#the wings are not in fact tattered
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the angel with the tattered wings
#first post on this blog?!??#noelle holiday#deltarune#deltarune fanart#snowgrave#kinda#the wings are not in fact tattered#i drew this a week ago lol#my art tag
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so id say my crowfather closet cosplay turned out. pretty well, especially considering it’s 90% held together with safety pins and also has literally none makeup bc my phil makeup takes an hour to get on and half an hour to get off
please ignore how messy both my mirror and shelves are, im currently in the process of moving across the country
please reblog <3
#origins smp#osmp#o!phil#osmp philza#philza#philza fanart#crowfather#oh! phil!#i learnt coding for this#original thoughts in their natural habitat#<- new cosplay tag#we also ignore how the purple thing is a dress shirt tucked into my corset belt#and how the wings are c!phils so one side's all tattered#and the fact i dont have a crowfather hat#and how the cravat is an old placemat with a spare button pinned to it#and how the fur thing is literally just balanced#hey its a closet cosplay its supposed to be scuffed#if the men find out we can shapeshit theyll tell the church
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These Tender Hearts Beat as One
Aemond x widowed!female character
Summary: Aemond reunites with his childhood friend, a former ward of his mother || Word Count: 7k || Warnings: too much fucking backstory lol, p in v sex, breeding kink
Aemond could always tell when his mother was stressed. Out of all her silver-haired children, her second son had seemed the most adept at knowing before she even knew herself. All that remained was for him to discover the root of her worries, and calm her ever-heightening nerves if he could.
When Aemond was stressed, angered or oftentimes merely bored, nothing truly compared to the feeling of riding Vhagar, splitting through the air above King’s Landing to stretch her large, tattered wings. His beloved dragon appreciated the exercise in any case, restless from her days fought in wars, it was some consolation for him that flying was just as therapeutic for her as it was for him.
But when his dear mother was stressed, it was rooted in self-destruction, picking ceaselessly at her fingernails ‘til they were bloody and sore. And though he bit his tongue, not wishing to replicate the behaviour of his grandfather, sometimes it felt near impossible not to say anything, not to ask what was on her mind. So that whatever was swirling around her head with panic, could instead be shared out, and therefore less weight for her to carry.
Had Aegon done something perhaps?
Was there more trouble with Rhaenyra?
Or perhaps his father had said something to upset her, which seemed the most likely. Even in his sickly state, he was still capable of unknowing cruelty.
Even at five and ten, Aemond understood this.
His mother remained quiet, and it was not ‘til he sought out the company of his dear friend, that the truth became clear.
She had been his mother’s ward for little more than three years, and already Aemond had witnessed her enter the Keep as a clumsy, loud child and blossom into what many would consider a young woman already grown, though she was little older than Helaena.
Her age in comparison to him had never once strained their friendship. In fact, at first, when Aemond was still freshly scarred emotionally by the trauma of losing his eye, he had remembered clapping his lone eye on her and scowling, thinking of her little more than a quarrelsome child.
And, as Aegon had put it, ‘aggressively annoying’.
Which, at the time, was true enough. And yet it did not deter her from trying, Aemond would allow her the compliment of that.
She was much like him, a child created and born as a sort of secondary plan in case the first did not come to pass. A mere second daughter, and not only that, but bumped even further down the chain by her three older brothers, the eldest already wed with several children of his own. It was made abundantly clear by her own parents that she was merely another nuisance and therefore when placed into the care of the Targaryen royal family, the look of relief on their faces somewhat angered him, coupled by the manner in which they left with a goodbye that rivalled his own father’s attitude towards his children.
His empathy for her situation had drawn him to her, despite his stubbornness in wanting to pretend he did not crave friendship, especially from a girl. And her own stubbornness surprised him when he discovered she did not blindly seek the acceptance of any similar-aged child, she set her sights on Aemond alone and did not relent until eventually, he came to her instead.
He found a camaraderie with her that he had yet to find with his other siblings, feeling very much like friendship with her was more natural and spontaneous, where the ones with his family were calculated, planned and rooted in a cold necessity to keep up appearances.
Not that she cared much for appearances.
Her Septa berated her for what seemed like every other day for turning up to her needlepoint lessons with dirtied skirts and stray petals in her tangled hair, all from chasing one another through the bushes of the Keep to find some entertainment. Yet, even in the face of punishment, her smile never faltered, and insisted that it was all a bit of fun.
She somehow managed to inject her bright personality into his otherwise darkened life.
Because of her, there was beauty in everything. There was serenity in sitting in the Godswood and watching the petals settle in the breeze that ran past his neck and made him shiver. There was a startling allure when he introduced her to Vhagar for the first time and her hand ran across her darkened scales, seeing her expression lift in sheer wonder, experiencing her bewilderment as if it were the first time. And there was virtue in the innocence of their relationship, and how his heart began to swell with a childlike sense of belonging in her.
The unconditional power of her friendship he was sure was all he ever needed. In the way she always uttered, dragged away for her lessons in etiquette, but beaming at him.
‘My friendship is always yours,’ she would say, like a mantra.
‘Just as mine shall always be.’
He thought for a long while that he was the most hideous person in this world, not least since Aegon had dragged him to the brothels only a few years before. And yet when he shared a chaste kiss with her under the Weirwood tree. Clumsy and impractical and yet all magical all at once, he thought that when he was older, stronger, he would ask her to be his wife.
Aemond could feel the anxiety seeping off her as soon as he stepped into her chambers. Like she had a lot on her mind but not the courage to open her mouth and say it.
“What is it?”
His heart lurched into his chest when she lifted her head, swallowing her feelings and taking a deep, shaky breath.
“My sister has succumbed to a fever. She is dead.”
Aemond sighed, as if absorbing her grief. But when he took one step forward to comfort his friend, she shook her head, “there is more.”
Her tone of voice alone was enough to set every nerve on edge. Aemond stood as if stuck to the flagstone floor, and realised that the once clumsy, small girl he had once known was acting very much like a young woman now. Worlds apart, despite being stood before her.
“I am to honour the planned betrothal with Lord Lefford, under my father’s orders.”
It was the only moment Aemond remembered wanting to vomit with nausea, he had not felt such churning in his gut even on the day he lost his eye.
She sat, looking at him as if to gauge his reaction to the news, knowing perhaps in her own heart the feelings that were shared between them. And Aemond felt his churning nausea turn to anger, at how easily she had allowed her will to be broken by a command from her father, which in his opinion, she need not obey. She was, after all, a near half a decade younger than her sister, and the man in question older than her own father.
How could she have given up like this so easily.
“You will go through with this?”
He did not mean for his tone of voice to appear accusatory, but when he saw that wide-eyed helpless expression, he knew immediately it had.
“I can hardly argue with my father, Aemond.”
He felt his fists clench hard in his hand, fingernails creating crescent shaped indents in his flesh that reddened, his reply is stiff, “you simply act as if you have no choice in the matter.”
“Not all of us get one.”
“You cannot leave.”
“I must,” she insists, her voice breaking somewhat at the look of disappointment and betrayal on his face, “please do not make this more difficult than it already is, Aemond.”
“I am not the one making this difficult,” he replies flatly, his head throbbing with an incoming migraine, “If you are as much my friend as I am yours, you will not leave me.”
She could feel herself stepping towards him, drawn by some invisible force for comfort that he was not yet providing. She knew he could be capable of being cruel, but to be on the receiving end after all they had gone through was heart-breaking.
And though she was a year his senior, standing so small before him, she felt so much a child.
“Aemond, please-” she begged, reaching out for him and wincing when he pulled away, his brows drawn together in disgust.
“Marry him and I shall never speak to you again.”
Her hand dropped to her side as if limp, as if all life had drained from her body as well as the colour from her face. Her lip quivered, “you can't mean that.”
He looked in her eyes, the raw grief of watching her slip away filling him with an unmistakable bitterness, though for what? Her? Himself? Their friendship? He could not put it into words.
“I mean every word.”
That is the last memory he has of her, looking every bit as broken as he'd intended her to feel. In the days that followed, as her family arrived once more to steal her away, Aemond felt the gnawing grip of regret when he chose not to see her off at the courtyard, watching from his window as she scanned the space around for her good friend's presence and didn't find it.
It was then Aemond began to hate himself for every bit of cruelty enacted against her from him. Her carriage disappeared into the distance until it was nothing, leaving a pit of pain in his heart.
Not a day passed that Aemond did not at least think of her and wait for any correspondence to arrive, with his name etched into the paper in her curved, feminine handwriting.
But as he'd feared, she had taken his words to heart, and no letter ever arrived, and eventually, it felt no use counting the days and moons since he'd last seen her.
The guilt would eat away at him for years, the memory of her pained expression etched into his vision. Even as he grew into a man, it would never fully fade, though he was quick to tell himself that he shouldn’t care, that she was no longer the same girl he had loved so much, not since she chose her own fate.
In an attempt to fill the hole she'd left behind, he busied himself with the sword, intent with some level of obsession at becoming the most skilled swordsman in Westeros.
Aemond would train for hours at a time, the dull ache deep within him pushed away by the strain of sparring drills and intense workouts with the sword. Though even in the midst of training, his thoughts would always be in the back of his mind, taunting him with the guilt that he felt, the shame of how he had treated her at the end.
By itself, it was not enough, but even burying his nose in books did not blur that heavy ache. But it did not mean he could not at least try.
Which is why he sighed in annoyance as he sat by the fireplace in his chambers, a large tome opened in his lap and two knocks rapped at the door.
“Enter.”
He did not tear his attention away as the maidservant entered with a short and quick curtsy, hands clasped, “Your grace, Queen Alicent has requested your presence.”
That alone was enough to draw his attention away from his reading. His mother did not request him for a small matter.
He had wondered if perhaps Aegon had managed to slip out of the Keep again, for yet another one of his excursions into Flea Bottom, and send him to retrieve his brother.
Perhaps his mother finally thought enough time had passed and he was much of a man to suggest a marriage proposal. For some reason, the thought made him ill.
“Thank you, Ser Criston,” he heard his mother say in a muffled tone once he was announced.
Aemond raised his gaze to his mother, relieved to see her calm, and dare he say, happy.
“Aemond,” she greeted softly, her smile gentle and her touch on his arms comforting, “do not look so forlorn.”
“You wished to see me.”
“I did,” Alicent beamed, clasping her hands at her front, “Come.”
He could not help but give a puzzled expression as he walked beside his mother through the winding halls of the Keep, wondering perhaps why her behaviour was so different than usual. A sort of anxiety fed through her, but not the self-destructive kind.
“We are to receive some guests today. I would like you to greet them.”
Aemond quirked a brow, confused and somewhat annoyed in equal measure, “I am not accustomed to greeting-”
“They have travelled a long way, so remember to be courteous,” Alicent added, flashing one of her tight-lipped smiles, which only served to confuse Aemond further. His mother led him to the top of the staircase of the empty, echoing foyer and instructed quickly, “do be a gracious host, Aemond.”
He did not have a mere moment to question her, before he was watching the back of his mother disappear down the very same hallway they had just walked together. All he managed was a baffled shake of his head, as if by some miracle this was all some mad dream he had conjured. He questioned why on earth his mother would allow him to greet these esteemed guests alone, out of all her antisocial children.
But ever dutiful, he descended the stairs, hearing the low voice of Ser Westerling greeting whomever was arriving in a warm, formal tone, with their silhouettes casting blurred shadows onto the flagstone floor. Aemond’s feet were planted firmly on the step without even realising it.
This esteemed guest was no stranger to him.
Though the years had matured her gracefully, Aemond is sure he would recognise her anywhere, as she looked every bit the same as that day he regretted seeing her carriage leave King’s Landing. She stood tall, her cape fastened at her front with her house crest nestled in the middle, her dark skirts framing her womanly figure as her eyes trailed the details of the Keep that had changed since she had last been there.
Aemond stared wordlessly, the emotions so long buried resurfacing as if they had never left. His breath felt hot, his mind struggling to accept what his lone eye beheld before him. That she was here after so many years separated, in the very flesh, and yet he was unable to utter a single word.
She wandered about the space, commenting to the young woman beside her, who carried a child no older than three in her arms, how it had all looked so much larger in her youth. So he took this moment where she had not yet noticed him to look upon her with wonder, frozen entirely in place with the unexpectedness of her return. His mind raced with the thoughts of what this meeting could mean, for him, for her, and for their future; and he could not deny the strong tug of guilt in his chest for how he had treated her all those years ago, and how her renewed presence only made them more real.
Clearing his throat as he approached, the lady beside her noticed him first, “Prince Aemond,” she greeted with a curtsy, prompting her also to lay her eyes on him once more.
“Your grace,” she smiled warmly with a quick curtsy, with such a formality that made his heart ache.
He craned his head to bow lightly at her, “My Lady,” he replied with some stiffness, before gazing once more into her friendly, soft eyes and allowing his shoulders to relax, “I wondered perhaps if you would recognise me.”
Her laugh made his stomach flip, “I do not think I could ever forget you. Though I must confess, I wondered the same for myself.”
Her smile could not be described as anything less than perfect and a feeling that he harboured for her so long ago began to creep back in before he could stop it, “my Lady, I must apologise right away.”
But she shook her head, looking down at her hands, “it was a long time ago.”
He did not wish to upset her further by mentioning such an incident that had harmed his pride since, but knew that her memories of it were just as vivid as his own, “And I have not forgotten. You did what was expected for a lady in your position, and yet I was too selfish to understand that at the time. Please forgive me.”
He could not take the desperation out his tone, no matter how hard he tried. And still, she smiled sadly at his words.
“You must know that I did not wish to leave you.”
“I do,” he replied quickly, the memories of his guilt burning a hole in his throat, trying to hide the bitterness he felt towards himself, “I must confess - I have missed you greatly.”
Her hands clasped at her front, she blinked slowly and swallowed thickly, “I have missed you too.”
The silence stretched between them. Years of separation and longing had left them both yearning, but lacking the courage of knowing what to say. Aemond cleared his throat, his hands behind his back with anxiety, seeing that her ‘favoured’ husband was still not yet present.
“Are we to receive your husband as well?” he asked with some stiffness, or perhaps bitterness.
She cocked her head ever so slightly, eyebrows pulled together in confusion, until a small smile of realisation graced her features, “I regret to inform you I am recently widowed.”
In any other situation, Aemond would have been mortified at her reply. But with her smile came a rush of realisation himself, and hope swelled in his heart, and he shifted his weight from foot to foot, hoping to all the gods that she could not see the way his thought ran wild in his head, and made his breeches tighten, “Widowed-”
“Indeed. I am sorry to disappoint you, my Prince. In truth, I have just come out of mourning,” she nodded, biting back another coy smile, showing in her mannerisms that it was no great loss to her.
“I am sorry for your loss, my Lady.”
She shook her head softly, “my husband left a suitable will, so that my child and I live comfortably and so there is no need for me to pursue future marriages should I not wish to.”
Her careful wording was not lost on him, and Aemond could not help the sense of glee at this new and recent change in her life, the bitter anger at having lost her to some decrepit old man years previous seemingly dissipating. And yet despite this, he attempted to keep it hidden, not wishing to seem disrespectful to her late husband.
“Might I present you my daughter,” she added, taking the child from the woman beside her into her own and resting the shy young girl on her hip. The child’s wide-eyed innocent expression unapologetically took all of Aemond in, as children often do, and he was reminded very much of his dear friend when she was small.
She was the image of her mother, save for the slightly lighter hair, with every feature of her etched into her daughter’s youthful face. And the reality of such similarities made him feel both joy and sorrow all at once.
“She is beautiful.” His voice was quiet, seeing the child in her arms was shy and reserved, unlike her mother, but thankful somewhat that her little one was not in the slightest alike to the man she had been forced to marry. Looking into the eyes of her child felt much like staring at the girl he once knew, and with that, a rush of affection.
Aemond thought, that in different circumstances, this child could have been theirs, a shared expression of their affections for one another. That all those years ago, had her father not coerced her into honouring her late sister’s betrothal, that she and Aemond would have their own children by now.
Before he could think too long, the small girl whined in her arms and she put her down immediately, the little patter of childish feet nearly had Aemond break into a grin, watching her run off with the nursemaid chasing behind.
“I am afraid she is a curious little thing. Like mother like daughter I suppose”, she smiled brightly.
Aemond nodded, the rush of memories bringing a wistful smile to his face, “Like mother like daughter,” was all he managed to reply, watching the mischievousness unfold. Yet, once the child and the nursemaid had left them alone, she chuckled softly, feeling his heartbeat slow in pace with hers.
“May I confess something to you, without fear of judgement?” Aemond asked, his heart thudding as she nodded in return, “You may think me foolish, but I must confess that my mind still lingers on the memories of our time together, and I have found no way to erase the feelings they carry with them - your return to King’s Landing has only reinforced them,” he confessed, looking into her warm gaze, “for now, when I look at you, I cannot help but feel just as I did then.”
He watched her swallow thickly, and take a deep, meaningful breath, like what she was going to say would be heavy, “and, what feelings are those, might I ask?”
His heart felt as it was beating so fast it was cracking his ribs, throat closing with anxiety. The feelings he had tried so hard to hide with a mask of bitterness now overflowing with terrifying intensity. Yet, to say such feelings out loud to her, someone he had trusted so much in his youth, made it feel all the more real. And as he stared into her eyes, he wanted nothing more than for her to share them, despite their years of absence from one another.
“That I love you - and have from the moment I met you.”
The words came out quickly, and as soon as he uttered them he felt his cheeks grow hot, knowing her response was either one way or the other and that he, a man so long disconnected from his own feelings, hiding them with his pride for so many years, was now opening up his vulnerability.
He wanted her to love him. So desperately.
She sighed quietly in relief, “I have loved you as well. And I was saddened to have left you - and will forever be vehemently sorry for that.”
Though his relief was palpable, but he shook his head first, “You were right then, and always have been, that you had no choice or opinion in the matter. Therefore, I will accept no apologies.”
Her eyes glistened with emotion at his words, and when Aemond stepped forward and took her cheek in his palm, her breath hitched in such a way he was sure they would spill forth in tears. But the strong person she had always been, she held them back.
“I feared - you would not desire me,” she confessed quietly.
Aemond smirked, “It may take more than a few years of separation to extinguish what was once there. I have loved you since that day beneath the Weirwood Tree, and I will love you until this life ends and the next one begins.”
She gave a watery smile at his sweet words, “though I have been wed once already with a child?”
He was silent for a moment as he considered her question, and not a bit of him even wondered whether it were possible, “my love is no fickle thing,” he smiled, “in time I hope I may become as close as a father to her as I may become a husband to you.”
He watched as her unshed tears formed a constellation on her eyelashes, but a relieved smile graced her delicate features. Aemond could not remember the last time he had been this close to her, able to detect the delicate scents brushed through her hair and the way her cheeks warmed at the close proximity between them, and undeniable tension.
The thought of kissing her, having her to himself, made something arousing tighten in his breeches, to his embarrassment.
He drew in a breath, leaning forward to capture her lips, but both drew back a pace suddenly.
“My Lady! Would you care to join us for supper this evening,” Alicent smiled brightly, as if knowing some great secret seeing them both stood straight and blushing. And she had to take a moment to think and stammer out her reply,
“Oh - yes, I would be delighted-”
“Wonderful! I shall see you to your chambers,” the Queen beamed, giving Aemond a sideways glance as the two women he most respected in life walked alongside one another.
He felt as if the entire evening was a true test of his will and determination. Aemond is certain Alicent meant no ill will by inviting the woman he unequivocally loved to supper with his family; but as he sat beside her, remembering how close he had been just a few hours before, it was almost as if everyone around him was aware and simply dangling the situation in front of his face.
And he cursed any god that existed that Aegon was not drowned in his cups that night, as he usually was. On this night, he was frustratingly lucid and hyper-aware.
Helaena, at first, was impartial to the sudden get-together, but as soon as she and Helaena saw one another, it was as if no time at all had passed. They were, of course, the same age when she had been his mother's ward, and as well as with Aemond, had formed a close friendship.
The princess was of course eager to catch up, and even invited her up to dance, to which she happily obliged as Aemond watched from his spot at the table. It was nice to see Helaena happy for a change.
A sorrowful thought had occurred to Aemond that both his friend and Helaena were pressured into marriages and motherhood far too young. And seeing them very much acting like young girls with one another, only exacerbated this feeling.
They talked quickly with excitement, planning to have their children meet up with one another and play in the gardens. And while they were engrossed in conversation, Aegon slid next to his brother, with a knowing smirk on his face.
“She is just as animated as I remember,” the young prince smirked, raising his eyebrows at Aemond over the rim of his cup.
“I will hear none of your depravity about her.”
Aegon threw him a faux-offended expression, “I had not even got there yet. Do you have such a low opinion of me?”
Aemond ignored him and sipped his own Dornish Red.
“You wish to marry her.”
“And you are perceptive.”
“Gods, I love it when you compliment me.”
“And insufferable.”
“What makes you think grandfather will allow you to marry her anyway? He's a dry old cunt, he will not care if you love her or not. He would have you wed to some plain-faced twat from who-knows-where.”
For one infuriatingly brief moment, Aemond had to concede that Aegon was probably right. And with one restless finger tapping against the table, he glanced over at his mother and grandfather suspiciously squished together on one end of the table, leaning towards each other and whispering in low voices, with Otto Hightower looking at his beloved friend from beneath his brow.
They were talking about her. Discussing her. And by the expression on his grandfather, analysing her.
Aemond felt his heart beat faster at the prospect that they were speaking so secretively about her without her knowledge. It seemed a stark contrast to the way the two women on the other side of the table were laughing and smiling brightly, something so rarely seen on Helaena’s face nowadays.
“She is no maiden, that is for certain. Though if you are lucky, perhaps only the first three inches of her have been tainted by Lefford’s withered old cock.”
Aemond wrinkled his nose at Aegon’s depraved quip, despite his somewhat polite request for him not too. Perhaps he’d expected too much courtesy from his elder brother. Or perhaps, more likely, with the exciting renewed presence of Lord Lefford’s widow, Aegon felt the need to perform, and exaggerate his usual unfortunate traits of his personality.
“‘Tis almost as worse as our dear sister being wed to me.”
“I am certain there is nothing worse than that,” Aemond replied quickly, behind the rim of his cup, failing to keep his gaze from forever drifting to the figure of her from across the candles and ornaments.
Aemond found himself captivated by the way she moved, the subtle grace in her gestures that spoke volumes of the woman she had become. Gone was the innocence of youth, replaced by a quiet strength and resilience that only seemed to enhance her beauty. He couldn't help but notice the way her laughter rang out like music, filling the room with warmth and light. It was a sound he had missed more than he cared to admit, a reminder of simpler times when they were just children with the world at their feet.
But now, as he watched her twirl across the dance floor with Helaena, there was something undeniably magnetic about her presence. It was as if she had blossomed into a flower, her petals unfurling to reveal a depth and complexity that left him breathless.
He attempted not to move too quickly once the festivities were over, afraid of showing her in his actions his desperation to be close to her as he offered his arm, “might I see you to your chambers, my Lady?”
She gave a shy smile that morphed into one of amusement, and Aemond is sure he felt something akin to that stomach-flipping sensation when he was flying out on Vhagar when her hand rested on the inside of his forearm, “Very well.”
Aemond chose to ignore the low snicker of his elder brother, showing him his back instead, with the woman he loved on his arm.
“You are aware I know this Keep better than I do my own home, and am perfectly capable of finding my chambers myself?” she said with a teasing lilt.
Aemond couldn't help but chuckle softly, the sound echoing in the empty corridor. "Forgive me, my Lady. It seems my chivalry gets the better of me in your presence."
Her laughter rang out, filling the silence with warmth. "Chivalry or a desire to prolong our conversation, Prince Aemond?"
He felt a surge of joy at the playful banter, grateful for the opportunity to spend even a few moments alone with her. "Perhaps a bit of both, my Lady. Though I must admit, the thought of your company is a temptation I find hard to resist."
She looked at her feet, as if to hide the rising warmth to her face, “I must confess, it is nice to once again be somewhere familiar, with the company I admire most. When my husband was alive it could often get rather lonely.”
Aemond fell quiet for a moment, swallowing thickly, trying to navigate his feelings in the midst of a difficult situation, “I hope that he was kind to you.”
She glanced up at him, her eyes revealing a depth of gratitude that stirred something within him. "He had his moments," she admitted with a small smile, "but kindness was not his strongest suit. Still, I suppose I cannot fault him entirely. He provided for me in his own way."
Aemond could sense the underlying weight in her words, the unspoken struggles she had endured beneath the facade of mere cordiality. He didn't need to ask to know that her late husband had been less than supportive.
"You deserve far more than just provision, my Lady," he said earnestly, his gaze unwavering as he spoke.
Aemond could almost feel his heart sink as he had realised they were stood before her chamber doors, her hand slipping from his arm, and yet a fire stoking fierce then at the thought of an invitation inside.
She clasped her hands delicately, her warm eyes meeting his with a gentle intensity. "I couldn't help but notice Queen Alicent and the Lord Hand engaged in such ceaseless conversation," she remarked, her voice soft and thoughtful. "I do not wish to presume—"
Aemond, catching the subtle implication in her words, swiftly interjected, "I cannot claim to know their exact sentiments." His gaze met hers, offering reassurance without a hint of desperation. "But I refuse to allow something as trivial as their approval to deter me. I've already endured the pain of losing you once."
There was a quiet determination in his voice, a resolve that mirrored the fire in her own eyes. In that moment, they shared an unspoken understanding, a mutual agreement to pursue their feelings despite the potential obstacles that lay ahead.
She nodded, a faint smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Your courage is admirable, Prince Aemond. But we must proceed cautiously. The court is a web of intricate politics, and our actions could have far-reaching consequences."
Her words were crafted in such a way that reminded him of her personality in their youth, understanding of the repercussions and yet boldly standing tall in the face of them. And with her small, mischievous smile, he knew all the same that whatever she uttered was only done so to extend her cordiality.
"I understand," he replied, his tone tinged with determination. "But I cannot ignore what my heart tells me."
"Nor can I," she admitted softly, her gaze meeting his with a mixture of vulnerability and resolve.
Silence settled between them for a moment, the weight of their unspoken desires hanging in the air. Then, with a subtle shift in her demeanour, she turned towards her chamber door. Without a word, she reached out and gently pushed it open, leaving it ajar. A silent invitation hung in the air, enticing Aemond to step inside.
Aemond's heart skipped a beat as he watched her gesture, his pulse quickening with anticipation. Without hesitation, he took a step forward, drawn irresistibly towards the open door and the promise of privacy within.
With a shared glance filled with unspoken understanding, Aemond turned towards her chamber doors, crossing the threshold into the privacy of her chambers, where their hearts could speak freely without the constraints of the outside world.
She spoke quietly, her face illuminated warmly by the soft flicker of candlelight. "I hope you do not think less of me for this," she murmured, her voice tinged with vulnerability. "You can imagine, for me there is no great ceremony in it."
Aemond's heart swelled with tenderness at her words, his gaze filled with an understanding that transcended mere words. "I could never think less of you," he replied softly, his voice brimming with sincerity.
Aemond slowly closed the distance between them, their expressions never wavering, his steps deliberate yet gentle. He reached out, his hand cupping her face tenderly, as he gazed into her eyes with an intensity that spoke of his deep affection. In that moment, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them suspended in a timeless embrace. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across their intertwined figures, bearing witness to the union of two souls bound together by love and longing.
Her lips parted to whisper, “I do not wish for you to do all of this out of guilt-”
She caught herself when his thumb traced her cheek, waiting for him to answer, “I do not make this bid out of remorse. I wish to be with you, and I wish to make you mine.”
Aside from the crackling heat of the fire within the hearth, her breath was all that was audible between them, coming heavier from between her lips as his thumb feathered down her cheek and to her bottom lip, caressing the skin there. After that, he felt her eyelashes against his cheek flutter when he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers with a tenderness usually unbecoming of his personality.
Years of longing had each of them pressing closer to each other, lost in the sound of their soft kisses, and Aemond felt his clothing below his waist become tight with need once he caressed her tongue with his and pried her lips apart like the petal of a flower and tasting the sweet nectar within.
Her hands that had found his shoulders slid over the sleek leather to his front, tenderly and gingerly pulling the buckles apart to loosen his doublet. Her actions, instead of spurring embarrassment, renewed a deep-rooted vigour beneath, and Aemond’s new task was to pull at the laces of her dress behind her, and pull the fabric that had hidden her body from him.
He felt her shiver, pulling the heavy dress from her shoulder to pool at her waist, pushing them as fervently off her as he was able, “was he at least good to you,” Aemond asked in a whisper, his breath hot at her neck while she pulled at the laces of his breeches.
“I do not wish to speak of him,” she answered with determination and confidence, but a breathless, wanton whisper herself, wanting nothing more than to consummate years of harboured affections masked by friendship, “I only want you.”
Her words had his heart stutter in his chest, pulling her now almost bare form atop him as he sat back onto the bed, with her hair loosened like this and her shoulders blossoming with gooseflesh, he found that he was incapable of keeping his hands at his sides and explored the shape of her feminine body beneath the shift she wore.
Even the sheer motion of her brushing against his hardened member and her breasts filling his palms could have been enough for Aemond, but there was no returning at this point. She sighed against his lips as his fingers dipped beneath the hem of her shift to ruck the thin fabric up around her hips, squeezing the flesh of her thighs to pull her closer onto his lap.
Warmth bloomed at her cheeks, but it did not deter her as she reached between them and smiled at Aemond’s loud moan, stroking his rapidly hardening length in her palm, focussing her attention towards the velvety tip.
She lifted herself in his lap, fingers threaded at the hair at his nape as if to anchor herself to him, and both sighed with the utmost relief of their union once he pressed himself into her, and she sank her warmth onto him, enveloping him with her body. Her lips parted at the stretch, somewhat prepared and yet the intrusion still stealing the air from her lungs.
Foreheads pressed together, Aemond's hands gripped her at her waist, pushing his hips up into her as hard as he could to sink deeper inside her, “I have dreamt of this - for so long - being with you like this -”
A faint sheen glimmered on her collarbones as she slowly moved her hips on him, Aemond's legs parted somewhat, widening hers and opening her up more so he could rock up into her with her rhythm. The closeness of their position had the blunt head of his cock massage that sensitive patch within, her eyebrows knitted together in sweet pleasure.
“That's it -” he cooed quietly, almost watching the way she moved with admiration and curiosity, her tight, silky walls squeezing his length with every thrust of herself down. He felt her arousal coat the base of him, and the sound of their ever-quickening coupling filled the otherwise quiet chambers.
She held onto his shoulders, the amber glow of the fireplace picturing her expression in the most arousing way Aemond had ever imagined. Pulling her shift down her chest, he groaned lowly at the sight of her breasts and took one in his palm and mouthed at the other, taking her stiffened nipple between his lips in a way that made a shuddering moan slip past her lips.
“Gods - I would adore to watch you swell with my child - would you like that -”
All she could do was nod feebly, words unable to occupy her mouth where soft, sweet sounds of pleasure were pouring out. Aemond smirked, grazing his teeth over her bud.
“yes, you would like to serve your husband - give him children, wouldn't you - fuck-” his voice strained at the effort it took to hold himself back, his hands sliding down the column of her back to her plump backside, palms gripping tight and guiding her rhythm onto him, over and over.
She moaned loudly, the motion of being pulled back and forth and yet still impaling herself on him driving the fat head of his cock into the deepest and most forbidden parts of her.
“Aemond -”
“And once you have one - I'll fuck yet another one into you - keep you fat with child” his breathing grew ragged and shaky, “- take it - like a good little wife should-”
“Yes - yes-” she breathed quickly, the words slipping out without realising what they were for, her blind acceptance of being his wife, or the rising waves of pleasure coursing white, hot through her body.
He felt her squeezing him and hastened both of her rhythms, dragging her back into his lap and pushing up into her wet heat ceaselessly. Both the numbing ache of her peak and her bud rolling against his body in quick succession had her hands gripping around him, burying her face in the crook of his neck as her limbs flooded with warmth.
“That's it, ābrazyrys -”
“Gods, Aemond-” she squeaked, completely overcome and possessed by the heights of pleasure rolling through her, the endless rhythm of him fucking up into her only prolonging it.
Her tight walls squeezed him so deliciously that Aemond's heart leapt into his throat, completely surprised as he pulsed thickly and spilled within her, his lone eye tightly shut. His own fulfilment had his hips twitching, shallowly pushing his seed into her, and hoping that it took.
Even once he was completely spent and exhausted, softening inside her, neither moved, and he simply felt her tender fingertips at his shoulders in light soft circles, massaging him. And thought, that this is how it always should have been, had he fought for her.
Her breath fluttered against his skin, herself tired in exertion from their shared pleasure.
“I was a fool - for allowing you to slip from my grasp.”
She sat up, to look down at him, her face flushed, hair in messy waves, looking every bit as beautiful as the day he'd lost her.
But she smiled, her finger tracing the pattern impressed on the leather of his eye patch, “you may have been a fool,” she started.
Her finger hooked beneath it, and lifted it away, her expression unchanged as her thumb stroked the indent of the scar at his cheek. Aemond felt his heart soar in a way that almost felt terrifying.
“I never slipped from your grasp,” she uttered gently, “my heart was always yours.”
Aemond brushed her hair from her features, her words sending waves of ecstasy thrumming in his veins.
“Just as mine shall always be.”
General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @valleyof-goldenlilies @virtualsweetsqueen @watercolorskyy @emmaisafictionwhore @minholy223
#aemond#prince aemond x reader#aemond x y/n#aemond x fem!reader#aemond x you#aemond x reader#aemond x oc#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen imagine#prince aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen#prince aemond targaryen smut#aemond smut#prince aemond fic#aemond fanfic#aemond fanfiction#aemond fic#aemond fandom#hotd fanfic#aemond x female#ewan mitchell#ewan mitchell characters#aemond stannies#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen fan fiction#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond targaryen fic#prince aemond x you#prince aemond
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Silence Isn't Quiet Anymore
Azriel x Reader
Summary: Azriel finally understands.
Warnings: None
Word Count: 892 (short but so good?)
Notes: This might be one of the most interesting concepts I've ever written. I'm obsessed.
_________________________________________
Azriel finally understands.
He’d caught a Suriel once. It hadn’t been anything more difficult than, say, crossing a river, which Suriels cannot do. He’d tracked it for an hour, two, the wind whistling through the trees as his only companion. His shadows had cowered away from the creature that belonged to something other. Another life, perhaps one before even the first of the fae or humans or animals that inhabit the continent found their way here. Before plants had taken root and clouds poured rain from the skies and the sun and the moon had been together, not forced apart by day and night.
There wasn’t a trap to be laid. A crossing of rivers had done enough.
The creature's tattered robe pulled from its bony body as a gust of wind brushed through the woods, sending shivers up his spine. He could’ve turned away right then. Should’ve. He wasn’t looking for answers to any questions, too stubborn in the fact that it was his job to know more about anything at any given time.
The Suriel stared into his soul as he stared into the cavity of its presence. A stalemate. Death looking at Death, a boy looking at his truth.
And its words were nothing but.
“One day, Shadowsinger, when the world has gone still around you, you’ll find out why silence isn’t quiet anymore.”
The harrowing words had haunted him for centuries. Azriel had shrunk in on himself, retreating further and further inside of the cavern of his mind as the words clung to his brain matter, always there.
In times where he might’ve forgotten the roughness of the Suriels voice, the pondering of so few words spoken, as if they were a curse branded into his soul, even his shadows would remind him. Curling behind the backs of his ears in a movement that reminded him so much of ragged, bony fingers reaching out for him in the same way. As he stared into those empty eye sockets, puzzling words falling from lips that didn’t move, a tongue that wasn’t there, from a jaw broken and swinging with the breeze.
Azriel finally understands.
Azriel finally understands why silence isn’t quiet anymore.
It’s your soft breaths, fingers brushing against the crisp page as you turn it. The cracking of the stiff spine. Your quiet gasps as the story goes wrong and the rubbing of your thighs when it goes right. He watches you from his place next to you, blankets shifting as you draw your knees to your chest, completely lost in the novel settled in your lap. You don’t even know it, that his hazel eyes are drawn to you like a maggot to rot. You’re lost in your own world, the quiet of the room a friend, a safety that allows you to immerse yourself in letters on pages.
It’s the wooden spoon scraping the bottom of the pot as you stir, staring at him with those heated eyes as if this is as tough for you as it is for him, keeping away. It’s the constant constricting in his chest, a yearning slowly stoked into a wildfire, cracking in the quiet as he waits. It’s the way your skirts whisper against your skin as you move around the kitchen. The sprinkle of spices, coarse salt pinched between your fingers, dripping into the stew. It’s bubbling, it’s meat so tender it falls apart with the spear of his fork, it’s a slurp of broth that burns him up just like you do, accepting the bond.
It’s your body curling into his while you sleep. The crumple of the sheets as you roll. Your fingernails against the mattress as you feel for him, mind buried deep in sleep. He wonders what you dream of, when you cling to him like that, the contours of your body fitting perfectly within his own. He can feel it, almost, the warmth in his chest as you dream.
It’s the flap of his wings in the night sky. You, cradled in his arms. The whipping of your hair across his wind-burnt cheeks. The light scratches at his scalp as you run your fingers through his unruly hair. It’s the steady thump of your chest, your heart against his as you cling to him, the scream you hold in but your body is tight with it.
It’s when you’re gone and he’s all alone. The silence doesn’t stop, but neither does the noise. It’s filled with voices, shadows cawing in his ears, sliding against his skin, chasing his footsteps like predators. It’s the voices in his head, the roaring of his beating chest as it screams at him to find you, even though you’re only gone a few more hours.
It’s clothes peeling away from skin. Buttons flying to the ground, fabric tearing. Footsteps stumbling closer to the bed. It’s nails scraping down his muscles, his around your waist, pressing bruises into your flesh. All the words that need to be said aren’t words at all. They’re tongues pressing against each other, soothing along each other. It’s teeth clicking, sticking to skin when you bite. It’s your flushed body peeling from his with every move, sticky with sweat. It’s the roiling inside of him, his mating bond coiling with yours, tighter and tighter and tighter until—
Azriel finally understands.
#acotar#azsazz#acomaf#acowar#azriel#azriel x reader#azriel/reader#azriel angst#azriel shadowsinger#azriel acotar
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Mr. and Mrs. Shadowsinger
Azriel x Reader - Angst - Smut
His eyes are cold and restless, his wounds are almost healed, and she’d give half of Prythian just to change the way he feels. She knows his love’s in the Hewn City and she knows he’s going to go. But it’s not a female he’s leaving for, it’s his damned duty to the Night Court.
Warnings: sexual content, grinding, dom/sub dynamic, language, bondage, grinding, fingering, toxic couple, using intimacy as a form of persuasion
Her mate was strong but gods damn it, so was she. Perhaps that’s why by some cruel twist of fate, she was mated to the infamous Spymaster of Night Court. A male that could torture the secrets out of seasoned liaisons with even the highest of clearances. Nobody in Prythian was better at the game than him, and he wouldn’t allow anyone a moment to doubt it. “Cold”, “Calculating”, “Ruthless”, those that feared him would whisper.
“Are you fucking kidding me, Azriel?” she screamed at the top of her lungs.
His cold, stony gaze fixed on the door behind her as she pressed her body against it, blocking the exit.
Placing two palms to his leather covered chest, she shoved - perhaps she was the only one who didn’t fear him. In fact, she loved him and that was the fucking problem. She wished she didn’t, wished she could let his ass walk right out that front door and not give him a second glance. Instead she was so hopelessly devoted to him that she couldn’t fathom letting him go without a fight. The irony wasn’t lost on her that she needed him, like he needed to draw information from anyone he perceived as a threat to the Night Court. Those that respected him would call it honorable. She called it fucking insufferable.
To his credit, at the belligerent outburst of his mate, a slight tick of his jaw was the only sign of his irritation - a large hand raising to each of her shoulders.
“You just got back! This is fucking bullshit and you know it!” She huffed. She wouldn’t cry, wouldn’t let him see her weak. No, not today. Let him read the resolve in her eyes.
“I’ll be back tomorrow night.” His firm tone left no room for argument.
Too bad for him she didn’t give a damn about personal space as she made room to retaliate anyway.
“You’re not even healed! Your left wing is tattered in two places. Never mind the fact that I’ve barely seen you this past month. What the hell, Azriel? Do I not matter to you?”
His cold, restless gaze faltered for a moment. “That’s unfair, Y/N, and you know it. You matter and so does ensuring the safety of the court we live in. It’s my duty.”
She pushed a finger into his chest, emphasizing her next words. “No, Azriel, what’s unfair is the way you are walking out on me again. Fuck this court and every person in it, I only want you.” Rage seeped through her, rising to a boil beneath her heated skin. Azriel’s lips remained pressed in a firm line, a slight rustle of his wings the only show of frustration.
Lifting a scarred finger and tracing it lightly along the side of her face, he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You don’t mean that.”
Her brow creased at the implication. “I do and you know it. You are all I care about, you’re my fucking mate, not the people of this court, not the city of Velaris, YOU.”
Shaking his head, he remained calm, letting out an exhale. “We can’t keep doing this, Y/N. You’ve known my duties since well before we mated. You don’t see me complaining when you’re away on missions for the Valkyries.”
Oh- he struck a nerve with that. Bracing himself for the recoil he stood firm, crossing his arms in the warriors stance he and Cassian had both perfected over the years. With a cock of his head he continued, “Did I strike a nerve there? Let it out, Y/N. Let’s get this out of the way so you’re not stewing the entire time that I’m gone.”
“You are infuriating!” She howled, her power rolling off her skin in waves, Azriel’s shadows recoiled but he didn’t flinch. “You know why you don’t complain? Because you’re still fed, fucked, and fawned over every single night you’re home. Do I get the same treatment in return? No!”
“So that’s why you’re upset?” He challenged. “You need me to fill your pretty cunt? Is that it baby?”
He hit his mark with the statement. A rush of arousal barreling into him before she clamped down on their bond, rage again lining her sharp features. “I can get off well enough on my own, Azriel.” she spat, his name dripping off her lips with venom. He wanted to bite those lips, suck the venom coating right off of them.
He leaned in, centimeters away from her ear, running a thumb gently up and down her forearm. “You sure about that? You seem a bit-“ hazel eyes roved hungrily up and down her form, from the exposed flesh of the thighs her negligee did very little to cover, to the hint of areola peaking over the deep cut of lace trim, disheveled in her haste to catch him before he left the house. He closed the distance, his lips now caressed the shell of her ear. “-tense.”
“Fuck you.” She snarled.
“Oh, did I not make that clear enough?” He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, his hazel eyes boring into the depths of her own. “That’s what I’m offering.”
“You can’t fix this with fucking! I’m going to get Rhys, now. You’re not leaving. Not this time.” She stormed to their bedroom, the curve of her ass teasing him as he followed her through the house. Throwing open the armoire door she grabbed a silk t-shirt and leggings, hurriedly putting them on over her slip. Azriel’s tall form leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, watching his angry little mate with a smirk.
“I’m not fucking joking.” She scowled. “I don’t give a shit that he’s your High Lord. You’re MY mate first. Or did you forget that?” She marched toward the doorway shifting to slide past his towering frame. Just as she thought he’d let her past he flung out an arm. “How could I forget, my love? Your fiery rage is the soothing balm warming my own forged of ice.”
She hissed as she barreled into his arm, no match against the 500 years of hard-earned, corded muscle beneath. “No you don’t.” He hauled her over his right shoulder as she kicked and beat her clenched fists against the defined muscles of his back. “Put me down!”
He smiled to himself with satisfaction at the fact that though his mate was livid as all hel with him, she still was careful to throw those fists away from the sensitive membranes of his wings.
Reaching the edge of their oversized bed and much to her dismay, Azriel cradled one hand to the nape of her neck, and looped the opposite arm beneath her ass, dropping her onto the bed, his shadows darting out to restrain her.
“This isn’t going to work!” She yelped.
He hummed, a look of pure male arrogance crossing his gorgeous features. Leaning over the edge of the bed, he braced his weight on his left arm, tracing a calloused finger down the valley between her breasts. “Is that why the sweet aroma of your need is filling every inch of this room?”
Gritting her teeth, she fought the shadows pinning her to their bed.
She loved this and he knew it. His mate was wild, untamed, only yielding within the safety of their bedroom walls.
He placed a knee between her thighs, spreading them, and placing just enough pressure against her core to earn a whimper at the friction.
“Tell me what you need, Y/N.” he demanded.
The female shook her head.
“I may be a patient male, love, but I don’t have time to wait for you. Going to need you to use your words.”
She only scowled at him and he didn’t miss the way she almost imperceptibly arched her back, raising her chest, pebbled nipples peaking from beneath her silken shirt.
“Very well.” He tsk’d, turning his back, wings flaring slightly to remind her of just how accurate the rumors about wingspan were.
He stepped outside the door frame, turning the corner when a pitiful “Wait.” came from their room.
Her scent flowed to him from their room, his cock jerking at the win, at the fact that her submission and desire for him was so evident. He waited a moment. Oh yes, he was going to make her wait for this. Spymaster duties could hold off long enough to punish his girl for her outburst, in all the ways she loved to be reprimanded. She needed the attention and her behavior was a clear sign of it.
So he sauntered back into their room, oozing with confidence as he took in the sight of his mate, defenseless in her binded state.
“Can you be good for me, baby?” He asked in a condescending manner.
She nodded her head, apology dancing in her eyes.
“Promise me, baby.” He teased. “Show me just how good you can be.”
“Yes, sir.” She spoke submissively.
Pride sparked in his chest at her changed behavior. Releasing his shadows, he looked to her with faux empathy in his eyes, seating himself at the edge of the bed. “Strip.”
She did as he requested with no argument.
“Good girl.” He cooed, patting his thigh. “Now c’mere”
He took in every inch of exposed skin as she strode toward him, avoiding eye contact in a show of deference. Very well, the subtle bounce breasts with each step was captivating his attention anyway.
His submissive girl was so fucking good for him.
She spread her legs, straddling his thigh, dropping her weight down onto it, waiting patiently for his next command.
Looking into her eyes, he whispered in a low voice that sent chills through her, his palm cupping her jaw, thumb running across her lower lip. “You’re so delicious, you know? Those pretty lips make me want to devour them until they’re puffy and red.”
He was setting the bait. The next sentence determining whether she’d be rewarded or not based on her response. “But, unforunately” Azriel let out an exasperated sigh, “I don’t have all day. Our court needs me.”
He caught the flash of violence in her eyes, the rage warring within them. But to his surprise, she didn’t react. Not one single word of resistance falling from that pretty mouth.
He placed a hand on either side of her hip, situating her center over the seam of his leathers. “I know you didn’t like that, sweet girl. But look at you, you’re being so good for me right now. You’re learning.”
She smiled coyly at the praise, biting her lip and looking up to him with fluttering eyelashes.
“You can move now, baby. Take your pleasure.”
So she did, finding that perfect angle and rhythm to bring the friction she so desperately needed to her aching core.
Her body began to tense, little moans and whimpers spilling from her lips, brows furrowing as she focused on her pleasure. “Azzie.” She whispered innocently. “Please, may I come?”
He brought a scarred hand to the back of her head. “Such good manners, baby. So proud of you.”
She beamed at the praise.
“Yes, my good girl. You may.”
A whimper fell from her lips as his thumb found the sensitive bud of her clit, moving it in those rhythms he’d long ago perfected, bringing her to the edge in no time.
She cried out his name through shattered moans, her head falling to the crook of his neck, breasts heaving against him. When her panting settled, she whispered, “Thank you.”
Opening his mouth to accept her gratitude, he was taken back by something pulling at his wrists, ankles following suit.
His mate hopped off of him, heading to the closet. “What the hell?” Azriel shouted.
“Some Spymaster you are.” She chided, eyes rolling with contempt. “When would I ever submit so easily? Think with your other head next time, Az.”
Throwing on a set of leathers that typically would have had his cock at full attention by the way they hugged her like a second layer of skin, she flashed him a vulgar gesture and left the room, leaving him pinned to their four-poster bed by his own damned shadows.
He fought against the binds but the traitorous things were having none of it.
“Y/N! Come back!” He yelled but the only response was the slamming of the front door echoing down the hall.
——————————
Hours later a disheveled Shadowsinger found himself in the Hewn City. After much convincing his shadows had finally let him free of their restraint when he promised the lecherous things their share of playtime with their favorite little mate - their mate who was absolutely going to be punished later.
He was fuming, embarrassment weighing heavily upon him like an anchor. He almost felt bad for the subject Rhys has sent him to elicit information from today. They expected it would take at least a day, if not two to work on this one. Azriel guessed a day based on the less-than-generous mood he was in.
His heavy footsteps echoed off the walls of the Hewn City dungeons as he neared the cell of his subject, shadows promising violence, an obvious attempt to win back his affections after their betrayal.
Azriel gaped as he rounded the corner to find his leather clad mate sitting in a chair outside the cell, seated in a relaxed show of dominance with one leg crossed over the other, irreverently picking at her cuticles with fucking Truth-Teller.
“What the hell?” He fumed at his mate. “Where is the prisoner?”
“Oh, him?” She flashed a wicked grin.
“He’s gone. I got the information Rhys needed.”
His brows furrowed with disbelief. There was no way. It had only been a couple of hours. “How?”
She stood, swishing her hips as she sauntered toward him, brushing her chest against his. “I have my ways. Certainly you would know that.” She flicked her gaze to his swirling shadows who quickly hid in shame. “Your shadows surely do.”
Gripping him by the front of his leathers, she pulled him into a kiss, claiming his mouth with her own. The Shadowsinger too dumbfounded to argue.
“C’mon Shadowsinger.” She quirked an eyebrow, as she looked into his eyes with challenge. “You’re mine. Now, let’s go home.”
—————————————-
A/N: you get extra credit if you know where the summary for this story came from.
General tags: @lilah-asteria
#acotar#sarah j maas#a court of thorns and roses#azriel#a court of silver flames#a court of frost and starlight#a court of mist and fury#a court of wings and ruin#azriel x reader#azriel shadowsinger#shadowsinger#Azriel smut#azriel one shot#Azriel’s mate#azriel spymaster#spymaster
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"Adoption"
Masterpost:
“As you can see, our policy clearly states, only one pet per customer. I’m afraid those are the rules.” Whumper gave them a wide, fake smile. “Now, what kind of traits would you prefer it to have? As you can see, we have quite the variety.”
With an even wider smile, the monster waved their hands towards the dimly lit hallway, lined with cells Caretaker would consider unfit for dogs. Each and every one was crammed to the brim with victims --The stench of waste and misery and the even greater amount of perfume pumped out to mask it only confirmed the fact-- but the prison was deathly silent. When he had made the mistake of peering through the rusty bars, the only thing to stare back were the shackles winked as they held on tight to their prey and sucked them dry of dignity and freedom. For the third time since their foot had struck the bloodstained concrete, Caretaker swallowed down bile.
Only one. They had been warned that this would happen, and had foolishly waved it off. These traffickers were sadists, yes, but he had assumed that their greed would make them compliant. Caretaker had the wealth to convince even the devil himself to retire from hell, and it still wasn’t enough. They sighed in defeat and stuck their hands in their pockets, initiating plan B.
“I want to see their eyes.” Caretaker finally spoke, taking care to mimic Whumper’s inflection: Cool and professional, with the slightest hint of sadistic glee. A voice any monster would relate to.
“I’m sorry, but we would recommend against that. None have earned the privilege.”
“I ignore your recommendation.” At the trafficker’s frown, they layered their voice in even more syrup. “If I don’t see the fear in their eyes, how will I know I’m getting what I paid for?”
Whumper still hesitated. “I’m… It’s just that not all are guaranteed to obey, you see. Some are still in the process of being broken in, and there are a few kept rebellious to suit the needs of the buyer.”
“Then I will wrangle them myself.” And with that, Caretaker knew they had succeeded.
“Eyes forward, pets!” the trafficker cracked their whip, and a sickening chorus of pleas and whimpers followed, each more pitiful than the last.
“Ignore the cacophony, if you would please,” Whumper said with a roll of their eyes. “The pets only wish to manipulate your decision by showing how well they can scream.”
Caretaker sniffed in disgust jamming their hands even further into their pockets lest they strangle the closest waste of air. What mattered more was leaving this hellhole with their cover still intact. “Are they collared?” They asked through gritted teeth.
“Oh, yes, they are perfectly safe to approach!”
“Then don’t mind me.” Caretaker turned his back on the conversation to stalk upon the first cage. The being inside was a blonde scrap of matted hair, bloodied flesh, and tattered wings. Before the poor thing could even gasp, Caretaker had grabbed onto her collar and yanked them forward, until their foreheads practically touched through the cage bars. They made a show of studying the pet’s eyes, all the while their hand attached, secured, and activated the tracker. It was a strategy proven tried and true: Either the collars went with the pets to their new owners, and the agency was able to track them down and arrest a new criminal, or the collars stayed with the traffickers no matter how many times their compound was relocated in an attempt to remain hidden. Caretaker faked a grunt of disapproval, and moved on, already latching onto the collar of the next slave.
All the while, Whumper hovered by their side like a buzzing hornet, a constant reminder that Caretaker couldn’t afford to mess up. Practice alone kept his hands steady and his movements fluid. They made a show of poring over the braver ones, pretending to ponder. Tracker after tracker, cage after cage, and they were still going strong. Even still, with three rows per column and more than a hundred cages on the right side alone, Caretaker had to face the grim reality that he could tag only so many beings. Even with a generous overestimation, they couldn’t have imagine how big this ring was, nor how many were suffering.
As his supplies dwindled, Caretaker was forced to take up the facade of a rapidly uninterested browser, picking cages at random and tagging the strongest, the most rebellious, or the most disassociated specimens, beings who had the least likely chance of ratting the whole operation out. The trackers were far too small to be spotted in the darkness, and thin enough to disguise their presence as a roughness in the leather at most, but they could never be too careful. They avoided the eyesight of all those they couldn’t help now, mumbling apology after apology under their breath.
“Oh, dear, does nothing interest you?” Whumper asked once the trackers had run out. “What a shame. I had told my pets to be on their best behavior today.” With a single glare, every slave was cowering.
“It’s not their fault.” Caretaker said, before they could stop themselves. “I’m sure they could please any normal master just fine, but I crave a challenge.”
Whumper’s eyes glinted. “A challenge, you say?”
They hesitated ever so slightly before replying. Why not? If I leave empty-handed, that’s one life I could have rescued. “Tell me, Whumper, what do you find more exhilarating? A disobedient mongrel who needs to be taught respect, or a broken pile of bones who needs to be reminded how to properly scream for their master’s pleasure once again?”
Whumper took a moment to answer. “My job requires the former far more than the latter, sadly. I find that nothing stirs up creativity than a pet who’s felt everything. When you finally unlock their agony after they’ve only pretended to whimper for so long…” They snapped their fingers. “Oh, you’ll find there’s nothing like it.”
“I assume you have the perfect specimen of that sort for me, then?” Caretaker asked. “I expect nothing less from your compound.”
“But of course! Follow me, I have just the thing.” Whumper took out a key ring and unlocked the trap door Caretaker had noticed upon entering. They followed the monster to the depths of its lair, where the only light was Whumper’s own flashlight, and the only sounds were the endless, maddening drips of water supplied from overhanging buckets.
“You’ll have to forgive the mess.” Whumper said as Caretaker smashed their shin against an exposed pipe. “This is where I work on cases not yet fit for purchase, and as such is not usually available to the public. I wasn’t expecting visitors.”
“What gives me the honor, then?”
Whumper turned back to flash them a wink. “Let’s just say that I know an experienced hand when I see one. I have no doubt you’ll be able to handle even the most difficult of mongrels.
Caretaker’s heart leapt to their throat. That wink… how he had specifically mentioned his hands… Had Whumper found him out? In the basement, there would be no better place to entrap them… they had willingly walked into a trap! Caretaker’s hands hovered indecisively, unsure of what to grab. The knife, hidden in their boot, or the cyanide pill on their sleeve?
“Ah, here we are!” Whumpee’s voice made them flinch, and they promptly bashed their head against the low ceiling. “Oooh, watch your head! The toys are right over here.”
Sure enough, each locked in sensory deprivation and each rendered immobile in some way or another. One silhouette hung from the ceiling, forced into perpetual tiptoe, while another lay crumpled on the ground, kept eternally submerged in a pool of murky water. Whumper pulled them along enthusiastically, calling “This one, this one! Oh, she’s my favorite!”
“She,” Turned out to be a young humanoid, chained against the wall, with a tangle of curls that hid her face, but could not conceal her sawn off horns.
“She’s a tricky one to crack alright, but I think I’ve almost got her,” The Headmaster continued, their hyena-like laughter echoing throughout the chambers. “I’ll let you figure out the answer though. Oh, what fun you’ll have!”
“Indeed…” Was all Caretaker could say.
“So, will you take her?”
I can’t believe I’m doing this… Perhaps they wouldn’t be able to, had her eyes been open or if her face hadn’t been obscured or if her voice had begged him. But as it was…
“No. I have someone else in mind.”
“Oh? Who, pray tell?”
Caretaker had promised to themselves that if it came down to it, they would rescue the one who had needed it most. And Whumper had offered up his “favorite” just a bit too eagerly. If they had to guess who in this dungeon was truly the most in need of him, his guess would have to be…
“This one.” Caretaker pushed aside Whumper to enter into the cell they had been hurried past. The resident inside lay kneeling on the ground, their hands chained behind them. A blindfold and a pair of headphones kept them from reacting to Caretaker’s footsteps as they approached. “They seem like an interesting challenge.”
“W-who, Whumpee?” The trafficker scoffed. “I was just about to send it upstairs, in fact. Trust me, there is nothing to look at on that front.”
“Is there?” Caretaker crouched down and took off Whumpee’s blindfold. Instantaneously, they leaned forward and kissed the tops of Caretaker’s boots. The detective gagged.
“P-personally, I think… I think they are just what I am looking for. And since they’re about to go upstairs, they’re practically for sale, right?”
Whumper didn’t answer; Caretaker had backed them straight into a corner. “I didn’t say they were ready… we still have a few tweaks to work through..”
“I’ll work through with them myself.” Caretaker promised. When Whumper didn’t budge, he pretended to lower his guard. “Please… give me this one, and you’ll have a regular customer on your hands. I have enough to make it worth your while…”
“Oh...alright. They will cost a bit extra, just to warn you.”
Caretaker leaned over and took off Whumpee’s headphones, using the action as an excuse to hide their smile. They did it! The tiniest victory was gained, but it was a victory nonetheless. “Consider it a deal. I’ll sign any necessary paperwork.”
“You want them now?” The trafficker whined.
“Of course! They’re my property, aren’t they?” Caretaker made their tone a threatening growl. “You don’t mean to scam me, do you?”
“No, no, never! It’s just that.. Well, that pet is currently in punishment. Quite severe punishment, in fact. A break in their routine like this may render it’s conditioning ineffective, as it will be rewarded for bad behavior, see?”
Caretaker turned to face Whumpee as they made the tiniest of moans. Huge, terrified eyes blinked up at him. Caretaker stared back, suddenly wishing that they had kept the headphones on as the next words were forced to leave his mouth.
“Oh don’t you worry. I am the worst punishment this mongrel could possibly imagine.”
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Extreme Stress Testing
Human vessels are almost uniformly diverse. This is normal among civilians in most civilizations, but what baffles us is the fact their military craft of all sizes are equally uniquely designed and decorated. Now, we've seen how they love to tinker and attribute personality to their ships, but that's still a process that takes time and effort.
Take their fighter craft for example. Not even a week passes after one is printed and officially tested that it gains a whole new paint job and numerous panels and devices are replaced. After a bit of backroom negotiation in a bar where we politely kept to the only drinks that wouldn't kill us outright - tea. But still not too hot, it's miraculous how Humans can ingest near boiling water and be perfectly fine after a short while.
Anyway, we were allowed to "ghost" how a fairly young Quick Response combat group - Sparrow Swarm 12 - initiated three new fighter pilots and their freshly minted craft.
The Cruiser-Carrier hybrid ship, Hilda's Halberd, ferried the squad plus guests to the outer edges of Sol's Oort Cloud. At these distances, even the Sun is just a slightly larger dot in the pitch black darkness of space. However, wherever civilization goes, light follows, and with a flick of a switch of its powerful flood lights, Hilda's Halberd became the brightest spot for a million kilometers.
What it illuminated, however, was quite a terrifying sight to behold. A graveyard of ships and debris, deliberately left alone by the OCC by request of the military. We became quite worried as we got closer to the field, but thankfully the cruiser-carrier stopped a good few thousand clicks away. Then the fighter squadron launched straight for it.
Thanks to the flood lights we could clearly see the entire spectacle. We wish we couldn't.
The new pilots were bumped, literally physical ship-to-ship contact by the veterans all the way as they approached the, what the captain called - a "race track". It was horrifying all the way there. Sparks and sparkling micro-debris from the now not-so-pristine ships flew off with every bump and crash. And Human ships are bulky, even the smallest ones have much greater mass than normal, so impacts like those would easily destroy most non-Human ships of equivalent scale.
With numerous bruises and "cosmetic" damage!? (we would immediately send any ship in similar condition to be fully repaired and refitted) they arrived at the actual initiation grounds. Then the carnage begins. They're told to make it from one end of the field to the other WHILE EVERYONE ELSE IS SHOOTING AT THEM WITH LIVE AMMO!!!
It was beyond terrifying. Even as far as we were from the actual carnage, when Human ships discharge their weapons with intent - Space. Quivers.
It was over in a minute.
All three, now, by all measures anywhere else in the Galaxy, hardened combat veterans, made it. Just. How they were able to maneuver so swiftly and change trajectories without the Human within dying from all the g-forces is beyond us, and how the attackers were able to keep up with their chaotic movements, quite a learning experience for how decisively they would beat us as we are now should we ever become foes.
After everyone was back on Hilda's Halberd, the squad cheered and had a small feast, while the rest of the crew went about as normal and began to make way back to the core of Sol. The next day each of the tattered ships had their pilot and an engineer working on it, talking about all the technical aspects and things like how it "felt when the left wing was shot off and I bumped into an asteroid", and other nightmarish things.
One of the pilots simply smiled as she looked at her ship and then the engineer and said "Dragon horns".
#humans are space orcs#humans are space australians#humans are space oddities#humans are deathworlders#humanity fuck yeah#carionto
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Creatures Of The Night (18+)
Vampire!Eddie x Werewolf!Steve X Reader
Summary:Not very much here in terms of plot if we're being brutally honest, just some very fun and sexy times involving some monster steddie!
Warnings:NSFW, 18+, Making Out, Teasing, Fingering, Size Kink (slightly), Praise Kink, Oral Sex (Brief F Receiving), Missionary Sex, Cuddles afterwards for good measure!
Word Count:2, 213
Authour's Note:Maybe i'm unhinged for writing this but i'm just here for a good time and to fuck monsters, if that's not your thing then maybe this isn't the fic for you.
Masterlist
It was only ever under the bright white light of the moon that their true forms revealed themselves to you. The pitch black midnight provided them the chance to present themselves as they truly are.
Eddie with his pale skin, red-rimmed dark eyes, and spread of imposing bat-like wings. His wicked smile proudly shows off his two prominent sharp, pearly teeth. A few of his long dark curls had fallen loose from the bun tied at the nape of his neck, framing his pale face. He’d long been drawn to you, the scent of your blood called out to him, a rich, cherry-sweet scent unlike anything he’d ever come across before. His nose would brush against your neck, as his tongue licked over the pulsing veins in your neck, and despite it all, he could never bring himself to sink his teeth in, never wanting you to come to any harm, especially not at his cost.
And Steve, who’s broad shouldered frame is covered in thick coats of soft brown hair, his usual hazel brown eyes now glowed a honeyed golden sparkle in the moonlit dark of the bedroom. Even in his shaggy, wolf-like form there was still something incredibly human about him. The glint in his eyes that lets you know that underneath it all, he was still just your Stevie, and nothing could ever change that.
Maybe the way that you three came together each night wasn’t the conventional thing that was expected of three young adults living together in a small and quiet town like Hawkins but somehow you managed to make your rather unconventional situation work.
Most people wouldn't look twice at your boys in the harsh light of day. Steve in his usual look of light wash denim and striped polo shirts, a normal everyday outfit for the common man in Hawkins. And Eddie clad in his typical garb of some metal band's tour t-shirt, black leather jacket and black ripped jeans leading down to an old pair of tattered dark DMs was a look that most people turned their nose up at with a scoff.
So yeah, mostly the residents of Hawkins, Indiana paid no mind to the two polar opposite boys who roamed their streets.
No. It wasn't until the sun dawned down each evening that your boys came out to play.
Being pinned between their two monstrous bodies was something that you welcomed. The touch of the supernatural was unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.
It started out as a typical night, with you in bed relaxingly cuddled against the warm, soft hairs of Steve’s chest, fingers absentmindedly playing with his soft brown coat. Your head resting against him, listening to the steady beat of his heart, his chest rising and falling with every breath.
In stark contrast to the warmth you feel lying next to Steve, you feel Eddie’s presence sidling up beside you. The ice cold touch of his hand coasting up your arm as he leans in to press kisses along your collarbones, you feel his smirking smile against your skin as you shiver under his affections.
Eddie’s button-tipped nose is buried in the crook of your neck, inhaling the scent of you with a deep breath, before pressing one more cold kiss just underneath your ear.
Steve wasn’t blind to what Eddie was trying to do, in fact he all but encouraged the vampire’s quest to arouse you. Steve quietly chuckled to himself as he felt you slyly trying to grind yourself naked body into his hairy thigh where your legs were tangled with his under the bed covers.
"Well would you look at that.." Steve's deep voice rumbles out "..it would seem as though our mate is getting a little squirmy from all those kisses your giving her, Munson"
"Indeed it would, Harrington. How about we do something about that, huh pretty girl?" Eddie asks you, his voice a low raspy whisper beside your ear.
You lift yourself from the soft comfort of Steve's chest to nod your head.
"I'm gonna need you to use your words, Sweet Thing." Eddie purrs out, ever the tease.
You nod your head once more
"Yes please.." you breathed.
"Always so polite.." Eddie smiles. He looks over to Steve and gives him a subtle nod of his head, which Steve understands right away, as his massive hands gently man-handle you into a position where you’re sat on the bed, with your body relaxing back against his soft furry chest, your head leaning against his shoulder.
Steve’s large hands are pawing at your exposed chest, squishing the soft flesh of your boobs under his rough touch. His fingers eagerly toying with your nipples, rolling each one between the calloused tips of his fingers. His lips hungrily sucks dark marks against your skin, trailing his kisses up the side of your neck.
“Hold her open, Wolfie.” Eddie commands Steve teasingly, knowing how much Steve hated Eddie’s affectionate nick-name for him.
Steve’s hands immediately skate down the sides of your body, his nails leaving light scratch marks as he does. His big hands settle themselves on the soft skin of the inside of your thighs before spreading them and holding them open.
Eddie stands up and makes his way over to where you're so tantalisingly spread out for him. Stalking the room, his dark eyes never leaving your exposed frame.
You watch his movements with anticipation. There’s a delicious heat that warms through you as you watch how he lewdly spits in his palm before dropping his hand down and teasing his cock in slow strokes, his thumb swiping over the mess of pooling pre-cum gathering at the tip as his fist strokes upwards making sure to glide over the prominent vein that runs the underside of his length.
"Don’t worry Pretty Girl, I'm going to make you feel real good, real soon" Eddie promised. "Just gonna let Harrington have his moment with you first, you know he's gotta stretch you out to get you ready for me"
You feel the insistent press of Steve's cock at your back and all too quickly you're reminded of why he has to stretch you out. In his human form Steve was not small by any shred of the imagination, but with enough prep and slow, gentle movements from both parties you could take him.
However, in his humanoid-wolf hybrid form it was a different story. Everything about him was bigger, in every sense of the word. Of course you’d tried to take him, so desperate to feel the stretch of him inside you, but it would be a while before you could accommodate the press of his thick length in your tight wet heat. For now you had settled on a happy medium of being opened up by the rough and calloused touch of Steve’s fingers.
Starting with only one of his fingers, carefully teasing his way around your pussy, gathering the wetness on the pads of his fingertips before drawing it up and rubbing on your clit in tight circles. His thick finger slips back down and slowly inches inside you, just letting you adjust to the feeling of his finger for a moment before he begins to thrust in and out of you.
Your head falls back against his chest whimpering quiet little moans into the crook of his neck.
“Aw, is Stevie making you feel good, Sweetheart?” Eddie’s voice taunts, a slight tone of condescension as he watches Steve slip another one of his fingers inside you, working them in and out of your wet cunt.
Steve noses into your hair, deeply inhaling the sweet scent of your shampoo, little gruff whines of approval falling from his lips as he feels you tighten around his fingers.
"That's it…There's my good girl, gonna come from me, aren’t you, Sweet Thing?" Steve growls against your skin, his sharp teeth nipping little marks against your neck.
You whine and babble incoherently as Steve continues to thrust his fingers and rub your clit in quick circles, holding you close to his body.
Your orgasm rushes over you, clenching and pulsing against Steve’s thick fingers with a wet gush.
Steve gently rubs over your clit as tenderly as he can with his big pawing hands, helping you to come down from the high of your orgasm.
“There she is, my good girl…So sweet and pretty..” Steve breathes against your neck in-between placing tender to your skin.
“Think you mean our girl, Harrington. Thought you wolves were all about sharing with the rest of your pack, huh.” Eddie teases from where he’s sat on the edge of the bed, his dark brown almost black eyes scarcely tearing away from your steadily breathing frame. His long fingers are still slowly stroking over the length of his cock, keeping himself hard and ready just for you.
“You ready for me, Angel?” he asks, all too cocksure of the fact that you were never going to give him an answer short of a shy nod of your head and a breathy whine of ‘please’.
“I’m ready please, Eddie..I just want to feel you..” you plead desperately, which earns you a rumbling chuckle from the vampire above you.
"Well since you asked so nicely, who am I to deny such a request?" Eddie smiles broadly, bearing his pearly fangs to you.
He leans his head between your spread legs, where Steve’s big strong hands hold you open, and places one soft, solitary kiss against your clit before sweeping his tongue the length of your pussy, slurping up glistening wetness.
"You know I can never resist getting a taste of your sweet cunt, my Darling" he purrs “..but it’s only fair that Wolfie here gets to have a taste too..” before leaning over your shoulder and bringing Steve close with a cold hand snaked around the back of his neck, his long fingers tugging into the soft strands of Steve's scruffy hair. Eddie presses his lips against Steve’s, his tongue slipping between his fangs to allow Steve to taste the sweetness of your juices in a heated and passionate kiss.
An appreciative growling hum resonates from the wolf as he licks his lips when Eddie pulls away from him.
“Always so sweet for us, Pretty girl..” Steve praises, making you beam under his affections.
“Oh! Does our pretty girl like being praised for being a good girl?” Eddie notes as he takes in the way you shy away into the crook of Steve’s neck.
Eddie hooks his finger under your chin, gently tilting your face up, forcing you to look at him.
You shyly nod your head, your words failing you as you’re pinned between these two supernatural beings.
“Well since you’re being such a good girl for us, then I guess it’s only fair that Eddie gets to feel you come for him the way I did.” Steve tells you, his fingers running back up your body to toy with your nipples.
With one more breathy whimper of ‘Please’ falling from your lips Eddie takes his cock in his hand and begins to sink himself into you inch by inch.
Eddie rolls his hips into you, filling you so completely every time he thrusts into you. The cold touch of his fingertips make you shiver as they sink into the warm, soft flesh of your thighs.
Steve takes his opportunity to snake one of his hands down your body to rub circles over your sensitive clit.
“Keep that up Harrington, she’s squeezing me so tight, she feels like a fuckin’ dream” Eddie praises as he continues to rut his hips into you, hitting against that spot inside you that has a flaring heat building in your stomach.
The lewd sounds of Steve’s growled kisses against your neck, Eddie’s sloppy thrusts as he chased his orgasm, and your own whining whimpers resound in the otherwise quiet bedroom.
It didn’t take much more than a few sharp thrusts from Eddie hitting so deeply inside you and Steve’s pawing hands rubbing your clit with just the right amount of pleasure that you were coming around Eddie’s cock. Your orgasm shuddering through your body.
With the way your walls were squeezing him so tightly Eddie buried himself deep inside you once more before he was filling you with the hot spurts of his release.
Taking a moment to gather yourselves, Eddie slowly pulls himself out of your tight wet heat with a hiss of sensitivity.
Steve pulls your body back to his, wrapping his arm around your shoulder, and placing a sweet kiss to the crown of your head.
“Did so well for us sweetheart.” Steve praises once more.
“I love you, you know that, right? Both of you?” you say, looking between the two creatures.
“Yeah we know you do, sweetheart, we love you too.” Steve smiles “Now, you get your blood-sucking ass over here, Munson. I’ve got two arms for a reason.” he smirks, gesturing to the other empty space in the large bed.
Eddie slinks over to the bed, sidling up to Steve, and for the rest of the night that’s how you two spend your time together. You and Eddie snuggled into the soft warmth of Steve’s chest, falling into a relaxed and easy sleep.
@sunflowerdaydreamer @munsonology @xxhellfiregirlxx
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson x female reader smut#vampire eddie munson#Steve Harrington x reader#steve harrington x female reader smut#Steve Harrington x female reader#werewolf steve harrington#steddie#steddie x reader#steddie x reader smut#monster bf#monster fucker
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tagged by @five-and-dimes and @mid0khan, a while back, in last line tag game :)
i'm trying to finally finish the shibari fic. which has become mostly angst. always happens to me
--
“It’s alright, darling,” he murmurs, kissing the top of Dream’s head, and Dream wants to bite back that he does not need platitudes, that he does not need Hob to soothe him like he is some twisting sickened creature gnawing at its own diseased leg, especially when Dream’s problems, his failures are his own. But he can’t. He wants Hob to tell him he is good. He just wants to be good.
“You did so good. I’m so proud of you,” Hob continues, and Dream grits his teeth against the sound he hears himself make, deep in his throat. “You’re perfect and I love you so don’t ever think otherwise.”
Dream is certainly far from perfect, is in fact fundamentally flawed, but he burrows in closer to Hob anyway. Tangles up their limbs so Hob is almost a part of him, or he a part of Hob, Hob twisting him up and binding him more firmly than his ropes. He feels he is made of a flurry of moths, beating wings colliding and tattering against each other, but perhaps Hob can cage them before they utterly fray, can tame their frantic swirling. He must. He must meld back together what his fingers pried open.
--
tagging @arialerendeair, @pellaaearien, @omgcinnamoncakes :]
#dream: i came out here to have a good time and i'm feeling so attacked by my own complexes#dreamling#tag games#my writing
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Vaggie Redesign🦋
Made my own version of Vaggie for fun! Out of everyone so far, redesigning her was the funnest to play around with. There was a lot to consider!!! Spoiler alert for those who haven’t watched the show!
One big thing I had to consider about was her moth motif🦋. I redesigned her hair to be more moth like, the type that have eye patterns like the emperor moth! I think it’s super cool but also…Angels and Eyes👁️(I can imagine the eyes react with her main one) Plus Eyes in general have always been a big motif for her. I also made her feet more stubby, to give off how they were changed becoming a sinner. I def wanted to give off her coming off as unintentionally unsettling as moths can be lowkey scary lol, but also show a struggle of hers is being more down to earth and approachable to others.
Made her hair SUPER longer for the patterns but also give off how if makes up a lot of her, moths got big wings. I read sinners forms have a sorta punishment to them and I imagine for Vaggie, her hair can’t be cut. It can but it would grow back to the same length soon. So it’s def been a struggle for her along with her new feet to figure out how to deal with, especially for combat. Also replaced the bow with actual antennae and made her eyebrows have more hair too! At first I was gonna add the bow to show her using it some way to put up her hair but with how big it is and adding antennae I just got rid of it, making those allude to a bow instead 🎀
For my HH Gang, I’m going for a Rainbow Motif(I think we all know why), for Vaggie she’s more Indigo. Blue(color close to Heaven) but also a little mix of Red(Charlie & Hell). Also has a lot of different symbolisms that I think work well for Vaggie!!!!!!! And in her old looks she had a lot of blues(many such as navy blue belong in the indigo territory) that I decided to re-incorporate into her look. She’s the blue to Charlie’s Red❤️💙Also has a dark purplish red to show the uniforms she’s wearing is older but still connect her to the Hotel and Charlie❤️🌈.
Made her skin more purplish. I can imagine….back then it used to be gray or grayish blue but time in Hell added more color💜💜💜💜💜
ANOTHER really big thing was her fashion. For my Vaggie, she’s basically wearing an old Bellhop uniform from the Hotel’s past(moths may have done some damage prior, lol) hence the tatters, she likes it as it shows she’s part of the Hotel and protective enough but also not too stuffy to stop her from being active. I def was leaning into her being the Hotel’s security. She’s also wearing straps for putting her spear away, a hooded shawl, which I was inspired from one of her concept looks with ripped tights and boots. Def kept the long fingerless gloves with some protective wrap!!!!!!!!!
She’s also wearing a golden apple(HUGE motif with Charlie🍎) and also a huge symbol shown a lot through the hotel to show she’s part of it!…also added more hidden ❌ symbols.
I was def leaning towards business/subtle military/action girl for her. Talked about this with @a-sterling-rose that during development, she plays around with her look more, finding her identity more. I also wanted to give off a little mystery with the cloak. Show she’s someone with secrets…like being a former Top Exorcist. I REALLY WANT HER TO GET HER OWN PAIR OF ANGELIC BALLET SHOES FROM CAMILLE!!!!!🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰
Gave her bigger lips 👄
Made her X sharper, make it look more wing like. Made her lashes more wing like too🦋
Put more weight & muscle on her💪💪💪💪💪💪💪💪💪💪💪💪💪 show she’s got muscle and fun fact, moths got stout builds!!!!!!
Also redesigned her staff a bit to look more Eye like and added a wrap for grip(and that it may have been broken in the past).
Gave her a line under her eye, show she’s someone who works herself too hard ant time… and also give off she’s bit on edge about something…
Also I know there’s been discussions about her name, just wanted to say, if I was to change her name, I’d make it Polilla! Spanish for Moth🦋 I like the idea of exorcists being once humans who became Angels! So Vaggie’s def still got her Salvadoran roots! 🇸🇻 I can imagine she HATES when people call her “Polly” for short.
Also done designs for Charlie & Angel🍎🕷️
What do u think? I’d love to know!💖
#Hazbin hotel#vaggie#vaggie redesign#hazbin hotel redesign#hazbin hotel redesigns#hh redesign#hh redesigns#my art#my redesigns#hazbin vaggie#vaggie fanart#Hazbin hotel fanart#hazbinhotel#hellaverse#Hazbin hotel vaggie#Vaggie redesign#vaggie hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel rewrite
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♥CW: None. Pure fluff. Gender neutral reader.
♥AN: I've been wanting to start writing for Shigaraki so here's something small to start. I love mothman Shiggy fics and I had a cute idea, so here's my little contribution.
♥WC: 1,004
This is getting annoying and you’re fed up.
Every time you open your closet, you find your favorite sweaters filled with new holes. How is this even happening? These sweaters are useless in the frigid winter when they are filled with holes. The holes are big too, and there’s only one thing that you can think would have wrecked such havoc on your wardrobe.
You must have a moth infestation.
After buying some moth balls from the local supermarket, you make your way to the closet that night before bed. This should get rid of those pesky moths, you think to yourself.
Opening the closet, you are shocked by the sight before you.
A man with giant wings has your sweater sleeve in his mouth.
His wings are black and white, with an iridescent sheen that lays atop a delicate pattern. Feathery antennae stick out of his shoulder length, white hair. He has a fluffy white ruff around his neck, matching his hair. Ruby red eyes stare back at you with a frown.
With a squeal you throw the mothballs at him.
He hisses, showing off his fangs in an attempt to scare you away. The scent wafting off the mothballs irritate him, so he simply picks them up and throws them back at you. Returning back to his meal.
“Stop it!” you shout, snatching your favorite sweater from his grasp, “This is my favorite sweater!” You’re more concerned about saving your sweater than you are about the literal mothman in your closet.
He squints his eyes at you, “Hungry,” he growls.
Getting a better look at him, he does seem sickly. Very thin and pale, with scars scattered across his skin. He’s wearing tattered pants and no shirt, the sight of his ribs show you just how hungry he is.
You start to feel bad for the poor creature, not enough to sacrifice your sweaters though. “Stay here, I’ll get you some food.”
He waits patiently while you go to the kitchen to fetch him something to eat. He has sharp teeth so you assume he eats meat, grabbing a raw chuck roast from your fridge. Bringing it back to your room on a plate.
“Here,” you sit across from him, offering him the plate. “You can eat this.”
He crawls towards you, cautiously approaching. Sniffing the meal you hold out to him.
With a single, swift motion, he lunges forward. Pushing the plate aside and latching his fangs on the bottom edge of the sweater you’re wearing.
“No! Stop it, my clothes aren’t food!” You protest, pushing his head away from you. But he doesn’t budge no matter how much you try to push him away. It’s obvious that his strength is far beyond that of a human.
He chews at your sweater with urgency, like he hasn’t eaten in ages. And he’s shivering too. It’s the middle of winter and the poor thing doesn’t have any proper way to stay warm. Maybe that's how he ended up in your home, he was looking for a warm place to stay through the winter.
You sigh and stop trying to push him off of you. He’s just hungry after all and you can always buy new clothes. Bringing your hand up to the ruff of his neck, you gently pet his soft fur, “Fine, you can have the sweater.”
He purrs sweetly in response, laying his head in your lap as he continues to eat away at the fabric. You stroke his fur, admiring his beauty for the next hour. Until he’s traveled up your body, and down your arms, devouring every strand of the sweater you were wearing.
The mothman licks his lips in satisfaction, sniffing around your chest to make sure he got it all, before turning around to leave. Figuring that he has overstayed his welcome. Quite embarrassed that he had just savagely devoured your sweater, unable to control himself due to the fact that he hasn’t had a proper meal in weeks.
“Wait!” you reach out to him, “Please stay… at least through the winter. You’ll be safe here.” For some reason, you feel sympathy for him. Yeah he was eating your clothes, but he was only trying to survive.
Why are you inviting him to stay? You should be screaming in fear like the other humans do when they see him. But you’re different… the first person to show him a hint of kindness. He can’t turn you down even if he wanted to, his chances of surviving such a harsh winter will be slim without a warm shelter.
Seeing that he’s not quite convinced, you quickly put on a t-shirt and scurry over to your bed. Holding the blankets open for him to join you. The warmth of your bed beckons him. He can’t remember the last time he had a warm, safe place to sleep. Following his instincts, he slips under the covers with you. Nuzzling up to your chest, purring as you roll your fingers through his white hair.
Surely you must have a death wish, allowing a deadly mothman to huddle up with you for warmth. But you don’t care. So far he’s only shown interest in harming your clothes, so as far as you’re concerned, he won’t harm you.
His tense muscles relax in your touch, wrapping his arms around you with a relaxed sigh. Trying to convince himself that he’s only doing this to warm himself up, no other reason besides that.
“Tomura… my name is Tomura,” he mumbles. Thinking it rude that he hasn’t introduced himself yet, he doesn’t want you to think he’s some wild animal with no manners.
“What a pretty name. My name is Y/N… you’re welcome to stay as long as you like, Tomura,” you say sweetly.
“We’ll see…” he grumbles. Burying his face into your chest to hide the blush forming across his cheeks.
He’s so comfy here with you, that he might just consider staying through the entire winter. And you wouldn’t mind one bit.
#shigaraki tomura#shigaraki x reader#shigaraki x y/n#tomura shigaraki#mothman x reader#mothman shigaraki#mothura#mha shigaraki#gender neutral y/n#gender neutral reader
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A Hand To Your Darkness
@flashfictionfridayofficial prompt - "blind spot"
Aziraphale meandered through the Garden, humming to himself as he plucked berries. He hummed often these days. The Garden was too quiet otherwise, with everyone gone.
He’d been stationed here alone for months now. Orders still hadn’t come from Heaven to move on. It was getting quite annoying.
Ah! He wasn’t alone today, though. Black coils piled on a large flat rock several feet away.
Smiling, Aziraphale headed for the rock. It would be good to have some conversation, or at least company. Crawly wasn’t always in the chattiest mood, especially when he was a snake, but they always had a nice time together regardless of what form he took.
Aziraphale sat on the rock and brushed his fingers across the scales, something he’d done quite often before without it being an issue.
But this time, Crawly struck at him. Fangs snapped through the air, barely missing his fingers.
“Oh! Crawley, that’s very rude of you!” Aziraphale jerked his hand away. “You could have simply told me not to pet you.”
“Aziraphale?” Crawly’s head swung in his direction. “Is that you?”
“Of course it’s me! No one else has been here in months.” Offended, Aziraphale crossed his arms. “What was that for?”
“Nothing. Nothing”. With a soft hiss, Crawly dropped his head back to rest on the coils. “You jusssst got in my blind spot.”
Aziraphale blinked. “You have a blind spot? Is it something to do with snake eyes instead of normal eyes? Granted, you have snake eyes in general, but… in this form?”
Crawly didn’t answer him. And in fact, there did seem to be something different about his eyes today.
“What’s wrong with you?” Aziraphale bent closer, concerned. “Why are your eyes all cloudy?”
He reached out again, then hesitated. It was a natural instinct to touch someone in distress, to try to soothe them, but it seemed that might be unhelpful right now.
“Crawly?” He slid off the rock and knelt in the soft grass, at eye level. Crawly still didn’t answer him. “Please, can you tell me what’s wrong? I’d like to help.”
Crawly’s tongue flicked out, scenting the air. “Why?”
“You don’t have to sound so suspicious.” Aziraphale took a deep breath, trying to settle his own tattered nerves. He ought to remain calm. “I know we are adversaries, but we’ve spent an awful lot of time together. I’d miss your company if something happened.”
“Good a reason as any, I guessss.” Crawly was silent a moment longer. “Yesss.”
Aziraphale thought for a moment. “Yes, you have a blind spot? Where? Should I avoid approaching you from a particular angle?”
“It’sss kinda everywhere. Er. Er.” Another hiss, this time sharp. “I’m getting ready to shed. Can’t really ssssee.”
“No wonder I startled you. I do apologize.” Although he wasn’t sure what else he could do, really. Not without more knowledge. “Shedding what, exactly?”
“My sssscales.”
“Oh. I suppose that does make sense. I-I know some other animals shed fur and such. And we shed feathers occasionally.” Still at a loss, Aziraphale studied the scales. They were dull, not the usual iridescent beauty. “Is there any way I can help? Would you like me to peel the old ones off?”
“Gosh, no. Not how it worksss.” Crawly coiled even tighter. “Ngh. You really wanna help?”
“I wouldn’t have offered otherwise.”
“Coulda been teasing me.”
“Really, my dear. That’s hardly something an angel would do.”
“You and I sssseem to have met different angels. Or something.” Crawly hissed again. “Right. Right. Ssssso. I’m overheated.”
“Ah.” Aziraphale stared at him. “Why?”
“The sssun.”
“Oh.” Aziraphale swept a wing up, shielding him. “Does that help?”
Despite the cloudy eyes, Crawly managed a glare. “I can’t tell what you’re doing.”
“I’ve put a wing over you. Sheltering you.”
“Bet you look really ssssmug about it, too.” Another glare. “I need to get off the rock. Get to a darker ssspot.”
“Like a nice comfy area with lots of ferns?” Aziraphale asked, thinking of a very nice spot.
“Yeah. Yeah. But…”
He couldn’t see well enough to find it, most likely. “I know you won’t be particularly pleased with this idea, but what if I carry you? It’s nearby.”
Another stretch of silence.
“I promise, I’ll be very careful,” Aziraphale added.
Crawly hissed.
“And I shall keep you company after.”
“Nnnnh.” Crawly shifted his coils a little. “Okay. Okay. As long as you’re careful.”
“I promise.” Rising, Aziraphale reached out. “Going to pick you up now. Please don’t bite me.”
“Promissse.”
Not moving too quickly, Aziraphale scooped the pile of coils off the rock. Crawly hissed, but didn’t snap at him, which was rather a relief.
“There. Just going to carry you over to that nice spot.” Hugging the serpent to his belly, Aziraphale set off at a slow, steady walk. “Is there anything else I can do to make you more comfortable?”
“Not really.” Crawly adjusted a little, resting his chin on Aziraphale’s arm even though he wouldn’t be able to see much of the path ahead. “This is good. I was kinda ssstuck.”
“Well, we’re there now.” Aziraphale ducked under the shade of green boughs and sank to the ground. He crossed his legs and placed Crawly on his lap. “There’s all sorts of comfy ferns. You can slither down on your own, if you’d prefer, or I can tuck you in.”
Crawly was silent.
Ah. Aziraphale smiled a little. “Or you can stay right here. I know I’m likely warm, but less so than a rock in the sun.”
That earned another soft hiss. Crawly didn’t move.
The answer seemed to be yes, then. Aziraphale rested his hands on either side of Crawly’s coils, then swept his wings forward to block any wind. There might not be much else he could do for his adversary right now, but he could at least provide a comfortable place for the poor old serpent to rest.
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Six Sentence Sunday/Creative Proof of Life
Thanks for the tags, @alexalexinii, @shrekgogurt, and @that-disabled-princess!
This WIP post is basically a proof of life statement. I can't believe it's been over a month since I posted Chapter 1 of the Haunting of Simon Snow. I'm so overdue for chapter 2, BUT... instead I finished writing the rough draft. I've been attempting to outline, because when I rough a draft, I really rough it up. Ahem.
So I have been working on it, even if there is zero evidence on AO3 as of yet.
How about some sentences? I haven't sliced up chapters yet, so not sure if this is from chapter two or three, but here's a snippet of Simon on the phone with Penny expressing some smooshy sentiments:
I curl up on the couch a bit more, maneuvering myself so my wings aren’t crushed. “I went flying last night,” I confess then, in quiet tones. Like someone might hear me.
“You— Oh, but… You can’t! What if someone sees you?” I can actually hear her biting her lip. She wants to spell my problems away, and she can’t.
“But I can,” I say, smiling a bit more. “There’s no one around for acres. No one will even willingly drive here on account of the house being haunted. It’s empty. And I’m flying at night.” I say flying in the present tense and realize I fully intend to fly again tonight.
Penny huffs. Her specialty. “I don’t like it.”
“I do,” I say easily, warming up to explaining, hoping she’ll understand. “It’s so freeing, Pen. Like the weight of the world can’t hold me down, anymore. I feel… It’s like… It’s like I’m closer to the stars. Like I’m close to stirring up the milky way.” I let out a sigh, my eyes closing as I drop my head back, indulging in that recent memory. “I don’t hate it as much, when I’m up there. You know?”
There’s a few seconds of silence, and I open my eyes again. “Pen?”
“Hate what?” she asks quietly.
(just in case you were worried I wouldn't be including angst...)
Bit more info on my progress (maybe some whinging) and tags and hellos below the cut!
Fun facts about my ineffecient writing process:
I spent more than one or two hours clearing asterisks from my rough draft this morning. (Because discord has trained me to do *this* when I write instead of this.) Because I'm trying to listen to my draft via screen readers, but it keeps sounding like "asterisk-impossible-star-fuck me" (that's my favorite one honestly, it's supposed to read "Impossible. Fuck me.") which is really annoying (more often than amusing). ANYWAY… what this has revealed to me is that I use "Fuck" a lot, as well as "So good." Ahem. Take from that what you will.
BTW, I'm sure there's an easier way to do that than manually. Please don't tell me for at least a few days, or I might lose it. I am but a mortal being, with a tattered heart and patience worn thin. (Or something.)
OKAY. It's been awhile since I did one of these posts. Time really flies. Gonna give this list my best shot, but as always, open to any who want to participate! (Also adding some new names in for the new year so this is sort of my "Gee I hope this is cool with you" super long tag list. If you'd rather not be tagged, just drop me a missive to that effect!)
@leithillustration @prettygoododds @rimeswithpurple @artsyunderstudy @blackberrysummerblog @hushed-chorus @nightimedreamersworld @best--dress @whatevertheweather @ileadacharmedlife @scribble-tier @imagineacoolusername @brilla-brilla-estrellita @alleycat0306 @angelsfalling16 @fatalfangirl @erzbethluna @tender-ministrations @anxious-m3ss @ebbpettier @bubble-gumhead @facewithoutheart @bazzybelle @theimpossibledemon @aristocratic-otter @mooncello @cutestkilla @annabellelux @ic3-que3n @j-nipper-95 @letraspal @messofthejess @onepintobean @palimpsessed @raenestee @supercutedinosaurs @theearlgreymage @thewholelemon @wellbelesbian @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @youarenevertooold @bookish-bogwitch @martsonmars @orange-peony @mostlymaudlin @stardustasincocaine @confused-bi-queer
Lastly, quick note/question. Tumblr seems to be remiss in informing me when I've been tagged in other posts. Is this a common issue?
#snowbaz#simon snow fanfiction#six sentence sunday#simon snow#penelope bunce#I will never not love writing Simon with his monster bits#his wings are a gift#his tail is a treasure#and I love love love writing him flying#oh in addition to using#“Fuck” and “So Good”#too much#there's also this beauty#“So Fucking Good.”#Don't you love behind the scenes notes on a WIPsday post?#I mean I hope so cause I kind of can't help myself#also doing lots of drawing lately#but seriously I just ran out of 2023 in the end#all good tho#2024 seems to be happening as scheduled if not as planned#simon snow series#the simon snow trilogy#carry on reverse bang#corb 2023#Best besties#angst is coming#jodofic
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BOUNDARIES
warnings : nudity. slight non-con. slightly suggestive(?) part of MDM (my darling medic verse)
PHARMA lacks a conceptual understanding of space. He might despise bursts of affectionate touches from his love little pet but if it is his turn to show off his streaks of intimacy you're in for a ride — any semblance or care to your own boundaries are disregarded.
Oh, you're working? Too bad he's got you on his lap, prying the reports off your brittle fingers. You've got twenty four hours in a day. You can do it later. No, he doesn't care if the deadline is today. You're to be disciplined about diligence and work productivity. That's on you.
It's not that he doesn't want to care, he's well-versed in the cultural differences between a Cybertronian's mindset to a human one in regards of nudity, he just needs more than a brush of your fingers against his own.
You're endearing just as you are amusing with the thing you call 'clothes' draping over your soft little body. In many of his cold days, he thinks about ripping the fabric to shreds. A fantasy of how you'd feel underneath that primitive fabric takes up much of his waking hours. However, the only thing stopping him for doing so is the fact that you'll reduce his beddings to the outside lawn with the dogs.
It's atrociously blasphemous! How dare he be restrained from touching his pet by a mere textile linen from worms? If anything, it was you who should be grateful he cared enough to press about the matter in the first place. To be graced by the touch of the best medics in Delphi.
Pharma glares at the chronometer.
It's ticking close to the end of his shift and a quick swivel to his datapad, it's clear he hasn't drawn up a single report. No, no, no. Whatever happened to diligence? He's getting frustrated. This thought. This feeling. It's distracting his work. He needs answers, quick. Even if in unethical terms he'll have to seek it.
After a lengthful day in Delphi, forbid he ever said it's 'quiet', he slinks Into your shared room — half a habsuite and a normal apartment, if that's even possible to describe — and his hearing processors perks upon the running splash of water. A snake-like grin curls the corner of his dermas. Perfect, he muses. He's just in time for your evening bath.
So again he's goes, off to concoct another of of his unruly experiments. Will it end well? No, probably not. But who cares.Why would you ever want to hide a body like that from him?
"Dear? Are you in there?" He calls out, turning the knob.
You're too busy belting off to that song again. Skyfall by 'Amdbele', or whatever.He should've smashed that jukebox the moment he laid his eyes on it. That four sided, two, three (?) inch of metal you call a 'phone' take sup too much of your time and it irritates him to no end.
Really, you are blind sometimes.
The door gives way with a pull and the warm mist of the bathroom prickles his face. Your figure is a haze amidst the mist and his optics shutters, adjusting to the dim, golden lighting of the bathroom. Then he halts with a harsh jolt. His wings flare up just as how his face does when he regards the nape of your neck down to your back, to your—
"My, my, oh my..." He mumbles with a raised brow.
"Pharma!?" You gave a girlish shriek and on instinct, whether it was reflex or reflux, you ploughed the cleaning sponge to his helm. It bounces off with a plink against the metal. The mech,however, lay undeterred.
Pharma regards your scrunched up face and your arms — he only now realized how slick and glistening your body was — clutching your chest and legs pressed together like that'll cover up your modesty.
Oh, and your hair is matted much like a wet, tattered cat freshly wrung from a bath. He's especially fascinated by the way the fat of your chest is pushed up, though. Two circular mounds of flesh. So soft and so snug. How, pretty.
Now that would make an interesting study.
On the other hand you're stunned. Speechless. You hadn't expect him to be home this early — usually he'd come by ten. But that doesn't matter, you're too speechless that all you could sputter was his name again and again, finding the familiar grip of his name.
And when you do it's another shout. "Pharma!"
"I heard you the first time, dear." He mumbles lazily, his optics drifted off to the side and lower a bit.
"You can't just barge in here anytime you want!"
"If I wasn't suppose to then why was it unlocked?" He stares, bemused, as you curl around the curtains to hide yourself further. He catches you eying the towel within reach of his arm on the sink.
"You should be careful next time you decide not to follow simple basic house rules."
Pharma begins stalking towards you, blatantly ignoring the towel on the sink. Forget the curtains, you push yourself up against the tile wall to prolong the distance between the mech and your bare body. He's got that stupid smug smile on his face and his servos are clenching and unclenching on an invisible stressball. Said stressball is about to be the mound of your flesh in a moment. But that's fine. You've got a plan. Come any closer and you'll jam a foot up his dick.
"That doesn't mean you can just—" You cut yourself short, feeling your face burn up. He's so handsomely irritating that the urge of throttle him dead overrides your prior chagrin. "I told you, you can't just come in here unannounced like that. I was naked, Pharma!"
"And?"
"What do you mean 'and' ?!"
"Depends." He shrugs, now a foot away "What's there to hide?"
" Everything! There's this thing called boundaries, you walking, talking piece of—" You feel something metal and cold groping the flesh of your ass and you're pulled flush against his chest.
"Oh, I would love to be educated on such matters, sweetheart." He's hunched over, helm craning down close to your own. You feel the ozone breath of his mouth prickling your face. "I can't even begin to comprehend the little evolutions of every miniscule organs you stock up that little body of yours."
"What's with you and organs?!"
"That aside. I have another inkling. I was quite curious why humans are so insistent on hiding their flesh from other humans..."
"And how's that working out for you, huh?" You bite back. He grins.
"My conclusion comes clear. I'd prefer it if you were to expose such delicacies to me and only me alone..." He purrs and, much to your chagrin, buries his face into the mound of flesh that is your chest
This bastard, I swear. Your face flares up and you try to pry away from his grip. He doesn't care, however, too focused with peppering kisses down your sternum and the crook of his nose trailing after. You feel yourself lowered until you're backed against the cold, unrelenting touch of the tile floor.
"Why must you hide this from me?" He's hovered above you now, casting a shadow over your face as his head blocks the light from the ceiling. "I think it's high time we should have ourselves a little bonding session, no?"
And on cue his modesty panel opens. You disregard the slick member pressing against your stomach and wrangled away from his body, braced your stance into a standing position and well, jammed a foot up his dick.
Safe to say, he won't be using the baby factory maker for a while.
[BONUS]
It's just another day at Delphi.
Ambulon stares, concerned as the CMO waddles from ward to ward with a grimace etched on his face.
"Pharma, you're limping." He speaks up eventually and the jet halts.
It felt like hours as he did a 180 swivel around. His face twitched, a forced grin and he grits out. "You don't think i know that?"
Ambulon stands his ground. After all, wounded doctors are a blemish to the system.
"I understand you might not need a helping hand. But you don't have to hide it. I'm well verse with the feeling as well." Ambulon trails off, glancing at his own prickled off paint job. "It's not something to be ashamed of. In fact, it just means your circuits are faring well."
Pharma blinks. Once. Then, twice. "Ambulon, my man. What in Primus's spark are you going on about?"
"Your joints." He seems equally puzzled. "Aren't they rusty?"
What returned, however, is a funny look.
#pharma x reader#idw pharma#maccadam#transformers x reader#transformers idw#ikkosuwrites#maccaddams#maccadan#macc#mascsdn#cnt spl im half askeep#valveplug#idw pharma x reader
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the weight of the world. / gojo satoru
the weight of the world still rests heavy of his shoulders, but your little family makes it a bit easier to bear.
wc: 737
There’s a burden that comes with being the strongest. The unyielding pressure of the fate of humanity on one man’s shoulders The expectation was that no matter the enemy, the solution was Gojo.
When he was younger, Gojo used to hide in a closet in a forgotten corner of the estate. It was dusty, and the wing was rarely seen. The air was musty and stale, and time seemed to settle into the wood, ageing it. The paint inside was chipping away under the humidity, flaking off like flecks of snow. It was surprising that the pain had been allowed to get to such a state, but the Gojos were known to be the least tied to the appearances and traditions of the big families.
It was there, in between the dust-covered shelves and the tattered cardboard boxes stacked on them, whose contents decayed with the passage of time, with cobwebs hanging from the ceiling corners waving in the breeze of the summer air, that Satoru would hide and feel the weight of the world crush him. The silence was peaceful, only broken by the cicadas' constant droning and the sniffles of a young child. The dim and dingy room became his hidden refuge.
Satoru was never allowed to have a childhood. To be a child. To not have the weight of the world on him. And that’s why he was terrified.
Your son toddled between yourself and the couch, just now learning to walk. His steps were uneven; he was still stumbling, and he passed over the rug, transitioning to the tile floors. Soft tufts of hair were messy from exertion as Gojo watched you pick him up and kiss on your son’s chubby cheeks. He had a dimple in the left one, constantly on display due to his cheerful nature. The soft morning light diffused through the living room, giving everything a hazy glow. Giggles bounced off the walls, echoing slightly, as you transitioned to tickling the 18-month-old.
Gojo still felt the telling crawl of anxiety spread in his heart. Calm scenes like this were new to him. He had never known peace, comfort, or calm in the length of his life. When you came into his life, he learned comfort for the first time. You became a haven for him. A source of all his weaknesses and all his strengths. When he broke down after the loss of another comrade, another student, another innocent life, it was you who picked up the broken shards of his heart and held them steady in your hands, ignoring the cuts that pressed into your skin, breaking it and leaving blood. It was you who kept him from slipping into madness by fully letting go and giving in to the delirium that came with his work. A beacon of light in the dark and decrepit world he lived in.
When you told him you were pregnant, he felt numb. He barely figured out how to have a healthy relationship; he didn’t have the faintest idea how to be a parent. It scared him. Time seemed to slow when you told him, your words hanging heavy in the air. The responsibility, the magnitude of everything, hit him. His breath caught as fear rose in the shadows of his mind—the unknown, the challenge, the need to measure up to the task of not just being a good person for yourself but for your child. The night he broke down and cried in your arms, confessing that he felt unworthy
"Dada da da da.
"Dada? Are you trying to get Dada’s attention?"
"Dada dada."
Underneath the fear was a profound opportunity for growth. This new chapter of his life gave way to so much love that it felt like his heart might burst every time he saw you holding your son. The joy on your face, knees against the tile, engrossed in the interaction with your son, encouraging his babbles and wonder The room was alive with the melodious dronings of family, a warm embrace wrapping around the three of you. This simple, everyday moment is a testament to the fact that even after all that happened and all he went through, he was still human, he still had a home to come back to, and if carrying the weight of humanity on his back meant that he could share in these moments with you, he’d carry it until he died.
#jjk imagine#gojo x reader#gojo satoru#gojo imagine#gojo satoru imagine#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen imagines#gojo headcanons#uzuri writes
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𝐅*𝐜𝐤 𝐀𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐎𝐮𝐭, 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐲 𝐄𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧
note: *Horny Heresy inTENSIFIES*; take this seriously. or don't. your choice. just keep fucking around and finding out.
Lion El'Jonson - You always wondered what a visibly frustrated Lion would look like but you didn't have the self-awareness to fucking STOP until it was too late. And so here you are, hands bound in shackles, suspended bare before the First himself. For a while, he said and did nothing save for his eyes roving along the contours of your body. That was soon replaced with a curious hand and the moan you let out was heretical, indeed.
Fulgrim - It's a... miracle you can walk. And talk. And still breathe. Mmm... you weren't expecting that out of Fulgrim were you? You look like you've fought a battle and lost while nary a hair is out of place on his head.
Perturabo - Turns out he's not an ass with a martyr complex where it counts. He's still an ass, though... who ironically has a nice ass. Who knew that armor hid so much. Bastard. He may or may not like when you smack it.
Jaghatai Khan - Simply put, you found out on his bike. You were stumbling for a bit afterward.
Leman Russ - Well you didn't have to fuck around for long. In fact, Leman was practically waiting for the moment to pounce, and pounce he did. There's a reason why he's The Wolf King because Leman had you howling all throughout the night, dear.
Rogal Dorn - Perhaps the most surprising encounter of the Primarch. Dorn has some freak bitch tendencies, let me tell ya. All the signs were there what with his fondness for the Pain Glove.
Konrad Curze - *stares in judgemental Sevatar.*
Sanguinius - Watching him succumb to his lust was so beautiful. He had you right where he wanted you, enveloped tightly in his arms, embraced fully with his wings. The Brightest One's eyes are so clouded with a feral desire. He leaned down, pressed a tentative kiss on the pulse of your neck, and you were putty in his arms.
Ferrus Manus - Yeah, Ferrus is many things but when it comes to the matter of the flesh, um... yeah, you had to make the first move. He's got the spirit, though.
Angron - Whew. You fucked around and found out, alright. You riled Angron up so much, all you remember is him growling, muttering something in his native Nucerian tongue, and the next thing you know, your clothes were in tatters around you and he looked feral as he eyed your naked body. Oh.
Roboute Guilliman - Turns out he's a fan of office sex; you fucked around so much that Guilliman had your ass finding out on his desk. With his head buried between your legs. Please be quiet, my dear. There are people beyond those four walls. And yes, please run your fingers through his hair some more. Tug on it a little, too.
Mortarion - *stares in seventy times seven whilst surrounded by seven of the Death Guard.*
Magnus the Red - You thought Guilliman was the only one who liked it when you pulled his hair? Comes with a side of... pleasurable Warp shenanigans.
Horus Lupercal - The hoochiest of the hoochie daddies. The Primarch meets your bullshit with the most blissfully arrogant smile ever and proceeds to keep you up the entire night, reminding you why the Emperor named him Warmaster. Those tactics in the bedroom are devastating, babe. You're practically a zombie the next day.
Lorgar Aurelian - D'aww, look at Lorgar's inner dom coming out. All that resentment came out in one of the best hatefucks of your life. Kudos to you, darling.
Vulkan - You fuck around and find out and it turns into an all-night bear hug bonanza. But naked.
Corvus Corax - He puts his abilities to... good use. "Nevermore", quoth the Raven as he pulled you into the comfortable embrace of the darkness and made you his wonderful Lenore.
Alpharius Omegon - GOTTA FUCK 'EM ALL! ALPHA LEGION!
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