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arabellasleopardcoat · 15 days

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To Conquer (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Incest is common amongst Targaryens, Daemon assures you. Unfortunately, Alicent got to you first.

Warnings: Mentions of sex. Cursing. Arranged marriage. Periods. Daddy issues. Religious guilt. One death aside from canon ones (Daemon murders a man)

A/N: In which I rewrite the scene of my first encounter with incest in a book. If you get it, you get it.

YOU NEVER dared call Alicent mother out loud. But in your mind, she was.

The woman who had birthed you had passed away the same day you had been born. Out of her womb you had been pulled, alongside your twin. He had not survived the day.

Queen Aemma Arryn was a mere name to you, a woman who existed in paintings and shadows, a ghost that lurked on the Red Keep. Your father never once spoke of her too you, too consumed by guilt and grief. In fact, he did his best to never speak to you at all.

You were an uncomfortable reminder of the crime he had committed. Robbing a woman of life so a man may live. It hadn’t even worked in the end. Your brother had faded from this world, nothing of him remaining.

Against all odds, you had. You had clung to life, the Maesters would later say. Fought tooth and nail to stay in this world. And somehow, it hadn’t been enough. Your father avoided you like the plague, but Alicent, guilty, scared, lonely Alicent, did not. She was all you had.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror. Despite your dramatic entrance to the world, and your eventful first few months of life, your life had turned out to be quite lackluster. There were no exciting adventures or claiming of dragons, much less a moniker attached to your name like there was to Rhaenyra or Daemon. You wondered why this, out of all things, had to be different.

The robes looked graceful enough on you, you supposed. Your father had called you a true Valyrian beauty, the very image of your mother. You knew it wasn’t true. King Viserys didn’t remember her. How could he, if he had done his best attempts to erase her? He had replaced her at once, and he never once spoke of her again. At least, not with you.

His presence in your life could be defined with one word: Absence. But he had thought it fair to reappear when he needs you to do something for him. The least he could have done would have been asking for your input about the wedding.

If you had been asked, you would have chosen a traditional wedding ceremony, with a Septon and a hand fasting. You would have worn a Targaryen cloak… To be exchanged for another Targaryen cloak. No. Perhaps it had been for the best, not to desecrate such a beautiful ritual with this nonsense.

Still, you couldn't shake the feeling of not being really married. You didn’t like it. And you liked the man who was waiting for you on the other side of the door much less.

“Are you done, niece?” The knock on the door forced you into action, once again. You reached into the basin, watching the cool water shift under your fingers. There was something about the cold that cleared your head, helped you think. You took a deep breath, and tried to focus.

Alicent had told you that you should obey him in all things. That you had to do your duty, just as she had done hers. But you had seen the fear in her eyes when you were getting ready for the ceremony, and how her hands had grasped at you desperately during the feast. It had taken Ser Otto’s intervention to make her let go of you.

Your bedtime stories had not prepared either of you for this. When you were a young girl, plagued by night terrors, she would sit at the foot of your bed and pretend to read your destiny.

“One day, you will fly to the moon wearing spiderwebs as wings.” She would squint at your hand, making a show of reading the lines there.

“Tell me more!” You would squeal, fears forgotten. Despite not being the motherly type, she would always indulge you. Perhaps, because she saw herself in you. Another little girl, her mother dead, her father defined by his lack of presence.

“It says here…” Alicent would tickle your palm. “That you will grow up into a beautiful, beautiful princess who will marry a handsome lord. He will love you very much.”

Out of all the lies you had been told, it was your favorite. Each night, you would ask to hear it again and again, and think, tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow I will be all grown, and the lady of a great castle. My father will love me then.

It had been a consolation you had clung on through all your childhood. You were a princess, worthy of being appreciated by your future husband. He would love you, you knew. You would build something together, something only yours. You would raise your children to be better than you, following Alicent’s example. You would be happy.

You had never realized how much she had clung to that thought too. Her frustrated dreams for herself had been turned into hope for your future. Alicent had spoken them into the night like an enchantment, as if she could bring them to life by repeating the words over and over. So you could have what she hadn’t had. Like all parents wished.

What both of you had imagined wasn't this. You wanted to scream from rage.

“Just a bit more.” You said, your resolve hardening. The faith of the Seven dictated that laying with a relative was a sin, the same for laying with a man who was not your husband. They barely recognized Valyrian wedding ceremonies.

Had you really married him? Your High Valyrian was sloppy. Your mother had not taught you much, and your lessons had often been interrupted because of Aegon. Out of all your siblings, Aemond had been the most proficient one. He had not been present at the ceremony, being judged too young to attend.

It had been your parents, Daemon, Aegon. An intimate ceremony, just as they liked. Could your father betray you so? Give you away as a whore to appease his brother?

You opened the table’s drawers. Daemon’s bathing room was unfamiliar to you, but he must have used something to shave and you would find it. You riffled through various oils and soaps before finding the blade you were seeking.

With your non-dominant hand, you bunched the robes up. Bracing yourself, you used your other hand to slit your upper thigh. At first, you didn’t draw blood, despite feeling the sting of the blade. Your grip was too shaky. But your determination didn’t waver. Your father had asked too much of you already, there was no power in the world that could force you to share your Uncle’s bed.

Your second attempt was much more successful. Despite having tensed the muscles of your thigh anticipating pain, it didn’t hurt as much as you expected. Blood rushed out. You grabbed a rag and rubbed it on it. You examined it, coldly. No matter how Valyrian, you bled red, like any Andal.

You schooled yourself into faux embarrassment before you spoke.

“Could you… Husband…. Could you fetch my mother?”

Despite your calculations, you make the mistake regardless. The noun slips from your tongue, unprompted. A slip. The first of many to come. The temperature dropped in the room, Daemon’s anger a near palpable thing.

“Your mother is dead, niece.” He stressed the last word in a way you didn’t like. Despite the door separating the two of you, you could tell his mood had shifted from bad to something much worse. You feared what he might do to you, were you to backtrack in your plan. “Whatever Alicent has been teaching you, you should know you are not hers.”

“Queen Alicent.” You corrected, annoyed. How did he dare criticize the way she had raised you, when there had been literally no one else around up to the task. How did he dare speak down to you, as if you were a simpleton? You fought to keep your tone steady and stomped on the anger bubbling up. “I have… lady troubles.”

“Lady troubles?” Daemon asked, sounding puzzled.

You pondered the merits of skirting around the issue. You weren’t in the mood to enter a euphemism’s discussion, and so, decided to be more graphic.

The bloody rag was held gently between your fingers when you opened the door. No more words were needed. Daemon cursed and went to get your mother.

HE DOESN’T dare ask at first. Daemon understands that women’s bodies work different from his own. He has never bedded one in her moonblood, and doesn’t intend to start with you.

Despite your beauty, Daemon felt oddly disappointed. He had hoped, with you being fully Rhaenyra’s sister and not half, like his younger nephews, that you would be similar to her.

You weren’t. You lacked her fierceness and the respect for your heritage. The only thing Valyrian about you was your looks. You didn’t even have a dragon of your own, and were so damn timid, he might confuse you with a mouse rather than a Princess.

Because of that same reason, he let you be during your moonblood. While Daemon didn’t object to some blood, he doubted you would be the same. Bedding unwilling maidens wasn’t his thing. He preferred his girls willing, be it from the promise of coin or delirious from their own lust.

Somehow, he was getting the feeling you weren’t going to be the second type anytime soon. Every time he attempted to kiss you, you squirmed away, as if he were initiating something sinful and not simply trying to kiss his wife.

“Seven Hells, would it kill you to remain still?” He asked as you nervously avoided his grip on your waist. “I am not trying to initiate anything. I know you are still on your courses. Stand still. I command it.”

“I… I…” You had looked at him, all hesitant eyes. Alicent had done scarcely any things right when raising you, but at least she had instilled you obedience. But blood couldn’t be denied, and every so often your Valyrian nature reared its head. Mostly, playing against Daemon rather than in his favor. Little dragon that you were, you weren’t keen on following orders.

Ah, but bring you a Septa. Then you were jumping out of your seat to offer the damn woman your chair and observing her earnestly for non-verbal cues, tending to her every need like a commoner. Ridiculous.

“The Mother obeys the Father, from what I understand.” Daemon kept his tone matter of fact. He wasn’t certain that the Seven Pointed Star said that, but it sounded right, and it suited him, so he spoke the words with as much conviction as he could muster. In truth, Daemon had never opened the damn book in his life. A waste of time. The Septons he knew were a bunch of cunts and their followers weren’t any better.

“Maidens are supposed to be demure.” You protested. “Not indulge on indecent displays.”

“You are not meant to be a maiden any longer.” He grabbed you by the waist regardless, coaxing you to stroll next to him. “And wives obey their husbands.”

While you remained unconvinced, you allowed him to lead you around the Red Keep’s gardens. He kept a constant stream of chatter, using all his best lines, but you answered in monosyllables. Not only did Daemon wish to cultivate a better relationship with you, but he also wanted to flaunt his new bride. It was only fair that the other cunts here got a look at Targaryen superiority. Kept them from being too uppity.

Like everything else in this marriage, though, that too proved elusive. Soon, whispers began to circulate about his virility. One of your maids had a loose tongue, it seemed. The whole castle was snickering about it not even a week later. You, like usual, were oblivious.

In a fit of anger Daemon would later not be proud of, he got all the little chits whipped. But their attitudes about your moonblood made him begin to suspect something was amiss. A fortnight of bleeding seemed… Strange. While he was never particularly interested in women’s bodies beyond fucking them, something had to be wrong. An inquiry with the Maester proved him right. Apparently, over a week was unusual, a fortnight near impossible.

That night, he sat on the foot of your shared bed, watching you fret around the room. Daemon had asked for shared chambers, thinking it would bring the two of you closer. With his constant exiles and marriages, and the fact that Alicent had coddled you during your whole existence, you were a stranger with a familiar face. He had hoped to entice you by appealing to your curiosity about marital duties. Safe to say, it didn’t work.

You had put up barriers. Both metaphorical and physical ones. Right now, you were at it again. Laying down a towel on your side of the bed and a pillow in the middle of it. As he watched you, he found himself struck by the beauty of your hands. They were firm and precise in their movements, fixing down the towel and then neatly delimiting your side of the bed with the pillow.

You were wearing the most hideous nightshirt know to man, more adequate for a Septa than a newlywed. Slightly bent over, fluffing up your pillows, Daemon noticed that it was as white as fresh snow. Now that he thought of it, all your shifts were. And yet, none of them had ever been stained. Nor had the towel you placed on the bed and loudly proclaimed it was to avoid leakages. An effort to make yourself more unappealing, perhaps?

Somehow, the realization didn’t anger him. Instead, it made him more curious. Was this your way of rebelling? Were you scared? What went on behind your eyes, inside that skull of yours?

“Wife.” Daemon finally spoke, when you were starting to kneel for your nightly prayers. You paused, kneeling gracefully. You looked up at him, all curious eyes and nervous smile. “Have your courses always been this long?”

This time, he watches your reaction closely. During these past days, Daemon has not pressured you about it. But now, he waits on bated breath.

Your eyes widen. The hands you have clasped in prayer get even tighter pressed together.

“Oh, you shouldn’t… These are womanly concerns.” You are a terrible liar. He would laugh, were it not such a cruel thing to do when in the face of a little fool.

“I insist.” Daemon arches an eyebrow at you. You squirm on your knees like there are ants on your shift. You are visibly distraught. Does it pain you, pious girl that you are, to be committing a sin?

“Yes, they are.”

Another lie. He had asked some of the fools in Viserys’ employment. Yours didn’t last more than a week. But Daemon finds all the twitching you are doing entertaining, and so, decides to give you more rope to hang yourself.

“And yet, your father promised that you were fertile.” He drawls, cruel amusement almost leaking into his tone. He can’t help the way his lips twitch. This is too entertaining. It’s like toying with a mouse before eating it.

“I… I am.” You weakly defend yourself. Your face is looking more distressed by the second. And is that..? Oh, wonderful, you are starting to sweat a little.

“No, you are not. You are either lying about that, or about your moonblood.”

“I am not!” You protest, finally getting up from your kneeling position. A shame. You looked positively delicious in your predicament.

“Yes, you are! But I am giving you a chance to tell me the truth. Which one are you lying about?”

“I am not.” You look about to flee the room, so Daemon gets up and places himself on your path. You flinch a bit, but stubbornly refuse to admit the truth. His amusement at your attitude is starting to turn sour. Not only it is unflattering that you are making up excuses to avoid bedding him, but they are so stupid half the court is laughing at him behind his back about it. And you, absolute fool, can’t admit it.

“Wrong answer, niece.” He steps closer, trying to intimidate you. “I know the truth.”

“You do?” You startle. You take a step back, nearly tripping on the hem of that ugly nightgown. Daemon reaches to steady you, his grip on your arms punishingly. You twitch, as if sensing that you are caught in the maws of a hungry beast that could pounce at any moment.

“You are not on your moonblood. You can't be every single day of the moon!” He shakes you a little, making you yelp. But then, the most astounding thing happens. Because instead of going very still, as the frightened bird that you are, you shove him hard.

“What would you know!” You scream at him, pointing one finger at his face. Daemon wishes to say he is unbothered by your hysterics, but instead, he grabs your accusing hand and tugs it. The delicate bones shift inside his hand, threatening to snap, and you're left with no choice but go towards him or break your finger.

Wisely, you choose the second. You are breathing hard, and looking up at him in righteous indignation.

“Brute!”

“I asked your maids.” Daemon smirks at you, something ugly appearing on his face. In truth, whatever you see spooks you because you deflate a little. “So? Shall you tell me the truth? Or must I find it myself?”

He makes it as if to lift your shift. You bat his hand away, hard. Interesting enough, you harden then.

“What else is there to know? Beyond that I am not on my moonblood?”

“We can start with why you lied. Or why you don’t wish to lay with me.” Daemon suggests, gripping you tightly so you cannot escape. He brings his face closer to yours.

Your eyes are wide. Your face is frozen into a terrified expression, like you are realizing all your lies are catching up to you.

“I didn’t want you to force me.” You say, voice barely a whisper. Who do you think he is? Some sort of monster? Your depraved half brother, perhaps? Daemon had already heard the exploits that one was up to. Jerking off in a window, of all things.

“Force you! If I wanted to force you, I could already have.” Daemon rolls his eyes. You were not trained in any sort of combat, and you were the kind who had her head in the clouds more often than not. You were not a match for him. If Daemon wanted to force you, he just had to pin you down or pull out Dark Sister.

You stay quiet, perhaps coming to the same realization. You have gone to bed next to him for nearly two weeks, only in thin shifts. Every day, you have woken up untouched. Doubt starts to cloud up your face, as if you are noticing how vulnerable you truly have been and how well Daemon has behaved.

As if he were going to be deterred by a little blood. He was a true Targaryen. It was in his house’s words. Plenty of maidens bled when being split open on his cock. Your moonblood would not be very different.

Daemon decides to appeal to your more… Hightower side. Perhaps that would get you to yield to him. He uses his more Otto-like tone, trying to sound as cunty as possible.

“It’s your duty.”

You shake your head, frantically.

“We can’t. It's not right. You are my uncle.”

Your words are spoken with such conviction, he has to fight the urge to scream. That was your problem? You? A daughter of the house of the dragon, complaining about incest?

“It is not unprecedented. Our whole line begins because Aegon the conqueror had his sister wives. And then, Maegor married his niece, too.” Daemon’s words are sharp. He lets go of you and starts to pace the room. Good Gods, what had Alicent done to you? Had she twisted your mind so, you now thought marrying him was wrong because you were related?

“And their marriage was cursed. No child was born out of their union.” You reply, with an ugly smile. He wants to slap it out of your little face. Smug little girl, thinking she knows everything about the world.

“Jaehaerys married his sister, the Good Queen Alyssane. They had plenty of children.” He insists, trying to get you to notice the flaws in your argument. Everyone knew that the only way to preserve the Valyrian bloodline was by marrying other Valyrians. Otherwise, the magic in their blood would dilute, and they would no longer be able to claim dragons. It was common sense.

“All of them turned out very… queer.”

“My parents..!” But you interrupt him before he can finish.

“Exceptionally queer, too.”

Daemon feels his face heating up. No one before has managed to infuriate him so. He wants to shake some sense into you. His hands itch for something to punish you with. Impudent little thing, daring to suggest his parents had been queer!

Queer! The queer one here was you! A Targaryen who opposed incest!

“Listen here, you awful little…”

“Stop that. Stop insulting me, by the Seven. You won’t change my mind.” You raise one of your hands, in the universal halt sign. “I will never share your bed.”

At that, Daemon thinks actual steam must be coming out of his ears. Never. As if. You would change your mind, he knows it. No one can resist him for long. He is experienced, charming, and handsome. A prince and a true dragon. What more could anyone want?

He would make you regret your words. He would show you. Under all your repressed, Hightower ways, you were a dragon. Targaryen blood ran thick. Daemon would have you eating out of the palm of his hand before you could realize. Before, he hadn’t really been trying. But now? He was ready for war.

“Come here.” He orders. You stare at him, and do not move. “You will disobey me in this, too?”

You step closer, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“I wish to make a deal.” Daemon says. You cross your arms over your chest. “You don’t have to bed me if you don’t want to. But you will have to give me something in exchange.”

“What?” You tap your foot against the floor, impatiently. Yet your face, as always, betrays you. His offer has made you lower your guard, interested in what he has to say. Probably because you are seeing a way out of this whole issue.

“I want you to let me be as affectionate as I wish with you.”

“Fine.” You snarl at him, trying to look fierce. But you are too new to this game of pretending for Daemon to not see through your mask. You are confused.

He steps closer. He gathers you into his arms, and hugs you.

At first, you tense. Your arms remain glued to your sides, body stiff in his arms. Daemon enjoys the feel of it regardless. You smell like innocence, sweet and young. Your body is soft and feminine, nothing like the hard muscles of his first wife. He allows himself to relax into you.

Eventually, your body sags a bit. You relax into the hug.

“I wish… I wish….” You start speaking, face hidden in his shoulder. Daemon doesn’t let go. His gut tells him that whatever you are going to say, it is important. “I wish I wasn’t ashamed. And that… In our wedding ceremony, I would have liked to know what was being said.”

Daemon’s heart aches. His poor little Hightower, denied of her birthright. And then, a giant grin spreads on his face. Here it was. The opportunity he needed.

“I will teach you.” Daemon whispers, against your hair. He kisses it. It’s a lovely thing, an icy blonde that doesn’t fit your warm personality. Now that you are not fighting him, he is starting to notice you are very sweet natured. “I promise.”

“You will?” You look up at him, wary. “And what will the price be?”

Daemon chuckles.

“No price.” He caresses the bridge of your nose, tracing your features. You seem bashful at the attention, and it is so adorable, he can’t help but kiss you.

You startle. All coltish, you nearly elbow him in your haste to move away.

“What are you doing? We said no bedding!”

“I know.” Daemon smiles at you, indulgently. Now is the time to tread carefully, less you spook, and he ends up losing all his progress. “I just want to kiss my wife. Affection, for the sake of it. Kissing doesn’t need to lead to anything.”

You nod. You don’t seem convinced. But he soon discovers your hesitance comes from something else.

“I have never kissed anyone.” You whisper, almost ashamed.

“Then let me teach you that too.” And he is leaning in, and capturing your mouth with his.

“I GOT you something.” Daemon suddenly says, one morning. You lift your gaze from your book, an historic account about the doom of old Valyria, and watch him with curious eyes.

Your husband is carrying a bundle of cloth on his arms. He is back from his usual shenanigans in the city. Betting and drinking, but no longer any whoring, he assures you. The Lord of Flea Bottom is no more, or so he says.

It is quite early. You have just broke your fast with your mother, after the two of you did your morning prayers together. It is a ritual you find great comfort in, despite Daemon doing his best to discourage you. He doesn’t like that you worship the Faith of the Seven.

He has grown slightly more tolerant of Alicent as time goes by. You cannot say the same for her. Despite the fact that Daemon treats you well, she still can’t seem to get over the fact that he is Daemon Targaryen, the same man who had terrorized her father, courted her best friend and possibly murdered his last wife.

The bundle of clothes moves in Daemon’s arms. You place your book down, and creep closer, wondering about its contents. It’s then that you hear it. A soft, quiet mewl.

A grin spreads across your face. You cross the distance between the two of you, and watch as a small paw reaches out from the cloth, flexing its tiny claws. It is covered in white fur, the cushions on the bottom of it a soft pink.

“A kitten!” You say, delighted. You take it from Daemon and cradle it against you. The kitten can’t be older than a few weeks. His eyes are already open, a cloudy gray that takes your breath away. It’s love at first sight. “Oh, husband, thank you!”

“I saw it when I was coming back this morning. Thought you would like the damn thing.” Daemon says, gruffly. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“I will name him… Quicksilver!” You say, cheerily. It makes his lips twitch a bit, unable to hide his amusement. This week, Daemon has been helping you practice your High Valyrian by reading a more recent text, accounting the times of King Aerys.

The language practice has brought the two of you closer. You are no longer as resentful or scared of him as you once were. You spend nearly all your evenings with him, pouring over gigantic tomes written in the language of your ancestors. Daemon patiently corrects your pronunciation, teaching you the right way of rolling the vocals, and how to accentuate your consonants.

You would have never thought you would enjoy learning so much. He is a very compelling teacher, clearly passionate about the subject yet stern enough to make you do all your assignments before their due date. Daemon is patient and encouraging, willing to explain things to you over and over again until you understand them fully.

The kitten yawns, showing a row of tiny white teeth and a pink tongue. You coo.

“Tiny but fierce.” Daemon smirks. “The Seven preserve us all.”

“How pious.” You tease, and Daemon steps closer. He grabs your waist and pulls you in for a kiss, Quicksilver still in your arms.

Despite having kissed him many times before now, you feel as weak to his advances as you had felt the first time he had kissed you. Daemon kisses like he is conquering, nipping at your lower lip until you open for him, and taking complete ownership of your mouth. His hands grasp at your nape, holding you against him. There is no escape from his kisses, and it fills you with a thrill you had never expected to feel before. Daemon wants you. He desires you, as a man desires a woman. There is no headier feeling than that.

At first, you had thought he was lonely. Why else would he ask for affection, when he was able to ask for anything else from you? That night, when he had found out you had been lying to him, Daemon could have asked for anything, done anything to you. Not a man in the realm would have judged him for it.

His behavior after that only seemed to confirm it. When the two of you were in public, his hands would linger on you, as if fearing you would leave his side. When someone told a funny joke, his eyes would seek yours before laughing, making sure you were still there.

It was an urge you understood too well. Abandonment was something you had learned to fear as well. Your mother had left you unwillingly. Your father and sister had both been eager to wash their hands from you. You guessed Daemon’s life had been a bit like that, too. From what you had heard, his mother had passed when he was a child. Your father had grown tired of him. And your sister… Well. That had been his fault.

When you grew up like that, you clung to every kindness, to every slice of warmth you could get. It was no wonder Daemon clung to you as hard as he did. It was difficult to live like that, not knowing what kindness feels like, grasping desperately to any scraps of it until you can almost piece together what the real thing feels like.

Despite having all reasons not to, Daemon’s attention never turned suffocating. Perhaps, you too, were starved for affection. You had gone your whole life with no positive male attention, being overshadowed by your sister and forced into almost a Septa-like life by your mother. His touches were never beyond the proper attention a man would show his wife in public. It felt almost… fatherly.

As a child, your father had never sat with you, or listened to anything you said. Daemon, instead, seemed to pay close attention to everything you did or told him. He sat for hours with you, pouring over myths and historical accounts, correcting your pronunciation of High Valyrian, teaching you the meaning behind old rituals.

It was as if a door had been opened for you. One you could use to glimpse inside his mind, and your father’s and even Rhaenyra’s. You understood now much more about how they behaved, and why they did. You didn’t necessarily agree, but you understood.

Some confusing feelings had begun to arise with all this new information stuffed into your head. You liked Daemon’s attention. He was charming, and it made you feel good about yourself, being able to keep someone as worldly and cultured as him interested in you. It made you wish, sometimes, to have been his daughter instead of King Viserys’. But at the same time, the way you felt and the things you did with him weren’t the kind of things you imagined daughters feeling for their parents.

When Daemon kissed you, as he did now, you felt your stomach swoop. His skilled mouth made your skin tingle, and all your hairs stand up on edge. It made you feel ashamed of yourself. You weren’t supposed to feel such things for your uncle. No matter how Valyrian, it was just not right.

What made you feel even more ashamed was the fact that sometimes, when he kissed you for too long, the place between your legs would get slick with arousal. You wanted him too, you realized, with the utmost horror. You wanted him like a woman desires a man. A wife desires her husband.

It is then the game starts. Daemon kisses you, and you kiss back, eagerly exploring his mouth and learning how to play his game. You make out with him for what feels like hours, until you feel drunk from his kisses and become as pliant and soft as clay being molded in his hands. It is then that you let him touch you a bit more, push the boundaries your previous truce has set. His hands grasp at your hips, his lips mouth at your neck. And when the edge of your shift starts to ride up, or his lips trail too close to the neckline of it, you jolt out of your stupor.

Shame licks at your spine, grabs tightly at the back of your head. Makes you stiffen under him, body set into a hard line. How can you be so wanton? Why do you behave in such whorish ways? You struggle then, overcome by the embarrassment you feel at your own behavior.

Daemon tries to subdue you. Sometimes, you fold, other times you spend the night tossing and turning on the bed, trying to get the upper hand. Sometimes, he wins, and pins you down on the mattress. But instead of forcing you, he kisses you again and the game begins anew.

You spend the nights like this. Kissing and struggling with anxious violence, until it has begun to replace the act of love. You can tell Daemon enjoys your struggles, the feel of your buttocks against his clothed crotch. You can feel the weight of him against your hip, burning hot and hard.

Eventually, he tires and heads out. You don’t know if he pleasures himself then, or if he just ignores his arousal until it goes away. You prefer the second when it comes to yourself. For hours, you stare at the ceiling, willing the heat in your blood to go away. Sleeps evades you, yet when it does not, it feels even more torturous. You dream of him, of the act, conjuring lewd positions and thoughts, until morning comes, and you feel like you have not slept at all.

This precarious balance could never last. You are not good at the court’s games, having been a wallflower most of your life. You are a stranger to waging tongues, and malicious comments, but Daemon is not. He is doomed to always be the center of attention, this husband of yours.

Someone notices that almost three moons after marriage, you are still a maiden And someone remembers Daemon’s lack of children with his first wife. One plus one makes two.

He comes to find you in the Royal Sept, as you are lighting candles with your mother. He grabs you briskly by the arm and drags you away, the match still alight between your fingers.

“Have you heard?” Daemon asks, breathless. It is clear that he has rushed to you. “What they are saying about me?”

You shake your head.

“How would I?” You are, after all, as isolated as you were before the wedding. Your only companions are Quicksilver, Daemon, your mother, and your siblings. And Aegon is at that terrible age, where he behaves like a little deviant. The others are too young to provide true companionship, Helaena stuck on her imaginary worlds and Aemond not quite a boy, not yet a man.

“They say I am impotent. That your womb has not quickened because I have not taken you. Because I am unable to.” The crude words Daemon speaks make your eyes widen. You have grown protected from the nastier side of court life, forgotten as you were. You cannot believe how someone would dare comment on a married couple’s bedroom activities, which are meant to be one of the more sacred things to happen between man and wife according to the Seven. Much less, how someone would dare to utter such poisonous slander.

“We know it’s not the truth.” You place your hand on his arm, trying to soothe his wounded pride. Daemon is, above all, impulsive. You fear he is about to do something rash, even if you do not imagine yet what.

Isn’t it enough that the two of you know the courtiers are in the wrong? You have felt the press of his member, hard against your hip, in the nights the two of you struggle. You have felt his hips rutting against yours, as his kisses mapped unknown constellations on your shoulders. What does it matter if Daemon hasn’t taken you? How can these people dare interfere, or even mention what the two of you do or do not do?

Shame, once again, grips you in its clutches. You feel your face warm at the thought of how these strangers must view you. Queer. Twisted. You wonder if they blame his inability to perform on your blood ties. If they think the Seven are cursing your marriage, just as they had with the ones of King Maegor.

“It isn’t.” Daemon says, coldly. He walks away, a tense line on his shoulders, and you walk back inside the Sept.

Alicent is still lighting candles. You sense that there are not enough of them to make a difference for what is about to happen.

That night, a disgruntled looking Harwin Strong wakes you up. He tells you how he is there to supervise your packing. You are leaving the city, he explains, to your bewilderment. Effective immediately.

As you place your dresses inside some linens, and ready Quicksilver, you manage to coax the story out of him.

Daemon had been at his usual haunt in Flea Bottom, betting on some cockfights. You could picture the scene clearly. Daemon, lazily counting his winnings with that infuriating smug look he got when he was proud of himself. An angry patron, getting up and on his face after losing to him.

“Maybe that cock will work for your wife!”

The whole establishment erupting into laughter. Daemon, cold smile on his lips.

“Go to your manse, and arm yourself. Because I am going to kill you tonight.”

After that, there was little he could say in his own defense to King Viserys. It had been a premeditated act, in front of multiple witnesses. No way of denying it, or trying to shift the blame.

You stood outside the city gates, observing Caraxes. He looked as done with Daemon’s antics as you felt. In front of you, stood the world.

Daemon strode by, being dragged by Ser Harwin. He was chained, but managed to look as carefree as any free man.

“You know the rules.” Ser Harwin said, unchaining him, before turning towards you. There was a bit of sorrow in his brown eyes, perhaps feeling pity for you. “Farewell, Princess.”

“Where to, Lady Wife?” Daemon asked, cheekily. There was no hint of remorse on his face. It seemed exile reinvigorated him like nothing else.

Your lips pursed into a thin line. You didn’t want to leave. It was scary, the thought of being away from home. The times you had been outside the Red Keep could be counted with the fingers of your hands alone. And what were you to do, friendless in the big world that opened in front of you?

You wanted to punish him. If he was giving you a choice, you were going to give him a lesson.

“To the North. Perhaps that hot blood of yours will fare better there.”

“ARE YOU sure?” You ask him, all pleading eyes. Daemon nods, already sitting inside the hot spring. You are strangely fearful of the warm water, perhaps, having already grown used to the cold of the North.

“If this scalds me alive, I will come back to haunt you.” You warn, turning to face away before beginning to undress. Daemon can’t help but let his eyes linger on your body, despite knowing how indignant it would get you were you to notice. He has promised to avert his eyes, after all.

Naive as you are, you never check to see that he actually does.

He watches as you remove your furs, and unlace your dress. It has taken him quite some effort to get you to feel comfortable enough to be naked in his presence. There might come a day when you are desensitized to nakedness, but Daemon guesses you are still far away from it. He has to keep trying.

You are worth the effort, though. His precious niece, sweet as the Maiden herself and twice as pretty.

“Dragons don’t burn.” He answers, absentmindedly. You are only wearing your chemise and your hoses, and as you lean down to remove those, he gets a perfect view of your cute rear.

“Perhaps. But I am no dragon.” You pull the chemise over your head, unaware of the fact that you are being watched. Daemon drinks in the sight of your naked legs, strong yet delicate, leading up to beautiful hips and a soft back. As you pull your hair up, he notices how the muscles of your arms and back move in a graceful combination that can’t be anything more but a natural gift. He spends a few seconds mesmerized by you, before you start to turn around and Daemon remembers he is supposed to be averting his eyes.

He fixes them politely on the other side of the hot spring, careful to not let you catch him looking out of the corner of his eyes. You are becoming sloppy in your old age, he scolds himself. Daemon can't help it. Lately, he feels more like the boy he once was than the man he is. His attempts at seduction are fumbled, he gets carried away by his passion, a single one of your smiles can render him tongue twisted.

Everything that you do is charming. The slight sway of your hips as you walk, the way your eyes light up when you laugh, but most of all, your personality. Freed from the cage of Alicent’s judgmental stares, you seem to be growing into yourself. Life on the road seems to suit you, despite your fearful nature. Surrounded by strangers, you no longer feel the weight of being judged for imaginary sins.

“You are. Just one with a more…. Fragile constitution.” How he wishes to be able to turn back time, sometimes. Gather the girl you once were into his arms and soothe all the old hurts. Raise you the right way, give you all the attention you had desperately needed and watch you bloom into an impressive woman. You were already a creature of impossible beauty. How much better could you have been, if they hadn’t stunted your growth?

You were too much of a Hightower, Daemon himself had thought once. But Alicent had thought you not Hightower enough, and she had tried to mold you into one, keeping you well away from what she thought of as queer customs.

Who had told you weren't a dragon? And how had they made that awful lesson stick, until you felt adrift, and belonged nowhere?

The sudden sound of water shifting, and you hissing makes him jolt out of his contemplation. Daemon turns his head the barest bit, managing to catch sight of your hips sinking into the water, and the shape of one of your breasts. There is one puffy nipple crowning it, hard and proud and begging to be bitten. He fights the urge to pounce on you, and instead remains sitting on his side of the natural pool and tries to relax into the warm water. Patience is of the essence in seduction, after all. You need to come to him convinced it is your idea.

“Ready.” You say, sounding a bit too close. He turns and there you are, right in front of him. You sit on the shallower end, water covering you to nearly your collarbones. Daemon playfully reaches out with his foot and touches your leg, making you jump. He laughs.

“It isn’t so bad, is it?” Daemon’s voice still carries a bit of mirth. He can’t help it, you have such cute reactions.

“No. Almost like a warm bath.” You fan your face with your hands. Seeing you lose your composure a little, Daemon feels a bit guilty about pressuring you to enter the pool. It’s true you are not as used to extreme heat as he is. He rushes to your side, uncaring of his own nakedness.

“Too hot?” He asks you, wiping away a stray drop of sweat before it can get into your eyes. You mumble something incoherent, so he presses a hand to your forehead. He doesn’t want you to swoon from heat exhaustion, out of all things. But your temperature is normal. It is then he realizes your eyes are fixated on his chest.

Ah. Poor thing. Daemon can feel his lips stretching into a proud smile. Finally, succumbing to your lust. He should press his advantage, but he finds himself hesitating to do so. Despite how appealing he finds you, he understands that you are different. A being that walks the world of the divine and the mundane that skirts the two but was not made for the more carnal things.

Instead, he commits the sight to memory, for when he decides to touch himself. Perhaps tonight, even. It is something he has been doing more and more often. Daemon has found intercourse with whores is nowhere near as fun as laying on the bed, with you by his side, and tugging at his cock until completion.

He is never quiet about what he is doing. Soft grunts and moans fill your chambers each time he does. You pretend to be asleep, but Daemon can tell you are listening. The next day, you turn fevered with lust. It is you who kisses him, who rakes her claws along his back.

There is no consummation yet. But it is becoming clearer than once fully freed from the judgment of your family, there will be.

You sway slightly. Daemon opens his arms, and lets you curl into him. He guides the two of you into a sitting position, placing you firmly on his lap. Your hair falls into a mess of curls thanks to the humidity, up do barely resisting. He fixes it for you, tightening the ribbon keeping it up. Then, he starts massaging your neck and shoulders.

The pleasure of your bare skin under his hands is undescribable. It’s a luxury he has worked hard to get, and for that, tastes even sweeter. Your sweet little face is scrunched up, in a rare show of pain and pleasure. Daemon wonders if it is the face you would make when he spears you open on his cock.

An annoying hardness begins to make itself known in his groin. He feels like a mere boy, getting excited about the smallest touch. You are driving him mad. And Daemon is enjoying every second of it.

Almost as if listening to his inner monologue, you shift on his lap. Something seems to be bothering you. You can’t get comfortable, and you squirm on his lap more than a seasoned whore. Daemon can pinpoint the exact moment you notice what you are squirming on. Your eyes go wide and you freeze. An embarrassed look takes over your face.

He fights the urge to laugh, wrapping his arms more firmly around you and encouraging to rest against his chest. Daemon could spend years like this. Denial is a fun game. Months have passed, and he has yet to grow tired of it, of taking away your innocence little by little.

You lean in. You give him a playful little smile, and you bite, hard. The pain from your teeth blooms on his shoulder, making his cock throb.

“Impudent little thing.” He chastises, softly. “I should spank the defiance out of you.”

You laugh. You have come to realize that he is not as much of a brute as everyone painted him to be, and that he is too soft to make good on his threat. Ever since your argument, Daemon has never hurt you. He likes you too much for it. He wouldn’t force you to bed him, nor would he willingly do anything to upset you. Not even if you announced you didn’t want him touching you ever again.

Was this what love felt like, he wondered? Being happy with just sharing the same air you did, watching you play with your cat, being honored that he was trusted enough to feed the damn thing?

It probably was. But hell, if he was going to let it stop this corruption of your innocence. No. Instead, Daemon grabbed you by the shoulders and bit down on the hollow of your throat, playfully. You made a small sound, like a caught animal. He could tell you were getting ready to succumb to pleasure once more. His hedonist little wife, always ready to be put in a kiss drunk state. You turned liquid in his arms when it happened, going lax over him.

Daemon could tease you some more. Or… He leans in, breathing in your scent, before blowing a giant raspberry by the side of your neck. You shriek in laughter, squirming on his lap. Water is sent flying everywhere. He peppers your face and neck in kisses as you do, laughing st your squeals and squirming.

“Daemon.” You say, after a while, when the both of you have calmed down. Your head rests on his shoulder, expression hidden.

“Little niece.” He whispers, and you tremble at the endearment.

“I have decided something.” You whisper back. Somehow, your voice feels loud in the cave of the hot spring, nothing but the soft murmur of water being heard.

“You have?” Daemon asks, heart thumping in his chest as if he has just taken to the skies in Caraxes. He pulls you out of hiding, lifting your head towards him.

“I want to marry you right.” You say, shyly. You look deeply embarrassed. “Under my faith. So we can…” You trail off, averting your eyes.

“So we can..?” Daemon asks, feeling a triumphant grin spread over his face.

“Have a child.”

And oh, it is the most wonderful thing he has even heard. He will buy you a cloak, and a couple of ribbons for the hand fasting. He will find the two of you a home. Daemon says all this, as he presses his forehead against yours. Not even his conquest of the Stepstones felt as sweet.

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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 month

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Idk if you remember but you wrote a small drabble where reader was konigs secret admirer and it's been eating at my brain ever since😭 would you ever consider making it an actual story?

Oh I fell in love with the concept too! Here's a part 2 to that little drabble, I humbly offer it to you with my fluffy little paws ^^

CW: 18+ smut, fluff. Nothing bad here, just sweetness. Ok maybe a tiny bit of biting and light angst because it’s König after all... (Part 1 here)

He still doesn’t know who the mystery girl is.

She likes to tease him with cute messages and a photo of her tits but won’t tell him her name or where she lives. The girl won’t come to meet him so that he can show her some love, nor will she agree to go on a date with him. She just responds to his pathetic suggestions with a bundle of emojis that are about to drive him crazy, and another message that says: “Soon!”

König has to fall back on the bed and go to sleep with a rock hard dick and a set of twitching, lonely hands. His dream of having a proper girlfriend was shoved on the back burner ever since he joined the Jagdkommando, but now there’s a certain girl inside his head, a new, even better dream he can’t repel. The next day is no better; he even forgets what he was supposed to bring home from the store, knowing his mom will only sigh and tell him they’ll survive without some ingredient they both know is very well essential.

He stands before the butters and spreads, trying to recall what his mother wanted when he hears a soft gasp further down the aisle. He turns his head and barely catches the sight of a woman, turning in her heels and rushing down the flour section, just somewhere out of sight.

Hope and curiosity spark inside him as he leaves the butter and darts after her, calling “Hey” and “Wait” between the shelves as she flits towards the cashier in mild terror. He chases her as if he were trying to catch a thief, and the girl picks up her pace, then slows down to a complete halt… and turns.

Lovely, fearful eyes behold him the immediate second she meets his gaze, immobile hands clutching a bag of croissants and a jar of chocolate butter against her chest.

He slows down his jog and arrives in front of her with a smile, but the girl only looks more and more afraid. Even her jaw is clenched shut, the spitting image of a prey who just got caught.

“You’re her, aren’t you? The mystery girl,” he asks, trying to make it clear as day just how excited he is to finally meet her in person.

Her eyes stay wide as she blinks, the little bag of croissants crunching a bit further in her grip as she tries to shield her vital parts.

“Are you done shopping…?”

Still no answer.

She’s shy, just like he is... Maybe even more so, which is incredibly endearing: the same girl who sent him a picture of her boobs last night, the same girl who had no trouble teasing him to the point of leaking cum all over his sheets is as shy as a deer when caught in daylight.

It’s so incredibly cute… He thought she was a seductress of the most dangerous kind, but here she is now, looking up at him as if he was some boogieman about to come and snatch her away.

His smile only widens as he looks at his little minx who just tried to run away from the individual she’s sent postcards and love letters to ever since they were kids… Who knew his secret admirer was a bashful little cutie who sneaks around the local store to get herself some sweets and snacks?

“Let me pay for those,” he gestures at the products in her hand.

Another awkward silence follows until she finally turns her eyes to the floor and nods.

Perhaps it’s not that odd that she sent him anonymous notes and talked to him in texts and letters if she’s this timid -- he of all people should know how tough it is to walk to someone he likes and tell them he wants to go out. But he can’t help but wonder if the girl is mute, or partly deaf, or both. He wouldn’t mind. As long as they understand each other, it’s perfectly fine.

She looks at him like he’s a god —or a monster—while he pays for her humble delicacies. She stares at him with eyes still wide while putting the groceries inside a tiny cotton bag she has with her, and says nothing when he extends his hand towards her.

“Here. Give it to me.”

He’s trying to act the part of a gentleman to the full, and she offers the floor a tiny smile while handing him the bag. It weighs less than a half kilo, but the gesture is all that seems to matter because she is indeed smiling, shy and pleased as he shoulders the so called burden for her.

“I can walk you home if you like?” he suggests while pushing the door open for her.

She steps out into the luminous sunlight, eyes squinting a little from the sudden brightness. Then she turns to him and says her first meek words.

“But... Then you’ll know where I live…”

“Ah! She talks,” he laughs with a full smile and watches with a spreading warmth in his chest how she starts to grin, too. She’s looking at the asphalt and her shoes but she’s smiling, incredibly beautiful and pretty, outshining even the prettiest summer day.

“Don’t worry,” he starts to banter with increasing confidence—when has he ever teased anyone, let alone been confident around a girl he likes? “I promise I won’t come howling under your window at night...”

“It’s… It’s not that,” she laughs and bites her bottom lip. “I still live with my mom…”

She starts to walk towards where he lives, and he follows, his long legs catching up with her with ease.

“There was the COVID, and my mom is a little unwell… And with the economy… I’m still a student,” she explains while they stroll down the street.

“Really? I’m a student, too.”

“Oh…? What are you studying?”

“How to kill people,” he shrugs, cursing his stupid carefree mouth immediately. “Fuck… Sorry. That was… I mean, I’m in the army.”

“It’s okay,” she smiles.

He sneaks a peek her way, and she indeed doesn’t seem to be shocked in the slightest. Far more frightened she looked at the store when he noticed her and began to chase the poor girl.

They proceed to talk about what he does and why, how he only just returned from a month’s training that included concealment training in the mountains. She seems interested enough in his choice of career, which he tries to make sound as striking as possible, far more intriguing than it actually is. He tries to appear a little too glorious in her eyes, fearing he won’t live up to the reputation and fantasy she has built inside her pretty little head.

What if she wanted him to be a doctor instead of a moronic soldier? Maybe she fantasized about a lawyer or a historian with whom she could have fascinating conversations… And he’s just babbling nonsense about weather meters and ghillie suits.

But her eyes are still smiling, always at him when he looks away and starts to talk with his hands. When they arrive at the little wicket gate leading up to her house, he notices she lives only about a kilometre away from his childhood home.

She was always here, and he never knew anything about it… His secret admirer, his passionate seducer, turns out to be a harmless, lovely angel who lives right in the neighbourhood.

She takes her little cotton bag and turns to open the gate, and his hands twitch and flex. Say something clever, his mind yells, ask her out for fuck’s sake… But he needn’t worry, for his precious girl next door immediately turns back and shields her eyes from the sun while looking up at him.

“I’m sorry… I froze a little at the store. I just… This wasn’t how we were supposed to meet...”

“No? What did you have in mind for us then?”

She drops her hand back down and gives him a little halfway shrug, embarrassed.

“I don’t know. I just… I don’t even have any make-up on...”

He risks to bring a hand to her face, his thumb on her cheekbone, sweeps a little arc there to let her know she’s fucking beautiful.

“You’re very pretty,” he says, and she raises her eyes back to his, this time looking like she’s being blinded by the sun even if he’s shielding her from it.

“I really liked the picture you sent me,” he says boldly, and for the second time this afternoon, hopes the earth could swallow him right then and there.

A pretty girl sends him one nice picture of her tits, and he has to be an asshole about it… She looks super uncomfortable, so flustered that she nearly guides her face away from his palm.

Fuck that he’s stupid… Must he always be such an idiot and fuck everything up?

“I’m sorry... I meant to say that–”

“I’m glad you liked it,” she rises on her toes and plants a quick, flustered peck on his cheek, then turns to the gate as quickly as a whirlwind. Opens it, and returns solely to give him a bashful, naughty little smile.

“I liked your picture too,” she says so softly he can barely hear it.

“...Oh,” he squeaks, cheek still burning from her kiss.

“Do you want to come and see me tonight...? Mom usually drops before ten...”

“I… I… Sure.”

…

It’s a catastrophe.

His old jeans barely fit him anymore, they’ve become way too tight around the thighs. He’s put on some weight during the past few years and made sure to go to the gym every slack hour he has at his disposal, which means he’s packed a bit of muscle here and there. That, along with the many outdoor trainings, have ensured his appetite remains even bigger than usual so it’s no wonder none of his old pants fit. The only ones that don’t look utterly suggestive and wrong are his grey sweatpants, which he wore to the store today. He can’t very well wear those on a date, no matter what all those thirsty TikTok memes say...

He sighs, and grabs the black military pants he had on when he came here, pairing them with a simple black T-shirt. That’s all he has in his drawers: black, black, black, a few white ones that have some food and coffee stains on them, stains that never leave no matter how hard his mom tries to wash them for him.

The house is silent as he slips the keys into his pocket and hollers that he’s leaving. Like some lovesick, unneutered dog about to slink into the night…

“Mom? I’m going out. I… I have a date.”

“At this hour...?”

“Yeah… We’re… Going out to look at the moon,” he makes up off the top of his head.

His mom would scold him for harassing some poor girl when it’s almost midnight, even if it was her who invited him to her house. And if he’s lucky, there’s going to be a lot more action than just staring at the moon together… Not that that’s all he wants; it’s just that he’s been lonely as fuck and could really use a hug.

Is it a crime, with the past that he has, to want some human contact? Some skin on skin memories that don’t include punching?

“My little boy,” his mom strolls into the room, looking at him with soft, worried eyes. “You look like you’re about to invade some poor, innocent country…”

“Eh… I know. All the other pants were too small.’

She smiles at him: seeing a grown man sweat like a pig before a date must be a silly sight, even more compelling when that man is your own boy. The clock ticks on the wall as she looks at him like he’s about to march off to war, his only shoes a pair of standard leather boots he’s used for two years now. He showed them some grease and a brush, managed to make them look a little less worn and torn – if he had known some cute girl back home had a crush on him, he would’ve visited a clothing store before he came here…

His mom raises a shaky hand and draws him down to kiss him on the cheek, her eyes glossy and hazed from the gathering tears.

“I’m glad you’re finally eating enough,” she whispers with a voice that barely holds intact, and they both know why it’s shaking, why everything’s trembling; her hands, her voice and her tears.

His bottom lip is twitching too from witnessing his mom being so happy for his sake. But he doesn’t want to cry. He must stay oblivious and strong and pretend that things are finally how they should’ve been: normal and easy and wholesome and good. For her, he will never show that he’s shaking… Too many things in her life have done that when she needed them to stay stable and safe.

“Wish me luck,” he gives her a nervous smile, laughing the tears away.

“I always do…”

He leaves before his tower crumbles, slips out into the sweet, scented night.

There’s roses somewhere, roses that smell heavenly, some early jasmine too that wishes to intoxicate his mind. He realizes he has nothing with him to take as a gift for her, and cusses again. This is a fucking date, and he’s not even dressed properly; he doesn’t even have flowers to bring with him… She’s going to think he’s a nobody, some penniless freak who dresses like a crazy person when he’s supposed to dazzle her and make her swoon.

On his way to her place, he stops to cut a small branch from a flowering rowan tree and shelters it from the gusts of wind that blow from the river. The tiny flowers are delicate and fragrant, not exactly what he would’ve taken to her had he been clever enough to visit a florist before they all closed. But it’s cute enough, to him at least, especially when it’s cut from the tree that was his safe haven as a boy.

The curtains at her window shift when he arrives at the gate, and he knows she’s been expecting him, waiting for the clock to strike ten as eagerly as he.

The front door opens, and there she is: dressed far more accordingly than he; his lady has slipped into a sweet summer dress like the angel that she is. It’s bright and yellow, far from the darkness he always wears, and his heart is slowly squeezing to bits inside his chest.

“Hey,” she gives him a wide, knee-buckling smile.

“Hey,” he smiles back, marching to her door like a horny, ugly wolf. “You want to go for a walk? It’s a beautiful ni–”

The moment he arrives at her feet, the moment she sees that he’s carrying a tiny branch from the rowan tree for her, she snatches the front of his shirt and pulls him inside with a surprising amount of strength.

His forehead hits the doorframe with a thick thud before he manages to bow, and there’s a bit of a commotion after that. He huffs something akin to Oof and laughs, making the angel flit around him in a wild, flustered shame, apologizing to him at least ten times.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry! I’m sorry… I’m sorry, I’m sorry….”

“Heh. It’s okay,” he smiles while rubbing the achy spot on his head. He’s forced to sit into an old wicker chair, wide enough to accommodate his back but far too low to hold his stature. He sinks inside it like a veritable giant while she continues to fuss around him, inspecting his “wound” and taking the offering from him with a helpless, embarrassed stare.

“I’ll get you some ice,” she says before leaving him in his chair, the flower he brought softly placed on the bed.

He’s afraid the furniture will break if he moves, so he stays as still as possible while taking in his surroundings, the soft girl adobe he has somehow managed to sneak his sorry rotten arse into.

She has a large TV in front of her bed, a gaming console and a lot of books, candles everywhere he steals a look. The beige bedding looks freshly changed and incredibly soft, and there’s an old bunny toy on her bedstand along with another book, both loved to bits. Some houseplants on the floor appear to be doing extremely well, a small leather bag and some makeup left scattered on her desk. Rocks and twigs and dried flowers rest on her window sill, treasures she’s gathered from her trails. It makes his heart grow soft because he knows she will probably put his little offering there too. A bouquet of expensive, luxurious flowers wouldn’t have hit their target at all.

She returns with a small pack of ice and rushes to him in her flowy, blooming summer dress. Descends on her knees and brings a small towel to his forehead before pressing the ice over it, ensuring that it’s not too cold to make him uncomfortable.

As if he could ever feel uncomfortable, seated in a wicker chair with an angel between his legs, treating his supposed wound with ice and the softest touch…

“Remember all those postcards you sent me?” he asks while she continues to look like the worst person who ever lived, simply because she was too eager to pull him inside her room.

“Sadly, yes.”

“Remember what you wrote to me?”

“Not really,” she says, dabbing the ice pack all over the rising bump on his head. “Something stupid, I suppose…”

“You told me that you love me.”

Her eyes dart to his for a while, hope and shame battling in her fae stare.

“...Oh God.”

“Many times. And then you told me that I’m cute…”

She sighs and brings the ice and the cloth somewhere in her lap. The breasts inside their soft little cell look astoundingly delicious when viewed from up here: he’s slouching in a chair and still, is able to take a rude little peek inside her dress. He slaps himself mentally for being such a goddamn pervert, but then she sighs again, the cute little peaches swelling inside her dress once more.

“That’s it?”

“That’s mostly it, yes…”

He’s getting hard here, which is a problem. A big, big problem…

His shy admirer never notices anything, not even when he softly gestures for her to give the ice to him. He continues to press it on his forehead, trying to concentrate on the cold sensation rather than the swelling dick in his pants.

How is he supposed to not grow hard when he knows this adorable little creature has been infatuated with him for so long? When he knows she’s flustered now, just from hearing him tease her about those silly, harmless cards?

“I kept every single one,” he tells her, only to watch how the shy girl grows even shyer.

“You didn’t…”

“I did.”

He tells her about the bullies and how they made it look like they had sent the cards, telling him no girl could ever want to be with him. It’s a sad attempt to fish for her affection and pity, words of contempt and judgement to hammer it home that he did receive those cards from this girl, he did, in fact, deserve to be loved and adored.

And then she starts to talk about how she watched him... How she went to a different school than him, but that she sometimes strolled behind him when he walked home. They shared the journey to and from school, and he was always completely unaware that he was being followed.

“You stared at this rowan tree for what seemed like hours,” she recalls with a sad smile. “Then, if a bee caught your eye, or a bird or some flower, you stopped to ogle at those instead…”

He laughs, but there’s a bittersweet stone in his chest. If he remembers correctly, these were the only times of the day he could drop his eternal guard: in school, he was being tormented by cruel kids and at home there lived a tyrant with his sad little subjects. Trees and bees and birds were a welcome distraction.

She smiles a little, but it’s not a happy smile, even if it is affectionate.

“My mom always told me to come straight back home,” she says. “But you were never in a hurry...”

He looks at her, and she looks back, some pity in her eyes. There arrives a sweet and sour pain in his heart, a feeling that comes from knowing there was someone who witnessed a glimpse of the hope and pain he lived in. That there was someone there all along…

“You even stopped to look at dog poo…”

“Heh... Was that the moment you fell for me?”

Her lip twitches, the pity in her stare breaks. She rises a little to lean forward, and he catches her with ease as she falls there into his arms, snug into his lap. His lips find hers without effort, and sensation bleeds: his hands are sweaty and shaking as he runs them down along her dress, cups her ass so that she gives a little gasp straight into his mouth.

That’s the thing he was pining for: for her to open that pretty little mouth so that he could pry it further open with his own. Plunge an exploring tongue inside, not too quick and not too greedy, just a little poke to see if she wants to be claimed.

The angel melts in his lap, like pure white snow, until he braces his core and rises to his feet. It’s now or never, and he’s not going to let this moment slip past his fingers. Somehow, they end up on the bed, the smell of fresh linens and her dainty perfume catching his nose before she presses a pair of weak hands on his chest.

“The flower...”

The flower... Of course.

The flower from the rowan tree.

He huffs a laugh on her face, a relieved smile as he understands she’s only worried about trampling his gift.

It’s set aside on the table, but right after that, he attacks her again, begins the ascension to heaven. His lips won’t get enough of her, not even as he drinks her like honeydew and ambrosia: the dress he used to associate with seraphs and summer now seems like a huge obstacle between his tongue and her skin, the need to taste more of her urgent in his hips.

“Can I take this off?” He roughs a hand down the fabric that shields her breasts, relishing the tiny moan that follows when he does that. “I want to kiss you everywhere…”

Her throat makes a wet, charming sound as she swallows, her eyes now pools of dark, drunken love.

“On one condition,” she tells him, out of breath. “If I can kiss you everywhere too?”

It’s a deal, his mind exclaims immediately, but his devilish grin is how he tells her he’s more than eager to accept these terms. His clothes find their way on the floor along with hers, black on black on yellow, but he won’t let her shiver in the cold for long. Like a man possessed, his body finds hers, her soft, naked skin colliding with his like heaven after all those lonely nights of slick, urgent fapping.

He’s not sure who’s worshipping who here, but he vows to never again let this angel fly under his radar, no matter how perfect of a guardian she has been. A guardian angel, following him with her blessed stare, sending him heavenly messages that were real and true all along.

She should be rewarded for her abundant gifts, and so his lips find her shoulders and her neck; they graze her nipples and claim her breasts in devouring that leaves her back arching on the bed.

“You don’t have a girl? Waiting for you back there...?” she asks shyly, even when half her tit is being sucked by his mouth.

“The only thing waiting for me back there is my hand,” he rasps while diving down, down, down, all the way past her navel and the mound she still tries to protect from plunder.

“...I can be your girl,” she whispers somewhere high above, her hands holding his head like that of an untamed dog. “If you want…?”

He breathes on the apex between her thighs, presses a furious kiss there without care.

“F-fuck…” she sighs those thighs open, and from that point on, nothing is enough.

It’s horrible that it must be so: that he finally gets to drink his fill, and it’s still not enough. Her sighs are not enough, her trembling body is not enough. Her attempts to muffle her moans with the back of her hand are not nearly enough.

He wants more, so much more: he wants to try all there is to this with her, forever and ever until the day he dies. He wants to hear her soil her tongue with more curses as he ruins her, bit by bit, just a little bit…

“Say it,” he pants into her glistening lips, “Say that you’re my girl…”

When she does nothing but whimpers in return, he attacks her with both teeth and tongue. Bruises the thigh beside her treasure before plunging straight towards the main prize with reckless want. That’s what finally forces the words out of her mouth: his tongue inside her cunt, delving so deep he has to breathe through his nose to keep from fainting.

“I’m your girl,” she moans on the bed, a bit louder now. “I’m yours, I promise… I always… Always…”

I always was….

She doesn’t say it. She doesn’t need to.

He grants her mercy after that, replacing the tongue with a finger or two. Slow wide circles over her clit accompanied by quick little pumps in her hole make her cum in no time, and he’s glad he listened to the dirty mess talk of his filthy comrades. Patience is not his virtue, but for her, he makes all the effort.... He for sure leaves a little memory on her thigh. It’s not very nice of him, and he fears those teeth marks might stay with her longer than just a few weeks.

Maybe she’ll forgive him if he fucks her after this, rocks her slowly and softly, fucks her like angels ought to be fucked. But no, fucking is not the right word... He wants to make love to her. Drink her moans right from her lips while he does it.

After the climax, he’s still hard and she’s still panting.

He wonders if he’ll get slapped or kissed if he asks for permission to put it inside now... His dick is throbbing while they stare at the ceiling together, but as always, his angel is two steps ahead.

“My turn,” she says with newfound vigour, and he gets more than he bargained for: everything and more as she gives his body the same attention he just gave her. Bites his nipples a little too hard, the little minx, licks his ribs as if it’s some kind of a contest to try and make him tickle. Laughs angel trails across his skin, draws a finger down his nether hair until she meets his jutting dick.

She gives him a tame little lick at first, then slowly, expeditiously, kisses his cock from root to tip. Before due time, his thighs start to tremble, and that’s when she takes it in her mouth: sucks and licks him deep until his abs and balls pull tight. The sheet in his fist threatens to get torn to shreds when he cums, and for a moment, he forgets everything, even his name, until he notices that the poor little thing can’t swallow all his load. She almost chokes on the first spurt, withdraws to cough with her mouth closed while he hisses fat curses past clenched teeth.

When he arrives back to Earth, there’s cum everywhere: on her face, on the sheets, all over his abdomen and his thighs, an eruption that spilled everywhere because his angel got a little appalled.

“I’m sorry,” she peeps with her mouth still full of it.

The poor girl swallows it bravely, and his heart is about to explode: his angel swallows his filthy load like a champ and looks so incredibly valiant while doing it.

“Hey,” he raises a shaking hand towards her, too weak to rise from the bed to comfort her. “It’s okay… You didn’t need to do that…”

“But I wanted to,” she complains while the thick, sticky cum drips down her cheek and onto her breasts.

“Shit… Come here,” he coaxes, and she crawls forward to nestle in the nook of his arm.

He uses the sheet to dry the rest of it off her face. She looks up at him with that trademark seraph stare, so helpless and in love—if this is what having a girlfriend is like, then he doesn’t feel bad at all that he had to wait a little longer than most men. It was worth all the trouble and toil that he has her here now, in his arms, batting her lashes sweetly.

“You’re still incredibly cute, you know...?” she whispers, and a mountain inside him moves.

It’s not sorrow, nor is it yearning; it’s just sweet, simple love. The room smells of salt and sin, but there’s nothing sinful about her when she cups his chin. He knows it’s not elegant to tell someone you love them on the day you've met them, but if the one you love happens to be an angel, then isn't it a sin not to confess?

#könig x you #könig x reader #könig fluff #soft!könig #strangers to lovers

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schrodingers-romy · 8 months

Text

My Angel of the Sea [Tomioka Giyuu x Reader]

Pairing: Tomioka Giyuu x AFAB!reader

Summary: After a mysterious ocean creature helps save you, you have the chance to save him in return. And then, after you get closer, you get the chance to 'help' him in another way...

Warnings: Near-drowning, and a few mentions of anxiety resulting from this. Non-explicit mention of injuries. Reader has AFAB anatomy referred to with fem terms, but no other gendered terms are used. Graphic smut (MDNI). Biting. PIV sex. Heat/rut sex. Oviposition (whatever the egg thing is idk). Breeding. Weird sea creature anatomy. Very sweet for what was supposed to just be smut.

Word Count: ~8,700

Notes: First post of my little event, Strange Lovers. Also serves as a submission for @monster-october-kny-2023! This ended up being way longer than I thought lol. Also editing your own smut is very embarrassing. Mdni banner template courtesy of @cafekistune

[Ao3 Link]

The impact with the surface of the freezing ocean shocked the breath out of your lungs, and you began to sink.

It hurt. The boat was tall, the deck elevated off of the water quite a distance. It had taken a monumental gust of wind to tip it and you enough to where you went flying. From that height, hitting the water felt like getting thrown down onto concrete. It was a wonder you were still conscious.

After impact, you sank like a stone. Through all the pain, breathlessness, and shock, you only had one clear thought: ‘why me?’

There wasn’t supposed to be a storm today; you were nearly to the shore of your home, barely a half hour’s ride away in fair weather. The storm was supposed to pass by after you were already curled up in your little seaside shack with a book. But as always, mother nature was vindictive in her unpredictability. It seemed strange to name a force so powerful and uncaring mother.

She certainly wasn’t being motherly towards you now.

The freezing ocean was less a mother’s embrace and more like that of death. Scarcely had you thrashed your way to the surface for a breath before a white-crested wave forced you back under. The sheer force of it disoriented you, making you spin around in a panic for the direction of air.

Your lungs burned as you kicked yourself upwards again. This time, an even bigger wave shoved you back down, before you could even finish gasping for air. Saltwater flooded your mouth and lungs instead of oxygen, and you started to drown.

It was so much more painful than you would have thought. Your lungs were silently screaming for air, but opening your mouth just brought in more water. Your limbs, aching also from strain, didn’t have the oxygen needed to push your body to safety.

Your vision began to spot black, and the pain began to give way to the numbness of unconsciousness.

Before you were completely gone, your brain fired its synapses a final time to grace you with the hallucination of an angel.

He had an unnaturally pale face, with eyes as placid and blue as the sea on calm days. His long black hair formed a spiky halo around his face, accented with the fluttery bluish fins he had in place of ears. One of his webbed hands seemed to reach towards you.

This water angel was the last image you saw before your mind slipped into darkness.

You awoke spluttering, coughing what felt like the entirety of the ocean out of your sore lungs.

You were dazed, but surprisingly…alive, for someone who was nearly drowned in her last memories.

You looked around frantically. You were beached like a whale on the sand. A familiar sand…

Whipping your head around (which wasn’t the best idea judging by how a thunderous headache made itself known as soon as you moved your head), you saw you were home. You had washed up on the beach right in front of your home.

But how? You had been sure your life was slipping away…and you were quite a way from this shore when the storm threw you overboard. There was no way the sea had just washed you here with the tides…right?

But you had no other rational explanation to why you were here, alive, if a little battered and sore. It was simply a miracle.

But in the back of your mind, your hallucination of the water angel lingered.

He never left your mind.

Even though you knew he was just a figment of your oxygen starved brain, you found yourself thinking of him constantly during the next few days. Small scraps of paper filled with scratchy, unfinished sketches floated around your home. Each one had him on it; some were attempts at a full figure, but others were just a singular feature. None of them were right. Your hand wielding a pencil was insufficient to render the creature you saw so clearly in your mind’s eye.

Other affects of your near-death experience also lingered.

You hadn’t been back down to the beach since you had washed up there. Once you awoke, you stumbled your way up to your little cabin without looking back to the sea once. You had spent the next few days resolutely holed up in your home, nursing your injured body and mind. The cold shakes and soreness took warm liquids and time to cure, but they did improve. Your mind was another story.

You just couldn’t bring yourself to even look at the ocean then. You knew, logically, that it was a force of nature with no feelings or intentions, but you couldn’t help but feel betrayed. You loved the sea, choosing a remote place just a short walk to the water because you wished to walk the beach every morning just to watch it. You wanted to be able to look out your window and see it. You wanted to be alone, isolated, with it as your only companion. But this companion, this friend your imagination made of the water, didn’t exist. It cared not for you, it had no feelings to return. Still, it was a bitter blow to learn the thing you cared for so much could have so easily been your end.

But you knew you had to overcome this.

Maybe, you thought, if you just went down to the beach again…even if you had to make yourself go. Seeing it again would remind you of your love for it, and perhaps also erase thought of the water angel from your mind.

You took advantage of this temporary burst of courage. Slipping your shoes and a sweater on, you stomped out your way out the door and onto the path to the shore.

You couldn’t yet raise your gaze, keeping it trained on the path you stiffly walked down. You could hear the gentle lapping of the waves; the sea was once more calmed, the beast inside temporarily sated after the last big storm.

Once you could see nothing but sand surrounding your shoes, you stopped. With a deep breath in, you looked up.

It…was just as you remembered. Smooth, gradient blue marred only by a few patches of white foam on the crests of gentle waves. It was…beautiful, and you felt calm once more. This wasn’t the harsh sea of your nightmare, but the same sea you had seen every day for forever now. This was normal. You were fine.

Everything was normal, except for the thing on the rock.

It had taken you a second to notice it; the rock in question was close to the shore, but a bit to the left of your vision. You waded out sometimes and sat on it, when the tide was low and the ocean quiet. It made you feel like you were sitting atop the water.

You weren’t on the rock now, yet it was still occupied. At first you thought it was a normal man, but then…you froze.

It was him.

Your water angel, that is. Clear and shining in the light of day.

Seeing him again, you realized what he was. Not an angel, not really, but some sort of sea creature. Half of his body was passable human, but at his waist skin faded into dark blue iridescent scales, covering a fish-like tail. Patches of scales decorated his upper body also, and the webs between his fingers were obvious, as were the gill-slits on his neck.

He was acreature of myth, never something you thought was real…but there he was. Looking right at you.

Your eyes were locked with his. His looked even more vivid above the surface, pupils slitted from the bright sun. They seemed to bore into you.

Unconsciously, you took a step towards him. This seemed to break whatever sort of spell was created when your gazes met, because he flinched back slightly, and slipped back into the water.

You ran over to the rock, uncaring of the seawater soaking your shoes. But he was gone in a flicker of blue.

Your water angel wasn’t something made up by your dying mind. He was real, and you knew it now.

In direct contrast to how you spent the last few days, the next week of your life was spent almost entirely by the water’s side.

Now that you knew your water angel was real, you were desperate to see him again. You had to know about him; what he was, exactly, and why in the world would he bother to save you.

You knew it was him who saved you, not a miracle of the tide. But you just didn’t know why.

So, you spent almost all your time sitting on the beach, watching the water. The only times you went back to your house were to prepare food or sleep; even then, you sometimes fell asleep on the sand instead of your own bed. Every time you closed your eyes, you could see him plastered on your eyelids, a ghostly figure printed on the blackness.

On the eve of the seventh day, you had to return to your cabin more than previous days. It wasn’t particularly cold out, but the wind was chilly and harsh, so you had to return for a blanket and to refill your thermos with warm drinks. The sky turned steely gray, and the sea mirrored it in color. Eventually, your anxiety at seeing the increasingly large waves won out against your dedication to seeing the water angel again. It was going to storm soon, and nothing was going to keep you out in it. Not again. You couldn’t risk it again, especially since it appeared your water angel wouldn’t be here to save you this time.

So, reluctantly, you bundled yourself up in your blanket, grabbed the basket filled with your things, and trudged back up away from the churning dark water and towards your house.

The storm rolled in quickly after that, and you were grateful you decided to move when you did. The sky was completely black outside; you couldn’t see the water at all. You couldn’t see anything. The only information you had about the outside storm was from sound; the howling of the wind, the vicious sound of rain lashing against your windows, and the faint crashing of the sea in the distance.

Your sleep was fitful that night. You would like to blame it on the noise of the storm, but that wouldn’t be entirely true. Because when you finally were able to fall asleep, all you could see were the deep eyes of your water angel, widened in something that looked like…fear.

The sun was scarcely revealed by the clearing thunderclouds before you were up and running down to the beach.

The light glittered on the ocean, highlighting its calm cerulean surface. As if that same ocean wasn’t tearing at the shore mere hours ago in the middle of the storm.

The beach was covered in driftwood and drying seaweed, remnants of what the turbulent waves cast up the night before. You picked your way across the debris, making your way closer to the water’s edge. It was a bit of a futile task; you hadn’t seen your water angel when you scanned the ocean earlier, and it wasn’t as if getting a few feet closer to the water was going to make any difference. Yet you still kept walking towards the ocean.

It was only when you were nearly stepping into the sea that you saw it. A flicker of blue in amongst the piles of wood.

Could it be?...

It was likely it was just a rock or a piece of sea glass, but you had to check. So, you went to take a closer look.

Up close, it was clear that what you saw was a patch of blue scales, buried under a pile of wood and matted seaweed. Your heart was beating a staccato rhythm in your chest. It could be just a fish, you told yourself. It might not be him.

But you worked quickly in removing the debris all the same. The seaweed was slimy and unpleasant feeling against your hands, but any thoughts of disgust flew out of your head when you saw what you had uncovered.

It was him. Your water angel.

Spread out on the damp sand, he looked considerably less ethereal than the night you met. He was rag-dolled across the ground in what looked to be an uncomfortable position. His eyes were closed, as if he was simply sleeping; but the dried blood painting half of his face told a different story.

You kneeled next to him, uncaring of the sand on your clothes. Up close, it was clear he was still alive; his chest rose and fell, if shallowly. Hesitantly, you reached out to touch his head. His hair was soft, even when dry and tangled, but you were much more concerned with looking for the source of the blood.

It appeared to be coming from a gash on his head, mostly hidden by his hair. It was nasty, but it wasn’t bleeding anymore. From just looking over him, he didn’t seem to have any other injuries, other than minor scrapes and bruises, so it was likely he had hit his head on something and been knocked unconscious.

You…weren’t entirely sure what to do, but there was no way you were just leaving him here. He could clearly breath out of the water, but he was an ocean creature, so he probably shouldn’t be kept out of the water too long, lest his skin…or scales… dry out. And it couldn’t hurt to clean the gash on his head, either.

Mind made up; you stalked off to seek supplies.

You made your way back with a garden cart full of first aid supplies and a rough plan you had cooked up on the walk. The first order of business would be to at least clean his wounds. Typically, you would bandage them as well, but…that would require keeping the bandages dry. And that would be virtually impossible while also trying to keep his skin from drying out, so a simple cleaning it was. The second step would be to somehow get him into the garden cart and haul him off to one of the larger tide pools a little farther down the shore. Your first thought was to bring him to your home and place him in your bathtub, so you could monitor him, but that wouldn’t work. Though his torso was about average sized for a human man, his tail made him somewhere around seven feet from the top of his head to the trailing tips of his tailfins. There was no way you could fit him comfortably in the tub, and you weren’t sure about putting a sea creature in a bathtub with fresh water. From what little you knew of fish, which he about half resembled, it could be deadly to shift the salinity of the water they were in. You could be wrong, but you didn’t want to take any chances. With the tidepool, it would be filled with the very same salt water you saw him swim in before, but even at high tide it would be shallow and calm.

Plan in place, it was now just executing it.

You started with his head wound first. First, you rubbed the dried blood off his face, revealing his delicate visage. You still stood by your first assessment of him; he did look angelic. The perfect symmetry of his face, the elegant line of his nose and the sooty brush of his eyelashes…it was all so well put together it became inhuman. His skin was cool and slightly clammy to the touch, and you wondered if that’s what it always felt like. The fins on the side of his face felt surprisingly delicate, and you made sure to be extra careful in wiping them clean. His hair was soft, a lot softer than you would have assumed; your hair always turned unpleasantly crunchy after drying from salt water.

You did your best to clean the dried blood from his skin and detangle it from his hair. There was still some left, around the area of the gash, but you were too nervous to scrub at it lest the scab come off and continue bleeding again.

You moved on to the rest of his body. There wasn’t much you could do about the bruises, but you could at least wipe down the scrapes and cuts. The rest of his skin felt similarly clammy, but the patches of scales littering his body were smooth and dry. They were small and scattered, until about his waist level, where they slowly faded into larger and harder scales at his tail. Even just lightly brushing down his body, you could feel the muscle beneath skin and scales. He must be a powerful swimmer, you mused.

Then you were faced with what would be your most difficult task yet: getting him into the cart.

You didn’t consider yourself a weak person, but there was a clear difference between being weak and not being able to lift a probably almost two-hundred-pound sea creature gently into a rickety cart.

You sighed. This would be quite an ordeal.

It took the better part of an hour, but finally he was settled into the tide pool. He looked perfectly angelic floating a few inches beneath the water’s surface, head cushioned on a seaweed-covered rock while his hair floated out in a halo around him. He looked much better when he was clean of blood and back under the water. Unfortunately, the same could not be said of you.

You were caked with sand, from kneeling to tend to his wounds and from flailing around trying to lift him. You were also soaked from sea water and no small amount of sweat. Overall, you were a complete mess in desperate need of a shower. However reluctant you were to simply leave your water angel to float in his pool, you needed to clean yourself. And to get some food.

Your eyes lingered on the creature once more before you left. Maybe you could make yourself another picnic. And maybe you should bring some extra food for him. You probably couldn’t go wrong with some fish, right?

It was strange sitting next to the creature while you ate your meal. It felt like sitting beside a hospital bed waiting for a coma patient to wake up, and a little bit like having lunch by a corpse. Not exactly the most appetizing, but your struggles getting him over into the tide pool had generated enough hunger to override the slight morbidity.

You began to wonder if you would need to bring out a blanket and camp out overnight, because who knew when your creature would wake up. Or even if he would at all, you thought, and the idea sent a strange pang through your chest.

Your gaze drifted to the sand. You didn’t know him at all, and yet your life was connected to his. And if he lived, his to yours.

Your musings were broken by a splashing noise.

The creature was upright now, partially. He was facing you, head and shoulders above the water and webbed hands gripping the rock. His wide blue eyes bored into yours. He looked stunned; there was also an edge of fear in his gaze.

He was finally awake.

You were the first to break the silent staring contest you both were stuck in ever since he awoke.

“Hi,” you said, breathless. “Thank you for saving me. It was you, right?”

He tilted his head to the side slightly, and you didn’t know if this was an acknowledgement of what you’re saying or not.

You continued anyway. “I found you on the beach. I…didn’t really know what to do, so I cleaned you off and brought you here, so you would hopefully be safer than where you were.”

His face was still blank as he watched yours. Finally, he reached one pale hand out towards you, like he was asking for something. You thought he was asking for some of the fish you brought out for him, and moved to give it to him. That wasn’t the right answer, apparently, as he let out a low hissing sound that caused you to startle and drop the food into the sand.

He held his hand out again, looking at you expectantly. You didn’t have anything else you could hand him, so you just looked at him in confusion.

He let out another noise, this one more of a low coaxing churr. His eyes glanced down towards your hand, then back up to your face. He repeated the churr.

Oh, you realized. He wanted your hand. You’re a bit hesitant, because the black claws on the tips of his fingers look wickedly sharp. But he looked so earnest…so you placed your hand in his.

You immediately regretted it.

Quick as lightning, he used his iron grip on your hand to yank you forward, until you tumbled into the tidal pool with him.

Your face went under the water for what was probably only a fraction of a second, but it was enough to ratchet your heartrate up to a dangerous speed. You had still not completely forgotten drowning.

Luckily for you, the creature took mercy on you and hauled you up until you were sitting up, half out of the water and balanced on the thick width of his tail. Still, you were once again soaking and spluttering, and you tried to yank your hand out of his grip again.

“What was that!?” you screeched at him, not expecting an answer.

“I’m sorry.”

You were left gaping at him. His mouth hadn’t opened at all, but you heard a voice, clear as crystal. “…What?”

“I’m sorry for pulling you into the water like that. I didn’t know how to get you into the water with me otherwise…” He let go of your hand, and moved that arm to rest behind your back, supporting you so you didn’t tumble back into the water. “You see, I can only speak to you when you are in the same water as me. I wanted to thank you. For taking me off of the beach, and for making sure I was safer. I probably would have been fine, but…it was nice. Of you. To do that. So thank you.”

Your mouth was dry. You had no idea what you were supposed to do or say now. “It was nothing. I just couldn’t stand to leave you there if I could help it. Anyway, it was the least I could do in return for you saving me, even if I don’t know why you did it.”

“You were scared. I could feel it. You were scared, and you were dying. It’s as you said before – I couldn’t leave you there if I could help it.” He sounded so earnest, and all of a sudden you were so so grateful that he happened to be there at the right moment to help you.

Overwhelmed, you threw your arms around his neck and pulled him into a hug. “Thank you for saving my life.”

He was stiff and cold under you, arms hovering awkwardly behind your back like he didn’t know what to do with them. “Ah…you’re welcome.” One hand came down to gently pat you on the back. You found yourself smiling at his small attempt at comforting you.

You pulled back, noticing how he shivered lightly at the brush of your fingertips on his shoulders as your arms retreated.

Your mood sunk a bit when your attention dropped back to the light scrapes and bruises decorating his skin, multicolored splatters on the pale canvas of his torso. “I’m sorry, did I hurt you? When I hugged you? I should have been gentler, you’re injured still –”

“It’s okay,” he said, placatingly. “I barely feel them.”

You pursed your lips together. “What about your head?”

At this, he winced. “Sore.”

“What even happened to you?”

He broke eye contact with you, for the first time. His face was still blank, but you thought you could see a flicker of something akin to embarrassment in the tidal depths of his blue eyes. “I got caught up in the storm…I should have gone farther out to deeper water, but I didn’t think about it. I’m not used to the shallows. The last thing I remember was getting swept up in a wave, and then I woke up here. I think I must have hit my head on a rock.”

Your lips tilted down even further, now a full frown. “Why were you in the shallows, then, if you aren’t used to them? I thought fish species typically stayed around the same ocean depth their whole lives?” It took you a second to realize what you said, and then you could feel yourself flush. “I mean I wasn’t comparing you to a fish! You’re clearly much more advanced than that! Much smarter. And better. Um.”

He seemed amused by your floundering. “It’s okay. I know what you meant; I’m not offended. I’m glad you think I’m better than a fish.”

You realized he was teasing you, if lightly, and you felt yourself flush even more. “Well, Mr. Better-than-Fish, what were you doing in the shallows?”

He broke eye contact again. He was embarrassed, it was clearer to you now. “…I wanted to check on you. To make sure you were alive.” He paused, drawing his eyes back from the horizon to your face. “You weren’t on the beach anymore, but I couldn’t see you for several days. I didn’t know if you lived somewhere else, and had already gone home, or if something had happened to you. I was hoping to see you on the beach again, just so I would know you were safe. And then I did see you. But I never meant for you to see me again.”

“Why did you stick around?” you said softly. “You saw me. You could have left then, and I would have never seen you again.”

“Maybe I liked seeing you. Maybe I liked watching you look for me, every day.”

Your breath hitched. “You could have come to me before now.”

“My kind aren’t supposed to interact with humans.”

“Your kind?”

“Mer, I suppose, is what humans call us.”

Ah. That makes sense, you thought. Mer. “I thought of you as an angel. A water angel.”

“Why?” He asked. There was the lightest dusting of cherry-blossom pink over the tops of his cheekbones.

“Because you appeared to me when I was on the brink of death.” You paused, debating on whether or not you should elaborate. “And because you were beautiful. Are beautiful.”

The pink on his cheeks deepened to a shade of rose. He was, in fact, still beautiful. Especially with that blush. You were glad you had chosen to speak your mind, if only so you got to see his cheeks darkening prettily like that.

“Sorry, I don’t think I ever introduced myself,” you said, sheepishly. You told him your name.

He repeated it, and you felt a tingle go down your spine at hearing it in his voice. “My name is Giyuu.”

“Giyuu.” You repeated. “Well, it’s nice to finally meet you, Giyuu.”

He gave you a small smile. “Likewise.”

Giyuu then turned, looking back out into the sea. “I suppose I should go now that I’m awake.”

A bolt of fear went through you, more severe than you ever would have expected. You found you couldn’t bear the thought of letting him go and possibly never seeing him again; not after you had just found him. “You should stay here,” you blurted out. “To heal, I mean. I can bring you food, and whatever you need. But you need rest.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, hesitantly. “I don’t want to cause you trouble.” A flicker of what almost looked like relief flashed through his eyes. Maybe he also did not want to leave you. This was the same Giyuu who stuck lingered for days just to watch you…perhaps he really did wish to spend more time with you. You could only hope he felt a sliver of the desire to remain as you felt to keep him with you.

“Positive.”

“Okay,” he replied softly.

The rest of your next week was spent with Giyuu. Every day, you would wake up, prepare breakfast for the both of you, and set off towards the tidal pool.

You would arrive to him doing slow laps around the pool; he would immediately swim over to the edge of the water to greet you, his ebony hair dripping water down his shoulders and across his torso. He didn’t ever pull you into the water anymore, and instead you would remove your shoes and socks and dangle your feet into the water while the rest of you stayed safe and dry on the rocks. And the two of you would just eat, and talk.

You would only really leave him to go retrieve more food, get a few restless hours of sleep, or to get human objects to bring down and show him. A majority of the time you spent soaking in his presence; your feet were almost permanently pruned at this point, but you wanted to hear him speak, so at least one limb was partially submerged at all times.

Likewise, he would never be anywhere else; when you were gone, you assumed he slept and swam in circles around the pool, but he abandoned whatever he was doing the second you showed up to talk with you.

You talked about anything and everything under the sun. You did not feel any reluctance in telling him all about your life, more than you think you’ve ever told one person. He was fascinated not just by the human world you described, but with you. You had never talked so much about yourself, but you didn’t feel self-conscious. Even talking about your greatest regrets, your deepest anxieties and fears…you found yourself spilling them to him and receiving soft reassurances in return. Even when he was awkward, and clearly didn’t know what to say, he tried his best, and he was earnest in his attempts to make you feel better. That alone was always enough to lift your mood.

Of course, you asked him about his life as well. You learned about what life was like as a mer, and what his family was like, before their passing. He told you about the other mer he met later on, about how they weren’t cruel to him, but they weren’t always kind, either. He said it was his fault, simply because he was hard to talk to. He confessed to you that he believed they all hated him, even though he did not want them too. He just didn’t know how to get close to anyone, not anymore. He even told you, in the softest of whispers, how he wondered sometimes if everyone hated him, and he would never again have the kind of love that he had with his family. You tried your best to console him, telling him you couldn’t imagine anyone hating him. “And if they do,” you added, “Which I’m sure they don’t, you always have me.”

He gave you another one of his small, but genuine, smiles, and replied, “Maybe I should just stay here with you forever.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” you said, and the subject was dropped. But you didn’t forget it. You only hoped that he was genuine…because you truly wouldn’t mind him staying by you forever.

But deep in your heart, you knew he couldn’t stay in that small pool indefinitely. You were already sure he was completely healed; most of his scrapes had faded to white lines by now, and the bruises were gone. Even the gash on his head was more than halfway healed, and he didn’t give any indication of having headaches or anything of the sort. And you saw him looking out, into the ocean…he needed the space.

You would just savor the time you did have; savor the talks, savor the sight of his elegant face covered in rice crumbs from messily eating the sushi you provided him, savor the sight of his powerful body gliding through the water effortlessly. You would make the most of your time before his inevitable departure; you would make enough memories with him to last you his impending absence.

It only took until you were used to your new routine for something drastic to occur.

You began your day as normal, making the short trip down to the tidal pools with a spring in your step. You had made a new type of food for Giyuu to try, and you were excited to see his reaction. You noticed that your overall mood had improved ever since he became a regular fixture in your life. Maybe you were lonelier than you thought, living in your remote little cabin by the sea.

However, once you arrived, you were greeted with a seemingly empty pool. No sign of Giyuu anywhere.

Your hands tightened on your picnic basket. Could he have slipped back out into the sea overnight? There was quite the expanse of rocks separating the pool from the main body of the sea, but it could be possible… You just didn’t know why he would leave you without even a goodbye.

Your heart clenched uncomfortably in your chest. Perhaps he really didn’t care for you as much as he seemed to…or as much as you cared for him. Perhaps he just needed the food, and had to keep the one giving it to him happy…

You crept closer to the pool, peering in from the edge. Finally, you saw something.

You exhaled in relief, shoulders untensing. He hadn’t left; instead, he was lying on the bottom of the pool. At first you thought he was sleeping, but his eyes were open, and he was flicking his tail back and forth like he couldn’t get comfortable.

You sat down, setting your basket aside. You gently patted the surface of the water a few times, creating small ripples that echoed out from where your hand touched. You saw Giyuu freeze suddenly.

In a second, his head was poking up over the water. Only his head breached the water, however, and he remained outside of reach from where you sat on the rocks.

Not only was his behavior that day strange, but he looked…sick. His face was flushed red, as if he was fevered, and his eyes were blown wide. He was breathing heavily as well, too heavily for how little he was moving.

“Are you okay?” you asked, brows furrowed.

He nodded jerkily, obviously lying. “I’m fine. You should just go back up to your cabin.”

“No!” you said, incredulously. “You look sick. I’m not leaving you here when something is obviously wrong.”

He let out a low rasping sound, almost a growl, startling you. You had never heard anything like that from him…it was deep, aggressive, and animal.

“No. You need to leave. Now.”

You scowled. “I refuse. Tell me what’s wrong.”

He dove back under the water in lieu of replying.

“Hey!” you yelled. Normally, you wouldn’t push him if he said he wanted space. But it was clear that something was wrong with him, and he was hiding it from you. What if you could help, and things just got worse because he was too stubborn to get your help?

You stood up, and made to start wading deeper into the pool, uncaring about how your clothes were getting soaked. If he was going to be like that, you would just have to chase him down.

It wasn’t the most well-thought-out plan; he was a much better and faster swimmer than you, built for the water while you were built for dry terrain. The pool wasn’t large, but it was big enough for Giyuu to swim around comfortably, meaning he could feasibly stay out of your reach by just swimming away. He could also stay under the water indefinitely, a skill you sadly lacked. It didn’t help that you were still hesitant to submerge yourself, your mind still lingering on its vivid memories of drowning.

Yet you didn’t think about any of this, your mind clouded with annoyance, and more prominently, worry.

You were nearly all the way submerged. The water was lapping gently at the dip of your collar bone, and your heartbeat had kicked up against your will. Your breaths were shallower than normal, dormant anxiety forming iron bands around your lungs, but you pushed past it. You were in no danger; there were no waves, the water wasn’t deep, and you were a reasonably competent swimmer. You were just about to dive into the water when he reappeared.

Unlike before, this time he was close. Close enough for your slightly gasping breaths to shift his wet hair. Up close, his condition seemed even more severe. His eyes were nearly all black now, deep blue covered by the spreading inkblots of his pupils. He was still red and panting, mouth open, revealing long, needle-like teeth.

“Why don’t you just leave?!” he said. His voice was deeper than usual, rough. You could hear a low growl starting up in his chest again, so low you could almost feel it through the water. “Don’t you understand how hard you’re making this for me? I’m trying so hard…”

“What are you talking about?” you asked, almost pleadingly. “I don’t understand. You just look like you’re in pain. You can’t expect me to ignore that!”

He bared his teeth, growling getting louder. “I’m not sick. I’m not hurt. But you need to leave. So you don’t get hurt. So I don’t hurt you.”

Your gaze softened. “Oh, Giyuu…I trust you. You wouldn’t hurt me. I just want to help you. Let me help you.” Impulsively, you reached one hand out to graze your fingers over his cheek.

He let out a full-body shudder at your touch, eyes slipping shut. When he reopened them, there was something dark in their depths.

“Do you really want to know what’s wrong with me?” Deceptively strong hands grabbed onto your waist, pulling you until your body was flush with his. You let out a gasp.

Through your wet clothes, you could feel the ridges of his muscles, the light pinch of his claws on your hips…and something else, against your front. Something large, and stiff, pressed between your bodies.

Your breath hitched. Was that…?

“I don’t think I told you before…” he purred, “But Mer have mating seasons…where all we want to do is fuck…and breed. Normally, I would just hide away, ride it out on my own…But then you had to come here, tempting me. How am I supposed to resist such a lovely creature bringing me food…taking care of me…acting like they want to be my mate? Offering to ‘help me’ with my rut? Don’t you realize what you do to me, baby?” He pulled you close again, grinding against your stomach almost unconsciously.

You could not even speak, only letting out a small squeaking noise as he rubbed against you. Mate? Breed? You knew he wasn’t human, but this…you should have been repulsed, or at the very least offput by this information. Instead, you could feel liquid heat pooling in your abdomen like molten lava.

His hands flexed on your hips, claws ripping through your clothes and scratching your bare skin. Then he let you go, leaving you to quickly flounder to keep your face above water. He looked like it physically hurt him to tear himself away from you, teeth clenching and muscles flexing as he hovered an arm’s length away from you.

“You need to leave if you don’t want this,” he said, panting heavily. “Because I won’t be able to hold myself back if you stay.”

The obvious answer was to take the chance and run. To not agree to get fucked by a sea creature. Go back and hide in your cabin until this was all over, and then continue as you were until Giyuu inevitably left you and all of this faded away like a dream.

And yet…he was beautiful. Ethereal, strong, and even caring…the thought of being bred by him was intoxicating.

You didn’t leave. “Fuck me,” you said, voice a little shaky, yet confident in your decision.

With those two words, he was on you.

Giyuu’s claws were back, this time ripping your clothes right off you. Soon, you both were surrounded by a halo of floating fabric scraps; even your underwear was not spared.

Divested of this one last barrier between you, hands on your hips yanked you back against him. He resumed grinding on you, frantically; you couldn’t see much of him because of the water, but you could feel him. His cock was thick, with ridges running along the length of it; you couldn’t get a good judge of his length with his movements, but you knew it would reach deep inside of you.

He wasn’t providing you any sort of real stimulation, humping your body like a dog in heat but missing where you were hottest. The water was disguising the wetness that you knew would otherwise be dripping down your thighs. He hadn’t even done anything, but you were more aroused than you could ever remember being, just hearing his panting in your ear as he chased his own pleasure, feeling the strange clicking, purring sound vibrating in his chest.

But it wasn’t enough for him.

He let go of your waist just to swim under you and hook his arms under your knees, lifting you up out of the water only to pull you back down so your exposed pussy rubbed directly against his cock.

You let out an embarrassing whine as you felt the ridges on his dick slide against your clit. You threw your arms around his neck to grip on his hair, pulling a light rolling growl out of him.

He ground against you a few times, fucking his cock between the swollen folds of your labia. You couldn’t hold back your own noises when you felt him nudge against the little nub at the apex of your sex, sending little electric jolts of pleasure up your spine.

And then the pointed tip of his cock caught against your entrance.

Giyuu froze for a second, wide, black eyes gazing into yours as you panted into each other’s mouths. You became hyper-aware of every sensation. You could feel the flutter of his gills tickling your forearms; the sensation of his damp hair tangled up in between your clenched hands; his webbed hands braced on your back, claws definitely leaving thin scratch mark in your flesh.

And then your focus was drawn back to a single point as he thrust his cock fully into your soaking pussy.

You let out a shriek. You weren’t exaggerating about his size earlier; you felt completely split open. Your poor cunt was trying valiantly to clench around him, but he had you gaping so much you couldn’t do more than lightly flutter your inner walls around his length. He was long, reaching up all the way to prod at the entrance of your womb. You could have sworn you could taste him in your throat, he was so deep.

He let out his own moan. “I’m so deep in you baby,” he said, almost deliriously. “I can feel it--uh--can’t you? I’m filling up your whole pussy.”

You moaned. “Yesss…can barely fit you…so big…”

He thrust into you, slowly, only once, like he was trying to get you used to it. You could almost count all of the strange ridges lining his cock as they ground against every sensitive spot inside of you, making you let out another gush of fluid to get washed away by the gently lapping water.

You clenched on him again, tugging at his hair. This seemed to rip away the last of his restraint.

He started thrusting into you rapidly, pulling you almost completely off of his cock only to force you back down as he simultaneously flexed his tail up, impaling you onto his thick length. It was like he was carving the perfect space for himself into your pussy, ridges sawing against your walls, making them even more sensitive. His tip slammed perfectly against your cervix, as if begging entrance to your womb, so he could breed you more directly.

The sheer overwhelming sensation of having all the nerves in your soft, wet cunt pressed and scraped against by his massive cock caused you to come almost immediately. Your head lolled back as you rode out your orgasm, waves of electric heat pulsing through you like waves crashing against the shore. You clenched down hard on Giyuu’s still-moving length, your pussy gripping every bump like it was trying to seal him inside you.

“Ohh, baby, so perfect for me…” he slurred. “Perfect mate, made just for me—”

You could do nothing more than whine, as he continued to abuse your pussy at the same frantic pace as before, almost ignoring your pathetic attempts to squeeze around him as you were pushed into overstimulation.

Your mind was starting to drift…after around the third time, you lost count of how many times you had come. It didn’t matter anyway, because no matter how many times you clenched around him and cried your way through orgasm, he never let up his tempo, continuing to fuck you as if it was the only thing keeping him sane. You would have thought he was completely in his own mind, unaware of the delicious damage he was doing to your body, if it wasn’t for the intermittent churrs of praise he panted into your ringing ears. These were interspersed by nips and bites to your neck and shoulders; you were so deep in pleasure that his needle-sharp teeth burned in a good way as they repeatedly pierced your spin, leaving bleeding marks decorating your skin red.

You were nearly unconscious by the time his rhythm finally faltered, his strokes turning harder and sloppier, no longer with the perfect staccato tempo of before. You would think your nerves would be too worn out to feel anything, but he still managed to hit your cervix hard enough to send an almost painful shock of pure sensation through you.

“M’gonna breed you now,” he whined, sounding absolutely wrecked, even though, by your count, he was the one wrecking you. “Gonna fill you up so good--my pretty mate—"

“Please,” you managed to eek out, tongue heavy in your mouth.

He thrust into you one last time, hitting the tip of his cock against the entrance to your womb as he came.

You could tell when he was about to come because his whole cock seemed to twitch inside you, and the ridges swelled up even more, until he was completely plugging your pussy, with no chance of pulling out. Then, he filled you with his come.

But…it wasn’t come, your orgasm-drunk mind realized after a minute. Your pussy was being filled to bursting with what felt like small, jelly-like spheres…

You let out a broken moan. He was breeding you. He was filling you with his eggs.

The steady pulse of eggs seemed to go on for eternity; the sensation of being filled so much caused you to orgasm again, more of a dry shudder at this point than anything else, but it caused Giyuu to coo at you and stroke his cool, sticky tongue over your lips in a mockery of a first kiss.

You let him lap fully into your mouth, closer to a proper kiss, even if it was messy and dripping…you tried to suck on his tongue, but it was too long, and he ended up fucking it in and out of your throat instead.

Once the eggs finally stopped, Giyuu gently ground into your throbbing pussy until he filled you even more, this time with a warm pulse of thick, sticky liquid that spread out in between what little gaps were left by his eggs. You could feel his whine vibrating up though his mouth into yours and he stilled completely for the first time in ages.

He pulled his tongue out of your throat to roughly whisper praise to you, but you barely heard any of it as your body slipped into blissful unconsciousness, its ordeal finally over.

You awoke to Giyuu cradling you in his arms, gently licking at the bite marks that scattered your neck and shoulders. He had pulled out, leaving your full cunt to drip his come slowly into the water. You felt bloated, and sore, and your neck stung, but you also felt a bone deep satisfaction.

“You’re awake,” he turned your head so he could look into your eyes. His pupils had shrunk back down to normal, revealing the deep ocean blue once more. “I’m sorry for hurting you,” he whispered, stroking a fingertip lightly along the red and inflamed puncture wound he had caused, eyes drifting to them, almost regretfully. “I couldn’t hold myself back…”

“It’s okay,” you said, voice raspy from screaming. “It felt good.”

He didn’t seem convinced; his face was back to its normal blankness, but you could see the faint furrow between his brows.

Seeing his distress, you lifted an arm up to pull his head towards you, pressing your lips together softly. This kiss, unlike your first, was chaste, just a brief meeting of lips, but it was enough to relax him. You gave him a small smile. “You’re so sweet, taking care of me,” you cooed, only slightly teasing him. It was amusing to see the creature who had just fucked your brains out mere hours ago blush prettily at being called ‘sweet’.

You would miss him dearly when he left you. He must have seen your face drop, because his mood shifted towards the melancholy as well.

“Still…I should have held back. I didn’t want it to happen like that.” He murmured, tucking his face into your neck, still ashamed.

You froze, hand mid-way through stroking his hair. “What do you mean?”

“I wanted to make you my mate before this,” he replied, “I had a plan…I was going to court you, once I was well enough to leave. Mer court their mates with gifts, and I have nothing here, even though you bring me things every day. But I had forgotten about my cycle, and here we are.”

You almost couldn’t believe your ears. “You want me to be your mate?”

He pulled back to look at your face quizzically. “I thought I had made that clear before.”

“No,” you squeaked.

His face dropped. “I thought my intentions were obvious…I thought you reciprocated, but it’s okay if you don’t. I thank you for your help anyways. I can leave whenever you want.”

“No!” you blurted again. If you knew nothing else, you knew you wanted him to stay. “Mates, that’s like marriage, right? We’ll be each other’s?”

He nodded, face still carefully empty.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, tugging him until your noses brushed. “That sounds wonderful. You being mine, me being yours…I don’t mind it if you leave when you want, as long as you remember to come back to me.”

“I’ll always come back for you baby,” he said, smiling softly as he kissed you lovingly. “My lovely mate.”

You had known him only a few days, but you couldn’t imagine your life without him anymore. He lit up your days, just with his presence; he made you happier than you had been in a very long time. You should have been more cautious, instead of immediately promising yourself to him, but the soft, syrupy warmth you felt as he kissed you was intoxicating. You only hoped that this sensation would never go away.

#giyuu x reader #giyuu tomioka x reader #giyuu smut #tomioka giyuu x reader #tomioka giyuu #kny smut #kny #mdni #kny x reader #monster-october-kny-2023 #writing tags like i'm throwing spaghetti at the wall #romy can write #strange lovers event #afab reader

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partycatty · 4 months

Note

you write for mk11 gramps johnny? have serious brain rot for him

if so could you write a fic of him dicking us down for being a brat? u can make up a plot or not i just need it and need him. love ur writing either way!!

- 💙

alright, im using this ask but i have a very specific image for this rn. this is gonna be a meaty post so hear me out

older!johnny cage > waste ur time

this is based off of the song WasteUrTime by Kevin Walkman with some lyrics (in pink) sprinkled in. you and johnny have a clear age gap, trying to avoid giving into desires, but 3am rolls around and you consider the idea of having a late night visitor.

warnings: smutty, age gap, ur both horny demons, virgin reader, i dont know how military ranks work, affair, sonya never gets Rocked

notes: this is going to be a little more artsy that what i usually do, so apologies if the format change is not ideal. this is more of an actual fic than bullet points. also the lyrics are out of order and not all included, so you don't need the song to enjoy this!

word count: 2.6k

[ masterlist ]

give me a glass of your innocence.

training was hard, your skin glistening with sweat and your face flushed from overexertion. the task was relatively simple; to climb up a deeply sloped wooden platform using nothing but your grip and momentum. your comrades were cheering you on, including briggs, commander cage, her mother, and her father. straining yourself to grip the ledge of the platform, you finally hoist yourself up and stand upright, not before doubling over to pant.

the others applaud and surround you with cheers. a firm hand finds its place square on your back, rubbing in circles.

"atta girl," the voice leans into your ear with an audible grin. "knew you had it in you."

your head turns to thank the disconnected voice, but out of your fuzzy mind, the realization pulls through that none other than your superior, johnny cage was the one congratulating you so intimately. his praise makes your cheeks flush even darker and your gaze averts, too afraid of such direct appreciation which johnny notes. you weren't used to compliments.

this is my creation, here's your invitation.

you knew something intense was brewing with each lingering stare or gentle squeeze to your shoulder. how intense exactly, you couldn't pick out. with minimal experience with others lusting for you, it didn't register in your head at first just how hungrily he gazed at you. not that you were complaining necessarily, he was part-time action star, part-time military leader. he was built, charismatic, and a family man. it felt impossible to not feel weak in the knees around him.

johnny knew he had an effect on you, as he did most others. despite watering down his hollywood charisma, he couldn't bring himself to deny how sexy he was at his older age. something about a buff salt and pepper man telling you what to do had you following commands like a dog, doing anything it takes to have him praise you more.

even still, you couldn't do anything about it. johnny was a married man. his family was your coworkers, hell, it was their job to command you! the guilty thoughts would creep up on you no matter how badly you wanted to avoid them. couldn't you have chosen a more... single man?

you seem so damn nervous.

"how can i be of service?" johnny asks, leaning his front half forward ever so slightly to show you he was interested in every word that dripped from your lips. your vision was too blurred from anxiety to properly articulate what you needed from him, so you nervously swirled your drink. damn the special forces and their free alcohol parties.

"how do you do it?" you ask with a stammer. "earthrealm, netherrealm, tarkatans, ninjas, thunder gods. it all feels so unreal. how do you stay so calm?"

"mm," he hums, lowering his own glass after a brief sip. "well, you get used to it. turns out i was born to a mediterranean war cult's gene pool. watched my daughter kick an elder god's ass while i got maggots down my throat. went face-to-face with younger me. there are just some things that are too damn ridiculous to ever fully understand, so i accept it for what it is. when you're my age, fighting for all of these otherworldly things, most of the little things feel like a walk in the park."

"don't get me wrong, sir, i'll fight for earthrealm, but this is all so... dizzying."

johnny visibly tenses up at 'sir.' "tell you what," he grabs his drink napkin and opens a sharpie with his teeth. "you ever wanna talk about it with someone that's seen everything, you come to me." he writes his personal phone number on the napkin and places it in your palm with a smile.

you fidget with the paper before pocketing it, worried you'd pick at it too much and rip it to shreds before you could save the digits. the most you could bring yourself to do was half-bow, half-nod before scurrying away to the bathroom to cool your hot face. johnny could only chuckle to himself with a shake of his head.

long walks of shame look so good on you.

a long time was spent staring at the new conversation on your phone. despite your inexperience, there was a simmering feeling that johnny didn't just give you his number to let you vent. he wanted to talk to you outside of work. the thought makes you sweat.

why would he want to talk to you? if he wanted conversation, he would reach out to his wife and kid. he had it all, and yet he still wanted to put everything on the line for you.

you're moving fast, and i'm into it.

"lieutenant. it's reader," you shoot a simple text out, lying to yourself when you justify texting him for the sake of him saving your number. it was late, too late to be texting your superior. another lie you told yourself: i'll just send the message now so he sees it in the morning! your shameful justifications are ripped from you when you receive a reply, almost immediately.

"couldn't it have waited until the morning?" he replies bluntly, and you're ready to type out a spew of apologies before a second text comes through. "i'm teasing. johnny, by the way. no need for titles."

"sorry." you try to remain professional with your response, fingers dancing wildly across your keyboard. your eyes flicker up to the clock in the top corner, realizing it's well into the night. "didn't expect a response so late. have a good night, lieutenant."

you're ready to throw your phone out of the nearest window out of sheer embarrassment, but you stop when you feel another buzz come through. your stomach flips.

"johnny. you usually stay up late?" he texts, drawing the conversation out much to your surprise. "it's 3:30 in the morning."

"my day's been so boring," you decide to lean into the more casual chat, hoping to find a softer side to your boss. you should feel disgusted, repulsed, put off. he was double your age and then some. but dear god, his attention on you was hypnotizing even if it was just words on a screen. "hoping to waste some time before tomorrow comes. lots of training."

johnny's reply takes a suspiciously long time to come through, his bubble appearing and disappearing. just before you thought you lost the conversation, a photo comes through. johnny's laying in bed, hair ruffled and shirtless. his eyes have a soft, pleading look to them and his lips are curled into a pretty smile. the tiniest glimpse of his chest tattoo pokes through the bottom of the image, and you had to make a conscious effort to swallow your drool and close your jaw. you almost don't notice the text attached.

"maybe i could waste your time?"

you choke on your saliva, glancing off to the corner of your room as if an invisible camera was perched there. this man held zero shame, that much was true. you suppose it's from his age. there's only so much time in one life, so he's seizing every moment. it terrified you, to the depths of your core.

"i don't follow," you text back, playing dumb. this was genuinely unbelievable to you, you needed to hear more from his perspective to make sure you weren't actually dreaming or reading too far into his offer.

"come on, girl," he teasingly responds. "don't play dumb. i may be old, but i'm still sharp." another photo slides into the chat, the same idea s his previous one but now fully displaying his torso. his broad chest with his name painted on it was now boldly on display. his hand laid flirtatiously on his abs, fingers spread out. at the very bottom, you could make out the beginning of a thick tent in his pajama pants. it was like every inch of this man was maximized. you'd seen his shirtless form in his old movies, but seeing it now... it was personal. that photo was for you. "i know you're still fucking with me. i see how you look at me." you bite your lip, wondering if maybe sonya was sharing the other side of the bed. your stomach churns.

"i mean..." you leave the text at that, rapidly typing and deleting. you're not quite sure what to say, how to carry this now heated conversation. you'd never... had to before. "if i may state the obvious, you're... older. and my boss. and married."

his replies stop for a good couple minutes. you wonder if maybe he was regretting his advance. you hoped not.

"is it something that you'd mind?" johnny asks, hesitation in his words as he breaks away from his flirty comments. his question makes you ponder. you were a virgin at your age, holding onto this trait longer than almost everyone at a similar age to you. work was your priority, never giving yourself enough time for a serious commitment. but here you were. johnny was throwing something onto the table that you never expected to happen. were you going to pass this up and stay a virgin forever? hell, no!

"sent you my location. let's try something new, lieutenant."

"johnny." he corrects you one final time before falling completely silent on his end. your stomach twists and churns wildly, realizing you have opened the flood gates to a hookup with your boss. you throw your pajamas off and replace them with a cuter, coordinating pair. you brush your teeth again and try to fix your hair into a neater updo, not impacted by the friction of your pillowcase. shoes and various discarded belongings are shoved under the bed and into the closet. you hadn't had male company, well, ever. you had to come off as somewhat decent for him.

jesus christ, your mind grows dizzy. you were going to lose your virginity, now, or in however long it takes for him to arrive at you apartment. you're not far from work, and even still the time it took for you to hear footsteps in the hallway must have been a century at the minimum. you were seriously going through with this because it was about damn time you enjoyed yourself and spiced shit up.

the heavy footsteps come to a halt, the shadow overtaking the faint hallway light glowing. a part of you wants to hide, maybe jump out of your fire exit. your nerves were blinding, and taking the steps to the entrance felt like an olympic sport. that is, until a new text appears.

"let me inside."

do you open the door? leaning against it, you can smell his musk just through the crack alone. damn his hypnotic... everything. if you open the door, his entire career, marriage, and life could be over. that is, if you spill. you wouldn't.

keeping shit a secret fits you like a glove.

you slowly open the door, hand frozen on the doorknob as you're met with your boss towering over you with a heavy look in his eyes. it's hard to avoid his own hesitation too, but his hard breathing betrays his morals. he looks ready to pounce at any given moment. johnny's mouth opens first, but you beat him to it.

"i'm a virgin," you blurt, mind too empty to feel embarrassed at the fact. you felt the need to tell him now, before he was on top of you and you laid there like a fool.

johnny's brows raise up ever so slightly. "what?"

the heat of the admittance catches up to you, and you twiddle with the hem of your shorts. you repeat yourself meekly, letting the predicament set in between the two of you.

"that's..." he trails off, glancing into your room. "um."

"i'm sorry-" your face heats up, your eyes pricking with tears at the awkward air. "i just... i didn't want you to be surprised, because i don't know what i'm doing."

something new stirs in johnny's core as he understands the weight of the situation. his fists clench and he takes a lumbering step toward you. you back up on instinct.

"that's alright," he purrs, voice hitting a new low, one that's far away from his professional volume. "'cause i'll take care of you. i've got you."

he stands up straight, scratching the back of his neck.

"if you'll have me... i guess that speaks for itself. i'm here, aren't i?"

you nod with a nervous chuckle. your bodies move in sync as you figure out where to put your hands. they settle on his neck, wrapping your arms around him to pull him in. his hands hold your waist. jesus, his hands are big. you'd kissed before, so this is familiar territory.

"i'll take that as a yes," his eyes flick to your lips, visibly restraining himself from fully taking advantage of you. he leans in for a tender kiss, your lips and his moving together. it turns heated quick, with his tongue darting out to get a taste of your mouth which you accept gratefully.

johnny's hands trail down to your ass, cupping the underside as if his hands were destined to fit there. he tugs upward, and you understand what he's trying to do. you jump up and break the kiss momentarily so your legs trap his waist. in between make out sessions, you guide him through your apartment to the bedroom. his lips taste bitter like alcohol but cleanly sweet. exactly how you imagined.

your mind is hazy with lust, your pussy clenching around nothing as you envision taking a monster like him for the first time. a part of you wonders if it's even possible. instead of throwing you onto the mattress, he lowers you like a princess, supporting your head and back with each hand which does nothing to help your aching wetness pooling between your legs.

johnny's lips dive to your jaw, sucking and biting tenderly. you wince, but replace the noise with a lustful gasp as he soothes the pain with his hot tongue. you want to clench your thighs together to relieve the throbbing pressure, but johnny's hands pry your legs open as his hips fit perfectly between them. like a forbidden puzzle piece. you feel his cock rub through your pajamas, and your mouth gathers drool.

johnny finds any possible plush flesh of your neck to take in, kissing wetly as he gently ruts into you, not even realizing he's doing it. he needed to explore every inch of this new body, this new lover... his mistress.

if you were to start praying for forgiveness, it'd be now. you internally cursed sonya for getting her hands on him before you could. your chest burned with jealousy and desire. he was so evilly delicious, and every inch of him needed to be inside before you'd start sobbing. your hands fly forward and tug him forward by his waistband.

"need you," is the most you can coherently ask for, blinded by your horniness. johnny pulls away from your collar, panting in your face. he can't bring himself to look directly in your eyes, your wet, pleading eyes.

"you..." he swallows thickly, brows knitting together. he frowns. "you can't tell anyone. you know that, right?''

you nod with a small whine. you wanted him to just shut up and fuck you.

"hhh - won't say anything," you huff back, gliding your dampened bottoms across his dick with need. he groans, and buries his head in your neck, a deep sigh sending goosebumps across you skin.

"atta girl..."

so hit me up when you feel down i'll make your ass stay 'til sundown i understand what you've been through 'cause I'm a sorry sucker too i know you're scared and that's alright just let me love you for the night

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat x reader #johnny cage #johnny cage x reader #johnny cage smut #mk11 #mortal kombat smut #marley writes ☆

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bella-rose29 · 5 months

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Deck the Halls (and not your partner) - part 4

Christmas Eve, and the day of the party.

once again I maintain the idea that lockwood has his tea as a Cameron special (for absolutely no reason, they've just merged into one being in my mind)

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: swearing, family members being mean, lockwood never put his pyjamas back on, I should mention now that they're 18 for plot and ethical reasons, mentions of body image issues, innuendos?

series master list

(image credit to @sxnflowersa_tv on pinterest)

When Y/n woke up the next morning, her first thought was that she was cold.

Her second was that she was in a double bed and not her usual tiny single in Portland Row, and the third was panic at seeing her boss shirtless.

Lockwood's blanket had slipped at some point in the night, and so when she sat up and stretched she was met with the sight of him sleeping soundly in the armchair, his pyjamas folded neatly on the small table next to him. How he wasn't freezing to death she wasn't sure, but then Lockwood had never made sense to her. One minute he was all smiles and charm and then the next he was saying something completely opposite into her ear, and she was left to figure out which version was the real Lockwood.

Today would be difficult, and they had to come to some sort of understanding if they were going to survive the hell that they would soon be entering.

Lockwood didn't look comfortable at all, with his neck at an odd angle and his legs curled up underneath him (he was bound to get pins and needles when he woke up), and Y/n felt the smallest pang of pity before a knock sounded on the bedroom door.

"Are you two awake?" Her mother questioned, likely wanting to know if they wanted tea. Y/n clambered out of bed and leaned against the door.

"Uh, I am," she whispered. "Lock- Anthony's still asleep."

"Right, well do you think he'll want a cup of tea? I'm heading down to make a pot now."

"Oh, yeah. He has it weird though, with sugar and honey."

"I'll pop those on the tray, then, and he can put in what he wants."

"Thanks Mum." She heard her mother shuffle and head down the stairs, knees clicking as she went, and turned back to look at her fake boyfriend. "Fuck," she said, a horrible realisation dawning on her. Lockwood couldn't be in the armchair when her mother brought in the tea, or she'd wonder if they'd had an argument. Walking over, she gave his arm a quick prod.

No response.

She tried again, harder this time, and when he stirred a little she cheered internally. "Lockwood?" she whisper-shouted, giving him a proper shove.

"What? What is it?" He was bolt upright almost immediately, scanning for any signs of danger and reaching for Y/n. "Is everything alright?"

"Uh... yes," she said slowly. "Mum's making tea, and when she brings it in you can't be in the chair or she'll have questions." She stared down at his hand where it was grabbing her pyjama top (an old oversized t-shirt), his knuckles white. "You... you can let go of me now, Lockwood."

"Oh. Right." He retracted his hand, but not before letting it hover in the space between them for a few seconds. He stood up, the blanket falling, and Y/n immediately turned around.

"Why are you naked?!"

"I am not! I got hot in the night so I took my pyjamas off! I still have my pants on, thank you very much!"

"Well put your pyjamas back on!" she shrieked, pressing her hands over her face (despite still having her back to him) and desperately hoping she could delete the image from her brain. She had thought he'd only taken his top off, but since he wore matching pyjamas the pile of clothes on the table had looked like one thing, not two. She could hear him hopping around while he attempted to quickly pull his trousers on, and after a minute or so he cleared his throat.

"Alright, I'm dressed." Y/n turned around slowly, scared that he was joking, and sighed in relief when she realised that he wasn't. "Such a drama queen," he muttered under his breath, clearly not wanting her to hear as he looked to his left with a red face.

"I am not a drama queen, Lockwood. If anybody is the drama queen it's you. Now get in the bed." She pointed at it, glare on her face.

"If you wanted me to sleep with you you could have let me do that last night," he smirked, and she threw a decorative pillow at him.

"Just get in the bed, Lockwood." She went to grab a second pillow when he wriggled his eyebrows at her, and he quickly stopped and pulled back the covers. When he was finally settled she climbed in next to him.

"Y/n."

"What?"

"You should probably come a bit closer." He wasn't wrong, since they were as far away from each other as they could get, but she stubbornly refused to cosy up to him when she didn't need to just yet.

"Hang on." She'd spotted the blanket still crumpled on the floor, and hurried to pick it up just as she heard her mother coming up the stairs. Chucking it over the armchair she rushed back to the bed, pulling the duvet over her just as the door opened.

"Fuck's sake, come here," Lockwood whispered, harshly tugging on her arm and then wrapping his arm around her waist. "Ah, good morning, Emma!"

"Morning! Just got some tea for you here," she put the tray down on Y/n's bedside table and paused for a moment as she took in the two of them in the bed. "How did you sleep? Hopefully you feel rested enough for today?"

"Oh I slept beautifully, thank you." Lockwood beamed up at Emma, and Y/n wondered if she knew that his fingers were stroking the skin of her stomach under her top where it had ridden up.

"I'm glad to hear it! Well, I'll leave you to it!" They both smiled until Y/n's mother was out of the room, but as soon as the door clicked shut behind her they shot away from each other.

"I hope we never have to do that again."

"We'll have to do it tomorrow morning, darling."

"Nobody else is here, you don't need to keep calling me that."

"Ah, yes. Sorry, Schmoopie."

"I hate you. I'm going to poison your tea." She was getting the mugs ready now, adding extra honey to one and pouring in the water over the tea bags.

"And I will happily drink it."

A few minutes later (she'd had to let the tea stew for a bit) she poured in the milk and handed over his mug.

"Did you add in the sugar?"

"Yep."

"And the honey?"

"You watched me do it, Lockwood."

"Right, yes. I did." He was quiet for a moment, staring into the contents of his mug. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she replied, mild shock running through her at the sincerity of his gratitude.

They drank their tea in silence.

~~~

"So, just to recap, there are around fifty people coming over today?"

"Yep," Y/n said through a mouthful of cereal. "All extended family members and close family friends and their families. I've been thinking about it, and as much as it pains me to say it I think... ugh," she scowled into her bowl. "I think you're right abo-"

"Ha! Finally! I got you to say it! About what?"

"If you'd let me finish, you would know, idiot."

"Oh, yes. Sorry."

"I think you're right about needing to do a big speech to everyone all in one go about..." she gestured between the two of them vaguely, "us."

"Ah. Yes, it would save a lot of time, wouldn't it?"

"Hm, it would. And then we only have to remember things once really."

"Remind me again what the story was?" They were sat in the kitchen, the only ones up other than Y/n's mother (who was upstairs getting things ready).

"What was 8 months ago?"

"Why 8 months?" Lockwood frowned over his second mug of tea that morning.

"Because that's what I told Steph last night."

"Oh. Uh, April I think? There was that one job we went on in March, just the two of us. We could stick pretty close to the truth then if we used that as a death scare that made you realise that you couldn't possibly live without me."

"Wasn't the story that you realised you were hopelessly in love with me one day and asked me out, but I refused multiple times until eventually I gave in to get you to shut up?"

"Well, yes. But I just think that- morning, Stephanie." His smile was clearly forced, and Y/n realised with a start that she was beginning to be able to tell which of his smiles were real.

"Morning you two. Hopefully you didn't get too frisky last night after that adorable kiss under the mistletoe!"

"No, we-"

"Well, a gentleman doesn't kiss and tell, Stephanie," Lockwood smirked, and Y/n rolled her eyes at his interruption. Her cousin was lapping it up, and after a few minutes the kitchen was filled with various members of Y/n's family as they all filed in, bleary eyed and reaching for tea and coffee. They would have to figure out their story while they got ready for the party, since they definitely couldn't get details straight with so many people in the room.

"Morning, Squeak," her brother Will murmured as he sat on a stool next to her at the counter. Y/n scoffed at the nickname, but there was nothing resentful behind it. "Sleep alright?"

"Yeah, did you?" He nodded in response as he started shovelling mouthfuls of cereal in, the bowl nearly spilling over with the amount of food in it.

"Lover boy didn't give you too much grief last night, did he?"

"No, he was alright."

"Hey, if you need a break at any point today come and find me, yeah? I'll fend off any inquisitive relatives."

"Thanks, Will." He was only a couple of years older than her, being the third youngest of her brothers, but Will liked to act as though he was the oldest of all of the L/n siblings. In fairness Tom was eleven and Sam and John who were thirty and twenty-eight respectively were rarely home or in contact with her, and she didn't have as much of a bond with them. Olivia was a year younger than Y/n, but since they had shared a room growing up they had fought consistently over the years about completely irrelevant things and barely talked outside of gatherings.

"Anytime. I think me and the boys were gonna take your lover boy away at some point to give him the proper talk, so if you can't find any of us later that'll be why."

"Please stop calling him 'lover boy', Will," she grimaced, not noticing Lockwood come up behind her.

"But I am your lover boy, darling." She whipped her head around to see Lockwood leaning against the counter next to her with a soft smile.

Weird. She'd thought he would be smirking instead.

Will snorted, then tipped his bowl up to drink the last of the milk. "You two," he said after he'd finished, "are quite possibly the most sickening thing I have ever seen."

~~~

"Is a suit too much, do you think?"

"Maybe leave the tie," Y/n called out from the bathroom where she was getting changed. She had long since pulled on the burgundy dress, but not knowing when Lockwood would be in a state where she could walk out meant that she had spent the last five minutes staring at her reflection in the mirror. She was absolutely certain that multiple people would make comments about her figure, or compare her to Stephanie, or both, and she was dreading leaving the bathroom. Then there would be the comments about her job, and how being an agent was a terrible choice and she should have gone into full-time education instead.

"Y/n? You can come out when you're ready."

She sighed shakily, taking one last look at herself in the mirror above the sink before unlocking the door and stepping out.

Lockwood was in one of his usual suits, pink socks poking out from under his trousers, and he was just sorting out his cuffs when he looked up and froze. When he still didn't say anything Y/n's mind started racing ahead to all the different possibilities.

"I look awful, don't I? I'll get my jeans and jumper and get changed, give me a minute."

"No!" Lockwood shouted, his arms outstretched. He hesitated, then spoke again, and his voice was back to how it sounded when he was being an arse. "No, don't do that, just... you look fine like that and we'll be late if you get changed now."

"Oh. Alright." She frowned, wrapping her arms around her midriff as she inspected Lockwood's outfit. "Wait, don't move," she called out when he went to move. Y/n walked over to him, then reached up to straighten out his collar. It had been sticking up, so she smoothed her hands over it to right it, letting them linger on his chest afterwards. He wasn't moving, and she was quite sure that he wasn't breathing either, and when she looked up at him she realised that she was holding her breath too.

They hadn't been this close since they kissed the night before, and then they'd had an audience.

Now it was just the two of them, alone in the room.

"Y/n?" Lockwood asked, his voice slightly hoarse.

"Yeah?" Had his face moved closer? Suddenly she could make out the individual colours in his eyes and was able to count the freckles on his cheeks. He licked his lips, tilting his head slightly to brush his nose against hers, and she felt her eyes fluttering closed.

"Are you two nearly ready? Emma needs help getting food and things ready for the guests!" A loud knock accompanied the shrill voice of Y/n's Aunt Linda, and the pair of them sprang apart, clearing their throats and avoiding eye contact. Y/n marched over to the door and wrenched it open, plastering a smile on her warm face.

"We're ready! Anthony? You coming?"

"Yeah, just... I'll be down in a minute, darling. I just need to use the loo." He flashed the two women a smile, then disappeared into the en-suite. Y/n could have killed him for leaving her alone, but maybe that was for the best given what had just happened.

"Come on then," Linda said, and ushered her downstairs.

~~~

Everyone was busy doing something, and everything was in complete chaos.

"Oh, that can go over there. Tom, don't put that in your mouth, please. No, over there, Ben. Tom! Not in your mouth! You're eleven, this shouldn't be difficult! Boys, please stop mucking about and do something useful! Over there- oh for god's sake, give it here!" Y/n's mother snatched a plate of food away from her husband, rushing between the kitchen and the dining room that was through the open double doors off to the side. The whole area would be brimming with guests in less than thirty minutes, and things were still being put out. "Oh, you're here, that's perfect. Where's Anthony? Never mind, no time. Here, you can put this next to the thingy there!" Luckily Y/n had grown up with her mother's distracted way of talking and knew exactly what she meant, taking the opportunity to run away from Linda.

The next ten minutes followed the same pattern of being handed things and told to put them in various spots on the table, and Lockwood was nowhere to be seen for any of it. Y/n was starting to worry that he'd flushed his skinny beanpole of a frame down the toilet.

"Where's your boyfriend, Y/n?" Stephanie asked, sidling up in a stunning silver dress that looked as though it had been painted on her.

"In the toilet. Are you gonna help, Steph?"

"Oh, you're... wearing that again?" she asked, ignoring Y/n's tired request for help. "Didn't you wear that last year? You've put on a bit of weight since then, haven't you!" She let out a laugh, and Y/n brought her arms around her stomach self-consciously for the second time since putting on the dress. Maybe she should have ignored Lockwood and got changed anyway. At least then when people complained about her outfit she'd be more comfortable in her own body. "Well, personally I think you should get it let out a little, Y/n. You do look awfully-"

"Beautiful?" a voice questioned from Y/n's right, and after a second someone else's arms were around her waist, pulling her back against a warm chest. "She does look stunning, doesn't she?"

"Anthony," Y/n breathed when he spun her around to face him, his hands holding hers tightly. He was smiling one of those private smiles reserved for the people he cared about, small and gentle, and her heart jumped in her chest.

"I... I suppose," Stephanie said, sounding confused. It was so typical of her to not think of her cousin as anything other than a way to make herself look better. Y/n barely noticed when her cousin drifted off, or when her brother picked up his camera and took a photo of the two of them framed by the lights that had been draped over the doorframe, since all she could focus on was the feel of her hands being held by Lockwood and the way he was looking at her.

"Aww, aren't they just adorable!" Y/n's grandmother Jean said loudly, catching the attention of everybody nearby. Apparently half of the guests had arrived on time (of course the one time that happened was the time she had to pull off a huge fake dating stunt), because the kitchen and dining room were packed with people. Murmurs of assent travelled around, and Y/n could hear a few people questioning who the tall young man next to her was, and suddenly her heart was plummeting rather than jumping, and she felt sick.

"Hey," Lockwood whispered, still smiling at her. "We can do this, alright? It's only today and most of tomorrow, and then we're back in London. It's really not that long when you think about it."

He needed to stop being nice to her, because it was freaking her out.

One minute he was saying she looked fine and not seeming to care much about what she looked like, and the next he was declaring that she was beautiful and stunning with such sincerity that she couldn't help but think it was real.

"So this is the boyfriend Linda told us about, huh?" one guest asked.

"Um... yes," Y/n replied, moving closer to Lockwood and curling into his side, trying not to look too stiff and petrified when his arm came around her side. "This is Anthony." She gestured up at him, feeling increasingly uncomfortable about the fact that around thirty people all had their eyes on her, and any one of them could work out that this relationship was a farce and completely destroy any good reputation that she had amongst her family.

"How did it all start? Go on, give us the story!" somebody called out.

"Yeah, we all want to know!" exclaimed a different voice. "Y/n/n's never had a boyfriend before!"

Y/n shared a glance with Lockwood, and he opened his mouth to speak.

part 5

Tag list (I think this is everyone): @ahead-fullofdreams, @aislinrayne, @anathemaloren, @augustisintheair, @avdiobliss, @aysha4life, @briar-rose23, @curseofhecate, @dangelnleif, @edible-rat-vomit, @el-de-phi, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @fearlessmoony, @fudosl, @informedimagining, @karensirkobabes, @locklyebrainrot, @locknco, @mentallyillsodapop, @mischivana, @mitskiswift99, @mrsklockwood, @mrsyixingunicorn10, @newbooksmell777, @no-morning-glories, @novelizt, @ran23sblog, @star-of-velaris, @superpositvecloudshipper, @t2sh0, @taygrls, @tournesol77, @whenselenefallsinlove, @wordsarelife

let me know if you want to be added to/removed from the tag list! <3

#lockwood and co #lockwood & co #anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x you #lockwood x reader #enemies to lovers #fake dating #christmas

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galedekarios · 30 days

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Keeping this anon, but I hear you hate bloodweave. I was curious on your take to why.

You don't have to reply to this if it makes you uncomfortable thought!!

i'd like to preface this again by saying that this is my opinion. idc what you ship.

i've talked about this here, but i don't mind reiterating my points:

they have no chemistry, to the contrary, gale shuts him down right away during their first talk and ast*rion's manipulation attempts. i assume that gale sees right through him from the beginning. a lot of people love to hc gale as naive as or as completely taken with ast*rion, but it's the complete opposite. i imagine his many years in waterhavian society made him realise quite quickly what type of person he's dealing with. the relationship they have doesn't progress much from that. by act iii they - at best - begrudgingly tolerate each other.

they are diametrically opposed in the things they value as people as well as their morals. gale is kind-hearted, he approves of helping those in need, children, mothers, slaves, refugees, even the animals you meet in-game. he seeks to avoid bloodshed, approves of letting people who want to pay the party back for their help keep their money and belongings. he seeks knowledge and even power not for selfish reasons or a taste for the darker things, but because he seeks to better their odds of survival against a seemingly invincible foe. ast*rion meanwhile is selfish and cruel and vile. he delights in violence and bloodshed, he finds the struggle of people caught in the crosshairs amusing. he is greedy and short-sighted, seeking power for himself, no matter the cost to others.

they are completely incompatible in terms of what they look for in a relationship and a potential partner. gale wants and needs a deeper connection, a tangling of the souls, and he needs someone to be there for him unequivocally, to love him for who he is as he is. he is not taken in by someone's looks or image they present of themselves, nor does he do hate sex / endless bickering / enemies to fwb / etc.

the first things he cites for trusting the protag are their good actions (helping mirkon, helping arabella, seeking to ease the tension between zevlor and aradin), it's all those things that at first make him trust the protag and later - when they unselfishly offer him help, give him artefacts - makes him fall in love with them. sex and immediate gratification isn't important to him. sex is a component - one way in an array of ways to proclaim love.

for ast*rion, it's manipulation first and his entire romance hinges on that. his partner falling for his looks and his text book manipulation into sex. that's already where this breaks apart for me in terms of this ship because that doesn't work with gale.

add to that ast*rion's cruel remarks about gale's when he is need:

[after gale's background story reveal] You'd have us debate? That Netherese jack-in-the-box should be a blip on the horizon by now!

[after mystra's demands] I can't believe Mystra's demanding Gale sacrifice himself to destroy the Absolute. It's just a waste of a perfectly good cult that we could be controlling. And a waste of a perfectly good Gale, I suppose.

[at the stormshore tabernacle] Well? Go on, then - it's rude to keep a goddess waiting.

[after orin potentially kidnaps gale] So, we kill Gortash or Gale dies? It's not an easy call. On the one hand, killing Gortash would be fun. On the other, Gale can be very annoying. We should probably save the wizard, though. He does have his moments.

i think it's very clear, given the fact that these reactions range from act i to act iii, that he doesn't give a singular fuck about gale. contrast this to karlach's reactions, or even shadowheart's:

Karlach: That bloody freak won't get away with this. That's my wizard she took. And we're going to get him back.

(particularly karlach has many reactions like this.)

...unless you play either of them as an origin char and make the most ooc choices, i do not see how this pairing is supposed to work.

additionally, as i've discussed more in my previous post, the parallels people draw between them are shallow at best or can be drawn virtually between any of the other origin companions, or are non-existent at worst. ast*rion having a reading animation that he shares with gale (as halsin and shadowheart do too), or having their tents next to each other (like wyll and gale do in act i) isn't really enough for me.

as i've said previously, i have tried to engage with the pairing because it's sadly inescapable since people often don't bother tagging, but there's nothing except shallow ooc stuff.

#ch: gale dekarios #vg: baldur's gate 3 #series: baldur's gate #text: asks #text: personal #meta: mybg3 #bloodweave critical

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asumofwords · 1 year

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Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, 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 are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: I have been furiously writing this in my notes app on my work trip lol so please excuse any typos you may see ! I didn't want to starve you all after my birthday break. Love you all, enjoy <3

Chapter 68: Changes

When you woke the next morning, it was not to a cold and empty bed. The chambers were not missing an extra head of silver as they always were. Instead, you were woken to a kiss pressed to the side of your face, and large arms pulling you tighter against a very warm body.

You stirred in his grip, the heat making you uncomfortably stuffy. Aemond’s chest rumbled softly beneath your head as he hummed, the sound crackling as he cleared the sleep from his voice.

“Zaldristos.”

Your eyes opened, blinking softly as you came to the surface from your rest. The room was light from the sun having risen, though the maids were nowhere to be seen.

You had woken as early as Aemond always did.

Images of the night before flashed in your mind, and instinctually your legs clenched together.

Aemond felt you stir beside him, watching as your hips moved back and your thighs rubbed together. He hummed an amused, yet kind laugh.

“Not enough time for that I’m afraid.”

You grimaced, thankful your face was hidden in his neck. You sat up, pulling the sheets up to your chest in an attempt of modesty, and looked about the room. It was odd to wake up at this hour, to see the table left as it was the evening before and the chambers empty of Aemond’s two handmaids.

You turned your head to look back at your husband.

He lay on his pillow relaxed, hair tangled beneath his head, with soft waves curling the ends. You had not seen his hair wavy like that since you were young. If the air was moist on a hot day, his hair would become frizzy, small curls and waves like his mother appearing at the back of his head.

His eye was half lidded, and you were taken back to find the space where his sapphire orb sat to be empty. The gaping hole was shadowed by the light light of the morning, making it appear deeper than it was. Or perhaps it really was that deep.

You surmised that Aemond must take it out before he slept.

Sensing your gaze on the empty space where a violet eye once sat, Aemond turned his head to look at the table beside his side of the bed. In a small golden bowl, sat the sapphire eye.

His hand moved to grab it, reaching across the bed.

“Does it hurt?”

Aemond’s hand stilled, leaving the sapphire in the bowl as his hand came to rest on his stomach, long fingers rubbing the sheets between forefinger and thumb. The room was silent as you waited for his response.

Should you not have asked?

Would he be angered to be reminded of what was taken from him?

Aemond continued to watch you with his violet eye, more alert than he had been mere moments before.

“At times.” He finally answered.

You observed him as he kept his gaze on you, fingers continuing to play with the sheet. Not in anxiety, not in stress, just merely in thought.

“Does it hurt to wear it?”

He hummed.

“Do you sleep with it ever?”

The questions just kept tumbling out of your mouth.

And Aemond continued to answer honestly.

“No. It isn’t good to sleep with it in.”

“Oh.” Was all you could respond.

You continued to look down at him, sheets held to your chest. And Aemond continued to watch you in return.

His chest was pale, the lightest dusting of hair on his chest, crawling down beneath the sheets to where you knew it congregated around his pelvis. There were small pale slivers on his arms, and even some around his torso.

Tiny little scars that had healed a long time ago.

But then there was your addition. And that skin was pink, not milky.

Aemond’s hand lifted from the sheets and moved toward your face. You held still to not flinch. His thumb brushed against your bottom lip, pulling it from between your lips. You hadn't even noticed that you had been nibbling at it. He stared into your eyes as his finger rested on your mouth.

A knock at the door broke you both away from each other. His thumb sliding down your neck and onto his stomach. You kept the sheets against your chest as Aemond beckoned the maids to enter.

The girls entered the chambers, heads down as they brought food in.

They moved the scrolls and tomes across to another table, cleaning yours to place down two sets of plates, bowls with fruit, and other steaming food. When at last the two maids had set down the drinks; water, wine, juice and tea, they finally left the chambers with a bow at the waist, eyes still cast down.

Aemond finally sat up behind you, letting his hand run down your spine. Your skin prickled under his touch, hairs rising on ends, before he moved himself slowly to the side of the bed. You watched him bend forward, still seated to grab his breeches and tunic. As his spine bent forward, you gazed at the way his muscles pulled taut against his sides and shoulders. Aemond's body was built tightly from training.

When he stood, you got a generous view of his backside. His ass was toned, waist slightly coming in where he had gained strength in his core. He pulled his pants on, and as if feeling your blatant stare, turned to meet your gaze.

Sheepishly you turned away, still clutching the sheet to you as you bent to find the forgotten chemise on the floor. You pushed each arm through the holes and stood, the sheets falling back onto the bed as the soft material rolled down your body.

Upon a chair beside your side of the bed, was a deep red robe. You walked over slowly, feeling the soft silky material in your fingers, before threading your arms through the long sleeves, feeling all the more covered and cosier in the chambers. When you turned, Aemond had already pulled on his tunic and was making his way to the table. His head pulled to the side, hair falling down his shoulder as he cracked his neck.

“I am surprised you are awake so early.” He mused, pulling his own seat out to sit in as you watched from beside the bed.

You came to join him, pulling your chair out and sitting opposite him. The table was piled with the usual, except in the middle of the table was a steaming leg of ham. Your eyes locked onto Aemond.

For all your times with him, he seemed to have an aversion to pig, yet this morning, he served himself a large serving, pulling some warm soft bread on the plate beside it.

Another contradiction.

You moved to serve yourself after him, taking some ham and two eggs onto your plate. A bowl of fruit sat beside it, grapes and mango, melons of all kinds, and on the very top, as there always was, sat a bright yellow star fruit, ripe and perfectly shaped.

“I slept well.” You replied, plate full of food.

You began eating in a comfortable quiet, ever so often watching your husband across the table, finding his gaze already on you. His seeing eye was relaxed, and the sapphire orb already in its place. He would have put it in as you had robed yourself.

You took some bread for yourself, eating it with your hands.

“Are you to be with the King all day?” You asked.

Aemond put down the goblet he was sipping from and swallowed.

“I am. Though I shall break my day with you to eat again.”

He was to have lunch with you.

You nodded and gave him a lopsided smile.

“Will you be in the Gardens all day?” Aemond asked, cutting some ham delicately as he kept his eye on you.

“I will. But I don’t think I will be reading anything about Celtigar.” You grimaced at the thought, “I don’t know how you read that.”

“With great difficulty. Quite a stale Lord.”

Was that a joke?

Did Aemond just make a joke?

You let out a small huff of a laugh, though it sounded more like a grunt. Aemond’s lip twitched into a short lived smile.

He was making a joke.

His eye drifted to the star fruit in front of you.

Every day since you had arrived back in Kings Landing, there had been a star fruit waiting for you. And every time you have tried to avoid it.

But today, you didn’t.

You reached forward to grab the fruit and placed it on your plate, opting to cut it apart with your knife and fork rather than using your hands. You looked at the fruit, not daring to meet Aemond’s hopeful gaze, who watched in anticipation.

Sway him.

Make him believe.

Juice leaked from the fruit below on the plate as you cut it apart, and you slowly brought a chunk up to your mouth with your fork. As soon as the flesh touched your tongue you felt a whirlwind of emotions, predominately grief.

You thought of your father, and felt your eyes sting. You kept your head down as you chewed, blinking away the tears.

Do not cry.

You swallowed the bittersweet fruit, enjoying its taste, but dreading its reminder before you looked up at Aemond and gave him a small smile. A small thanks. A small acknowledgement that you could see he was trying. That you could see that he had done this for you.

Aemond’s lips spread widely and you could see just the barest hints of teeth at the front.

He continued on to eat his breakfast as you ate the star fruit, begging the storm to rescind within. You reached for the tea on the table in front of you to wash it down. After you poured yourself a cup, you reached for some honey to stir into it.

“Would you like some tea?” You looked at your uncle.

He shook his head softly, “No, thank you.”

You brought the tea to your lips and sipped.

Despite the generous helping of honey you had stirred into it, there was still this bitterness that lingered. You scrunched your nose slightly as you drank it, before adding more honey.

The only redeeming quality of the tea was the minty-ness which you loved.

“Whats wrong?” Asked Aemond, watching as you put two more thick globs of honey into the tea, stirring.

“Just bitter is all. Probably boiled the leaves too long.” You mused, sipping the tea again, relieved to find the bitterness masked by the sweetness of the honey.

“I will have a word to the maids.” Aemond responded, brow suddenly drawn.

You gave him a weak smile, “It’s okay. Nothing that honey cannot fix.”

You did not wish for the maids to deal with Aemond any more than they already had to.

Aemond stared at you longer, obviously deliberating whether or not to berate them for burning your tea.

“Aemond,” You began, “It's fine. I promise you, no harm done.” You gave him a wider smile, and in show, drank the rest of the tea in your cup.

The Prince nodded his head and resumed back to his eating.

It was odd to see him like this.

To see him not put together, the image of propriety. Instead you saw a new side of Aemond, which made him seem more human, if he could be that way at all.

His hair was still unbrushed, little wisps sticking out here and there, the waves more apparent the more you looked. The tunic was crumpled, and his posture was relaxed. For him anyway.

It was as if last night a layer was pulled back, revealing a part of the man you sat opposite of, that you had not seen before. And then this morning, yet another part revealed to you.

A glimpse of a man who you thought would never tire or be seen unkempt. A man who seemed more man. More natural. More the boy you knew.

It was jarring.

Aemond noticed your starring, and dabbed at his lips with his napkin.

“Would you like to eat in the Gardens at noon?”

Eat.

In the Gardens.

Your special place.

At noon.

With him?

It was as if he was courting you.

Swallowing you mirrored his movements, bringing the green napkin up to your lips to dab at the corners before responding.

“I would like that.”

Aemond gave you another soft smile, and you had to remind yourself that it was not sweet. It was not a show of kindness. He was not a changed man. He was still a kinslayer. He was still a rapist. He was still your handler.

He was still him.

A soft knock at the door came and the maids entered without being beckoned. They bowed and bid you both a good morrow, before moving to collect your plates and cutlery. Aemond stood as they moved about the chambers and came to stand beside you.

He towered over you as you looked up at him.

Your heart raced in your chest.

The man stooped down and placed a kiss atop your head, before moving to have himself dressed. You watched on as one of the maids brushed his hair and pulled it behind his head in the same simple style as he always did.

Test him.

“Aemond,” You called out across the room, watching as he lifted a hand, commanding the girl to stop as he turned to face you, “Why do you always wear your hair like that?”

Ask.

Test.

Sway.

“I have always worn it this way.”

There was an edge to his tone.

You stood, pulling the red robe around your waist for comfort as you walked over to him.

“I know. I just…” You paused, thinking of how to speak your mind without truly doing it, “Are we not as Targaryens seen to have braids? Are we not closer to Gods than all others?” You tilted your head as he watched you silently, the girl beside him shifting on her feet, “You’re a Prince, and yet you style your hair like a commoner.”

Aemond’s gaze darkened.

Fuck.

“I only wish to see my husband looking his best. Being his best.” You scrambled, anxiety shooting through you, “I sometimes think of what you would look like.”

Aemond watched you carefully as you clutched the robe against you.

Had you gone too far?

Had you ruined an otherwise perfect morning?

Had you broken the bridge you had begun to carefully build?

Aemond hummed, and to your surprise nodded, before looking at the maid, who scrambled to undo the simple style and begin to pull the sides back into an intricate and yet still simple braid down his back.

The rest of his hair laid flat beneath it, the waves brushed out, and the silky straight strands sitting as they always did.

You watched the maids hands as they worked, and once completed, Aemond turned to look at you. He stared at you for some time, still seated until finally you understood.

He was asking for your approval.

“You look handsome.” You said quietly, watching as his gaze lightened, “A Targaryen Prince.”

Aemond hummed again, nodding at the girl in approval.

She moved away, going to prepare his attire. Aemond stood, looking down at you as a small smirk wound its way on his face. His hand reached to touch your face, cupping your cheek. His head tilted to the side.

“You’ve changed.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Your heart raced in your chest.

“As have you.” You breathed.

Aemond hummed, before moving away to dress himself. The younger maid came to join you and sat you down for her to brush your hair and braid it. You struggled to keep the panic within you at bay, breathing shallowly as the girl pulled the tangles from your locks, and began to braid it behind your head.

You could feel Aemond’s eye on you, and soon enough he came to stand beside you as the girl finished.

“A Targaryen Princess.”

You let yourself smile up at him. Aemond’s hand came to touch your hair, fingers brushing the braids as he moved to place a soft kiss on your lips. You shut your eyes and exhaled through your nose. It was chaste and polite, and as Aemond stood straight, he let his hand drop back to his side.

He moved across the side table to collect two tomes and some scrolls in his arms, piling them atop each other as he spoke.

“I will meet you in the gardens when the sun has reached its peak.”

“I will be there.”

And with that he left the chambers, leaving you to sigh a breath of relief and have the girls dress you for the day.

It was another red gown with gold detailing, and the same gold jewellery around your neck and in your ears. However, the ring you held in your fist until the maids left the chambers, content with their cleaning.

You turned the gold dragon in your hand as you thought.

Was it obvious? Were you being too quick in your tests?

Was Aemond suspecting something?

You swallowed the fear and stood, moving to pick up ‘The Fourteen Flames’ from beside your bed before leaving the chambers and making your way down to the Gardens.

The Keep was bursting with life.

Lords and Ladies, servants and Knights, all walked about the Keep quickly to attend to their duties. You wondered what each and every one of them thought of the war. What they thought of the King. What they thought of your mother.

Were they loyal to the Aegon?

Did they see him for that he was?

Were they shocked by the usurpation? Or did they support it?

Did any see you as an ally? Or an enemy?

Were they happy?

You looked at the wives.

Were they free?

What were their lives like? Were they too, married to someone they hadn’t wanted? Did they find cruelty from their spouse? Or did they find love and kindness?

Did they find neither?

You knew that many of the Ladies often had tea together and gossiped, sometimes in the garden, sometimes in their own waiting rooms. Not once had you been invited, not once had you been offered a place to sit, a place to mingle, or socialise.

Not once had you been spoken to.

And not once had you wanted to.

Meaningless gossip was not something you had the patience for, and most likely the women would skirt around anything of interest, and instead set their sights on prying into your own life. Or perhaps they would be too scared. Either way, it was not something you ever wished to be a part of.

The day moved quickly, and soon enough the soft footfalls of Aemond took your eyes away from the book in your lap. When you looked up, you found him observing you. Aemond came to stand beside you and looked out at the water. You had not even noticed his change in attire today.

He wore a deep green blazer with black detailing.

Tiny black dragons were embroidered on the cuffs of his sleeves and collar. His white undershirt was crisp and barely peeked through from his neckline. His breeches were black and his usual leather boots were on his feet. The style was far more relaxed than what it usually would have been, and you got the impression that Marba had made it for him.

In his arm, resting over the top, was his usual black leather coat.

Aemond felt your gaze and looked down at you.

“You’re in green, not leathers.” You commented.

“Hm.”

Aemond placed the coat on the bench beside you. Behind him, servants came to place a plethora of cheeses, tarts and pies upon the round table, where you had once sat with Larys, to eat and before that, Helaena.

The Prince held his hand open, gesturing to the table and you stood, placing the book down beside his coat. He pulled one of the chairs back, motioning for you to sit. Walking over to him, you sat and felt his hand trail up your arm to your neck, fingers touching the chain he had gifted you.

Seating himself opposite you, he began to place a small pie and some tarts upon his plate, pouring the both of you a generous goblet of wine. You followed suit, and began to serve yourself a small shepherds pie and a lemon tart.

On the side of the table, as per usual, a pile of fruit with a star fruit atop.

You broke the ice and started with small talk, a lesson you had learnt from the Septa.

“It is a fine day today in Kings Landing.” Mimicking Larys conversation starter, “How has your morning been?”

Aemond leant back in his chair and watched you, eye flicking across your face before he responded.

“Slow. Much to do for the realm to be kept in order.”

You sipped on the honeyed Essos wine.

“What does Aegon have you doing?” You inquired curiously.

Aemond mirrored your movements and drank from his own goblet, “I fear it will bore you more than Celtigar.”

Another joke?

“I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

You were curious.

Aemond hummed.

“I am to treat with the different Lords we rule over. Ask what they desire from the King and assure them that their needs will be met. A lot of politics, a lot of negotiations, and as I am sure you already know, a lot of reading.”

“Is that why you are always writing letters?”

Aemond cocked his head and took a bite of the cut up pie on his plate. You watched him chew in silence and worried for a moment you had asked too much, inquired too deeply. That you were mayhaps, pushing your luck.

“Mostly.”

Mostly?

The conversation fizzled out, and you felt that you could not ask much more, and instead began eating together in silence, sharing quiet stares and shy smiles.

“Ao jurnegon gevie tubī.” You look beautiful today, Aemond complimented.

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks.

Why were you blushing?

“Kirimvose, valzȳrys.” Thank you, husband.

You didn’t know what to say, or how to continue the conversation.

“I am to leave Kings Landing again.”

Ice spread through your chest.

“What?” You put your cutlery down onto the table as you looked at him, “You have only just come back. For how long?”

Aemond’s lips twitched downwards and sighed.

“Six days, maybe more. Depending on if all goes to plan.”

“Where are you going?”

Aemond did not respond right away. The silence around you was suffocating, and you shifted in your seat suddenly feeling the weight of his gaze upon you.

Finally, he responded.

“The Golden Tooth, Storm’s End,” You shivered at the mention, “Oldtown…” He inhaled deeply before continuing, as if steeling himself to respond. As if he knew that the mere mention of the word would crumble the world around the both of you that had been crafted the night before.

“Harrenhal.”

You blinked.

He was right.

Harrenhal.

Alys Rivers.

Back to Alys.

You swallowed thickly looking down, anger and fear swirling circles around you like two sharks in the water, waiting for the perfect moment to strike and tear into your flesh.

“I see.”

“I go where my King commands me to.” His voice seemed strained.

“I said I see.” You replied, tongue sharp.

Aemond sighed loudly, uttering your name.

You straightened your back and forced yourself to smile at him. It stretched your cheeks painfully and felt foreign. But the smile did not reach your eyes, and although it sat prettily on your face, it was false.

You took a deep breath.

Sway.

“The King has faith in your skills to treat with these Lords,” You began, the words bitter on your tongue, “And I should be proud.”

Should be.

If you were anyone else.

“But…”

You looked at the man who was hung on your every word, slightly leant forward towards the table.

You shook your head, as if to clear the cloud of doubt, or fear, and forced yourself to smile at him again. This time only smaller. Your fingers fiddled with the ring he had given you atop the table, his eye coming to look at it briefly before back up at you.

Sew the seeds of doubt, so that the roots may take their place.

“Speak what you wish to say.” Aemond urged you, tone flat.

“Will you be seeing her?”

And for the first time that day, Aemond did not answer your questions verbally. Instead, he answered your question with his silence.

Yes.

You searched his face as you felt anger and resentment rise to the surface, and fear simmering silently in the foreground. Giving Aemond a curt nod, you dabbed at your lips, not nearly finished with your lunch, but your hunger leaving all together.

“When do you leave?”

Another non answer.

More silence.

Now.

“Right, well...”

You did not know what to say.

Aemond continued to stare at you, not offering any words of comfort.

He was leaving you for her.

And he was leaving you alone again with him.

“I bid you a safe journey and success in completing the King’s duties. I will see you upon your return.”

You stood, pushing the chair behind you, Aemond’s eye narrowing on your form as you moved to push your chair back under the table. Aemond’s mouth pursed into a pout as he looked at you, something he did when irritated.

“Thank you for the company.” You spoke, voice wavering in its tone from angry to calm.

You could barely contain yourself.

And Aemond could see it.

He leant back in his chair as he watched you walk away from him swiftly, hands holding each other in front of you so tightly, your knuckles turned white.

He made you feel like a whore.

Thats all you were to him.

You came along after Alys.

You may be wed, but he had given himself to her before you.

Did she think of you that way? Did she see you as an intruder? As a whore?

As someone who was coming between them?

You moved through the garden, leaving your book behind, promising yourself that you would return to pick it up after the had left the Keep.

Alys and Aemond spun in your mind, and you realised, much to your horror, that she may be more of a threat than you had thought. You moved through the corridors, walking past Lord’s and Ladies with your mouth set in a tight line.

Ahead of you stood Lord Larys, conversing with another Lord of the court, someone you did not recognise.

The Lord bowed as you moved to walk passed the both of them. Larys watched with his keen eyes and opened his mouth to greet you, perhaps even invite you on a walk, but you had no patience for the man.

Instead you growled at him.

“Fuck off, Larys.”

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starlingflight · 3 months

Text

Ginniversary Drabble 3

Prompt - O72 - sorry, its just that i get nervous when someone else is driving.

AO3 or read below:

“So,” Ginny drew the word out until it was almost a breathy sigh that she knew would carry to Harry's ears on the faint spring breeze. Sunlight glinted brightly off the sleek chrome surface as she stroked her finger languidly down it. She looked at him over her shoulder, letting her hair fall back and pushing her lips out into the smallest of pouts. “Were you ever planning on taking me for a ride?”

She leaned back against Sirius’ old motorbike, half-perched on the leather seat, as Harry laughed. “Your mum will kill me.”

“I’m of age,” she reminded him, quite unnecessarily; he was definitely aware. “I don’t need my mother’s permission.”

“No, but I do!” Harry protested, leaning against the wall of her father’s shed; showing no intention of moving, despite Ginny’s best efforts. “She has to love you unconditionally, I’m already on thin ice.”

“Oh please, she’ll disown me before she disowns you!”

“She already gave me a lecture about how you’re her responsibility until you finish Hogwarts,” Harry continued, a slight tremor in his voice she knew he was trying to battle into submission. “It took a lot of the enjoyment out of my treacle tart.”

“That is not true!”

They shared a look and Ginny thought the same image that was filling her mind might be in his too; a taunting smile, a jet of light from her mother’s wand, the corpse of Bellatrix Lestrange dropping sickeningly to the ground. Suddenly, the balmy spring day felt unseasonably chilly.

Ginny’s laughter was weak, but she forced it out anyway. Ghosts could only haunt you if you dwelled long enough to let them; she had become experienced in outrunning them.

“I’m practically done, only one term left to go.”

“Ninety-six days.” Harry agreed. His eyes went wide. She suspected the words wouldn’t have slipped from his lips at all if not for the unsteadiness of the moment.

Ginny quirked an eyebrow; the smile spreading across her face was genuine. “Keeping count, are you?”

“No,” Harry’s grin made it clear that this was a lie. “I know for reasons totally unrelated to you.”

“Oh? What reasons might those be?” Ginny settled herself more firmly onto the motorbike’s seat, legs dangling over the side, looking at him expectantly.

His smile remained in place, but something in his eyes turned earnest. “I’m keeping count.”

Her head fell back in laughter. The motorbike remained stationary on the ground but Ginny felt the familiar soaring in her stomach that she’d grown accustomed to accompanying a moment of complete happiness in the face of the demons that were always lurking beneath the surface.

“So, in ninety-six days I can take this thing for a spin?”

“I can take you for a spin on it,” Harry corrected.

“And what if I want to go solo?”

She didn’t. She had a very specific vision of how this was going to play out, one that involved her arms wrapped around Harry’s waist, and her face tucked against his back while the wind blew through her hair.

“No.”

Still, the speed with which he shot down the suggestion had her eyebrows raising in surprise.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, eyes shining with a vulnerability Ginny was beginning to understand was for her eyes only. “It’s just that I get nervous when someone else is driving it… it was…”

“Sirius,’” She finished for him.

This time, it was Harry who didn’t allow them to linger in the shadow of a grief too big to face on a peaceful Spring afternoon. “Anyway, is that really what you want to do the minute you finish Hogwarts?”

“Maybe,” Ginny shrugged, allowing the change of topic. “It feels fitting, doesn’t it? To finish school and do something a bit reckless and dangerous?”

Harry shook his head. “It’s not that dangerous – your dad put loads of safety charms on it when he was rebuilding it.”

Ginny refrained from pointing out that if that was the case, there was no reason for her mother to protest her going out on it now.

Instead, she slid from the seat and swiftly crossed the untidy patch of grass that separated them. “You’re playing this all wrong…” Her hand found his; Harry immediately used the contact to pull her closer. “you’re supposed to tell me how risky it is…” She rose onto her toes, letting her lips brush against the shell of his ear. “Entice me with tales of your thrilling adventures...”

When she pulled back, Harry was smirking at her, and his eyes were focused intently on her lips. “I did get this when I went round a corner too fast the other day, if that’s dangerous enough for you?”

He held up his free arm, the one not currently wrapped around her waist, revealing what she’d thought was a long, red burn across his forearm.

She’d seen it already, her eyes had been drawn to it the minute she’d got off the train, but she’d assumed it was from work, and hadn’t asked for any further explanation. The scenarios she dreamed up in her head while she was at school, and he was maddeningly out of sight, of things that could happen to him were hard enough to deal with, without adding more details to flesh them out further.

Ninety-six days. Ginny had a feeling the number was about to become something of a mantra. Ninety-six days and she’d be able to see for herself that he was alright at the end of each day.

“That looks terrible,” she said, pretending to look more closely at the minor abrasion. “I think you might be in need of a mediwitch.”

Harry’s voice lowered in response to her tone. “If you think that’s necessary…”

Ginny was already reaching behind her, nodding, as she unlatched the door to the shed. “I’ve really expanded my healing capabilities this term… if you’ll just step into my office, I think I should probably examine you, just to be on the safe side.”

#hinny #harry x ginny #post-canon #ginniversary bingo #drabble

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gavisfanta · 5 months

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Can I request a image of where aurora and her friend which is the reader are at her house cause she was staying over and Gavi comes over for Christmas and he meets her and he falls in love with her and Gavi parents and aurora help set them up

BOUND TO - GAVI

this story also has two parts so I'll add 1t here as soon as i wrote it!!!

sunnary: You're Auroras friend, you went over to eat dinner at her house at Christmas eve and you finally tell her that you had a crush on her brother. After that Aurora tries to get you close.

warning: none

Aurora welcomed you with a hug into her house

As you made your way throughout the famillar hallway you and Aurora decided to go into the kitchen to grab a drink and then head to Aurora's room.

As you walked past the livingroom you saw Aurora's brother, Gavi, sit on the black couch.

He looked up at you but in the same second you turned around, you have always been too shy to talk to him.

Well, have a real conversation with him, ofcourse you said hey, and bye, and maybe you two exchanged one or two words while eating dinner but nothing more.

Today was however something special, today was Christmas Eve and not only you but Gavi also hoped that you two would have a longer conversation this night.

You also couldn't deny that he wasn't good looking. You have known Aurora for a very long time and she was your Bestfriend since the beginning.

That led to you being close to Gavi at all times. The thought of him kissing you entered your mind many times while you sat at the dinnertable with his familly.

you kind of felt guilty that you had a crush on your Bestfriends brother, you were also scared that this little crush you had on Gavi would destroy your friendship with her.

You had to tell her somewhen you just couldn'tdecide when.

"So, are you excited to eat with us?" Aurora

pulled you out of your thoughts as you turned your head back to her from the floor.

"Oh l'm more than excited, I could die for your mom's steak, you know that!" You said and she smiled softly while taking a sip from her glass of water.

"Oh I know, and my mom does too, she made them just for you this year." Aurora couldn't help but smile at your huge grin.

You've been to their house countless times

before but her mom's steak was to die for. Her mother adored the way you ate the steak with such a big appetite and loved it too.

Luckily she's eating her because that steak is to die for." Gavi suddenly walked into the kitchen and went to get a glass of water too.

"Didn't you say that you hate that steak?" Aurora looked at you, Gavi was behind her and when she rolled her eyes at him you let out a small chuckle.

"Nah, I love it." He poked Aurora's head and then walked out the kitchen again. She gave him a heavy side eye before looking back at you. You laughed a bit at the interaction between thetwo siblings.

"So, wanna go to my room?" She asks after a few second and you nod your head.

After about an hour of you two just gossiping about your old friendgroup you two heard footsteps outside the room.

"Aurora" Gavi opened the door so suddenly it made you jump. As he saw that he scared you a bit he smiled softly at you.

"What?" Aurora asked, she didn't even realizethe small interaction between you two.

Gavi's attention was now on Aurora.

"Mom said you two should come downstairs. Dinner is ready." Gavi said and left the room, making sure to leave the door open.

"He's so annoying." She stood up and before you stood up too, you exhaled deeply. She made a weird face."Is everything okay?"

"I have to tell you something, but promise that you wont be mad at me. You said quietly and she furrowed her brows together

"Oh my god are you pregnant? She asked in a sarcastic tone and you made a face as she burst out laughing.

"Rora, this is serious." You tried to hide that smile that was creeping up your face whenever you saw her laugh.

"Okay, sorry. she cleared her throat and fixed her posture. You inhaled sharply.

"I might like Gavi but Im not sure about my feelings tho." You lowered your voice so that her family downstairs couldn't hear you talking.

She stared at you with her mouth hanging slightly open. "You like Gavi?" She started to raise her voice a bit.

"Psst, shut up." You covered her mouth with your hand. "Don't tell anyone." You removed your hand after she nodded.

"Are you mad?"

"What me? No, please, marry him. So we can be family,. Oh my god I will be the cool aunt! My god we have to plan your wedding immediately! She squealed and you shushed her by putting your hand over her mouth again

"Aurora!" You whispered aggressively and she smiled.

"Aurora come downstairs right now!" Gavi yelled from downstairs and she nodded at you.

"I won't tell anyone I promise." She told you while you two walked down the stairs side by side.

"Won't tell what?" Gavi asked, he was standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at you through his lashes.

"Nothing." Aurora flashed him a smile and you two walked over to the table.

As you all sat down by the table Aurora's mom looked at you as you smiled at the steak.

"And y/n, do you like what you see? She asked sarcastically with a huge smile.

"Oh I love it, thanks so much for making it." You smiled and started cutting the meat. You put a smaller piece into your mouth and let the salty meat flavour blend in your mouth.

"I'm really sorry but I'm just trying to make sure that it's good." Aurora's mom said again and you smile while chewing.

After you were done you looked up at her again. "It's amazing, even better then what I remembered." You smiled at her.

"I see you secured yourself a save seat at the table with that sentence." Aurora's dad said and you laughed.

"Oh I'm sure she would love to stay here, atleast for the night." Aurora winked at you and you shook your head as you gave her a look.

"Of course, she can sleep in the guestroom." Aurora's dad turned to face you.

"She can just sleep in my room." Aurora suggested and that made Gavi look up at her. You watched as his eyes scanned her face and then you also looked at her.

"You don't even have a big enough bed. Gavi said and you looked at Aurora again to see how the conversation between the two would continue.

"Oh my god right!" She gasped. "But luckily you do!" She said and suddenly you felt your cheeks heat up while you shook your head.

"Your right." Gavi said and your heart skipped a beat. "She can sleep in my bed, I'll sleep on the couch."

You couldn't help but feel somehow disappointed, there was just a tiny bit of hope that maybe just for one night you could be close to him, breathe the same air as him. Maybe even breathe in his scent and feel his presence

"Is that okay with you? Aurora's dad asked.

"Yeah, of course, thanks so much." You nodded your head and then Aurora gave you a small smile.

Oh gosh the way you loved her.

After helping her parents clean up everything. Aurora, Gavi and you sat down on the couch to watch a movie.

"Did I help or did I help?" Aurora asked you with a sly smile on her face.

"You did help." You smiled at her and she leaned back.

"What a great friend I am."

The movie was finished and you and Aurora just went upstairs, she wanted to give you clothes.

"Okay, so now we can go over to his." Aurora handed you a couple of things you needed and then you two walked over to Gavis door.

She opened it without knocking and he was there shirtless. Of course you have seen him shirtless before but it shocked you everytime.

"Hi" He mumbled and then he waited for you to come inside.

"Thanks for letting me sleep here." You mumbled and Aurora crossed her arms as she stood in the doorframe.

"Yeah, no thing. Bathroom is there, you can use whatever you want." He pointed towards the other door leading to his bathroom.

"Thanks." You mumbled and Gavi walked past you and Aurora.

"Let's go downstairs too." She nodded her head towards the door and you agreed while putting down the things she gave you on the bed.

"Aurora honey, are you gonna come with us for a quick visit at your Uncle's place? Her dad asked as soon as you two walked into the livingroom.

"Yeah sure. She agreed pretty fast as you just stood there, next to her.

"Gavi already agreed to hang out with you, or is that how he said it? I don't know." Auroras mom laughed.

"Okay, then I'll see you after we get back." Aurora hugged you and you nodded as you walked into the living room.

"Are they gone? He asked and sat up on the couch.

"Yeah, they're gone, why?" You asked and he shrugged his shoulders. You couldn't help but look at his body, it was literally perfect.

"Don't know." He muttered under his breath.

"Okay." You said and sat down next to him, looking at the tv.

"Hey Y/n, He turned to face you. "Can I ask you something?"

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spidernerdsblog · 2 years

Text

euphoria

A/N : I really couldn't come up with a good summary for this fic. Tried something new with this one also my first eddie munson fic. Let me know what you think.

Summary : beside being your drug dealer Eddie has been a good friend of yours. This one time you get high and hookup you experience pleasure so intense with feelings leaving you both confused.

Pairing : Eddie Munson x Reader

Warnings : 18+, SMUT, minors DNI, drug use, high sex, genital piercings, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it)

“Hey Eddie!” The loud knock on his door jolted him out of his sleep. It was a struggle to open his eyes and his head throbbed as Eddie sat up. After a few seconds his vision cleared, his brain finally catching up as he took in the shabby interior of his trailer.

“I know you’re in there Munson! Open the fucking door!” more pounding on the door. Eddie huffed and almost tumbled out of his bed in his half awake state reaching the door and wrenching it open.

“Jesus christ woman! People are trying to sleep in here” He squinted at the bright daylight outside.

“It's four in the afternoon.” you said, shoving past him and walked inside his trailer.

“Well I had band practice and then stayed up playing dnd last night. It was a long game.” he grumbled behind you, closing the door.

“Right, your little babysitter club.” you never understood his obsession for this game that he played with a bunch of highschool kids. He once tried to explain the game to you but it went right above your head. Also you didn’t care as long as he gave you your happy pills.

To be clear you weren’t a drug addict but when your mother leaves you with a very absent rich asshole father who barely acknowledges your existence unless he has to maintain his image and show the world how loving and caring father he is, parading you at those business parties and charities. So yeah you had abandonment issues, the feeling that nobody loved you, ate you up and you wouldn't mind a reprieve from those feelings even if it’s for a short moment of time, kind of recreational you know.

Eddie decided to ignore your jab as he asked, “What are you doing here? Weren't you supposed to be with your boyfriend, Connor?”

“Ex-boyfriend.” You informed. It was Connor who had introduced you to Eddie at one of the parties he threw last summer before you all went off to college. ‘He is a freak but he got the good stuff’ he had told you. But the funny thing is Eddie was the most compassionate and friendly person you’ve come across in your life. Whenever you visited him for a new batch half of the time he would talk you out of doing hard drugs— how did that help in his income from this side business you had no clue if he went on advising potential customers not to buy drugs. But soon you realized you just needed someone to talk to, someone who would listen to you without any judgments and Eddie was the one in his weird, easy going, funny way.

“Oh Y/N… ” his face filled with concern.

“Yeah caught the bastard fucking Clarise in the bathroom at the party last night.”

“That's terrible. Are you ok?”

“I will be if you just stop asking me questions and give me the pills.” you gritted through your teeth.

“I can't.” much to your surprise he sounded serious.

“What? Why?”

“No Y/N, go home and let me sleep.” he strolled back to his bedroom.

“C’mon I have got the money.” you followed him while pulling out a couple of dollars from the pocket of your jean shorts.

He took a look at you and sighed. “Y/N you're upset right now I think you should talk this out I'm here for you know.”

“Oh cut the emo crap.” you bristled.

“It's not good for you to rely on them.”

“You started a side hustle or something? Dr. Munson free therapy Mon to Fri.” you knew it was a cheap shot but still you laughed.

Eddie just shook his head disappointedly. “It’s still a no.”

It angered you even more who was he to make you feel guilty, you don’t need saving. “OK fine! I'm gonna take it myself then!”

Eddie watched you search his room frantically ransacking his drawers only to find them filled with junk. He has been a drug dealer for a while now and seen people waste away just to get numb and honestly he never bothered as long as he got paid. But when it came to you he couldn’t do it. His inner conscience won’t let him. At the beginning he had sold you a few pills but now he always talked you out of it. Eddie saw you as this lively, happy soul who is stuck in a lonely, unforgiving world. Being himself labeled as the freak of the town for having different views about life he understood you. He loved talking, spending time with you and a small part of him was happy to hear that you dumped that asshole Connor’s sorry ass.

“Where is it?!” you demanded.

“I don’t have any at the moment trust me. The guy whom I got the supply from is lying low after a police raid.” he explained calmly. “And even if I had I won’t give you anymore.”

“Why?” you said weakly.

“You're my friend and you can't just escape your feelings when you are hurt.”

“Well I don't want to feel so just give me the pills!” you yelled.

“OK, ok why don't we sit down a bit and take some calming breaths.” he made you sit down on his bed as he took the spot beside you. “I know you’re angry.”

“God I'm so angry at everybody! My mom, my dad, Connor, you...” a stray tear slid down your cheek as you wiped it off aggressively with your hand.

“I know, I know…” he murmured, brushing a soothing hand down your hair. “For what it's worth, he didn't deserve you. You were too good for him.”

“Why are you so good to me?” you rested your head on his shoulder, picking on a loose thread of your shorts.

“As I said before, you're my friend, Y/N. I care for you.” he said sincerely and your stomach did a flip, unable to stop imagining what it would be to have him as your boyfriend, so caring and supportive.

“So how is your next song coming along?” you asked, your mood quite chipper now.

“It’s still a work in progress. Steve heard the initial notes and said it sounds really good already.”

“Ah Steve…” you sighed. “That's the guy you have a crush on right?”

“No.” Eddie scowled.

“Admit it you want to fuck him.” you chuckled. “Whenever you two are together in a room the tension is so thick.”

“Oh god I'm going to need something strong.” he got up abruptly as you fell on your side on his bed giggling.

“What? If Robin was here she would agree with me.” you propped yourself on your elbow. “I understand he's steve harrington everyone wants to fuck that guy. I would do him anytime given a chance.”

“Well I don't.” he muttered, opening a cabinet and taking out a small pouch.

“Uh huh.” you nodded mockingly and noticed the bag of pot. “Hey! How come you can smoke weed to avoid conversation but I can't?”

“It's medicinal.” he shrugged nonchalantly.

He came and sat down on the bed as you watched him deftly roll a perfect joint filled with some strong smelling dope. Eddie lit the tip and took two very long hits before you snatched it right out of his hand.

“Give me that!”

He made a low sound in protest as you put it between your lips breathing in slow and deep, but it was such a hot hit that you stopped inhaling after a couple seconds. Eddie was smiling at the stunned look on your face.

"It's good, isn't it?" he grinned. You just nodded exhaling.

You went to hand him the joint but he didn't take it. "Take another hit," he said. "Proper joint smoking etiquette includes taking two hits before you pass it." You rolled your eyes and took another drag, exhaling curls of smoke from your mouth.

Unfortunately the joint was out. Eddie grabbed his lighter and said, "Put the joint to your lips and I'll light it. Start inhaling when I tell you." he lit the tip, waited about three seconds, then said, "Now!"

You inhaled deeply forcing a lungful of thick hot smoke down your throat. It burned like hell, but you smiled as you exhaled the thick dark smoke in the air. You were already starting to feel it and took another hit before handing the joint back to Eddie. His hand touched yours briefly as he took the joint. He took two equally impressive hits.

You marveled at how long he could hold the smoke in his lungs. It seemed impossible that someone could hold their breath so long. The joint was almost at the roach, Eddie noticed that too. With his gaze fixed upon you he said, “come closer.”

You instantly knew what he was suggesting. It wasn’t like you haven’t done shotgunning before, it was the thing that happened after that. You and Eddie had hooked up. Even though it was a one time thing the sex was mindblowing. You were high just like now and the barbell piercing he had on his cock just amplified everything. You never came so hard and wouldn’t mind a repeat performance of that night. So you scooted closer to him.

He got one last good hit and cupped the back of your neck. Leaning forward his lips touched yours gingerly as you parted your own. He released the smoke he was holding in and relaxed against you, his tongue sweeping across your lips, conquering every inch.

It took so little time for you to lick into his mouth, you haven’t any idea how long you were craving for the taste of his mouth until now. And there was the added taste of the smoke, rich and fragrant stroking your taste buds, filling you with delight at the intoxicating aroma and the softness of Eddie's mouth.

Eddie pulled back grinning, “I bet you've never smoked weed that good before.”

“No,” you rasped, “I haven't.” you stared at his lips before meeting his brown eyes which grew darker. You lifted your hands to his face and let your fingers trace his jawline and cheeks before you slid them through his long hair and pulled him in for another kiss.

Eddie groaned and pulled you on his lap. His hand gripped your hip as his tongue invaded your mouth, tasting me. His kiss was dominance and fire, and it set you aflame in unexpected ways. The way your tongues teased each other and your lips perfectly molded together felt as if this was more than a chance meeting.

Eddie’s hand slid up from your hip, stroking along your ribs, spreading even more fire in its wake. Your nipples puckered against your bra. Eddie’s fingertips stroked the underside of one breast before his thumb brushed over your nipple. Heat and wetness pooled between your legs as you let out a soft whimper.

Eddie’s other hand popped open the button of your jean shorts before it slipped in, stroking over my slit. His hand slid into your panties, two fingers pressing lightly against your clit. He sucked your lower lip into his mouth when his fingers moved up and down your folds, scissoring you until every nerve ending in your pussy awakened. You rested your head on his shoulder, nose brushing against the skin of his neck. His skin smelt surprisingly good, like soap and something masculine.

Your breath came in short pants, your body growing tense as a knot wound tighter inside your stomach with every stroke from Eddie’s fingers and he was the only one who could release it. He gathered the wetness between your folds and spread it over your clit, circling it. His breathing was coming faster now too. He never took his eyes off you as he drove you higher. The sensations became overwhelming, the knot ready to burst.

“Yes,” Eddie rumbled, his eyes appearing black in the darkness, like they belonged to the devil you’d made a pact with.

He pushed two fingers into you and twisted them. You sucked in a sharp breath, your body screaming for release. Eddie pumped his fingers faster and you exploded, head tilting back in ecstacy.

You looked down at him with a dazed expression as he watched you coming down from your high leaning against the headboard, lips tugged into a lazy smile.

“Tell me, what do you want, sweetheart?” his voice a soft murmur, his fingers drawing soothing circles on the exposed skin of your hips. Need pulsed through your body as you said breathlessly. “Fuck me…I need you to fuck me.”

Eddie just smiled and reached out to tuck a lock of your hair behind your ear. “Take whatever you need, Y/N. I'm all yours.”

You crashed your lips as your hands worked on unbuttoning his jeans and then slipped your hand inside his boxers to pull out his hard length. The barbell piercing at the head of his cock gleamed in the dull light in the room. You stroked his length firmly, a bead of precum forming at the tip and you smeared it with your thumb. Your hand touched cool metal at the base of his cock and then you looked carefully to find another barbell piercing.

“You got another one?” you blinked with surprise.

“Surprise?” he said. “The ladies love it when it rubs against their clit, added stimulation.” he added smugly.

You smirked and stood up to slide down your shorts and panties. Tossing them aside you lowered yourself on him. Eddie teased your clit with his piercing until you were panting softly. Then he notched the tip of his cock to your entrance. You slowly sank down on his thick length and sucked in a sharp breath at the feeling of fullness. The cold metal of the piercing pressed against your clit like he’d said. You began to roll your hips in slow figure eights.

Eddie’s hand wandered up to your breasts tugging the neckline of your tank top along with your bra.

Your tits bounced free and he rolled your nipples between his fingers. You moaned, digging your nails into his chest and twisted your hip, driving his cock deeper. You leaned forward, kissing him fiercely. His piercing rubbing against your clit deliciously.

“Oh…” you breathed against his mouth. “This feels amazing.” Eddie guided your hips as you bounced up and down his cock. Your mouth fell open, body shaking overwhelmed at your orgasm hit you out of nowhere.

Eddie let out a grunt and gripped your ass cheeks flipping you over and slammed into you. With every thrust he was hitting that delicious spot deep inside you as he chased his own orgasm. Your eyes fluttered, wanting to lower and sink even deeper into the sensation. He held your gaze as he continued to fuck you with deep precise strokes.

Your inner walls clenched around him and he changed his angle slightly so that the piercing at the base of his cock stroked your swollen clit while the piercing at his head grazed against your g-spot. The dual sensation made you feel euphoric that no other drug can give you in this world. You arched into him as pleasure took hold of you. You cried out, your nails clawed at his back as you came.

Eddie continued rutting into you, his hair falling like a curtain around his face. He captured your lips in a soft delicate kiss and you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer. His pace faltered as he spilled his warm release inside you. He pulled away as he looked at you, like really looked at you. His gaze so intense and in that moment you knew something shifted between you two but you weren’t ready to talk about it, not tonight.

“I feel so tired,” you feigned a yawn. “I think I’ll sleep in here tonight.” you turned to your side pulling over the covers and closed your eyes.

“Ok.” Eddie needed to gather his own thoughts as well so he decided to give you space and got off the bed. This conversation can happen some other time.

..................................................................................

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #joseph quinn #joseph quinn smut #joseph quinn x reader

1K notes · View notes

starryalpacasstuff · 5 months

Text

Last Twilight Ep 8; Thoughts

We're at the 2/3 mark of the show, and the episode honestly felt surreal. Last Twilight is continuing to parallel iconic moments of Bad Buddy, this time with running away and scenes on the beach. However, it never feels like it's boring or repetitive, because while the parallels are clear, the shows are also distinct. It's clear that the characters in the two shows are pushed by different things.

I was yelling at the screen when I realized Mhok and Day were going off on their own, because ditching Night = recipe for disater (he'd obviously call Day's mom!?!)

But then this happened, and I had to pause and take a moment, now that my fears had been resolved. We know so little about Night, and yet so much. Understanding his character requires a lot of reading in between the lines, and until we know what happened between the brothers, the picture won't be complete. I did, in fact, breathe a huge sigh of relief when I realized that Night was in on it, because while Mhok and Day are capable of handling themselves, if Day's mother found out, we all know that it wouldn't make for a pretty situation.

Which calls in something else I'm curious about. Is Day really naive enough to believe that they can ditch Night with no consequences? Or is there some trust left in Day, that Night will let them go. Has he figured that Night is likely in on it, and is choosing to remain quiet?

There's a number of possibilities, and I'm curious to see how it plays out. It's highly likely that his anxiousness to get away from Night, and trust in Mhok meant that the though simply hasn't crossed his mind too.

On that topic, if we rewind to the beginning of the ep

I just love how much Day trusts Mhok. It's obvious, but I felt it was worth pointing out. Mhok tells Day that there's no one there, and Day accepts. Mhok having played the caregiver role for Day for so long is definitely the main reason for this, and it's beautiful to watch.

Speaking of transparency in their relationship, can I take a moment to talk about just how much I loved this scene? Mhok was upset about the prank, and Day wasn't taking it seriously. Mhok could have clammed up, creating tension between the two. It would even be expected, given his role as Day's caretaker and the 'put Day first' mentality that we've seen so far. But he doesn't, and oh my god, this calls for aplause. He calls Day out on it, and gives Day a taste of his own medicine. And, this is something that perfectly shows that things are not the same now that they're boyfriends. Mhok gets more agency, more say, because he's one half of the relationship. I've said thia before about the subversion of faen fatale, and I'll say it again; Last Twilight has a very strong identity as a show, and a very strong grasp on what it's doing. Time and time again, it has shown us opportunities that it could have taken to create drama, and veered in the opposite direction entirely. The subversion is intentional, and clearly so.

While we're talking about characters standing up for their feelings..

I feel like someone should create a masterpost of everything we know about Night, and we can add on every bit of new info we get and compare it to the rest, because everything tells us so little yet so much. It seems that Night is still willing to push against Day's hatred. But of course, he's more willing to allow Day to live happily, as we see him letting the two go off on their own. It seems that every time Night does something for Day, he prefers to do it anonymously, such as showing up to the race. We've seen that he's accepted the villain image. Is this why he seems keen on upholding that villain image in front of Day, while helping him behind his back? P'Aof isn't one to write conflict for small or petty reason, so I'm starting to be more and more convinced that Night genuinely did something wrong to Day. He regrets it, but he also knows he can't take it back or heal their bond, so he's simply keeping the status quo, helping his brother behind his back, while only allowing himself to be selfish on occasion, like this one. I'm so intrigued by Night and his mannerisms, his actions.

Back tracking a bit again, (this is a mess)

This scene was a pivotal moment. I've previously mentioned that Day was living in a fantasy, and I've also briefly touched on Day's sence of normalcy in a post, how he was relying on things to go back to 'normal' and how he's been able to build a new normal with Mhok. He'd get the transplant eventually, and things would go back to 'normal'. Mhok helped Day redefine his 'normal', but the hope that his sight would return one day was still present. Here, it's shattered. Up till now, Day was living his life as if he were biding his time till he got his eyesight back. Now he's going to be living as if he has to wrap up a lifetime of memories in three months. He's feeling as though time is running out.

I think this is one of the first times I've seen Day talk back to his mom, which is fair, because it's ingrained in asian kids to not talk back to your elders. Day is, in the end, a rich kid. On top of that, he has a single mom. 1+1=2, Day didn't get to see much of his mom growing up. @waitmyturtles talked about this a bit in a post, mentioning how Day's mom's career always came first. She didn't have time to attend a game because she had an event, she couldn't come to school for something because she had a meeting, etc etc. (I don't know how much of an age gap there is between Day and Night, but anyone thinking that Night had to fill in on occasion..?) He's making a jab at his mom, that she's far to busy to be there with him for stuff, and she's far too overprotective to let another be there with him for it. Again, typical rich family dysfunction. Day and his mother's dynamic will be an interesting thing to watch as the episodes progress, that's for sure.

Alright, onto the last one

When I'm not sure if there's a deeper meaning behind a scene, music is always a great clue that there is something greater behind it. As episodes progress, we've seen Day slowly reassimilate himself in society. This is such an important theme, because being a part of and engaging with society is a huge part of asian culture. I view this dance as a sort of culmination of the progress that Day has made over time with Mhok. Would the Day at the beginning of the series have danced with a stranger at a party while having worse eyesight that before? No way in hell. Also, paying respect and interactling with older people is, again, a HUGE part of asian culture, so this was essentially the perfect way to depict this culmination. When the first episode had aired, @twig-tea had first introduced in a post the theme of liminality in Last Twilight. One of the definitions given was "of, relating to, or being an intermediate state, phase, or condition : IN-BETWEEN, TRANSITIONAL". Since Mhok entered Day's life, he's been in a liminal (transitional) state, as he moves closer to rejoing society. In this scene, we see what I'd like to say is the end of this liminal state. Of course, this isn't to say that Day is no longer in a state of liminality. Liminality presents itself in various ways throughout the show. This is simply a culmination of Day and Mhok's efforts to reintegrate Day into society. While the battle is far from over; disable people often find themselves outcasted and removed from society; it's a sign of hope, a sign of growth, a sign that their efforts have a result.

#every week these posts keep getting longer #and i dont know what to do about it #this show is brilliant #last twilight #last twilight the series #last twilight meta

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thelunarfairy · 8 months

Text

Okay, let's talk about something random

Omg, it's so embarrassing >.<

So, it's been a while since I created this account and I've already gained some followers, thank you all for that :3 (it means you like the crazy things I post)

So I wanted to talk a little about myself (even though I think no one cares XD)

Ok, I'm going to be serious now XDDD

I created this account because I really like JSHK and I wanted to talk about some crazy ideas or theories about the series and I felt welcomed here ^u^

I want you to know that a lot of things I post are just some crazy ideas that I occasionally have and that it's okay if you disagree, be kind S2 or if you agree I'll be happy if you want to talk to me about it :3

In fact, I hope you feel free to talk to me if you want, whether with an Ask or a message, I love talking about JSHK, if you also love and like crazy theories you can come talk to me if you want.

Don't take the things I say here too seriously, about the theories specifically, I may change my mind in the future or it's just crazy in my head, the most important thing for me is not to be right, but to have fun!

I'm trying to unravel the story in the most entertaining way I can, so it's okay with me if I'm wrong about the things I post (because no one other than Aidairo knows what's actually going to happen) XDD

Anyway, that's it.

Some other information that I don't know if you're interested in but I'll leave it here.

I am a girl

I'm Brazilian, I'd like to make that clear because if there are any Brazilians who also want to talk to me, feel free! (Sou brasileira, gostaria de deixar isso claro porque se tiver algum brasileiro que também queira falar comigo sinta-se a vontade!)

I speak English and Portuguese

I post randomly, but I usually post a lot because I tend to create theories and crazy ideas out of completely nothing.

Anyway, that's all, if you've read this far, thank you very much for giving me your attention :3

Bye bye~

Index

THEORIES:

Amane's Darkness

Could it be that in the time of Amane

Amane's past

The house and the fire

Hanako-kun's Big Puzzle

Predictions of the tragedy

These hands…

The Cursed Seal

ANALYZES:

The monster inside Hanako

One of the mysteries of the Yugi twins

Hands on the walls

The irony of life and Hanako's karma

The forecast

Did you notice?

When you remember that at some point, Hanako will have to say goodbye to Tsukasa again…

Amane's disease

"Red Thread of Fate"

Okay, let's talk about Mitsuba

Amane's possessiveness and insecurity

Natsuhiko and the mysterious door

The relationship between Tsukasa, Yashiro and Amane

Tsukasa's relationship with the red house

Yugi Tsukasa's mother

Sixth sense or predestined death?

Oh my, Yashiro is interested in a lot of boys

Yashiro and Tsukasa's Relationship

YUGI TWINS

The melancholy love of the Yugi twins

Did Tsukasa do this?

Hanako's mental age

I wish I could hear his voice

FINDINGS:

Hanako's boundary

Tsukasa's toys

ASKS:

About Yorishiro 1

Spelling errors and pronouns

Twin stars 1 || Twin stars 2

Tsukasa’s emotions 1 || Tsukasa's emotions 2

Tsukasa's parents

Sumire

Tsukasa's kiss

Hanako's feeling seeing tsukasa for the first time

Nene-chan and I are the same!

Could Hanako have done something to stop Tsukasa's kiss with Nene?

The mysterious hand 1 || The mysterious hand 2

Tsukasa image analysis

Tsukasa's behavior

Who do you think is gonna confess first? Hanako or nene?

Hanako's duty

HANENE:

A post about Hanene

Yashiro's wish and Hanako's self-control

Hanako's cute side

Nene ankles

She was exposed

Does Amane remember?

Hanako and Yashiro's tragic love

Reblog

Hanako-kun's jealous punishment

Hanako's look of desire and love

I still want to see this date, right Aidairo?

The insecurity

Hanene reblog

It was the first time a girl said she liked me, it made me happy…

The active Hanako and the passive Amane

Hanene reblog 2

The moment when Hanako fell in love with Yashiro

Details

But what about Amane and Yashiro's date?

Zombie Hanako and his wish

I know what you did here huh, Aidairo

Hanene reblog 3

This scene

RANDOM:

The invisible ghost

Yashiro Nene priorities

Natsuhiko's love potion

A compilation of jealous Hanako-kun

Tsunene reblog

Tsukasa reblog

Hanako reblog

Yugi twins

Okay, it's cute but

Just a compilation of random Hanene moments

Kou reblog

Just a compilation of random photos of Tsukasa

Just Tsukasa and Mitsuba being happy friends

Amane's Possessiveness reblog

Just a bunch of random photos of two idiots (Kou and Mitsuba)

Just Hanako-kun blushing or embarrassed

Nene and Aoi

A funny detail about the hamsters' space wars

Backstage 1

A tiny Tsukasa trying to put a birthday hat on top of his hat

Just a little ghost and an exorcist boy being best friends

Strangely similar….

"We're the same"

Karma

Hanako and Tsuchigomori

Just Tsukasa having his patience tested

I've been thinking (Tsukasa and Hanako)

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bella-rose29 · 4 months

Text

Deck the Halls (and not your partner) - part 10

gingerbread competition (part 2)

Word count: 4.3k

Warnings: SOMEONE GETS BITCH-SLAPPED, swearing, references to body image issues, references to eating disorders (very vague but still), uhh idk if there's anything else tbh

series masterlist

(the second photo will make sense when you get to the end I promise)

“There’s forty-five minutes left on the timer!” Ben called, making sure that everyone in both the kitchen and the adjoining dining room could hear him.

Shrieks of joy and muttered curses split the air, covering up the music they had playing softly in the background, but Y/n and her Gramps remained mostly silent. Both were working hard to decorate and join together the many pieces of gingerbread they had laid out before them (which they had managed to put in the fridge for a little while to cool them down so that the icing didn’t melt), and currently Y/n was holding the walls of their building together as her Gramps glued them with icing. “There,” he said as he pulled the piping bag away, sitting back slightly after being hunched in his chair in concentration. “Right. Let’s put the roof on next, and then you can start doing all that fancy decorating you normally do.”

She could feel Steph watching her while she worked, a smug smile visible on her cousin’s face even out of the corner of Y/n’s eye, but she paid her no mind. Whatever happened, she wouldn’t get the better of Y/n and Anthony, and she had to hope that her family sided with the two of them and not Steph. Besides, she and her Gramps had to win this competition, just so that she could hold it over Anthony’s head for the rest of their lives, and that required total concentration.

Unfortunately, if she so much as glanced directly in front of her, she was met with the sight of his hands.

He was holding a piping bag like her Gramps was, tracing the lines of the gingerbread that he and Nana Jean had baked and were now bringing together, and she had a sneaking suspicion that he had sat opposite her deliberately because he now knew how much she looked at his hands. She flushed at the memory of him leaning down to whisper in her ear not too long ago, and cleared her throat as she returned her attention to her own gingerbread.

“OI!” Sam shouted from the kitchen, making her startle and nearly drop the pieces of gingerbread she was holding. Y/n whipped her head up to see Will cackling at the icing that now covered their brother’s face. “IT’S MEANT TO GO ON THE GINGERBREAD, YOU IDIOT!” Y/n’s mother intervened before Sam could chuck the dry icing sugar at Will in retaliation, and Y/n shook her head with a chuckle. She heard Anthony huff a laugh from his position across the table, and she looked up in time to meet his gaze. His smile was blinding, to the point she wanted to ask if she could borrow his sunglasses, and she realised that she could watch him smile all day and not get bored. Before she would have scoffed and told him to stop being so painfully fake, but there was nothing but true happiness in this smile. Normally his real smiles were small; the opposite of the ones he gave clients, because he was attempting to be somebody they could trust.

“What?” he asked, voice quiet but filled with amusement.

“Nothing,” she shrugged. “You just look happy, is all.” His resulting blush made her stomach flip.

“Oh.”

“You are so red right now, I hope you know that,” she mused, turning back to her gingerbread. Her Gramps had put the roof on, and it was safe enough to let go.

“Funnily enough I can feel how warm my face is, but thank you for pointing it out, Schmoopie.”

“Anthony.” Her tone held a warning.

“Sorry.”

“What did I say about calling me Schmoopie?”

“Sorry.”

She was smiling regardless.

~~~

“Ten minutes!”

Anthony wasn’t sure who had called the time, but Nana Jean didn’t seem to even notice. She was clearly on a mission, decorating the gingerbread house with pure concentration and very steady hands, and although he couldn’t actually see Y/n’s design (she’d put up some sort of makeshift wall a little while ago, claiming she didn’t want any cheating. Anthony thought it was more because she couldn’t stop looking at his hands) he had a good feeling that she wouldn’t be winning. He hadn’t been lying when he’d talked about his skills in the kitchen (even if it had come out sounding more like he was talking about his skills in the bedroom), and Jean had complemented his icing multiple times, making him feel warm inside.

Steph passed behind him and he tensed, waiting for her to attack in some way, but she kept on walking and he let out a shaky breath. He wasn’t scared exactly, but knowing that in a very short amount of time everybody in the house would know that he and Y/n had been lying to their faces was making his heart beat a little faster. When Nana Jean smiled at him again after he finished decorating another section of the house he realised that he wasn’t scared that they would find out, but more that he would lose the family he had made here. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to handle them reacting negatively and wanting him out of their house and lives, and while he would have Y/n and his friends back in London he would always feel something missing when he thought about this place.

“Alright, nearly done now. Those losers won’t know what’s hit them!” Nana Jean whispered gleefully, triumph already shining in her eyes. Anthony chuckled, readjusting the piping bag in his grip and holding back a snort when he caught Y/n staring again. “She really cares about you, you know.” He looked back at Jean, surprise clear on his face at the change in her tone. “I’ve not seen her this happy since she was a little girl, back before she went to London and saw the world for what it was.” He blushed again for the millionth time that day at Jean’s words, and she laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Thank you. For bringing my granddaughter back to me.” He went to answer, but emotion made speaking difficult. God, he really hoped that Jean took Steph’s news well.

“I’d do anything to see her happy,” he choked out in the end, doing his best to not sound too strained. Knowing how differently she acted around her family compared to how she acted back at Portland Row, he realised that Jean could see it too. Steph and Linda had royally fucked with Y/n’s head, and here was her grandmother telling Anthony that he was undoing their cruelty and being her saving grace.

If either of them tried anything when Steph broke the news, he knew that he would not hesitate to drag them through the dirt for what they’d done to the girl he loved.

~~~

“Five! Four! Three! Two! One! Time is up! Everybody step away from your gingerbread!” Ben shouted, looking up from his watch. He and Olivia would judge the creations, and crown the winners for the year. So far Y/n and Will had the winning streak of five years in a row, but now they were on separate teams the title was free for anyone to take.

Well, not anyone. Steph and Linda had barely bothered with theirs, and most of it was still dough since they’d mixed the wrong proportions of ingredients and had refused to get their hands dirty. Looking around at her competition, Y/n felt confident that her and her Gramps’ house would win, even if she couldn’t actually see Nana Jean and Anthony’s because of the partition she had put up.

Her sister and father went around the room, tasting different gingerbread pieces and writing notes in their little notebooks, doing their best to remain neutral. They struggled when they got to Steph and Linda’s house though, and Olivia outright refused to even touch their uncooked gingerbread.

“Anthony and Nana Jean, this looks incredible!” Y/n’s father said as he approached their end of the table. Nana Jean snuck a smug look towards Y/n’s Gramps, and he just smiled in response, taking the barrier away so that the two of them could see what their respective partners had made.

She had to hand it to them, they’d done an excellent job.

It was a classic cottage-style house, complete with tiled roof icing patterns and carefully placed sweets acting as decoration, and given that Anthony had done most of the icing (and she’d seen his drawings on the thinking cloth) it was surprisingly neat. Now it was his turn to send a smirk in her direction, and Y/n was entirely professional and mature in her response and stuck her middle finger up at him.

Her father and Olivia tested the gingerbread, then scribbled down some notes in their books (Y/n was sure she could make out multiple exclamation points in her dad’s notes), and suddenly she could feel her heart beating much faster in her chest. Nana Jean was known for her gingerbread recipe and how good it was, and Y/n and her Gramps would have to beat them on presentation if they wanted to win. She wasn’t sure they would pull it off given how neat and generally amazing Anthony and Nana Jean’s house looked, and she swallowed thickly.

Ben and Olivia rounded the end of the table to stand on Y/n’s left, and she wiped her sweaty hands on her trousers. Her Gramps didn’t look worried in the slightest, and when Nana Jean peered over the table to get a look at what her opponents had done he let out a chuckle.

“Is that… is that our house?” Olivia asked as she stared at the creation. It had taken a lot of careful measuring from her Gramps, and then more measuring after the gingerbread had been baked, and then a lot of careful glueing and decorating, but the two of them had made a near exact replica of the house they were currently all stood in.

“Uh… yeah. We thought it would be nice to do, you know?” Y/n replied, glancing back at her Gramps. He was too busy wriggling his eyebrows at Nana Jean in triumph to notice.

“Well it looks perfect, love,” her dad said, and he quickly wrote something down in his book. Olivia nodded in agreement and clicked her pen to scribble down her thoughts, and then they were taking up the pieces of gingerbread that were separate from the main house to try it. Y/n held her breath, and beside her she felt her Gramps tense for the first time since the judging started. “Tastes perfect, too,” her father grinned, finishing the piece off and writing up the rest of his notes.

“Holy shi-”

“Language, Olivia,” her mother warned.

“Sorry, it’s just really good gingerbread.”

“So,” Linda piped up, “when do we find out who won? I’d like to go and sit down somewhere… clean, if you don’t mind.”

“Liv and I will have a chat while you guys clear up in here, and we’ll see you in the living room when you’re done?”

“Sounds good!” Steph exclaimed, and everybody looked at her in confusion at her chipper tone. She was already moving to tidy up, and Emma frowned at her niece’s actions. “Come on, we need to know the results!”

“Okay… but you know that you definitely haven’t won, right?” John said, staring at Steph while she moved over to the sink to start washing up.

“Oh, I know! It’s just that I’ve remembered something I wanted to tell everyone, but I thought it would be better to do it after the winner is announced!” Y/n felt her heart skip a beat or two in her chest, and she locked eyes with Anthony.

“Right… well, okay,” Emma said, and she started putting things in the dishwasher. “You two go and discuss then; we’ll tidy up.”

~~~

It took them seventeen minutes and thirty-two seconds to clear up, and Y/n knew that because she was checking her watch every ten seconds or so to find out how long they had until Steph fucked everything up.

Anthony came and walked next to her as they headed into the living room, and his hand brushed over her back gently in reassurance. “We’ll be alright, darling. The snow’s melting anyway, so it shouldn’t be too long until we can go home if it all goes wrong. Not that it will, I don’t think. Nobody likes Steph and everybody loves us, so we’ll be alright, yeah?”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. Ugh, I hate this. I just wish she’d do it now and get it over with.”

“I need to be crowned winner first, darling,” he teased, sitting down on their loveseat. Y/n made sure to not bother with being careful about crushing him when she sat down on top of him, and snorted at the groan he let out when she did so.

“Aw, Schmoopie, it’s adorable that you think you’ve beaten me.” She reached back and pinched his cheek, laughing when he glared at her.

“Right!” Ben declared, moving into the centre of the room. Olivia held the plastic crowns that they had bought from a cheap fancy dress shop years ago, back when the competition had first started. They had to be put back in the fancy dress box when the day was over, but the winners got bragging rights for a year. “In third place!” They didn’t bother with placing everyone since nobody really cared much about that, and Y/n saw her family all sit up a little bit more in their seats while they waited to hear who had placed where. “Drum roll please… Will and Sam! Although they did end up with considerably more gingerbread mix on them than everyone else, their design of St. Paul’s Cathedral was ambitious and mostly executed!” Y/n thought that was a generous description of the gingerbread building that her brothers had made, given it had fallen over after about three minutes.

“It was a very close call between first and second place, with our two teams being Anthony and Nana Jean, and Y/n and Richard!” Olivia chimed in, and Y/n felt Anthony tense behind her. She shared a look with her Gramps, and he gave her a nod that said ‘we’ve won, I know it’.

“In first place, and taking the crown for this year’s gingerbread competition,” Ben said, his voice a little quieter so that everybody had to lean in to hear him. “Can I get another drum roll, please?” Everyone obliged, even Steph and Linda (although the latter did roll her eyes and pretended to gag), and Y/n could have sworn that nobody was breathing. “Y/n and Richard! Congratulations, you two!”

She took a moment to process her father’s words, and then another moment to process her sister handing over the plastic crown, and then a third moment to process Anthony groaning in frustration behind her.

Then she promptly turned around to face her boyfriend, pointed in his face, and said “HAHA!”

“Yeah, yeah. Alright, darling. You win.” He didn’t look too cut up about it, a soft smile gracing his features, and Y/n planted a quick kiss on his lips. “I think your Gramps is more smug than you are, to be honest.” She looked behind her at her grandparents just in time to see her Gramps get up and start doing some sort of victory dance. Nana Jean had her head in her hands, but Y/n knew she was smiling beneath it.

“Oh yeah, Steph?” Sam spoke up once the crowns were situated on the winners’ heads and people had calmed down a little. “What did you wanna tell everyone?”

“Yes! Well, I think I should first of all give Anthony and Y/n a chance to explain first, unless they would rather I did it?” Steph’s smile was sharp, and there was an icy fire dancing in her eyes. Y/n froze under the weight of it, and suddenly breathing was hard. Anthony slipped his arms further around her waist, and before she could even begin to think of what to say, he was talking for her.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about, Steph,” he said, perfectly falling into the role he needed to play. He tilted his head slightly in mock confusion, and Steph’s smile only grew.

“What’s going on?” Will asked, chewing on a piece of gingerbread he’d nabbed from the kitchen. “What’s it got to do with them?” He cast a glance towards them, and Y/n knew that if nothing else she’d have him on her side. He already knew about what Steph was going to say anyway, and he’d given his full support.

“They faked the whole relationship!” Steph exclaimed, spreading her arms out as she laughed. She was met with silence while people took in her words, and then Emma laughed herself. “I can prove it!”

“Oh, Steph, you don’t need to!” Emma chuckled. “We know.”

“Wait what?” Y/n said, sitting up straight in shock.

“It was very painfully obvious that you two can’t stand each other,” her mother continued. “Although something must have happened at some point, because the weird tension is gone.” Y/n’s mouth was hanging open, and she looked around at her gathered family. Steph’s eyes were practically bulging out of her head.

“Did… did all of you know?!” Scattered nods and murmured agreements were given in reply. “Why did nobody say anything?!”

“Because it was funny to watch you try to fool everyone and fail!” Steph cried, still trying to have the advantage.

“No,” Nana Jean said, her tone harsh. “It’s because we didn’t want to make it awkward. I mean, you brought your boss to your family’s christmas gathering to play the role of the boyfriend, and if we’d told you we had that figured out after the first day, then what would we have done?!”

“Hang on, the first day?!”

“It was rather obvious, love,” her Gramps added on with a shrug. “You looked downright murderous when you looked at him. Emma’s right though, something did change.”

“Yeah, they made out,” Will said, not looking up from where he sat in the corner eating. Somehow he’d found more food, and when everybody stared at him he finally glanced up. “What? Y/n/n came and told me all about it!”

“Not all about it, Will! I told you the vague outline of what had happened! And if you knew since the first day then why the hell did you act so confused?!”

“Oh, I genuinely didn’t know.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Nah, it’s alright.” Anthony hadn’t said a word the whole time, and for a moment Y/n was worried he’d passed away from embarrassment or something.

“Why is nobody laughing about this?!” Steph shouted, growing crazed. “Y/n couldn’t get a boyfriend so she had to force someone to pretend?! I mean,” she scoffed, “it’s ridiculous, and it’s sad! She’s too fucking fat and ugly to get a real one, and-”

“That is enough, Stephanie.” Anthony’s hands started moving Y/n off of his lap, and then he was standing up and glaring at her cousin with more hatred than Y/n had ever seen in his eyes before. “I have repeatedly told you that Y/n is better than you, and that you are a horrible person, and if I am never allowed back here because of this then so be it, but you do not get to continue your behaviour. I don’t know how many more times I can tell you to stop bullying Y/n before it finally gets through your thick skull, but you need to stop. She’s a completely different person around you because you make her feel awful and like she’s not good enough, and I am sick of it, because she doesn’t deserve it! You are the one who is being ridiculous and sad, because you can’t get over yourself and see that nobody cares!” His chest was heaving by the time he finished, and he’d been gesturing wildly as he spoke. Y/n couldn’t help but feel a burst of pride at how quickly he’d jumped to defend her.

“It’s not my fault!” Steph tried, but she was cut off before she could continue.

“What’s not your fault?” Y/n said, standing up and moving next to Anthony. “What’s not your fault, Steph? Because Ant’s right. I am a different person around you, because you make me feel like I’m not enough. Like I’m not pretty enough, or skinny enough, or just enough in general, and I end up starving myself to stop you talking crap about me whenever I come here!” She tried to ignore the weight of her family’s gazes as she carried on, knowing she had never outright mentioned any of this before. She doubted any of them had noticed what had been happening right under their noses. “I hate seeing you, Steph, because I know that I’m just going to end up crying myself to sleep or locking myself in the bathroom because of what you say, or how you look at me when I put just a little too much food on my plate, which, actually, isn’t that much food! It’s a normal amount for a person to eat to be healthy! And Ant’s right when he says that you’re the one being ridiculous and sad, because you are. I am done acting differently because you think I’m not good enough, and I am done crying over you, because you are not worth a single tear I have.” Despite her words, she could feel her throat closing up with emotion and tears threatening to fall, but that wasn’t because of Steph. It was more to do with the fact that she had finally stood up for herself and pushed back the way she should have done years ago. Anthony put his arm around her waist, bringing her into his side, and Steph was eerily quiet.

“You bitch.”

Y/n scoffed. “For telling you the truth? Sure. I’m the bitch in this situation.” Steph launched herself at Y/n then, and if she hadn’t trained as an agent to have lightning-fast reflexes she would have been punched in the jaw.

As it was, she and Anthony split, stepping to the side so that Steph fell face first into the carpet.

“I hate you!” she screamed, pushing herself up. Before she could even try another attack, a resounding crack echoed around the room, and then Steph was holding her cheek in shock as she stared at Y/n. “You hit me,” she said incredulously. Y/n’s hand stung slightly, but it was worth it.

“Yes, I did. Well done for noticing.” Anthony huffed a laugh beside her, and he had to cover his mouth with his hand to stop the rest of his amusement escaping. Emma stepped forward, her face the picture of rage and fury.

“Linda, I think this is the perfect time to tell you that I don’t particularly enjoy having you around, and your daughter is an awful person. If I ever find either of you talking crap about either Y/n or me, as you so love to do, Linda, then I will personally kick you into the next century. I’d like you to go and pack your things, and you can find a place to stay in town.”

“You… you hit my daughter,” Linda said, staring at Y/n.

“She’s twenty, Linda. I think she can take it.” Anthony really couldn’t hold in his laugh at Y/n’s words, and he squeezed his eyes shut and hung his head, pressing his lips tightly together behind the hand that he’d had to put back over his mouth.

“We’ll be glad to go,” Linda started, casting a disdainful look at her sister. “At least in a hotel we’ll be appreciated!” Y/n highly doubted that anywhere would appreciate having Steph and Linda, but if it meant that the two of them weren’t near her then she wouldn’t complain.

“Good. Off you go, and pack your bags. I want you gone by mid-morning tomorrow.”

Linda and Steph fled the living room, the latter still clutching at her cheek, and their footsteps could be heard as they stomped upstairs. A door slammed, and then a second, and then there was silence.

“Now. I don’t know… I don’t know what the correct response is to all of this is,” Emma said, her voice softening as she turned back to Anthony and Y/n. “But Anthony, I hope you know we’re not mad at you. Either of you, actually. Steph was awful, she has been for years, and I’m sorry that I never did anything before now.”

“It’s okay, Mum-”

“No, it’s not. I’m your mother and I wasn’t doing my job properly. Mostly I’m just glad that you and Anthony have each other,” she smiled. Y/n looked up at her boyfriend and smiled too, feeling her face heat up when he brought his arm around her torso again and pressed a small kiss to her temple.

“You’re really not upset that I faked a relationship with my boss and lied to all of you?”

“Nope,” Will piped up from the corner, somehow still finding food to eat even though he hadn’t moved. “It’s been a great source of entertainment, actually. Especially since I know now that you didn’t like each other all the times we made you kiss.”

“Will, I don’t think that’s really something to be proud of,” Ben said, glancing at his son.

“It’s funny though,” he shrugged, wiping up the remains of whatever had been in the bowl he was eating out of. “Anyway, now that you’re actually together, it doesn’t matter, does it?”

“I guess not,” Y/n said, and Anthony’s grip on her waist tightened for a moment. She could feel him smiling into her hair.

“Well, that’s all sorted then!” Nana Jean exclaimed, clapping her hands together once and standing up. “Who wants tea?”

part 11

Tag list: @ahead-fullofdreams, @aislinrayne, @anathemaloren, @anthgoldenhrry, @augustisintheair, @avdiobliss, @aysha4life, @bobbys-not-that-small, @briar-rose23, @curseofhecate, @dangelnleif, @edible-rat-vomit, @el-de-phi, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @ettadear, @fearlessmoony, @fudosl, @idkbubs, @imaginebeingmentallystable, @informedimagining, @karensirkobabes, @lady-ashfade, @light-23, @locklyebrainrot, @locklyle1kanij, @locknco, @magicandrosewaters, @mentallyillsodapop, @mischivana, @mitskiswift99, @mrsklockwood, @mrsyixingunicorn10, @newbooksmell777, @no-morning-glories, @novelizt, @phlooper, @ran23sblog, @reggiepeterss, @simrah1012, @somethingrandomwatzit, @star-of-velaris, @superpositvecloudshipper, @t2sh0, @taygrls, @tournesol77, @whistle1whistle, @whenselenefallsinlove, @wordsarelife, @y0urm0m12, @zoom1374, @asyouwish-fromcabin3, @magicandrosewaters, @bobbys-not-that-small

desperately hoping this is everyone, but as always just let me know if you want to be added/removed (or if I forgot you) and I'll do that as soon as I can! <3

#lockwood and co #lockwood & co #anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x you #lockwood x reader #deck the halls (and not your partner)#enemies to lovers #fake dating #christmas

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tamurilofrivendell · 1 year

Text

Sleeping Beauty | Chapter 11

Previous Chapters [1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10] Read on AO3 [x]

Pairing: Thranduil/Fem. Reader Summary: A Sleeping Beauty inspired tale with Thranduil the Elvenking, and a female elf living in Mirkwood under the care of Radagast, who is actually the ‘lost’ daughter of the late High King Gil-Galad. Taglist: @hufflepuff1700 @jinlizz-dragondrama @firelightinferno @bubbleyukismile @coopsgirl @achromaticerebus @sleepyamygdala @smalltownbigheart @qmabailor @genderfluid-anime-goth a/n: I’ve been a little behind on this one and I’m sorry!! My hyperfixation on another fic (and struggling to try and force myself to edit two first drafts of original novels) has made me blind to everything else which was obviously unintended when I started this, but I still have the outline in my drafts and I will finish it don’t worry.

The forest was quiet as Thranduil and his elk travelled beneath the trees. He was furious. No, he was absolutely livid. Who did Radagast think he was? Stupid wizards, always meddling. Thranduil knew deep down that Radagast did not intend to cause him true pain but, once more, his mind was seriously fixated upon that day in Lindon. The day he had witnessed the princess and the two queens die. However, his fury also stemmed from something else, something that neither had said but was very much present in his mind.

“-help her as your father would have wanted - as your mother would have wanted.”

Thranduil knew very well how his parents would want him to help her, particularly his mother. They would wish him to give the princess sanctuary and aid, which he knew was the correct thing to do and he would do it, but they would also wish him to honour the terms of the marriage they had arranged between the two. To strengthen the bonds between the Noldor and Sindar even further, which had really been one of the only things the two queens had ever wanted.

Thranduil would not, of course, force the princess into anything but... he knew without even having to ask that Radagast was already thinking it and that he could be crafty in getting his way, perhaps he was feeding the princess the story right this moment. Thranduil knew, too, how such a thing could work in everyone’s favour and he knew that it would honour the memory of all four of their parents, and perhaps help this girl who had been secreted away for well over 3,000 years without any titles, her name practically lost to history.

However, the source of his anger was not directed at the poor princess herself, not at the idea of marrying a complete stranger, but at what such an alliance would take from him.

You.

He recalled his thoughts of how he had never taken a queen, when the Enchantress revealed to Radagast her ire at his father’s apparent sin against her by not allowing her to marry his son. He recalled how his mind had conjured up the image of you, singing in the glade while picking berries, and he realised now why the thoughts had come to him - because he had quite obviously developed some sort of feelings towards you.

Thranduil came then to the clearing where he often met you, sliding from the back of his elk with a sigh as he looked around and realised that you weren’t here as he had hoped you would be. He stepped to the side and sat down upon a fallen log, leaning forward with his hands clasped, sitting for a time just staring down at the forest floor.

“You look gloomy.”

Thranduil quickly lifted his head at the sound of your voice, looking up just in time to see you stepping into the clearing. He smiled. “It has been a very long week...”

“Ah, so that’s why you haven’t come to see me.” You trilled, moving to sit next to him. You didn’t mean it in a bad way, you were not hurt by it or anything, but something in you had missed him greatly. You had become quite charmed by him and enjoyed the times you could spend in his company.

Thranduil chuckled. “I do apologise, my lady.” Running a kingdom was busy, he thought ruefully, though he still did not say it. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t just tell you. Truthfully, he didn’t know what you must think of him, but he knew for sure you did not know he was the Elvenking. Perhaps you thought him a guard.

A soft laugh escaped your lips and you shook your head. “You don’t need to be sorry. I have perhaps become too used to your company.”

Since that first day Thranduil had come across you here, singing with the animals, he had probably come a lot more than he would normally otherwise have walked the forest. Something had just continued to pull him to you, and he had been drawn to this clearing of yours a number of times as the weeks had passed you both by. Then it had seemed only natural, it had become routine. He only wished he had not had the stress of the Enchantress and the past clouding the meetings, though he supposed now perhaps he should stop coming... the thought saddened him.

“Besides.” You continued, shooting him an amused glance. “We’ll always have our dreams.”

Thranduil laughed then, the first one since Radagast came to his halls and told him all about his last meeting with the Enchantress. He was pleased you remembered, truthfully, his silly little joke from before. Once upon a dream.

“Yes.” He chuckled, reaching out to take hold of your hand. “So we shall!”

As he took your hand, you were both suddenly struck by a most peculiar feeling that went jolting through the both of you. It felt like a real, tangible thing, a bolt of lightning. You quickly snatched your hand back in surprise and Thranduil frowned down at his own in confusion. “Did you...?”

You nodded, glancing up at him curiously. “What was that?”

“I do not know.” Thranduil muttered, pulling his hand back as he considered. It could not be... could it? He lifted his gaze and found your eyes on him. He smiled softly. “Lothíriel, I... I have come to greatly enjoy your company over these last weeks, and I...”

Here he trailed off and you wanted to push him to continue but all speech seemed to have been taken from you somehow. The clearing was silent for a long few moments then, the birds in the trees above poking their curious beaks down through the leaves to hear the king’s confession.

“I find you absolutely enchanting.” He admitted, looking back up at you. “From the very first day I saw you, I think I just... knew.” It seemed unfathomable to say such a thing, but a lot of elves had felt that way through history. Why, his own father had looked once upon his mother and instantly loved her as if he simply always had. It was as if their souls had known each other before they even met... and Thranduil suddenly came to the realisation that if he married Gil-Galad’s daughter then he would forever regret leaving you in this forest. He would always think of you, he wouldn’t be able to move on. That would not be fair to her, or to you, or to himself.

“Knew... what?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper, as you blinked back at him. You did not have much experience with others, or feelings like you were beginning to have, other than Thranduil... but you did not need to, really, as it seemed to sort of be a kind of instinctual thing.

Thranduil reached out to take your hand again, brushing his thumb gently over your palm. You shivered slightly and he lifted his gaze, meeting your eyes. “That I... that I am meant to love you.”

You could only stare at him in shock as the words passed his lips. “You... truly?!”

Thranduil nodded. “Truly.”

You were at a loss for what to say, not because you did not feel joyous or warm from the words he spoke, but simply because you were just no good at this. He did not seem to mind, almost as if he read what you were thinking in your eyes.

“Would you allow me the honour of courting you, my lady?” He ventured next.

You blinked at him, thinking that you should pinch yourself because it simply did not feel real. What could this interesting, worldly warrior possibly see in you?! Some random elleth who barely had any social skills the day he met her. You cast your mind over the time since then - every smile and lingering look - and you nodded, practically beaming at him. “Yes! I... I would like that very much.”

His smile grew slightly and you watched as he stood from the fallen log and extended an arm towards you.

“Dance with me.” He said suddenly, taking hold of your hands and pulling you to your feet.

You laughed and let yourself be pulled, and there in the clearing where you first met, you and he danced beneath the swaying blossom trees while the animals watched on.

That evening, you returned to the cottage with the brightest smile on your face. Your cheeks were rosy red and a blackbird was sitting atop your hair as you burst into the little house, causing Radagast to jump in the air and turn around very abruptly from his place at the counter. You were humming as you walked towards him and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Good evening!” You smiled brightly as the blackbird jumped from your head down to the table. “Do you need any help?”

“What’s got you in such high spirits?” Radagast wondered. Why, you were practically floating!

A gleeful giggle escaped you as you reached for him, taking hold of his hands and pulling him into a little waltz across the kitchen floor. His steps were clumsy in contrast to your smooth ones but he couldn’t help but chuckle anyway, glad to see you happy... and safe. He had allowed you into the forest, though not without much back and forth in his own mind. However, he knew that soon you would be in Thranduil’s halls and would not have the same freedoms to visit your favourite places in this forest. Not until the Enchantress was gone.

You were humming as you danced with him and then you pulled back, smiling brightly at him as he watched you with curious eyes. “Oh, you’ll never guess!” You said, still a little nervous of his reaction but you knew that now was the time to tell him. “Wait until you meet him!”

“Him?” Radagast’s smile began to fade a little as he tilted his head at you. “What do you mean? Who? You have met some stranger?”

You shook your head, spinning on the spot once and then coming to a stop as you looked back the wizard. “Oh, no! No, he’s not a stranger. I mean... not anymore.” You clasped your hands together, truly hoping that Radagast would come to understand. “I have met him many times now, in the clearing. I should have told you, I’m sorry, but he is honourable. I swear. He wishes to court me, uncle! I promise, you do not have to worry! He’s coming tomorrow night, you can meet him and-”

Radagast, however, looked stricken. “Oh, my dear child...” He said sadly. “Oh, no... no. That can never be.”

You paused, your smile falling away, replaced by a soft frown. “What do you mean? Why not?”

“Well, you... you are already betrothed, my dear.” He said quickly. “From birth. To... to the Elvenking.”

“What?!” You could not understand his words because they quite simply made no sense. “No... h-how can I marry a king? I would have to be...”

“A princess.” Radagast said simply, watching the confusion on your face grow tenfold. “You are a princess.” He continued. “And I am sorry for keeping the truth from you but it was necessary. Please... listen to me.”

Radagast’s brow set into a deep frown as he looked back at you, the crestfallen look on your face, the hurt swimming in your eyes. Still, you didn’t run away and shut yourself in your room like you wished to. You stayed standing firmly before him as you waited for him to continue, to give you some explanation, willing him to make this all make sense.

Radagast sighed, his heart heavy with sorrow, for he knew that the time had now come to tell you everything.

#thranduil x reader #thranduil x you #thranduil fanfic #lotr x reader #thranduil fanfiction #sleeping beauty

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