplation is cut short by a sudden agony. This in itself is nothing new - Ah, you think, Ketheric has run afoul of a Harper's blade or a druid's claws again. You know enough from Balthazar's boasting to distract yourself with dreamed-up possibilities, a comfort as meagre and thin as the rags that clothe you. As if you could will his own hurts back onto him.

No, the pain is nothing new. But there is something different about it this time - it feels like it has no end, it does not ebb, and you take such a very, very long time to die. And when you awaken again, the crushing in your chest continues, then stops so abruptly you feel like you can breathe for the first time in years. This was clearly no normal battlefield injury and it makes your entire being burn with hope that, for all the unusual suffering it is foisting upon you, it means that something shifted --

That perhaps, somehow, miraculously, even with leeching off of you, fat and silverblood-gorged, Ketheric failed. Was defeated.

That perhaps your torment is reaching its end, and soon enough some enterprising hero, a fellow Selûnite perhaps, will find themselves guided into your prison to help you pry the bars wide open--

And then, a roar. A quake of the very foundation of your unseen cell so strong it knocks you down, and a surge of darkness and fury greater than anything you've ever seen. An entire storm of shadows, howling, screaming with a thousand enraged voices, ever-wretched Shar's above all, rushing up and up and up and blasting through the black dome that stood for the sky in this abyss.

You dare not think of what this could mean: the Shadowfell pouring out its umbral essence over the world so suddenly and violently.

It is a moment, perhaps, of ultimate weakness - for a precious few seconds you had the nerve to think it might finally be over, but instead… this.

"Hear me, Mother," you rasp out against the ground stained over and over with your own blood, unable even to lift your head and address the words up high, where they belong. "Hark, Moonmaiden Selûne, Your blade is dulled, stolen. Your will delayed, undone. Your daughter… begs for Your aid…"

"I need… I pray… a boon. Bless me with Your help, so that Your bright sword can once again be lifted as an instrument against the darkness. At Your service, as I ever must be, I incur this debt gladly. Let us answer this invasion with all our might."

There is no response to your prayers. Not a glimpse of your Mother's ever-changing face. Not a single droplet of silver moonlight penetrates these shadows, and no other voice reaches your ears.

The thought rises, unbidden: is this what Ketheric meant?

There is no shadowy shroud of Shar that a moonbeam of Selûne cannot pierce. You have staked your entire being on this belief, a thousand times over. And yet not a mote of light reaches you in all your years of captivity, and you, curse you, you wonder. The swirling shadows whisper and tickle your mind and your very soul and you despise this intrusion but--

If she can, and yet she does not - does that mean she does not want to? Does not care to?

Among the wild shadowy storms and the gusting winds and lashing lightning, the silence is deafening. When you repeat your prayer, a year later, then a decade, there is still no answer.

An incredible loneliness stretches before you, a nothingness so profound and so very, very long you think you might even miss Balthazar's rancid presence.

And then, a sudden crushing in your chest again, and an agony exploding behind your eyes. Mercifully brief, as far as these things have gone before, but igniting such unspeakable anguish in you that you bellow and pound your fists against the ground until they are raw and bloody. For you know this can only mean one thing: the cycle is starting anew after all this time, and what you took for Ketheric's defeat had somehow only been a temporary setback.

As Your starglow soothes and bolsters, so we promise to aid our fellow faithful, and guide those whose path is not yet clear.

You've flown over these lands countless times, but now, as you rush forward to your long-promised reckoning, you might as well be flying over one of the hells. The ruin and desolation drains away even the heady rush of newfound freedom, the sheer relief of feeling the wind on your wings once again.

It is hard to reconcile the shadow-swollen horrors below you with the magnificence of Moonrise Towers as you once knew them, striking pillars of faith without question. Reithwin itself and the land entire have changed, twisted, in the end but a mirror to the devotion of their ruling family.

There is nothing here of what you remember, nothing left of the simple, blessed life you got but a taste of, not even an echo to be found of all that you once came to treasure alongside your beloved. Fields and orchards you helped work; vineyards you helped bless; fine, silver-wrought fountains you helped make ever-pure, all in your role as your Mother's emissary.

Ketheric Thorm, now False twice over, in whose throne room you stood in audience, promising your fealty and your aid, as recognition for his family's long list of deeds in Selûne's name.

And Isobel, his daughter, still fairly young for one of half-elven descent, but an accomplished cleric in her own right. Her mother's daughter through and through.

The first in Reithwin to stop being star-struck when faced with you, made of far sterner stuff than she might have at first seemed, and insisting on meeting you as an equal. Wise, caring, and skilled. And achingly beautiful, with a soft face and rosy cheeks meant to be bathed in the gentlest of moonlight.

It was odd, but meant to be - clearly part of some plan you happened not to be privy to, but had no desire to question.

All love alive under Her light shall know Her blessing.

Isobel, living and breathing before you, is a miracle if you've ever seen one.

Isobel, still hurt, bruised from what you are told was a kidnapping attempt ordered by her own father - you bristle, and bite it down.

"It is nothing," she insists when you belabour the point, and you want to chastise her for never thinking of herself enough, even after a century, always putting her own wellbeing last, knitting everyone else's wounds closed and leaving no salve for her own.

Instead, you take her face between your palms, trace her cheeks with tentative fingers and carefully, carefully tap into the healing magic you've ignored for a hundred years. The face of the Moonmaiden is ever-shifting - the fierce, warlike guise of martial prowess is but one of many in Her exalted repertoire, and so, too, in yours.

Then, in the privacy of the spacious upstairs room granted to Isobel as the haven's pivotal goddess-touched protector, the very embodiment of the Last Light, you do the same for the rest of her.

Her body is warm, though she complains of a coldness she cannot be rid of.

You fall before her, on your knees as if in supplication, as has always felt like the most natural thing in the world. Face buried in the softness of her bare stomach, a dam in you breaks, and you weep for the joy, the relief beyond all hope, of her real and breathing and whole before you.

She leans down to press a kiss to the top of your head, like a benediction, hands running through your hair and cradling you ever so softly until you regain yourself.

"My darling, my angel. I can hardly believe you are here."

In this, she speaks for the both of you, and spurns you to action.

"Then let me banish all doubt," you murmur, trailing kisses all the while, reverent hands on soft thighs. "I would taste of you, my love, if you allow it."

There is a fleeting moment of hesitation that was never there before as her hands and lips still. But then her shiver becomes one of anticipation as she murmurs into your ear. "I welcome it."

It is yours, then, as ever, to do as you are bid.

You wish to touch every inch of her, impress upon her again and again in a thousand kisses the affection and adoration welling within you inexhaustible. You crave to recommit to memory what you once studied and learned like the most fastidious of students. You need in a way you never have before. And she obliges - no, answers, just as eager and driven by your age-long separation, though her experience of it has been so wildly, incomprehensibly different.

The sounds you draw from her (familiar, dearly missed) are like a balm, a private song you were certain you would never hear again.

You hold her as close as is possible, and she returns the favour. Her caress is familiar, warm, healing in ways few things could ever be. After the hundred years of emptiness interspersed with biting, death-inviting pain and foul, crushing hands holding you in place, after unspeakable things visited upon your body, your person, a gentle, loving, careful touch is a treasure unmatched. The sharpness of the contrast makes your throat tighten.

"Isobel," you breathe into her shoulder, neck, and can think of nothing holier to say than her name.

She holds you entire in her gentle hands, heart and soul and body, and whispers fervent vows to never let you go, never allow you to feel hurt and harm again.

Isobel is slight compared to you, small and soft, for your strengths have ever lain in different areas. Treasured and safe in the circle of her arms, in the sanctuary of her embrace, finally, finally, you find rest.

You are back in your circle-cage, face down, limbs leaden.

The bloated corpse-face of Balthazar leers over you and you launch upwards, swipe at him, near-desperate to drive him away before he continues his wretched work. Aching to make him pay for every insult he has dared commit upon your blessed flesh.

Only to find yourself gasping, gulping down cool night air, seated on the bed in the pleasantly twilit room on the upper floor of the Last Light Inn.

You focus for a moment and effortlessly as ever manifest your wings and take stock of yourself. You know you have not escaped unscathed, unchanged, but your strong limbs are still there, as if nothing had ever happened. Shoulders wide and sturdy, downy feathers, wings. Every sleek vane and fine bit of plumage in their place, pearly white-silver and perfect.

Yet any human rosiness that used to reside there is long gone out of your skin, grey like marble, criss-crossed with precious gold. If you look down, there is a severe, pronounced crack lying right above your heart. It makes sense, of course, if you think on it, though you so desperately prefer - try - not to.

And the dream - nightmare - insists on sinking vestigial claws into you, leaving you with a burning, torn sensation between your shoulder blades.

Isobel stirs beside you, and you curse for having woken her from such hard-won and rarely granted serenity. She sits up, sleep-cottoned, and traces gentle fingers down the tensed, trembling part of your back, though you have said nothing. But Isobel, wise, insightful Isobel, always seems to know at least part of what ails you.

"One of the Flaming Fists encamped here... a traitor. Marcus," she speaks somewhat haltingly, cautiously. "We were all struck by his betrayal, but I... when I saw him, when he came for me, when he was sent for me..."

Her eyes meet yours, almost reluctantly.

"He had wings. Hideously warped, blackened, rotten things, but..."

A question is raised, a mirror of one you've asked yourself, during long hours-turned-days of morbid contemplation in your prison.

"Balthazar. He got them from that wretch Balthazar."

"And he got them--" Isobel cuts herself off, fully awake and alert and wincing at the confirmation of her fears.

You swallow, throat parched and burning as if the screams from then still scrape against it. Harvesting, he called it.

"He got them from me."

It is simply not something to be thought about. The bile of wrath rises, crawls up your throat instead, and you spit out words almost in a growl.

"He has been dispatched, I trust? The traitor?"

Isobel understands.

"He has, of course," she rushes to reassure. "Jaheira and the Harpers made quick work of him and the horrible creatures he called to his aid."

You hum, move to sit back against the headboard, then change your mind as soon as it touches your skin. "It seems I have much to thank High Harper Jaheira."

Your hand is still tightened into a fist in the coverlet, and Isobel reaches over, pries it open, to hold it ever so gently between both of her palms.

"We both do. We'll see them all come morning, exchange tales over breakfast. Outside, perhaps, in the sun, at long last." Her smile is as bright as this promised dawn, but there is a note of silver-filigree steel behind it. "We can thank her then. Make sure she knows she can count on us through whatever is to come."

She reaches over to cradle your chin, tugging you down, and kisses you softly. "Let us get some more rest, my love."

The both of you slip back under the moth-eaten but soft covers and she burrows insistently into your side, under one wing. You lie - and, blessedly, sleep - on your stomach, Isobel's arm thrown over your lower back in that perfect balance she is mastering of being reassuring while not calling too much to mind.

When we are beset with shadows, You mend our hearts with the silver thread of Your radiant loom.

You let Isobel braid your hair, one idle evening in camp. You can sense she is just as starved for simple contact as you are - her hands seem restless, even more so than usual, and flit over your back, shoulders, arms... so you let her occupy them, as she perches in your lap and peppers you with kisses, and speaks not a single word.

There is no mirror at hand to see her handiwork when she is done, but she looks pleased with herself, and with you, and you feel like this should be... enough.

But another memory stirs and inches through, of the times you knelt, crouched, sat in that glowing circle that your world had seemed shrunken to, and, for want of anything to do with your hands (now past punching, past clawing for the freedom that was out of their reach) you set to braiding your hair, as if preparing to don a helmet and march off to glorious combat. It was something to do, and pretend.

You undo the braids as soon as Isobel falls asleep.

The city, that meeting point of fates, draws ever nearer.

Isobel's cough comes and goes. Nothing as bad as the fits that sometimes awoke her while you were still in the cursed lands, but it persists, frustratingly.

"Isobel, I--" you barely get to begin to voice your concern before she brushes you away.

"Please, it's nothing. Don't worry about me, dearest."

"I find I cannot," you state simply, as it is a very simple truth.

"I- I don't want to burden you. You've enough on your plate as it is." She gives a small smile so forced you almost feel insulted. "It'll pass, I'm sure."

"Burden…? Isobel," a mess of words past her cherished name stick in your mouth, awkward, nigh indignant, and you take a moment to calm and order them. Simple and earnest is what you settle for, in the end. "Isobel, my love… You are first in my thoughts, always, you know this. I would gladly bear all your burdens if I but could, if you were to allow it - each and every one."

She frowns, shakes her head, and you hate that you seem to have somehow displeased her. "That's just it, isn't it? I don't want you to. I don't need you to. You've born more than anyone's fair share."

"Ah, but Dame Aylin is hardly anyone, is she?"

You aim your most winning, blinding white grin at her, but fail to induce the reaction you were once used to getting on a whim. No blush or giggle hidden behind a dainty palm at your deliberately overtuned charm being pointed at her, no smirk and tease in return.

No, Isobel is subdued, troubled, and, most vexing of all, everything you say seems to only serve to make it worse.

There is something new behind her eyes, too, those beautiful, wise eyes that won your heart entire the first time you met them. A darkness, you would dare call it, a shadow not unlike the curse once fallen upon the land. A question, a yearning for some understanding that never seems to come, a futile grasp for something in an emptiness that was not there before.

"Please, my love," you say with the utmost tenderness, reserved for Isobel alone, "do not hide your heart from me. You know I cherish it as if it were mine own."

"I haven't felt… myself," she haltingly begins in answer to your plea, as you step forward and encircle her, first in the embrace of your arms, then in the shelter of your wings. A treasured sanctuary saved for the two of you alone.

"I cannot… the death, it clings, I..."

She buries her face in your chest as she struggles to pick out words one by one, plucking them out like painful thorns. You let her rest tucked under your chin, restrain yourself to quietly running one gentle, slow hand through her hair.

"I am afraid," she settles on, finally, almost a whisper, hiding still, refusing to look at you. "I am afraid there is no fixing this wrongness I feel day after day, that's been… in me, over me, ever since I awoke. That something has been taken from me, and now there is no way to remove this vile mark that's been left on me instead, whatever it is. Not even by the grace of the Moonmaiden."

She shivers, and you tighten your hold on her, even as the sentence after that tears into your very heart, sharper and more jagged than any Sharran knife.

"I am afraid, most of all, that no matter how much I pray or plead, that whatever I do to try and prove myself worthy, I… cannot be. Ever again. I will never be worthy of Her light again. Or of yours."

"No," it comes out far rougher, angrier than you ever intended, ever wanted to aim anywhere near precious, beloved Isobel - not at her, never at her. But she is wrong, because it is an impossibility, unthinkable, ridiculous to even suggest. Her, treasured, cherished, held high above all in your regard, and lofty in your Mother's.

"Please, Isobel," you move a half-step back, if only to make it possible to cup her face, tilt her chin up and look at her. "Do not ever, ever think such a thing again. You could never be unworthy, not you. Not you."

The hitch is back in her laboured breath as she moves to protest, the haunted look shadowing her eyes. "How? How can you be so sure?"

And that is the question, isn't it? Your love for Isobel and faith in her intertwined, utterly certain and utterly relentless. Like the rage that sustained you through a century of torment, settled heavy and deep in your bones. You don't know any other way to feel, to be.

"I will prove it to you, I will drive away any shadow of any doubt. Her light, through me. For you alone, Isobel."

She acquiesces, at least, to being led over to the bed and sitting down. You lower the shoulders of her tunic. Place a gentle, reverent kiss on the revealed skin, trying to press in with it all the love and devotion you desperately need her to be aware of.

You lay a hand on her bare back, palm flat and flush with warm skin. The rush of joy and slight disbelief that she is once again yours to touch is still fresh, and yet the familiarity of every freckle, shift of shoulder blade, and light shiver of gooseflesh is ancient and deep and right. From the outside it is the same, perfect, unchanged Isobel. But you believe her unquestioningly when she says something is wrong.

A mere moment of focus has a silvery glow bathing the room, unwinding from underneath your fingertips and sinking into Isobel's back. She breathes in deeply, breathes out, then in again, shifting under your touch, until she seems to find at least some relief.

"Thank you, that's…" she murmurs, barely above a breath.

There is a dawning, deeply saddening comprehension rising in you - Isobel, insisting on pouring all her heart and soul into taking care of you, healing and protecting and doting on so devotedly, driven not just by your love most mutual, but also by fear. By a desperate need to prove herself worthy of Selûne's grace again, prove her return to life was not a horrifying mistake. Chasing redemption where none was ever needed, not for her, clinging to the thought like a lifeline.

"Whenever, whatever you need of me, however many times." You allow your fervour to seep into your voice as you feel your eyes burn, and continue trailing moonlight-dipped fingers down her back. "If you but say the word, I will provide what relief I can, I swear it, until you are free of any shadows haunting you, or until there is no light left in me - whichever deigns to come first."

Isobel smiles wryly, turning to steal a glance at you over her shoulder, a tiredness in her that she has only ever shown you alone. "I promised I would take care of you. And yet here you are, taking care of me. After… after everything."

She knows enough not to specify. Even this brief almost-mention is enough to make a darkness creep at the edge of your thoughts, but you swallow it back hastily, and focus only on the treasured countenance before you, on brushing stray silver locks behind her ear with your free hand.

"A fair and just exchange, I would think, if you are amenable."

Isobel hums something that is neither agreement nor disagreement, then turns to face you fully, sombre in the circle of your arms.

"I always thought that when the time came, I would be ready," she begins, slowly, as if every word was a trial. "Foolish and naive of me, probably. But I thought I knew what to expect, what I would have awaiting me, after a life of service. The City of Judgement, as awaits us all, and then, hopefully, and - I pray - deservedly, an audience in Argentil after being Claimed."

She stops, swallows, looks at you so pleadingly you cannot help but pull her back into your embrace.

"But instead…" you hold her tighter as she shudders, "...nothing. Darkness. A void."

Nothing. Like the black hole of your prison. And it seems fitting, for a moment, that fate has decided to match you in this, too.

"It is I who failed you. When it truly mattered, when it was of most consequence, I wasn't there. And you… you were lost to me. To us."

A small frown furrows her brow as she grasps around for something, anything. "I don't remember."

"Perhaps… perhaps that is for the best," you exhale, half-sick of dredging up shadows you would prefer remain buried. "My own memory is prodigious, and yet how I wish I could forget much of the past century."

But Isobel looks at you longingly, searchingly, and you oblige, at least for a little bit, calling to mind what should have been the darkest days of your long life. "For all our efforts, we were never able to capture your attackers - the cowards struck so suddenly, fled so swiftly. You were laid in state, for a while. The entirety of Reithwin mourned - the Silverbrow Priestess conducted the funeral services most beautifully. The very Moon, full to bursting, cried over it. And your father…"

Your throat seizes up. Her father, your tormentor. A wretched man you feel the two of you have to speak of, some day. The man who gave the world Isobel twice over, but selfishly, impossibly, wanted to keep her all to himself both times.

Her countenance grows steely and determined in a way you have yet to get used to. "My father was lost to me far before he died at your hand. I mourn the man I remember, not the monster you killed. A loving, kind, generous man, who should never have been capable of such horrors as Ketheric brought down upon my home, upon you. And yet... if I was all that was keeping him from such a fall, I cannot help but think--"

Isobel's voice cracks and you wonder when, in your absence-captivity, he stopped being Papa and became Ketheric. Your anger towards him tastes bitterer still.

And you think of Isobel, fleeing her own grave and the twisted visage of what was once her beloved father. Dragging her own burial shroud across a land of shadow and horror, full of echoes of a life half-remembered.

Isobel, alone, convinced of your demise, mourning you as you endlessly mourned her, both of you unknowing.

Isobel, left to desperately and single-handedly guard the only meagre surviving pocket of her childhood home, doomed and destroyed by her father's violent, misaimed grief over her own death. A pillar of light in an all-encompassing darkness and one final, crucial defence against it, without even a fair promise of hope or future to sustain her.

It sounds, at first, like a noble task you would think worthy of a cleric of Isobel's most excellent calibre. But you can't help but think it a test of devotion far too harsh, and entirely superfluous. Such incredible weight to place on any one person's shoulders. And for what?

Needed and necessary she once called herself and her efforts when you asked, insisting on dismissing it all in a way you perhaps understand entirely too well.

Perhaps, together... you, hollowed, and her, overflowing. And, in turn, her aching for something that is missing and you fit to burst with wrath and vengeance and violence. Perhaps there is hope yet, and healing to be found for both.

Together. Only ever together.

We trust in Your radiance, Moonmaiden, even when it is out of our sight.

The battle you were waiting for is over - won, by most reckonings, but not without great cost. What is left of the city now needs care and careful restoration. There are still stray cultist enclaves to root out, remnants of the illithid army, as well as mere opportunists who always show their vile selves in such circumstances. As part of an array of unexpected, colourful allies, you make short work of them all, whenever any come to light.

But rebuilding takes precedence, as does healing, and Isobel has taken point among Selûne's devoted in a way that is nothing short of awe-inspiring. The situation seems altogether more suited to her talents rather than yours at the moment, so you follow her readily, without question, and provide whatever aid you can.

It is a cycle as old as time, after all, as reliable as the phases of the Moon. Building, destruction, rebuilding - the world will always need both of you.

But tonight is the night of a full Moon, and Isobel has gone to conduct the requisite rituals with the rest of the Selûnite encampment that has been so welcoming to you. Isobel, death-touched but untainted, no matter what she may fear, will excel in whatever role they set out for her, of this you are certain.

You, on the other hand, have begged off, your own communion awaiting you elsewhere.

Your path leads you away from the outskirts of the city and up into the hills, your back turned on the Chionthar. Through remnants of farms and hunting lodges, up and up to cliff and brush and down again to sparse woodland, your steps are guided, as is your birthright.

It is becoming easier to hear Her voice once again. She does not always speak in words, but Her presence She makes felt.

And so you stop in a clearing, before a pond, crystal clear and fed by a jolly, clamouring stream. It is quiet, otherwise. Peaceful.

You dismiss your armour, letting it dissipate into motes of moonlight. You remember with a touch of warmth and immense fondness how sweetly Isobel would pout whenever she did not get to take it off you piece by piece.

The air is crisp and the water, once you touch it, is almost icy. The moonlight on your skin cleanses and soothes, combining with the chilly water into a refreshing blessing. It is the sensations of the world that you so dearly missed during your captivity, that you now allow to rush over you, all at once.

It is the first time in over a hundred years you stand and behold the full silver face of your Mother, the trail of Her Tears beside Her, and wonder, idly, if She shed any for you.

Please, you beg as you step into the pool, without shame, without words. A kinder fate for Isobel, this time.

A kinder fate for the land she still calls home.

A kinder fate for me.

The cool silver water seeps into every crevice of your being and washes away with it some ichor of darkness you didn't even know still clung to you. You lie back and let yourself float, the rush of water in your ears drowning out even the small nighttime noises of the clearing and surrounding woods. In the soft waves you hear your Mother's voice, and She sounds kind, inviting, forgiving.

Why, you want to ask, why would you allow…

There is new dampness on your cheeks, and you realise haltingly that it is tears. "Hello, Mother."

The light of the Moon is caring and compassionate, and bathes you in love. It is the only embrace She has ever been able to give you, here. It is almost enough to forget a century of sorrow and the cries that went unheard.

No more, She says.

Rest, the murmur continues, soft and sad - a familiar melancholy, though not one you would expect during a Moon so full and bright. Earned, a hundred times over. My Sword, tempered to perfection. My Daughter, put through trials undeserved. Lost to me for so long. You are welcome here. Safe. I would have you know peace once more.

"Not… not yet. There are still too many, I cannot--" You sit up, rivulets of water running down your face, following the crevices of your scars. It is unlike you to struggle so with your words. You proclaim and vow, you do not stammer and hesitate.

What would you have for yourself, then, daughter mine?

"I would seek and extinguish the tyrants, the oppressors," your hands tighten into determined fists as you channel and reflect all that has been done to you, aglow with silver, wings unfurled. "Those who would bind, capture, enslave, who would subjugate and rule another for their own gain - let them sleep with one eye open. Let them know: Dame Aylin sees their deeds and offers no mercy."

Your cause is righteous, and I bless it as my own. But a burden should be shared. And you are not the only champion at my call.

It is true, of course, and you grasp the intent, but you cannot help but bristle. You may not be the only one, but surely you are the most--

--fearsome? Reliable? Accomplished?

Doubt creeps in, that most rare and hated of sensations. There is a shift, then, into a plea for you to understand, from a mother to her child.

A broken sword can accomplish little. And even the finest steel has a breaking point. Do not too eagerly seek your own.

You sink back into the pool, water up to your chin, as if bowing in acceptance.

If you crave a task, I task you: offer aid in healing and rebuilding, and thus rebuild yourself. Worry not - I will call upon you when the time comes. But for now, shore up the bulwark within you.

A smile, a tender grace.

And let each and all know yours is a blessed union.

The last fading words leave you puzzled for a few moonlit moments. And then Isobel is next to you, bare and glowing and embracing you, holding you to herself as if she will never let go.

"Isobel," you start, a host of questions forming on your tongue, but she places a finger over your lips.

"Guided back to you, as you were to me. As I promise I will be, for as long as I can."

A shiver runs through you at the undercurrent of steel and sheer devotion in her sweet voice.

"Then I vow I will never let myself be torn from your side again. And any who seek to part us will meet a swift end by my hand."

You spoke such promises to each other once already, what feels like a lifetime ago, even though it should by rights have been nothing compared to your eternal years. It is a heavy lesson to have learned so well in breaking them, though - that no tomorrow can ever be guaranteed. Not even for you.

Not near as tide- and cycle-bound, the Scribe had said, and you wonder at the recalled words. No endless rise and fall for you, then, perhaps. No waxing and waning. No rote repetition of tragic history in this world changed and strange, but instead something altogether new, hewn by the two of you.

Isobel takes your face between both her hands and kisses you, putting a swift end to your reverie.

In response, you pick her up out of the water, twirl her around, splash the both of you back down happily. Your smile turns into a grin, then a laugh, open and simple, and her giggle is crystal-bright and utterly free of the grasp of the grave. You feel lighter than the feathers you leave behind like a snowy trail.

You hold her and kiss her again and again and again and allow yourself to lose track of time.

#baldur's gate 3 #dame aylin #isobel thorm #aylin x isobel #bg3 #fanfiction #bg3 spoilers #oathkeeper writes things #my fic #i love them and wish them all the succor in the world #cross-posted on ao3 if you prefer to read there #poor unprepared me starting the game salty that they didn't let me play my aasimar paladin staple

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