#@far side skies

[ashe-alter]

Bird challenge oc for @far-side-skies monthly challenge

This month is Cardin, prince of Cyclonia and Cyclonis' twin brother.

Cardin is a very quiet boy, very big for his age and very cursed. He suffers from the same curse as his older brother Larkspur (@far-side-skies character for this month) , though he is less smoke and poison mist and more Kirin, which means Grandma is even more awful to him. The shape-shifting is not by choice, and he's hurt his vocal cords over the years, so he can only say a few words at a time. He's very smart and has a lot of thoughts but struggles to get them out. He hates it and would love to have long-winded conversations with anyone.

He usually gets relegated to brut force and strength training, though, as that was all Anarchis saw him as good for. He can go toe to toe with Snipe and Cyclonia's resident Dawnrunner Deo.

Older art below cut

[grimm-the-6th]

This months oc for @far-side-skies challenge

Phantom "Tom" Rex

Head librarian of the Atmosian skyknight council library.

He was born on Terra Hades which had an exposed core and was destroyed when he was 18. He was separated from his twin sister Scrīc in the fallout. She went to Cyclonia.

He is very secretive about his past as it's not a good one. He chose to be a librarian because he just wants to peacefully read his books and forget the world exists.

He has too much paperwork for that though and has not been able to read all the books yet.

Has a specific love for cloaking crystals. And can be bribed with them for information or in his sister's case a place to stay for a while. She needed a place to hide for a few months and he begrudgingly let her stay with him. Dae [a previous challenge character] and Sidian [leader of the nightcrawlers] also used his place as a meeting ground for a time.

please just let him read his books. That's all he wants. to read all the books. Even the bad ones.

[uncertainty5]

I finally finished this at the last second. It didn't turn out the way I wanted but I think i've really improved at drawing with this one!

This is my entry for @far-side-skies Storm Hawks OC challenge for December. Based on the Ardennaise chicken.

Name: Mercury Age: 28 Occupation: Wasteland Raider and Farside Cult Protector Terra: Originally Gale but currently the Wastelands and other abandoned Terras Personality: Strikingly cold and deadpan. She comes off as sarcastic and cynical. She sometimes tries to crack jokes but they don't land due to her delivery. In battle she can go from quiet and unaffected to a blaze of fury. She enjoys collecting little trinkets she finds in the wastelands.

Her backstory is below

Mercury was born with the power to cause any crystals close to her to go out of control when she's upset and fire off at their full potential. Her father was an ex Cyclonian hiding out on Terra Gale before it was taken over. Her mother, according to her father, died long ago. When she was eight, her father remarried a women on Gale and the two had a son. She became jealous however and killed her father by accident when her powers went haywire in an argument.

After her fathers death her step mother and the other people of the village treated her poorly. Fearing her as a killer and a danger to everyone around her. She soon ran away and ended up in a Cyclonian prison mine. After her powers caused a cave in and she was presumed dead, she wandered the Wastelands until she came across a large crystal beast. One of a handful of creatures tied to the Farside as she would later learn. Her powers caused the beast to flee and chip one of the crystals on its body. After running away with the crystal she bumps into a mysterious man. He plans to kill her but changes his mind after he watches her use the crystal, called a time stone, in her panic. He offers to take her to his home and teach her how to use her powers.

Her new mentor is part of a group of people living in the Wastelands who believe they are ancient descendants of the Farsiders who first came to Atmos. They follow the old ways before the storms of Atmos created the terras and claim that their original home was lost to the Wastelands.

They live in a large structure buried under the earth and keep their existence a secret. Their current goal is to find the original site where the living storms of Atmos were created and to find an ancient artificial creature called the Beast of Time and capture it. A Farside creation and the same creature Mercury ran into. The only other crystal beast known so far is rumored to live on Tropica and be under the control of the Cyclonian royal family.

Mercury is given training due to her powers and trains with her time stone to master it. She hunts the Wastelands for supplies and the time beast. Killing anyone unfortunate enough to come too close or carrying something valuable.

She uses a crude scythe designed to withstand large amounts of crystal energy. Her time crystal allows her to slow time down for a little bit within a radius of a few meters and to see potential actions her enemies will take. With her attire keeping her hidden she often appears like a deadly ghost in the Wastelands. Giving her the nickname The Grim Reaper by the few survivors who've seen her.

[fuckmeyer]

girl please, Charlie Swan is Team Werewolf and you know it

[austrydieder]

Do you know any Nightcrawlers? Like, are they all independent little guys or is there some Hive mind stuff at work there?

I've met a few Nightcrawlers. There's a half Nightcrawler half merb I hang out with sometimes. He works with explosives, which is great.

They live in a have, but I know nothing of a hive mind?

They're all pretty independent but communal. I've never been in the hive myself, but Naius, the half merb I meantioned, he's told me some things. It sounds like a horror movie, but he's happy.

There's also Sidian who's a commander in their ranks.

He's definitely intimidating, but he and his brother also adopted a human baby they found years ago, so he's good in my book.

[happypanda101]

@far-side-skies He's here hehe Dmitry Downwood. Captain of Cyclonia's squadron the Thunder Vipers, respected for his skills in battle. He's also the father of Aerrow Strike. I know, I know. Confusing, right? Well, I created an AU that I've only really talked about with a few friends on discord which I call the Red Sparrow AU. An AU in which Aerrow is not the son of Lightning Strike, but instead his nephew, and that his father is actually Cyclonian. His mother, Lana (another character I created for this AU. Lightning's stubborn thrill-seeker twin sister), and the Cyclonian meet by getting trapped on a Terra together and have to work together to survive. A true enemies to lovers story. The story is mainly focused on Aerrow and his journey of self discovery and accepting his heritage, so I haven't really gotten a chance to develop his parents more. But I'm working on it! Designing Dmitry was fun and I'm very proud about how his uniform came out.

[theflyingfeeling]

fictalkfictalkfictalk

[rainymeadows-art]

My entry for @far-side-skies' May challenge, which this month uses the bleeding heart dove.

Harrier thinks he and Crane had a perfect brotherly relationship. Crane, however, has never forgotten that time when he was trying to ask his crush out on a date and Harrier decided to drop a loud fart while walking past.

[ghostedbunnie]

nightmare in the daylight

knight!ghost x fem!reader

based on my prompt that you can find here.

warnings: non-con/dub-con, size kink, spanking, oral (f.receiving), fingering (f.receiving), thigh riding, biting, creampie, breeding kink

a/n: i feel so rusty so please be gentle i rewrote this way too many times, it was a lot longer and had more plot but i might just end up writing pt.2 if there is interest, I added a tag list for those who wanted to see this! 🫶

Ghost hadn't anticipated encountering a robbery on the forest trail while en route to collect his king's future wife. It was unexpected but not unwelcome; he was yearning for a skirmish, for blood and broken bones. The recent tranquility had left him restless. These bandits wouldn't pose much of a challenge, but they would at least satisfy his craving.

The skies began to pour as soon as he dismounted from his horse, startling the highwaymen. They were engaged in a one-sided fight with a few knights who had undoubtedly been sent to protect the carriage on its way to his kingdom. Before any of them could react to his arrival, heads started rolling. Chaos erupted once more, with screams of terror cutting through the forest and startling the remaining fauna.

After the final enemy fell to a sword through his abdomen, Ghost approached the carriage with slow, deliberate steps. As he opened the door, he was taken by surprise as a curtain was thrown into his face and a shard of glass was aimed for his neck by a scrawny, wild-looking maid. Despite your trembling, there was a fierce determination in your eyes, a vow that you would not give up without a struggle. Beneath his face plate, the corner of his mouth curled up, and with a wry snort, he deflected the shard from your bleeding hand. Seizing you by the back of your neck like a feisty kitten showing its claws, he pulled you out of the carriage and dropped you onto the chilly, muddy ground. As he turned back to the carriage to retrieve the princess, he realized she was no warrior; she had fainted at the sight of his imposing figure silhouetted against the moonlight.

As he carries your mistress to his horse, you launch at his back, kicking and screaming, trying to make him let her go. He unceremoniously deposits her on the horse like a sack of potatoes. Finally, he turns back to catch your hands, which have been beating at his back, with one of his much bigger hands. Your eyes go wide with terror as the reality of your position with this beast sinks in. He can't help but relish in the look of you now, wet hair sticking to your face, wild eyes, and scratches on your cheek from the broken glass. You look like a tasty meal for his beastly appetite and he's been starving for far too long. You are unaware of it but attracting his attention will be the worst mistake of your life. As he draws you closer with your bound wrists, he whispers into your ear so that you can hear him over the pouring rain, “Yer brave but stupid, girl.” After that, he hits the back of your neck and everything goes black.

The next thing you know, you are standing in front of the king who explains the entire situation. However, somehow that doesn't help the sinking feeling in your stomach, especially when the king mentions a reward for the behemoth of a man towering over you. He is still covered in blood, and daylight doesn't make him any less terrifying. He stalks around like a nightmare in black leathers that hug his form tight and emphasize his width. As if sensing your thoughts, he takes a step closer, taking up more of your space, and before you can move away, you catch the last words uttered by the king: “You brought me, my bride, Ghost, it's only fair you get a reward. Take your pick - anything you wish for will be yours.”

A weighty, gloved paw settles on the nape of your neck, causing you to startle. "I'll take 'er." Your mistress immediately starts to protest but despite her objections, the king simply nods and smiles, disregarding you entirely. You have no option but to allow the beast, that he called Ghost, to guide you away with a firm hand on your nape.

After navigating through several twists and turns, you find yourself in an unremarkable room. It contains only the absolute necessities—a bed and very little else. The one thing that draws your attention in the room is the sizeable tub that is still emitting steam, indicating it was just filled a few minutes ago.

Silently, Ghost pushes you towards the tub, and you promptly begin to retreat away from it. You refuse to bathe in his presence. Even though you are just a servant, you are still a virtuous lady.

“Either you go voluntarily or I'll throw you in kickin' and screamin'.” He growls and then says, "I'll relish it either way." You can sense the predatory undertone in his voice. You're fighting a losing battle, as going willingly gives him complete control, yet resisting might provoke an even more... primal response.

You break free from his hold, realizing that he let you go willingly. 

"Can you... turn around?" he scoffs, moving to a chair that creaks under his weight. Leaning forward, elbows on his knees, he gestures for you to proceed. Though you want to scream or lash out, you hold back, sensing that he's waiting for you to lose control. Instead, you turn around and slowly peel off your muddied and torn dress. As you reach the chemise underneath, you sneak a peek and notice he has removed his helmet and face plate, revealing short dirty blond hair, black coal marks around his eyes, and prominent scars cutting through his lips and brow. Despite his broken nose, he remains strangely alluring, which frightens you. Hastily, you turn back, slide the chemise down, and attempt to hide under the steaming water.

"Good girl," he growls, satisfied with your obedience. Just as the relief that maybe this is all he wanted starts to sink into your bones, it's replaced with dread when you notice he starts shedding his clothes too. He loosens up his dark, blood-stained leathers with ease and deftness you wouldn't expect from a man his size.

"What are you doing?" Panic is evident in your question, but it doesn't seem to bother him at all.

"Can't bathe with my clothes on," he answers matter-of-factly. Once again, a wave of indignation courses through you, but it's quickly overshadowed by a pang of heat that forces you to rub your thighs together underwater. Your eyes can't help but stay glued to him, just as he did to you when you were taking your dress off. He is now down to his breeches, and when he pulls them down his thick thighs, you audibly gasp when you notice he is not wearing anything underneath. This earns you an amused chuckle, especially when he catches you looking again through your fingers.

Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him, but before your thoughts can drift to what lies between his powerful thighs, he steps into the tub with you. Water spills over the edges, though he doesn't seem to mind. He pulls you close, turning you so your back presses against him, your body nestled between his legs, leaning on his firm chest. The light tickle of his hair brushes against your skin, and his strong arm rests across your stomach, fingers splayed making you feel even smaller. The contact makes you squirm, but as you try to pull away, you only stir the hardening length behind you, making you flush with heat.

“Relax,” he grunts into your ear, more command than a suggestion.

“How can I possibly –ah.” Your reply gets cut off by a moan as his other hand falls from the edge of the tub and wanders between your legs. Your attempts at closing your legs seem futile even with one hand he is strong enough to force his way in and drag his fingers through your folds nearing the opening. Your spine arches instinctively and he answers with a nip to your neck and jaw, while forcing a finger up to the first knuckle in. 

“Gotta loosen you up a bit, pet.” You have no choice but to surrender to his touch as he sinks his finger in and curls it, drawing a moan out of you before you clap a hand over your mouth to keep the sounds in. But all that decorum is forgotten when he adds a second one and scissors them before slowly prodding you with the third making you see stars. The tension building in your body suddenly snaps, sending you reeling, legs going numb and your fingers digging into his arm still wrapped around your stomach. 

With your mind hazy from your first-ever orgasm, you don't even register that he pulls you out of the bath, drying you, and carrying you to the bed in the center of the spacious room. Your body already half asleep.

His gravelly voice pulls you out of your post-orgasmic haze. “Naive, little thing.” Suddenly he is trailing hungry, open-mouthed, and nippy kisses down the length of your body. Marking your neck and collarbones with angry red marks, biting down harder than necessary on the underside of your breast leaving behind imprints of his teeth, and making you hiss when the pain mixes with the pleasure, he licks a trail down your stomach and in a moment of clear-headedness you try to fist his hair and tug him up and away from your center but his hair is cut too short for any leverage. When you lock eyes with him, between your legs forcing them open with hunger and lust written all over his face you try to get away just for him to deliver a loud smack to your outer thigh before dragging you closer and licking a stripe through your folds with a loud guttural groan that you feel more than you hear it.

His thumb circles your clit while he alternates kissing, sucking, and fucking you with his tongue. When your squirming in an attempt to get away turns into grinding your hips against his face, his other hand rests on your stomach adding slight pressure and making you cry out which only spurs him on. The sounds that reverberated through his chest were nothing short of animalistic and when your second orgasm shot through your core, you fell limp against the sheets with a moan that would make you blush if at least half of your brain was still functioning properly. A new wave of panic sets in when you realize that he isn't stopping. On the contrary, he probes you with his fingers in addition to his tongue. You can feel the coil in your lower belly tightening again, heating up with his ministrations.

You plead with him, saying you can't take anymore just for him to disregard it with a growl, “You've got plenty more in ya.” 

You've lost count of how many times you came when he manhandled you around onto your hands and knees propping your hips up with a pillow. You turn to look at him with heavy-lidded eyes and your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him standing behind you with his massive hand tugging at his thick, angry-looking, and leaking cock with his eyes glued to your core, still pulsing and wet from all your previous orgasms. Without warning he grabs your hips, aligns the blunt head of his cock with your entrance, and pushes in. Your fingers dig into the sheets from the sheer stretch as you mewl and whimper when he drags himself all the way to slam back in. Everything is too much and not enough at the same time, with every thrust his fingers dig into your hips and you are sure there will be fingerprints left with how hard he is gripping you and the idea makes you wetter. Prompted by the delicious drag of his cock your walls keep tightening around him, as he pushes you closer and closer to your release. One of his muscular arms circles your waist, his chest flush to your back, as his other arm comes to rest next to your head with one of his legs still firmly planted on the floor and the other resting next to you on the bed for better purchase. This new angle combined with the gravelly grunts so close to your ear become your undoing and you hurtle full-force into another mind-numbing orgasm with Ghost following close behind.

“Come f'r me, pet.” Again, not a suggestion but a command and who are you to refuse him? So you do as he says, pussy fluttering from the aftershocks as he fucks you through it, thumb circling your clit before he fills you up, not allowing you to move an inch, keeping your hips propped up and when he pulls out which drags another set of whimpers from you he meticulously pushes his spend back with thick, calloused fingers. “Gotta make sure it takes.” 

If your consciousness weren't slipping away, you'd likely be alarmed, but instead, your eyes begin to close again, and this time, sleep claims you.

You wake to a heavy weight pressing down on your back, and it takes a moment for your mind to catch up with the events of yesterday. When it does, your entire body flushes and you attempt to move out of bed, only to find it futile. You're pinned beneath strong arms marked with scars—some from arrows, large and small, and others older, circular, and still appearing raw.

Your thoughts are abruptly interrupted as a thick, muscular thigh presses deeper between your legs, forcing them apart. Without much thought, you begin to grind against it, a primal urge stirring within you. Despite the lingering soreness from yesterday, a fresh wave of need starts to build, and any trace of resistance fades in the face of overwhelming pleasure. It feels shameful, but you can't stop the tentative movements, slowly finding a rhythm—until the sudden flex of his thigh makes you gasp, your eyes rolling back.

“So needy,” he growls close to your ear but there's no trace of anger in his voice, if anything he sounds pleased. “Come on, ride it harder.” He punctuates the sentence with yet another flex of his thigh and a nip to your neck, making you shudder but follow through with his command. As you grind back against his thigh you take a note of his cock stirring, resting heavy and hard between your bare ass. You push against it absentmindedly and find yourself pinned under him, your legs still held apart with his thigh that's now embarrassingly slick with your arousal. The visual of it makes you turn your head away, eyes closed and whimpering. Ghost doesn't like that. His massive paw of a hand grabs at your cheeks, your lips puckering involuntarily while he grunts at you to keep those eyes open for him. As he licks into your mouth, it suddenly dawns on you—this is your first kiss. You had already let this beast inside you before even sharing a kiss, and everything felt so out of order, that it made you want to scream and cry. Instead, you settle on throwing your hands around him and clawing at his back as he aligns himself with your needy, sore pussy and thrusts to the hilt without so much as a warning.

Even after yesterday, the burn of the stretch to accommodate his length makes fresh tears spring up into your eyes and roll down the apples of your cheeks. You swear you see his scarred lips twitch up into a savage smile at the sight of them before he licks them clean off your cheeks with a satisfied groan. In retaliation you dig your nails deeper into his sturdy back, hoping to break the skin and leave a mark that only ends up urging him to fuck you harder, faster. The sounds reverberating in the room drive you crazy; over them, you don't even notice a soft knock at the door but whoever it was scurries away registering the sound of the moans he wrings out of you with one particularly hard thrust that pushes so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat. Effortlessly he manhandles your legs on his shoulders to hit a different angle. As you struggle with the overwhelming feeling of fullness he leaves a deceptively soft kiss on your ankle before he folds you in half again and wrestles another mind-shattering orgasm out of you and succumbing to one himself, painting your insides with his spent. Pulling out, he doesn't bother moving, he simply rests his head on your chest between your breasts, squeezing the air out of your lungs with the sheer size of him. “Rest now, pet. Plenty of time for more o' that later.”

At that moment, you know there is no turning back; you've been taken, branded from the inside out. You wonder if this is truly so horrible, perhaps this nightmare of a man will drive away all the other nightmares plaguing your mind.

Or perhaps he is even more dreadful than your imagination could have ever conjured.

taglist: @a66-1 , @ghostlythots , @rttxcmt , @september-22-1998 , @fluffysmiko , @gyusbrownie , @bumblebeesfromvenus , @magicalforestcat , @nommingonfood , @tami-doodles , @fateisnotafactor , @m-a-l-a-c-z-a-r-n-a , @nicolebarnes , @msdevil333 , @lilpothoscuttings , @tealeaftallulah , @not-reptilian , @moonfloweronmars , @aliceinwonderland-5678 , @marshmelloe , @i-love-you-just-the-same, @lazyperfectioniste , @tragedyinwaves , @thisisforthebest97 , @talkingcorn , @hxnneydew , @resplendantrosewood , @telvannitea , @the-casual-act , @hello-lemons, @kiwicopia , @just-a-sewer-goblin

[rae-gar-targaryen]

darling, how could i fear any hurricane? [qimir/the stranger x force sensitive!reader]

Summary: Neither the backwater planet you’d chosen for yourself, nor the sanctity of your own mind, is safe from the nightly visitations of your dream stranger. Is he real, or just another trick of the mind? And what of the power he promises? Desire, he’d spoken of. Desire, desire, desire…

Pairing: Qimir/The Stranger x Force-Sensitive!reader [my reader is written ambiguously, but as with all of my reader inserts are written with a Latina!reader in mind]

Warnings: 18+ please – fingering, dry humping, the brief mention of choking, Qimir being a seductive motherfucker, relatively minor smut, all things considered. The briefest descriptions of violence; reader has female anatomy.

Word Count: 5.7k of sinful soliloquy and definitely no manipulation. No, you want this power, don’t you??

A/N: Breaking my writing drought with this. I don’t know if it’s any good, and no one asked for it. But I’m glad to be sharing my writing again. Please be gentle!! Also, if you’ve ever read my Mandalorian x princess!reader fic, there’s an easter egg in here for you!

--

The verdant planet of Vorduun was known for very little – A small, outer-world, far from the shiny Core planets that boast chrome, progress, and bureaucracy. Lush plantlife, a fertile place with brimming riverbanks, and jungles teeming and thrumming to life with flora and fauna at the turn of the seasons. Off the edge of the map. Off the edge of the world. A perfect place to hide.

To lose yourself. 

And the night is stifling, to say the least. Of all the Vorduunian summers you’d endured in your self-isolation, this one had to be the worst. The months’ long deluge of spring rains had made for a stiflingly humid summer, the green jungle steaming with sticky heat. If a saving grace was to be found in the swelter, it was that the night skies were unlike everything you’d ever beheld – a far cry from the fluorescent pollution endemic of your years on Courscant. 

Tonight's Vorduunian sky is no exception – a clear expanse of rich velvet, stars like diamonds crushed into the smooth folds of the expansive sky. Twinkling and winking richly down at you through the gaping slats of the shack you now called home. 

You twist, a serpent in your own threadbare bedsheets, attempting to find comfort in the sticky summer heat of the planet, chasing the elusive promise of coolness as you flip your pillow to the other side with a huff. 

Kind of a sick game, if you thought about it. That if you weren’t running from something, you were chasing something else. 

At present? Chasing a good night’s rest. Preferably dreamless, if you were honest. Your dreams of late are plagued with all sorts of incomprehensible flashes, feelings of being watched, feverish and hazy. Your subconscious’s foreboding certainty that if you’d only just turn around, you’d be met with a face that was not your own -– the disquieting sense of something, or someone, lurking just around a corner. Sprinting down echoing hallways with promises, greatness, a warrior's oath, all just out of reach, certain that if you’d slowed your pace, whatever was pursuing you might just snatch you, an unseen stranger.

Other nights, the dreams were different – the unflinching and unchanging grin set in a mask of metalloid teeth, baring themselves at you . Of ever-watchful eyes judging, as you forced yourself through training drills. The disapproving shake of your Master’s head, his disappointment palpable and always, always directed at only you . The seizing terror of being dropped into combat with no saber – of being skewered through by an unseen shadow with a red plasma blade. Of walls closing in on you. Of the Knights whom you had once considered your friends turning their backs on you while you fought tooth and nail. Of your lungs filled with your unreleased screams – of terror or frustration, you weren’t sure – pulling you down beneath the surface of your failure until you drowned in the disappointment of others’ unfulfilled expectations. Of hands on an unseen body tinkering with phials of something, producing poisonous concoctions of sickly green that the unseen stranger dripped down your throat, pouring them past your lips with sure, warm fingers pressing on your tongue. You swore you could feel the poison upon your waking, the phantom feeling of liquid shredding your veins with horrific heat, your heart thundering. 

Other nights the dreams were different yet, still. Of shadows shedding their inky cloak to reveal hands that caressed. Of hands that held you and wiped your tears. Of thorns falling from vines – leaving what once had pricked and scratched you to now soothe with velvety softness as the vines wound their way around your wrists, tugging you into an unseen embrace with whispers of promises humming in your ears like the tufty wings of insects. And you would go willingly. Of the warm breath of another in your ear, their body warm behind you, distinct in its softness from that of the sunwarmed cliffs the two of you would watch the sunset from, just you and your unseen stranger. Of those same metalloid teeth melting into a radiant smile of brilliant white, beheld in a sharp jaw – the critique of disapproving masters replaced by his balmy, sublime approval. 

Of the tease and taste of his cinnamon lips brushing your own, the fluttering fan of lashes along the peaks of your cheekbones. Of warm, wan whispers of want , desire , soothing your ears. Of warm, fine-boned, assured hands atop your own, guiding yours in a sensuous glide along your own skin. Promises of m ore, more, more as silken lips slipped their way along the column of your throat – your hitching gasps met with his rumbling hums of satisfaction that lasted in your ears for the duration of the following day. Of the gentle lapping of water over smooth-rocked shores, a hand grasping yours with a promise of power. Yet again of more, more, more, if you’d just … Well, you weren’t sure. 

What you were sure of was that it had been weeks of these dreams. Your exhaustion was tugging at the corners of your reality, manifesting itself into silly mistakes – a slipped knife while cutting your meals, or the prickling feeling of someone watching from the dark corner of your room. At times, you weren’t sure what was real and what was dreamscape. A slow descent into madness, torment that felt justified, somehow –-

This purgatory was clearly your penance for your failure. To atone for the fact that you could never be more than what you are now – a former padawan cast out of a renowned Order, thanks in part to her own passions and propensities, roiling rages, and lilting lust. A warrior stripped of all pomp and credential. A blistering reminder of something never to be, of someone you could never be. 

And so here you were. Piteous and exiled in the jungles of Vorduun with no one other than your occasional unseen dream stranger for company. And what of tonight? Had you slept? Were you asleep? The hazy jungle heat made it impossible to tell. When your days consist of the same, tedious routine maintenance to your little corner of jungle, purely isolated, save for irregular treks to the nearest settlement to barter … And when you tossed and turned your nights away in fitful fugue states of half-awake melded with oppressive dreams – well, who was to say what was really real?  

The ghost of a touch along your exposed shoulder didn’t merit a response … Until it happened again. Causing you to sit bolt upright in bed, eyes tracking the room for any disturbance – seen or unseen. 

That prickle, so like static rippling across your skin couldn’t be the Force. No, no. It was the trickle of sweat down the back of your neck, and nothing else. What reason would you have to feel the Force here, now? 

Just another heated night, just another heated dream….

And now, were your eyes deceiving you, or were the shadows in the corner of your room were moving, swirling into shape as a well-toned arm emerges from the darkness, raised in a gesture of … peace? And the rest of him follows, stepping into the muted illumination from your single gaslamp that sputters in the corner of your room, casting his shadow along the opposite wall, sinuous and slinking as he slowly approaches. 

You spring from your bed, eyes darting to the loose slat in your floor where you housed your ill-used saber, quickly considering the relative size of your room and how many steps it would take him to reach you, arms outstretched, to snuff the life from you before you could call the blade to your hand . 

His eyes track yours, clocking the floorboard, before placing both hands up in front of him now, a plea – 

“You don’t need that,” he murmurs, taking a tentative step toward you. And whether it was the room that shrank around you both, or that was just his presence in your space – so unused to anyone but you – you weren’t sure.

“Need what?” Play dumb, and he won't have any reason to harm you, leaving you an opportunity to strike. Your favorite trick, a minor deception for a tactical advantage.

He steps into the dim, flickering light of the gas lamp, a mild smirk blooming along his full lips, the lamplight warming his skin.

“Your Jedi weapon.”

You glance once more between the loose floorboard and the man slowly approaching you, cocking your head as his features became revealed to you, your mind tickling with recognition as you noted the sharp angle of his jaw and the baleful, syrupy darkness of his eyes –

“You,” you breathe. “I know your face.”

“Do you?” His eyes meet yours, searching. 

Yes. You had a good memory for faces, and his you had seen a few times before. Your trips to the nearest settlement every tenday for the open-air market to barter what you had cultivated from the land around your ramshackle home for fruit, thread, and other goods you didn’t often come by on your own. You had seen him at a stall selling tinctures and other apothecary-type goods. You’d never approached, of course. Hadn’t had a need for burn creams or toxins. But there was no denying the swooping lock of hair that would curtain over his eyes, the sharp angle of his features. The way his eyes would track the movement of the market, hawkish, despite the seeming ineffectual haze in them…

A minor deception, you now realize. But for what tactical advantage?

“The chemist from the bazaar,” you reply.

His lips quirk at your realization – the bud of the smirk now unfurling into a full smile. 

“You’re more observant than I gave you credit for, warrior,” he stands before you now, hands still lightly held up in a gesture of peace. “That’s good… A nice surprise ,” his voice taking on an almost-purr of satisfaction.   

You pause, lips parting lightly. What could he mean by that? 

“Qimir,” he gestures to himself by way of introduction.

Qimir. Likely not his real name. Still, you ponder, an interesting choice. Qimir. Like Chimaera, something ancient and unknowable. A monstrous creature signifying the parable of illusion – the promise of something only too impossible to achieve. You wonder if he knew what his “name” sounded like when he’d picked it.

And you hope your face hasn’t betrayed your whirring thoughts as you continue your assessment, hoping to keep a sweep of neutrality across your features as you address him again.

“If you say so. Business must be slow if you’re here to rob me, poisoner. I’m afraid you’ll be sorely disappointed,” your eyes flit around the relatively bare bedroom, gesturing with your chin to the equally Spartan main room of your little ramshackle cabin. “Not much here of value.” 

He crosses one foot over the other as he takes a step to orbit you, almost swordsmanlike. As though he were preparing to duel. You mirror his step, your back to your bed now, facing your doorway. His body between yours and your exit. 

“I wouldn’t say nothing,” he brings a finger to his chin as if in ponderment. “You’re here, after all. And why would I give you my name, show you my face, if I intended to rob you?” 

“Why you do anything means nothing to me,” you bite, “and you’ll have to forgive my manners if I don’t feel like giving you my name. Leave, now , while I let you leave, Qimir.” 

His eyes sweep your form, note your weight on the balls of your feet, bracing for a fight. You probably have weapons other than your laser sword stashed away, if he had to guess . He takes a tentative step toward you, a low chuckle escaping him at the fire in your eyes, trying not to smile any wider than he has already, to give away his pleased impression of your fury. 

“I know who you are,” you blink at his statement, trying not to let the surprise show on your face. “You don't have anything to fear from me, little Jedi.”

“I am no Jedi,” you snipped, rolling your eyes at the insolence of the man before you. If he cared at all about your rude display, Qimir said nothing.

“I am more than aware of that, too,” he murmured, his voice like silk in your ears as he takes yet another small step toward you, invading your space, close enough to breathe your air, a hair’s breadth from touch.  

Too close. You flex your fingers, calling your lightsaber from its hiding place under your loose floorboard into the palm of your hand in a flash, the cool metal meeting your palm like an old friend, a sense of relief. You surge forward into Qimir’s space, pressing the hilt of the saber into his abdomen.

“If you know so much, then you also know you shouldn’t have come,” you snarl. “I don’t know if you didn't take the hint, here at the edge of the world, but I don't take kindly to uninvited guests.”  

“You did invite me, little viper,” he insists, his voice never losing its even, dulcet quality.

At your furrowed brow, he gently brings his fingertips to brush the bare skin of your wrist that’s pressing the hilt of your lightsaber into his stomach. A familiar, prickling ripple bursts across your skin, causing goosebumps to stipple your arms. So familiar. So like the feel of lips from your unseen stranger. So like the Force. 

The dark eyes that met yours in the low light of your room were familiar for more than just an observation in passing at the market. 

“Y-you,” you gasp, the realization causing your chest to seize, to clench your teeth in the wave of seething anger. “You’ve been … in my head … for months …” 

He cocks his head at you, watching the emotions process along your face. He had seen your fears and failures, your heart’s greatest desires. He had seen it all …

“The quickest way to your heart,” he reasons. “Through your head. So you’ll have to forgive my intrusion. I wanted to know you.” Sweet words meant to soothe.  

You aren’t sure if that makes it any better. Perhaps the reasoning makes it worse.

“So like a poisoner,” you level his gaze with a steely one of your own. “To try to slip through the cracks unseen. But I know the quickest way to your heart.”

“You do?” He seems surprised at your rejoinder. As if he hadn’t expected you to play. To be so quick of wit as you were of reflex.

“Between your fourth and fifth rib,” you hum, your voice taking on an almost-seductive tone – a contradiction to the reminder of you pressing the hilt of the saber into him, precisely where you mean to. 

“I appreciate a good threat. Clever,” he smiles, placating. “But there’s no need for that, little warrior. After all… I wouldn't leave you to the dark, not like they did,” he assures, brushing his fingertips against the bare skin of your wrist, so lightly you would’ve thought you’d imagined it. Using the contact to connect to you through the Force once more – your shared memories dancing behind one another’s eyes. Of your fellow Padawans succeeding while your Master only saw failure. Of the dazzlingly white smile of your classmate with the bronze skin and twists in his hair, his yellow lightsaber flashing as you drilled together, his smile fading to frown with the rest of his features as you had used the Force to push him away a bit too hard – rage bubbling to the surface – in direct violation of your training ordinances. Of your departure from Coruscant, no one to bid you goodbye, not even your training partner who had once called himself your friend.

You make to turn your head, to break contact with his dark, glimmering, all-seeing eyes. Like tar pits, drawing you ever deeper. His other hand catches your chin between thumb and forefinger, drawing you back to his gaze, an orbit you cannot escape. Would you even want to?

“And do you believe you would have belonged? The Jedi are deceivers. They deal in abandonment … cloaked in empty platitudes,” he trails his index finger along the curve of your  jawline, an almost illusory brush of his skin against yours – the whisper of a touch, as though to illustrate the point. “The wisp of a  promise, like spun sugar. Sweet, but false, their promises of righteousness. Of importance.”

Your lips part, catching the barest bit of his thumb as it does so, your eyes now searching his, seeking motive.

“And what do you offer instead? That's what this is, right? An offer?”

He smiles wider now, nodding in the barest acknowledgment. As though you’ve finally asked the right question.

“I … make the intangible tangible.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning …” his hand leaves the curve of your jaw to touch his fingertips to your temple, pressing, rendering a vision to your mind. And what Force magic was this? To make you see beyond your own eye’s sight. Foresight? An illusion? A vision? A memory? A promise or a deception?

Whatever it is, you see it so clearly – an uninhabited plant roaring with ocean as far as your eyeline can perceive. Waves lapping gently along grey-stoned shores. Moss-covered alcoves where you sit with him, your stranger, the sunset warming your skin as he caresses your face, your hair, whispering praises just beyond your mind’s own comprehension into your ear – the tone sinful, syrupy. His arms securing you in the night as you rest, no more dreams of abandonment. 

Warmth, endless warmth… as his lips trail the shell of your ear, down your neck, bestowing belief of besotted brushes of lips. Adroit affection aimed right at the heart of you. 

“Hmmm … meaning …. Your feelings, your power, your talent all working, to manifest toward something real. Something you want.” His hand leaves your temple and rests on your shoulder, taking advantage of your state of ponderment to gently guide you, ever mindful of the still-unlit lightsaber pressed to his stomach, leading away from your bed to the wall just next to the adjacent doorframe, the patient waltz of a waiting predator. He brings his hand to rest on the wall, next to your head.

“Something I want,” you reply dreamily, coming back to yourself just enough to realize what he’d said, exhaling through your nose in an indignant little huff. “In exchange for … ?”

“Tell me something,” he replies, lithely lilting around your question with one of his own, flexing his fingers where they rest on the wall. “Why are you no Jedi?” 

“I … abjured,” you admit, a bit too primly, the lightsaber now feeling like an unbearable weight in your palm at your words, the weight of choices – both your own and those of whom purported to teach you. To guide you to something greater. Was it as he said? Were their promises so meaningless? “Broke my oath,” you suck your lower lip between your teeth, pausing before daring to meet his gaze again. “I couldn’t … suppress how they wanted me to. I didn’t want to fail anymore. I was so tired of failing. So, I … abjured. I was weak.” 

Your eyes meet his once more at your admission, yours shining with unshed tears waiting to fall like stars. Shimmering promises to slip down your cheeks, unkept and unchecked. Your fingers fumbled, seemingly of their own accord, unwilling to hold the weight, the threat, of the saber against him any longer. The hilt clattered to the floor, a clanging finality to punctuate your words. And when was the last time you had been so honest, so vulnerable with another?

How … unlike you. 

“Not weak,” he cups your cheeks with both hands, fine-boned thumbs tracing the peaks of your cheeks, as though to wipe away your unshed tears. “The same as me. Power searching for its other half. An unwaning, unflickering flame.” 

Your unseen stranger, now seen, takes your hands in his, the buzz of the Force still tingling across your skin at his words, at the recognition of his power.

“You asked what I want. You want the same as me, and I the same as you. A companion . A partner. Unlike them, I won't judge you for your feelings. Won’t judge you for your power …  You want – I can feel it rippling across your skin,” he closes his eyes, cocking his head, shivering as though to illustrate the point. “... Mmm, and I want,  too. We can want together. If you'd let us.”

The flickering light of your room seemed to dim in tandem with his syrupy words, cloying and dripping like honey into golden nettle tea. The swirling honeytar of his eyes appraising you as the Force connection prickled with hazy heat between your bodies and the damnable musk of the jungle air.

You press yourself further into the wall he’d leaned you against, tilting your chin to appraise him in kind, searching for veracity in his words. Something more substantial than the “spun sugar” he’d accused the Jedi of weaving. 

As though he could sense your trepidation before it could cross your face, he placed a hand on your hip, the contact searing you through the thin fabric of your tank top.  

“They kicked you out because you feel. I'd never do that. I want you to feel … to feel power. To feel what you’re capable of. Of what it can become. Rage. Fear. Loss. Desire. Train with me, you’ll feel it all. I want you to feel it all … to feel me.”

Desire, he had spoken of. The gentle roll of his low voice over the syllables echoing perfectly in your ears. Desire, desire, desire. That desire, so  like venom snaking its way through your blood, hot and purposeful. An all-consuming burn through your blood, befitting of a poisoner as he. 

“You felt it, didn’t you? When I came in,” he iterates, somewhere south of a plea. “All. That. Power.” The hand not resting on your hip comes to cup your face once more. “I can teach you.” 

You had read somewhere once, in the Archives, about creatures on long-abandoned planets with the ability to draw their prey in through vanity. The flash of feathers. Or shiny scales. Big, baleful eyes, perhaps. Only to sink their teeth in once their intended had come too close. 

You draw in a breath, searching his pleasing face for any sign of a tell. Of the flicker of eyes that would signify deception. Of hidden fangs beneath his beautiful, full lips. Of anything that would bely his true intentions behind your Force connection. You swept your eyes across broad, defined shoulders, down toned, muscled arms exposed through his sleeveless shift. A warriors’ weapon wrapped in a pleasing package, to be sure. But … with no discernable hint of false suggestion. 

You shift your weight once more onto the balls of your feet, away from the wall and into him . Continuing your appraisal as you tilt your head, allowing the scent of his skin – the tang of sweat from the humid jungle air commingling with something sharp and clean – to wash over you. 

You invade his space now, leaning into the hand that grips your hip and the other that cradles your head, boldly brushing your lips along his with the barest hint of touch, feeling his lips smile against yours.

You whisper, your lips silken against his, “Tell me, poisoner … You seduce me with lies, is that it? You wish for me to call you Master? Forsake all else to worship at your altar?” 

You catch the flash in his eyes as the word “seduce” leaves your lips.

“I haven't lied to you,” his voice is a hum. An attempt to provide reassurance as he couples them with what he hopes is a comforting gesture. His fingers travel from your hip to trail your ribs, a partial embrace.

“Do you consider not telling the entire truth to be a lie?” 

“Have I shown you any lies? No. Just dreams. The promise of what could be. What I –,” he pauses, “– we could be. I cannot fabricate the Force, little warrior. Everything you feel tonight is you . It’s me. What more could you want? ” 

Your once-steely resolve is crumbling under the weight of his insinuation … "everything you feel tonight” –  the honey in his words sweet to your ears, you wonder fleetingly if he'd be even sweeter on your tongue. 

And he knew you, didn’t he? By his own admission, he’d seen your faults and flaws for months … your desires. And he had shown you promises, premonitions, predilections… a future of power. And if there is power in two hemispheres – one of sweltering heat, one of blistering ice. Which were you? And which was he? 

Together you would surely melt…

“No more rules, little warrior,” he sighs, “just the power of two.” He slides his lips across yours, purposeful, before capturing your lower lip between his teeth, nipping once before releasing, admiring the way your expression flickered from defiance to desire before surging forward, pressing you back into the wall as his lips capture yours.

He swallows your gasp, bringing his fingers to wrap loosely around your neck while his other hand slips beneath the hem of your shirt. 

You break from his kiss with a gasp between swollen, bitten lips. But he gives you no reprieve, his lips trailing to your neck, where he sets about pressing hot-mouthed kisses. Molten lava flooding the column of your throat, chased with the scrape of nipping teeth. Soothe and scrape. Push and pull. Give, give, give, take.  

You thread your fingers through the silken hair tucked behind his ears, tugging him from his ministrations on your neck and forcing him to meet your eyes – to see if the blaze of want you felt scorching your skin was reflected in the liquid coal, ready to ignite. 

His lips twist into a smirk at your insistent tugging; if he was at all surprised, he didn’t show it. His face the perfect picture of pleasure. 

“What would we do with it?” You inquire, “This power?” 

“Hmmm,” he pretended to ponder, suddenly scooping you, a brief lift as he crossed the short distance to your bed, seating himself with you on his lap. No concession of dominance; merely placing you precisely where he means to. To allow you to feel him beneath you. 

“What would you like to do, little warrior, hm?” His fingers flicked the thin straps of your flimsy sleep shirt, exposing your shoulders, leaning forward to trail his lips along the now-bared expanse of your shoulder, your collar bones, your neck, his eyes glancing up to watch your face as he went. “Make them pay? Take what’s yours?” 

His hands feel their way down your form, down your sides, along your hips, the skin of his palms rasping against the smooth expanse of your thighs has his fine-boned fingers make their way beneath the loose fabric of the cropped pants you sleep in, dangerously close to the precipice of your desire , urging you to move. Guiding your hips in a rhythmic glide in his lap. 

You gasp at his attentions, at the combination of his promises and the heady feel of his skin along yours, bringing your hands to grip his biceps – desperately seeking a way to anchor yourself. 

And if it’s his poison that will bring you to the edge, would you regret it? You were starting to believe you could never regret him , not at the feel of his chest pressed against yours, the toned muscle beneath your fingers. His sharp angles caressing your soft curves, replacing the lonely ache in your bones with the lovely heat of him, both his promises and his attentions.

His mouth was keyed and intentional in its work of you, with pressed kisses like flower petals blooming along the skin of your neck, followed by the scraping thorns of his teeth. Brutish and beautiful, as his fine-boned fingers crept to the inside of your thighs, rubbing along your clothed center, intensifying the ache you felt. He shifts your weight in his lap, causing your legs to spread wider, straddling him lowly as he tugs the offending fabric aside, guiding your hips into a roll over his clothed lap and his growing hardness. Manifesting his delight at the choked gasp you emitted in the form of a teasing little buck of his hips, guiding you down as he guided himself up, delighting in the sharp gasps that met his ears as he continues to sway you to his rhythm. 

“Desire isn't a sin, little warrior,” he breathes the words into your mouth, lips a hairs�� breadth apart, the better to swallow your moans. “What we feel feeds our connection to the Force, gives you strength ... If you know how. Let me show you. Touch me.” 

It was as though electricity was crackling, popping beneath your fingertips as you took his instruction and began to explore the expanse of his body, slipping your hands beneath his tunic to feel the silken heat of his firm torso, the ache within you mounting at the heady combination of the feel of his skin beneath your fingertips – so long since you’d touched another, been touched – and his hardness between the cleft of your thighs. Smoldering, low-heat burned along your skin and beneath your fingertips. Or was it his fingers that were doing the burning? It was hard to tell where he ended and you began, one arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you bodily into him, an infinite loop of power and pleasure.

As you continue to touch him, you could feel it – his connection to the force, strong, volatile, like lightning striking the ocean – crackling and formidable like the man who contained it.

And Qimir – you had long since given up trying to determine if it was, in fact, his real name – rewards you with a gift of his own, the velvet rumble of a groan of pleasure emanating from his throat at your touch. A sound of syrup and satisfaction. 

Pleased that you could garner such a reaction from a being as powerful as he, you smile, boldly meeting his lips with a kiss, opening your mouth with a gasp, allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth, to taste the zip of power that he had determined in his moths of observation was just you, a torrent of citrus drizzle, bold and sweet. 

Reluctantly, he parts his lips from yours, ducking his head to tug the straps of your top down with his teeth, exposing your breasts to the heated air of the room. And if your desire at the repeated rolling of his hips beneath yours wasn’t enough to do you in, you figured this might. Bathing in the celestial feel the press his lips to your nipple, tongue swirling over the peaking flesh. Pleased at the goosebumps that erupt now in the wake of his attention. 

While he continues to tease your breasts with tongue and teeth, Qimir guides his other hand along your thighs, slipping his practiced fingers beneath your shorts, delighting in the wetness he was met with, basking  in the jolting shiver the motion elicited from you, at the friction of his fingers rubbing along the seam of you – causing you to wiggle, to roll your hips into his touch. 

And oh, as he slips his fingers inside of you, your eyes roll back, tilting your head to allow Qimir to admire the curving, elegant slope of exposed throat – prey before a predator, gasping at the pleasure he wrought. Breathless. If you thought he was teasing you before, his fingers inside of you were their own type of mocking punishment, well aware of his effect on you and the way your cunt throbs as he strokes inside of you. You could do nothing but wriggle your hips, whimpering piteously and attempting to roll your hips to follow his fingers as they work you, as this crescendo builds.

“Say you’ll be mine, warrior, and you can have it.” he promises. A new oath. One you’d never forsake. For him, you’d never turn, never abjure. Not so long as his touch made stars erupt behind your eyes, not so long as his lips dripped syrup promises down your throat.  

Kissing you once more, golden and slow, molten and revelatory as he works his fingers inside of you, your thighs parting to accommodate him. His thumb rolls repeated brushes over your clit, delighting in the starshine burst as you reached your peak, a broken little moan that sounded suspiciously like the word “master,” passing your lips in a keening sigh. 

You regard him through bleary, closing eyes and the warm, citrus haze of your orgasm as he slips his fingers from you, guiding you down to recline in your bed, stroking your hair as he does so, lulling you as a lover would. 

“Sleep, warrior,” his velvet voice meets your ears, lyrical and lilting. “I’ll be back for you.” 

And like each night before that one, his figure slips from you… as though he was never there. It wasn’t a dream, was it? It was hard to tell after months of this teasing game. After his promises built so much only to guide you to this release. 

And in the silvery light of the jungle’s dawn, you awoke with that very question on your lips, met with the sight of your saber placed gently on your little bedside table as opposed to its usual hiding spot. You wake to the sweet afterache of something between your thighs, to the scraped marks of teeth along the expanse of your neck. 

And to the promise of something – of a future of power and partnership. If only you’d be so bold as to accept it. As you eyed the saber, you recalled the prickle of his Force power along your skin, increasing with his proximity. And by the time he arrived to meet you again, you knew what your answer would be … 

--

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[sakkiichi]

COVER ME IN SUNSHINE.

Ways in which your kid calls his dad. Will he get to hear a ‘papa’?

ft. Scaramouche/Wanderer, Albedo, Xiao, Childe, Kaeya, Neuvillette x gn! reader.

cw/genre: pure fluff. Reader is referred to as ‘mama’, you and the character have a child. They’re all girl dads.

a birthday present for my dearest @bunny-rambles 🩵 i’m wishing you the best day today and always, hun ! ilysm, thank you for always being by my side. I hope we can celebrate many many more birthdays together, mwah <3

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ note: about this fic… i struggled quite a little with it, and i’m sorry it’s not my best piece… this was a totally new concept to write for me, but i still hope you can enjoy, bunbun, dear ♡

if you enjoy this, reblogs and comments help more than likes !

✧ SCARAMOUCHE

Wide indigo orbs meet his furrowed gaze.

Scaramouche is not amused.

Or at least that’s what he wants whoever sees him right now to believe. Namely, you.

Tiny hands cup the Wanderer’s cheeks, big eyes, so similar to his, staring up at him in wonder. The little girl in his arms squeezes his face, a pout forming on her father’s lips. Giggles erupt from her smiling lips, the corners of Scaramouche’s mouth unconsciously tilting upwards.

“You’re amused, huh?” Your husband asks, rocking the baby in his hold. She stares at him, her little arms flailing upward, giggling happily.

“Moochie!” She babbles, trying to stand on the wanderer’s knees, her hands reaching for his hat.

“Hey, hey, now!” Kunikuzushi pouts, securing his hat. “That is not a toy and I’m not Moochie…”

“Moochie!” His daughter repeats, poking his cheek.

He sighs.

“Not Moochie…” Scaramouche’s ears take on a rather rosy tone, especially when your giggles are not exactly inconspicuous, your attempt at keeping hidden just outside the living room, obviously half-assed.

“Pa-pa. Not Moochie.” He repeats, bopping his little one’s nose. “And here, play with this.” He offers, handing his baby a doll curiously identical to himself.

Your eyes soften from your spot when you observe the fond smile on your lover’s face. He might feign annoyance, but when it came to your baby, all the facade was scattered to the winds. Storm clouds and lightning seemed so far away when he was surrounded by the blue skies and birdsong that dawned with your daughter’s hand grabbing his finger.

“Pa..” The little one begins, lifting the doll, as if indicating that it indeed represents her father.

“Pa…” Your wanderer prompts, as he points to the cloth mini version of himself.

Then, the girl’s eyes focus somewhere beyond her dad, tiny hands wiggling and waving, the plush doll still in her grasp.

“Mama!” She exclaims, making to reach for you, trying to climb over the sofa’s backrest, where it not for your partner’s protective hold.

Finally stepping out from your hideout, you walk towards them.

Familiar warm arms wrap around the no longer broken puppet, as your precious baby rests between your two heartbeats. Yours, steady, undeniably human. His, bloomed anew, thanks to you; with a newfound tune, sweeter, gentler, thanks to his little one.

Scaramouche closes his eyes, lashes of now starlit midnights resting on his perfect cheekbones. His head leans on your shoulder, your lips feather-light on his dusky hair, as your hands gently lift his hat a bit.

Your girl grabs one of her father’s fingers once more, the handmade mini wanderer kept close to her chest.

Yes, storms were definitely over for days to come.

✧ ALBEDO

A tug on the leg of his pants and familiar unintelligible noises pull the alchemist out of his task.

Albedo’s features soften when he spots the cause of his distraction.

Putting the notebook he was currently scribbling on aside, he crouches down.

“And who do we have here?” The chalk prince asks, smoothing the golden locks on his baby’s small head.

“Mama?” She replies, her tiny hand pulling on her dad’s clothes.

The gesture is followed by one of Albedo’s gentle chuckles, eyes like northern stars on clear nights bright at the sight of his daughter.

“Mama’s not here now, little princess.” He explains, as he picks the baby up. “They will get home soon, though.” Your child stares at him as if unsatisfied with the answer, head slightly tilted to the side. “How about we have some fun in the meantime?”

Giggles that always reminded Albedo of sunshine days at dragonspine are the answer that follows.

Taking his little one’s two hands in his, the chief alchemist helps his daughter take a few trembling steps, the baby happily padding on the wooden floor.

“There we go, princess!” Your lover chuckles, sitting the girl securely on the beige couch. Teal eyes flecked in emerald follow your partner’s movements, as he rummages through your living room’s drawers.

A few seconds later, more incomprehensible joyful babbles follow, when he sits by your daughter’s side, his hands expertely setting the supplies he retrieved on the low table. She stares at him intently, her gaze drawn to the vibrant crayons cluttering the tabletop’s surface.

“What should we draw today, my princess?” Are Albedo’s words, as he hands his child a light blue pencil, its tip dulled so she can’t hurt herself.

“Snow!” She exclaims, her tiny feet kicking back and forth in excitement, eliciting chuckles from her dad.

“You want to paint snow, my little cecilia?” He asks, combing through her blonde strands. “Alright, how about we paint you, mama and papa building a snowman?”

“Yay!” Your baby reaches for the blank paper, wonder and excitement written all over her rounded features, her tongue sticking out the corner of her small mouth. She always loved to draw and paint, especially when it was with Albedo. And even if her pictures often ended up turning out as just criss-crossing lines or messy splotches, you and your husband always kept every single one of them, displayed as priceless masterpieces on the fridge’s door, the living room walls or your study.

After a few minutes of focused work, three figures start taking form over a background of messily drawn blue snowflakes.

“Look, dearie.” Albedo calls. “Who are these?”

His girl looks up at him, a huge smile on her face as she bites the pencil.

“Mama! Me! And Papa!” She answers proudly, pointing at each of the figures.

Albedo’s eyes widen, gilded sparks reflected in the cloudless skies of his irises at his daughter’s words.

Those last two syllables.

His own pencil falls out of his grasp, clattering to the carpeted floor. In this moment, nothing else exists, save for the jingling echo of his daughter’s angelic tone.

“Papa?” She asks, tugging on his sleeve.

Albedo picks the little girl up, rising her as she laughs, unaware.

“Can you say it again, little princess? ‘Papa’.”

“Papa! Papa!” Giggles leave her throat.

Softly, Albedo places a kiss on her kid’s forehead, hugging her as the both of them lay down on the sofa.

When you got home, silence greets you, broken only by even breaths. Smiling to yourself, you brush a kiss against your husband’s and your daughter’s hair, a new painting adorning the walls after you gently throw a blanket over the sleeping figures of your two treasures.

✧ XIAO

“Do you want to hold her, Xiao? She’s been looking at you for a while.” You chuckle, your gaze softened when it sets upon your yaksha.

Golden eyes, not unlike the child’s currently on your arms, shadow in fear and shame for a moment.

What if he hurts the baby? What if his karma taints her somehow? What if-

“Xiao.” Your hand finds his gloved one, centuries of bloodshed written in the concealed scars. “She’ll be okay.” You reassure, a gentle squeeze, as your fingers slot between his.

The adeptus glances in his daughter’s direction, her round amber eyes curiously observing him.

Your husband’s jaw sets, his lips drawn in a taut line. If someone were to look at him now, they may think he’s sulking, the furrow of his brow apparently an indication to steer clear.

You, however, know better.

“Here, I’m with you, love.” You softly utter, placing your daughter in her father’s arms.

The baby stares up at her dad in awe, her little hands fiddling with the necklace he always wears.

She’s so small… such a pure and precious being… will she be safe with him?

Just as these thoughts plague his mind, the girl curls up in his embrace, nuzzling against his toned torso.

“See? She adores you, Xiao…” You tell him, knuckles brushing against your baby’s soft full cheek. “Isn’t that right, sweetie?” She turns around, a smile drawing on her lips, as she buries herself further into Xiao, whose cheeks have gone as red as the carmine lining his eyes.

“H-hello, little qingxin…” Xiao greets her, awkwardly rubbing her back.

In response, his baby tilts her head slightly backwards, the molten suns in her stare illuminating her father’s rusted gold gaze.

“Papa!” She goes, a little clumsy, it sounding more like ‘dada’.

The vigilant yaksha’s eyes widen, his heart feeling like a million bright lanterns floating towards a starry sky.

“Xiao! She said ‘papa’! See? She loves you!” You excitedly chant, hugging your husband’s waist, as you pepper kisses all over his face. “You are her first word, dear, our baby adores her dad so much. I knew she would!” A smile tugs at your lips, lids fluttering closed as you rest your cheek on Xiao’s shoulder.

His hands hover around his daughter, his hold on her delicate, as if she was a newly bloomed flower whose petals could vanish if the wind blew too strongly.

“Papa…” The girl repeats, her chubby cheek squished against’s Xiao’s form. Her eyes are droopy, a little yawn escaping her as she settles more comfortably in her father’s embrace.

Your adeptus heaves out a sigh of relief, the warmth of a familiar fireplace swarming all around him, as if candid candle flames were running through his veins when the soft snores of his daughter reach his ears.

The conqueror of demons’ mask would be shed for tonight.

✧ CHILDE

Small hands are glued to the window’s glass panes, a pair of bright blue eyes staring awestruck at the image currently taking place in your garden.

Flashes of crystalline cyan flit across the air as Childe wields his double blades, merging them into a spear, his muscles taut at the effort.

The little girl’s tiny hands curl into fists, as she leans forward in anticipation, marine gaze following her father’s movements.

He reminds her of the illustrations she’s seen in the picture books Teucer has shown her before.

She must get closer.

Looking over her shoulder, your daughter makes sure you’re busy with something in the kitchen.

Her plan can be put into action now.

Crawling towards the door on all fours, she realizes she’s nowhere near tall enough to reach the handle.

Oh, but she takes after you, and will not be deterred by something like this.

Silently, the baby makes her way towards the dog you took in. He’s big and fluffy and very peaceful, often keeping company to the little girl. With a gentle pat to his side, she looks up at him with those big blue eyes and, despite his instinct to keep her safe, the puppy obliges to her demand.

Folding his paws, the animal lowers himself to the ground, allowing your daugher to climb. A vivid spark flashes through her ocean eyes, tiny hands securing on her companion’s fur.

And just as she was about to reach the door opening to the garden, a familiar voice that’s lulled her to sleep many a night stops her in her tracks.

“And just what do you think you’re doing, little lady.” You stand a couple feet away from her, hands on your hips, your concern masked with masterfully feigned anger.

Your baby stares up at you, that oceanic gaze puppy-like, much like her father did when you were mad at him.

“Mama…” She mumbles, her little hands signaling to where Childe is training outside, sounds you can’t understand leaving her pouty lips.

You sigh, kneeling to pick her up, rubbing your dog’s chin gently.

“So you want to see papa training, don’t you, little troublemaker?” You prompt, smiling as you tickle her belly. She giggles, wiggling her legs in your hold. “Alright, just this once, and because he’s almost finished with his routine.” You warn, softly pinching her cheek.

Once outside, you both stare at the harbinger, you, with heating cheeks; your daughter, in admiration and wonder.

Then:

“Papa!” She calls, energetically waving to her father, as you have to struggle so she doesn’t fall out of your grasp.

Suddenly, Ajax’s hydro blades vanish, a rare glow present in the eyes that are so like his daughter’s. A wide grin spreads across his sun-kissed features, arms opening as he runs towards you and his baby.

“Papa! Papa!” His daughter repeats, as your husband hugs the both of you.

No matter how cold Snezhnaya’s blizzards blew, Ajax would always have his personal patch of sunshine in you two.

✧ KAEYA

Calla lilies surround the scene, their russet-hued petals aglow in the blue shimmer of the statue of the seven standing amidst the lake.

Dusk approaches, the sky still dyed in shades of tangerine and cherry blossom, the sun, a glimmering halo right above the horizon.

Over frondous grass spotted in sun and shadow, a blanket lies, its baby blue pattern fading into the multiple colors of the snacks scattered above it: portions of cake you baked the afternoon prior; sandwitches carefully cut in triangle shapes; handpicked apples and sunsettias, cut and placed into plates by your lover.

But perhaps the most vivid color of them all was that of the couple sitting atop it.

A couple and their daughter.

“You really liked this pie, didn’t you, little lily?” Kaeya coos at his baby, her chubby cheeks littered with crumbs of the soft cake she’s been devouring all afternoon. Two pairs of ice blue eyes meet each other beneath the setting sun, the girl’s giggles eliciting a chuckle from her father’s lips as he carefully wipes her face. “Mama will be mad if you stain your dress, little princess.” The cavalry captain points out, in mock scolding.

His reprimand is met with a bashful smile and his kid cuddling into him, her tiny hands clutching his clothes.

“Kaeya, don’t tease her!” You swat at his arm playfully, soft laughter leaving the both of you as your husband smooths over your girl’s hair, placing a soft kiss on her head.

“Don’t pay any mind to papa, now.” You reassure her, tenderly brushing over her chubby hands. “He’s a little silly sometimes.”

The girl looks up at you, those iceberg toned eyes wide in wonder at the world that she still has to discover around her.

You ruffle her hair, as she turns around in Kaeya’s embrace, settling on top of his legs, staring up at him.

“Papa!” She announces, taking ahold of Kaeya’s long braid, playing with it. “Papa… prince!” She points out, as she grabs one of the dolls she brought: a boy wearing a crown.

With a knowing grin, you shift closer to your lover, leaning against his side.

“Yes, little sweetheart, you’re right, papa is a prince.” Kaeya’s hand locks with yours over his shoulder, fingers laced together, the warmth of his touch so paradoxical, given the freeze he commands.

“And that is why you’re our little princess.” The knight tells your baby, as he places a stray calla lily on her hair.

“Princess!” She happily babbles, rising her arms.

Instances like this… they truly stoked gentle flames around the captain’s heart, oftentimes concealed behind apparently crystalline walls of frost. As long as he had the two of you, at least during brief moments like this, there would be no need for practiced facades.

Across the distant horizon, even dusk seemed to delay, allowing a few more seconds of luminous skies for the family sitting below it, a flickering smile crossing the anemo archon’s face of stone.

✧ NEUVILLETTE

Slate skies expand above him, his opal eyes restless oceans in the tears they contain, painted lashes dripping in midnight droplets.

Rainbow roses seem to weep too, their petals downcast, the sunrise shades of their blossoms muted in the downpour.

Neuvillette stands alone, the garden of your shared home melancholy; the trees too bare, the grass ashen, the flowers wilting.

Save for the pitter-patter of rusted silver droplets, silence reigns the scene.

The hydro dragon’s mood had a tendency to be mirrored in the heavens over Fontaine, after all.

Sighing, the Chief Justice takes a sit by a bush of lumidouce bells. Fitting, for someone whose shoulders slump not unlike the petals of the periwinkle hued blooms.

“Neuvi, love.” A familiar voice calls him, gently. “What are you doing out there in this weather, dear?”

Long argent locks of hair shift, like seafoam by moonlight, when he turns around, water, from the rain, or his tears, or both, running down his cheeks.

“Someone has come to see you, my love.” You softly utter, beckoning your husband towards the porch, the impending cacophony of his racing mind and falling downpour partially silencing.

Neuvillette’s features warm up a bit the moment he realizes who you’re talking about.

A little girl placidly rests between your arms, eyes of crystalline dusk looking up at her father. Unlike his, hers are rounded, lacking the dark circles frequently etched under your lover’s.

“Look who’s here, little rainbow.” You coo at your daughter, who tries chasing after your wiggling fingers, right as you playfully poke her belly. “Papa is here, do you perhaps want to play with him?”

The baby looks at you, one of her tiny fists on her mouth, as her eyes crinkle up in crescents. Then, she turns towards her dad, arms reaching out.

“Papa! Papa!” She laughs, inclining her flexible small torso towards him.

Neuvillette’s gaze widens, placing his hands around his little girl, protectively cradling her in his embrace.

“Papa is here, sunshine.” Your lover assures her, as he leans down to kiss her nose.

In the distance, a familiar arch shoots across the heavens, the violet of goodbyes and separations shifting into rosy affection.

Golden replaces dull steel, flecks of it dotting the grass, remnants of rain clinging like emeralds to the verdant stems.

The sun is out. The hydro dragon cries no more.

[ashe-alter]

Actually got them done in time

Sorta

Alba Belladonna

A Dawnrunner Fae hybrid for @far-side-skies bird challenge

Being part Fae, Alba does not have horns, which makes it difficult to judge his age.

Alba roams the far-side with another Dawnrunner named Toki.

He was a disciple of a Champion known as Gracelight, along with the entirety of his pride. He hated every second of the experience. He became a disgraced some years later when he refused to kill a syphon dawnrunner.

He escaped with his life, barely. Now he roams the far-side in search of disciples of Gracelight, killing all he finds.

[grimm-the-6th]

Hello

Life is kicking my ass

Anyways

This months oc for @far-side-skies oc challenge is Ardin Aise

He's 18

I'm not really sure what terra he's from yet

Hes actually a revamp of a character I already had that was Carver's nefew and meant to be a foil to Aerrow.

Currently still those things although I'm considering dropping the whole Carver's nefew thing.

He went to the skyknight academy and was knighted at 17. He was always considered a progeny child and predicted to be a great skyknight in league with Lightning Strike. Because of that he kinda got a big head and he started his own squadron called the Three Eye'd Ravens. The team travels much like the Storn Hawks do but often stick with bigger name missions to get their name out there and don't really go to a lot of the places the storm hawks do.

He was friends with Aerrow during academy days. Like a high school senior looking out for a freshman. He was excited for Aerrow when he managed to pass the trials on his first try and be knighted. The resentment and jealousy didnt really start to set in until after Carver attempts to steam the Aurora stone in the first episode.

He never wanted to believe his uncle would ever do such a thing.

[inkskinned]

one of the things that's the most fucking frustrating for me about arguing with climate change deniers is the sheer fucking scope of how much it matters. sweating in my father's car, thinking about how it's the "hottest summer so far," every summer. and there's this deep, roiling rage that comes over me, every time.

the stakes are wrong, is the thing. that's part of what makes it not an actual debate: the other side isn't coming to the table with anything to fucking lose.

like okay. i am obviously pro gun control. but there is a basic human part of me that can understand and empathize with someone who says, "i'm worried that would lead to the law-abiding citizens being punished while criminals now essentially have a superpower." i don't agree, but i can tell the stakes for them are also very high.

but let's say the science is wrong and i'm wrong and the visible reality is wrong and every climate disaster refugee is wrong. let's say you're right, humans aren't causing it or it's not happening or whatever else. let's just say that, for fun.

so we spend hundreds of millions of dollars making the earth cleaner, and then it turns out we didn't need to do that. oops! we cleaned the earth. our children grow up with skies full of more butterflies and bees. lawns are taken over with rich local biodiversity. we don't cry over our electric bills anymore. and, if you're staunchly capitalist and i need to speak ROI with you - we've created so many jobs in developing sectors and we have exciting new investment opportunities.

i am reminded of kodak, and how they did not make "the switch" to digital photography; how within 20 years kodak was no longer a household brand. do we, as a nation, feel comfortable watching as the world makes "the switch" while we ride the laurels of oil? this boggles me. i have heard so much propaganda about how america cannot "fall behind" other countries, but in this crucial sector - the one that could actually influence our own monopolies - suddenly we turn the other cheek. but maybe you're right! maybe it will collapse like just another silicone valley dream. but isn't that the crux of capitalism? that some economies will peter out eventually?

but let's say you're right, and i'm wrong, and we stopped fracking for no good reason. that they re-seed quarries. that we tear down unused corporate-owned buildings or at least repurpose them for communities. that we make an effort, and that effort doesn't really help. what happens then? what are the stakes. what have we lost, and what have we gained?

sometimes we take our cars through a car wash and then later, it rains. "oh," we laugh to ourselves. we gripe about it over coffee with our coworkers. what a shame! but we are also aware: the car is cleaner. is that what you are worried about? that you'll make the effort but things will resolve naturally? that it will just be "a waste"?

and what i'm right. what if we're already seeing people lose their houses and their lives. what if it is happening everywhere, not just in coastal towns or equatorial countries you don't care about. what if i'm right and you're wrong but you're yelling and rich and powerful. so we ignore all of the bellwethers and all of the indicators and all of the sirens. what if we say - well, if it happens, it's fate.

nevermind. you wouldn't even wear a mask, anyway. i know what happens when you see disaster. you think the disaster will flinch if you just shout louder. that you can toss enough lives into the storm for the storm to recognize your sacrifice and balk. you argue because it feels good to stand up against "the liberals" even when the situation should not be political. you are busy crying for jesus with a bullhorn while i am trying to usher people into a shelter. you've already locked the doors, even on the church.

the stakes are skewed. you think this is some intellectual "debate" to win, some funny banter. you fuel up your huge unmuddied truck and say suck it to every citizen of that shitbird state california. serves them right for voting blue!

and the rest of us are terrified of the entire fucking environment collapsing.

[happypanda101]

Ayo, I'm finally here with my bird! @far-side-skies

This is Pipra! The crystal mage of the Thunder Vipers, a Cyclonian squadron, and is Piper's mama! Dun Dun Dun! (or at least a version of her) She was a top graduate of the Crystal Academy and was rumored to have the ability to do the binding. Like mother like daughter. Piper, Perry and Roni all ended up getting their looks from her, as well as her sass. Hope you like her!

[thewritetofreespeech]

Cooler Heads Will Prevail

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

summary: it's too hot to do anything in the States. Except apparently write Aemond x Reader smut about how it's too hot.

tags: heterosexual sex, fingering, sex outdoors, aemond speaking High Valyrian cause it's sexy, Vhagar being sassy in the background. 

----------------------------------⚔️-----------------------------------------

“Gods how can you stand to wear that?”

You felt ten times hotter just looking at your husband, dressed in his traditional black & leathers, as he sat next to you while you baked in this heat. Even with all the windows and curtains open, dressed in the thinnest dress that modesty could cling to, and servants fanning you both like Dornish aristocracy, you still felt like you were melting.

“It is all a matter of perspective, my dear wife.” Aemond replied. Not looking up from his book. “And will power.”

You groan and drop your own book, spreading out as far as your limbs would go on the chaise. You despised these hot summers. Everything was hot. Everything you touched, including yourself, was sticky. You felt like every breath was drawing in more hot air, which in turn made you hotter, and considerably cranky. It was too hot to do anything.

Aemond glanced up at you with his good eye, then closed his books. The servants scatter when the prince stood. Taking away what little precious, if fruitless, relief you had. “Are you really that miserable?” He asked, leaning over you with one arm pressed against the back of the chaise.

“Just look at me.”

“I am.” His mouth coiled into a smirk as he leaned further down to kiss you.

But you turn your head away with an unsatisfied huff. “It’s too hot.” Though you loved Aemond unconditionally, apparently it had its limits. He’d have to wait until the sun went down, at the very least, before you would consider touching him.

The prince huffed. “Fine. Get up.”

You didn’t have time to ask Aemond why before he was grabbing your hand and hoisting you to your feet. Dragging you along behind him as you tried to keep up with his impressive gait thanks to those long legs.

Your protests & questions stopped halfway through your journey, and Aemond finally let your hand go once the two of you reached the Dragonpit. Vhagar’s indominable frame taking up most of the space a lotted to her as she coolly acknowledged her rider then settled back down. “What are we doing here?”

“Leaving the city.” Aemond was already mounting Vhagar. Settled into her saddle before he reached out to you with his hand.

You often dreamed of being a dragon rider. To be up in the skies. To command giants. But you didn’t have the blood for it. Instead, you just admired them from afar. “I thought you said Vhagar didn’t like secondary riders.”

“Vhagar does not like any rider but me.” He clarified. “But she will not harm you. Trust me.”

You did trust Aemond. Still, you glance over to Vhagar, looking into her giant eye for permission, who looked back at you for a long moment before she blinked with her inner lid and turned her gaze from you. You took that as a yes and grabbed Aemond’s hand.

He hoisted you up into the saddle with ease. Seating you in front of him. His legs on either side of you as he fastened you both to the harness before taking the reins. “sōvēs Vhagar.”

The dragon rose from her seat. Seeming annoyed about it, but you couldn’t be sure. She took three long strides before her wings were aloft and you were up in the air. You close your eyes tight. Gripping Aemon’s thighs on either side as you felt your stomach try to drop all the way back to the ground. “Open your eyes.” Aemond’s voice brushed against your ear, louder than the rushing air around you. You do as he says. With one at first, then opening both to see the beautiful bright sky around you and white, fluffy clouds. It was breath taking.

You aren’t brave enough to look down, but after a while Aemond shouted, “tegot Vhagar,” and the dragon circled around a patch of Earth before gracefully hurling itself towards it.

When you landed Aemond undid your bindings and jumped down. He held his arms out towards you, waiting for you to jump, and easily caught you when you fell into his open arms. “Where are we Aemond?”

The prince shrugged, “somewhere North.” That was all he said before he stalked off into the woods past the clearing.

You look around and admire the beauty of the small forest, before you follow after your husband. Vhagar seemed fine on her own to resume her nap while you both went on your walk to wherever Aemond was going. “Aemond, what are we doing here?”

“You said you were hot.” He told you. In a tone that implied ‘we just talked about this’ as he cut through the path.

“Yes. But why are we here?” It was significantly cooler, but still summer. The balminess of the city had been replaced with the natural humidity of the trees. One evil for a lesser one.

Aemond didn’t answer this time and instead pushed past the last of the greenery to reveal a second clearing. Sun dappled, with trees and flowers circling a natural freshwater pond, in a perfect idyllic scene. “Gods…It’s beautiful.”

“We did not come all this way just to look at it.”

You turn to Aemond to see him already unbuttoning his jerkin. “You cannot be serious.” Apparently, he was, as he was already tossing his jerkin aside and pulling off his under tunic. “Aemond?? We’re in the middle of nowhere!”

“Exactly. No one will find us.” His belt, boots, and pants quickly made it into the pile. His small clothes next. Then finally his eye patch. “Are you coming or not?” You stare at Aemond, a little slack jawed, as he stood there completely naked. As if you were the crazy one for not joining him.

Fingers carefully come up to your lacings. Fumbling with the strings as your embarrassment makes the digits unable to cooperate properly. Aemond was right, no one would see you. But this was still the first time you had been naked ‘in public’. Ladies did not go around the world in the nude. Although, apparently, a Targaryen’s woman did.

Aemond grinned as he watched you let loose your dress, then walked backwards a few paces before he turned and walked over to one of the rocks. Standing on it, like some Valyrian statue, before he jumped in. You were not nearly as brave, and shyly stepped into the water from its calm shore with your hands protecting your modesty.

The water was like ice on your overheated skin, but it felt so good! You let out a sigh and relax. Sinking neck deep into the water as you pulled your knees to your chest to float. “Feeling better?” You turn to look at Aemond as he swam up to you. His long hair floating behind him like a silver net. Looking more triton than dragon at the moment. You offer him a soft smile and nod.

The prince smiled back. Then he floated to his center before he stood, able to reach the bottom and have the water just barely brush past his navel. “Can I kiss you now?”

You looked up at Aemond, who was looking back down at you, waiting for an answer. Your smile broadens and you release your knees to stand on your own feet as well. The water just barely kissing your breasts in comparison. “Yes Aemond, you can kiss me.”

He looked so pleased. As if all this effort was worth it as he took your chin in his fingers to tilt your lips to his. You moan at the first contact of his tongue against yours. Hells…how long had it been since you kissed him properly.

You had not been joking when you said it was too hot to do anything. That included laying with your husband. Though you shared the same bed, the most you had done for the past weeks was brief kisses & touches before shunting off to your separate corners of the mattress. Desperate not to add anymore heat to your person.

Now that you were cooled off, a renewed heat was swelling up inside you. “Aemond…”

The man in question pulled back just a hair’s breadth to look at you. The hand once tilting up your chin now brushing water droplets from your cheek. “I have missed you, issa jorrāelagon.”

“I know.” And you felt guilty for that. “I’ve missed you too.” Together seperately had been the way things had been with this heat. But now you were somewhere cool, calm, and secluded with your husband.

You latch on to Aemond like a drowning man. His body your life raft. His kiss your air. He pulled you in with equal fervor and you felt his longing press against your belly. Hot and hard, despite the cold water. “Aemond…” You gasp again. Intentionally brushing against him to feel more of his manhood and eager to have not against your belly but inside it. “Please…”

The prince growled and kissed you again. His teeth nipping possessively at your lips this time, before he pulled you into his arms and wrapped your legs around him. Carrying you out of the water with ease and laying you on the soft grass that would be your marriage bed for the afternoon.

Aemond continued to kiss you. Letting you go for a moment before peppering your lips, face, and neck with more kisses. As if he couldn’t decide what he wanted to do next with you. “You should be like this at all times.”

“Underneath you?” You respond cheekily.

“Naked.” He corrected. Your head tipping back as his arm slipped betwixt you and his fingers began toying with your sex. “You wouldn’t be so hot. And we would no longer have to deal with those ridiculous laces.”

“I don’t think your mother would appreciate such a ‘casual’ manner of dress at court.” You gasp sharply as two of Aemond’s fingers suddenly slipped inside you. Clearly a diversion in the conversation as he doesn’t want to talk about his mother right now.

“Hmmm…it is probably for the best. I’d gouge out the eye of any man who would look at you besides me. Then I would no longer be unique.”

“Certainly less fashionable.” Another sharp gasp escapes you as Aemond’s fingers curled up inside you against that spot that made you see stars. Silently telling you that if you didn’t stop with the cheek you were going to get it. ‘Good’ you thought.

His fingers continued to work you open as his mouth swallowed your cries. “Aemond!” You shouted when his thumb brushed against your pearl. Pushing at his shoulders while your legs shook at the intense feeling, but he wouldn’t stop. He let you go long enough to let your climax cry come out clearly. Loud and pure. Birds fluttering off in the distance that were startled by the sound.

“You’re so beautiful when you quake for me.”

“Only you.”

Your hand came up to stroke his face. Hard lines. Soft expression. Your fingertip brushes against just the end of his scar before trailing down to flick his bottom lip. Red and swollen from your kissing. Vibrant against his cool, alabaster skin. Perfect.

“Make me quake for you again my love.” Your legs splayed wide for him. Making space for him and his cock in your drooling cunt.

Aemond doesn’t have to be told anything twice and he descended on you. Lining up his cock, pushing it inside you with coiled control just waiting to snap, waiting there until you were ready. You let him know you were ready by jutting your hips a bit. Your prince looking at your face for a moment to make sure before that coiled control snapped clean.

The two of you rut in the forest like animals. Grunting and moaning and the wet sound of slapping skin. Aemond spread your legs wider for him. Letting him thrust harder and deeper into you. Your head fell back against the damp grass. The sweet smell mixed with your sweat making you dizzy while the sharp climb towards a second climax made you lightheaded.

You will your eyes open to look at Aemond. His eye fixed only on you. Almost completely black like the stories portrayed him. Black enough that it looked as though it had bled into his sapphire. But this was not the eyes of a monster, but a beast. Your beast. Your one and only, as this look as just for you.

“A-Aemond!” You shout again. Fingers clenched in his wet tresses. Whole body shaking around him this time. Aemond’s teeth clenched to the point they look like they might break before he buried his face in the crook of your neck. His own hips stuttered as his warmth filled you up.

The two of you laid there for a moment. Catching your breath. Sated in one another until Aemond likely feels he’s too heavy for you and rolls off you to the side. “We should head back.”

You turn your head to look at him. Wounded. Did it have to be right now? “The sun will be setting soon. It will not be as hot upon our return.”

You look back up at the sky and indeed see the shadows had gotten longer since your arrival. “Must we?”

Aemond chuckled at your plea. Rolling back over to your side to coil his body around you like a serpent. Head on your shoulder. You know he had missed this almost as much as the other. “Not right now.” He agreed. “But soon. We can come back whenever you’d like though.”

“Tomorrow?” He laughed again.

“Whenever you’d like.”

The two of you bask in the moment and beautiful scenery for a little while longer. Enjoying the cool and the quite before you had to return to the hot and the mayhem. You dress in silence. Then Aemond walked you both back down the path towards his dragon. Vhagar not seeming to notice one way or the other that you’ve been gone.

The heat hits you instantly once you break the perimeter of the city. Cooler than before but still sweltering. “I’m going to take a cool bath before bed.” You tell your prince as he gave his dragon a few goodbye pet before he left her for the day. “Care to join me?”

Only one thing could pull Aemond’s attention away from his dragon, and he turned to look over his shoulder at you with a smug grin. “Missing me already, issa jorrāelagon.”

“Oh yes.” You playfully agree as you walk backwards when Aemond came close. “I don’t know. Something about dragon riding puts me in the mood for….‘dragon riding’.”

The true rider grinned and closed the gap between you with quick ease. “Why do you think I seem never to want to keep my hands off you?” He pulled you in for a new kiss. Passionate, yes, but not nearly as fierce as before. You were back in the walls. Back in your cages. You had to be restrained lest other people talked. Because gods forbid a man & a wife actually fancied each other. He let you go and it was your turn to lead Aemond by the hand.

The weather was hot. But summer would eventually break. By the time winter came you intended to know all sorts of new ways to keep warm.