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solxamber · 28 days ago

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Summer Nights with: Housewardens + Jamil

Riddle Rosehearts: Sunset Picnic

The beach is glowing in the soft, honeyed light of the setting sun as you and Riddle set up your little picnic. The spread he prepared is impressive—tiny sandwiches cut to geometrically perfect triangles, fresh fruit neatly sliced, and, of course, a beautiful tea set because Riddle wouldn’t dare let you drink from anything less.

He’s organized every detail down to the napkins, each one folded with the kind of precision only Riddle could manage on a sandy beach.

“Everything looks amazing, Riddle,” you say, grinning as he finishes laying out the plates. You reach for one of the sandwiches, hesitating, and he gives you a small nod of approval, that familiar little quirk of his lips barely there but unmistakably proud. It’s a face he probably doesn’t realize he’s making, and it fills you with a warm, giddy feeling.

“I wanted to ensure everything was perfect,” he says, a little stiff but earnest. “Picnics require planning and, naturally, precise arrangements.” He starts to explain why certain foods pair better with the salty sea air, but you can’t stop watching the light catch in his red hair, the way it glows warm and bright as the sun dips lower. You try not to laugh too loudly when he catches you staring, stumbling over his words as his face flushes a deeper red than you thought possible.

It’s when you’re halfway through a pastry that a gull decides to make a surprise swoop in for an attempt at dessert. Riddle bats it away with the napkin he’d just set perfectly, muttering something about “unacceptable behavior from public wildlife” before composing himself and offering you his arm for a stroll along the beach. It’s such a typical Riddle response that you have to bite back a laugh, feeling a strange, happy ache in your chest.

You link arms with him, and the two of you start walking along the shoreline as the sun continues to melt into the horizon. He’s close, close enough that his shoulder bumps yours with each step, and you feel the warmth radiate from him even as a cool evening breeze begins to settle in. Riddle is quiet for a few moments, looking out toward the waves, his face soft and thoughtful.

“This evening is…” he begins, and you can tell he’s searching for the right words. “It’s quite…pleasant, isn’t it?”

You smile at his careful choice of words, a classic understatement. “Riddle, you’ve outdone yourself. It’s perfect,” you say, squeezing his arm.

He relaxes a bit, giving you that tiny, almost shy smile he only shares when you’re alone like this. “I’m…glad you’re enjoying yourself. It isn’t often that I get to do something so…free,” he admits, glancing away as his ears pinken.

You walk on in comfortable silence, letting your feet sink into the cool sand. The only sounds are the gentle crash of waves and the soft squish of your steps. And then, impulsively, you let go of his arm, running forward to splash through the shallow waves. He stares, caught off guard, before breaking into a smile that’s full and bright, his laugh surprising and infectious as he watches you dodge the incoming surf.

“Come on, Riddle!” you call, extending a hand toward him. “No rules, remember?”

He hesitates only a second before slipping off his shoes and stepping in, a bit awkward but determined as he lets you pull him along. He doesn’t protest as the water laps around his ankles, nor does he scold you when you pull him right into a particularly big wave. His only response is a rare, playful smile as he lifts an arm to shield himself from the splash, then softly grips your hand, steadying you both as you stumble from laughing.

The stars begin to dot the sky, and the last traces of sunlight fade to a gentle indigo. Riddle’s voice is soft when he speaks next. “I never would have done something like this,” he admits, his eyes on the distant waves. “Not until you… You’ve changed my life in more ways than I thought possible.”

Your heart flutters, and the sincerity in his gaze makes it impossible to joke, even though your instinct is to lighten the moment. “You mean everything to me, Riddle. Really.”

His hand tightens in yours, his expression shifting to something so tender it makes your breath catch. “Thank you,” he murmurs, voice barely a whisper. “I never thought I’d feel so…so at ease. Especially not here with—well, anyone.” He clears his throat, looking away briefly before meeting your gaze again, his eyes soft, vulnerable in a way that makes your heart race.

You stand there in silence, lost in each other’s eyes, the cool waves washing over your feet. Eventually, Riddle leans forward, brushing a soft, lingering kiss against your forehead. It’s delicate, hesitant, as if he’s savoring each second.

When he pulls back, he lets out a tiny breath, then nods, his cheeks a lovely shade of pink. “Shall we continue?” he asks, the corners of his mouth lifting in a gentle, almost bashful smile.

You nod, linking arms once more as you walk back, each step filled with an unspoken promise, the kind of love that feels more boundless than the sea itself.

Leona: Stargazing

The night’s air was soft and warm, perfect for lying under the stars. Leona and you had managed to find a quiet spot, away from the crowds and even farther from prying eyes, just outside the city’s lights. Blankets spread across the grass, you leaned back, letting the cool, green scent of the earth mix with the distant murmur of the breeze.

Leona, as usual, looked like he belonged in this setting. Reclining with his arm lazily behind his head, green eyes half-lidded as he looked up at the stars, he didn’t seem even remotely distracted. Which was rare. You couldn’t help but grin at how relaxed he was, how right he looked there next to you, his expression unusually soft.

“Didn’t think stargazing was your thing,” you said, letting your hand find his.

A low chuckle rumbled from him, almost like he was barely holding it back. “You’re right. It’s not. Only reason I’m here is ‘cause you are.”

His words should’ve sounded casual, but there was something in his tone that made you want to melt. With Leona, compliments were rare but always real, always hitting a little deeper than you expected.

You turned your face to the stars for a moment, letting his words settle like an extra layer of warmth. The sky was thick with them tonight, a kind of quiet show for the two of you. “Aren’t you at least a little bit curious, though? You know, about what’s out there?”

“Not really. Stars are just lights, herbivore. I don’t see the big deal,” he replied, then, after a pause, added with a smirk, “But… I’m more interested in what’s right here.”

Of course. Right on cue. You couldn’t help but laugh. “Is that so?” you teased, poking him in the ribs with an elbow.

“Watch it,” he muttered, his fingers lacing with yours and holding you in place. His grip was firm but warm, and there was something so steady, so grounding about the way he held your hand, his fingers curling protectively around yours.

You leaned into his side, feeling the slow rise and fall of his chest, the steadiness of his presence right next to you. For a guy who claimed he didn’t care much about stargazing, he was certainly taking his time.

The night deepened, and you felt yourself slipping into a comfortable haze. The silence was sweet, each passing minute less about the stars and more about just being near each other. And then, you caught him looking at you, his usual smirk replaced by a softer gaze. His expression was one you rarely saw, one that felt completely genuine, like he didn’t even realize you’d caught him.

“What are you staring at?” you whispered, a little more breathlessly than you intended.

His smirk returned, but his tone was quieter, less playful, as he murmured, “Nothing that isn’t mine already.”

It was impossible not to smile, to feel the warmth blooming across your face. But before you could come up with a reply, he’d tugged you down into his arms, wrapping himself around you in a way that left absolutely no space between the two of you. The stars felt almost irrelevant now, each one fading in comparison to the feeling of him beside you.

And as the night stretched on, you stayed there, wrapped in each other’s warmth, surrounded by stars and held by a silence that felt like home.

Azul Ashengrotto: Moonlit Dance

The beach is bathed in moonlight, and you’re wrapped in a soft, intimate silence with Azul, the night stretching around you like it’s been painted just for this moment. The waves lap gently against the shore, the cool sea breeze tugging at your clothes, and in the quiet, Azul extends his hand, his gaze soft and almost shy.

“Would you… dance with me?” he asks, his voice as soft as the night.

You slide your hand into his, feeling his fingers tighten slightly as he leads you into a slow, graceful rhythm under the stars. There’s a tenderness in his every movement, a carefulness, as if he’s afraid you might vanish if he doesn’t hold you close enough. He glances down, just barely meeting your eyes, and the slightest blush colors his cheeks, bringing a sweet warmth to his normally composed features.

As the two of you sway, he lets out a quiet laugh, his gaze turning to the horizon. "I must admit, dancing here... under the stars... feels like something out of a dream."

"Then let’s make it one we won’t wake up from," you whisper, leaning in just a bit closer.

For a while, you dance in silence, and then—seemingly gathering his courage—Azul spins you and, with a soft breath, dips you low, his eyes wide as he holds you steady. His face is so close to yours, every detail softened by the moonlight, and he swallows, clearly flustered yet smiling. You can’t help but laugh, and he joins you, his voice a low, warm hum that fills the air between you.

Before you know it, you’re pulling him into a dip of his own, and he lets out a surprised, quiet laugh, gripping your arms as you bring him back up. You’re both laughing softly now, and he reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering against your cheek as his smile softens.

Without another word, he leans in, closing the distance between you with a kiss, gentle and warm, his lips brushing against yours in a tender, quiet promise. It’s a kiss that says everything he sometimes struggles to put into words, a sweetness that speaks of his care, his love, his wonder at being here with you.

When you part, his gaze remains locked on yours, his thumb brushing softly over your hand. "I never thought… I would ever share a moment like this with someone,” he murmurs, his voice so sincere it makes your heart ache a little.

You smile, bringing your forehead to his, feeling the warmth of his breath, the softness of his hands holding you close. "Well, it looks like you’re stuck with me for a few more dances."

His lips curve in a gentle, almost shy smile, but his eyes are shining as he wraps his arms around you, holding you close as you sway under the stars, feeling like you’re the only two people in the world.

Kalim Al-Asim: Nighttime Drive-In

Kalim’s eyes are practically sparkling as he takes in the sight of the massive outdoor screen and rows of cars, all parked under the blanket of night. “This is amazing!” he exclaims, his voice brimming with excitement as he hops out of the car. “A whole movie in a car? And we don’t even have to wear tuxedos or sit in a velvet chair?”

You laugh, grabbing his hand as he leans back into the car with a bright smile. “Not exactly the red carpet, huh?”

He shakes his head, grinning ear to ear. “Way better. It’s like our own secret world here!” He gestures to the backseat, which, thanks to him, is overflowing with an assortment of treats—popcorn, candy, nachos, sodas, even a small box of cupcakes. "I didn't know what snacks people usually get, so I just brought everything!"

“Of course you did,” you chuckle, squeezing his hand. “You know, they usually sell snacks here.”

“Oh!” His face lights up. “Then we should buy some more! I can hand them out to people—it’ll be fun!” And with that, he’s already leaning out the window, cheerfully offering snacks to anyone in earshot. A few nearby people laugh, some take him up on the offer, and soon, Kalim’s practically holding court from the car, as if the drive-in is the most thrilling event of the year.

Eventually, though, the movie starts, and Kalim settles in beside you, practically bouncing in his seat as he tries to watch the screen and point out funny moments. Every few minutes, he turns to you with wide eyes, laughing softly. “Did you see that?” he whispers, as if you weren’t sitting right there. “This is great, we need to come to these all the time!”

“You know you’re supposed to actually watch the movie, right?” you tease, bumping his shoulder.

Kalim chuckles, nudging you back. “But I don’t want to miss a second of seeing this with you. Besides,” he says with a mischievous smile, “I think this part’s way more exciting.” He takes your hand, drawing you a little closer as he intertwines your fingers. The movie fades into the background as he leans over, his laughter softening into a gentle smile that makes your heart feel like it’s about to burst.

As the night settles, the energy around you shifts, and the once-lively atmosphere turns tender and quiet. Kalim drapes a blanket over your shoulders, pulling you close so your head rests against his shoulder, his arm wrapping around you protectively.

“This is kind of perfect,” he murmurs, his voice low and sincere. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, a subtle blush lighting up his cheeks as he gazes down at you with warm, adoring eyes. “Thanks for bringing me here. I don’t think I’ve ever had so much fun just… being.”

You smile, lifting your head to catch his lips in a soft kiss, one that lingers longer than either of you expected. When you pull back, he’s grinning, a little dazed but more than happy. “Can we do this every night?” he whispers, fingers tracing little patterns on your arm.

“Maybe not every night,” you laugh, resting your hand against his cheek, “but definitely any time you want.”

He beams, pressing his forehead against yours. “Deal. Now, let’s make sure we finish every last snack we brought,” he says, grinning as he pops a piece of popcorn in your mouth before stealing a kiss—sweeter than any of the candy piled up around you.

Jamil Viper: Midnight Swim

The night air is cool, and the water looks almost magical under the moonlight, its surface shimmering with soft ripples. You’re already up to your waist, playfully splashing around, but Jamil is still standing at the edge, arms crossed as he raises an eyebrow at you.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, the corners of his mouth quirking up in that half-smile you know too well. “You know, it’s not really my thing to… jump into random bodies of water at night.”

“Come on,” you laugh, waving him over. “It’s just us, the moon, and the water. Think of it as a mini adventure—no schedules, no duties.”

He sighs, rolling his eyes a little, but you can see the fondness in them. “Fine, but only because you’re stubborn.” He wades in slowly, the water barely making a ripple as he slips in beside you, his usually precise movements softened in the calm, quiet setting.

You drift closer, feeling the water carry you both into an easy rhythm. The night is silent, save for the gentle lapping of the water, and for once, Jamil looks entirely relaxed. No carefully crafted expression, no alert gaze scanning for potential chaos—just Jamil, as he is, quietly peaceful in the moonlight.

After a moment, he lets out a soft sigh, almost as if he’s finally allowing himself to enjoy it. “You know, I have to admit… I can see the appeal,” he murmurs, glancing over at you with a rare, unguarded smile. “Feels like everything just… stops.”

The two of you float side by side, comfortable in the quiet, and bit by bit, he starts talking. About little moments from his day, funny memories he normally wouldn’t share, dreams he usually keeps close to his chest. It’s as if the night, the water, and your presence have created a place where he feels safe enough to let go.

When you reach out to brush a wet strand of hair from his face, he doesn’t flinch or pull away. Instead, he leans into your touch, his gaze softening as he catches your hand, holding it against his cheek.

“Thank you,” he says softly, a hint of emotion in his voice. “For convincing me to try something new.” His fingers trace a light pattern along your wrist, and there’s something almost reverent in his expression as he leans in, his lips brushing against yours with a warmth that makes you feel like you’re floating.

As you part, he chuckles, sounding almost shy. “I’ll admit… it was worth getting a little out of my comfort zone.”

You grin, leaning into his side as the two of you drift together, his arm wrapping around you to hold you close. In the moonlit water, his usual guardedness has slipped away, leaving just the two of you sharing a rare, quiet peace. As he presses another gentle kiss to your temple, you feel your heart swell, more than a little in love with the rare, beautiful serenity of the moment—and the way he’s finally, finally letting you see his softer side.

Vil Schoenheit: Bonfire Night

The scene is perfect from the start. Vil has every detail arranged with flawless precision: the bonfire flickers elegantly, framed by a semi-circle of blankets, and an artful spread of chocolate, graham crackers, and marshmallows gleams in the firelight. He turns to you with a graceful smile, gesturing for you to sit, and you can’t help but think that if anyone can make s’mores look like a scene out of a classic romance, it’s Vil.

The night air is warm, and as Vil carefully toasts a marshmallow, he holds it over the fire with a practiced elegance. The marshmallow never catches flame, never bubbles too much—it’s a perfect golden brown. Watching him concentrate on such a simple act, his face softened by the glow, feels almost like an intimate privilege, as if he’s revealing something vulnerable just by indulging in this little tradition.

But the fun really begins when he offers you his masterpiece. “Now, this is how a marshmallow should look,” he murmurs, extending it with all the poise of someone handing over a rare delicacy. You take a bite, nodding seriously, though the gooey marshmallow nearly sticks to your lips. Vil looks on with amusement, laughing softly at the sight. “I suppose there’s charm in the chaos of s’mores after all,” he muses.

After a few rounds of attempting his perfection, he starts loosening up, even experimenting by making one for himself that’s just a little… charred. “Careful,” you tease him, nudging his shoulder, “you’re about to get soot on that spotless track record of yours.”

He laughs, a rare, unguarded laugh that sparkles in the quiet night. “Tonight, I think I’ll allow it,” he says, before diving into his treat, unbothered by the crumbs or the faint stickiness left on his fingers. The firelight dances across his face, catching every angle with a golden glow, and you’re struck by the warmth in his smile, a stark contrast to his usual poise.

At some point, as you’re leaning back against the blanket, he pulls you closer, arms wrapped loosely around you, and you feel his cheek brush against your hair. “It’s strange,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, “to think that I’d find this much contentment out here—no scripts, no cameras, just you and a fire.” There’s a note in his voice that makes your heart squeeze, a raw sincerity that cuts through the night.

With Vil’s hand resting on yours, and the stars stretching endlessly above, you’re content to sit in the comfortable quiet. You trade stories back and forth, and for once, Vil lets himself be a little dramatic—tales of travels and encounters, where he plays up the details just to make you laugh.

By the time you’re on your last s’more, Vil’s once-pristine fingertips are as sticky as yours, and he’s practically laughing at himself for it. “A worthy sacrifice,” he says, smiling at the mess, then glances up at you, eyes alight with something warm, tender, and unguarded.

Before you know it, he’s leaned in, lips meeting yours in a sweet, unhurried kiss. The fire crackles softly, framing you both in a bubble of warmth, and for a moment, it feels like you’re the only two people in the world.

Idia Shroud: Late night ice cream date

The sky is velvet dark, pinpricked with stars, as you and Idia share a late-night ice cream outing. After the shops have closed, you end up at a deserted park, with only the soft hum of streetlights and the occasional flicker of a firefly. It's quiet and perfect for sneaking glances at each other without anyone else around to notice.

Idia looks adorably awkward, like he’s calculating every step to make sure it goes exactly right, but the way he holds your hand gives him away. His fingers fit between yours, warm and a little shaky, and each time you look over, he’s already looking at you, cheeks flushed. "I—I didn't think anyone else would actually enjoy this level of, uh... casual," he murmurs, glancing at the night around you like it’s a new phenomenon.

You laugh, squeezing his hand. "Idia, it’s perfect. And the ice cream is a solid bonus."

He relaxes a bit, venturing a small smile, even though he’s keeping his eyes carefully on his mint-chocolate chip. "I kinda thought I'd be the only one cool with midnight ice cream runs in a creepy empty park." His awkward chuckle is laced with hope, like he’s waiting for a hint that this really is something special for you.

"It’s exactly my vibe," you say earnestly, leaning just a little closer. "Besides, getting ice cream with you feels... well, like magic."

He doesn’t miss a beat, eyes lighting up at that. "Magic, huh? Guess I’ll take that as an S-rank compliment." He steals a quick glance your way, and for a second, his face softens, like he’s letting himself believe this perfect moment is real. He’s a mix of nerves and quiet confidence, daring himself to be this close to someone who, for some reason he’s still baffled by, loves him.

Finally, as you both settle down on a bench under a streetlamp that flickers like it’s unsure of itself, he clears his throat, still holding your hand. "I never thought...well, I didn’t think I’d get to do this kinda stuff," he says, the words a bit shy. "It’s like... in my head, this was always just some 'maybe someday' scenario."

With a gentle smile, you tilt his chin up just slightly, so his eyes meet yours. "Idia," you whisper, "you’re more than ‘maybe someday’ to me. You’re here now."

There’s a spark of bravery in his eyes as he closes the last inch between you, leaning in for a soft, tentative kiss. The taste of mint chocolate lingers, and his hand in yours trembles, but he doesn’t pull away. When you both break apart, he’s blushing, but his smile’s one of quiet wonder.

"Okay, okay," he mutters, laughing nervously, "I think I could get used to this..."

Malleus Draconia: Firefly Hunting

The air is thick with summer warmth, and a soft, whispering breeze trails through the trees as you and Malleus stroll into the clearing. Fireflies dot the shadows, little beacons of light sparking up and winking out, and Malleus’s eyes light up with unmistakable delight. He stands there for a moment, captivated, before glancing down at you with an almost childlike wonder in his gaze.

“These tiny lights,” he murmurs, his voice filled with awe. “They remind me of stars that dared to fall closer to earth.”

You laugh softly. "I’m not sure they’d like being compared to stars, but I see it."

Malleus grins, a hint of mischief in his eyes, and with a subtle flick of his fingers, a soft, verdant glow ripples from his hand. Suddenly, the fireflies seem to double, then triple, in number, painting the entire clearing in an ethereal light. A thousand tiny stars dance around you, and you can’t help but let out a gasp, the world feeling like a fairytale brought to life.

“Now they’re stars,” he whispers, pulling you close as you gaze up in awe at the enchanting scene he’s created. “Just for you, and just for tonight.”

Your fingers intertwine as he wraps an arm around your waist, holding you close in the flickering, gentle light. You both watch the fireflies in companionable silence, each moment feeling as if it’s stretching out forever. Occasionally, he brushes his fingers over your arm, his touch as soft as the summer night itself.

“Malleus,” you say softly, feeling a grin start to play on your lips, “you’ve got to tell me, have you done this whole ‘summon the stars’ thing for other people?”

He lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “I assure you, I have not.” He dips his head, his eyes meeting yours with that unwavering intensity that always makes you feel like he sees right through to your soul. “No one else has ever made me feel as you do. With you, magic feels… natural.”

Your heart skips a beat, and before you know it, he’s pulled you even closer, leaning in until his forehead is resting gently against yours. There’s an honesty in his gaze that feels as warm as the summer night, as everlasting as the stars. Without a word, you close the space between you, meeting his lips in a kiss as soft as a breath.

The world around you fades—the fireflies, the trees, even the quiet hum of nature itself. All that remains is the warmth of his embrace and the gentle press of his lips against yours, tender and heartfelt, and the promise of endless moments like this.

When you pull back, you see him looking down at you with a soft, almost incredulous smile. “Thank you,” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “For this night. For…” He trails off, as though searching for words big enough, magical enough, to describe the happiness you’ve given him.

“Anytime,” you reply, voice barely above a whisper as you smile back. “But I’m holding you to that firefly magic for next time too.”

With a low laugh, he gives a small nod. “Then I shall make it a thousand more.”

Masterlist

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meat-fr · 6 months ago

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Color Guide for matching Festival Genes + Primal Eyes

Now i want to say this is not meant to be some definitive guide. These are just my attempts at matching colors as closely as i could find with what's available on the color wheel currently. Some of which were quite tricky to find a good match for (or is maybe not even the best use for the gene, looking at you Crystalline...). Will list the colors used for the scries above, but I'll also have some notes for some other similar matches or other color ideas. Overall, this was just a fun little project to work on as the genes released, and maybe some will find some use from it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Light: Sanddollar (Flaxen is a very close 2nd, if you want a very slight warmer color. Banana could also pass, but i find it a little too dark compared to the eyes)

Lightning: Robin (This one's tricky since the color IS the lightning rather than the outline, but Robin is bright enough to give the illusion of being white with a matching blue outline. Aqua is a close 2nd, but again is a little to dark in comparison)

Fire: Sunshine (Saffron if you want darker, more orange fire. Marigold if you want a lighter, more yellow fire. Sunshine is the middle ground of these two. All 3 of these match very closely, so up to your personal preference here)

Arcane: Bubblegum (Matching to the little runes. If you want to match to the eyes themselves, Orchid is the closest match without being too dark in color)

Plague: Vermilion (Berry if you want something less egregiously bright. But i do think Vermilion is technically a closer color match, tho both are very close. If you want a color flipped match, Chartreuse matches the colors pretty well, or Crocodile is you want a similar pallet but less bright (and also has a slight bit more red to it's accents). Bonus color: while it doesn't really match the eyes, Red has a very good Plague-y vibe, if you're a fan of the red+green aesthetic)

Earth: Pumpkin (This one has been the most difficult one to match with all the colors going on with both the eyes and genes. But it leads to a bunch of potential options that just kinda almost match. Ultimately tho there's not really a perfect match for these, just go by your own preference. Ginger matches close for a solid color match. For multi-toned picks, some other good options are Caramel, Peach, Ivory, Seafoam, and Cream. Sadly there's not really any colors that adds more pink secondary tones. (also as an added bonus for these: if you want to match with the geode currency used for the festival: teal, ultramarine, and splash are some good picks)

Ice: Eggplant (Indigo if you want just a very slight more saturation, but ultimately the two are nearly indistinguishable from each other. if you want some really dark blue ice in the same hue, Sapphire works well. If you want a lighter ice color: Sky, Periwinkle, Twilight, and Storm are the closest without going just full on white)

Shadow: Grape (Royal or Violet for a more subdued color, tho i find them a little too bright. The strong highlights on this gene make it tricky to match perfectly, especially when we don't have many darker purples as is. But at the same time, you really can't go too wrong with most of the purple range with this gene, it's just a matter of preference)

Wind: Peridot (Not much to say about this one. This color is incredibly spot on. I guess, if you want something a little darker, Pear matches the darker tips of the eyes)

Water: Cornflower (The whole Lapis-to-Sky range works here, for varying degrees of saturation and brightness, but i think overall Cornflower has the best balance out of all of them? (it looks the closest on adult dragons at least). Idk, this one's really tricky too xP And i am once again painfully reminded that we don't really have any good super vibrant colors in the sky blue range T___T All the closest colors are either too green or too faded. Also as a bonus option: If you want a foamy look, Ice and Pistachio work really well for this)

Nature: Orca (I initially thought Peridot would win this one, but then Orca came out of nowhere. Peridot's still another good option tho, the flowers are just a little more on the green side than the ones on the eyes (but they do match with the actual 'eye' part of the eyes). Also for a bonus color, Pearl also looks really nice paired with nature eyes, even tho it does have a lot of purple in the vines. the leaves and flowers still match really well. And as far as i can find, there's not really a good way to match the vines to the vines of the eyes, since that parts seems to stick to darker colors and browns)

#flight rising #scrying workshop #cobalt speaks #long post #sorry i do a lot of rambling here ;^^#maybe some peeps can find better color matches for some of these than i could #but i had a lot of fun putting these together!

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adarkandmagicalforest · 5 months ago

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hunted/hunter

ship: benjicot blackwood/original female character (elma bracken)

warnings: primal kink, smut, rough sex

The ground had some give.

Not much, but just enough that the heels of her boots sank into the soil like it was sand on a beach, slowly her incrementally as she ran as fast as she could through the woods. She'd begun running at sunset. It was almost fully dark now, the indigo skies creating large dark shadows that seemed to mock her as she hurried past branches and jumping over babbling brooks.

This began do to a sudden, unrestrained thought. Ben Blackwood had been sneering at her by the creek, claiming that the rock she was sitting on was on Blackwood land, and that meant she was not only trespassing but also now was Blackwood property as well, while leaning down and making that stupid face at her.

It had been an idea that came so suddenly and clearly, Elma could've done nothing else.

Once his face was within two feet of her, she'd risen up her fist and socked him on the nose.

Then, she'd laughed right in his pained, startled face. Very quickly, that surprise had turned into furious outrage, so she'd had to move quickly. Elma had shoved him into the creek as hard as she could, not even turning back to see him splashing against the water before she'd begun sprinting away.

And now she was running through the woods. With Bloody Ben not far behind her.

She could hear his breath and the sound of his grunts, which were coming closer and closer. It was that it would take time after she ducked a branch before she heard it snap, the savage Blackwood breaking the twigs off rather than take the time to dodge them as she had.

Anticipation had riled her unimaginably. Her heart was pounding in her chest, she could hear every thud within her ears.

Thud, thud, thud. The soft upturned soil sinking and spitting out every time boots sank into it.

Elma was starting to tire, her legs were protesting every movement now and her breath was becoming so loud. She was almost considering stopping, letting him catch her - after all, if she let him catch her, it was not like he had won. She'd have just chosen to let the game end.

And it was when she was considering slowing, after she'd jumped over a rather wide stream that she'd noticed it: the sudden lack of noise.

So her legs halted in place, the soil making way to moss as she struggled to silence her own heaving breaths, even having to cover her own mouth as she turned to look behind her.

Nothing. There was no one.

And it was no longer just dark, it was black now. Night had fully fallen over her and worser now, she couldn't see Benjicot behind her. Had he stopped? Decided that she was not worth the trouble by chasing her all through the woods? And decided that actually leaving her alone, with no weapon or light, would be punishment enough for hitting him?

It was just as she was starting to become truly, actually afraid when she heard a snap of a twig.

Elma gasped.

And then she was taken hold of, and that soft soil she'd been so frustrated with cushioned her fall as she fell face first into the dirt and moss.

"Spread your fucking legs." Ben demanded lowly into her ear.

She obeyed mindlessly, out of breath from the force of his throw.

Immediately, he shoved himself between her thighs, pushing up her skirts from behind and pushing her small clothes out of the way with little care for her before his cock was shoved inside of her wet cunt. Then he began to fuck her. He did so hard and fast, his hips hammering against her without any other preamble, not even touching her any further other than merely holding her hard against the dirt.

The angle wasn't quite right for her to feel pleasure, but that didn't seem to matter. Every thrust she became wetter and wetter, until squelching noises joined Ben's heavy grunts as he used her.

His hips soon changed the pace, from hard and fast to now just hard, as if he were trying to bruise her from his thrusts alone.

And he may have succeeded - as her rear was feeling more tender when he finally came inside of her, his cum shooting well inside of her cunt until she could feel it spilling out.

When he pulled out of her, she realized she was trembling.

Benjicot must've realized it too, because after a few moments he laid himself against her, wrapping one arm around her waist and the other loosely under her neck while he lowered his face into her hair.

The pressure felt good.

But not as good as the kiss that he pressed against the back of her hair, holding her warm and safe against his body.

#benjicot blackwood #benjicot blackwood x oc #benjicot blackwood x reader #house of the dragon #a song of ice and fire #hotd #elma bracken #blood lust

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kuni-is-daddy · 1 year ago

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Imagine shower sex with scara & wanderer

Scaramouche X Reader X Wanderer : Puppet pleasers.

Context: 'Agree to disagree'

Word count: 1.4k Straight filth.

|Scaraficlist!|ScaraNSFWAlphabet

Ft: F/ngering,Facef/cking, Scara's a jerk, Double p/netration.

"N-No..Scara..Kuni..Its fine, Im just tired..I'll go wash up for a bit"

CW: Minors do NOT interact past the cut! This is a NSFW POST!

Scara and kuni treating there darling to a soothing shower after their stressful date. Scara 'gently' guided you into the shower as kuni is adjusting the water just as you like it and their immediately both obsessed with how you look under them. Your eyes are droopy as the makeup washes off into the washcloth Kuni gently dampened your face with and mixed in soap, Holding your chin up with his pale fingers. While scara Bit his lip at how delicate you looked from the back. Bite marks he's given along your neck and small hickeys on your shoulders.

The shower was rather spacious and sparklingly clean to the point you saw your reflection by the thick tile rest, resting under a cubby with your bars of soap, shampoo and other bodywash they bought as a gift. You heard a soft sigh and assumed it was kuni, His lean form was shielding most of the warm water from your face and washing through his own hair. His indigo pupils never left your beautiful face as he carefully Dapped along your lips. Smudging off your lipgloss, then softly folding the towel towards your eyes. Just as he was, you we're like a doll to him in every way, He relished in you dressing up for him, The way your skirt perfectly curved along your thighs then up to your waist. Finally leading up to your breasts hidden under a blouse. Even recollecting your bitterly warm smile after patiently waiting with lessor lord kusanali for his return after days made his cock twitch.

In a daze he continued dapping the cloth despite your face being clearly washed off for the nth time. "K-kuni?" You blinked, "Are you okay?" You brushed his bangs out his eyes and his cheeks turned pink at the contact. "Hm? Yeah. I just...Do you feel better. Doll?" "Mhm~" You hummed and rested on his palm; the puppet became even more flustered than he already was. His eyes dimmed and moved closer to your face, intoxicated by the smell of your soap. Scara Averted his own gaze to kuni and looked at him unamused. What a pitiful state he's in; Scara thought, but archons was he right. You looked wonderful like this, Fragile... and so vulnerable like a flower as you pressed your soft lips on Kuni's. He removed his fingers and now cupped your face with his hand in search for your tongue. The water splashed onto your eyes, fluttering them shut while a pair of hands trailed along your chest and you moaned into Wanderer's mouth, catching him off guard as he pulled away with a thin trail of your saliva on his lips. "S-scara~? Wait-" He began licking along your previous bite marks and cupped your breasts. "Ah ah ah~ darling...When you asked to be pampered.. Did all my pet want was a little kiss?" Scara mocked kuni then grinned at him while he sucked his teeth. "I- mnn..No~" You shook your head and scara whispered in your ear. "Then take your reward like a goodgirl."

Before you could mutter another word kuni took ahold of your face again, cupping your cheeks with his thumb eagerly to shove his tongue within your taste. "Mnh~ hmn~" You moaned into kuni's mouth; His taste was a bit sweet like yours from dessert you both shared at the restaurant. Your hand trailed onto his neck, pushing him closer with breathy sighs leaving his lips. Scara's cock grew harder at the sight and bucked your hips closer to his erection, your ass skimmed along the tip of his cock while you we're sandwiched in-between the two puppets. He began licking along your previous bite marks until You finally pulled away from wanderer. Practically gasping for air through the heated mist of the shower. "shit.. your enjoying yourself arent you? My pretty little doll~" kuni went to touch your chest but got interrupted by scara's own hands wrapped around you. "Put her on down on the Tile. She's getting fucked the way she deserves." Scara ordered. You swallowed nervously at his explicit words turning your head down only to notice Kuni's shaft hard and leaking precum. He rolled his eyes but complied, Picking you up then laying your body onto the thick tile rest. Your back shivered a bit at the cold, but quickly relaxed in the hot shower. The two puppets looked over you once again, Legs spread apart and hair frazzled along the tile. And that 'innocent' glare you always gave them before they pounced on you like a cat.

Scara began pumping his cock, moving closer to your face where kuni shifted down in between your legs. "Open your mouth" He ordered again. You stuck your tongue out, panting again as the hot air made contact. Scara's eyes glowed a faint purple and he chuckled a bit at your obedience. He grabbed a fistful of your hair, Then guided your mouth onto his length almost a bit too gently. "If you bite, I wont let you cum." he whispered. Kuni Licked his lips at the sight of your wet clit, He traced his bangs back then licked around the bud, instantly making your thighs twitch. Scara let out a soft moan while your tongue laced around his cock. God your mouth was so fucking warm. It took every bit of the balladeers restraint to not face fuck you as he guided your head back and forth. You couldnt help but moan on his cock, Your body was overwhelmed with pleasure on both ends.

"Your- Mn~ such a needy little doll arent you.? You like being used like this from both ends?" Your head bucked back as kuni inserted two of his fingers into your pussy, scissoring you while licking along your folds. You moaned again as scara's length pushed deeper back and forth into your throat as if you we're begging for him to fuck you. "Ah~ just like that- F-fuck your gonna make me cum slut~Fuck..Fuck!~" Scara grabbed your hair roughly again and bucked his hips into your throat, pushing himself far enough that your eyes rolled back while swallowing his warm load and he slightly felt a sting. Kuni shoved a 3rd finger into your wetness. His slim fingers we're soaked in a mix of your juices and water as he stroked himself with his other hand. Scara leaned down, grouping your breasts in his hands while playing with your nipples. "Yeah? Your gonna cum from just his fingers slut?" "M' not a slut~ I- Please~! Kuni!" Kuni thrusted his fingers faster, chasing his own high while desperately licking your bud. "Remember what i told you slut?" the balladeer whispered again. "If you bite, your not gonna cum?" He said through snickers. "B-but I- Ah~! I didnt~! S-scara kuni-! please! please!" You whimpered and begged but to no avail Kuni Slowed down on your clit, Only peppering licks before licking up your current juices with his fingers.

Scaramouche picked you up, then had kuni hold you by your waist as he leaned onto the wall. "Wrap your arms around me." Without warning Kuni and scara both inserted their tips inside your prepped pussy and you nearly screeched after being so full. "Ah! S-scara- Kuni~! it's too much- Your so big~!" "You can take it darling~" Kuni said while kissing your shoulder. Scara thrusted up into your warmth, moaning at your walls squishing them both inside. "S-so fucking tight..~" Within the shower echo'd their mixed praise and moans in your mushy mind, Your throat was still horse from scara cumming inside, but you pleaded with short breathes to finally reach your orgasm. You we're so patient with them during the date and there many many arguments, Why couldnt they just reward their good girl after treating them so well. "R-right there and~ ah! Scara~ Kuni~ Mn Im close~! please dont stop! please let me cum!" "Hah~ look how fucking delirious she is. Already fucked out just like that~ You wanna cum that bad slut?" please please please "mhm~! please let me cum~!"

With another sloppy thrust from both of them, They came deep into your womb with their hot seed as your juices squirted onto them. As if on instant your body began to feel numb as your high subsided. You fell back into The balladeers chest with hazy vision and view as they cock warmed you. The room began to feel silent, And the only sound was your shared panting and shower still running warm water. It was comforting being in between them like this as stuffed as you we're. Finally, your eyes fluttered shut in-between them. A perfect view of two pairs of indigo eyes and a devilish smirks watching you rest.

#genshin smut #scaramouche smut #scaramouche #scaramouche x female reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer smut #wanderer x reader #wanderer genshin #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #genshin impact #wanderer x you #wanderer x y/n

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yuoimia · 5 months ago

Text

OUR SUMMER DREAM

summary: beneath the radiance of cloudless skies, a summer memory is tied between the two of you. days with them - summer edition!

characters: wanderer, xiao, diluc, alhaitham, neuvillette, kazuha, ayato, zhongli

notes: gn! reader, soft and sweet, fluff, teasing, wc: 1.3k

soft splashes of aquamarine waves, sparklers in hand, the flash of a digital camera - wanderer, xiao.

“don’t wander too far.”

“oh c’mon,” you exasperated, tugging his arm a bit harder again, letting a humoured laugh escape from your lips. “if you’re so scared of getting lost, then you should hold my hand-“

“i know what you’re planning,” he replied knowingly, lightly elbowing your side with his free hand, a fierce gaze reflecting the flickering embers of the sparkler in his other hand, twinkling and incandescent with matching ferocity that was rapidly dissipating.

you sighed and shook your head with a tut, accompanied with a lazy gesture towards the horizon, now swallowed in breathtaking shades of rich indigo and navy, streaked with the last ribbons of daylight.

the waves tumbled one over the other, idly lapping at the golden shore sprinkled with pearly shells and tangled seaweed, each swash permeating a stinging scent of salt.

“i promise i won’t push you into the water,” you nodded solemnly, pulling him and his skepticism closer. “i promise,” you enunciated, putting on what seemed like a confident expression of benevolence before refocusing your attention on the smooth sand delivered by the ocean.

“that’s not what i was worried about,” he muttered under his breath, making his way down to where you were, seemingly inspecting something in the sand, two newly lit sparklers in his hand, softly illuminating a golden path.

“cute, isn’t it?” you grinned, smiling adoringly at the red crab, crouching down further. “look!”

he looked, trying to find what was so amusing, only releasing too late the trap he had fallen into.

“say cheese!” you exclaimed, pulling something out of your bag instantly recognisable by the quantity of cat stickers and its signature flash.

double cuteness. an upturned crab and a certain wide-eyed person illuminating them both with the light of burning stars.

low whirrs of a running fan, windows thrown open, a bowl of freshly cut watermelon between the two of you - diluc, alhaitham.

any agonising second now, you’d pathetically melt into a miserable puddle on the cool vinyl floor.

any second now, you’d make a suffering groan, thrust the electric fan closer, and aimlessly stab a fork into the bowl of perfectly cut watermelon and momentarily delight in its juice before staring disinterestedly through the sheer curtains of the opened window, hugging your knees with your arms. there wasn’t much to do on an afternoon in one of the most insufferable summer heatwaves ever.

“why does it have to be so hot,” you complained to nobody in particular, patting your cheeks and forehead. there’s hasn’t been a single breeze in the last five minutes.

“you should find something to do,” a voice swept from behind. snapping your head backwards. you revealed a look of contempt in his direction. “it’s too hot to move.”

he examined you from where he was dusting the bookshelf, his fingers tracing the books with great care. “you’re moving your mouth.”

“even talking makes me exhausted,” you turned to shove another bite of watermelon, a ghost of a pout resting on your lips. it wasn’t as cool anymore, but rather unpleasant now that it had reached room temperature.

“with a mind like yours, i’d expect you to be able to easily entertain yourself,” he cooed, now sitting on the end of the bed, just above where you sat. further tilting his head downward, he brushed the loose strands of your hair, eyelashes fluttering in your peripheral vision. “unless…” came a soothing whisper, “you wanted my attention all along?”

when met with no reply other than your tentative gaze and deep breaths, he laughed, removing his hand from your hair and sitting back on the bed. “i was just joking.”

from our favourite spot for sunsets, ice creams in hand, wistful thoughts and eyes - neuvillette, kazuha

if you could, you’d polish this memory until it was clearer and brighter than any bygone jewel and store it in a small box sealed within layers of dreamy clouds, tied with a chain of love.

away from the ambience of the blaring city, out into the forgotten outskirts that always looked so far away, hidden under vine-covered overhangs, between the sharp scent of evergreen pine trees, cold and invigorating. through blooming meadows and woods of delicate wildflowers, sometimes met with a plain of deer and foxes. up here, up high, breathing in the quiet beauty, the rays of sunset hugging you both in a comforting embrace.

“it’s been a while since i’ve done something like this,” he whispers before releasing a fond laugh, his face tinged with the slightest pale hue of cherry, spreading from the apple of his cheeks to the line of his jaw, either from the bountiful crispness of the fresh breeze whipping through the windswept grass you both laid on, adorned with dandelions, and the hum of the last hardworking bees.

“hm, really? we should do this more often,” you acknowledged warmly, turning to lie on your side, propped up with an elbow. pushing a loose strand of hair from his face, you watched with no particular intention but to just look. not in an uneasy way, something more unattached, more open for thoughts to run free and connect once again.

he smiled at the linger of your touch, bringing a hand to lock yours in place just below his ear, between his neck. “you always come up with such wonderful ideas,” he murmured, the gentleness far from innocent, chuckling at your sudden rapt attention. “your ice cream is melting.”

vibrant vivid lights, screams and smiles, the delicious aroma of buttered popcorn - ayato, zhongli.

one might assume that he was enjoying this more than you were.

“don’t you think it’s time to give up?” you proposed, eyeing him and the fluorescent vending machine with profound disapproval when he had simply sighed, the glass reflection exhibiting his contemplative face. “it’s been nearly half an hour, you know.”

he turned briefly to raise an eyebrow, his hand still on the joystick. “didn’t you say you wanted the panda?”

he’s concerned about that? you feel a sudden urge to burst into laughter, or maybe even slap his hand, still stuck onto the motionless joystick.

“i’ll be fine without it,” you shook your head, rubbing your forehead with a smile towards the ground. winning or losing, the earnestness with which he took your previous offhand comment made the butterflies in your stomach soar a bit too high for such a casual night.

for a few seconds, silence simmered in the cool air, your eyes scanning the striped tents, the constellations of bubbles drifting behind the faces of happy children, the cheerful vendors and their tied bags of coins, landing on a particular cluster of food stalls beneath an arched entryway lit by twinkling amber fairy lights, failing to notice the inconspicuous set of eyes still fixed on you.

“do you want to eat something?” he finally asked, easily noting your prolonged attention at the bustling entryway. he intertwined your hands together, before faintly tugging you forward, tightening his hold as you began to navigate the busy lane, stopping at the first stall.

“there are so many things i want to try,” you breathed, bending down to analyse the chalkboard menu with a cursive title reading: specials.

but which ones to pick? you chewed over it, edging closer to the list. which one..

“are you finished?” came a hushed voice behind your ear. “we need to find a table before they all get taken.”

“what do you mean? i haven’t-“

standing above to your left, he smiled with a small sense of pride, his hands filled with the menu of specials.

#genshin x reader #genshin fluff #wanderer x reader #xiao x reader #diluc x reader #alhaitham x reader #neuvillette x reader #kazuha x reader #zhongli x reader #ayato x reader #・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗#anya writes ᝰ.ᐟ

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 year ago

Text

When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 13: Condemned From The Start] [Series Finale]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, references to sexual content (18+), death, angsttttttt, more children than usual, Wolfman!

Series title is a lyrics from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Sophomore Slump or Comeback of the Year” by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 8.1k.

Link to chapter list: HERE.

Taglist (more in comments): @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauraneedstochill @not-a-glad-gladiator @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @at-a-rax-ia @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @echos-muses @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @lm-txles @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @storiumemporium @insabecs @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @yawneneytiri @marbles-posts @imsolence @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @nimaharchive @anxiousdaemon @under-the-aspen-tree @amiraisgoingthruit @dd122004dd @randomdragonfires @jetblack4real @joliettes

Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoy the finale.🦀💚

In the Eyrie, one of Rhaena Targaryen’s three dragon eggs has hatched at last; the creature is small and pink, and she has named it Morning. When Rhaena’s tears fall onto the scales of her diminutive wings, they glitter like flecks of rose quartz. Deep within the snow-laden labyrinth of the Mountains of the Moon, Nettles is in hiding with Sheepstealer; already the nearby clans are bringing her offerings of meat and treasure, axes and clubs and daggers, hairpins carved from the ribs of enemies and necklaces made of bear teeth. Silverwing is settling into a lair on an island in the Red Lake at the northwestern corner of the Reach. Word of this has travelled back to King’s Landing, and Borros Baratheon implores Aegon II to seize Silverwing for himself; but the king does not want a new dragon. He wants Sunfyre back. That grim truth aside, Aegon is unable to trek across the continent to tame the beast anyway. Some days he cannot even cross a room. At the bottom of the Gods Eye, bodies are dissolving into bones, threads of long white hair breaking loose to flow in the currents like weightless strands of spider webs torn free by cold drafts. And only a few miles from the border of the Crownlands—preparing to cross the icy waters of the Blackwater Rush—the army of Northmen camps under a full moon in a clear, indigo sky heavy with stars like glinting coins.

“There are passageways under King’s Landing,” Clement Celtigar says. He stands by the bonfire with his sword in his hand, his face flame-bright and eager, forever licking up drops of the Kingmaker’s approval, a stray cat lapping milk splashed in an alley. Increasingly, Cregan Stark finds him tiresome. Clement is brash and dramatic, forever swearing vengeance, reveling in his newfound position as the head of his house. The Warden of the North has never had to beg for attention, admiration, acclaim. These things come to him like snow falls to the earth in winter: effortlessly, inevitably. Yet Cregan tries to be patient. Clement is soon to be his brother-in-law, and it is dishonorable to fail to extend courtesy to one’s kin. Furthermore, it seems, Clement has his uses.

“Are there really?”

Clement nods. He wears the banner of his house on a strip of fabric looped around his upper arm: crabs red like blood, a backdrop of white like snow. “That monster’s disciples used them to kidnap my sister from the Red Keep. But she fought hard. When we searched her rooms, all the furniture was upturned and the sheets ripped from her bed.”

“She is brave,” Cregan murmurs in agreement, though he is distracted now. The air tastes like smoke and ice, the wind rubs raw spots into the soldiers’ faces. They are arriving just in time. The depths of winter is no time to wage war. Cregan Stark imagines how you will greet him when he liberates you: a desperate embrace, hands that refuse to let go, whispered gratitude and breathless kisses on his earth-stained knuckles, bones of steel softened by the innate weakness of womanhood. You will love him, of course you will, fervently and entirely. Then when the realm and succession are secured, the Kingmaker will take you North and wed you in the tradition of his people, under the heart tree where the Old Gods can witness it. And then there will be the wedding night. In Cregan’s understanding, women receive little pleasure from the act itself. It is a burden they bear for the men they love, for the children they are divinely tasked with bringing into existence. Cregan Stark intends to alleviate your suffering in this regard as much as possible…yet he has already begun to choose the names of the sons he will make with you. He especially likes the sound of Brandon, sturdy and grounded and thought to mean leader or prince. “This is the last night your sister will ever spend in the clutches of the Usurper.”

“Praise the Seven.” Then Clement adds diplomatically: “And the Old Gods too, of course.”

“It’s the end of the world,” Cregan Stark says, gazing up into the night sky where constellations tell the stories men deem worthy of remembering. “And the start of a brand new one.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“How did you learn to braid hair?” little Jaehaera asks you in her lilting, reedy voice like a bird’s. You are sitting behind her on the floor in Alicent’s bedchamber. Nearby, Autumn is flipping through a child’s book with Rhaenyra’s ever-solemn son, murmuring as she points to colorful illustrations of ravens, dolphins, bears, dragons, crabs. They are learning to read together.

“My sisters taught me,” you tell the princess. Firelight turns her silver hair to gold, her pale skin to flames. Logs crack and pop as they melt to glowing embers. Alicent glances over at you and sighs despairingly. The dowager queen, so thin she might disappear, is hunched in a chair by the fireplace. She has an unshakeable, rattling sort of cough that reminds you of how Sunfyre sounded on Dragonstone when he was near the end. Her long auburn tresses are falling out in handfuls. She will not survive the winter, this is a certainty.

“You have sisters?” Jaehaera says, surprised. “How many?”

You smile faintly as you weave her hair into one thick braid like the kind Aemond once wore when he went to battle. “Three. Piper, Petra, and Penelope.”

“Where are they now?”

“Back on Claw Isle, where I came from. With our mother.” Mourning Father, mourning Everett, writing letters to Clement to keep his spirits high as he and the Warden of the North march towards King’s Landing to slay the Greens’ king and bind me to a different man’s will.

“What’s Claw Isle like?” Jaehaera asks with a child’s clear, boundless curiosity.

“Rocky, misty, grey. But the ocean is beautiful.” You think of Aegon’s eyes, the same as his daughter’s, a murky storm-blue that is deeper than it looks.

“What brought you here?”

You consider this before you answer. You see it, you feel it: cinders like dark snow in the air, Aemond’s iron grip on your forearm. “When your father was burned at the Battle of Rook’s Rest, he needed someone to help heal him. Your uncle Aemond found me.”

“And he asked you to stay with us?”

He would have slit my throat if I said no. “Yes, he asked very politely, as any gentleman would. And of course I agreed. I wanted to make the king strong again. I wanted to take his pain away.”

Jaehaera stares down at her tiny hands, palms crossed with lines that are long and shadowy in the shifting firelight. She does not speak of Aegon. She does not know him, and he frightens her: the burns on his skin, the suffering in his glazed eyes. She has no memories to impress his true character upon her. If she does not make them herself, she will believe whatever she is told. “I miss Aemond. I miss Daeron.”

“I know, sweetheart.” They were formally laid to rest yesterday on two funeral pyres. Daeron’s bloodied, charred, seafoam green cape was burned to ashes on one. All that was left of Aemond—his favorite books, his quills and ink, small leather eyepatches from when he was a boy—were torched on the other. “I miss them too.”

Jaehaera’s braid is finished. You reach into a pocket of your emerald green velvet gown to retrieve what you have brought for her: a thin golden chain necklace with Aegon’s ring as a pendant. He can’t wear it anymore. His fingers are too swollen. “What is this?” Jaehaera says as you place the chain around her neck. She lifts the ring and peers at it, gold wings and jade eyes.

“It’s supposed to resemble Sunfyre,” you explain. “Your father loves you very much, Jaehaera. He wanted you to have this ring and keep it with you always.” Aegon didn’t say that; he rarely mentions Jaehaera at all. Sometimes you think he forgets she exists. But she is a part of him, she is his legacy, and you cannot look at any piece of her without seeing the man you love.

“He gave it to me? Like a gift?”

“Yes. A gift.” A gift, an inheritance, a relic, a reminder.

Jaehaera turns around and looks up at you hopefully, vast wave-blue eyes like winter oceans. “Do you think I’ll have another dragon someday?”

Her own infant beast, Morghul, was killed in the Dragonpit before Rhaenyra fled the city. “Maybe,” you tell her. “There are eggs that could hatch someday. And there are a few unclaimed adults left, Silverwing and the Cannibal. Perhaps you’ll tame one.”

She wrinkles her nose in confusion. “What’s a cannibal?”

Someone who murders, devours, fuels their body to the detriment of their soul. “Someone who eats their own kind. Like a dragon who feeds on other dragons.”

“So just like in the war. Dragons killing dragons.”

“Exactly,” you say, a shiver crawling down your spine. “Now go show your new necklace to Grandmother.”

Jaehaera wobbles to her feet and dashes across the firelit bedchamber to where Alicent is slumped in her chair. “Look, look! It’s Sunfyre!” you hear Jaehaera chirping. Alicent examines the ring—skeletal hands trembling, large dark eyes slick with tears—and dutifully fawns over it, telling the little girl how beautiful she looks, how brave she has been. Then she bundles Jaehaera into her boney arms and holds her like she’ll never let go. Autumn catches your gaze from the other side of the room, and when you leave to return to Aegon she follows.

“What is your plan if the Greens lose the battle?” she says in the hallway under an arc of grey stones. Her tone is urgent, her hazel eyes sharp. Everyone knows the Northmen are within days of King’s Landing. Borros Baratheon—a large, loud, abrasive man, but with a bottomless appetite for combat—and his soldiers will march out of the city tomorrow to meet Cregan Stark’s army on the fields of the Crownlands, sparse and grey with winter. The Lord of Storm’s End has spent hours locked in the council chamber discussing strategy with Larys Strong, Corlys Velaryon, and the misfortunate yet courageous Tyland Lannister, maimed by his months of torture at the hands of the Blacks.

“We won’t.” We can’t.

Autumn slams her palm against the wall behind you; the sick thud of flesh against stone reminds you of the day Helaena died. “Wake up. We might. You’d better have your options figured out.”

And you recall Larys’ words on Dragonstone: I think it’s time for you to consider what your options are if a Green victory no longer appears to be viable. “We’ll run,” you say weakly. “We’ll take Aegon and we’ll escape through the corridors under the Red Keep, just like he did before. Cregan Stark will kill Aegon if he finds him. I can’t let that happen. We’ll have to run.”

“Run where?” Autumn snaps pointedly, pushing you towards a conclusion you refuse to acknowledge.

“I don’t know.”

“Where? Where could we go that is beyond the grasp of your wolf if he seizes the capital?”

“Dorne, Essos. Somewhere, anywhere.”

“The king won’t survive a journey like that.”

You cover your face with your hands, feel the biting cold of snowflakes melting in your hair, see the stains of earth on your thighs as Cregan Stark forces them apart. How can I lie with a man who hailed the deaths of people I loved? How can I spend the rest of my life listening to him being called a hero for killing Aegon? How can I give him children? How could I love a baby that was half-made of him? “We ran before. We’ll have to do it again.”

Autumn scoffs. “You have no idea what it means to be a woman on your own in the world. What will you become without a great house, without protection? A prostitute? A peasant? Will you eat scraps covered with rot or mold? Will you live in a tree? Will you beg some family to take you in? And then when the father who is oh-so-gallant in daylight starts fumbling under your blankets once the candles are blown out, will you let him inside you? Or will you fight him off and risk a blade in your guts, your throat? You have no fucking idea what it’s like out there.”

“I don’t care what happens to me if Aegon’s gone.”

“You would abandon Jaehaera? You would abandon me?” Autumn demands. “You speak for us now. You are the only one who can. Our fates are twisted up with yours.”

That’s true. And I promised Helaena I would look out for her daughter. You can’t imagine a life without Aegon; there was a time when he was only a name—and an infamous one, a terrible one, soulless and monstrous—but now he has broken down the eaves of what you were once resigned to call your life and painted colors in the sky you’d never glimpsed before, never even dreamed of. You ask Autumn with genuine, painful bewilderment: “What is the point of learning that something exists only to have it taken away? Why would that happen? Where is the justice in it, where is the reason?”

Autumn smiles, sad and patient. “Ah, this is an affliction of the highborn. You still believe that there is a design, and that life has some amount of fairness in it. There is no divine judgment being passed, my lady. There is no god weighing the worth of your dragon or your wolf or yourself. Life is random, and it is ungovernable, and it is very often cruel. And that makes it all the more remarkable that you knew the king for the time you did. That you ever met him.”

It wasn’t enough. And I can never go back to who I was before. “I’m sorry. I should not complain to you. Your losses have been terrible.”

“It is no contest,” Autumn replies, weary now. “But I should go back to check on the children. They need me.”

“No. They love you.”

And now she beams, sparkling eyes and copper ringlets. She doesn’t need to say it, you can both feel it in the winter-cold air. She loves them in return. She loves them fiercely. As long as they live, she will have reasons to.

When you reach Aegon’s bedchamber, Grand Maester Orwyle is just leaving. He bows to you and grins, pleased that you have both survived the fall and retaking of King’s Landing. He is haggard from his months in the dungeons when Rhaenyra ruled the capital, but he endured. Who would have guessed at the start of this war that the old man had more years left than Aemond or Daeron or harmless little Maelor? You wait in the hallway for the maester to amble sluggishly by, but then when he is gone, you peer through the slit of the half-open door to see that Lord Larys Strong is speaking to Aegon, who is propped up in bed on a mountain of pillows and wearing only his cotton sleeping trousers. He is thin, frail, ghostly pale with the exception of the scars that are a mosaic of white and scarlet and bruise-like violet. Aegon and Larys have not noticed you. You linger just outside the doorway, watching, listening.

You can take care of Aegon as much as you wish now: feed him, clothe him, clean sweat from his brow, dose him with milk of the poppy, rub rose oil into his scars, stretch his legs, test the heat of his skin for fever. He’s too weak to stop you. He can’t walk, can’t stand, can’t stay awake for more than an hour or two at a time, can’t even pour his own wine or milk of the poppy; the glass bottles are too heavy when full. Yesterday, Aegon had to be carried outside in a litter to see the remnants of his brothers burned on the pyres. And he had exchanged a brief, somber glance with Autumn that you neither anticipated nor understood. He acknowledges her so rarely. And yet her small hazel eyes had been alarmed, knowing.

Larys is saying with a grave expression and his restless hands propped in the handle of his cane: “Lord Borros Baratheon is asking for your assurance that as soon as the war is won, you will take his eldest daughter Cassandra as your wife.”

Aegon stares at him, incredulously, impatiently. Aegon has not called you his wife in the company of others since his homecoming. You do not ask why. You already know. It is not because his intentions have changed; it is because if he is not the victor, your life is in less danger as his captive than as his queen. “Surely even a man as brainless as Borros can surmise that there would not be much benefit for the lady now. I am a worm. Useless, pathetic, deformed, no longer virile.”

“He is willing to take the chance, I gather. And he is placing his eggs in more than one basket. He would like another daughter, Floris, to be married to me.”

“Seven hells,” Aegon mutters. Then he turns determined. “I cannot marry another. I won’t do it. I am claimed already, body and soul.”

“I fear how enthusiastically Borros’ men will fight for you if you do not agree to the match. He is risking his life for your cause. He will expect generous repayment.”

Aegon is quiet for a long time. He stares fixedly at his bedside table: a full cup, a large glass bottle of milk of the poppy. His dagger is still there from when you cut and braided his hair for him this morning; he cannot do it himself anymore. At last Aegon says, almost too low for you to discern from the doorway: “He’s not cruel, is he?”

“Who? Borros Baratheon?”

Aegon glares at Larys. “No.”

After a moment, Larys realizes what his king means. “Cregan Stark isn’t cruel. I’ve heard many whispers from many mouths, but I’ve never heard that.”

“Look at me. Don’t lie to me.”

“He isn’t cruel,” Larys says again. “Perhaps the truth is worse. He is measured, competent, merciful, wise. He is honorable. The Manderlys want to torture everyone and the Boltons itch to sharpen their flaying knives but Stark forbids it. He respects the laws of war. He tries to avoid the slaughter of noncombatants. He forbids his men from burning farms or raping women. He is devoted to the woman you call your wife. He takes no mistresses, visits no brothels. Cregan Stark is not a monster. He’s not soulless. He’s just on the wrong side.”

Aegon nods slowly, then his face breaks into a humorless smirk. “Tell Borros Baratheon that I’ll marry whichever daughter he wants me to when the war is over. I’ll marry all four if that is his preference, and bed them all on the wedding night too, one right after the other. Agree to anything he asks for. It doesn’t matter anyway.”

It doesn’t matter because none of it will ever happen, even if the Baratheon army does win the Iron Throne for the Greens. It doesn’t matter because Aegon does not believe he’ll still be here in a month, or two weeks, or perhaps even days.

But he can’t mean that. He’s not thinking clearly. He’s confused, he’s exhausted, he’s in pain, you tell yourself, before remembering that Aemond said it first.

“Yes, Your Grace.” Larys is subdued, sorrowful. He bows deeply to his king. Then he turns to depart.

“One more thing,” Aegon says, gesturing to something on the side of his bed you can’t see from where you’re standing. “I hate to impose upon you further, but I can’t manage it myself. Can you take that and empty it somewhere? I don’t care where. But you must keep it hidden from my wife. The red-haired girl Autumn knows, and so do the maesters now. They are all sworn to secrecy. Can I trust you to exercise the same circumspection?”

Larys is gaping down at an object that is a mystery to you. He begins to stammer out a reply, stops to collect himself, and starts again. “Yes. Yes you can.”

“Good.”

Larys picks up the object; you are puzzled to discover that it is a chamber pot, white and porcelain. And as he navigates around Aegon’s bed and towards the door where you wait, you see that the vessel is full of blood.

You gasp before you can stop yourself, a razor-sharp inhale of breath that both men hear. They spot you, lurking in the doorway like someone lost, someone far from home. Shock bolts across Aegon’s face, and then frustration, and then defeat, and then profound misery.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to lie to you, I just knew…I knew you’d be upset and I…I didn’t want to hurt you. I’ve never wanted to hurt you.”

“How long?”

“It doesn’t matter, Angel.”

“How long?” you ask again. “Just since this morning?”

“Four or five days now.”

“Four or five…?” Your mind whirls like storm winds. He’s dying. He’s really dying. His kidneys are failing and there’s nothing I can do. I can’t cut him open and stitch him back together. There’s no wound to scrub clean with vinegar and then bandage with honey and linen. There’s no brew that can restore the rhythm of his blood and bones and nerves. He’s just dying. That’s all there is. That’s the beginning and the end of it.

“Please don’t cry,” Aegon says, reading your face. “Don’t do that, please don’t, I’ve hurt you enough already.”

His hands stretch out to close the space between you, and as Larys slips from the room you go to Aegon, climb into bed beside him, collapse into him as his arms catch you and rest your head against his bare, scarred chest, his feverish skin mottled with the history of wounds you helped close all those months ago. “I’m sorry,” you sob. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have let you go after Baela and Moondancer on Dragonstone. I should have stopped you. I should have dragged you inside the castle to wait until Aemond and Vhagar could help you. I shouldn’t have let Aemond go to Harrenhal. I shouldn’t have let Daeron fly south. I shouldn’t have let Autumn go back to King’s Landing, and I shouldn’t have let Everett stay there. I shouldn’t have let Helaena leap from the window. I should have stopped Maelor from being sent to the Reach. I should have stopped Rhaenys and the Red Queen from taking flight to burn you in your armor at Rook’s Rest. I should have stopped this! I should have done something! The only good thing I’ve ever had to offer the world was healing but I can’t save anyone, I can’t stop their suffering, I can’t do anything!”

“None of it was within your control, and none of it was your responsibility. I am the king. The fate of my kingdom and my followers rests with me. I wear their spilled blood, not you. I am so full of red I’m overflowing with it.” And he chuckles, sardonic, exhausted. He’s already battling unconsciousness again; you can hear his heartbeat slackening, the slow laborious expanding and contracting of his lungs.

“Aegon,” you say softly, as if afraid to speak it into existence. “What happens if the Baratheons don’t win tomorrow?”

“They will. They have to. There’s nothing I can do for you if they lose.” Then he winces and groans. It’s his back again, his failing kidneys, overrun with so much ruin—burns and breaks and pressure and heartache—that their cadence faltered and then ceased. You grab his cup of milk of the poppy and tilt it against his lips; and how many times have you done this since you met him, burned nearly to death and half-mad at Rook’s Rest? A hundred? Aegon drinks it down, his arms still tight around your waist. They do not loosen until he’s out like a snuffed candle.

You refill the cup on his bedside table with milk of the poppy in case he needs more when he wakes, pick up the dagger you use to cut his disheveled hair, take it to the dresser. And in the cascade of silver moonlight flooding in through the windows, you practice laying the gleaming blade against your wrists, pressing it to the throbbing arteries of your throat, angling the sharpened point of it between a gap in your ribs and towards your racing heart.

Autumn. Jaehaera. Aemond’s child that Alys carries. I still have promises to keep. I still have tasks that cannot be left unfinished.

Helaena’s words surface like a drowned man dredged from the waves: You must whisper into the right ears.

You set the dagger down on top of the dresser and roam to the castle library where Aemond once spent so many hours. You collect a stack of anatomy books and carry them back to Aegon’s bedchamber. There, before the roaring fireplace, you devour them for any scrap of hope, any last resort. You turn pages until one illustration stops you. It is an unclothed man, his major veins etched in blue and his arteries in red, his nerves a faded yellow, his bones white and unshattered, his body a roadmap of the bricks and mortar used by the architects of nature. You have seen this image before. It is the same page Aegon teased you for studying when you were travelling by carriage back to the capital from Rook’s Rest.

You rip out the page, crumple it violently, pitch it into the fire and watch it burn.

~~~~~~~~~~

At dawn, Lord Borros Baratheon leads his men out of the city. You hear them through the glass panes of the windows, closed against the winter chill and flecked with frost: boots marching, hooves of warhorses clomping against cobblestones. They carry with them swords and spears and bows and morning stars like the one Criston Cole was famed for using. Meanwhile, throughout the city, civilians are arming themselves with anything they can find to ward off an invasion of Northmen, creatures they believe to be bestial and mindless. Men carry kitchen knives and clubs fashioned out of bits of furniture or driftwood. Women hide their young children in cupboards and under creaking wooden floors.

“I should be going with them,” Aegon says. He’s just taken another dose of milk of the poppy and is struggling to keep his eyes open. His long, slow blinks close his vacant eyes for ever-increasing intervals. You’ve changed his clothes and cleaned the sweat from his skin as best you can, but he’s burning from the inside out.

“You’re not able to fight, Aegon. Nobody faults you for that. Everyone knows you were wounded in battle.”

“They must think I’m a coward.”

“No, you inspire them. They love you. I love you.”

Aegon doesn’t say it back. He never says it back. He only offers you the same drowsy, mournful phrase of High Valyrian he always does, not knowing that Aemond told you what it means: To your misfortune.

Autumn is with the children in Alicent’s rooms. The castle is tense and as quiet as a crypt—Alicent weeps soundlessly, Larys paces the halls with Corlys and Tyland Lannister, everyone peeks out of windows constantly to see if bannermen of the victor have appeared on the horizon—but she keeps them distracted with stories and games. You cycle between Alicent’s bedchamber and Aegon’s. He is in and out of consciousness; sometimes you perch beside him on the bed, sometimes you lie curled up against him counting the beats of his heart, sometimes you help Autumn read to Jaehaera and Aegon the Younger. It is just after noon when the city bells begin to toll and screams rise from the streets outside the Red Keep. You and Autumn hurry to a window. In the distance, beyond the city gates, there is a swarming mass of infantry, cavalry, archers. Their banners, when you strain your eyes to decipher them, are not the brazen, vivid yellow of House Baratheon. They are night black and an icy, steely grey. They are the colors of House Stark.

“No,” Autumn says, denial in a protracted, helpless exhale. Alicent shrieks, frightening the children. You grab Autumn’s hand and lead her out into the hallway to warn the others if they don’t know already.

Lord Corlys Velaryon comes bounding up a staircase. “There are soldiers down in the secret passageways!” he booms. “Northmen! Armed! I’ve helped our guards bar the doors, but that won’t hold them back forever.”

Autumn looks to you. “Get the children ready to travel,” you tell her. “Find Larys and inform him.”

“Yes, my lady,” she says, and is gone. You sprint in the opposite direction towards Aegon’s bedchamber. You blow the door open like a strong wind, and Aegon startles awake. You rip through his dresser for things he will need: warm clothes, boots, his dagger, bottles of milk of the poppy.

“Get up, Aegon. We have to go. We’ll run, we’ll flee, there are Northmen in the tunnels but we’ll find another way out, we have to try, we have to, if they catch you they’ll—”

“Come sit with me,” he says from the bed, calmly, like you have all the time in the world. He is reaching out for you with one hand.

“What? No, we have to hurry—”

“Angel,” Aegon says. “I need you to come sit with me now.”

Why isn’t he afraid? Why isn’t he frantic? You cross the room with slow, numb footsteps. When you reach the bed, Aegon takes both of your hands in his own. And suddenly you know exactly what he is going to say. You remember what he told his brother in High Valyrian the last time Aemond left Dragonstone. Your voice is trembling and hoarse. Your throat burns like embers. “Aemond was supposed to be here to help us win. But he’s gone. Daeron, Criston, Helaena, Otto, Everett, Jaehaerys, Maelor, Autumn’s baby, so many people are gone.”

Aegon whispers, smiling softly as tears spill down his cheeks, one scarred and the other pure: “I’m not going to get better this time.”

“No,” you moan. “No, Aegon, no. You can’t say that, you can’t tell me that—”

“I’m not going to get better.” Now his palms cradle your face, forcing you to listen. “I’m not. And it’s okay. I’m not angry, I’m not scared. You’ve done everything you could and you’ve bought me more time and I’m so grateful. But I don’t want it to hurt anymore. I’ve been in pain for so long. I’ve been in pain my whole goddamn life.” He kisses you, like tasting something rare and fleeting. His thumbprint skates along the curve of your jaw, memorizing the angles of your bones, the rhythm of your pulse. “Please, Angel. I don’t want to try to run and die on the side of the road somewhere. I don’t want to die with Cregan Stark’s blade at my throat.”

You shake your head, unable to believe, unable to understand.

Aegon glances to the empty cup on his bedside table, to the large glass bottle of milk of the poppy. Then his eyes return to you. “You know how to do it.”

No. Never. But beneath those cold, dark, stormy waters: It would be painless. “I can’t,” you say, overwhelmed with horror.

“Listen, listen to me—”

“No—”

“Angel.”

“I can’t do that to you. Not to you. I can’t, I can’t.”

“When I’m gone, go to Cregan Stark,” Aegon says. “He is an honorable man, he will ensure your survival. He is the only person who can now. He wants to put his mark on the world. He wants to play Kingmaker. Let him. He can decree that my daughter will marry Rhaenyra’s son and ascend to the Iron Throne. He can end the war. Cregan will keep you safe. Tell him that I kidnapped you, that I forced myself on you. Tell him that I wanted an heir with Valyrian blood. Tell him that I was a drunk, a degenerate. Tell him whatever he wants to hear.”

“You would become a monster?”

“To protect you? I would become anything.”

He’s holding you, he’s pulling you into him until you can feel the fever bleeding from his flesh into yours, until you can number the knots of his spine and the ladder-rungs of his ribcage, counting them with your fingers through the sweat-drenched fabric of his cotton shirt. You draw back to look at him, to really look at him, sunken bloodshot eyes and rasping breaths, scar tissue of the body and the soul. You remember the day you met him, how he’d begged to die and been refused, how you brought him back. You postponed a debt, but you never paid it. It’s not possible to ever pay enough. You stack up gold coins in a vault until they touch the ceiling and still the Stranger comes knocking, jangling his purse sewn with scorched skin and chanting: more, more, more.

Aegon glances to the cup again. “How much?” he asks you, hushed like a prayer.

You don’t answer. Instead, you stand and go to the dresser. You open a small wooden door beneath the mirror. Your reflection is a woman you don’t know, someone who walks through fog and memory, someone made of ghosts. You take four clean cups from the cabinet and set them on Aegon’s bedside table. As he watches—eyes glassy with agony, lungs rattling—you fill them all with smooth, pearlescent, lethal liquid, as well as the empty cup that was already there. “Five,” you say, and it sounds nothing like you. “I think three at once would be enough. Five to make sure.”

He sobs with relief, and only now do you realize how badly he needed this. “Thank you. Oh gods, thank you.”

Your own words come back like an echo: I preserve life, I don’t take it. But that was a different lifetime, a different you. Aegon’s fingers are lacing through yours. He is drawing you back onto the bed, he is brushing your hair back from your face, he is kissing the path of tears down your cheeks so he doesn’t waste a drop of you. He’ll never get another taste, another chance; not in this life, not on this earth.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to the end with you,” he says. “I really tried.”

“I know, Aegon.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough.”

“You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.”

He looks down at his left hand, then remembers where his ring has gone. He chuckles, darkly, bitterly, dismayed by all the failings he is built of. “I don’t even have anything to give you.” Then he remembers. “My dagger. Can you get my dagger?”

You are petrified. “Why?”

He grins, dull teeth beneath dazed eyes. “I’m not going to hack off a finger or my exemplary cock or something. I promise. Just get it.”

You fetch the dagger and bring it to the bed, and only then do you realize what he means for you to have. He points to it, then threads it through his pale, swollen fingers: his thin lock of hair that you’ve been weaving for him since the day you met. He wants you to take his braid.

“You’ll have to cut it yourself,” he says. “I don’t think I can.”

You hook the blade beneath the top of his braid, and with a few cautious slices of the dagger it is free. You tuck the braid into a pocket of your gown, thick black velvet to guard against the winter cold. Then you lay the dagger on the bedside table and pick up one of the cups filled to the brim with milk of the poppy. Your tears are scalding and torrential; it is almost impossible to see through them. You smooth back Aegon’s white-blond hair as you pour the blissful, deadly brew through his lips and down his throat, hating yourself, knowing it is the kindest thing you can do for him.

Suddenly, when the cup is half-drained, Aegon pushes it away. “You don’t have to be here. You don’t have to watch,” he says. “I can do the rest. Go, now. Right now. If the Boltons or some other house finds you before Cregan does, they might not recognize you. They might not care. You’re only safe with Cregan Stark. He has to find you first.” Aegon takes the cup with one shaking hand and presses a palm to your shoulder with the other. You haven’t moved. You can’t move. “Go. Leave me. Now. Please go. I love you, but you have to go now.”

“I can’t,” you choke out.

“You have to.”

“I’ve never wanted anyone but you.”

“Angel,” he says tenderly, smiling. “I’ll see you again. Just not too soon.”

“Okay,” you whisper, and you kiss him, traces of milk of the poppy on his lips that deaden the thunderstruck horror faintly, powerlessly, like small clouds drifting over the sun.

“If there’s anything interesting on the other side, I’ll find a way to let you know.”

The dreams, you think. “Okay,” you say again, barely audible.

“Now go. Right now. Go.”

You wipe tears from your face with your sleeve as you turn away from him. You can’t look back; if you do, you’ll never be able to walk out of this room. You take the dagger from the bedside table. Your bare feet pad across the cold floor. As you step through the doorway, on the periphery of your vision you can see Aegon swallowing down each cupful of poison as quickly as he can. It won’t take long to stop his heart. Minutes, perhaps. Seconds. You walk into the hallway. Autumn has just arrived with Jaehaera’s tiny hand clasped in her own. A few paces behind her, Alicent and Larys stand with Rhaenyra’s son. Two orphans without choices, two pawns in a much grander game.

Autumn is panicked. “Where should we go? What should we do?” Then she takes another look at your face. Her eyes go wide with terror. “What? What happened?”

“Follow me.” Your voice is low, flat, dark like deep water. Your eyes flick briefly to Lord Larys Strong. “Keep the boy here. He’s not safe with the smallfolk yet. But the Northmen won’t harm him.”

Larys knows. It’s over. He is devastated; and yet you think a part of him might be relieved as well. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“I’m not the queen anymore. I never really was.” You give him Aegon’s dagger. “I don’t think you’ll need this, Lord Larys, but now you have it in the event of any danger. Or in case I can’t convince Cregan Stark to spare you and you decide you’ve had enough of this world. You should get a say in how your life ends. You’ve earned it.”

Then you break away from them and glide through the Red Keep, Autumn and Jaehaera trotting swiftly behind you to keep up. You pass the rookery where Aemond wrote his letters. You sweep through the gardens where Helaena loved to collect her insects. You gaze down to the beach where Daeron landed on Tessarion under a dazzling sun before winter came like a plague to King’s Landing. From inside the castle, you can hear Alicent wailing as she discovers her last child’s lifeless body. What was all of this for? Why did this have to happen? Why didn’t anybody stop it?

Out on the streets of the city, the smallfolk have flocked with their makeshift weapons to defend their homes from the Northmen. But their eyes are darting everywhere and their faces are uncertain as they clutch their clubs made out of the legs of chairs and their rusty kitchen knives. They haven’t decided if it’s futile. They don’t want to be butchered for nothing.

“That’s Autumn!” they shout and sigh, especially the women. “The mother of the king’s bastard son, the one murdered by the half-year queen!” They reach out to skim their hands over Autumn’s gown, her long coppery hair, as if she is a saint or a spirit who can impart good luck upon them, who can change their fates. They fall to their knees to bow to Jaehaera, their king’s only living child, and she blinks at them with benign confusion.

But the smallfolk have a different reception for you. You hear their venomous chattering: “Is that the Celtigar woman?” “Her family put this city through hell.” “They served Rhaenyra.” “She’s a traitor, she’s a thief.” A few of them venture close enough to tug at your gown, to strike at you. A woman’s knuckles rap against your cheekbone, raising a bruise there like lavender in a dusk sky. You think dully: I wonder if they’ll gouge out my eyes with those knives like they did to Everett.

“Get back!” Autumn hisses, shoving the smallfolk away. And when she speaks, they listen. “She is going to the Wolf of Winterfell. She is my protector. She is your protector now too. She is the best chance you have left.” And the crowds open up and the three of you pass through King’s Landing unimpeded, though cloaked in thousands of fascinated gazes.

The King’s Gate has been abandoned; the guards must have feared the Boltons’ flaying knives or Lord Stark’s dark justice. Autumn instructs several hulking men of the smallfolk to open the gate if they wish to be spared from the wolf’s wrath. They are reluctant at first, but do as she asks. When the massive doors creak open, the people of the capital huddle behind the wall and peer out skittishly as you, Autumn, and Jaehaera advance to meet the Northmen, who are bloodied from battle and now within a hundred yards of the city. Above, the sky is thick and iron-grey and frigid. Snowflakes—the first of this winter to touch King’s Landing—begin to fall and land in your hair, and you are reminded of how embers rained from the smoldering pine trees at Rook’s Rest.

“Can you catch one on your tongue?” Autumn asks Jaehaera, and the little girl giggles as they both try.

The Warden of the North rides an immense, shaggy warhorse at the head of what remains of his army. He recognizes you immediately, dismounts, approaches with determined, unbreakable strides. Clement is close behind him.

“You’re alive!” your brother shouts joyously. “And apparently not pregnant with a Targaryen bastard! Praise the gods!”

Cregan Stark does not act as if he’s heard this. The Warden of the North is not as you remember him; he is larger, heavier and broader from the muscles won in battle, coarsened by weather and war. His hair is long and dark and pulled back from his face. He wears a sword at his belt that is taller than you are when it’s unsheathed. He is entombed in leather and furs. He does not hesitate before he lays his hands you. You are betrothed to him, you are his property, would a man ask before he grabs his horses or his dogs?

The Warden of the North does not seize your forearm roughly like Aemond once did. Instead, his massive palms and fingers clasp your face as he marvels at you. You can feel the stains of dirt and ashes he leaves there. You want to scream when he touches you, but you can’t. You want to burn with rage and heartache until you crumble like ruins. Your life is already over. Your life has just begun.

“You have suffered greatly,” Cregan Stark says, a marriage of shock and reverence.

“You have no idea.” Perpetual Resurrection, you think. It doesn’t mean you come back better. It just means you’re still here.

“You are safe now,” Cregan swears. “The Usurper will never harm you again.” And it ends the same way it began: with a man mistaking your allegiance and beckoning you into a destiny that he wholeheartedly believes is greater than any you could have envisioned for yourself.

“He’s dead.”

This stuns Cregan. “When? How?”

“Today. Of old wounds sustained in battle.”

He looks at Jaehaera, noticing her for the first time. “Is that his daughter?”

“Yes,” you say. “She must always be treated with kindness. She must be protected.”

“You have an affinity for her,” Cregan notes, intrigued.

You hear Aegon’s voice, so clearly it cuts like a blade: Tell him whatever he wants to hear. “We have been through great trials together. We survived the same monster.”

The Warden of the North nods. This is a story he craves to be told. “Very well. If it is your wish that she not be discreetly disposed of as a Silent Sister, I will betroth her to Rhaenyra’s surviving son. They will unite the noble houses of Westeros and end this war.”

“The worst of the Greens are dead already. Those who remain should be shown mercy. Alicent is old and ill and broken from loss. She poses no threat. She should be permitted to remain in the company of her granddaughter. Corlys was loyal to Rhaenyra until she falsely imprisoned him for treason, and he belongs on Driftmark with Rhaena. Larys Strong, Tyland Lannister, and Grand Maester Orwyle, if no pardon can be arranged for them, should go to the Wall instead of the scaffold. And Autumn, my companion there with Jaehaera…she was a true friend to me. I owe her my life several times over. She must be permitted to stay with Jaehaera and Aegon the Younger as a caretaker, and reside in comfort in the Red Keep for the remainder of her days.”

“Who do you think you are, sister?!” Clement exclaims. “You’re speaking to the Kingmaker, not some handmaiden! You do not command him!”

“I am not commanding,” you counter levelly. “I am pleading for mercy on behalf of imperfect souls who showed me kindness during my captivity. If granted, I will consider these my wedding gifts.”

“She is remarkable, is she not?” Cregan Stark says, grinning to Clement and several other men who have ventured closer. They wear the sigils of Northern houses: Bolton, Cerwyn, Manderly, Hornwood, Dustin. They chuckle in agreement, stroking their wild beards with huge filthy hands. “Dauntless but merciful. Clever but obedient.” And then the Warden of the North claims your lips with his, chaste but overpowering, the first of a thousand kisses you never desired, a thousand acts of affection for a woman who isn’t really you, feigned resignation and bitten-back rage, eternal war with the interminable knowledge that there is something more, more, more…you just aren’t permitted to have it. It was taken from you, it was ripped from your hands like stolen treasure.

All your life you will have to murmur in wounded agreement when people recount the terrible sins of the Usurper. All your life you will have to praise Cregan Stark for killing millions to rescue you. And the days will pass, weeks, months, years, summers and winters, the births of your children and their own marriages; and when Cregan’s boy Rickon, born of his first wife, produces only daughters, your son Brandon and his descendants will become the heirs to Winterfell. In the desolate North—so far from the ocean, so far from everything Aegon ever knew—your greatest solace will be letters from Autumn as she learns to read and write, books that your husband orders for you from the Citadel, setting bones and treating burns, a tiny lock of braided silver hair that you keep in a hidden drawer of your jewelry box, dreams that you never want to wake up from.

But one day, decades after you leave King’s Landing, you will receive a raven from Queen Jaehaera Targaryen, and she will ask you: You knew the Greens in your youth, Wardeness Stark. You knew Aemond, Daeron, Helaena, Alicent, Otto, Maelor, Aegon the Usurper. What can you tell me of them? What was my father like? Who was he really?

And you’ll pick up your quill and begin writing.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader

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pink-pone · 7 months ago

Text

One thing you learn about me pretty quick is that a lot of my ocs look like they’re related (color-wise) but actually aren’t. And also vice-versa, ocs that look like that have no relation to eachother at ALL, are actually close family lol.

Take for example Heather and Benji. Look related? Absolutely. You’ve got the tans, the lighter colored wings, the fact they bothe HAVE wings, and even eye color. But nope, they are just neighbors, no relation at all.

then see Benji next to his brothers, Sour and Indigo

huh??

like, what? They look like they’ve got nothing in common haha, two unicorns and a pegasi, totally different color schemes, hairstyles, and etc! But yes, they all have the same mom (except Sour had a different dad then Benji and Indigo), but yeah!

I guess it goes to show I develop my ocs with personality in mind first, and color schemes much much later. But regardless, I make it work. XD

#Heather #benji buttons #sour punch #indigo splash #mlp #my little pony #mlpfim #my art #my little pony friendship is magic #oc #my oc #gingerverse

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justallmyfantasies · 8 days ago

Text

you’re nothing like mine

by the beach.

contains: smut! (unprotected piv) just nice i dont know what else to say bye.

word count: 6.1k (i think i wrote more than i should have but enjoy.)

the waves of the sea splashed against the rock you were sat on. the trim of your dress getting hit by the waves each time it came. it was chilly that’s why you had goosebumps. you hadn’t forgot to bring a jacket, you just felt like you didn’t need it. it was warm and light when you left the house, now it’s cold and the sun was beginning to set.

you’d hear the occasional laughter from behind you, a few kids and their parents running along the road behind you. or the occasional dog bark. you had the urge to go up to each dog and pet them. but you didn’t, obviously.

the sun was beginning to set once you arrived at the beach, the main reason you actually came here. it was a quiet area. you liked that.

a man came over, sat next to you. his face frustrated? stressed? you didn’t want to ask, but you analysed his facial features. noticing the stubble growing on his chin, the brown curls at the back of his head, his nose. oh god, his nose.

he looked at you, his face softening at the sight of you. not many would look at you like that, that wasn’t for any reason. he wiped his forehead, perhaps in a act of nervousness? you didn’t know.

“you come here often?” his voice was different, different to others you’d heard. he had an accent, a thick one. he was twiddling with his thumbs. the nail on one of his thumbs damaged. not anything severe, or that’s what you hoped.

you turned your head from the waves to look at him. his eyes directly on you. it wasn’t uncomfortable, it was almost comforting. you nodded. “most days.” your smile curving.

he chuckled, amused by the brief answer given. "you're a girl of few words." he teased gently, his accent becoming more noticeable. he leaned back slightly, mimicking your position. he let out a long exhale, his head tilting back to face the sky, the setting sun casting a warm glow on his face.

"you always come alone?" he glanced over at you again, his gaze lingering. the ocean wind blew through his hair, gently tousling the brown locks. his question was casual, his tone soft.

you could practically see the cogs turning in his mind as he waited for your response. the silence was comfortable, the crashing of waves providing a steady backdrop. the sun was half submerged now, the sky a mix of fiery orange and soft indigo.

"i like the solitude." you finally answered.

he hummed in understanding, his gaze returning to the seas. he leaned forward a bit, resting his forearms on his knees. you could see the small details of his profile, the faint laugh lines around his eyes and the way his hair curled behind his ear.

"i come here when i need to think." he said, his voice laced with a hint of vulnerability. he picked up a small pebble from the ground and began tossing it from one hand to the other.

you watched him play with the pebble, the movement of his hands mesmerizing. your eyes were drawn to the damaged nail on his thumb again, the raw imperfection fitting him perfectly somehow.

“so, what are you thinking about?” you asked, not pushing the topic.

he smiled at your question, his thumb now rubbing over the surface of the pebble. he took a moment before speaking. "the future." he shrugged, his answer purposely vague. his eyes shifted back towards the beach, his gaze lingering over a group of children playing near the shoreline.

"and what does the future hold for you?" your words echoed against the sound of the waves. you were genuinely curious. his demeanor was intriguing, a mix of mystery and a hint of melancholy.

he looked over at you again, his brown eyes locking onto yours. they were filled with a depth that intrigued you even more.

"a lot, i hope." he chuckled softly, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his lips. he let the pebble go, turning to face you fully. the wind picked up slightly, the loose strands of your hair now dancing around your face. "what about you?"

you couldn’t deny the allure of his presence. there was something about him that drew you in.

"i don't know." you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. your honesty seemed to make him smile, his eyes scanning your face intently.

"somehow that doesn't surprise me." he said quietly, the amusement clear in his tone. "not a fan of making plans, huh?" he teased, pushing the conversation further. the wind blew again, this time stronger. it tousled his hair further, the brown curls falling haphazardly over his forehead.

you felt yourself smiling in response, his banter was both unexpected and refreshing.

"i prefer living in the moment." you replied, a subtle hint in your voice. the sun was almost fully submerged now, the last traces of light painting the sky a dark blue.

"a free spirit." he mused, his gaze never leaving yours. his words sounded as if he had already figured you out. he leaned back slightly, his hands supporting his weight. you noticed how his muscles flexed slightly.

"is that a good thing?" you inquired, tilting your head in slight curiosity. the night had gradually begun to settle in, the sky now a deep shade of navy. the beach was a lot emptier than it was moments ago, yet you felt comforted being alone with him.

"depends on who you're asking." he joked, his eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. he paused for a moment before continuing, his tone serious. "but for me, it is." the confession made your heart skip a beat. he sounded sincere.

the silence grew between the two of you again. but this time it was different, there was a shift in the air. you couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but it felt electric. he was watching you carefully, his gaze intense.

you could feel your heart beating a little faster, a mixture of excitement and nervousness coiling in your stomach.

“i’m alex.” he broke the silence, his voice soft but clear. he extended his hand towards you, the damaged nail on his thumb barely visible in the dark.

"it's nice to meet you." you replied and later on with your name, taking his hand in yours. his grip was firm, yet gently. his skin surprisingly warm against your slightly cold fingers.

"nice to finally have a name for this pretty face." he quipped, his fingers lingering before he let go. the compliment was light-hearted, yet you found yourself blushing slightly.

he glanced down at your hands, the skin at your knuckles white from the cold. "you're freezing." he observed, his brow furrowing.

"i didn't bring a jacket." you admitted, the cold finally seeping into your bones. a shiver ran down your spine, proving your point. alex noticed, his expression turning almost concerned.

he tsked, shaking his head slightly. "you shouldn't have done that." he sounded almost scolding. “do you want my jacket?” he asked, it wasn’t really asking, it was as if he was demanding you to have it. his jacket.

you considered arguing, but the sudden chills made you realize he was right. “i couldn't-" you began, but he was already taking off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders. the leather jacket hitting your shoulders like a blanket, instantly bringing warmth.

the jacket smelled like him, a mix of cologne and something musky, like pine. it was cozy and comforting.

he watched you, ensuring the jacket fit you right. "better?" he asked, his voice gentle.

you nodded, the cold slowly subsiding to a more comfortable temperature. the jacket was a bit large on you, the sleeves nearly covering your fingers.

"much better." you replied, wrapping it tighter around yourself. he hummed in approval, leaning back again, his forearms resting on his knees.

the silence returned, but this time it was more comfortable. the ocean waves provided a steady soundtrack. a few stars had started to appear in the sky, the moon a crescent in the night.

you glanced over at him, his gaze still on you. his eyes were fixated on you, but it didn’t feel creepy or unsettling. it was almost like he was studying you, taking in every feature, every inch of you.

after a while, he had offered to walk you home. you didn’t live very far which is why you tended to go to the beach often. approaching three drains, you shook your head. “don’t step on them.” you said, your feet moving.

“why?” alex asked. one of his eyebrows raised.

you shrugged. “supposedly bad luck.”

he let out a giggle, his laugh quiet. “you believe in bad luck?” he asked, following you as you avoided the drains. he was clearly amused, the corner of his mouth tugging into a small grin.

“sometimes.” a small smile on your own lips. you had reached your building now, the front door in sight.

he stopped as you approached the door, a smirk appearing on his face. "so what would you consider good luck then?" he teased.

you paused, your hand on the door handle. he was now standing next to you, his body a bit closer than before. you glanced at him, his face so close you were able to see the beauty spots on his face.

“having a rockstar walk beside you telling you about his day.” you replied. a short laugh escaping your lips.

he chuckled, the sound warm. he leaned against the brick wall, crossing his arms over his chest. "is that so?" he asked, his eyes still on you. you swore you could hear the smirk in his tone.

you nodded, a small grin playing on your lips. you were surprised at how comfortable you felt, talking to him as if you’d known each other for a while. the street was dead silent, the only noise being your breathing.

“do you want to come in?” you asked, finally opening the door.

he raised an eyebrow, a hint of surprise in his eyes. he clearly wasn’t expecting that invitation. he looked at you for a moment before answering.

"sure." he replied, his voice casual. he pushed himself off the wall, walking towards you.

you held the door open, gesturing for him to go inside. he walked through, the muscles on his back flexing as he passed by. he didn’t look around, he just waited for you to shut the door.

you could feel your heart beating in your chest as you closed the door, the click of the lock echoing around the hallway.

you turned around, facing alex. he was standing a few feet away from you, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. he looked relaxed, but there was a hint of tension in his shoulders. his eyes were on you, studying you intently.

“this place is cozy.” he commented, breaking the silence. he looked around the hallway, his gaze taking in the surroundings.

you nodded in agreement. the apartment wasn’t a penthouse or anything fancy, but it was home. it had a warm and cozy feel to it.

you gestured towards the living room, encouraging him to follow you. “make yourself comfortable, i’ll grab some snacks.” you said, walking towards the kitchen.

he followed you without a word, his footsteps soft against the hardwood floor. the living room was modest in size, but it had a cozy feel to it. a bookshelf against the wall and a worn out, yet comfortable couch in the middle of the room.

you watched him take a seat on the couch, slouching into the cushions. he looked relaxed, yet his eyes followed your every move as you rummaged through the cupboards in search of snacks.

“what kind of snack do you like?” you called out, your head buried in the cabinets. you could hear him shift slightly on the couch, his voice carrying through the room.

“i’m not picky.” he answered. you couldn’t see him, but you knew he was watching you. you could feel his gaze lingering on you, as if he was trying to figure you out.

you settled on a bag of chips. it wasn’t a fancy snack, but it would do. you walked back towards the living room, the bag of chips crinkling in your hands. alex was lounging on the couch, his eyes on you once again.

you took a seat next your him, the couch dipping slightly under your weight. you opened the bag, offering him some. he took a few, his fingers grazing against yours for a brief moment.

the texture of his calloused skin sent a jolt of electricity through you. the brief touch felt charged and almost exciting. you mentally shook away the feeling, focusing on the chips in the bag.

the room was quiet, the only noise being the crinkle of the chip bag and the occasional car passing by. alex seemed comfortable, his body relaxed against the cushions. he was watching you again, his brown eyes intent on every move you made.

“you seem to have a habit of staring at me.” you teased lightly, a small smirk on your lips. he looked slightly amused by your remark, a corner of his mouth tugging into a smirk.

he leaned slightly towards you, his voice low. “you’re nice to look at.” the comment made you blush, your cheeks heating up at his directness.

you looked away, trying to hide your blushing face. he chuckled, clearly aware of the effect his words had on you. his eyes were still studying you, his gaze intense.

“you get flustered easily, don’t you?” he teased, his voice laced with a hint of amusement.

you glanced at him, your flustered expression giving you away. he was right, you did get flustered easily. especially when it came to handsome guys giving you compliments.

“is that a bad thing?” you asked, trying to maintain some level of composure. he shook his head, his smirk growing wider. he was enjoying this.

“not at all.” he replied, shifting closer to you on the couch. he was now sitting just a few inches away, his leg bumping against yours. his scent, the mix of cologne and musk, was stronger from this distance.

you could feeling your heart beating faster, his closeness and the scent of his cologne making your head spin. he was so close, you could almost feel his body heat radiating off of him.

he leaned back, his arm now resting on the back of the couch behind you. his fingers were playing with the edge of your hair, the action almost absentmindedly.

the feeling of his fingers on your hair sent a shiver down your spine, the tingling sensation traveling through your body. he was so close, yet not close enough.

you could feel his gaze on you, his eyes studying every expression, every movement you made. his fingers continued to toy with the end of your hair, the feel of his calloused skin against your neck sending a jolt of electricity through you.

“you’re interesting, you know that?” he mused, his voice low and quiet. his fingers were still toying with the end of your hair, sending tingles through your body.

you turned to look at him, your eyes meeting his. he was looking at you intently, a soft smile on his lips. his eyes were flickering over your face, as if he was trying to memorize every feature.

“how so?” you asked, your voice betraying a hint of nervousness. his compliments were making you flustered again, the feeling of his fingers in your hair not helping.

he hummed, his fingers now tracing your jaw line. the sensation sent a shiver through your body, his touch so light, yet so electric.

“you’re like a paradox.” he stated, his fingers now resting on your cheek. their touch was warm, the callouses on his fingers rough against your skin.

“you’re calm, yet restless. quiet, yet full of personality.” his thumb was now tracing the edge of your jawline, slowly moving towards your lips.

“and you’re observant.” you quipped, the heat in your cheeks intensifying. his touch was sending shivers through your body, the rough skin of his thumb against your lips making it hard to concentrate.

he chuckled, the sound low and almost sexy. his thumb now tracing the contour of your bottom lip. the touch was so light, yet it sent tingles down your spine. he leaned closer, his face now just inches away from yours. his breath was warm against your face, the proximity making your head spin.

his intense gaze never left your face, his eyes intently studying you. his thumb was still tracing your lip, the action almost reverent.

the air was charged, the tension between you palpable. your faces were so close, you could feel the heat radiating off of him.

his lips curved into a smile, a small, almost private smile. he shifted slightly, moving even closer. his hand moved from your chin to the nape of your neck, his warm touch sending another shiver down your spine.

he gently pulled you closer, your face now mere centimeters away from his. his lips hovered just above yours, before he decided to kiss you. the kiss soft and slow.

his kiss was gentle at first, his lips moving against yours slowly. but before long, it became deeper, more passionate. his tongue slowly making its way into your mouth, tasting and exploring.

his hand moved from your neck, to your waist, gently pulling you onto his lap. you could feel the heat rising in your body, the feeling of his lips against yours, his tongue exploring your mouth, making your head spin.

he deepened the kiss, his arms holding you close against him, your body now pressed against his.

he broke the kiss after a moment, his forehead resting against yours. his breathing slightly ragged, his eyes still closed. the moment felt almost intimate, both of you silently enjoying the closeness.

his hand was still on the small of your back, his thumb gently caressing the skin through your clothes. his eyes opened, the intensity of his gaze still present.

“do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” he muttered. the compliment was genuine, his tone honest.

you shook your head, your cheeks burning slightly. compliments were not something you were used to. at least not from a guy that looked like him.

he chuckled, his laugh soft and warm. “you really have no idea, do you?” he said, his fingers tracing the side of your neck.

his fingers were sending electric jolts through your body, the sensations almost overwhelming. his touch was tender, his rough skin a contrast to your softer one. he pulled you closer against him, his lips finding your jawline, trailing small kisses down your neck.

his lips left a trail of fire on your skin, the feeling of his mouth on your neck making you shiver. his hand moved from your back to your hips, holding you against him. his lips were now on your collarbone, biting and kissing the sensitive skin.

the feeling of his lips and teeth on your skin was driving you insane. you couldn’t think straight, your mind a mix of sensation and desire.

he nipped the sensitive spot between your neck and shoulder, drawing a soft gasp from your lips. he chuckled, the sound warm against your skin.

“i love that sound.” he muttered, his voice almost a purr. his lips were back on your neck, his teeth gently biting the skin.

you could feel his hands, now on your thighs, gripping you tightly. the dress you were wearing pushed up to your thighs. his body was warm against yours, the heat almost scalding.

he continued his assault on your neck, his lips and teeth leaving love-bites on your skin. every touch was making it hard to think, the sensations driving you crazy. his hands moved higher, one of them disappearing under the hem of your dress, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin.

his touch was like fire on your skin, the feeling of his hand on your inner thigh making you shiver. his lips had moved to your ear, his breath warm on your skin.

he was whispering praises, his voice low and raspy. he was calling you beautiful, sexy, perfect. the compliments sent a thrill through your body, the words making you feel a mix of shyness and desire.

his hand was slowly moving higher, his fingers now tracing the soft skin of your inner thigh. the proximity was making it hard for you to breathe, the heat of his body pressed against yours, his lips at your ear, whispering words that both thrilled and flustered you. his hips were now pressed against yours, the hardness of his body undeniable.

he bit your earlobe, a soft gasp escaping your lips. his hips moved, his body pressing even more against yours. you could feel the growing hardness against your thigh.

he was murmuring praises in your ear, his free hand now moving to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. his body was so close, you could feel the heat of his skin through your clothes.

his hips grinded against your own, the action making the heat pooling in your stomach grow. his teeth were back on your neck, his lips sucking and biting the sensitive skin.

his breath was hot on your neck, his breathing growing ragged. one of his hands was on your thigh, squeezing the soft flesh, the other tangled in your hair.

his lips were back on yours, the kiss hungry and passionate. his tongue was in your mouth, exploring and tasting. the kiss was messy, the mixture of desire and desperation making it sloppy. his hands were now wandering over your body, his touch leaving a trail of fire wherever it moved.

his hands were under your dress now, caressing the skin of your thighs, your hips, your stomach. you were panting, the sensations almost too much to bear.

he broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours once again. his breathing was ragged, the desire mirrored in his eyes. he motioned towards your dress, a question whether he could take it off or not.

you nodded, breathless and more than a little flustered. he smirked, a corner of his lips tugging into a small smile.

he carefully pulled the dress over your head, leaving you in just your underwear. his eyes roamed over your body, taking in the view. his gaze was hungry, his eyes dark with desire.

his hands were on your body again, caressing your skin. he was touching you as if you were the most delicate piece of art. his touch was light, his caresses almost reverent.

he ran his fingers over your stomach, your sides. his eyes were roaming over every inch of your body, taking it all in. when his fingers caressed the edge of your bra, he looked up at you again, silently asking for permission.

you nodded, your breathing a bit shaky from the intensity of his gaze. he smiled slightly, his fingers now gently undoing the clasp of your bra. he took his time, his movements slow and deliberate, almost as if he was savoring every second.

once the bra was off, he took a moment to look at you again. his eyes were filled with lust, yet there was a hint of something else. awe, perhaps?

his hands were back on you, one hand on your hip, the other on your chest. his touch was now more urgent, his desire more evident. he carefully pushed you down on the couch, hovering over you. his body was so close, the press of his hips against yours making the heat in your core grow.

his lips were on your neck again, leaving a trail of kisses and bites down to your collarbone. his hand was now on your thigh, pulling your leg to wrap around his waist.

he was muttering praises between kisses, his voice a low, sensual rumble. every touch was electric, every kiss like a spark to a fire.

he was biting your shoulder now, his teeth gently pulling at the skin. one of his legs had moved between your own, the friction making you gasp.

he was pressing himself against you, his hardness rubbing against your core. you could feel the heat, the need, the desire. his body was so close, yet it wasn’t close enough.

“tease.” you commented. your hands trailing down to his belt, undoing it slowly.

he raised his head from your shoulder, a smirk appearing on his lips. he bit your neck before replying. “you’re one to talk.”

his hips were now pressed against yours, the heat of his body making you feel like you were burning. he was watching you, his eyes on your hands, undoing his belt.

you had his belt off, his jeans now hanging loosely on his hips. the desire in his expression was clear, his eyes following your every move.

he leaned back, watching as you unbuttoned his jeans. his breathing had grown ragged, his patience slowly running out.

“i want those off.” you breathed, pointing at his jeans.

he grinned, a devilish smile appearing on his lips. “yes, lady.” he teased, but still did as you asked, pulling his jeans and boxers off.

he was back over you, his body pressed against yours in only a moment. the feeling of skin against skin was almost overwhelming, and you could practically feel the heat radiating off of his body.

his lips were back on your neck, his teeth and tongue leaving a trail of kisses down to your collarbone. his hands were caressing your sides, your hips, pulling your body close against his.

he shifted a bit, positioning himself between your legs. the feeling of his body against your core was intoxicating, the heat making everything feel more intense. his breath was hot against your ear, his voice a low, sultry murmur. “you’re driving me insane.”

he pulled your panties to the side, the tip of him touching you slightly. you gasped aloud, the feeling of him against you almost making you shiver. you could feel the heat pooling in your core, the need growing with every passing moment.

“please,” you gasped, your voice a needy whisper. you were desperate, the feeling of his hardness making you crave more, more, more.

he chuckled, the sound low and seductive. “please what?” he teased, his lips hovering just above your ear.

you were almost desperate now, the need overwhelming. you whimpered, your hands moving to his shoulders, gripping him tightly. “you know what.” you managed to say, your voice a ragged whisper.

he chuckled again, enjoying seeing you so flustered and needy. “okay ma’am.” he replied, his voice a low, seductive rumble.

he leaned back, his body still hovering over you. his eyes were locked on yours, his gaze intense. you could see the restraint in his expression, the need to be gentle and careful with you.

he shifted again, positioning himself at your entrance. the heat was almost unbearable, the anticipation making every second feel like an eternity.

“you sure?” he muttered, his voice a low, rough whisper.

you nodded, your words caught in your throat. the need for him was overwhelming, your body almost trembling with anticipation. “yes, god, yes.” you finally managed to say, your voice a desperate, pleading whisper.

he smiled slightly, his eyes still locked on yours. “okay.” he muttered, his voice low and seductive. his hand was on your hip, gripping tightly.

he pushed himself in slowly, his eyes watching your every reaction. every gasp, every intake of breath, every small whimper and moan. he was going slow, carefully, every inch making you feel fuller, more every second was agony, the need for more almost overwhelming.

you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer. your legs wrapped around his hips, your body begging for more.

he leaned down, his lips by your ear, his breath hot on your skin. “god, you feel good.” he breathed, his voice a rough whisper.

he started moving, his hips moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm. it was torture, the pace leaving you craving for more. you gripped his shoulders tighter, your fingers digging into his skin.

his lips were on your neck, his teeth biting and licking the sensitive skin. his hands were on your hips, holding you in place, his touch firm yet gentle at the same time.

“so good.” you managed to gasp out, the pleasure almost too much to bear.

he grunted in response, his pace picking up slightly. his movements were fluid, his hips rocking against you in a steady, rhythmic motion. it was maddening, the combination of pleasure and need making everything seem sharper, more intense.

he was muttering praises in your ear, his voice a low, rough rumble. “you feel amazing.” he breathed, his teeth nipping your earlobe.

you felt the pressure growing in your core, the pleasure building with every move. you were gripping him, nails digging into his skin, your breath coming in gasps and moans.

he was holding you against him, his body almost enveloping you. his lips were on your neck, his mouth leaving a trail of kisses down to your collarbone. his hands were roaming over your back, your sides, his touch leaving a trail of fire on your skin.

his hips were moving faster now, his pace increasing. it was almost overwhelming, the pleasure almost too much to bear. you were whispering his name, your voice a ragged gasp.

he was panting against your neck, his breath hot on your skin. “look at me.” he muttered, his voice rough and demanding.

you lifted your head, your eyes meeting his gaze. there was a hunger in his eyes, a raw need that mirrored your own. his movements were more urgent now, his body pressing against yours.

he was staring at you, his gaze intense. he was watching your every reaction, every expression and sound. he was devouring you, everything about you, his eyes roaming over your face, taking everything in. his movements were harder now, more forceful. his name escaped your lips, a strangled moan.

he grunted, the sound low and guttural. his head dropped to your shoulder, his face buried in the crook of your neck. he was breathing heavily, his body moving against yours with a newfound urgency.

he was almost gasping for air, his body moving with a desperation now. he was muttering praises, his voice thick and husky. “you’re so good, so perfect, so beautiful.” he was saying, his words breathless and broken.

the pressure in your core was almost unbearable now, the pleasure building with every move. you were gripping him tighter, your nails digging into his skin.

he was moving faster now, his body trembling against yours. his mouth was on your neck, his teeth biting the sensitive skin. his hands were on your hips, holding you in place, his fingers digging into your flesh.

you were almost there, the pleasure building to almost unbearable levels. you were gripping him, your breath coming in ragged gasps, your nails digging into his skin.

“fuck.. i’m close,” you managed to gasp out, your voice a desperate, pleading whisper. “please, don’t stop.”

he was almost at the edge, his body trembling against you. he grunted in response, his movements more urgent, more forceful. his mouth was on your neck, still biting and sucking at the skin. his hands were on your hips, his grip tightening, his fingers digging into your flesh.

“hold on.” he muttered, his voice thick and guttural. “hold on just a bit longer for me.”

you were on the edge now, the pleasure building to almost unbearable levels. you were biting your lip, trying to hold back, trying to hold on for just a moment longer.

he was moving faster now, his body pressed against yours, his hips rocking against you with a frantic energy. his mouth was on your ear, his breath hot and ragged.

“you're doing so good,” he muttered, his voice a ragged whisper. “hold on... just a bit more."

he was on the verge, his body trembling against you, his breathing ragged. he let out a strangled moan, his eyes shut tight, his mouth on your neck. “god, you feel so good. i... i can’t hold on much longer.” he panted, his voice low and rough.

his movements now slowed down, you both reaching your orgasms. you were both panting, your bodies shuddering slightly. he collapsed on top of you, his face burying in the crook of your neck. you were both trying to catch your breath, your chests heaving. the room was suddenly quiet except for the sound of your ragged breathing.

he leaned back after a moment, his expression soft and tender. he gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers touching your skin with a gentle touch. he smiled slightly, his eyes warm and fond. “you okay?” he asked, his voice a low, gentle rumble.

you smiled back, feeling a wave of affection wash over you. you reached up to cup his face, your touch gentle. “yeah, i’m okay. more than okay.” you said, your voice a weary, contented murmur.

he leaned down, his lips brushing against your forehead in a gentle kiss. “good.” he mumbled, his voice a low, satisfied rumble. he shifted off you, lying down beside you. he pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close against his chest.

you snuggled into him, feeling safe and warm in his embrace. you rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. you felt content and at peace, your body and mind still buzzing slightly from the aftermath of your orgasm.

he was idly running his fingers through your hair, his touch gentle and soothing. the room was quiet except for the sound of your breathing and the occasional soft rustle of fabric. after a comfortable silence.

he spoke up, his voice soft and low. “you know something?” he asked, his fingers still playing with your hair.

you tilted your head up to look at him, a small smile on your face. “what?” you asked, your voice equally soft and sleepy.

he smiled down at you, his eyes warm and fond. “i don’t think i've ever met someone like you before.” he said, his voice gentle.

you felt your heart flutter a bit at his words. “yeah?” you asked, your voice a little shy and bashful.

he nodded, his smile growing. he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle. “yeah. it’s weird, i’ve only ever seen you today and i’m astonished by you. is that too cheesy?” he asked.

you chuckled a bit, feeling a warm, cozy feeling spread through your chest. “yeah, a little cheesy.” you teased, poking his side playfully.

he chuckled too, grabbing your hand and trapping it against his chest to stop you from poking him anymore. “hey, i’m trying to be sweet here.” he protested, his voice feigning indignance.

you giggled a bit, unable to keep a straight face. “okay, okay. i’m sorry, sweet talker.” you teased, your voice dripping with mock-sincerity.

he rolled his eyes, his expression amused. “you’re ruining the moment, you know that?” he said, his voice feigning irritation.

you chuckled again, feeling a warm, happy feeling wash over you. “oh, I’m sorry. i didn’t know i was supposed to be swooning over you.” you teased, a small smirk forming on your lips.

“you’re supposed to be swooning, yes.” he said, a small smirk appearing on his own lips. “anyway, what i wanted to say was that.. i uhm.. wanna see you again.”

you felt your heart skip a beat, a small thrill running through your veins. “yeah? you want to see me again?” you asked, your voice soft and hopeful.

he nodded, his smile soft and sincere. “yeah. i know it sounds crazy considering we only just met today, but... i just really wanna see you again. spend more time with you. get to know you better.”

your heart was fluttering in your chest, a warmth spreading through your veins. you felt a little giddy, a little lightheaded. “okay. i’d like that.” you admitted, a small smile appearing on your lips.

his eyes seemed to light up, his smile growing wider. “yeah?” he asked, looking genuinely pleased. “okay. yeah... yeah, that’s great. i... yeah.” he said, his words faltering slightly, looking a little flustered.

you chuckled softly, amused by his shy, flustered reaction. you reached up to pat his head, your touch light and tender. your fingers playing with the curls of his soft hair. you couldn’t deny that you felt something for him and neither could he. but was it too soon?

a/n: wow finally writing woo!!! anyway i like this (kinda), i have a few more ideas for upcoming fics so just wait for that i suppose. i hope it’ll be good.

#justallmyfantasies #alex turner x reader #alex turner #alex turner fic #alex turner fanfic #alex turner x fem!reader #alex turner x you #alex turner smut

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tadpolesonalgae · 1 year ago

Text

Dark!Rhysand x reader: mine.[***]

A/N: Razzled, dazzled and frazzled my mind

(This isn’t dark dark, but just be wary!)

Warnings: dub-con, hate sex?, dark!Rhysand, CNC kink

Word Count: 5,297

“Where the hell were you last night?”

Blink wearily, attempting to locate the voice. Head is pounding, floor swaying ever so slightly. Gods, you should have watched how much you drank. Blearily stumble forward, clutching your purse tight to make sure you don’t misplace it again. Intricately detailed shoes peek into your vision, the dark leather neatly indented with swirls and dots. You look up; violet splashes across your world, head twinging at the startling colour. “Mother, Rhys. Your eyes.”

Hands press over your own, soothing their ache, providing pleasant reprieve from the bright vibrancy. He steadies you as you sway, roughly holding you straight by your hips. Hear as he scents you. “You drank too much again, didn’t you?” You groan at his protective nature, batting his hands away. “I’m fine, Rhys,” you snap, “I’m capable of looking after myself.” Squint up at him in time to catch a muscle feathering in his jaw. “Forgive me for doubting you, Lady.” He steps aside, gesturing with his arm for you to walk past. “I trust you’ll be perfectly capable of making it to your chambers?”

Scowl at his arrogant tone, warily eyeing the staircase. Pride won’t let you back down, though, so you put one heeled foot in front of the other, steadily marching away. Until the room tilts, and you stumble.

His scent engulfs you, firm warmth wrapping around your middle, large hands gripping your waist, keeping you upright. You regain your balance, then push out of his hold. “Seriously, I’m fine,” you snap again, embarrassment warming your features. He scoffs, still holding you to his warmth, “you were about to shatter your nose on the marble.”

“I was not!” You insist. He stares at you hard, pinning you to the floor with that sharp, violet gaze of his. Dips his head once, and releases you.

Your legs give out, making you yelp as you drop to the floor, knees surely going to bruise from the impact. Spine hurting, too, from how you landed on it. Curse at him under your breath, then glare upward. “You’re a dick, Rhys.”

“You’re irresponsible, and clearly unable to handle your alcohol,” he growls softly, violet taking on an icy hue. “Do you even remember any of last night? Anything you did? Where you went?”

Brow narrows; lips purse. You look away from him.

Jaw tightens. “I thought not.”

Glare up at him, getting to your wobbly feet. “That’s my choice, Rhys. Quit being so controlling. I can do what I want, so stay the hell out of it.”

His temper flares in response, hands gripping your hips, hard. Pulls you tight against his chest. Releases the damper on his power, pressure weighing on your bones as your knees again turn weak, relying on his strength to keep you upright. Grip shakily onto his arms, steadying yourself as your heartbeat spikes.

“Prove you’re capable of being responsible for yourself, for once, and I’ll stop,” he snarls, gaze turning indigo. “But as it stands, any number of things could have happened to you, and you don’t even seem to care.”

“It’s not your business to care,” you manage, voice straining beneath him. He snarls roughly, fingers biting into you, putting bruises into your hips. Suck in a sharp hiss at the sting, flattening your palms over his chest, attempting to push away from him. He grips harder; you whimper.

Muscle stiffens at the sound, sharp arousal piercing his mind, watching from an elevated view how you squirm in his hold, how you fit against him. So clearly made for him. Why can’t you see that? Why can’t you feel how well you mould against his body?

“What if some other male had you like this, huh?” He growls, softly. “There’s nothing you could do. Do you not understand that?” His own heart spikes at the idea alone. If you were somehow subjected to even a fraction of what he went through Under The Mountain… Rage pounds in his heart, fury ripping at his insides. That will never happen to you. Never.

You tip your head upward, craning your neck to peer at him. “You’re the most powerful High Lord in Prythian’s history. That’s hardly a fair example,” you snap weakly, having a hard time resisting his pull. His upper lip curls back, showcasing sharp, gleaming canines. How would they feel on your skin? “There are many other males out there. Certainly nowhere near as powerful as I am, but strong enough to take you if they wanted. And yet you insist on putting yourself at their mercy.”

A snarl rips from your throat. “So it’s my fault they’re like that? Fuck off, Rhys. You’re better than that.” His grip tightens further, your hands flying to his, attempting to push him off you. Tears blur from the pain, but anger surges quick behind. “Get off me. You’re hurting me,” you manage, glaring up into darkened violet, pupils dilating before your eyes.

He can feel the heat from your body, feel the supple press of your stomach as you writhe against him, how you’re inadvertently rubbing over him. Cock twitching behind the seam of his fitted trousers. “What would you do?” He repeats, staring down at you as you squirm, chest rising and falling lightly. “What could you do?”

Breath pants softly from your lips, the swell of your breasts pushing against the crisp dark linen of his neatly pressed shirt. Mouth parted invitingly, your own eyes dipping briefly to his own, flicking over curiously—absently. Something flits through your gaze, resistance draining from your form, almost melting against him. At last.

His heartbeat spikes, temperature raising as your hands raise from his chest to his shoulders. Almost inquisitively, hesitant of what’s happening. Push up onto your tiptoes, eyes again flicking down to his mouth. His head quietens, memories of what you were talking about vanishing, zeroing on the offer you’re laying out before him. How your eyes are clouding, and you’re…

A snarl rips from his throat as you slam your heel on his toe, landing a brutal kick to his shin. Darting out of his hold, stumbling backward. “I could do that, for starters,” you huff, breathing heavily as you regain your sense now that his power isn’t utterly overwhelming you. He could expand it to reach you, though. “I’m not as helpless as you might think, Rhys. So piss off.”

Fury clouds his vision, darkness wrapping around his mind.

Sharp, glittering talons breech your mind, keeping you frozen to the floor. Back turned on your High Lord. Can’t even swallow, rooted to the spot.

“And what about now?” He growls, softly. Shoes tap lightly along the marble floor, leisurely and refined. A beast who knows his prey is trapped. “What would you do against another with my set of gifts, hm? Your mental walls are as strong as tissue when you’re drunk.” Mind is pulsing, awareness prickling your skin as those talons scrape menacingly against your walls, cupping your conscious in the palm of his hand. As if those claws encapsulate your entire body, skin littered with goose-pimples.

“Rhys…” Your voice is strained, dragging against the rawness of your throat. Heat radiates into your back, powerful arms snaking around your middle, keeping you tight to his chest. Hips pressing into your ass. Spine curves subconsciously, pushing into him. “Why do you insist on making me worry so much?” He whispers beside your ear, one hand gliding up over your front, brushing up the line between your breasts. Cupping your throat; holding, lightly. Tipping your head back so it’s resting against his shoulder. “Do you enjoy seeing me like this? Enjoy these arguments, hm?”

A shiver licks its way down your spine at the softly-spoken roughness of his words. “I don’t…” Swallow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Fingers are trembling with indecision. You should pull him off you, shouldn’t allow this type of touching. Blatant and unrestricted. Burning through your clothes.

“No?”

Heart spikes at the lilt. Swallow again beneath his palm, wrapping around to the base of your neck. “It’s my choice is I want to go out…” you manage, breathing heavier. Head spinning from how his scent is overpowering you, power thrumming in the air, buzzing beneath your skin. Zapping at your clit, making you ache. “It’s my body, Rhys…”

“I don’t think it’s truly yours right now is it, little lynx?”

Awareness prickles at your skin, nipples peaking beneath your dress—there’s no way he could miss it. Neither that nor the stiffening of your body as you try to regain some control over yourself. Try to find those lethally sharp talons, and push them from your mind, one at a time. “That’s not fair… Let me go,” you manage steadily, hands overlapping his own, fingers settling between his own, attempting to weakly tug him away.

His lips part in a smile, brushing against your cheek, the weight of his piercing gaze heating your features. “Do you really want that?” He asks, hand tightening around your throat, possessive ownership. Like a collar. Your temperature spikes at the low implication—how could he possibly know… “Rhys…” you warn. Try to. It sounds a little too close to a whine for your tastes. He hums against your back, something turning to molten liquid between your thighs.

Grit your teeth, pulling harder at him, attempting to squirm away. Shifting in his tight hold, one arm still wrapped flush over your abdomen, pressing you back into him. “Rhys, let go of me.”

Quiet stretches between you, then his hold tightens almost imperceptibly, giving you a suggestive squeeze. Like he won’t let you go, like your demand means nothing to him, because he doesn’t need to listen to you. You’re already his, he knows you completely and utterly; he knows you don’t want him to listen to you.

But then he releases his hold on you, and cold rushes your back. Steps in front, towering over you. “I may have let you run free, but I doubt you would have enjoyed being held captive by another male,” he drawls lowly, hands sliding into his pockets, the portrait of lethal grace. Pulls back, standing to his full height, marking how the breath puffs from your parted lips, peering up at him hungrily. Do you even know how you’re looking at him?

Takes a step back, then turns on his feet, prowling off deeper into his home. Aiming for his office, if you remember correctly. Peers at you from over his shoulder, lips twisted into a feline grin, “you know you’re always welcome to spend a night in. I’m sure the alcohol in the cellar will be of a much finer quality.”

Then he’s disappearing off through a doorway, leaving you staring after him. Body unnaturally flushed, despite the lack of wine in your system.

————

It’s long past midnight and you’re long past sober.

Not enough to be blackout but rationality has long since left your body.

A droplet of wine trickles from the corner of your mouth and you hastily lower the bottle to feel as it drips down to your chest, seeping into the fabric of your night robe. Quickly dry the wet spot, disliking the way the material stuck to you. Wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, gripping the neck of the wine bottle, wondering what havoc you could wreak.

You could go out into the night…nose scrunches at the idea. You’re all cozy and tucked away in here, no way you’re going to change into a tiny dress and heels that make being out and drunk even more dangerous. You could go to bed…but that’s boring, and you’re wide awake. Slightly hungry, too. Lick your lips as an idea springs to mind, grabbing another bottle as you go. Mouth quirks upward as you imagine the chaos you’ll get to inflict upon your unsuspecting High Lord.

————

Push the door wide without knocking and saunter in, drunkenly wobbling on bare feet.

“Morning, Rhys,” you greet, violet eyes flicking up to meet your own the second you were in view. He switches his attention to the antique clock ticking on a wall, checking the time. You are, unfortunately, correct. It is, technically, morning. “Good morning,” he drawls, sitting upright, attention skating to the tops of your thighs, the hem of your silky night top barely swaying over the skin. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

You’re already at his desk by the time he’s finished his question, pushing the bottle over. “How well can you handle your liquor, High Lord?” You ask mischievously, challenge gleaming in your gaze. Violet dips to how your hand is wrapped around the neck of your own bottle, raising it to your lips; drinking deeply. “Better than you, at the very least,” he replies, noting the patch of damp fabric around your neck.

A scowl creases your brows as you glare at him, taking another sip before you do anything rash. “You’re being disagreeable,” you snap, drying the edges of your mouth with your thumb. Enjoying how intently he’s watching. He quirks a neatly groomed brow, challenge lighting his violet eyes. “I am?”

“Just drink the damned thing,” you mutter, folding your arms over your chest stubbornly. “Shouldn’t you be leaping for joy that I’m not ‘putting myself at some other male’s mercy’,” you mimic, lowering you voice in a poor attempts to match his own.

Lips quirk as the stopper vanishes from the bottleneck, leaning back in his chair, taking a decadent drink of the lovely wine. Heat pools between your thighs at the roll of his throat. Then he’s lowering it to his desk, setting it down on the mahogany. “So you’ve decided to put yourself at mine instead?” Nose wrinkles at how he’s phrasing it. “I should have poisoned yours.” Violet eyes gleam with mischief. “It’s not too late,” he hums, attention flicking to the wine before him.

Roll your eyes, muttering under your breath, taking another gulp…and you’re out. Scowl deepens as you glare. It was practically full five minutes ago. Grumble to yourself, on the brink of turning to return to the cellar, when he winnows to be at your back. Arm is again pressed over your abdomen, except this time his hand is splayed lightly. Breath catches in your throat as he keeps you tight to his chest.

“Where do you think you’re going, little lynx?” He asks beside you ear, breath feathering over your skin. Brow narrows, head instinctively tipping back to rest against his shoulder, trying to peer up at him. “I’m getting another,” you respond, practically jumping at the opportunity to lean back against him; relieve the weight from your tired feet. Lips quirk, feeling you sink into him. Magic zips across your skin, then he’s raising something to your mouth.

Eyes flick down, spotting how he’s called over his own bottle, gently putting it against your lips. Encouraging you to drink. And maybe— No, you definitely flick your tongue out over the head, guessing at the kind of reaction it will evoke from the male. Hand tightens over your abdomen, but other than that, he merely tilts the bottle higher, watching as the liquid pours into your mouth. Raises it higher, greedily marking how a drop or two trickles down the corner of your lips.

Scowl at him when he steps away, moving to wipe away the dampness before it can splash down onto your night robe. But he spins you around, violet eyes commanding you not to do a thing. Damn him.

Instead, he grips your chin, tipping you upward. Feeling at the droplet cascades down to the hollow of your throat, reaching your collar bones— “Rhys!”

Muscles tense as he attaches his mouth over the bare skin, lightly sucking away the alcohol. Swallow as his tongue flicks out, softly, with slow, gentle strokes. Lapping up the warm path. Hands tremble at your sides, caught between shoving him away and tugging him closer. “Rhys…” you mumble, voice fragile in the quiet. Travels up your neck, flicking out beneath your jaw, tasting your skin, licking the corner of your mouth. Pulls away with hunger in his eyes. Knees feel weak, trembling at the thrumming intensity about him.

You swallow heavily, heartbeat spiking at that male look. “What…?” Peer up at him, spine tingling with anticipation, fingers trembling with uncertainty. His tongue again flicks out over his lip, heat flaring between your thighs, observing cautiously. Clear your throat, trying desperately to pull out from his hold. “Bold move.”

The High Lord raises a single brow, violet sparkling in his gaze. “It was nothing of the sort,” he counters smoothly. You frown up at him, “do you do that with all you lady friends, Rhysand?” Stars glitter in his eyes, mirth dancing, “male friends, too.”

You scoff, batting his chest once, “I’m being serious.” A low chuckle drags from his throat, his hands settling on your hips softly, touch like a brand. “Are you interested in seeing a truly bold move?”

Lips part at the blatant invitation, staring at him. Eyes flick away temporarily, considering. Return to his after a second of contemplation. Shrug your shoulders nonchalantly. “How bad could it be?”

A feline smile graces his hellish mouth, then he’s pushing you backward, walking you until his desk digs into backs of your thighs. One hand steadies yourself on the surface, the other landing high on his upper arm, over the swell of well-earned muscle. Quirk your brow in competition. “My, my, Rhysand. How brazen you are—”

His mouth attaches to the sensitive skin of your neck, sealing over a point between your shoulder and throat, sucking and nipping.

Mouth parts in surprise, back arching into him. One of his own hands winding around your waist, making your spine curve as his hips press against your own. Fingers press into him at the abrupt move forward, the way he’s pinning you to his desk as he laps over your skin. Taking what he wants.

“Rhys…” you murmur, breathing a little faster than you were a few moments ago. He doesn’t pull away, switching to a spot lower down, bringing his canines out this time. Gasp as they prickle at your throat, scraping across your skin. “Rhys, stop,” you mumble, pushing lightly at his shoulder.

He doesn’t budge.

Heart picks up a beat as he bites harder, making you hiss. Legs turning weak as he keeps you still, hips pressing tight into your own while he occupies himself with your taste. “Cut it out,” you hiss, temperature rising as you push harder. “I know you’re not that drunk, Rhys. You’ve barely had anything, so—”

You get a little dizzy as his hand slides down the curve of your ass, settling over top with male propriety. Squeezing with interest. Back arches, arms twisting up over his broad shoulders. He growls softly against your throat, nosing at the bruises he’s already begun painting onto you. Nips at a space beneath your jaw. Breath catches in your throat as he pulls away, standing up to his full height. “Bold enough for you?”

Heart picks up speed again, uncontrollable heat pooling between your legs, surely dense enough he’ll be able to scent it by now. Blatant want.

Raise your hand before you can think twice, smacking him square across the jaw.

Violet eyes widen, staring at you. Gingerly raises his fingers to feel the sting of the skin. Watches you, features unreadable.

“I told you to stop,” you grit out, pulling your hands to your chest, shielding yourself. “What’s wrong with you? You’ve been acting off since this morning.”

A low snarl drags from his throat then, hands gripping your hips tighter, pressing into the earlier formed bruises. “So you’re back to acting like this, huh?” You swallow at the tone, the rough drag of the letters as they leave his tongue. Straighten your spine. “Like what?” You snap, attempting to edge away as much as you can, shifting your weight more onto the desk. Legs parting a little in the process.

It’s space he quickly takes advantage of, stepping to be closer between your thighs, pushing you back so you’re almost seated atop the surface. “Pretending,” he growls. “Teasing.” Hands settle around your waist. “Taunting.”

Lip curls back from your teeth, “you aren’t entitled to my affections, High Lord.” He laughs, roughly, palms splaying flat against your skin. An arrogant presumption. Shifts you so you’re fully on his desk, allowing him to press between your thighs. “How much wetter did you get from having my title on your tongue?”

Arousal turns molten in the pit of your belly, hands flatten against the mahogany, steadying yourself as he presses in. “That’s none of your business,” you breathe, shifting backwards. “Even in your position, you keep your nose out of my life, Rhysand.” He hums, the sound rumbling in his chest, peering down at your from his vantage point. “Weren’t you the one to come drunkenly stumbling into my office?” He drawls, mouth so close to your own you can practically feel its softness. “Barely dressed, at that. What sort of message do you think that sends?”

Brow narrows, attempting to glare up at him. “I think it shows that I expect basic decency from you, and that I don’t think I’ll get taken advantage of for respecting your request to be a little more careful where I drink.”

“Maybe I should listen to what you’re saying,” he growls softly, peering down at you. “But I don’t think that would be the right way to bed you.”

A wave of arousal crests over you, washing over your body, ravishing it with heat. Thighs part wider for him, speechless from the brazen answer. “That’s a hell of a lot of assuming you’re doing,” you manage weakly, on the verge of succumbing to him entirely. Mouth quirks into a distinctly Rhys-like grin, “tell me I’m wrong.”

The challenges ripples across your skin, prickling beneath the intensity of his gaze. As though he’s stripping you naked, inch by inch. Swallow around the pressure that’s contracting your throat, violet tracing its roll. “I…” Heart kicks up, heat bubbling between your thighs, anticipation thick enough to be cut with a knife. Swallow again.

“I thought not.” Then his mouth is forcefully crushing against your own, hands roughly gripping your waist; your hips. Dragging you to be tight against him, thighs pushed so ankles lock at his back. Tongue pries your lips apart, stroking over your own, gathering, tasting you. Groans roughly into the hot, open-mouthed kiss, holding you flush to his chest. The swell of your breasts rises and falls with the hurried pants, temperature spiking as he invades and conquers, waging war on your body. Taking it for his own.

Eyes flutter shut, and he’s shoving you back onto his desk, ink pots spilling, papers scattering, shooting up before raining to the floor. Mouth detaches from your own, only to reattach to that— “fuck…” He targets it mercilessly, scraping the sharp point of his canines over the sensitive patch, biting roughly, marking. Spine arches upward, legs locking firmly around his hips as he thumbs away the straps of your night gown. Pushing them off your shoulders, practically tearing the material away to make room for his tongue; his teeth.

The High Lord leaves a path of bruises in his wake, nipping and kissing his way to your breasts. Gasp when his licks over a peaked nipple, fingers threading in his hair, nails scraping. “Rhys…” you pant, hips winding, bucking against his own, feeling the prominency of his own arousal. How big he is. Good Gods.

Pulls away, chest rising and falling slightly, staring down at you with dilated pupils. A beast taking in his catch for the night. Staring down at his meal. It makes heat swarm your body, breathing quickening. “What are you waiting for?” You pant, staring up at him, trying not to think about how ink is almost certainly staining the soft fabric of your night shift.

Teeth flash in a vicious smile. “I thought you didn’t want this?” Brow narrows, lip pulls back from your own teeth. Move to shove away from him, but his palm presses down over your sternum, pinning you effortlessly to his desk. “I don’t,” you snap weakly, the pressure from his hand keeping your voice soft. He hums in response, then your legs are being forcefully unhooked from his hips. Fingertips bite into the underside of your thighs, and then they’re pushed back, positioned close to your sides, bent at the knee.

“Rhysand!” You snarl.

Palm smacks over your mouth as he licks up your centre. Hissing at the pleasurable violation.

He pulls back, grinning arrogantly from between your thighs, lips glistening. “You taste like you want it.”

“Well. I don’t,” you manage to grit out, hands clenching into fists. His brow quirks, seeing through your lies, but makes to retract from your aching cunt. You hiss softly, ankles locking as your legs hook over the broad width of his shoulders. “You’ll damn well finish what you started, High Lord.”

Rhys chuckles roughly, sending fire licking between your thighs, more wetness pooling as he drags it out. “So demanding,” he taunts, “and here I was, thinking about giving it to you for free.” He stands up to his full height, pulse spiking as his dexterous finger drop to the ties of his leathers, slowly pulling them loose. “But I suppose if I’m going to give you something, it’s fair to get something, in return.”

Throat dries out as he pushes away the constriction, large hand wrapping around his cock, allowing it to rest heavily over your cunt. “Don’t you dare,” you hiss, attempting to push up from his desk. Sharp talons pierce through your foggy mental walls, forcing you back down. Laughs cruelly, heat pounding between your thighs. Almost begging for him to slide home. To slam in to the hilt. The idea alone nearly makes your eyes roll form pleasure.

His grin widens as if he’s read your mind, arousal wrapping around your senses, filtering into your body through your lungs. Your own personal aphrodisiac.

“Don’t I dare what?” He taunts. Lethally quietly. Marks the roll of your throat.

“You know what I’m talking about,” you manage shakily, fingers gripping the edge of the desk, thighs subconsciously parting. His hips pull back, tip catching on your clit as he goes, making you flinch. Presses himself to the soft, wet dip. Positioning himself at your entrance. “I don’t think I do,” he murmurs back, leaning over your body, caging you in, hands wrapping around your wrists. “Tell me. Tell me what you don’t want me to do.”

Need pulses in your veins, short-circuiting your already hazy mind.

“Fuck me,” you manage, eyes glued to his lips, close enough to brush your own should you rise from the surface. “Don’t fuck me,” you breathe, struggling to keep your lids from fluttering shut. He offers a non-committal hum, violet dancing with mirth, lips quirking into a smirk. “What a shame.”

He slams in to the hilt.

A long moan drags from your lips, involuntarily tightening around him, hips pressing flush to the backs of your thighs. Spine bows from the furniture, eyes squeezing shut to keep in the tears of pleasure. You can only imagine how he would crow with cockiness if he saw how good you’re feeling. Breathe out shakily, and immediately suck another down. Open your mouth to speak, but he draws back, and slams in.

Air is shoved from your lungs, needing to make room for him, to accompany his size. Head tips back, eyes squeezed shut, fingers grasping at something to hold on to. His large hands grip your hips, pressing against the painful bruises, setting a brutal pace, pounding into you again and again. Pleasure blinds your vision, wildly grappling for something to hold onto, to keep you steady, ink wetting the pads of your fingertips.

He doesn’t allow you time to rest, not even a second. Slamming into you, touching those spots that make you sob, tears cascading back into your hair. He curses, low and vicious, attention glued to how you’re taking him. Wet squelches ring through the office, shallow pants and rough groans accompanying in the background.

Manage to crack your eyes open, peering up at him: flushed skin, colour tinting his cheeks, dark, inky swirls peeking from beneath the slightly unbuttoned shirt. Hands using your hips to slam you back against him, making certain he gets everywhere you need him. Thumb brushes over your clit, and you gasp. Nails pierce the wood, crying out in pleasure as he completely overwhelms you. Mind goes dumb, narrowing in on the feel of him, how he’s pressing against every delicious place. You don’t stand a single hope of lasting.

“Rhys…!” You whimper, teeth biting down into your lower lip.

Violet latches onto you, pinning you beneath him. “Close?” He smirks, thumb gently circling your clit, just adding that delicious edge for you to ride on. Cocky bastard. You would tell him as much if you had any capacity left for speech. “I thought you didn’t want me to fuck you?” He mocks, the lilt of his voice causing you to tighten around him. “I thought you would have hated this. Are you going to cum while hating me, too?”

Leans closer, the angle of his cock shifting within you. Tilting your hips upward a little.

Lips part as your orgasm lights your entire body, waves of pulsing heat and pleasure rolling through. Toes curl, eyes roll, spine bows. Arcing toward him like he’s pulling at your waist. Dear God above me… His violet eyes weight down on you, practically able to feel as they rove across your body, taking in your pleasure as it crashes into him.

Hips stutter, throwing you off, sending fresh, stronger waves coursing through your thighs. Hot cum spills into you, feeling how it fills you up, putting himself inside of you. Marking his territory. You’re his. His to pleasure, his to fuck, his to own. Utterly submitted.

Teeth bite into your throat as he rides out the aftershocks of his orgasm, tugging your head to one side to give him clear access. Stamping his ownership into every available point on your body. There’s no way he’ll allow you to cover those. He’d only create more, in increasingly obvious spaces, until his bruises are scrawled across every inch of skin. Scent infused with your own.

Rhys’ mouth finds yours, lips parting, tongue flicking over the roof of your mouth. It’s slower than before, a more leisurely exploration. There’s no hurry now. He’s taken you for himself. Can have you whenever he pleases in his mind. You moan softly, worn out from the strain of withstanding such intensity.

He pulls away, hand tangling in your hair, raising from the surface. “I suppose you positively despise me now?” He asks, tone lilting with mocking grace. Eyes gleaming with mirth. You scowl, inky fingers threading in the soft, silky locks. “I fucking hate you,” you snap in response, tugging his mouth back over your own.

Rhys laughs into the kiss, hips pressing back against your thighs, keeping his cum deep inside. Reminding you of the power he now has over you. Legs tighten, encouraging him to use it. To take advantage of it again.

Stars dance in violet eyes, a dark promise conveyed with a single look.

He’ll make you cum again and again until you’re begging for reprieve. And even then he’ll force one after the other, until you’re turning limp in his arms.

It’s not something you fear.

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022

Rhys Taglist: @azrielshadows1nger

#October #Rhys #Rhysand #Rhys x reader #Rhysand x reader #Dark!rhysand #dark!rhysand x reader #Rhysand smut #dark!Rhysand smut

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eupheme · 9 months ago

Text

— all I want is you

alfred pennyworth x f!reader

rated e - 4.5k

tags: pfyt request, jealous and possessive!alfred, light angst, copious amts of tooth-rotting fluff, split pov, semi-clothed semi-public sex, return of the daddy kink (light), marking, creampie

a/n: inspired by this lovely thot by @csboz 💖 references part ii and vii of penny for your thoughts but not required to enjoy

When a gala brings you face-to-face with your ex, Alfred realizes that seeing something in a photo is a lot different than seeing it in person.

Alfred had never considered himself a jealous man.

Maybe life had been simpler, then. He had known his place, where he fit in. A perfectly-made mould, sculpted just for him.

Solider. Bodyguard. Lover.

The lines of each were neatly set. Not just drawn in sand, but etched into stone.

Rules and regulations only blurring in the evening, behind closed doors. In the same slow way that evening bleeds into night - red to orange to deep indigo. Only to right itself the next morning, with the clear coming of dawn.

As man of routine, it had been easy to follow. He had never given it much thought, this throbbing ache in his chest. Fingers that itch to reach out, and take. The poison that pulls at his brow - the permanent furrow above narrowed, watchful eyes.

It’s uncomfortably new, and unwelcome.

And now, small part of him wonders if it’s because he never had anything that was really - truly - his.

Not the way that you are.

As much his and he is yours. The band on your finger, that promise, had felt like enough when he had sunk to a knee before you.

Now, he’s resisting the urge to drape you in jewels. To whisk you away. To give you anything you want.

It had been different, seeing that photo. Static, splashed across the screen in black and white.

Another insecurity had dug its claw into his mind then, convincing himself that he wasn’t good enough. Acutely aware of just how undeserving he was.

You had set him straight. It’s a night he still remembers, one he cherishes deeply.

The night you told him, even if it had taken him a while to return those words to you.

He had thought he knew better. That such emotion had no hold over him.

But a photo doesn’t move. A photo doesn’t have roving eyes, doesn’t give a look that he doesn’t much care for.

You looked beautiful, of that he had no doubt.

An hour ago it had been almost all he could think about. The thoughts of the Gala and those he must meet with Bruce severing - splitting down the middle, as you had modeled your dresses for him.

Asking his opinion, twisting and twirling in front of the mirror. Letting him undress you after each one, his lips against your spine as he worked the zipper. Black and bronze and silver, all wrapping around you, until you had picked a favorite.

Wanting to get things right. No longer just the messenger girl, but now seen often at Bruce’s side. Someone that was recognized, that was sought after.

He’s always seen you. Then and now and in the bedroom, tucked away, he had been so proud.

And when you had slipped your arm in his in the Tower, neatly curving your hand into the crook of his arm, he had thought it would be a long night.

Eager to end up right back here, to strip the fabric from you, one final time.

But now… it feels like an eternity.

There’s an uneasy flip in your stomach, when you see him.

It’s lessened over the months since that first meeting. You’ve run into Harvey a few times since the Parliament, though you haven’t stepped foot in the building since. Those days were long behind you, buried deep.

Your path with the newly-elected DA would continue to cross, as long as Bruce was working with him to improve Gotham. It was something you had thought about, had decided to bear. Another thing from the past, that you were convinced would no longer take up a worried residence in your mind.

And it was different, this time.

This time, Alfred is with you.

Not physically with you at the moment, but the comfort still lingers. He had just stepped away - offering to get you a drink while the guests work their way into the banquet hall, after the silent auction.

Leaving you next to the ornate seating chart - trying to pick your name out of the hundreds of small groupings.

And it seemed like Harvey Dent had the same idea.

“Thought I would see you here, doll.” The handshake he offers turns into a hug, his hand pressing against your shoulder. You own giving a half-hearted pat against his back.

“And I figured you would be too. To see Bruce, I mean.” You smile tightly before your eyes are drifting back to the list, “Is Gilda with you?”

His arm brushes yours as he moves to your left, to look for his own name, “Not tonight. She’s getting ready for a show next month.”

His fiancée. The girl he dated after you - the girl he was set to marry, once his position was settled.

There’s no twinge in your stomach this time. No weird, lingering feelings that you hadn’t been able to process.

Just a sense of pity, that he had to come alone. Thinking back - you can’t remember the last event she’s been to.

You never minded going to these things. Half the time it was your job. But it was always better when Alfred came with you.

“What about you? You here with anyone?” He’s asking, nodding towards the cane tucked under your arm - but then you hear your name. The press of a warm hand to the small of your back, as you are gently moved to the side.

“There you are, darling.” Alfred coos, as you grin - making room for him. The flute passed over from where he stands between you and Harvey, before he’s turning.

“Mr. Dent,” His left hand extends, “Pleasure.”

Harvey’s eyes flick down for the briefest of moments. Following the path of the arm that curls around you. To where you lift the glass to drink, the glitter that reflects off one of your fingers.

He smiles, as he takes the offered hand. You miss the way Alfred’s knuckles whiten, for the briefest of moments. The slightest wince in reply, before they’re letting go and Harvey is pivoting to face both of you.

“Heard about the accident. I didn’t think you’d be out and about just yet.”

The reminder almost makes you flinch. It’s been months, but you still have nightmares - racing down endless bleached-white halls, trying to find him. Panic flaring when a siren wails down the street, your eyes automatically leaping to the sky.

“It would take more than an amateur to get rid of me, I’m afraid. Much less Master Bruce.” Alfred’s knuckle graze along your back, soothing. A small smile sent your way, “Besides, I had the finest care you could ask for.”

There’s a presence at your elbow then, the feeling of a heavy shadow.

“Table Twelve.” Bruce tells you in greeting, after a quick glance at the chart - before he’s turning to Harvey, “I heard you’re working on the Nashton case.”

“Not much of one,” Harvey grins, a hand smacking Bruce’s shoulder before he sends you a wink. “Don’t worry, you’re safe with me. I’ll make sure that freak stays in Arkham.”

There's a tightness in Alfred’s jaw, his hand staying firmly in place. A tell-tale tap of annoyance of the cane you’ve handed back, against the marble floor.

You're certain that you're the only one who notices, besides Bruce - the briefest flicker of a look before he's lassoed back into the conversation.

There's a shuffle, when you sit for dinner soon after. Your arrangement differs from what's been noted on the namecards, as Alfred pulls out the seat to his right, instead of left. You take it, without much thought - fitting yourself between him and Bruce.

The conversation from before trickling into dinner, silted by the way Bruce has to lean past both of you - an elbow digging into the table - to talk to Harvey.

Your mind has drifted elsewhere. That unease of seeing him again disappearing completely with Alfred's arrival at your elbow. With his touch now - the hand that slips beneath the tablecloth. The breadth of his palm as it presses down, high above your knee.

Curving the silky fabric of your dress against your thigh. His touch firm enough that you can feel the slow drag of his fingers, circling strokes that press into your skin.

Reminding you of his touch, somewhere else.

Distracting you terribly, thoughts drifting back to the stolen moments as you dressed. Barely able to manage not to squirm in your seat, as the food is served.

He’s attentive as you eat - his voice low and smooth in your ear, as he points out people you should make note of. His gaze always on yours - the grip of his hand tightening each time he leans, sometimes slipping higher for the briefest moment.

A welcome distraction, as the courses are served.

The first of the notes are plucked from the big band on the stage when dinner is cleared - a modern cover played in an old jazz style, the notes drawn out and bright.

Harvey’s arm slings across the back of his chair, as he leans to catch your attention.

“I nearly forgot about them,” He gestures with a smile, a two fingers tipping towards the stage, “Bristol County Club, do you remember?

You did.

It had been before you were together, back when you were just friends - a senior banquet, right before graduation. Month spent on a fundraiser that pulled out all the stops.

Catered food, black-tie, a hired band. Compared to now it felt so small - but back then, it was the most extravagant night you could imagine.

The memory makes you smile, and just as your lips part to answer there’s a touch to your arm - a voice cutting through.

“Would you like to join me, dove?”

Alfred’s hand extends in front of you - waiting, his seat already pushing back. His cane tucked against his chair, to be retrieved after.

“Excuse me,” You manage to tell Harvey - before your hand is pressing into his, and he’s guiding you away.

Winding in between the other tables, joining the couples that spill from their own, onto the dance floor.

“I’ve been looking forward to this all night.” Alfred tells you, as the dance floor slowly fills, “You look beautiful. Have I told you that already?”

It makes your cheeks heat, “Maybe once or twice.”

There’s couples swirling around you, each caught up in the endless flutes of champagne, the energy from the live band on the stage.

You stay close, though. A slow, sway - the movement familiar, even if the details are different this time.

How the hand that should cup yours, now entwines - fingers lacing together.

How the palm that guides you slips lower on your back. Not so far that it’s improper, but you can feel the warmth and pressure on the curve of your ass, inside of your spine.

It sends up a spark that follows the path his lips took earlier. A soft press of his lips as the zipper lowered, each time.

You had wanted him, then. The only thing that kept you in check was knowing how he’d never give in, if it made you both late.

Leaving the memory sizzling under your skin.

Stoked by these slow moments of change. Because you’re starting to put things together now - all those little details perhaps imperceptible to an acquaintance.

But not to you.

It takes you another two songs to figure things out fully. The circling steps taking you into the middle of the floor, and then out to the opposite side. Far away from the shared table.

You haven’t really seen him quite like this before. If you didn’t love him so much, perhaps you’d want to laugh.

And you think that maybe - maybe, you should do something about it.

His fingers slip higher on your back, but it’s only to press you just a little bit closer. Your lips brush against the peppered-grey scruff on his beard, just before you press a kiss against his cheekbone.

Keeping your fingers clasped as you step away, back towards the edge of the dance floor.

“Come with me.” You coax, but you don’t have to.

He follows - would follow - you anywhere, a hand in yours until the dark corners of the room surround you, the music fading as you slip with him down a corridor.

It’s near-deserted - a thick ornate rug running down the hall. Small groupings of those discussing business, paying you no mind as you wind down one more hallway.

Your name is a whispered question as you try the handle - the room you open is not in use, like you knew it would be. Year-old memories of helping Hazel set up in these halls are still fresh in your mind.

Perhaps at one point, it had been set up for meetings, or a small, private party. The wallpaper pretty and patterned, but at least a decade old. Matching furniture pushed around - heavy wooden tables shoved to one side. Stacked rows of chairs in another corner.

A dim and dusty table lamp that you click on, as he shuts the door behind you.

“You look like you could use a minute.” You tell him, with a knowing tilt of your head.

The corner of his lips twitch, “Am I that obvious, dove?”

“Maybe just to me,” You smile, hands finding his, as you walk backward. As he follows, again.

Another glance around the room, before you’re adding, “Feels a little familiar, hm?"

His stern look softens, as he remembers.

Your second meeting, that flurry of feelings. Him, thinking might have changed your mind. Your own anxiety, thinking he wasn't going to call.

Leading his hands to your hips, as you lean against a table that bumps up against the wall. A second, before you’re pushing yourself up, to perch on the edge.

"I think I loved you, even then." Your admission is soft. Cheeks burning in the darkness, even after all this time, "Well, I knew when we danced together in your kitchen. But, I mean... even that early, I knew you would be important to me."

He laughs - a short, rough thing. It startles you, a little frown as your chin tips up.

"I'm sorry, darling. I just-” He sounds almost breathless, in the dim room, “That night... for me, too."

Your smile is bright, blinding. If asked, you’d say it was impossible to love him more, but with his answer comes a surge of affection, a little flip of your heart.

His own lips curve, when you meet them. Hair shorn short and velvet against your fingers as your hand slips against his neck. Sighing into his mouth as he leans into your touch, into the kiss.

Pressing himself snug against the table, as your thighs have to inch wider. Your knees digging into his hips, as his hands find your waist.

Possessive, in the way he grips onto you. Fingers pressing into the fabric, your skin. The smallest tug to bring you forward, closing those last few inches of space.

His confession finally coming in the breaths between your mouths meeting - quiet, in the dark room.

“I don’t like the way he was looking at you,” It’s almost a growl, as your lips press against his cheek, “Like he was reconsidering things.”

You do laugh then, but not at him. The sound low in your throat, bitten back, “You know, it would have to go both ways, right? That I would want to want that, too?”

Before your voice lowers, “You know that you’re the one I’m going home with.”

His eyes seem to darken at that, his voice a low rasp, “I know.”

“Then you realize you’re being silly?” You press, gently.

Alfred does smile, then - a small, rueful thing.

“I’m well aware.” An inhale of breath, then, “I haven’t felt this way before, but then again I’ve never-”

His words break off, as his eyes drag down you for just a moment. Admiring, but it’s more than that. The same feeling that was stirred with his greedy touch, the delicious shiver at the growling rasp his voice.

It does something to you - your pulse quickening, something hungry awakening in your belly.

“Do you need me to show you, again?” You offer sweetly, learning forward to let your lips brush his again.

His answer comes as a ragged sigh, “Just once more, love.”

Expecting words, perhaps another soft press of your mouth, before you return to the party.

Not the way that the soft layers of your skirt gather in a hand, bundled near your hip. How your other catches his palm, guiding his fingers beneath.

Cupping you. Where you’re so warm and where the thin fabric clings to you - worked up from before, and during, and now.

He sucks in a breath as you bite back your own sigh. Your hand still on his wrist as your lips press against his throat, to the hollow under his ear.

A bitten-back groan as your teeth graze his earlobe, just before you croon.

“You could take me in here, you know that?”

The hand on your waist tightens, just as his fingers begin to move. The tips of two fingers crooking against the fabric, slipping up to circle against you.

“That’s what you want, right? To send me back out there, full of you?”

Alfred wouldn’t ask it of you, you’re sure. Too proper to suggest it, himself… but to have it offered so prettily and openly.

But he is only human, after all.

You can feel his groan against your lips, the flex of his muscles as he swallows.

“Yes.” He rasps.

The fingers that circle halt, but only enough so he can slip them beneath your panties. His eyes dark in the dim light of the room, fixed on yours as his touch teases you. Drifting along your slit, before dipping lower.

A rough curse growled out as the tip one fits inside you easily. You’re slick, the fabric damp and sticking to your skin, coating the fingers that presses deep, before he’s working in another.

“Oh fuck,” You sigh, thighs nudging wider. Hands wandering, fingers hooking around his belt and tugging him closer, “Please, Alfred-”

“I will.” He promise, before his mouth is pressing against yours. Fingers working you open, as you tug at his zipper, trying to slip your fingers beneath.

Finding him more than half-hard from your words, thickening with the touch of your hand on bare skin, as you work him free. His other hand rises - cupping the back of your neck, just as his fingers press deep and curl.

His desire thrills you. Not often does he give into your whims when you’re out like this. Preferring to make you wait, make you suffer until he’s got you alone again.

More than once you’ve ridden him in his car, but that was an extension of his space. Fingers have drifted during dances, during long dinners.

A promise for later, but not now.

You’d be worried if he hadn’t already admitted just how self-aware he was.

But he needs this.

You can sense it - the tick in his jaw, the not-so-subtle flex of his hips into your fist. The way his fingers pound, as if trying to rip the orgasm from you.

It has you clenching down hard, whining. Your other hand drifting - across his chest, tugging on his tie to keep him close. Parting your lips with the soft brush of his tongue, so he can taste you as his hand slips free.

Working it over his aching cock twice - marking himself fully with you, until it’s slick with your need.

“Come here.” He reaches for you, his other hand guiding your hips to edge of the table, “I’ll give you what you want dove, but you need to be quiet.”

Nudging your thighs wider with his hip, your legs rising to hook around his waist, opening yourself up more. One of your hands bracing behind you, flattened across the tabletop.

He’s so broad like this. The shadowed light cutting across his features, his strong shoulders. The loosened tie, the clinking belt the only pieces out of place.

The velvet soft length rubs against you, as he steps closer. Your eyes drop to watch the slow twist of his fist as he rubs the tip against your folds.

“As much as I want everyone to hear you’re mine, I’m not too keen on sharing.”

It makes you throb, the edge in his tone. How aware you both are of the unlocked door. The hundreds of people just outside, the muted music that crashes against the walls.

Too far gone to stop, as eyes narrow - letting himself look, now. To where you’re exposed and open - so needy for him that it makes him ache.

He won’t leave you waiting.

With the next roll of his hips, he’s splitting you open. Not with the slow tease of home - fitting just the tip, making you earn every inch. No, this makes you cry out - the feeling of his cock making a home for himself in your warm cunt.

He swallows the sound, his own groan rough in his throat.

“Christ, I missed you.” Alfred rasps, as if it had been weeks instead of hours. Eyes fixed on your own, how they go half-lidded with the drag of his cock, as he begins to move.

“Missed you too,” You whine, as you start to lean back, your dress still fisted around your waist.

Thinking he’d like to watch - see where you stretch around his cock, where he fucks you open. How he gleams with your desire, with each sharp rut of his hips.

Instead, Alfred catches your wrist. Holding it against his chest as he tugs you back up.

“No,” It’s close to an order, except for the way he sighs with need, “Stay close darling, just for a moment. Please.”

Your legs hook around him, instead. Doing as you’re told, as your hands drop your dress - sliding across his shoulders instead, fingers entwining behind his neck.

The “good girl” he murmurs shoots straight to your cunt, a shared look that tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

His thrusts grow harder, deeper. A steady pound that will leave both of you aching tonight, not that either of you mind.

In this moment it’s just you and him, everything else fades into soft shades of nothing. Your focus caught on the spots where you’re connected. Eyes, hands, mouth. His cock, pressed deep - dragging against a spot that sends a rolling wave of pleasure to lap low in your belly.

And when his hand leaves your wrist to drift down, circling against you once again, you feel as if you’re about to break.

His name is garbled, another soft plea. Your hips rocking into the perfect pressure of his touch - further proof of his devotion. Every detail tucked away so carefully, keep safe in a mind that never forgets.

“Oh fuck, don’t stop-” You whine, forgetting about your promise. Each breath short and harsh as your nails sink into fabric, desperate to cling to this moment.

Alfred’s forgotten too, his growl lower than the low murmur of before.

“Never.” He rasps, “Come on, darling. Let me feel you-”

Everything winds tight, your breath held. And then - it snaps, fracturing and splintering. The music fading out to white noise.

You come with him wrapped around you. Caged in - an arm wrapping around, hand pressed between your shoulder blades. The other steady and unmerciful against your clit, drawing your pleasure out. He groans with the tight pulse of your orgasm, pressing himself deep, so he can feel each throb.

“There it is, that’s my girl.” It’s murmured into your sweat-dewed skin, as he mouths at your neck.

This is what he’s been craving. His mind a seismograph - those jittery waves of emotions now slipping flat and smooth. A reminder that he’s the only one that makes you feel this way.

Loose-limbed in his arms. Your grin lazy as you squirm against him, trying to catch the fingers that push you towards too much.

You feel a low laugh against your skin, as bristle of his beard tickles your cheek. Then, against the soft column of your throat. His lips following, as he starts to fuck you again.

Just as teeth scrape and then pinch the curve where shoulder meets neck. A rough groan against your skin, just before his lips close - sucking hard against the same spot.

You’re sure it will leave a mark. High above the strap of your dress. Near impossible to hide, and you find yourself thinking that he did that on purpose.

Tongue trapped between your teeth as you smile, going soft. Letting your hands drift now, smoothing over the soft fabric of his shirt. Slipping beneath his open jacket to hook your fingers into the hem of his pants.

Urging him to a quicker pace, as you tell him what he needs to hear.

“Yours.”

Finger pinch at your hips, angling them so he can drive deeper. You can just barely hear the wet suck with each thrust, again and again and again.

“Mine.” He echos, teeth gritting.

This time when you lean back, he lets you. A heave of his chest as your fingers drift down, until they slowly circle your clit.

Pleasure throbs but your touch is more for show, for him, letting him watch as your fingers split - framing where he sinks into you. That steady thrust starting to stutter, the only unsteady thing about him.

“Tell me you want it.” That harsh, pleading tone is back.

“God, I want it.” Your teeth sinking into your lip, before you sigh sweetly, “Please, daddy.”

It catches him off guard like you knew it would, his eyes darkening. How you offer up a piece of yourself like a tempting piece of fruit - how you would burst so sweetly on his tongue if he were to sink his teeth in.

“Only me, yeah?”

Only him.

He knew it was true. A hushed confession in the late night hour - a warmth in your cheeks as your face rested against his bare chest. Rising and falling with his steady breath, tender feelings betrayed by the flutter of his heart beneath your ear.

“I haven’t called anyone that before. Only you.”

“Only me, hm? Then perhaps you should let me hear it again.”

“Yes, daddy. Always-” One of your hands slips from the table, entwining with his, “I want you to come in me. I want to feel you, too-”

He comes with you begging for it.

A rough grunt paired with the rutting of his hips, until they press flush against you. Little shallow thrusts, keeping himself buried deep as he spills inside you - the last dregs of his jealousy swept along with the sharp burst of pleasure.

Leaving Alfred feeling foolish, a throbbing ache in his chest that matches the galloping of his heart.

You’re always so good to him. Thighs tightening against his hips, keeping him inside until you’re sure he’s been milked dry - until the throbbing twitch of his cock has ebbed.

He pants a breath, fingers still wrapped in yours. Wrinkling the fabric as his hips press flush with yours, keeping himself buried in you for another long moment.

Your mind always runs away with you.

Imagining slipping your panties down your thighs. Thinking how pretty they would look as a pocket-square - or tucked beneath, right against his heart.

Instead, he groans as he slips from you. A slow smile, as his lips brush yours, as you slump back fully against the tabletop.

You’re sure you look debauched - the dim light leaving you glowing, after your orgasm.

The straps of your dress slipping from your shoulders, skirts hiked up to where he has your panties still pushed to the side.

His fingers drifting across where you still gape from him, for just a moment. A look crossing his face that is almost smug, if he could be - before he’s tucking the lacy hem carefully back into place, tugging it snug against your cunt.

“Better?” You ask, breathless. Pushing yourself up, reluctantly starting to out yourself back together.

Relishing in the stolen moment, but knowing the night was not quite over. That it would be a little while longer before you were home - already dreaming about the hands that would wander beneath the warm water of a shared bath.

His fingers press down as he cups you. Grazing against the fabric, where it’s damp with him. Dripping from you and sticking to your skin, now that his cock no longer keeps it inside.

Alfred smiles, as he answers.

“Yes.”

(and then the table was purchased for a sizable donation as part of the “auction” and kept as a beloved souvenir 😌)

thank you so much for reading!! and for giving me an excuse to dive back into them again, it has been missed 💖

#thank you for letting me dive back into them again 💖#please mind the tags!#alfred pennyworth x reader #alfred pennyworth x f!reader #alfred pennyworth x you #alfred pennyworth smut #tw: daddy kink

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starfinss · 2 years ago

Text

Efflorescent — Tighnari

𝘍𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮: Genshin Impact

𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: Tighnari + Reader

𝘙𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨: NSFW

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 8,495

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: Triggered by unseasonably cool weather, Avidiya forest is alive with rare flora. Upon going to investigate it, you and Tighnari get more than you bargained for.

It was supposed to be an ordinary expedition. And by all accounts, it was, until you found that stupid clearing.

The weather that week was uncharacteristically cool for Avidiya Forest, as ushered in by a passing thunderstorm, and the change in temperature had caused flora that rarely bloomed to come to life, painting the forest with splashes of color, and it wasn’t until a few days after the storm that you began to take notice of the unusual plants.

So when Tighnari had rushed to your room that morning, rousing you from your slumber, you were just as excited as he was to go look for rare samples.

The conversation as you walked into the tree line was full of quiet excitement, the clinking of the glass sample jars in your rucksack almost musical against the morning stillness. You were used to the characteristic balmy humidity that was omnipresent in the rainforests of Sumeru, and the cool breeze felt lovely against your skin. The sky was perfect blue, cloudless and painted with streaks of gold and marigold hues as the sun rose.

The Akademiya would never allow this.

You smiled to yourself at the thought, knowing full well how strenuous it would be to get permission to do this if you were still with the Akademiya. You’d have to talk to your instructors, get permission, write a paper, write another paper, write a proposal, and the list goes on. It was all far too much for you, when all you ever wanted was to go out and discover.

“What are you thinking?” Tighnari asked, head cocked slightly to the side, eyes inquisitive.

“Just about how nice this is,” you replied, pulling your rucksack up higher on your back.

“It is quite beautiful,” Tighnari said fondly, “I wonder if we will find any Avidiya Lilies.”

You hummed in assent, your interest showing in the way your eyes lit up. You’d only seen the flower he mentioned as a bud, coiling along vines encircling trees. It only bloomed when it was cool enough, just after a storm, and since the cool had lingered, you were wondering if the flower had remained in bloom, just as Tignnari was wondering.

Small animals skittered past you as you walked, shroomboars and foxes paying you little mind, as they were used to the presence of the forest rangers such as yourself and Tighnari. You loved it out there; totally at one with nature, and filled with a sense of peace like no other.

Avidiya Forest was like a living organism, so full of vibrancy and life, awash with color and all sorts of smells. If you were hungry, you could stop and forage for mushrooms. If you were thirsty, there were plenty of clear streams you could drink from. Nature provided, and that was one of your favorite things about it. You took a deep lungful of forest air as you walked, a smile spreading across your face.

“There!” Tignnari cried, his voice hushed as he knelt beside the path, “creeping silkweed.”

You knelt beside him, studying the small, pale blue blossoms, which were blooming on a fallen log, attached to a delicate vine. Your fingers brushed against the fragile petals, and you withdrew your shears from your pack.

Carefully, you snipped off a segment of the vine, packing some soft dirt and clear water from a nearby stream into the jar before adding the sample. With a satisfying click, you screwed the lid closed, replacing the jar in the rucksack.

“I’ve only seen those in bloom at twilight, and even then, they often stray closed. It’s amazing to see them in bloom right now. When the conditions are right, they’re supposed to glow. It’s very beautiful.”

You stared at the remaining flowers on the vine, admiring the way the pale blue of the petals tapered off into white the closer it got to the soft yellow of the center. Veins of deep indigo laced up and along the petals, a beautiful contrast to the gentle color.

You stood when Tighnari did, listening intently to the information and facts he was giving you, happy to have the field experience rather than just looking at drawings of plants in a dusty textbook.

Tighnari looked like a painting in the fresh morning light. The dark of his hair was a sharp contrast to the lush green around you, the chartreuse of his bangs elegantly framing his pale, delicate face. Your face felt warm as you watched him, and when he saw you looking, he gave you a friendly smile.

“Is there something on your mind?” He asked gently, his eyes genuine, and you blushed, tearing your gaze away from his face.

“No, I was just listening. You were talking about the hypanthium of the silkweed blossoms?”

Tighnari nodded, eyes lighting up as he continued on talking about the various parts of the flower, and you went right on listening.

It wasn’t until about two hours later, when you were sitting down to rest and refresh yourselves when you caught your first lungful of something new.

You paused mid-gulp as you drank from your waterskin, moving the spout away from your lips as you took another deep breath. It was something you’d never smelled before, like jasmine and lavender, vanilla and lemongrass. It was indescribably scrumptious, smelling of earth and flowers, of your favorite incense, all at once, shifting, sending your senses into overdrive, even if it was still rather faint, requiring several deep breaths to get another whiff of; the kind of scent that you had to take several lungfuls to fully appreciate, or to even place. You had to wonder, out of academic curiosity and for more selfish reasons, where exactly that wonderful scent was coming from.

“I see that you smell it, too,” Tighnari mused.

You nodded, and suddenly, you were aware of how nice Tighnari’s voice was. It was musical against your ears, making you smile.

“It’s new,” he continued, frowning, “I’ve never noticed it before, and with my oversensitive olfactory system, it would have been very evident.”

“Is it dangerous, do you think?” You asked.

“I doubt it,” Tighnari said, glancing sidelong at you, “do you know of anything that would smell like this?”

You shook your head. “It smells like… like many things. All of them are wonderful. Maybe it’s supposed to draw in certain insects, or animals. I don’t know what made it this strong. That’s interesting.”

Tighnari’s brows pushed together, and he was clearly deep in thought.

You’d never noticed just how good looking he was before. You already knew that Tighnari was handsome, that was obvious. You were attracted to him, as many undoubtedly were, and he was a very dear friend. But right now, lit by the sun filtering through the canopy above, he looked more incredible than anything you’d ever seen. With him this close to you, you could smell the earthen scent of his soap, and—

“I’d like to take a sample.”

His voice snapped you out of your staring, and you coughed to hide your embarrassment.

Get ahold of yourself. Think about all of that when he isn’t less than a foot away. Collei already teases you enough.

Truthfully, you wanted a sample, too. You were always hungry for new information, and this was no exception. You eagerly pulled a sample jar from your rucksack, passing it to Tighnari. He sniffed the air once, then a second time, before motioning for you to follow him.

“I learned about plants like this in the Akademiya,” Tighnari explained, “they’re bait, like you said, for small animals and insects. I don’t think the plant is carnivorous, it’s just a way to spread the pollen around, since the scent is nearly irresistible. I’ve never heard of it affecting humans, or my species, this strongly before, however.”

You remembered something like that in a textbook, but the name of the flower in question escaped you. Also, the flower you were thinking of usually affected animals roughly the size of a squirrel or a fox, and not the size of a fully grown person.

The scent got stronger as you walked, off the beaten path and into a clearing.

You stopped after stepping past Tighnari, your breath caught in your throat as you took in the sight before you. There was a waterfall tumbling off a cliff and into a clear, glimmering pool. The pool was lined with stones worn smooth, as well as large slabs of slate. Patches of young grass were peeping through the cracks and bleeding into the small, surrounding meadow. Soft, golden sunlight was scattering through the leaves, casting speckled patterns across the grass, gleaming on the water.

Finally, there, growing on the stone wall, nestled in a curtain of vines beside the waterfall, was a blanket of lotus-like flowers. They were reddish pink, some tinged purple, with multiple layers of petals circled around a small yellow center. Filaments, thickly coated in pollen, were protruding from the flowers’ centers, and you imagined that this was the most likely cause of the powerful scent.

“There they are,” Tignnari said, and you were suddenly hyper aware of his athletic form at your back. The scent of that soap you noted earlier was mingling deliciously with the overpowering fragrance of the flowers, with the scent of his skin, which was somehow all you could even think about now.

“Yeah,” you said, clearing your throat and turning to face your companion, “any idea what they are?”

His brows furrowed, lip catching between his teeth as he pondered your question, and you couldn’t stop yourself from admiring how unbearably attractive that simple action was. You swallowed thickly, turning away from him about three quarters, just to give yourself some time to breathe.

If only you could remember the effect those flowers had on such animals, but, as it often happens in times of need, you were drawing a blank.

It was Tighnari’s turn to clear his throat, and the intonation made the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

“Shears, please,” he said, and you forced yourself to nod as you passed them to him, a jolt of electricity passing up your spine when his fingertips brushed against yours. He clearly felt it too, because he looked at you for a handful of seconds before gingerly pulling away with the shears.

Blushing, you trailed after him as he approached the tangle of flowers.

Tighnari’s eyes were lovely. Two toned, fading from brown into forest green; eyes like you’d never seen before. They were one of your favorite things about him, among other things. The cut of his jaw, the way the space between his eyebrows creased when he was focused, as he was now, carefully taking a snipping of a couple of the fragrant blossoms.

You forgot to breathe until he handed you back the jar, and that was when you got your first direct hit of the scent. It was like being kicked in the chest in its intensity. It made you dizzy, as you cradled the blooms in your hand, putting soft dirt and water into the jar, placing the flowers down and fastening the top. You put the jar into your rucksack as carefully as you could with your hands shaking as badly as they were before you gently pushed the bag aside and sat down on the soft grass.

Your head was spinning. You could hear your own heartbeat in your ears, like how you can after you’ve been running.

“I need to rest,” you said.

“It’s the scent,” Tighnari said, his voice lower than it was before, “something is… wrong.”

Oh, Gods. You were getting warm. And not normal Sumeru weather warm, worryingly, feverishly warm. You pulled your shawl off, draping it over your rucksack and rolling up your sleeves.

Tighnari rolled his shoulders back, softly breathing as he sat down beside you, and you could feel that heat spread across your body at an alarming pace. You could hardly take your eyes off him, and you watched with rapt attention as his tongue flicked out to wet his bottom lip. What were you feeling?

Everything was warm and getting even warmer; everything was hot, and you felt like you were suffocating.

“Stop that,” you blurted, “stop— everything.”

Tighnari looked puzzled. “Stop— stop what? I’m not doing anything.”

The crease between his eyebrows was back as he studied your face, and you felt yourself grow miserably warmer.

“You’re perspiring,” he said, softly, “I am, too. Whatever this is, it is affecting both of us. Your breathing is accelerated, as well.”

You realized it was. Your breath was coming in quick, shallow bursts, and you consciously tried to take deeper breaths. You quailed away in surprise and needless alarm when he reached for you, and when he pressed two of his fingers to your pulse point, you felt like an electric shock went down your body, stronger than when he’d touched you before when he took the shears.

“Your pulse is very quick,” he noted, “but still strong. It’s much too cool for you to be suffering from heat stroke, but it is hot out here all of a sudden, isn’t it?”

You nodded absently.

“Mydriasis,” he muttered, “I suspect with myself, as well. Archons, it really is too warm.”

Sure enough, the dueling color of his irises was thickly ringed around the pale circumference of his pupils, which were widely dilated. His breath was quick, matching yours, and you felt heat begin to simmer beneath your skin, nearly suffocating where his hand still lingered, though gloved, against the skin of your throat.

Your own gaze fell to his lips, soft and full, and you realized just how badly you wanted to kiss him. You’d wanted to kiss him before, in several instances, but doing so would irreparably damage your platonic friendship, which was the last thing you wanted. Now, you could not give less of a damn. You’d give anything to feel his mouth against yours, to feel his skin—

Stop. Stop, Archons help me.

“The scent,” Tighnari said, voice lightly breathless, “there’s a-a correlation between the scent and these symptoms, I think the microgametophytes in the air, combined with the odor is having a physiological effect, on the both of us.”

It took you a handful of seconds to process his words, because the sound of his voice was suddenly the most distracting thing in the entire world; no song you’d ever heard could compare, and the heat beneath your skin was becoming nearly unbearable.

“Pollen,” you said, your brain catching up, “you think it’s the pollen?”

“Yes,” Tighnari said, the hand on your throat dropping to the curve of your shoulder, “it resembles oxytocin, in a very heavy dose, coupled with accelerated lutrophin production, driving reproductive urges.”

It clicked in your head.

Your face turned several shades of red, and you nodded once. Of course. What better way to spread the pollen than to draw in whatever unsuspecting animal, slather the stuff on its fur or whiskers when it leans in for a sniff, and then passing it along when said animal gives in to its reproductive urges and—

“A-an aphrodisiac.”

Tighnari’s eyes darted away from your face, then back to meeting your own gaze.

“Correct.”

The implication hung heavy in the already suffocating air as the sounds of your breathing overlapped, interrupted only by the thrum of the waterfall.

“T-the water,” Tighnari said, his voice strained, “we should—”

“Tighnari,” you said, addressing him, and you intended to continue speaking, until you noticed the way his breath hitched as you said his name. It sent a wave of suffocating, shameful arousal down your body, and you tried your best to ignore it. His hand against your skin was searing, even through the glove, and it took everything in you not to reach out and touch him.

Oh Gods, oh Gods, oh Gods—

“The water,” you repeated, finally, your eyes flicking to the waterfall, “right. Let’s wash off.”

You figured that this plan was flawed, as the water was probably saturated in the pollen, but you were so overheated that as you hurried to unfasten your clothing, the feel of the air against your skin was a mercy. You pulled at the various buckles fastening your Forest Ranger uniform to your body, pulling off your blouse, then your shorts and boots, but as you did, something caught your eye as Tignnari moved to unfasten the toga he wore over his clothing.

There, straining at the front of his trousers, was a distinct shape against the dark fabric. It was hidden by the excess cloth before, but now that this was gone, the evidence of the pollen’s effects was more than evident.

But you weren’t the only one with wandering eyes.

You realized that Tighnari’s eyes were riveted to your bra-covered chest, to the now-exposed skin of your waist, and you watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. An exquisite flush painted his perfect, pale cheeks as he realized you saw him looking.

Quickly, he pulled off his gloves, then tugging his sweatshirt over his head, leaving him bare chested, and oh, you were an absolute goner. His chest was much more muscular than you imagined (and not that you did), toned and lithe and lean, with hard ridges of muscle in all the right places. Of course, he’d have a great body, you reasoned, with all the activity he does, and like the other rangers, you were certain he stuck to the strength training and cardio work you were supposed to do to keep in shape.

You tore your hungry gaze from his body, standing up to step into the water, which was colder than you expected, reaching your mid thigh as you stepped into the pool. You tried to focus on you and not how the space between your thighs was aching, and you stretched your arms over your head with a breathless sigh.

A soft splash filled the air, and a ripple traveled across the surface of the water as Tignnari stepped into the pool as well. When you turned on instinct to look at him, you wished you hadn’t, because you were helpless, your eyes raking down his defined chest, lingering on the thin threads of battle scars, his body tapering off into a trim waist, where his underwear hung low on his hips. It took every ounce of your waning willpower not to jump him right there.

His erection was even more evident through the thin cotton of his underwear, and you realized you could see the flush of pink through the now damp fabric as it clung to his skin, and absently, sinfully, you wondered what it would be like to put your mouth—

No, no, no—

But then your focus was brought straight back to him as he moved closer, his hand reaching out to catch a droplet of water traveling down the curve of your waist with his thumb. His eyes weren’t shy with their wandering, and you knew it was the pollen talking, but Gods, it felt nice, for him to look at you like you were the most exquisite thing he’d ever laid eyes on.

“I-I apologize,” he whispered, but he didn’t sound apologetic.

His hand remained on your waist, fingers tracing a pattern against your skin, causing you to shiver, and your own hand rose to catch his wrist, stopping him. The feel of his skin on yours was like someone applying a salve to a burn, and you had to stop yourself from sighing embarrassingly in pleasure at the sensation.

“Terribly sorry,” he said, sounding even less sorry, and his voice was lower than you’d ever heard it, “I— I can’t seem to help myself. I will go to the far end of the pool—”

“It’s fine,” you said, a little too quickly, your voice light and breathy.

You realized a little too late that you were moving closer to him, and by the time you had, you could feel his breath fanning against your skin, sending violent shivers down your body.

There was a warning in Tighnari’s eyes, but not a particularly firm one, that disappeared with every passing second as his gaze fell to your lips, raking down your body, and you almost lost your composure when he caught his lower lip lightly between his teeth again.

“May I—” Tighnari asked, finally, a note of need leaking into his voice, “may I kiss you?”

Your breath left your lungs in a dizzying swoop as you gave in.

“Gods, yes.”

That was all it took for him to surge forward, his lips connecting with yours more gently than you expected, but that didn’t stop you from tangling your hands into his hair, pulling his body close to your own. You felt his arms wind around your waist, holding you flush to him, and when your tongue swiped along his lower lip, he didn’t hesitate to give you access.

And everything rapidly went downhill from there.

The kiss was messy and uncoordinated, your tongue tangling with his, and you felt one of his hands rise to cup the base of your skull, holding your mouth to his, only separating every so often if only to reconnect. You were suddenly being crowded against the edge of the pool, his arms going on either side of your body to cage you in. Your thighs parted as his hips moved against yours, and he groaned lowly into your mouth when you finally made contact with him where he needed it most.

He was so hard. It had to be uncomfortable to be confined by the little fabric he was wearing, and you wanted so badly to touch him, but he beat you to it, one of his hands trailing up your body to palm your breast through your bra before fumbling with the clasp. You were about to lift a hand to assist him when he managed to unhook the garment, and you broke the kiss briefly to discard it.

“I can’t stop,” Tighnari mumbled against your lips, breathless.

“Then don’t,” you urged, and Tighnari’s grip on your body tightened.

His palm felt like perfection on your flesh, and you whined into his mouth when he rolled your nipple between two fingers, tugging gently and making you arch your back into his touch. His hands were calloused from years of working with them, with the soil, with his bow, and the rough skin sent delightful tingles up your spine.

Your hand slid down his torso, feeling the dips and curves of his defined abdominals, and you reveled in the sound of his breath hitching, his muscles tensing as your fingers crept closer to where the waistband of his underwear met skin.

“Can I—” You started, and he nodded, reconnecting your lips in a chaste kiss.

“Please,” he panted, “please.”

You’d never seen Tighnari anything but composed, so to see him like this was as disarming as it was arousing. You palmed him gently through the thin fabric, and at the sound of his breath catching sharply in his throat, you pressed a little harder.

That elicited a more extreme reaction. Tighnari groaned against your lips, a sound that prompted a cry of your own, and his hips pushed forward against your hand. You squeezed him through the fabric, your fingers dipping past and grazing just the very base of him, making him shudder, a stricken hiss escaping his lips. Fascinated by his reaction, you teased the clearly sensitive flesh with the soft tips of your fingers until he caught your wrist.

“Don’t tease me,” he murmured, his voice firm.

Tighnari guided your hand to his waistband, and you slowly pulled it down to tug him free. You paused for a moment, breath unsteady as you took in the feeling of him against your palm. He was thick and heavy, and long enough to make you dizzy with arousal. He groaned softly as you explored the new territory, mapping out the spots you knew contained the most nerve endings with your fingertips. Finally, you wrapped your fingers around him, stroking slowly.

“Oh,” he gasped, eyes half lidded as he broke away from your mouth, “oh.”

You rested your forehead against his as you looked down to where your hand was encircling him, and you felt him throb against your palm, the tip of his dick visibly twitching. You bit back a moan as his breath expelled itself through gritted teeth.

“Rub the tip— yeah.”

An obscene moan fell from his lips as you slowly circled the tip of his cock with your thumb, and you spread the leaking precum around the sensitive flesh, aiding in your motions as you stroked him, long and slow.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he muttered, eyes slipping closed.

Gradually, you sped up, squeezing where you observed that he liked it, and he grabbed at your body, hands on your breasts, the curve of your ass, and you knew he was unable to focus on anything other than the sensations he was feeling at that moment. He let out a quick, stuttering exhale as you squeezed gently, biting back a groan.

You picked up the pace, and he was canting his hips along with your hand, his breath leaving his lips mixed with an incoherent praise as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, sharp teeth sinking into the soft skin of your shoulder. He laved the damaged flesh with his tongue, soothing it, and you couldn’t help but moan, thighs rubbing together in a futile attempt to alleviate the pressure building there.

Tighnari’s mouth trailed down your torso, his lips closing around one of your nipples, and you gasped, back arching, your free hand flying to his hair, the sensitivity making your head spin. You knew it was the pollen heightening your senses like this, but Archons be damned if you weren’t enjoying it. You wanted him inside of you more than you’d wanted anything in your life. You wanted anything inside of you. And so, when he pressed his palm between your thighs, his head rising to lock his lips against yours, it was like he’d read your mind.

“Dammit, You’re so wet,” he seethed, breath heavy, expelling through his teeth, “I can smell it; how aroused you are. You’ve wanted this, haven’t you?”

Your face turned pink, but you nodded, squirming against his hand as he pushed your panties aside, his fingers finally sinking inside of you.

“Good,” Tighnari said, breathlessly, “I’ve wanted this, too.”

You cried out into the crook of his neck as his fingers filled you, stretching you so perfectly, and you were helpless as you ground your hips down, your fingers tightening around Tighnari’s cock, drawing out a needy groan.

He wanted this, you dully registered, just like you did. That meant he liked you, he felt the same, he— oh Gods you couldn’t think.

“I love the way you touch me,” he whispered, his voice hushed and chaste, “don’t stop, please.“

He whispered more hushed praises into the crook of your neck, hips bucking as you stroked him faster, and his thumb found your clit, making your legs tremble. His fingers weren’t very practiced, but he knew where he was touching, finding every spot inside of you with a certainty that made your knees feel weak, and you gasped sharply, inner walls fluttering around his fingers, making him groan. The pressure on your clit increased, making your hips jump, your heartbeat pounding in your ears, and it wasn’t long before you were grinding down onto his hand like a bitch in heat.

“Tighnari,” you gasped, head falling back.

“Our tactile receptors are affected by the pollen,” Tighnari said, ever the academic, even like this, “making us more sensitive, increasing oxytocin, making everything more intense.”

You were barely able to formulate a response, your brain fogged with desire so strong it was making you dizzy.

“Just don’t stop,” you gasped, back arching into his chest,

He curled his fingers inside of you, making you cry out.

“Not a chance.”

All eloquence and academic vocabulary flew out the window as you stroked him quicker and quicker, his words replaced with moans of ecstasy mixed with your name, muffled by your skin or filling the open air. You felt him twitch against your palm, his hips bucking harder, and from the deliriously pleasured expression on Tighnari’s face, you knew he was close.

“Fuck,” he gasped, “don’t stop, please, please—”

He was going to cum, and you could tell by the way his thrusts grew uneven, eventually stilling to let you control the pace, working him closer and closer to his release, making him hiss through his teeth.

“Ah… shit,” Tighnari blurted, his jaw clenching, face laced with a stricken expression, “don’t stop, I’m so close—”

You wanted to tell him you weren’t going to stop, but all you could manage was a desperate moan as you ground down on his hand, your head falling back at the divine pleasure, and Tighnari’s groans of ecstasy grew louder, mixing almost incoherently with your name as you continued to jerk him off, your rhythm in tandem with his own as he worked his fingers inside of you.

Your climax was creeping up on you faster than you wanted it to, urged on by the increased sensitivity from the pollen. Your free hand knotted in his hair, your fingers raking upwards to wrap around the base of his right ear, making him groan.

“M-my ears— Not usually that sensitive,” Tighnari stammered, puzzled, his expression hazy, “feels good normally, but not— oh.”

You hummed in assent, fingers rubbing where his ears met his scalp, making him cry out against your skin, the combination of sensations clearly overwhelming to him. His fingers were now curling inside of you, making your eyes roll back in your skull, hips moving with his hand as you squirmed in his hold.

All it took was one more squeeze at the base of his dick to send him over the edge.

“C-cumming, I’m cumming,” Tighnari’s gasped, and with a final buck of his hips, your fingers were coated with white, dripping down your knuckles, painting your stomach, and there was so much of it, hot against your skin. You worked him through his climax with sure, even strokes, and he wasn’t softening, even as you milked him dry.

The sounds he made were madly erotic, his face the perfect picture of ecstasy as he rode out his blissful high, his ears drooping to the sides of his head as his face pressed against your shoulder, teeth sinking into your skin once again.

He yanked your hand away abruptly, even as he continued to twitch, and you were suddenly on your back, laying at the side of of the pool, his hands tugging your panties down and off your legs. He held your thighs apart, pinning you in place as his mouth took the place his hand had been, his tongue hot against your cunt.

Your cries were far too loud, but you were beyond caring about volume as he held you down and devoured you, your clit trapped under his tongue, between his lips, and you were aching to be filled, but he wasn’t giving you that satisfaction, not yet. You were already so close, and all it took was that one final push before you toppled over the edge, sobbing his name, your hands knotting in his hair, but he didn’t even slow, not even as you convulsed under his touch.

Tighnari’s tongue flattened against your clit, dragging up in broad strokes, and you felt your head pitch back, gently knocking against the stones beneath it as you tried to close your thighs instinctively, but were barred from doing so. You felt Tighnari’s hands grab at the backs of your knees, hitching them over his shoulders as he moved closer.

“Please,” you cried, desperate and dizzy with torturous desire, “please, please, fuck me.”

You heard him, felt him snarl against your cunt, more animal than human as he sped up his pace, taking your clit into his mouth and sucking hard enough that it made stars dance across your blurry vision. You were suddenly cumming so hard that you couldn’t even breathe, your mouth wide open in a silent scream, back arched off the ground, your hands locked in a white knuckled grip in Tighnari’s hair as you clenched down hard on nothing.

He was gentler this time as he helped you through your climax, pulling away finally when you were incoherent with pleasure. You lay there, panting hard, your eyes half open as you tried to recover, but even that wasn’t enough. You could still feel the effects of the pollen coursing through your system, and from the way Tighnari was looking at you, it was the same for him.

“I’m on a birth control tonic,” you said, propping yourself up on your elbows to look at him, “just— please, Tighnari, I feel like I’m burning inside.”

Tighnari’s hands went to rest on your parted thighs, pulling you forward and towards him, to where he stood, still thigh-deep in the water. Your own legs were submerged up to your knee as he pulled you flush to him, his cock pressing against your pubic bone.

“I won’t be able to stop,” Tighnari warned, “I apologize if it becomes too much, but I can’t promise you that—“

“Please,” you whined, growing more and more desperate, “I need you, I can’t take this anymore.”

That was all it took. Tighnari nodded a single time, once he was sure of your consent, and he reached between your bodies to line himself up with your entrance, slowly sheathing himself inside of you.

You made a soft, breathy whine as he filled you, a sound he juxtaposed with a heavy groan. The stretch was almost enough to send you over the edge right there, and if it weren’t for the effects of the pollen, you’d probably have felt more pain from the intrusion, but all you felt was a dull ache and a hint of discomfort.

“Oh, Gods,” Tignnari whispered, and you watched his hands flatten on the stones beside your hips, muscles tightening as he took in the new sensation.

His head tipped forward, his breathing heavy and uneven, and you used your thighs to pull him closer, disregarding the whisper of pain in the back of your mind as the pure relief of being filled up overtook you.

“Stay still, stay still,” he growled, the very threads of his control slipping away as he spoke, the warning clear in his voice, but you didn’t listen, pulling him forward again.

Your actions were met with a sound that was produced deep in his chest, like a warning an animal would give, and it hadn’t even occurred to you how the pollen would affect someone like Tighnari, someone with non-human heritage as opposed to yourself, and as he drew himself out, only to press back in again, your mind went blank, all semblance of scientific curiosity tossed out the window.

Your cries of pleasure mixed with his as he repeated the motion, again, and again, and again, and oh Gods, you couldn’t even think. The pace he adopted was clearly with your comfort in mind, but it was rapidly becoming not enough. You needed more, all you could fathom was how much you needed more.

“Faster,” you gasped, your voice barely there, but he heard you, as evident by the way his ears perked up.

Tighnari snarled, his grip on your body tightening, and when you whimpered, he lost control completely.

His fingers were sure to be pressing bruises into your flesh from how hard he was gripping your body, but you didn’t care, not when every cell in your body was demanding more, more, more. You were vaguely aware of your volume, and you put the back of your hand over your mouth in a half hearted attempt to quiet yourself, but it basically did fuck all, especially when Tighnari reached up to yank your hand away, pinning it by your side.

“I want to hear you,” he rasped, “every single sound you make, I want to hear it.”

Your brain fogged further with desire, fueled by the low, rough timbre Tighnari’s usually gentle voice had adopted, and you whined, back arching off the pleasantly cool stones beneath your body. With his words, every last shred of dignity that you’d feebly been clinging to evaporated.

Tignnari hiked one of your legs over his shoulder as he inched closer, rolling his hips in a way that made stars blast across your hazy vision. You’d never been this aroused before in your life, and all you could do was squirm and cry out as Tighnari fucked you absolutely dumb.

“Need more,” Tighnari hissed, his hands sliding along your body, “need more, needmoreneedmore—”

He let out a low, keening moan as you tightened around him, your hips bucking against his, toes curling. You felt like your sanity was slipping through your fingers like a palmful of sand, and you realized with a sudden shock that you were about to cum, and you were about to cum hard.

The climax hit you with the force of a tidal wave, and your body went stiff, back arching off the stones, hands scrambling for purchase and finding nothing. Your mind was a sea of empty thought, stars bursting across your vision as you convulsed, pulsing around Tighnari’s cock, and he wasn’t even pausing, a snarl tearing from his chest as he pushed deeper inside of you.

Your continued climax was making you lightheaded as you panted for breath, the decline less of a decline and more of a work up to yet another peak as Tighnari kept a steady, dizzying pace, making your eyes roll into the back of your skull. Everything was too much, but it still wasn’t even slightly enough, a bizarre oxymoron that sent shockwaves dancing across your electrified nerves.

Tignnari twitched inside of you, making you whimper, and you looked up at him through your lashes, watching his face. The mask of delirium was back, Tighnari’s eyes wild as he drove himself towards his own climax with deep, even thrusts that grew more and more unsteady.

“Take it,” you heard him rasp, “take it take it take it—”

He shoved himself all the way inside of you, and with a sudden shout, he twitched sharply, and you could feel him filling you, stuffing you full with searing heat. Somewhere in the back of your pollen addled mind, you were glad that your birth control tonic kept you from getting pregnant with a guarantee.

You could feel his cum leaking out of you, and when he noticed, his fingers swept along the curve of your ass and shoved the liquid back inside of you, a sensation that made you let out a startled moan.

Without pulling out, Tighnari was shifting, switching places with you on the stones, where the sat himself down, with you in his lap. The sudden change of position caused you to sink down, pushing him deeper inside of you, a sensation that made you gasp sharply. You appreciated some aspects of the shift, however, as this gave you full access to his body, and you wrapped your arms around his shoulders as his hands found your hips, dragging up and along your waist.

He said nothing as he found your mouth, joining it with his in a kiss far more gentle than you’d been expecting, an expression of affection amid the suffocating lust that afflicted you both.

Slowly, you moved, rocking your hips as you sank back down onto him, a motion that made you cry out, a sound that mingled almost musically with his own cry. His nails dug into the plush of your thighs, one hand sliding down where you were joined with him to rub circles against your clit, an action that made you stiffen sharply, almost started by the burst of sensation.

His mouth left yours to trail down your throat, teeth grazing against the spot he’d bitten before and making you shiver. He was moving with you as you rocked your hips, one hand on your waist to help you along, his hips bucking to meet you every time you sank back down onto his cock. You heard him whisper your name, and you bent to kiss him again, an action he returned with vigor.

Your fingers combed through his hair, meeting where his ears met his scalp, and you heard him gasp into your mouth as your nails grazed against the sensitive skin. He broke the kiss to tuck his face into the crook of your neck, keening desperately, his grip on your waist tightening.

“Keep touching me there,” he finally managed, and who were you to deny him?

Your nails dragged along his ears, making him groan, and you felt his arm wind around your waist, taking over controlling the pace as he pushed you down onto his cock, guiding you as you moved. You somewhat appreciated it; your thighs had been growing sore. You assisted him by rolling your hips as you moved with him, something he rewarded with a sharp buck of his hips, making blurry stars scatter across your vision, a shrill whine tearing itself from your throat.

Tighnari pressed down on your clit, making you tense, teeth gritting and eyes squeezing closed, and you felt him trail open mouthed kisses down your throat, overloading you with sensation, and you sobbed his name as he tugged you closer, filling you so completely. You felt like you were going insane, and not one part of you wanted it to stop.

You couldn’t even speak as your climax drew closer, only able to let out a strangled cry as Tighnari’s teeth sank into the delicate skin of your shoulder, the pain barely noticeable as it mixed with the overwhelming pleasure. If anything, it just heightened it all, your nerves going off like fireworks under his touch.

With a sudden gasp, your climax slammed into you, making you still as the sensations hit you with enough force to make you dizzy. You were vaguely aware of the sounds Tignnari was making as you tightened around him, muffled by your shoulder, and you were suddenly under him again, sprawled across the stones once more, hands pinned above your head with one of his as he fucked you at a near punishing pace.

His eyes locked onto yours as he moved against you, and you couldn’t even imagine what your face looked like. You could feel tears of overstimulation on your cheeks, sweat on your brow, and you were sure you were an absolute wreck, but so was he. His hair was a mess, the chartreuse of his bangs intermixing with the dark of the rest of his hair, and his face was flushed a rather lovely pink, eyes half lidded. His ears had fallen to droop on either side of his head. His lips were kiss swollen and pink, and you were sure your own were the same.

Tighnari’s free hand slid down your body to hike one of your legs up around his waist, gripping at the plush of your thigh, and you whimpered as his nails bit into the tender skin. You were so sensitive it was almost unbearable, and you tossed your head back when his thumb pressed your clit again, letting out an unrestrained wail, tears beading in the corners of your eyes, and you felt Tighnari kiss them away before joining his mouth to yours once more.

You knew he was going to cum from the unsteady way he was breathing, and you were too, far too sensitive to stand anything else. You didn’t know how much more you could take; everything was blurring together in a cacophony of noise and sensation that left you straining against Tighnari’s grip on your wrists.

“Fill me, please,” you gasped abruptly, surprising even yourself, and Tighnari pulled back from your mouth to gaze at you, eyes wild.

“That’s what you want?” He snarled, “you want me to stuff you full of my cum? yeah? You wanna be filled?”

You nodded rapidly, his words making suffocating arousal course through your veins, and you felt him pick up the pace, forcing you into another dizzying climax, your back arching sharply off the ground. You could just barely hear him whispering praises over the thrum of blood in your ears, and you let out a strangled whine as his mouth connected with your nipple, making you thrash in his hold. He wasn’t even letting you breathe, and all you could think about was him, all around you, mixing with the scent of the pollen in the air in an intoxicating fragrance.

Mercifully, he removed his hand from between your bodies, simply resting it on your hip as he chased his own climax next, whispering your name and filthy praises as he drew closer and closer, his pace growing uneven.

He finally reached his end with a low, nearly possessive growl, holding onto you with a bruising force as he stuffed you full once more, heat blooming in your belly, uncaring about the way his cum was leaking out of you. His teeth were gritted, eyes squeezed shut, and you felt his grip on your wrists loosen just enough that you could wrestle free, so you pulled him down to meet you in a fierce kiss.

He finally slowed, his breath heavy and uneven as he came down from his high, his forehead resting against yours as he remained still, softening inside of you. You relaxed back onto the stones, pleased by the cool temperature they brought, soothing against your burning skin. Your breath was still quick and thin as you recovered, and you could still smell the pollen in the air, but exhaustion was taking over, forcing your eyelids to close.

Tighnari pulled out of you, and you whined at the sudden emptiness, but recovered quickly as he tugged you onto the grass and to his chest, nose nuzzling into your hair where he pressed a kiss. Neither of you were able to speak, completely spent, and you shifted slowly to wrap an arm around his bare waist. The pollen’s scent was falling into the background as the exertion began to wash over you, and you could tell it was the same for Tighnari.

You were asleep in a matter of seconds, pressed close to him.

Warm.

You were warm. And it was dark. Well, darker. You’d been sleeping, you knew that much. The sounds of Avidiya Forest were present around you, as well as the sound of a waterfall. Your brain was lagging behind as you woke, still groggy from such a deep slumber.

You were pressed against something solid and warm and breathing, and when you opened your eyes, you almost jumped from your skin.

Tignnari was laying beside you, sound asleep. He was holding you in his arms, in a possessive, tender way, and it was suddenly all flooding back to you. The pollen. That damn pollen.

Your brain finally caught up, and you remembered. You expected you should be sore, but you weren’t. You felt more satisfied than you ever had before, completely rejuvenated. You lifted your head to look over at the curtain of flowers, only to find that the blossoms had closed, taking the pollen’s scent with them. It had also fallen dark, the sun already setting. You’d been asleep for a while, but after that, you supposed that wasn’t surprising.

You focused back on Tignnari. He looked so peaceful in his sleep, so relaxed. Every bit of tension had been drained away, leaving him looking soft and gentle. You reached a hand up to cup his cheek before you could stop yourself, and he started you when he leaned into your touch.

“Hello,” he said, voice still thick with sleep, and you felt your cheeks beginning to warm.

“Hi.”

And there was your anxiety. What if Tighnari thought that what you’d just done together was a mistake? Things surely wouldn’t be the same after that, you knew that much. He couldn’t just fuck your brains out and then act like nothing happened. That wasn’t how Tighnari was.

But then, he was leaning in to kiss you, and every single doubt was expelled from your mind. It was a soft, gentle kiss, full of tender emotions and care, and it made your heart stutter in your chest.

“Was I too rough with you?” He asked after pulling away, and you shook your head.

“No. It was… it was good.”

Tignnari raised his eyebrows. “Just ‘good?’”

You blanched. “N-no, it was more than good. It was amazing.”

A soft, tender chuckle. “I was only teasing you. You were amazing, too.”

A few moments of comfortable silence passed before he spoke again. “That wasn’t how I imagined that happening for the first time,” he said, a laugh in his voice, and you turned to look at him, trying not to show the surprise on your face.

From the way he was smiling, soft and affectionate, you’d failed on that front.

“I fell in love with you quite a while ago,” he said, “I thought I’d been clear in my advances, but maybe not. I care for you very deeply, though. If you don’t feel the same, I—”

You cut him off, scoffing derisively at the sheer absurdity of that statement, with a kiss. He held you to him, cradling your face in his hands, until you both ran out of air.

“There’s my answer, then,” he said with a smile. You answered him with another quick kiss.

“I love you, too,” you said, “I thought you didn’t feel the same.”

Tighnari snorted, eyes glittering with mirth. “I suppose we’re both a little dense, then.”

You sat up, stretching your arms over your head. “We should wash up. And head back. It’s gotten late. We’re probably missed.”

Tighnari sighed, sitting up beside you. “As much as I’d rather stay here with you a while longer, you’re most likely correct. Collei is probably beside herself with worry.”

You stood on unsteady feet, and Tighnari followed you to the clear pool. The two of you rinsed your bodies off until you felt sufficiently clean before redressing. You were careful to make sure your sample jars were well sealed before you picked up your rucksack, shrugging it onto your back.

“Ready?” Tignnari asked, and you decided he looked lovely in the first rays of moonlight. You smiled at him, taking his outstretched hand in yours and squeezing.

“Yeah.”

Hand in hand, you walked back to Gandharva Ville, basking in the natural symphony of the forest.

Fin.

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