#the ride of a warrior ghost

[ghostedbunnie]

nightmare in the daylight

knight!ghost x fem!reader

based on my prompt that you can find here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[lisenberry]

Feral Friday 141 Thoughts     

NSFW/MDNI/18+    

When you really need to ride him...

...He’s sitting on the couch, watching the day’s match.  Knees spread wide and taking up half the cushions.  You’re cuddled under his arm with your feet tucked up, reading a book or a download on your phone.  It’s in the middle of a steamy scene in your latest bodice-ripper.  After chapters’ worth of fighting and resisting, the heroine is finally going to come all over the big mean villain’s engorged appendage.  

You’re so engrossed, you’re sure he can feel your breath change and your cheek heat up where it rests against his chest.  Can he sense your arousal as it dampens your knickers underneath the old, softened t-shirt you claimed from his bedroom floor the first time you slept over?

When the whistle sounds to end the half, you vaguely notice, until he stirs next to you. “Hey, babe?  We got any snacks?”

“Umm, I th-think so.”  You pull your attention away just in time to meet his eyes.  And he immediately knows. 

“Got yourself a good one there, do you?”  You’ve bitten your lips raw, you’re sweating, and your chest is nearly heaving with lust as you nod desperately.

“Do you mind if I take the edge off?”  You squeeze your thighs together and feel the slick dripping past the fabric.

“Your finger or mine?” he asks, keeping one eye on the telly and one on you as your maneuver out of your underwear.

“I’m going to need something a bit more this time,” you nearly whine as you launch onto his lap, careful not to headbutt his chin in your urgency.

GAZ – He doesn't miss a beat as you nestle your excited little pussy just over his cock.  He’s already rock-hard and it doesn’t take much to pull him out from the sweatpants he wears slung low on his hips.

“Take what you need, love.”  He smiles proudly as you drop down onto him, slipping and sliding on your own slick. 

And you do, pitching forward to settle him against the bundle of nerves deep in your belly.   He’s so long, he doesn’t just graze it, he impales it.  You swear he’s in your lungs, stealing your breath with each rise and fall.

He cheers you on the whole way. 

“Look at you bouncing so well on my cock...So pretty all flushed and sweaty...Fucking hot, you are.”

Your unfairly handsome, quick-tongued rake tenderly wipes the hair and perspiration from your face, and lets you use him until you're shattered and worn out. 

SOAP:  He lets you grind against him for a bit through his gym shorts, dick fully chubbed like the pommel of a saddle. 

“Please tell me it’s a Scottish highland warrior that’s got you so bothered, and not some prissy English lord.  You’ll hurt my feelings.”  He grins, his eyes already rolling back in his head at your steady stroking.

“Keep talking, Johnny.”  You hump against him faster, knowing the second you put him in, you’ll be done for.  A weeping, overstimulated mess before he even catches his stride.  His burly, veiny length has an upwards curve like he was molded and kiln-forged just to fit you. 

And he could go for hours if you didn’t wind him up good.  Tease him and test him, get his attention exactly where it needs to be.

“Let me suck on your tits, bonny lass.”  He deepens his brogue and his voice an octave as he tries not to laugh, while he strips your shirt off and buries his face into your bosom.

You are quite sure that the hot-headed highland scoundrel in your story didn’t use the word ‘tits’, but you let it slide.  The one between your thighs is everything you need, and more.

GHOST – He’s wearing jeans, so it’s a bit harder to get him free.  After you let out a frustrated huff at the complexity of his wardrobe, he cups you under your ass and stands you both up.  Undoing his belt buckle and the fly one-handed before setting you back down astride him again.

“Needy little dove today.”

“Just let me try, Si.”  You rarely ever ride him.  The few times you’ve attempted it, you give up when your thighs turn to mush and your cunt aches from being split in two.  He’s just too thick for a quickie.

“Are you going to let me help this time, or are you going to be stubborn?”

“Help!”  The strangled sound escapes your throat as you fit him in to the hilt.  He takes up so much space, you can’t tell where you end and he begins. 

“You’re fucking soaked.”  He rolls his hips to stretch you further, to find the right spot, as your slick trickles down to coat his balls.  You feel them wet and sticky against your seam.

“Mmmh-uhhh, that’s it.  Right there,” you bellow gratefully to the ceiling.

“What are you going to do about it?”  He grabs your hips rudely, fingers pressing to dimple the skin and hold you down as he spears your nerves like a spike.

You fight against his hold, knowing that’s what he's looking for.  Just a little fire in your belly, a little steel in your spine and your merciless, battle-scarred rogue will give you anything you want.

“That’s it, dovey.  Fuck me good.”

PRICE – He’s watching you with awe, wide-eyed and slack jawed, so immersed in the act of being milked by your warm, soft walls that he’s relinquished control completely.  You know that look too well.

“Do not come yet, John.  Please.  Think of bullets.  Hollow points and grenades.  A...ummm, a panzer!”  You’re almost there.  So...close your mind is just pulling words from memories of past conversations you were only barely listening to.

“A panzer?  Like the bloody old German tank?” he asks with the sort of clarity of mind you need of him in this situation.

“Yes, keep thinking of dusty relics rotting in museums.  While I ride your big, beautiful cock—”

“You’ve done it now.”  He groans, and you feel him stiffen inside you.  The sensation of it, coupled with the hot spurts of his spend hitting your most sensitive spot, get you there just in time to join him.

You don’t even mind that it was so quick.  It warms your heart, and your cunt, that the callous, domineering war hero falls to pieces so completely for no one but you.

[karamrafeek]

Help Karam Al-Nabih and his family rebuild their life

Hello everyone, I am Karam Al Nabih from Gaza. All my dreams have been shattered now in Gaza. I am a software engineer in my last semester, but now my home, my dreams, and my university have been destroyed.

Life before:

Life After :

All my dreams have been destroyed 😞 I hope you share , support and donate

We are suffering from famine in Gaza. My family and I were displaced 4 times from Gaza to Khan Yunis, then Rafah, then Deir al-Balah.

Our campaign is vatted by:

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Also verfited By watermelon:

Look line 75:

my link go fund me :

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if donating on gofundme is not supported in your country you can donate via paypal link :

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[gremlingottoosilly]

🎀𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕞𝕝𝕚𝕟'𝕤 𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥🎀

Hi! I'm Gremlin, I write COD stuff and adore Konig. Mostly write on AO3, but some fics are posted here. I write yandere/perverted/dark stuff mostly, so please be advised. The tamest of my fics are dealing with perversion and romanticized possessive behavior, and the worst ones are straight up kidnapping and torturing. Ask me anything!! I don't deal with extreme degradation, humiliation, piss/scat, hurt/no comfort, but I am fine with dub-con/soft non-con, yandere, kidnapping, perverted behavior etc. I won't write for Nikto, Nikolay or Makarov. I also don't write anything related to the death of the major characters, angst and hurt/no comfort. Shoot me a DM!

My AO3 My ko-fi My TikTok(if needed)

𝒦𝑜𝓃𝒾𝑔 𝓍 𝒻𝑒𝓂!𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

【Ｏｎｅ　ｓｈｏｔｓ】 Moo business (monster!Konig x CowHybrid!fem!Reader) Cleaning services (perv!Konig x fem!cleaner!Reader) A bomb threat (And how it got you a boyfriend) special forces!Konig x fem!college!Reader 1295 kilometers (Konig x fem!Reader, a train ride) Also on AO3!

【Ｓｅｒｉｅｓ】

Cabin in the woods (yan!Konig x fem!Reader x yan!Horangi) Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 (updated) Also on AO3!

If you need to be mean (husband!yandere!Konig x wife!fem!Reader) [Konig hates his new promotion. Being a colonel only makes him more miserable while forcing to constantly communicate with people below and above his rank. However, meeting a cute civilian on his latest deployment makes his life a bit sweeter.]

The Horror and The Wild (yan!Emperor!Konig x fem!Reader) You had a nice, simple life. Serve the princess, obey the princess, protect the princess with your life. You never thought that this nice, simple life would bring you to be kidnapped by the infamous Northern Emperor. Konig never thought that kidnapping a wife would be much easier than courting one. Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Lovefool (yandere!kidnapper!Konig x fem!Reader) [Konig got himself a little trophy from the battlefield.]

Drinking song for socially anxious (monster!Konig x MonsterCaretaker!Reader) [People learned to live alongside monsters. Hybrids are better soldiers and warriors, but they have problems controlling themselves on the battlefield. This is where you came from, as the newest caretaker of a weirdly quiet percht hybrid who seems to never talk to anyone.

You are eager to take care of him, though.]

The Horror and the Wild (emperor!Konig x fem!Reader) Fantasy/Medieval AU

[You had a nice, simple life. Serve the princess, obey the princess, protect the princess with your life. You never thought that this nice, simple life would bring you to be kidnapped by the infamous Northern Emperor.

Konig never thought that kidnapping a wife would be much easier than courting one.]

GHOST X READER Your Ride will be here shortly(poly!yan!141 x fem!Reader) Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

[misswynters]

Wine

aemond targaryen x wife!reader

[WARNING: switch!aemond, implied mommy kink?, riding, lactation kink but with wine?, let me know if there are any mistakes

[requested: by @demigoddessqueens (everyone say thanks)

[a/n: both you and aemond are switches and this is the first time i’m writing this type of thing :3

Aemond knelt before you in the privacy of your chambers, his tall, imposing figure somehow made small by the sheer humility in his posture. The low, flickering light of the hearth cast long shadows across the room, turning the walls into a canvas of shifting shapes. But the only thing that mattered was the man before you—Aemond Targaryen, Prince of the Realm, brought to his knees by his own desires, and by you, his wife.

The tension in the air was thick, palpable, as if the very walls of the room held their breath, waiting for the inevitable. Aemond’s single eye, the vibrant violet of old Valyria, locked onto yours with an intensity that could have melted stone. But tonight, there was no fire in his gaze, no dragon-like fury—only a deep, aching need.

You stood above him, holding a goblet filled with the finest Arbor red wine. The deep crimson liquid sloshed gently as you tilted the cup ever so slightly, just enough to let the wine catch the light. Aemond’s breath hitched, his lips parting as his eye followed the movement of your hand, as if entranced.

“You want this, don’t you?” you asked, your voice a low, sultry purr that filled the room with an almost tangible heat.

“Yes,” Aemond whispered, his voice strained, laced with desperation. “Please…”

There was something so intoxicating about the way he begged—this powerful man, a dragonrider, a warrior, reduced to nothing but a trembling, needy husband before you. You reveled in the control you had over him, the way he willingly gave himself to you, trusting you with his vulnerability.

With deliberate slowness, you lowered the goblet toward his lips, but stopped just short of letting him drink. His eye flicked up to meet yours, a flash of panic crossing his features as you teased him, holding the cup just out of reach. He didn’t dare move, though you could see the strain in his shoulders, the way his hands clenched into fists behind his back.

“Do you think you deserve it?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Aemond swallowed hard, his throat working as he struggled to form words. “I—I want to deserve it,” he stammered, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and longing. “I want to please you, my lady. I’ll do anything…”

Your lips curved into a slow, wicked smile as you tilted the goblet just enough to let a single drop of wine fall onto his waiting tongue. He groaned softly at the taste, his eye fluttering closed as he savored the brief, tantalizing sensation. But you pulled the cup away again, making him whimper in protest.

“Anything?” you repeated, your voice laced with amusement as you crouched down to his level. You were so close now that you could feel the heat radiating off his body, see the slight tremor in his hands as he struggled to maintain control. He nodded fervently, his eye wide with need.

“Good,” you murmured, tracing the rim of the goblet with your finger before bringing it to his lips once more. This time, you allowed the wine to flow freely, pouring it into his mouth as he eagerly drank, his lips wrapping around the edge of the cup like a man starved.

Some of the wine spilled over, trailing down his chin and neck, staining his skin a deep, sinful red. You watched, enthralled, as the liquid dripped onto his collar, seeping into the fabric of his tunic. Aemond’s breathing grew heavier, more labored, as he drank, and when you finally pulled the goblet away, his lips were stained with the rich hue of the wine.

You leaned in closer, your breath ghosting over his skin as you licked a stray droplet of wine from the corner of his mouth. Aemond shuddered under your touch, his whole body tensing as he fought to keep still. The taste of the wine, mixed with the saltiness of his skin, was intoxicating, and you found yourself drawn to him, unable to resist the pull.

Pressing your lips to his, you kissed him deeply, your tongue slipping into his mouth to claim the remnants of the wine. He moaned into the kiss, his eye closing as he surrendered completely to you, his hands trembling where they rested on the floor. You could feel the intensity of his desire in the way he kissed you back, the way his whole body seemed to ache for your touch.

When you finally pulled away, Aemond was panting, his lips parted and his eye half-lidded with lust. His hair, usually so meticulously kept, was now disheveled, strands falling into his face. You brushed them aside gently, your fingers lingering in his hair, savoring the feel of the silky strands.

“You’ve been so good,” you whispered, your voice softening just a fraction. “So sweet.”

His eye fluttered open, and the look of adoration in his gaze made your heart skip a beat. He nodded, swallowing hard as he tried to steady his breathing. “I’ll always be good for you,” he said, his voice hoarse, raw with emotion. “Whatever you want… i’m yours.”

The sheer sincerity in his words, the absolute devotion, made your pulse quicken. You set the goblet aside, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, feeling the stubble beneath your touch. He leaned into your hand, a small, contented sigh escaping him as he closed his eye once more.

You guided him gently onto his back, his body melting into the soft furs beneath him. He looked up at you, his violet eye wide, vulnerable, and utterly captivating. You straddled his waist, feeling the warmth of his body against yours, and leaned down, brushing your lips against his ear.

“Tonight, you will relax,” you whispered, your breath hot against his skin. “and do absolutely nothing.”

“Yes, my lady,” he breathed, his voice trembling with anticipation.

You began to unlace his tunic, your fingers deftly working at the knots until the fabric fell away, revealing the pale, sculpted planes of his chest. Aemond’s breath hitched as your hands roamed over his skin, tracing the lines of his muscles, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palm.

He was beautiful—almost too beautiful, with his alabaster skin and the faint scars that marked him as a warrior. But tonight, he was not a warrior, not not a prince or a dragonrider. Tonight, he was yours, and yours alone. You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his collarbone, then another, slowly working your way down his chest.

Aemond moaned softly, his hands clenching the furs beneath him as he struggled to remain still. You could feel the tension coiled in his body, the way he was barely holding himself together. When you reached the waistband of his trousers, you paused, looking up at him through your lashes. His eye was dark with desire, his lips parted as he panted softly, his chest rising and falling with each labored breath.

"Do you want me to continue?" you asked, your voice a low, teasing murmur.

"Yes," he gasped, his voice breaking with desperation. "Please..."

A wicked smile curved your lips as you slowly, agonizingly slowly, began to unlace his trousers. Aemond's breath quickened, his whole body trembling with anticipation as you finally freed him from the confines of his clothing.

You took him in your hand, feeling the heat of his arousal, and he groaned, his eye squeezing shut as he arched into your touch. You stroked him slowly, watching the way his face contorted with pleasure, the way his lips parted in a silent plea for more. "Look at me," you commanded softly.

Aemond's eye fluttered open, and the sheer vulnerability in his gaze made your heart ache. He was completely at your mercy, and the power you held over him was intoxicating.

You leaned down, brushing your lips against his in a featherlight kiss. "My handsome husband," you whispered against his mouth.

"Yes," he echoed, his voice trembling with devotion.

And then you took his lips into your mouth, swallowing his moans as you worked him with slow, deliberate movements, savoring the taste of him, the feel of him trembling beneath you. Aemond's hands flew to your hair, gripping the strands tightly as he fought to control himself, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

You kept your movements slow, teasing, drawing out his pleasure until he was a quivering mess beneath you, his whole body trembling with need. When you finally pulled back, his eye was glazed with lust, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.

"Please," he gasped, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Please, my lady.I can't..."

"Shh," you soothed, pressing a finger to his lips. "You don't need to do anything, my love. Just let me take care of you."

Aemond nodded, his eye fluttering closed as he surrendered completely to your touch. You straddled him once more, guiding him into you with a slow, deliberate movement that made you both gasp. The feeling of him filling you, the heat of his body against yours, was almost overwhelming, and you had to take a moment to steady yourself. His hands found your hips, his grip almost bruising as he held you in place, his whole body trembling with the effort to remain still. You began to move, slowly at first, savoring the way he filled you, the way his hands tightened on your hips as he fought to keep control.

His eye fluttered open, and the look of sheer adoration in his gaze made your heart ache with a fierce, burning love. You leaned down, capturing his lips in a deep, searing kiss as you rode him. Your The way your hips bounced on his was growing faster and more desperate, as the knots in your stomach began to tighten. Aemond's hands roamed your body, his touch both gentle and possessive, as if he couldn't decide whether to hold you close or let you go. His breath came in ragged gasps, his body tensing beneath you as he neared the edge.

"Come for me," you whispered against his lips, your voice trembling with the effort to hold back your own release.

Aemond's whole body shuddered as he finally let go, his release crashing over him with a force that left him breathless, trembling beneath you. You followed him over the edge, your own release tearing through you, leaving you both gasping for air.

Your hips rolled slowly, teasingly, savoring the way he filled you so completely, the way his thick length stretched and filled your inner walls.

You could feel every vein, every ridge of him, your walls tightening around his cock with each agonizingly slow thrust.

Aemond's hands flexed at his sides, his jaw clenched as he held back the torrent of need threatening to consume him.

You leaned forward, your breasts brushing against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your skin. His breath came in ragged gasps, each one trembling with the effort to remain still, to let you take him as you pleased. His eye locked onto yours, the sheer vulnerability in his gaze making your core throb with desire.

"Aemond," you whispered, your voice a husky command that sent a shiver down his spine. "Touch me."

His eye widened, a flash of uncertainty crossing his features as he hesitated, unsure if he could trust himself to obey without losing control. You didn't give him a choice. Reaching down, you took his hand in yours, guiding it between your bodies, down to where you were joined.

His fingers trembled as you placed them against your bundle of nerves, the sensitive nub already swollen with arousal. The slightest brush of his touch sent a jolt of pleasure through you, your thighs quivering as you gasped softly.

Aemond's breath hitched, his eye widening as he felt the slick heat of your arousal against his fingertips, the way your body clenched around him in response.

"Right there," you murmured, guiding his hand in slow, deliberate circles over your clit. Aemond groaned, his whole body tensing as he watched you ride him, his touch growing bolder, more insistent as he lost himself in the sensation of pleasing you.

You began to move faster, your hips rolling in a rhythm that matched the frantic beat of your heart. Every thrust sent a wave of pleasure crashing through you, your core tightening with each movement, driving you closer to the edge. Amond's fingers worked your clit with a desperate intensity, his touch sending sparks of ecstasy shooting through your body, making you tremble with the effort to hold on.

Aemond was a mess beneath you, his chest heaving, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he struggled to keep up with you, to match your rhythm, to please you in every way he could. His eye was half-lidded, glazed with lust as he watched you, his lips parted in a silent plea, a prayer to the gods of pleasure.

You could feel the tension coiling in your lower belly, the tight knot of desire that threatened to unravel at any moment. Your hands found purchase on his chest, your nails digging into his skin as you rode him harder, faster, chasing your release with a singleminded determination.

"Aemond," you gasped, your voice trembling with the sheer force of the pleasure building within you. "Don't stop."

Aemond's fingers moved faster, his touch desperate, as if he couldn't bear the thought of not bringing you to the peak of pleasure once more. His other hand gripped your hip, guiding you as you rode him, his thrusts growing erratic as he teetered on the edge himself.

Your orgasm hit you with the force of a hurricane, your body tensing as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you. Your inner walls clenched around Aemond, milking him for everything he had, drawing a choked cry from his lips as he came undone beneath you, his release spilling into you once more.

You collapsed onto his chest, your bodies slick with sweat, your breath mingling as you both struggled to come down from the high. Aemond's arms wrapped around you, holding you close, as if he never wanted to let go. His heart still pounded beneath your ear, a steady rhythm that matched the thrum of satisfaction coursing through your veins.

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[purple-writer8]

Delicate - ACOTAR

Azriel x Winter Court Reader

“Handsome, you’re a mansion with a view. Do the girls back home touch you like I do?”

warnings: literally smut with a plot, fingering, shadowplay, wingplay sort of, light very light bondage, riding, p in v, cum inside

1k words

Masterlist :)

Your favorite thing to do was trace small stars across the shadowsinger’s bare chest, your eyes strained on his sleepy, peaceful face. 

Whenever he stayed over, you grew lazy— waiting for him to wake up, not wanting to move much as you laid tightly tucked between his chest and his right wing that cocooned around both of you. The blue siphon that hangs off his chest glows even as he sleeps, and you twirl the object in between your fingers. Wondering how you ever got one of the strongest warriors in Prythian to be yours.

Well, yours temporarily… sporadically.

“Watching me sleep?” His wing twitched as he spoke, his voice entirely raspy, hazel eyes fluttering open to gaze down upon you resting on his chest. Shadows slithered up your bare legs, they were a soft caress that reminded you of the previous night the both of you shared. 

“Am I not allowed?” You whispered softly, playfully, curious fingers reaching up to softly trail his sharp features. His shadows coiled around your waist and then traced up to your bare breasts, slithering atop your already hardened peaks.

“You can do whatever you want when it comes to me, lovely,” Azriel spoke, causing heat to pool in between your thighs, and you were entirely sure that he could smell your desire. That devilish smirk was all too telling. 

He was a dream, and he was there-- in your bed. You sighed and looked up at him, your eyes finding his hazel ones, and as you gazed into them-- you found yourself thinking what would it be like if he was yours, your mate-- really truly yours. 

You had met Azriel in a diplomatic venture you had for your court, fifty years ago. You were the Winter Court's emissary, which made you and the Nigh Court's spymaster prone to seeing each other constantly. 

The Winter and Night courts were friendly, so your High Lord had once invited Rhysand and his Inner Circle to a Winter Solstice ball. You had always found the shadowsinger attractive, anyone who didn't was insane-- he was crafted by the Mother herself, you were sure. But that night, alcohol was flowing, and he ended up in your bed. 

You had thought it was a one time thing, but somehow, whenever he had business in the Winter Court, he was knocking on your door-- constantly falling into your bed. It was something casual, no strings attached. That did not mean you did not wish for him to be yours every damn time. 

Straddling him, you leaned down to whisper in his ear, "whatever I want?" 

Azriel chuckled deeply, his wings twitching in anticipation, his hardness standing tall and pressing against your bottom. You reached for the cuffs that laid on your night stand, the same ones he had used on you the night before. 

As you worked to cuff him to the headboard, his shadows danced around you, teasing you. Some glided over your stiffened peaks, while others slithered to your center, ghosting over your clit, making sure you were nice and ready for their master. "Is this my punishment for last night?" He chuckled, wriggling his wrists around the now closed cuffs. 

"Yes... bad little shadowsinger," you cooed, reaching for his right wing, your black polished nail scraping against that leathery spot you knew would drive him crazy. Azriel whined, his cock twitching, eager to be touched. You smirked and got off his lap, sitting in between his legs. 

His eyes darkened as you revealed to him your glistening sex, running two fingers along your folds. Azriel licked his lips, "you cruel, cruel female." His shadows slithered up your leg, reaching your aching clit and ghosting over it. You moaned as you fucked yourself with your fingers, his shadows helping with ministrations that were oh, so torturous. 

"Fuck... you look so pretty like that... with your fingers fucking your pussy." He struggled against the cuffs, yearning to touch you, longing to feel you. "Don't you dare come," he growled, his shadows whisking up toward your neck, slithering around it to keep you steady. 

He tickled your neck as a distraction, and before you could even react-- he had uncuffed himself from the headboard and flipped you unto the bed, a seductive smirk crawling unto his face. You chuckled, your hands holding his biceps as his fingers plunged into you, fucking into you with an unrelenting pace. His wings flaring wide, covering almost the entirety of your room. 

You didn't need much to come down from your high with a loud cry, nails digging into his arms as you came undone on his fingers. "Good fucking girl... so good for me..." he whispered, still fingering you, extending your orgasm as much as you could. 

You gripped his arms tightly and flipped him over, lowering yourself into his hardened cock, not able to wait any longer for that feeling of him deep inside you. He growled, wings tucked tight as his scarred hands gripped your ass, guiding you up and down his stiff member. "Do the girls back home fuck you like I do?" You moaned, your arms swinging to wrap around his neck for purchase. 

"Not a chance," he breathed out shakily, holding you in place as he drove his hips up into you, fucking you with an unrelenting, punishing pace. You moaned loudly, brazenly, as his cock hit that spongy spot inside of you over and over again. "You're always so tight, fuck..." he groaned. 

"I can never stop thinking about you.... fuck... you're the only one I can fuck..." Azriel breathed out, his thrusts becoming erratic as he neared his peak. "I'm yours, Azriel. Only yours, you know that." 

He let out an uncharacteristic moan as he shot his spend deep inside you. His thrusts slowing as he pumped you full of him, so fucking full. And you came again for him, always for him.

You slumped over his chest, head nuzzled into his neck as his fingers combed through your hair gently— both of you reeling after reaching your peaks together. The two of you cuddled for another hour, until he apparently got orders from his high lord in his mind. “I’ve got to go, angel…” he whispered, gently lifting you up off his body. 

You frowned, watching as he dressed himself quickly. “Stay here, baby, I don’t wanna share…” you said softly, covering your body with the duvet and leaning against the headboard. 

Azriel chuckled as he donned on his leathers, “you make it harder to leave each time, lovely.” 

“Promise you’ll be back soon… you always leave for so much time…” You whined, causing Azriel to step towards you, clasping your chin in his fingers. 

“We can’t make any promises, now. Can we, babe?” He asked, and you knew it was true— knew that your situation was delicate. 

You were both entirely dedicated to your respective courts. So you watched him go, and instantly yearned for him to come back. 

-

Author’s note:

Literally porn with a plot… BTW this winter court reader is not the one from heather. I just adore the Winter Court hehehe

Taglist: @mybestfriendmademe @lilah-asteria

[aonungsmate]

Hello I was wondering if I could request an Ao’nung x Reader, maybe reader could be Tsu’tey’s daughter from a woman he had mated with after learning of Neytiri’s and Jake’s mating, he had a woman that he had loved but he couldn’t have because he was betrothed to Neytiri. And that love bore fruit to our reader who is very close to the Sully family especially with Kiri whom she always defends when being teased by other children. She joins Norm and Max to the metkayina clan. And she’s just this badass with an ikran that was theorized by others to be the spawn of The great leonopteryx that Jake had tamed once. And Ao’nung is flabbergasted by this pretty na’vi riding such a dangerous animal? When the battle happens, she goes ham on the RDA and SAVES NETEYAM BC GDI LEAVE MY BOY ALONE and when they return theres a whole celebration and reader finally relaxes and shes been surrounded by curious na’vis alike bc phew baddie ‼️💅🏻 and ao’nung is such a simp tryna talk to her and rizz her up and it’s just ao’nung pining over her ackk

Destined for Might and Him

Ao’nung x Tsu’tey’s daughter!reader [Word Count: 3.1k]

🤷‍♀️uploading this after 123456789 years of draft!! Enjoy reading another rubbish fic😚💕

Warnings: mentions of death, spoilers

Jake has made countless mistakes since he joined the Omatikaya for his mission. Tsu’tey had never approved of him, until he actually saw him. He was betrothed to Sylwanin first, then came the humans, taking her away from his arms, Neytiri being the next suitable partner for him. As if there was a curse following him, a demon swooped Neytiri from him, though they were not that subtle. He has never seen Neytiri the way he looked at her older sister though.

Third time’s the charm, right?

In Tsu’tey’s case, it is. Being the next olo’eyktan meant he would be interacting with the entire clan, making sure that they felt safe even before his rule, heavily dedicating himself to making the hometree the most secure and comfortable place for their people. That’s where he met your mother, the forbidden fruit he’s always afraid to touch, only to see. He did not think it was right to look at another woman when he was promised to another man’s daughter. He was afraid that she would be too dainty for him to pursue.

Only to see, he said.

The third time he planned to mate with a woman was in the middle of the conflict. Right after he learned about Jake and Neytiri’s mating, he stormed off, not without giving Jake a good beating of course. It is when he actually had the chance to follow his heart, free of expectations. He soon learned that she too, was in love with him since he passed his iknimaya, hiding it from the rest of the clan as soon as she realized that she could not have him. Not without betraying the daughter of the olo’eyktan. So she comforted him, became friends with him instead. With his pride broken, he took everything that he thought would put his pieces back to being worthy of a warrior. Eywa, did it feel good to follow his heart and tell your mother how he really felt. So that’s why Sylwanin used to talk of mating as if it was the most beautiful thing in the world.

Somehow as he reminisced, he has really begun to see himself growing older with your mother. So, he set himself a new goal. To protect his love, and his people. Neytiri did not matter to him that much anymore, having moved on from the ghost of the past, accepting Jake Sully as his brother once again, deciding to fight against the sky demons with dreamwalkers whom Eywa have shown promise in.

What he did not expect was you. So imagine his surprise when he came home, your mother guiding his hands on her torso, telling him, Think you can handle one more, ma tsu’tey?

And so, the war came. Battles were won, people were lost. Including the mightiest warrior your mother has ever known. Your father, too young to be taken by Eywa, but alas. It was time for him to embrace the great mother’s comforting presence. He thought it was a shame it would take him years before he actually gets the chance to clutch you in his arms. He’s long entrusted you to his brother though. He made sure Jake promises him to look after you and your mother after all.

A beautiful young na’vi, born into war, just a few months before Jake Sully’s first son was born. You were then named, (y/n) te Rongloa Yenateu’ite. You were a carbon copy of your father, your mother actually exclaimed Tsu’tey’s name when she saw you having the eyes and seemingly permanent daring look your father had. You never really knew your father. Your mother would speak highly of him every night, stories and songs written by her, dedicated with her love for her long lost love. You would see her casting a longing gaze at the walls of your tent whenever she braids your hair, telling you of her and her past love’s nightly escapades when the people would head to their tents to sleep. Amazement and sheer pride written on your face when hearing of your father.

That’s when your mother would sigh audibly, completely defeated that you would always be a daddy’s daughter even without meeting him.

It has been a few weeks since your adoptive family moved to Awa’atlu to seek uturu. Your mother has long passed away, developing a sickness a few years ago. Life in the waters for them was not easy, having new responsibilities and things to work on, especially the breathing.

You were the seventh Toruk Makto, for Eywa’s sake.

Your iknimaya was going perfectly, along with Neteyam. Neteyam proved himself to be a mighty warrior, having wrestled with one of the toughest-looking ikran in the rookery. Kiri showed that she had the strongest connection to Eywa when she ‘befriended’ an ikran at a very young age, earning the title of tsakarem. You, on the other hand, basically confirmed the undeniability that you were Tsu’tey te Rongloa Ateyitan’s daughter, after an unusual occurrence in the ikran rookery. The “most dangerous iknimaya”, as Mo’at would say. As soon as Txop’alei sealed his bond with his ikran, as you stepped through the narrow path, a large ikran– No, a Toruk towered over the ikran rookery, making all of you yell in surprise followed by hisses from Neytiri behind you, and screeches from ikran fleeing away.

Your heart skipped a beat when you crossed gazes with the Toruk, stepping forward cautiously as its vibrant orange reflected on your yellow eyes, examining its slightly emerald green tinges on its wings. Soon enough, you were greeted with a threatening roar, making you gulp as soon as you realized that you were being chosen. Wrestling with an ikran is one thing, but with the great leonopteryx? It’s like a death sentence. Maybe it’s your mom or dad calling for you through Eywa, but would the warrior side of you really give up this thrilling opportunity?

Xi’di. That’s what you named your Toruk. Neytiri says it looked familiar. She thinks it’s a child of her mate’s Toruk. Mo’at says it’s your fathers gift to you from the other side when she pointed out how similar the green tinges match your father’s ikran colors.

You were more than happy to get to know your friend, Xi’di, through sneaking out and having late night flights. It wasn’t long before you were exposed to war, with Jake asking you to spot demon machines when the stars multiplied in the skies, together with his sons Neteyam and Lo’ak, brothers you would consider them as.

“Stop the useless yammering and out with it,” you spoke, jutting your chin upwards to emphasize that you were a greater warrior than he is.

“I saw your ikran,” Aonung inhaled deeply, petting the ilu swimming around the two of you, “it is bigger than the others” he pointed out, his incorrectness making you roll your eyes. You thought it was pathetic that he would attempt to hold a conversation with you after participating with yet again another standoff with your brothers. Your ears flickered slightly at the sound of celebrations around you, children laughing as they danced around.

You huffed at his curious glance, “It is a Toruk,” you smiled wickedly at his reaction, “Surprised that a girl smaller than you is a better warrior?” He scoffed at you, a mocking smile written on his face as he changed the subject back to something related to breathing.

The Metkayina chief’s son was not as who you expected him to be. He was arrogant, condescending, the complete opposite of what Neteyam was like, as the former olo’eyktan’s son.

“You wish,” he smirked, remembering how you checked him out earlier in the day as he raised the nets, his toned arms making your heart gallop. “Metkayina men are known for having mighty arms,” he boasted, too absorbed with himself that he somehow missed how you bashfully avoided eye contact for a second, a blush overtaking your cheeks as he continued on and on about what he has achieved, and his goals to be realized before and after he becomes olo’eyktan.

Regardless of the boastful and proud demeanor, Ao’nung lives up to his status though, having the toughest feats than the men his age, hunting the most, sparring the best, donning the most pleasing face in the clan and all, not that you would admit that to his face.

You remembered the faint voice of your father echoing from the tree of souls, telling that he might not be able to handle it if a pompous na’vi were to win your heart, you were Tsu’tey’s daughter for Eywa’s sake. Nobody would be worthy of you if he was actually there to guard you from presumptuous young men. So, you heed your father’s vivid wishes, promising yourself that you would be in your most sound and logical self when it comes to matters like this. Jake would always nod at you with pride when he hovers to size up your suitors, as soon as he witnesses you reject potential mates.

No wonder he and your biological father grew on each other.

You were not keen on migrating to another clan, only knowing the forest since you were born. You were angry. Furious, that the sky demons were responsible for your family's pain. You would never hold that against your adoptive father though. You loved him more than anything in the world, together with your half na'vi brothers and sisters, but you could not give up the forest. And so, you held your ground and decided to stay with the Omatikaya people.

Since the Sully's arrived in Awa'atlu, your siblings have received nothing but a flurry of insults and looks of disgust from most of the village people. Especially from the chief's son.

As the eldest sister, you felt responsible for making your brothers and sisters feel safe. Back in the forest, you would glare at every stupid boy who would dare sneak up on your sister and call her a freak, you would cast the most frightening look on your face when people would point at your youngest brother. But the most important of all, you would smile the sweetest directed at your younger siblings.

So when you heard of Kiri's situation from Norm, you immediately called upon Xi'di and braved the waters to come to where your family was. Horns and spears were let out when the Metkayina guards caught sight of a large beast coming upon their island, terrified yells from people left and right were heard, except for Lo'ak who let out a laugh of disbelief when he laid his eyes on the majestic Toruk. The colors were oh-so familiar, clad in a saddle that screamed Omatikaya, a dangling string of beads around its neck, the diversity of materials that came from none other than him.

A loud roar resonated within Awa'atlu, startling Neytiri who was busy tending to Kiri. She frowned at the thought of you, thinking that she was imagining things.

"Did you hear that Ma'itan?" Her question was answered soon enough when she noticed him running towards the crowd outside and exclaimed, "Sister, you have come!"

And there it was.

Ao'nung almost snapped his neck at how fast it turned when he caught you in his peripherals. His eyes almost bulged out of its sockets at how fast it widened when you turned your eyepiece upwards as you broke the bond with Xi'di.

"My mighty warrior! It has been too long baby brother," you slung your arms around Neteyam's frame, telling him how much he's grown in just a few months. Gladness and worry was written on your face when he brought up Kiri's situation, "You mean she had a seizure underwater ?!"

Ao'nung noticed how your waterline easily filled up with tears waiting to be shed when you approached the marui where Kiri was currently being taken care of.

What made his feelings definite was the brief eye contact with him that you shared though.

"Thank you, great mother! Thank you!"

You wailed with your family, hugging each other where Neteyam was lying down, grateful that your family has been once again blessed by Eywa. The sky people had wrought destruction in just a matter of a few weeks since your arrival in Awa'atlu after you decided to stay until you have reassured Kiri's well-being.

You were feeling beyond terrified at what had just occurred. You saw your brothers and sisters getting chased by the demon machineries, three of them tied on the huge ship that drove on the waters, spurring the darkness inside you as you fought and fought and fought until you have ensured that they were all safe.

Your brother, Neteyam.

The brother that you have known the longest, shot near where his heart lies, sealing RDA's fate when you saw your brother wheezing on a rock, who wanted nothing but to come home. You were soon enough blinded by rage, together with Neytiri who channeled her anger to retrieve her daughters who were left on the ship.

Everything was a blur that night. Guns and armies thrown left and right, ships exploding, taking hundreds of lives, both na’vi and human. You didn’t think you could have handled it well without the guidance of your father. You felt rage and hurt. Seeing your brother writhe in pain, shivering in the numbing coldness of the water raging against the rocks, you felt like you have just had your heart thrown away.

Your childhood friend Spider, getting sliced across his chest. Your mother, completely having her judgment clouded over her dying son, her daughters, desperate to be freed from the arms of a demon who somehow took pleasure in making your father's life null.

Then it was all submerged in the harsh waters.

You cried out for your companion and rode your Toruk, circling around the sinking demon ship, tears continuously flowing in frustration.

Where was everyone?

You swore you almost lost your mind, but then you remembered.

They were Omatikaya. They will survive.

So, you swallowed the impending grief. You forced yourself to think clearly through the bond, Xi’di responding with the loudest roar it could muster, and swooped down towards the direction of the rocks where you Neteyam laid.

At the sight of Neteyam, you cried.

It was that day when Ao'nung first saw you cry in Neteyam's arms, who was also sniffling at the thought of almost dying and missing out on his siblings' lives. He ruffled Tsireya's hair as she cried in relief, thankful that his sister was also safe.

The people cried. The people mourned. The people had their reunion with their families.

Sully’s stick together. And stick together, you did.

All of you were safe.

“You okay, kid?” Jake mumbled against the top of your head, embracing you and Neteyam as soon as he climbed up the shores, to which you responded by sobbing and hugging him tight. Neytiri had Neteyam against her chest, kissing his forehead, thanking the great mother all over again.

You turned your heads at the sound of water splashing once more, revealing Spider.

“Monkey boy!” Kiri exclaimed, smiling at the sight of her friend, pressing a hand against his chest. You untangled yourself from your father, fussing over Tuk and Neteyam as you see Lo’ak and Spider get squished against your father’s chest.

As you pressed your lips against Tuk’s forehead, you somehow met Ao’nung’s gaze, casting a soft smile at him as you observed him rubbing Tsireya’s shoulder in affection as she cried in his arms, completely being washed over with relief and mostly just overstimulated from the war you had just gone through.

And soon enough, it was time for a celebration of their victory against the sky people.

Fires were started, wood were piled up on one another, the children holding hands together as they sing praises to the great mother, celebrating the victory of their people, ever grateful for the safety of who remained, and prayed for the guidance of Eywa to help those who were lost, to come home to her warm embrace.

Ao’nung fixed the headdress he was donning, a symbol of his status, as he sat beside his sister, scanning his gaze amongst the sea of his people.

And then there was you.

Your eyes were piercing as you held your gaze, the brutal reality of his feelings slowly sinking in as you tucked one of your freshly braided hair, his eyes slowly trailing over the accessories you saved for occasions like this.

Did you have different sets of necklaces for ceremonies?

Were they of rare materials? Because he has never seen a woman this beautiful, he wondered.

He was so struck with your fierceness he did not notice that he was the only one left on the mats laid out on the high platform that was planted on the sand for celebrations. He placed a hand against his left knee, slowly rising from his spot to walk towards you, perhaps ask for a dance?

You were speaking to him as soon as he stopped walking, him blurting out a question he’s been meaning to ask, only to be responded with a huge hit to his ego.

“Surprised that a girl smaller than you is a better warrior?”

He never let people step on his pride.

Not even his sister whom he closetedly doted on, completely overtaken by the idea that ‘he’s a man, so he should not be seen as vulnerable’. He soon learned that that shouldn’t be the case though.

With you to pursue? He’s going to relearn everything, it seems.

You were different.

But perhaps those differences would be the factors to taking him a step closer to you.

To a future where you and him embracing under the starry skies as constellations meld together as one during the darkest of the nights, would be a normal occurrence between the two of you.

That, you did.

Months of building himself up in your eyes, and you finally learned to see him as he hoped you would.

“Good, because I see you too,” you remember him saying those exact words after you practically swept him off his feet, his pretentious demeanor once again taking over to spare him of your teasing, not that it went by unnoticed.

You knew him too well.

So when he promised to take care of you, you knew he would.

Just like when he promised to not spoil his first son to the point that he’d grow up like him, you knew he’d end up eating his words.

You knew him, after all.

You see him, in both light and darkness, you see Ao’nung.

•

Edit: 💀somebody pointed out a misplaced paragraph so i went to remove that one ohmygofd

[amjustagirl]

chapter 4

pairing: hoshina soshiro x f! reader

genre: romance, angst

wc: 5k

summary: you've loved soshiro since you were seven. he will always place his duty above you.

chapt 1 / chapt 2 / chapt 3 / chapt 4 / chapt 5

When you blink open your eyes, you find yourself back in the Hoshina family estate. 

The garden is exactly as you remember it. Bonsai trees, neatly manicured. The white gravel ocean raked with ripple lines. Heat shimmers off the ground, harsh summer sun bearing down on the tiled roof. A young man with dark hair and sad, violet eyes sits across you. 

“Soshiro”, you cry, fumbling to your feet. 

He looks right through you even when you’re standing right before him. 

He’s wearing the navy hakama he reserves for formal occasions, the family crest embroidered in gold thread on the back, a ceremonial katana strapped to his hip. Something’s about to happen, you realise, the compound bustling with servants carrying paper lanterns. No one pays you any notice as you float behind him down the familiar corridors of the house, a ghost. 

His father approaches, severe lines running through his forehead. “You know your duty”, he claps his son’s shoulder with a heavy hand. 

Soshiro’s shoulders slump, an invisible weight bearing down on him. 

His duty awaits outside the estate’s gates. 

A young woman, clearly noble born, waits for them to greet her with her chin in the air, dolled up in matrimonial white, surrounded by a retinue of servants. She tilts her chin higher to assess her groom as he offers her his arm before bowing her head demurely, letting him help her up the stairs. 

The sun in your eyes forces you to turn away. Another woman catches your gaze, the profile of her face backlit in the blue-grey dusk. Rough hands, a cheap, cotton yukata, she hides in the shade. Her anguish is apparent in the defeated curve of her mouth. 

She’s you, you realise, with even sadder eyes. 

This is a dream, you tell yourself. A shitty, crappy excuse of a dream that you probably caused by drinking one too many cans of beer. You really should take better to maintain a healthy REM cycle, maybe pick up some meditation or exercise, because heaven knows your psyche will suffer if your subconsciousness decides to torture you in your sleep too.  

You close your eyes. 

You still don’t find yourself back in your bed. Instead, the stench of manure hits you, then the scratch of straw under your feet. That sad girl - you, in another life perhaps, kneels before the same dark haired boy, Soshiro, still as a statue.  

“The horse is saddled. We can ride somewhere, far away where no one knows either of our names, leave all of this behind. You don’t have to get married to a woman you don’t love -” 

He’s carved of marble in the moonlight, doesn’t move to meet her gaze, not even when she tugs at his sleeve. “I am but a second son, but even I know my duty to my clan.” 

“And what about love?” she asks. “What about me?” 

Neither of them notice you when you tumble out of the stable into the night. But there’s nothing but darkness looming before you, the moon nowhere to be seen, and when you turn back, the stable has disappeared. In its place, a familiar, wooden hut, where a fire grows. The heat of the forge stings your face, ash flying, the smell of burning steel in the air. 

This time, Soshiro’s in the lacquered leather of a samurai warrior from centuries past. “Is it ready?” he directs his question at the woman in the forge. 

Wordlessly, she hands him the sword in her hand, red hot from hammer and tongs. He weighs it in his hand, swings it once, twice, flashing quicksilver in the dim light of the blacksmith’s forge. You recognise the blade. You’ve seen it hung up in one of many sitting rooms in the Hoshina estate, captioned as belonging to a Hoshina ancestor who never returned home. 

You understand why her voice quivers when she calls out to him before he leaves. “My lord”, she says. “Will you ever lay down your sword?” 

“Perhaps in another life”, he replies. 

In the shadow of the forge, the violets in his eyes wither and die. 

You cannot bear to watch this play out before you again and again, a twisted loop you’re powerless to stop. There is nothing you can do to shock yourself awake, a ghost in every lifetime you freefall through, so bone weary, you stop running, sink to your knees. Wherever you are, the nightmares stop once you close your eyes. The damp grass is cool against your back, the darkness becomes soothing. It’s easy to lose yourself to a deep, undisturbed sleep. 

(wake up) 

The thrum of your heartbeat starts to still. You think you hear a faint echo. It sounds like Soshiro.

For the first time in your life, you hesitate to answer. 

(please, wake up)

“But it’s comfortable here”, you say to no one at all. “I’m so tired.” 

The neverending grind of work, of long hours spent hunched over glowering flames and complicated weapon blueprints. The dull ache of heartbreak, the painful lesson of learning to be okay alone. 

“Let me sleep”, you whisper. 

The darkness holds you close, blankets you. It’s too easy to let yourself just be, no one to disappoint, no one who disappoints. You let yourself be pulled beneath the tide, the endless ebb and flow lulling you into a dreamless slumber. 

Perhaps you could be content like this. 

Perhaps not. You think of the menagerie of plants you’ve gathered, they depend on you for food and water. There’s a pottery class on Sunday that you’ve been excited to attend, an abstract pot that you want to attempt. You’re supposed to meet your mother for tea, you’re looking forward to feasting on peaches, in season in the dying weeks of summer. 

Your eyelids are still heavy with the weight of sleep, but you force them open. A streak of pain that shoots through your right side, but you slowly sit up anyway. A sea of hydrangeas,  shimmering violet-blue in the early morning light stretches before you.

An achingly familiar voice calls your name. You lift your face to meet the rising sun, feeling its warmth flicker through you. 

Your heart begins to hum. 

You’re not in your own bed when you crack your eyes open. 

The room is too white, too pin-neat. There are clear tubes running from your arms, bandages restricting even your slightest movement, not that you really can do much other than shift about the too-narrow bed you’ve found yourself in, the sudden brightness disorienting you. 

“Oh!”, an unfamiliar voice exclaims. “Call the doctor, she’s awake!” 

Your head threatens to split open. It hurts too much to stay awake. 

You fall back into a dreamless sleep.

You drift in and out of consciousness after that, the pull of sleep still irresistible, but you stay awake for longer periods of time. Doctors poke and prod at you, nurses fuss over you. It’s hard to recall any conversations you have during this time, your memories melding almost into your dreams. 

People ask you questions about your name, your age, where you’re from. It feels as if you’re stuck underwater, it’s a struggle to gasp for enough air at times to answer them, but you think you find enough brain cells to rub together in the cotton wool jumble in your head, mumble the right answers so they go away. 

Your parents show up to visit you. 

‘’Llo”, you mutter. Your father looks strangely old, your mother tired. 

You’re pleased that your mother brings chopped peaches for you, less so when you realise you have no ability to swallow solid food just yet. They disappear for a hushed conversation with the doctors, leaving you with little distraction so you drop back off to sleep. 

The next time you wake, the room is dark. 

Even in the dim glow of machines beeping, you make out the faint outline of a boy you know too well, curled up uncomfortably in a plastic chair. “S‘ro”, you mumble, half asleep. 

A flurry of movement. He appears by your uninjured side, staring at you wide-eyed, as if he doesn’t believe you won’t disappear. You wonder if he’s another figment of your dreams because he stands so still drinking his fill of you, until he remembers to breathe again. 

“Hey”, he says hoarsely.

“Mmph”, you grunt. In your vague, rambling train of thoughts, you register surprise that he’s even here. “S’ work?”

His laugh is wet. “Are you seriously askin’ me ‘how’s work’ right now?” 

You frown. Why - why is Soshiro even here? 

“I’m here for you, silly”, a warm hand settles on your left arm. “Go back to sleep. I’ll seeya later.” 

You start to stay awake for longer stretches at a time. 

Your parents gently fill you in on your situation. You were touch and go for a while, your mother recounts tearfully, your head injury making the doctors doubt you’d ever wake. You had to be cut open to stop internal bleeding in your gut, fix a multitude of shattered bones in your right hip and leg. Burns, on your shoulder and arm which required skin grafts, extensive medication to keep infection at bay. 

Everyone treats you like you’re made out of glass even as your condition steadily improves, aided by the wonders of kaiju regenerative technology. Your parents fuss over you like a child, tucking you in too tight beneath starched hospital sheets. The nurses refuse to let you shower, only allowing you sponge baths which you detest. 

Soshiro’s the worst of the lot. 

At first it's endearing how protective and sweet he is. The doctors give him a wide berth, most of the nurses terrified of him, though he swears that he’s been utterly polite when you question him about it. He doesn’t allow you to do anything yourself, not even hold your own cup of water when you drink. Your bedside is overflowing with colourful greeting cards, half of them signed by him, and he brings you a fresh bouquet of flowers during each visit. 

“That boy is besotted with you”, one of the nurses who isn’t intimidated by Soshiro trills in with her unsolicited opinion. “It’s adorable.” 

He’s not”, you deny, frowning. “We’re just friends.”  

It’s a little too much. The only visitor who doesn’t smother you is Sochiro, who snaps back to his usual self the minute you show a little of your usual snark. “Did you break your head too?” you ask, when he arrives bearing a hamper of fruit. 

“Impertinent brat”, he snaps back. “I’ll have you know my father put me up to this.” 

You grin. “I suppose that’s where your brother got his manners from. Pity you don’t have any.”

He glowers at you, but doesn’t storm out of the room. Instead, he brandishes a small, silver knife and starts peeling fruit. “I never wanted a younger sibling”, he grouses. “Should’ve dropped Soshiro in the drain the minute he was born, then I’d never have to deal with your smart mouth -.” 

“Aww”, you coo. “Hoshina Sochiro, Captain of the Sixth Division, getting soft in your old age.” 

“Shut it”, he snaps, while stuffing perfect wedges of fruit into your palm. 

It reminds you of the easy friendship you had with Soshiro, not the way he’s behaving, almost as if he feels anything more than friendship for you - which he’s confirmed to your face that he mostly does not. It confuses you, the tender way he treats you, the lingering stares when he thinks you’re asleep, and you much prefer him to go back to the way he was before. 

“Stop it!” you finally burst, when his smothering becomes too overwhelming. “Treat me like your friend - not like I’m some glass figurine you’re trying to keep safe.”

A plastic chair screeches back. He stares at you. “Do you even realise how close you were to dyin’?” 

“Sorta”, you reply, though some gaps remain empty in your memories, “but I’m okay now, and ‘sides, what happened was just bad luck -”

“No it wasn’t just luck”, he replies. “It wasn’t. It wasn’t.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Something shutters behind his eyes. “It’s my fault you’re hurt.” He angles himself away from you. “I crashed into your building.” 

“The kaiju threw you into the building”, you correct. “It wasn’t your fault.”

He lunges forward to grip your bed rail, his sudden intensity scaring you. “I could’ve been the cause of you dyin’-”

“My head’s pretty hard”, you try to diffuse the building tension with a joke. “Would take more than a fallin’ building to kill me.”

He makes a strangled sound of outrage in his throat. “Don’t. Just - don’t.” 

His tone is devoid of its usual lightness. He’s - he’s angry, scared, face twisting into a scowl, body coiling, as if preparing for an attack. “You’re upset”, you murmur. “Don’t be.” 

“You could’ve died.”

“Hey”, you beckon him forward, lifting your uninjured hand off the bed to place it on top of his. He grasps at it, a drowning man clutching at a lifeline. 

“It’s okay”, you say gently. “I’m okay.” 

“Promise me you’ll stay safe.”

“I’ll try my best”, you offer. 

An angry sound escapes through his clenched jaw, his face strained. You brush the skin of his wrist with your thumb until the too-quick staccato of his pulse steadies. 

“Go to sleep”, he finally says. “Just stay safe.” 

After that, something shifts. Soshiro resumes the mantle of his chaotic, goofy self. 

“I’m gonna yell at you when you’re better”, Soshiro huffs the next time he visits. “A daikaiju -it was a nine on the fortitude scale, y’know - decides to attack near you, and you not only choose to stay put, you run back into a collapsing building for whatever reason -” 

“I was trying to save some of the blades -” 

“How about you focus on savin’ your own damn skin -” 

You sniff, deliberately closing your eyes. “I’m going back to sleep.” 

“Oi”, he grounds out. “Stop pretendin’.” 

The reappearance of the playful banter you’re used to sharing with him puts you back at ease. “Don’t you need to sleep too?” you ask, staring pointedly at the purple smudges beneath his eyes. “In a bed, not a hospital chair that’s going to give you a crooked neck.” 

“S’fine”, he always replies. “Still way more comfortable than sleepin’ out in a forest durin’ kaiju hunts.” 

“Still”, you insist. “You don’t have to visit me so often. I know how busy you are with work.” 

He squints at you. “Do you not want me to be here?” 

“That’s not what I’m saying and you know it -”

“Sometimes work can take a backseat.” 

You beckon him forward, place a hand against his forehead. “No fever”, you pronounce. “That’s odd -  the Hoshina Soshiro I know would never say that unless his mind is addled by illness-” 

He pulls away with a splutter, cheeks a furious pink. 

But awkward moments like this remain, no matter how much you try to keep your conversations light, breezy. There’s a tension Soshiro carries, especially apparent in the broad lines of his shoulders. He’s nervy, jumpy almost, the unguarded hitch in his breath when he draws in just a little too close. There’s something he’s keeping in, deep inside his chest that keeps trying to explode out of him whenever he’s not careful. 

There’s a glimpse of that when you tell him of your plan to move back to Osaka to continue recuperating under your parents’ roof. You’ll miss your apartment where you navigated much of your young adult life, the routines you’ve built for yourself. But you’re tired of living in the hospital, sleeping on a too-hard bed, without much privacy from nurses who pop in and out of your room at odd hours at all times. Your parents agree to ferry you to check-ups and appointments, and they even got your brother to transport your plants to make you feel more at home. 

“You’re not leavin’ for good, surely”, he frowns. 

“I’m not sure”, you shrug. “Izumo Tech does have offices in Osaka, and there isn’t much tying me to Tokyo anymore. 

There’s a sudden lull in the conversation as Soshiro falls silent, face stricken. He opens his mouth as if to speak, once, twice, before shutting it deliberately,  Then his face slackens into a childish pout. 

“Don’t go”, he whines. “Who would I hang out with when I’m off-duty?” 

Caught off guard from this sudden change in mood, you refrain from pointing out that you’d each taken turns to studiously ignore the other before. “You’ll survive”, you pat his hand. “And, on the rare occasions you actually find the time away from work, you’re always welcome to visit me in Osaka.” 

“I will”, he replies, so seriously that your traitorous heart skips a beat. 

“I doubt you’ll get enough time off work”, you brush him off lightly before changing the subject. 

You don’t expect him to visit, not when Osaka is two and a half hours away from Tokyo on the shinkansen, but he turns up at the doorstep of your parents’ apartment with roses, dusty pink like the flush up his neck. 

“Hoshina-kun”, your mother exclaims. “Come on in!”

Something is up. Your mother bustles around, ushers him into your room, lays out before him an offering of cut fruit. Surprised at the tableau before you, you blink, looking up from your book. 

“Don’t you have to work?” 

“I do have days off, y’know.” He says, easing you into your wheelchair. 

“Thought you said killing kaijus isn’t a nine to five job”, you remind him pertly. 

He tweaks your nose. “Don’t be smart”, his eyes crinkle as he laughs, rolling you out of the confines of your parent’s house to a nearby park to enjoy the crisp cool autumn breeze, settling you down in the shade beneath a sprawling gingko tree. 

“Well, how’s work?” 

He considers you with a sideways glance. “I refuse to answer”, he says primly. “If I do, you’ll make use of it to accuse me of being obsessed with my job.”

“Aren’t you?” 

“This is exactly what I mean”, he throws his hands out dramatically. “Shouldn’t you just be happy I’m here -” 

“Actually”, you tease. “Isn’t the train fare really expensive? Can you afford that on your pay?” 

“The Defense Force’s generous enough to give me food, clothing and a roof over my head”, he replies drolly. “So I think my bank account can take the occasional hit.” Then, he shoots another mock glare your way. “Anyway, I don’t wanna talk about work or anything related to work.” 

“Then I guess there’s nothing else to talk about”, you tap your chin thoughtfully. 

“Idiot”, he wrinkles his nose. “We haven’t even talked about how you’re doing.” 

“Me?” 

Exaggeratedly, he takes a look around. “I don’t see anyone else I could be askin’ about -” 

“You wanna hear about my boring doctor appointments?” 

His eyes are wide, earnest. “I wanna hear about everything.” 

The sudden seriousness of his demeanour catches you off-kilter. Haltingly you tell him about the long check-ups that take hours, the doctors being optimistic about your progress, the physiotherapy sessions you’ve started. You’re slowly starting to walk again, a few steps at a time, giving you hope that you’ll be on your own two feet by the time of your brother’s wedding at the end of fall, even if you have to rely a little on crutches. 

“I’m talking too much”, you say, looking down at your lap. 

“Don’t stop”, he urges. “Keep talkin’.” 

A snort. “You’re gonna get sick of the sound of my voice”, 

“What a silly thing to say”, his gaze holds yours, steady, sure. 

There’s something impossibly soft in his eyes, a tenderness in the curve of his mouth. You don’t dare to put a name to it yet, don’t even dare to look too closely at it lest you lose yourself to daydreams that can’t possibly be true. Yet, in the purpling dusk, even though the seasons dictate that there be no summer flowers this late in the fall, there’s a bud of hope in your heart that starts to unfurl, petal by petal, twining itself between the ribs of your chest. 

(i like you)

(i’m sorry)

You remind yourself that your heart is not quite healed. Stitches remain, fleshy scars pink and raised. Ventricles working overtime to compensate for the damage he’s wrought just months prior. Mercilessly, you prune those hopes like unwanted weeds, chopping away at errant stems and leaves. 

“I’m tired”, you break away from his gaze. “Shall we call it a day?” 

He makes it difficult for you to safeguard your heart. 

Once a week, he makes the trek from Tokyo to Osaka without fail, appearing at your parents’ door with a bouquet of flowers and a bag bursting with fruit, whatever is in season - peaches and peonies, apples and chrysanthemums. Picnics when it’s sunny, cafes or supermarkets when it rains. Your mother has a sudden change of heart regarding him, always asking you when he’s coming to take you out next.  

“Seriously, don’t you have work?” you demand. “You can’t keep coming down here, it’s ridiculous.” 

“Is it?” he asks quietly. 

“It is”, you reply. “It’s a waste of your time and money.” 

With careful, calloused fingers, he tilts your chin up to meet his gaze. “What must I do to make you believe it’s really, really not.” 

You flinch, cramming your thrumming heart back into the confines of your chest. “You’re ridiculous”, you say as calmly as you can. If your leg weren’t still broken, you’d flee in the other direction, put as much distance as you can between you and Hoshina Soshiro, for fear of losing your heart again to him. 

He’s relentless, a quality that makes him an excellent swordsman and soldier, though it does not bode well for your heart. You spend the next few weeks keeping your conversations light, unsentimental, refusing to allow that unnamed emotion budding  in his eyes flourish any further, he remains undeterred. You catch him watching you sometimes, with something you don’t dare to name that bleeds into you, spreading the seeds of hope deep in your gut.  

“I’ll be back next week to see you”, he always says. “Stay safe.”

You should tell him to leave you alone, let you replant your heart in another pot, give it a chance to learn to stop looking towards him for his light. But the words choke in your throat, and it’s all you can do to look the other way. 

You don’t get any respite even at your own brother’s wedding. 

It’s too large, too crowded an occasion, your parents booking out a banquet hall in an upscale hotel to cram in their swarms of guests. As the younger sister of the groom, you’re expected to greet each and every guest, thank them for their attendance even if you’d much rather be at home, warm and snug in bed. Instead, your head threatens to split open, your hip’s on the verge of falling apart. You curse your stubbornness in insisting against bringing your wheelchair, the crutches you lean on cutting into the tender flesh of your underarms.  

“Did anyone tell you that you look beautiful tonight?” 

As it was in your dreams, he’s in a haori, deep blue with golden thread, but this time he looks right at you. Your mouth goes dry and you can’t seem to swallow your heart back down your throat. 

“Save your flirting for my cousins”, you retort, turning away. “They’re all aflutter at meeting you tonight.” 

He doesn’t let you flee. An arm loops around your waist, sears through the silk layers of your kimono and smoulders. “You’re cranky cos you’re tired, so let me help you.” 

You blame your capitulation on the absence of your wheelchair, not because you’re light headed from the sudden surge of helpless affection in your gut, as much as you refuse to allow yourself to believe his words. You let him steer you into your seat, palm flat against your back, heat suffusing into your skin. 

“I’ll be here if you need me”, he says simply. 

You don’t need him, you want to say, you can’t, but your mouth can’t seem to form the words when he leans in, tucks a stray strand of hair behind the shell of your ear, his touch feather light. 

“Vice Captain Hoshina!?” As you foresaw, a gaggle of younger cousins goggle at him, drag him away for selfies and autographs. You don’t get a chance to speak with him again once the wedding starts, the seating plan placing him with his parents and other business associates of your parents, a few tables away.  

The sheer scale and grandeur of your brother’s wedding isn’t what you’d have chosen for yourself, the cavernous ballroom feeling too large and impersonal, speeches dragging on for too long, but your brother and your new sister seem to radiate contentment, though you suspect the champagne toasts might have helped. 

As the sister of the groom, you’re the target of your older aunts’ inquiry as to ‘when it’s your turn next’, never mind that you burrow into your seat, trying to disappear from sight, and when that fails miserably, try to divert their attention to anything, anyone but yourself. If you had full use of your legs, you’d make a hasty retreat by now, but you’re so painfully slow on your crutches that you’re sure even the oldest grandma questioning you on your dating status (or lack thereof) would be able to catch up with you. 

“Ladies”, a smooth voice cuts in. “How are you all doin’ tonight?” 

A boyish smile with a cheeky snaggletooth works wonders on elderly ladies, you learn. It gives you the chance to slip away to the bathroom, splash water on your face, shackle your heart back in place. 

This brief reprieve doesn’t last long. Soshiro emerges from the shadows, pushing off the wall to pad quietly behind you. 

“What are you doing here?” you demand. “You should be back inside -” 

“I’m here to make sure you’re safe”, he replies. “Unless you don’t want me to make sure you don’t fall and crack your pretty head open?”  

“Stop it”, you say crossly, your crutches clacking loudly on the floor as you speed up, trying to put some distance between you two. “You’re giving everyone the wrong impression.” 

He follows right on your heels. “Perhaps I’m givin’ the right impression -” 

“Just  - just stop, Soshiro.” 

You burst through glass doors to push your way onto the open rooftop in the hope that the nighttime air will cool the heat rising in your cheeks, but you miss your step, crutches sliding on marble tiles and oof - 

Warm arms wrap tightly around you. You tell yourself it’s the shock of your almost-fall that makes you sag against a broad, lean chest, compliantly allowing Soshiro to tuck your face into his shoulders, settle an arm beneath your thighs, carrying you over onto a seat. A thick, rich fabric rests on your shoulders - his haori, you realise, the warmth from his body seeping into your skin. 

“Are you hurt?” he drops to one knee in front of you. 

The intensity of his gaze flays your chest open, exposing your beating heart, its stitches frayed. The spectre of the girl with sad eyes haunts you, leaving you terrified that you’ll suffer the same fate as her in this lifetime too. 

“I need you to stop”, you shove him back, a trapped animal brandishing its claws. “I want you to leave me alone. I don’t want your pity -” 

“Pity?!” he falls back on his haunches, gaping at you, incredulous. “Is that what you think it is?” 

“What else could it be?” you demand wetly, eyes stinging. “Nevermind, I changed my mind, I don’t want to know -” 

“Haven’t I made it obvious these past few months?” he asks, and you shake your head stubbornly, no. “What I feel for you - I’ve been goin’ crazy from the moment they told me a buildin’ fell on your head, so fuckin’ terrified I was goin’ to lose you just as I realised how stupid I’ve been -” 

Your head swims. “I don’t -” 

“I’ve loved you since I was eight. I just didn’t realise it til I nearly lost you.” 

You push aside the clouds of anger and fear blurring your vision. You see Hoshina Soshiro kneeling before you, slicing his chest open with your blade to reveal his heart, pressing it bloodied and beating into your waiting hands. 

In this lifetime, in this moment, he is yours and you are his.  

There is no guarantee that this will remain. Duty will always call upon him, and he will answer without fail. That is his destiny, as much as he is yours. Realisation crashes into you, relentless waves pulling you underwater. You will have to share him with the rest of Japan, possibly the world. This too shall end, be it tomorrow or years down the road if fate smiles down on you both. 

But even if his heart belongs to you for no more than a day, it’s enough. It’s all you’ve ever wanted. 

“You love me.” 

“Yeah”, he murmurs, moving so impossibly close that you see the violets in the depths of his eyes in full bloom. “And I kinda think you love me too.” 

Instead of answering, you tug him towards you, tangle your fingers in dark hair, let your lips press against the seam of his lips. He doesn’t give you the chance to breathe, arm curling around your waist, his hand cupping your face so he can tilt your chin up to pour himself into you. You drink him in, greedy to take what you can get, mouth open against his, lost to the raging current of want, of love that pulls you beneath the waves. 

“I think I do”, you say softly.  

Hoshina Soshiro smiles at you, wider and brighter than the moon. 

a/n: i hope this chapter soothes the anxiety from last week heh :>

squeal at me pls! muacks always <3

[bizarreauhavre]

The ride of a warrior ghost, circa 1850. Painted by Pierre-Félix Wiesener.

[britany1997]

Man of Your Midsummer Night’s Dream

Part two

I’ve loved seeing y’all’s reactions to this and I’m so excited to share this short little follow up with y’all:) let me know if you like it!

Dwayne x GN Fae Reader

Comment if you’d like to be added to my TLB Taglist!

Your hand slowly reached for a pair of shiny, beaded earrings.

You’d been scopeing out this jewelry stand for the past thirty minutes. And finally, when the seller was tied up trying to coax an unsuspecting tourist into buying an exorbitantly expensive necklace, you saw your time to strike.

Your eyes flitted back and forth between the earrings and the seller, careful not to be caught.

You knew you could glamour her if you wanted, you just loved the rush.

You smiled as your hand brushed over the earrings, seconds from taking them for your own.

“What are you doing?”

You jumped back, recoiling from the jewelry as if it had burned you.

Your flushed face met Dwayne’s amused smile.

“Nothing now,” you pouted.

He huffed a laugh, slipping his arm around your waist.

You whirled away from his grasp, embarrassed to have been caught. “What’s the deal anyway?” you frowned, “you guys steal stuff all the time.”

As the words fell from your lips, Paul and Marko ran from the comic book store, arms full of comics. You gestured at the pair as they laughed manically, books spilling from their arms and littering the ground.

Dwayne snorted at the sight, then turned to smile at you.

“Nothing wrong with a little stealin,” he agreed, “but no partner of mine is gonna take their own stuff.”

Your jaw dropped as he placed the earrings you’d been eyeing into your palm and closed your fingers around them.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your pointed ear, “you’re a real talented thief babe,” he brushed a lock of hair to rest behind your ear, “but let me take care of you ok?”

Your face flushed bright red.

He chuckled, leading you away from the stand and towards the dock. Once you were resting on the railing, Dwayne reached for your hand.

“Let me put em on for you,” he offered, smirking softly.

You nodded, your lips pulling up into a flustered grin.

Dwayne slipped the earrings on for you, “there, perfect.” He winked, causing you to melt into a giggling mess.

The sweet moment didn’t last long as Marko and Paul bounded up with their haul from the night.

“Whatcha up to guys?” Paul asked, mouth full of funnel cake as he spoke. You snorted at the sight.

Dwayne rolled his eyes, his arm resting on your shoulder. “Nothing now,” he muttered under his breath. You smirked and leaned your head into the crook of his neck.

Marko smiled sheepishly as Paul murmured an insincere apology.

You squeezed Dwayne’s arm as he sighed.

“Ahem.”

The boys whirled around at the sound of David clearing his throat.

He tapped his watch, raising an eyebrow, “almost sunrise boys.”

Dwayne turned to you, “wanna ride with me?”

You beamed, “yes please,” you preferred riding to flying these days, you’d use any excuse to be snuggled close to your favorite vampire.

“Wanna sit in back or ride in my pocket?” He asked.

You thought for a moment, but the answer was obvious. You loved listening to the steady beat of Dwayne’s heart when you were nestled in his front, jacket pocket. He made you feel safe, even when you were as tiny as a dragon fly.

You shrank down, flitting up to press a kiss to his stubbly cheek, then sliding into his jacket.

“You’re so cute like this baby, I love keeping you close to me,” he whispered as he nuzzled your cheek with his pinky.

Your wings fluttered in delight. You loved it too, more than anything.

Taglist🖤

@6lostgirl6 @misslavenderlady @crustyboypix @gothamslostboy @anna1306 @arenpath @kurt-nightcrawler @bitchyexpertprincess @arbesa-mind @ria-coolgirl @lostboys1987girl @warrior-616 @rynsfandomsfun @katerinaval @bloodywickedvamp @mickkmaiden333 @vampirefilmlover @chiefdirector @dwaynedelight @dwaynesluscioushair @sad-ghost-of-garbage @its-freaking-bats @solobagginses @walmart-icarus @softchonk @f4iryfxies @hypocriticaltypwriter @royaltysuite @fraudfrog @mack-attack420 @kuroturo

[cntloup]

Queen!Reader x Knight!Ghost Vikings attack your land! war, blood and gore, near death experience

Part 2

You hear the galloping of a horse nearing as you walk hand in hand with your husband along the vibrant spring blossoms in the garden and turn your head to see one of the guards approaching. 

“My queen, my lord! We saw their ships! Danes are here!” he calls out and informs you of the attack, out of breath from riding the long distance of the riverside to the castle. 

“Pagans!” you gasp, “We must act now!” 

Simon is alert in an instant, “Gather all the able men. They must be prepared to fight... and prepared to die.” he orders the guard, “Yes, my lord.” the guard bows and spins his horse to leave. 

Simon turns to you, “You take all the women, children and elders into the fortress-”, “Do you think I will let you leave on your own?” you cut him off, shocked at his remark. 

“I have my men!” he replies, tone harsher than intended.  

“I will fight by your side.” you state firmly, matching his tone.

“No!” he bursts out almost in a shout. 

“Do not speak to me in that tone! I am still your queen!” you snarl while taking a step closer, standing tall before him. 

“And it is my duty to defend you, my queen.” he responds, lowering his voice.

“And it is my duty as your wife to remain by your side through everything.” you retort, tone still harsh as your frustration builds up.

“Please! I can’t lose you!” he utters in a much softer tone, pleading eyes looking back at you, growing desperate as you persist further. 

“You won’t lose me... and how dare you underestimate my abilities as a warrior?!” you smirk, half joking and half serious, causing him to let out a chuckle, “I would never do such a thing. Forgive me, my love.” 

“You are forgiven. And I will fight alongside you. This is my decision and that is final.” you say and leave to prepare for battle. 

He lets out a shaky sigh, anxiety and fear surging inside him. But he knows that he could never prevent you from doing what you set your mind to. 

----- 

Amidst the chaos of the battle, arrows flying, swords slashing through flesh and bone, blood spurting out of bodies, dirt and grime and gore covering every soldier while they let out raucous war cries, your eyes search for Simon and find him through the gushes of blood and the sprays of mud under the warriors' heavy footsteps. 

You sigh in relief to see him alive, but that doesn’t last long as your eyes land on the racing figure who charges towards him. 

You nearly black out as the image of him dying flashes before your eyes, but soon gather yourself and rush to him, sprinting and leaping high to shield his body with yours and you feel the sharp blade of the enemy plunge through your abdomen. 

It all happens so fast and he has no time to react, to stop you. And it registers in his mind what just took place too late as you lay on the ground, clutching your wound and almost choking on your own blood. 

He kneels beside you and lets out a devastated sob, “What have you done?” he cries out. 

He quickly gathers you in his arms and rushes into the nearest tent and calls out for the nurses to tend to you. 

“Please, love. Stay with me.” he sobs but his voice is merely a faint blurred sound as you slowly fade into unconsciousness. 

[novaursa]

Hello, can I order a Rhaegar Targaryen x reader stark? younger twin sister than lyanna stark but reader had hair white as snow that's why they called her the white wolf reader arrived at the king's landing with his father weeks after his brothers and sister arrived Prince Rhaegar Targaryen fell in love with her at the first moment but not her with him. She was allergic to princes and princesses, she understood the cruelty of the world and that no one did anything without a reason behind it.

So yes, Rhaergar did kidnap her, yes, he took her, yes, he imprisoned her in the tower of joy until she agreed to be his. Rhaigar killed his father, hurt Robert Barateon, who tried to get his fiancee's sister back. Lyanna asked many times to see her sister, Rhaigar never allowed her. Lyanna, through tears, shouted to Rhaigar that he should never have told her that day where her sister would be riding.

the now king smiled changing my mind and letting her see it When he took her to the chambers he saw a door full of chains and padlocks when he entered. Her sister, the great white wolf warrior, saw her sitting in a rocking chair with her beautiful eyes now opaque without shine and with a bulging belly obviously in sinta. Lyanna ran to her sister through tears, hugging her. reader directing his gaze to rhaigar my king husband who is she? Rhaigar is someone who wants to separate you from me

reader pushed lyanna to the ground getting up shaking her dress going to her king Rhaigar smiles at Lyanna while You no longer have anything here, girl, go back to the north. Lyanna wipes her tears and gets up, I swear I will kill you for what you did to her. leaving the room while the doors were closed

Please

The Chains of the White Wolf

- Summary: dark!Rhaegar kidnaps you and locks you away in the Tower of Joy.

- Paring: stark!reader/dark!Rhaegar Targaryen

- Note: I've left out some information that can't fit into one scene of 1000 words alone and kept only important ones for the plot.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The ride to the Tower of Joy was long, the heat of the Dornish sun beating down mercilessly as Lyanna Stark guided her horse over the rough terrain. Dust swirled around her, clinging to her hair and clothes, but she hardly noticed. Her mind was fixed on one thing—the reunion with her twin sister. Y/N. The White Wolf. 

Her heart twisted in her chest, torn between hope and fear. The whispers of what had become of her twin had reached her ears, each rumor more dreadful than the last. Rhaegar had taken her—stolen her away from their family. And now, after months of searching, she was close. So close.

Eddard rode beside her, his face as grim and determined as ever. Behind them, his men followed in silence, their swords ready for the battle they expected to face. But it wasn’t battle Lyanna feared; it was what she would find inside the Tower.

As they approached the stone structure, three figures came into view, standing at the entrance like specters from a nightmare. Rhaegar Targaryen was in the center, his violet eyes glinting in the sunlight, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, stood to his right, his legendary blade Dawn strapped to his back. Gerold Hightower, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, was to his left, his expression unreadable beneath his white helm.

Lyanna felt her blood run cold at the sight of Rhaegar. The man who had shattered their world, who had brought war to their lands, and who had taken her sister. Yet as much as she hated him, there was something about the way he looked at her that made her uneasy. Amused, almost. As though this was all some game to him.

"You've come a long way for nothing, Lady Lyanna," Rhaegar said, his voice smooth, calm, as if they were discussing something trivial. He stepped forward, a king in every sense now, clad in dark Targaryen armor. "But I will humor you. You wish to see her?"

Lyanna stiffened. "Take me to her. Now."

A soft chuckle escaped Rhaegar, but he turned and gestured for her to follow him. "As you wish."

The Tower loomed before them, the air thick with the heat and the tension. Lyanna's heart pounded in her chest as she followed Rhaegar up the steps, every part of her screaming to be wary, to be ready for some trap. Eddard and his men remained outside with Arthur and Gerold, but her brother’s eyes never left her, filled with silent warning.

Inside, the air was cooler but stifling. The stone walls seemed to close in around her, and with every step, Lyanna’s dread grew heavier. Rhaegar led her through winding corridors, the silence between them unnerving.

When they finally reached the chamber, he stopped before a heavy wooden door, pulling a key from his belt. He turned to Lyanna, his expression inscrutable. "I must warn you, she is not as you remember."

Lyanna's heart clenched. "Open it."

With a faint smirk, Rhaegar unlocked the door and pushed it open. Lyanna stepped inside, her breath catching in her throat.

The room was dim, the curtains drawn against the harsh Dornish sun, and the air was filled with the scent of lavender. In the corner of the room, a figure sat in a rocking chair, gently swaying back and forth.

It was Y/N.

Lyanna felt her knees nearly buckle. Her twin, the White Wolf of the North, the warrior who had fought beside her in the snow-covered forests of Winterfell, sat hunched, her white hair dull, lifeless. Her eyes, once so fierce and full of light, stared blankly ahead, distant and empty.

Y/N was with child. Her swollen belly stretched beneath a simple gown, and she rocked herself gently, her hand resting on her stomach. She looked like a ghost of the sister Lyanna had known.

"Y/N?" Lyanna's voice trembled as she took a step forward.

There was no flicker of recognition. Y/N continued to stare ahead as though Lyanna were a stranger, a passing shadow.

Lyanna rushed forward, falling to her knees beside her sister, tears streaming down her face. "Y/N, it’s me. It’s Lyanna. Please... Please, look at me!"

Slowly, Y/N’s gaze shifted toward her, confusion clouding her features. "Who are you?" Her voice was soft, distant, as if she were waking from a long, troubled sleep.

Lyanna's heart shattered. "It’s me, Y/N. Your sister."

Y/N’s brow furrowed, her eyes drifting past Lyanna to where Rhaegar stood, watching with a twisted smile of satisfaction. "Husband," Y/N said, her tone more childlike now. "Who is this woman?"

Rhaegar stepped forward, his voice a low purr. "She is someone who wishes to take you from me, my love. Someone who does not understand that you belong to me now. As you always have."

Lyanna felt as though she had been struck. Her sister recoiled from her touch, her eyes widening in alarm. "No... I don’t want to leave. I don’t... I belong here, with my husband." Y/N pushed Lyanna away, her movements frantic, as if she were frightened.

"Y/N, no! He’s poisoned you. He’s twisted everything!" Lyanna cried, reaching for her again, but Y/N scrambled away, shaking her head, panic overtaking her features.

Rhaegar's smirk deepened as he watched Lyanna’s anguish. "You see, Lady Lyanna, there is nothing left for you here. My queen has made her choice. Return to the North, where you belong."

Tears streamed down Lyanna’s face as she looked at her sister, the bond they had shared for so long now shattered, broken beyond repair. She rose to her feet, her hands trembling, her heart torn apart.

Before she turned to leave, she cast one last look at her twin—at the hollow shell of the warrior she had once known. "I swear to you, Rhaegar Targaryen," she said through her tears, her voice breaking, "for what you’ve done to her, for what you’ve taken, I will have vengeance."

With those words, she left, the weight of her promise heavy in the air. Outside, the wind howled, but the White Wolf remained, lost in the cage of the Tower, her light dimmed forever.

[whencyclopedia]

Devi

Devi, also known as Mahadevi or 'Great Goddess', is an all-embracing Mother Goddess first worshipped in India in Prehistoric times. In the Vedic period, she was assimilated into the Hindu pantheon and so came to represent the female energy or Sakti (Power) of her husband Shiva. Both Devi (meaning goddess in Sanskrit) and Sakti may also be used more generically to reference any female Hindu goddess, especially Parvati, Lakshmi, and Sarasvati. Devi is most often manifested as the fearsome female warriors Durga and Kali, both of whom famously killed a number of terrible demons in Hindu mythology. Devi is also the mother of Nandi, Shiva's doorkeeper and bull; Skanda, the six-headed god; and Ganesha, the elephant-headed god.

Devi's character has two opposing sides represented by various separate female deities: as Uma, the benevolent, and as Durga, the terrible. It is as the latter, more fierce personification that she is most frequently worshipped. Her dark side can also take the form of the fearsome black goddess Kali. The deity has a myriad of many other names and may, for example, also be referred to as Vindhyavasini, Kanya (the Virgin), Mahamaya (the Illusion), and Bhutanayaki, the queen of the Bhuta, those ghosts and goblins who haunt graveyards, make the dead live again, and trick the living so that they might feast on their flesh.

The Two Sides of Devi: Uma & Durga

Devi's more benevolent side is worshipped as Uma, and this facet of her character is represented as both beauty and light. This softer side is also referred to as Jaganmata (Mother of the World), Gauri (Yellow and Brilliant or Golden), Bhavani, Haimvati, and Parvati (the Mountaineer).

Devi's dark side is represented as the terrible Durga (the Inaccessible) who has ten arms, an impressive armoury of weapons, and who rides a magnificent lion or tiger. This side is further manifested in the forms of Kali, Kalika or Syama (the Black Goddess); Candi or Candika (the Fierce), in which guise she killed many a demon or asura; and Bhairavi (the Terrible). Worshippers of this face of Devi seek her favours and dark powers and so make blood sacrifices and perform wild rituals in the ceremonies of Durga-puja, Carak-puja, and the Tantrikas which call on Durga's sexual and magical powers.

Continue reading...

[naranjapetrificada]

In this weird wonderful AU Georg fandom that is OFMD we have so many beautiful options. I was never, ever an AU type until now, but I truly can't get enough. Just last night I stayed up entirely too late because I finally got into Wave Hello to the Void, which on its face should absolutely positively not be My Thing, but the AUs we're blessed with here seem to always break that rule (especially with mxmollusca involved because holy shit have you read In Favor With Their Stars yet???).

We're so incredibly lucky y'all. I've been in fandom spaces for a long time but I've never felt this lucky.

We get different takes on time travel. We get the multiverse (and in so many beautiful forms). We get thought-provoking fantastical allegories and devastating (but often hopeful?) prequels with fascinating studies of character and fascinating takes on soul mates. We get complete fantasy overhauls that are gem-like in the beauty and precision of their prose and world-building. We get darling modern AUs and heartwrenching (but still ultimately happily-ending) modern AUs and modern AUs in basically every possible permutation, including ghost stories.

We get dystopias and apocalypses and post-apocalypses, meditations on love and existence, metafictional experiments in Not-RPF that draw even the biggest RPF skeptics (*points to self*) in, leaving us to wrestle with fundamentally altered attitudes toward storytelling that we may never be able to reconcile. Hell, even the missing scenes, canon-divergence, and fix-its hit different. Not to mention westerns with outlaws and cowboys, an archetype which conveniently also manages to scratch the proverbial pirate itch.

Even though pretty much every fandom has these things, for me at least they've never felt quite so imaginative and well-executed. We're so lucky to be here, to be writing for each other and reading for each other and for many of us, feeling creative for the first time in years or even decades. The gay pirates did that for us, because good source material can be the key to great fan works. And whether or not we get a third season, as much as they can't take the show from us, they also can't take away the gift that getting to experience all these fanworks has been. That's something I'm going to keep reminding myself while we wait.

and idk maybe tell your cowboy fanart friends that Ed can also ride horses as a steppe warrior or whatever

[nekohime19]

Heart behind the lie # 1 : Wounded beast

Let's go, I'm going to repost all chapters of this fic on Tumblr. It's gonna be a ride.

For those who don't know the fic, it's about Wukong becoming feral after LBD possession and Macaque having to take care of him even if he's at first unwilling.

TW : blood and injuries

There was a time, long ago, when he was feared. A time when he was the enemy hiding in the shadows, the killer capable of roaming every nook and cranny of this earth. Capable of hearing the deepest secrets of gods and demons alike, and brought them to his King's feet, whispering long forgotten truth in his golden ears. 

A time when the sun still loved him enough to share its warmth with him, to give purpose to every pump of blood flowing through his veins. He had been naive then, too young to see beyond what was given, beyond the kind smiles thrown his way. Satisfied to be nothing more than the shadow of a fool, the silhouette of a King not deserving of his throne. 

He wondered if the men that feared him would still be struck by terror if they saw him again. Chained and battered, a mere puppet at the service of a witch fooling herself with dreams forever unachievable. Would they fear him, or would they pity him, seeing him as what he truly was, and perhaps what he always had been : a broken fool. 

When he crawled out of his grave, digging through layers of piled dirt with broken claws, he promised to never let himself fall for kindness again. He picked his shattered heart, giving it as much tenderness as he could, and stuffed it in his chest. He appeased his crying, bleeding heart with whispers of vengeance, and an oath to never trust again. It didn't soothe the pain tearing him apart, it didn't soothe the memory of him. It only gave his heart a reason to beat, and not die pitifully seconds after his rebirth, if you could call this wretched life a rebirth. 

He broke this promise when the kid asked him to be a warrior. All his will, his oath of vengeance, shattered before a trusting gaze. 

He fell for kindness, again. Maybe he was doomed to never learn, to never understand that trust was a lie, trust gave to him, at least. He was the shadows, the one you should never trust, the one you always betrayed. 

He betrayed his own heart, and took the hands of a child as naive as he once had been. Repeating, again and again, like a dog chained to a never ending circle, the same mistakes. Do not follow after the hero, this should be simple enough. Their golden steps were not made for you, you were not made for the light. But every oath, every promise, meant nothing in the face of his own weak heart. Hope was unkillable, he learnt, at least within himself. He couldn't help but fall for their tricks, for their soft eyes and their blinding kindness, for the hope of it being true. 

And there he was, fighting the great sage equal to heaven, the one he once followed willingly, and losing against him. 

It was bitter, to realize your own weakness, what you had become after eons of being a ghost. The Diyu shattered him, and the Bone Demon didn't take the time to collect all the pieces of his broken soul. His strength was a mere illusion, a trick he conjured up to fool the strong, a shadow of what he had once possessed. 

He was an illusionist, a great pretender. 

The only thing keeping him alive was his instinct, the sensations he forged in the midst of battle. Macaque had one been a warrior, his body, even ruined, remembered those times. He evaded the fists of the possessed King, wincing everytime death grazed him. He didn't need to win, he wasn't sure he could anyway, he only had to gain time. Enough for the kid to retrieve his weapon, and bring the King to his senses. 

Because he was the only one capable of doing it, wasn't he? Sun Wukong made him bleed without any speck of remorse, his grunts and cries were nothing to him, but a mere word of the kid, a human he knew only for a few months, was enough to break the witch's hold over his mind. 

He buried the thought before he could indulge it, envy wasn't something he should feel, especially for his killer's love. This was nothing but the echo of a long gone past. He was only surprised by Sun Wukong's quick fondness, nothing more. It had to be nothing more if he wanted to preserve his sanity, especially in the midst of a fight. 

Macaque rolled around, evading each of the sage attacks. He ran, claws ratting on the floor, ears erect, capturing each sound echoing nearby. His heart was beating against his skin, a traitorous thing that overflowed with fear. 

The King grabbed his tail and threw him around. Macaque crashed on sharp rocks, breath knocked out of his lungs. One tip pierced his skin, burying itself in blood and flesh, tearing his bones apart. Macaque slapped his hands on his mouth, smothering his cries, killing them before they could pass his bruised lips. He needed to get up. No matter the pain. He didn't have the time to let the suffering fester and poison his mind. 

The ebony monkey tried to slip in the shadows, in safety, but he didn't have enough magic for that anymore. The shadows melted under his claws, disappearing, forever out of reach. If he had more time, he would worry about this, after all his whole existence depended on his magic, life wasn't flowing in his veins anymore, magic was. But Macaque couldn't worry about this, not when the sage was running towards him on all four with fiery eyes and claws coated in his blood. 

The ebony monkey wheezed, blood dripping on his lips, and scrambled to rise. Death was approaching, he could feel it, he lived through it one time. And like the first time Diyu claimed him, the one putting him underground was a being coated in gold with eyes once familiar, and cared for. 

But Macaque didn't want to die, not again. Perhaps, his body remembered the torture it endured in the Diyu and was scared to live through it again, it acted on its own, gathering every last speck of strength he possessed and punching the King. His knuckles crashed upon golden skin, claws piercing pale blue eyes, and his last drop of magic pushed the sage away. 

Sun Wukong crashed a few meters away, before a sharp cliff. Macaque felt nauseous, without magic his body crumbled on itself, each beat of his heart painful enough to make him cry. He heard the sage groan, an animalistic cry piercing through the air. That wasn't normal, the sage never spoke while possessed by the witch, voice frozen by her hold. 

The macaque watched, still, the sage slowly rising to his feet. He moved strangely, arms and legs trembling, unable of holding his weight. He fell, and fell, struggling to stand up, like a puppet with cut strings, trying to walk on his own for the first time. Sun Wukong walked on all four, moving carefully, sniffing his surroundings, limbs still trembling. 

Macaque tried to rise once again, but his legs failed him, and he stumbled on the ground. The sage turned towards him, ears erect, and face still marred by his claws, long glittering red slashes piercing his eyes. Sun Wukong hissed, fur rising, fangs out. He looked like a beast, perhaps he was in this moment. 

"You're trying a new thing ?" Mocked the macaque, trying to speak with the witch, to make sense of this situation. But silence remained. 

The sage only hissed louder, backing away slowly, like Macaque was the one to be feared, like the sage was the one who needed to escape. 

" Is this a mind game ? You think I'll fall for that !" Sneared the ebony monkey, but like before, nothing answered him. If he could, Macaque would use his ears and try to listen for the whereabouts of the witch, but he didn't have enough strength to do so, and the only thing he heard was the howling winds, his own heart and the sage hisses. 

Sun Wukong kept backing away, slowly approaching the edge of the cliff. 

"You're gonna fall." Hissed the ebony monkey, but it was like the sage couldn't hear him, couldn't even understand him. 

The sage looked around, groaning, like something was trying to attack him, a ghost only he could saw. Macaque could see his eyes, flickering between blue, gold and red, a battle was taking place in those irises, perhaps as violent as this one. The King cried, his own claws piercing his heads, blood flowed in his russet fur. He backed away, and fell out of the cliff, a frail, scared chirp stumbling out of his lips. 

Macaque ran. He ignored the ache in his body, and ran towards the cliff, pushed by an instinct he thought he buried long ago. He ran, and jumped after the King, falling with him in the howling winds. There were a number of things he could blame for this foolish act. The pain that rendered him mad. The kid and his eyes full of trust he didn't want to shatter. The weird state of the King, and the need to defeat the witch. But in the end, he knew this act was nothing but the last echo of his feelings for the sage, the instinct of a shadow wanting to protect the one giving him respite. 

The sage was curled up like a newborn, falling without even trying to call upon his cloud, or any other powers that could save him from pain. The macaque caught him rather easily, and held him closer, pushing him in his bloody chest. Sun Wukong battled him, perhaps not wanting to be saved by his nemesis, a fitting prettiness for a being as prideful as the great sage. 

"Stop moving !" Growled the ebony monkey, and the sage instantly calmed down, looking at him with round eyes, like he didn't expect to be caught by him of all people. 

Macaque lost himself in ruby eyes, savage and untamed, rivers of blood as gorgeous as the dawning sky. The sage chirped, a questioning, faint sound, lost in the winds. He chirped back, pushed by his most shameful instincts, a sound that was meant to be reassuring, but sounded like a dying dove. Sun Wukong seemed to appreciate his chirp nonetheless, he curled around his chest, golden tail tying itself on his bony hips. 

Macaque took most of the fall, he crashed upon the earth, his nemesis cradled in his arms like a mother would hide his infant from pain. He groaned, bones shattering on impact, flesh torn, fur dripping with warm red. He sullied the golden bundle cuddled on his chest, blood spoiling perfect locks, locks cherished by the sun itself. Why did he go after the sage ? Sun Wukong had enough immortality to feed armies of man, while he was a walking corpse latching on life like a flea would latch on a dog. 

Why was he still following after his killer ? 

Macaque knew the pain was making him delirious, at least that was the only explanation he could muster, because Sun Wukong would never look at him with such worry, not anymore. He was bleeding out, and mayhaps this was an illusion his dying mind conjured up, something to appease his pain. 

He is going to die in the arms of this man, again. But maybe dying was kinder than living in shame, weak and incapable of killing the one that took everything from him.

Macaque closed his eyes, tiredness gnawing at his shattered bones. His ears flickered, bothered by frantic chirps, and worried coos. 

"Shut up." Muttered the ebony monkey, but whoever made those sounds didn't listen, and only cried louder. 

Warmth fell upon him, a fur he didn't feel since centuries, a scent he didn't smell since before his downfall. He let those pitiful illusions embrace him, and lost himself, letting his mind fall in the darkest of slumber. 

Memories came to him. 

Flashes of another life, of another him, someone so white, so full of foolish hope, naive to the bone. 

"Isn't it perfect !" Laughed the King sitting on his side. A being made of gold, with eyes full of stars, and smile full of white fangs. 

"What ? The cliff ? You saw it hundred of times." He said, his voice smooth, flowing serenely like the course of a river, holding nor malice, nor hatred. 

"Come on, Liu'er, you're always so grumpy." Groaned the golden monkey, he rolled his eyes and gestured to the cliff, like what he was trying to say was obvious, etched on nature itself. 

"I don't see it." Snorted the macaque, before him was only a cliff, a sky, a sea, he didn't understand what was beautiful in such normal views. What could catch the eye of his King. 

"You're serious? Liu'er, it beautiful !" Whined the King, he latched to him, golden fur merging with white locks. 

Macaque shuddered, embraced by warmth, a novelty for a shadow as cold as him. He turned towards the King and felt his heart leap out of his chest. Sun Wukong was beautiful, lightened by the clear light of eternal summer, eyes struck by the sea blue, fur wet with sunlight. 

"Beautiful." Whispered the macaque, bewitched by the golden being at his side. 

"So now you understand what I'm saying ?" Chuckled the golden monkey, his own eyes lost in the sea before them. 

He never answered, throat strangled with unsaid words, a fondness he would hide forever. 

But Shihou didn't exist anymore, devoured by another, by the great sage. 

Macaque woke up frantically, nerves alight, and skin burned by sweat and blood. Everything was a blur, a blend of shapes and colors, of echos and cracks. He stayed a long time in this state, torn between blurriness and clearness. He was in something soft, perhaps clean sheets, and this alone made him question his sanity. Was this a dream ? Because he knew for a fact he didn't touch a sheet since before his death.

At last, blurriness began to fade away, allowing him to see in what kind of place he landed. Did they threw his corpse on a street, atop the waist of a bedding shop ? Macaque was quite surprised to see a room, a white, lavish room, ornated with dragons. He was on a bed, bandaged from top to bottom, body aching everywhere. He couldn't move, each of his nerves was frozen by pain, so he simply stayed still, eyes glued to the white ceiling. 

After a bit, someone entered the room, a maid or something ressembling a servant, with clothes sewn with dragons, seemingly a recurring theme in this place. The maid looked at him with round eyes, before darting outside like a frightened deer. Huh, he didn't thought he looked that ugly, this hurts his self-esteem a little. However, he couldn't stay awake until the master, or mistress, of this place deigned to show themself, he succombed to slumber, again. 

The second time he woke up, he was struck by the worst headache on earth, surely even drunken teenager didn't woke up with this sort of pain. He groaned, feeling like his whole skull ached, and rolled in the sheet. His slight movement was meet with more pain, so he decided to simply curl on himself, and let whoever put him here do whatever they saw fit. He wasn’t in any state to fight, anyway. 

"Don't move, you have several broken bones." The voice was soft, a light whisper, full of warmth. He knew this voice, he turned, painfully, towards the one sitting on his bedside and met the strained smile of the kid. 

"Hey kiddo, you're not dead." He sounded like a sick seagull, but at least he could speak. 

"No, we won." 

He thought victory would taste better, better than pain, aches and tiredness at least. 

"Hm, where am I ?" Asked the macaque.

"In Mei's place, we tried the hospital but they didn't keep you for long, they don't deal with mistyc stuff, apparently." Huffed the boy, like he was upset on his behalf, which was a novelty. 

"I'm too tough for them." Chuckled the macaque, he quickly regreted it, his stomach didn't like to be shaken, it seemed. The boy stood up, hands hovering above him, but never touching, like he was afraid of shattering him. 

"Take it easy. You've been asleep for a long time." 

"How long ?"

"One week."

"Huh, I've been asleep longer."But the boy didn't get his death joke, maybe he shouldn't joke about it, whatever, this wasn't important. Macaque noticed bandages on the boy's arms. "The Bone Demon got you ?" MK furrowed his eyebrows, lost, before understanding what he meant. 

"Oh no, no, she's gone, for good."

"Great." He would never admit the relief washing over him at those words, the sheer joy of no longer being chained by another. 

"I, huh, I got those from someone else."

"Never thought Wukong would let anyone do that." Sneared the ebony monkey, but surprisingly enough the boy didn't jump on his mentor defense. He only stood here, eyes downcast, sadness etched on his face. "Where's your mentor, anyway ? I doubt he would like you being with me."

"He's… elsewhere." Answered the kid, this was suspicious, but Macaque didn't want to dwell on Wukong whereabouts, the sage coud take care of himself. 

"Okay." And the discussion ended here, the kid rose after a bit, and left him with a faint “take care, I'll come back”. 

Macaque only nodded, wondering when they would throw him out now that he was awake. His state was strange, he shouldn't be able to function properly after loosing so much magic, but now that he focused on this, he could feel something in him, something foreign. 

There was magic flowing in his veins, but it wasn't his. Something more celestial, warm, almost scorching. Whathever it was, it feeded his soul and his skin, forcing life to flow again. It was only a question of time before he devoured every ounce of this foreign magic though. He knew well that he didn't have enough strength to repleat himself naturally, and that this foreign source was too faint to keep him in the mortal plane forever. 

Right now, he was like a bottomless pit, every inch of magic would be devoured to keep him stable, and now that the witch that regularly fed him was long gone, he was destined to fade away.

To die, a second time.

It was only a matter of when. Would he die the day after tomorrow, still incapable of leaving those pitiful sheets, or would he die inside the wreck he called a dojo, after weeks of suffering. 

Whatever he chose to do, his future ended in pain. 

When the boy came back, Macaque didn't feel like trying. He did nevertheless, because he was weak at heart, and he didn't want to disappoint the first person to ever show him a speck of kindness after eons of solitude. His own weakness disgusted him, but he was too weary for wearing the spiteful mask he created. He tried to walk, tried to stretch, and after days of slow recovering, and patient exercising, he was able to stumble through corridors without any help.

"Do you hate Monkey King ?" Asked the boy, one day, while they did umpteith exercises. 

"Yes, I do." Because what else was he supposed to answer, the thing he felt for Wukong was so bitter, it could only be hatred. 

"… But would you do me a favor ?" This was tricky, he didn't owe anything, in the proper way, but he was recovering inside the dragon girl house. And she was at the boy beck and call. 

"What favor ?"

"Would you take care of him ?" 

"Wukong is capable of taking care of himself, besides I don't think he wants my help."

"It's complicated." Sighed the boy, arms littered with more bandages. "Maybe it's better to show you."

Macaque followed after the boy, only because he wanted to see Wukong at he's lowest and nothing more. They walked in long, lavish corridors, and finally reached something oddly ressembling dungeons, but more comfortable than the old staves he was accustomed to. The kid hesitated before a door, a heavy, chained door, marred with claws mark. He finally opened it, and they entered a large room, completely wrecked. 

The bed was teared open, blankets thrown on the floor like battered corpses, what must have been a dresser was broken beyond repair, shards of mirrors littered the floor, and the walls were clawed with hatred. 

"Monkey King ?" Whispered the kid, he walked cautiously inside the hornet's nest, and knealed before the bed. "Are you there ?" The boy tried to reach beneath the bed, but the moment his hand extended, sharp claws teared his skin open. 

MK yelped and stumbled back, he didn't look surprised, only pained and disappointed. Holding his bleeding arms with eyes full of uncried tears. 

"What is this ?" Asked the macaque with a tight voice. 

"It's Monkey King."

"You're kidding ? This is not-" 

"We found him like this, according to Red Son the possession wrecked his mind."

"So what, he's crazy now ?" Snorted the ebony monkey. 

"He's scared. He didn't want to part from you when we found the both of you. But you needed help so we… "

"You don't need to finish this." Sighed the ebony monkey, not liking the waver in the boy's voice. "What do you want from me ?"

"Could you at least try to help him, please." Pleaded the kid. 

"… I promise nothing, kiddo."

"It's alright, as long as you try."

Macaque knealed before the bed, and took a look beneath it. Two fiery eyes watched him from the darkness, Sun Wukong was curled up against the wall, tail lashing and ears pined back. Macaque gulped, and tried to extend his arm, the sage hissed, fangs glinting in the dim light. But then, the beast sniffed, snout furrowing furiously. And cautiously, like a wounded tiger, Sun Wukong crawled towards him. He growled when the ebony monkey dared to move, and as such Macaque stood perfectly still. 

Sun Wukong sniffed his hand, snout brushing against his open palm. His eyes extended, turning almost dark, and he cooed curiously. Macaque answered with a weak chirp, something rough and quick. Sun Wukong chirped back, a bell-like sound echoing in the silence. Then, the great sage crawled out of the bed and circled him, sniffing him, and eyeing him suspiciously. Once satisfied, the beast sat on his lap, and curled on himself. 

Macaque gulped, looking at the beast curled in his lap with fear, hatred and pity. 

This smelled like trouble.

Next

[apple-juice16]

DC FIC RECS

(1) The Batfamily meets the Justice League. They also invade the Watchtower, and will probably take over the world if they felt like it.

(2) steph 💜 @SpoiledWithWaffles you're not a true gothamite unless you've seen a bat slip in a puddle and fall off a roof into a conveniently placed dumpster below #onlyingotham

yummm ☑ @RedRobin replying to @SpoiledWithWaffles wow okay rude that was an accident

steph 💜 @SpoiledWithWaffles replying to @RedRobin mhm and?

(3) She stares at him and then makes a show of staring at the wall. “But, if whoever’s taking care of you is cute then link me up with them, okay?”

She blinks at him slowly. He takes it as agreement.

(4) Danny Fenton did the whole hero thing, all right? He fought bad guys, saved the world a couple of times, became enemies with a secret government faction. And it was fun. Really, he had no regrets! But now it's time for him to buckle down and focus on getting that degree. It's a good thing Gotham University gave him a full ride. But things are just now starting to get more and more complicated...

It started as an accident that evolved into the Red Hood paying attention to Danny. And now ghosts are starting to lose objects that, if fallen into the wrong hands, can cause a lot of trouble for both Danny and the Ghost Zone. With the bats starting to take notice of him and the Zone's refusal to leave him alone, can he truly lead a normal life? And, more importantly, does he really want to?

(5) Clark Kent @DailyPlanetMan

This is the most interesting day of my life!

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Madsismybabygirl @mental1yg@y4u

Haven’t you been kidnap, like twenty times since you became a journalist?

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Clark Kent @DailyPlanetMan Irrelevant.

(6) Clark's friends appear to be incapable of not bothering him at work! Bruce needs him to watch his kids, Diana wants to ensure that keeps up his warrior practice and Bruce needs reassurance after a nightmare. Takes place in my Shadow Demon AU!