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novaursa · 26 days

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Where Dragons Dare (2/3)

- Summary: After your declaration to marry Alicent in the small council meeting, the day of the wedding finally comes. And so does your first wedding night.

- Paring: male!targ reader/Alicent Hightower

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is twin brother of Rhaenyra and is bonded with a dragon. For more of my works visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 5 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

- A/N: This was requested by @witch-of-letters. Enjoy! ❤️ Battle of the Stepstones is add as a bonus, because I love writing dragon battles. The last part will be posted later tomorrow once it is done.

- Previous part: 1

- Next part: 3

The grand hall of the Red Keep is awash with the glow of thousands of candles. The flames dance across golden tapestries depicting the histories of Old Valyria, but today the storied past pales in comparison to the momentous occasion unfolding before all in attendance. The wedding is one spoken of in whispers and rumors, but now it blooms before the gathered lords and ladies with all the splendor and gravitas worthy of House Targaryen.

You stand at the altar draped in black and red, the rich silk of your doublet catching the light in subtle ways. The fine Valyrian embroidery at the hems speaks of dragons in flight, each thread imbued with dark crimson that shimmers like fresh blood. A black cloak, edged in deep scarlet, flows from your shoulders, fastened at your throat with a clasp shaped like a coiled dragon. Your hair, the silvery-white of pure Valyrian descent, is tied back, letting your angular features and sharp violet eyes take in every gaze, every emotion displayed openly or hidden away. At your side hangs Blackfyre—your birthright as Prince of Dragonstone—its pommel set with a ruby that gleams like a beating heart.

Before you, Alicent Hightower stands radiant in a gown of deep emerald green. The dress, fitted perfectly to her frame, billows out in layers of silk and fine lace, each shimmering with golden accents as she moves. A delicate crown of silver leaves and pearls rests atop her auburn hair, carefully arranged in elegant curls. Her eyes, a brilliant shade of brown, reflect a mixture of pride, joy, and the quiet steel she’s honed under the pressures of courtly life. There is a softness in her gaze, however, reserved only for you as her eyes meet yours—a silent understanding, a shared relief, and a promise of what is to come.

The Septon's voice rings out, leading the words of the traditional vows. Beside you, Rhaenyra is practically glowing with excitement. Her smile is unrestrained, her eyes darting between you and Alicent with genuine happiness, a sister’s joy at seeing her twin brother embrace his own fate. She wears a gown of pale red, adorned with the colors of House Targaryen and a crown of silver atop her flowing locks, her presence radiating confidence as the heir’s sister and a firm ally to your cause.

King Viserys is seated in a place of honor, his face full of warmth and pride. His smile is wide as he watches his only son wed the woman who has become a daughter to him over the years. He has the contented look of a father who finally sees his children happy, a rare expression in a court filled with ambition and schemes. He lifts his cup in a subtle toast to you and Alicent, his eyes misting over slightly with emotion.

Daemon Targaryen, your uncle, stands near the rear of the gathered nobles, his silver hair catching the light as he observes the ceremony. His expression is inscrutable, but those who know him well enough can see the slight curve at the edge of his lips, the way his gaze sharpens whenever it falls upon you. For all his unpredictability, there is a flicker of pride there—a satisfaction, perhaps, that you finally asserted yourself against the forces that sought to control you. Daemon has always favored those who carve their own path, and today you have done just that.

As the ceremony draws to a close, you step forward to place a cloak upon Alicent’s shoulders, the symbol of House Targaryen enveloping her as you claim her as your own. The green of House Hightower blends now with the red and black of the dragon, a union that cements alliances but more importantly binds two hearts that have long yearned for this day. When you lean in to kiss her, there is a softness, a tenderness in the way her lips meet yours, and the hall erupts in applause, though the world shrinks to just the two of you in that fleeting moment.

As the applause dies down, Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, watches with a carefully controlled expression. His eyes flicker between you and Alicent, a mixture of satisfaction and unease buried beneath his calm demeanor. Though this is a victory for him in securing his daughter’s position, there’s a tension in his jaw—he had hoped to control this outcome more closely, but you’ve slipped from his grasp, a dragon untamed. He studies you with the gaze of a man who sees both a rival and a dangerous ally.

At the feast, Rhaenyra approaches you first, practically throwing herself into your arms. "You did it, Y/N! I knew you would," she beams, her joy infectious. "Alicent looks so beautiful, and you—you were magnificent. I’ve never seen the council so speechless!" Her eyes sparkle with mischief. "And Uncle Daemon, I think he’s actually proud of you for once."

You chuckle, wrapping an arm around your sister. “He probably is. But I didn’t do this for him or the council. This was always for her.” Your gaze drifts back to Alicent, who’s engaged in conversation with a group of highborn ladies, her laughter soft and genuine.

Viserys claps a hand on your shoulder. "You’ve brought honor to our house, Y/N. I couldn’t be prouder of the man you’ve become. Your mother would be so proud, too." His voice carries a slight tremor as he mentions Queen Aemma, but it is quickly overshadowed by his joy.

You offer him a warm smile. "Thank you, father. I’ll do everything I can to ensure that this union strengthens our house."

Daemon is the next to approach, a goblet in hand and that familiar smirk playing on his lips. "I didn’t think you had it in you, nephew," he says, voice laced with amusement. "I was beginning to think you’d let others chart your course forever. But you’ve surprised us all, haven’t you?"

You meet his gaze squarely, your own smile more restrained but no less confident. "Some paths are worth fighting for, uncle. Even if they’re not what others expect."

Daemon raises his cup in a mock salute. “Spoken like a true Targaryen. Perhaps there’s more fire in you than I thought.”

The feast carries on with music, laughter, and the clinking of cups. You and Alicent share dances with the lords and ladies of the realm, but every now and then, your eyes find each other’s, and the world falls away again, leaving just the two of you in this sea of people.

When you finally manage to steal a private moment with her in a quiet corner of the hall, she takes your hand, squeezing it gently. “I was so afraid,” she admits in a hushed voice, her eyes reflecting the firelight. “Afraid that we’d never be able to reach this moment. But here we are.”

You brush a strand of hair from her face, letting your hand linger against her cheek. “You’re mine now, Alicent. I’ll fight for you, for us, against anyone who tries to tear us apart.”

A flicker of relief passes through her expression, followed by a warmth that softens her usually reserved emotions. “And I’ll stand by you, no matter the storm we face.”

The words hang between you like an unspoken vow—one more binding than anything recited before the Septon.

The night deepens as the feast continues, a blur of music and the warm glow of candlelight reflecting off the ornate dishes piled with food. Laughter and the sound of clinking goblets fill the Great Hall. You and Alicent sit side by side at the high table, your hands occasionally brushing against each other beneath the table. The touch is small, but each time it happens, there’s a comforting warmth, a silent reassurance between the two of you. Alicent’s soft smile, reserved just for you, never quite fades from her lips.

As you’re enjoying a brief moment of quiet conversation, the sound of footsteps approaches. Gwayne Hightower, Alicent’s brother, strides up, his eyes bright with joy. "Sister! Y/N!" he greets, his voice tinged with the exuberance of youth. His resemblance to Alicent is striking, though his features are more angular, his posture that of a man eager to prove himself. "I couldn’t let the night end without offering my congratulations." He gives you a hearty clap on the shoulder, his grin broad. "It’s about time someone put a spark in this old court! You’ve done well, my friend. I’ve known you since we were boys, and I’ve always believed you’d find your way."

You return his grin, reaching out to clasp his forearm in the familiar gesture of comrades. "Gwayne, your support has never gone unnoticed. I’ve always valued your friendship, even when we got ourselves into trouble as children. But I think this time, we’ve both stepped into something greater than mischief.”

Gwayne chuckles. “You certainly have, Y/N. And Alicent—” He turns to his sister, his tone softening with genuine affection. “I’ve never seen you look happier. I’m glad you’ve found this happiness, even if I’ll be the one who has to keep a closer eye on courtly matters with you from now on.”

Alicent smiles warmly at her brother, her hand gently resting over yours atop the table. “Thank you, Gwayne. Your words mean more to me than you know. And don’t worry, we’ll both make sure to keep you busy in your duties, though perhaps with fewer pranks than when we were children.”

The three of you share a laugh, the ease of old friendships and sibling bonds lightening the mood.

Soon after, the familiar figures of Lord Corlys Velaryon and Princess Rhaenys approach. The Sea Snake is every bit the powerful figure one expects, his deep blue doublet adorned with intricate silver embroidery resembling the waves of the sea. Rhaenys is resplendent in crimson and gold, her presence commanding yet warm. There’s a certain wisdom in her gaze as she looks between you and Alicent, as if she sees beyond what most do.

“Prince Y/N, Lady Alicent,” Corlys begins, his voice deep and steady. “Congratulations are in order. The union of Targaryen and Hightower is a strategic move, and one I hope will bring stability to the realm. But more than that, it’s clear to see the bond you share.” His eyes linger on you, a hint of approval in his expression. “And perhaps this is the start of a new chapter where the young find their own path amidst the expectations of the old.”

Princess Rhaenys nods, her lips curling into a knowing smile. “It is good to see love and strength walk hand in hand. The history of our houses has often been marked by conflict, but this—” she gestures subtly between you and Alicent, “—this has the potential to change much. You both carry the future on your shoulders now.”

You bow your head slightly in respect. “Thank you, Lord Corlys, Princess Rhaenys. Your wisdom is always welcome. I hope to earn that respect in time and prove that this union is more than just a political move.”

Rhaenys’ eyes glint with something sharp and approving. “Oh, I believe you will, Y/N. The blood of Old Valyria runs deep, and you’ve shown you’re willing to chart your own course. I, for one, look forward to seeing what comes next.”

As they step away, Lord Tyland Lannister, clad in rich reds and golds, approaches next. His sharp features and keen eyes give away his nature as a man ever mindful of the shifting tides of power. “Prince Y/N, Lady Alicent, it is a joyous day indeed.” His voice is smooth, practiced, yet there’s an undercurrent of genuine intent behind his words. “House Lannister is ever eager to lend its support to the Targaryen line. May your union be fruitful and prosperous. It seems the dragons have found a way to blend strength with the grace of the Reach.”

You nod, ever cautious with Tyland’s honeyed words. “Thank you, Lord Tyland. Your support will be remembered, and I hope our alliance will benefit all corners of the realm.”

He offers a slight bow before moving off, ever mindful of where the winds blow.

The feast begins to wind down, and as tradition demands, there is the looming expectation of the bedding ceremony. The air in the hall thickens with the anticipation of it. Some lords and ladies begin to gather, murmuring and glancing toward you and Alicent with barely hidden excitement. The tension, the ribald jokes, the whispers—it all threatens to reduce the sanctity of this moment to a spectacle.

Before anyone can make a move to initiate it, you rise to your feet, the air of command in your posture silencing the crowd before the teasing can begin. “There will be no bedding ceremony tonight,” you declare, your voice clear and firm, leaving no room for argument. The hall quiets instantly, the murmur of protests caught in the throats of those who thought to see the night end in such a manner.

Daemon, standing with arms crossed at the edge of the hall, lets out a low chuckle, his approval evident in the sharp nod he gives you. “Let the young prince make his own choices,” he says, his voice carrying across the room. “There’s enough spectacle in these halls without turning the most sacred of nights into another charade.”

The crowd hesitates, unsure whether to push the matter. But when you meet your father’s gaze, Viserys nods slowly, an expression of both surprise and respect on his face. Otto Hightower, who had been watching with tension in his eyes, finally relaxes, a subtle sigh escaping him. His face settles into an expression that resembles something close to approval, a rare look from a man who values tradition and order above all.

Alicent looks at you with deep gratitude and admiration, her fingers squeezing yours as she stands. You turn to her, your expression softening as you offer her your arm. “Shall we retire, my lady?” you ask, your voice laced with tenderness.

She dips her head slightly, eyes shimmering with emotion. “Let’s,” she replies, her voice barely more than a whisper as she takes your arm.

Together, you walk down the long aisle toward the doors leading out of the Great Hall, every eye on you both as you leave. There is a certain weight lifted from your shoulders as the doors close behind you, the noise of the hall fading as you enter the quieter, more intimate corridors of the Keep.

As you walk side by side toward your chambers, the echoes of your footsteps and the distant flicker of torchlight create an almost dreamlike atmosphere. Neither of you speaks, the silence between you comfortable, filled with the knowledge that this is just the beginning. When you reach the doors to your shared chambers, you pause, turning to face her fully. You lift her hand to your lips and press a soft kiss to her knuckles, your eyes never leaving hers.

“No more performances,” you murmur. “This is just us now.”

Alicent’s eyes shine as she steps closer, her other hand rising to rest against your cheek. “I’ve never wanted anything more than to be with you, like this, away from prying eyes.”

With that, you open the door and guide her inside, the world outside forgotten as the heavy oak doors close behind you both, sealing away the courtly intrigue and the expectations of the realm. In this moment, it’s just you and her, bound together by choice, love, and a shared determination to forge your own destiny.

The chamber is bathed in the soft light of the fire, shadows flickering across the stone walls as the door closes behind you both. The silence stretches, not uncomfortable but full with the awareness of what comes next. For all the warmth you share, the affection that’s blossomed over years of quiet moments and unspoken glances, this is new for both of you. The air is tinged with the sweet fragrance of candles, the soft rustle of fabric as you both stand there, suddenly unsure how to proceed.

You turn to face her, meeting Alicent’s gaze. There’s a nervousness in her eyes, a slight quiver in her breath, but beneath it lies trust, and something more—desire, hesitant but real. You step closer, reaching out to take her hands in yours, your thumb brushing over her knuckles in a gentle, soothing motion. “Alicent,” you murmur, your voice softer than usual, tinged with both affection and concern. “Are you sure? If you’re not ready—”

“I am,” she interrupts softly, her voice a tender whisper in the quiet of the room. Her cheeks flush pink, but her eyes never leave yours. “I’ve never been more certain of anything.”

You nod, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Slowly, you lean down, capturing her lips in a kiss, tender and delicate. Her lips are warm against yours, the kiss a gentle exploration rather than a fervent rush. You both linger in the simplicity of it, letting it ease the tension from your bodies. When you pull back, you see her chest rise and fall as she steadies her breath, her eyes searching yours for reassurance.

Your hand moves to the clasp of her dress, fingers hesitating for a moment before you look at her once more. “May I?” you ask softly.

She nods, her voice catching slightly. “Yes… I want you to.”

With careful fingers, you undo the clasp and let the fabric slip from her shoulders, revealing the pale skin beneath. The dress pools at her feet, and she stands before you in just her shift, delicate and vulnerable. Her eyes flicker down, shyly avoiding your gaze as you take her in. In turn, she reaches out, her hands trembling slightly as she begins to unlace your doublet. There’s an unspoken agreement between you—a mutual understanding that this moment is as much about trust as it is about desire. You help her with the laces, guiding her hands until your clothing is cast aside, leaving you both bare in the warm glow of the fire.

For a long moment, you simply stand there, your breaths mingling, your eyes tracing the curves and lines of each other’s bodies. There’s a sense of curiosity mixed with reverence, your gazes shyly meeting before drifting again, both of you learning and memorizing the sight of each other.

“Beautiful,” you whisper, your voice filled with sincerity. Alicent’s breath hitches at the word, her eyes shining as she looks up at you, her lips parting as if to say something, but words fail her. Instead, she just reaches out, fingers brushing over your chest, her touch sending a shiver through you.

You gently take her hand and guide her toward the bed, the furs soft beneath your feet as you lead her down onto the mattress. You lay her down with the utmost care, your eyes never leaving hers, searching for any sign of discomfort. Her lips part as she draws in a shaky breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly, but her gaze is steady, trusting.

You lower yourself beside her, your hand caressing her cheek as you lean in to kiss her again. This time, the kiss is deeper, a gradual melding of lips as you both begin to relax into each other. Your hand trails down, brushing against her collarbone, then lower, until it rests just above her breast. You pause, your eyes flicking to hers for permission, and when she nods slightly, you continue, cupping her breast gently, your thumb brushing over the soft skin. A soft gasp escapes her lips, her back arching slightly as you explore her.

“You’re so beautiful, Alicent,” you murmur against her lips, and she responds with a soft sigh, her hand sliding up your back, pulling you closer.

Your kisses begin to wander, trailing down her jawline, to the tender skin of her neck. You feel her pulse quicken under your lips, her breath growing more uneven as you move lower. When your mouth finds her breast, she gasps, her fingers threading through your hair. You take your time, savoring each reaction, each soft sound she makes as your lips and tongue explore her.

As you move lower, her breath catches, her fingers tightening in your hair when you kiss the curve of her hip. You glance up at her, seeing the mixture of nerves and anticipation in her eyes. She’s never experienced anything like this, and neither have you—not truly. But you remember the lessons Daemon half-teased, half-instructed you on during that one visit to the brothel, showing you the ways of pleasure in a more practical, if unconventional, manner. While you hadn’t partaken that night, you watched, curious, and the knowledge lingers now, guiding your movements.

You press a kiss to the inside of her thigh, and she lets out a soft whimper, her fingers clutching at the furs beneath her. You murmur a line from an old Valyrian poem, the words ancient and filled with meaning, letting the sounds roll off your tongue as your kisses grow more intimate. “Gevives isse tolvie jelevre—beauty in every breath,” you whisper, your breath warm against her skin.

When your mouth finally finds her core, she gasps, her body tensing for a moment before she melts into the sensation, her hips shifting instinctively toward you. Her breath comes in shallow bursts, her hand gripping your shoulder as you apply what you’ve learned, taking your time, listening to the way her body responds. When she lets out a soft moan, her voice trembling with pleasure, you smile against her, murmuring another line from the poem—words of love and devotion that have been passed down through generations.

Slowly, you trail your kisses back up her body, feeling her trembling beneath you. Her hands reach for you, pulling you close, and when your lips find hers again, the kiss is hungry, filled with the taste of her desire and the passion that’s been building between you both.

You position yourself above her, your eyes locked on hers as you ask one last time, “Are you sure, Alicent?”

Her response is a breathless nod, her hand cupping your cheek as she whispers, “I want this. I want you.”

You enter her gently, inch by inch, mindful of her innocence, watching her every expression for any sign of pain. She winces slightly at first, her brow furrowing, but her fingers dig into your back, holding you close as she adjusts. When she finally opens her eyes again, there’s no hesitation, only trust. “Move,” she breathes, her voice barely audible, but full of need.

You start slowly, each movement careful, deliberate, letting her body adjust, her warmth enveloping you. Her breaths come out in soft, quick bursts, her nails dragging lightly across your skin as she holds on to you. The tension in her body gradually gives way to something else, her hips meeting yours in a rhythm that’s both instinctive and hesitant.

As the moments pass, the awkwardness gives way to a deeper connection. The tenderness remains, but passion begins to take root. Alicent’s breath hitches when she wraps her legs around your waist, her hands pulling you closer. You respond to her need, moving with more urgency as she finds her own rhythm, her body moving against yours in a dance that’s both new and timeless.

When she pushes herself up, shifting into your lap, there’s a sudden surge of boldness in her gaze, something wild and free. You guide her movements, your hands steadying her as she takes control, her breathless gasps mingling with your own. The intimacy between you grows not just in the physical connection but in the way you respond to each other’s needs, desires, and unspoken fears. It’s a union forged in trust, love, and the desire to explore the depths of what you share.

Eventually, when the night reaches its quiet peak, you collapse together into the furs, breathless and spent, your limbs entangled as you hold her close. Here, in this moment, there’s only the warmth of her skin against yours, the sound of her steadying breaths, and the knowledge that this is only the beginning of your shared life together.

As sleep slowly claims you both, you press a final kiss to her forehead, murmuring words of love in Valyrian, promising her with every breath that this night is just the start of what you’ll build together.

The sky is a bruised shade of twilight, thick with smoke and ash. The stench of blood, sweat, and salt fills the air as the waves crash against the jagged rocks of the Stepstones. This place is a wasteland—a battlefield stained with the bodies of the dead and dying. For over two years, the Crabfeeder’s men have held these islands, turning them into a butcher’s yard. But today, you intend to end it. Today, the dragons return in fire and fury.

You sit atop Dallax, your black-scaled beast, perched on a ridge overlooking the main encampment of the Triarchy’s forces. His green eyes gleam in the dim light, and his body shifts restlessly beneath you, eager to unleash his wrath. His teeth, hidden within the dark flesh of his jaws, retract only when his rage is stoked—a menace lying in wait. You run a gloved hand along his neck, feeling the raw power coiled within him. “Soon,” you whisper, your voice firm yet laced with anticipation. “We will end this.”

Below, Daemon Targaryen plays his part to perfection. Clad in soot-streaked armor, a white banner clutched in one hand, he approaches the enemy lines. The Crabfeeder’s forces, a mix of hardened sellswords and conscripts, watch from behind their sharpened stakes and crude fortifications, unsure whether this is truly surrender or another of Daemon’s ruses. The Prince of the City moves with a calculated slowness, his steps deliberate, his head lowered just enough to give the impression of defeat. But you know him better. There’s a fire in his eyes—a fury barely contained behind that facade of submission. The plan hinges on this moment, on the Crabfeeder’s arrogance and greed.

From your vantage point, you spot Lord Corlys Velaryon’s forces hidden in the shallows, ready to pounce the moment the trap is sprung. The Sea Snake commands his men with a veteran’s precision, their silence a stark contrast to the braying jeers coming from the Crabfeeder’s ranks.

Daemon finally stops, mere feet from the Crabfeeder’s line, where a grotesque figure emerges from the shadows. Drahar, the Crabfeeder, is a ghastly sight, his face hidden behind a cracked and twisted mask, his skin mottled from disease. He raises a hand, halting the jeers, and for a moment, silence reigns.

Then, chaos erupts.

Daemon’s false surrender is cast aside as he draws Dark Sister in a blur of Valyrian steel, cutting through the nearest soldier in one swift, practiced motion. Blood sprays into the air, catching the dim light as the battlefield roars back to life. The Triarchy’s soldiers charge forward, desperate to claim the prize they believe within reach, but they are rushing headlong into a trap.

It’s your moment.

With a word in Valyrian, you urge Dallax into a dive. His wings unfurl, dark as midnight, blotting out the dying light. The air screams past you as you plummet toward the battlefield, the ground rushing up to meet you. “Dracarys!” you roar, the command slicing through the din of battle.

Dallax responds with a torrent of flame that incinerates everything in its path. The first line of the Crabfeeder’s men is engulfed in a roaring inferno, their screams swallowed by the relentless fire. Armor melts, flesh sizzles, and bone turns to ash in mere moments. You bank sharply, pulling Dallax into another dive, this time focusing on the siege engines positioned along the ridge. The ballistae, meant to keep the dragons at bay, are shattered under the crushing weight of dragonfire and claws. Timber explodes, splinters raining down on the screaming soldiers below as you rip through their defenses with ruthless efficiency.

You catch a glimpse of Daemon, now fully engaged in the melee, his sword a blur of lethal grace as he carves a bloody path through the Triarchy’s forces. He fights with a savage joy, laughing as he dodges and counters, the battlefield his stage. Corlys and his men surge from the shallows, catching the enemy in a brutal pincer. The once-confident soldiers of the Crabfeeder are thrown into disarray, their lines crumbling under the combined might of dragon and steel.

You circle back, eyes locked on Drahar, who attempts to retreat deeper into the labyrinth of stakes and pits his men have constructed. But there’s no escape. You guide Dallax lower, skimming the ground, his claws gouging the earth as you close in on your prey. The Crabfeeder looks up in desperation, his eyes wide behind his mask as he realizes his end is near.

“End him!” Daemon’s voice echoes in your mind like a phantom’s dare, though the words are drowned out by the roar of battle.

Dallax’s jaws snap open, his teeth glinting as they slide out from their hidden sheaths. With a snarl, he lunges, clamping down on Drahar with a sickening crunch. The Crabfeeder’s mask falls away, revealing a twisted visage frozen in terror before his body is torn apart in a spray of blood and gore. Dallax shakes his head, flinging what remains of Drahar’s corpse into the dirt before incinerating it with a final jet of flame.

Around you, the battlefield is a scene of utter carnage. The ground is slick with blood, littered with the hacked remains of soldiers. Men scream, their limbs severed, or burn as they try to flee, only to be cut down by Corlys’s disciplined troops. The cries of the dying are a symphony of suffering, underscored by the relentless roar of flames. Dallax moves among the survivors like a shadow, crushing and burning any who dare to resist.

As the last pockets of resistance are snuffed out, you land amidst the ruins, stepping down from Dallax’s back. You scan the battlefield, taking in the broken fortifications, the piles of charred corpses, and the men who now kneel in surrender. Victory is yours. The Stepstones are won.

Daemon approaches, blood splattered across his armor, a wild grin on his face. “Well done, nephew,” he says, his voice carrying a note of satisfaction. “I thought I might have all the fun, but you’ve stolen quite the show.” His eyes gleam with shared triumph, the bond between you strengthened through battle and bloodshed. “The Crabfeeder will feast no more.”

You smirk, wiping sweat and grime from your brow. “Someone had to keep you from getting killed. I couldn’t let you take all the glory.”

He laughs, the sound cutting through the dying echoes of the battle. “You’re learning. Perhaps there’s more of me in you than anyone cares to admit.”

As Daemon moves to rally the remaining men, your thoughts drift, carried away on the winds of victory. The image of Alicent appears in your mind—her gentle smile, the way her hand rests on the curve of her belly, swollen with the child she carries. You think of your son, Aegon, barely more than a year old, his bright eyes so full of curiosity. It is for them that you fight, for the future you intend to build, for the family you have claimed as your own.

The taste of blood and ash lingers on your tongue, but underneath it all is the yearning to return to them, to hold Alicent in your arms and feel the soft weight of your son as he rests against your chest. You think of how you will recount this victory to them—how Aegon will listen in awe, his little hands reaching out as if to grasp the tales of dragons and battles. You smile to yourself, imagining the way Alicent will scold you softly for the bloodshed, though you know she will be proud all the same.

“Soon,” you murmur to yourself, the words almost lost in the wind. “Soon I’ll be home.”

But for now, the battle is done, and the Stepstones are yours. The fires burn low as you gaze out over the broken landscape, your thoughts with your family, even as your dragon’s shadow stretches long over the conquered land, a reminder of the price of victory.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd reader insert #hotd x reader #hotd x y/n #hotd x male reader #hotd x you #hotd alicent #alicent x you #alicent x y/n #alicent x reader #alicent hightower

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elorday · 1 year

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— ✪ valerie's may fic recs

thank you so much for all of these writers for making me smiling with a lots of butterflies in my stomach, making my mouth hanging agape, or crying so hard and sweating hot. i really can't thank you enough<3

some fics contain nsfw (✦)

𖥔. SCREAM—

⭒ — ETHAN LANDRY

✦ title taken : @astermath

20/20 vision : @echnated

slyther-in to my heart?! : @ghostfacd

✦ “it's okay, i'll show you.” : @messylustt

sleepy : @corpsebasil

bejeweled : @xyzstar

𖥔. ENOLA HOLMES—

⭒ — SHERLOCK HOLMES

we'll be alright : @love-strawberry

✦ exactly what you need : @delicate-moon-princess

bewitched : @cinebration

what happens after death : @hannibals-favourite-meal

𖥔. HOUSE OF THE DRAGON—

⭒ — AEMOND TARGARYEN

would you love me if i were a worm? : @chiss-and-crackers

valentine's day : @vhagarlovebot

you belong with me : @mybeautifuldelirium

⭒ — CREGAN STARK

among dragons and wolves : @fairysluna

✦ dissolve : @vermithorn

the snow fairy : @wackapedia

⭒ — HARWIN STRONG

✦ i am his and he is mine : @procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics

keep you save : @auroraborealyss

✦ princess : @faith-forgxtten-land

𖥔. BRIDGERTON—

⭒ — BENEDICT BRIDGERTON

drunk sketches : @delehosies

little things : @inpraizeof

⭒ — ANTHONY BRIDGERTON

✦ right in front of me : @idontgiveaflyinggrayson69

✦ melt away : @healmydesires

𖥔. F1—

⭒ — DANIEL RICCIARDO

meet me at midnight : @fleetwooods

don't wipe away my love : @avisgrace

memories hold me hostage : @libraryofloveletters

it's okay, i'm here : @norrisleclercf1

still into you : @starkwlkr

⭒ — CHARLES LECLERC

when you're missing me : @silverstonesainz

name(s) of love : @kiwisa

𖥔. SPIDERMEN—

⭒ — TASM!PETER PARKER

lean in, lean out : @literaila

i know : @vivwritesfics

✦ hold you here, my loveliest friend : @p3mybeloved

clingy : @bruisedboys

⭒ — MIGUEL O'HARA/SPIDERMAN 2099

i need you to stay : @intoxicated-chan

mid night : @eyelessfaces

⭒ — PAVITR PRABHAKAR

dance with you tonight : @foreverwiththeunknown

⭒ — MILES MORALES

cheesecake : @ichorai

first kiss : @moralesie

𖥔. DC—

⭒ — ADRIAN CHASE / VIGILANTE

five times vigilante definitely does not have feelings (and the one time he does) : @tropes-and-tales

now or never : @whirlybirbs

⭒ — BRUCE WAYNE / BATMAN

talk : @ichorai

𖥔. JOHN WICK—

⭒ — JOHN WICK

one-sided love : @desoolate

remember me : @arece

⭒ — MARQUIS VINCENT DE GRAMONT

stay : @unreliablesnake

✦ something wrong with me and you : @fonteyn

𖥔. LOCKWOOD AND CO.—

⭒ — ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

the language of longing looks and stolen glances : @fleetingvow

just another love song : @tangledinlove

public displays : @vi-trying-to-survive

ain't a life many splendored thing? : @wellgoslowly

2K notes · View notes

thebunnednun · 4 months

Text

In the Arms of a Stranger Charlotte Katakuri x Bride! Reader (Part 1)

He's been popping up on my timeline for a while so I think that means he's getting a series. Pretend he's younger, or don't.

This is gonna be a long one folks.

Spolier: Reader ate the "Kage Kage no Mi" fruit.

Summary:

Kidnapped from the safety of your Straw Hat family and drugged into a forced marriage as a cruel act of revenge by Big Mom, you find yourself in a luxurious yet suffocating room with Charlotte Katakuri, the formidable son of your captor. Fear and desperation grip your heart, but amidst the terror, an unexpected truce begins to form.

As Katakuri reveals his own discomfort with the marriage and vows to protect you, a fragile bond develops. Together, you navigate the tension and uncertainty, finding solace in each other's presence.

In the midst of vulnerability and shared fears, even in the darkest times, unexpected comfort and trust can emerge.

Now, on with the show!!~

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The opulent grand hall reverberated with the lively chatter of guests and the melodious clinking of glasses, creating an atmosphere of celebration and merriment. However, amidst the splendor, [Name] couldn't shake off the overwhelming sense of displacement.

Her thoughts continuously gravitated back to her beloved Straw Hat family, from whom she had been abruptly separated due to this arranged marriage. All you could remember was being stolen in the night and being presented before a large pink woman.

The entire ceremony had unfolded like a hazy dream, and now, as the night descended, it marked the beginning of their wedding night.

Your knowledge of Charlotte Katakuri, your enigmatic new husband, was shrouded in intimidating rumors, leaving you feeling apprehensive.

'Fucking shit.'

The heavy oak door to their lavishly adorned chamber clicked shut behind you, the sound echoing ominously in the vast space. Silence descended like a suffocating blanket, pressing down on you with palpable weight. Your breath caught in your throat as you stood in the center of opulence, surrounded by the extravagant display of wealth.

The room exuded grandeur at every turn—the king-sized bed, adorned with layers of sumptuous silk, beckoned invitingly, yet it felt more like a throne of isolation than a place of rest. Ornate furniture, carved with intricate designs, adorned the spacious chamber, each piece a testament to extravagance. The soft glow of the dimly lit chandeliers cast ethereal shadows across the room, adding to the surreal atmosphere.

But amidst the splendor, there was a profound sense of unease, a feeling of being ensnared in a gilded cage. Despite the luxurious trappings, the room felt suffocating, each embellishment serving as a reminder of the confinement you found yourself in. The air seemed heavy with unspoken tension, and the silence seemed to magnify your solitude.

Your gaze flitted around the room, seeking solace in its lavish décor, but finding none. Every corner seemed to echo with a sense of captivity, each ornamental detail serving as a stark contrast to the freedom you longed for. Your heart ached with longing, yearning for the warmth and familiarity of your Straw Hat family, where safety and love awaited.

In this ostentatious chamber, you felt like a trapped bird, yearning to spread your wings and soar back to where you belonged. The opulence that surrounded you only served to emphasize the stark reality of your confinement, amplifying your desire to break free from this golden prison and return to the embrace of those who cherished you most.

In a moment of sheer panic, you found yourself drawn to the large bed dominating the center of the room. Instinct took over as you dropped to your knees, your movements frantic and unthinking. With trembling hands, you crawled beneath the bed, seeking refuge in the shadowy space beneath its expanse. The rapid thudding of your heart reverberated in your ears, a deafening drumbeat of fear that seemed to echo through the room.

As you huddled beneath the bed, your breaths came in shallow gasps, each inhale feeling like a struggle against the weight of impending doom. The confined space offered little solace, but you clung to it desperately, your body curling into a tight ball as if seeking protection from the encroaching darkness.

In the dimness beneath the bed, the world outside seemed distant and unreal, as if you had retreated into a realm of your own making. The shadows enveloped you like a comforting cloak, shielding you from the harsh reality that lurked beyond the confines of your hiding place.

Your mind raced with thoughts of escape, the urgency of the situation pressing down on you like a heavyweight. You couldn't stay here, couldn't bear the thought of what awaited you on this dreaded night. Your only thought was to find your friends, to seek refuge in the familiar embrace of the Straw Hat crew.

But for now, beneath the bed, you allowed yourself a moment of respite, a brief reprieve from the chaos that surrounded you. The stale air hung heavy in your lungs, but you welcomed it, using the precious moments of solitude to gather your thoughts and steel yourself for the challenges that lay ahead.

In the suffocating stillness of the room, time seemed to lose all meaning, stretching out into an endless expanse of silence. Every creak of the floorboards, every whisper of the wind outside, seemed magnified, as if the very air itself held its breath in anticipation. The weight of the mansion pressed down on you like a suffocating blanket, its oppressive atmosphere adding to the unbearable tension that hung in the air.

And then, like a harbinger of impending doom, you heard the door creak open, the sound slicing through the silence like a knife. Your entire body tensed, muscles coiling with apprehension as your breath caught in your throat, the air thick with trepidation.

With each heavy footstep, Katakuri drew closer, his presence a looming specter in the darkness. The sound of his boots on the plush carpet sent vibrations rippling through the floor, each thud reverberating through your bones and echoing the pounding of your heart. Every nerve in your body screamed for you to flee, to escape the approaching danger, but you remained frozen in place, paralyzed by fear.

Closing your eyes tightly, you prayed fervently that he wouldn't notice you, that you could remain hidden in the shadows beneath the bed. The darkness offered scant protection, but it was all you had, a thin veil of concealment against the looming threat that lurked just beyond your hiding place. As Katakuri's footsteps drew nearer, you clung to the desperate hope that somehow, against all odds, you would remain undetected.

'Please, just go away. Don’t look under the bed. Please.'

As Katakuri's heavy footsteps halted mere inches from the edge of the bed, a tangible sense of dread settled over you like a suffocating shroud. His presence loomed over you, a looming shadow of menace that seemed to envelop the room in a cloak of darkness. The air grew thick with tension, each breath you took feeling like a struggle against the oppressive weight of fear that pressed down upon you.

Time seemed to stretch on endlessly as you held your breath, every second feeling like an eternity as you waited in agonizing anticipation. And then, mercifully, the footsteps receded, their retreat a faint echo in the silence that followed. The sound of water running in the adjacent bathroom filled the room, a stark contrast to the stillness that had preceded it. Relief washed over you in a shaky exhale, but beneath the surface, the gnawing fear persisted, a constant reminder of the danger that lurked just beyond your reach.

'This is my chance,' you thought, determination flickering in the depths of your eyes as you seized upon the opportunity before you. With a surge of adrenaline, you scrambled out from under the bed, your movements swift and urgent as you surveyed your surroundings for any sign of escape. Your heart sank as you realized the door was securely locked, a barrier that stood between you and freedom.

'No, no, no!' The panic threatened to overwhelm you, but amidst the chaos of your thoughts, a glimmer of hope emerged. You remembered your Devil Fruit powers, a latent ability that held the key to your salvation. With a fierce focus, you channeled your energy, merging with the shadows that danced along the edges of the room. The sensation was eerie, like slipping into a cold, dark void, but you clung to it desperately, knowing it was your only chance at escape.

Invisible to the naked eye, you slipped through the crack beneath the bedroom door, your movements silent and swift as you navigated the dimly lit hallway beyond. Your heart pounded in your chest as you caught sight of Charlotte Opera, his figure looming ominously in the distance, a dagger glinting menacingly under the harsh glow of the overhead lights.

'Perfect,' you thought grimly, steeling yourself for the perilous journey that lay ahead. With determination coursing through your veins, you set off into the unknown, every step a testament to your unwavering resolve to reclaim your freedom at any cost.

As you moved stealthily through the labyrinthine corridors of the mansion, every step careful and calculated, your heart pounded in your ears like a thunderous drumbeat. The oppressive silence of the night was broken only by the faint sound of your own breathing, each inhale and exhale amplified by the tension that hung thick in the air. Every corner you turned seemed to hold the promise of danger, every shadow concealing a potential threat.

With practiced ease, you closed the distance between yourself and Opera, your movements fluid and silent as you closed in on your target. In a swift, decisive motion, you snatched the dagger from his grasp, the cold metal of the blade sending a shiver of anticipation coursing through your veins. It was a small victory, but in the face of the looming danger that surrounded you, it felt like a lifeline—a tangible symbol of your determination to fight back against the forces that sought to hold you captive.

Retreating back into the safety of the shadows, you clung to the dagger tightly, the weight of it comforting in your hand. It was a small but significant tool of defense, a reminder that you were not powerless in the face of adversity. With renewed resolve, you prepared yourself for the ordeal that lay ahead, steeling yourself for whatever challenges awaited you.

As the sound of the shower ceased and the lights in the bedroom dimmed, plunging the room into an even deeper darkness, your heart rate spiked once more. The tension in the air was palpable, each moment stretching out into an agonizing eternity as you resumed your hiding spot beneath the bed. Holding your breath, you braced yourself for whatever might come next, your mind racing with frantic thoughts as you prepared to confront the dangers that lurked in the shadows.

'Now I have the advantage but how do I get out of this?'

As you lay hidden beneath the bed, your mind raced with frantic thoughts, each one more terrifying than the last. The weight of the dagger in your hand offered little solace as you grappled with the overwhelming fear of the unknown. How would you escape this predicament? What awaited you beyond the confines of this ominous mansion? The uncertainty gnawed at your insides, leaving you feeling small and powerless in the face of the looming threat.

Before you could formulate a plan of action, the bathroom door swung open with a sinister creak, unleashing a wave of hot steam into the room. Through the swirling mist, you caught a glimpse of Katakuri's towering figure, his presence like a malevolent shadow in the darkness. The air seemed to thicken with dread as his cold, unyielding gaze pierced through the haze, fixating on you with chilling intensity.

And then, in an instant, the shadows were banished by a blinding light that seared through the fog, illuminating you in its merciless glare. The stark contrast between light and darkness rendered you vulnerable, exposed to the full force of Katakuri's unwavering scrutiny. Panic surged through you like a primal instinct as his eyes bore into yours, stripping away any semblance of safety or sanctuary.

Before you could react, his hand closed around your wrist with a bone-crushing grip, dragging you unceremoniously out from your hiding place beneath the bed. The sensation was like being ensnared by a predator, helpless against the inexorable force of his advance. With each heartbeat, the reality of your predicament sank in, filling you with a visceral terror so profound it threatened to consume you whole.

"No, no, no!" The words escaped your lips in a frantic whisper, a desperate plea for escape that fell on deaf ears. In the face of Katakuri's relentless advance, you were overwhelmed by a sense of dread so potent it bordered on madness. As he loomed over you, a silent harbinger of doom, you were plunged into the depths of a nightmare from which there seemed to be no waking.

As you struggled against Katakuri's iron grip, fear surged through your veins like a torrential wave, threatening to drown you in its icy embrace. With a surge of desperation, you plunged the dagger into his wrist, a desperate bid for freedom born of sheer instinct. He grunted in pain, his reaction more annoyance than true agony, but it was enough to momentarily loosen his hold on you.

With a gasp of relief, you tumbled onto the bed, your heart pounding in your chest like a frantic drumbeat. Scrambling away, you fought to put as much distance between yourself and your assailant as possible, your movements frantic and uncoordinated. But your escape was short-lived, and you soon found yourself falling off the other side of the bed, landing with a jarring thud on the cold, unforgiving floor below.

As you lay there, your mind a whirlwind of fear and confusion, a thousand thoughts raced through your head in rapid succession. "I hurt him. What now? Will he kill me?" The questions echoed in your mind like a relentless refrain, each one more terrifying than the last. The cold floor pressed against your back, grounding you in the harsh reality of your situation as you struggled to catch your breath, your chest heaving with the effort.

Amidst the chaos of your thoughts, a fierce determination took hold, driving you forward in spite of the overwhelming fear that threatened to consume you. "I can't let him catch me. I have to survive this. I have to get back to my family." The words rang out in your mind with a clarity that cut through the suffocating haze of terror, fueling your resolve with a newfound strength.

Though the fear was almost paralyzing, the thought of your Straw Hat family served as a beacon of hope in the darkness, a reminder of the bonds that tethered you to the world beyond this nightmare. With each breath, you drew upon that strength, channeling it into a desperate bid for survival as you faced the terrifying unknown that lay ahead.

As you lay on the floor, your body trembling with adrenaline, the sound of Katakuri's approach sent shivers down your spine, his silent footsteps amplifying your terror. Each passing moment felt like an eternity, your senses heightened to a fever pitch as you struggled to control your racing heart.

'He's coming. What do I do? Think, [Name], think!'

The suspense was suffocating, the air thick with tension, as you fought to steady your breathing against the overwhelming fear that threatened to consume you.

With each step he took, the weight of his presence bore down on you like a suffocating blanket, leaving you gasping for air as if the very atmosphere had turned against you.

'I can't stay here. I can't let him catch me again.'

The thought echoed in your mind with a sense of urgency, driving you to action even as panic threatened to overwhelm your senses.

As Katakuri's shadow fell over you, his form looming ominously in the dim light of the chandelier, you felt a primal instinct kick in, a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins. His eyes, cold and unreadable, seemed to pierce through the darkness, fixing you in place with their unyielding gaze. Your heart hammered in your chest, thoughts whirling in a frantic blur as you braced yourself for whatever came next.

'This is it. This is my only chance.'

With fear coursing through your veins, you struggled against Katakuri, desperation lending strength to your movements. In a desperate move, you slashed at him again with the dagger, hoping to fend off the looming threat that hung over you like a shadow. But Katakuri's response was swift and merciless; with a single, precise motion, he knocked the dagger out of your hands, sending it clattering to the floor, far out of reach.

Desperation filled your eyes as you whispered into the cold night air,

"Please, don't touch me!"

The world seemed to stop at this notion. Your words hung in the air, fragile and trembling, a desperate request for mercy in the face of overwhelming fear. The room fell silent, the weight of your plea echoing in the stillness as you awaited his response.

For a fleeting moment, Katakuri's intense gaze softened, his resolve faltering in the face of your vulnerability. Slowly, he pulled himself back, giving you the space you so desperately craved. You lay there, still clad in your wedding dress, a poignant reminder of the night's cruel irony. Tears welled up in your eyes, spilling over as you squeezed them shut, your body wracked with silent sobs.

In that moment of vulnerability, you were acutely aware of the fragility of your existence, a pawn in a game far beyond your control. The weight of the night's events bore down on you like a crushing weight, threatening to engulf you in darkness. Amidst the despair, a flicker of hope remained, a small ember of resilience burning brightly within you. You would endure this trial, you would survive, and you would emerge stronger on the other side.

But right now you really just needed to have a healthy cry.

Katakuri's massive form crouched down before you with surprising gentleness, his imposing stature momentarily softened by the tenderness in his movements. Despite the weight of his presence, there was a certain grace in the way he watched you, as if he were keenly attuned to the fragile state of your emotions. His usually stern expression bore a subtle shift, hints of compassion and understanding flickering across his features like shadows dancing in the dim light of the room.

As he spoke, his voice was a soothing murmur, low and gentle, cutting through the tense silence like a soft breeze on a stormy night. "I promise I won’t hurt you. I have no intention of consummating this marriage given the situation." His words hung in the air, a lifeline extended to you in the depths of your despair. For a moment, the weight of your fear seemed to lift ever so slightly, replaced by a cautious glimmer of hope.

Slowly, you opened your tear-blurred eyes, your gaze meeting his with a mixture of apprehension and longing. You searched the depths of his gaze, seeking any sign of deception or malice, but all you found was sincerity shining back at you like a beacon in the darkness. At that moment, with a trembling breath, you allowed yourself to believe, if only for a fleeting second, that perhaps there was still goodness to be found in this world, even in the most unexpected of places.

As you looked up at Katakuri, his presence no longer looming over you like a specter of fear, you found yourself daring to hope that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for him to be a decent man despite the circumstances.

In the tranquil hush of the room, every breath seemed to echo, a delicate symphony of tension and resignation. Katakuri's presence, once a looming specter of dread, now exuded a sense of quiet patience, a silent invitation for you to find solace amidst the chaos of your emotions. The opulence that had once felt stifling now appeared almost ethereal, the soft glow of the chandeliers casting gentle pools of light that danced upon the walls like fleeting whispers.

"I promise,"

His voice resonated like a soothing melody, a gentle reassurance that hung in the air like a fragile thread.

"You are safe here. I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to."

The sincerity in his words was a beacon in the darkness, a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows of fear that lingered in your heart. Tentatively, hesitantly, you allowed yourself to believe him, to entertain the possibility of a sanctuary within the confines of this ornate prison.

Your trembling began to ebb, a gradual release of tension that mirrored the softening of your surroundings. With each passing moment, the weight of your fear lessened, replaced by a cautious sense of calm that settled over you like a comforting embrace.

Though the scars of your ordeal remained, there was a flicker of resilience in your gaze, a silent acknowledgment of the strength that lay dormant within you.

In the stillness of the room, you took a trembling breath, your pulse slowing as you dared to let go of the grip of fear that had held you captive for so long. And as you met Katakuri's unwavering gaze, you found yourself taking the first tentative steps towards reclaiming your sense of agency, your spirit unbroken.

Tears of anguish continued to stream down your cheeks, silent witnesses to the pain that still weighed heavy on your heart. But intertwined with the sorrow was a sense of gratitude, a profound acknowledgment of the small mercy that had been extended to you in this moment of vulnerability. And as you met Katakuri's gaze, you found solace in the silent understanding that passed between you forged by the circumstance you found each other in.

As Katakuri stood before you, his imposing frame now softened by the absence of his wedding attire, you couldn't help but notice the subtle shift in his demeanor.

His broad shoulders, previously concealed beneath layers of formal clothing, now stood bare and unadorned, accentuating the raw strength that lay beneath his stoic exterior. Black sweatpants hugged his frame, emphasizing the powerful muscles that rippled beneath his skin with each movement.

And then, there was his face. Without the intimidating mask that had become synonymous with his identity, Katakuri seemed almost vulnerable, his features exposed to the harsh light of the room. His expression was unreadable, a mask of neutrality that belied the turmoil that lay beneath the surface.

But it was the intricate tattoo that adorned his left shoulder that drew your attention. A complex design of swirling patterns and symbols, it seemed to tell a story of its own, each line and curve a testament to Katakuri's strength and resilience. The tattoo, a mark of his heritage and lineage, spoke of a past shrouded in mystery and tradition.

As your gaze lingered on him, you realized that he had caught you staring. A flicker of self-consciousness crossed his features before he rose gracefully to his feet, moving with a fluidity that belied his size. Without a word, he retrieved a box of tissues from a nearby dresser, placing them gently in front of you with a silent understanding.

"I... I'm nervous too,"

He admitted, his voice a low rumble that filled the room.

"This marriage... it wasn't fair of my mother to impose it upon us like this."

There was a hint of frustration in his tone, a rare display of vulnerability that caught you off guard.

"But for now, we must act as a normal couple. It's the only way to avoid suspicion."

You nodded, taking the tissues with trembling hands as you tried to wipe away the tears that stained your cheeks. The gesture was small but significant, a silent acknowledgment of the fragile truce that existed between you. As you dabbed at your cheeks, you couldn't help but notice the smudged makeup that marred your reflection in the tissue.

Seeing your distress, Katakuri's expression softened, a rare display of empathy in the midst of chaos. "You should shower and change out of your wedding dress," he suggested gently, his voice a soothing balm against the turmoil of your emotions. "I'll... I'll wait outside."

"I thought we couldn't leave until... you know," you murmur, glancing towards the bed where memories of the night's events lingered like ghosts.

Katakuri groans, his frustration evident as he pinches the bridge of his nose. "I forgot," he admits, before letting out a resigned sigh. His gaze returns to you, softer now, tinged with a hint of apology.

"I will wait inside the closet then. Knock three times when you are finished."

But as he starts to rise, you find yourself unable to let him leave just yet. "Wait!" you call out, your voice trembling slightly.

He pauses, turning back to you, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. As you rise to your feet, legs shaking with the weight of the evening's events, you move closer to him, heart pounding in your chest.

"P-please help me with the buttons in the back," you request, your voice barely above a whisper. His gaze meets yours, and for a moment, the air between you crackles with unspoken tension.

He holds your gaze, the intensity of his stare making your heart race even faster. With a nod, he steps forward, his fingers deftly undoing the buttons of your wedding dress. The fabric falls away with a soft rustle, leaving you exposed and vulnerable in its wake.

You shiver at the sudden rush of cool air against your skin, his strength evident in the ease with which he undoes each button. When he's finished, you look up at him, meeting his gaze once more.

"I promise I will not touch you," he reassures you, his voice gentle yet firm. With that, he steps back, putting distance between you once more, before retreating into the walk-in closet.

Alone once more, you take a deep breath, the weight of the evening pressing down on you like a heavy cloak. But in the quiet of the room, you find a moment of solace, a glimmer of hope amidst the chaos.

With the now slumping dress held against your form, you rush into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you with a shaky hand. Locking the door provides a momentary sense of security, and you slide down onto the cool tiles, back pressed against the door.

As you sit there, the events of the evening replay in your mind like a broken record. The way Katakuri had grabbed your wrist, the fear that had gripped you, and the unexpected restraint he had shown when you stabbed him... it all whirls around in your head, leaving you feeling dizzy and confused.

You consider asking him about it, about why he didn't retaliate or even mention the wound. But the thought dies on your lips as you glance down at your now discarded dress, realizing that it's probably not the best time to bring it up.

Instead, you focus on the task at hand, turning on the shower and letting the warm water cascade over your body. It's a welcome respite from the chaos of the evening, and you take your time, letting the steam wash away the physical and emotional residue of the night.

As the water cascades down, you can't help but think about how to contact Luffy or the rest of the crew. Pudding seems like the safest option, given her past interactions with your friends. But the logistics of reaching out to her are daunting, especially with Katakuri lurking just outside the door.

Eventually, you finish your shower, wrapping yourself in a large fluffy towel. Glancing at your reflection in the fogged-up mirror, you're struck by how tired and sad you look. With a sigh, you reach for a face towel, intending to run it under cold water to reduce the puffiness around your eyes.

But as you do, you realize just how large the towel is, a stark reminder of the size and strength of your new husband. The thought sends a shiver down your spine, but you push it aside, focusing instead on getting dry and applying lotion to your body.

Once you're sufficiently covered, you peek out from under the bathroom door, listening for any signs of life in the room beyond. When you hear nothing, you slip back into the room's shadows, quietly making your way to the dresser drawers in search of clothing.

You avoid the underwear set Big Mom had insisted you wear beneath the wedding dress, opting instead to dig through the drawers until you found something. Among the array of garments, you manage to find a black bra and underwear set that fits you perfectly.

A note from Pudding accompanies the lingerie, explaining that it's the best she could do under the circumstances. You hug the note to your chest, grateful for Pudding's help, before slipping into the undergarments.

Next, you find a slip that Pudding had also left for you. Pulling it over your head, you revel in the softness of the fabric against your skin. It's a simple yet elegant piece, with delicate lace adorning the edges. As you adjust the straps, you notice how the slip drapes over your figure, accentuating your curves in a flattering way.

'Would he even like something like this? Oh my God no, I can't believe I just thought of that!'

You feel your ears begin to heat up again until you turn away from the mirror. Looking down, you're struck by the contrast between the darkness of the lingerie and the sexiness of the red slip. It's a visual representation of the conflicting emotions swirling inside you.

'This won't do.'

Still feeling vulnerable, you return to the dresser drawers, your fingers trailing over the various fabrics as you search for something to provide additional comfort. Finally, you come across a large white shirt tucked away in the back of the drawer. Pulling it on over the slip, you're enveloped in its soft embrace, the oversized fit offering a sense of security you desperately need. With each button fastened, you feel a little more grounded, a little more ready to get through the night.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves as you catch a small whiff of something. The scent of donuts and fire lingers on the fabric, a faint reminder of Katakuri's presence in the room. You pause, the shirt draped over your shoulders, and bring the collar up to your nose, inhaling deeply. The familiar aroma envelops you, warm and comforting, like a gentle embrace in the midst of chaos. It's a reminder that despite the circumstances, you're not entirely alone.

Closing your eyes, you allow yourself a moment of quiet reflection, focusing on the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest as you breathe in the calming scent. For a fleeting instant, the weight of the world lifts from your shoulders, replaced by a sense of peace and tranquility. It's a small respite from the turmoil of the night, but one you cling to nonetheless.

With a steadying breath, you lower the collar of the shirt and let your hand fall to your side. The fabric drapes loosely around your frame, offering both physical comfort and a semblance of emotional refuge. You're still trembling, still uncertain of what lies ahead, but at this moment, wrapped in the scent of cologne and the soft embrace of the oversized shirt, you find yourself before the closet door.

"Hey, you can come out now."

There's no movement from the door. You feel confused before remembering what he had said and raising your hand to gently knock three times. Your knuckles rap lightly against the closet door, the sound echoing in the silent room. For a moment, there's no response, only the hushed murmur of your own breathing. Then, from within the closet, you hear a soft shuffle of movement, followed by the creak of hinges as the door swings open.

Katakuri steps out, his presence filling the room once more. His shirtless form is a stark contrast to the imposing figure you've come to know, his black sweatpants hanging loosely on his frame. Without his mask, his face is revealed, and you can't help but notice deep scares that adorn his face, the sharp fangs that poke out of his lips.

He meets your gaze, his expression unreadable, before his eyes flicker down to the floor, a slight flush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks. "Sorry," he murmurs, his voice low and hesitant. "I didn't mean to make you wait."

You shake your head, a small frown tugging at the corners of your lips. "It's okay," you reassure him, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I'm ready now."

With a nod, Katakuri steps aside, allowing you to pass him and make your way back into the bedroom. The scent of mochi lingers in the air, a comforting reminder of his presence beside you. As you settle back onto the bed, the oversized shirt enveloping you in its warmth, you can't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the unexpected kindness of your new husband.

"Thank you," you murmur softly, offering a grateful nod as you settle back onto the dresser, the oversized shirt providing a comforting shield against the lingering tension in the room. But as you find yourself propped on the wood surface, a lingering ache in your wrist prompts a question you can't ignore.

"Katakuri," you begin tentatively, your gaze meeting his with a mixture of curiosity and concern, "about your wrist... I'm sorry if I hurt you earlier."

His brows furrow slightly at your words, a hint of surprise crossing his features before he sighs, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "It's alright," he assures you gently, his tone carrying a sense of understanding. "I knew you'd be asking about that next. And I'm sorry for tugging you so harshly and for any other discomfort, I may have caused you. When I entered and didn't see you, I assumed they were going to send you in after me shortly."

You take in his apology, feeling a sense of relief wash over you at his understanding. It's a response you hadn't expected, one that speaks volumes about his character. In the dim light of the room, you can see the sincerity in his eyes, a quiet reassurance in his presence.

"Thank you," you reply softly, offering him a small nod. "I appreciate your understanding."

He meets your gaze, a silent acknowledgment passing between you before he nods, a small gesture of reassurance. But before the silence settles between you, another question tugs at your thoughts, one that you can't ignore any longer.

"Katakuri," you begin, your voice hesitant as you broach the topic, "about your stab wound... How did you...?"

His expression softens as he meets your gaze, a knowing glint in his eyes. "I figured you'd asking about that next," he admits with a faint chuckle, his tone laced with amusement. "My Devil Fruit powers allow me to manipulate mochi, shaping it into various forms and even extending my limbs. When you stabbed my wrist, it was made of mochi, so it didn't hurt as much as you might think."

You listen intently as he explains, feeling a sense of awe at the revelation of his abilities. It's a reminder of the world you've been thrust into, one filled with wonders and dangers alike. But in that moment, as you sit together in the quiet of the room, you find a sense of comfort in the genuine conversation between you.

As the conversation unfolds, your curiosity drifts to the scars that adorn Katakuri's mouth, the faint lines drawing your attention.

"Katakuri," you inquire softly, your voice filled with genuine interest, "what happened to your mouth? Those scars... they look like they've seen their fair share of battles."

His expression shifts slightly at your question, a hint of hesitation crossing his features before he offers a faint smile. "Ah, these scars," he begins, his voice tinged with a mixture of nostalgia and vulnerability. "They're... a remainder of a childhood mishap, you could say."

You sense his reluctance to delve deeper into the topic, a subtle tension underlying his words. "I got them when I was young," he continues, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

"An accident involving... donuts."

Your eyebrows raise in surprise, a hint of amusement creeping into your expression despite the seriousness of the moment. "Donuts?" you repeat, unable to suppress a small chuckle.

Katakuri nods, a faint blush coloring his cheeks as he looks . "Yes, donuts," he confirms, his tone slightly sheepish. "I... stretched my mouth open too wide while eating them, and... well, the rest is history."

You can't help but feel a pang of sympathy for him, realizing the vulnerability he must feel about the scars. "I'm sorry," you offer softly, your voice filled with genuine empathy. "It must have been difficult for you."

He meets your gaze with a grateful nod, a silent acknowledgment passing between you. "Thank you," he murmurs, his tone sincere.

"It's... not something I talk about often."

You nod in understanding, sensing the weight of his words as you sit together in the quiet of the room. At that moment, you find yourself grateful for the opportunity to learn more about the man behind the mask, scars, and all.

As the conversation winds down, Katakuri glances at the clock on the wall, noting the lateness of the hour. "It's getting late," he remarks, his voice gentle but firm. "You should get some sleep."

At his words, a wave of panic washes over you, the prospect of sleeping in the same bed with him filling you with dread. Katakuri notices the sudden change in your demeanor, his brows furrowing in concern. "Is something wrong?" he asks softly, his eyes searching yours.

You hesitate, unsure of how to voice your fear. But before you can respond, he speaks again, his tone reassuring. "I could sleep in the closet," he offers, his voice calm but resolute. "You can have the bed to yourself."

Relief floods through you at his words, gratitude mingling with the lingering fear in your heart. "Thank you," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

With a nod, Katakuri moves to the bed, but you find yourself unable to follow. The fear still grips you, holding you back from taking that step. Sensing your hesitation, Katakuri pauses, his gaze softening as he turns back to you.

"What's wrong?" he inquires gently, his eyes filled with understanding.

You take a deep breath, summoning the courage to voice your feelings. "I'm... afraid," you admit, your voice trembling with emotion.

"I don't think I can..."

Katakuri considers your words for a moment, his expression thoughtful. Then, with a decisive nod, he moves to the bed, swiftly stripping it of all its coverings. "We'll make a makeshift bed on the floor," he decides, his voice calm but determined.

You watch in silence as he gathers extra pillows and blankets from the closet, his movements efficient yet gentle. When he returns, he offers you a choice of designs for the blanket, a small gesture of kindness that touches your heart.

With a grateful nod, you select a donut design, your fingers trembling slightly as you take the blanket from him. Together, you create a makeshift bed on the floor, arranging the pillows and blankets until they form a comfortable nest.

Katakuri finishes arranging the makeshift bed with a satisfied smile, a hint of nostalgia in his eyes. "Alright, this should do it. I used to do the same for my siblings when they were younger," he remarks, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Turning to you, he waits for your response.

As he mentions returning to the closet, you remember his earlier promise not to touch you, a gesture of respect and consideration that doesn't go unnoticed. You meet his gaze, silently contemplating his offer.

After a moment of thought, you shake your head slightly. "I wouldn't mind if you slept on the opposite end of the pillow fort," you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

A small smile graces Katakuri's lips at your suggestion. "Alright," he replies, his tone warm and accepting. With a nod, he settles down on the opposite end of the makeshift bed, giving you a comfortable distance.

The room falls into a hushed darkness as Katakuri dims the lights, casting soft shadows across the walls. You watch him settle onto his side of the makeshift bed, his movements deliberate and controlled. With a quiet sigh, you follow suit, curling up on your side, facing away from him.

As you lie there in the stillness of the room, you try to quiet your mind, to let the events of the day fade into the background. But try as you might, sleep eludes you. Your thoughts drift back to the chaotic events that led you here, to this unfamiliar room in a mansion far from home.

You remember the fear and desperation, the overwhelming sense of helplessness as you found yourself trapped in a nightmare not of your making. The tears come unbidden, silently slipping down your cheeks as you relive the terror of facing a future filled with uncertainty.

Each sob threatens to unravel the fragile calm you've managed to hold onto, leaving you feeling raw and exposed. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing the tears to stop, but they keep coming, a relentless torrent of emotion that refuses to be contained.

The weight of the day's events bears down on you, pressing against your chest like a heavy burden. Your breath becomes shallow and uneven, your heart pounding in your ears as you struggle to find a moment's respite from the turmoil raging within.

You turn onto your back, staring up at the ceiling, feeling utterly alone in the darkness. The quiet of the room is suffocating, the absence of noise amplifying the cacophony of thoughts swirling in your mind.

You try to focus on your breathing, to find some semblance of calm amidst the storm raging within you. But each inhale feels strained, each exhale a release of pent-up tension that only seems to fuel your restlessness.

You toss and turn, shifting from one position to another, but no matter how hard you try, sleep remains elusive. The hours drag on, stretching into eternity, and still, you lie there, trapped in the prison of your own thoughts.

And as the first light of dawn filters through the curtains, casting a pale glow across the room, you realize with a sinking heart that sleep will not come this night.

You feel a presence, and you turn over to find Katakuri looking at you with concern etched across his features. His eyes are soft, a stark contrast to the imposing figure you've come to know. In that moment, you realize he's not just a fearsome pirate, but also a man burdened with his own worries and doubts.

He sees the tears glistening on your cheeks and without a word, he rises from the makeshift bed and retrieves more tissues, sliding them over to you with a quiet understanding. You meet his gaze, studying the lines of tension in his brow, the slight furrow of his brow that speaks volumes of his concern.

It occurs to you then, that he's not unaffected by the events of the night. Beneath his stoic exterior lies a vulnerability you hadn't noticed before, a vulnerability mirrored in your own trembling hands and tear-streaked face.

"Katakuri," you whisper, his name a lifeline in the darkness. He stands at attention, his posture rigid with anticipation. You pause, unsure of what to say, but knowing that you need to say something, anything to bridge the gap between you.

You feel your heart reach out to him, a silent acknowledgment of the shared struggle you both face. He meets your gaze, his eyes searching yours for reassurance, for solace. And in that moment, you see him not as an enemy, but as someone who, like you, is grappling with the weight of their own emotions.

"I... I just want to thank you," you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. "For... for being here. For... for helping me."

His expression softens, a flicker of understanding passing between you.

"You are most welcome."

You glance once more at the bed, then decisively grab the donut blanket and climb on top of it. Katakuri watches you, a mixture of confusion and concern evident in his expression as you make your move.

Scooting back into the bed, you pat the space where you were just sitting, silently inviting him to join you. He stares at the spot for a long moment, his brow furrowed with contemplation, before finally taking a seat beside you.

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you turn to him, your voice soft but determined. "If you would accept," you begin, meeting his gaze head-on, "I will give you permission to sleep next to me and touch me, but only for comfort and if you consent to do so. I do not wish to consummate our marriage."

There's a vulnerability in your words, a raw honesty that lays bare your fears and desires. Katakuri's expression softens as he processes your words, his eyes searching yours for a moment before a myriad of emotions flickers across his face.

Finally, he nods, a solemn acceptance of your terms. "I understand," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "And I accept your conditions."

Relief floods through you, mingling with the lingering apprehension. Tentatively, you reach out to him, your voice trembling slightly as you continue, "But I do need a hug and would like one from you."

His gaze softens further, and without a word, he pulls you into his arms, enveloping you in a comforting embrace. In that moment, as you rest against his chest, you feel a sense of connection and understanding.

As Katakuri's arms wrap around you, you can feel the steady, rhythmic beating of his heart beneath his chest. His warmth seeps into you, a soothing balm against the cold dread that's settled in your bones. His muscles are tense at first, a reflection of his own uncertainty, but as you gently pat his shoulder, he begins to relax, the rigidity in his frame easing with each tender touch.

"May I pet your hair?" he asks softly, his voice a gentle murmur in the quiet room.

You nod against his chest, your consent a whisper in the stillness. His fingers thread through your hair with a careful touch, the sensation both comforting and intimate.

The knots in your chest and the tangled web of thoughts in your mind start to melt away as his gentle ministrations continue. His scent—a unique blend of mochi, donuts, and a hint of campfire smoke—envelops you, grounding you in the present moment and gradually clearing the fog of your anxieties.

You nuzzle into him softly, feeling a newfound sense of safety in his embrace. An idea forms in your mind, a way to comfort him in return.

"May I touch your cheek?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

There's a moment of silence, a pause that stretches on until he finally answers quietly, "Yes."

Slowly, you raise your hand to his cheek, your fingers trembling slightly. As you let your fingers trace over his scar, you can feel the texture of the healed skin, and the vulnerability he rarely shows. His eyes close briefly, and you sense the tension in him easing further, your touch a silent offering of understanding and acceptance.

Katakuri leans into your touch, the warmth of your palm against his scarred cheek seeming to provide him with a sense of comfort and solace. His eyes flutter closed, and you can feel the last remnants of tension drain from his body. The rhythmic motion of his fingers in your hair slows, his breath becoming deeper and more even.

Before you know it, he's fallen asleep, his head resting gently against your hand. The sight of him, so vulnerable and at peace, tugs at your heartstrings. The steady rise and fall of his chest, and the softness of his expression, make you realize how exhausting this day has been for both of you.

You let your hand linger on his cheek for a moment longer, taking in the tranquility of the scene. His steady heartbeat beneath your touch, the warmth of his body, and the faint scent of mochi and campfire smoke create a cocoon of calm around you. For the first time since this ordeal began, you feel a glimmer of hope.

As you nuzzle into him, you close your eyes, letting the security of his presence lull you into a gentle sleep. Wrapped in the warmth of each other's embrace, the world outside fades away, leaving only the quiet promise of a new beginning in its wake.

You're both in this together, navigating the uncertainties of your situation as a team.

_____________________________________________________________

That was part 1 folks, lemme know how you liked it!

Make sure you check out the a03 account by the same name. Everything I have posted here is there in chronological order. I also have other hot One piece characters posted in the masterlist! Give them a read if you please!

Be sure to check out my other works and leave likes and comments, they really help. Drop a follow as well if you please. Don’t be shy to leave me a little reblog if you want. I am also currently taking requests.

I promise I bite~

Seen you soon my loves!!~ <<33

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chastiefoul · 2 years

Text

telling them that they're pretty.

characters: xiao, zhongli, thoma, alhaitham, itto.

tags: fluff. and very very self-indulgent.

Xiao

He was just standing there, looking over the scattered fields below from the balcony of Wangshu Inn, the breeze swayed his hair gently. With the pouring leaves around him, he looked like a still picture. A beautiful piece of picture.

“Xiao, you are so pretty.” You blurted out, his splendor just somehow overwhelmed you that you could not help but to say. A soft color of pink descended on his cheeks, making what was already an amazing view somehow breath-taking.

“What a ridiculous thing to say to someone such as myself.” He coughed a little to his fist, an attempt to calm his flustered-self. “It’s not, I’m just speaking the truth!” You fumed, crossing your arms, turning your gaze elsewhere. It eventually reaches the seemingly infinity falling leaves, you could not help but stare in wonderment, the banter long forgotten. At this sight Xiao only shook his head, a burst of fondness tickled his chest.

Is it not you, who’s so incredibly stunning? He thought in silence, a soft smile displayed across his feature.

Zhongli

It was without question that Zhongli is an attractive man. You honestly could not think even for a time where he does not look presentable. But right now, seeing him sipping on a cup of tea so elegantly and gracefully, it was a quite dazzling picture. The loud evening atmosphere of the restaurant and the storytelling was a buzzing noise on the back of your head, his gesture had captured you completely. The almost to no sound clink of his cup snapped you out of the trance. To be this smitten over someone who’s just drinking tea.. you could not help but laugh to yourself softly. “Would you mind sharing what is so amusing to you, dear?” He asked, feeling pleased to see that you’re enjoying yourself.

“Ah, it’s nothing. I just thought you were especially pretty just now.” You brought your own tea to your lips, perhaps the cup would at least hide a part of your embarrassed expression. He just chuckled, “How amusing indeed, I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

Thoma

Thoma is always smiling. Whenever you looked at him doing something, he was smiling as if thoroughly enjoying every single thing he intend to do that day. However, there seemed to be something different about that expression of his when he’s around you. It’s softer and so so warm you could not help but turn into a mush when you’re starting to be more and more aware of it.

“Good work today, Thoma.” You said as you enjoyed a leisure walk with him at the garden of Kamisato Estate. He smiled brightly, the evening sunset would be envious in gazing that shine of his.

“Thoma, how does it feel to be the prettiest man to exist across Teyvat?” You feigned a serious tone at the innocent and light-hearted question. At this, the golden-haired man blushed. “That is.. too much of an exaggeration love, don’t you think?” He put a hand on his side neck, embarassed. The orange hue complimented his face nicely. You leaned closer, resting your head on his shoulder.

Exaggeration? Not at all.

Alhaitham

Alhaitham is certainly not a man with many words. Most of the time he's quiet, his mind would be the one working all day. So when you asked him to stroll around the market to buy something with you he just tagged along, sometimes picking up an object that interest him, didn't really offer any reason as to why that piqued his curiousity.

Although when he does this, you couldn't help but stare. His eyes narrowed slightly, punctuating that lush lashes of his, the corner his lips twitched slightly as if amused. "How pretty," you sighed out, as if running out of contemplation as to how someone so beautiful can exist like this. The compliment broke his focus on an object that looked like an ugly voodoo doll. "This?" He asked, slightly confused.

"No, you." You stated, like it should've been obvious. Alhaitham put the doll back to its place, the slightest smile emerged from his lips. "Such nonsense." Still with the same soft expression, he brought his hand close to your face, the back of his index finger glided along your cheeks.

Him, pretty? Have you seen yourself? He thought.

Itto

Itto is his best when he's carefree and unrestrained. Not the times where he loses self-control and cause excessive disturbance in public and got himself arrested, mind you. It's more when he's laughing out loud without a care, happiness in its purest form engulfing him. And thank heavens he's not stingy with that since he's always such a ball of joy especially around you.

"As i thought Itto, you're the prettiest when you're happy." You said at the end of yet another laughter session with him, talking about nothing particularly, just enjoying the other's presence. Itto grinned, "My baby is a smooth talker huh, I can't lose then!" He said energetically then went to kiss your face all over, you laughed at the contacts. Itto stared at you who's still mid-giggle. "And as I thought, I'm the happiest when you’re with me!!!"

#xiao genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin scenarios #genshin fanfic #genshin fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #xiao x reader #zhongli x reader #alhaitham x reader #itto x reader #xiao x you #zhongli x you #itto x you #alhaitham x you #thoma x reader #genshin impact thoma #genshin impact

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rosevette · 6 months

Text

·.༄࿔ TAKE ME TO PARIS pt. 1 my mlist

𝒋𝒐𝒉𝒏 𝒘𝒊𝒄𝒌 & 𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒕 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

💋ྀིྀི résumé : meeting the man of your dreams at an art auction in Paris isn’t too good to be true, right ? Well, your bodyguard thinks just the opposite.

1.0k words + tags : dumb, ‘naive’ !reader, manipulation, fantasizing, smut, age gap, pet names, fingering, slight non-con, evil intent ⭑

୭ৎ … this is lowk based on one of my bots with marquis here … this is my first little blurb, I don’t really write but this idea is too good to not share w yall. if u see any spelling or grammar mistakes , ignore !! part two here - sincerely, rose

IN THE HEART OF PARIS, amidst the elegant splendor of an art auction, you found yourself captivated by the beauty of the pieces on display. Adorned in a gown of midnight blue silk, you moved gracefully through the room, your eyes alight with fascination as you admired each exquisite masterpiece.

As you lingered before a stunning portrait, a voice broke through the murmurs of the crowd.

"A breathtaking piece, is it not?" Turning, you found yourself face to face with a tall, green eyed brooding man. Dressed in a tailored suit of charcoal grey, he exuded an air of effortless charm as he regarded you with a knowing smile.

"Yes, it truly is," you replied, unable to tear your gaze away from his piercing emerald eyes. Engaging in polite small talk, you found yourself drawn into conversation with the stranger, his wit and sophistication captivating your attention.

“Marquis De Gramont. And you?” He spoke with a thick French accent, his thin lips forming a smile as he extended out his arm, opening his hand for you to shake. Flattered by him already, you shake his hand, your other one clutching onto your purse as you introduced yourself.

How charming, he was, you thought to yourself. He was not only handsome, but was a gentleman as well. You could tell by the way he just suited himself, and that sparkle in his eyes you glanced at whenever you two conversed.

One thing you didn’t know was that in fact, this man was the complete opposite of charming and well, a gentleman. Yes, he held himself with impeccable style and his composure was kept controlled, but the thoughts that came across his mind were just pure sin. He thought of how pretty you would look with your dress rolled up to your stomach as he pounded into you in the back of his limousine, maybe even perhaps hidden in an empty aisle of this very art auction.

The way his hands are would just fit around that small neck, the pearls that would fall on the ground as he pulled it off of you, and finally, your watery puppy eyed face he’d enjoy seeing begging and pleading for him to stop , or maybe even for more.

As the auction commenced, you both found yourselves bidding on a magnificent painting—a Madonna and Child by Duccio. With each raise of the paddle, the tension between you grew, the excitement of the bidding war fueling your competitive spirit.

In the end, it was you who emerged victorious, the winning bid earning you the coveted artwork. As you basked in the glow of your triumph, the Marquis offered you a gracious smile, masking the flicker of his ulterior motives in his eyes.

Later that evening, as the auction drew to a close and guests began to depart, the Marquis De Gramont approached you once more, his charming smile never faltering.

"Ah, ma chérie, it seems fate has brought us together once again," he murmured, his voice smooth as silk as he took your hand, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of it. A blush crept onto your cheeks at his bold gesture, and you chuckled softly in response.

"Perhaps our paths will cross again during your time in Paris," you replied, returning his flirtatious banter with a playful glint in your eye.

As you turned to leave, blowing a teasing kiss in his direction, you couldn't shake the feeling of his lingering gaze on your back. Climbing into the waiting limousine, you settled into the plush seat beside your ever-watchful bodyguard, John Wick. His eyebrows furrowed in concern as he glanced at you.

"Was that the Marquis?" he asked, his tone laced with suspicion.

You rolled your eyes, dismissing his worry with a wave of your hand.

"And what about him, John?" you retorted, feigning nonchalance as you closed the door behind you.

"You shouldn't be so friendly with strangers," John admonished, his concern palpable as he turned his attention back to the road.

Returning to the luxurious confines of the Ritz Paris, you found yourself lost in thought, the memory of your encounter with the Marquis lingering in your mind. Despite John's warnings, you couldn't shake the feeling that the Marquis's intentions were harmless. Little did you know, danger lurked just beyond the facade of charm and sophistication.

The next morning, as sunlight streamed through the silk curtains of your suite, you awoke to find John reading quietly on the sofa.

"I ordered some room service," he informed you, his gaze never leaving the pages of his book. You greeted him with a playful smirk, teasing him for his lack of a proper morning greeting.

While indulging in breakfast, your attention was drawn to a shiny box nestled among the pastries on the cart. With curiosity piqued, you opened it to find a stunning Van Cleef necklace in your favorite shade of sapphire blue. Your heart skipped a beat as you read the accompanying note, the words "for mon chérie" sending a chill down your spine.

Assuming it was a thoughtful gesture from John, you were taken aback when you realized the true sender. The Marquis's charm had ensnared you once again, his gift a reminder of the dangerous game he was playing. With a sense of foreboding settling over you, you couldn't help but wonder what other surprises the Marquis had in store.

End of part 1. Part 2.

#keanu reeves #john wick #bill skarsgård #John wick 4 #john wick x reader #marquis de Gramont #Marquis de gramont x reader #john wick imagines #john wick fanfiction #Marquis de gramont imagine #Marquis de Gramont fanfiction #keanuverse #bill Skarsgård x reader #keanu x reader #Keanu reeves x reader

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highladyandromeda · 5 months

Text

Shadows of the Heart

Part 6

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: After years apart, Y/n returns to Velaris, bearing the weight of sacrifice and secrets from her past. Reunited with Rhysand and his Inner Circle, she navigates the complexities of rekindled friendships and unresolved tensions.

WC: 3.6k

Warnings: mentions of wounds hurting, but nothing particularly graphic but it is located on the arm.

[Prologue], [Part 1], [Part 2], [Part 3], [Part 4], [Part 5]

The House of Wind, perched high above the glittering city of Velaris, offered a view that could steal the breath from the lungs of gods and fae alike. Yet, the sight of the ten thousand stairs winding down to the city dimmed the splendor of the vista before Y/n. Memories of youthful races with Rhys and his sister, of nights spent laughing under the stars until they were too intoxicated to winnow home, brought a nostalgic smile to her lips. There was a particular memory, hazed with the fog of drunken mirth, of them staggering up these very stairs, each step a battle against gravity and their swirling heads, pausing periodically to empty their stomachs into the bushes that edged the ascent.

She considered, not for the first time, leveraging those memories to coax Rhys—or even Mor—into assisting her down, no questions asked.

Cassian, too, would have offered a lift without a second thought, especially after her rigorous training session with the Valkyries that morning. But admitting, even silently, that she couldn't manage on her own was a concession Y/n wasn't ready to make. Not after her display of strength and defiance the day before. Her pride, stubborn and fierce, whispered warnings that Rhys and Mor would see right through her, and Cassian...well, Cassian might not connect the dots immediately, but word would spread.

Biting her lip, Y/n weighed her options. It was only ten thousand steps. She wasn't so frail, so weary, that the descent seemed insurmountable—though the unhealed cut on her arm begged to differ. She had concealed it beneath thin bindings and a long-sleeved blouse of pale blue, cropped at the waist and chosen in the hopes it wouldn't appear too out of place on such a warm, sun-kissed day.

"Are you headed to town?"

Y/n looked behind, half-expecting to find Azriel clad in his typical leathers, silently admonishing herself for letting him surprise her once more. Instead, she found herself caught off-guard by the casual attire he donned—a black pair of pants and a navy shirt loosely tucked in, revealing a hint of his Illyrian tattoos at the v-neck. Her gaze lingered a moment too long, tracing the intricate designs across his skin and the way his shirt clung to the contours of his well-defined chest.

Azriel's smirk, a rare break in his stoic facade, acknowledged her wandering gaze. Before the silence stretched too thin, he offered, "Would you like a ride?"

The question hung between them, weighted with unspoken implications. Y/n turned back to the stairs, the vast descent looming before her.

"Y/n?" His call, soft yet insistent, pulled her back from the edge of her thoughts.

He had stepped closer, almost as if drawn by her hesitation.

"No...I mean, no thank you, Azriel,"

At the uncertainty in his gaze, she felt the need to elaborate, “I wouldn’t want to hold you up, I’ll go myself just…a bit later”

Her excuse sounded thin even to her ears, yet Azriel's offer remained, undeterred by her wavering resolve. "It would be my pleasure to escort you. They say the view is even more spectacular by air."

Y/n seized the opportunity, masking her relief with a playful curiosity. "They?"

Azriel's cheeks tinged with red, his words stumbling over themselves. "You know, Mor, Nesta, Elai—" His voice faltered, a rare display of vulnerability.

"Very well," Y/n conceded, allowing him a graceful escape from his flustered explanation. "I wouldn't want to be late for our meeting. And, I suppose it's been ages since I've seen Velaris from above. Only if it's no bother to you."

"No, it's no bother at all," Azriel assured her, his words tumbling out with an eagerness he couldn't mask.

Y/n positioned herself, lifting her arms in readiness. Azriel's touch was gentle yet firm as he lifted her, a care in his hold that sent an unexpected warmth flooding through her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, resisting the urge to draw closer, to seek comfort in the strength of his embrace.

Instead, her eyes traced the tattoos she had glimpsed before, a silent admiration for the art that marked his skin. Around them, Azriel's shadows danced with a life of their own, keeping her secure and holding her hair from flailing in the wind.

In the silence that enveloped them, Y/n could discern the faint, rapid beating of Azriel's heart, its rhythm slightly too hurried for an Illyrian warrior on a leisurely flight. But Y/n kept her thoughts to herself, knowing that her heart was perhaps skipping as well.

Upon reaching the bustling heart of the town, Azriel gently descended, allowing Y/n to stand on her own. His arms reluctantly released her, a sense of loss washing over him as the warmth of her presence receded.

"Thanks for the ride, Azriel," her gratitude lit up her features with a warm smile.

"It was my pleasure," he managed to reply, his voice steadier than his racing heart.

Seizing the moment before doubt could diminish his resolve, he found himself suggesting, "If you'd like, I could show you around as well... around Velaris and its newer sights, after you're done with your errands, of course."

Y/n paused, her gaze sweeping over the town's lively expanse before settling back on him. "I'd like that," she agreed, a softness in her voice that coaxed a hopeful glimmer in Azriel's eyes.

"It's been so long since I've seen Velaris, I’ll meet you back here in an hour?”

As she stepped away, Azriel realized then, with startling clarity, that he had no actual business in the town. Yet, the prospect of spending more time with Y/n, of reintroducing her home seemed like the most significant task of all.

He should use this period to plan. To think about the places in Velaris that would spark interest in her eyes, the hidden corners and new developments he'd watched over from the shadows. It wasn't just about filling the time; it was about crafting moments that might bridge the gap between them.

As he lingered in thought, Azriel's attention was momentarily drawn to his shadows, which had, unbeknownst to him, begun to reach out towards Y/n's departing figure, specifically curling towards her left arm. With a subtle command, he reeled them back, a silent acknowledgment of her right to privacy. Despite his longing for closeness, he respected the boundaries between them, even those unseen.

Y/n was ashamed to admit it, but she double-checked every reflection she saw, cautious of any lurking shadows. The idea of anyone, particularly Azriel, tracing her steps to this particular location filled her with unease. Besides, she was embarrassed at the several missed turns it took before she finally arrived at her destination. Velaris had indeed changed; the streets still boasted their characteristic cobblestone pathways and white marble houses with green roofs. Yet, the atmosphere was distinctly different—teeming with fae from all corners of Prythian. It was a strange notion, to feel like a stranger in the land she had once called her home.

This sandstone building, however, was unchanged, just as she remembered it from all those years ago, tucked away in a nondescript corner. The walls were still lined with shelves that reached up to the high ceilings, each crammed with jars and bottles of varying shapes and sizes, filled with mixtures of different herbs. In the center of the room, cozy couches were draped with handwoven throws inviting patrons to sit and bask in the tranquility of the space. The soft glow of lanterns cast a gentle light, already comforting her tense nerves.

“Just a moment!” she heard stepping in, before being greeted by a High Fae woman with dark skin, spindrift hair now touched with grey, and brown eyes that still sparkled with an inner warmth, despite the new wrinkles framing them.

The shock of recognition was mutual. “Y/n?” the woman exclaimed.

“Madja! It’s been too long,” Y/n said, moving in for a hug.

They embraced warmly before Madja pulled back, eyeing her with a mix of suspicion and affection. “It’s never been good when you’ve entered this store,” she remarked, an eyebrow arched in playful admonition.

Y/n laughed, the sound mingling with a sense of nostalgia. “Rhys and I weren't that bad, were we?” she quipped, attempting to deflect.

“Oh no,” Madja shot back with a smile, “You both were absolutely terrible.” Her tone softened, betraying the fondness behind her words.

Memories of past injuries, ranging from the ridiculous outcomes of foolish dares to the more serious wounds acquired during brutal training sessions, flashed through Y/n’s mind. She nodded, conceding the point. “But you were always there for us,” she said, gratitude lacing her voice.

"Yes, always there—mostly wondering which of you would walk in next, and whether I'd need a broom or a stretcher."

Then Madja’s expression turned more serious. “How can I help you today, Y/n?”

Fidgeting, Y/n glanced around the shop before responding. “I’m just here to look at some herbs...” Her voice trailed off, unconvincing even to her own ears.

Madja’s gaze narrowed slightly, but not unkindly. “Planning to brew your own tonic, are we?” she teased before adding, “If you need something for sleep or pain, I can prepare it for you. Discreetly, of course.”

Caught off guard, Y/n hesitated, then muttered something about merely experimenting in her free time. However, to divert Madja’s prying eyes, she offered a truth and quickly agreed to the offer of a sleep tonic. “Yes, that...my insomnia has been relentless lately.”

Madja nodded, her expression softening into one of understanding. “I’ll prepare something for you. No one needs to know,” she assured.

While Madja busied herself, Y/n’s gaze wandered across the shelves, laden with jars of herbs, vials of potions, and artifacts of healing and magic, feeling a bit overwhelmed. She’d never admit it out loud, but her alchemy and potions for healing weren’t particularly up to par. For poison, well she already clocked 5 different ones she could create from the herbs she’d be able to identify thus far.

But for healing, and particularly for a wound that she’d not thought twice about before, with her magic and fae heritage naturally taking care of it; she realized then that she should have made a stop at a bookstore or visited the library this morning.

By the time she had gathered the herbs she hoped would do, Madja returned, handing Y/n a small, unmarked vial.

“Take two drops before bed,” she instructed, her voice low. “And Y/n,” she added, her eyes meeting the sorceress's, “whatever you’re facing, remember you’re not alone. Velaris isn’t just a city; it’s home.

Y/n’s heart clenched at the sincerity in Madja’s words. “Thank you, Madja,” she said, her voice thick with gratitude. She paid for the tonic and her bundle, seeing Madja’s impartial glance as a sign that she hadn’t chosen anything too offputting.

Stepping out of the shop, Y/n took a deep breath, the air of Velaris filling her lungs, mingling with the scents of the river and the blooming night flowers. The city might have changed, but its essence, the heart of it, remained the same—a haven for the lost, the brave, and those in need of healing.

As the agreed time approached, Azriel's gaze was constantly drawn towards the path Y/n would emerge from. The anticipation had woven a tapestry of nerves and excitement within him, a feeling unfamiliar yet thrilling. His shadows, ever-present companions, danced around him with an energy that mirrored his own. When they alerted him to her presence, a wave of something akin to relief washed over him.

She was making her way towards him, her steps confident, yet he noticed something different—a bag clutched in her hand, an addition to her ensemble.

Curiosity piqued, Azriel couldn't help but ask about the bag as soon as greetings were exchanged. "What's in the bag? If you don't mind me asking," he inquired, his tone light, trying to mask the depth of his curiosity and concern.

Y/n glanced down at the bag, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. "Oh, just some cosmetics," she joked, her voice laced with humor. "I felt my complexion still looks very pallid. Thought I might need a touch-up if I continue to stay in the illustrious night court."

Azriel, taken aback by her answer yet finding it endearing, responded without hesitation, his voice sincere. "You look beautiful, Y/n. You don't need anything more for that."

The moment the words left his mouth, a warm flush of embarrassment colored his cheeks, mirroring the blush that bloomed on Y/n's face. Azriel couldn’t help but feel pleased with her reaction, though he tried to ignore how he longed to see where else that rosy hue would appear.

Seeking to recover from the moment, Azriel cleared his throat softly, gesturing towards the city. "Shall we begin our tour? Velaris has much to offer, and I'd like to show you everything I've planned."

Y/n nodded, her smile bright, the earlier blush still present but accompanied now by a look of genuine happiness. "I'd love that, Azriel. Lead the way."

As they ventured into the heart of Velaris, Azriel found himself sharing stories and lore of the city, each tale carefully chosen to entertain or spark curiosity in Y/n. He noticed how her eyes lit up with each new sight, her laughter more melodious to his ears than any music. It was as if, with her by his side, Velaris transformed into an even more magical place, its beauty magnified through her presence.

“It’s said that this fountain,” Azriel gestured to an ornate structure, water dancing under the sun’s fading glow, “was built by a high lord as a tribute to his mate’s beauty, which he believed surpassed even that of the Night Court’s stars.”

Y/n’s laughter, light and infectious, filled the air. “A high bar for beauty,” she remarked, her gaze lingering on the play of light over water. “Do you think such comparisons are fair, comparing someone to the stars?”

Azriel found himself caught in the depth of her gaze, her curiosity igniting his own. “Perhaps not fair, but it speaks to the beholder's awe. Don’t we all aspire to find a love like that, where the connection is so intense, that it could rival the stars?

But just as their souls seemed on the verge of whispering secrets only the heart could hear, the boisterous cry of a vendor shattered the stillness.

"Delicacies of the night! Taste the wonders of Velaris!" His voice, loud and full of life, tore through the tender veil of connection they had cocooned themselves within.

In an instant, the world rushed back in—a flood of sounds and lights, washing away the moment of intense closeness they had found. They were left adrift, surrounded by the vibrant chaos of the night market, the poignant ache of a moment lost too soon lingering in the air between them.

The day gave way to evening almost without notice, hours spent in exploration and shared discovery.

Azriel led her through the vibrant heart of Velaris, showcasing the city's architectural marvels—the four Palaces. They spent the most time at the Palace of Thread and Jewels, a bustling market square alive with the hum of creative energy. Here, amidst stalls adorned with fabrics that whispered tales of distant lands and jewelry that sparkled with the promise of untold stories, Y/n came alive in a way Azriel hadn't seen before.

He watched, fascinated, as she engaged with the vendors, her knowledge of gems and textiles flowing effortlessly, her eyes lighting up with each piece she examined. Her hands, graceful and assured, would trace the lines of cloth, her touch eliciting stories from silk and satin alike.

In one of those quiet moments, shared over a stall draped in velvets and brocades, Y/n turned to Azriel, a softness in her eyes. "When I was much younger," she confessed, "I dreamt of being a fashion designer. I wanted to create clothes that weren't just worn but experienced—garments that would steal the breath from those who beheld them."

Azriel's gaze softened as he listened, the ambient noises of the marketplace fading into the background. "That's a beautiful dream," he responded, his voice low and thoughtful. "The clothes we wear can speak volumes, tell stories, and even protect us. Your designs could have done all that and more, I believe."

She laughed, a sound that mingled with the evening air, rich and full of possibilities. "Maybe in another life, Azriel. For now, I'm content with my path, though it's nice to dream a little."

As they continued to explore the stalls, Azriel couldn't help but see the market—and Y/n—in a new light. Every thread, every jewel, seemed to hold a piece of the dream she had shared with him. And in that moment, he made a silent vow to himself to support her dreams, in whatever form they might take, hoping that they could come true with him at her side.

As the gallery’s doors closed behind them, Azriel realized the day had slipped away into the evening, the sky a canvas of deep blues and purples. “You must be hungry after our day,” he said, the thought striking him with sudden concern. “Would you join me for dinner?”

The smile Y/n offered in response, wide and genuine, set his heart racing. “I’d love to, Azriel. Thank you.”

Choosing a quaint restaurant known for its exquisite cuisine and intimate ambiance, Azriel had such joy when she accepted his invitation. However, as they approached the entrance, he reached out to gently guide her by the arm, a gesture meant to be polite. To his surprise, she recoiled—a flash of discomfort shadowing her features.

Throughout dinner, Azriel couldn’t shake off the feeling that he had overstepped, his mind replaying the moment she flinched. Despite the array of dishes that graced their table, she barely touched her food, her usual spark dimmed to a quiet reserve.

“Y/n, if I did something earlier to upset you, I apologize. It wasn’t my intention,” he ventured, hoping to bridge the silence that had settled between them.

Y/n shook her head, offering a small smile. “No, Azriel, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just not very hungry tonight, that’s all.”

Despite her reassurance, Azriel couldn’t help but feel a gnawing insecurity for the rest of the evening, wondering what unseen barriers still lay between them. The night that had started with laughter and shared secrets now seemed cloaked in a quiet tension, and Azriel found himself wishing for the ability to read her thoughts, to understand her silence.

As they stepped out of the restaurant into the velvet night, the streets of Velaris were bathed in the soft glow of starlight and lamplights, casting ethereal shadows around them. Azriel, still filled with guilt from the earlier incident, searched for words to lighten the mood and make amends. He longed to suggest they fly back, to offer her the breathtaking views of Velaris by night from the sanctuary of his arms. Yet, the memory of her recoiling from his touch echoed loudly in his mind, a reminder of the boundaries he feared to overstep again.

With a heavy heart, he proposed instead to winnow them back, a quicker, less intimate mode of travel. "We can winnow back, but it's a bit of a drop—we'll land on the balcony. I'll need to hold you for just a moment to manage the descent," he explained, trying to mask his disappointment.

Y/n, fiddling with her bag, offered a small nod, her voice quiet.

"That's fine. I'll just hold onto your arm. I should be okay with the drop," she replied, the simplicity of the arrangement failing to hide the distance it imposed.

As they landed with soft thuds on the balcony, Azriel couldn't help but notice how the moonlight painted Y/n's features, highlighting her beauty yet highlighting her pallor. She thanked him, her voice a whisper against the night, as she turned to leave. The urge to reach out, to bridge the space between them with a touch, surged within him, but he halted, his fingers hovering mere breaths away from her shoulder. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable earlier," he found himself saying again, the words heavy with unspoken feelings.

Y/n shook her head, a gesture of dismissal or perhaps forgiveness, Azriel couldn't tell. "I'm just tired, that's all. The day finally caught up to me," she offered, her voice carrying a fatigue that went beyond the physical.

The silence that followed was filled with things unsaid, with Azriel's silent plea for understanding and Y/n's unspoken reassurances. When he hesitantly asked if she was still alright with him assisting her with her research, she nodded, her agreement to meet at the library the next day offering a glimmer of hope, a possibility of redemption.

As she retreated into the night, leaving Azriel alone with his thoughts on the balcony, he watched her go with a sense of loss.

A/N: Hi eveyone!! So I'm not really sure how I feel about this chapter. Tbh I had a lot of writer's block and I wasn't really sure where I wanted Y/n and azriel to go during these chapters. But I do LOVE a blushing Az!!!

I have plans for future chapters and I really want to add in some more snippets about Y/n and Rhys as children and teenagers, messing and playing around with each other. Let me know if you have any ideas you'd want to read!

For my tag list, I tagged everyone who asked and those who commented on the previous parts. If you'd like to be included, please just let me know. 💕

TAGLIST: @strangelygreat @enfppuff @trip-n-sal @inloveallthetime @annamariereads16 @mybestfriendmademe @mariahoedt @annblvd @ania-swissweet @yearninglustfully @sleepylunarwolf @quiettuba @gorlillaglue25 @lilah-asteria @naturakaashi @sillymercury @itsswritten @xlosttdreamss @kennedy-brooke @xyzmeh @lucky7rosie @copenhagenspirit @collide-with-the-music @starsinyourseyes @dianxiaxiexie @maybefoxysouls @golden-canyon @violet-potter @thisiskaylin @acphengene @katherinejess @sevikas-whore @kalulakunundrum @hibye02 @madscamp02 @willowpains @jaybarding @kalulakunundrum @sevikas-whore @katherinejess @acphengene @thisiskaylin @herondale-lightworm @5onedirection5 @namelesssav

#azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel au #azriel x y/n #acotar series #acotar #acomaf #acowar #azriel x oc #rhysand #morrigan #acotar fanfiction #azriel acotar #lucien vanserra

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creampuffqueen · 2 months

Text

Cover Story

Yangvik Week day 1 - fake dating

Summary: At a party in the Earth Kingdom, Yangchen and Kavik are on a mission. When things don't go to plan, they have to think quick to keep their cover.

Word count: 4248

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“Traveling alongside the Avatar - what an honor!” The older Earth Kingdom nobleman smiles over his glass of rice wine. Kavik forces a smile in return, swirling the liquid in his own glass to obscure just how little he’s drank. This must be the third time he’s heard the same sentence in the last fifteen minutes.

“Certainly. I enjoy the work.” The rehearsed words fall easily off his tongue, their smooth and gilded façade right at home inside the splendor of the royal ballroom of Ba Sing Se. “I am grateful to be a trusted companion of Avatar Yangchen.”

He goes to take a tiny sip of his drink, hopeful to avoid as much small talk as possible, but finds the wine frozen solid in its glass. Speak of the darkness.

A subtle motion with his hand is all it takes to unfreeze his drink, allowing him to actually take a sip - though with the delay he knows it now looks like he just drained the glass. Before the nobleman in front of him can comment, though, his eyes are drawn to something behind Kavik’s back.

Avatar Yangchen steps into place beside Kavik with gentle, measured steps. In the disgusting display of wealth here in the palace, she’s a yellow-and-orange breath of fresh air, both literally and figuratively. Kavik and the others had to dress up to attend this party. Yangchen, being an Air Nomad with no possessions to her name, did not.

The nobleman bows deeply before her. “Avatar Yangchen, it is a great honor to see you here in the Earth Kingdom.”

Yangchen bows to him in turn; a smaller motion, but no less lacking in respect. “Please, Lord Bozhou, the pleasure is all mine. I do hope you don’t mind, but I must steal my companion away for a moment. We have something to discuss with Lady Gyeshe.”

Lord Bozhou (how Yangchen can remember all these names, Kavik will never know) nods quickly in response. “Of course, Avatar, please. I will miss his invigorating tales, but you must take care of business.”

“Thank you, Lord Bozhou,” Yangchen replies, hooking one of Kavik’s arms with her own. She pivots on her heel and drags him away. To the average onlooker, her pace looks easy and relaxed, but Kavik can sense the tension in her grip and in the way she steps.

“He’s not going to miss me,” Kavik mutters quietly, trying to ease her with a bit of humor, “I was positively boring to talk to. And so was he, for that matter. Thanks for the save.”

“I didn’t come and get you just to get your sorry butt out of a conversation,” Yangchen whispers, in that eerie way of hers where her mouth hardly moves. “I just got the signal from Jujinta. We need to move quickly, but act as natural as possible.”

Kavik assumed about as much. If it were up to her, she’d revel in his small-talking misery all night. But they aren’t at the royal palace just to brush elbows with nobility. They have a job to take care of.

“You remember the plan?” Yangchen asks from the corner of her mouth as she smiles and nods at a group of Earth Sages they pass.

Kavik dips his head in acknowledgement at the delegation from Omashu on the other side of the ballroom. “I do. I’ll wait for three and a half minutes exactly, counting from when the door closes.”

Yangchen doesn’t respond verbally, only squeezing his elbow where their arms are linked. The motion pulls them closer than before. Kavik tries not to notice.

But as they stop to chat with Lady Gyeshe for a few moments, completing their cover story, he can’t help but notice that Yangchen still stays close, letting their shoulders brush together where they stand.

She’s done nothing different to her appearance tonight. Her robes are the same as always. Her prayer beads lay in the same spot against her chest. Her hair is in its usual braid, swinging low across her back. And yet, Kavik can’t keep his eyes off her. In this room full of beautiful things, she’s still the most captivating.

“Don’t you agree, Kavik?”

Kavik barely manages to hold back a noise of confusion - something he’s had to train hard to achieve. With only a blink to refocus his thoughts, he manages to pull on his fake smile and nod. “Yes, of course I do.”

Yangchen pats his hand softly, one eyebrow raising a fraction of an inch. Nothing gets past her; she clearly knows he wasn’t listening in the slightest. Still, she plays it off with ease, excusing them once again from the conversation and leading Kavik towards the door of the ballroom, arms still linked.

“Focus, please,” She admonishes as they exit, “We won’t get another chance as good as this one. If I don’t get Feishan some answers he’s going to get antsy, and we both know how that will end.”

“Sorry, I got distracted. It won’t happen again.”

“Distracted by what?” Yangchen asks lightly as they make their way down the grandiose hallway, “You were only looking at me.”

Heat rises in Kavik’s cheeks. He doesn’t answer.

Thankfully, they arrive at their destination before Yangchen gets a mind to press for a response. The palace of Ba Sing Se is fancy enough that they have designated rooms just for freshening up; one for men and one for women. Nobles have been using the rooms all evening, keeping their looks fresh for a whole night of royal partying. Now it’s Yangchen’s turn.

“I’ll only be a moment,” Yangchen promises aloud, for the benefit of the guard outside the door and the noblewomen already leaving.

“Please hurry,” Kavik urges in a similar tone, “I want to hear the end of Lord Bozhou’s story.”

Yangchen gives an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “I’ll be as quick as I can. It won’t kill you to stand outside for a minute or two.”

She steps away, and Kavik feels the absence of her at his side like a gaping hole. He’s so focused on her form retreating through the door that he nearly forgets to start counting, and he clenches his fist in frustration at himself. Keep your head on straight, you fool.

It isn’t difficult to feign boredom as he waits. Time passes so much slower when you’re counting each second. When he gets to three minutes he leans against the wall with a heavy sigh and begins to tap his foot. At three minutes and thirty seconds exactly, he pushes off the wall and heads back the way they came, ignoring the judgemental glare of the nearby guard. He can already imagine the gossip that will come from this. Some companion! Abandoning the Avatar at a royal function?!

Instead of heading back into the main ballroom, Kavik passes the grand doorway and keeps heading straight. He passes a few more rooms before he hangs a left, keeping his expression neutral, showing any onlookers only what he wants them to see: a man who knows where he’s going. A man who’s supposed to be there. Confidence is half the battle in infiltration. Act like you’re meant to be there and nobody will question you.

The amount of royalty, nobility, and generally important people gathered in the ballroom means that the majority of King Feishan’s guards are close to that area. However, the young Earth King is a paranoid man, keeping guards posted all throughout the palace, just in case. But as Kavik makes his way to the target room, he doesn’t encounter a single one. Jujinta’s part has gone off without a hitch.

Counting doors carefully to ensure he’s in the right place, Kavik at last stops walking, drawing his hand across the thick wooden door that should belong to the office of Minister Xahu.

That is, if he’s correct. He really hopes he’s correct.

The door is locked, of course. Not an issue, though. A small pouch at his hip, carefully concealed beneath his clothes, contains enough water for him to freeze two long, thin spikes of ice to use as lockpicks. Kavik unlocks the door easily and slips inside the office, returning the water to its container and shutting the door behind him.

Barely a minute later, two small taps sound through the wooden panel, announcing Yangchen’s presence before she lets herself in. She conjures a flame to her open palm, illuminating the small office room around them, casting their shadows on the wall.

She doesn’t bother with a greeting. “We need to hurry. Juji can only keep the guards distracted for so long without raising a proper alarm. I’ll take the walls in case the minister used earthbending to conceal anything. You take the desk and the bookshelves. Don’t move anything unless you’re sure you can put it back exactly the way it was.”

“I’m not an amateur,” Kavik reminds her, making his way to the desk.

Yangchen uses her free hand to start tracing along the walls, feeling with her earthbending for any hidden pockets or seals. “I know that. I mean, this ought to feel natural to you at this point. We basically met in a scenario exactly like this one.”

She punctuates her last sentence by winking at him over her shoulder. Kavik refuses to react, even as he feels his cheeks begin to redden. His fumbling hands very nearly knock over a small carved badgermole statue.

Kavik makes his way along the ornate desk, feeling with one palm for disguised seals or latches and using his other hand to tap a rhythmic pattern on the wood, listening carefully for any area that sounds hollow where it shouldn’t be.

Nothing. Kavik grits his teeth, keeping his frustration in check. He moves on to search inside the many drawers, taking care not to disturb the contents.

“Any luck?” Yangchen asks softly. She’s finished her check of the walls and is now inspecting the floor. The slide of her shoes across the polished stone floor makes a quiet rasping noise that prickles the hair on the back of his neck.

“Nothing yet. But these drawers are pretty full of papers. He might have tried to hide the records in plain sight.”

“Doubtful.” Yangchen peers over Kavik’s shoulder, glancing over the masses of files stuffed inside the drawer he has opened. This close, he can feel the ghost of her breath at the crook of his neck, feel the tiny puff of air she releases with every measured exhale. She keeps speaking, but Kavik finds it hard to focus on her words.

“Minister Xahu is the linchpin of this entire thing. He has spirits know how many people expecting their due, and he’s managed to keep it concealed from the Earth King for this long. Those records would have to be detailed, every copper piece accounted for. And he wouldn’t risk another minister or one of the aids accidentally stumbling upon them. They have to be hidden somewhere in this room.”

Somehow, Kavik manages to find his wits in order to give a proper answer. “You’re probably right. Let’s keep looking.” Yangchen pulls away from his shoulder and it takes everything in him not to utterly deflate in disappointment.

With the desk proving a failure, Kavik heads to the bookshelves while Yangchen makes another pass around the walls. He lets himself fall into his usual rhythm, one developed years ago during his time as an errand runner in Bin-Er. Move quick. Keep your eyes open. Leave no trace.

Though, his jobs in Bin-Er rarely had such high stakes.

Almost six months ago, King Feishan had contacted Yangchen to report a discrepancy in the amount of gold he was receiving from the shang cities. He’d demanded the Avatar’s presence to prove his claims, so Yangchen and Kavik begrudgingly made the journey to Ba Sing Se. The first of many, as it turned out.

Feishan had the two of them count every last piece of gold he received in his latest payment and compare it to the reports they’d sent alongside it. A non-insignificant portion was missing. The king was furious.

Now, they’ve nearly cracked the conspiracy. One of the king’s own economic ministers, a man named Xahu, has been allowing the shangs to siphon off city funds for themselves - and making his own pocket significantly heavier in the process. He demands a portion from each shang, as payment for keeping their theft off the records.

However, in order to keep track of exactly how much money is going where, Minister Xahu is certain to have his own set of highly detailed records. It isn’t easy to fool both the Earth King and the Avatar, and if the mission goes as planned, the minister will soon be seeing why.

Unfortunately, in order to justice to be enacted, the mission has to be a success - and the minister must be none the wiser that record of his activity has gone missing. At least, not until he’s put to trial.

Kavik is beginning to lose hope. Yangchen is on her third sweep of the office walls, and the flame in her palm is beginning to stutter. Not with exhaustion, but with frustration. Kavik himself has had even less success. Nothing in the desk, nothing in the bookshelf. The minister keeps his office sparsely decorated. They’re running out of things to search.

Yangchen flicks her wrist and the flame in her palm pulses bright, letting Kavik see the thin line of her lips, the deep furrow of her brow as she decides what they should do next. The glow from the fire makes her gray eyes look like molten pools of silver. For a moment, Kavik nearly forgets where he is.

“The plant. We haven’t searched the plant yet.” Yangchen brushes past him, making a beeline towards the towering fern in the corner by the door. Kavik spins on his heel and follows her, ready to assist in whatever way she needs.

With a swift motion, Yangchen grabs the packed soil in the ceramic pot and lifts, heaving the chunk of earth into the air. Instantly Kavik can see they’ve found their spot. A deep indentation is molded into the bottom of the dirt, roots growing around a distinctly block-shaped empty space. Kavik reaches into the pot and pulls out a dirt-covered wooden box.

Yangchen replaces the plant and the pair get to work, silently in sync. Kavik forms his ice-picks once more to unlock the box, and it opens easily under his practiced touch. The minister clearly thought he hid his secrets well enough that he only needed one lock.

The inside of the box is packed full with papers, an informant’s wildest dream. Kavik takes the top half and Yangchen the bottom, and together they sift through the papers at a breakneck pace, taking only the papers with the most damning evidence. Large sums, locations, actual names. Xahu has tried to play the game, but the older minister clearly knows very little about properly guarding secrets. Even the most amateur broker in Bin-Er knows not to use anything or anyone’s true name unless absolutely necessary. Kavik feels a bit like punching the wall. This is the man that robbed the Earth King right under their noses?

In only a few minutes, they’ve skimmed through the whole stack of records. Yangchen takes their evidence and tucks it into her robes, hiding the bulk of paper beneath the very forgiving outline of her Air Nomad clothing. Kavik puts the rest of the paper back into the box and relocks it. Yangchen lifts the plant again to let him replace the box into its hiding spot, cleans up the spilled dirt, and -

“We got it!”

Her arms are around his shoulders before he even realizes it, flinging herself at him with a wide grin, trusting he’ll catch her. Kavik’s hands land at her waist, holding her close for the brief moment of her hug. A triumphant smile of his own tugs at the corner of his mouth, the euphoric feeling of a job well done warming his chest.

Still smiling, Yangchen reaches up a hand to tousle his hair fondly, making Kavik scrunch his nose in mock annoyance, even as his grin remains firmly affixed to his face. “Hey, it took me forever to get my hair to look this nice!”

Yangchen just ruffles his hair again, rolling her eyes. “I like it better this way.”

Any retort Kavik had planned dies on his lips, his tongue suddenly refusing to make words as heat blooms in his cheeks. He watches, almost in slow motion, as Yangchen’s gaze veers away from his face. His ears - she must be looking at his ears, they’re probably bright red now and -

A palm slaps over his mouth. “Quiet! There’s someone outside.”

Kavik could kick himself. We just wasted so much time!

Yangchen steps out of his arms, nearly flattening herself against the door as she presses her ear to it. Kavik follows suit, straining to listen through the thick wood.

Sure enough, muffled voices can be heard, growing louder as the people advance down the hallway.

“Ready to get back to the party?” The first voice Kavik doesn’t recognize, but the accent is Upper Ring; the person must be nobility or close to it. Heavy footfalls nearly obscure the reply of the second person, but Kavik focuses with everything he has and manages to catch the second half of it.

“ - a moment, I need to check something in my office while we’re down here. Don’t wait, I won’t be long.”

Kavik’s stomach falls what feels like the height of the Northern Air Temple. The voice is unmistakable; he’s sat through enough miserable meetings with the man.

Minister Xahu is coming to check his office. The office where he and Yangchen currently are, stealing records that will get him sent to prison if discovered.

Yangchen turns to face him with a blank stare. She doesn’t have a plan for this. They assumed the minister would stay in the ballroom all night. He’d have no reason to travel this far into the palace, not with all the food, drink, and dancing he could want in one place.

Evidently, they were wrong. There’s no time to waste.

Kavik grabs the heavy chair from the minister’s desk and braces it beneath the door handle. That should buy them a bit of time as the minister struggles to push open the door. “Yangchen, is there any way you can earthbend us out of here?”

“Not without destroying the palace’s structural integrity,” She hisses in reply, beginning to pace. “And the walls aren’t thick enough for me to seal us inside, either.”

The office is sparse. There’s nowhere to hide. What excuse could they possibly give that would hold up their cover? Kavik’s mouth goes dry at the footsteps outside grow closer.

“Hang on, I’ve got an idea.” Yangchen grabs Kavik by both hands and drags him over to the desk. “You’re not going to like it. But trust me on this.”

“I think we’re a bit past caring about how I feel about a plan; tell me what it is.”

“You need to kiss me.”

“What?!”

Did he drink too much back in the ballroom? Did that plant have some kind of hallucinogen in its leaves? Did Yangchen actually just ask him to kiss her -

The door handle rattles, startling both of them. Yangchen’s head whips back and forth between him and the door. “Come on, it’s the only kind of cover that will make any sense!”

“But - I - what?”

The door handle rattles again. The chair budges a fraction of an inch. They’re running out of time.

“Oh for spirits’ sake, I’ll do it then.”

Yangchen grabs both sides of his face and crashes their mouths together into the best kiss Kavik has ever had.

Her lips are soft and warm and plush, pliable as they press into his, one hand coming up to tangle into his hair. Kavik stops breathing for half a second before instinct takes over and he’s kissing her back, imagining, if only for a moment, that any of this is real. Yangchen tugs at his hair and Kavik chokes on a gasp. She pulls him closer; his senses are overwhelmed by her. The scent of lemon on her hair, the heat of her body through her robes. He’s never been close to her like this before. He pushes her against the desk as the door finally swings open.

“What is the meaning of this?!”

Kavik is loathe to pull away, but he does anyway, wondering what they must look like from the minister’s perspective. Blushing faces, wandering hands, messy hair - every bit the young, overeager couple caught in the act.

“Oh! M-Minister Xahu!” Yangchen stumbles over her words, face flushed bright red. “What are you doing here?”

Kavik can tell the exact moment the minister realizes who he’s just stumbled upon. His green eyes nearly bulge out of his head and his eyebrows almost disappear into his hairline - impressive, considering how far its receded.

“Avatar Yangchen! My… apologies for the interruption.” The man’s jaw twitches, clearly unsure of how to proceed. A typical couple would be reprimanded and punished for trespassing in such a high level area. But this isn’t a typical couple. This is the Avatar and her companion.

Finally, the minister seems to have decided to treat Yangchen as the Avatar. He bows deeply before them, the couple still tangled together on his desk, and does his best to sound polite when he next speaks.

“Well, Avatar, this happens to be my office.”

Yangchen gives a surprised little gasp, covering her mouth with her hand. It’s one of the fakest sounds Kavik has ever heard her make. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t think - I mean, I didn’t realize this office would be needed this evening. You see, I just needed a bit of time away from the party and I asked Master Kavik to accompany me -”

“I understand perfectly,” Minister Xahu interrupts through gritted teeth. Kavik wonders just how much gossip is going to come from this. How long before news of this reaches the shang cities?

“Well, we should leave you in peace, Minister,” Yangchen says, pushing out of Kavik’s embrace and making a beeline for the door. She smooths her robes out as she walks, a flustered young woman trying to appear respectable - and not at all the spymaster checking to ensure the documents are still secured in her pocket. She gestures for Kavik to follow and he does as quickly as possible, eager to escape the fiery glare of the minister.

Yangchen bows to him in the doorway, peering up at him with imploring eyes. “I trust this… misunderstanding will not be mentioned to others here at the palace?”

“Certainly, Avatar; you have my word.” Kavik bites his lip to hold back a scoff of disbelief.

“Well, in that case, we must be going. Have a wonderful evening!” Yangchen grabs Kavik’s elbow and leads him away, a strange repetition of the way they walked to the office the first time.

It’s only after they turn the corner that both benders relax, Yangchen letting out an audible sigh of relief. “Good. He bought it.”

“Yeah. Quick thinking.”

She knocks their shoulders together, a small smile curling at the edges of her lips. “You did well, too. Good job making it look so real.”

Kavik can’t meet her eyes. His heart is still pounding too hard. “It was whatever. No problem.”

Yangchen pats at her outer robe again, making sure she still has the papers. “Now we can bring these to King Feishan, as well as the other shangs. We can finally put an end to this nonsense.”

She keeps talking, but Kavik isn’t listening, not anymore. His focus is honed in on her lips, on the curve of her smile, on the flick of her tongue as she forms her words. He kissed that smile a few minutes ago. He kissed her because she asked him to, and he wants to etch the memory of it into his brain.

He doesn’t know if he’ll get to kiss her again. Yangchen is clearly unaffected by it; just another matter of business for her. Kavik wonders if it’s stupid of him to hope she’ll ask him to kiss her again, even just for a cover story.

“Hey, are you alright?”

Kavik jolts at the question. “Hm?”

“You’re not listening. There’s something on your mind. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he promises, willing himself to believe it. If he believes it, she won’t be able to tell that he’s lying. “I’m just still in shock we pulled that off, even with the hitch in the plan. Things rarely go that smoothly for us.”

Yangchen snorts in agreement, and Kavik’s heart flutters at the sound. “You can say that again. Come on, we’ve been away from the ballroom for a while. I’m sure we’ve been missed.”

They still walk with arms linked, even though the rules of propriety don’t require it at this point. It’s like neither can bear to let go. They step over the threshold of the ballroom as one, back into the gilded room of beautiful lies. Yangchen leans over to murmur something into his ear.

“You know,” She breathes from the edge of her mouth, a whisper of a whisper, “You’re not a bad kisser, Kavik.”

#yangvikweek2024 #yangvik #yangchen x kavik #chronicles of the avatar

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satoruxx · 10 months

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here's a quick sneak peek from my upcoming wip just bc it's satoru's birthday and i don't have anything else prepared <3

gojo satoru x fem!reader

satoru lets his eyes roam over the gilded tables and sparkling chandeliers, all but used to the glamor of dances and other events he's been overseeing the past few years. even though he's supposed to stay out of the fray, attached to the wall where fellow guards remained stationed for an imminent emergency, satoru enjoys events like this.

he doesn't care for the noise, or the gross display of wealth, or the gossiping nobles and high elders. but he likes seeing you.

he likes seeing the pretty dresses you wear and how you seem to glow under the lighting of the candles. he likes seeing the flush settling high in your cheeks as you laugh with your friends. he likes seeing you against the backdrop of splendor because you're a vision just on your own.

he'd been watching over you at these events for a few years now, ever since he was thirteen and your father appointed him as your royal guard. he knew the routine well enough—you'd greet your friends and the other nobles with polite bows, then make rounds with your mother, followed by a customary dance with your father. then you'd be left to your own devices, free to enjoy the event as a young princess with barely a weight on her shoulders. his favorite part was when you'd eye the kitchen staff bringing in food—somedays you'd sneak him a piece of tart, and he'd stand against the wall, hand resting on the hilt of his blade as he bites back a smile bursting with flavor.

that was a few years ago. satoru didn't realize that the older you got, the more things would change. he'd changed too, of course, no longer the young boy barely nine years old who sat in front of you with hunched shoulders. now, he's grown, almost eighteen as his bones elongate and features become more sharp. he'd heard a few of the maids whispering about how handsome he'd turned out to be, and he stood in front of your bedchamber with his chest puffed out and chin held high. handsome enough for a princess?, he wanted to ask—but he figured that would get him into trouble.

but with his coming of age, yours followed. you're still only about sixteen, but satoru thinks you've grown to be quite pretty. in some ways you've changed, and yet in some ways you're exactly the same—still sweet and kind like you were the day he first met you. he figured he'd be the only one who'd notice though.

but being sixteen meant that you were now supposed to be shown to other eyes—other lanky princes and sons of high nobles who followed you around the ballroom asking for a dance. one night, when satoru was standing guard outside your door, he heard you whining to your mother.

"i just don't understand why," you had said, voice miserable in a way that satoru could easily pick out. your mother sighs complacently.

"because it is your responsibility," she replies, voice aged with years of experience. "courting is something that every princess must go through once they are older. it's your turn now."

"but what if i don't like any of the other noble boys?"

satoru doesn't hear the answer, but he spends the rest of the night with a too tight grip on the hilt of his blade.

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loki-cees-all · 7 months

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Ch. 4 - Hope Against Hope {Against All Odds - TVA!Loki x Female Reader Longfic}

Previous Chapter / AO3 Link / Against All Odds Masterlist / Next Chapter

Pairing : TVA!Loki x Female Reader

Summary : After you and Loki do the deed, Loki does a little soul-searching.

W/c : 4.7k words

Content / Warnings : Smut (p-in-v), angst (knife-in-heart), mentions of a future addiction for the reader (nothing specific is mentioned, and no actual use of illicit substances ever takes place), and Loki rifling through all of your stuff. It's fine, though! He has a good reason!

Author's Note : Apologies this is so late! It really, really got away from me, and I was absolutely struggling to get it done. But, it turns out I was just trying to do too much in one chapter, so once I cut it off at what was the halfway point, it became much more manageable. (Major shoutout to @infinitystoner for helping me with that. I love you!) Anyway, happy reading!

18+ Only - Minors DNI

⊱ ── ༓ ── ⋅•⋅⊰ ── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ∙ ⋅ ── ⊱⋅•⋅ ── ༓ ── ⊰

Date : June 26th, 1977 [Sacred Timeline]

Throughout his thousand years of existence, Loki had witnessed a great deal of beautiful things. The golden shine of the palace he’d grown up in was the first; its light reflected brighter than the birth of a newborn star, shining down with a brilliance unrivaled to anything short of divine intervention.

Every morning, he’d awake in awe of its splendor, and every night, when he laid his head upon his pillow, he’d wonder if anyone else ever noticed the terrible irony of such a gorgeous place containing the harshest of people.

The exquisite gardens of Asgard had always been his favorite place to be. Carefully tended to and guided by his mother’s loving hand, they contained every species of flower from each of the Nine Realms - meticulously organized by the shade of their petals, and perpetually in bloom thanks to her seidr.

It was the perfect place for reflection; he had spent many late nights in those gardens, wandering up and down the rows, taking in the sweet aroma of the flowers and pondering his lot in life. And during the worst of Thanos’ many tortures, he’d often imagine he was back there inside Frigga’s gardens - shielded and protected, and lost in majesty instead of in pain.

And the stunning destruction of the Bifrost would haunt him for the rest of his days. The explosion’s light caught the shards of the Rainbow Bridge and almost blinded him, illuminating nothing but his many failures in the most glorious of ways as he fell into its wake. The Bifrost had faded into golden dust, and clouds of sapphire and ultramarine had swirled together beneath him, and it was so magnificent that he almost forgot about the look of sheer disappointment upon his father’s face.

But none of those things, not a single one of them, could ever compare to the sight of you coming undone beneath his devoted tongue.

Loki continued working, his mouth and eyes eagerly taking in the evidence of your pleasure. His hands gripped your waist tight, as if to squeeze out every ounce of it that he could, while his lips and tongue lavished your clit. He’d never tasted something so divine, and he never wanted your pleasure to end.

You cried out his name like the holiest of prayers, and Loki moaned its accompaniment. He could almost see the light radiating off your skin as your back arched off the bed, and the blood in his veins surged with want as your thighs trembled against his ears. He desperately needed more, to keep you sated and satisfied in euphoria for as long as he could - but he also needed to be careful.

Because as far as you knew, Loki was just another simple mortal - one that had a job, and a family, and paid taxes. A human man, one that played rugby on the weekends, someone who was going to die in about forty years - when he was actually the furthest from anything that even resembledbanality.

Ordinarily, in situations like this, Loki’s seidr would be on full display - to set the mood by lighting the fire in the hearth and the candles on the nightstand. To keep the wine flowing in their glasses, and the sheets warm against your bare skin. To remove his clothing in a flash of green light, just so he could bury himself inside you the exact second he wanted to.

And Gods, how he helplessly wanted to be inside you again.

Loki hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since the night in the alleyway. It had been feral and hurried, dangerous and reckless, to take you against that wall and in public, but he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t the best he’d ever had. And it was so foolish of himself to think he could get by with only having you once, and so incredibly selfish to take you again while knowing what he knew about your future…

But even still, Loki’s cock ached underneath his trousers, throbbing in sync with every single beat of his heart. Desire coursed violently throughout his veins, mixing with both heat and adrenaline as he continued ravishing between your legs. He could feel you clenching rhythmically, your fingers tangling in his hair and your hips grinding upwards, and he could never deny you what you wanted.

You were just past the height of ecstasy when Loki began to crawl up your body, following behind his lips as they worshiped your skin. He kissed his way up your belly, gazing up at your ethereal expression as your head lolled back and forth on the pillow. Aftershocks washed over you, one by one, and your lips parted with desperate breath and pleasured murmurs. It was beautiful, and perfect, and of nothing but sheer divinity.

Loki kept his gaze locked on your face as he slowly kissed along your ribs, and your feet flexed, pressing into his hips as yours continued writhing. Your fingers curled tighter around his hair, a silent plea to urge him on, and he couldn’t believe that even after all of this, even while completely lost in the throes of ecstasy, you still wanted more of him.

His initial plan had been to take you as slowly as possible - to savor, and to idolize you. He’d never been wanted like this before, and he didn’t know if this would be the last time he’d get to experience it. A lifetime of neglect had taught him affection was ever fleeting, and he should always relish it whenever it came. What little patience he had was quickly disappearing by the second, soon to be nothing but a distant memory of the time before he was whole again.

Your eyes stayed closed as his name tumbled from your lips, and Loki knew this was the moment. He kept one hand clutched tight around your hip, and brought the other down to his belt, unbuckling it just enough to make a sound before his seidr dissolved the remaining clothing from his body and transported them to the floor, as if they’d been tossed aside in a hurry.

He moved upwards again, and when he reached your nipple and pulled it into his mouth, you whimpered in pleasure and dragged your nails across his scalp. A deep groan rumbled in his throat and he began to suck harder, flicking his tongue wildly against the stiffening peak. This time you let out a sharp gasp, and your feet planted on the mattress to arch your back even more and press your hips against something, anything, of his.

Loki graciously slid his thigh up to soothe the ache between your quivering legs, and you eagerly locked on to it, grinding your swollen clit against his taut muscles. You had been more than wet when he had gone down on you before, but now you were positively drenched with arousal, and Loki loved that about you. He’d never been so hard in his life, precum dripping onto your belly from the head of his glistening cock as the musk of sex filled the room.

Your head tilted back into the pillow and your thighs trembled violently, supported only by your tiptoes and your upper back as another orgasm ripped through you. Loki cupped your other breast, his thumb circling its nipple as he sucked even harder on the first, trying desperately to hold back his own ecstasy until he was buried deep inside you.

But that battle was becoming more and more difficult to win, and his equanimity was dissipating with each and every one of your breathless moans and whimpers. Loki moved his hands to carefully guide your feet flat, and then massaged your calves and thighs into relaxing as he carefully pulled his lips away from your nipple.

As he moved closer, your hands shifted to cling to his neck, his shoulders, his arms. Anything you could read, everything about him that was solid and real. He wanted so badly to assure you that he was, to shout it from the rooftops that he wasn’t just real, that he was - in fact - yours, and that was the only real thing that mattered.

Loki’s lips were on your collarbone when he finally coaxed your legs into position, relaxed but open for him. You were making unintelligible noises and your body continued trembling, but your hips kept rolling as he slowly settled his weight onto you and pressed his hips against yours.

“Loki…oh my, God, Loki…” you gasped breathlessly, sliding your hands up along his neck to his hair, to tangle in the mess of matted and sweaty curls against his scalp.

His breath shuddered as he gazed upon you, eyelids fluttering open and shut, and pupils dilated so wide to take him all in. His lips hovered just a touch above yours, inhaling as you exhaled, leaning in as you pulled him closer. He wasn’t running or cowering away, there was no fleeing or escaping. For the first time since the Tesseract had slid to his feet in the lobby of Stark Tower, Loki was exactly where he wanted to be.

“Yes, my darling…I’m here, just breathe…” he whispered, dragging his nose along the edge of yours. His voice shifted into a groan as you wrapped your legs around his waist; the soft skin of your thighs burned against him, branding a reminder into his flesh that this was where he belonged, and the soaked heat between your legs beckoned him back home.

The two of you were as naked as the day you were born - one born on Earth, and one born on Jotunheim. Dark green and satin sheets lay beneath you, twisted and tangled upon your bed. The air inside your room was almost overwhelming, a delicious mixture of heat and musk, and despite the very early morning hour, the city of London still bustled just outside your window, cruelly unaware of the magic that was about to happen above them.

Your lips met again, and even though the kiss was just as hungry as that night in the alleyway, there was something else now with it - a touch of familiarity, of knowing and acceptance even though it couldn’t really be - not with all the lies he’d been telling, and the truth he’d been withholding. Loki kissed you harder, trying to push those thoughts out of his brain, and you happily reciprocated.

As you introduced your tongue to the kiss, Loki cupped the back of your skull with one hand, and brought the other between your hips as he began to rock against you, dragging himself against your entrance and teasing you both into oblivion. Neither of you needed any further teasing, but he did it anyway, just to add the final touch of urgency. You whimpered and opened your hips even further, and on the next push, he was inside you again.

Suddenly, everything made perfect sense as the entire universe opened up before him. Loki let out the hoarsest of groans as he pushed deeper, and your lower back arched even more beneath him. Your fingers curled even tighter around his hair, your lips fell from his to moan his name again, and you were so wet and warm and safe that he felt like nothing could ever hurt him again.

All he ever wanted was to feel like this, and he slowly pulled himself out, just short of all the way, before sinking himself back inside. Your hips writhed uncontrollably as he did that a few more times, and Loki realized that you also needed the reminder that even if he pulled away or left completely, he would always come back to you. That he would never not be thinking of you, or of this.

Loki was already ruined before he began thrusting even faster, and there was absolutely nothing that could have ever stopped him. He buried his face against your neck and arched his back more harshly, pulling all the way out before pumping back inside. Your muscles squeezed around him, and your voice was nothing but breathless and incoherent gasps and moans as you took him in over and over again.

He snaked one arm around your back and the other around your waist as he moved faster, grunting and groaning against your skin as your fingertips scratched at his scalp. His muscles tensed as yours did, and he could tell by the sound of your voice that you were getting close already. His own orgasm was just seconds away, coiling around in his belly, stretching and yearning to break free as he drove himself harder, faster, deeper.

The tension broke simultaneously, and you cried out together, curling tightly around each other’s bodies, clinging for dear life as you came together. Endorphins and hormones coursed through Loki’s veins as the universe came into being, with stars exploding and dust swirling to form the galaxies and planets and realms that could stretch longer and further than anyone would ever know.

You clung so tightly to him during it all, as if you could see what he saw, but somehow he was the only thing that mattered. How could that be, that while an entire universe was being born, that the goddess of a mortal underneath could only look up at him?

Loki didn’t understand it one bit, but he didn’t need to, because all he could feel and see and smell was you. His hips continued rocking, shallower now that he was absolutely spent, and his sighs were heavy in the crook of your neck. He was in total and complete bliss when you let out a choked sob against his ear, and it instantly brought him back to reality.

“Darling…darling, what’s wrong?” he murmured, kissing your neck and squeezing you tighter. Had he done something wrong? Had he unintentionally hurt you in some way while lost in his own pleasure?

He could feel you shake your head, even as another sob escaped you. He could feel the tears streaming down your face and coating his own cheek, but your limbs still wrapped harder around him. Slowly, Loki lifted his head even though he was terrified of what he might see upon your face. His heavy eyelids fluttered open, his blurred vision effortlessly obscuring the tangled limbs and sweaty skin you both shared.

But when your face finally came into view, there was a smile beneath the tears on your cheeks. Your messy hair framed your face like an untidy halo - disconnected from, but still beautiful and fitting for the angel who wore it. Loki would never forget that smile and its tears, so happy and yet so sad all at the same time.

“I don’t know why, Loki…but I’ll be fine, I promise…” you answered in a voice that was so floating and breathless and light.

He could tell you meant it, and it should have reassured him, but it didn’t. The image of that newspaper from 1983 suddenly flashed before his eyes, and Loki remembered the initial reason he had come home with you last night.

⊱ ── ༓ ── ⋅•⋅⊰ ── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ∙ ⋅ ── ⊱⋅•⋅ ── ༓ ── ⊰

Date : June 27th, 1977 [Sacred Timeline]

Loki wasn’t exactly sure what he was searching for, but that wasn’t going to stop him from trying.

The sun was just beginning to encroach over the horizon, sending its rays over the city and into the bay windows of your high-rise flat. He padded cautiously into your living room, thankful for the plush white carpets between his toes to mute his exhausted steps.

There was nothing he wanted more than to slip back into bed with you and sleep the day away, but he had to take this opportunity while he still had the chance.

Loki could still see you, sleeping soundly in the arms of the duplicate he’d casted so as to not rouse any suspicion while he snooped. It felt so wrong to be doing this now, so soon after the night you’d just shared together, but the guilt of your future was driving him forward, egging him on and eating him away so badly he wouldn’t be able to have another decent rest even if he tried.

And it was odd, feeling jealous of something he’d conjured to keep you distracted, and in bed. It was, technically-speaking, him…but it wasn’t him- and he was the one who desperately needed the rest. Loki hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since well before Thanos’ capture, since he had lived in the palace on Asgard, and he had no idea when he’d be able to have it again…

Nevertheless, Loki shook his head and rolled it back and forth between his shoulders. His joints popped and cracked as he stretched his arms up over head, extending and pulling and desperately willing his limbs to fully awaken for the task at hand. He opened his eyes wider to take in more light, and he filled his lungs with as much oxygen as he could muster, held it for as long as he could, and released it slowly through his nose.

If anyone else could see him, they’d say he was stalling. Deception ordinarily came easy to him - Odin had taken advantage of that many times - but this was different; in fact, this was much, much worse. And he knew he wasn’t going to like what he found, but it needed to be seen anyway. He had to know if he was the cause of your future addiction, or if had already started before you’d even met.

Loki began his search in the kitchen, opening up the cupboards and pantries, quietly sliding items aside so he could see any possible illicit substances hidden in the back. He checked on top of the refrigerator and deep inside the freezer for excessive quantities of alcohol. He even looked through the drawers of silverware and utensils, the mail on top of the counter, the pockets of your coats hung by the front door for something, anything, that hinted at your painful future.

But he found nothing, just like he was afraid of. And it wasn’t because he wanted you to have an addiction, to be suffering silently and hiding your pain away from the world - he didn’t want that to happen to you at all, ever. But the more he searched, the more it became apparent that he would be the eventual cause of it.

And if he did manage to find something, he could offer you the help you needed. He could take care of you, instead of hurting you. He could be of use for something good, instead of the destruction he normally was.

From the kitchen, he returned to the living room, shoving his hands between the couch cushions and underneath the sofas. He flipped through the magazines stacked on the coffee table, and pulled the books off the bookshelves. All the while, trying so hard not to think about how he was going to eventually make addiction a reality for you.

Loki could tell you were eager to learn more about him, to know him more than just as a man who kept you company at night, and it was getting harder to dodge your questions. He knew you would have more when you awoke, and it wasn’t that you didn’t deserve to hear the answers, because of course you did. You deserved everything happy and safe and beautiful there could ever be, and Loki truly wanted to be the one to give all of that to you.

But Loki didn’t know what to tell you, because that had never been the truth of his reality. So what was he supposed to tell you? That he was the monster that parents told their children about at night?

That he’s an alien being from another realm, who could travel through time and space? That there were different versions of every single person living within multiple universes, and that in 35 years his past self would try to lead an alien army to violently take over New York City?

At best, you wouldn’t believe him at all, and at worse, you’d absolutely hate him for it…even if doing that is exactly what brought him to you in the first place.

After the last book was slid back into place, Loki sighed and turned his attention to the living room as a whole. Everything was clean and organized, everything had a specific place to be and was already there, and absolutely nothing was amiss. Nothing and everything was wrong, all at the same time, and the realization almost brought him to his knees.

Loki was going to ruin your life eventually; the only question now was how he was going to do it, and when he was going to hammer that final nail inside your coffin. Was it going to be as soon as you woke up? Was it going to be because he finally told you the truth?

His fingers pressed into his eye sockets as he collapsed onto the sofa, rubbing away furiously as he pondered his options. Truthfully speaking, how much time did you two have left together? The Loom was still on the verge of total destruction back at the TVA; his friends were back there right now, working tirelessly on a solution while he selfishly snuck away to see you again. To coddle his own emotions and guilt, when none of that would matter if they were unable to save the timelines at all.

And what was he supposed to do if they managed to prevent the Loom’s destruction? Keep sneaking away to come see you like a long-distance lover? Make up a pretend job for himself, never tell you the truth, and force you to perpetually linger in the liminal space between his crafted persona and who he actually was?

Not even he could keep a lie that massive forever. You would eventually discover the truth, or perhaps you would realize that there even was a truth different from the one he was selling you. Maybe what the truth was actually didn’t matter; maybe what mattered was that you couldn’t keep living a lie, and that was all it took to break you.

Loki leaned forward on the sofa, his elbows digging into his knees while dragging his fingertips down his cheeks and over his mouth. His palms pressed together in a silent prayer as his eyes roamed over the room. His eyes filled with tears as he realized this would have to be the last time he ever looked upon it. He would have to leave you, before either of you fell too hard - and maybe, just maybe, that would be enough to save you more than it would destroy him.

His expression was solemn as he stood back up from the sofa. He hoped he’d been overthinking your expression in the alleyway a week ago, in the club the night before, in your bed as you’d come together. His heart broke as he prayed that you didn’t actually care about him as much as he already cared about you, that this would actually be easy for you. That you still had the strength to pick up the pieces and carry on with your life.

As Loki turned to leave the living room, to start the long journey back to your bedroom and kiss you goodbye, his eyes caught the painting above your dining room table. His frown shifted into a smile, although his eyes were as distraught and disillusioned as ever. He stepped closer and pressed his fingertips across the frame, thinking about all the stories this single painting told.

You were so unbelievably talented; every brush stroke had been as carefully placed as the belongings inside your flat. How he wished he could see this tree that you loved so much, and how he longed to feel the same kind of permanent comfort that it seemed to bring you even now. He’d never felt such everlasting solace in his entire life, and he’d even happily settle for being able to provide that kind of love for you some day.

But it just wasn’t meant to be. And for now, all Loki could hope for was that your father or your friends could help you still move on.

He reluctantly pulled away and returned down the hallway, training his eyes straight ahead to avoid the beautiful and happy photographs plastered all over the walls. He tried desperately not to look at the candelabrum on the narrow bookshelf. But of course, the morning light caught it, reflecting off the polished brass and right into his anguished gaze.

Loki couldn’t help but pause in front of it, right outside the doorway to your bedroom. He could hear you breathing in your bed, slowly and peacefully, in the arms of his duplicate. You were so close, and yet so far, because he couldn’t tear himself away from the hall and its haunted reminder of his past life.

He’d seen that candelabrum before, but he didn’t know how it had found its way here. Surely, it had to be a coincidence, right? That the asymmetrically curved pieces swung upright to form the horns of the golden headpiece he used to wear before the TVA had taken him away?

Devil’s horns, the enemies of Asgard used to call them. The Dökkláfar of Alfheim had considered them omens of death, but it wasn’t in the same way they had feared Odin’s power, or his brother’s hammer. Those items could always be seen before striking down their enemies; their power was out in the open, demanding to be witnessed, and punishing for their disobedience to the throne.

But by the time an enemy ever saw Loki’s horns, it was already too late. The damage was already done, secretly in the shadows and hidden upon layers and layers of deceptions and lies. His enemies were already dead by the time Loki finally revealed himself and his Devil’s horns, and their last few seconds were usually spent wondering which trick it was that struck the final blow.

So what were they doing here, in this young woman’s flat? In London, in 1977, where he’d never been before and surely would never return to again? Surely there was no way you knew what they actually represented. No, it had to just be an unhappy coincidence.

Back on Asgard, Loki had been repeatedly regulated to operating within the shadows. In his younger years, he had believed it was simply because that was where he excelled. But then he knew better; he knew that Odin had kept him in the shadows intentionally, that he was fit to exist in the light. And now, he was being forced to recede into the shadows yet again, to be nothing but a hopefully wistful and fond memory of yours.

He had only just found you. He had only just come to know the caring touch of peace, and already he was having to give it back up.

Another tear rolled down Loki’s cheek, and he quickly wiped it away. He let out a sharp breath, steeled his jaw, and stepped back inside your bedroom, not at all ready to do the hardest thing he’d ever had to do.

⊱ ── ༓ ── ⋅•⋅⊰ ── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ∙ ⋅ ── ⊱⋅•⋅ ── ༓ ── ⊰

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forgottenarthur · 4 months

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The Badge of Queen Marian

The Queenly Arms of her Royal Majesty, Marian of the House of [Marian], Queen of [Varmont]

Or (yellow/gold): generosity and elevation of the mind

Gules (red): warrior or martyr; military strength and magnanimity

Argent (white/silver): peace and sincerity

Pupure (purple): royal majesty, sovereignty, and justice

Rose: hope & joy, denotes distinction, 7th son ~red rose—above + Grace/beauty, martyrdom

Sun: glory & splendor, fountain of life, intelligence/enlightenment

Crown: heaven; victory, sovereignty, empire; success

The royal badge of the Queen Consort

Marian's own elaborated crest:

Both the couple and their legitimate children are entitled to the use of any of the below crests.

Note to Lizzy: any of the below could also work for Cassandra's own badge, if you don't think she has one of her own? (IRL she probs wouldn't have one of her own bc she isn't a ruler/doesn't command armies or households, but lbr this is a fantasy world! We make the rules! And she's an imperial princess soooo)

The combined arms of the Queen with her husband, the Emperor.

Mantled display:

An alternate (though the more technical one would be the above given its dexter/sinister divide etc, this device is still one that could also be used esp for Arthur/Sebastian/Cassandra, given 1) that it plays w the charges and 2) its use of the imperial crown since Marian is technically only a queen and not an empress -- me @ roderick: come on, man -- but I can also make one w the royal crown instead! I just forgot to do it earlier alksdjfkljdsf):

The elaborated arms of Emperor Roderick I and his Queen Marian.

(it was really fun to play w the eleborations -- the screen on the website for making these is v sq so its kinda hard to do that ~and do the arms but its so funnnn now i wanna do the elaborations for everyone alskdjfkjsdf anyway i feel like once i do amira's crest and one for the late empress [everyone, if you have any ideas for that throw them my way!!], i should do another roderick!varmont-wide one which includes everyone's elaborated crests!)

#i never did find an argent i really liked for this but here we are -- if you have a hex code that is more appropriate pls lmk!! <3 #marian varmont #sebastian varmont #cassandra varmont #roderick varmont #about #fun fact arthur probs wore the last elaboration on the crest of his great helm in his first tourneys #now he wears his eagle etc but yeah!!#lore

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adrift-in-thyme · 7 months

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Happy belated birthday @luna-lovegreat !!! Here’s the Sky fluff I promised!

So sorry this took me awhile to finish!

—————————

“Just how strong is the bond between a loftwing and a Skyloftian?”

Sky has been asked that question quite often since plummeting to the surface. Even more so after he ventured from his timeline. He never truly knows how to reply. How can he explain their relationship? How can he put into words the utter exhilaration of soaring atop your loftwing?

From what he has observed, people usually place platonic love — and especially the platonic love between human and beast — somewhere beneath both romantic and familial, as though it is an inferior thing. As though it can never reach the same heights and depths as the others. The same precious worth. But Sky knows differently.

The love a loftwing and their rider share is like nothing else. As priceless and unbreakable as a diamond.

So, when, finally, a portal spits the heroes out in his era, Sky is overjoyed.

He can see Sun for the first time in forever, wrap her in his loving arms, hold her close and breathe her in, and whisper everything he’s wanted to tell her all these long months. He can see his friends, his family, the place that will always be his home, no matter how far he travels or what monsters he battles.

And —

He separates from Sun, runs to Lofty as the bird lands in a rush of wind and feathers. A grin splits his face and it feels good to smile after everything, so, so good…

— and he can reunite with his loftwing.

“Wow!” Wind gasps, mouth agape. “So, that’s a loftwing?”

“Close that mouth of yours before you swallow a bug,” Twilight teases, setting a hand on the sailor’s shoulder. His lips quirk up in a smile. “He’s beautiful, Sky.”

Lofty preens beneath the praise, ruffling his feathers and throwing back his head. Sun chuckles, and Sky sends her a grin.

“He is, isn’t he?” He sighs, leaning his forehead against Lofty’s beak. The next words leave his lips in a whisper meant only for the glorious animal before him…though if the beautiful woman standing close beside him hears he won’t mind. “I missed you so much, Lofty.”

A low trill emanates from the bird.

“He has missed you too,” Sun murmurs. “I’ve taken him out for a few flights to keep his wings limber. But you know he truly flies for no one except you.” She cocks her head, a grin on her lips. “You should take him out for a flight.”

He turns to her, a question in his eyes. It’s been so long, after all. He feels as though he hardly has enough time to catch up with them both. Much less Gaepora and Groose and everyone else….

“Are you sure, Zel?”

Sun nods and the breeze lifts her golden locks. “Go on, sleepyhead. We’ll have all the time in the world to spend together once you get back.”

Sky breathes in deep.

That’s right. They have time now. For the first time in a while, they have time.

He raises his eyes to Lofty’s, excitement alighting in his chest.

“You wanna go for a flight, Lofty?”

Feathers fly as the bird straightens, shaking himself out. His proud cry reverberates around the space.

Sky leans over, presses a kiss to Sun’s lips. And then, surrounded by the echoes of oohs and awws and ews that sound from his brothers, he climbs atop the loftwing’s back and is off.

The sky is a brilliant blue today. And while it’s always a brilliant blue in Skyloft – has been since he was born – Sky can still appreciate its splendor.

Even the brightest, most joyful heavenly display in another Hyrule cannot measure up to the plush clouds and soaring ceruleans of his home. And as Lofty climbs higher and higher, he feels a wide grin stretch his lips.

It is wonderful to be home.

He had known that he missed it – this little island full of vibrancy and life. The longing had eaten at him during the long nights and dogged at his steps through their arduous journey. But he supposes he had suppressed it to an extent — denied it even — if only to keep going. If only to keep from crumbling beneath the fear that always captures him when he sets foot on firm, grounded earth.

The fear that he will never again take to the skies.

But now as Lofty turns his grand body in a barrel roll and his sailcloth lifts and the wind sings in his ears and fills his nostrils with exhilarating freshness, those dark feelings are miles away.

Lofty pauses abruptly at the tail end of the trick. Then, he dives, plunging downward so suddenly that Sky’s stomach plummets along with him. His grin grows wider even as the brisk air steals any moisture from his mouth. He’ll be choking later, more than likely. But he is used to it by now.

A dry throat is a small price to pay.

Lofty shoots up, goes down again. Another pointed spin takes out a drifting octo. Sky’s echoing whoop turns to almost giddy laughter.

“Having fun, sleepyhead?” Someone calls from his right. Sky looks up just in time to catch sight of Sun streaking towards him. Her loftwing flips upside down as they soar over his head. Her delicate fingers reach for his and for a split second, the world seems to slow.

“Sorry,” she says as their fingers brush in the ghost of a caress, “I couldn’t resist joining you.”

Lofty lets out an eager call of welcome and Sky smiles.

“I’m glad you did, Zelda.”

She smiles and the world seems to grow a little brighter.

It always does when she’s around…

“How about a race, then?” She inclines her head toward the minuscule forms standing on the edge of Skyloft. “They’ve already cast bets.”

Sky chuckles. “All in favor of you, I’m sure.”

She doesn’t reply. But her smile grows just a touch larger, a hint of mischief in it.

Sky shakes his head.

He’ll admit it hurts a little to be betrayed by his brothers in such a way. They’re right though.

The only person who could ever beat him in a fair race was Sun.

“Alright.” His grin is more fierce now, teeth bared in playful determination. “You’re on!”

Yes, he thinks as they streak toward the designated finish line, the tips of their loftwings’ wings just touching, the bond between a loftwing and their partner is strong. As strong as the love he feels for Zelda. As strong as the love he feels for his brothers.

His family.

And maybe in it’s own way…even stronger.

#hope you don’t mind that some zelink found its way in here #I can never resist skyward sword zelink lol #anyway I hope you enjoyed!#and had a wonderful birthday :D #trin writes #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu sky #lu sun #lu chain #fluff #zelink

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empiredesimparte · 4 months

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Live broadcast of ‘Le Sacre de Napoléon V’ on the national channel Francesim 2, hosted by Stéphane Bernard

(Stéphane Bernard) This is an exercise rarely undertaken by the French imperial family. In truth, few could have imagined that this ceremony would take place on the occasion of the coronation, especially considering the recent turmoil. However, His Majesty is determined to deliver a powerful message to all his detractors and to strengthen ties with the French people.

(Stéphane Bernard) Emperor Napoleon V must establish his style and herald change to win back his people. After the coronation ceremony, will we witness the swearing-in of all the bodies that constitute Francesim, thereby renewing their allegiance to the Emperor? His Majesty must make a successful entrance into his reign and, I believe, in some way, significantly transform Francesim.

(Stéphane Bernard) He will need to find the right words, gestures of appeasement, and an attitude that will bring about national unity. Many skeptics doubt his abilities due to his young age, barely 19 years old. Yet, this walkabout evokes the image of a thaumaturgic emperor, soothing ailments through direct contact with the people. This, in fact, is one of the foundations of the Napoleonic idea: the Emperor and the People. Of course, thaumaturgy is irrational, and hardly anyone truly believes in it nowadays. Nonetheless, the people display a strong desire to form a connection with this young emperor, in whom they can see themselves.

(Another journalist) What do you think, Stéphane, about Empress Charlotte? Will she live up to the role that awaits her? She's only 19 too

(Stéphane Bernard) Empress Charlotte will undoubtedly be an essential pillar for His Majesty Emperor Napoleon V. Already, she enjoys immense popularity among the French. She is a woman of great intellect, full of charm, and remarkable beauty. Strangely, she gives the impression of having always been part of the imperial family. She understands the role: sacrificing her private life on the altar of the monarchy. The couple must now take up the mantle and embody modernity.

(Stéphane Bernard) On screen, you can see the majestic entrance gate of the Château de Versailles. It is here, in this historic location, that the gala is being prepared, where tonight all the greatest heads of state in the world will be present. Choosing Versailles is not incidental. It is about showcasing French culture and refinement, a heritage to which we are all deeply attached!

(Stéphane Bernard) A glimpse of the famous Hall of Mirrors where the Imperial Household is preparing for the arrival of the Emperor's guests. It's an unconventional coronation, for several reasons. Tomorrow, Francesim will become the center of the world. The young imperial couple, in the spotlight, will seize this unique moment to assert themselves brilliantly on the diplomatic stage. The Emperor has wished to showcase all the splendor that Francesim is capable of. His Majesty has spared no expense to ensure that these days are truly unforgettable.

(Stéphane Bernard) Allow me to tell you about the regalia, these symbols of power that are currently safely housed in the Palais des Tuileries, in the heart of Paris. They will soon be transported to the cathedral for the grand ceremony. I must confess, I have been preparing for this event for nearly ten years, and like all of you, I am eagerly awaiting the realization of this historic moment!

(Other journalist) Isn't a coronation somewhat outdated today? Couldn't it be "simpler", like republican ceremonies?

(Stéphane Bernard) Yes, it's quaint. However, it remains an indispensable rite for the Nation to commune and identify with. In these times of identity retreat, the monarchy provides a path to overcome these divisions. As long as this symbol endures, it will continue to serve as a unifying force – and the Napoléons, better than anyone, have understood this well. Unfortunately, our Presidents of the Republic have never managed to accomplish this mission with the same grandeur.

⚜ Le Sacre de Napoléon V | N°1 | Francesim, Paris, 27 Thermidor An 230

The imperial couple took a walkabout on the eve of the coronation. It was broadcast live on television by Stéphane Bernard, the famous journalist covering crowned heads in Francesim.

Beginning ▬ Previous ▬ Next

⚜ Traduction française

Le bain de foule demeure un exercice fort peu usité par la famille impériale française. En vérité, bien peu parmi nous pouvaient imaginer que ce cérémonial se déroulerait à l'occasion du couronnement, surtout en considérant les tumultes récents. Cependant, Sa Majesté, avec une détermination à toute épreuve, aspire à délivrer un message puissant à tous ses détracteurs et à resserrer les liens avec le peuple français !

L'empereur Napoléon V doit arriver à imprimer son style et à annoncer le changement pour reconquérir son peuple. Après la cérémonie de couronnement, assisterons-nous à la prestation de serment de tous les corps constituant la Francesim, renouvelant ainsi leur allégeance à l'Empereur ? Sa Majesté doit réussir son entrée de règne et, je crois, d'une certaine manière, bouleverser la Francesim de manière significative

Il va devoir avoir les mots, les gestes d'apaisement et d'attitude qui permettront de ramener l'union nationale. Bien des sceptiques doutent de ses capacités en raison de son jeune âge, à peine 19 ans. Pourtant, ce bain de foule évoque l'image d'un empereur thaumaturge, apaisant les maux par le contact direct entre le peuple et le souverain. C'est d'ailleurs, l'un des fondements de l'idée napoléonienne : l'Empereur et le Peuple. Bien sûr, la thaumaturgie relève de l'irrationnel, et plus personne n'y croit réellement de nos jours. Néanmoins, le peuple manifeste un désir ardent de créer un lien avec ce jeune empereur, en qui l'on peut s'identifier

(Autre journaliste) Que pensez-vous Stéphane de l'impératrice Charlotte ? Sera-t-elle à la hauteur du rôle qui l'attend ?

L'impératrice Charlotte sera sans doute un pilier essentiel pour Sa Majesté l'empereur Napoléon V. Déjà, elle jouit d'une popularité immense auprès des Français. C'est une femme d'esprit, pleine de charme et d'une beauté remarquable. Etrangement, elle donne l'impression d'avoir toujours appartenu à la famille impériale. Elle a compris le job : aliéner sa vie privée sur l'autel de la monarchie. Le couple doit désormais prendre la relève et incarner la modernité.

A l'écran, vous voyez le majestueux portail d'entrée du château de Versailles. C'est ici, dans ce lieu historique, que se prépare le gala où seront présents ce soir tous les plus grands chefs d'état du monde. Choisir Versailles n'est pas anodin. Il s'agit de mettre au premier plan la culture et le raffinement à la française, ce patrimoine auquel nous sommes tous si attachés.

Une vue sur la célèbre galerie des glaces où la Maison Impériale prépare l'arrivée des invités de l'Empereur. C'est un couronnement atypique, pour plusieurs raisons. Demain, la Francesim deviendra le centre du monde. Le jeune couple impérial, en pleine lumière, saisira cet instant unique pour s'affirmer avec éclat sur la scène diplomatique. L'empereur a souhaité mettre à l'honneur toute la splendeur dont la Francesim est capable. Sa Majesté n’a pas épargné la moindre dépense pour que ces journées soit véritablement inoubliables

Permettez-moi de vous parler des regalia, ces insignes de pouvoir qui, pour l'instant, reposent en toute sécurité au palais des Tuileries, au cœur de Paris. Ils seront bientôt transportés à la cathédrale pour la grande cérémonie. Je dois vous confier que je me prépare pour cet événement depuis près de dix ans, et comme vous tous, je brûle d'impatience de voir ce moment historique se réaliser !

(Autre journaliste) N'est-ce pas un peu désuet aujourd'hui, un couronnement ? Ca ne pourrait pas être plus "simple" comme les cérémonies républicaines ?

On peut penser qu'un couronnement est une tradition désuète de nos jours. Oui, c'est désuet. Cependant, il s'agit d'un rite indispensable pour permettre à la Nation de communier et de s'identifier. En ces temps de repli identitaire, la monarchie offre une voie pour surmonter ces divisions. Tant que ce symbole perdure, il continuera de jouer son rôle de rassembleur – et les Napoléons, mieux que quiconque, l'ont bien compris. Nos présidents de la République, hélas, n'ont jamais su accomplir cette mission avec la même grandeur.

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aphroditelovesu · 1 year

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Kinktober Day Ten — Voyeurism

❝ — 💜 lady l: day ten of kinktober! I hope you like it, dear!!

❝💜pairing: yandere!taehyung x female!reader.

❝warnings: smut, NSFW, female and male masturbation, voyeurism, bad writing.

❝💜word count: 900.

Within an intimate space, a bedroom reveals a woman's unique personality. Dark tones dominate the room, creating a sophisticated and welcoming atmosphere. The walls are covered in an elegant charcoal gray, which serves as a canvas for a contemporary art collection. A large window, framed by black velvet curtains, lets in a soft filter of city light.

The centerpiece of this retreat is a king-size bed, with a luxurious midnight blue velvet duvet and silver satin pillows. To your right, a minimalist dark wood bedside table holds a lamp with a soft light for evenings reading. On the other side, a wall shelf displays a collection of contemporary literature books and pieces of art.

The floor is covered in a plush, graphite-colored carpet, inviting bare feet. A large full-length mirror, framed by wrought iron, reflects the splendor of the space and adds a feeling of spaciousness. Next to the window, a designer armchair with emerald green velvet upholstery offers a place to contemplate and gaze at the cityscape.

An integrated closet with mirrored doors reveals an arsenal of modern clothes and accessories, meticulously organized. Dimmable recessed lighting creates the perfect atmosphere for any occasion, from relaxing to getting ready for the evening.

In these rooms, dark tones combine with the elegance and personal style of the woman who inhabits it, creating a luxurious and welcoming retreat in the heart of the city of Seoul. This room was her refuge, the only place she felt comfortable and truly relaxed.

And it was her favorite place to relax and do something therapeutic and healthy for herself.

You were sprawled out on her bed, your head resting on your soft pillow, your eyes closed and your hands played with your breasts under the bra you were wearing.

You bit your lip and moved a little on the bed and placed your hands behind your back and unclasped your bra, exposing your breasts.

His fingers squeezed and massaged her sore breasts from spending so much time in a bra. You bit your lower lip and took your fingers to the waistband of your pants and played with the buttons until finally deciding to unbutton them. You lowered your pants and removed them, leaving you in just a pair of red, lacy panties.

When you were down to your underwear, a deep breath came from your closet. Someone, without your knowledge, was watching you and taking great advantage of it.

Taehyung knew what he was doing was wrong.

He knew it was wrong to spy on people, to break into their homes and hide in their closet when they weren't looking.

He knew all this but he didn't care.

Not when he had the privileged view of her practically naked body. You only wore a pair of red panties that he was sure you picked out for him. Such a naughty girl.

You really liked teasing him, didn't you? Always so naughty and desperate to be touched and fucked by him.

He licked his lips. Just a little longer, you just needed to wait a little longer.

His breathing became strained as you slid your index finger over your underwear, towards your slit. You let out a low, sly moan at the contact.

Taehyung couldn't move because otherwise he was sure he would be seen and he didn't want you to know about the love he felt for you like that. Without him noticing, his right hand went to his pants and squeezed the bulge that had formed due to his excitement.

He took a deep breath, biting back a groan when you reached inside your panties and started rubbing your clit. He followed your movements and slipped his hand inside the pants he was wearing, going through his underwear and feeling his cock.

You slid your panties off and got rid of them, finally exposing your beautiful pussy to him. The way he was, Taehyung could see your entire pussy and he salivated, his movements on his cock intensifying when you slipped a finger inside your cunt, moaning softly to yourself. He could clearly see your pussy greedily swallowing your finger and Taehyung regretted that it wasn't his cock being swallowed.

''Oh...'' You moaned as you inserted a second finger into your pussy and your thumb slowly rubbed against your clit. You groped your right breast with your free hand, moaning at the pleasure you felt.

''Fuck!'' Taehyung moaned softly as he touched himself harder, knowing he wouldn't take long to cum. He just hoped you wouldn't be long. The movements of his hand intensified as you fucked yourself with your fingers. You moaned loudly as your pleasure increased and your thumb rubbed your clit hard as your fingers were penetrated into your pussy.

You closed your eyes and fucked yourself harder, feeling incredibly turned on. Your mouth opened and you moaned loudly as you squirted, staining the sheets with your liquid, you continued rubbing yourself for a few more minutes until it became too much.

The moment you came, Taehyung released himself into his own hand, not taking his eyes off your body for even a minute, he moaned your name like a prayer as he came and breathed heavily.

He clenched his fists.

He couldn't wait any longer.

#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #kinktober day 10 #bts #bangtan boys #yandere bts #yandere bangtan boys #taehyung x reader #yandere!taehyung #yandere taehyung #yandere taehyung x reader #yandere!bts #smut #v x reader

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gracev0609 · 7 months

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Young in the Night

Josh Kiszka X Reader

Journey back in time to 1982, to an Alternate Universe where Josh is at the epicenter of debauchery and excess. Josh is an entertainer at the hottest new thing on the block, Chippendales, the place for women to drool and ogle.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI, Adult Themes, Drug Use (cocaine), Explicit Sex.

Tugging your cropped leather jacket closer to your torso as you wait in line, your skimpy outfit is not doing much to block the chill from the cool evening air. You gazed up at the neon sign through your teased bangs. The summer of 1982 was coming to an end and you were standing in line with your best friend Marie at the hottest thing in the city of Los Angeles for women, Chippendales.

“Do you think the dancers actually kiss the girls?,” Marie asked leaning in.

“That's what I've heard!,” you giggled, silently hoping to receive a kiss yourself.

The line moved up until you were in front of the doorman. Butterflies erupt in your stomach as you stand in front of the door, uncertain in what lies ahead.

“Alright, you're next! Have a good time ladies!”

The heavy door opened and you were met with colorful lights and the hottest music playing, hundreds of seats sitting around a lit stage. Over on one side was a bar, the first sight you were set on. Grabbing Marie's hand you drug her with, eager to get a tequila sunrise on your hands.

You exchanged cash for your cocktails and went to find a seat, surprisingly you found two in the front row, being the second group to be let inside. The seating was filling up fast, from front seats to back.

The club started to fill and the lights got low, Marie gripped onto your forearm,” Oh I think it's starting!”

A man came out onto the stage, black dress pants, suspenders and no shirt,” Good evening ladies! My name is Mark, and I'll be your host tonight! Welcome to Chippendales, you're in for a night of hunky splendor!”

A tall tan man with blonde hair graced the stage, he was dancing around in the smallest shorts you had ever seen, a collared bowtie around his neck, and little cufflinks around his wrists like wrist bands. It was a play on the playboy bunny, but it worked. He shimmied and shaked working the crowd. You laughed as Marie reached out for him, waving a dollar bill around like a flag,” He's so cute!”

You thought he was an attractive man undoubtedly, but he didn't really do it for you.

He wiggled his way over to where the two of you sat, his hips gyrating in Marie's face.

“Hi sweetheart, do you wanna kiss?” He leaned over Marie as she nodded her head and you watched in awe as they locked lips like passionate lovers.

He pulled away and strutted around the stage, Marie looked at you with red rosy cheeks,” Oh my god!”

The crowd was roaring and your ears were practically ringing, the host speaks into the microphone again,” That was the Perfect Man ladies! Let's give him a huge thank you!”

The women around you went wild as you clapped, not quite understanding what they all saw in him. He was just a man, cute, but just a man. You could admit that the energy in the room was electric and you couldn't help but get swept up in the fun of it all. Mostly naked men parading around showing off their bodies and family jewels, it was drool worthy.

You watched a few more of the acts, some of the men had themes and costumes, some of them came out in pants and stripped down to speedos or g strings.

The host grabbed the mic once again,” Alright sweethearts, I present to you, our next act, an angel in disguise, Joshua!”

Out he came strutting the stage like he owned it, he was clad in the tiniest g string he could get away with, the infamous collared bow tie, and a pair of devil horns nestled into his funky curly mullet. You were instantly captivated by the interesting man. You studied his build, he was small, but toned. He looked strong, though not as strong as others you've seen tonight. Most of his skin was on display, the gleam of the stage lights made his oiled skin shine. The more he danced around to the music the more you became enamored with him. The jiggle of his butt as he strutted up to the audience on the other side of the stage forced you to ogle him.

Reaching into your clutch grabbing your dollar bills you leaned into Marie,” I don't know if I've ever seen a man have more ass!”

He swayed his hips, moving to the side of the stage you were at. When he stopped directly in front of you, his barely clothed package inches away from your face, a deep blush rose on your cheeks.

He squatted down so you were face to face, plucking the dollar from your fingers. Your breath caught in your throat as you really saw his face, he had the biggest softest brown eyes, a perfect white smile, and rosy red cheeks. He was slightly sweaty from gyrating around on stage, but that just added to his sex appeal.

Josh bit his lip before releasing it, his bottom lip plump and slick. Purring he crooned,” Hi Angel. D’ya want a kiss?”

You've never wanted a kiss from a man in devil horns more, nodding your head you leaned in and slipped your hands into his curls at the nape of his neck. When his soft pink lips met yours you almost swore you felt a spark of electricity, but that could be the tequila sunrise talking. You felt his tongue lick across your bottom lip, and tingles shot to your core. Easily you opened up for the performer, moaning lightly when his tongue danced with yours.

The kiss kept going on and on. The music kept playing, the girls kept screaming , and Josh kept kissing you. He had your jaw gripped in his hand, and yours traveled down the length of his torso, squeezing his pecs before landing on his hips. The elastic of his g string resting at your fingertips. You kept thinking that now was when he was going to disconnect from you, but if anything he leaned into you more. The kissing went on for so long that Mark the host came back on over the speakers,” Okay Joshua, angel in disguise, your time has ended! Wrap up your act!”

Josh finally ended the kiss,” If ya wanna go home with me, wait for me after the show.”

🎀🎀🎀

The club lights came up and the women started emptying out, the show was over but the bar was still active. You turned to Marie,” I'm gonna go home with him! I'll call you when I get home okay!”

“Okay babe! I'll leave the phone cord plugged in tonight so I hear the call!”

You hugged her goodbye and sat back down in your seat, sipping on a fresh tequila sunrise. It took you a second to recognize the man who had now come to stand in front of you, it was Joshua, but he was wearing clothes now. He had on white sneakers, light wash blue jeans, and a blue short sleeve button up, unbuttoned of course. “Hi Angel. I see you've made up your mind.”

“Hi Joshua. I did make up my mind.”

He grabbed your hand, pulling you to your feet,”Please call me Josh.”

He laces your fingers together and leads you out the front door of the club.

“I don't live far!” He squeezed your hand in his as you walked shoulder to shoulder on the LA sidewalk.

“I really enjoyed the show Josh! Your act especially,” You beamed,” It was my first time at Chippendales!”

He smiles down at you, this time you notice a slight gap between his front teeth,” I'm so glad Angel.”

“My name is Y/N, just so you know.”

One side of his smile quirks up,” Y/N…. I think I prefer Angel for tonight.”

You blushed feeling butterflies in your stomach.

Soon you arrived at his front door, you stood behind him as he fished the keys out of his pocket, unlocking the door.

Feeling your eyes widen in surprise, he must be making a lot of money from the club. His home had beautiful new modern furniture. He led you to his couch before pulling you into his lap. Your skirt rode up your hips and you straddled his thighs, your lips connecting again. Josh wasted no time running his hands up and down your body, his light touches making your nipples harden under your shirt.

Your hands wander his soft torso once against, and he leans in and kisses up your neck nibbling at your ear.

“Want some blow?” Josh cooes breathlessly.

Nerves bubble in your stomach, you've done it before, at a club with Marie.

“Just a bump.”

“Mmhmm.”

Josh lightly nips at the skin of your neck before lifting your shirt off your body, your bare breasts bouncing in his face.

“Heavenly” he breathes, placing your nipple in his hot waiting mouth. Back arching into his touch you moan his name. You grind your hips down into his hard on, making him moan out too.

Panting he disconnected from your chest and leans down, his hand placed on your back supporting your weight as he bends.

He retries a glass tray, blade and a baggie of white powder.

You wiggle your hips in his lap as he prepares your indulgence.

“God I'm so hard. Have you ever had sex on this? It's incredible.”

“I haven't, I've only taken it in the club.”

You hear the metal blade scraping on glass,” Are you sure you just want a bump? You can have more if you want more.”

You turn in his grasp to look at the tray, the tip of his cock brushing against your clit.

“I’ll do a line with you.” You whisper rocking your hips into him.

Josh kisses your cheek before separating the substance into two lines. He picks up the tray, placing it in your hands to hold as he gets the straw. Holding it to his face he leans down and inhales. Lifting his head his eyes flutter closed as his nose scrunches. After a few seconds he opens them, handing you the straw and taking the glass tray so you can partake. Leaning down you mirror his actions, also scrunching your nose at the uncomfortable feeling.

He places the paraphernalia back on the coffee table in front of him, and grabs your hips pulling them down onto his aching cock. Losing your patience you climb off of him and discard the rest of your clothing.

“Eager are we baby?” Josh chuckles following suit and removing his jeans and underwear. Feeling the effects of the blow your jaw drops at the sight of his cock. It's pretty. He's thick and pulsing, the head flushed a deep red. Your slick threatening to drip down your thigh, you place yourself back into his lap. His cock slips in between your wet folds as you grind his head against your clit.

Throwing his head back he moans,” God your pussy's just drenching me.”

After a few more minutes of grinding he's begging you to let him in. You grab him hot in your hand and line him up with your entrance.

‘Go slow Angel, stretch that tight cunt for me.”

The feeling of him in you was indescribable, euphoria tingling within your body. He felt so good. After a few minutes of bouncing he lifted you off of him.

“Wanna switch, put your ass up for me.”

You did as you were told, leaning your forearms down onto his green couch. He shuddered when he ran the tip of his cock through your slick again. You were so turned on you weren't sure if you had ever been so wet, it was all over your thighs.

Softly he nudges his way back in you, his sensitive head nestled against your g spot. His hips drive forward and you yelp at the sensation. Everything is so intense and pleasurable, you weren't sure if you'd ever had sex this good before. With his rhythmic push and pull of his cock against your special spot you felt that familiar feeling bubbling up in your stomach.A man had never made you cum before, especially not with just his cock.

“Josh, I'm getting close. I'm - I'm gonna cum.”

“Cum for me Y/N. Fuck, do I wanna feel it.”

You were in disbelief at how alive this sinful specimen of a man could make you feel.

Your high came crashing down on you as you clenched and fluttered around his cock. You gushed and gushed as he abused your insides.

You could hear grunts of praise as he fucked you through it,” Angel. I'm gonna cum. Are you on the pill baby?”

“Uhhuh!”

“Can I cum inside love?”

“Please Josh, ruin me!”

He gripped your hips even tighter, pounding into your tight heat. You felt him get even harder, swelling inside of you before spurting his warm cum painting your insides.

“Fuck! Fuck I'm still cumming,” he gasps out.

You could feel him throbbing and twitching pumping out small dribbles of cum as his orgasm dwindled.

Once he catches his breath he pulls out gently. You stay still propped up on your arms and knees .

“Just sit down love, we already ruined the upholstery.”

You chuckled, settling back down on the cushions, you laid your head on Josh's shoulder as you came down from all of your highs.

Josh pulls you into his body, eager for some skin to skin contact, “Oh to be young in the night, huh?”

#gvf #josh gvf #josh kiszka #gvf smut #gvf fanfiction #josh kiszka smut

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thus-spoke-lo · 2 years

Text

Worth the Wait || Sanji Vinsmoke x f!reader || NSFW [minors DNI]

CW: bratty afab!reader (no pronouns used for reader); soft dom/sub undertones; teasing; light spanking; begging; vaginal intercourse WC: 2.7k AO3 Link

A cook’s job was never done—certainly not aboard the Sunny, and definitely not after a dinner as lavish as the one that had been served this evening, where Sanji managed outdo himself yet again, to the surprise of absolutely no one. He let out an extended sigh as he examined the mess in the kitchen before rolling up his shirtsleeves, ready to dive into returning his kitchen to its normal splendor. He kept his head down, diligently scrubbing each plate to a sparkling sheen, struggling to pretend not to notice that you were still lingering in the dining room. He glanced up every now and again to watch you dragging your feet across the floor, arms crossed tightly over your chest, loudly huffing and puffing to attract his attention. Everything in him told him to set the pots and pans aside—they could surely wait a little while longer—and fall to his knees to give you all the attention you so clearly needed, to take you right there on the hardwood floors, worshipping every inch of you like you so rightfully deserved.

There was something awfully charming though, Sanji thought, at the sight of you restlessly trying to catch his eye, not wanting to say out loud all the filthy things you wanted him to do you, hoping that your displays of impatience would be enough to lure him away from his duties. He hated to admit that it was working, and he cleared his throat as he set a clean dish to the side, realizing he was gripping it so tightly it might break under his grasp. He felt his cock twitching in his slacks, and took a deep breath to try to calm himself—he couldn’t give into you all of the time, he told himself, lest he spoil you with his affection.

You had clearly had enough waiting around for the moment, however, and Sanji turned to see you sauntering into the kitchen, your skirted hips swinging with every step. Without a word, you hopped up on his sparkling, freshly-cleaned counter, swinging your bare legs and batting your lashes at him, your expression begging him to set down the dishrags for if only for a moment. He felt his eye twitch as you settled yourself on the just-scrubbed surface, but he quickly softened at the sight of you and how your pretty skirt laid so softly on your plush thighs.

“My love, I’m almost done,” he said as he made his way over to you. “Just a little longer, okay?”

“But I miss you, Sanji,” you pouted, tilting your head.

He set his hands on your knees and pushed them apart so he could slot himself between them. “Well I’m right here, sweet thing, no need to miss me.”

“No, I mean I miss you, miss you.”

He smirked and took ahold of your wrist, guiding your hand down to the bulge in the front of his trousers. “You miss me or you miss this?”

You beamed at him sweetly as you pressed your palm into him, feeling him pulse under your touch. “Can’t it be both?”

Sanji exhaled sharply, feeling all the air push out of his lungs as you gently massaged him. “I’m all yours in just a little while, my sweet, just let me finish cleaning up first.”

You looked at him with a soul-crushing sadness in your eyes, one that made his heart ache but his cock ache more, as you slowly dragged your hand away from his clothed cock. “But Sanji, I’ve been so lonely all day.”

“I know I’ve been neglecting you, my pet,” he cooed, lovingly stroking your cheek with his thumb, “but I’ll be done soon, I promise. Just wait a little longer.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him into you, your fingers gripping his tie to hold him in place. “Are you sure I can’t convince you?”

Sanji almost choked on his tongue when he felt the warm heat of your cunt pressing against his midsection. “M-my love, what are you doing?”

You leaned up and kissed along his jaw, nipping at his neck. “Just trying to change your mind, handsome.”

“Mmm, you really are impatient aren’t you, my little minx?” he groaned, the softness of your lips sending jolts of pleasure down his spine. You were becoming a pleasant distraction from the clutter in the kitchen, and it took every ounce of composure he possessed not to bend you over the counter and fuck you amongst the dirty dishes.

“Just a bit,” you whispered, your warm breath like heaven against his skin. “Can’t the dishes wait just a little longer, love? Don’t you want to make me feel good?”

“Oh my darling,” he groaned as he wrapped one lithe arm around your waist, his hand snaking its way up the back of your shirt. “You know that’s all I want in life is to fuck you into a state of exquisite ecstasy whenever you wish. But—”

“But? But what?” you interrupted.

“But,” he continued, his voice low and heavy with lust, “the more you whine, the longer I’ll just have to make you wait.”

You leaned back, gasping in mock surprise. “Sanji. Are you telling me you can resist me?”

He sighed, smiling softly as he raised an eyebrow at you. “I do spoil you, don’t I, my sweet? Giving you this cock whenever you want?”

“You certainly do,” you purred, running your finger up the length of his arm.

He paused and chewed on his lower lip for a moment. “Well, perhaps it’s time I taught you some patience then.”

“What do you mean?”

He wrenched himself out of your wicked grasp, and leaned against the counter behind him, crossing his arms. “Get up. Go stand at the end of the table over there.”

“But—”

“No ‘buts,’ go hike up your skirt and bend over the table, and wait there for me like a good pet.”

You stared at him, mouth agape, eyebrows raised high. Sanji was as shocked as you at the words that came out of his mouth; he couldn’t remember a time where he’d so much as denied you a kiss, let alone kept you from pleasuring yourself on his cock, but something stirred in him as he ordered you out of the kitchen. If giving into your every whim and desire was fun, surely making you wait until you were desperate and needy and insatiable for him would make things even more exciting. His heart thrummed in his chest as he watched you traipse leisurely out of the kitchen, slowly pulling up your skirt inch by torturous inch as you moved, exposing more and more of your luscious ass as you walked. You arrived at the end of the dining table closest to the kitchen, and exaggeratedly leaned forward, placing your palms flat on the surface.

“Like this?” you inquired, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Watch your tone, darling,” Sanji growled, “or there’ll be consequences.”

You grinned mischievously. “Sounds like fun.”

“Maybe for me.” He smirked, walking back over to the sink. “I want to see those legs spread, too.”

Your shoes squeaked against the wood floor as you shuffled your legs apart. “Better?”

“That’s much better.” He picked up a plate and his dishrag, and tried to return his attention to cleaning, despite the raging erection that strained the fabric of his pants. “Now, you be good and wait there for me.”

He steeled himself as he resumed his duties, telling himself over and over again he was doing what was best for you, his voracious little vixen. You could both stand to learn the lesson of delayed gratification, and he reminded himself that the longer he made you stand there, the longer he made you pose for him in agonized silence with your pussy on display, ready and waiting, the more and more ravenous your hunger would be when he was finally ready to give you exactly what you desired.

“Sanji…”

“Hm? What’s that?” He slowed his dish-drying to a near-halt as he glanced up at you, his poor, pathetic darling. “Did you want something?”

“You know what I want,” you murmured, winding your hips as you spoke.

He quickly lowered his gaze back to the counter. “Then do as you’re told and you’ll have it.”

“But—can’t you hurry up?”

“The more you whine,” he said firmly, “the slower I’ll go.”

“Fine,” you grumbled, extending the word out into multiple syllables to show your frustration.

He chuckled to himself as he listened to you grouse and whimper some more before you finally quieted yourself, finally seeming to accept that no matter how much you stamped your feet and demanded his affection, you simply weren’t going to receive it until Sanji had decided it was time. He refused to look at you, knowing he would leap over the counter at the sight of you suffering and rush to provide you whatever it was you wanted and needed to relieve yourself of the ache you so clearly felt in your core. He was reaching the bottom of his well of patience, his need for you becoming ever more maddening, a roiling fire burning deep within him that only you could quench.

Sanji finally allowed himself a peek at you while he finished the last of the dishes, setting them aside to dry. You were near-silent, your breathing steady, as you held yourself in position and looked down at the table. He felt himself swell at the sight of you, so compliant and so docile for him; he reached down and palmed himself through his trousers at the spectacle of your submission, wondering just how far he could push you, just what you’d be willing to do for him in the pursuit of pleasure. Tonight, however, was not the night for exploring boundaries, as he was nearly feverish with his desire for you and wanted nothing more than to finally give you what you’d both been longing for.

“You did so well, love,” he cooed as he walked towards you. “So patient for me.”

You laughed quietly, your gaze still on the table. “Did I have much of a choice?”

He sidled up behind you, laying one warm hand on your ass cheek, your skin cool to the touch. “You are being such a brat tonight, my sweet. Something gotten into you?”

“No,” you murmured as you swayed your hips back and forth. “Just need you so much, Sanji. It’s not fair you made me wait.”

“Oh? It’s not fair, huh?” He bit his lip, gazing down at the perfection that was your lush backside. “I’ll show you what’s fair.”

Sanji steadied himself, running his hand over the tantalizing curve of your ass, before winding up and landing a sharp swat on your left cheek, feeling your skin ripple under his palm.

You kicked your leg up at the sting, almost grazing him. “Sanji, that hurt!”

“What? You gonna whine about it?” he challenged, sinking his fingers into the meat of your hips, so hard he could almost see the bruises blooming.

You whipped your head around to look at him, and his heart nearly thumped out of his ribcage at the sight of your lust-blown eyes: you were enjoying every moment of this. “What if I do?”

“Oh yeah?” He landed another sharp swat on your right cheek, then alternated one more on each, feeling himself throbbing with every smack, nearly drooling at how your body quaked under his firm hand. “Had enough?”

You pushed yourself back against him, started to grind desperately against his clothed erection. “Sanji, please, I can’t take this anymore, won’t you please fuck me?”

He leaned over you, his chest pressed against you, pinning you down to the table. “I want you to beg for it.”

“Please Sanji, won’t you fuck me?” You started to quake under him, your chest heaving as tears started to well in your eyes. “I was so good and I waited and I waited just like you told me, and now I want you to fuck me.”

“Again,” he rumbled into your ear, letting more of his mass settle on you, until you were completely flat against the table. “Like you mean it.”

“Please, Sanji, I need your cock in me so bad,” you keened through staccato breaths, body writhing rhythmically under his weight. “Just please, please take me, I can’t stand it anymore. I need you so fucking much, don’t make me wait anymore.”

He kissed the nape of your neck, ran his fingers softly over your hip and up your side. “Well since you asked so nicely, how could I say no?”

He stood up and hastily undressed, finally freeing his aching cock from the confines of his slacks. He palmed his length with one hand, watching the head swell, as he dragged two fingers up the length of your slit. A depraved moan escaped him as he felt the copious slick drenching his fingertips; he was almost taken aback but just how well you had responded to him, how absolutely soaked you were from his perverse punishment.

“My darling,” he whispered hoarsely, “if I’m not mistaken, I’d say you enjoyed being made to wait for me, hm?”

No words formed, only a fervent nod of your head and a soft whimper, as you slowly moved your hips from side to side, tempting him, practically calling him home to the heaven between your legs. He ran the pulsing head of his cock along your folds, coating himself in your wetness, before eagerly plunging into you, pushing himself inside as far as he could, groaning obscenely at the feeling of the sweet warmth surrounding him. Sanji was a man who loved to take his time with you, to make love to you and bathe you in pleasure, drown you in tenderness until you were a beautiful mess spread open on his mattress—but this was not the time for softness. He gripped your hips and pulled you against him, making sure you could feel every pulse and throb of his length, before sinking himself into you again and again with a wild intensity.

“Is this what you wanted, my sweet?” he growled, nearly delirious from the sensation of your walls fluttering around him with every impassioned thrust.

“So good,” you murmured repeatedly, barely audible over the lewd sounds of Sanji’s cock driving into your wet cunt over and over. You rocked yourself against him, your sweet whimpers slowly becoming loud, wanton moans, as he felt your body start to tense under his grasp, your muscles tightening and legs quaking. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum.”

“Fuck yes, cum for me sweetheart,” he groaned, the thought of you taking your pleasure from him making him throb powerfully. He felt a strong clench around his length as you let out a euphoric sob, and you came in profound, pulsating spasms, your body twisting and bucking under him as you wailed. The hypnotic pulsing of your cunt around him was pulling him closer and closer to reaching his own pleasure. His hips snapped against you, his pace becoming more and more erratic and frenzied, unable to control how much he wanted—no needed—to cum in you after how long he’d waited, how long he’d stood there in the kitchen, his cock aching and an all-consuming fire burning away in his core, as he watched you become so magnificently needy for him. He dug his fingers into your soft flesh and panted, ecstasy in every breath, and let out a deep groan as sparks of pleasure rocketed through his body. With a great shudder, he poured himself into you, filing you entirely, pushing himself deeper into you until he felt it dripping out of your quivering cunt, coating both of you in a sticky mess of your mingled juices.

He collapsed on top of you, nuzzling against your neck as he tried to pull in lungfuls of air. “You alright, my love? Was I too rough with you?”

“Mm, no,” you uttered through labored breaths. “That was fun, I liked it.”

He grinned into the soft skin of your shoulder, feeling his softened cock twitch to life again at the possibilities. “Would you say it was worth the wait?”

“Always,” you sighed.

#i didn't quite make it in time for his birthday but almost ;)#sanji smut #sanji x reader #sanji vinsmoke x reader #blackleg sanji x reader #one piece smut #one piece x reader #lo writes

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