#how beautiful must the Lord have made it in the beginning | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dinsbeskar · 2 days ago

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This is an absolute masterpiece. I'm actually past capitals, and back to lowercase, I am in such awe. This is one of those things I wish I'd written, it's so gorgeous, so artfully written, the imagery is so beautiful, and you made a blowjob seem like poetry, absolutely astounding??

Okay I have many quotes (I actually copied over 30, it must have been your entire fic, so I've heavily edited down to my absolute favourite bits)

“A messenger of the Valar. A being of pure light, sent to unlock his grandest abilities.” You turn around in his arms, and wrap yours around his neck, grinning. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen Celebrimbor quite so close to spending in his breeches before.”

Poor Brimby, I mean, who wouldn't when faced with Annatar appearing out of the smoke 😂 he got me good, never mind anyone actually standing close to him 😂

“Not even the Maker himself is above admiring true beauty,” he says, lifting your chin with a gentle knuckle as his thumb brushes your bottom lip. “And you, my lady, are the most exquisite of his creations.”

The way I would die??? The way I did die just reading this??

The most skilled of Elven artists could not capture the exquisite painting which graces your roving eyes. ‘Perfect’ doesn’t begin to describe him—not that you ever regard him as anything less. But in this specific form, he is the very picture of Elven beauty and grace, likely to enchant the eye of most, if not all beings of your kind.

Oh lord oh my god he is gorgeous and the picture you paint of him is sublime, I'm in love??

He is much smoother than Halbrand was. The hair on his body is less evident, as light in color as the blond tresses framing his face and not as coarse to the touch, you determine whilst trailing your fingers down his arm, shoulder to wrist. He is no doubt appealing, but you had been quite fond of the dark smattering of hair on Halbrand’s chest, and will surely miss the equally dark trail leading the tantalizing way between his navel and cock.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

THE WAY I DIED

Halbrand my beloved, your chest hair is immortal and beyond compare

You look up at your husband, standing above you in all his glory, the light of candles catching in his fair tresses in an ethereal halo. Yet most disarming are the pitch black depths of his eyes, trained onto you with devastating intensity.

What an absolutely gorgeous juxtaposition, I love this image so much!!!

“Well, my lady?” His tongue curls around the respectful title in such a way, it somehow sounds degrading. He tilts your chin even further back with a firm knuckle. “How is it that you worship your gods?”

I yelled!! Yes we love both, let him do both, worship and degrade us, why am I so feral for this??

You are free to surrender yourself to him, and few things make you feel so powerful as his craving to be adored by you.

Hell yes hell yes hell yes it's the craving for me!!! He loves the attention, needs her like air, godddd it's perfect

“I have one god, and one alone,” you murmur, holding his gaze as you embrace his legs, clinging to the flesh just below his buttocks and striving to look up despite the angle at which you then bend. “I kneel only to him,” you lay a kiss above one knee, “I worship only at his feet,” then the other. “I would kill for him,” you kiss him mid-thigh on one leg, “I would die for him,” then the other. “I would live,” you place a kiss right to the side of his cock, “through endless torment,” as well as the other side, “only for him.” You rise on your knees slightly, and press your lips below his navel, pleading with your eyes. For what, it matters not. For anything he might give.

Holy mother of divine sweet jesus, I cannot tell you how much I love this, I died, I was reborn, I died again

The growl which leaves your husband’s throat is more wild beast than Elf. [...] He wants in.

“Show me,” he commands, his tip nudging at your quivering lips. “Show me how you adore me.”

I YELLED

Bestial Sauron, losing his damn mind, "show me how much you adore me", I am so feral for this adoring husband you write so well, he is sublime

You wish he would reward your efforts with the groans and gasps you know he keeps lodged within his throat. You want to rip them out with your teeth, if need be.

YASSSSSSSSS

“Such beauty,” he muses gruffly, catching your tear with a gentle thumb even as he keeps thrusting. “Such ruin.”

God this is gorgeous, "such ruin"???? He loves it, she loves it, they're both so unwell for each other, you can feel just how perfect they are for each other with each tiny look, action, piece of dialogue 🙌👌🤌👏

His mind nudges at yours, such a stark contrast between the immaterial caress and his ruthless handling of you. The answer he seeks is written in your eyes, your mind, the same message ringing out over and over from every corner of your being: Grip me, keep me, ruin me. Spill in my mouth. Fill it with your taste. Give me everything.

THIS

THIS ENDED ME, I AM ACTUALLY DEAD NOW

He looks for her consent and finds nothing wanting, she's right there with him, and the contrast between his roughness and gentleness is sending me

“My love,” he breathes out, the lust in his gaze having melted into something akin to awe. “Oh, my love. How desperately you crave my pleasure.” His chest begins to heave, eyes growing feral with fresh hunger. “As I crave yours.”

🙌👌🤌👏🙌👌🤌👏🙌👌🤌👏

Even in the heat of your smuttiest scenes, there is such gorgeous emotion, idk how you do it, sublime

Oh, the audacious little arse of a Maia (whom you would not have any other way).

Pfffffft the way I cackled, he really is 😂😂😂

And what a wonderous view indeed. From here, he is laid out below you like a grand feast, offering to the pleasure of your eye every little twitch of the muscles in his neck and abdomen as you give his length a few preparatory pumps. His hair is splayed out on your pillow in fair waves, like the halo of the divine being he now claims to be. You can nearly see why Morgoth had so wished to corrupt him, when he truly was a being of pure light. Though in Morgoth’s place, you would never have been so foolish as to fail in cherishing Mairon’s loyalty like the most precious gift that it was. In Morgoth’s place, you’d have punished your beloved servant with nothing but the most wicked of pleasures, and rewarded his terrible feats in your name with a throne beside yours and a crown placed upon his splendid head.

This whole paragraph is sublime, what a feast indeed, the image of him is so beautiful, and imagining herself in Morgoth's place?? he deserves to be rewarded, let's reward him 😍🥵

“Good.” Your husband’s smile drips with pride. “I made it for you.”

It takes a moment for the meaning of his words to sink in. He has made this form, having fully recovered his ability to deliberately choose the shape and size of each part of himself, and—

“Oh,” you let out, your face crumpling with adoration as you melt on the inside. “You’ve gone through such trouble…”

SHUT UP I LOVE IT, OF COURSE HE MADE HIMSRLF IN AN IMAGE SHE WOULD ADORE, HIS FLESH TO FIT HERS, I AM DYING

“No trouble at all, my love,” he says, hands roaming over your thighs. “I made each part of myself to suit my purpose. I desire no offspring, and have no bodily needs apart from those awakened by my wife. So, you see, the sole purpose of my cock... is to pleasure you. Us.” He brings your hand to his lips, the kiss he presses to your knuckles as reverent as though he were greeting you in the midst of an elegant ballroom rather than naked in your bed, buried inside you to the hilt. “I worship only at the feet of my goddess as well.”

Um okay????? Fuck I'm running out of new things to say but I need you to know how much I adored this whole section, they're so mad for each other my heart hurts

“All the heart I have left is yours,” he says in a ragged breath, nails digging into your shoulderblades. “Yours, always yours.”

Fuck me??? "All the heart I have left is yours"???? Amazing, stunning, breathtaking

...as though you mean to cage him within you for the rest of all time, and what a tempting prospect that is.

THE TEMPTATION YES PLEASE

“I was ill,” you murmur suddenly, cheek still pressed to his heart. [...]

This whole next section where she describes her fantasy/illusion/dream, which I love btw, like her brain has to fill in the gap he's left to stay remotely sane, anyway the whole thing was so beautifully written it hurt my heart, but the end where she tells him it was wrong, it felt so right. Of course this isn't their love story, they were forged in flames and darkness and this fairytale doesn't suit them (I love it anyway idc)

It's like "in another life I'd have been happy to do laundry with you" but this is where they were meant to be and they relish in it.

“But I would have delighted in wearing something as simple as a bracelet made of grassblades, had I known them to have been entwined by your hands."

I have a very special fondness for this line, he doesn't need his forge to make her beautiful things, and she doesn't need the finest jewels from him to want to wear them, my heart!!!!

“I was not as you described, indeed,” he murmurs in the end. “Even with my original... disposition, I’d not have hesitated to make my desire known, should I have had any such inclinations towards another. I have always hated a waste of good resources—time is no exception.”

YES KING GO CLAIM YOUR QUEEN IN ANY TIMELINE HELL YEAAAH

“...whether you were to return in a day or a century. Or several,” you add quietly, holding onto your husband just that little bit tighter. His forehead creases with the same deep ache in your chest as he nudges your nose with his.

Ooooof it's the yearning for me!!! The separation doing nothing but bringing them closer together!!

“I’d have made my desire for you known,” he repeats his earlier words in your ear, hushed but fervent, “and I’d never have bowed before Morgoth. For no promise of power could have swayed me to risk your safety. And we’d have stayed servants of the Valar, pure and obedient. It is only as we are now, my love, that we shall be masters of our own fate, and rule above all others.”

YESSSSSSS ALL THE POWER IN THE WORLD BUT HER SAFETY WOULD BE PARAMOUNT, YESSSSS

As you drift to sleep, you swear your husband’s caress holds the ghost of a tender petal brushing your skin.

Oh my lord this did me in, absolutely sublime, yes queen give us everything 👏🤌👌🙌

Danielle I am in awe, this was amazing, your best yet for sure 💜💜💜

As we are now (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which you explore your husband’s new form, and it leads to you breaching a rather delicate subject

Warnings: evil!reader, smut, oral (Sauron receiving, he gets rough but reader is completely on board with it), p in v, dom!Sauron but it’s kind of back and forth, reader and Sauron being deep in denial about their desire for a bit of normalcy

Note: part of the evil!reader collection. If you’re new, reader has been married to Sauron since before Adar’s betrayal and infiltrated herself as a smith of Eregion, where she awaited her husband’s return.

Mature content below the cut - minors DNI!!!

You burst into delighted laughter the moment you are in the privacy of your own chamber. The light, the smoke, the speech, the look—be still your black little heart and your poor loins, the look.

It was a good thing you had worked as closely as you did with Celebrimbor and so-called Halbrand before your husband had been forced to leave Eregion, for the Elven Rings were in great part your achievement as well, and so Celebrimbor had deemed that you had just as much right to learn what had become of them upon Halbrand’s return. It was also a good thing you were standing behind Celebrimbor, and that he was entirely enraptured with your husband’s divine appearance as ‘Annatar’ made his grand entrance, because the hand with which you had covered your grin could hardly conceal the shameless glee in your eyes.

To see his deceit at work is always a joy. But even greater is the delight of knowing he shall join you in your chamber shortly, just as soon as he is finished entertaining the awe-struck Celebrimbor for the night. You stand at your window, hoping your wait will not be long. You haven’t had the chance to be alone with your husband since he had returned to Eregion, and somehow the last moments before the promise of reunion always feel like the longest.

He moves within the shadows, as quietly as them. You do not need to hear the opening and closing or your door, or even the steps approaching you, to know that he is there, even before arms snake around your waist from behind and lips press to your neck. You chuckle, leaning into your husband.

“How crudely you speak of your dear friend,” your husband pretends to admonish, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Can you fault a poor Elf for falling to his knees in the face of his greatest desires coming true?”

“Fault him? Of course not.” You lower your voice to a sensual purr, leaning in so that your breath warms his lips as you speak. “In fact, if I were him, I’d have done far more than kneel.” You shrug. “Or tried, at the very least. Surely, an emissary of the Valar is above such worldly temptations.”

His lips are only a moment too slow to catch your teasing ones. You nimbly slip from his hold and walk past him—to no destination whatsoever, for you know you are to be caught nearly at once and relish the short anticipation. You still give a small yelp when he catches your wrist and spins you around, pulling you flush against him. There’s hunger in his eyes, and playfulness, as he secures your waist into a hold not so easily escapable as the last.

He can pay you a thousand compliments, and you would still swoon each and every time. On the inside, at the very least, for at the moment you simply remove his hand from your mouth.

“Is that all you wish? To admire me?” you tease still, ignoring the impatient tick in your husband’s jaw. “It would be such a pity if the Lord of Gifts did not receive some form of gratitude in return for the blessings he carries. Does one as pure as you even know of what I speak?”

You hold his gaze as you catch the tip of his thumb between your teeth, giving the pad the lightest lick. Your husband’s throat bobs as he watches.

“Do enlighten me,” he rasps out.

And you fully intend to. His lips are so plump and tempting, close enough that you can all but taste them. You haven’t kissed your husband since before he left for Adar’s camp in Mordor, an obscenely long amount of time already.

“With pleasure,” you whisper—close, so close to giving you both the meeting of lips you so crave...

Not quite.

You push his chest, just enough for him to let you take a step backward with a frustrated little breath. His eyes hold a glint of warning, hunger that might just surface to end your little game if you push it a smidge too far over the edge. But in the end, you like to play, and he likes to indulge you. And it isn’t as though you are dallying about as you slide his outer robe off his shoulders and down his arms. In fact, you are quite unceremoniously hasty, and so your husband straightens his arms by his sides, letting the fabric fall to the floor in a graceless heap around his feet.

Now, for the grey robe beneath, covering him from neck to ankle, humbly adorned with only a simple pattern along the collar... you could, in theory, remove it the old-fashioned way. But you don’t feel particularly inclined to go through the hassle of lifting all that material over his head, and something wild is stirring in your chest, and it’s in your nature, after all, to do things just because.

You produce a dagger from a concealed pocket of your dress, grab your husband’s collar, hook the blade into it and rip! goes the dull fabric with a yank of your hand. Down to his waist the destruction continues, tear after tear as you pull the material away from his body so as not to nick the skin you so greedily reveal with the slashes of your blade.

He does not flinch once, save for a coy lift at the corner of his lips as you toss away the dagger and relieve him of the ruined garb, adding it to the pile of crumpled fabric on the floor. You pay it no more mind than you do his now bare torso, determined to admire him in all his splendor when you finally take him in, head to toe.

“You speak of giving something in return,” he remarks quite casually as your hands next reach straight for the fastenings of his trousers, “yet all you seem to do is take—the very clothes off my back, no less.”

You smirk up at him. “Well, I should like to lay my eyes upon the gift for which I am to repay you first.”

You pull his trousers down in one quick move, proudly stripping him of the last shred of divine decency with which he had clad himself for Celebrimbor’s benefit. He cooperates smoothly as you crouch to yank the pants off his legs one by one, then toss his modest footwear to the side as well, and when you rise back to your full height, your husband stands before you with not a stitch on him.

Speaking of which—that part of him is as glorious as ever, and already quite visibly eager. It would require but a graze of your fingers to grow into his full hardness. But you purposefully avoid that particular bit of enticing flesh as your fingers next trace a delicate line up his thigh, taking a detour along his hip instead. You let your nails scrape his skin ever so slightly as they venture higher, feeling his firm abdomen twitch faintly beneath your touch. He is sculpted with perfect balance, the lines of his muscles painting a stunning picture of bodily strength without too dramatic of a bulk, still allowing for elegance. Your fingers ascend to his chest, traveling across its alluring plane, and come to graze one nipple, earning a hitch in your husband’s breath. Otherwise, he stands perfectly still, subjecting himself to your quiet exploration.

You circle him slowly, your touch uninterrupted as your fingers trace his skin on a path to his shoulder blades. In the meantime, you release his newly long hair from the silver headpiece he had given himself, letting it fall onto the heap of clothes on the floor. You come to a halt facing his back, as beautifully muscled as the front, and—for the love of the Valar you have forsaken, there is nothing objectively different about the shape of his buttocks, but you swear they have grown even more enticing than before. You give one an appreciative caress, fingers following the plump curve of flesh between his upper thigh and lower back, before giving it a most satisfying squeeze.

Your husband releases a short huff of a chuckle. You press yourself against him, still groping his behind as you brush his hair over his shoulder to press a kiss to the top of his spine.

“I find myself in quite the predicament, I’m afraid,” you murmur into his skin. “So exquisite is the gift, I cannot imagine how I am to pay in kind.”

“A gift, by definition, is not paid,” your husband says, giving you a pointed look over his shoulder. “But you may begin by putting an end to this teasing.”

You grin, giving his behind a sharp pinch with just a bit of nail scratch. That finally earns you an undignified gasp from his throat, followed by a scolding tsk as you turn him around by the shoulders.

“I am merely beholding your ‘natural form’, my lord,” you mock Celebrimbor’s earlier words, caressing your husband’s face and chest as you meet his scalding gaze with your sensuous one. “So I may know how best to worship it.”

You all but lunge forward to catch his lips, finally, after the wait of separation as well as your self-imposed delay—

A large hand clamps around your neck. It is your husband, now, who keeps you at bay, lips hovering one tantalizing inch above yours as he grouses, “I believe you mentioned something about kneeling.”

He pushes down on your shoulders with just enough force that you gasp as your knees bend, dropping to the floor at once. He might as well have reached down your throat and ripped the breath from your lungs with his fingers. You look up at your husband, standing above you in all his glory, the light of candles catching in his fair tresses in an ethereal halo. Yet most disarming are the pitch black depths of his eyes, trained onto you with devastating intensity.

You swallow nothing at all, eyelids fluttering as you stare upwards like a believer at prayer. He does this sometimes, playing along until he doesn’t, flipping the tables and taking charge in the blink of an eye. It almost feels like a physical stroke of your clit, creamy arousal gushing from your core in an instant.

It’s such a slippery slope. The submission. The rawness of it. You’ve both known what it was to be at the mercy of another before, one who had no such thing as mercy. But you do not despair, and you are not afraid. For this is not Morgoth, nor are you a slave. You are free to surrender yourself to him, and few things make you feel so powerful as his craving to be adored by you.

The growl which leaves your husband’s throat is more wild beast than Elf. He takes in his fists your hair and his own hard length, keeping you where he wants as he drags the tip of his cock from the base of your neck to your chin, as though splitting the skin upon the blade of his desire. Arousal smears a trail up your throat. He wants in.

“Show me,” he commands, his tip nudging at your quivering lips. “Show me how you adore me.”

As if you had not already. As if you do not always. But you are beyond glad to remind him. Your tongue darts past your lips to give the slit a sole lick. As he releases his cock to plant his hand onto your shoulder instead, you take hold of his length yourself to flatten it against his stomach. You spare a moment to admire it, so promisingly full and flushed with want, then press your lips to the underside, right at the base, and work your way to the tip with a string of doting kisses. How you love this most sensitive part of him, and cherish each and every twitch with which it responds to your affections.

His hands tense impatiently on your head and shoulder, but he needs not handle you into further action as you finally take his cockhead in your mouth, sucking gently. Then firmly, and over again, until you’re truly fucking him with your mouth, your hand working in tandem to cover the length you cannot swallow with each bob of your head.

The crease in his brow betrays his pleasure, though he stands above you tall and stoic as ever. Even when you swirl your tongue around his tip the way you know drives him wild, even when you reach underneath to fondle the sensitive sack at the base of his manhood. You wish he would reward your efforts with the groans and gasps you know he keeps lodged within his throat. You want to rip them out with your teeth, if need be. And so you take him deep, as deep as he can go inside your throat, all while piercing him with your wanton gaze.

Your husband curses. His fist in your hair tightens, tugs at the roots with just enough force that it stings most deliciously. Control is ripped from you once more as he drives his cock into your throat at his own merciless pace, and if you could, you would smile at your victory in breaking his composure. You grab hold of his buttocks, nails digging into the soft flesh as he buries himself in your mouth, over and over. You’ve gathered more than enough skill over your years together to withstand such an act whilst still drawing some air into your lungs, even if only the barest minimum. Still, a tear slides down your cheek, and you groan around his length, knowing the sound will only add to his pleasure.

“Such beauty,” he muses gruffly, catching your tear with a gentle thumb even as he keeps thrusting. “Such ruin.”

The enormity of your need for his pleasure is what does him in. He doesn’t stifle, doesn’t deny you the sound of his wrecked groan as he ceases upon a final thrust, cock shoved so deep down your throat that your nose is buried in the fair curls at his base. You shut your eyes as he spills and spills, relishing the throbbing of his flesh on your tongue and the essence of him gliding down your throat. Breathing can wait. Not forever, but for a while.

Your husband, of course, allows it long before you’d have truly struggled. But you still pant for breath the moment he pulls out, and your forehead drops to his thigh as you wipe the mess left on your chin. Not a moment later, your husband tilts your head back, demanding your misty eyes to meet his.

He bends down, grabs your waist and hoists you from the ground straight into his arms, at last claiming your lips as you wrap your legs around him with an elated moan. It is as though his end did nothing but spur him into wishing for another, this time whilst buried in your depths. Barely a moment later, he lays you down on your bed, his bare body pressing your clothed one into the mattress. His hips are already nestled between your legs, grinding relentlessly as you write and whine beneath his ravenous kisses of your mouth, then of any bare inch he finds of your neck and chest.

He fists his hands in the shoulders of your dress, and he needs no blade to rip the fabric down your chest unceremoniously. You gasp, mildly indignated—you had been rather fond of that piece. But the sacrifice is well worth it for the unbridled desire on his face as he admires your bare breasts, as though it were his first time seeing them. “This is all I could think of,” he rasps out, “whilst I stood waiting at the gate. What I would do once I could finally touch my wife’s skin, her flesh...” He kneads one breast, staring in marvel as that wonderfully pliant part of you yields beneath his fingers, “This lovely, soft flesh of yours. Look how it calls to me.”

His thumb swipes over one pebbled nipple, indeed straining upward as though reaching for your husband’s touch, just before he descends upon it with the heat of his mouth.

“Yes,” you moan, arching into him greedily. “But my flesh has remained unchanged... for centuries,” you strive to argue as his tongue lavishes that most sensitive peak, teeth tugging in a mean tease at the flesh around it. “Tonight,” you gather your resolve, “I was supposed... to be exploring... you!”

With a great push on that last word, you flip him onto his back. Your husband lets loose a wicked laugh as his head hits the pillow and you roll on top of him, panting.

“It is hardly my fault that you are so easily distracted.” He grins up at you without an ounce of shame. Oh, the audacious little arse of a Maia (whom you would not have any other way).

“As if you are any better,” you retort, and swiftly prove yourself right. You dive much like a vulture aiming to snatch its prey, one hand sinking in his hair as you catch the brand new pointed tip of his ear between your teeth and tug, hard. Your husband gives a sharp grunt, hands flying to grip your hips.

“Hm, I’ve missed these,” you say, suckling at the tender skin as if to soothe the sting you purposely inflicted whilst your husband groans beneath you. “Remember when I made you spill simply from biting them?”

“A most admirable feat,” he growls, “for which I have not the patience at the moment.”

He means to lift his torso off the bed, but you hold him down with a firm hand pressed to his chest. “Ah-ah,” you shake your head, slowly rising to sit up astride him. “I wish to stay right here,” you say, gathering the skirts of your dress pooling over his crotch to help yourself to his newly straining erection, “and admire the view.”

“Admire?” your husband raises a coy eyebrow, even as he throbs in your fist. “I thought you wished to reward me for my generosity,” he reminds you of the little game you had been playing at the beginning. You are no mighty Vala who can offer him everything he has ever craved on a silver platter, but you need not be, when you are what he needs most desperately.

“What better reward than this?” you smile, and sink onto his length in one swift move, pulling a moan from yourself and a brisk curse in Black Speech from him. Having engulfed him to the hilt, you plant your hands onto his chest, savoring the divine stretch.

“How does it fit, my love?” your husband asks, thrusting up ever so slightly.

“It’s perfect,” you moan. “So... so perfect.” As always, but you can’t deny you’ve landed at an angle which hits especially right, even before you’re begun to truly ride him.

“Good.” Your husband’s smile drips with pride. “I made it for you.”

It takes a moment for the meaning of his words to sink in. He has made this form, having fully recovered his ability to deliberately choose the shape and size of each part of himself, and—

“Oh,” you let out, your face crumpling with adoration as you melt on the inside. “You’ve gone through such trouble…”

You say it with false modesty, though this is barely a fraction of the lengths to which he had gone for you in the past, as well as barely a necessity. Even a shaft as inauspicious as the handle of a hammer could become an instrument of your pleasure in your husband’s hands, if it were wielded with his incomparable skill and intimate knowledge of your flesh. But whilst form alone is not everything, there is such a thing as a more or less natural fit for any given body. And this particular appendage with which your husband has endowed himself… the length and girth, every vein, every ridge, is specifically tailored to suit your needs. To stretch you perfectly, just on the right side of the light burn he knows you relish without causing you real pain, to rub and press exquisitely against your walls in all the sweetest ways and spots he knows by heart that you would most enjoy.

He says it like a vow. This time, when he rises from the mattress to gather you close, closer, you make not the slightest move to stop him—distracted again. But you are beyond caring. Beyond teasing games. There is no slow seduction, no calculated rhythm to the manner in which you begin to move, hips rolling frantically into your husband’s.

“Yes, my love,” he urges fervently. “Take what you need.”

As you do, he makes quick work to relieve you of the remnants of your dress, jaw clenched as your heat swallows him over and again in its velvety depths. He pulls and tears at the fabric, throws it away as if it were standing between him and the healing of Middle-Earth itself, and his wife is at last bared atop him, bouncing prettily on his cock.

“Nothing beneath,” he remarks, a most delicious reprimand as he gropes at your waist, urging you in your movements. “Is such the custom among the ladies of Eregion these days?”

A short laugh finds its way through the string of gasps and moans that leave your throat. “I’ve not worn undergarments since you arrived at the gate.”

“Of course not,” he purrs, the twisted pride in his gaze going straight to the onslaught of pleasure already between your legs. “My beautiful wife, waiting for me with open arms and a bare cunt. Soaked the moment you laid eyes upon me, were you not?”

All the answer he gets is a pitiful whine, and your lips sloppily catching his in a needy kiss. Seated in his lap, with your arm wrapped around his shoulders and your hand sunk into his hair, you are in control over the pace of your thrusts as well as utterly helpless with adoration. He holds you in the circle of his arms so fiercely, tears gather at the corner of your eyes as you pull away to take in your beloved’s expression. His beautiful lips, slightly parted in pleasure. His eyes, darkened to near slits with unbridled desire for you. Only for you.

“I love you,” you all but sob, your hips clashing into his so ruthlessly, you would fear for the anatomy of any lesser being of male form subjected to such treatment. Your mind is as frantic as the tempest in your core, on the verge of unraveling. “I love you, I love you so much—”

“All the heart I have left is yours,” he says in a ragged breath, nails digging into your shoulderblades. “Yours, always yours.”

If that wasn’t enough, the heat of his seed filling you to the brim does you in. Your peak has you clenching around your husband’s throbbing cock as though you mean to cage him within you for the rest of all time, and what a tempting prospect that is.

You slack against him, breathing heavily into his neck. Incoherent fragments of endearments leave your lips, but not even you can tell what you are saying. Your husband cradles your head, shushing you softly through the aftershocks of your release, and lies back against the pillows with you securely in his arms. You hum tiredly as he pulls out, and use the little strength left in your limbs to shift downward so that you may rest your head on your husband’s chest. He needs no heartbeat, but it soothes you to feel it beneath your cheek, strong and slowly settling down after the wonderful exertion through which you had put his form.

“I take it, then,” he says into the blissful silence that has fallen between you, “that my new visage is to your liking.”

You give a soft, tired laugh. Lifting yourself enough that you can gaze down at your husband’s face, you cup his cheek with an adoring smile.

“I liked you rough around the edges, imperfectly human,” you murmur, fingertips grazing the fine lines at the corner of his eye. “I like you smooth and pristine, descended from a great cloud of golden light. I like this face as well as any other, so long as I am looking in my beloved’s eyes.” You press a short kiss to his smiling lips. “It does not hurt, of course, that he tends to be unbearably fair.”

A small chuckle rumbles from his chest to yours. “I do try. But I admit I wonder,” he goes on, growing thoughtful, “now that I am able to change at will once more... whether you would prefer me as I was.”

His question gives you pause, your brow knitting slightly. He does not find such a prospect hurtful, you feel, but he is rather curious to know the answer.

“Would you prefer me as I was?” you ask in turn. “If I were... changed somehow, as you have been?”

His eyes caress your face as his knuckles graze your cheekbone, deeply tender. “I cannot say I would not mourn, if only for a while, the exact arrangement of lines and curves which shaped your form when I first held you in my arms,” he confesses, soft-spoken. “But I would prefer my beloved as she wishes to be.”

Many times, he has been loving to you, but there is a particular flavour to the moments when he is so plainly… sweet. His words move you in a way that makes you feel oddly fragile, sending your heart aflutter as only a being much younger and less scarred than you might be able to feel. You lay your head on your husband’s chest, closing your eyes to savour the sentiment. Yet, as his fingers graze your skin in loving patterns, a trace of old sorrow creeps into your heart. How lucky you are to be lying in your husband’s arms, discussing whether you would prefer one face over another, when you had once wondered how many Ages would have to pass before you could finally be at each other’s side once more.

“I was ill,” you murmur suddenly, cheek still pressed to his heart. “When they took you. For a long time. Ill of mind. As though part of it had shattered and the splinters kept shredding at what little was left of it. I began to... slip, between reality and waking dreams that felt so real, I could no longer tell the difference. At times, I was grateful for it. Because in the ruins of my mind, you had returned to me with a crown upon your head, and you took me in your arms and I was whole again, if only until the fiction fell apart and left me even more bereft than I had been before. Sometimes, I fell into memories, reliving Morgoth’s torments as though they had never ended, but even within those I longed to remain forever. For there, you were with me, and no pain could compare to that of being without you. But once... once, I lived not the past I craved, nor the one that had come to pass. I was... someone else. Someone I had been before Morgoth. And so were you. In fact... there had never been a Morgoth.”

The hand with which your husband was caressing your hair comes to a hesitant halt. You feel him tense, in body and in mind, feel his disquiet upon hearing such words. But he remains silent, and allows you to gather his hand in your own.

“It came to me in glimpses, moments over time, strung together into one story,” your voice is soft in a foreign way as you begin the tale, your fingers idly playing with his before your far away eyes. “What I first felt was light—the light of the Trees, warm upon my face. The skies of Valinor, clear abovehead, the soft grass grazing my bare feet where I sat by the creek. I was… singing. A song of my own making which I cannot remember, and which I am not sure I ever truly knew. But it was cut short, for I was startled by a sudden presence. Rising in haste to my feet, I turned to find the mightiest of the Maiar of Aulë himself standing only a few paces out of reach, his beautiful face awed as well as a touch apologetic. You had not meant to disturb my peace. But so enchanting you had found my voice as you were passing by, you said, that you wished to capture it in one of your creations.

“And so, at your invitation, I began to visit the great forge where the wonders of your mind were brought into being. I was so… shy, I barely dared to address you. But there was such peace in the silences we shared, such ease, that even though we were near perfect strangers, I felt as though we had already spoken every word in the world, and nothing remained to be said of our existence which we had yet to confess to one another most openly.

“You asked me to sing as you shaped metal, as you gave form to wondrous gems. And when I did, you looked at me as though I were the most precious being to have ever breathed in the light of the One. At times, you would forget yourself, and whilst precious materials awaited to be shaped before you, your hands would find mine instead. And they were able to do so with ease, for the more times I joined you in your forge, the closer together we stood.

“But you would not tell me what it was that you meant to craft, shrouding the work of your hands, somehow, from my eyes, even when I looked closely. Only because I let you, though. I knew I could look past the illusion and peek at any moment, but I made a game of it—trying to guess in what manner of adornment you meant to capture my voice. And each time I returned, you would gift me the very jewel I had last guessed, whether wrongly or not. Not the creation you meant to achieve in the end, but lesser ones crafted in my absence, during uninterrupted hours of toil. ‘Lesser’ being but a manner of comparison, for they were the most exquisite I had ever laid eyes upon. But I would have delighted in wearing something as simple as a bracelet made of grassblades, had I known them to have been entwined by your hands.

“On the day your work was finished, my heart was filled with such sorrow thinking our hours together might come to an end. For however plainly our eyes and joined hands had spoken of our feelings, such was my timid nature that I had never dared voice them, and you had never risked bringing offence to my virtue by speaking of yours. Not until you had completed your work, and you finally revealed to me what your end had been from the very beginning. It had not been one jewel you meant to craft, but two. Two splendid rings—neither of power, nor of symbolic importance to any but you and I. With your gifts, you had woven my voice into the gems, and in a way impossible to capture into words, the light reflected upon it shone with the echo of my song. Only then, as you placed one of the pair into my hands, did you confess that you had loved me since the moment you had first heard my voice, and your greatest desire would be for those twin jewels to become the symbols of devotion with which we become wed. Nevertheless, were it not my wish to bind myself to you, the other ring would be mine, to gift, if I should like, to the most fortunate being with whom I would choose to share my soul, whilst you would content yourself to love me from afar, and wish me nothing but the greatest of joy for so long as existence should be. At once I confessed that such a thought was not only absurd, but also too painful to bear—for my heart had been yours since the moment I had laid eyes upon you.

“And so we wed in song and merriment, and we danced under the radiant branches of the Trees, celebrated by your kin and mine alike. We made love in a meadow, soft and slow, and for hours you caressed my skin with petals yielded by a blossom tree in honor of our union. Even that act of passion was somehow so clean. So pure. So...” you search for the right way to describe it, “...wrong.”

It’s as though a spell breaks upon that last, dissonant word. You roll off of your husband, settling onto your side to face him as he does the same. His expression is hard to read, some blend of unease and intrigue in the furrow of his brow.

“For the first time, when the fiction ended, I did not weep,” you tell him, your voice no longer dreamy, but returned to a more familiar fierceness. “For I knew not those beings I had seen. Devoid of purpose, endlessly demure. Light and songs, desire kept secret beneath bashful smiles,” you scoff. “I wanted back the husband that I loved, not some unrecognizable version of him wearing his face. Not some children’s story of infuriating innocence.” With a small shake of your head against the pillow, and a soft, mirthless chuckle, you shift closer into your husband’s arms, both of you adjusting so that you are embracing on your sides. “So, no, my love,” is the answer you ultimately give, “I do not wish for either of us to be anything but what we are, here and now, in body as well as spirit.”

Your husband only hums, deep in thought. He has not said a word since you began to speak, and the longer his silence stretches, the more you begin to wonder whether your confession has displeased him, somehow. Perhaps he does not wish to hear of this romantic scenario your mind had invented, despite its protagonist being but a different version of himself. Or perhaps...

You’ve rarely spoken of what came before. It is a surprise as well as a relief, then, when he does so without seeming too unsettled by the fact that you had alluded to his former self in the first place.

You smile slightly. You know that all too well.

“Nor was I some helpless maiden who shied away from the slightest of amorous attentions,” you assure him. “I doubt it, either way,” you shrug. “I can hardly remember.”

Elven memories do not dim. You do remember what your life before Morgoth was like, but the details of it—the faces, the words spoken, the feelings… those have long been tucked away in a deep corner of your mind, never to be spoken or thought of again. For what use was there to it? That life had been burned away, along with everything you used to be.

“Either way,” you go on, brushing off even the merest thought of that distant past, “it was but a dull fable, conjured by a broken mind. I healed soon after. Reminded myself why I needed to remain sane and strive to do all that I can towards our goal, whether you were to return in a day or a century. Or several,” you add quietly, holding onto your husband just that little bit tighter. His forehead creases with the same deep ache in your chest as he nudges your nose with his.

“Let us not dwell on the past, or things that never were,” he murmurs in his deep, comforting tone. “I am here. And I shall not leave your side again.”

There is still an oddly meditative lilt to his words, a certain sense of wistfulness that does not quite hold the same flavour as the longing you had felt so many times shared between you. But you make no attempt to pry at the sentiment with your mind. Especially as he closes the distance between your lips, kissing you with utmost gentleness.

The kiss deepens, lasts for ages, but remains achingly tender. Utterly disarming. Your legs intertwine, bringing your hips flush together in the tangle. His flesh finds yours, and before long you are joined. There is no power play, no teasing, not even the desperate, nearly pained gasps, wails or groans you so enjoy to wring from one another. Only every inch of him pressed against every inch of you, soft moans melting onto each other’s tongues, the languid pleasure of moving together to an end that envelops you in its warm embrace, leaving you trembling in your husband’s arms and him moaning your name like a most sacred prayer.

In its wake, you are beyond words. All you can do is bury your face in your husband’s chest as he holds you close still, his fingers drawing soft shapes on your skin.

You shut your eyes, nuzzle further into his neck, his words sending a shiver through your very soul. This life you have shared is not easy. Not pretty. But in the end, it shall be glorious, better than any other that you might have lived. Truly.

It has to be.

As you drift to sleep, you swear your husband’s caress holds the ghost of a tender petal brushing your skin.

Previous fic with same reader -> As one

Next fic with same reader -> A true gift

#so fricking talented!!!#fic rec #annatar x reader #sauron x reader

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nezuscribe · 21 days ago

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

pairing: gojo x fem!reader

summary: gojo satoru was the most notorious man across the land. he was the strongest soldier the north had ever produced, the most brilliant of minds, and somebody who slept his way through the noble ranks. his parents set him up in a marriage agreement with you, hoping that a tie with a ring would help save his image. you know gojo never wanted this, and you try to act as if that was normal. but soon, without you or even him realizing it, he comes to the conclusion that while he never wanted this marriage - he's beginning to want you.

warnings: 18+ mdni: arranged marriage, angst, slight no comfort, gojo is emotionally constipated for a bit, heavy making out, eating out (fem! receiving), fingering, (naoya)

word count: 19.7k (sorry)

note: inspired by this drabble. i'm so happy this behemoth of a fic is done!! art credit: _3aem

jjk masterlist + series masterlist

Gojo Satoru was the most powerful man alive.

Not only physically, though some people chalked him up to being half god, but his name held even more control. The Gojo family of the North was as old as the gods themselves, and they’ve been making sure it’s been kept that way. They owned so much land that you would walk to the ends of the earth and circle back around and it would probably still be theirs. They had armies of unfathomable sizes under their command, so much riches that they could probably buy an entire nation and still have plenty to spend.

His presence was just as large as his name created him to be. Any ball he went to, all eyes would fall on him. On the battlefield, men feared to see the flash of white hair, knowing that his strength was unbridled.

And his physical beauty? Most people assumed he was blessed by the gods himself. Gojo had a certain look that just made your knees weak, your heart palpitate, and your cheeks heated up. The handful of times you’ve seen him from afar you’ve been able to understand why all the girls (and some of the guys) yearned for his attention. His eyes were a piercing blue as if somebody had held a mirror to the sky when creating them. His hair had grown whiter with the years, as white as the snow that sunk deep into the grounds of the north. Gojo had the build of a soldier, and he towered over most people. His bulky build was intimidating, but you heard some girls whisper behind their hands about how he must look underneath all those ceremonial garments.

The lord of the North was power itself.

Which would make you, by martial association, the North's most powerful lady.

And for somebody who grew up with the same respect as a stable boy, it was all too much too soon.

And yes, while on paper you still had your father's last name and legacy tied to it, you weren’t really a daughter to your parents. Your mother, though you had to call her by her name whenever you weren’t in public, seeing how she wasn’t really your mother, made sure it was kept that way. Your other three half-sisters should have been in your spot, either one of them more true to the family name than you. But seeing how they’re already married, you were the final resort.

Gojo Satoru, though you’ve seen him countless times (something common because of how close in ranks your families were), had only acknowledged you a couple of times. You didn’t care much, never did, because that's what you were used to. After all, it was a common fact that you were what they nicknamed “the bastard daughter” of the West.

But it didn’t seem to matter much to his parents, as they offered their son up to you in a marriage arrangement.

And who were you to turn that down?

They, his parents, assured you that their son was looking forward to this union. He was the one to offer it, they said, which you were skeptical of but weren’t stupid enough to question. You knew how much Gojo Satoru was tarnishing their reputation with his promiscuous ways, but as long as he was okay with this arrangement you couldn’t find any part of you that would disagree with it.

After all, you knew that this marriage wasn’t out of love, fascination, or even a mutual understanding, but because of the strength your own family (more so your father) held, and how you were the only feasible option for a bride.

So, after weeks of rocking back and forth on agreements, paperwork, dress rehearsals, and grueling dancing lessons (and still no sight of the man himself), you found yourself standing at the end of the aisle, your arm linked around your fathers as a large smile plasters itself on your face.

Ever since you were young you had convinced yourself that the only man who would want to taint his name enough to marry you would have to be either a troll or an ogre, so that fact that your future spouse was human was better than anything you could have asked for.

And you’re not daft. As your heart hammered loudly against the limited space of your chest, waiting for your cue to start walking, you reminded yourself that this was just a mutual agreement. It’s hard for people at your level to marry for love, but even then, you can’t help but hope that you can make a decent friendship out of this.

You glanced at your father next to you, catching his eyes as he nodded once, staring ahead of him into the small crowd of just your two families, and patted your arm.

You still remember the music playing, the instruments harmonizing together as you took a tentative step forward, feeling warm under the eyes of people you didn’t know, but you kept reminding yourself that this was the best thing that could’ve happened to you. Either you died as an old maid in the little room you had near the kitchens at your old home or got married to some warlord who wanted an entire village as family.

The orchids that surrounded the venue still infiltrate your nose as you think about it, the way the silk of your dress felt against your skin that had been scrubbed raw earlier that morning.

And there you saw him, standing at the end of the aisle. At that moment you realized how much of a mistake this was,

Because the man that stood there, the man who you were about to marry, seemed like he’d rather be dead than be your husband.

—

You blink out of your trance, sitting up straighter in your seat as you mindlessly stop tearing up pieces of your bread, rubbing your fingers together to get rid of the remnants of flour.

The dining hall was huge, far bigger than the one back home. Though you rarely ate there, you could still remember it, and it definitely wasn’t as big as this. Yet, despite its size, you felt like you were a little grain of rice in its vastness.

The Gojo estate itself was humongous. His parents resided in a smaller house near the ocean now that you’ve moved in, but you would bet that the word humble they used to describe it was anything but humbling. You’ve been here for weeks and yet you feel like you’ve only discovered half of what this place has to offer.

There were guards at every corner, but at this point, you’re convinced they're just for decoration. If your husband is as decorated a warrior as they say he is, he could protect this entire estate with no help necessary.

You stare at your plate, at the array of food prepared just for you, different sorts of cured meats, loaves of bread, cheeses, fruits, and juices from all over, and still, you feel no hunger.

Months ago you’d be ecstatic to see how much your life has changed. You get new clothes that fit you, food whenever you desire, people at your beck and call. Your room is no longer that cramped space you’d been given to hide you away from the rest of your family, but twice the size of your father's old bedroom. You wake up earlier and sleep later, do whatever you want, but none of it feels deserved.

The only thing you can bring yourself to think about is how the last time you saw your husband was the night of the wedding. The look on his face when you made your empty vows to one another, his faint lingering kiss on your cheek. You can blink your eyes and still see the way he left, his jaw clenched as he ignored the calls from his parents. How, even here, rumors seemed to follow you.

Safe to say, you spent your meals alone.

Not only that, but your rooms were entirely separate as well. You were told that you had to consummate the night of your marriage, but from what you’ve heard, your husband sleeps in an entirely different wing of the estate, with walls and corridors between the two of you.

You tried taking your mind off of things, pretending as if this was normal.

Most days you’d walk around, trying to familiarize yourself with the layout of the grounds. You’d walk the gardens a couple times each week, try to memorize the way back to different places, and stay in the library the other half of the time.

A part of you was happy to at least be away from that miserable home, but it felt like swapping one prison for a slightly better one. Your maids were kind, of course, but you didn’t know anybody here. They treat you like a lady of noble ranking, as expected from being the wife of the Lord in the North, but you’d rather be given an apron and start working around instead of this mind-numbing boredom of just sitting around.

You stare at your plate, chewing on a grape slowly.

Looking up you see the sun filtering in through the large windows, illuminating the long table that sits like an empty grave. Clicking your tongue you pick up another grape, slumping in your seat as you look up.

This is just the way things will be.

—

“Alina?”

You call out from your vanity, staring at your maid as she’s picking out different earrings for you to pick from for dinner.

It’s a couple of days later, and still no word from Gojo. But that doesn’t mean that you haven’t stopped for a single second to not think about your supposed husband.

You try not to care, pretend that you’re lucky that he’s not bothering you or going out of his way to remind you of this unfortunate situation, but above anything you just feel alone.

The maid looks up, a curl falling from her tight bun as she smiles at you in the mirror.

“Yes, my lady?” She stands up straighter, flattening out the wrinkles from her apron tied around her waist as she begins walking towards you with the jewelry.

“Is this…is this normal?” You crane your neck around to look at the different pairs she’s holding up, nudging your head to the red ones that shine bright, and watch as she sets them down on your desk, resting her hand on your hip as she stares at you quizzically.

“What do you mean?” She asks as you begin taking your earrings off, putting the new ones on yourself. In the beginning, she protested, saying that a woman of your caliber shouldn’t have to do such measly tasks. But the more you protested, she eventually gave up.

“Do husbands and wives usually sleep separately?” you say, feeling your chest contract in embarrassment at the stupidness of your question.

You watch as she swallows thickly, avoiding eye contact as she sets on fixing some parts of your hair.

Staring patiently through the vanity mirror as you watch her work, Alina wets her lips, her eyes downcast as if not wanting to answer.

“Was there somebody else he preferred to marry?” You decide to ask, twisting that knife that you knew was lodged in her side, one that was stopping her from talking, and watch as her eyes widen slightly in shock.

“If you don’t answer I’m just going to keep asking more uncomfortable questions,” you warn and Alina snorts softly, shoving your shoulder a little bit as you crack a smile.

She moves around, picking up a necklace, and begins clasping it behind your neck.

“I…I don’t know. He’s always been pretty secretive and,” she looks at you briefly, “Selective. I don’t mean to speak ill of my lord but it would be stupid not to acknowledge his old ways. But we never heard of a specific girl.”

Alina places a gentle hand on your shoulder, a sad smile on her face.

“You’re lucky my lady,” she says, her voice hushed, “Most wives don’t have the freedom to say their husbands don’t care what they do. Had you married that Zenin, you’d be pregnant by now.”

You shudder out a breath, nodding once more.

“I’ll see you after dinner, my lady,” she says, moving out of the way as you stare quietly at the floor before leaving silently.

—-

Tonight for dinner the cooks made you a wide array of different dishes, all from the Northern shore. There are different types of fish, each cooked in various ways. It looks delectable, a feast fit for a king.

You feel awful, though, seeing that you can’t eat any of it.

The last time you had fish your face swelled up and couldn’t breathe properly, so that family physician told you to steer away from it. But you’re here now, and it somehow slipped your mind to ever mention this little fact to them, so you’re awkwardly poking around some of the vegetables under the fish, looking for something to eat.

You pile some potatoes and carrots on your plate, scraping off any bits of fish on them as you hold this wasn’t your last meal.

The only sound that fills the room is your fork and knife sometimes hitting the porcelain plate, and you look up every now and then as you chew, looking at the paintings on the wall.

You’re so focused on a portrait of an old man that you don’t even notice the figure standing at the entrance of the dining hall, not until you hear a muted curse.

You look up instantly, your fork and knife dropping to the plate as you stare at the man in front of you, eyes wide at the sight of your husband.

He stands there, blinking slowly as you stare back.

You could swear time has never moved so slowly before.

You can hear him mutter a quiet shit under his breath, not knowing if he should make this worse by turning around and leaving or if he should join you.

He’s wearing a simple tunic, his face a little flushed, hairline beaded with sweat. Did he just come out of training? He must often do that, you decide, seeing how he must’ve felt comfortable enough walking in here without any clothing of import.

His eyes seem to track your little movements; the way your chest rises and falls in a slow movement, the way your fingers have frozen in mid-air, lips slightly parting. Your eyes dart around the room, everybody seeming to have tensed up.

You open your mouth to say something, anything, but you’ve never been so moved to silence. It seemed as if years of learned vocabulary slipped your mind within an instant, and no matter how hard you tried, nothing was coming back.

Gojo looks behind his shoulder, at the large double doors he entered through, deep in thought. This would be the first time the two of you had seen each other in weeks, and his tirade of avoiding you has come to an end. It looks like an entire battle is being fought in his mind, and you don’t know what to do.

Suddenly, you watch as he shakes his head, deciding to give in and join you for dinner.

The seconds go by like hours as he walks up to the seat at the other end of the table, staring at his seat for a brief second before he pushes it out and sits there.

You don’t know what to do.

Servants and maids quickly swarm the room, setting up his plate, cutlery, food, and drinks. It was all so hectic and rushed, but you were glad that it offered some sort of noise in the drowning silence.

A part of you wants to say something about the fish but you know this isn’t the right time.

In the flurry of movements you allow yourself to discretely look at him a little better, seeing how the last time you saw him was so brief and hurried.

The man radiates a different sort of aura you’ve never experienced before. While your father was one of the most powerful men in the West, Gojo was the strongest throughout the majority of the North and East. His frame took up the entire chair, his muscular shoulders and arms visible even through the loose fabric that was draped over him. You feel a little disappointed, knowing that if you were a different girl you’d probably be able to enjoy all of this.

You try to make yourself seem indifferent, moving some of the vegetables in your plate around, but secretly just trying to shovel them down as fast as humanly possible to get out of this thick atmosphere.

One of the men who was setting up some of the plates in front of Gojo takes notice of this, a smile overtaking his face as you briefly look up from your plate, startled to see the man walking closer to you.

“My lady, I’m so happy to see you enjoying our Northern delicacy!” He claps his hands together as you stare at him with wide eyes, your mouth still full of potatoes as you try chewing faster to get it all down before he gets closer to you.

His eyes wrinkle around the edges, his graying mustache trimmed ever so carefully, and you can tell he’s trying to loosen up the tension, but you stare in abject horror as he stands at your foot of the table.

“Would you like some more?” He motions to the fish that lay untouched in front of you, and you glance over to Gojo, hoping that maybe he is focused on his meal, only for your heart to sink at the fact that he is staring at you.

“...y-yes,” you croak out, wiping some of the carrot remnants from the corners of your lips as you give him a wobbly smile, “It’s alright, I can serve myself,” you exclaim, trying to thwart him off as he quickly waves this aside, shaking his head as he grabs the tray, beginning to portion some hefty pieces of fish onto your plate.

You don’t have the heart to tell this jolly man that this amount of fish would kill you within an instant, or even that he was wasting this all on you, so you just sit there, giving him a tight-lipped smile as you try not to breathe it in too much.

“Is that enough, my lady?” He asks, setting the tray down as you look at your plate now full of different sorts of sea creatures you swallow slowly, looking back up at him as you give a wobbly smile.

“This is great,” you muster up and watch as an even larger smile takes over his face, and you feel awful for it, “Thank you so much,” you tell him, watching as he bows lowly, excusing himself as he, and the other servants, leave the room,

Leaving you and Gojo alone.

You’re grateful that he’s already dug into his meal, not looking at a struggling you that’s moving the fish around with your fork as you try to find the last bits of vegetables you had saved up for yourself.

The smell itself is enough to make your stomach turn, and you wince, reaching for your cup of wine to wash some of the nausea down.

“You have very good wine,” you say suddenly, against your will, and have an out-of-body experience as you realize what you just did.

Gojo looks up from his plate, a little startled as he looks at you and the goblet in your hand, his white brows furrowed.

He nods once, not saying anything, and you feel the strange need to continue, somehow enjoying the feeling of stabbing yourself in the foot.

“Our wine back home tasted like cow piss,” your eyes widened at your slip of crass language, “Er - not piss, um, urine…?” You wince even more, feeling as if a ghost with awful intentions had taken control over your body, “Not that I’ve had cow piss - urine!” You correct yourself, “But I imagine that if I had…that, um, it would taste like o-our wine back home...”

He’s staring at you, unblinking, and you smile awkwardly, raising the cup to him as a sort of cheers gesture.

You count twenty seconds of silence in your head as you set the cup down, playing with your fork as you glance back up at him. Gojo looks as if he is regretting his decision to stay, his fingers tapping on his knife in a hurried sort of way.

“I don’t really like wine,” you continue, feeling like the only thing that could stop you now was if somebody were to bludgeon you to death, “I like juice more. Oh, well, but I guess…wine is juice…?” you mutter to yourself, contradicting your own words mid-sentence, “Back home we had this mulberry juice and it tasted nice. Kind of like your wine,” he’s not even looking at you and so your words die, quieting down as you sink back into your seat, hoping it could eat you entirely.

“Do you like wine?” You ask, tilting your head to the side, smiling faintly, awkwardly, “Or juice? Or… mulberries…?”

He shakes his head, still not staring at you.

“Did you have a good-”

“I prefer eating in silence.” Gojo finally said, raising his head slightly as he stared directly at you, watching as your mouth clamped shut.

Your smile grows small, eyes falling to the table to hide the embarrassment in them. You give him a brief nod, mumbling a quiet apology under your breath as you begin moving some pieces of carrot around on your plate.

You can hear the clinking of his utensils against his plate, wishing you could somehow fit an entire fish down your esophagus to escape this moment.

You give it a couple of seconds, counting the groves in the wood of the table, and rise, stomach empty, heart churning as you finally excuse yourself.

It only takes you minutes to find your room, quicker than last night, and allow yourself to sink against your bed, rubbing your skin raw of the rouge Alina had applied an hour earlier.

—-

You don’t tell anybody of the awful encounter with the man that’s legally your husband, but you’re sure that those there to observe have already begun talking about it. You try to pretend nothing happened, but Alina could pick up on your closed-off demeanor that night, her hands gentler than usual when helping you take off your garments, her eyes filled with concern.

“How was dinner, my lady?” She asked, staring at you as you waved off her worries, mustering up a lame excuse of a smile as you took off your silk shrug, avoiding any sort of eye contact as you slipped into your nightly garments.

“It was good,” your words are void of emotion, “I had fish.”

The following days are empty of any sight of your husband, but you’ve grown to find that normal. It doesn’t help that you can’t stop thinking about how idiotic you acted, your big mouth never knowing when to stop, tossing and turning in your bed at your excuse of an interaction.

You continue with your old routine of walking around the estate, sometimes trying to track down Alina and your other maids, seeing if maybe they had some free time to spend with you. You know there’s a town nearby, the girls often talk about how they go there sometimes at night, but you’re too afraid of going out alone, not used to that sort of thing.

Sometimes you sit out near the fields with a book, twisting the ring that’s searing into your finger, mindlessly taking in the words on the page. Other days you walk around the gardens, picking out some flowers for the vase in your room. On the days when you’re feeling really adventurous, you’d go near the east wing, where you’ve heard Gojo’s room is, and look at what sort of things lie there. But most times you chicken out, going back near your side just as quickly as you went.

You never see him at dinner again, knowing he wasn’t about to put himself through that torture again, so you go back to eating in silence, sometimes pretending that the chairs were full of people and that you were in one of those balls you longed to go to as a kid.

They seem to keep bringing fish out for you, and it’s in so many days deep that you’re in this sort of limbo where you can’t tell them you’re deathly allergic to it without feeling awful for all the work they’ve put in just to realize it’s gone to waste, so those nights, tonight, for example, you try finding as many vegetables as you can.

The roasted asparagus and beets are lovely, but there was only so much of it. And you find yourself getting a little bit sick of it too, your stomach-churning as you try to chug as much water as you can to get rid of the dirt after-taste that the beets have.

You thank the cooks and the servants as you leave for the night, your stomach still relatively empty as you get to your room, telling Alina to leave early for the night as you get ready for bed by yourself, wanting to be with yourself just for a little bit.

You lay on your bed, staring emptily at the ceiling, one hand on your stomach as if gurgling, still hungry for more. You try to sleep, trying to pretend like you were at your old home, those nights when this would be normal, but it’s no use. You’ve been too spoiled at the Gojo estate, and no matter how much you try to ignore the pang of hunger, it continues to bite you back.

So you find yourself twisting off of the warm comfort of your bed, sitting in silence as you contemplate what you’re about to do, but give in, lighting a candle as you slide into some slippers, leaving your room as you try to find your way down to the kitchens.

Thankfully, it’s well into the night when everybody is asleep, so this embarrassing walk of shame is only seen by the guards on duty. You walk down the testing staircase, careful to look around the corners for anybody there, but you’re alone.

You make your way to the kitchens, not hard to find seeing that they’re near the dining hall, and you peep your head inside, a sigh of relief escaping your lips to find that it’s completely deserted.

At your old home, your room was behind the kitchens. You grew up in a small room, nearly the size of a broom cupboard, but you made do with what you had. One benefit of this situation was that you were raised by the smell of different sorts of food, by people who specialized in the art of cooking. You knew how to make meals that nobody else in your family could even imagine, which you’re grateful for right now as you fumble around the kitchen, trying to find where they put different ingredients.

You rummage through the cupboards, finding some eggs, bread, cheeses, and seasonings. You’re able to find the pots and pans a few feet away and start assembling everything for a little omelet.

In your hurry of trying to be quiet and careful, you somehow manage to miss the large shadow figure that’s standing near the doorway, observing you.

You crack the eggs into a bowl, beating them together with a fork you found, too tired to look for an actual whisk, turning around to throw the eggshells away when a cry of surprise escapes your lips.

“Oh!” Your heart nearly falls right out of your ribcage, your hands flying to your chest as you find yourself staring at him, cheeks heating the way they seem to do whenever you’re looking at your husband.

His blue eyes are tracking you, watching what you do, brows furrowed slightly as the two of you can’t do anything but stare at each other.

“I…” You can’t find anything to say, looking at him and then behind your shoulder, to the things you have found, and swallow thickly, wetting your lips as you straighten your back up, suddenly aware of just how flimsy and bedroom-worthy your outfit is.

You can only stare at the ways his arms are crossed over his chest, biceps bulging, and lips pressed into a thin line. It seems like he wasn’t planning on seeing you here, yet another moment in which he’s probably going to regret somehow finding you in such a large estate.

“I’m making an omelet,” you finally say, your words falling like a whisper from your lips as you point to the eggshells now discarded in the trash, “I tried to be quiet…” you shake your head, eyes dropping from his heavy gaze for a second as you glance back up at him, lips upturned in an apologetic smile, “...sorry.”

Gojo doesn’t say much, you’ve noticed that, but now you’re wondering if he has some sort of impediment that stops him from speaking to specific people.

His chest rises briefly as he inhales, his white hair a little tussled as if he were sleeping. It doesn’t make sense why he’d be awoken, though. The kitchens are a far walk from the east wing…?

“I wasn’t asleep,” he finally says as if reading your mind, his voice deep as you feel it rattle your bones.

You nod once, not knowing what to do with the information.

“Well…um,” you fidget with your fingers, “good, that’s good.” You nod once, as if that was all you were going to say, and look at the slight wrinkles in his clothes, crossing your arms over your chest, feeling naked with the way you’re not wearing any undergarments under your little nightly dress.

“I’ll call for a cook,” Gojo murmurs, looking you up and down one final time as he turns to leave, seemingly done with this conversation.

You sputter, shaking your head as you watch him turn to look at you through a confused stare.

“No! Sorry…no, no need,” you say quickly, taking one step forward as if to stop him, “Please, it’s alright. I can cook myself,” you motion once more to your eggs and little station, noting the way he’s looking at you strangely, and so you feel the need to continue talking, perhaps one of your worst flaws.

Gojo looks at you finally, his fingers tapping on his arm.

You notice that he’s not wearing his wedding ring, your chest filling with a strange feeling as you try to hide your ring-clad finger. “Do you not like their cooking?” He asks, and it takes a second for you to blink out of your stupor, a weird sensation in your throat as you shake your head slowly, trying to pull your eyes away from his hand.

“I do,” you assure him, the words falling thickly from your lips, a lump in your chest, “I just feel bad waking them up right now,” you shrug as if you weren’t feeling any of these strange emotions, “And as I said, I can cook…so…”

He nods, seemingly not believing you, not picking up on the storm that happening inside your head at the fact that he’s not wearing his wedding ring. You have to remind yourself that this isn’t an actual marriage, the ring was only for show.

“Did you not eat dinner?” He continues, pressing, and your eyes widen slightly.

You’ve always been terrible at lying, never able to do so. Even when your father's wife continued to drill you on who ate the candies from a party when you were younger, showing her your chocolate-stained fingers that you had hidden behind your back, not even a minute into the interrogation.

“I did,” you say slowly, rubbing up and down your arms to warm them up from the chill breeze that seems to have picked up from the open windows, “The beets and asparagus were very nice,” you agree, not knowing what else to say without blowing this weird secret you’ve been holding onto.

His brow raised slightly, lips pursing slightly.

“And the fish?”

You swallow once again, fidgeting with the fabric of your slip, your hands, your ring, and you don’t notice the way his eyes fall to the gold on your finger, darting back to your face when he notices you staring at him.

“I…” you feel your face heating up beyond human measures, laughing awkwardly as you tug at your necklace chain, wishing that you hadn’t made that stupid decision to leave your comfortable bed, should’ve listened to your gut instead of your stomach, cursing your past self for being so rash, “I, um, I can’t…eat…fish.”

Gojo’s stoic face, so sure and confident, seems to falter for a brief second.

His arms tighten over his chest.

“...what?” He eventually asks after a couple of seconds of mind-bending silence, his head tipping in utter confusion as you sway from side to side on your feet, chewing your lips raw as you wish the ground could open up and never spit you back out.

“The fish always looks great, don’t get me wrong,” you say quickly as if that’s going to do anything, “But I can’t eat fish. Otherwise I’ll swell right up and um, die…probably,” you wince at how bad you are at talking to people, your husband especially.

He lets out a little puff of air that sounds like a shocked scoff, eyes falling to the floor as he shakes his head, not understanding what you are saying.

“But they’ve been cooking fish almost…four times a week?”

You nod, smiling awkwardly, looking at the painting of a fish on the wall as you look back at him.

“They have,” you affirm, leaning against a counter as he stays frozen in his spot at the door.

“And you…you can’t have fish?” Gojo questions incredulously.

“I’ll swell right up,” you repeat with a little smile that he doesn’t mirror, clearly not a man of humor, and you drop your hands to your side, “...kind of like a pufferfish.” You add quietly, looking at the ground as you say it.

He coughs, his hand covering his mouth as you glance up at him, only to see him trying to hide the shocked laugh that had escaped him.

“Why didn’t you tell them?” He finally continues, and you hate the way all your hard work of just saying quiet isn’t working and is in fact, coming back to bite you in the ass.

You shrug once more, shoving a grain of rice that was on the floor with the tip of your shoe.

“The first time it happened I figured I’d just tell them next time, but then that man kept on giving me more fish so I felt bad and I just never said anything.”

Gojo stares at you, his eyes squinting together as if he were figuring out an enigma, a war strategy that even his best generals couldn’t get a grasp of.

You look away, feeling like a fire was being lit under your skin.

“Alright,” you say, clapping your hands together as your stomach grumbles once again, reminding you that it is still in desperate need of food, “I’ll be done soon. And I’ll clean up,” you promise, but you doubt he even cares as you begin to inch away from him.

You watch as a strand of hair falls into his face, watch as he goes to move, never breaking his eye contact with you, until he looks behind you at the eggs and bread, and then to the window behind you, the moon as bright as ever.

He nods a final time, looking over you a final time before he exits.

You make sure he’s far gone, letting out a heavy breath as you hold yourself up by the table, eyes wide at the fact that you had spoken more than two words to the man who seemed to despise your entire existence.

You go back to your eggs, whisking them in silence as your mind reels.

—

Gojo is there, for dinner, the following night.

You enter the dining room to see him at the end of the table, already eating, and glances up briefly when he sees you walk in.

Trying to hide the shock on your face you quickly look away, finding the way to your side of the table as you look around to see what they’ve given you tonight. A sigh of fleeting relief escapes your lips at the lack of fish, glad you’ll be going to sleep full of food tonight.

You serve yourself, piling roasted meats and potatoes onto your plate as you fill your cup with water, not trusting wine after the last time you had it in his presence, and pretend that everything is normal as you pick up your knife and fork.

His words rang in your mind from the last time, the fact that he ate in silence, so you forced yourself to clam up, knowing that it was probably from the best and save you from any more mortification.

Your eyes fleet up now and then, grateful that he’s never looking up when you do, and give yourself some time to really take him in. Maybe in another universe where everything was normal, this could’ve just been another regular thing, and you try pretending that it is.

He’s probably only here because of a timing issue, you tell yourself, maybe this was the only time in the middle of training, state affairs, or other things that he was able to have dinner tonight. Yes, yes, that has to be it.

You look back down at your plate, chewing as quietly as possible, missing the way he lifted his head to look up at you.

—

Dinner with Gojo becomes a strange weekly occurrence.

The two of you eat in silence a couple of times a week, and every time it happens you’re so sure it’s going to be the last.

On one of the nights you find yourself accompanied by the man you decide that the silence is more choking than whatever it is you find yourself saying.

“Have you been notified about this…gathering in a couple of weeks?”

This gathering was something you were told about that morning by Alina. One of the smaller families allied to the North, the Tokoshi’s, had invited you and your husband to join.

“Yes,” Gojo says, and you’re a little surprised that he didn’t just give you a faint nod, “It shouldn’t be too big.”

He cuts off a piece of his lamb, dipping it in some of the gravy as he glances up at you.

You try to hide your excitement, not only from the fact that he’s spoken to you but also from the fact that this was an actual ball you would be able to go to. You knew that marrying him meant attending more of these sorts of events, but seeing how this was your first one, it was hard to not act a little giddy.

“You have a lovely library,” you speak after carefully chewing through some of your food, your pointer finger resting on your fork as your legs crossed.

Gojo glances up at you, those mesmerizing blue eyes finding yours from across the long table.

“At my old home,” you pause briefly, wondering how he feels when you refer to his estate as your other home, “I wasn’t allowed to go into our library unless my tutors asked to have some of our sessions there. So I just wanted to say thank you for letting me - um, go there,” your words quiet down at the end, looking at the roasted pig in front of you momentarily as you wonder what you were even trying to get.

He takes a sip of his wine.

“The grounds are as much mine as they are yours,” he says, but his words sound rehearsed as if he were told to say this.

“Even the east wing?”

You regretted it the moment you asked it.

Shit.

Gojo opens his mouth and then shuts it. You chew on the inside of your cheek, waiting for him to speak, to say something, anything, but it reverts to that same silence that floods your senses and makes you aware of every other sound in the room.

Your burst of what you attempted at comedy seemed to keep coming back instantly in your face, a form of punishment for somebody who never knew how to make uncomfortable situations better.

Suddenly, all of your appetite is lost. Stupid, stupid, stupid, you can only chide yourself, the food in front of you, no matter how good it looked, felt like it would taste like ash on your tongue. You kept feeding this burning fire that was your marriage, expecting your hay-like words to act like water.

There’s a thick tension in the room, and you look around, blinking slowly as you fidget with your fingers.

You try to go back to eating.

You were wrong,

That initial silence was better.

—-

That night you found yourself back in the kitchens.

You’re wiping at your cheeks, hoping that the therapeutic motions of baking can help alleviate some of your many turmoils.

When you were younger, you were used to silence. People normally avoided you, and those who didn’t weren’t ever your age. The cooks at your old estate were kind, but they were usually too busy to entertain a little girl. You would usually help the maids out with their washing and folding, rather doing something than nothing. You would listen in on their gossip and stories, always happy to be included.

You assumed that it would be the same here.

But the maids assured you that a lady of such high rank shouldn’t be meddling in such lowly tasks, and the cooks here were cooking for such a larger number of people that you knew you couldn’t bother them the way you used to.

So you find yourself with a lot to say but nobody to say it to. The jokes and ideas that pop into your head fall flat because the old ladies who helped clean the bedsheets and used to laugh hearing them are no longer here. In those moments you’re with Alina or your other maids are sparse, and so you sometimes imagine that if you speak more when Gojo is around, he might warm up to you.

You also had to remind yourself that your track record with men wasn’t the best either. Those fleeting crushes on some of the other boys who you’d see at balls always ended with them scurrying away from you as if you were the plague. The only other marriage offer you’d gotten was from a man who had struggled with finding a woman who could keep up with his awful ways. So the fact that Gojo Satoru, the most well-known man in the realm, didn’t want much to do with you wasn’t shocking.

And Alina was right. A lot of wives aren’t as lucky to say their husbands don’t care, but you wondered how it would’ve been if he did. You exclaimed to her a couple of nights ago that you should’ve just married Naoya, but deep inside you knew that’s not what you wanted. A part of you knew ever since you agreed to this arrangement that you wouldn’t be getting an actual husband out of it.

You sniffle, your eyes blurry. You don’t like crying in front of people, and so you allow yourself to do so in the pale moonlight of the kitchen, the only sound other than your ragged breathing being the repeated sound of flour falling softly in your mixing bowl.

Baking was something that nobody ever could judge you about. You were good at it, and you knew you could do it with no error. Your cakes and pastries always turned out well, save for the minor problems you ran into as a kid, but you sometimes act like you’re baking for a group of people, about to take it out to see a sea of smiling faces who are happy to see you and your deserts.

“I thought you only cooked when they served fish for dinner.”

A voice, one that’s seared into your memory, says from behind you.

It takes everything in you not to jump from surprise, and it takes even more willpower not to turn around.

You quickly wipe at your cheeks, breathing in to make sure your voice won’t come out in bits and pieces. You keep your back to your husband, continuing to sift your flour in the bowl, a continual motion like waves hitting against the dock.

“I’m baking,” you specify, cringing at the way you sound like you’re fighting a nasty cold.

Gojo doesn’t say anything for a beat and does nothing to move. You’re glad he doesn’t, too scared that if he saw your puffy eyes or your tear-stained cheeks he’d begin to think that you have no backbone at all. It felt almost pathetic to have the world's strongest warrior see you recover from crying alone.

He hums in the back of his throat at your words, and you wonder what he looks like right now.

“I doubt these walls have seen a lady of such high rank before,” he comments, and you look up briefly from the mountain of white building up in the bowl, “They must whisper to themselves once you leave.”

You let out a little puff of air, something resembling a soulless laugh.

“Everyone whispers to themselves after I leave,” you say, reaching for a whisk, “I’ve heard more whispers than my own name.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you hope he doesn’t notice the way you quickly try to wipe at the corners of your eyes.

“You come down here a lot,” it’s posed as a question, but Gojo says it like a statement. He must have eyes everywhere, reporting to him what you’re doing. You wouldn’t be shocked, but you just nod, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you begin to whisk your dry ingredients together.

“I hope it’s okay,” you throw in a pinch of salt as you mix, “I like the kitchen.”

He let out a little breath as if he was about to chuckle, but then he got confused. You decide to spare him the endless questions that must be going on in his head, wondering why somebody in your position would prefer the kitchens rather than anywhere else.

“My bedroom used to be behind a kitchen. I’d have to go through the pantry just to reach it,” you turn briefly to grab your bowl with the wet ingredients, pouring it slowly into your flour and sugar mixture, mixing it in slowly and carefully.

“My father’s wife wanted me out of sight. That estate had never used one of its actual bedrooms to sleep the daughter of a whore,” you can hear him inhale sharply, “I woke up to the sounds of people shouting for different ingredients, to pots and pans clanging against each other. I learned how to cook and bake when I was young, and I usually helped them cook the food my family would eat for dinner.”

When your batter is all mixed through you go to find the pan you have buttered and dusted with sugar, pouring it in as you wipe off the side of the bowl that had some remnants of batter dripping from it.

“They never asked me to, but I liked it. I liked feeling useful,” you peek over to your side, seeing him leaning against the wall adjacent to you, silent as a mouse.

You walk over to the other side of the kitchen with your pan, careful with the lid to the brick oven, heated with the fire you had lit an hour ago, and slide your cake pan into it, closing it shut as you stand up straight.

Finally, you look over at him.

His eyes rake over your face, lingering on the circles underneath your eyes, the redness that stained the whites of them. He’s clad in the simple tunic and breeches he had worn to dinner hours ago, his large shoulders leaning on the wall as his arms lay crossed over his chest.

“I won’t go to the east wing,” you say in a whisper, your voice quiet but heavy as it falls from your lips as a promise, trying to muster up a smile but it comes out wobbly, “I was just trying to make you laugh.”

His lips looked pinker than usual as if he had been chewing on them, something you often did when you were deep in thought. His white hair had been messily pushed back as if his fingers had been combing through them continuously.

“These grounds are yours,” Gojo says, his words thick from his throat. His exhale and inhale mirror the way you breathe, your two chests rising as though living with the same lungs.

You shrug, a melancholy look on your face as you shake your head.

“Maybe if I was your wife,” your words are said without any malice, “But I’m just another person who sleeps here.”

Gojo tilts his head slightly as if your statement had somehow wrenched itself into his mind, weighing it down. Even in the limited light, you could see the way he looked at you, an unreadable expression on his face.

“I’m sorry about all of this. I know I took away your chance to marry somebody you actually wanted, but my father told me you were okay with the arrangement. I wouldn’t have agreed to it otherwise,” you twist your wedding ring around your finger mindlessly, a little habit you’ve grown over the weeks here, “I never wanted to be selfish, and I truthfully never wanted a husband. I just wanted a friend.”

—

Ever since that night, you eat your meals in your room.

Alina protested, saying it’s not right to eat alone, but you told her not to think about it, saying how you liked the silence.

You mustered up the courage to ask some of the coachmen to take you to the nearby town, starting by looking around at the little shops, keeping a hood over your head in case somebody saw a new stranger.

Sometimes you’d go inside the shops, finding little trinkets that you thought your maids might like, or ornaments that might help fill up the empty spots around your room. You’ve never been able to decorate before with how small your old room was, so you decided to take advantage of its space.

When you’re walking around you sometimes see Gojo, either in the training yard or walking around with one of his advisors. There have been moments when the two of you catch each other's stares from across the room, but you’re always the first to look away, making sure you’re going in a different direction than him.

You knew that you’d have to talk to him eventually, especially with the gathering that was coming up at the Tokoshi manor, but each night you pretended it was another day away, instead of one day closer.

Your maids came bustling in and out of your room more often than usual with preparations for the night that was closing in, shoving you into different dresses, not satisfied until they found the right one.

Alina noticed your shift in demeanor, never picking and prodding at it, but silently observing. You could tell she knew something was wrong, but you didn’t know how to put exactly what you were feeling in words.

It didn’t help that the closer you got to the night of the event Gojo seemed to be everywhere you were. The gardens, the library, the field, the stables. He probably just had business to attend to, but it didn’t help that whenever he saw you it looked like he wanted to say something. It also didn’t help that you’d scurry away when you saw him open his mouth.

The weeks turned into days, the days into a day, and that day into hours and you found yourself perched uncomfortably on a chair as three different women attended to your face, hair, and accessories.

You watch them work silently, taking in all the jewelry and makeup that you’ve been looking forward to wearing. It’s nothing too drastic, but that

girl who longed to wear pretty things inside of you is gleaming right now.

“…Lord Gojo requested for her to wear another pair of earrings,” one of your maids says, looking at the earrings Alina had picked out for you.

Your ears perk up at the mention of his name, watching Alina as she perks an eyebrow up.

“When did he request that?”

The older lady looks at you in the mirror and then at Alina.

“A couple of nights ago,” she shows Alina another pair, a sapphire one that seems to gleam brightly, “he dropped them off when she was…away…” the maid trails off, noticing the fact that you were eavesdropping.

Your eyes dart away as if that would help, but she quickly changes the topic, and you huff in annoyance as Alina sends you a knowing look.

“Your husband is a strange man,” Alina mutters in your ear as you giggle quietly, rolling your eyes as she playfully shoves your shoulder.

You don’t say anything in retaliation, and sit back as you put in your new earrings, grateful that they still complimented the color of your dress, and try to pretend you are going down for dinner rather than a gathering with people you didn’t know.

You’ve been learning this entire week how to properly hold a spoon and fork, and how to cut your food appropriately. You’ve been taking dancing lessons, discovered how to properly greet people, and even learned how to gracefully enter and exit a horse-drawn carriage. All things you should’ve probably learned earlier, but were never able to.

Alina helps you out of the chair when they are all done, giving you a second to look into the mirror. The dress they had wrangled you into was beautiful, your hair done in the way you liked. You thanked them all, expressing your endless gratitude for their hard work.

You take a deep breath as you exit the room and go out into the hall, leading yourself down the stairs and through multiple corridors, trying to calm down your palpitating heart.

It takes a few minutes but you find yourself at the front of the manor, standing alone and looking around, trying to see if you were at the wrong place. But in the distance, you can see the coachmen and the carriage, the door shut, still waiting for you.

You take a tentative step forward, nearing the entranceway that leads outside, but feel a soft touch hovering above your elbow.

It’s strange how he usually finds you before you find him, but as somebody who’s trained to know and find things before others do, you suppose it makes sense. You glance to your side, already expecting to see those cerulean eyes as you look up.

Gojo looks good, somehow better than usual.

He’s clad in dark blue garments, intricate with Northern design, and your eyes look up and down his entire body. His usual muscular build seems to be outlined by the stretch of his overcoat, the way the fabric is sitting snugly over his chest.

He seems to be doing the same, though. You can feel his gaze drop to your dress, to the way your lips are a little redder than usual, your hair done in a way that suits your face. His eyes linger on your ears, and there’s a small, barely noticeable tug to the corners of his lips.

“Ready?” Gojo asks, the first time he’s spoken in a couple of weeks, and you hum.

He takes his hand away from your elbow as he rests it on the small of your back, and you feel heat travel from his fingertips through the fabric, through your corset, your undergarments, and straight to your skin.

They bring the carriage out a little closer, a coachman opening the door for you. You brace yourself, heaving your dress upwards as you go to grasp the rail on the side.

But Gojo moves swiftly, offering you his glove-clad hand as you look over at him in surprise, taking it after a moment of hesitation, and haul yourself inside.

It’s far bigger than the one you usually take to town, and you settle for a corner on the left-hand side near the window. The walls of the carriage are lined with this sort of fabric that feels like it’s lighter than a cloud, colored the traditional blue of the Gojo family. You’d guess it could fit at least an entire family comfortably, so you’re not too worried about the underskirt of your dress taking up too much space.

You watch Gojo follow you in. He looks around, having to duck his head (and a lot of his back) as he sits in front of you, pushing the strands of hair that had fallen into his face.

The two of you sit in awkward silence, your gaze settled on the door that they shut after Gojo entered, and your eyes quickly fall to your hands resting in your lap, neatly folded.

The carriage starts a little bit later, the wheels humming to life as the coachmen yip at the horses to start. The sudden rocking movement that you’ve become familiar with sways you side to side, and suddenly you're totally aware of the fact that you’re alone in a limited space with the man you’ve been avoiding for the better half of two weeks.

You can feel his stare boring into the side of your head, can hear the way his breathing is coming out strangely as if he wanted to talk, but kept stopping himself off before he could say a word.

“Did you like the earrings?” Gojo finally asks, and you glance up, eyes narrowing for a second in confusion as realization suddenly comes rushing in.

“Hm? O-oh, yes!” You quickly stutter out, your hands flying to your ears as if you forgot they were there, “Yes, thank you. They were beautiful. They kind of looked like the inside of a belly button,” you say.

Your husband blinks, brows furrowed slightly as you think about what you had just said, eyes wide in shock.

“Er…well, gods, no, not bellybuttons,” your head falls to your hands as you shake your head profusely, “Sorry, they don’t look like belly buttons-”

But you stop when you hear a small laugh from him, quiet as he looks away for a second, a tiny slightly visible grin on his face as he looks back at you.

“Did you know that sometimes,” his eyes are a little upturned as if he fighting back an actual smile, “I make a bet with myself about what you’re going to say?”

You smile slightly, your head cocking to the side.

“Have you ever won?”

Gojo chuckles, and your eyes suddenly fall to his hand, at the way he’s fidgeting with his ring, his wedding ring, the same way you seem to do whenever you’re thinking about everything and anything all at once.

“Not once.”

You grin, and though you still feel this heavy weight of unspoken things resting in the middle of you two, you decide not to acknowledge it at the moment. Things unsaid, unheard, weaved through the air, tying you and him together like a tapestry.

You fidget with your skirt, looking out the window at the moving scenery.

Gojo breathes deeply through his nose, his pointed finger tapping on his thigh.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” he finally says, and your eyes dart away from the trees and the sky to look over at him.

His bottom lip is caught underneath his teeth, his blue eyes shining with a different hue. He takes up a lot of room with just his size alone, but it looks like he’s trying to make himself seem less intimidating, less of a warrior, and more of a…person.

You don’t say anything, opting to stay quiet to see what it is that he is trying to formulate into words.

“That night,” Gojo twists his ring back and forth with his thumb, “I…” It’s weird to see somebody so sure of themself struggle to speak, and your brows crease in the middle, not knowing what it was he was trying to get at.

“I wanted to tell you that you too had a right to a good husband. Somebody who didn't rush you into a marriage because of his own mistakes…somebody you wanted.”

Where is he going with this?

You suddenly feel your throat dry up, swallowing thickly as Gojo looks out the window momentarily before looking back at you.

“My parents never told me who I’d be marrying,” Gojo explains, his voice hoarse, “I figured out the day of the wedding,” he twisted his wedding ring, looking at the way it shined, “And I wanted to hate you,”

His words punch you square in the gut, but you can only bring yourself to keep on looking at him.

“I wanted to hate you so much because it would be easier to act like this wasn’t my fault if I could…but,” he sighs, his chest rising and falling, “I don’t think it’s possible to hate you.”

Your lip trembles slgihtly, a sheen over your eyes. What is he doing?

“I’ve been raised in a way most people our age aren’t. My parents wanted me to be the strongest so was put into training since I was four, and I think this entire time I’ve been trying to approach you like a…military strategy. You were this map in my head that no matter how I approached it nothing made sense. But that night, in the kitchen, everything finally did.”

Your eyes flitter downwards so that he couldn’t see the waver in them

“You didn’t deserve how you were treated in your old life, nor this new one,” his hand covers his chest, and you feel lightheaded, “And I promise to you I’ll do everything in my power to make this one better. If you don’t want me as a husband, than as a friend.

“I’d like to be your friend, if you’d allow me,” he whispers thickly, his voice heavy. He fidgets with his fingers, moving them together and back out again, and you notice how he does this a lot whenever you’re near.

Your heart is beating so quickly that you feel like it's going to stop, and your mind is working so hectically that you don’t know what to think. This is the same man who looked at you as if you had torn down the moon and stars when he saw you the first time, the man who never seemed to be that interested in what it is you had to say. The very same person who would’ve rather married a broomstick than you.

…right?

And yet he’s here, asking to be your friend. Something that nobody has ever asked before, something that people wouldn’t ever dare to murmur out loud to you. He had no beneficial gain from doing this, no ally that he would please if he offered to be your friend.

Your heart twists because why does he look like he cares about what you say? His eyes are creased slightly around the edges, his lips pressed together as if he were preparing for whatever outcome it was to what you said.

Nobody has ever told you those things, the things that made years of pain and hurt strummed into one beat that your heart never wanted to drum to. This man, your husband, Gojo, was supposed to be another cog in that old machine, one that hummed and spurred like it was about to eat you alive.

But the more you look at him, the more you let your unspoken words speak in silence for you, you realise that he isn’t lying.

You open your mouth to speak but are cut off when the carriage comes to a sudden halt.

The two of you look at each other and then to the door, watching as it opens up, greeted to the sight of a large manor with multiple people walking in hand in hand. You swallow your bile, not knowing what to say, deciding to flee instead of face him like you should’ve.

—

The gathering itself was far more boring than you imagined it to be.

You and Gojo had the mutual understanding to act more…well, like a couple, than you actually were. You didn’t comment on the way his arm circled around your waist a couple of minutes into making your rounds talking with people or the endearing way he referred to you as my wife.

You’re glad that he doesn’t do anything to talk about what he had told you in the carriage whenever the two of you were alone, acting like nothing was wrong and everything was normal as he inquired about your day.

You told him brief things, still trying to shove his words out of your mind, but it was no use. I’d like to be your friend, your mind kept repeating, and you were too scared of brining it up in case he had changed his mind in between those minutes of quiet.

People you had never seen before congratulated you on your new marriage, their brows raised in that excited way as they motioned to your stomach, hinting at a special little someone who might be joining your lives soon.

“Soon!” You said with a curt laugh, glancing momentarily at Gojo only to see him already looking at you, a light blush dusting his cheeks.

He made sure not to stay with people who were strangers to you for too long, not wanting to bore you to death, and allowed you to take in more of the well-lit and vastly decorated manor.

Though its size was incomparable to the Gojo estate, it was still massive. The Tokoshi family had been a family with the Gojo one for centuries, so there was no question that the riches they had amassed over the years by being trading partners with them had culminated in this.

Gojo told you earlier in the carriage, before everything else, how the young Tokoshi couple were good people. They liked to throw parties a couple of times a year, inviting only a select few. He liked them far more than a lot of the other people he had been forced to grow up with over the years.

You look at the dining hall, at the corridors with openings that allow you to look outside without the glare of glass. His arm never left your body, holding you close to him as he let you walk around, your mouth hanging open slightly as you craned your neck to look at everything. Candles were lit everywhere, the bouquets of different assortments of flowers decorating the stone flower holders carved into the walls.

You mentioned to him in the privacy of the carriage, that you hadn’t ever been able to experience a party of this sort of caliber before. You could see how he wanted to ask more questions, but you could see the answers already formulating his head as to why.

“We probably look like one of those couples where the wife’s dying and the husband takes her out to see the stars one last time,” you whisper to him, still looking around in a stunned sort of way at the beauty of it all.

Gojo’s head ducks down a bit, trying to hide the chuckle that had broken out and made its way onto his face. He coughs into his fist as if that was the issue, but you look over at him to see the humor in his eyes.

“Did you lose your bet again?” You ask, glancing at him from the corner of your eyes as he looks like he’s fighting the grin that’s threatening to take over.

“I’m always losing that bet,” he tells you.

Though he doesn’t do anything to bring up his conversation, you can see it in the way he looks at you, as if he’s still teetering on an edge, wanting to know what you were thinking in that frazzled mind of yours.

You decide to push past it.

“Can I get in on it?” You ask, turning slightly so that you face him, very aware of the fact that his hand hasn’t moved from its spot on your waist.

You try not to think about it, reminding yourself that it’s just for show, but you can’t stop the feeling of heat that travels wherever it is he seems to touch you. His hand is larger than an average one, his fingers moving mindlessly up and down on your corseted stomach.

“Do you need the extra coin?” His voice is carrying a strange tone…is he teasing you?

But again, you try not to think about it, it’s all for show, (you also try not to think too much of the fact that you’re pretty separated from everybody else).

“No, I just need coin,” you explain, fixing one of the medallions on his chest that had been slightly slanted, “I have nearly nothing left.”

Gojo moves barely away from you, his eyes searching yours as if to find the joke.

“Have you run through my family gold already?” His voice is still toying, but now it’s filled with a little confusion.

“No, of course not,” you snort, rolling your eyes as you tilt your chin up to look at him better, “I haven’t touched any of your gold. I just ran through mine.”

His brows quirks upward, mouth parting slightly.

“You’ve emptied the gold your family sent up?”

It’s your turn to be confused.

“What gold?” You ask, moving away from him, his hand falling to his side, and you suddenly miss his warmth.

You remember your father talking about how the Gojo family had rejected your initial dowry, saying something along the lines of outlandish practices, but aside from that, you weren’t told about any other sort of money that was supposed to be sent with you.

He pinches the bridges of his nose, sighing deeply.

“The gold that they sent with you? It wasn’t supposed to be a lot but it was supposed to suffice for the journey here.”

You blink owlishly at him.

“What gold have you run through?” He specifies, plastering on a fake smile when he catches the eyes of somebody behind you, but then focuses his stare back to you.

“Well…” you shrug, “My gold.”

Gojo looks like he’s about to make a new bet, one that’s with every time you’ve almost given him an aneurysm trying to figure out your strange riddles and rhymes that are supposed to be actual words.

“I used to make some gold at my old home,” you explain, keeping your voice low in case somebody was somewhere that you hadn’t seen, but realizing that Gojo was lost, you continued, “The stable boy gave me some of his salary if I took care of the horses and cleaned the stables. Sometimes he’d give me extra if I could haul in the large bags of hay.”

He scoffs, shaking his head slightly.

“Why?” That seems to be a question he’s been asking lately.

You shrug again, feeling his hand circle back around your waist as some people come near you,

“I needed new clothes and my shoes had holes in them. My father’s wife didn’t let him give me much, so I tried to fill in the gaps.”

You smile at one of the couples that are coming near you, going back into your other persona as you begin chatting with them. Gojo pulls you in tighter to his side, staying silent. You don’t notice the way he hasn’t stopped staring at you, nor the way his heart seems to have churned so painfully in his chest.

—

The night progresses and you find yourself inside the dining hall, being shown to your seats by one of the maids, finding your name next to Gojo’s on a name card.

The two of you sit down, watching the people the file in, the sound of laughter filling the room, the clinking of china against each other filling in the rest of the silence. You take it all in with a smile, looking every and at everyone.

“I hope I’m not embarrassing you,” you whisper as you lean closer to Gojo, an apologetic smile on your face as you sit further into your seat, “This is all just so new to me.”

You don’t see the ways his eyes soften, his hand inching closer to yours as he shakes his head.

“You’re not embarrassing me,” he murmurs back, leaning his head closer to yours, wanting his words only to be heard by you, “I’m glad you’re enjoying this.” The smile that makes its way onto your face could power the universe, and Gojo feels like the wind had been knocked from his lungs, far worse than in training when somebody's foot slams into his chest.

“I am!” Your enthusiastic and hurried words are hushed, but he can still hear the way you’re trying to hide your joy. The small talk is horrific,” he laughs a little bit, “but still I love it.”

He opens his mouth to speak but is cut off by the sound of a knife hitting glass.

“Everyone! Give me your time, just for a moment!” Miyo Tokoshi, whom you spoke to briefly, stands up, his chair behind him.

All eyes in the room fall on him, people still smiling, their teeth glimmering in the light.

“I cannot express my joy to be in a room with you all tonight,” he says, looking around the room, making sure he saw everyone for a split second. “And my wife and I couldn’t be more ecstatic to host the first gathering of the season!”

You look at the woman sitting next to him, Lana, who you had also met momentarily, is gleaming at him, her face full of genuine adoration. She, along with everybody else, claps, laughing joyfully.

You wonder if this is what a real husband and wife should look like, and you look briefly over to Gojo, your mind reeling with the charade the two of you have been playing this entire night.

“And we couldn’t be happier to welcome the first couple of the year,” he exclaims, pointing his glass over to you and Gojo, saying your name and then your husbands as he claps his hand softly against his wrist, “May every moment you spend together be better than the last. We wish the two of nothing but a lifetime of happiness and prosperity.

Gojo raised his glass to him, his hand grasping yours as he lifted it to his lips, planting a kiss on the back of it.

You feel like you’ve stopped breathing with the linger of his lips on your skin, the last time that happened on the night of your wedding, and watching him grasp it even tighter when he sets it back down, weaving his fingers through yours.

Stop, you chide, raising your glass as well, a shaky smile on your face, it’s just an act.

He winks at the two of you, nodding once more as he focuses his stare somewhere down the table, obstructed by where you are sitting.

“And to the future couple! Naoya and Freya!”

Gojo turned his head immediately to look at you, watching the color drain from your face, and before you knew it, the man, Naoya, was standing up, a hand over his chest in faux gratitude as he thanked the host.

You could never mistake that hair, the feline look in his eyes as he scanned across the room, a slimy smile on his face. You watch as it grows even wider when he finally catches his prey when he finally sees you, and you feel nauseous, like you’re about to throw up all those little crackers they had given you earlier that evening.

The hand holding yours squeezes, knowing he can’t say anything right now, and you swallow thickly, eyes darting over to his as you feel your head about to sway.

Naoya’s here. The man you turned down for Gojo.

The rest of Tokoshi’s speech is muted to you. It feels like your head is being held underwater, and you feel sweat dotting your forehead, your chest, and your palms. You can feel Gojo’s eyes on the side of your head and can tell he’s trying to tell you something silently.

The clinking of glass brings you out of your haze, looking up mindlessly as you haphazardly clink yours against Gojo’s, rubbing a hand down your face as if that would help.

You're grateful for the flurry of movements and noises, everybody talking to somebody, the people beginning to serve themselves the wide array of food places in front of them.

Gojo squeezes your hand one more time, and you finally look over at him, trying to muster up a smile but with how queasy you feel and the way your head spinning, it probably looks like you’re about to be sick all over him.

“I’ll be okay,” you say through clenched teeth.

Gojo nods, his thumb rubbing up and down your hand in a soothing way. It’s just for show.

“I’m sorry my palms are sweating,” you laugh mirthlessly, and he squeezes it again, you’re sure he’s only doing this because of the extra attention of the two of you ever since they realized you and Naoya were in the same room, “you don’t have to keep holding it.”

“Do you want me to let go?” He asks, and you stop poking around at the turnips on your plate.

No.

“N-no,” you croak out, desperate for his touch that’s grounding you, “No, please.”

Gojo nods, his thumb not stopping its comforting motion of moving up and down.

“Don’t worry,” he mutters, leaning closer to you as you duck your head so that your ears are near his lips, “My hands get sweaty too.”

You laugh quietly and it sounds like wind chimes. You look at Gojo and watch as his lips tug upwards into a soft smile, one you had never seen before, and one you thought you never would.

—

You tried to hide away the rest of the party, but Gojo didn’t seem to mind.

When it was time to leave you accepted the gracious hug of the hosting couple, promising them that you’d come back for a more private dinner, and let Gojo lead you out into the courtyard where all the carriages were held.

You slept the entire ride home, not wanting to mess anything up by taking, and you’re happy that Gojo didn’t bother you. You felt groggy when you returned to the estate, grateful for Gojo’s steady hand as he helped you out of the carriage. The two of you looked like you wanted to say something, but couldn’t, so you bid each other good night and went your separate ways.

Separate except for one brief moment.

You were walking away and up the stairs when you suddenly stopped, remembering what it was that you wanted to tell him. You call out his name, watching as he turns, white brows slightly furrowed.

“I…” you start but realize you didn’t exactly have a plan for what you wanted to say. He gives you his patience, not looking annoyed or frustrated when you try to think of the right words to string together.

“I…I would like to be your friend too,” you finally say, and watch as a smile forms on his face, his pink lips tugging upwards in a way that made his eyes shine, the way your earrings did in the candlelight.

He rakes his hand through his snow-white locks, pushing them away from his face.

“I’ll see you at breakfast then,” Gojo says, and you dip your head down in a small smile.

You give him a small wave, disappearing as you round the corner.

And since then, you found him joining you not only for breakfast or the sparse dinners but for any meal he possibly could.

Gojo talked more, about anything and everything, and you did the same.

You realized that he was actually an open person the closer you got to him, seeing that he too was capable of laughing and making jokes, his teasing eyes growing more frequent the closer your chairs got to the dinner table until you eventually just sat side-by-side, growing tired of shouting at each other across its length.

On the days he wasn’t busy with strategizing or talking to other lords, he’d walk around the estate with you, telling you stories from his childhood, the times he’d run amock around the halls. Other times the two of you would go into town, looking at the different stores together.

You could tell he was trying, could see it in the way he glanced at you from time to time to make sure that you were doing well.

He’d accompany you to the library if you asked him to, and you’d go down sometimes to the training yard just to see him. Gojo would never tell you how much he tried to show off when you were there and knew he never had to. You could see the way he tried to appear even stronger when fighting with one of the other men, the poor soldier coming out with bruises and cuts all over his body.

Over many weeks, you find yourself looking forward to spending time with him, and a part of your cracked self begins mending itself again.

It felt like after years of searching for somebody, somebody found you.

On one of the nights when his sparring had gone on for far longer than it usually does, you decided to head down to the training yard after your night bath, tugging on a large robe over yourself as you walked the familiar stone steps down to where you knew he was.

You could hear them before you saw them, a cacophony of fists hitting skin, groans, shouts from one another. There was a little perch from where you could watch what was happening below, and you usually hid yourself in a corner so that they wouldn’t see you.

You’d rest on a pillar, arms crossed over your shoulder as you looked at the men below. Gojo was always easy to find, the flurry of white hair a tall-tale sign of where he was. You had watched him before, but you never got tired of it. You found it almost inhuman the way his movements seemed to flow like water, the way his hits were precise and direct.

Gojo truly was the best warrior the North had ever seen, and sometimes you forget that you’re married to a man who brought down entire armies with just his bare fists.

You watch as he jests with one of his friends, his chest rising a little bit at an irregular pace, slightly out of breath, but happy to be there. He turns to one of the guys behind him to say something, but his eyes immediately track upwards to the figure trying to stay hidden, you and a wide smile break out on his face.

He waves at you, and it gets the attention of the other men there. They all turn to see where you are, their boyish grins and calls making you roll your eyes at their antics, your face heating up slightly as you wave back at them.

Gojo says something to the person next to him, and you hear the man shout at the other ones to wrap it up for the night. Some of them wave goodbye to you as they begin exiting, going back to their common rooms.

You make a move to lean slightly over the railing, your arms crossed over the wood as you peer down at the ground where Gojo remained alone, finding him to already be looking up at you.

“Care to come down?” He juts his chin at the staircase to your left, the one that leads down to the courtyard, and you nod, disappearing behind the stone pillars as you take the steps leading downwards.

You’ve been here a couple of times, as per your own request. You wanted to see what they did during training, what the training yard actually looked like from the ground. You lift the ends of your dress up slightly as you near the bottom, rounding the corner to see Gojo standing in the middle.

He’s waiting for you, his eyes tracking your movements as you come near to him.

His nose twitches slightly, his eyes squinting as he lifts his head in the air, suddenly picking up the scent of something unusual.

“What’s that smell?” Gojo asks as you come to him, his eyes looking over your body as if it were emitting from you.

You scoff, appalled, and then suddenly remember that Alina had applied some lavender oil to you after your bath.

“If it’s a good smell then me,” you cross your arms over your chest, nose wrinkling in disgust as you take in his smell of sweat and grime, “If bad then you.”

Gojo snorts, coming closer to you as he continues sniffing, exaggerating the sound. You step away from him slightly, the smell of sweat overpowering, and he takes notice of this.

“What?” He inquires, annoyed that you are moving away from him, and he takes a step closer.

“What do you mean what?” You tease, moving again as he tries to smell the air, “You smell like an army of unshowered men. I just took a bath.”

Gojo seems offended at this, trying to move back closer to you but you side-step him, apparently serious about this.

“You really won’t let me come near you?” He sounds like you’ve kicked him down, his cheeks stained pink from earlier, and you laugh slightly, shaking your head.

“I really won’t,” you affirm, shoving the back of your wrist to him to show him that what he was smelling was in fact you, “See? Lavender oil.”

Gojo just seems to be getting more annoyed the more you try to evade him, his blue eyes swirling with an idea as you look at him in worry.

“No, the smell is coming from somewhere else.” He argues, changing his footing so that he stands right in front of you and you let out a shocked laugh, not expecting this as you take a step back.

You don’t know where else he can smell the lavender oil. Alina dotted it to your wrists and your neck, but surely can’t differentiate the difference in location…right?

“Come here,” he almost whines, “I’m not going to rub off my smell onto you.”

You laugh again out loud, picking up the skirt of your dress as you try to outrun him slightly.

“You will!” You insist, motioning to the sheen of sweat on his body, “You reek of sweat. I swear it’s just lavender oil!”

He groans, his eyes rolling to the back of his head at this inconvenience.

“You’re killing me right now,” Gojo dramatically grabs his chest, “You won’t let me smell this strange aroma and it’s killing me,” his face breaking into a little pout as you laugh even louder, shocked at how petulant he was being. Your laughing seemed to spur him on even more, running towards you as you ran backward, hoping you didn’t trip on the fabric of your dress.

“You have a plethora of bottles of lavender oil in your own room,” you argue, “this isn’t something innovative that you’ve never smelled before.”

Gojo shakes his head, and your heart flutters at the way his smile is so playful and teasing, the way some of his hair falls into his face in that messy way when he’s usually training and not caring about his appearance.

“It’ll only take a second,” he reasons and you shake your head no, your eyes both shining with playful laughter.

The courtyards lead out into the large fields of the Gojo estate, and you look behind yourself at the opening. It’s night, there’s nobody around. Nobody would judge you for running away from your sweaty husband.

You look back at him, see the gleam in his eyes, and know that he’s not going to back down.

He can see the thoughts forming in your head, can assume them before they’re even created, and so he’s straight on your heels as you sprint away from him, a large smile on your face as you squeal out loud.

“Please!” You shout over your shoulder, running down the little hill as the moon lights the way for you, “I just took a bath! Leave me alone!”

You can hear the grass rustling beneath your feet, your screams of laughter contagious as you try to outrun the fastest person ever, and try not to slow yourself down by looking over your shoulder to see where he is.

But after a couple of seconds of running you realize that the only footsteps you hear are your own, and you pause momentarily to look behind you and are surprised to see that he’s not there.

Did he not come after you?

You look around the field, the large blades of grass looking like waves that move with the wind, and whip your head around every time you hear a twig snap.

You're a little bit further away from the manor itself, and the only thing you can see besides its large stone walls are the torches lit outside. You can make out the guards who are standing outside, but no sign of Gojo.

You try to catch your breath, confused as to where he could’ve gone when a force stronger than a horse running at full speed slams into your side.

The scream you let out echoes around the field, and you brace yourself for the harsh impact of hitting the ground. With your eyes squeezed shut you wait for the flash of pain, but peek them open to see Gojo framing your head with one of his hands, his body shielding you from the impact as he lays on top of you.

“How…?” You scream, your chest moving up and down with your fit of giggles, trying to push him off of you, “You’re a beast!” You cry out, moving your head to the side as he laughs along with you, his chest rumbling with the movement.

You shove his face away with the palm of your hands, shoving your wrist into his nose as if that would satiate him.

“I took a bath you behemoth!” You whine, thinking about the dirt and mud that must be staining your skin and dress right now, “Are you so void of any good fragrance in your life that you must hunt me down for it?”

Gojo tsks, shaking his head as he swats your wrist aside.

He’s also slightly out of breath, most likely because he ran across and entire field from another entranceway that you weren’t aware of to catch you off guard, and you’re suddenly very aware of just how close to two of you are together.

His hand is still cradling your head, the other one holding your hips. Truthfully he doesn’t even smell bad, which is frustrating that it’s just another one of his many talents.

He judges your jaw up with his nose, and you helplessly comply, your heart hammering wildly as he leans in closer to the skin of your neck, taking in a whiff as he looks back up to you, his eyes gleaming.

Gojo’s hand on your hip moves up slightly to hold your waist, not hard, but to stop you from squirming around.

“It smells different here,” he nudges your neck with his nose again, and your breathing hitches, “Smells sweeter.”

You swallow thickly, blinking slowly as you crane your neck slightly upwards to give him more room. It’s like your body is moving on its own, and you’re not to sure how you know what to do, but you just do.

“That’s not possible,” you try to argue, trying your best to keep your voice from wavering, “You just lack the nose for good oils.”

Gojo laughs lowly, shaking his head at your antics as he braces his knees on either side of your thighs, caging you in.

“I have a very keen sense of smell,” he boasts and you snort, looking away as he pinches your hip to which you yelp.

His hand moves away from your head and to your shoulder, to where your nightgown had slightly slipped off and runs a thumb down a patch of your skin where it was slightly raised, a faint scar on your collarbone.

“Where’d you get this?” His voice is slightly hushed, and you look down from your chin to where he is talking about.

“Hm?” You look around, see that he’s pointing to the tiniest little scar, and chuckle slightly, “Oh, that?” Your eyes squint as you try to remember, “I tried to climb up a tree once when I was little and fell.” Gojo huffs out a little laugh, his eyes still focused on your skin as you chew on the inside of your cheek.

“It probably looks far worse compared to anything you have,” you say sarcastically, “The family physician kept saying I wasn’t going to make it through the night.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes at your antics as he raises himself, moving away from you as he sits back down on the grass. You miss his warmth, the way his heat radiated onto you like a furnace.

“I don’t know how you keep surviving between your inability to consume fish and your near-death occurrences,” Gojo’s voice holds a teasing tone and you smile, moving up so that you’re facing him.

You rest your weight back on your hands, kicking your legs out in front of you as your skirt flows around the grass. A while ago you would’ve felt improper sitting like this in front of anyone, but you don’t seem to care all that much when it’s Gojo.

“I showed you my battle would,” you say, putting one leg on top of the other, “What’s your worst one?” You ask, tilting your head to the side in questioning.

Gojo purses his lip, thinking.

You imagine that he’d tell you or probably motion to where it was, but a second later you watch, shocked, as he tugs his tunic upwards, your face heating as he rises it slightly so that you can see a part of his stomach.

You hate how utterly built he is.

His skin is pulled taught over the smooth stomach of his abs, his chest huge with pure muscle, his arms, bulging through the sleeves. It’s something you thought you’d get used to, something you told yourself to stop ogling at, but never could.

But you shift your focus to a large scar that runs across his chest, from the bottom of his hip under his arm. It still looks relatively new, and the scar itself still pink. You could see the way it was jagged, not one smooth line, and gods, fuck, why do you want to touch it?

“Well,” you try to think of something witty to say, seeing the way he’s looking at you as if waiting for it, “Clearly not as bad as mine, but it comes in as a close second.”

He throws his head back as he laughs, his muscles contracting as he does so. You feel flushed, not able to look away from the scar, knowing that you were merely compensating for not knowing what to say.

“I know,” he says eventually with a shrug, looking down as he surveys the scar, “It’s not as bad as it could’ve been.”

You pout slightly, thinking.

“Does it hurt?”

He looks up at you, at the way you can’t take your eyes away from it, and shakes his head.

“Not anymore,” he sits up a little straighter, closer to you as you watch him move, “Sometimes I can feel it sting, but it’s barely noticeable.”

You beg to differ.

The two of you don’t say anything and a part of you has decided that silence is bad for you. Because before you can really think about what you’re doing, you push yourself upwards, leaning in closer to him as you try to get a better look at it.

He doesn’t say anything, but if only you could see the way he could barely use his lungs to breath right now you’d make some sly remark about how the best warrior of the North was growing shy from just a look.

But suddenly you’re not looking anymore as you shuffle in a little closer, your fingers reaching upwards to touch the skin.

You can hear the wind move around you, the grass rustiling as your fingers run across the scar. His abs flex at the coldness of your hand, but he doesn’t tell you to stop. You’re studying it intently, wondering what sort of weapon could’ve caused this.

Gojo’s size dwarfs over yours, but you don’t seem to mind. Your lips as slightly pursed as you take it in.

“Did you fight a bear?” You finally ask, peeking up to look at him.

You’re startled by the way the flush on his cheeks has grown even more red, or the way you can’t see the blues in his eyes anymore. Has he always looked like that?

Gojo shakes his head, taking in a shaky breath, looking at the top of your head as you go back to looking at the scar.

“Nearly,” he tries to joke, but his voice is weak, laced with need, “But I doubt a bear would even want to be compared to the man who gave me the scar.”

You look up, your brow quirked in curiosity.

“Who?” You ask, shocked at how quiet your voice came out.

Gojo smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His tongue clicks against his teeth, his hand rising up to grab yours, pulling it away from his chest. He can’t bear to have you touching him like that anymore, not trusting himself to restrain the pure desire that bubbling inside his veins.

“Naoya,” he says hushed, watching as your lips part and eyes widen.

There’s a beat of silence, a moment when you think you can hear your heart beating in the same rhythm his is.

Your hand curls into itself, shock taking over your features as your eyes drop to his scar and then back up to him. You find yourself wanting to say everything and anything, but can’t somehow find the words that you’re looking for. Gojo beats you to it, thankfully.

“I’ve been having this recurring dream ever since I fought him of that same moment over and over again when he cut me open. But it’s changed, recently,” He sits up straighter, so close to you that your chests are almost touching, “And I keep seeing him marrying you, what would’ve happened if you had said yes.”

“And gods, fuck,” he ducks his head down, raking an agitated hand through his hair, making it even more messy, “I…” He chokes on his breath, looking back at you, and suddenly you see the glossiness in his eyes, the way that tears brim his waterline.

And suddenly you see the Gojo Satoru, the Lord in the North, the most powerful man alive, cry.

“I keep reprimanding Naoya in my head about how awful he is, about how I’d kill nearly every person alive if he ever touched you, b-but I was just as awful. I think about the first time I saw you, about the first weeks you were here. I think about how you must’ve felt, how alone you were. Every day…” he wipes messily at his cheeks, his lips wobbling, “Every day I wake up and think of you. I think about your face, your smile, your eyes, your lips, the way your nose scrunches, that line between your brows when you're confused, and every night I go to sleep hoping that this was all an awful dream and I haven’t ruined your life, but then I wake up, and it starts all over again.”

“I know I’m a selfish man,” Gojo says with a wet chuckle, his cheeks wet with tears, “I know I shouldn’t, but I want you to myself, I want you forever. I want to be your friend, I want to be the person you sleep next to, the person you go to when you want to talk about your little stories. I want to hear your jokes and I want to see you laugh. I want to hold your hand, I want to put that ring on your finger every morning, and I want to propose to you each night.”

He shakes his head, swallowing his cries down, the moon lighting the tear tracks that start from his eyes and end at his chin.

“But I know you don’t want that. You told me that you wanted a friend, but…” he shrugged, his smile sad, aching, longing, “I think along the way of being your friend I realized I wanted to be your husband too.”

“I understand if you want to leave. I’ll tell my parents the truth, they’ll understand. I have a house ready for you near the sea, one away from your family, where you can start over.”

The wind rustles the hills, and you look at the field, watch the way it moves in tandem with the life around it.

You can feel the tears forming in your eyes, and know that even if you blink them away it’ll do nothing to actually hide them. There’s a burning feeling in your chest, one that you’ve never felt before, one that rings with Gojo’s words.

You run your fingers through the grass, looking up at him with a certain fire in your eyes.

“What if I don’t want that?”

He blinks slowly.

“I,” Gojo sniffs, nodding profusely, hoping you don’t see the way he crumbles, “I understand, I promise I do. The house is a couple days-”

“No,” you cut him off firmly, wiping your palms furisuly across your cheeks, to rid them of the pesky tears, shaking your head, “What if I don’t want that?” You move up to him, reaching your hand down his tunic, your fingers moving against is chest as you dig out the gold chain that’s wrapped around his neck.

The one that holds his ring, the one he told you about one night that keeps it safe whenever he’s training.

“What if I want this?” Your voice is cracking, and you tug the chain tighter.

“What if I want all those things? What if I want you to love me?” The ring shines in the moonlight, mirroring her pair thats wrapped around your finger, “I want to be your friend,” you stress, your brows strewn together as tears overflow from your waterline, “And I want to know what things you like. I want to walk with you all around the earth and walk back home again. I want to sleep next to you. I want to make you laugh, and I want you to make me smile. I want you to be my husband so that I can be your wife,” you cry out, your chest heaving up and down as he wraps his arms around your back, pulling you into his lap as he tries to quickly wipe your tears away.

“I want you too, Satoru,” you whisper, broken with your wet sniffles, a wet laugh escaping your lips when you see him crack at the way you said his name with so much care, your thumbs gliding across his cheeks.

You slide closer into him, your legs splitting across his huge thighs as he hugs you tenderly to him, his head resting on your chest so that he can hear your heartbeat, make sure that this wasn’t just another dream.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs against your bosom, looking up at you with glistening eyes.

“Then fight for me,” you whisper, your hands on either side of his face, “Give me all those things. Give me more,” you smile when his arms wrap around your waist a little tighter, his hands holding you up, “And I’ll do the same.”

He nods, holding your hand that was still holding onto his ring to his chest, one hand moving to your back, and in the mess of tears and broken laughs the two of you seem to move together, meeting each other in the middle as your lips find each other in the dark shadows of night.

You gasp when his lips capture yours, and he moves towards the sound, wanting to hold it, keep it forever.

Gojo moves slowly, knowing that this is your first time, and cups your jaw, helping you move along with him as you lips slot and lock against each other. It’s messy and with no order, your chin staining with sweat as you moan against him, feeling delirious without the touch of him.

You know this isn’t the easiest position for him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He groans against you, his eyes squeezing shut, trying to memorize your taste in case the world ended tomorrow and this was his last meal.

“Is this-” You cut him off when you swoop in again, his laughter cut short by your needienss, the way you paw at his chest, your hands winding up to his hair as you tug harshly on the soft strands.

He moans at this, at the way you grind mindlessly on his thigh, your need for each other bleeding out into the open.

“I love you,” he murmurs against you, kissing down your chin and then back up to you, his tongue swiping against your lips, savroing your whine, “I love you so much,” he says to everybody, hoping even those on mountains oceans away could hear, “I love you, my wife,” and you giggle, eyes bright when you hear those words.

“Say it again,” you ask, your nails drawing little shapes on his nape, and you see him break into a smile.

“My wife,” he repeats with a peck to your cheek, “My beautiful wife,” he kisses the tip of your nose, smiling at the way it scrunhed up slightly, just the way he adored, “My wife,” he kisses your jaw, “My wife,” your giggling nonstop and he hopes to bottle up the sound and hear it on his deathbed.

His hands travel back down to your hips, adusjsting you slightly so that you wouldn’t feelt he embarrassing hardening of his dick just from kissing you, and moves his lips down to your neck, hearing the way there’s a hitch in your laughter.

“Why’d you stop?” he nudges his nose at that spot pf your neck that still smells like lavender, his favroite scent in the world, “Hm?” Gojo hums against that spot, licking a wet stripe up it, sucking at the skin, feeling the way you arch into his chest.

“Y-your reeking s-scent infiltrated my nose,” you murmur, biting on your lip as he pinches your waist.

“Yeah?” Gojo continued to tease you, sliding the sleeve of your dress down, giving you more access to the skin of your collarbone, “Want me to stop?”

“No!” You cry, totally against your better judgement, moaning when he sucks another mark into the skin, biting it, and then presses a soft kiss to it as an apology, “Please, please, don’t stop.”

He chuckles darkly, shifting you around so that you are lying back down on the ground, his body framing yours as he continues tugging down your dress, going slow in case you ever wanted him to stop.

His fingers are quick at untying the string that holds you bodice together, unravelingit all until it falls off and he’s greeted to the sight of your heaving chest, the way your naked breasts rise and fall.

Gojo blinks for a moment, forgetting how to move.

“W-what?” You ask, a little self-conscience as he continues to stare at your chest, “Do they look wonky?” You move your hands to cover up but a deep gutteral growl escapes his lips, pinning your hands back.

“Beautiful,” he bites out, moving his head down, pressing a wet kiss in between the valley of your breasts, “You look like a fuckin’ statue,” he says, “You’re s-so beautiful.” Gojo repeats, and you can’t protest with the way he praises you, nor the way his lips hover over a nipple, finally leaning in fully as he sucks on it.

“F-fuck!” You cry out at the sensation, your fingers lost in his hair as you keep him there, back arching off the ground, “That, that feels…good,” you can’t speak, not with the way his tongue slides across your nipple, pressing little kisses around you areola.

His other hand goes to your other one, making sure she’s not feeling lonely, his thumb flicking over your sensitive nipples as you whine even louder.

Gojo switches and you feel your breath shudder in an embarrassing whimper, your eeys squeezing shut when he bites at you, wanting to mark you up for those wretched gods to see and feel humanly jealous over.

“So soft,” he murmurs against your skin, almost in awe, “feels like silk.”

You would’ve had a witty joke about this, you know you did, but you can’t fathom to think about anything other than the way his lips feel on your tits, the way he seems like he’d die had he not been here sooner.

But he then raises his head, and you whine in protest. Gojo almost break at the way you’re looking up at him, the way yor lips tremble from sheer desire.

“Want more?” He presses, his hands, warmer than the fire that’s burning in your belly, trailing down, down to where your dress was slightly parting, “Here?”

“Y-yes, fuck,” you moan, parting your legs to make room for him, not knowing what this feeling was but knowing that he was the only one who could soothe it, “Need it so bad Sa-satoru,”

His eyes roll back, swallowing his primal groan at the way you plead for him, and nods, pressing a kiss against your stomach before his hitches the fabric upwards, sliding down your body so that his face is closer to that heat.

You know you should feel more shame, but you feel like you’re going to die if your husband doesn’t do something soon.

Gojo’s hand travels up your calf, trailing up your thigh, and suddenly stops.

You go to beg, plead, for him, but cut yourself off when his lips find your inner thighs, pressign wet and messy kisses to them, getting dangerously close to where you felt like you were leaking.

“You’re divine,” he whispers against your skin, hands wrapping around your thighs as he pulls them apart, “Fuckin’ divine.”

His lips suddenly find there, you glistening cunt, and you mewl out for him.

“Satoru,” your chest is heaving like you can’t find any air, “T-there, please, there,” and fuck the way you’re begging him is so sweet that he can’t find it in himself to tease you.

His fingers seperate your wet lips, groaning when he sees just how much you’re dripping, and licks a tentative stripe upwards, your surprised gasp at how good it felt going straight to his cock.

Gojo carefully slides a finger through your tight walls, feeling the way you tighten around that, and lets his lips travel to your clit, pressing small kisses to it before he begins to suck. You clench around him, and your toes curl at the way he begins to pump it in and out, your essence soaking his skin.

“So wet sweetheart,” he groans swapping his finger for his thumb at your clit, his tongue diving into your walls as he nearly cums from your saccharine taste alone, “S-shit, fuck, you taste like fucking heaven.”

Your thighs tighten arund his head, but he craves the feeling, his tongue eating you out at such a fast pace that you begin to wonder if you need this more or him.

“O-oh gods,” your grips his head tightly, can’t find the sympathy in yourself to feel bad, “‘Toru, oh, oh my, don’t stop!

That coil in your stomach grows more taunt with each second.

He alternates, adding in another thick finger, feeling the way you try to stretch for him. He glides in and out of you with ease, but he wonders what you’d look like on his thick cock, how you’d preen as he split you open with his girth.

“Sweet,” he moans against you, his voice vibrating against your pulsing walls, “You’re so fuckin’ sweet.”

You nod at something, whatever he just said, not fulling understanding anything around you as he continue to stimulate your clit, sucking on it, his teeth gliding across it with a little bite, and you moan out even louder.

“I…” you can’t think, can’t breathe, “F-fcuk, ‘Toru, something, something’s happening,” you don’t know what this feeling is, this electric, all-consuming feeling that’s zapping through your body, making it numb yet aware of everything at the same time.

“I know, I know,” Gojo praised you, one of his hands holding your stomach down, the added pressure making you whine, “You’re doing so good for me, you’re there, come on come for me,” his hand travels up your body, finding yours as he weaves your fingers together.

“Shit, shit,” you mewl, “I’m coming, fuck, c-coming!” You cry out, your back arching off of the ground as your legs grow slack around his shoulders, your walls pulsing around him as that string tightens for the final time and then finally breaks.

You can see white as your eyes rolls back into your head, squeezing his hand as tightly as you can, your yes dotting with tears. Your climax was all consuming, making you gush around his fingers and tongue, seeming to be never-ending, your body shaking in his hold.

Gojo presses one final kiss to your cunt, licking off your release from his fingers, groaning at the taste, and lets you catch your breath.

When you’re finally able to crack your eyes open, you peek them over to Gojo, seeing the way he tilts his head back, your cum still glistening on his chin and cheek, and whine out in embarrassment.

“What?” He asks, eyes teasing when you go to hide your face in your hands.

“I can’t,” your words are muffled, “I can’t believe I just…”

Gojo kisses your forehead, wiping some of the tears from your eyes away as he kisses your brow bone.

“How do you feel?” He asks, his eyes scanning over your body, glistening with sweat, and you take in a gulp of air.

“Good,” you say finally with a soft smile, “Really good.”

You look from his little grin, one that you peck at, your thumb rubbing up and down his jaw, and then look down, to the obvious bulge that’s hiding behind his training trousers.

You’ve never seen a cock before but fuck he’s massive.

“What…” you trail off, sitting up slightly, and he helps balance you, “What about you?” you paw at his stomach, right before it leads down, and he lets out a shuddered whine.

“As much as I-” he bites his tongue, feeling like he’s going to cum if you continue to look at him like that, “As much as I want to…not here,” he looks around at the field, shaking his head as a definite no, “Not here.”

You go to protest, but he stops you, biting your fingers gently as you yelp, shoving his head away with little force as he chuckles.

You let him wrap your dress around you again, tying some of the knots so that it doesn’t open up when you’re standing, and let the silence wash over the two of you calm your beating down heart down.

He plays with the ring around your finger, and you watch as the ring around his neck moves with his little breaths.

“I want to sleep in your bed,” you say, and his blue eyes find yours.

“You’re crazy if you don’t think I’m letting you sleep anywhere else,” he says in a shocked sort of way and you laugh, looking over to the side for a brief moment, and then look back at him.

“Do you really love me?”

Your words as whispered, but it feels like the wind picked them up and scattered them all around the field, around the river, the ancient stones, and right into Gojo’s heart.

“I really love you,” he whispers back, kissing your eyelids, in between your brows, your forehead, the back of your hand, and murmurs the words, “my wife,” to nobody and to everybody at the same time.

You smile, pulling him down by that necklace of his so that you can plant a soft kiss against his lips.

#gojo x reader #gojo x reader smut #gojo x reader angst #gojo x you #gojo x you smut #gojo angst #satoru x reader #satoru x reader angst #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x reader smut #jjk x reader angst #gojo satoru smut #gojo x reader fluff #satoru x you #jjk smut #arranged!gojo

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helyft · 4 months ago

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Shenbro au where, Shen Yuan wakes up inside the body of the scum villain's little brother. Shen Jiu and Shen Yuan join the Qing Jing peak togather. Shen Jiu is way more popular than SY, even if it's not really a good thing. SY doesn't really leave the peak unless he must, so not many people know that SJ has a brother, let alone one who is a fucking saint.

After fixing and healing sqq like bob the builder, (transmigrator) SY is finally sure that SQQ isn't gonna fuck up his future even if he is left to his own device. But that doesn't mean SY will leave his big bro though, nope, He is just gonna go on his own little adventures while SJ is doing what-head-disiple-usually-do. Just temporarily yeah

It takes a lot to convince SJ, but with the help of YQY and their Shizun, SY manages to leave after promising SJ that he'll come back more often than not. It's not like he is planning on leaving forever, he will be back in time for the original to begin! Just to make sure his brother doesn't dig his own grave.

it's mighty fun, seeing monsters he had only ever read about with his own eyes, observing the wild life and noting down his adventures, if he didn't have SJ waiting for him back in the sect, SY might have just settled as a rogue cultivator.

SY is curious about how people in this day and age live. When he first came to this world, he was too busy trying to not die and keep his brother from pissing people off left and right. Now that SJ has calmed down a bit (he is still a little bitch but a likeable bitch atleast.) and canon is still a few years away, it's definitely the right time to enjoy the mundane activities and savoury street food!

But you know who else also leaves the sect to hunt down monsters for indefinite amount of time?

SY totally doesn't expect to run into future Bai Zhan lord while out in the wild (Wellll, not that he knows this is LQQ. ) but he is so glad he did! Otherwise he would have been mauled alive by a poisonous-clawed bear!

The amount of times they coincidentally meet eachother is actually suspicious. But SY doesn't mind. Who would mind being saved by a heavenly beauty (even if it's a man)? Sure, this guy might not talk alot, stare at him like he has grown another head and leave instantly after killing the beast that was about to attack SY, he sure is a eye-candy!

They get close soon enough. It can't be helped since they run into eachother every other week. SY even managed to fish out his surname! Which happens to be the same as Liu Mingyan's!

Liu-gongzi is actually nicer than he looks, turns out the reason he looked at SY as if he had grown a second head isn't because he dislikes him but because he looks identical to an unsavoury person Liu-gongzi knows!

SY learned quite a bit about him, like how he is part of a sect, how he only goes back to his sect once a month to show his face to his shizun, and how he even has a little sister. Liu-gongzi's company is a delight to have! He even lets SY observe a beast before killing it.

(if there is a slight voice whispering in the back of his head about the similarities Liu-gongzi has to a certain war god, he ignores it)

They don't really stick together, SY isn't really here to fight fight and fight, he is here to learn about the behind the scenes of PIDW, and enjoy his life the fullest before canon inevitably comes. Liu-gongzi on the other hand likes to mindlessly charge into battle. SY suspects that his head is somewhat empty other than thoughts about brawling with monsters.

Spending time with Liu-gongzi is...fun. It feels like he has finally made a friend who isn't mentioned by the original story. He is a little sad inside everytime they have to go their own way but somehow, they end up meeting always so he can just think that they are meant to be together right? In a platonic way ofc.

Time passes by in a flash, and before SY realises it, Canon is already looming over.

It's about time he heads back to Cang Qiong.

(and if he catches sight of a very, very familiar man, who has become even more beautiful since the last time SY saw him, wellll, that's a sorry for another day.)

#mxtx svsss #svsss #scum villian self saving system #liushen #liu qingge #shen yuan #shen brothers #might write this #probably

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lady-ashfade · 3 months ago

Note

Hi I would like a slice of blueberry pie with Alicent Hightower please? ✨

Sworn To Me

´*: ･ﾟ⋆˒ Yandere!Alicent HighTower x Fem!Reader

Bakery Event is closed

╰･ﾟ✧☽ summary: the queen is caught between the whispers of her favorite lady in waiting.

╰･ﾟ✧☽ words: 969

╰･ﾟ✧☽ warnings: Yandere behaviors, Possessive, Crispy cole is not with her, This set before Viserys dies, I struggled with this one, manipulation, me loving women.

˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚ 🥧 ˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚

“Excuse me,” you mumbled and moved around the crowded hall, a pair of chatting ladies blocking your path. They sent you a strange look but moved non the less, so you continued with your way.

Life at the keep has been wonderful and very welcoming. The opportunity became clear when your father moved to kingsland at the request of the hand, you followed him in hopes of a better future. Maybe a handsome suitor will fall at your feet for your hand in marriage, yet you were offered something else in the mean time. A chance to be a Lady-In-Waiting for The Queen herself.

Alicent couldn’t keep her eyes off of you since she first laid eyes upon you at the way you carried yourself like sunshine. How beautiful your hair curled, how intoxicating the smile on your lips made her feel. The world seemed to not have touched you yet as you still sang of happiness and innocents. Something the gods must have wished for her — to keep you safe from harm and the cruelties that plague the realm.

As you made your way down the halls you made yourself walk a little faster, trying not to trip down the stairs with your skirts lifted in your hands. You nodded to every lord you passed by, never noticing the lingering eyes flicker down your frame. Once down with the steps you make your way to the old chambers were Your Queen resides. You smile at the guard beside the door. He stepped aside and opened the chamber door with you close behind him.

“My Queen,” you bond your knees and nod your head towards her. She turns from her gaze from out the window to you, your dress matching the same shade of hers.

The knight walks out and shuts the door behind him. Placing your hands together you walk closer and a bright smile forms. Around the queen sat a large selection of sweets that aways called your name and delicious wine made from peach’s, always making you feel good.

Alicent looked between the pastries you laid eyes upon and then back at you, and courageous smile appearing on her face before grabbing a plate herself. “Good morrow, Lady Y/n.” she twisted her tongue while trailing herself closer to the silver trays.

“Good Morrow, Your Grace. I hope the night was kind to you,” you asked sweetly.

Once she gathered a few small cakes she took a seat on the cushions and watched you while you did the same. How comfortable you seemed to always be in her presences. Or the bounce in your steps when you saw sweets, no matter the occasion.

“Fair enough I suppose, as it can be as of late,” she sighed and swirled the cup of wine to her lips. Taking a set across from her you begin to devour the sweets on the plate, your eyes brightening with eat taste.

Alicent kept her eyes on you and continued to watch you eat while something rooted inside her chest and made it sting. Rumors. Horrible whispers have spread to her ears about you — About a betrothal — something she couldn’t let happen. Having you married to someone else, it simply wouldn’t do. A man would crush your spirits, never show you the love you deserved nor treat you like she did.

“Tell me, have you anything important as of late to share?” Alicent questioned while the light made shades on her face and her eyes piercing into you.

Nothing of importance come to mind as you spent most of your time at her side, so not much has happened since the hours of leaving her to rest. “Nothing of note, Your Grace.” she only hummed in reply to think of something you could know.

“You’d never leave my side, would you?” Alicents voice stayed calm and honeyed with her words, and eyes curious above the cup now leaning into her lips.

You rushed to shake your head to deny, jumping almost at the edge of your seat to convince her otherwise.

“No Your Grace. I would never dream of leaving your side as long as you wish as such.”

“Then there has been no indication of a lord asking for your hand?” Alicent questioned you. Nothing to her words spoke to you, nor held any truth to them.

“There has been no word of any engagement of mine, My Queen I assure you. Whoever told you these lies simply must have misheard or played the feddle of lies.” You asserted. The next second you watch her rise to her feet, her dress falling off her lap and a beautiful shade of green you always recognize with comfort and warmth. Alicent stood just before you, and right above you and her difference in height now forced you to look up at her.

Alicent took her fingers and grabbed ahold of your chin. The mood shifted in the air as her presences changed to a unrecognized one, and slight fear dwelled within you. “I couldn’t have someone steal you away, your sworn to be by my side. No man can have you,” she harshly tightened her fingers. A darkness filled her eyes as she stared down at you, and the pain of her hold made you flinch — you had no choice but to obey.

“Yes, My Queen.” You quiver.

She let go and made a cooing sound and dropped a few inches downwards to take you into her arms in acts to comfort you. She rubbed your back with her warm hands and tried to soothe your state.

“My sweet girl, I appreciate your loyalty. I only want what’s best for you. As I am the only one who understands what you need.” She whispers before placing a kiss onto your temple.

#house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon #queen alicent #alicent hightower x reader #alicent hightower #yandere alicent hightower #yandere Alicent hightower x reader #yandere house of the dragon #yandere house of the dragon x reader #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #bakery event #oneshot

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elaacreditava · 4 months ago

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Have I found you, flightless bird?

Azriel Shadowsinger x reader

Summary: Rhysand brings back home a mysterious girl with a distaste for Illyrians. Azriel feels attracted to her and compelled to change her view on things.

Warning: angst, blood, gore, pinning and fluff

Word count: 4.661k

Note: This is my first writing ever. Never thought about writing fics, only reading them (obsessed) but I couldn't take this fic out of my mind so I decided to write and share it.

After Amarantha's death, Rhysand winnowed back to Velaris with an unknown female. As soon as he saw his family, Rhys fell to his knees and was hugged by Mor while cried and said repeatedly "she's my mate". His cousin, Amren, Cassian and Azriel stared incredulously at the mysterious woman in the corner of the room.

"Who are you?", the Illyrian commander asked after the shock of the situation has passed.

"I'm Y/n and no, he's not talking about me, I'm not his mate", Y/n answered feeling the need to get rid of any misunderstanding. No one asked any more questions while all of them sat down after Rhysand had calmed himself enough to start explaining everything that had happened since the beginning.

When Rhys was done hours later, Azriel noticed how little he knew about Y/n, as if Rhys was leaving her out of it as much as possible intentionally, only saying that she was Amarantha's slave just like him.

Seeing Y/n rounded ears, no scales, horns, wings, slitted eyes or anything that made her high fae or lesser, Azriel deemed she was human, the most beautiful female he has seen in his life with her smooth long hair, slender body and sharp face, no older than 25. But what got Azriel most about her were her eyes, more than the exquisite color they had, the look she gave at them, the kind of look of someone that had been through a lot and would never let it happen again was always present. He needed to know more about her, so he decided to pry for answers.

"Why did you bring the human back with you? Why not send her back to the mortal lands?" Az asked Rhysand but as soon as he finished his sentence, Y/n eyes turned in his direction and the shadowsinger knew he had made a mistake. "The 'human' is no human at all and she hates when someone talks about her as if she's not present." Y/n said in a disgusted tone and with such fury that Azriel felt like he's been electrocuted, but being the spymaster he is, he didn't let show how much the storm in her eyes affected him.

"Y/n isn't human, she's... something else, but that's not my story to tell. She will tell whenever she feels ready to share." replied Rhys trying to keep the conversation under control. Azriel and Y/n kept staring at each other for a while and he had a feeling she didn't like him very much. When the silence was uncomfortable enough for everybody else in the room, Azriel was the first to speak "Apologies, I didn't mean to, I see you and know you can speak for yourself." That caught Y/n off guard. Was it possible for an Illyrian to be different from all the ones she has meet before? Apologizing and looking at her as if had worth stirred something in her chest, something she hadn't felt before, like a tug in her heart. But she decided to not let it show and only nodded in return.

After introducing Y/n to his family, Rhysand decided the conversation would be over for now. "Y/n and I must rest" Rhys said to everyone and turning to her he finished with "Nuala and Cerridwen will help you getting settled." With that, the High Lord left and everybody else went to their own affairs while the half-wraiths took Y/n to the room she would be staying.

A warm bath was waiting for her and since she was feeling the need of washing away everything that happened she went in. Scrubbing the skin raw has become a tradition, the necessity of getting rid of Amarantha's touch and smell she could feel on herself after she was used, like Rhys was. Even now, with Amarantha dead, Y/n could smell her as if it was impregnated on her skin, as if she would never be free of it. So she scrubbed and cried and scrubbed some more like she did for years and years.

Having left the bath and changed into a short sleeved knee length dress, Y/n felt as clean as she could get. She was thinking about taking a walk around to explore the house when someone knocked on the door. Y/n went and opened it coming face to face with Azriel. Looking at him from this close, she could see the green in his hazel eyes, the light freckles on his cheeks, how his sharp jaw could cut anything. He was breathtaking. And breathless she was... until she realized they were staring at each other, so she cleaned her throat and said "Can I help you with anything?"

Azriel noticed her puffy eyes from crying during her scrub session and the raw skin of her arms and neck, so red that looked very sensitive to touch. The dark blue dress she was wearing complimented her curves and skin tone. He could only think about how was it possible to someone to look so mesmerizing even with puffy eyes, raw skin and a simple dress.

After a moment he averted his eyes "I feel like we started with the wrong foot. I'm Azriel, spymaster of the Night Court." he extended his hand, palm up, his shadows went to his fingertips, eager for her to make contact so they would jump to her warm fingers. Y/n put her hand on his and he kissed it and gave her a little bow while he saw his shadows circling her wrist and caressing her forearm "They seen to like you" his lips twitched trying to hold a smile before he continued "I was wondering if you need anything. Perhaps a tour around the place?" he said looking at her eyes now with a little smile, still holding her hand, and Y/n was wondering how soft his lips would feel against hers.

No! She couldn't get involved with him! After everything she's been through, she didn't need an Illyrian brute controlling her choices, taking away her freedom like she knew was part of their culture. As soon as she thought about it, she snatched her hand back and said "No thanks, I don't need to go anywhere with your kind" dismissing him. She was ready to close the bedroom door but he stopped her, holding the door ajar. She could see hurt and fury in his eyes, his shadows back around him were bristled when he asked "What do you mean with 'my kind'?" at that moment she thought he probably didn't always need to torture to get the answers he wanted, the look he was giving her and the tone he voiced his question was almost enough to make her apologize and cower in a corner. But she didn't suffer all she did all those years to run and hide when confronted any male.

"I don't need an Illyrian male telling me what to do and where to go, soon enough you'll start telling me what to wear and how to behave" she replied coldly.

"What?! I was just trying to be nice since you just got here and don't know your surroundings. Never wanted to control you in any way, just thought you would feel more at ease knowing how to come and go." He took a step closer, she could smell night-chilled mist and cedar coming from him "Don't compare me to other Illyrians you have met before. You don't know me", his low voice giving her goosebumps and making her heart race.

Azriel felt an anguish in the current situation he hasn't felt before. Being compared to everything he had fought against his whole life.

"Whenever you feel like leaving your prejudice behind, I'll be around." with that he left leaving Y/n stunned by the door. She was so shocked by his words that she didn't remember closing the bedroom door, walking to her bed and laying down. She felt a mix of rage and shame, how he talked to her, after she patronized him, how her prejudice made her think they're all the same when all he showed her was kindness. She took a deep breath and got up ready to find him and apologize but as soon as she got to the door and opened, Rhys was there. "Hey! I just saw Az leaving, looking mad, what happened?" he asked, so Y/n told him everything about their encounter.

"You shouldn't judge a book by its cover, Y/n. The brooding face, shadows and bat wings might give you the wrong impression but once you get to know him, you'll see that he's nothing like you ever knew. Let the past in the past and try to be open minded" the High lord said, making her feel even worse about the situation. So she got up fast and said "I need to go, Rhys. Do you know where I can find him? I really need to apologize."

"He's probably at the library, it's where we usually find him when he's pissed. It's on the lower floor, fourth door to your right." he instructed her knowing she had no idea where was anything in the house. "Thanks Rhys, wish me luck!" she said passing Rhysand and giving him a peck on his cheek.

"No problem! And you won't need luck, Az is a nice male and you are you. He will understand and both of you will be fine." he said with a smirk looking at her as if he knew something Y/n didn't. She went to the lower floor and the fourth door to her right was a large one, very library like so she got in and started looking for him. The place was so big, with endless shelves full of books. She will definitively spend some time here in the future. For now she had to find him, but had no idea where to start.

Something on the ground was trying to get her atention and when she stepped closer she noticed it was one of his shadows. When she bent down to touch it the shadow moved to an aisle luring her to follow it and so she did. After some twists and turns she found him sitting on a sofa with a pile of books and reports laying on the table by his side. He looked very comfortable, with his legs spread, one hand holding a report while the other arm was resting on the back of the sofa holding his head in place. His wings were behind the sofa resting, just as spread as his legs. And damn, if the rumors about wingspan were true, the male in from of her was very blessed. Fuck, she comes to apologize and can't stop thinking about those things, not nice!

As soon as she came into view, he stiffened and fixed his posture, looking tense and ready to fight. "I've come in peace!" She stated quickly while holding her hands up in a surrender position for him to see. "I was so unfair comparing you to others, I am very sorry about it. I've had some bad experiences in life but that doesn't excuse how I treated you." Az looked her over, her guilty ridden face told him she was being sincere.

"It's okay, I forgive you" he replied and she instantly looked so relieved and for a couple of seconds he just kept gazing at her, something in her was so entrancing, he couldn't take his eyes off of her until -"wait, how did you find me here? This library is like a maze" he said imagining the trouble she went through until finally finding him.

"Uh, as soon as I entered the library one of your shadows found me and guided me to you" she said and his jaw dropped. His shadows always helped him to hide, not to be found. It didn't matter who was looking for him, they never gave his whereabouts to anyone. "You little traitors" he scolded them playfully. Even feeling a bit betrayed by them he felt glad that they did it and the air between Azriel and Y/n could be cleared.

"So, I feel like we started with the wrong foot. I'm Y/n. Would you mind giving me a tour around the place?" she used almost the same words he did hours before by her door so he barked a laugh, got up, took the hand she extended, kissed it, put it around his byceps and told her "It would be my pleasure."

He didn't fail to notice how his shadows would naturally run from him to hers, excited to touch her warm skin and back to him bringing her smell with them.

Months have passed and the dynamic between them both was as if they have known each other for centuries. They would talk for hours about a book they read, go to a cafe to have their favorite pastries, walk down the Rainbow while chatting about the future, training hand to hand combat, since Y/n begged to learn anything because she felt the need since she was never able to fight back in her slave days or before that.

Everything was great between them, except for the fact that Y/n still didn't disclose anything to him about her past. He didn't know what she was, where she came from, how old was she, and that made Azriel confused. She was comfortable enough to have him around, to do almost everything together, even sleep on his shoulder once when they were reading together side by side on the couch and she fell asleep, laying her head on his shoulder, then moving to his chest, and when waking up, not being embarrassed about it, as if it wasn't the first time this was happening and as id it wasn't almost gave him a heart attack.

Her head near his face, he could smell her hair, feel the softness of it on his cheek, he wanted to run his hands through it, feel it between his fingers. Then she moved a little bit to get more comfortable and her nose was almost touching his chest. He could feel her breath on his skin since the V neck he was wearing showed some skin. It tickled him and gave goosebumps.

He couldn't concentrate on his book any longer. All he could think about was how would it feel to have her hair between his fingers while she kissed his chest, his abs, his- never mind! He took a deep breath and tried very hard to take his mind off of it. They would be very flirty with each other all the time but it was just a joke, she would never be interested in him more than friends. She was so kind, brave, smart and pretty. And he was just him.

Today was training day and they were stretching at the center of the ring before starting with hand to hand combat. Y/n was wearing leggings and a long sleeved shirt. Azriel noticed Y/n never wore sleeveless clothing, she would show her arms sometimes but never her back. He tried to dismiss this information but it kept nagging at him.

Azriel was wearing his combat leathers, and Y/n couldn't stop staring at his muscles, how good he was looking. He kept giving her a welcoming smile, an encouraging one since they were about to start fighting and he would handle her ass to her. She has been training for months now but he has been training for centuries, it didn't matter what a great professor he was, she would never win a fight between them, even so with her getting distracted when their skin touch, when he imobilizes her and she can feel his breath on her neck, when he's so close that everything she can do is do her best to keep herself under control and not kiss him then and there.

It was impossible not to fall for him. He was amazing, she could spend the whole day with him and would never tire of his company. Everyone saw him as a serious fae, never smiling and always in the shadows, but with Y/n he was funny, attentive, respectful and smart. Gods, she wanted him so much. But he would never want her, a broken girl, her years as a slave only left a shadow of the person she was. He would answer her flirtation with the same tone but of course it was just a joke to him, he could have anyone, why would he choose her?

"Okay, today we'll test the grappling you've been learning lately. We have tested your kicking lessons and punching ones in the last classes. Today, no kicking, no punching, only imobillizing, got it?" He asked and even knowing what was coming, she got nervous. He was very built, tall and large so she would have trouble dealing with it.

He taught her how to take down bigger opponents but one thing was just theory and training other was to use it to really win the fight. Y/n just took a deep breath and nodded in confirmation.

They started to circle each other, looking for a weak spot to take advantage of. She tried to trip him tackling his legs but he just pushed her back and gave a little laugh. She knew he was playing her, that he could have finished it already but he wanted to see what she had learned. So back at circling she remembered a takedown she read about, trained the movement in front of the mirror many times but never really did it on someone. If she was able to execute it, Azriel wouldn't be expecting it since it was one he never taught her.

Y/n keep a natural stance while moving closer to him. She then gripped his left wrist with her right hand and hooked his left armpit with her left arm. Taking a big step forward, she rotated her body and dropped to her knees between his legs, with her back to him, using the momentum to change Azriel's center of gravity and pull him over her shoulder and onto his back on the mat. He looked so surprised that Y/n kept staring at his face with the biggest smile he has ever seen. He took a second to save that scene in his memory and in the next he dropped her and mounted her waist.

"That was one hell of a takedown, but instead of gloating you should've held me down so I wouldn't get up and take you down" he said looking down and smiling at her.

Y/n was breathless. She didn't know if it was because of the takedown, or of when he caught her off guard after it or because he was sitting on top of her with that smile that melted her every time.

"Hey, are you okay?" He whispered thinking she could be hurt and moved his hand to move her hair away from her face. Lost in his actions, he didn't notice the mischief in her eyes. She hugged his forearm and bumped her hips to the side, making him loose balance and falling on his back again. This time she learned her lesson, before he could close his legs around her hips or get up, Y/n moved fast and mounted him as he did to her minutes ago but now, she held his wrists above his head.

They both were breathing heavy, their noses inches apart, looking at each other's eyes. His eyes moved from hers to her lips and back to her eyes.

"I yield" he breathed against her lips. She threw all control away and kissed him deep and hard. Moving one hand to his hair and the other to the back of his neck she tried to show him through that kiss how much he meant to her, how glad she was to have met him and how she wanted a future with him.

With his arms now free from her grip, Azriel buried with fingers in her hair and his other hand moved to the small of her back. He waited so long for this to happen and to have her kissing him back, gods! He hoped she could feel how in love he was with her, how he never wanted to part from her, have her in his arms all the time would be everything.

Y/n lifted her head a little bit, just enough to look at his face, that's when she felt it. That tug in her heart so strong that made her gasp. The bond snapping into place. She widened her eyes in disbelief. Azriel was her mate.

"Hey, what's wrong?" The shadowsinger asked, noticing the change in her demeanor. He moved his hand from the small of her back to between her shoulder blades and saw when she instantly winced in pain and pushed his arm away, getting up and turning her back to him, ready to leave.

Before she could go, Azriel grabbed her arm, keeping her in place. When she looked at him, her eyes were shining silver with tears. He knew he didn't hurt her back, had mastered enough his fighting skills to be sure of it. The pain must be from a wound badly healed from her time Under the Mountain.

"Please, talk to me" her mate pleaded, "please, I want to help, I want you!" With that, she looked at his hazel eyes and saw all the love he had for her. It was time to trust him with her secrets since her mate always showed himself to be loyal and reliable.

Y/n moved her arm from his grip but didn't walk away, only turned her back to him. When he thought she would ignore him, she started taking her shirt off. Under that she had a spaghetti strapped top and where he touched her back before were scars. The red and twisted tissues were in the same placement of his wings.

"I'm Illyrian, Az. Amarantha severed my wings with her sword after I tried to run away from Under the Mountain years ago" she told, looking at him over her shoulder with tears running down her face. "My father was Rhys' father Illyrian commander. The night Tamlin's family was killed by Rhys dad at Spring Court, my father was there helping them. So Amarantha slaved Rhys and I for our parents part in her ally's death."

Azriel was at loss for words. Y/n had wings once. And they were cut off of her with a sword. The pain she must have felt. It's a wonder she's still alive. He had so many questions but afraid of overstepping he started slow with "that's how you know about Illyrian culture, why you thought I was like them all."

"Yes, I grew up witnessing how females were treated by males in our village. Always being submissive, ready to serve, never fighting back" she told him with rage in her voice. "When I was old enough, my father clipped my wings. Told me it would be easier to marry me to someone this way, as it was a display of submissiveness. He died the same night as Rhys' father, by Tamlin's hands. And when Amarantha came for me, I couldn't fly away and didn't know how to fight to defend myself. So she took me." Her father made her a flightless bird, always caged, never able to feel the wind on her wings ever again.

By now, Y/n was on her knees with her forehead on his chest, the conversation having taken all her strength, while the spymaster kneeled before her, holding her as if he could prevent her from breaking, from falling to pieces.

"After years of serving in Amarantha's bed whenever she felt like it, I tried to run away. It was the best chance I've had in years, I would have made it if I could fly after leaving her court, but with clipped wings I had to walk, that's when the Attor got me" Y/n was sobbing so hard that Azriel was shushing her, caressing her hair and promising he would never anyone hurt her again. She believed him, knew he would burn the world down to keep her safe.

After taking deep breaths to calm herself, she continued, "Amarantha said that clipped wings weren't enough to make me submissive, she would need to try harder. So she grabbed her sword and severed them. I'll never forget the pain I felt that day, the sound of my screams, the blood spilling from my back. After that, she called for Rhysand, told him that his mission was to not let me die of blood loss and left.

"Rhys found a healer and they did the best they could in the conditions presented to them. I survived, but a wound this bad needed better conditions to heal properly, that's why is more sensitive than a normal scar. Madja's already working on it, prescribed some balms and potions to lessen the pain and make it less sensitive but she said it will take a while to be completely painless."

"Y/n, I'm so sorry this happened to you, all of this! What your father did, the price you paid for his actions, all you suffered before and during Amarantha's reign. I wish you never went through situations were you had to show your strength but going through it all, you were so strong, so brave!" Azriel said with choked voice while holding Y/n face in his hands, touching her forehead with his, drying her tears with his thumbs, caressing her cheek in reassurance. The shadowsinger himself was on the verge of tears, keeping a hold on his emotions while trying to comfort Y/n. "I would do anything to save you from all this suffering, anything" Azriel whispered to her.

Y/n felt so light, having someone to share the burden, someone she trusted, was like having a boulder removed from her chest. And to hear all reassurances he was giving her made her feel so safe and seen. She gripped his face in her hands and kissed him lightly but with so much love that he felt the bond snapping into place right away.

Azriel gasped, opened his eyes and Y/n was staring at him with a smile on her face, eyes rimmed with tears. She gave a tug on the bond and he gasped again, she laughed and said "Can you feel it?"

Her mate just nodded gaping at her. She laughed harder then said "thank the cauldron! I thought I'd have to endure ages until it snapped to you too!"

"You're my mate" he whispered, she nodded. "I've found you... I can't believe it" he was stunned. "When did it- oh, minutes ago when you were looking at me after our kiss!" He realized, dumb struck.

"For a spymaster sometimes you're very clueless, you know?" She said giggling. "I've been giving you clues about how I feel about you, flirting and spending as much time as I could with you. Mates or not, I've been in love with you for a while now."

Azriel was dreaming, he was sure of it. No way this was real, it was too good to be truth. Y/n was his mate and was in love with him. He never thought he was deserving of a mate, much less deserving of her and here they were, mates and in love. The Mother blessed him with the greatest gift.

"Looks like you bested me this" he said smiling, then cupped her jaw to to lift her face and capture her eyes and said "I will protect you with my life. I'd die and kill for you."

Y/n knew he was speaking the truth because she could feel through the bond and also that's how she felt about him. Knowing all he has been through since a child, she would die and kill to keep him safe.

Her lover, her mate, her Azriel.

#acotar #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel x you #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #velaris #night court #a court of thorns and roses #azriel spymaster #acotar x reader #acotar imagine #azriel imagine #azriel x y/n

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sarawritestories · 6 months ago

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You're On Your Own Kid, You Always Have Been

Cassian X Fem Reader

Summary: Starting off your relationship when you were young, you and Cassian lived for centuries, in a happy, loving, relationship, that is until Nesta Archeron swept the General off his feet and left you abandoned his friends you thought were yours, following the new mated couple. You were utterly alone with nothing but a shattered heart to show for it.

Dedicated to @thelov3lybookworm, who encouraged me to write this! Buckle up! You're in for a treat!

Content Warning: Disordered eating, the IC being absolutely terrible, abandonment, feelings of worthlessness, feeling alone and lost, no happy ending for mentioned pairing. Let me know if I missed any.

If you see mistakes... no you didn't.

ACOTAR MASTERLIST

🖤🖤🖤

You looked at your reflection for the first time in months. You barely recognized yourself anymore. Your cheeks and eyes were sunken, your ribs were protruding, and your skin held an ashy undertone that wasn't there before.

This is what abandonment looked like.

Longing stares never returned, his hand adjusting to evade your touch. A bed is left cold on one side. Friends who once joined you in joyous laughter barely acknowledge you at dinner. You had become a disease that no one knew how to handle but would be relieved if you disappeared.

It hadn't always been this way.

Warm calloused hands holding you close the scent of leather and sandalwood surrounding you. Cassian nibbling your ear, or stealing you away during meetings to steal a kiss, maybe two. Dinners at the rainbow, watching a storm roll through Velaris in the comfort of your balcony and his arms.

The early days of your relationship consisted of stolen kisses, discussions of hopes and dreams, that as centuries went by, morphed into talks of building a future a family. He was your person, and you were his, and life seemed bright.

Until you weren't.

Nesta Archeron was not a female to compete with. And how could you? She was elegant and sharp, and she was beautiful. She also challenged Cassian, fighting back with that quick, sharp tongue of hers, ways you never did. Then you felt it before he did, the shift, the snap. He had found his mate.

It wasn't you.

And the heartbreak of that fact would have been fine had Cassian consoled you in any way. When you needed his comfort and touch most. He was gone. He first stopped coming to bed, and when he did, he turned and faced away from you. The action alone made you feel like he was doing it as a chore, not because he found comfort in your warmth. Maybe he even thought he was being kind. It just deepened the wound festering in your soul.

Next was his things, books went missing, then his weapons. It was when you walked in on the Illyrian packing his things that he confronted you. "She needs me, sweetheart. I can not abandon my mate."

But I can abandon you.

A hand on your shoulder was the only comfort you received. His face held no remorse for the pain he was putting you through. You cried in your bathroom it wasn't until the next morning when you were in the same position the cool tile kissing your skin that you realized you had fallen asleep. You didn't leave your room for days, and no one came in to check on you. Not a single knock. Turns out you were only worth loving so long as Cassian did.

And he didn't. He had Nesta.

You had no one.

You were beginning to sink to a dark, inky place, the wound in your heart growing with infection, and your heartbreak was turning into rage. The feeling scared you. You ran to the one person you thought would be able to help you.

The High Lord of the Night Court.

You knocked lightly on his door. "Come in." His tone short. You walked in, not letting yourself think too hard about how busy he must be. He didn't even raise his head when he said, "I've been wondering when you would come visit." He leaned back in his chair, violet eyes, meeting yours. "Please sit."

You sat at the seat in front of him and took a deep breath. "So you know why I'm here?"

"Cassian and Nesta?" He quirked a brow, and you nodded he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. As if you were a hindrance in his life. Kind, loving, Rhysand, even found your presence as an inconvenience. "What would you like me to say, Darling? They are mates they are allowed to be together."

You dug your nails into your palms, trying to reign in the rage. "So you're okay with him not even saying two words to me since they met?" Your voice began to rise in volume, "He tried packing his things in times I wouldn't be home so he could avoid talking to me." Your rose from your seat and Rhysand stilled as lights flickered around you that you failed to notice. "You all act like I'm not apart of this family anymore. I could dissappear tomorrow and no one would care if you even noticed at all."

"So leave." The lights snuffed out completely. You thought it was Rhysand's power never once, considering it might be your own that had laid dormant for centuries. Or that said power stirred something deep in the realm where a manor resides on a lake. You could only focus on Rhysand's words and the cold tone he said them.

He was no longer your friend. He was your High Lord. Nothing more.

"Well. I won't stay where I'm not wanted. I would have thought a relationship that had lasted centuries deserved him, at least telling me he wanted to try with Nesta." Tears were falling and you didn't stop them, "I wouldn't have fucking stopped him. I would have been happy for him. He didn't say a word. He took the cowards way out. You all did."

"I'm sorry, Darling." Rhysand didn't mean it. The smirk on his face said it all.

You turned and walked away, pausing at the door. "No. You're not. But one day you will be." And you stormed out. Not bothering to grab your belongings, you didn't need the reminder of the court of dreamers casting you aside as if you were their personal nightmare. Not interested in speaking with anyone. They weren't interested in stopping you from leaving.

You. Were. Done.

🖤🖤🖤

You walked for hours, your feet were sore, back drenched in sweat the most you had done in months, since Cassian didn't care if you had shown up for training or not. Needing rest, you found a tree to lean against. The sun began to set, and you were ready to give up. Let the beast of the forest consume you whole. If you died, then maybe the ache in your chest would cease and you could be free again. Whole again.

You again.

You sipped from your canteen when you heard humming. Your pointed ears perked as a hunched over woman approached you. You recognized her from Rhysand, projecting Nesta's memories into your head. For extra torture, he had "accidentally sent a memory of Cassian pleasuring Nesta," You had sobbed profusely that night. "Briallyn." You whispered.

The crone stopped in her tracks. She turned to you, your eyes locked on one another, and you couldn't help but relate to her. She wanted a better life for herself, only to be thrown in the cauldron and spat back out. Both of you former shells of what you used to be. "My my, you look positively dreadful."

You snorted, "So do you."

She laughed, "What brings you out here alone? That brute finally get sick of you?"

You sharply inhaled a breath at the question. "He did, actually. I am doomed to wander these lands courtless," If you even lasted the night.

Briallyn waved her hand in dismissal, her now aged hand grabbing your too frail hand. "Not all who wander are lost, dear. I was asked by a friend to retrieve you."

"Who is your friend?"

"Someone who has a special interest in you my dear." And the Human Queen turned Crone led you from the forest further from the town you once called home and the only thing on your mind?

It was nice to be holding someone's hand.

🖤🖤🖤

The throne room was dark and cold, as if death itself resided here. The only vibrant color here was the Phoenix that was in her cage, pulling to break free.

Vassa was here.

Briallyn squeezed your hand, and you felt comfort by the warmth of her touch. As you approached the male on the dais. He looked young, and you gasped as his beauty was beyond compare. The most beautiful male you have ever seen. And then he grinned, and your heart fluttered. The General of the Night Court long forgotten as you stared in the males cold eyes. Briallyn bowed, tugging your hand as you made to do so too.

"No, need to bow, Pet." You paused, straightening your posture once more. "Do you know who I am?"

You swallowed the sudden lump in your throat. "You go by many names. Old god, death lord, most call you Koschei." Your voice held a tremor as you were in the presence of a powerful being. A being whose brother once went toe to toe with the Lord of Bloodshed and almost killed him.

Koschei nodded, "Come closer, let me take a look at you." You looked to the former Human Queen in panic, afraid to lose her touch. "I promise I don't bite." You approached the dais and couldn't help the trembling convulsing through your body. The death of the Lord's dark eyes roamed your body. He rubbed his angular jaw, and your eyes met his lips as he tucked the lower one behind his teeth.

Beautiful, he was absolutely breathtaking.

His voice broke you from the trance like state. "My dear, someone has hurt you? What did they do to you?" He leaned forward, grabbing your hand and placing a light kiss on your knuckles. Tears brimmed your eyes. When was the last time someone harbored any affection toward you. "Tell me, sweet girl." Another kiss and your composure broke. You fell to your knees, and a matter of hours went into painstaking detail of how the Night Court had abandoned you. When you finished, there was a lightness in your chest.

Maybe there was hope.

"Oh, you poor thing." Koschei cooed, tilting your chin to meet his cold eyes, "If I had you, I wouldn't let you go so easily." He wiped the stray tears from your face. "Be mine, and never feel that pain again."

You lip wobbled as the cries of the Phoenix caged beside the old god broke your attention, the shrieks louder than before. Koschei gripped your chin and had you facing him once more, his face inching forward. His lips pressed yours, gentle and promised warmth, love, power. You felt as though he was breathing life back into you, and you relished in his lips touching yours. He pulled away, "What do you say, Little One?" A voice in the back of your mind screamed:

Right

You smiled for the first time in well over a year,"I want to be yours, Koschei." Magic thrummed around you as his smile turned sinister, gold chains clamping to your wrist, a collar latched around your neck. Scantily clad in a black sheer tip, only covering your breast and a skirt that barely covered your ass.

Koschei smirked as he gripped your waist and placed you on his lap. "What a formidable pair we shall be, my pet." Making a onyx crown and a matching ring appear, he gently placed the crown atop of your head, sliding the ring on your finger. You admired the ring, a small smile on your face, and something pulled at your chest at the thought:

He was claiming you. And you loved it.

Looking at the beautiful face of death and pressing your lips to his, ignoring the rattling of the former human queen beside you. You adjusted yourself, so you were straddling his lap. You opened your mouth for him, and he accepted. His hand gripped your ass as your kisses became tongues and teeth clashing. You forgot what this felt like. To be held to be kissed with such passion.

To simply be wanted.

"My Queen of Darkness." He murmured, threading his fingers through your hair, "You don't even know how powerful you are." He yanked your hair, and you moaned. "I'll show you." He bit down on the tender flesh connecting your collar bone to your neck, and you moan as his hand gripped your breast. "You magnificent creature." You smiled at the sky.

This is what being worshipped felt like.

Snap

Koschei paused, removing his hand from your pert nipple he slide his hand to the back of your neck. Love and adoration in his eyes, lips swollen, "Tell me, as you are to me my bride. What gift shall I get you for our ceremony?"

What did you want?

You smiled Koschei, noticing the mischievous glint in your eye. "The General of the Night Court's Armies and his Little Lady of Death here chained like the dogs they are."

Koschei brought your face down to his. His mouth lingering over yours, "Anything for my Cruel, Beautiful, Mate." The gold thread wrapped around your heart tying you to him as he crashed your lips onto him.

Not even caring that Vassa had broken free from her cage and soared to the Human Realms.

To be continued?

#no happy ending #no happiness #just pain #cassian x reader #acotar fanfiction #cassian acotar #acotar #cassian x you #cassian imagine #cassian fanfic #sarawritesstories #cassian angst #unhinged writing #koschei #koschei x reader #dark reader

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the-avengers-not-the-nazis · 6 months ago

Text

Strange human emotions

Summary: Castiel has been experiencing some rather strange emotions, especially ones that revolve around you.

Word count: 1.7k

A/n: No one really writes about Cas, and it’s a shame because him, Sam and Dean are my absolute favorite. But I hope you enjoy ;)

༺═────────────═༻

He could feel it coming up again, that same burning feeling in his chest that keeps him up deep into the night. Not that he can sleep to begin with, but still the feeling invaded his every thought as he waited for you and the brothers to wake up.

Cas didn’t know how to explain it, these strange human emotions that he had learned over the years, he didn’t understand them. He knew the ones that you and the boys had taught him, how it helped him learn to express how he felt to others. And he was truly grateful for it.

But, the ones that he was never taught always worried him. Like when he could feel when someone is staring at him, even though nobody is in the room with him. Or even worse when you are near, or when you touch his shoulder when you walk past him, or how about when you speak to him so beautifully that he feels his stomach churning into a weird fluttery feeling.

There must be something wrong, Cas would conclude, pacing the bunker’s library in the dead of night. Maybe you had been taken over by a shapeshifter and this was the universes way of warning him.

Yeah, that had to be it, but how would he tell Sam and Dean that? For Chucks sake you are one of their closest friends, how could he tell them that they would need to kill you?

No. No, he couldn’t kill you. He just needs to figure it out a bit more by morning, he couldn’t just go on a killing spree. It wouldn’t be right.

But if you were in danger or you are the danger then he would need to speak to the brothers about this. But, how?

Cas sat across from you and Dean, Sam to his right of the booth as he stared out the fogged window. The falling snow momentarily capturing his attention, the way each flake was built uniquely different from the other.

It amazed him how something so beautiful could end up in a world like this.

“Hey, Happy meal.” Dean suddenly spoke up, dragging Cas away from the window. “You gonna focus, or are we gonna have to tell you while we fight the sons of a bitches?”

“I’m focused.” Cas told the older man, his hands coming to rest in his lap.

“Mhm, yeah sure.”

Sam cleared his throat, turning his computer to face the others as he began to explain the current case to them. “So, Sophia Cocklen had reported her husband missing, nearly a month ago. And as of three days ago both her brother and eldest son have disappeared as well.”

“Has to have something to do with the men,” you spoke up, dipping a French fry in your ketchup before popping it in your mouth. “Because Sophia’s sister, mother and two daughters hadn’t been touched at all over the past month.”

Sam nodded, clicking on another tab as some police reports popped on screen. “That’s what I thought as well, but the thing is that none of them have any bad records on there name. And…”

Sams voice seemed to drift off, running farther and farther from his ears as the same burning feeling began to arise from his chest. He glanced at you for a quick second, the way you looked at your work and took it seriously. The way your eyes seemed to have a small sparkle in them when you spoke.

And especially the way your hair slightly fell in front of your eyes, hiding that sparkle that made his stomach erupt. It made him want to reach over the table and push it out of your way, just so he could catch another glimpse of…

You pushed your hair out of your face, halting Cas’s thoughts completely. Why was he thinking that? What were you and the boys talking about? Why did his body’s vessel feel so warm and sweaty? Was it getting hotter? What if you had turned evil? What if this was your way to slowly kill him off?

Him. Castiel, an angel of the Lord. Struck down by a woman that was more than likely possessed by a monster.

“Cas?” You questioned, facing the angelic being who seemed to be almost in a trance. “You alright? You look like your sweaty.”

Cas pulled at the collar of his trench coat, the feeling of sweat sliding down his neck. Boy, did he hate how the human body can physically act when you don’t need it to.

“Yes,” He told you rubbing his hands against his pants legs. “Yes I’m fine it’s just a little warm in here is all.”

“Really?” Dean asked, taking a quick sip from his lukewarm coffee. “It’s pretty cold in here to me, what about you Sam? Y/n?”

“Dean.”

“I’m just saying, you gotta focus in, Cas. You’ve been acting real edgy for the last couple of weeks.”

“I’m fine,” Cas told him, trying not to drag the situation down the rabbit hole. “It’s probably just… allergies.”

The boys and you shred a quick look with one another, knowing well enough that angels don’t have allergies. “Cassie?” You questioned leaning forward onto the table. “You don’t get allergies.”

Cas felt his face warm up, “That was just the first thing that came to mind.” He told you, his fingers fiddling with one another. “That’s what you all do.”

Dean smacked his lips, letting out a quick ok before continuing with his conversation. “As I was saying we need to go and search every place that these men where last seen at. And normally I would say go by ourselves to save them, but I’m not so sure what we are up against just yet. So Sam and I will head down to the bar the brother was last seen and Cas, you and Y/n can go and search the junkyard.”

Everyone agreed to Deans order, quickly finishing up their lunch before they need to head back out. Well almost everyone agreed. Cas sat there in his seat, pondering if he should pull Dean or Sam aside and ask if these feelings he is getting about you is bad or good. Because he does not want to harm others but at the same time he didn’t want to hurt you either.

He wanted to beat his head against the table, the thoughts that raced through his mind aggravated him. But what could he do about it? Wait… you and him were going to the junkyard to search for clues of the missing family members, he himself could interrogate you there. But, how?

༺═────────────═༻

At the junkyard, you and Cas kept you voices low, barley speaking a word to one another as you inspected the place. Your flashlight shined about the place, scoping out any and all items that could appear useful for the case.

“So, Sam said that the dad and son used to work here. Almost like a father-son business, you know?” You told him, shining the light in the angels direction, mindful not to blind him in the eye.

He nodded, unable to stop the fluttery filling the further he walked with you. It was killing him, he wanted to ask you what you were doing, because he knew for a fact it was neither of the boys. But, at the same time he didn’t know how to bring it up.

On one hand he could slowly bring up the topic, have a simple conversation before he would ask you. Though, on the other hand, he could just flat out ask you if you were trying to kill him. Because, that’s what it surely felt like. That you were killing him slowly and purposefully.

Cas came to a quick decision, he would hold a conversation with you then ask you. Simple as that, no harm no foul.

“Cassie?” You asked, that soft voice of yours causing his chest to burn and his stomach to twist into knots. What the hell were you doing to him? “Are you alright-“

“Are you trying to kill me?”

You were shocked by his sudden question, his straightforward tone and seriousness catching you off guard completely. “… No?”

“It sure doesn’t seem that way.” He continued to accuse, folding his arms over his chest like he’d seen Dean do plenty of times before. “Would you care tell why you are trying to kill me?”

“But, I’m not?” You told him, voice uncertain and slightly laced with worthy. “Why would you think that?”

Cas glanced around the junkyard, almost as if the answer was somewhere written in the piles upon piles of junk. “My chest has been burning every time you come close to me, or how about when my stomach make me feel like my vessel is going to induce vomiting. When I know for a fact that I don’t eat anything to make it do so.”

You stood silently, letting the words sink deep into your skin. His chest burned? His stomach felt like he was going to throw up? Why the hell would he have thought that you were trying to kill him? It honestly just sounded like his vessel was sick, or maybe he—

You cut your thoughts short, and it suddenly clicked in your mind. A sly smile gracing your lips as you walked towards the angel. “Oh, Cassie~” You sang out, free hand coming to play with the sleeve of his trench coat. “Do you have a crush on me?”

Cas furrowed his brows, eyes dancing across your face as you came closer. “…No? At least I don’t think so.”

A chuckle left your lips, standing up on your tip toes you gave the angel a quick kiss on his check. Watching as a light blush crept upon his cheeks. “I like you too, Cassie.” You turned back to the junkyard, flashing your light at an empty bathtub and broken mattress, leaving the poor angel stuck in his spot.

Cas lifted a hand to where you had kissed him, the ghost of your lips making his heart stutter in his chest. Damn you, he thought to himself. Damn you and these strange human emotions.

#dean winchester #dean x y/n #dean winchester x reader #dean x you #dean x reader #sam x y/n #sam x you #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester #crowley x reader #castiel x reader #castiel #crowley #spn #supernatural #lucifer spn #spn fanfic #spn rewatch #lucifer supernatural

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dragon-kazansky · 6 months ago

Text

Bridgerton shade of blue

Benedict Bridgerton x Female Reader

Benedict bumps into you, quite literally, at a ball while trying to escape his mother's attempts to find him a partner. You decide to humour him with a dance, not realising just how entwined you would become with him. It seems the universe will find every excuse to push you and Benedict together, no matter how much you fight it.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Season Two}

Season one

Chapter Seventeen - End of the season

♡♡♡

The duke and duchess were holding the last ball of the season. It was going to be a grand event to be certain. The whole ton would be there.

You were wearing your last gown made for the season. It was beautiful. A shade of green. It had little jewels sewn into it, so it would sparkle while you danced.

You looked forward to seeing Thomas.

Though you had not secured an engagement within the time of the season, you hoped that you may continue to correspond with Thomas while he was in the country, and perhaps go see him at his family estate, that he may ask.

Your mother would be so proud.

Your maid did your hair and helped the jewellery. It was going to be a spectacular season finale. You could feel it in your bones.

Hastings House was beautiful.

You walked with your mother around the fountain to the main entrance. The ball was to be held in a small courtyard in the middle of the house. Daphne had done a splendid job.

There was a painting of the duke and duchess on display. Painted bt Henry Granville. It was beautifully done.

You stand off to the side while your mother chats with guests. You watch people waltz.

Violet arrives with Eloise. Daphne goes to talk to her sister.

You keep your eyes peeled for any sign of Thomas.

The next to come through the door are the Featheringtons. You cannot deny your relief at seeing Penelope again. Granted, she is wearing yellow, but she is here.

One dance ends, and the next dance begins.

You take a stroll about the ball. Thomas has yet to arrive, it seems. You smile at Penelope as you pass her. She smiles back, too, seemingly surprised you had paid her any attention. People usually don't.

You see Colin parting ways with Benedict across the room. Your eyes follow the second eldest Bridgerton as he walks.

He hasn't noticed you.

Maybe that's for the best...

No.

No. He is your friend and you want to talk to him. You are about to make your way across the room when a servant comes up to you with a note on his tray. You look at him confused.

"For you, ma'am."

You look at the note and pick it up. The servant leaves, and you unfold the paper. The handwriting belongs to Thomas.

I must apologise. I am to leave for York immediately. I shall not be at the Hastings ball. Do have fun on my behalf.

- T. Hardy

You stare at the note in silence. He's not coming at all. He must have left earlier in the day. Perhaps in a rush. You had been at the Bridgertons that afternoon, so if he called the house, you wouldn't have seen him.

If he had called to the house, the butler would have told you, or even your mother. He did not call... So he must have been in a rush.

You sigh. You fold the note back up and leave it on a tray of a passing waiter. They can dispose of it for you.

Glancing up, you find two blue eyes gazing at you. Benedict has seen you. Now you're definitely going to go talk to him. You make your way across the courtyard and come to stand beside Benedict.

"Hello."

"Hello," he replies softly.

Silence fills the space between you, and you turn to the dancers to occupy yourself, and to keep from looking at him again.

"Is Lord Hardy not with you?" Benedict couldn't help asking. He was surprised to see you standing alone tonight.

"No. He left London already. Back to York."

Benedict is even further surprised by the information. He thought Hardy would stay until the very end. He believed the man to be falling for you.

"I see."

You look down and try to keep yourself in check. "I thought maybe I had finally found someone. Someone who perhaps desried me, but it seems I was wrong."

Benedict keeps quiet.

"I wasn't enough for anyone this season. I tried, and I failed. Doesn't matter, I suppose. Next year might be different."

"You didn't fail."

You look up at Benedict. "I didn't secure a proposal or even managed to keep a man interested enough to at least say goodbye before he left."

"You might see him again," he says.

"Somehow, I feel not."

Benedict feels for you. You have been nothing but glorious and wonderful and yourself all year round. You wiggled yourself into the lives of his family and became a pleasant consistent in their lives. You encouraged his passions and made him feel a little more like himself.

"You didn't fail," he says again.

You look up at him and crack a smile. "Next year then."

He nods.

The music changes and the floor is cleared. You notice the duke and duchess approach each other. You knew something had happened between them, but didn't know what. Yet, here they were about to dance for the ton.

You smile at Daphne as dances with her husband. They look like such a handsome couple. You envy them. You envy what they have.

The way they look at each other. How close he holds her to him.

Love.

It is so rare. It's so rare that very few people ever get to feel it for real. You want it. You want to know what it feels like to have, well, a soulmate. The one person made just for you. To love and to hold. To cherish. To share every moment with.

Benedict shifts hisngaze from his sister to look at you. He can see the way you watch Daphne and Simon dance.

Benedict's had fun. He played around. Tested the waters. But looking at you right here and right now makes him rethink everything.

Genevieve has certainly been fun. Yet, if you were going to try again for your own sake next year, perhaps he should, too. You, who inspired his art. Inspired him to try harder and practise more.

Perhaps next season, you will both benefit and grow more as people.

As the waltz continues, the sound of thunder rumbling in the distance brings you to look up at the sky. The heavens open and rain pours. You gasp softly as the cool droplets hit your skin.

Benedict instinctively reaches out for you and guides you under the canopy toward the house. You look up at him and then turn back to the ball. Everyone else does the same, seeking shelter from the rain.

Everyone but Daphne.

Simon is holding her hand as if he was guiding her to shelter, but Daphne stops him from doing so. She closes her eyes and lifts her face to the sky, letting the rain fall.

She looks beautiful.

Lady Danbury stops anyone else from going out into the rain. "Everyone... I believe this evening is complete. We shall thank our gracious hosts for such a splendid soiree in the morning. Now, go. Out."

Everyone begins to leave.

Benedict slips his hand into yours and guides you out. You look up at him quietly.

Daphne and Simon have some talking to do.

Benedict guides you through the house and outside to the carriage. It's still raining. His hair sticks to his head and you giggle.

"What?"

"Nothing..." You smile.

He gives you a boyish grin. He helps you into the carriage and stands around in the doorway.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" He asks.

"You leave for the country tomorrow."

"Are you not also?"

"Me and Mama are to stay in London. We don't have a country house to go to in the summer."

Benedict didn't know that. "Did your father not own an estate?"

"We had to sell it when he died. He left us with a great deal of dept."

He realises in that moment how much he doesn't know about you. You're so much more complicated than he originally thought.

Your mother clears her throat and Benedict moves to let her into the carriage.

"See you soon, I hope?" He looks at you.

"I'll write."

He nods and watches the footman close the door. He steps back as the carriage leaves, and Benedict finds himself a little lonely.

♡♡♡

When you rise the next morning, you have no idea of anything that happened within the Featherington house. Lord Featherington died. He was killed.

Penelope spent much of the morning in tears. Elosie had gone to visit her.

Marina went with Sir Philip Crane. The brother of her deceased love who never made it back home. She was to marry him. At least she could have her child and be looked after.

You had decided to go to the Bridgerton house before they all left. It was the least you could do for Benedict and his family. They had all seemed pleased to see you when you arrived, and that made you feel warm inside.

Colin was leaving for Greece. Another reason for Penelope to be upset. Colin was going to be so far away travelling the world.

You waved him off as he rode away on his horse. Benedict had his arm locked with yours.

As the rest of the family headed inside, you struck up conversation with Daphne, Simon, and Anthony. While the duke and duchess are staying in London a little longer, it would seem Anthony intends to find a Viscountess.

That leaves all of you stunned.

Though he follows it up by saying he will keep love out of it to keep things simple. Daphne frowns at that. As do you.

"Perhaps he will learn," she says.

"Perhaps not," you reply.

Eloise hurries over to her brother, who is about to climb onto a horse. You had already said farewell to him.

"Give my regards to Madame Delacroix." She says to Benedict.

"Your regards will have to wait, El," he responds. "She is making a short trip to France."

"Oh? Not going to say goodbye to her?" Eloise asks.

"I did. Last night, if you must know."

Benedict had gone to see her after he bid you goodnight. He went to say goodbye. After seeing you at the ball last night, he decided to change his mind on a few things.

Granted, the goodbye was a long one. He spent a couple of hours at the shop, but nothing untoward happened.

"You said goodbye to her?"

"After Daphne's ball, yes." Benedict then mentioned he spent most of the ball with you.

Eloise worked out that if Madame Delacroix had been at the shop all night. That couldn't have been her in the carriage when Eloise went to protect Whistledown.

Eloise headed back inside.

"Are you coming?" Benedict calls.

You turn and see him on his horse. "Me?"

"Yes, you." He chuckles.

"Where?"

"One last ride around the square before me and my family leave for the summer." He offers.

You smile and look up at him. "I'm not dressed for riding.

"No matter. He offers you his hand."

"Benedict... we cannot create a scandal at the very end of the season."

"Why not?" He grins

"Because I said so."

He laughs.

"Very well. I'm glad you came to see us." He says.

"Me too. Have a lovely summer, Benedict."

"You too." He speaks your name softly, smiling. You both stay like that for a moment, looking at each other. The moment is broken we spurs his horse onward.

You watch him go with a smile.

You look around the square and sigh softly.

Next season was going to be different. It had to be.

♡♡♡

@callmemana - @lilscast - @imgondeletedis - @benedictbridgertonss - @clownsdiehard - @wxnterwidow333

@sillynilly27 - @autumn-slaves - @ben-has-arrived - @ajdelilah - @aadu2173

@booknerdlife - @tamlinrose - @sarahskywalker-amidala - @cheryyluv - @louschan - @lou-la-lou - @cultish-corner

@hopshusushi - @katherinejess - @nannabug - @afunkyfreshblog - @f0x33 - @dd122004dd -

@jupitervenusearthmars - @orchiidflwer - @bespinnn - @captainlunaxmen - @winchestersimpalababy - @acupnoodle

@ms-fandomgirl - @fablesrose - @anyaisinyourcloset - @meowzerzstuff - @orchiidflwer - @bespinnn - @crazymar15

@cosmixstar - @bree3parchen - @berrnuu - @charmainemaclendon - @pinkpantheris - @krismdavis

@biancamde - @ifgslsofbsodbf - @kniselle - @berarenado - @grassclippers - @bwormie - @avengersgirllorianna

#Bridgerton shade of blue #benedict bridgerton x reader #Bridgerton #female reader #dragon writes

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ne-videl · 9 months ago

Text

𝓾𝓷𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓪𝓵 𝓶𝓪𝓻𝓻𝓲𝓪𝓰𝓮

♡

yandere Poseidon x fem reader

hide your tears and smile, little goddess.

yandere, unhealthy relationships, objectification, angst, power imbalance, depressed reader, forced marriage, poor english, sfw. first half – Poseidon's pov, then yours.

word count: ~1.5k

a/n: hii everyone!! how have you been? I have no ideas. like, absolutely. art block I guess?? anyway, have some of my old stuff. this is my least favorite yandere trope, but I love angst, so sometimes I go for it. by the way, when I first started it, I wanted to write a super idolized fluff but... well, we have what we have, or "why you don't want to marry Poseidon". hehe big booba man hehehe

the endless ocean is noisy outside the huge windows.

today, the sea sings a memorial service for you.

two people at the altar – the god and his bride.

Poseidon wants to smile rapaciously at her shaking figure.

she's afraid, poor thing. who wouldn't be afraid? he is, after all, the god of all gods, known for his cruel and merciless temper, the lord of the seas.

and she will become his lady very soon.

[name].

her name spreads like ambrosia across his lips.

even her name is so ordinary, so human, as, indeed, everything else about his charming wife.

she was a priestess in Poseidon's temple: in his own, so there's nothing wrong in taking what was already his. he noticed her by accident.

[name] was sitting hunched over, touching some bright flowers with her bruised palms. he liked to visit this temple sometimes: it was quiet and peaceful in the atrium, noisy humans did not flicker before his eyes.

little human girl did not even flinch when he silently stood next to her, only continued to look with big and very sad eyes at the colorful flower bed.

at their second meeting, she greeted him.

at the third time, she dared to start an idle conversation.

the fourth, and she talked about life in the temple.

at the fifth time she asked why he was coming here.

Poseidon always stood silently next to her, looming over her like a suffocating shadow. he was amused by her chattering, and, unexpectedly for himself, found her presence soothing, pleasant, unlike other humans, the mere sight of whom made the eye of the deity twitch.

life was bad for her in the temple.

[name] told him, she was sent to this place when she was still a girl, and she spent her whole life by the cold blue sea.

new head of the temple did not like her, saying that there was nothing for women to do here. that she should get married, but who needs her?

Poseidon saw the marks of beatings on her girlish body.

so he took her with him. she served in temple made in his name, spent her short life at his domain – it is quite natural that she will become his wife.

of course, it is unheard of that god marries a human – but does he really need someone's approval?

ʚ♡⃛ɞ ______

Hades advised to propose to her. it's the way humans do it.

Poseidon did not ask for her consent, for him it was just a formality: of course she would say yes, he was sure.

he will dress her in the finest silks, she will own the most beautiful jewels on all Olympus, the sea itself would be at her feet – how could a human girl want more?

smile spreads across his face as he sees her eyes widen, as she begins to shake – no doubt, from embarrassment – and his palm rests protectively on top of her head.

of course she agreed, how could it be any other way?

his fiancee is incredibly sweet. but weak and naive at the same time, like the rest of the human race. but he will protect her, give her a better life.

she must be very grateful to him.

ʚ♡⃛ɞ ______

Poseidon remembers their wedding well, how [name] looked in amazement at the beauty of Atlantis, at the greatness of his seas.

in white robes, with downcast eyes, she swore an oath binding her life forever to a cruel deity, accompanied by singing of nymphs and the sound of the ocean.

she was now a goddess herself, whether she wanted to or not. of course, she wanted to, it couldn't be any other way. she loves him.

and, as the new lady of the seas, she will spend her now eternal life by his side. Poseidon will make sure of this no matter what.

she fearfully puts her small palm into his, while he, her husband, leads her through the corridors of the palace. [name] is silent. probably still embarrassed.

from now on, she will be the most beautiful ornament of his possessions, the shining pearl of Atlantis – his precious property, belonging only to him. and the sparkling ring on her tiny finger was proof.

ʚ♡⃛ɞ ______

"wife." – [name] immediately turns around, smiles, comes closer.

his hand rests on her waist, his grip firm, possessively strong. she doesn't notice.

or pretends not to notice.

over time, [name] got used to him, cheered up, blossomed. it couldn't have been any other way, right?

songs, dances appeared, bright flowers and ringing laughter in the cold and empty corridors.

she became friends with his brothers, was able to conquer the proud Aphrodite, whom she now called her friend with visible joy.

Poseidon is pleased to consider himself a good husband.

he loves to see his wife smiling, laughing.

even if it's not just with him. it's better to be patient for a while, he thinks, than to lose her cheerful chatting for the whole evening.

though, she's cute even when she's angry.

Poseidon was gentle with her. allowed her much, much more than others, even spoiled her. [name] was his wife, after all, so he had to make sure she looked good enough.

he's a good husband.

[name] never contradicted him, never raised her adorable voice at him, never was not too selfish.

although deep down, he would like her to become more spoiled. so that, like him, she would not tolerate anyone's presence, except, of course, her husband.

to think of it, why would she need anyone besides him? she can be quite happy within the walls of the palace.

Poseidon dismissed these thoughts from himself – for some reason, his wife liked to be in society, even if without him.

well, he's willing to put up with her quirks as long as she knows who should come first for her.

ʚ♡⃛ɞ ______

the outfit given by Aphrodite was very becoming to his spouse. Poseidon loved to see her beautiful.

in luxurious clothes, undoubtedly worthy of the wife of a sea god, or in the warm candlelight in the night darkness of their shared bedroom, happy or shedding tears, [name] was equally beautiful.

the precious treasure of Atlantis.

he was never moved by her tears – even if she was crying, of course she loved him anyway. [name] is happy. so why make a big deal about it?

none of the pathetic mortals could take care of her like he did. none of them would love her the way he does.

"you are my wife. you're not going anywhere."

ʚ♡⃛ɞ ______

you didn't tell anyone about your sorrow: didn't share it with anyone – neither with Aphrodite, nor with the nymphs and mermaids, your husband's brothers remained in the dark too.

a little human girl shedding tears by the huge waves.

an unhappy goddess, forever imprisoned in an cold palace, surrounded by hypocritical deities, in the iron grip of an unloved husband, eaten alive by sadness and suffocating hopelessness of her position.

none of them saw you as an equal: you were only a curious little thing, a way to dispel eternal divine boredom, and the Olympians, of course, did not bother to hide this fact.

you didn't know what your husband found in you, and you didn't want to. sometimes you wished that back then, many, many years ago, he would have left you in that temple, or that you would run from the garden in terror, or anything. anything.

ʚ♡⃛ɞ ______

you knew your place well.

by his side, always, no matter what. from the very day when you stood at the altar and did not dare to raise your eyes to your fiance, you were no longer anything human.

from that moment, you became an ornament, a property, a beautiful doll. nothing more.

Poseidon wanted to see you happy – and you smiled, laughed, you did everything that you thought he would like.

are you satisfied? please tell me you're happy. I'm scared.

scared.

your husband allowed you the freedom he thought his property could have, and you greedily soaked up every drop of it.

you're lucky, you told yourself, you're very, very lucky. It could have been worse. any other girl would give her soul to be in your place, – repeated, looking at your own reflection in the cold glitter of jewelry.

you must be like it yourself. a thing. a thing, of course, must have an owner, and a thing cannot be sad.

Poseidon's cold hand rests on your waist, pulls you into his arms, and you do not allow yourself to resist: you exhale into his neck, placing your small palms on his broad back.

your spouse is purring contentedly.

he's happy. you can relax a little.

ʚ♡⃛ɞ ______

sea nymphs comb your hair, weave pearls into thin braids, fold strands into an intricate hairstyle.

"what's bothering you, madam?" – the lady of the seas does not bother to answer, your dead calm gaze wanders over the high ceilings, walls and huge windows of your chambers.

a common topic of idle conversation among the Olympians was Poseidon's boundless adoration for his charming wife. cruel god who fell in love with a mere mortal – what a beautiful story.

even the ocean itself seemed to dote on you. whenever the warm waves caressed your feet on the coast, your dried-up insides were filled with melancholy. your body was here, in Atlantis, which became a prison for you, and your soul, which remained to pain in your chest human, floated far away. your tired mind wandered, and you are a little girl again, and once again the bright sun warms your childishly plump cheeks, and in your hands are colorful flowers, and the kind grandpa from the temple strokes your head.

Poseidon will be coming for you soon – as always.

as always, you will talk about something, laugh, sitting on his lap in the throne room. or in one of the living rooms, or in the bedroom – you were not allowed to leave him without permission.

you flinched when you felt his strong hand on your shoulder.

Poseidon smirked.

his wife is not going anywhere. she will stay with him.

forever.

not the best one of my works but uh well I felt like posting something

maaybe will be deleted since it doesn't look as good as I thought it would be in english

btw thinking about writing tartaglia fic soo the next one is probably gonna be genshin man again

thanks for reading!!

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #record of ragnarok #ror #record of ragnarok x reader #poseidon x reader #yandere poseidon #record of ragnarok poseidon #misha.writes #yandere

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luvvyouforever · 10 months ago

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matchmaker, matchmaker - azriel x reader

↳ mor drags azriel to velaris's resident matchmaker, only for him to fall for her instead of his potential suitors.

↳ no major warnings apply! just some fluff and cuteness. not grammar or spell checked. sorry hehe

↳ requests are open! check bio.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

azriel and mor sat at a cafe table in the heart of velaris, steam rising from the tea cups in front of each of them. this was not an uncommon occurence by any means and the pair frequented the many shops and restaurants throughout the town. however, this time, there was an air of tension between them which caused their waitress to carefully place their drinks away from the edges of the table.

"you're telling me you won't even consider seeing her? do you know all that she's done for velaris, az?"

"she's just high fae, mor. she's not some prophecy teller that can see mating bonds between people. i don't understand what she could even do for me."

ah, yes. the topic of conversation was azriel's love life and mor was desperately trying to convince the spymaster to see her friend, the matchmaker of velaris.

what azriel was saying was true. she did not have some special power that allowed her to see the invisible string connecting mates. she could not look into her mind and pull out the best partner for someone. she just knew how to read people and how to do it well. she was responsible for a lot of the matches in velaris, even predicting nesta and cassian long before anyone else could.

"you're lonely, azriel. i can tell! you want to dance with someone at rita's and have a date to parties just as bad as anyone else. you just won't admit it," mor declared. her voice softened and she continued, "i want what's best for you, az. we all do. will you see her for me? please? even if nothing works out."

azriel sighed and took a drink of his tea which was still too hot for his mouth. damn mor and her awareness of the people in her life. and damn him for the way he'd give in to her so easily. "fine," he mumbled. "i will try. but no promises."

that next week, azriel came back from a trip to the mortal lands and immediately, mor was at the door to his room, badgering him about the meeting she set up for later that day. she declared that he could not reschedule or miss the meeting and that he should dress in something nice.

begrudgingly, azriel took a long bath to make sure he looked and smelled fine enough to get a potentially good match from mor's friend. he chose more "normal" clothing as instructed by mor and flew down to the bright townhouse fast enough to reach the door just as his appointment was set to begin.

she surely sensed him because before he even got the chance to knock, she threw the door open and greeted him.

"azriel, right? spymaster of the high lord's court," she said sweetly. "i am quite honored to have you in my home."

azriel felt too awkward for his own good and just nodded with as polite of a smile as he could muster.

"come on! come on!" she ushered him into her home which was brightly decorated in all sorts of eclectic decor, a lot of it being hearts and other love motifs. "can i get you anything?" she asked. "water? tea? snacks? wine?"

"no...no. i'm good, thanks," he said, quieter than he meant to. his eyes raked over the matchmaker, finding her to be a lot younger and more spry than he imagined. mor spoke so highly of her that he thought she must be ancient, having made matches for velaris since the dawn of time. she was also quite beautiful and the way she spoke caused some odd feelings in azriel's chest that he didn't like. his shadows noticed his attraction to her too as they whipped around his chest before hiding behind him, sometimes whispering things in his ear.

"suit yourself," she joked. she sat down on a large armchair and gestured to the matching one in front of her. azriel obediently sat down and watched her moves. she pulled out a frilly notebook from a drawer along with a pen. "has mor told you anything about what i do?"

"not really," azriel admitted. "just praises your name and forces her friends to come to her." the matchmaker laughed and azriel felt incredibly proud of himself for making her laugh.

"well, i just want to know a couple things about you. nothing crazy. just your inner thoughts and desires. and i take that information and compare it to other people and see what comes from it! simple, easy, and usually pain free but i have a feeling you may be a little more introverted than most." azriel shrugged in response. "so, my first question is what are your must-haves in a relationship?"

azriel fiddled with the hem of his shirt as he thought about the question. nobody had ever asked him that before and he honestly hadn't even thought about it. "um...someone who's nice. understanding, i guess. i have a lot of responsibilities in my job so someone who doesn't mind that i'm gone a lot," he thought for a second more. "what do people usually say?"

the matchmaker thought for a moment. "well, i would say my must-haves are patience, kindness...someone who's fine with staying inside," she paused and smiled, "definitely has to own some kind of awesome ancient sword or blade that i can play with."

azriel clocked her statement as a joke but some part of him, deep down inside, wishes that he had truth-teller displayed on his chest for her to see. he was patient, he was a homebody, he was...relatively kind. oh god...what was he thinking?

"all jokes, of course. but really, it's just anything you want in a partner. maybe you want them to be strong and abrasive and can hold their own. it's all up to you, azriel."

she moved on to the next question, which he was very grateful for. this one, however, was harder than the last. "what are you looking for here? do you want me to hunt down your potential mate? do you want something fun and casual? committed? i can do it all."

azriel felt like she was stripping back his layers, one by painful one. all to find someone he can kiss. this was crazy! and he didn't even know her name. "i don't really know, honestly. i...i guess my mate but that seems hard considering it could be anyone. i don't really desire anything. mor just made me come here."

she leaned forward and her big eyes seemed to look into his heart. "i know that's not true, azriel. everyone wants something. you have this...look in your eye that tells me you really want this to work out, that you want to believe in this. you just have to be open with me, 'kay?"

azriel let out a breathy chuckle. "how can i open when i don't even know your name or anything else about you?"

she thought for a second before nodding in agreement. she laid the notebook down on the side table and leaned back. "fair, i guess. my name is y/n, i have lived in velaris all my life, i enjoy pastries, reading, and tea, i started matchmaking as a silly way to keep my friends and i entertained until it started working too much to be a coincidence. i spend all my time finding love for other people but haven't found the one for me. ironic, isn't it?" she smiled at azriel. "there. does that make you feel a bit better?" he nodded. "good. now, let me repeat my question."

azriel and y/n continued their conversation, knocking out the questions she had prepared with relative ease. he felt comfortable opening up to her and being honest about his desires for love. he was completely unused to expressing his feelings like that but it came to him easily in her presence. the way she easily leaned in, eyes focused and gaze unwavering...it did something to him.

eventually, though, the questions ended and azriel knew he had to leave her home. he stalled on the last question, having her reword it over and over even though all she had asked was what his habits at home were like.

"well, azriel, thank you for answering all my questions. from here, i will start comparing your answers to other people i've met with and i will reach out to you with your first match up. you'll tell me if you're interested and if you aren't, we'll move on to the next!"

azriel panicked internally at her words which clearly signaled the end of their conversation. he rose at the same time as her but subconsciously placed his body in front of hers so that she'd have to step around him to leave the room. "so, do i come see you again at all? or...or is this it?" he cursed himself for sounding so awkward.

she laughed. "you can if that is what you prefer. if you want to talk about your dates and how they went then i don't care to. did you enjoy this a little more than you anticipated?" she joked.

he nodded and scratched the back of his neck. crap...crap, crap! he had to do something, right? she was single, she said so. but is it wrong to ask the matchmaker on a date? after she poured so much work into finding him a match? he thought for a second, eyes trained on her. in his ears, his shadows whispered encouragingly. this is it...come on!

"is everything okay, azriel?" she asked innocently.

"so i know that this whole thing was to find me a match but i actually really enjoy your time and i think you're beautiful so would you want to go on a date with me instead of sending me on dates with people that i couldn't care less about?" his words came out at lightning speed and he was pleasantly surprised that she understood everything.

a blush came to her cheeks and it matched the pink and red hearts around the room. "seriously?" she asked. he shyly nodded. "i'd love to. tomorrow night? you come by?"

he breathed out a sigh of relief. "yes, tomorrow night. thank you."

the two of them made their way to the door.

"so, no matches at all? not even helga down the street in the butcher shop? she's been looking for someone for yearssss," she said in a sing-song voice.

"cauldron, no. i want you." he was shocked at the confidence that leaked through his words. she blushed again and rose on her toes to press a soft kiss to his cheek.

"i'll see you tomorrow. tell mor that my services worked, if you'd be so kind." azriel flew off then with no intentions of telling mor anything that happened.

#acotar #acotar series #acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fluff #azriel fanfic #azriel imagine #azriel acotar #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury

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auxfeed · 3 months ago

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(This is kind of a second part to my contract-story as one of my followers wished for a continuation. But it also can be read seperately, of course. Enjoy!)

Oh you sick little piggy, what have you done? You just signed your fate and your own death. The ink on the contract is dry now, so there will never be a way back. This is it: you are my property now. My death feedee to fatten until the end... YOUR end.

Wll then, take your fucking clothes off, hog, and throw them in the trash over there. You won't need them ever again as you'll stay naked from now on, just like you agreed to in our contract. Oh, I like your heavy breathing you got just from stripping naked for me. Is little piggy exhausted from all the fat it grew already? Is little piggys' butt too wide for this tent-like pants? Or that belly too heavy for a long stand? Don't worry, hog, it'll all be over soon. All the pain, all the exhaustion. Although, actually, the real exhaustion comes through my feeding. And pain... lord... you'll experience so much pain now for your last years now. It'll be so much fun - at least for me.

Now, move your blubber over here and step on the scale. Yeah, I know, you can't read the number on it because of your huge, hanging gut. That's ok, none of your predecessors could. Let me just do this for you. Oh lord, you're definitely a big one. Piggy ate well, didn't it? Little piggy got a starting weight of already 480lbs. But still piggy wants to grow for me, doesn't it? Piggy wants to get fed and become much, much fatter, huh? Of course, you do. We'll, better waste no time then. Hurry up,pig, and waddle down the floor. Take your time and better take a look out of the window to see the beautiful sun and the blue sky out there. It'll be the last time...

Well, this is it: the stairs to my basement. The place you wanted to live so desperately since we first wrote. Here, take my hand, pig, and let me help and lead you downstairs. Oh, how it must hurt, when such a heavy body of yours crushes your poor knees with each little step. I do believe you, that it has to be so hard to move such an amount of fat even for a inch. Wobble wobble, makes the belly, huh? But don't worry, you are nearly done and... it's a one-way-walk for you anyway.

Yeah, fatty, you made it. Welcome to your new home! Just waddle those little fat feet of yours to your extra-wide bariatric bed. Good piggy, you do so well. Is your belly heavy? Are your thighs too thic to walk? Yes? Should we lay you down then and chain you to the bedframe like you agreed in the contract? We'll better do. Here, let me make room for you. These will be the last steps you'll take forever and I want you to feel them. I want you to get nervous, frightened, excited, anxious, glad, finally satisfied - all at the same time. Good piggy, move your blubber! And now... heave yourself up!

This was it, piggy. These were your last steps. This is the place you'll stay in for the rest of your days. I'll feed you down here, you'll grow for me down here and - of course - you'll die down here. Now you finally are what you ever wanted to be: a real, serious death feedee. With a feeder that fattens you until your heart stops beating. Congrats, piggy! Let me just fix those chains to your wrists and ankles and then the fun begins...!

#auxfeed #death feederism #fat piggy #gaining weight on purpose #immobility #fat belly #gaining fat #gaining kink #death feedee #death feeder #looking for a feedee #force feed #feeding kink

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starryevermore · 5 months ago

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head full of petals: meet cute (1) ✧ eris vanserra

head full of petals ✧ an eris vanserra anthology | ao3

pairing: eris vanserra x tamlin’s sister!fem!reader; tamlin’s sister!fem!reader x original male character (brief)

series summary: it is not easy to be a female in prythian. it is even more difficult when you’re the daughter of a high lord. the expectations are great, and the punishments for failure are even greater. all you have known for your entire life is falling in line. yet, when you are expected to marry another, you choose to do something for yourself: run into the arms of your mate. or, a series of interconnected oneshots surrounding the life and times of eris vanserra and his blossom.

chapter summary: in which you meet your mate, the first son of the high lord of autumn.

word count: 1,821

chapter warnings?: flirting, fluff, pet name (blossom), not proofread.

A female’s job, your father, Hamish, always told you, was to be seldom seen and never heard. While your brothers were allowed to learn from him, to attend Court meetings and to learn how to one day take his place as High Lord of Spring, you were expected to remain put. To focus on your embroidery or your tending to your garden. Even when you gardened, you were not allowed to get your hands dirty. You could clip a few dead ends, water a few bushes, but that was the extent of it all. Anything further would be an embarrassment to Hamish, and he hated to be embarrassed.

You supposed, that was why you and your younger brother Tamlin got along so well. Tamlin was, in not so many words, an embarrassment to the family. Well, perhaps that was too harsh. But it was clear to all that Hamish harbored little love for his youngest son. Tamlin was unlike Finley and Alistair. He was the runt of the little, and the least likely to ever inherit the title of High Lord. Tamlin was not worth Hamish’s breath. Neither you nor him fit into the perfect puzzle Hamish tried to carefully to piece together. And so, you both were cast aside. Left forgotten.

Though, you supposed you were not all forgotten. As the daughter of a High Lord, you were expected to marry well and to be a dutiful wife. In the last few decades, all attention you received from Hamish was dedicated to the pursuit of finding you a worthy husband. A few months previous, his search finally turned up fruitful. Dashiell Buchanan, the eldest son of Hamish’s favorite courtier. A handsome male, to be sure. You were less sure, however, of his kindness.

There was no proof, no evidence, that Dashiell was a cruel male. But males like him, males in positions of power, no matter how small, seldom let such cruelty be openly known. You did not wish to find out he was such a male after your wedding night. Your only saving grace, though, would be to find your mate, who had not been made known for last couple hundred years. Hope as you might, you knew he would not come in time.

So, instead, you busied yourself with the few hobbies appropriate for a woman of your station as you awaited your wedding day. That was how you found yourself curled up on a chair in the drawing room, deep in concentration as you tied French knots. You did not hear anyone slip in until you were being spoken to.

“Ah, Spring’s daughter. I was beginning to think you a myth,” a slow drawl sounded.

You lifted your head, breath caught in your throat at the male before you. He was tall, perhaps taller than any of the males in your family. His auburn hair cascaded down his shoulders, a waterfall of fire. Amber eyes looked you up and down. You were suddenly aware that you looked far too comfortable in the presence of a noble son, so you stood, smoothing out your skirts. “I was not aware I was being looked for.”

“Who wouldn’t look for a female they say is so beautiful, she must be blessed by the Mother? I understand why your father has kept you hidden away, now that I have been so fortunate as to see your face.” He offered a wicked smile. “Lesser males have fought wars over lesser beauties. We are too soon out of the last war to ever risk another.”

Your face felt like it was on fire. You fought the urge to pick at the thread of your dress. Instead, you tucked your hands into each other and held them in front of you so as to create a barrier between yourself and the charming male. “Do I get to know the name of the male so desperate to win my favor?”

The male let out a chuckle. “How about we make it a game. Three guesses.”

You smiled. “What do I get if I’m correct?”

“Is the pleasure of my company not enough for you? Greedy girl. I should have expected as such from a High Lord’s daughter.” he said. For a moment, he pretended to think. “Let us see…If you are correct, you can ask me for any favor and I shall do it without complaint.”

“And if I lose?”

“You sit at my side during dinner.”

Your smile seemed to grow. Though you did wish to know his name, a part of you also wanted to lose. Maybe if you got to sit close enough to him, you could learn if he was as warm as he was making you feel. “I accept your terms.”

“Then guess away, beautiful blossom.”

Tapping a finger on your chin, you began to weigh your options. “My father told me he was expecting a visit from the Autumn Court this morning. You are too young to be the High Lord, so I shall not waste a guess on that. Nor can you be Lady Autumn. All seven sons, however, inherited the color of her hair. I think….I shall go with Lucien.”

The male barked out a laugh, head thrown back and shoulders shaking. “Lucien is hardly older than a babe! Try again.”

“Hmm, yes I suppose he is too young. Perhaps I should hedge my bets and aim for the middle. Perhaps Crispin, or maybe Heath?”

“Shall I count those as your remaining too guesses?” he asked with a wicked grin.

“Hush, I’m thinking out loud!” you giggled. You felt so light with him. You had not thought it possible to feel so at ease with a male, much less you hardly even knew. “I shall go with Heath.”

He grinned, and took a step closer to you. “Not by a long shot.”

“Well, I have aimed for the youngest, and for the middle. Perhaps I should aim for the eldest now. Yes, I suppose I shall.” You stood a little straighter and declared, “You are Eris Vanserra.”

Eris stepped closer to you. A few more steps, and you were sure to be caught in a most scandalous position. You didn’t seem to care, though. “And what favor would you ask of me?”

“It’s no fun if I waste it now. I would prefer to save it for a rainy day.”

“And make me your eternal slave?”

You took a step toward him. Never before had you felt so emboldened. Hamish would have your head if he saw you now. “Something tells me you would quite enjoy that.”

Before Eris could say anymore, before he could step closer and ruin you for anyone else, a series of footsteps sounded down the hall. You took a quick step back. You needed distance between you and Eris. Dashiell entered the room first, freezing as he took in the closeness between yourself and Autumn’s Heir. Even with the space you put between yourself and Eris, it was not enough to stop suspicion from being aroused.

Perhaps you would find out sooner than you hoped if your betrothed was a cruel man. His eyes flashed as he stalked over to Eris, fists clenching into fists.

“Ah, I see your daughter has already become acquainted with my eldest son.”

No, no, no. This was even worse. Your eyes snapped over to Beron and Hamish as they entered the room, Finley, Alistair, and the other sons of Autumn following after. You prayed that your panic did not show on your face. Something began to tug in your chest, desperate. For what, you weren’t sure. But it was beginning to hurt. How much trouble would you bring, how embarrassed would Hamish be, if you excused yourself to see a healer?

Eris stepped forward, ignoring your betrothed, and said to Beron and Hamish, “I arrived early than anticipated. I came to the drawing room to wait, when I realized the room was not empty. I was introducing myself to—”

Your chest snapped. “Mate.”

Everything seemed to move in slow motion. Hamish’s brows raised. Beron seemed to consider you as if you were a meal. Finley and Alistair looked puzzled. Eris’s brothers sneered at each other, and him, as if disappointed that they weren’t the ones you were mated to. And Dashiell—

A fist flew toward Eris’s face. Eris dodged it, easily, and caught the next fist that came. He gripped Dashiell’s fist so hard, twisted his arm just so, that the male crumpled to the floor. Eris snarled—the kind male you were just speaking to disappearing.

“This is not a fight you shall win,” Eris said, baring his teeth.

Beron turned to Hamish. “It seems we have more to discuss than trade negotiations, old friend.”

“She is betrothed,” Hamish managed. He watched as you stepped toward Eris, a hand resting on his bicep. Slowly, your mate released his grip on your betrothed. He stayed positioned between you and Dashiell, though, as if worried that the male would attack you next.

“A betrothal is nothing compared to a mating bond,” Beron dismissed with a wave. “As I see it, she is now the property of Autumn.”

Eris tensed, just slightly so.

“I cannot end her betrothal,” Hamish said.

Beron raised a brow. “I would hate to invoke a blood duel, but it is within our right. Don’t let us end such a long friendship over something so trivial.”

“In Spring,” Hamish amended, “only the parties to be wed may end the betrothal.”

“I refuse,” Dashiell snarled, still knelt on the ground.

All eyes turned to you, but you only saw Eris. He watched you carefully, trying to gauge whether you cared for the sorry excuse of a male on the floor. Dashiell, however, ceased to exist in your eyes. “Mate,” you repeated. “I want my mate.”

Beron, from the corner of your eye, seemed smug, but Hamish knew there was more to be done. He urged, voice tight, “You have to say the words.”

“I forsake my betrothal to Lord Dashiell Buchanan,” you said without a moment’s hesitation.

Dashiell growled, but to everyone else in the room, he seemed to have disappeared. Ceased to matter if he wasn’t to wed the daughter of Spring.

“Spring’s females don’t all seem to have heads full of petals,” Beron said. “You should be proud your daughter has any sense, Hamish.”

Hamish stared at you. He never looked at you with any ounce of love before, but now it almost felt like there was contempt. Was he truly embarrassed at you finding your mate? The circumstances weren’t the greatest—you could have done without the spectacle. But did you deserve the hateful look in his eyes? “You have until sundown to gather your things,” he said. “From this day forward, you are the burden of Autumn.”

You did not see Spring again until long after Hamish had passed.

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vanilleandclove · 5 months ago

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the meadow in which you lay | 0

ser erryk cargyll x arryn!reader | prologue: the queen of love and beauty

Ser Erryk Cargyll and his twin brother, Arryk, were both renowned and prideful- in their own right- knights, members of the Kingsguard at just eight and ten, their reputation precedes them.

word count: 1.2k | warnings: mentions of sexual encounters, brief description of violence, viserys is in fact canon in this universe

As King Viserys held a tourney to honor Queen Aemma being with child to which strengthened his ascension to the throne as King Jaehaerys I named him heir rather than his cousin, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, the Queen who never was. Your father and mother, along with your brothers and the company of you attended the great council. As one of Rhaenrya's ladies in waiting, you were delighted to attend such an honor. To uphold centuries of traditions and of course, sneak a glance at the newly knighted Cargyll twins. Many can not depict the twins from each other, but you could. As Erryk always made your bones burn and heart leap from your chest, Arryk would smile at your presence platonically, a simple nod.

"You are aware of the oaths they both swore to my father are you not?" Rhaenrya smiled as she elbowed your forearm that was resting on the chair arm, Alicent to her left, as you sat on her right. Your mother always told you to never be too close to a Hightower, specifically that of Otto's line. Alicent was kind, akin to her mother.

"I know of it" you slyly commented, catching yourself fantasizing of the man who's held your heart since he was inducted into the Kingsguard, House Cargyll wasn't a great house as your was, the Arryn's always being interwind with the Targaryen's as Aemma was your father's sister. Though, House Cargyll was still noble, your father would have married you off to Erryk without question had he not swore oaths bounded to the King. "It is just a simple crush" you continued, biting your lip as the knight gathered his armor to dress into.

"An infatuation is what it is," Alicent chuckled, "Though I must say, out of all the knights, Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk must be the easiest on the eyes- no offense to that of Daemon 'Nyra".

An infatuation that will lead you to an unwanted vow of celibacy, you might as well become a Septa, perhaps the Wall needs a woman to help. As you twiddled your rings and anxiously picked the skin off of your fingers, you took a swig of wine as the tourney was to start at any moment. Wondering if the heavier the emotions you feel, the better chance of the knight of your dreams feeling them as well, wondering as well if your feelings were a curse. Honor is the death of love; love is the death of honor.

Truth be told, Ser Erryk, before his knighthood, was to be your husband. As the several stolen kisses when just six and ten, led to the restraint of lust and bedding. You could not explain your feelings in words, knowing you'd falter to perfectly describe them. The knight knew how to make you heated, heated in the terms of being overwhelmed with lust to the point of pain. The knight knew what made you laugh, gregariously, what made you cry to the point of wailing. The knight knew your curves even with the layers of dressing. An honor only the two of you know of, knowing if you told Alicent, she'd tell her father. If you told Rhaenyra, you'd fear not being able to contain the feelings you hold so deeply between you and him.

"Queen Aemma has begun her labors!" King Viserys proudly shouted, "Let the tourney begin!". You heard Princess Rhaenys and her Lord-husband, Corlys, spite the games, asking if this is how we should celebrate something as beautiful as a birth, with mindless violence. Behind you sat her children, Laenor and Laena, two beautiful and driven children around the age of Rhaenyra, you, and Alicent.

Staring off into the distance, you gripped your own hand, breath quickening to the point of your breasts being awkwardly exposed to the knight in front of you; Alicent took note to the way the blood rushed to your cheeks, had she be in the same position as you, she'd be sweltering.

"Lady Y/N Arryn, may I kindly ask for your favor?" Ser Erryk smiled at you brightly, his eyes, kissed by the ocean, they shined brightly in the sun.

You kindly sat up, grabbing your favor, before kissing it and latching it on his lance. "Shall your stead and you win gloriously, I beg you to not forget the Lady whom granted your favor". Erryk smirked slightly at your comment, taking in your now more matured body, it's been several moons since he's last seen you, granted the last, the lights were rather dim and your complete upper torso was bare. Nipples perked with lust, his mouth leaving bits on your chest as his hands fondled your bottom half, being careful as to not penetrating you and potentially taking your maidenhead. Your cunt was desirably soaked, your moans sinfully bouncing off the halls of stone, praying the moment were to last forever. If only Viserys swore him off to the City Watch, you'd be swollen with his child.

"Is there something we do not know about?" Rhaenyra noted with lightheartedness as you sat down.

"A woman- a Lady- does not share her bedroom details 'Nyra" you answered only leading her curiosity to run wild, she simply leaned in closer to your shoulder to whisper.

"Did he take your maidenhead?" Rhaenyra questioned, curious as to what her cousin was sinfully capable of since the last time she saw her for her name day of six and ten.

"Gods no," You laughed in reply, hearing the joust continue as Ser Erryk reigned victoriously, winking at you as you locked eyes. "Though I must admit, the knight does has hands of a god" you teased to your cousin.

Rhaenyra sat silent the rest of the tourney, as Ser Criston Cole eventually reigned victor, you quietly made your way to the knight's tents, as the brutality that took place, you'd rather find solace in talking to the one knight whom could bring joy under any circumstance.

"Thank you for asking for my favor Ser Erryk," you spoke up, nearly stunning the knight who was accustomed to the former silence, "Though you were unhorsed, your efforts and vigor will be remembered".

"You speak as if I am dying soon Lady Arryn" Erryk chuckled at the comment, "Any word of the Queen's condition?".

"Surprisingly no, granted I cannot find my dear uncle or that of Rhaenyra" you answered, lightly twiddling your thumbs.

"You're nervous" Erryk pointed out, only leading you to correct your posture, "Not that m'Lady, your thumbs- you only rip skin and play with them when you're nervous".

You were shocked the dear knight remember your quirks, had it been so long and his training leading to a foggy eclipse on his memory, the scars that litter his body like a ballad lead you to wonder how much he has changed, better yet how much has he stood the same.

"It's a bad habit Ser" you lightly speak up, humbled by his acknowledgement of your habits, "I was worried".

There was a pregnant pause before Erryk stood up from his makeshift sitting arrangement, a tree stump, his armor long discard, he reached for your hands before speaking up.

"Why did you seek the pleasure of my company love? Your ladies must be wondering where you must be" the knight questioned, staring intently in the eyes of the woman whom holds his soul.

"Let them wonder" you whispered to him, cupping his cheek, feeling the harsh stubble grow, the stubble that once scraped the inner portion of your thighs as you climaxed on the owner's chin.

The calm before the storm, held in your hands as the knight stared into your eyes, the love that mended your soul yet broke your bones.

#hotd #house of the dragon #game of thrones #ser erryk #ser arryk #ser erryk cargyll #ser arryk cargyll #rhaenyra #rhaenrya targaryen #alicent hightower #house of the dragon fanfiction #ser erryk cargyll x reader #erryk cargyll #erryk cargyll x reader #angst #smut

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austinbutlerslovers · 8 months ago

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Update Feyd Fantasy Finale ⚔️

The finale will be split into THREE parts. 2 will be released ASAP 🙏🏻 and the 3rd TBA (all in final stages of being edited) I wrote so much you guys said let it flow. I’ve literally been typing since then… just awaiting my beautiful proof reader/editor ✍🏼proof reader @faegoddessog 🫦smut consultant @burnthheparaphilia 📖 plot consultant @magicovento

Here you are some sneak peeks ☺️ ♥️ (I split up the smut requests)

‼️Spoilers ahead if you have not read 1-4 ‼️

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4

Thank you for your patience 👌🏼☺️

Part 5 Endless Empire NEW!

Feyd Rautha becomes the Baron of Giedi prime and inherits all the responsibilities it entails.

The former Baron Vladimir on his deathbed was enraged at how well you corrupted Feyd. Implanting him with the idea to kill his own uncle in order to ascend as Baron ahead of his time, (keeping you together) . His nephews love and obsession for you disgusts him. But he still wants his favorite prodigy to succeed… just without your interference.

He lays a treacherous plot to separate you from Feyd forever.

Smut requests •Feyd initiating sex while you are distracted• Feyd denying you an orgasm •Feyd restraining himself to be gentle•Feyd addicted to you• Feyd makes love to you

Part 6 Brazen Baron

Feyd Rautha has a massive coronation. Excitement fills the air as his people look forward to a better future for the planet improving beyond his uncles reign.

Feyd begins blurring all the lines of his Harkonnen heritage for you. Everything he has been raised to value crumbles when he’s in your presence. You give him everything he never knew he desired and his infatuation for you becomes even deeper. His Lord in waiting takes notice and fears for his sanity and rational thought.

Will his undying love for you make him a great ruler or a passive counterfeit?

Smut Requets: Sex against a window•sex in the throne room• Dom Feyd •Sub Feyd •Feyd wearing a collar •Feyd being handcuffed for sex•Feyd being whipped(with a crop!)•semi public sex• Feyd BJ•size kink• Feyd willing to give up his kingdom for you• Feyd gives up his kink (what?!

Part 7 Honor & Heir COMPLETE

During your final month of pregnancy you and Feyd are summoned to the Emperors palace on the planet Kaitain by decree. Feyd is upset at any inconveniences to you with his unborn during this fragile time.

You reunite with your Reverend mother in the palatial gardens and a fated decision must be made. The stress of the decision is so great you go into labor. For Feyd his world stops. He drops all of his responsibilities with the Emperor to be by your side.

Requests: Feyd gentle with you•Feyd adoring you•Feyd forgoes his pleasure for your own • face riding• Bene Gesserits kidnapping plot•gender reveal•Feyd as a father

More Input from you guys: ✅Make it longer ✅More talking ✅Feyd loses his kink(Im crying) ✅Happy ending please

⬇️Thank you for the feedback! ♥️😍⬇️

Fic Tag List ⚔️

@faegoddessog @burnthheparaphilia @elvismylove04 @lindszeppelin @obsessedvibee @abswifey @jessica987 @hardcoredisneynerd @austiebuttbutt @oh-my-front-door @slowsweetlove @purejasmine @i5uckersblog @phil2135561 @lovereadingfanfic @steph-speaks @rougegenshin@maloribarnes1999 @meetmeatyourworst @moony-artemis @xxxstormyninixxx @prettypinkblogger @thegabbyh @magicovento @aoi-targaryen @austinswhitewolf @skinny-baby-4eva @mimsie95 @the-wanderer-2022 @jakesullyissopookie @francis-writes @shiranai-atsune @berlinalv @everyonelovesavalet @dacreshoney @caroline334 @szapizzapanda @berlinalv @landlockedmermaid77 @sophroniaclark @moonsoulk @lolllulroofl @emeraldsgirl @larrysdughter28 @alana4610

#feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha x #feyd rautha smut #feyd rautha x reader #feydrautha #feyd x reader #feyd smut #feyd rautha harkonnen #austin butler #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler smut #austin butler x reader #austinbutler #fanfic #austin butler smut fic #smut #austin butler fic #austin butler x fem!reader #feyd x you

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shadowdaddies · 1 year ago

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Claim Your Throne

Rhysand x Reader

A/N: Ever since I wrote some Rhys head canons including throne sex, I can’t get the idea out of my head. Enjoy

Warnings: nsfw, smut under the cut, throne sex, oral f!receiving, cockwarming, slight exhibitionism, minors dni

It had been weeks since you and Rhys completed the mating bond, but the male was insatiable. You didn’t leave the bedroom for the first week, and hardly left for the week after, until Rhys was called in for problems in Hewn City that needed to be dealt with.

“I want to take you to the Court of Nightmares before we hold court there, just so you’re prepared, darling,” Rhys informed you after your strategy meeting with the inner circle. “It can be a lot to take in, so I’d like to take you there so that you can be acquainted without Keir’s tainting presence.” You knew you would be comfortable regardless as long as Rhysand was there with you, but it couldn’t hurt to familiarize yourself with the throne room. “Of course, love, let’s go.” No sooner had you responded than Rhys swept you into his arms and away to the Court of Nightmares.

You arrived in the throne room, struck by awe of the magnificence and darkness that permeated that space. “It’s…beautiful,” you said, not entirely sure if that is how you felt or not. Rhys chuckled lowly next to you, the gravelly sound sending a jolt through you that had you curling your toes. “I don’t know if that is how I would describe it, darling, but it’s certainly more beautiful when illuminated by your presence.” You blushed as Rhys took your hand, guiding you up to the dais where his throne rested.

“In the history of the Night Court, this has been the one and only throne. It is tradition that only the High Lord has ever sat on this throne, and that he takes an oath to kneel to no one.” Rhys’s eyes are burning into you as he speaks; you look at him with anticipation for what he will say next, and the raw heat in his eyes makes you forget how to breathe for a moment. Rhys gestures to the throne, “sit down, darling.”

You step up to the throne and turn around as if you are about to sit, but you are nervous. You’re breaking thousands of years of tradition, and this is Rhys’s court you are potentially disrespecting. You realize your mental shields must have been down when Rhys smiles, stating, “no darling, this is our court now. Claim your throne.” You sit on the throne, surprised by the power you feel as you run your hands along the arm rests and look upon the vast room.

You look to Rhys, eyes locked on each other as he approaches you with a predatory grace, and sinks to one knee before you. “My love, my High Lady, this throne is yours as it is mine. We will reign over our court together as long as we both live.” He moves to grab your ankle with his hand and begins undoing the straps of your heel. “I have new thrones being made for the both of us, but I wanted to introduce my High Lady on this throne before I dispose of it,” he says, slipping off your shoe and placing a kiss to your ankle, never breaking eye contact. Sliding his hands up your calf to your thigh, Rhys pulls your leg back and hooks it over the arm rest. He follows the same movements with your other shoe and leg, and you are left with only the skirt of your dress that has ridden up, barely keeping you concealed.

Rhys moves forward to kneel at the base of your throne and slowly moves your dress up to your hips, exposing your bare pussy to the cold air of the room and to Rhys’s hungry gaze. You feel the familiar feel of a talon soft against your mental shields, and you drop them just for Rhys to show you his view of you, sprawled on your throne, emitting unadulterated power. “High Lady of the Night Court, ruler of my lands and my heart,” Rhys speaks into your mind before diving into your center. He eats you out like a man starved, alternating between kitten licks and sucking your clit as he brings his hand to your core, slipping one finger in and instantly curling to the sensitive spot he’s now memorized. You gasp, arching your back off the back of the chair and Rhys smirks at your reaction. He adds another finger and you moan, “FUCK, Rhys.” An image flashes in your mind from Rhys’s view of you gasping and writhing under his touch. “Come for me, darling.”

Your orgasm crashes into you and your vision blurs, legs shaking as you regain your focus on Rhys, who is now bringing his soaked fingers to his mouth to taste your release.

When you hold court the next day - sharing your throne with Rhys as you sit in his lap - you didn’t think you could feel more “acquainted” with the place than you already were, until Rhys decided he was bored during Keir’s ramblings, subtly hitching up the back of your skirt and sliding you onto his hard cock. “Just keeping you warm until we can be alone, darling,” he spoke into your mind as you struggled to stay composed and still on the dais.

You might have to keep this throne around for the memories.

#fuck the patriarchy #and fuck me Rhys #rhys x reader #rhys smut #rhysand x reader #Rhys #rhysand #rhys acotar #rhysand smut #rhysand acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar #a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses #rhysand x you #Rhys week #Rhysand week

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written-in-flowers · 8 months ago

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At First Glance: (Otto x Fem!Reader)

Pairing: Otto Hightower x Fem!OC

Genre: smut, fluff

Word count: 11k

Summary: Let's go back to the beginning of our Rosebud and her Hightower. Ser Otto is slotted to marry the young Tyrell girl, expecting resentment and disgust. However, his young bride proves him wrong quickly and erotically.

Tags: arranged marriage, old/young relationship (consensual), pool sex, poolside sex, public sex, oral (m. and f. giving/receiving), teasing, dirty talk, nipple play, breast worship, facials (kind of), tongue fucking, first time, a bit of coaxing on both parts but it's all consensual.

Masterlist!

***

They’d traveled for nearly two months before they finally saw it in the distance. Sitting high on a verdant hill, the Manderly river flowing nearby, was Highgarden. Seat of House Tyrell, it was a stone castle full of life, laughter, and light. White stones made up the high walls circulating the castle up top, each layer growing in height. Fields of golden roses stretched across the land, the fresh air flowing through to blow their sweet fragrance. The scene of natural beauty was such a stark contrast to the wretched, crowded, infested King’s Landing far away. Being near Highgarden put one in a completely different world, and Otto could see the appeal. How could someone want to live in King’s Landing or Oldtown when they had the flowers and entertainment of Highgarden?

Otto thought about this as the wheelhouse pushed through the land towards the castle beyond. The Harvest Moon Festival was the biggest event in all of The Reach; the occasion was made twice as special due to The King’s progress happening to travel right through. Lord Gareth Tyrell responded to his raven with enthusiasm, as he looked forward to hosting The King’s party as well as seeing his childhood friend, Otto. House Tyrell were wardens of The Reach; House Hightower reigned in Oldtown, sacred place of The Citadel, The Starry Sept, and a notable trading port. The two great houses often mingled together through trade and politics. His older brother, Hobert, told him he’d recently drawn up new terms for House Tyrell to keep their families’ trade agreement going. The best way to seal this deal is through marriage. Hobert already married off his daughter and two sons. Otto had Alicent, who married King Viserys and was now queen; his son, Gwayne, was married with children as well. Hobert, having a living wife, turned his eyes to Otto.

Widowed several years ago, he never considered finding another wife. No woman he met compared to Leyla, who’d been the light of his life. Being two-and-fifty, he told Hobert he’s too old to remarry; he had no desire. Hobert doubled down and reminded him of the importance. He thought he’d get some say in how his life went on after Leyla. But, he knew that his family must go on, and trade relations must remain on good terms. But still, it was madness. Gareth must be surely suffering from a bout of desperation, and will change his mind as he is so prone to doing. The offer might’ve been made on a whim; another fanciful idea his old friend made and will regret upon Otto’s arrival. Yet, for now, he must settle with the idea of marriage once more.

Hobert told him he and Gareth can discuss dowry and dates when he’s chosen his bride. From what Otto recalled, Gareth and his wife, Jalissa, have six children: three boys and three girls. The youngest girl is only an infant, hardly fit to marry. The second eldest is one-and-ten, Aemond’s age and still not fit for a man like him. That left his eldest daughter, who was three-and-twenty. Lady Y/N Tyrell, “The Rose of Highgarden”, “Flower of The Reach”, “The Golden Flower”. Tales of your beauty and grace ran from Highgarden to Oldtown, and from Oltown to King’s Landing. You’d never been seen at court, but this was mainly your father’s doing. Gareth was very protective of his first-born daughter; Otto heard he turned down offers from younger suitors for the pettiest of reasons. He must admit he was surprised when Gareth wrote to Hobert about a possible marriage pact. He’d written a raven for Otto as well. He’d extolled his daughter’s obvious surface beauty, but her virtues and talents as well.

‘Y/N is my most precious flower. I’d only entrust her to the noblest of men.’

You’ll be disappointed, no doubt. Perhaps when he and Gareth spoke in private, he could convince him to make a match with another Hightower or related member. Marriage might not be needed at all. They’ve made such agreements without it before now. He couldn’t marry again. Not because of the ceremonies or feasts or events beforehand, but because then you will carry the surname ‘Hightower’. You’d be ‘Lady Hightower’. Leyla was Lady Hightower. Lady Leyla Hightower. He pictured her even now as the wheelhouse passed through the final gate into Highgarden. He remembered the slender beauty with ginger curls and large brown eyes, who cheered for him the loudest and held his hand through the difficult times. It made his heart ache. Even if you are beautiful, there is no guarantee he’d like you or that you two had anything in common.

The wheelhouse stopped when they reached the stone roundabout in front of the doors of Highgarden. On the walls, he saw crawling vines of roses and small flowers going up from the ground; more of them bloomed in the bushes lining the courtyard and the large fountain in the middle. He saw armored guards in silver with green cloaks standing by the steps, and a long green and gold carpet leading from door to bottom step. Right in front of the entrance, he spotted Gareth. A large man with dark brown hair, his mustache had grown thicker since Otto last saw him and gray hairs now mixed with the brown. Beside him stood Lady Jalissa, a willowy woman with auburn hair braided down her back, holding an infant swaddled in a green blanket. The children who remained at home stood alongside them: heir to Highgarden, Matthos, stood a tall as his father, a man grown with his own family; the twins, Loras and Horas, who were Aegon’s age of six-and-ten; Elise, the second eldest daughter who wore a dress of pale pink and gold with her thick hair braided, and the eldest daughter, you. His stomach churned as he forced himself to ignore you.

His nerves tried overcoming him as the wheelhouse stopped in front of the party. No, he wouldn’t let himself be anxious. Otto took a deep breath and stepped out of the wheelhouse. The warm breeze coming through didn’t feel unpleasant; it felt quite relaxing. How can an old man like him take you away from such a beautiful home? You must hate him for it.

“Otto!” Gareth held out his arms to Otto, and beamed brightly. Otto stepped forward and the two men embraced, laughing and patting one another on the back. “You look well, Otto. You look well,” he commented, “I just finished writing a letter to Hobert. He’s been badgering me about the damn trade routes! He tells me bandits and outlaws have been stopping his export cargo.”

“He mentioned the same to me as well. Let’s hope our alliance might help things.” Hobert often scolded his younger brother about not caring more about trade between Highgarden and Oldtown. He looked down the line to Jalissa and the infant in her arms. “Lady Jalissa,” he smiled at her, kissing the back of one of her hands, “You look lovely as ever.”

“Highgarden welcomes you, Otto,” she beamed back. “I’d like you to meet our newest Tyrell: Adeline.”

“How charming,” he said, tickling the baby’s chin and watching her smile. “She looks like you.”

“Thank the Gods,” Gareth added, “If she looked anything like me, I’d have a hard time marrying her off.” The three friends laughed before he said, “Speaking of marrying off…Ser Hightower, this is my daughter, Y/N.”

Radiant. That was the only word he could find to describe you. Everything about you was soft and gentle. It shined. You shined. Pretty eyes blinked up at him shyly, and your soft lips curled into a smile. Your dress was a painted gold vest with short sleeves, with a scarf underneath to cover your chest. The skirt was a fine light blue fabric that hung to your feet. His eyes spent time taking in all your features. For once, rumors spoke truthfully. The Rose of Highgarden was the epitome of beauty.

“Ser Hightower,” you said in a soft spoken voice, curtsying for him. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“And you, Lady Y/N.”

Leyla didn’t speak softly or show signs of shyness when they met. She’d been bold and out-spoken. She made a statement simply by the way she stood. You took charge in a different way. Gareth and Jalissa introduced their children. Seeing young Elise, he knew Gareth will propose a match between the king’s household and his own. Gareth never missed an opportunity to make alliances or connections to other great houses. He finally led them all inside the castle. Tapestries, fine art, and sculptures decorated every hall. He saw the vines from outside creeping through windows and onto the inner walls. Any earthy scent the rooms might have was blown away by the fresh air coming in through the wide corridors. Gareth started giving instructions to a castle guard, while Jalissa came into step beside Otto.

“How are you, Otto?” she asked.

“I’ve been well.”

“No, I mean right now,” she said. “Being betrothed after Leyla…it must be troubling you.”

He caught sight of you ahead of him. You glided as if walking on clouds above the sky. He spotted the golden rose pin keeping your hair back. “Your daughter’s so young, Jalissa,” he said quietly. “She should be marrying someone closer to her age. I can name five young men who’d be better suitors.”

“And my lord husband will find a reason why each one is not worthy of our Y/N,” she replied. “It has been an absolute struggle securing a marriage for her. He always had one reason or another: ‘the boy is too brash’ ‘the boy is too dim-witted’ ‘the boy is a brute’.” She sighed defeatedly, “When Hobert mentioned marriage, he jumped at the chance.” She glanced over at him, “He trusts you; he always has.”

“I’m old enough to be her father. She must be repulsed by the idea of marrying me.”

“Trust me,” she chortled, “My Y/N is overjoyed to be marrying you.”

“Of course, I’m a Hightower of Oldtown. It offers her protection, wealth and security for the rest of her life.”

“That is not the only reason she’s happy about it.”

Otto felt there was more in the statement than Jalissa said out loud. He looked back over to you as they walked into the Grand Hall, the central hub of Highgarden. Otto expected melancholy or a hidden fury in them, but instead he saw a subtle joy. You talk animatedly to Elise, the both of you giggling together before you looked over at him. You gave another sweet smile that melted hearts before bashfully looking away. No, that’s absurd. Jalissa meant to ease any doubts and worries he might have; maybe to keep him from running away, but she should know by now.

He never runs from his duties.

A spread of food and drink had been put out for the guests, no doubt to let them rest as their belongings were taken to their apartments. He spoke with the other lords of the Reach who’d come for the festival and his nuptials, reconnecting and greeting old friends from home. But, his eyes occasionally casted over towards you. You stood with other noble ladies, no doubt gossiping and chatting amongst yourselves. He couldn’t overcome the look you’d given him. Otto wouldn’t lie. The thought of you desiring him sounded appealing. He liked imagining such a beautiful creature wanting him, aching for him. He briefly pictured you coming to him, sneaking into his chambers and asking for him rather than him sending a maid to collect you for him. The odds of that were unlikely. Very.

****

You’d heard many things about Ser Otto Hightower, your father’s childhood friend. You heard your father recount stories about him and Ser Otto, and your mother often spoke kindly of him. They both told you he’d make a good husband; he’d treat you honorably and keep you comfortably for the rest of your days. You heard other people say he was methodical and ambitious, which you could understand. Your own father can be the same way at times. You supposed all men are ambitious, in truth, but that did not intrigue you.

“He’s so…old, though,” said Maera, one of your ladies-in-waiting. She and your other companions stood in a circle on the other side of the room. You saw the disgust on her face as she looked over at Otto. “He could be your father.”

“My father says his family is wealthy and pious,” you told her, trying to find a reason to excuse your compliance. “He seems kind enough.”

And handsome, though you’d never say so out loud. Ser Otto Hightower carried a refined, regal aura that made him stand out. The boys brought forward as suitors bumbled about, tried too hard to impress you, or spoke about your beauty endlessly with no substance. Ser Otto hardly said a word to you since meeting apart from his greeting, but you’d seen the recognition in his eyes. Your eyes looked over his tall stature, the light brown in his beard and the ginger in his auburn hair. It gave him a more respectable appearance. You did not know much about him besides what your parents told you, and you considered approaching him first. Yet, the thought tightened nerves in your stomach. What would you say to him? How would the conversation go? What if, like all the others, he saw you as an object to possess? You knew you’d be miserable if the latter was true. So many men seeking your hand saw you as a trophy to be won. You’d be a pretty, shiny jewel they can flaunt at balls and feasts. Your father, thankfully, hated every man who stepped through the door with your name on his lips.

Except Ser Otto.

You watched him speaking jovially with other lords of The Reach. Many people came from all around the region to attend the Harvest Moon Festival; many came for your upcoming wedding, which was at week's end. Several of your friends and relatives worked tirelessly on their gowns for the ball at the end of the week. Your seamstress recently finished the last draft of her designs for you, bringing your vision of a dress of maple leaves in orange, yellow, and red to life, and started sewing. Tonight, your father plans to host a welcoming feast for all the noble houses attending, and you have your gowns lined up for the entire week. You’d made sure they were eye-catching, pretty and slightly provocative. Men Ser Otto’s age tended to like pretty girls who flaunted their bodies. Your mother told you he was an honorable man, who wouldn’t want a wife who shows so much skin, so you held back into a more subtle gown. Still, you hoped Ser Otto approached you tonight.

That little voice in the back of your head hoped he did more than talk.

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N!” Elise, your younger sister, bounced over to you. In her hands, she held several flower crowns of different colors. She already wore her crown of pink carnations and baby’s breath on her head. “Mother wishes for the ladies to wear these tonight!” she held them out for your friends to grab, “And she said you get to wear this one.”

Your flower crown had gold roses woven into green leaves and feathers. Looking over to where your mother stood, a wet nurse holding your baby sister, you both locked eyes. She gave you a knowing smile, then nodded her head towards your father and Ser Otto. You returned with a nervous look, and shook your head. She gave a visible sigh, as if to say “alright, but you must speak with him eventually��. You would. Just not now. Especially not with your friends so closely watching.

“I heard his wife died some time ago,” said Cornelia, holding her own crown of blue and white flowers. “She fell ill from a fever and passed away. Maybe he’ll be so distraught over his wife still, he won’t pay you much mind. My mother says the only time I’d need to see my husband is at the bedding and on formal occasions. Perhaps the same will be for you.”

“I hope not.”

“What?” said Maera incredulously.

“I’d always hoped to have a loving marriage,” you admitted, playing with the crown in your hands. “A husband who adores and loves me like in the stories.”

“Life isn’t a fairytale, Y/N,” she replied, drinking from her wine cup. “My mother says women in this realm are dealt bad cards, and we must adapt to them or else we lose. My father promised me to August Tarly,” she said the name with disdain, “Once he’s been knighted.”

“Seeing how August Tarly wields a sword, I can’t imagine that’ll be any time soon,” you said.

"I'm not counting the days, is all I can say."

You looked back at Ser Otto, who happened to catch you at the same time. Warmth filled your cheeks, you smiled and turned away. You hoped he was as kind as your mother said. If not that, then at least civil and decent towards you. A part of you worried you may spoil everything and Ser Otto chooses not to marry you. He might not be fully over his wife’s death, and find another way to avoid marriage. You'd thought about sneaking away until you spotted Ser Otto heading into the gardens from afar.

"I will see you all tonight," you told the women, and swiftly moved through the crowd without an explanation.

You stayed by the stone archway leading into the vast gardens beyond. Other guests stayed spread out through the blossoming flowers and fountains, and you saw him talking to Lord Tarly, shaking hands and smiling. You never knew how to tell your friends about your taste in men. They all swooned over the handsome, young knights and lords who came through Highgarden, each of them fighting for the man’s attention. You, however, found yourself admiring men much older than you. Older men were more experienced in life and love. Now, you didn’t fall in love with the wrinkled, elderly men who sat in chairs and walked about on sticks. You liked men like Otto, middle-aged and still fit. You hoped your father would fight for the marriage if Otto should suggest another form of alliance. You’d love nothing more than to be his wife.

Otto eventually left the company of Lord Tarly and his men, and walked towards the garden maze. Having grown up within the walls of Highgarden, you knew the garden maze like the back of your hand. Waiting until he’d disappeared through the archway, you stealthily followed him inside. The tall hedges made narrow paths going in all directions, each path leading the wanderer into groves of fruits and flowers, small sitting areas, or bathing pools. Perhaps he may get lost, and you can happen to have come upon him? You were merely enjoying your family’s gardens, and found him?

‘Oh, forgive me, Ser. I thought I was alone…What? You’ve gotten turned around in the maze? Ha, that’s alright. Everyone does. Come, I will lead you back to the party…” You entertained yourself with the idea of coming upon Ser Otto in the citrus groves. Oranges, peaches, and apricots growing on trees, and their sweet smell hanging in the air. You moved along the trodden path Ser Otto had taken, hearing footsteps nearby and sensing it might be him. “What was that, Ser? Where is my chaperone? Well, Septa Gaunt’s ankles often swell when standing too long, so I left her sitting by one of the fountains…Why yes, I am happy to be marrying you. I promise I will be a good wife to you and mother to our children…No, Ser, I would not be opposed to you kissing me right now…I wore this gown just for you. I hope you like it…Oh, you wish for me to remove-”

“-It seems I am not the only one who enjoys the infamous Tyrell garden maze.”

You jumped at the sound of his voice. Turning around, you saw Otto standing in the entryway to the small courtyard you’d walked into. Benches on either side of the small space, a fountain of The Maiden holding her arms out as birds zoomed around her stood in the center. It was one of your favorites. Made of bronze, it shone in the morning sunlight, and the water spewed from her hands like crystals into the pond around her. The daydream running in your mind immediately dissipated when you caught sight of him. A deep heat rushed up your neck and burned your cheeks.

“Oh, um, Ser Otto, my…you, um, uh, gave me a fright…” you sounded so childish. ‘Gave me a fright’. You could’ve kicked yourself right then and there.

“Forgive me, my lady,” he replied, “That was not my intention.” He spotted the fountain behind you, “Ha, it seems your mother’s statue is still here.”

“Ha, uh yes. It is.”

“I remember when your father commissioned this. It’d been after he married your mother,” he told you, coming up to your side. “He told me she was The Maiden in flesh, and wanted to dedicate a statue to preserve her beauty for eternity. He’s always been the hopeless romantic, your father,” he snorted.

“You, um, see quite close to him and my mother,” you said, grabbing at topics to discuss. “He said he’d been fostered at The Hightower in Oldtown?”

“Yes, he was,” he nodded. “He came to us after our fathers decided to renew Hightower and Tyrell ties. Fosterage was a lot more common back then. Your father and I became fast friends, training and being educated together. I suppose my father really did it because I never had many friends my own age. My brother was much older than me by that time, and I had no other siblings. I grew to truly cherish your father,” he said to you. “And him in return to me. I suppose that’s why he’s so adamant that I be your husband.”

“Our families truly are intertwined,” you said, watching the clear water spill from the statue's ring of flowers underneath. “My father says a marriage between our house and yours will be beneficial to both parties. He says the trade routes aren’t very safe these days, and House Hightower can provide more men to guard them.”

“We can…” you heard his voice trailing off before he said, “Lady YN, I considered asking your father to call off our engagement.”

The words sunk your heart into the acidic pits of your stomach. You looked over to him, and said, “Ser?”

“I’m an old man, my lady,” he replied, not really looking at you. “A woman your age should be matched with someone younger and fitter than I. I already have children and grandchildren of my own. You cannot possibly wish to marry someone as old as me. I know your father wants the best for you, and I assure you that is not me.”

“But, Ser…” the fact that he thought he wasn’t a suitable husband for you shattered your hopes and dreams. Your mother always said you hoped far too high. You played with the belt around your waist, and said, “I do wish to marry you.”

He huffed in a laugh, “There is no need for flattery, my lady. There is nobody around to hear you.”

“I am not trying to flatter you, Ser. I mean it,” you turned completely to face him, hoping he’d see the sincerity there, “I would very much like to be your wife.”

He faced you, hands behind his back, “And why is that? There are plenty of boys in this region who’d cut a man down to be with you. You’d certainly be a good match for my grandson, Prince Aegon, were he not already betrothed.”

“I don’t want a boy. I want a man,” you stated, cringing at how foolish it sounded out loud. “What I mean to say is that the boys that have come forward are all simple-minded, brutish, and only see me as a trophy.”

“And what makes you think I wouldn’t see you that way, hm?” he stepped closer to you, his body a foot away from yours. It left you breathless for a moment, and a slew of scenarios ran through your mind.

“Because we’ve been standing in this yard alone and you haven’t tried to touch or kiss me,” you said, letting the idea settle into his mind. “My mother has told me many great things about you: how you were Hand of the King, all the good things you did for the kingdom, and that you’re an honorable and pious man. And besides,” you moved to him until you were inches from each other, smiling softly, “I quite like older men. They’re much more experienced in life and…marriage.”

You heard him let out a soft sigh, his eyes scanning over your features up close. Gently, he brushed your arm, the simple touch igniting something inside you, “So, you are not opposed to this match?”

“No, Ser,” you shook your head. You pressed even closer, your body right against his, and circled the geometric patterns bordering his doublet. “I look forward to it greatly.”

You saw a slight pink tinge cover his cheeks. He continued looking over your face before landing on your lips, “You…truly are The Rose of Highgarden…”

“Thank you, Ser,” you giggled. “I, um, hope this was not too forward,” you moved away from him suddenly, realizing what you’d done. “I don’t…I promise I am not usually this way-”

“-Do not apologize,” he insisted, bringing you back gently by the elbow. “Do you truly…Certainly you could not truly wish to marry an old man like me? I am old enough to be your father.”

“Ser, you are not so old,” you assured him. You realized you quite enjoyed being close to him this way. “Old is for men like my grandfather, who walk around with a cane and cannot remember what day it is. I’m sure there are many things you can still do.”

‘Such as me…’ you nearly said, but decided that was indeed far too forward. He laughed at your words, and replied, “I’m not so sure of that, my lady. I have not done certain things in a very long time.”

“Perhaps once we’re married, we could-”

“-Y/N! Y/N, darling, where are you?”

Your mother’s voice came from somewhere near the hedges, and you both jumped apart. Soon, Lady Jalissa came around the corner, and smiled in relief. “Ah, there you are,” she said, coming to your side, “I have been looking for you. The King has just arrived.” Suddenly, she noticed Otto beside you. She looked between you and then Otto, and realized what she’d done. Rather than scowl, she smiled knowingly. “Her chaperone is not present, Otto,” she teased, taking your hand, “You know better.”

“Perhaps her chaperone will be more mindful of her wanderings in the future,” Otto said, also sneering. “The King has arrived, you said?”

“Yes, him, the Queen, and the children. I’m sure Alicent will be pleased to see her father.”

It was then that you remembered. You’d only just remembered: Queen Alicent is Ser Otto’s daughter. A pang of nervousness hit you as your mother guided you back through the maze, chatting with Otto about the Queen and him seeing The King again. You’d be related to The Queen, who was a few years older than you. What if she did not approve of this union? What if Otto took her opinion seriously and did discuss other alliance options with your father? You walked into the main hall again with your mother, gulping anxiously as you spotted the crowd parting for the newest guests.

The King’s party consisted of his Kingsguard, men in white cloaks and golden armor. He walked with a cane, his white hair thinning on his head and his left sleeve dangling from the shoulder. He was around Otto’s age, yet looked so much older than the last time he visited Highgarden. Queen Alicent walked behind him with her ladies-in-waiting, wearing a green gown and a golden circlet in her auburn curls. She looked regal, the way a queen should look. She too was much, much younger than her husband. How could Otto object to your betrothal, yet fully accept his daughter marrying a man his age? Because that man was The King, of course. Behind her were Otto’s grandchildren: Prince Aegon, a tall boy with thick silver hair, who looked around the room in disinterest; Princess Helaena, a slender girl with hair just like her brother’s, shyly walking beside him as everyone looked on, and finally Prince Aemond, short and slight with silver curls down to his shoulders. The only one missing was Prince Daeron, the youngest who was a squire and cupbearer in Oldtown for Otto’s brother. Should you marry Otto, you’d be part of their family. You wouldn’t be royalty, but you’d be related to them. Since Otto is no longer Hand of the King, he no longer lives in King’s Landing.

Perhaps that might be a good thing.

Your father walked alongside King Viserys, the both talking cordially despite the slow steps. Everyone got along well with your father. While he may be a bit pompous at times, his jovial spirit rippled through crowds around him. It made him the perfect host. Your mother appeared with you at the center of the room, your siblings standing with her. When King Viserys approached, you all bowed. Then, your father introduced his household to him and Queen Alicent.

Your nerves tripled when she approached you. You hoped maybe she did not know about the betrothal, but when her eyes widened slightly, you knew the truth.

“You’re Lady Y/N?” she asked, trying to hide her disbelief.

“Yes, Your Grace,” you nodded, curtsying.

Alicent’s eyes flitted to her father who stood nearby behind you, then back to you. “It is an honor to meet you, Lady Y/N.”

She hates you. “And you, Your Grace.”

A sickness entered your stomach, and you thought you might vomit. She disapproves. She’s not only Otto’s daughter, but the Queen. She might demand your father choose another suitor; she could convince her father to decline the offer. You turned to your mother, who took your hand in hers and squeezed reassuringly. No amount of hand-holding could hold off the dread. You almost did not acknowledge Prince Aegon, who gave you a swift once-over, then walked away unimpressed. Princess Helaena timidly nodded, and you smiled kindly at her. It was Prince Aemond who stood stock-still in front of you.

“Um, uh, hmmm,” he stammered, “Hello, Lady Y/N.”

“Prince Aemond,” you curtsied once again.

He stared up into your face, since he was much shorter being only twelve. The sudden fear that Queen Alicent might suggest a marriage between House Tyrell and The Crown came to you. It wouldn’t be the first time a Targaryen-Tyrell marriage alliance would be proposed. Yet, at the time it’d been King Viserys’s brother, Prince Daemon, who’d suggested it. This time it’d be The Queen. What if your father saw the benefits in this match and called off your betrothal to Otto? You tried thinking the opposite. Aemond is much younger than you. You’re twenty-three. He’s twelve.

Your father called for the royal family to be shown to their chambers for the week. You saw Alicent walk with her father after them, and you excused yourself to your own chambers for the day.

***

“She’s a child, Father.”

“She’s a grown woman, Alicent.”

“She might as well be a child compared to you.”

Otto found his daughter’s reaction quite amusing. Standing in her quarters at Highgarden, the servants finished setting down Alicent’s possessions and left the father and daughter alone. It’d been so long since Otto laid eyes on Alicent. The last they’d seen one another, Aegon and Helaena were still infants. He’d embraced her the moment the servants left, taking in the scent of flowers in her hair and the warmth of her. Seeing her now in the sunlight, she reminded him of Leyla. He’d planned on asking her about Lord Lionel, his sucessor who'd perished in a fire, leaving the position open once more. But, she had other concerns.

“I cannot believe you are agreeing to this union,” she said, hands crossed in front of her and displeasure on her face. “You’d told me you did not wish to remarry after Mother passed. Now, here you are, engaged to a girl twice your junior.”

“It is for political reasons alone,” he said. “House Tyrell needs men, and House Hightower is willing to offer them. Gareth has a daughter who needs marrying, and he has insisted it be me.”

“Why?”

“We are close friends and allies. He trusts me to look after his daughter.”

She scoffed, shaking her head, “Oh, look after her, you will, Father.”

“Alicent,” he said firmly, as if scolding her.

“You cannot convince me it is not for her youth and looks that you wish to marry her,” she retorted. “I’ve heard the things people say about that girl.”

“What do they say?” Alicent did not answer at first. He pressed her, “Alicent, is there something about her that you know that I do not?”

She stayed silent for a moment more before answering, “That she is lovely.” It almost annoyed her to say it. “They say she is lovely, gracious, kind, and talented. Ladies who’ve met her speak very highly of her.” She plopped down onto a chair, “Her beauty is said to rival the most beautiful girls at court. It appears the rumors are true.” She’d moved her fingers to pick at her nails, but she quickly stopped herself. Otto then discovered the real reason she disapproved, “You said you loved Mother. You said you’d never want for another woman after she died. You’d told me so yourself when I asked you. I never imagined you marrying someone else, especially one so young.”

He smiled softly, and came to sit beside her. “I did love your mother, Alicent. I still do, even if she is no longer with us. But, this union will benefit both our families.”

“Is there no other option?” she nearly snapped. “Perhaps Uncle Hobert could foster the little girl or one of the sons at Oldtown. Daeron would do well to be around children his age. Maybe the little girl could be betrothed to Aemond instead. They’re close in age. A match to the crown will benefit him more, would it not?”

It would. “I will confess I considered the same thing,” he said. “But, it is Y/N Gareth wishes to marry off, not Elise. I will not lie to you, my daughter,” he looked at her, “Gareth is not very fond of House Targaryen.”

“Really?” she asked, intrigued.

He poured them both wine from a pitcher nearby, and said, “Lord Gareth is a strong believer in The Seven. He does not approve of the Targaryen’s queer customs of marrying within their own families. He says he cannot trust a family who use their dragons as a means to put themselves above other men. It would take much more than simple military gain to propose a match.” He took a sip from his cup, then said, “And yes…Lady Y/N is beautiful, and Jalissa assures me she will make a good wife.”

Alicent rolled her eyes, “That poor girl. I can’t imagine her being very fond of the idea.”

“She claims differently.” He instantly regretted saying this when she looked over at him with wide eyes.

“Father?”

“I spoke with her in the garden,” he admitted, “And she told me she’s partial to…older men.”

Alicent stifled a laugh with her wine. “Surely, her father must’ve convinced her to say it.”

For some reason, Otto got the impression that you were not as obedient a daughter as Alicent. He recalled how close you’d stood to him, touching his doublet lightly and pure sincerity in your eyes. When he touched you, a flame sparked within him. He’d been tempted to kiss you right then, but his own morals restricted him. He liked to believe you’d said it to ease any worries. Yet, he liked the idea of you desiring him even more. You’d walked so willingly into his embrace, your bosom centimeters from his chest, and your body heat radiating onto him. For a moment, he remembered the bathing pools of Highgarden, and the idea of taking you there. Even if he did not wed you…

Gods, he’d still love to undress you.

The innocence you’d shown clearly shrouded something lustful within you. People at Highgarden tended to live much more loosely than those in King’s Landing. He liked the idea that you might be one of those people.

“-Father? Father, are you listening?” Alicent’s voice broke into his thoughts.

“Yes,” he lied, coughing and looking at her.

She didn’t believe him. “I said, have you heard what’s happened to Lord Lionel and Ser Harwin?”

Otto sat up straight and took a drink, hoping the coolness might soothe the fires inside him. “Oh yes, a terrible thing. Very tragic. I understand it was a fire that broke out in Harrenhal?”

“Yes, it took them both," she said. He noticed other words lingering inside her. She did not look at him, and focused on her wine. Her mother once did the same whenever she withheld information from him. "The King…is looking for a new Hand."

Otto paused, "Is he?"

"He is. I have taken the position for the time being, but I put forward your name." She then broke, "I have no allies at court, Father. Viserys continuously favors Rhaenyra and her sons over mine. He remains entirely blind to their plain features, and their obvious birth illlegitimacy. Whenever I broch the subject, he gives me a weak answer." Her deep brown eyes pleaded with him, "Father, I cannot go against them on my own. I need you."

He hesitated. As Hand of the King, he'd have significantly more power. A second son to a noble house, he inherited very little compared to his brother. When he became Hand, he became a person of worth. He had power and influence throughout the realm. If he were still Hand, he wouldn't need to remarry. Hobert might've chosen another option. Otto recalled his days as Hand of the King, first to the last king and then to Viserys. He'd spoken with the King's voice when he fell too ill; he sat on the council and had The King’s ear. He'd be with his daughter and grandchildren again. They'd have a person in their corner, concerned with their futures and their lives. If Rhaenyra became queen, the realm would be flown into war and chaos.

If her bastard boys became kings after, it'd ruin the kingdom further.

"Have you managed to convince him?" He asked her.

"I have mentioned it to him a few times," she said. "He may consider rebuilding the bridges he burned dismissing you from court."

"I only spoke the truth," Otto said. "It is not my fault he is willfully blind to her misdeeds. I tell him his daughter went into a brothel with Prince Daemon, and was seen coming out after him. He dismisses me instead of accepting the truth."

He also remembered Viserys telling him that he'd plotted to put his daughter forward as a queen. Well, he had, but he never admitted that. Should he be Hand again, he can push for Aegon to be named heir instead of Rhaenyra. If he was Hand, he could keep Prince Daemon from being on the throne. If he was Hand again, people will understand why you wish to marry him.

"I will wait for him to approach me," as he knows Viserys will. "I have plenty to occupy me for the moment." Such as you and your beautiful eyes.

"He's been quite sentimental these days," she told him. "His declining health has made him even more so."

"I can imagine. The King has always been fickle with his commands. He banishes Daemon and then allows him back at court to only banish him again. He dismisses me as Hand, and then brings me back. It's only a matter of time."

She looked over at him, then said, "What will you do about Lady Y/N? You cannot seriously wish to marry her."

"I will. I must."

And wished to, though he kept this to himself. "I will leave you to settle in," he said, standing up from his seat. "I have yet to see my own quarters."

"I suspect they'll be close to Lady Y/N's," she said with disdain. "I know how these Tyrell's work. Her mother will no doubt have placed you close, so her daughter may tempt you in the dark."

He chuckled. She had not even spoken to you, and she already accused you of a plot. He kissed her hands, then left her chambers. He made his way to the rooms Gareth and Jalissa always kept for him. A spacious suite with an adjacent sitting area in front of a fire. A floral tapestry of a young maiden with flowing hair dancing in a silk chemise was added to the room. He couldn't help noting the maiden's similarities to you. Otto smirked. Alicent was not completely wrong. Jalissa can be as cunning as him when she wishes.

Otto spent the rest of his day with his grandchildren and daughter. He did not see you again until later that night at the welcoming feast. As he walked in, the herald announcing his arrival, he spotted you sitting with your sister and companions. Each girl wore a circlet of different flowers, matching ribbons falling down the back. Yours was the only golden one, roses woven into vines and feathers. It matched the gold flowers embroidered into the baby blue gown you wore. You stood out amongst the ladies around you, not only because of your obvious beauty, but because you sat in the middle. You'd laughed at something your sister said, and his heart couldn't help but flutter. He took seats with his household on your side of the room, glad to have you out of his eyeline. Otherwise, he'd be unable to look anywhere else.

"Evening, Ser Otto," The King approached him, and he stood up at once.

"Good Evening, Your Grace," he bowed. "I pray you have been well."

"I wish I could say so," he chuckled. "I heard you're marrying the Tyrell girl on week's end?"

"Her father has proposed that to me," he nodded. "There is a situation with bandits on the routes from here to Oldtown, and her father has offered a marriage pact."

"You're a lucky man then," he said, "She's lovely. Ha, I know Daemon would be envious of you were he here."

"Thank you, Your Grace. I was sorry to hear about Lord Lionel and his son," he added. "It's such a shame. He was a good Hand."

"Not as good as you were," Viserys noted.

"I appreciate that, Your Grace."

"Perhaps," he limped closer to Otto, "We may sit down some time soon? Make amends and rebuild the bridge we burned so long ago."

"I would be open to that," he said.

This pleased Viserys, who nodded and hobbled away to his seat on the high table. Otto watched him leave, more concerned than satisfied. Viserys is already missing a limb due to infection, and now he is becoming weaker. His days are numbered, and this means that Rhaenyra may soon take the throne. With her came Prince Daemon, who'd turn the Red Keep into a brothel and wouldn't hesitate to have his head on the executioner's block. Him being Hand again will ensure the right person ends up on the throne. Not to mention, people may not question his bride-to-be on her choice of husband. Any girl in your position would be a fool to not want the Hand of the King.

Glancing across the hall, he took in your beauty once more. He couldn’t help noticing the low cut neckline of your gown, his eyes gluing themselves to it. The look might be considered scandalous at court, but here in your father’s home, many women wore similar dresses. He suspected due to the warm weather, but Jalissa’s mischievous smile came to the forefront of his mind. Otto could not help imagining those mounds in his hands, hard nipples on his tongue while you squirm with pleasure. He took a drink to wash down these thoughts. When you sensed someone watching you, you turned in his direction. Unsure what else to do, he raised his cup and you did the same. The Seven took their time when creating you, putting all the love and beauty in the world into your form. He walked towards your parents, hoping striking a conversation might distract him from your gaze.

“Doesn’t YN look lovely tonight, Otto?” Jalissa asked him, looking in your direction.

“She does,” he said. “She certainly inherited her mother’s looks.”

“You flatter me,” she tsked, smiling at him.

“I only speak the truth,” he insisted. He then moved on to the most concerning topic: “Your daughter told me she isn’t bothered by our arrangement,” he said. “When I told her that I considered ending it, she insisted that she approved of our match.” He glanced over at her, “Was this your doing, Jalissa?”

“Not entirely,” she admitted freely. “I may have slipped your name into the list of suitors, but I told her she may decline it, if she wished. She said she did not.”

“She mentioned she preferred men of a certain age…”

Jalissa's humored smile gave everything away. “YN has always shown a certain interest in older men.” She stepped closer to him, “I only wish for my daughter’s happiness, Otto. If I can find a way to give her even a crumb of it, I will do what it takes. Surely that is how you feel for your children?”

“That is what we all wish for them, Jalissa, but do you not worry what it might look like for her? A woman as young as her with a man of my age?”

“People will talk whether she marries a young man or an old one,” she shrugged indifferently. “Why the inquiry? Do you not find my daughter pleasing?”

“Oh, um, well…” his cheeks tinged pink at the question. “Your daughter is-”

“-You may speak freely with me,” she giggled at his flustered reaction. “Unless you’d rather tell my husband instead? He’ll be overjoyed at the idea.”

“Your daughter is beautiful, there is no doubt,” he said, finding you in the crowd again. This time he caught you looking at him. You gave a shy, embarrassed smile when his eyes met yours, but you did not look away. It took his breath away. “She is utterly enchanting.”

“She’s even more enchanting up close,” she nudged him before walking away from him.

This he knew. Otto watched Jalissa disappear into the crowd, leaving him awkwardly standing alone. His body burned from being under your gaze. He couldn't recall the last time a woman gave him so much attention. Normally, Otto did not struggle to maintain his composure. He could remain calm and collected regardless of the subject or person. Yet, your stare alone made him shift and gulp thickly. You are only a girl. Nothing malicious or threatening. But, he still took deep breaths as he made his way over to you.

“Evening, Lady YN,” he gave a curt bow, immediately scrambling for what to say. Underneath the candlelights above, you looked positively glowing. “You look lovely tonight.”

“Thank you, ser,” you beamed. “I spoke with Her Grace when she arrived…”

His stomach twisted, “Forgive anything she might have said. She may be our queen, but she’s my daughter as well. I hope she wasn’t too harsh.”

“Actually, it’d been quite the opposite,” you said. “She said she looked forward to the union of our houses, and to my joining your family.”

Undoubtedly pleasantries expected of a queen and daughter of an old man like him. He gazed around the room to see his daughter on the dais, chatting with Jalissa and being a proper guest. Alicent means well, and likely harbors resentment at him but he anticipated that. He only hoped Alicent wouldn’t be outwardly vicious towards you; none of this was your doing. It was your father’s and his brother’s idea. But, seeing you this close up and recalling your gentle touch, he might be warming up to it himself.

“Would you care for a dance, my lady?” he asked, turning back to you. His body yearned to be close to you again.

“I’d love to,” you smiled at him, immediately leaving your seat to join him.

You took his arm and he walked you to the sea of dancers in the middle of the hall. Immediately, you both went into step together. Otto couldn’t recall the last time he’d danced at a banquet, so he did miss a step or two, but that exhilarating feeling he once felt returned.

“Has it been long since you danced, ser?” you questioned, a small tease in your voice but nothing malicious.

“I will admit yes,” he chuckled embarrassed. “Not since my lady wife passed. She loved dancing. So, forgive me if I have two-left feet.”

“You’re simply out of practice,” you took his hands at the appropriate moment, gazing into his eyes flirtatiously, “I can help you become reacquainted with it, if you like. I know you have plenty of things to teach me, I’d like to return the favor.”

The implication, however subtle, made him shudder. He loved and hated how easily this nymph effected him. You were The Maiden personified, in his eyes.

“I’d like that,” he said quietly, the both of you standing in the middle of the floor. “I hear you’re a splendid dancer. When I’m tutored, I only learn from the best.”

You giggled, and then the lesson began. Nimble and light on your feet, you easily moved about the floor with him at every song. You made it fun and delightful. Otto almost forgot who he was and the people watching the two of you as you repeatedly came close together. Your electric energy pulled him in and kept a firm grip on him the entire time. Hearing from Jalissa that you might truly harbor favor for him only made his desires burn hotter. He did his best to keep himself from touching you too long or glancing at your body, but he’ll admit he snuck his peeks.

“-I found Septon Rowley’s writings about the Seven intriguing,” you said as both walked into the garden.

You’d both decided to take some air in the garden outside the hall after dancing. The lanterns hanging around the lush garden gave dim lighting to the cobbled paths around the vast landscape. He also noticed how much quieter and empty they were. The idea of being fully alone with you again stirred disquiet in his gut. Truly, he should’ve warned your septa, but the idea of the aged woman hovering nearby bothered him. He isn’t a green boy who cannot control himself. He is a grown man who can withhold his desires regardless of how badly they wished to be released.

“He talks about them as if they’re people and not gods,” you continued. “He made them sound more human, even if some septons believe his work to lean more into storytelling than facts.”

“Septon Rowley is known to be a bit fanciful with his writing. He said he intended it to be read to children, but I found myself enjoying it as well,” he replied. “Your father mentioned you’re quite versed in scriptures?”

“I wouldn’t say versed, since I can only recite the more common phrases, but I did take a liking to it in my youth. My septa and my mother used to read them to us during sewing circles or after dinner. When they read them, it didn’t sound like a religious practice, but more for entertainment,” you said, “And I do pray in the sept every morning after I break my fast.”

“Do you?”

You giggled, “You believe I do not?”

“I’ve never known your mother or father to impress prayers upon their children before,” he said. “Your mother has loved the arts and your father prefers hunting over praying.”

“It’s true that they never did,” you nodded, “But I find it soothing in a way. The sept is truly the only place where I’m alone.”

“Oh?”

“I’m always surrounded by my ladies-in-waiting, my family, the servants…In the sept, I can kneel down on a bench in front of a statue with candles and sit. It’s become more of a special hideout than a sept.”

“I know the sept here in Highgarden is a rival to it, but The Starry Sept in Oldtown is glorious,” he told you.

“The Starry Sept was beautiful when I was there last” you said, the both of you reaching a secluded section of the garden.

He realized you’d both walked into one of the bathing pools of Highgarden. A square pool with clear water was dotted with lily pads and flowers, this particular pool sat in the middle of an orange grove surrounded by thick stone walls. You each took seats on a bench near the water.

“It was so ancient,” you said, “And so many important things have happened there. It was a bit intimidating to me. There’d also been far too many people there for my taste. Also, my mother and sister went with me since they didn’t want me straying off alone.”

He gulped when he noticed the angle you sat put your bosom right in front of him. Otto knew he should not look. He did not bring you here to ravage you. He truly wished to know you; to see your true nature absent any wandering eyes. Yet, could anyone blame him? It was as if you meant to bring him here to tease him.

“The sept in Hightower is a bit smaller, but,” he said, “Much more private than the Starry Sept.”

You glanced over to him, and he knew he’d been caught. A lump caught in his throat when you shifted closer to him. “Like this place here?” you suggested.

“A bit,” he nodded, “Yes.”

He knew he was doomed when your thigh pressed against his own. You’re simply teasing him. Your mother must have put you up to this, which wouldn’t surprise him. They want this marriage pact to go smoothly, and you showing interest in him would assure it does. It’s the sort of thing he’d done when he steered his daughter to Viserys. But, something about the way your fingers timidly danced over his thigh told him otherwise. When he forced himself to meet your eyes, he saw sincerity in them as you spoke.

“Books about The Faith aren’t the only ones I like,” you said, voice dropping low and sultry. It drew him to you like a siren’s song. “My mother has a collection of books from Essos and she taught me how to read them.”

Heat burned in Otto’s cheeks, and tightened his stomach. He knew exactly what sort of books came out of the Free Cities. While most were educational texts about the various people and cultures, he’d read a fair few erotic tales written by pillowhouse owners or their courtesans. The picture of you in nothing but your chemise, legs parted as you pleasured yourself to one came to him immediately.

“Did she? Jalissa should know better…”

“She only wished to educate me in things outside of a lady’s instruction,” you told him. “I’m not as naive as some of my companions might be, if I’m putting modesty aside. I knew I’d be married one day and,” you rested your hand on his inner thigh and whispered in his ear, “I want to be able to please my husband however he likes.”

“My lady…this is…”

“If you wish for me to stop,” you pulled away from him, “Then my apologies. I…I should not have been so-”

“-What sort of things did you read, my lady?” he asked a bit too eagerly. “I’ve read a few tales myself.”

“Have you?” you asked in disbelief. “My father always painted you as a stout believer.”

“I do hold strongly to my faith and values but, YN, I am a man.” It was his turn to lean in close, “My favorite was written by a Lysene courtesan who shared beds with kings and princes. She claimed she ruled entire cities by using her body to sway her lovers. I found it quite clever of her to bring a man to such deep pleasure he throws away his ideals for her.”

“Lady Harresha of the Red House?” you asked, a bit eager yourself.

“The same,” he nodded.

“I particularly enjoyed her stories about the lover she took in the house’s bathing pool,” you said, putting your hand back on his thigh. This time, he did not shy away. “The things she wrote about him doing to her sounded so sinful and delightful. The way she talked about his tongue tracing her sex made me imagine my own lover doing it to me.”

Hearing such vulgar words coming from your mouth burned his loins. “She was said to taste as sweet as strawberries,” he said, taking the bait, “But I bet the Rose of Highgarden would taste like peaches.”

“Ser…” you said in a bated breath.

“I think we’ve moved far past formalities, YN,” he breathed, his hand gently creeping over yours. “You can call me ‘Otto’.”

He thought you might shy away now; perhaps you’ll believe you’d bitten off more than you could chew. But, instead you guided your hand right over his groin. He bit the inside of his cheek when your soft, warm hand cupped his growing bulge. Slow and light, your fingers traced the faint outline. Seeing your breasts so close to him now, he reached out for one which caused you to gasp in surprise. Through the thin layers of your dress and chemise, he realized you didn’t wear a corset. Your hard nipple brushed against his palm as he gave a light squeeze, and he couldn’t help grazing over it.

“I read one about a Pentoshi trade prince and a woman whom he declared had the most beautiful breasts in the world,” he said, pinching your nipple through your gown. “I’m beginning to believe I’ve found a pair to rival them.”

You leaned into him, brushing your lips with his as you asked, “Would you like to find out? In a week’s time, they will be yours after all. You should see if you’ll like what you’re getting.”

“I know I will.”

It started with a few brief pecks before you deepened the kiss. His tongue slid between your lips and over your own, rolling around it smoothly as he continued groping your chest. Your lips worked so easily with his that sensuality laced every kiss. He felt alive again. Kissing your sweet lips revived a deep-seated arousal that hadn’t stirred for some time. Your hand rubbing his cock over his breeches had him moaning into your mouth as he cupped your cheek. Every small brush of your fingers on his tip stoked the fires inside him more.

Soon, his hands left the front to snake around the back. His fingers deftly worked the lacings of your gown while yours unbuttoned his jerkin. He didn’t need to fill you tonight. There’d be time for that much later, but for now he’d be content seeing and touching your body. The two of you stood as he slid your dress off your shoulders, leaving you in only your chemise and stockings. Otto groaned at the sight of your breasts in front of him. The brief thought that someone might walk in and see the two of you crossed his mind, but the feeling of your hands untying his breeches brought him back to you. Quickly removing boots and slippers, you each stripped down to your underclothes, which only fanned the flames growing between you.

“You look beautiful,” he growled into your neck, peppering the crook with soft kisses that tickled your flesh. “Far more beautiful than any woman I’ve ever seen.”

“Am I?”

“Truly,” he kissed you again, tongues slipping together briefly.

He wasn’t so old and wrinkled that he considered himself unappealing, but he didn’t imagine you enjoying the sight of him too much. However, you proved him wrong as you traced your fingers down his chest and stomach to his pelvic bone. “I haven’t seen many men nude, ser, but yours definitely arouses me. Particularly after I see this,” you gripped the muscle sticking up to your stomach, smiling as he groaned deeply. “Come into the water with me just like in Lady Harresha’s story.”

“Gladly, my lady.”

He kissed down your body to your thighs where he untied and slipped off your stockings. The moment you removed the last bits of clothing, Otto thought he might die. Your sex stood several inches from his face, a patch of hair above two soft folds that he saw himself licking and sucking to his heart’s content. His hands rubbed up and down your thighs as he looked on it, the thumbs pressing into the muscles as he reached the inner sides. Your soft whimpers added more fuel to his ever growing fires. Restraining himself, he guided you over to the steps of the pool, where he watched your body slink into the cool waters.

Once there, he brought you into his embrace again. One hand on his shoulder, you wasted no time in taking him in your hand. You gave hos pulsating length gentle strokes, content to watch him kiss down your chest to your breasts. They truly were beautiful. Soft mounds with hard nipples that fit perfectly in his mouth, he grasped both as he suckled each one. The creases on the peaks constricted at his tongue, them being one of the most sensitive spots on your body. He moaned at the combination of your tits in his hands and you stroking his cock. When he felt you grip his shaft tightly, he sensed you might need his tongue elsewhere. First, he’d use his hand. Sliding one from your chest to the apex of your thighs, you trembled as his fingers slipped easily over your sex. He groaned softly as he felt a distinct wetness between the folds, and the hard nub that ran against his middle finger.

“Otto…” you whined, gripping his shoulder as you tried staying still for him.

You cried out when his fingers gently started rubbing around your clit. He chuckled softly at you squirming in his grasp, eager for more but not wishing to be demanding.

“Let me have a closer look at you,” he said, capturing your lips to kiss you once more. “I want to see you.”

“Only see me?”

“For the moment, sweetling.”

He guided you to the top step, where you eagerly spread your thighs to show him your sex above the low surface of water. Timidly, you mimicked his touches seconds before as you kept your eyes on him. His own eyes landed on your center, watching your hand slowly open your folds for him. He envisioned himself plunging hilt-deep into your tightness, ravaging you the way you richly deserved every night. He wrapped his hand around his tip and started gradually jerking from base to head every time. Otto groaned at the light trembles going through his body once you spread the lips for him.

“Do you like it?” you asked shyly, biting your lower lip as you traced your clit in front of him.

“I love it,” he said, jaw dropping at the faint glistening he saw between them. “Do you often touch yourself like this?” he moved closer to touch your inner thigh, hooking one arm around it.

“I do,” you nodded, clit tucked between two fingers as you slid them up and down.

“While you read your naughty tales?”

“Yes. I get so aroused and wet,” you emphasized this by pushing your folds apart for him, “From reading about the things the characters do in the stories. Like the Lorathi slave who fucked her way to be the concubine of a Pentoshi prince.” You slowly continued touching yourself as you said, “How she pleasured a merchant with her mouth for passage across the river, letting his son fuck her from behind while she did it. I loved the part about her with a Norvoshi soldier, riding his large cock in order to gain access to his master. I can’t wait to feel one inside me,” you slid a finger inside your pussy, pushing it to the knuckle. “I can’t wait to feel you inside me.”

“Tell me more,” he groaned, hooking his arms around both your thighs now. “Tell me more while I taste you.”

Holding you in his grasp, he kept you in place as he gave your sex long, flat licks. He tasted hints of your essence on his tongue, which had his cock throbbing in the water. He kept his pace steady, starting at the bottom before reaching the hard clit at the top and then repeating it. You leaned back into the edge behind you, your hands falling into his hair and feeling the strands between your fingers.

“I climaxed hardest to the part when she finally meets the man at the end of her journey,” you panted. “Reading about how she sat on his face and rode his tongue left me wishing I had a husband who’d let me do that too. I came once, and kept going just to imagine it all over again.”

You filthy girl. Otto never thought he’d find someone as dirty as himself. He growled into your pussy as he thought of you giving yourself multiple orgasms out of pure desire. When he swirled his tongue around your clit, your breaths became ragged and whiny that encouraged him to continue. Your sex tasted sweet, as intoxicating to him as wine, and he licked up any trickle that leaked from you. You tentatively grinded yourself into his mouth, moaning as he ran his tongue over the outer lips.

“How often?” he asked you, rolling his tongue around once more.

“Every night.”

“You fib.”

“I don’t,” you giggled breathily, grinding your hips into his face. He allowed it to hear the moan cut off your laugh. “You should hide in my bedchamber tonight. You’ll see it for yourself.”

“Do not tempt me,” he said, sucking on your throbbing clit. “I will if pressed.”

“And that will only make me want your cock more.”

“YN….”

“Otto…please…”

“Please?” he taunted between licks before sucking tenderly.

“Put your tongue inside,” you whimpered, pinching one of your nipples. “Like the man in the story. I want to feel a part of you inside me at least once.”

Otto planted himself in front of you and slipped his tongue inside your virginal sex. He let his moans vibrate in your entrance each time he darted in and out of you. This new sensation had you wriggling in his arms. He tightened his grip on you and started tongue fucking you faster, reaching as far as he can each time. He allowed you to grab hold of his hair once more to keep him in place as you used him. You soon started shuddering, your walls contracting around his tongue and thighs shaking in his arms. Thick waves of cum spilled over his tongue and he swallowed every bit he could; the juices became smeared on his chin and nose, drowning him in your scent and taste. Even when he removed his tongue, Otto continued sucking your wet sex until you squealed from the sensitivity.

“Sit up for me,” he ordered, standing up in front of you.

You did not need guidance in what happened next. Otto’s jaw fell in a low moan when you stuck out your tongue and licked him from bottom to top. Your hot tongue tickled the underside of his length, flicking just beneath the sensitive head before giving it a light suck. Droplets of precum spilled out as you kissed and licked him; he thought you might avoid it due to the taste, but you surprised him once again. You traced the slit of the head to the leaking hole, running your tongue around it before sucking it softly. A small hum of approval told him you enjoyed it.

“And here I thought I’d have a timid little virgin on my hands,” he said, one hand on his hip and the other on your head as you took him fully in your mouth. “I might think you’ve…you’ve done this before.”

“I assure you, ser,” you said, pecking his tip with your lips, “I have not. I only take instructions from reading well.”

“Did your Lorathi slave write about sucking cock too?”

“Often and with great detail.”

You proved this to him soon enough. Otto found himself struggling to stay put as you stroked and sucked his cock. Your warm mouth felt like heaven. Your wet tongue slid over the throbbing vein each time, while your cheeks hollowed tightly around his girth. He’d marry you on the morrow if he could; he’d marry you right after you finish him if you wanted. Much like the whores in your Essos fairytales, you’d bewitched him with your mouth and tongue. With a cradle of his balls in your hand, light squeezes and gentle touches had him thrusting into your throat. The sounds of your choking gasps sent him over the edge. He thought you’d pull away, and you did but only to open your mouth wide for him. Jerking him in the same pace as before, you locked eyes with him as thick white droplets fell on your tongue.

Not even his Leyla would've done such acts.

His orgasm hit him before he could control himself. He moaned your name louder than he intended, unable to stop himself from spilling over your lips. When you saw them getting away from you, you latched your mouth to the squirting head and this drove him even wilder. Even as his relief came, his desire for you continued burning. You stroked him until nothing else was left; you licked until he stopped twitching. When you finished, you dared to appear timid and shy once more. He bent down to latch his lips to yours, not caring what flavors he might find but only wanting your kiss.

Neither of you left the pool right away. Basking in the afterglow of the moment, you stayed contently in his arms on the soft grass as you both continued talking. He felt at ease in your company now. He supposed having worked out his initial desires, he could enjoy the woman underneath the seductive veil. If this first meeting brought about such tension, he couldn’t imagine your wedding night. As you both eventually dried off and dressed, he thought about a life with you. He knew you’d love Oldtown and the Hightower. You’d be surrounded by his family who will undoubtedly accept and grow to love you.

He knew he was starting to.

***

A/N: Hello sweet ottogasms lmao I had this sitting around in my drafts for a looonnggg time and recently got into the swing of writing this duo again <3

#house of the dragon #hotd #otto hightower #otto x reader #otto x fem reader #hotd imagine #hotd fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfictions #rhys ifans

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