#beyond the seaside

[inknopewetrust]

𝐎𝐟 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐬

summary: after facing embarrassment from Aegon’s intrusive visit, Sylvi helps Aemond find attraction with someone closer to his own age. [aemond x fem!reader] [wc: 5.0k]

warnings: 18+ minors dni, smut, p in v, oral (m receiving), hand job, fingering, voyeurism/exhibitionism, aemond’s abuse by her is not tolerated here 🙂‍↔️, HotD themes.

quick links: masterlist | gif credit: @seaside-storm

The sounds of the Silk Streets in the early hours of morning were not for the faint of heart.

You had grown accustomed to them over the years of your residency—the noises, the people, the actions and wants of those who seek the services of an establishment like the one Sylvi ran.

It was not your proudest achievement; not one you’d shout from the rooftops but one that kept the food on the table.

It wasn’t hard. It was sex. And you learned to enjoy it with what little freedom was left when the coins were tossed and your body was aching.

Between your fingers one of those coins twirled absentmindedly as the curtains of your bedding swished at the retreat of your latest payer. There were seldom benefits from the occupation you took up yet the pay, after years of understanding and learning, had grown exponentially.

And the coin that tossed between your fingertips was enough to put food on the table for a few days; enough to buy a dress or to get passage to another town.

It was a reward for service you did not mind.

Sylvi had taught you what you needed to know. How to move, how to pleasure. She helped you determine what felt good and what would feel unpleasant to both you and a partner.

But she had her transgressions far beyond the positive.

One of them stalked the building in a fume.

The laughter that had propagated such anger left an hour ago but the remnants of the jesters stuck heavy in the air. They opened curtains and made spectacles of the givers and the receivers; they stared too long at you in the nude to make you feel at ease.

In the distance, you heard your name called yet you continued to flip the coin.

Aegon, the King as he was now, was no friend to the servants of pleasure. You consider yourself fortunate that he never sought you—as desirable, as insatiable, as you were.

It saved you from a world of hurt from a man as fickle as he was.

Although his reputation preceded him and the ire that still held itself like a cloud over the house was from his head, his brother, Aemond, was a welcome guest.

Though he too was someone you had not laid with either.

He had never lingered far from the woman of the house.

“Y/N.”

Said woman pulled back the curtain of your bed roughly. Against the pillows and covered in a robe the color of a midnight black, you lazily gazed at her.

“Did you not hear me call?” Sylvi asked impatiently. Her irritation was stinging.

“I was busy, Madame,” you responded loosely.

You arched your back and with it came cracks of relaxation. It felt good after being holed up in your bed for two hours.

“You know how Dornish men are,” you informed her. “That one was quite… spirited at this late hour.”

“What happy news for you,” she panned before nodding her head in the direction of her usual hideaway. “I seek a favor.”

“A favor?” You questioned with a mewl.

“It is for the one we do not speak of.”

Sylvi’s eyes gave you a warning. Aemond Targaryen… the one who fumed.

She had never asked for a favor regarding the Prince before and it intrigued you. It would fall a lie if you spoke of never having imagined what a man like him would be like in your bed.

He was a magnificent creature.

Tall and carved from the marble of a great sculptor, Prince Aemond was no stranger to the gazes of the pleasure folk. The way their eyes shined and pupils grew large, you were surely one of them.

It did not hurt that he was no more than the age you were now and had not yet taken a wife.

It was silly, however, to imagine a whore being the wife of a Prince. He had barely sparred you glances when he visited.

Dreams. That is all that it would remain.

“And you seek me?” You questioned, dropping the coin on your clothed stomach.

“I have a proposition for you,” she clarified. “One that will pay you well for your service.”

“The receiver is willing?”

“Yes.”

Her alcove was far nicer than yours.

Lavish with silken pillows and warm candlelight, it was near romantic if you forgot the circumstances of her actions. It smelt of lavender and oils; the kind she wanted throughout the establishment but could only create the corner she wanted here.

It was the first time you had been invited into the space.

Sylvi walked around you as you stood just inside of the curtains. She held the tassel of her robe between her fingertips, swinging it gently.

“We do not speak on what happens here, understood?” She asked you.

“I understand, Madame.” She nodded her head in approval.

“Good,” Sylvi affirmed.

On a ledge behind the bed, she grabbed a small sack of coins and tossed them to you. It landed with a jingle at the edge of the bed.

With delicate hands you grasped the strings and pulled open the bag to see coins worth the entire building. You dropped it, looking at Sylvi with wide eyes.

“T-This… this is far too much,” you scoffed.

“It is what the Prince offered,” she spoke as if the currency was nothing more than what the common folk paid.

There had to have been 10 gold dragons inside of the pouch.

The total jostled you.

You had long understood that the job you took on was ill-inspired. The money you had made was reasonable and never made you feel ashamed to take it.

But this… the currency enough to buy twenty horses; enough to buy a home or sail to Essos with no intention of returning… it did bring shame.

“And for such a currency what does the Prince expect of me? I will not be humiliated—“

“I have no intention of humiliating you.”

The voice cut through glass.

Behind you, with the curtains of Sylvi’s bedding swaying to a gentle close the man of her proposition appeared. You turned around with your mouth agape from the inability to finish your thoughts and as many mortals had before, your mind ceased its thoughts.

He was ethereal, otherworldly.

And he was fully nude.

You stuttered stupidly to greet him.

“P-Prince Aemond,” you managed. “I apologize. I did not intend to speak out of turn.”

He hummed, observing you as you did him. You straightened your back at the sensation. His eye piercing and cold—in a room basked in warmth he was not the bringer of it. Aemond let his mind roam the faults and perfections of your body and needn’t say what it was aloud.

He trusted Sylvi in a twisted way. If she said you were right for the job, surely she would not steer him wrong.

“So,” Aemond’s eye flicked to Sylvi. You took the opportunity to observe the blue gleam of the sapphire that filled the vacancy of his other.

“This is she?”

She introduced your name to him and his eye met yours.

“And the terms have been accepted?”

“They have, My Prince,” you spoke without hesitation.

“Aemond,” he clarified. “You are to call me Aemond.”

You tried his name on your lips and it was breathless. As his eye stalked your body, he took the initiative to take the step forward. The understanding of your willingness emboldened him to bury his brother’s words.

He was seldom humiliated but the reasons he flocked to Sylvi were different from the ones he sought from a willing companion: to release and forget.

Aemond approached you with soft steps and it was suddenly difficult to remember how to breathe. You held your breath, waiting, as his arm extended to you and his fingers brushed the fabric of your robe along your collarbones. He traced the skin with his fingers, along the edges of your robe as the delicate lacing became rough under his fingertips.

He was testing the waters.

You remained focused on his face as your heart rate began to increase. Every thump faster aligned with the draws of his fingers; long and nimble, softer than the men you were used to on days as long as these.

He was fluid and natural. There was no scared boy inside of him, but the hardened man he wanted the world to see.

Sylvi rounded her bed and you were reminded that she was still there as she looked at you.

“Touch her, Aemond. Touch her as you do in your dreams.”

At her command, his hand stilled. You half-thought her demands had sent him into a spiral of regret. Perhaps he would apologize for his lustful responses, scurrying away and back into the pit of dragon’s he came from.

Instead of listening to her in haste, he asked you a question.

“Where are you from?”

You were taken aback but remained stoic. Your job was to put on a performance no matter how surprising his words felt. No patron had ever asked you about, well, you.

You were nothing more than an orifice for their wanton needs.

“Honeyholt,” you responded quietly.

“Not far from Oldtown,” he commented, tracing the lace but never touching your skin. His hand grazed it until he reached the knot of your robe.

You shook your head, “no.”

“Did you enjoy it there?”

“It was far less exciting than King’s Landing.”

“May I?”

You had never had a patron ask permission before either.

You felt like a girl being dotted on. It was a strange feeling, one that had turned so drastically from a mere thirty minutes before—being treated like a doll to be thrown from one to be pampered… it was not what you were expecting.

“You may, Aemond.”

His finite hands worked the knot swiftly to let the robe fall open. When it did, he let it sit there for a moment as he took in the shape of your breasts underneath the fabric, he could see the mound of your pussy, and the way you stood completely still in wait.

He felt powerful when he normally felt meek.

Sylvi had been right. He did need this.

Aemond could feel the woman’s eyes behind him and whether they were on himself or you he would not know, but he felt them heavy.

He took his hands and pushed the fabric from your shoulders. It pooled around your feet in one push.

You breathed in deeply, nipples pebbling at the coolness now meeting you.

It was obvious, however, that your mere body was not enough to rouse him to hardness. If you spent anymore time watching him as he watched you, the sun would be up and his duties would call him away.

“Touch him,” Sylvi instructed you. “Do not be afraid.”

“I am not afraid,” you responded to her but did not look at her. She took a seat on her bed as you moved to stand toe to toe with Aemond.

“May I touch you?” You asked in the same voice of permission he had given you.

“You may,” and he said your name with a weight hearty on his tongue.

With his permission you reached for his right hand and placed it on your breast. His timidness was beginning to show through the hesitancy of his actions. The slow grip on your breast slowly became more comforting the more time he took.

“It’s alright,” you whispered as though Sylvi was not there and you were alone with the Prince. “You can touch me.”

You felt more pressure from his palm. Drawing your own hand to his chest, you began to feel the outlines of his muscles. Aemond was lean and fit, skinny but not sickly.

Each muscle was tense under your touch. He shuttered a breath through his nose and your hand recoiled in the slightest.

“I apologize,” he spoke as lowly as you had before. “I have not been with another in a long time.”

He had not been with another other than Sylvie in a long time, he meant.

“I can be slow, My Prince.”

“Aemond,” he corrected you.

“Aemond,” you said sheepishly in your forgetfulness.

“I do not need you to be slow.”

You nodded in reply and placed your hand back on his chest. You followed it down until you began to broach the zone in which your talents needed to please not only him, but Sylvi also.

If you were a disappointment, there would be no clothes nor food nor horses nor castles in your future.

“Then I will not go slow, Aemond.”

He hummed, intaking a breath as your fingers gently, kindly, fluttered over his cock. You looked up at him with your eyes hooded, eyelashes batting and he thought for an instance that no woman had ever looked at him that way.

Sylvi hadn’t and it awoke something with him.

You began to work him with your hand as he let his hand fall from your breast and brought it up to the back of your neck. He massaged the space briefly before holding onto you with a tighter grip.

In your hand he began to show himself to you. Growing in length, you licked your lips in anticipation and swallowed the bug that formed in your throat.

“Aemond,” you questioned as you stepped closer. You parted your legs to stand between one of his and he stopped you only by moving his other hand to grip your chin.

He could feel his heart beating out of his chest.

The feel of your hand on his cock was enthralling. So smooth and soft, gripping him in hardness at the right moments but never suffocating and never hurting.

“Yes?” He was near breathless.

You took his response with no words but a shifting of your hand. You left his shaft and snaked your hand to his balls, cupping them the best you could. His staggered breath brought a small, sly smile to your lips as he gripped your chin tighter and his eye narrowed.

“Would—“ in his grip, you could barely get words out. He changed his positioning to hold both sides of your neck. “Would you like to see what I can do with my mouth?”

“It would be a waste to not,” he grunted when your hand put pressure on his balls.

He released your neck and watched as you sank to your knees obediently. In your position, he was reminded of the good and pious that prayed to the Seven. Your eyes were so innocent but your mind wicked; your hands were pleasurable and your words soothing.

It was a change and it was working for him.

You sat with your knees apart, feet against your backside and heels digging into the flesh. You ran your hands down your body as he watched you delicately before running your hands up his legs and resting on his upper thighs.

Placing a soft kiss on one of his thighs, you worked yourself toward his member as it beckoned you. You grasped the base of his cock with your hand, placing a sweet kiss on his ever-swollen head.

You let saliva gather at the front of your mouth and let it dribble out and onto his cock before taking him with your mouth.

Aemond was heavy on your tongue. His warmth was sending electricity from your mouth to your core; you felt the throb of want begin to pool at your center. He took both of his hands and placed them at the top of your head but did not push. He did not force and he allowed you to escape when you needed to breathe.

But he was in another world.

Never had he been taken in such a way but his mind liked playing tricks. It was not his first and when he thought back on the times he had been pleasured as such it was not as enjoyable.

Yet, he forgot her stares and focused on you. A woman closer to his own age and one that had a system of morality of questions and seeking answers in regards to pleasure.

You took his extended gratitude and kindness and returned it with your own.

With every pull of your mouth, you filled the space with what your mouth couldn’t take with your hand. You squeezed at his base and it made him see stars. In your vision you could see him watching if you looked up.

How his blue gem gleamed at you…

As you turned your head and used your salvia and some of his pre-cum that began to leak to wet his shaft, you moaned at the sensation. It sent you tingling, drawing a hand away from his thigh; you brought it between your legs and began to rub circles on your clit.

The wetness gathered quickly. You shut your eyes as the two parts of you, mouth and cunt, were being used to your own delight. As you opened them again, Sylvi caught the corner of your eye.

She rubbed herself over her clothes and you halted. Hand retreating from your body in an instant; the salvia that had gathered landed on your thigh with a splat and your hand loosened what held onto him. Aemond let one of his hands fall loosely beside him as he looked up and kept focus on the wall in front of him.

He needed to change. He had asked her for this change for his own sake and it was time for it to happen.

“Sylvi,” Aemond muttered absentmindedly.

“Yes?” She prompted as if he were to ask her to join the two of you. Her tone made you nervous but he never let his other hand fall from your head.

She went to remove her own robe but he stopped her with a turn of his head.

“Leave us,” he commanded.

Slyvi paused her hands against her body, dejected at Aemond while her eyes bounced between the two of you.

You, your hand still on his cock and your lips barely kissing it. Him, with his hand on your head and mind completely taken by you.

“Aem—“

“Do I have to repeat myself?” He asked her calmly. His heart beat so fast at his strength. Never did he believe he’d be able to breakaway.

“No,” she rose from the bed and made for the entrance.

Your breath was hot on his dick when she stopped again. For one moment Sylvi waited for Aemond to call her back but she was met with silence; a heavy weight of agony as she stood there and received no reply.

It was her retreating footsteps that brought relief to your bones.

Aemond’s other hand returned to your head.

“I did not wish for her to watch us,” he informed you.

You looked up at him from your spot on the floor. Along your chin were remnants of spit or spent, he wasn’t certain. All the same, he took a thumb and gathered it from you. He brought the thumb to his mouth and sucked the gathering from it.

“I did not either.”

“Good,” he hummed. “Now get on the bed.”

You needn’t be asked twice.

Aemond refrained from touching you as you rose from the floor and sat on the bed. Once you were seated, he leaned down to grab your ankle and pushed back on your shoulder to lay down. The message was received quickly and you laid back and brought your other leg bent beside you.

You were completely at his mercy. Your walls clenched around nothing when he ran his hands over the skin of your legs. You extended your arms above your head; feeling the soft silk pillows and coolness of the sheets below your body. The sensations were overwhelming.

“I’ve never been with a woman like you before,” Aemond’s hands roamed further, pulling you down on the bed to meet his body but not entering you.

“And what kind of woman am I?” You sighed contently.

“A kind woman.”

“How do you know me to be kind?” You asked him.

One of his hands feathered the skin between your leg and lips. They grazed it again and this time, running his fingers through where you wanted him most. A selfless breath left your lips.

“Your eyes are kind,” he bent down to lay a kiss on your knee. “There are not many kind eyes here.”

He stuck one finger in, followed by another. Your hand reached for the pillows quickly, back arching at the sensation. You once thought his fingers to be long and nimble but they were much more. You felt them so clearly and cleanly.

They reached within your walls; touching the plushy skin as it grew in wetness and emitted slick sounds of pleasure.

Once he felt you were ready, he wanted to test his third finger.

“Gods,” you stuttered out as his third finger slipped in and it became so quick. He was running away with himself as the sight of your pleasure overtakes him.

“F-fuck.”

The words continued to fall from your lips as he picked up his pace. His fingers moved in and out, in and out, and then a rapid succession of moving them up and down. Your body trembled at the noises. The wet, squelching sound of a mess too far gone.

He may not have been as experienced as other men, but he had ruined you for all in the future.

“That’s it,” he whispered against your thigh again. He bent down to watch you writhe at his actions. “What do you need from me? Hm?” He asked.

“Nothing,” you panted. “Just you Aemond.”

“Just me?” He murmured. “What of my cock? Do you want to feel me inside of you? Finish inside of you?”

The idea sent you spiraling. You imagined how his cock would feel longer and thicker than his fingers. How it would plead against the spot to make you come undone.

“Yes,” you nodded. “I want to know what it feels like.”

He removed his fingers to grasp his length in his hands. Aemond pumped himself briefly before lining his head up with your entrance, gripping your hip as you stayed splayed before him.

And then he slid in.

Seldom could explain the moment but you had seen stars. You saw the galaxies spoken of by the Maester’s and worlds beyond your own. There was no feeling but him filling you so fully and totally.

He shut his eye. The blue sapphire still glittering in the light; Aemond saw peace grow with a gasp. Everything in his mind went blank with white noise. All he could hear was himself as he sheathed himself inside of your warmth with a simple push. He filled you until he could no longer.

It was sinful to feel so good.

He held himself there for a minute. You wanted to sit up, hold his body close to yours and feel his muscles contract under your touch but stay as pliant as possible.

Against your convictions, Aemond leaned forward and cupped your cheek with his hands. It was entirely intimate for a man you had just met.

But his touch lingered lifetimes. It was as if you knew him forever, and this singular moment was one of plenty.

Stilled inside of you, his thumb caressed your bottom lip.

“May I kiss you?” He asked promptly.

You moved your hips in a roll to urge him to move, wrapping your legs around his torso and arms around his shoulders. His lips brushed against yours.

He pulled his hips back and slowly slid himself back in.

You nodded your head the best you could against the sheets and he ticked at you. His nose nudged yours, your lips begging to be touched but he neglected them.

“No,” he cooed. “I need you to say it. Say you want me to kiss you.” Again, he slid out, back in and your hips met him there.

“Kiss me, Aemond. Kiss me, please.”

Pushing his cock deeper into you, your mouth fell agape and he used the opportunity to capture his lips with your own, swallowing your moan and losing himself in your intimacy.

He never thought a woman like you could make him feel so selfless.

Aemond knew nothing of you but felt everything. He needn’t understand the pieces of you to feel the rewards of lust and anger spilling out of him.

His mouth is so warm and wet. Aemond’s tongue danced with yours as your whimpers became gasps with the jacking of his hips into you. Your hands are bruising on his shoulders; grip tight and breaking had you been a stronger woman.

Aemond broke his kisses and moved his hand to your neck. His thumb put pressure on the bottom of your chin, pushing your head backwards and sending your spine arching.

If he took you any further, you’d split yourself in too. You mewled in pleasure and he let out a low chuckle, eyes low and observing as he pounded his cock in your pussy faster.

“Oh,” one of your arms shot up above your head and he took his other hand, the one not on your neck, and intertwined your hands together.

“Do the others fuck you like this?” He hummed.

“No,” you called into the air. “Not everyone is as good as you, My Prince.”

As your eyes met his, you felt your heart exploding. No one would ever hold you like this again. No one would know you in the secrets you shared here—so open and viewable yet shroud in the comfort of veils.

You like this. He knows you do. And fuck, he does too.

“You like being held like a worthy lady,” Aemond purred. “Like you’re not a whore.”

“You like being strong when they underestimate you.”

His hand around your throat tightened but didn’t suffocate you. Aemond’s fingers that intertwined with your own stayed together as he changed his speed. Slowing down and drawing his dick out to the tip and stuffing you again, he snickered.

“You are not weak.”

“No,” he narrowed his eye. “I’m not.”

“In here,” you groaned. “In here you can be anyone, Aemond.”

He knew it to be true.

Instead of responding with a smart retort or a scathing comment that would rival one of his brothers, he nodded his head and let it fall in the crook of your neck.

Within you, his solemn romanticism built a fire. It was aching; clenching your walls around him as your breaths became more heated and laced with a finish. His skin on yours glistened with sweat the more strenuous your meetings became.

You were holding onto a thin string when he lifted his head again and planted a kiss on your lips.

So personal, so intimate from what you were used to.

“I-“ you barely got a syllable out before your body shook with your orgasm hitting you like a brick through a glass window. Aemond removed his hand on your neck to grip your back as your body lifted from the sheets.

Your cunt had his cock in a vice. So tight and smooth with your wetness, he felt the stuttering sensation of his own building in a quick anticipation and as the shaking in your legs began to lessen, he pulled out of your pussy without warning and pumped himself before spilling his spent on your stomach.

Your eyes saw stars on the ceiling of the brothel. Aemond kissed between your breath as his fingers swiped through his cum. He drew a line from your stomach, between your breasts, and to your lips. You took his fingers covered in him into your mouth and licked him clean.

Once there was nothing left, his wet fingers palmed your breast with a sigh. You untangled your combined fingers and gingerly outlined the bottom of his scar.

He leaned into your touch absentmindedly before eagerly kissing you again.

Aemond would never confess why he did it.

It was an urge he had never felt; built in the emotions of his mind as he was wrapped in your kind embrace and away from the world that had created the cruelness that lived with him. You were not cruel. You were good and a sanctimonious creature at his alter of wavering faith.

You revived him.

And he barely knew you.

When he pulled away, you brushed a hand over his disheveled hair and smiled.

The feeling within him was foreign but it was hungry. He hungered for the bubbled nature of want that brewed in his bones. Aemond sought the feel of your hands on him and the way you settled in his motions without complaint or verbally assuring him what he was doing was “good for him,” when in reality, he knew it was not.

So in turn, when you smiled, so did he.

A/N: thanks for reading! As always comments, reblog, and likes are always appreciated. I love hearing from all of you.

[jackiepackiee]

Telemachus x Fem! Reader

an - this is my first time writing for Epic! I’m very excited to join this community, and obviously not everything is going to be accurate to the odyssey…

Prince Telemachus has always wanted to be a hero, and even with never knowing him he knows a real hero is just like his dad, Odysseus. Fighting monsters, commanding armies, keeping everyone safe. But only now has he truly realized one important thing about being a hero like his father, having a lover you’re willing to do anything for

The nights on the island Ithica had always been cold, ocean breeze blowing cool air into the windows and halls of the palace. Shushing the everlasting hum of human movement into a lullaby in the seaside air.

With the gentle night came the long awaited silence from the suitors gathered in the main hall, only sounds of breathing in deep sleep and the occasional thud of movement from a man rolling over.

Even the servants were just about still, last one just getting to bed after extinguishing the torches that illuminated the walls.

All, expect for Telemachus.

The prince laid wide awake, eyes trained on the ceiling above his bed and hands petting his loyal dog. He was waiting… waiting for the sound of the palace guards to switch posts. Each night they would spend 5 minutes traveling back to their quarters to switch off a sleep schedule. His father had written the system, and Telemachus had studied the time just for this. Just for you.

When he heard the familiar shuffling of feet leave the hall and go further into the night he stood. Straightening his Chiton and adding his Epiblema to keep him from the cold of the night, even though he fully planned to lend it to you if you so wished.

As quickly as he stood up was he off, tip toeing down the hallway with his dog sniffing insistently to make sure they were alone. His travel went only so far as your room, the soon-to-be princess of Ithica. His lover.

Now he wasn’t the only one awake, as the excitement of plans made during dinner kept you tossing and turning all night long.

Being the one the prince was courting, you were allowed to live inside the palace, but in a separate room. Telemachus specifically asking for you to be put directly down the hall from him, knowing the suitors could be impulsive and he wanted to protect you.

Once he reached your room, he knocked on the door three times to let you know it was him. You swung it open, beyond excited at the plans for the next few hours. But you had opened it while he was “preparing himself.”

He was mouthing a greeting, seemingly practicing what to say to you. Fixing his slightly curly hair and taking a deep breath all when you opened the door to see him in his state of boyish nervousness.

His cheeks grew pink quickly, but they always had when he was near you. Even if he hated it, it was undeniably adorable to see him flustered.

Usually you would greet him formally, but tonight you were eager so you quickly grasped both his hands into your own. The action making him even redder.

“You’re here! Will we be leaving now?”

Your excitement shown in your eyes, soft glow of the stars and moon pouring in the room to make you both slightly visible to one another.

Nodding, he squeezed your hands in reassurances. His dog nudging at your leg, looking for attention.

“We have to be quick, I’ll show you the path.”

He spoke at you scratched the pet, nervously offering you his hand as a guide. It’s not that he didn’t expect you to take it, but he still was nervous. He’d never snuck out with you before.

As soon as you took his hand he was guiding you down the corridor. Small giggles leaving you both at the prospect of what you were doing, sneaking out like little kids.

“This way, we have to be quiet.”

His giggles died down, but his grip on your hand growing firm. No way was he letting you go, not as you entered the main hall.

You both clung to the outer wall, dodging sleeping suitors and their mess, hearing the snoring of men who had eaten a feast too much for even kings.

Before you took a step, he quickly put his free hand on your waist to still you.

“Careful,” he whispered.

You had almost stepped in a puddle of spilled wine, soaking the floor.

“You shouldn’t ruin your pretty dress.” He removed his hand after making sure you had your balance and continued to travel.

Quickly you two had made it outside into the cool night.

“You think my dress is pretty?” You asked, finally able to speak normally again outside of the walls of your home.

He flushed once again. “Well! You know… yes, your dress is pretty.” He looked away, almost pouting in frustration at how easily you made him nervous.

He wondered if he could make you feel the same?

You giggled at his stuttering before continuing your walk. Passing rows of olive trees and mountains in the distance. All normal until you began to shiver softly.

The second you started he placed his over coat on your shoulders, place it with such care to ensure you stayed warm. And warm it was, it felt like he was hugging him with the body heat he had left in the wool.

“Thank you, but won’t you be cold?” You looked at him, squeezing his hand.

He simply shook his head, smiling. “Knowing you’ll be warm is all I need. Let’s get going, the moon is almost at its brightest!”

As quickly as you stopped for the coat was he guiding you again. Pasting the threshold of the gates and down the hill. Into the palace garden. A beautiful sanctuary of fresh fruits, and a new edition of flowers.

Over the years they had been dying, originally planted by Odysseus for Penelope when they first were married. Petals soon drying at his absence with no one having the time to care for them.

Until Telemachus began to nurse them back to life, specifically the night he asked for you hand. If you asked Penelope the night you accepted him he ran home, told her, and then went to the garden with absolutely no experience in the craft.

So the servants may have helped him… but so what? Not like he’d tell you anyways, that the section of flowers was just for you.

“Tele!” He felt your tug at his hand and followed without hesitation. “The flowers! I’ve never seen roses so red. They’re stunning!”

You marveled at the array of florals, constantly tugging at his sleeve to show him each plant in the soft moon’s glow.

“Oh! And this one…” He loved your voice, he really did, but he couldn’t focus. Seeing you so excited at the work he’s put in for you, and the way the moon gave this soft cool light on your skin made him practically shiver. Eyes glimmering from the stars. To him, you looked like the picture of beauty.

Before you could catch him staring, he plucked a rose from the bush. He handed you the flower, carefully cradling your hands around his so you wouldn’t touch any of the thorns.

“I know it isn’t much. Gods, even this flower doesn’t compare to your beauty. How much I long for your presence by my side.” For the first time in a while he spoke completely honestly, no hint of nervousness or confidence, just a middle ground of true feelings.

Only after did he realize his confession did he begin to start to back track. Ready to stutter his way through a “I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable.”

He was completely ready for the embarrassment until he looked at you.

Calm, gentle, lovely you, who was now nervous.

Never before had you been flustered by anything, not in fear of the suitors or during his first confession when he offered to take your hand. It’s not that during his original confession you didn’t love him, instead you couldn’t be the flustered one since he took the role as a blushing mess.

But now… with his absolute sincerity you were left with the cutest, shyest expression. Nuzzling into the overcoat he had given you, looking away from him while you touched your cheek. You could feel the blood rushing to your face, butterflies in your chest and stomach, practically your entire body.

And Telemachus adored it.

All this time together he never realized what it’s like to be the one not embarrassed, and gods you looked so cute!

Right then he knew something, in the back of his mind something clicked at the sight of you so vulnerable. What would make him a hero, make him fight like his father.

Love, an absolute and undying love that he felt in that moment that would push him to fight anything that dared to hurt you or come between you two. Gods, monsters, men, no matter the cost.

All from that one flustered look he knew he was willing to be a hero, for you.

[frenchkisstheabyss]

|♡| ｅａｓｉｌｙ |♡|

♡ Pairing: boyfriend!changbin x chubby!fem!girlfriend!reader

♡ Genre: fluff/smut

♡ Summary: It's your boyfriend's night to cook and you've decided to keep him company, reading a book while he toils away in the kitchen, but things take a turn when he uncovers the contents of what you're reading, revealing a strength kink he never knew you had. Lucky for you, he's very capable and incredibly willing to indulge it.

♡ Word Count: 3.4kish

♡ Warnings: reader's chubby (obviously), reader's also taller than binnie, strength kink for sure, binnie likes lifting you up, he also loves your body, reader can be a lil bratty, binnie can be a lil dom coded, manhandling, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, rough sex, reader gets put on all fours, creampie, pet names (baby, pretty, good girl, princess).

♡ A/N: Hello my darlings, so I wrote this request for an anon who needed Binnie to put those muscles to good use and throw her around a lil bit so here we are. To my anon, I hope that you love it and of course I hope that anyone else who reads this enjoys it too xoxoxo

Moving in with your boyfriend meant finding answers to questions you’ve never had to ask yourself before. Who sleeps on which side of the bed? Who takes out the trash and when? Which way does the toilet paper go on the roll? Over or under? Of all the petty decisions you’ve had to make, the absolute easiest was setting up the cooking arrangement.

As it stands Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays belong to Changbin while you’re responsible for the days in between with Sunday being the designated takeout day. After a long, exhausting day at work that had you contemplating quitting, you were beyond happy to stumble through the door and find Changbin already in the kitchen getting started on his famous stew. Well, it might not technically be famous, but in your heart it deserves to be. 

By the time you hopped out of the shower, all cozy in a baggy tee and your cutest pair of panties, the entire apartment was laced with the comforting aroma of your favorite dish. You’d skipped into the kitchen, planting a kiss on your boyfriend’s cheek and offering to help with whatever he needs. But, as always, Changbin refused to let you lift a finger, insisting that your company was all he needed. So you grabbed a book and hopped up on the counter which is where you’ve been since, swinging your feet and turning pages while Changbin works his magic. 

You honestly didn’t expect to be this invested in some cheesy romance novel. Taken by the Winds of Desire. Your best friend suggested it, swearing that she hadn’t been able to put it down for days. Rolling your eyes at the cliche cover art, you hesitantly took the book, anticipating an endless cringe fest. The plot is everything you’d expect. A big city novelist returns to her sleepy seaside hometown where she reunites with her high school sweetheart. It’s nothing new but you can’t deny how hot the love scenes are. 

The female lead’s this wispy brunette, no more than 100 pounds soaking wet, while the love interest is pure body builder status. You catch yourself getting hot—and maybe a little envious—every time you come across a love scene. It’s effortless the way he tosses her around, making love to her on every surface possible. You can’t help but wonder what that might feel like. How sexy that might be. 

Blindly reaching for your cup of tea, you take a sip, your eyes glued to the page as another scene approaches. You’re so invested that you don’t even notice when your boyfriend’s standing in front of you, tilting his head to read the cover of the book. 

“Taken by The Winds of Desire” Changbin chuckles, “Is this porn or something?” 

Clutching the book to your chest, you gasp, offended. “This is not porn. It’s a…beautiful story of love and fate.” 

And some porn. You forgot that part. 

Changbin snatches the book from your hand, backing up as you jump to your feet in pursuit of your precious book. Scanning the page, he finds the first line that catches his attention and begins to read. 

“Gage descended on Lily like a man starved, his fingertips devouring her figure. Many men have swept her off her feet but never quite so literally…” 

“Oh my god, stop!” you shout, chasing him into the living room. 

In your head it sounded perfectly fine but something about hearing it outloud is sending you into a crisis. You make a grab for the book but Changbin swiftly pulls it away, continuing to read in a voice that only makes things worse. 

“The moan that she releases when he tosses her to the bed is borderline sinful, her pillowy breasts bouncing as she fights to catch her breath…”

Finally gaining a solid grip on the corner of the book, you snatch it back before he can read another word, slamming it closed and tossing it onto the couch. 

“I’m sorry, baby” he apologizes, taking you into his arms, “I didn’t mean to make fun of your porn.” 

“Binnie” you whine, burying your face in your hands. There’s enough heat rushing to your cheeks to set your palms on fire and Changbin finds it insanely adorable. 

“Okay, I’ll stop laughing, I promise” he says, using every ounce of willpower he has to suppress his laughter. It takes a minute but he dials it back until his amusement is only a ghost of a smile on those pretty lips. “See? I’m done. Now stop pouting.”

“I’m not pouting” you protest but when your hands fall away from your face your bottom lip’s poked out and your lashes are fluttering. You’re definitely pouting. 

Changbin squeezes you tighter, his fluffy dark hair tickling your cheek as he leans in to kiss it. “I didn’t mean to make fun of you. I just didn’t know you liked it rough.”

“I don’t like it rough” you say, the lie tumbling out before you can even think to tell the truth. “Well, okay, maybe a little but girls like me aren’t built for that.” 

“Girls like you?” he frowns, not knowing what you mean but hating the sentiment. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

You shrug, having long ago accepted the reality of it all, “Have you seen me? I’m way too big for that in pretty much every way.” 

Your words strike a chord with him and his smile dissolves into something more serious. “Have I ever said that?” 

Slipping out of his arms, you head back for the kitchen, laughing off his comment. “Please, I’d literally break you.” 

You don’t mean it as a challenge but your boyfriend’s never taken anything as personally as he does this. First there’s the concept of you being “too big”. That thought has never crossed his mind. Your body’s not “too” anything for him to handle. Next there’s the audacity you have to undermine the work he does at the gym. All those hours in the gym with Chan have done his body good. These muscles aren’t just for decoration.

Catching your hand before you’re out of his reach, he pulls you back in, draping your arms over his shoulders. His lips crash into yours and your body tenses at the unexpected contact. You were already on edge from all the filth between the pages of that book and the ecstasy of his tongue swirling around yours is only making it worse.

“Hold onto me” he whispers as his palms ride the contours of your body, coming to rest against the softness of your ass. 

He gives it a squeeze and you giggle, arching into him. “Hold on? For what?” 

Your question’s answered when his hands slip down to your thighs and he grips them tightly, lifting you off of the ground. Instinctively you wrap your legs around his waist, fingers laced together behind his head to keep yourself steady. You let out a scream, your heart pounding in your chest as you fear for your life.

Your brain keeps repeating the same thing over and over again. You’re gonna fall. You’re gonna fall. Any second now. But much to your surprise, it doesn’t happen. Changbin doesn’t let you slip. There’s no tumbling to the carpet below. He’s holding you like it’s nothing, not even breaking a sweat. 

“What were you saying about being too big?” he smiles, pinning you between the warmth of his body and the chill of a nearby wall.

“I was just saying that…” 

He interrupts you with a tender kiss, his interest lying more in the taste of your lips than any explanation you could provide for such a silly thought. His kiss disarms you, the feeling of his lips working against yours lulling you into a serenity that has the tension melting from your body, your full weight bearing down on him without a care. 

“I thought we were having dinner” you gasp as he drags his lips across your cheek, his tongue darting out as he kisses a path down to your neck. 

Changbin draws in sharp breath, his clothed cock stiffening as he grinds into that sensitive space between your thighs. You whimper, wiggling in his grasp as he sucks gently at your neck. 

“Mmm…” he hums, breathing in the delicate scent of your body wash, “I think dinner can wait, don’t you?” 

The implication is far from subtle. You can’t even pretend not to know what he’s hinting at. Not when his face is buried in your neck, his cock growing harder with every mark he leaves behind on your fragrant skin. You’re in no position to protest it. You’re washed with heat, panties slick with your own arousal as you mindlessly rock your hips, desperate for more friction—for more of him. 

Trailing kisses back up your neck, he whispers in your ear, the lust dripping from his tone sending goosebumps skating along your spine. “You’re so fucking sexy when you’re needy, baby.”

Your stomach sinks as you feel yourself—for the briefest moment possible—begin to fall but it’s only Changbin’s arms readjusting, holding you in just the right position to toss you over his shoulder. 

“Binnie!” you cry, this new inverted view of the world making the room spin, “You can’t just throw me around like that!”

Changbin presses a kiss to your ass, its vicinity to him now too tempting to resist. “I thought that’s what you wanted.” 

You open your mouth to speak but what could you say? That you didn’t want this? That being casually thrown around like some dainty little thing isn’t turning you on? There’s no use in wasting air on lies when both of you know what this is doing to you. So you remain silent, save for the adorable squeals you make when Changbin finally starts moving, your body softly swaying as he carries you through the threshold of your bedroom, tossing you onto the bed with a power you didn’t know he had. 

Your body’s still bouncing from the force of the impact when Changbin’s crawling onto the bed and tearing your panties down like the world will end if he can’t get to you. Tossing them somewhere across the room, his palms come down hard on your inner thighs, kneading the soft flesh as he spreads your legs wide. 

“Aww, baby, you’re so wet already. All for me?” he coos, a thumb reaching over to pet your clenching slit. You’re so velvety and slick, coating the pad of his thumb with your arousal so beautifully that every part of him is aching to have you. He presses his thumb into you, your juices gushing around his finger as he strokes your walls. 

Your eyes fall closed, hushed moans tumbling from your lips as your legs tremble . “All for you, Binnie. All…mmph…”

His other fingers come in contact with your clit and you grab onto his wrist, feeling the muscles flex as his digits make feather light circles around it. You didn’t know that you’d be this sensitive—that a few fingers could have your stomach coiling from pleasure. You want to tell him it’s too much, beg him to take it slow, but he’s already quickening his pace, his fingers working in tandem to give you what a book never could. 

Opening your eyes again, you find that Changbin’s gaze is fixed on you and it’s impossible not to be taken by it. There’s a hunger behind his eyes. They seem to glimmer with every arch and every moan as if he’s consuming each one. And you want so badly for him to. Releasing his wrist, you give into all that you feel, letting it wash over you—drown you if necessary. 

Pushing one of your legs back, Changbin lowers himself to sprinkle kisses along your inner thigh. The closer he inches to your pussy, the closer he is to drooling. He knows how sweet your scent is, how addictive you taste, and he gets weak for it every time. 

“Gonna let me taste you, princess?” he asks, snatching his hand away, leaving you dangling on the edge of another wave of pleasure. You lower your hips toward his face and he licks a stripe along your entrance, humming at that first delectable taste of you. “If you want it, baby, you have to tell me.” He purses his lips around your clit, sucking the bud and flicking his tongue before pulling away, abandoning you once more. 

You grab onto the back of his head, fingers knotting in his hair. “I…I want it so much” you moan, your clit twitching at the tip of his tongue. 

Changbin gives it another flick, grinning as your body jerks, “That’s my girl.”

Burying his face between your legs, he laps hungrily at your pussy. Suckling your clit, licking between your folds, filling you with his tongue so well that you’re riding his face, matching every movement of his with one of your own.

Locking his arms around your legs, he brings you in closer, so close he can hardly breathe, but air’s the last thing on his mind. All he cares about is your juices trickling down his throat while you tug at his hair, your broken moans shattering the silence around you. When his gaze flits up to you, you look like you’re in heaven. No better place, he figures, for an angel like you to be. 

Tilting his head back, he brings two fingers to your clit, pulling the hood back to leave you fully exposed. When his tongue’s at it again you have to bite down on your lip not to scream. Those coils in your stomach are tightening. It’s unbearable and satisfying all at once. You’re beginning to feel light, the same way you did when Changbin first lifted you from the ground. It’s like you’re separating from yourself. The ecstasy threatening to split you in two.

“That’s it, baby. Be a good girl and come for me” he urges, slurping you up between words. 

His voice shatters you to pieces and you fall apart right on his tongue, writhing amongst the sheets as you drench him in your juices. The arrival of your orgasm does nothing to slow him down, his mouth still working even after you’ve hit your peak, draining you to the last drop. Your body’s vibrating when he rises to his knees, his face glistening with remnants of you.

Licking away what’s left, he grabs you by your waist and flips you onto your stomach. Your chest is heaving when your cheek collides with the plushness of the pillow below, the haze from your high still hanging over you. Dragging you up onto your knees, he grinds himself into your core, groaning at how amazing you manage to feel even through two layers of clothes. 

“Stay just like that for me” he whispers, kissing the small of your back before rising to rid himself of his sweatpants and boxers in one swift motion. 

You do as you’re told, knees digging into the mattress, your succulent ass poked up in the air. Barely any time has passed at all but the anticipation is killing you. You’re clenching around nothing, ready to reach back and rub your own clit to relieve the tension. Just as the thought comes, you feel his weight on the bed behind you, the head of his cock slipping through your folds. He taps it against your clit and your body jiggles just the way he wants it to. 

“Fuck, your body’s so gorgeous” he says, the timbre of his voice growing unstable as he aligns himself with your entrance. He smooths his palms over your thighs, riding the curve of your ass. They glide up, fingertips sinking into your hips and your belly to take in your full figure. “How’d I get something this perfect?” 

He slams into you and you see stars, every long, thick inch of him bottoming out at once. With his hands back at your waist, he pushes you forward, sliding his drenched cock half way out of you before slamming you back against him. He repeats his actions, angling his swollen tip towards your sweet spot. 

You have to bite down on the pillow not to scream, gripping the sheets to keep yourself grounded. Your walls are clinging to him and you swear you can feel every detail of his length. The blood that rushes through every vein of his cock makes it pulse deep within your pussy. You can probably tell him where every single one is—identify which one’s twitching and when. 

Keeping you flush against him, he rolls his hips into you. His thrusts may not be as harsh but you feel him just as deep, the stretch just as maddening. Tucking an arm beneath you, he finds your clit, teasing it as your arousal drips down between your lips making you a slippery mess. 

“You feel so good, baby, so…aah…fuck” he hisses, your walls clamping down on him particularly hard, making his heart skip a beat. “You did that on purpose.”

Releasing the pillow from between your teeth, you giggle, your bottom lip quivering as he retaliates with another rough thrust to your core. “Mmm, was that a punishment?”

“I don’t know. You wanna be punished?” he asks and you can tell without even seeing him that the idea of a yes has him ravenous. 

His tip brushes your cervix and you clamp around him again, your walls milking his cock of his arousal. “Maybe” you tease, shyly biting down on one of your nails. 

Changbin’s lips quirk into a smile. Such a cute, innocent gesture from a girl who has his cock kissing her kidneys right now. “If I give you what you want, you sure you can take it?” he asks, pinching your clit to make you whimper.

You do, as if on command, your pussy fluttering, “I can take it, Binnie…mmph…promise.” 

You need not say anything else, there isn’t any time to. He has your plush sides firmly in his grasp, fucking into you with the exact rhythm and force that your heart desires. Your knees slip out from under you but he doesn’t miss a beat, his body pinning yours to the mattress as he delves unbelievably deeper into you. This new position introduces fresh sensations, your pert nipples rubbing against the fabric of your shirt with every stroke of his cock. 

Changbin kisses your shoulder, whispering the sweetest things to you as he coaxes you to the cusp of the abyss. “I love you. My beautiful girl. So perfect. Taking me so well.”

You soak in his admiration, letting it flow through your veins like the most potent drug. Your high builds gradually, your brain too tangled up in his words to brace itself for the moment it hits. Sparks of electricity seem to dance along the surface of your skin, your pussy practically calling out his name as you cream down his length. Changbin tilts you onto your side, lifting one of your legs to drill into you. 

Your hand finds his cheek, your nails stroking it ever so sweetly. Out of your sight his cheeks take on a rosy tint, your tender gesture all that’s needed to break him. Your eyes roll to the back of your head at the warmth that fills you, his thick cum painting your walls a pearly white.

He slips another arm under you, cradling you close to him as you ride out your highs, your bodies seeming to become one in the afterglow. He leans over to give you a kiss and you crane your neck to just barely meet his lips, collapsing back onto the pillow when you can’t manage to hold yourself up any longer. 

Changbin laughs, sneaking a hand beneath your shirt to make soothing figure eights on your skin. “I guess you won’t be saying that again.”

“Saying what?” you ask. He’s laid complete waste to your body. How can he expect you to think under such circumstances? 

“That you’re too big for anything.”

You shrug, ever the brat, “And what if I do?” 

Changbin’s hold on you tightens, his intention to toss you around just a little more immediately clear. 

“No, wait!” you scream, legs flailing as you try to get away but it’s far too late. 

The simple inference that you might doubt yourself is more than enough to make him want to prove you wrong and he will, even if it takes him all night. It looks like that wait for dinner just got a bit longer.

[dollyswishingwell]

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Mama’s Princess P.8

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ fluff, thx to 🪼 anon :p, such a good idea but lowkey made me thankful im a only child. i’d cry if i had to share my mums attention too lol

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ Your babygirl is wary of her new sibling

Masterlist

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The seaside manor was quiet, save for the soft cooing of the newest addition to the household, a round-cheeked, pink-lipped little bundle wrapped in frilly cream muslin, cradled peacefully in your arms.

Your toddler, all wild lilac curls and glimmering pink-blue eyes just like her Papa, was not thrilled.

She’d stood at the edge of the chaise lounge, arms crossed, lips pursed, glaring down at the newborn with the solemnity of a betrayed empress. Her lacy socks were slightly crooked, her plush toy was dragging by one ear, and her bottom lip was wobbling dangerously.

You looked up from rocking the baby and smiled gently, “What’s wrong, pearlie?”

And that was when she marched forward, stood on tiptoes, grabbed your face in both chubby hands, and with the full authority of a two-year-old spiraling into a power crisis, declared:

“Look at me. I’m the cute one.”

Dead. Serious.

You blinked. Rafayel, lounging on the nearby divan in his silken robe with his reading glasses perched halfway down his nose, choked on his tea. A smirk curled his lips immediately after, and he didn’t even bother hiding it.

You had to bite your lip to keep from laughing.

Five minutes later, there was a loud drag, drag, thump echoing from the hallway. She returned dramatically, her old star-printed blankie trailing behind her like a train, pacifier wedged in her mouth like a wartime accessory.

She plopped herself down at your feet, crossed her legs, and popped the pacifier out long enough to announce, “Fine. If you want a baby, I’ll be the baby again.”

You cooed softly, “Darling, you’ll always be Mama’s baby.”

But that wasn’t enough for her.

She stomped back up, wriggled between you and the newborn, and with all the gentleness of a tiny chaos god, she plucked the baby from your arms, like a doll, and shuffled over to Rafayel.

“Here,” she said sternly, as if she were donating a prize to charity. “You can have this one.”

Rafayel, amused beyond belief, blinked as his daughter unceremoniously deposited her sibling in his lap. The baby blinked up at him with your wide eyes and your sweet little nose, gurgling happily. He chuckled and brushed a kiss over their soft forehead.

“Oh? I’m being granted custody now?” he teased, letting the baby rest against his chest as his long fingers traced calming circles on their back. “How generous, little moon.”

But the toddler was already crawling into your lap again, blankie over her shoulders like a cape, arms flung dramatically around your neck.

“I’m the baby now,” she whispered, nuzzling into your chest. “Just you and me.”

Your heart melted completely.

You kissed the crown of her head, holding her close with one arm while reaching to tickle the baby’s foot in Rafayel’s lap with the other.

“Mama’s lap is big enough for both her babies,” you said softly.

But your daughter only clung tighter. “No, it’s not. Don’t be silly.”

Rafayel just grinned from across the room, eyes soft behind his glasses. “You’ve created a monster, my love,” he murmured with affection.

You kissed your daughter’s cheek, then smiled back. “And I’d do it again.”

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

The penthouse was quiet except for the soft ticking of the clock and the occasional rustle of silk as Zayne adjusted the swaddle around your newborn, who was sleeping peacefully in the curve of your arms.

She looked just like you.

Dark lashes. Your soft little nose. A tiny pout that was unmistakably inherited from your side of the family.

Zayne had noticed the resemblance immediately. He hadn’t said much, just stared for a long time in silence, one hand resting protectively on your back, eyes softened in a way that only you ever got to see.

But someone else in the apartment wasn’t quite so serene.

Your two-year-old daughter, Daddy’s little twin and fiercely proud of it, stood by the bedroom doorway in silence. Her messy black curls framed her little frowning face as she stared at the newborn in your arms with narrowed hazel-green eyes.

Not moving. Not blinking. Just watching.

“…Pumpkin?” you called gently.

She turned her head just slightly. Didn’t answer.

Zayne finally looked up from adjusting the newborn’s sleeve. “You can come here,” he said calmly, his voice always soft when speaking to her. “She’s your little sister.”

Still no movement.

“I’m not her sister,” your toddler finally mumbled. “I’m your baby.”

Your heart dropped a little.

Zayne blinked. “You still are.”

But she wasn’t convinced.

With the slow drama of someone bracing for war, she marched across the floor and plopped herself at your feet, grabbing a plush bunny she’d abandoned hours ago. She squeezed it hard and glared up at her baby sister, who was now sleep-smiling in your arms.

Your toddler didn’t like that at all.

“She looks like Mama,” she said accusingly, like it was the gravest betrayal she’d ever witnessed.

You gently ran your fingers through her curls. “You look like Daddy,” you offered with a smile. “Exactly like him. That makes you extra special.”

“No.” She shook her head furiously. “I wanna look like you.”

Zayne raised an eyebrow. “You used to tell me you were my ‘tiny twin.’”

“Well, I changed my mind!” she snapped, sniffling suddenly.

Without warning, she threw herself into your lap and buried her face into your nightgown, cuddling in tightly. You juggled both her and the baby, and Zayne quickly stepped in, hands steady as ever, lifting the newborn from your arms.

“I’ll hold her,” he said gently. “You’ve got your hands full.”

You mouthed a soft thank you as he stepped back, cradling your younger daughter with practiced ease. She stirred a little, then settled again into the soft cotton of Zayne’s shirt.

Your toddler peeked up.

Stared.

And very slowly… crawled up your lap like a determined koala.

“Am I still your favorite?” she asked in a whisper so small it nearly broke your heart.

“Of course,” you whispered back, kissing her cheek. “You’ll always be my favorite big girl.”

She didn’t respond right away, just sucked her thumb thoughtfully… then twisted around to glare at Zayne.

“Daddy,” she said seriously, “I think you need to take that baby to the hospital.”

Zayne raised a brow. “Why?”

“She’s sick.”

“…She’s sleeping.”

“No. She’s sick. She needs shots. Go now.”

Zayne let out the softest amused huff through his nose.

“She’s fine,” he said, deadpan. “But if you’d like, you can come with me to check her heart. You can even wear one of my stethoscopes.”

Your daughter paused.

“…Okay,” she finally whispered.

You smiled as Zayne slowly approached and let her peek at her new sister, guiding her little hand gently toward the baby’s chest so she could hear the faint thump of a heartbeat through the stethoscope he’d clipped to her ears.

Zayne looked at you from over her head, hazel green meeting yours in that quiet, unreadable way of his, and gently mouthed: She’s okay.

And in that moment, with your clingy toddler in your lap and your second daughter in Zayne’s arms, both of them wrapped in warmth and safety, you knew:

So were you.

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

It was just past twilight in the high-rise penthouse, the glass walls soaked in fading lavender light, your bedroom softly lit by gentle starlamps and the rhythmic hum of skycars outside.

Xavier sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed, shirtless in sleep pants, silver hair a mess from where your toddler had tugged on it earlier during a game of “pretend dragon.” He was dozing upright, again, with his head tilted against the headboard, a baby bottle forgotten in one hand.

And cradled against his chest, wrapped in a pale pink sleep wrap, was your newest little one.

Your second child.

She had your eyes. Your lashes. Your soft, pouty lips. Your nose, your cheeks, your little sleepy sighs.

And across the bed, at the edge of the mattress, stood your firstborn, your two-year-old daughter.

She looked exactly like Xavier. Same ethereal silver hair in twin buns, same piercing blue eyes narrowed in suspicion, same flat little mouth and stiff posture that screamed she was deep in silent judgment.

Her stuffed animal, an bunny, was clutched tightly in one arm like a weapon. And her eyes were locked on the sleeping baby in her father’s arms.

“…Mama,” she said, not breaking eye contact with her sibling, “there’s a baby in this house.”

You, seated beside Xavier while fluffing a pillow behind your back, blinked. “Yes, sweetpea. That’s your baby sister.”

Your daughter turned to look at you, slowly, like she wasn’t quite sure if you understood the situation.

“No. I’M the baby.”

Xavier stirred then, glancing blearily between his daughters with a confused squint. “Did… something happen? Is there a problem?”

Your toddler pointed accusingly. “You’re holding the wrong baby.”

Xavier blinked again, then looked down at the infant in his arms.

“…This one was crying,” he said, deadpan.

“I can cry,” she offered, helpfully. “Louder.”

You tried so hard not to laugh.

“You’ll always be my baby,” you soothed gently, reaching for her. “Come cuddle.”

She ran into your arms without hesitation, but as she burrowed her face into your chest, her small voice mumbled:

“She looks like you… now I look like nobody.”

You blinked, startled.

But Xavier’s brows furrowed faintly. He adjusted the baby carefully and laid her in her bassinet near the bed, then leaned over, brushing silver bangs from your older daughter’s forehead.

“You look like me,” he said quietly, almost confused by her distress. “Which is a very good thing.”

“No it’s not.”

“It is.”

“She has your voice,” your toddler added grumpily.

Xavier paused. “Do I sound like a baby?”

“…You sound like a sleepy frog.”

You snorted into your hand.

“She’s trying to say you sound gentle,” you translated.

Xavier tilted his head. “I don’t think that’s what she meant.”

But before either of you could comment further, your daughter squirmed out of your arms, marched over to her old crib in the corner of the room, pulled out her moth-blanket and pacifier, shoved the pacifier into her mouth, and marched right back.

“Fine. If you want a baby, I’ll be the baby again.”

She climbed onto your lap like she had never stopped being there and laid flat against your chest, glaring sideways at the baby bassinet like a tiny dethroned empress.

Xavier looked at you helplessly.

You just smiled, running your hand through your daughter’s soft hair.

“She’ll warm up,” you whispered. “Eventually.”

“Or she’ll eliminate the competition,” Xavier murmured dryly.

But as your toddler sucked her pacifier grumpily and you gently leaned to rest your cheek on her head, Xavier got up, kissed the top of both your heads, and sat cross-legged again near the bassinet, one arm curled protectively around the newborn.

“You don’t need to compete,” he murmured quietly, not really expecting her to hear. “You’ve always had her heart.”

Your toddler didn’t answer.

But two minutes later, she reached out sleepily from your lap, mumbled, “Okay. She can stay. But she sleeps over there.”

Fair enough.

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

The private wing of the estate was unusually quiet.

No clicks from Sylus’s hologlass tablet. No smug commentary. No orchestral soundtracks blaring from his weapons room.

Just you, nestled into a velvet fainting couch with a newborn sleeping peacefully against your chest, your second daughter, soft and angelic, with your exact features. Curled lashes, your mouth, your skin tone, your tiny little yawns.

You were in heaven.

But not everyone was.

Your two-year-old stood silently in the corner of the room, arms crossed, her silver hair up in a ridiculously lopsided bun she had insisted on doing herself. Her red eyes, mirror images of Sylus’s, were narrowed dangerously.

She didn’t blink.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.

Just watched.

You gave her a warm smile. “Sweetheart, do you want to come see your baby sister?”

No response. Just a quiet inhale through her nose.

Like she was calculating.

Sylus walked in a moment later, still in his all-black silk set from your earlier cuddle nap, his long coat draped over his arm, and a smugness in his step that screamed he’d been waiting for this moment.

He glanced from you… to your daughter… to the baby.

“…Ah,” he said lazily. “So the power struggle begins.”

You gave him a look. “Be nice.”

He knelt in front of your daughter with the dramatic grace of a prince meeting a tiny, tyrannical queen.

“Well, Commander,” he said dryly, “You’ve been staring for eight minutes. Thoughts?”

“She’s small,” your daughter declared.

“Most babies are.”

“She looks like Mama.”

“Yes.”

“…I look like you.”

“Correct again.” He looked pleased.

Then came the real accusation. A whisper, soft but sharp as a knife:

“So does that mean you like her more?”

You let out a gentle gasp, but Sylus just hummed low in his throat.

“I like your mother most,” he said casually, which made your cheeks heat. “But you and I? We’re the dangerous ones. Everyone else just looks sweet. We’re the ones with bite.”

Your daughter considered that. Narrowed her eyes.

“…She cried loud,” she added.

“Terrible war cry,” Sylus agreed.

“She peed on the blanket.”

“Unacceptable.”

“…She kicked me in her sleep.”

He paused. “Okay, that one might be your fault. You snuck into her crib to ‘intimidate’ her, remember?”

“I was testing her limits.” Her tone was offended.

You laughed softly, stroking the newborn’s back as she snuggled into you.

But then, the toddler marched forward.

Stood right in front of you.

And very seriously reached up, took your cheeks between her tiny hands, and pulled your face down so your eyes met hers.

“Listen to me. I’m the cute one.”

Your heart melted.

“Of course you are,” you cooed, trying not to giggle. “You’re my very first perfect girl.”

She nodded once. Then, with deadly calm, turned and pointed to her father.

“You. Take that one.”

Before you could even blink, she carefully peeled the baby from your arms and, grunting a little with effort, deposited her in Sylus’s lap like she was offloading paperwork.

“She’s yours now. I’m staying with Mama.”

Sylus blinked. The baby blinked. You blinked.

“…Well then,” he said, settling the newborn against his shoulder like it was a business negotiation. “Looks like we’ve split custody.”

“No,” your daughter added, crawling into your lap and wrapping her arms around your waist. “I get full custody of Mama. You two can visit.”

“Oh?” Sylus drawled, raising a brow. “Even me?”

“Even you. Limited visitation.”

The smug glint in his eyes sharpened. Oh, he was so proud of her.

You smothered a laugh behind your hand while rubbing your daughter’s back.

But Sylus? Sylus just stood slowly, cradling the baby in one arm, and walked past the both of you, dropping a casual kiss to the crown of your daughter’s head.

“Enjoy it while it lasts, little tyrant,” he murmured. “She’ll be mine again after midnight.”

Your daughter clung to you harder, eyes narrowing.

“Try me.”

Oh no. You had two Syluses now.

And you were absolutely doomed.

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

The Skyhaven penthouse was still and quiet, the evening sun casting pale gold across the gleaming floors.

You sat in the nursery’s oversized armchair, soft blanket wrapped around your shoulders, a warm sleepy newborn dozing against your chest.

She was perfect.

Tiny. Calm. All softness and dimpled cheeks.

And so clearly yours.

She had your eyes. Your smile. Even the shape of your hands when she curled her fists in sleep. Caleb had gone completely silent the moment he saw her, one hand gripping the edge of the bassinet like he needed to steady himself, the other brushing his thumb under your chin as he stared between you and her like he’d never seen anything so… right.

He was in awe.

But someone else was not.

From the doorway of the nursery, your two-year-old stood frozen in her ruffled pajamas, dark hair mussed from nap time, her violet eyes wide and betrayed.

She looked like a tiny mirror of her father, same lashes, same pouty mouth, same brooding scowl.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there clutching a plush toy shaped like a miniature Skyhaven ship, watching you hold the baby with absolute horror.

“Mama,” she finally whispered. “What’s that?”

You blinked. “This is your little sister, sweetheart. Come meet her?”

She took one cautious step forward, peering at the bundle in your arms.

Then her lips trembled.

“Why is she on you?” she whispered, accusatory.

“She’s a baby,” you said gently. “She needs lots of cuddles—just like you did when you were tiny.”

“I’m still tiny!”

You smiled. “You are.”

“Then cuddle me!”

And before you could even answer, she bolted forward, tried to climb into your lap, and, very dramatically, slid down your legs when she realized the baby was in the way.

Her face scrunched. She turned, eyes brimming.

“You love her more!”

You started to respond, but Caleb had already crossed the room, kneeling down beside her.

“Sweetheart,” he said lowly, gently brushing her bangs aside. “That’s not true. You’re our first girl. You made Mama smile like that for the first time ever. No one could ever take your place.”

She didn’t answer. Just pouted harder, bottom lip wobbling.

Caleb looked up at you. “Switch?”

You nodded.

He stood slowly, reached for the newborn, and you gently handed her over, watching as Caleb curled her against his chest like he’d done it a thousand times before. His face was soft. Protective.

And… maybe just a little smug.

Your toddler watched him. Then you.

Then walked up, yanked on your sleeve, and said, dead serious:

“You’re mine, not hers.”

You reached down and picked her up immediately.

“I’ll always be yours,” you said softly, kissing her flushed cheeks. “Always. You’re Mama’s girl.”

She sniffled and nestled into your chest, peeking over your shoulder to glare at the newborn in her father’s arms.

Caleb raised a brow. “She’s two hours old.”

“I don’t trust her.”

“She’s a baby.”

“She’s a thief.”

You had to hold in a laugh as your toddler clung to you tighter and mumbled, “If she needs a cuddle, Daddy can do it.”

Then she popped her pacifier in dramatically, dragged her old plush blanket out of the toy bin with one hand, and climbed fully into your lap, wiggling until she was wrapped in you completely.

Five minutes later, she peeked up at Caleb, who was still rocking the baby in a slow rhythm, and pointed toward him with solemn finality.

“Okay. That baby’s yours.”

Caleb blinked. “You’re assigning custody now?”

“Mmhm. Me and Mama are busy.”

“With what?”

She hugged you tighter. “Being in love.”

Caleb narrowed his eyes. “You’re just like her.”

She beamed through her pacifier. “I know.”

And all Caleb could do was sigh, glance down at the baby who looked just like you, and mutter:

“…I’m outnumbered.”

[sushirrrry]

ROOM 115.

a harry styles x original character story.

summary: harry styles, a fifth grade school teacher, meets noelle adler, a first grade school teacher, who just happens to be across the hall in room 115. harry has never been one to believe in 'love at first sight', but his inclination begins to question when he realizes that he can't stop staring at noelle in faculty meetings and begins to introduce her to his lifestyle outside of the classroom.

in an attempt to win her heart, will harry begin to question everything he's ever known about love? or will her own demons battle his in an attempt to keep them apart?

author's note: this is a story I begun a few years ago; it has about 6 chapters so far. I took it down from wattpad, & thought I'd give it a go with you all - figured you all would appreciate elementary school teacher LHH for a little bit. we'll see how it goes & if you all like updated chapter stories! I haven't gotten much reception from them in the past on here (with the exception from majesty, but even that doesn't have too much traction) - so we'll see how this goes, and I'll look to see if we can make these updates a regular thing... hope you enjoy <3

PROLOGUE

This is a story between a man with no inhibitions, and a woman who seeks for what she can't find. It's a true story, which makes it all that much more interesting... or so it goes.

We meet them separately, for their meeting hasn't occurred yet– not at this part of the story, however. But they're destined to meet, destined to find what each other have been looking for all along.

Neither a clue, nor a cause for their search, but a plan that the universe has set up entirely. That's the funny thing about the universe; the skeptics don't believe that the stars have anything to do with our future, but they'd be wrong.

Oh, how wrong they'd be.

See, in this story, the man and the woman struggle to make sense of their stories, their lives. They haven't imagined looking far beyond themselves to think that what they may need wasn't what they believed all along.

This is a romance story, sure But this story is more than that. 

It's about finding the quirks, loving the journey, and celebrating the little things. It would be boring to say that this story came together in every aspect; Harry met Noelle, Noelle met Harry and the rest was history.

But let's start our story at the beginning. Some may call it love at first sight, but that's impossible for someone who believes that love doesn't exist to begin with. Well, real love, that is.

The man drops his keys when he steps out of his car, subtle cursing follows through his lips as he bends down to pick them up from the hot pavement. It's warm, it's nearing the end of summertime up in the cozy, seaside village, but there were still a few weeks of steaming, humid days ahead of them.

He wipes his forehead on the sleeve of his shirt, knowing that the temperatures are reaching higher levels today, so he is glad that he's inside most of the day in the stark cool air conditioning. His hair is pulled back into a bun, off of his neck. He had grown his hair long over the summer, a bit longer than prior years.

There's a box that sits in the back of his car, a small box of items that he had taken from the classroom last year. He knew that he would be in the same one this year, Room 113, so packing up meant including only his personal items.

The walk to the room isn't far from the front door; it's down the west wing and to the left. The hallways will soon be filled with laughter and screaming, a bit of chaos and roars of kids lining the halls as he navigates them as they run into his legs and he has to remind them to slow down.

It's his third year here at Middletown Elementary, and he wonders if he'll ever leave. It starts to feel a bit too comfortable, which the man doesn't enjoy too much. Being comfortable sets you up for the opportunity of being hurt; leaving now would mean that he could get out unscathed. Especially if something were to happen-- he wouldn't be able to say what that something was, mind you.

But he was always prepared to leave, to get out while he still could.

Flipping on the lights in Room 113, he notices that the name on the door exhibits his own: Mr. Styles.

He sets down the box on the desk; it's barren, only holding the computer monitor and keyboard provided.

The desks and chairs need to be rearranged to his liking, the posters need to be hung up, the string lights he uses for reading times need to be set up, the carpets need to be laid down for optimal class free-time.

There's a lot to do, and he's starting to feel overwhelmed by the list, even when he recognized that everything still felt in place from last year. He grabs a few folders from the box, filled with papers that he had from years prior that he planned to recycle and use again.

The cabinet is unlocked, filing systems that sit behind his desk as he starts to add a few files into the cabinet drawers. He misses the sound of the flip-flopped sandals that approach his classroom door.

"Excuse me?"

The man is interrupted from organizing the filing cabinet that he had started to put back together, adding in the coloring pages and vocabulary quizzes that he had gathered.

Something about the interruption is totally forgotten as he looks at the woman that lingers in the doorway to his classroom.

Soft and sweet, she's quite possibly the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on, and that would be the most wild idea he's ever had. It's a quick spark, which renders him speechless.

The shock is quick when he recognizes that his response is late; he'd been too busy wondering if his reality was real afterall.

"Oh, sorry– hi, yeah," The man stumbles out, standing from his crouched position at the cabinet by his desk. "What, uh, what's up?"

The woman looks a bit lost, out of place. The man can't seem to read her as he notices that a sheepish smile lays on her lips. He hadn't recognized her.

"I was in a hurry this morning, and I forgot to bring a stapler. You wouldn't happen to have an extra one I can borrow, would you?"

There's a bit of worry in her voice, as if she's nervous– possibly a bit frantic. It was only the beginning of the day, and the man believed that he would be working solo today as it was the first day to get acquainted in the classroom.

The man opens his mouth to speak, eyes glued on the way that the mid-length denim shorts sat on her porcelain skin in the sunny, late morning sunshine.

There's a silence for a moment, the man's eyes looking towards the only stapler that he brought that day.

"Here," He hands it to her, knowing that getting close to her feels like his lungs are losing air quicker. "You can have this one."

A soft smile is exchanged between them; and it's because of the freckles that litter her cheeks, the contrast of the browns and greens that elicit her eyes. The copper tone of her hair and softness of her facial features.

The woman's hair is pulled up in a ponytail, loose strands hang in her face to frame the oval shape.

She places her hands on her hips, the high neck tank top is complimenting her skin in a mauve color– the freckles that literally her skin with no rhyme or reason seem fascinating to the man.

"Sorry– you looked busy. I just– I'm Noelle, by the way. I'm new this year. It's actually– it's my first year teaching. Like, ever." She chuckles a bit at her words, almost like she's worried that the man would judge her for them, "I guess I'm a bit all over the place."

The man nods his head without much more questioning, giving her a promising smile, "What grade?"

"First. I'm, uh, right across the hall," She points with her thumb behind her, directing towards the room, "Room 115."

It was certainly a surprise to hear that she had taken over the room for Mrs. Hallens, but he figured that she retired and they replaced her with... Noelle. The man shifted his weight on his feet as he stood across from her.

"Ah, we're neighbors, then." He smirks at her for a moment before a wash of confusion crosses over his face, "Oh, sorry, my name. I'm Harry. I teach fifth."

The woman smiles, teeth bright and kind, "Glad to meet you, Harry."

She holds the stapler in her hands, lifting to gesture back to that conversation.

"Thanks again for this," She nods a few times, biting on the strawberry plumpness of her lips he definitely hadn't been staring at. The man shrugs his shoulders, nonchalant enough to show that there hadn't been an issue with it.

"Let me know if you, like, need help with anything else," he offers, his hands rest on his hips as he tries to act a bit casual, "It can be a bit stressful, but first graders are more stressed out than you are, trust me. Like when they say snakes are more afraid you than you are of them? Same goes for kids." He tells her, a bit of a smirk on his face and he means it with his full heart.

He figured she sensed that; a wave of calmness created a bubble over her.

The woman gives him a smile again, nodding her head at his words as she studies the stapler like it's the most important artifact on the planet.

"Yeah– yeah, you're right," she smiles back at him, her eyes laying on him and wonders why her heart races a bit faster, "Thanks, again."

Without another word, she's heading back towards the door to her own room. The man can see through the door clearly, watching as she unfolds the stapler to attach a few posters to the wall.

He senses a strange feeling, but he blames it on the heat. The air conditioning hadn't been properly turned on yet in the building, and the black jeans he chose this morning were already causing a bit of an issue when it came to sweating.

We all knew it wasn't summer heat he was feeling– no, it was more than that.

It was a feeling he'd never had before, a feeling he wouldn't be able to pinpoint on a map if given the opportunity. It felt bigger than life itself, stronger than most currents. Most writers couldn't identify it, poets had trouble putting it into words.

The man shook his head, draining the idea from it.

It was impossible, he thought. How could one look be all it took?

In that moment, he grappled with the realization that love, perhaps, wasn't an elaborate fiction but a profound and unexpected reality that had chosen him as its reluctant believer.

On the opposite end, the woman had walked back across the hall to where her own classroom laid. The papers and the posters littering the room in a chaotic sense; it matched the imagery in her brain. 

But her mouth was dry and her heart was beating in a way that she knew would be shocking to her doctors. She didn't want to turn back to look because she was afraid of what she'd find. 

Instead, her eyes shut as she reached her desk chair again. Her radiant spirit, the nervous energy that hesitated further as she set the stapler down on the desk.

The stars did that, you know? They forced together atoms with a centripetal force great enough to spark the greatest stories ever told.

The smile that landed on both Noelle and Harry; both across the hall from one another, and both unaware of each other.

The smile is where this story begins, but it is certainly not how it ends. 

[cremedensada]

yandere ocean spirit. sometimes appearing as charming young man who listens to the stories of the townsfolk with genuine interest.

sometimes appearing as a lovely lady walking down the shore and helping the kids collect the prettiest seashells.

and sometimes appearing as an elegant individual, whose beauty surpasses beyond gender, always found half-submerged in the ocean - long hair cascading down towards the ocean and it doesn't look like it seems to end? like it just blends with the ocean somehow.

torn between following you wherever you go, abandoning his life as a spirit just to be with you like a dog follows his owner; or, dragging you to the depths, in a secluded cave hidden somewhere underneath where she can have you all to herself.

calm waves becoming turbulent and harsh when a boat comes close to where she's got you hidden - fearing that the people might find you and steal you away from her.

yandere ocean spirit who causes the greatest storm the seaside town has ever experienced, a tsunami the people are ill equipped to deal with as you tell them you're going back to the city. who swears they'll wreck havoc to every single city in their wake, flooding and tearing every building down wave after wave if you so much as leave them behind.

promise him you'll stay with him, and he will keep the water placid and safe for the townsfolk. their lives are in your hands.

[iku-tihku]

You're wife goes looking for you and finds that, unfortunately, you've walked into the sea.

Female Yautja x Human!Reader

Worry fills her heart to the brim. You are worthy, yes, that she never questioned, but her home was dangerous to her kin, never mind something like you, small, unarmored, unprepared, save for the spear that seemed to be missing from your shared home. A home she'd turned upside down as she frantically searched for you everywhere, first amongst the bedding, beneath every piece of furniture, amongst the trophies and shamefully, she would admit that she stuck her face into the ventilation of the house. Only when T'raka pointed out he'd seen you leave the nest some time ago, did she come to terms with reality that yes you'd left your home, and likely the encampment.

Con'feth's only respite were the still warm footprints you'd left behind, but the fact you were headed toward the sea alone was what worried her the most. Beasts of the land were difficult enough for her kind to kill, those who resided beneath the waves proved a greater challenge still. Thousands of her brethren had sunk to the sea floor in an attempt to fell a sea beast. Quick, clever, brutal, utterly merciless, no doubt how many saw her own kind. They were right, of course, except she'd shown mercy once, when she found herself on a small, blue planet, faced with one of its native inhabitants. It was a memory she'd often look upon with favor and a click of her mandibles.

The little foot steps wandered through the forest, avoiding the red swamps entirely, though no doubt it added no small amount of time to the journey. They'd stuck to the forest undergrowth, traveling on the wet patches as often as they could as to avoid heat traces, though leaving behind small trinkets, and hand built landmarks. Stacked sticks, broken branches, something they both could track, yet something a beast could not.

A simple trick, but one she appreciated nonetheless.

While they'd ignored her advice about staying close to the main encampment she and her people had built, they'd done everything else exactly as she'd asked, that, too, was some solace. With each step, there was a small, round divot in the ground, as to see if the mud hid any holes that might drown those unaware of them. Considering the few times the footsteps diverted from the straight path they were taking, it was clear there were more than one hole that needed to be filled up. The sticks near the holes indicated her mate had thought of the same thing. She was glad her mate was wise enough to listen, wise enough to think ahead, but she couldn't help but occasionally lament the fact that they'd also wander too far from the nest, nothing had happened yet, but, unlike her mate, tried to avoid the someday when something would happen.

'A kurn or two would be something to consider, if they were this insistent on walking into the woods alone' she thought to herself as she finally reached the shores of her home planet, and worryingly, her mates footsteps faded into the ocean, salt water and sand having filled the footsteps that went beyond the strand line.

Why?

Why, why, why on earth would you go willingly into the sea? Had she not told you about its monsters? Warned you of its dangers? The sea itself felt like a monster, as calm as it was now, it was unpredictable, ever changing, the calm could turn into a horrible storm in a matter of minutes, robbing the seaside of its peace, and sealing her mate beneath the waves forever more. She was faced with a monster she could never hope to kill, and her mate had willingly walked into its maw.

Why?

No time to wait, or ask further questions, she had to act if she hoped to have any chance of seeing them again alive. With swift movements her pelts dropped to the ground along with the gear that'd only weigh her down. With slight hesitation, she took off the jewelry you'd fashioned for her.

She turned to face the sea with a heavy glare, as if her eyes alone could turn the churning of the sea in her favor, as if her menacing look would make it spit out her mate.

By some miracle... it did just that. Just as the tide pulled back, there you were again, on all fours, holding onto something beneath the sand as the tide tried to pull you away, and something clutched between you teeth. Wasting no time she rushed to your side, plucking you from the heavy sand with ease and carrying you back to the shore before you could so much as even make a peep in confusion.

Your body was first check for any wounds, each limb traced over and search meticulously for any point of entry for infections. As the worst she found were small scrapes, she couldn't help but gently squeeze your cheeks, noting that whatever you'd caught was still between your teeth, choosing to ignore it for now, she could only ask "why".

You drop the fish in your hands, offering it to your beautiful, terrifying wife, "you said you liked these ones, so I went out and got one for you".

Oh, her little human mate. Blood of her heart. As much as she loves you, she couldn't deny the fact you also were by far the most stressful person she's ever met.

^ hunting food for wife, colorized.

[crispy-armpit]

✧ 𝖒𝖞 𝖕𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖑 ✧

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜱᴇᴀ ɢᴏᴅ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

𓇼˚₊‧꒰ა 🫧 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚𓇼

⭒ 𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 10 dollars on a dare leads you to break one superstition that changes your life forever. you begin to learn secrets tied to your family and upbringing, at the cost of your freedom. who is this mysterious Anshumat, and why does he want you?

⭒ 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵: 𝘨𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘺𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘯𝘫𝘶𝘳𝘺, violence, implied stalking, kidnapping, choking, reader gets called a bride once

⭒ 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 1,418

⭒ a/n: yan sea god was inspired by an Indonesian myth called Nyi Roro Kidul! it's a really interesting legend if you want to learn more abt it ^^ also.... man tits...... meow..

will you venture down this path?

growing up, you would stay over at your grandmother's house every summer. her beautiful seaside cottage made the perfect accommodation for a family getaway. throughout your childhood, the superstitious old woman restricted you from doing specific things. rules like never whistling at night, don't open an umbrella indoors, etc.

you'd eventually found out that these were just scare tactics for children to make them listen. but there was one rule that your grandmother seemed to fear the most, a rule that never made sense... never wear white to the local beach. and when questioning her about the rule, she'd tell you the same story every time.

"long ago...

a cruel serpent god who once ruled these waters would rise from the ocean and into the islands, devouring innocent villagers and destroying temples along its path.

the gods and humans were furious at its actions. fed up with the destruction and death, they prepared a plan to thwart the serpent; a binding curse.

the serpent was cursed to spend its days rotting in a hidden island, where it was accompanied by its servants. it was also tasked with granting blessings to sailors passing through the rocky tides, where it weighed the sins of each individual to seal their fates.

but over the decades... the serpent grew bored and lonely. through a loophole, the serpent found a way to abduct humans. you see.. the serpent loves the colour white and pearls. so much so, it would use its voice, so alluring, to lure the poor victims who happened to wear such things. and once in the water, the serpent would drag the human to its temple where they would become its slave.. or worse...

its spouse."

here you are today, telling the same tale in front of your young niece and nephew. "well, that's one way to get bitches." your nephew, Keona laughs. a scoffing Kehlani adds on, "nah, who would want to marry an overgrown slimy snake?"

"hey now, take that shit to grandma. she just assigned me to be your storyteller," you shrugged. "and this story has a real reasoning behind it, ok?"

"what? sexy sea snake destroying villages?"

"no, it's so that little rascals like you..." you drill both your index fingers onto their foreheads, "are easier to find if you ever get lost at sea."

how did i end up here...

facepalming yourself, you sigh. you were disappointed in yourself. how'd you let those little punks reel you in a dare? where was the self-respect? the dignity? seriously, breaking your grandmother's number 1 rule for what? 10 dollars?

you walk along the shore while wearing a flowy white shirt and neck encased in one of your mother's pearl necklaces. the dare was simple: successfully walk down the shoreline without chickening out and boom— an extra 10 dollars into your wallet.

you'd prove to the twins that you weren't scared of a little bedtime story. buuut just in case you did happen to go missing (for reasons that are totally not hungry sea serpent related), you brought essentials in a bag, left a letter for your family, and are currently being watched by the twins.

laughing at yourself for the paranoia, you nearly reach the edge of the walk until you hear a feminine wail from between the hidden rocks. is someone hurt? the sound was coming from beyond your finishing point so it wouldn't hurt to check, right?

signalling the twins to come over, you bend down to their heights, "listen, it sounds like someone's in trouble past those rocks. so I want you both to go grab the first aid kit and call Officer Holden over, 'kay?" they nod and scamper off into town.

approaching the rocks, you peek in to find a naked... mermaid?! observing her, you notice the torn skin on her iridescent tail and warily walk over to her. "uh... hey? hola? salve? hallo? i'm ah— good human! no... nooooo bad.."

you notice the air seems to smell... sweeter?

the woman looks up at you from the sand with pleading eyes, "please— please help me! my name is Coralie, my master, he—"

"woah, it's ok! you're safe, help is coming. uh, your master? did he do this to you? are you an underwater criminal?!"

a distant melodious voice interrupts you. Coralie's previously pained face now warps into a sinister grin as her wound disappears. she crawls towards you as your vision fogs up and your knees buckle to the soft sand. the song lulls you into a deep sleep, your body now being pulled into the shallow waters.

you awake to the bright rays of sunshine and lungs filling in with fresh air. but the next in your line of sight knocked all the air out of your body again.

the luminous, barely-clothed body of an unknown man sat above you. his 9'7 self relaxed on the marble throne, with 2 pairs of eyes fixated on you. what the fuck is that?

you gawk at him, "holy mother of god..."

i'm not dreaming, am i?

his gaze shifts into amusement, "wrong. we gods do not have mothers. we were created."

"you're a... a god?"

"is it not obvious enough from my appearance? would you like to see another version of me?" the towering deity begins to warp into a feminine body as if it was melting and moulding itself. "is this preferable?" her new voice is flirtatious, genuinely curious.

then, she tries to warp into a third body. the transformation looks more painful than the one prior, it barely shifts halfway into a gruesome beast before returning back to its first body. he huffs while grasping his golden collar, "this... is not my original form. I have been cursed, long ago, to never set foot on human lands. this island is both my kingdom and prison."

you shakily stand up the marble floor, now noticing Coralie standing beside the throne with a pair of legs. slowly processing his words, you piece together the clues from his story and your memories of the abduction. this couldn't be...

"you are.. you're the sea serpent god! I can't believe grandma was right— shit, shit shit—"

he smirks at your panic, "correct. I am Anshumat; shapeshifter deity of the raging tides, granter of safe travels—"

"murderer and enslaver." you complete.

Anshumat roars, "correct again! you're on a strike, dear y/n. though trust me, my servants are treated well."

"..how do you know my name?"

"oh you poor thing, granny never told you? I know everything about you— a name is barely anything."

"told me what?"

"she used to be my cupbearer. until she escaped with that bastard traitor. isn't that right, Coralie?"

she nods, "yes, master."

"please sir, let me leave. my family— they'll search for me! I have a cat at home! I haven't even finished my favourite show.. so please..." you try to list more life goals.

he chuckled, "oh you are so amusing. and why would I do that? we've barely just been engaged, dear."

"what do you mean engaged?"

"I've been watching you since you took your first breath on earth, y/n. so imagine my surprise— to see you wrapped up in my favourite colour, like a pretty bride. you're my sacrifice."

fear tingles your spine, "wait, that was just a dare! i didn't really mean it!"

"doesn't matter. you will be my pearl."

"no! I have a family, a partner—"

"i said... it doesn't fucking matter." he slams his fist against the throne arm, "and you'll be seeing the head of that twat soon enough."

you don't give him a glance before you're turning your back and run down the staircase of the grand temple. careful not to trip, you focus on the flight of stairs, painfully aware of the loud footsteps approaching behind you. it doesn't take a second for Anshumat to pull on the collar of your shirt and slam you onto the staircase.

he sits atop you, lower region heavily grinding against your stomach. "get off me! don't you have hundreds of other options?! why me?!" you scream.

his bedazzled skin blocks your view of the sun, furious eyes glowing under his shadow, and sharp teeth bared into a snarl. "you do not get to leave me again. you will stay, and worship me. this island will be our eternal paradise."

large hands pressing against your throat, you struggle before darkness begins to cloud your vision.

"this time, you will live."

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

A Curse [Chapter 12: Mount Olympus] [Series Finale]

Series summary: You are an aspiring actress. Aegon is a washed-up and disenchanted agent…at least until he sees something special in you. But within paradisical seaside Los Angeles you find terrible dangers and temptations, secrets and lies. Maybe Aegon’s right; maybe the City of Angels really is a curse.

Chapter warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), age-gap situationship, illness/death/medical stuff, a totally relaxing and lovely destination wedding!

Word count: 5.6k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @lauraneedstochill @mrs-starkgaryen @chattylurker @neithriddle @ecstaticactus, more in comments! 🥰

“So what’s your plan?” Jace asks as you peer into the tiny circular mirror of your makeup compact and manically blend out your eyeshadow, three shimmering earthen shades by NARS: Gold Rush, Ashes to Ashes, Valhalla. The flight attendants were kind enough to let you stuff yourself into your dress at the back of the plane; there wasn’t enough room in the bathroom. “You’ll wait until the priest does the whole ‘speak now or forever hold your peace’ thing and then object in front of everybody?”

That is a horrifying prospect. “I think I can catch Aegon right before the ceremony, like when he’s walking from the hotel to the beach.”

Jace checks the time on his phone, raises his eyebrows, shakes his head. Through the window, you can see that the plane is descending through cumulus clouds—cotton-ball fluffs kicked up by the trade winds that blow in from the east—and the ground is moving closer, an island of emerald green foliage and shallow turquoise seawater before the plunging abyssal drop-off of the continental shelf.

“Maybe they’ll be running late,” you say hopefully.

“If sunset is at 7 p.m. like Google said, they won’t have much wiggle room. If they’re delayed longer than five or ten minutes, they’ll be getting married in the dark.”

“We can make it,” you insist, determined to will it into reality.

“And then you’re going to...what? Tell your old, rich, terminally ill agent that he should marry you instead?”

“I don’t really know what I’m going to say.” You’ve never been much of a planner. “But I’ll convince him to stop the wedding somehow. I’ll tell him how I feel.” I’ll be honest. I’ll be real.

Jace is skeptical. “Okay. Great.”

He scrolls through his phone; now the plane is low enough for him to get cell reception. You open Spotify and put in your earbuds, stare out the small oval-shaped window, and blast Lose Yourself as loud as it goes.

Turbulence, touchdown, taxiing to the gate; when the pilot indicates it is safe to move around the cabin, you and Jace are the first passengers in the aisle. The door opens and you sprint through Providenciales International Airport, blessedly small, only one terminal and nine gates. There are a line of taxis waiting outside for tourists. You and Jace scramble into one of them, tossing your small carry-on suitcases into the trunk. You give the taxi driver the name of the resort and several crumpled twenty-dollar bills yanked from your purse so he’ll rush. As swaying palm trees and an increasingly blood orange skyline rush by beyond the car window, you check the time on your phone: 6:19 p.m.

The resort is only ten minutes from the airport, but there is a long line of taxis waiting to drop off their passengers. You and Jace get out and start running, toting your rolling suitcases. You careen into the lobby, ask an alarmed employee where the wedding venue is, and are pointed to a set of automatic sliding glass doors. They open onto the beach, a vast stretch of sand and a grove of palm trees, and then in the distance—right at the brink of the glimmering dusk waves, as if they are about to topple in—you spy a hazy sea of people in white chairs and an archway shrouded in prismatic blooms of foreign, tropical flowers.

“That’s gotta be it, right?” Jace pants, but you’re already flying over the sand dunes, pitching and wobbling in your wedges, your suitcase bumping along as you drag it behind you. The sun is vanishing and the stars are coming out, tiny freckles of silver light in a rage-and-lilac sky. Gulls swoop and circle overhead. The glittering waves creep closer towards high tide. You over-rotate your left ankle as you stumble down an embankment of sand, and an old wound wakes back up like a dragon, like a vampire, a monster that opens flesh with fangs.

You and Jace stagger up to the edge of the ceremony, and elderly, scowling guests twist around in their wooden chairs to condemn your lateness. Under the archway at the front of the congregation, an officiant is standing with the happy couple in white. Becca is wearing one of those very expensive gowns that is supposed to look effortless: lace, strapless, clinging to all the right places. Aegon is in a linen suit that fits him perfectly, but the wind has torn his hair from its gel. He is holding a microphone and smiling as he tells the story of how he and Becca met. He hasn’t seen you yet.

“What are you doing?!” Jace whispers to you. “Say you object!”

“I think that part already happened,” you say. Then you sink numbly into an empty chair and after a moment, Jace sits down beside you. The nearby guests frown disapprovingly as you both gasp for air after your futile race across shifting sand, your hair disheveled and your clothes damp with sweat, your electric yellow gown that Baela once criticized as being a prom dress, Jace’s Hawaiian shirt and khaki pants. You awkwardly shove your suitcases under your chairs. And you think, tears stinging in your eyes, ocean wind burning in your lungs: I’m too late.

“It was a charity gala in Encino. She had a date and I had a date,” Aegon is saying, and an endeared chuckle rolls through the audience. “But Becca brought one of those miniature lint rollers in her purse, and she ended up following me around all night trying to fix my suit. That really left an impression on me, how attentive she was, how naturally giving and kind. And by the time the party was over, we had somehow both abandoned our respective dates.” More laughter, more charmed, yearning sighs. I shouldn’t be here, you think; it’s not something meant for you to see. These are the phantoms of someone else’s past, they’re the bricks of a future that has nothing to do with you.

Now Becca has the microphone, and she’s talking about how she saw Aegon’s movies when she was young but she never believed she’d meet him in real life, but then she did and it was like her wildest dreams had come true because he was so handsome and funny and smart, and he filled her home with a warmth she’d never known before.

I want to leave, you think; but then Aegon spots you from where he stands under the blooming archway and he beams, the dying light radiant on his face, and gives you a little wave. Like a reflex, you smile back. What else can you do? Then Aegon’s eyes flick to Jace and he frowns and turns his attention back to Becca.

Becca is telling the guests that she and Aegon are a team, and that they are facing his diagnosis together. In reply, there are solemn nods and murmurs of admiration. Far from you, up in the front row, you spot Aemond—black suit, tidy hair despite the breeze—leaning over to whisper something to his mother, who is dabbing at her eyes with a Kleenex from a travel-sized pack. Becca is saying she is honored that Aegon chose her to be his partner at this crucial juncture in his life. She is saying that she won’t let him down.

The rings are brought forth by a lumbering, wheezing Pekingese with a small velvet pouch tied to its collar. The officiant pronounces them husband and wife. The couple kiss, Becca smiling as her long dark tresses blow in the wind, still somehow miraculously untangled and frizzless, Aegon perhaps a little sheepish, breaking the kiss first. The crowd applauds and the bride and groom are escorted away by a fleet of photographers to take pictures. The rest of you are led off to the cocktail hour, a large white tent full of tiny tables and surrounded by torches that provide beacons of flickering light as the last rays of sun vanish from the sky.

Jace orders a beer from the open bar; you get a lemon drop you barely touch. Waiters weave among the guests with trays of Caribbean hors d’oeuvres: Johnnycakes, conch fritters, jerk chicken on skewers, plantain chips with mango salsa, coconut shrimp, curried mussels. A troop of hired musicians are playing maracas, box guitars, and conga drums.

“What are we going to do now?” Jace asks.

From a corner of the tent, you’re staring vacuously at where Helaena is dancing with her children, laughing, twirling, jumping up and down. “I don’t know.”

“I mean, are you still going to try to talk to him, or...?”

“I don’t know, Jace.”

“We need a hotel for the night, so we should make reservations somewhere. And those plane tickets were roundtrip, right?”

“Yeah. We’re flying back tomorrow.”

“Because your movie starts filming on Monday.”

“It does.”

Jace whistles. “Busy weekend.”

You’re not confident you can reply without crying, so you don’t say anything.

“Well,” Jace says. “If you need anything, I’ll be over by the build-your-own-taco bar.”

You check your phone: nothing but five missed calls from your parents. They must have seen you charge the plane tickets to your credit card. You swallow noisily and then ask Jace in a miserable squeak: “Can you please make a reservation somewhere? I’ll pay you back.”

“Okay.”

“Not this resort.”

He smirks beneath somber eyes, like he pities you. “Got it.” He saunters off, then immediately returns. “Wait. The only credit card I have on me is Baela’s, and they make you show ID when you check in.”

You sigh. “Forget it. I’ll handle the reservation.” If my parents haven’t frozen my card by then.

“Cool,” Jace says, and is gone again.

You lurk in the corner Googling hotels and sipping your lemon drop, waiting for Aegon to reappear. There is a group of beautiful, influencer-type women nearby, drinking champagne and taking turns snapping photos of each other in front of an elaborate flower display and issuing stern directions: Move to the right, fix your hair, your hand looks weird when you put it there. In the center of the flowers, there is a glowing pink neon sign that reads happiness.

“Oh my God, it’s so sad,” one of the women says as she scrolls through the pictures her friends just took of her, searching for the perfect image to post.

“So sad,” the others mutter in agreement.

“Like, Becca is absolutely incredible for what she’s doing.”

“Can you imagine?” a woman in a short orange dress muses. “Sneaking around to surprise your fiancé with his-and-hers ancestry test results, freaking swabbing his cheek for DNA while he’s asleep, thinking you’re going to bond over both being part Italian or something, only to find out he’s dying?”

One of the friends looks at her a tad smugly. “Becca did tell you she was Native American.”

Orange dress lady rolls her eyes. “She’s like two percent!”

Becca breezes into the tent and is immediately descended upon by fawning wedding guests, who gush over her dress and her vows as they gulp champagne and nibble on hors d’oeuvres. From across the room her eyes meet yours—only for a moment—and she grins, incandescently triumphant. She won, in even more ways than she knows.

Where’s Aegon?

You peer around the tent; he doesn’t appear to have returned with Becca. You find all the members of Aegon’s immediate family, and you find his former clients Steve, Fatima, and Angus...but you can’t find him.

Is he still outside? Is he alone?

You watch Becca mingling with guests until she turns so that her back is to you, and then you slip out of the tent and into the night, torchlight and moonlight and the endless opaque sheen of the Atlantic Ocean. You don’t see anyone.

Where would photographers take romantic sunset wedding pictures?

Right by the water, of course. You trot down towards the waves, your wedges slipping on the sand, your left ankle throbbing. You pause to take off your wedges and carry them instead.

“Aegon?” you call, but all you hear in reply is the dull primordial roar of the ocean.

You keep walking, gingerly stepping around fractured seashells that could cut your bare feet, and then at last you find him at the water’s edge: pensive, sitting with his legs crossed and his white linen suit filthy with wet sand, chomping on a piece of Juicy Fruit.

Aegon looks over and smiles weakly. “Hey, sunshine.”

“Hi.” You plop down next to him, your yellow dress billowing out around you: V-neck, voluminous tulle ruffles, a high-low hemline that stops in the front just above your knees. The air is hot, humid, threaded with distant sounds of laughter and music; the stars are getting brighter. “You know where you’re supposed to be right now, don’t you?”

“Yeah. I told Becca I needed a minute to decompress. It’s good to see you.” And then Aegon adds, a joke with something weary and aching underneath: “Although I don’t think I invited your boyfriend.”

“So guess what.”

“What?”

“Jace is actually my roommate Baela’s boyfriend.”

Aegon is taken aback; then he absorbs it and chuckles, delighted. “And that’s why he went back to your apartment after the gala. Not because you’re fucking.”

“Exactly.”

“Why’d he fly all the way out here with you?”

You shrug. “He’s bored. He’s unemployed. He misses Baela and needs a distraction. He likes free food. And we might sort of be friends now.”

Aegon nods and gazes out over the ocean; when calm waves break and bubble up over the sand, the froth covers your feet. Under the moonlight, you can see the deepening creases around his eyes, the weight that he’s lost in his cheeks, all the small ways in which he is disappearing. You wish you could touch him; you don’t know if he’d want that. “I thought I would feel relieved afterwards, like I knew I made the right decision,” Aegon says after a while. “But I just feel the same way I did when I woke up this morning.”

“How did you feel this morning?”

“Like I missed you.”

You peer down at the sand, where you have been drawing tiny stars without realizing it. “Aegon, I didn’t come to Turks and Caicos to watch you get married,” you confess. “I came here to change your mind. But I was too late.”

He looks at you, startled. “What were you going to say?”

I hadn’t decided yet, you think, but of course now you’re out of time. You take a deep breath and begin. “I was going to tell you that I have read and watched more about Huntington’s disease in the past three weeks than I’ve ever learned about anything, and there was never a second when I felt that I didn’t want to be with you through all of it.”

Aegon shakes his head and studies the waves, his blonde hair blowing in the wind, his turbulent blue eyes glistening.

“And I wouldn’t give up acting,” you continue. “I would film my movie, and I would do the promo stuff, and then I would...you know...I might slow down for a little while so I could spend time with you while you’re still...while you’re still really here. Not because you need me to, or because I feel obligated, but because I want to. You’re the only person who believed in me. I believe in you too. I believe you still have a lot of good days left. ”

Now Aegon is watching you again, his face unreadable. The low omnipresent rumble of the ocean fills every gap, every microcosm silence.

“And we could do IVF and have a healthy baby, and you’d be able to meet them, and your family and I would have them forever, and I know they’d be wonderful because you are. They’d be kind and warm and real, and the world would be better off with pieces of you in it. And when you’re dead...” Your voice breaks and you have to stop, close your eyes, collect yourself. Then you press on determinedly. “When you’re dead, Aegon, I’ll be in my thirties, I’ll be younger than you are now, and I’ll have my whole life ahead of me. So don’t think that you’re taking anything away from me because you’re not. You’re giving me the time you have left. And I could never think you’re a curse.”

Then suddenly you can read him: he has seen this vision too, he has haunted this ghost-life from corners and doorways, he has longed savagely to inhabit it. “You have to put me away somewhere when I get bad,” he says quietly. “I’ll pick a place and you’ll put me there, and you won’t visit, and you’ll protect people from me. Yourself, my family, our child.”

“I will,” you promise, not sure that you are telling the truth.

“Okay,” Aegon says.

“Okay...? What does that mean?”

“It worked. You’ve convinced me.” He smiles and takes your hand, the one that has been drawing stars in the sand. “Let’s go home.”

“But you just got married.”

“That’s not always a permanent condition, sunshine,” Aegon says, and when he kisses you the warmth of it is all-consuming, and you are home in a way you never were with anyone else, not in Minnesota, not even in Los Angeles, and this is a place that once you’ve found you can never leave. Your fingers are grasping the white linen of his suit jacket, drawing him closer, needing every minute he has left. He tastes like Juicy Fruit, sweet and bright like sunlight. His hands are gliding beneath the weightless tulle ruffles of your yellow gown.

You protest with your words, though not with your body: “Aegon, it’s your wedding night.”

“I know, I know,” he murmurs, kissing your lips, your face, your throat. “It’s insane, it’s wrong, it’s impulsive, but I love you. And I don’t want to waste any time. And my dick is working right now, so...”

You laugh as you fall back onto the sand, waves nipping at your bare feet, Aegon whisking away your silk panties, positioning himself between your thighs, discovering that you are already wet; you know exactly what he’s going to do for you, you have no doubts where he will take you.

“I appreciate how easy this dress is to get under,” Aegon is purring through your windswept hair as you moan, the sand cool and soft beneath you.

“You remember the limo?”

“I remember the limo very fondly.”

You are tugging off his suit jacket and wrestling with the buttons of the shirt underneath. He is yanking the straps of your dress off your shoulders, needing to see you, to touch you, to taste the salt of the sea spray on your skin, to know for the first time that who he loves is who he’ll get to keep.

“Oh fuck,” Aegon sighs, dropping his head in defeat. “I don’t have a condom.”

“I can’t get pregnant tonight,” you tell him in a breathless rush. “I’m getting my period in like two days, I already have cramps, my uterus is useless. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

And he’s here again, grinning, euphoric, lost in you. He sees the stars you’ve drawn in the sand, then glances up at the night sky full of constellations. “Stars above, stars below,” he whispers, and kisses you deeply, his hips rocking as he eases into you—slow, kind, perfect—and neither of you are going to last long tonight, and that’s okay. You’ll have other nights. You have more time.

There is a horrified shriek and then an emptiness as Aegon pulls away from you, and you turn to see her standing on the sand: Becca with her white lace wedding gown, rings sparkling on her left hand, a long dark shock of hair that streams out behind her as gales of wind blow in off the Atlantic Ocean.

“Becca,” Aegon begins.

“You bitch!” she hisses, and then dives for you, hands clawing, teeth bared. You scream and hide behind Aegon, cowering on the sand as he stands and fixes his pants, holding up his palms to stop his wife. When she tries to skirt around him to get to you, he blocks her. “You can’t do this,” Becca tells him, and now she’s sobbing. “There are things I can look the other way for, but this, Aegon, this?! It’s our wedding. It’s our day. Send her home. Make her leave now.”

“Becca, this isn’t going to work.”

“What are you talking about?! We’re married!”

“And I thought that was the right thing to do.” Aegon’s voice is calm, patient, apologetic...but unmovable. “I really, really did. But I was wrong.”

Becca is thunderstruck. “But I’m the one you chose,” she says. “I’m the person you want to spend your last years with. You could have had anyone, but you chose me. Not her, not your family, but me. Because I’m the one you trust, I’m the one who has earned this. Because you love me more than any of the others.”

In reply, there is only Aegon’s silence, only these sounds: the ocean, the wind, the faint far-off festivities of the cocktail hour.

When Becca speaks, her voice is frail and childlike. “But I did everything right.”

“I didn’t,” Aegon says. “But I’m going to try to from here on out.”

She reels backwards, several unsteady steps in her flat sandals that glint with crystals. She touches her hands to her face, like she’s hoping it will wake her up. “This can’t be happening.”

“Becca, I am so sorry. About everything.” And in his words is the weight of every wrong he’s ever inflicted on her, the absence of everything she was denied. There is no changing the history; there are only new pages to be written. “You deserve someone who can give you what you want.”

“Fuck you,” she pitches at him, snarling through tears. “I can’t believe you. I hate you.” And then she whirls and flees: kicking up sand, weeping as she wonders what she’ll tell her friends.

Aegon exhales, collapses onto the sand, rubs his face and drags his fingers through his hair. You reach for him, a palm to his chest, bare from where you opened his shirt. Beneath your hand, his heartbeat is thunderous. “Aegon...are you alright?”

“I’m going to have a lot of uncomfortable conversations in about ten minutes,” he says. Then he turns to you, cradles the curve of your jaw, ghosts his thumbprint across your lips. “But I’d like to stay here with you until then.”

And there as the frothing star-speckled waves soak your gown and Aegon’s suit, he finishes what he started; and you finish too.

~~~~~~~~~~

Flashbulbs strobe and reporters clamor. On the red carpet, you pose for photographs with Santiago, Chloe, Dusty, and a dozen other people from the cast and crew. You wear a Versace ballgown, massive and gold and glittering. You chose your eyeshadow to match: Too Faced and Natasha Denona, Golden Light and Ray.

The film wasn’t out of post-production in time for Sundance, Berlin, or South by Southwest, but it was ready for Cannes in May, and now Tribeca at the start of June. Next will be Venice, and then Toronto, and then the long march of awards season in the fall and winter. The nationwide theatrical release will be in July. There is already Oscar buzz; film critics are writing that you are all but guaranteed a Best Actress nomination.

Reporters are shouting your name, because they know who you are now. You have a very lucrative advertising campaign with Cold Stone Creamery. You did a segment on Good Morning America where you taught the hosts how to make ice cream, giggling as they spilled sprinkles and Oreo pieces all over the floor. Your Grey’s Anatomy episode was one of the highest-rated of the season. Sometimes when you’re out and about in Los Angeles, people will ask you for autographs. When you see pictures or video clips of yourself, you are effervescent, ever-smiling; you don’t even remember doing it. It’s just what happens.

“Can you tell us what this experience has been like for you?” a cheerful correspondent from E! News asks as she holds a microphone to your glossy red lips. “Going from being completely unknown to a breakout star in just the past few months?”

“I’m so grateful for everyone who has helped me get to this point,” you say. “On this film, I got to work with people who were so passionate and genuine and kind, and it really affirmed my faith in what I’m doing with my life, and that I belong in this industry, and that so does anybody else who has a dream even if no one believes in you yet. You just have to find people who believe in you. I have a wonderful agent, her name is Kristen, and my manager Tim, and my stylist Aurora, who indulges all my super uncool ideas...I am so thankful to have a team who are working so hard every day to make this possible.”

“And I’ve heard you have a certain nickname on set, is that right?”

You chuckle and nod. “It is, yeah.”

“People you work with call you Sunshine, because of your enthusiasm and positivity!”

“My husband started that,” you say, beaming. “When we met, almost exactly a year ago. And then I guess he did it so much that other people started picking up on it.”

“Well, it certainly suits you. And your husband...he’s here tonight, isn’t he? I think I spotted him around here somewhere...um...oh yes, there he is! Hi, Aegon!”

He waves from the sidelines, butter yellow suit, sand-colored hair slicked back from his face. He walks with a cane now, because he’s getting unsteady on his feet; but you found one that makes him smile. In the spherical knob of the handle, transparently clear glass, is suspended a Mario figurine leaping up to catch a star. Brandon, who is standing with Aegon, waves too. He has been promoted from receptionist to executive personal assistant, which means that he and his boyfriend were able to purchase a house in Venice Beach. When you’re working, Brandon makes sure that Aegon doesn’t lose track of time, or forget how to get somewhere, or lose his phone or his keys or anything like that. At home in Los Angeles, Aegon is still holding on to his office in Elysian Park. When he’s feeling good—clear, bright, in control—he makes calls to help out aspiring actors he bumps into. Other times, he just plays his Nintendo 64, exercising his motor skills to keep them for as long as he can. And then when you’re free you pick him up for ice cream, or In-N-Out Burger, or lunch beside a tank of antagonistic oscars in Chinatown.

“And how do you feel about how well this film is being received?” the E! News correspondent asks. “Its rollout is just getting started, and it’s already generating so much publicity! That must be very exciting for you. I’m sure you’re being offered roles all the time now.”

“It’s such an honor, every review, every award, it shows the cast and crew who poured so much into this movie that their efforts and talents are being recognized. But you know...” You hesitate. “I think...for me personally...it’s really nice to feel like I’ve proven myself with this project, and that if I want to take some time off to spend with my husband, I have that flexibility. I can dip in and out of acting and take the roles I feel I have the bandwidth for, and know that something like this—an extremely inspiring and fulfilling but also demanding role that requires travel and long hours—is always there waiting when the time is right.”

“Of course, of course,” the woman from E! News says, her tone sympathetic. Everyone is aware of Aegon’s diagnosis, though they are usually tactful enough not to mention it outright. They also politely ignore the messy timeline: a destination wedding, a clearly unamicable split, another marriage the day after the divorce was finalized. In the aftermath of what happened on Turks and Caicos, Becca cut her hair and posted a number of angry poems on her blog with titles like The World’s Shortest Marriage and Deleted Pinterest Boards, but she recently started dating a Formula 1 driver five years her junior and she seems to be doing a lot better.

It’s time to go inside. You profusely thank the E! News correspondent and say goodbye, then Aegon joins you so you can walk into the screening together, his palm on the small of your back, you leaning into him to whisper: “Did I do okay?”

And Aegon slides his black aviator sunglasses out of his suit jacket and puts them on—You are so bright, sunshine—and smiles proudly as he kisses your cheek. You wear matching gold bands on your ring fingers, simple and subtle and etched with suns and stars.

Afterwards, you fly home to your house on Apollo Drive in a neighborhood called Mount Olympus, just west of Hollywood and east of Beverly Hills, a quick hop southeast on the 101 to Elysian Park, less than an hour from the Targaryen mansion in Malibu when traffic isn’t too bad. The house, built in the 1960s, was a relatively modest two million dollars, three bedrooms and all one story so Aegon can get around when he needs a wheelchair. He has a residential long-term care facility picked out for when he is in the late stages, and you and Aemond lie adamantly and say you’ll send him there, because that’s what Aegon wants to hear.

On the mantle above the fireplace, there is a vase full of dried sunflowers and a plethora of framed photographs from your courthouse wedding: Brandon and his boyfriend, Jace and Baela (still a bit flabbergasted that you made it after all), your new best friend Chloe, Aegon’s mother and siblings smiling, your parents shellshocked but nonetheless hell-bent on making a good impression, Tripp toasting champagne with Daeron, Clara glowering because you somehow managed to beat her to the altar. If you have the first grandchild, she might actually kill you.

Now you and Aegon are in the waiting room, early for your appointment, and a soft dreamy Red Hot Chili Peppers song called If is plucking from the Spotify playlist the receptionist has pulled up on her computer screen. You reach into your purse to get the snacks you packed, because you’re always trying to put weight on Aegon the same way he once plied you with vanilla lattes and Cherry Cokes and boneless spare ribs and cheeseburgers...and still does sometimes, when he remembers. He takes a Honeycrisp apple and feels the weight of it, marvels at the red skin striped with green and gold, recognizes the absence of a recollection, something he describes to you as a black void he falls into, chasms that open up in floors and sidewalks.

“There’s a story with these,” Aegon says.

You smile. “Yeah, there is.”

“Remind me?”

“Later.”

He grins and winks. “Not suitable for public conversation. I get it.” And he bites into the crisp sweet flesh, juice shining on his lips, and then he offers you the apple: an indelible muscle memory, a moment that still lives in him somewhere. You take a bite over the same spot, your tongue and teeth grazing the outline of him.

“Mr. and Mrs. Targaryen?” a nurse says, summoning you, and you follow her to the doctor’s office.

When you only have a few years with someone, every day is a gold rush. And so weeks ago when Aegon did his sperm collection, you went with him into the room, straddled his lap and stroked him until he finished into the plastic cup, his fingers between your legs, your lips to his ear; because when he can get hard, neither of you want to waste it. Your contribution—follicle stimulation and egg retrieval—was less pleasant. The hormones made you feel like a stranger in your own skin, sluggish and gloomy, and you were sore after the procedure. But Aegon was wonderful, ordering takeout and snuggling with you on the couch as you watched the Twilight movies together and giggled about how ridiculous they are.

He had murmured like an apology: “It’s my fault we can’t do this the way normal people do.”

“Yeah. I wish you could just come in me four times a day.”

And he had burst out laughing, because he loves the way you put things: too much honesty, effortlessly real.

Today, the doctor has results: four viable embryos, three of which tested positive for the HTT gene mutation. But one is healthy; one has broken the curse.

“What do you think?” Aegon asks you; but the hope is so bright on his face, a life he once believed was forbidden.

“I think we should do it,” you answer.

The doctor congratulates you both and slides the necessary paperwork across the desk. Aegon’s hand begins to shake as he signs his name. You reach out to steady him; he looks at you and smiles.

[loveanddeepsecrets]

No love grander than mine

🝮 More fluffy Syslus hcs to flood your TL 🝮

I’ve said it before: There’s really no such a thing as small gestures when it comes to Sylus. Here’s some romantic hcs he’d likely do to spoil you.

⤠ Tags: fluff, established relationship, alcohol tw, Sylus x gn! reader,

⤠ Word count: 365

• Every mission he let’s you join ends with a romantic getaway in a neighbouring city

• Though some may call it cliché, he’s the type to clutter the room with rose petals, candles, balloons and the biggest bouquet to cheer you up on bad days

• Shopping sprees are light work. Online wishlists? Taken care of. The only top you like at the boutique is a size too big? He’ll buy it and schedule a fitting with his tailor. The purse you want has a waitlist? He’ll quietly step forward to show the associate his platinum card that’s under a different alias and you’re magically on the top of the list

• Even better, he takes note of the sold out vintage pieces you saved on a few reseller apps and uses his network to get everything you weren’t able to bid for

• Fine dining. You eat at Michelin restaurants, pâtisseries, or have professionally home cooked meals— no in between

• Treats you to champagne and dessert on his yacht to end the night on your birthday. You later come to find out you’re at the very spot you first saw fireworks with him (Nightplumes) and soon enough, a light show of your own appears

• Persistently accommodates to your living preferences when you stay at his place. He makes note to adjust to things like room temperature, food brands, thread count sheets, home fragrances, etc bc he wants you to associate familiarity and a sense of home with him

• Helicopter tours that eventually lead to a private island seaside dinner— or rooftop dinner

• Private concerts booking some of your fav artists

• Horseback riding along the sunset beach for a late picnic

• Buying out restaurants, salons and movie theaters to truly have alone time with you

• On every anniversary, he (privately) publishes a small book of sonnets and poems from his collection that remind him of you

• Premeditated vacations at wine cities to pigéage and find the perfect wine & champagne you both like. Though he’s not a complete wine snob, he knows every good bottle has a story. And taking his soon to be fiancé to make/test the wine served at their wedding would make quite the story, no?

ꨄ︎ A/N: Thanks as always for reading the whole way through! I know his love is beyond the materials. At its core, these grand gestures are an elaborate way to spend time together. I’m just pushing myself to write more. I’ll have to come back to the pure, non-flashy ways he’d express love, bc he’s so incredibly sweet. I just need to get into the habit of writing more and taking the L’s as they come.

⤠ Additional fic dividers by @/Saradika-graphics!

[calliesmemes]

EVEN MORE ABSOLUTELY UNHINGED COMEDIC RELIEF

ASSORTED SENTENCE STARTERS FROM AROUND THE INTERNET, including quotes from Tumblr, Pinterest, TikTok, and X (formerly known as Twitter), for when a muse wants to lighten up the situation at hand.

CHANGE gendered words and in-universe phrases as needed.

SPECIFY muse for multimuses.

“   It’s sea shanty time once again my fellow bastards of the ocean! ”

“   Partner, I reckon that I ain’t been feeling very yeehaw lately. ”

“   I don’t study; I consult the lore. ”

“   Yeah, I understand women — they all want daggers and swords. It’s all quite simple, really. ”

“   Lord forgive me but I may have to make a nonessential purchase. ”

“   Those are bold words for someone in stabbing range. ”

“   Yes I’m a gatekeeper and a hater. I’m also God’s most favorite princess and the most interesting girl in the world. ”

“   My primary motivations are fear, spite, and aesthetic longing. ”

“   Man — if I had a sword, I wouldn’t be worried about shit. ”

“   It’s not blood that runs through these veins but glitter gel pen ink. ”

“   If I was in a Jane Austen novel, I would be the one sent to the seaside for my health. ”

“   Half of me is a hopeless romantic, and the other half of me is … well … an asshole. ”

“   I am the nicest, sweetest, most rage-filled person I know. ”

“   I hope I give off the vibe to all animals that I am their ally and their friend. ”

“   I see you’re paying attention to someone who is not me. Why is that? ”

“   Normalize letting me talk without making any sense. ”

“   Don’t care, didn’t ask, plus my psychic visions have predicted the outcome of this encounter. ”

“   I could be so much worse. For example, I could start acting like my father. ”

“   Sorry for acting so strange and irregular; It will happen again. ”

“   i love sitting in my room.....alone....a girl in her cave....scheming and plotting and drinking tea. ”

“   These man made horrors are beyond YOUR comprehension. I get it though. ”

“   I’m a goth girl on the inside. On the outside? A father figure. ”

“   I don’t need to face reality; I’m not just that type of girl. ”

“   DO I LOOK LIKE I GIVE A frickle-frackle? ”

“   I’m about to cha cha real smooth off a fucking cliff. ”

“   Sorry I told you about my trauma. Do you still think I’m hot? ”

“   My priorities aren’t straight and neither am I. ”

“   I have felt permanently guilty for no reason since I was like eight years old. ”

“   Of course I have a lot of pent up rage, you fool! I’ve been the same height since I was twelve years old! ”

“   I was born for shock value. ”

“   Good morning! God has let me live another day and I’m about to make it everyone’s problem. ”

“   Oh, I slept miserably because I was tormented by terrible visions all night. I hope none of them were prophetic! ”

“   Be the surreal nonsense that you want to see in the world. ”

“   Being smart has never stopped me from being a complete fucking idiot. ”

“   My hobbies include knowing things and being right. ”

“   This is good advice, but don’t tell me what to do. ”

“   I hate the idea of authority. What the fuck is someone being superior to me? Bitch I’m gonna take your kneecaps. ”

“   Stop forgiving my crimes! I worked so hard on those! ”

“   My hobbies? Uhhhh, symbolism mostly. Metaphors and implications and the like. ”

“   I may not have any braincells, but I make up for it by having many heart cells. ”

“   I can’t mansplain manipulate manwhore my way out of this one guys! ”

“   Not all your life decisions have to be smart. Some can be purely for cinematic value. ”

“   Sometimes I wish I looked more fragile and feminine like a dainty flower, but I do enjoy looking like I hate everyone. ”

“   Any dream can be a prophetic dream if you’re willing to do some really weird shit. ”

“   girl help there is not enough enrichment in my enclosure. ”

“   BRO, you NEED to stop SUMMONING DEMONS in the FRAT HOUSE. ”

“   I just gave your address to some spiders! ”

“   I disappoint my father as a hobby now. ”

“   I think that the dark circles under my eyes add to my aesthetic actually. ”

“   Good news! I’ve successfully replaced all of my emotions with jokes! ”

“   I have half a braincell left and I’m very scared to use it! ”

“   Listen, son — in this world, it’s either yeet or be yeeted. ”

“   I appreciate the advice, but I think that I’m old enough to make my own bad decisions. ”

“   I’m disappointed in me too. Y’all aren’t special. ”

“   Running from your demons is the best exercise! ”

“   Sorry; I can’t commit any crimes with you. My mom says that I have to study. ”

“   Time flies when you don’t know what the fuck is going on. ”

“   If I run out of tacos, I can no longer maintain my human form. ”

“   Bestie, I don’t think that I can girlboss under these conditions. ”

“   Yeah I’ve had combat training; I can do anxiety attacks! ”

“   Swag is earned, not learned. ”

“   Contrary to popular belief, violence solves a lot. ”

“   I CANNOT STAND YOU ALL so I will SIT DOWN. ”

“   Please God no … I don’t need any more character development right now! ”

“   If you can’t beat ‘em, yeet ‘em. ”

“   Do not put me in a situation. I’m at my limit and I am very tired. ”

“   I may be depressed, but at least I’m not basic. ”

“   It’s MY LIFE and I’ll sabotage it myself, thank you. ”

“   Think twice? Bold of you to assume that I think once. ”

“   At the next inconvenience, I will start biting people. ”

“   Oops I think that I just experienced an emotion. ”

“   Did you know that rats spelled backwards is star? ”

“   One day, I’ll be reincarnated as a pigeon, and I’ll shit on your head. ”

“   On the outside, I’m a baddie — but on the inside, I’m a saddie. ”

“   My grandma bullies me through the Ouija board. ”

“   I’m a cool person if you can just look past my personality. ”

“   Beetles don’t have to do taxes, and I think that is a beautiful way to live. ”

“   I hope that you get your character development arc soon. ”

“   Those are some nice kneecaps … It’d be a shame if someone stole them … ”

“   I’ve wanted to be a trophy wife ever since I was a little boy. ”

“   I’m done being baby; I want POWER ”

“   Wait, “Just Standing There Ominously” doesn’t count as socializing? ”

“   Yes I am smart, and yes, I am stupid. It’s called being flexible. ”

“   I am NOT delusional!!!!! I am OPTIMISTIC! ”

“   I deserve compensation for not being the menace to society that i could be, like i'm skipping out on a lot of fun here. ”

“   Do not ask me if you should or shouldn't do something !!! Before I am a friend I am an enabler !!! ”

“   i am the WORLDS PRETTYIST PINK PRINCESS and im gonna KILL YOU WITH MY HUGE FUCKING HAMMER ”

[originalleftist]

Many people, maybe most people, now know, intellectually, that birds are dinosaurs.

But I don't think most people really feel it. Have really internalized it. Even I haven't, completely. The idea of dinosaurs as big extinct lizards is too deeply-ingrained.

But birds are dinosaurs. Not related to dinosaurs. Not descended from dinosaurs. Scientifically speaking, they. are. dinosaurs.

There are between 9,000 and 11, 000+ known species of dinosaurs alive today.

There are over 50 billion individual dinosaurs alive on Earth today.

You can go into a pet store and buy a dinosaur.

You can see dinosaurs at the zoo, or on a farm, or in your backyard.

People grow dinosaurs on farms.

We eat dinosaurs stuffed with potatoes and gravy and pie for Thanksgiving and Christmas.

We eat them battered and fried for a snack.

There are dinosaurs ("fire starter" birds) that use fire as a tool by spreading burning twigs.

Dinosaurs have been in space.

You can go to a local park and see dinosaurs swimming in the creek with their hatchlings.

You can go to the beach and see them scavenging by the seaside.

Some people might think that this makes dinosaurs more boring and mundane.

Of course, it doesn't change the nature of things at all, beyond how we perceive them- but so far as how we perceive them is concerned, I think it makes birds, and the world, more amazing.

I've probably posted about this before, but there was a moment last summer, when I was on vacation, and I went walking on the beach to a spot where I knew eagles often nested, hoping to get some photos. And I did. There was a big bald eagle, sitting way up in a tall evergreen tree, looking down at the beach. And below it, on the beach, there were groups of crows and geese foraging in the shallow pools and seaweed and shells on the beach, at the foot of the trees. And it hit me that it felt just like a scene out of one of my old childhood dinosaur books. Maybe a herd of Iguanodon, foraging on an ancient beach, as a predator watched them from the forest, preparing to strike (there's a site much like that, Dinosaur Ridge in Colorado, not far from the town where I lived as a child, where dinosaur tracks are preserved in stone, covering a hillside, showing the actual movements of actual animals that lived tens of millions of years ago).

And it gave me hope. Because after 150 million years, they're still here. Changed, certainly (they wouldn't have survived otherwise), but still here, despite mass extinctions, climate change, asteroid impacts, and even the continents moving and changing shape.

And if they survived, maybe we will too.

It also gives me more appreciation for the horror of environmental destruction and extinction. Humans have wiped out species of birds.

We could be the thing that finally makes the dinosaurs go extinct.

[crushing-on-hunks]

The taste of cocoa

Prompt: The taste of cocoa

Fandom: Arcane

Pairing: Ekko/Reader

Warnings: None, possible bad grammar

Word count: 427, for Comforcember @monthlywritingchallenges

He does not really get the approval of the tea. (We've all laughed at his expressions to the Jayce's one form that scene in the show.) Thought if you really like this drink and take his distaste too close to heart, he might just swear that it was purely Jayce's fault and awful tea-making skills and not the drink itself. Maybe after some time, you both discover that he is actually quite fond of some specific sweet blends like the berry teas. But overall, he stayed aloof to the ideas of "leaves in boiling water" type of drinks. "Firelight, c'mon! It's like drinking a medicine" - sad puppy eyes and frowning.

- Through trial and errors after almost giving up on the idea that he can enjoy anything beyond fresh water and some light booze. It is then during more cold months, when you discovered just how much of a sweet-tooth he actually is.

- Makes sense though that being from lover levels of Zaun with no access to any luxury products so popular within Piltover, he never even tried hot cocoa. Besides, in line with his altruist nature and leadership position, he would first of all try providing any kind of foods to the firelights first, not really carrying if there will be anything left afterwards for himself.

- Except, when he was swinging by your place after a frosty walk along the seaside bridge. Truly, not the smartest idea, as the winter winds left you feeling numb in your fingers and eyes all shiny from the harsh wind gusts.

- You quickly filled two cups with the hot beverage and thrusted one of them into Ekko's frostbite hands. Young man made a funny expression but complied as even if all those fancy drinks were awful to his personal taste, they at least made a good job at warming one up from the north wind currents.

You can't help but laugh at the astounded look he gives you after the first sip, the mask of pretense disgust slipping.

You move closer hiding the smile behind the rim of the cup as Ekko tries (and fails) to put on annoyed expression again. He can't though, he is too fond of those happy sparks lighting up your eyes.

"Ok, maybe you pilties have at least two good things after all."

"Two?"

"Yep! Hot cocoa... and you" - Ekko slyly tugs you into his side as you squill and almost spill your own beverage, face rapidly warming up as the firelights leader's boisterous laugh makes you want to hide from embracement

[dailyadventureprompts]

Plane: The Abyssal Unknown

Artsource

Deeper than deep, this sunken dimension exists beyond the bounds of all seas be they watery, hellish, or astral. A surreal and lightless landscape decorated with the remnants of sunken cities and vessels lost across time.

Known by some mariners and mystics simply as "The Below", this dimension was once simply an afterlife for those claimed by fathomless waters, whether they be stormtossed sailors or the inhabitants of civilizations washed away by floods. Where once it graciously accepted such lost souls, In the past century though the Unknown has become somehow covetous, reaching out to grasp at whatever prize strikes its fancy.

Adventure Hooks:

Those sailors that come too close to drowning may be marked by the Unknown, which will stop at nothing to claim their bodies and souls. Such is the case for the revenant the party is hired to deal with, an old sailor who dug her way out of her grave and walked several miles towards the sea before tying herself to the sign at the crossroads outside of town. She claims that no matter how she might want to rest in death, the "sea" will not give her peace. It will be up to the party to decide what to do with her, whether delivering her to a watery grave or seeking the aid of some other divinity.

After recovering a fortune from a wrecked treasure ship, a salvage crew is being picked off one by one, with a few of them hiring the party for protection against what they think is an attempt by their jealous coworkers to cut them out of the deal. Infact they are being haunted by a horrid half-real beast known as "the Scuttler", part crab part ghost haunted hulk, which guards the doors of the Abyssal Unkown (and objects it lays claim to) the way Cerberus guards Hades.

A series of storms washes up wreckage and strange valuables near a seaside town, bringing beachcombers and treasurehunters of all kinds. A dreaming compulsion settles over those that take things from the shore, driving them to gather driftwood and other materials from the brine, and begin the construction of a vessel there on the beach. When questioned in their half lucid state, they claim that the ship they build will "take them home, and further still", an odd claim made even by those who'd lived in the village all their lives.

Sink deep enough into the trenches of the Below and you will find the tombs of the first oceanic gods, bleached coral monuments and epitaphs carved around the vigil-fire of thermal vents. The Abyssal Unknown was once their mausoleum, a place where their descendants and adherents could pay their respect, preserved forever in the crushing embrace of the depths.

That was before the Collector came, a malign spirit of the depths not quite demon or outer god. Driven by an insatiable desire to know and possess, it usurped the Below's guardians and remade the realm in its own image, bending the Unkown's ancient magics to it's purpose of acquisition and scraping the dead gods' skulls for knowledge like the lowest of scavengers at whalefall.

So much knowledge has been lost to the sea over the course of history, and it is only a matter of time before the collector archives it's aim of ascending to true divine status. Already it's power grows, gathering agents and seeding the idea of its ascension into the minds of receptive followers.

[prettyboytsum]

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ first night back I iwaizumi hajime cw: afab! reader, dirty talk, oral (receiving) disclaimer: all characters are aged up! mdni! wc: 521

the first night iwaizumi was back in japan for good was surprising, to say the least. it was one of the few times where he didn’t have to cram a year’s worth of dates in two weeks or soak in your presence because he wouldn’t be able to see you for the next couple of months.

the plan was for him to stay over in your new tokyo apartment for a couple of weeks. he claimed that it would be a closer drive and it’d give him time to figure out when he wanted to go back to the prefecture. the added bonus of seeing you every day, even if only for a short period, was enticing enough for someone who spent the majority of the last four years calling the love of his life. so, as any loving partner would, you had assumed that he’d be tired from his roughly ten-hour flight from california to japan based on all his planning. the sheets were just changed, his favorite scented candles were lit and you made sure to cook up a feast for when he arrived home. you went above and beyond for his trip back. one thing you didn’t account for was that he missed you—in more ways than one. ”fucking missed this pussy,” iwaizumi groans to himself before he buries his face between your thighs. he eats you out like a starved man, your clothes strewn on the kitchen floor the moment he saw you. ”haji,” you whine, short pants escaping your soft lips as you gripped his hair. for all the things you had prepared for, you didn’t expect him to be needy as soon as he landed. ”nobody even came close to how gorgeous you are, baby,” iwaizumi says, pulling you closer to his lips as you grip the island counter. “can’t believe i was away from you for this long—god, i’m gonna fuck you every night.” ”haji,” you moan louder, throwing your head back in pleasure as he fucks you with his tongue. your body gets warmer—you’ve never seen your boyfriend this desperate and you’d be a liar if you said it wasn’t turning you on. ”yeah?” he whispers, planting quick kisses on your thighs before looking up at you. “bet you missed this dick, huh? fingers just weren’t big enough for your pretty cunt.” you nod, biting your lip as you take a proper look at him. his eyes were blown with lust, his voice husky with need and want—a tone that you haven’t heard from him in far too long. you felt yourself get wetter at the sight, squeezing your thighs together. a movement that doesn’t go unnoticed by him. iwaizumi knows that he looks good, he’s tan from the seaside sun, he’s in the best shape of his life—and there’s nothing more dangerous than a man who knows how attractive he is. ”’s okay, princess,” he replies, giving you a boyish smile that only makes your heart stutter and knees buckle. “gonna make you feel so good that you’ll feel me inside of you for days, alright? jus’ let me spoil my girl.”

✩ author's note: me when i cut it off right before they get down and dirty </3 I SWEAR A FULL FLEDGE TOE CURLING SMUT IS IN THE WORKS ... in the meantime, enjoy a (potentially) part 1 drabble on pussy starved iwa! ⓒ prettyboytsum 2024. all works are posted under this account on tumblr.com and are protected by copyright laws. do not plagiarise these works on any other platform or account.

[covenha]

Synopsis: perv!roommate!yeosang can't stop thinking ungodly things about his best friend. Pairings: Perv!bff!yeosang x fem reader Genre: smut, mdni Warnings: smut (duh), yeosang in grey sweatpants bc that should be a warning WC: 746 a/n: this is filth that has been backlogged into my brain the minute that yeosang posted *that* black and white photo on ig so you know what's up. this is purely fiction so the this does not portray his character irl in any way shape or form. this is my first time writing smut so if it's poorly written or sounds like it came from those weird alpha tiktok shorts i am so sorry. its yet another self-indulgent fic so lmk how it is. as always, feedback and reblogs are always appreciated and my inbox is open for any requests!

just imagine pervy bff!Yeosang, you guys have been roommates for a few months now as the both of you just started college together and thought that living in an apartment together was better than living in some dingy university dorm room with strangers. he thought the idea was fine then, but he didn’t realize just how hard it was living with someone he had a massive crush on. 

you guys have always been comfortable with each other. you guys wore your more… questionable loungewear around each other. but you not wearing bras around him was a new thing. when you asked if it was cool to not wear bras around the apartment since they were uncomfortable to wear all day, yeosang agreed immediately stating that he didn’t want you to be uncomfortable in your living space. but he couldn’t help but get turned on. 

the bustling city’s humid weather was a hellscape compared to the cooler temperatures you both were accustomed to back in your seaside town. this meant that when the sun was at its highest, the apartment you guys shared was like a microwave. and this also meant that you would wear lighter clothing. those thinner tank tops that showcased your chest so well, those crop tops that showed off your midriff, and those fucking pajama shorts that did nothing to cover your legs. sometimes he manages to get a glimpse of your cotton panties peeking through. All of these things adding up would damn near drive yeosang to insanity. 

the sight of you wearing clothes that left nearly nothing to the imagination sent blood rushing straight to his dick. he’s lost count of how many times he’s had to rub one out quickly in his room to the thought of you. it was starting to get out of hand if he was being honest, he might start shooting blanks and get an electrolyte imbalance.

and the dreams were the worst part. he really thought that phase was over. the awkward wet dreams he’d have at night with some unknown female living out his sexual fantasies. but he was wrong. and they’ve come back stronger and more vivid than ever. and what’s worse is, you are always the star of these dreams. 

on some nights he’d have you face down, ass up, your hands held behind your back as he fucked you to oblivion on your bed with your plushies facing the wall. on other nights you’re riding his dick whining about how deep he is inside you that you can feel him in your stomach. and other times he has you splayed on the kitchen counter as he eats you out for so long you start shaking violently and squirting on his pretty face. 

on this particular night he has you on his bed, your neck marred with red splotches of his love bites. you whine about it being too much, and i mean who could blame you? he had been going at it for 3 rounds already and he didn’t show any signs of stopping. with your thighs on his shoulders, he was practically folding you in half and the aches of his passionate love making were starting to seep into your poor body. but yeosang persisted, mumbling something about how he was almost there. and it truly felt like he was. 

your spongy spot had been abused beyond belief and your whines of his name were the only things coming out of your mouth at this point.

“Sangi….”

“Sangi….”

“Yeosang!” 

and he comes so hard in one of the most intense orgasms he’s ever had in his life. 

“Dude, get up!” 

he’s groggy as he hears your voice. he’s laying on his front, face plopped down on his pillow. he groans as he wakes up from your shaking. 

“We’re gonna be late for the bus, Sang. You have like 20 minutes to get ready.” you shake him some more to snap him out of his sleepy state. 

he just hums in a sound of agreement before he breathes a sigh of relief as you walk out of his room and close the door. he can feel the spurts of come in his sweatpants sticking uncomfortably around his now soft dick. his grey sweatpants were stained a dark grey in the groin area. he came so much that he felt it dripping down his leg when he stood up. man, how was he supposed to survive 4 more years of this torture?