#the earring with the red seeds is from my mother

[fatedprophetess-perfectstorms]

Look at me being artsy and all that 🤓

[cuteniaarts]

Best sisters, in any universe

(A.k.a: ever wonder what happens when a mermaid and a human have kids together?)

((as always, click for better quality))

[ichorai]

button ; coriolanus snow. (m)

pairing ; young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; what did make him pause, however, was the very top button of your shirt. misshaped. odd. not matching the rest of your buttons. his gift to you. “you’re wearing it,” coriolanus whispered. his voice sounded strained.

words ; 3.4k

themes ; fluff, mild angst, smut

warnings / includes ; unprotected sex (not very explicit), possessiveness, themes of classism, we meet reader's rich parents !! and grandma'am and tigris appear, coryo's paranoia, he's not exactly toxic yet but the seeds are very much planted, i tried to keep him in character as best i could </3

a/n ; there will be a third part loosely following the events of the movie (obv tweaked for the fic!)

series masterlist. main masterlist.

Your home was the very definition of old money—wealth and grace and high status carved into the marble floors, hung up in the large oil paintings, found within the fibers of the expensive carpets leading into grand halls. Snow had to consciously remind himself to appear unphased. He had this sort of life, too, as far as you were concerned.

It was only expected, especially considering your parents’ high positions: with your father being the top admiral of the navy, and your mother a renowned physicist with several awards under her belt. Dozens of rows of medals and framed certifications from both your parents were more than enough for Snow to gauge the mass of their importance.

He shifted the weight of his feet in his too-tight shoes. Anxious. He wore his dress shirt again, though not before asking Tigris to try and rework the buttons. The buttons hewn from his bathroom tiles. Make them look the same, he had told her. They’re uneven. Snow turned away before he could see her mildly crestfallen expression.

It was a special occasion, hence his dressed-up attire. There was a rose pinned to his waistcoat, a deep shade of red, from his Grandma’am’s rooftop garden. Your father had come home today, after months of military work in the districts. And to celebrate such a momentous evening, you invited him to dinner. 

To meet your parents. How utterly fraught.

Though, now that the two of you were officially together (albeit only recently—Sejanus asked if the two of you were a thing and Coryo replied with an instinctive, possessive yes, much to both of your surprise), Coriolanus supposed there was no use in delaying the inevitable.

“Don’t be nervous,” you told him, arm looped around his. The white rose he’d given you upon his arrival was tucked neatly behind your ear, a lovely contrast to your all-black garb. In a light-hearted tone, you added, “Father would be able to smell it on you. The fear.”

Coriolanus shot you an exasperated glance, to which you only smiled. You landed a soft, reassuring kiss onto his cheek, hand sliding down from his elbow to lace with his. 

“You look… breathtaking,” he said, lifting your conjoined palms to brush his lips over your knuckles. Of the many lies that he told you, this certainly wasn’t one of them. 

Your eyes gleamed with the light from the chandelier hanging above you.

“And you look handsome as ever.” A pause. You seemed bashful all of a sudden, averting your gaze to the gold patterns on the marble floors. “I know this is all very new, so I apologize in advance, if my father asks about our, uhm… our future… He’s a very forward man.”

A smile twitched at the corner of his lips and he slotted his free hand beneath your chin, the pad of his thumb pressing lightly over the side of your throat, forcing you to look back at him. “I have no intention of letting you go, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You smiled again, all sunlight and warmth, and Coriolanus couldn’t help but steal it away with one last kiss. 

“Ready?” you asked, jerking your head in the direction of the dining room. 

Snow swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded.

Dinner was quite a pleasant affair. The food was better than anything the academy ever served—Coriolanus wondered how you could willingly go from eating such delicacies at home to basic, run-of-the-mill meals the cafeteria provided. There were courses, tender peppered steaks (his very favorite), rich mushroom soups, iced lemon cakes, and several sorts of breads and butters were offered all throughout.

Your mother was a delight, enchanting him with stories of laboratory mishaps and her dangerous adventures with radioactive material. You looked a lot like her, he realized.

Your father, on the other hand, was pressing at first, grilling Coriolanus with dozens of personal questions. If you hadn’t warned him beforehand that he was a military leader, he most definitely would’ve worked it out for himself then. There were times where you politely but forcefully snapped at him, telling him to lay off the invasive interrogation and to let the poor man eat. But Coriolanus really didn’t mind—he’d spent hours upon hours preparing himself for this. He answered all of the questions with effortless ease.

By the third course, your father was satisfied. Reluctant, but satisfied. By the fourth, he was already asking about marriage, much to your mortification. Coriolanus smiled down at his plate, and quietly listened to you lecture your father about privacy and civility.

Yes, dinner was quite enjoyable. Several containers of food from unseen servants were wrapped up for him to take home, at your request, despite his polite protests. It wasn’t a common thing to do in the capitol, but your parents hadn’t batted an eye. 

He was safe. They didn’t know. It was an ongoing mantra the entire night.

He was shown out the door by your father, who clapped a large hand on his shoulder and told him to take care of you, especially while he was gone. Your mother kissed him once on each cheek as farewell, and you did the same, though your kisses strayed far closer to his lips. He caught the mischievous gleam in your eyes. 

The door shut behind him once he strode into the expansive courtyard in front of your mansion of a home. He glanced down at the rose pinned to his coat, wondering if you were still wearing yours behind your ear. A minute later, he jumped out of his reverie when the entrance creaked open once more. You peeked your head back out, eyes alight, pleased to see that he was still there. 

You slid out from the entryway and made your way to him with quick strides, wasting no time to rest your hands upon his chest. To his delight, you were still wearing the rose. “Father and mother left to watch television in the estate’s Northern wing. Didn’t want to kiss you in front of them.”

There were wings to your house? Coriolanus blinked at you, accidentally letting his indifferent mask slip for a few seconds. If you noticed, you didn’t say anything about it, leaning forward to kiss him sweetly. It took him another moment to gather his wits, before winding his arms about your waist and deepening the kiss, nearly bending you backwards with his vigor.

He could never tire of this, he thought, fingers curling so his nails dug into the expensive black fabric of your top. Kissing you, touching you, entertaining the notion that you were his, and only his. 

When you pulled away, your lips were wonderfully kiss-swollen and your pupils were blown wide, to his amusement. Were his eyes just the same?

“Thank you for being here today,” you mumbled, that smile-frown he was so fond of gracing your features once more. “I’m sorry if my parents were too—”

“They were wonderful. You’re wonderful,” he interrupted, tone soft. His hand lifted from your waist to cup your face. Cold fingers against flushed skin. “I’ll see you at the academy?”

A nod, a grin, and a relieved sigh. “Sleep well, Coryo.”

“You, too.” He pulled away, reluctant, allowing his hands to fall back to his sides. “You look good with it, you know. The rose.” With a final nod, he turned on his heel and walked away from your estate, back to his own cold penthouse, where he had to burn newspaper scraps to keep warm.

The months drew by like a lazy stream of water, gliding over a bed of stones, languid and pleasant. Your time with Coriolanus was nothing short of utter bliss. He was a sweet lover, despite his possessive streaks, always making sure you were alright with what he was doing. The two of you went slow and steady, always asking, always gentle. He kissed you as if you were made of sugar glass, and you held onto him as if he was a fragile ceramic vase.

Exams were drawing nearer with each passing day, and the two of you found yourself studying and cramming more than anything. He would often tell you that there was no need for you to study so hard, especially when you were already at the very top, likely to claim the Plinth prize for yourself, but you always waved him away with a modest laugh. If the two of you weren’t at the library pouring over dozens upon dozens of books, you were finding ways to sneak him into your home: kissing behind stone statues in the gardens, hiding behind velvet curtains, pulling him onto your massive, four-poster bed.

It was only a matter of time until you asked.

His arm was draped over your bare midriff, drawing mindless shapes into your hip. Your head rested back against his chest, mildly sweaty from the lovemaking session the two of you were still dwindling down from. You stared out your window, watching the sun slowly bleed the sky a hazy clementine hue, teeth sinking down into the flesh of your bottom lip in thought.

“Why haven’t we ever studied at your home, Coryo?” you asked. “I’ve yet to meet your cousin. You talk about her a lot… she seems wonderful.”

You felt a cold breath billow over the back of your neck. It sent pleasant chills spider down your spinal column. And you could’ve imagined it, but his fingers seemed to flex over your bare flesh. Twitch. Almost antsy. Did your question make him uncomfortable?

Shifting in his grasp, you turned within his arms so you could face him. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to pressure you, or anything. I just… just know that I’d never judge you.”

His expression was near unreadable, the blue of his eyes even paler than usual with the sunset’s light casting a honey-glow over both of your sprawled-out forms. He kissed you again, hungrily, almost as if to distract you. You let him.

Kiss you, touch you, bruise you. Any of it, all of it.

A low groan barreled within his chest when you fisted a handful of his soft blonde waves at the base of his neck, gently tugging. 

“Nothing you could show me would make me love you any less,” you muttered against his lips, nose nudging against his. “Nothing, Coryo.”

And he, in a moment of love-addled weakness, let himself believe you.

Come the next afternoon, you were at the door of the Snows’ penthouse, a basketed batch of warm cookies held in one hand, the other holding a heavy bag full of all your textbooks to study. If the two of you were going to study at all today. Your mother was aghast that you were about to visit his home without some sort of gift, and abruptly shoved the basket of goodies into your arms out of seemingly nowhere, as if materialized out of thin air.

“Coriolanus loves the chocolate chip ones,” she harrumphed whilst ushering you out the door. “Honestly, showing up to someone else’s home empty-handed? Who raised you?”

The irony was not lost on either of you, and you barked out a laugh before kissing her farewell and setting off to visit him. 

You rang the rusted doorbell once—curiously regarding the little button once you realized that it was broken. Then, you knocked the door twice, then another two times for good measure. There was a muffled scuffling behind the door, a woman’s voice echoing from behind.

And when it swung open, you were met with an elderly woman, shrouded in a too-large, black tunic with embroidered flowers on the sleeves, the threads loose and pulled, the once-vibrant colors faded. She wore a turban, covering most of her white hair save for the few thin tendrils framing the sides of her face. 

“Hello, I’m Coriolanus’ classmate,” you greeted, in an ever-so-capitol-esque manner. “You must be his… Grandma’am?”

She appeared confused for a moment, before slow sparks of recognition fired across her blue eyes. Coriolanus had the same eyes, you noted.

“Oh!” she crooned. “Oh, dear me! Coriolanus! It’s your lovely friend!” 

There was a bit of commotion down the hall. The brief moment of pause allowed you to finally take in why Coriolanus hadn’t wanted you to come to his home all this time. The penthouse was still quite lavish, as the Snow estate was one of the most expensive properties in the capitol, but it was clear that the space was diminishing with the weight of its upkeep—flickering lights, dusty floors, tears in the wallpapers, mold on the countertops…

Your attention was drawn away from the view when Tigris and Coryo emerged from the same room, and you couldn’t help the smile that threatened to break across your features. His cousin was fretting over his lopsided curls, and he discreetly tried to duck out of her way to get to you.

“My, you are just as gorgeous as he said you were!” Grandma’am said in a pitching tone, wrangling your attention back to her. She lifted her hands to lightly pinch at your cheeks. “Yes, you’ll do just fine.” Her fingers fell away and she scuttled off, murmuring something about the Capitol’s First Partner—

Coriolanus breathed out your name and his hand was on your shoulder, apologizing once, twice, three times (what was he even apologizing for?), before Tigris popped up by his side, bumping him out of the way so she could shake your hand vigorously.

“Hi! I’m Tigris—it’s so nice to finally meet you!”

You shook the blonde woman’s hand, smile seeming to grow impossibly wider. “It’s nice to meet you, too! I love your dress.”

Her mouth dropped open in a flustered manner and a lovely rose shade dusted over her cheekbones. “Oh, this old thing?” She absentmindedly smoothed a hand down the frills of her pink dress. “Yeah, I… oh, it’s nothing, really, I just made it myself.”

“That’s incredibly impressive! You must be a really talented seamstress.”

A sharp clear of his throat made your eyes snap back to Coriolanus. 

“Coryo,” you greeted warmly. “I brought you cookies. Chocolate chip. Mother sends her regards.”

The two Snows in front of you eyed the basket with large eyes. 

“Thank you,” he croaked, accepting the basket from your extended hands and handing it over to his cousin. “Tigris, if you’d excuse us—we’ve got some studying to do.”

Coriolanus began to tug you down the hall, and you waved back to Tigris, telling her that you’d love to see any of her other dresses later. She’d already reached into the basket and had a cookie halfway to her mouth as she nodded at you with a toothy grin.

His room was in around the same state as the rest of the home. Furniture was old, torn, frayed, or simply broken. There were several boarded-up holes in his dresser. There was a box of rat poison below his desk, which was full with all sorts of papers and stacks of yellowing books. You skittered in and dropped your heavy bag down by his bed, allowing him to close the door behind you. You just barely registered the click of a lock.

“So?” he asked, voice sounding much louder in such a confined space. He seemed tense, as if bracing himself for the worst. “Are you disgusted yet?”

“What do you take me for?” you replied easily, having already gathered why he was so afraid of bringing you here in the first place. “I’m not a leech, nor am I vain, Coriolanus. I don’t want more money, and I’m not here to offer you charity to flaunt my wealth. I thought you’d know that by now.”

He stalked closer, observing you like a wolf would its prey. “What is it you want, then?”

When you took a step back closer to his small, rather wiry bed, he would take two longer strides, crowding you back against it. He dipped forward so that his lips were only a hair’s breadth from yours, but just barely not touching.

“You know, I’m sure.”

“I do.” Coriolanus knew that you wanted him just for him, and nothing gave him more pleasure than that simple fact. His nose brushed yours. 

“Would it make me a fool to stay?” you asked, the question fanning over his mouth. Inviting, ever so tantalizing. “You’re not planning on chopping me up and selling my organs for some cash, are you?”

He didn’t laugh at your little joke. Instead, he dove forward, one hand yanking your hips to his, the other winding over to the back of your head. He kissed you desperately, all teeth and tongue, hardened lips and his knee slotting between your thighs. 

“No,” he susurrated thickly, as if he’d swallowed honey and soil, pressing you down until you were fully laid down over his rickety bed, back arched. “You’d be mine. All of you, just mine.”

He swallowed any sort of gasp and moan that fell from your mouth. Greedy, lustful, determined to make you pliable. His kisses didn’t slow down whatsoever when he tore himself away from your lips, freckling them down your cheeks, your jaw, your neck, your collarbones. 

What did make him pause, however, was the very top button of your shirt. 

Misshaped. Odd. Not matching the rest of your buttons. His gift to you.

“You’re wearing it,” Coriolanus whispered. His voice sounded strained.

“Mmh?” You glanced down at the button. “Oh. Of course, I am. I like how it looks.”

His face hovered above yours once more. His stare was so intense you began to shy away, staring at a moldy patch on the ceiling. The silence felt suffocating as you waited for him to do something. Anything.

“I love you,” he breathed out, finally. Upfront and abrupt. It wasn’t often that he said it. Maybe once or twice before, since you said it more than enough for the both of you. 

You laughed then—your wonderful, wind-chime laughter. It was more out of shock than anything. He kissed you soft and sweet, momentarily quelling your chuckling. But as the afternoon of so-called ‘studying’ drew on, the laughter melded into sighs of pleasure when clothes were shed, shifting towards wanton moans of desperation when heated flesh slid against one another. 

You nearly choked when his length breached your entrance, scratching faint red lines down the expanse of his back as he pushed in, pulled out. Rhythmic. Again and again and again—you couldn’t seem to get enough of him on top of you, inside of you, all around you. Your chest was pressed up against his; could he hear your heart beating through your ribs, yearning to feel his? The coil within your lower abdomen tightened. He read your every microexpression just perfectly.

He’d unbuttoned your entire shirt save for the oddly-shaped one, hands groping all over your bare skin, teeth biting down onto the patch of skin just above the button as he rocked himself into a climax, roping you down into the abyss with him. Ragged groans and broken sighs. 

Coriolanus dragged his tongue up your chest and your neck, leaving a cold trail in his wake, and he sucked in a deep breath. When he pulled back to stare at you—flushed, hair mussed, sweat beaded along your hairline, his pearlescent spend between your thighs, your eyes half-lidded… chest only barely covered by his one button…

“Thank you,” he croaked, kissing the space beside your left eye. “For not running.”

“Don’t make me a fool for it,” you replied, looping your arms over Coriolanus’ neck so he could kiss you properly.

[flowerandblood]

The Price of Pride (1/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: the angst, kidnapping and imprisonment, abuse of power, violence, panic attack ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

It took him a long time to bring her to the Red Keep. Too long, to his frustration – while Aegon on his throne preferred to loudly announce to his subjects things he could not provide for them, he acted in silence, trying to ensure that he was always one step ahead of their sister-whore.

When Larys Strong's spies reported to them that Rhaenyra was seeking dragon seed among the bastards in King's Landing his brother laughed, but he, their mother and all the lords were horrified.

This meant that the slight advantage Vhagar had given them was going to be in vain, as she stood no chance in a confrontation with so many dragons.

Helaena was riding Dreamfyre, but at his words to move into battle with him she covered her ears and turned her head away, saying she would never burn anyone. Daeron's dragon was still too small, so that left him and Aegon, who was the King and could not die, on the battlefield.

That was not enough.

And then it dawned on him.

Rhea Royce must have been devastated after learning that her hated husband's seed had taken root in her womb. The whole kingdom knew that she and his uncle loathed each other sincerely, and while he stayed in King's Landing, she remained in Runestone.

He thought she certainly felt satisfaction when she gave him a daughter, although the Rough Prince wanted a son.

According to rumour, she was born accompanied by her mother's loud groans a few months apart after his own birth, and was supposed to be the reason Daemon waited with murdering her mother: he did not want the burden of caring for a newborn child to fall on him.

Though he would never admit it out loud, of the many lords or bastards born of dragon seed, his choice was guided not only by her close kinship to their family, but also by the fact that having her by his side could be a humiliation to his uncle, a show of his strength, prudence and sheer malice.

Of how dangerous he was not only because of Vhagar.

He had prepared an ambush for her with reverence, through Strong's spy network weaving servants close to her into his plan.

He had no idea what kind of woman she was, whether or not she resisted, whether or not she could wield a sword like her mother, but he received a letter weeks later that they had succeeded, and Daemon's daughter was heading for King's Landing against her will.

He felt a pleasant tingling in his fingertips at the thought of what he would be able to do with her: if he found her pretty and humble enough, if indeed she succeeded in taming a dragon, he could try to invalidate his betrothal to the Baratheon whore and allow her to receive the honour of bearing his heirs instead.

His own dragon inheritance.

When she finally arrived, she was, much to his mother's displeasure, placed in a dungeon – he wanted her to understand that her situation was serious and that any answer from her that did not satisfy him would end in one way.

Her death.

He went down to the underground with the guards and dismissed them when he stopped under her cell with the torch in his hand, its light exposed her face to him.

She was sitting on the ground with her knees tucked under her chin, her head raised towards him, the look of her eyes frustrated and grim, her dark brows arched in displeasure.

She was not afraid.

For now.

He looked at her figure from top to bottom, finding that he had imagined her differently: he had hoped to see any Targaryen features in her. However, her long hair was dark, her eyelashes long and black, like a fan surrounding her brown eyes, which were as big as those of a doe.

Clearly it was her mother's blood that prevailed, he thought with disappointment, however his face remained stony.

"Do you know who I am, woman?" He asked coldly, the corner of her mouth twitching, her gaze softening as if his words amused her, making him feel uneasy.

"It's hard not to guess." She replied without any pleasantries.

He licked his lower lip in a gesture of frustration, recognising that he would not allow himself to be verbally dominated by her.

He had to knock her off her guard.

"Do you understand why you're here?"

She sighed heavily, looking down at her fingers, suddenly tired and small, like a child who wanted to go to sleep already.

"Because of my father, I guess. You are wasting your time. I don't represent any value to him. He will not pact with you for my sake." She said, and he snorted, grinning broadly – she looked at him in surprise, as if she hadn't expected such a reaction from him.

"You are mistaken. We need your blood."

She shook her head, shocked by his words, raising her shoulders in a gesture as if trying to defend herself against what she just heard.

He liked the look of terror on her face, no doubt at the thought that they were about to cut her wrists open and drain her of blood like an animal.

"We will find one of the wild dragons hidden in the mountain caves and you will try to claim it. You will die, or you will succeed and join the war on our side." He said coldly, and she burst out laughing, as if she hadn't heard a greater foolishness in a long time, causing his jaw to clench in fury.

Stupid cunt.

"I know nothing about dragons or their riders and have no desire to learn about them. This, I think, is something that is destined for those endowed by the gods with white hair. I have no intention of sacrificing myself for your family. Behead me or burn me, but spare me this farce." She sneered, looking away, as if she thought she could get away with such impudent words.

She picked herself up and took a few steps back as he unlocked her cell and a moment later he was beside her, dropping the torch to the stone floor, grabbing her by the neck, her body and head hitting the wall hard.

He stared at her for a moment, listening to her heavy breath as if she was choking, panic in her big, brown eyes.

Fear suited her.

"Do you think I'm asking you for your opinion? You will serve me, and you will serve me well, or I will burn not you, but all of the fucking Vale. Only dust and ashes will be left of the people you knew. Is that what you want, my Lady?" He scoffed, and she shook her head quickly, her lower lip quivering all over, her small, soft hands clenched on his wrist.

He leaned over her, digging his fingers deeper into her delicate skin as if he wanted to break her neck.

"So we have an agreement, as I understand it?" He whispered, as if asking her a secret, something only he should hear.

Her eyebrows arched in pain, her plump lips parted in a deep, shuddering breath as she nodded, her warm gaze filled with pain and regret at the same time.

Was she now begging in her mind for her father to save her?

For him to come to her rescue?

The thought made him want to laugh.

"Mmm." He hummed, looking at her red eyes and full lips, feeling a strange kind of intimacy now that he could feel her veins, her blood, dragon's blood, pulsing under her bare skin.

Their shared heritage.

His seed was stronger than Daemon's, he thought with a confidence bordering on vanity.

Their children would have his white hair.

He felt arousal at that thought, his length pulsed softly in his breeches.

He let go of her, and she took a deep breath, sliding to the ground, clutching at her neck where he'd driven his fingers.

"You will be moved to one of the chambers. You will not lack anything. Serve me well and no more harm will befall you." He said in an offhand manner and simply left, satisfied with how childishly simple it was.

The women and their soft hearts, their despair at the thought that someone else might lose their life because of them, their eternal pondering and tenderness that made them so weak.

"I have heard of your success, brother. I was told we had a visitor in the Keep." Said Aegon, glancing at him, seated at the other end of the table, while his hand played with the marble green orb lying before him.

"Yes. She will obey us. I will personally prepare her." He said, resting his elbows on the table top.

The King laughed.

"You, brother? What does your beloved betrothed in Storm's End would say about it?" He sneered, glancing at the lords around them as if asking if his joke was in fact funny.

He grinned, trying to contain his anger and that familiar, unpleasant feeling of humiliation rippling through his chest.

"Who else would do this? You, with your superior knowledge of the language of Old Valyria will teach her commands and behaviour towards a wild dragon?" He asked, looking him straight in the eye.

His brother grew pale and swallowed hard, tense, feeling that he had lost this battle.

"Bring her in." He ordered.

Soon the door to the room opened, and she walked in, accompanied by the guards: she was wearing one of his mother's old brown gowns, its red sleeves reaching to the ground. Her hair was loose but not in disarray, falling gently down her back, as if she had not let any servant touch it and combed it herself.

"Come closer, cousin." Said Aegon with a smile, raising his hand and nodding, clearly wanting to encourage her.

She reluctantly took a few steps closer, looking around the assembled people anxiously, finally meeting his gaze – she stopped for a moment at his face, as if she was thinking hard about something, and then turned her head away, suddenly tired and resigned.

Good, he thought.

There was no need for her to stand up to him.

"We are overjoyed by your presence, even though you were brought here under not very pleasant circumstances. I hope you will quickly forget about these… discomforts and support us in our cause. My brother is extremely eager to prepare you for this." Aegon said, her lips twitching in a grimace that he didn't like when he mentioned him, but no words left her mouth.

"Are you not glad to face your father? Did he not forget you and abandon you for so many years?" Continued Aegon, their mother looked at him and shook her head, wanting him to stop.

She lifted her gaze to his brother-king and looked at him for a moment, her expression gentle and calm.

"I have nothing to say to you, cousin. Do with me what you wish."

A heavy, uncomfortable silence fell around them – he feared what Aegon would do with this insult – the fact that she had humiliated him by simply calling him her cousin, speaking to him without proper etiquette or manners.

Aegon pressed his lips together and leaned forward, as if thinking hard about something.

"Our family has forgotten you. Left you the fuck knows where, motherless and fatherless. And I am deeply sorry for it."

He looked at him shocked, not believing that he had said such a thing, apologised to her even though it was she who had offended him, and then looked at her face – her eyes turned red, her lips parted slightly, as if he had stuck a needle straight into her heart.

What was he doing?

Aegon spread himself comfortably in his chair with a loud creak of wood, smiling with satisfaction.

"You may leave."

He did not know why he had been furious all evening, why, bent over the maps of Westeros, planning his fucking war, he had been unable to focus or calm himself.

He knew why his brother had done it: he wanted to bond with her, to show him that he was the one she would obey, that he was in control of the situation, that he was the King.

"Bring our prisoner." He ordered loudly so that the servant who was just taking the tray from his table heard it.

"As you wish, Your Highness."

When she walked into his chamber she stopped immediately behind the door, which closed behind her with a loud clatter. He glanced up at her dispassionately and looked again at the books he had taken from his shelves, which he had often browsed through as a child.

This was his legacy, not hers.

But he had to do it.

"Come here. Sit down." He said dryly and after a moment he heard the rustling of her gown.

As she sat in the chair beside him he smelled her, some kind of oil that scented of field flowers, chamomile or daisies, and he thought that she had taken a bath.

Something in that thought, in the idea of her bare, soft body sunk in the warm water, made his manhood throb pleasantly, tingling heat spreading through his lower abdomen.

He moved one of the books towards her, open to the page on which was written what he wanted to discuss with her.

"Can you read?" He asked coldly, and she threw him a look from which he felt like grabbing her cheeks and shaking that little head of hers.

She didn't answer, which frustrated him even more, clutching the volume in her hands and leaning over it, following the text with her eyes.

So she could read, he thought mockingly.

"The dragons understand the language of Old Valyria, and this is how the dragon riders communicate with them. You have to learn to speak the commands properly." He sighed, running his hand over his face, feeling tired and discouraged.

"Dohaerās means serve. Rȳbās means listen. These are the most important words, right next to Lykirī, which commands a dragon to remain calm." He said, tilting his head back, closing his eyes. "Repeat."

Silence.

He pressed his lips together, opening his eyes, thinking he was about to kill her with his own hands.

He looked at her, wanting to hiss to her that he was going to slam her head against the table until she dutifully recited each of the words he was ordering her to repeat but his voice stuck in his throat when he saw the look on her face.

He had the impression that although she froze in stillness, her whole body was quivering, as if she was cold.

Her eyes were open wide in fear, and even though her lips were pressed into a thin line she was breathing heavily, as if she were suffocating, her fingers clenched on the back of the book.

Was it possible that she had heard these words before, had read a book similar to this?

Did Daemon try to teach her the language of Old Valyria when she was a child?

He didn't know what he should do, feeling that if he touched her she would just fall apart, so he merely looked at her, wondering how such a person was supposed to tame a dragon.

He rose from his seat as if burned, snapped out of his reverie when her eyes rolled back and she simply fainted, her body, numb and heavy slid to the floor beneath their feet.

He circled the table and knelt beside her, slapping his palm against her cheek in an attempt to revive her, but she did not wake up.

"Bring the Maester, quickly!" He called out and cursed loudly, restraining himself from screaming with rage.

"What have you done to her?" His mother hissed quietly, so that only he could hear it while the Maester examined her.

He turned his face away and shook his head, wondering if everyone in this damned fortress was against him.

After all, he was doing this for them.

For their family.

"Nothing. She was only supposed to read a few words. I didn't even touch her." He growled, his hands intertwined behind his back clenched into a fist.

Why didn't she trust him?

Why was she looking at him like this, as if she didn't recognise him?

Hadn't he always been faithful to her?

"What words? What did you say to her?"

"Words in Old Valyrian, nothing more. She must learn it if she is not to burn in the dragon fire, and our efforts are not to be in vain." He scoffed impatiently.

"We do not know what Daemon did to her. Whether she saw her mother die."

"I don't care what he did to her or what she saw." He said, throwing her a look from which she froze. "We have an agreement and she knows what will happen if she doesn't fulfill it."

"What will happen? You'll burn the Vale?" Alicent asked with a sneer, and he pressed his lips together, feeling a terrible, piercing shame.

"She will stay in my care tonight. Don't go near her until she recovers." She told him and stepped around him.

He felt as if she had slapped him in the face so he left, not wanting anyone to see the burning tears of disappointment that had gathered under his eyelids.

He didn't let them flow.

He was not weak.

He was not like her.

He was not like Aegon.

He was not like his father.

[jyoongim]

This is more of an idea (feel free to not respond btw)

But what if married reader gets knocked up with Alastors fawn and the husband divorced her once he realizes the baby isn’t his? You can bet your ass that the deer daddy is already trying to ensnare the reader in his grasp lol

Hehehe i have never written a Part 2 so fast !

Part 1

————————————————————————

“Oh my Satan dear! Look at you! Ya look like you’re bout to pop!” Rosie exclaimed when you walked in her shop.

’Pop’ was an understatement.

You were very near the end of your pregnancy and it had not been kind to you.

You never told your husband about the incident with Alastor.

Would he had even believed you?

Alastor was A LOT of things, but the two of you were friends…your husband would think call you insane….

Your eyes widened seeing the very cause of your discomfort.

Alastor.

You wanted to dash out the door, run back home and hide.

The red Overlord turned around, hearing Rosie’s voice, you froze seeing his eyes look you over, you instinctively placed a hand over your stomach when his lips stretched into a smile.

You heard Rosie excuse herself to go get some appetizers but you were too focused to acknowledge her.

You were alone.

With him.

You took a shaky breath as memories from several months ago flashed across your mind, but you shook your head lightly to discard those thoughts.

”My my look at you” he purred approaching until he towered over you, beaming like a Cheshire cat “You really do make a fine mother” his large hand caressed the swell of your belly, smile softening when he felt movement.

”j-just leave me be please” you whispered, wincing when he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest.

Alastor chuckled ”leave you be? Oh ma cherie no can do!” 

He bent his head, his lips grazing the shell of your ear, voice dropping to a whisper “especially since you’re about to give birth to my baby?”

You pushed him away, putting distance between the two of you. Your face was flushed, eyes narrowed “I am NOT having your baby! I am having my husband’s baby!” You defended.

But there was a sliver of doubt you always felt when it came to the little soul nestled within you.

Alastor’s smile never wavered “Hmm you sure? Because i remember vividly filling your cunt with my seed until it dripped down your legs” 

You froze.

”You took me so well I was positive you would be pregnant”

He took small steps towards you

”Did you tell your husband?” 

Your snarl fell at his words and he knew he had you.

”T-there’s n-nothing to tell” you said turning around, ready to leave. 

You didnt have to take this.

He hummed coming up behind you. “Nothing to tell?” He chuckled darkly as his lanky arms wrapped around you, cradling your swollen belly. He leaned his head on top of yours.

”Oooh darlin I’m hurt! You didnt tell your loving husband how you milked my cock? How I tasted the cunt that belonged to him? How I claimed you for myself? That I sent you home filled with my cum?”

You were shaking.

”How unfaithful you were? Could the poor man tell another man’s cum was inside you while he fucked you?”

He kissed your neck

”I can’t wait to meet our little fawn”

Your baby kicked causing him to smile.

————————————————————————-

Pain.

Thats all you felt as you tried to breath through your contraction.

”You got this honey! You’re doing great” your husband soothed as you wailed.

”One more push maam the baby’s almost here” the nurse reassured you.

Almost? It felt like you been pushing forever

”I cant” you panted.

Everything burned.

Your husband dabbed at your sweaty forehead, pressing a kiss to it “You got this baby. C’mon just one more push and then it’ll all be over”

Your eyes clenched and with a scream you pushed.

”Aaahh!”

Relief and then the shrill cry of a baby.

The nurses cooed “Ooh a healthy boy!”

she cleaned up the baby and you sighed as you slumped against the bed.

Finally.

”Ok mama” you felt a small weight on your chest.

Soft noises had you look down and you felt your heart break and bloom.

Red tufts of hair curled on the babe’s head and he looked at you with big red eyes.

He looked like you; round cheeks and a cute nose.

He looked nothing like your husband.

And every bit like…

”what the fuck” you heard your husband say. You turned to him, eyes wide.

He was staring at the baby.

”I-Its n-not what you think dear j-just let me-”

”You fucked Alastor” he was frowning, standing up from the bed.

You shook your head, tears swelling

”N-no that’s…I didnt i swear”

”I am looking at his exact copy. The damn brat looks nothing like me!”

You couldnt move “Honey p-please”

The man backed away. He was angry.

The baby began to cry, you tried to rock the poor soul, but your attention was on your husband

”Honey-”

”I should have known” he hissed lowly, pacing.

”I should have known by the way he acted. How you flirted with each other! The fucking radio demon!? Tsk!”

He turned to look at you.

”I dont want some bitch who takes me for a fool. Hope it was worth it you fucking slut” he turned to walk out.

tears ran down your face, your heart was racing “W-What? Honey no it wasn’t like that..it-it was never-”

”I want a divorce. You are dead to me”

and like that he was gone.

You sat there stunned.

Your husband just…left.

He left you and he didn’t even let you explain, tell him how or why all this was happening.

The baby cooed and you looked down at him.

You wanted to be angry, you had every right to be, but looking at this sweet soul…he didnt deserve your anger.

You were a mother now. You would do your best to love your child.

Even if you had to do it alone.

————————————————————————————-

“What a fine mother you make indeed my dear”

He smiled watching the little fawn latch to your chest and stare back at him with vermillion eyes.

You hissed at him, earning a quirked brow “haven’t you done enough?”

Soft static buzzed through the air as the Overlord approached you. You took a step back, as he extended a hand to the babe and rubbed his chubby cheek.

Alastor ignored your question ”How are you feeling love?” He asked as the baby nuzzled into your neck.

How were you feeling?

You were divorced, a single mother, and living with Rosie.

Shunned.

All because of him.

”Like hell but I know you’re not here to ask about my well being”

Alastor ignored your jab.

”I do care for you darlin and its only right that I provide for you and our fawn”

You went to growl, threaten him to die, but your baby reached out to the red demon.

Alastor’s face light up and he grabbed the fawn, cooing and tickling the baby.

Your son squealed and giggled, trying to grab at his claws.

”Let’s make a deal dearest”

You straightened at his words. A deal with Alastor was dangerous.

But you were at rock bottom.

”What kind of deal?” You asked cautiously.

”Marry me. Marry me and you’ll have nothing to be worried about. You’ll be protected, cared for, and have anything you desire.”

The baby was gumming at his collar.

”Be mine”

You bit your lip. What did you have to loose?

You sighed, taking your son.

You looked at the tall demon, green magic swirling around him.

”Do we have a deal?” he extend his hand.

You looked at your baby and then back at Alastor.

”I hate you” you said taking his hand,

You winced as your hand burned and watched a gold ring appear on your finger.

Radio static buzzed and then a soft humming. Alastor purred, smiling, fixing his jacket.

“Oh my dear” His arm looped around your waist, bringing you close to him as he chuckled “Such a good girl”

“Now! I think I have the perfect place for us to raise our fawn”

—————————————————————————————

“Uggghh Al you got a little something…” Charlie said nervously as she watch Alastor sip his coffee.

The little red fawn was hanging on his antlers, happily gnawing at the appendages. Alastor looked up, smiling “Oh he’s fine”

”Alastor have you seen…” your voice floated into his ears as you entered the lobby, stopping when you saw your son among his father’s antlers.

Alastor let out a grunt as the baby pulled at his ears “Hes right here dear”

Your baby babbled as you approached, squealing when you plucked him from his father.

You scowled the Overlord, placing the baby on your hip.

”How many times have I told you not to just let him hang-”

”da-”

You froze.

“Da…da” your son babbled, squirming in your arms.

Charlie cooed and Alastor smirked as the fawn’s eyes welled with tears as he reached for his father. Alastor walked towards you, scooping the baby from you.

You pouted as the baby happily chirped, nuzzling in his father’s neck.

Alastor sneaked a soft kiss to your lips 

“See he’s fine”

You sighed, rolling your eyes, arms crossing.

”Oh smile my dear. Maybe the next one will say mama first” he laughed, eyes settling on your round belly.

”After all you’re a great mother”

[okiedokrie]

INFERNO

Summary: The witch trials are in full swing, the church ordered for all witches to be burned at the stake. From morning until the night, you pray for those who turned their back against God. But a knock at your door startled you, the church, in desparation, accused you of witchcraft. Only then did you realize that your God has long forsaken you. Now, you make a deal with the Devil.

Characters/Pairing(s): Demon!Joshua X F!Reader

Genre: Smut, Angst, Horror

AUs/Trope info: Demon!AU, Contract Relationship

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: References to witch trials, religious terminologies, literally talking about giving birth to the anti-christ, killing everyone (im being serious), (smut warnings under the cut)

Rating: 18+

A/N: Dedicated to the ji to my han @nebulousbrainsoup

Smut Warnings: oral (f receiving), slight overstim, taking virginity, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie,

"Halt! You are being seized by the church. You will now confess all your transgressions to the light of the lord." The knights of the holy empire called out to you, that the one day you left the church to purchase food was the day you got accused of dark arts before your peers.

"Wretched witch, pay the price of your sins with blood and tears. Your crimes against our lord will not go unpunished. Come to the break of dawn in a fortnight, you shall burn at the stake as you will in hell."

The metal of the constraints dug into your skin, you aren't sure if the metallic scent in the air was rust, or blood, you couldn't hear the screams of those being tortured over the ringing of your own ears. You pray, this time for your own salvation; but seven days have passed and your god has not come to save you.

Whether it was desperation or disappointment, you couldn't tell. But something pulled you, so magnetic, the darkness that surrounded you was promising vengeance.

The sky grew dark as it was clouded in a tint of red as if the heavens bled for you, but your back is against them now, no god is here to save you.

"A soul most pure, intriguing, very intriguing." A layered voice said, it whispered, screamed, groaned, and moaned. You knew exactly who this was, the lord of darkness himself.

"Tell me, after devoting your life to your God, why have you come to beg for my mercy?" The shadows started to condense, each word was also a step towards you, the shadow now vaguely resembling the figure of a man.

"I beg of you, lord of darkness, spare me mercy for my God has forsaken me, give me salvation, and I will then devote my every hour to you, waking or not." You beg as you fall onto your knees, your skin breaking against the cold stone floor as your nails drag across the dirty floor, the grime building as filth under your nails.

He chuckles, "Let me make one thing clear, you call yourself a devotee, but when you are on the stage that is life, you are first and foremost, an actor." The voice echoed in the chamber you were a prisoner in, and the click of his heeled shoes ticked like a clock, "Good actors hone their craft, to captivate the audience. You may act like a devoted follower of the good lord, but you were promised to be mine. My mother of demons.”

He continued, voices condensing into a sound more fathomable, but still as sinister. “There is a seed of darkness in your purest of souls, feeding on the last of the purity in you. All I have to do is nurture it, and you will be mine.”

The darkness ripples and cracks around you, the air becoming hot, the smell of lightning invades your senses, overbearing, overpowering the reality you were accustomed to.

The voice speaks again, swirling into a deep masculine voice. His voice becoming more palatable to your much too human ears, you mind is no longer straining to comprehend the horror of his diction, “Which is why I will offer you a contract. Give what is most pure of you to me, and I shall protect you, give you the power to burn this earth to the ground, return them to me, and I will promise you a life of bliss by my side."

He steps into the dim red light, you see him now, a man dressed in a black suite that was much too modern for your time, his glowing amber eyes pierced your very heart as the smirk on his plump lips bared his fangs to you. His hand is outstretched to you, black lacquered nails and a glowing purple glyph etched onto the palm of his skin.

"Come now, won't you shake a poor sinner's hand?"

You jump from your place on the floor, grasping his hand, and with a firm shake, you say, "I do, I promise to answer your every beck and call, I will serve you, my lord."

You feel the mark on his palm burn onto yours, the pain was insurmountable, like all the ends of your nerves were burning, pain that you could feel in the very core of your being, but then, bliss.

The contract has been signed, the seal now is to take your purity.

Confiteor Deo Omnipotenti, beatae Mariae semper virgini, beato Michaeli archangelo, sanctis apostolis omnibus sanctis, quia peccavi nimis.

The cathedral bells ring ominously, and a dark red tint paints the sky to warn the people below the heavens that the devil has taken hold of another poor, unfortunate soul.

The choir sang as the church bells rang, another soul lost to the dark hands of the devil. A path of sin paved with blood, sweat, and tears. Solemn was the tone of the town, a young maiden of the nobility embraced the devil himself, lost in his sweet kiss.

You embraced him, your body, mind, and soul now his. In every sense of the word, you gave your life to him. The people mourned and wept for you, their hearts heavy with the weight of this stain, this sin you left for them to bear as you will live forever in the dark bliss of the devil's tongue.

He kissed you passionately, his black heart almost beating for you, cold hands held you delicately, as if the slightest touch would break you, he laid you on the sheet that acted as your bed in this cell.

He trailed his hands slowly, starting from your knees to your thighs, the way his palms ghosted over your skin made goosebumps rise, he hooks his fingers to your draws, pulling the garment from under your skirt and discarding it to an unknown corner of the cell.

He stares down at your heat, golden eyes in a heated stare with your wet pussy, a flower yet to be plucked, dripping with golden honey as the lord of darkness blew the cold air into it.

He placed a delicate kiss to your knee, he was much more delicate than what you’d expect the lord of darkness’s intimate manner would be, trailing equally soft kissed down the length of your thigh to the apex of them, your sex clenching in anticipation.

His forked, long tongue licked a stripe across your heat, collecting your sweet essence on his tongue, he groaned at the contact to your velvet flesh, reveling in the feeling of unbridled lust.

You throw your head back, a coil in your stomach was starting to form was the lord worked his tongue around your folds, stopping occasionally to suckle on your clit, you thread your fingers in his hair, pushing his head closer to your heat in a desperate attempt for more friction.

He continued this gentle but dizzying pace with one goal on his mind, to taste the first and last time this flower tasted so sweet. The coil in your stomach was tightening almost painfully, the pleasure was insurmountable, pressure was building in a way that you never experienced before.

Then the coil snapped.

You throw your head back in a silent scream, your body shivering from the impact of such a powerful orgasm, he continues his ministrations on your heat, only this time avoiding your clit.

He licked your essence off his lips, he discarded his pants somewhere along the time he was between your legs, his firm hands took your legs and threw them over his shoulder, you catch his shoulder,

"Wait!" You plead, "my lord, your name, please give me your name." you say, the dark lord stared at you, but only for a moment.

He stares into your eyes, his amber gaze burning into your memory before he speaks again. "Joshua. Joshua would be more suitable for your human tongue." He said, as he finally entered you.

"Joshua-!" you gasp out, the stretch of his girth deliciously burned, his hard cock dragging into your heat with just friction that it didn't matter how wet you already were.

He rolls his hips in a slow and steady pace, taking in every new expression on your face and sound that you make. He bit his lip, holding back his own noises to savor the sweet sounds falling freely from your lips.

He picks his pace up after he notices you relax more, the force that his hips meet yours made your body rock upwards, shaking from the pressure that was rubbing against your walls.

"I'll breed you, your body, mind, and soul, all mine for the rest of time. I'll plant my seed into you, you'll bare the devil's children, mother of demons. My whore for all eternity." He breathed out, ragged from the force he was thrusting into you, you could only feel the rapid thumping of your heart over the ringing in your ears, your head was pleasantly empty, the only thoughts in your head was the delicious drag of his cock into you.

"Oh- Joshua-! It feels so good, oh- I feel it-!" You moan out, although you aren't sure if that's exactly what you said, for all you know, it could've just been babbling noises.

"Yes, cum around my cock, cream on it and milk it for it for all it's worth." he groans out, clearly also close to his release, his grip on your hips, dark talons digging into the skin and drawing blood.

Another coil snaps in you, this time, much more powerful. You can fill a surge of dark power being absorbed into you at the same time Joshua spills his seed into you, this dark force was hot, it felt like you had the power of a god swirling inside of you.

Out of breathe, Joshua looks at you, "by the break of dawn, you will no longer be human. Let the sleep take you, my dear, for the next time you awaken, your final waking place will be all of the new world. I promise you that."

He said as he placed a searing kiss to your forehead.

By the time the sun rose again, all the strength you had lost from being imprisoned here had not only returned to you, but you were now stronger, the dark flame burning under your skin fueled your anger, and an unholy boiling boils beneath the surface.

The cell, the dungeon, all the king's men, all the king's subjects, and the king himself, will not escape your inferno.

The only throne left standing is the one where Joshua sits, ruling over the sinners of the old world with you by his side.

[hishumanbelle]

Alastor played the piano, his sharp fingers sliding softly over the white pearly keys. A sweet blues melody came out of the piano and I couldn't help but admire that charming man. It was then that he turned to me and invited me to join him. I approached him, leaning my back against the keyboard. Alastor grabbed me by the waist, he undid my robe and kissed my womb softly, starring at me. "I want you to be the mother of my fawns", his hands roamed over my body, caressing it and making it burn with desire at his touch, for him and him alone. My fingers ran through his soft hair, also caressing his ears that he folded back, purring. "I'm serious", he said, kissing my belly and staring at me. His gaze was intense, full of love, his eyes shone red, my loving gaze fixed on his. I kissed his forehead. He moved me slightly from the piano to close the keyboard, then removed the string of my robe, letting it fall to the floor. Sitting on the stool, he slipped a finger inside me. "So warm", he said in a low, soothing voice. His long finger moved back and forth inside me. He inserted another finger, still moving slowly and pushing deeper, hitting the spongy wall. "Alas-", I said covering my mouth. With his other hand he removed it, "don't, I want to hear you", he said, aroused evident in his pants. "Alastor!", I repeated, his name falling from my lips like a prayer, I was making amends for my sins by committing them with him. He was poison and antidote. His presence in my heart was intoxicating, an obsession, but I couldn’t help it. With his face scanning my expressions, he moved closer to my body, biting and kissing my breasts, with the hand that held my hip he teased my right nipple. He moved his face closer to my core, his hot breath ghosting my entrance that was waiting for nothing but him. He began to kiss my clit and suck it lightly as he licked it, his fingers delicately digging inside me at a faster pace. "Alastor, I'm-!", I said shyly, squeezing his hair pushing him and holding him in the position he was in. A knot of heat was growing inside my abdomen, until I came all over his fingers and tongue. He moved his hand to my thigh, tightening his grip and scratching me with his nail. "I want you, forever", he sighed in my ear after standing up and removing his fingers. He unzipped his pants and started rubbing his large cock on my slit to wet it, and gently pushed it inside me. "Ah! You're so damn tight, my doe", he growled from his chest. His hips moved slowly but deeply, hitting all the right spots. His hands resting against the piano case ruining it due to his strength, his lips on my neck leaving signs of his possession. His pace increased more and more, making me reach another orgasm. I held onto his shoulders while panting and came on him again. He brought a hand to my pussy and with a finger he continued to stimulate my clitoris. "How is it, my dear? Are you okay?", he asked seeing that my eyes rolled back, but I did not answer because in a state of unconsciousness and total pleasure; it was then that he bit my neck licking the blood and becoming even harder for me. His cock was pounding harder, but his ways were gentle and sweet, as if we were making love; from his gestures only a sweet passion. His lips moved to mine, kissing me and using his tongue until our souls intertwined. His cock was pulling reaching orgasm too; he took a hand and brought it to my neck, squeezing it, while he devoured me with his mouth, and as my orgasm grew and my legs began to tremble, informing him of the imminence, he also prepared himself. "I'll fill you with my seed", his voice hoarse and in sobs, his breathing a rattle, but his thrusts did not stop even after he had cummed inside me. "I love you", I whispered, bringing my hands behind his neck and kissing him passionately. "I love you, my soon-to-be mother and spouse", he replied leaning down to kiss my womb where he had just been.

[hezzabeth]

There was someone singing in the greenhouse, someone with a pitch-perfect deep voice. Revati closed her eyes, pressing her ear against the glass door.

In a field where the paper daisies grow,

Underneath the sun's harsh glow,

I wander through, light and free.

Paper daisies, pink and white,

Your petals so bright.

I sing to you as the world beyond burns.

The smoke coils in the sky far above,

But your petals still dance around me.

Don’t be afraid; soon the rains will come.

Everything lost will grow again.

Paper daisies, pink and white,

Your petals so bright.

I sing to you as the world beyond burns.

The stars begin to rise,

My hands scooping your seeds.

Soon you will take flight

Towards the soft moonlight.

There was an old, prop piano in the abandoned Holly Bush Tavern. The only person who could play it properly was Mr. Gupta. During holiday festivals, he would coax melodies out of the sticky keys while Mrs. Gupta sang in a nasal voice. This was different. The singer’s voice filled Revati in a place she didn’t know was empty. The singing stopped abruptly as Revati’s weight caused the door to creak. Of course, the door creaked. The greenhouse was a wobbling claptrap box made out of welded-together old windows. Miss Grassroots, a tourist who had been dead for almost six years, had built it. Inside lay the heart of Baker Street. The heart had begun as a rose garden. Nanni was the one who began picking up the fallen red petals, drying them, and turning them into tea.

Revati only had vague memories of the first day of the invasion. Mrs. Grasston and Dusk had invaded the kitchens and gift shops. Together they managed to pool together seeds and cuttings in order to grow a small food supply. There was a wall of tomato vines, grown from several seeds found in old slices left in the bin. There were the garden beds where the potatoes and carrots grew. In fact, the potatoes were what kept Baker Street from starving to death. Next to one of the largest windows, the herb and weed boxes grew. Revati’s father was the one who ripped open gourmet tea bags in their home, discovering dried seeds inside. Bridgadeiro Bun was sitting under the lemon tree. “You’re a pretty good singer,” Revati said gruffly. “I was just trying to cheer up Deshia; she’s been feeling a bit depressed lately,” Bridgadeiro said, patting the tree's trunk. “Who’s Deshia?” Revati asked, faintly confused. “The lemon tree, of course! She said nobody's chatted with her for years,” Bridgadeiro said. Suddenly, the tree shook its branches, causing a fresh lemon to fall into Bridgadeiro’s lap. “Thank you for the gift, sweetheart,” Bridgadeiro said, patting the tree again. Revati stared at the lemon tree, not quite sure what to think. Could a tree really be depressed? It would explain why the lemons were so withered and small.

“All Buns speak plant; it's the same gene that causes our pink hair," he said. Revati glanced around, her eyes briefly falling on the giant pumpkin vine near the door.

"Are the plants talking right now?" Revati asked curiously.

"Most of them fell asleep hours ago. When they were awake, they just kept jabbering on about a golden lady," Bridgadeiro remarked.

"So, the lemon tree is depressed? I could get Aurora to come in here and read to her," Revati conceded.

"It's more than that. She misses the lady who planted her; she doesn't understand why she vanished and never came back," Bridgadeiro remarked. Revati found her hands stroking the book of fairy tales nervously.

"If she's talking about Mrs. Grassroots, she died," Revati replied flatly. Six years ago. Six years ago, there were over a hundred tourists living on Baker Street. Nanni, who had spent years living with mother, insisted on moving into an abandoned hat shop near the edge of the park.

The day the tornado hit was the same day Nanni decided to tell Revati all about her family history.

"I always carry the death stone in my handbag, along with everything else I'd ever need in an invasion," Nanni pointed out. Technically that was true; Nanni's giant handbag was filled with almost anything.

Outside, Revati could hear her father trying to roll down metal shutters. There was the sudden horrible roar, and Nanni's wall exploded in a cloud of rubble.

"A lot of people died," Revati finished, her voice trailing off. First came the tornado that caused a gap in the mirror walls. Then the trickle of automatic vegetable cleaners who decided to exploit the crack. Finally, the battle on Mansfield Park between the cleaners and a group of tourists.

"The lady that planted this tree was actually a member of the Lost Princess rebel army; she convinced a bunch of tourists to fight with her," Revati remarked, shaking her head. Then she firmly opened the book of fairy tales.

"It looks like some people survived," Bridgadeiro replied.

"I don't want to talk about it; I just want to read! Here, you can read with me; you might like this story," Revati replied.

Once long ago, in a lost village near the foot of Mount Raya, there lived a special little girl. She was known for her kindness and her deep love for nature. Everyone in the village called her Naisha. Naisha had a special gift; she could talk to plants. The villagers often saw her whispering to the flowers; they adored her magical gift.

One day, Naisha learned about a legendary tree called the Kalpavriksha. The old ladies in the village whispered that it had the ability to grant any wish. Drought, fearsome and terrible, had swept through the land. Flowers withered, no longer able to whisper. Trees forgot their songs. Naisha decided she must seek out the tree and wish for one thing alone: rain.

"Wake up," a voice screeched, and Revati's eyes snapped open, the book of fairy tales tumbling onto the ground. Aurora was standing above her, the bright morning sunlight making her hair glow.

"Morning," Revati yawned and then jumped when she realized Bridgadeiro was asleep next to her.

Bridgadeiro slowly awoke, smacking his lips together.

"Juniper said you were in here; she never mentioned the boy," Aurora remarked coldly as Revati slowly stood up.

"Anna made him sleep in here; I must have passed out while reading," Revati said.

It was then that Revati realized Aurora was holding a tray filled with fresh strawberries.

"Hmph," Aurora said, shooting Bridgadeiro a suspicious look as he also stood up, patting the tree trunk.

"Let me guess, Queen Victoria sent these with an apology?" Revati asked.

"Yes, and a request to fill her vodka order," Aurora said, placing the tray on the ground.

"If she was really sorry, she'd give us a strawberry plant," Revati pointed out.

"Oh, you don't need one of those! You have the fruit," Bridgadeiro remarked.

"You can't just shove a strawberry in the ground and hope for the best; it rots," Revati replied. Bridgadeiro merely leaned down, examining the strawberries. After a few moments of careful examination, he picked up the biggest, brightest berry.

"You can; you just need the right formula," he said. He vaguely walked towards one of the empty garden beds that was going to be turned into an onion patch. Carefully, he dug a small hole and placed the strawberry inside before covering it in earth. Then, he reached into his massive jumpsuit pocket and this time pulled out a small vial of portable perfume.

"One pump should do it," Bridgadeiro remarked before pumping a cloud of perfume onto the soil. The earth began to twitch and vibrate, and Revati gasped as greenery sprouted from the soil. The plants quivered and then twisted as white flowers bloomed. The petals then shriveled and fell off as the center of the flowers grew into green berries. A few seconds later, the berries blossomed into a deep red.

"They shouldn't be doing that! Strawberries take two weeks to grow," Aurora gasped.

"I suppose they would in the wild, but I just gave them a pump of my Gene Grow fusion serum!" Bridgadeiro said, leaning down to examine the strawberries.

"They should produce fruit every day, but only if you talk to them nicely," Bridgadeiro added as he picked a strawberry and handed it to Revati.

Revati sniffed it suspiciously before taking a tiny bite. It tasted just like a strawberry.

"Does that stuff work on all plants?" Revati asked curiously.

"It tends to go a bit haywire when you spray it on legumes; you end up with giant beans that have no nutrients," Bridgadeiro said.

"I saved your life; think it's only fair you spray all the plants in here," Revati said firmly.

"It would be better if I planted their seeds outside and created new crops; otherwise, the rapidly growing plants could burst outside the walls," Bridgadeiro replied. Revati nodded crisply.

"I'll be sending someone to check on your efforts later today; I'll be far too busy working," Revati replied with as much dignity as she could muster in a sleep shirt before marching out of the greenhouse. The book of fairy tales lay abandoned on the ground.

Revati carefully changed into her work uniform. When she was a child, her wardrobe consisted of souvenir t-shirts from the gift shop fashioned into dresses. Now that she was almost an adult, Revati had to get creative.

Most of the gift shop sweatshirts had been swiped long ago. Instead, Revati put on the top half of the cafe's old uniform. It consisted of a magenta and purple striped waistcoat with a navy blue blouse covered in tiny clocks. The bottom half should have been a matching bustle skirt. Revati switched it with the men's purple trousers. Revati then carefully redid her braid and applied some more soot lipstick. Aurora, still wearing the same clothes from yesterday, was waiting for her in the kitchen.

"You're wearing your second best outfit," Aurora remarked.

"I suppose I am," Revati replied as she grabbed her coat.

"I thought you said you were done with romance after that whole mess with Little Hardi last summer," Aurora said, and Revati stopped walking.

"I am!" she protested, and Aurora pressed her thin lips into a disapproving frown.

"You were sleeping with him."

"God forbid I fall asleep next to another human being," Revati said as she marched through the cafe past Nanni, who was sewing something.

"You kept him! You gave him a job," Aurora added knowingly.

"I didn't keep him! He's not a feral child; he can leave whenever he wants," Revati snapped as they stepped outside, and she put on her sunglasses. Olde Landon was always at its worst in the morning. Like all major tourist attractions and cities, Old Landon had an atmospheric blanket high above the park's surface. It meant that nobody in the park froze to death at night, but it also meant the morning light was far too bright.

"Is that Little Hardi and Queen Victoria standing next to the fountain?" Revati sighed wearily.

"They both arrived at sunrise; I told them you were busy, so your mother made them breakfast," Aurora remarked.

"Sunrise; of course, they sacrificed sleep so they could get here first," Revati remarked, marching towards the two other leaders. Queen Victoria was wearing one of the park's costumes, a stained white lace wedding dress. Little Hardi, on the other hand, was wearing a deep blue doublet with a ruff collar and matching tights.

"Little Hardi, is your brother still unconscious?" Revati greeted him.

"We took a vote last night, and he played Macduff," Little Hardi replied.

Revati, who knew fully well what that meant, had to stop herself from flinching.

"You killed him? That's a little harsh," Revati pointed out.

"It was for the best; we need a strong leader during a time of invasion," Little Hardi remarked practically.

"Time of invasion? Isn't that a little dramatic?" Revati had to ask.

"There must be another crack in the wall; thank Jane, it's probably not too big! You two would be far too young to remember the vegetable cleaner invasion," remarked Queen Victoria.

"I was twelve," Revati said dryly.

"I was fourteen; the tornado destroyed the Hamlet's haunted castle ride, and the appliances killed the actor playing Ophelia," Little Hardi pointed out.

"You're both still tiny children as far as I'm concerned; I can't believe this is who I have to work with," Queen Victoria replied, and Revati brushed past her with annoyance, heading to the dress shop across the street.

The shelves of the dress shop had long ago been stripped bare. All that remained were the three Penny Farthing Bicycles that had been part of the shop's window display. Revati wheeled her Penny Farthing outside only to see Queen Victoria having a heated discussion with Aurora.

"What do you mean she's going to ride to the wall by herself? All representatives from all towns should go!" Queen Victoria was screeching, slapping Aurora's shoulder with her fan.

Revati parked her bicycle and marched towards Queen Victoria, grabbing her hand.

"Slap my assistant again, and I'll break your fingers; you know I can do it," Revati growled.

Little Hardi, who was now sitting by the fountain, laughed.

"I was just speaking the truth! We have a treaty; during times of crisis, we unify," Queen Victoria said, her voice tight and a little frightened.

"I don't see Lady Morganna here," Revati pointed out, referring to the ruler of Medieval faire.

"You know perfectly well Medieval faire cut us all off after the tornado hit! They probably all died off years ago," Queen Victoria snapped back. Queen Victoria was right. Medieval faire was located in the center of a massive fake castle complete with a drawbridge. After the invasion, Lady Morganna had yanked up the bridge and refused to speak to anyone. Anna and Nanni had tried to visit several times with baskets of dried lemons. They were horrified when someone from above threw the contents of their toilets onto the streets.

"My new friend said he saw naked people in the wilderness dancing around a murdered television! Sounds like Lady Morganna to me," Revati merely replied, pointing to Bridgadeiro. Bridgadeiro, who was in the middle of taking several pumpkins out of the greenhouse, waved.

"Could be a coincidence; regardless, you are not going to the wall! We need to have a proper group committee meeting first! Then a vote," Queen Victoria's.

Revati just rolled her eyes and released Queen Victoria's hand, causing her to stumble and fall onto the floor. Revati then reached into her jacket, pulling out her stun gun, shoving it into the queen's stomach. The Queen made a faint whimpering sound as her eyes rolled backward, and she collapsed again. Revati then aimed the gun at Little Hardi, who held his hands up, protesting.

"I'm not going to stop you! I came here to propose marriage," Little Hardi insisted.

"Marriage? To me?" Revati asked dubiously.

"All kings need a consort, and I'm not interested in Big Hardi's husband," Little Hardi said, slowly getting down on one knee.

Revati stared at him and shook her head.

"I'm seventeen," Revati pointed out.

"Well, the wedding wouldn't be for another couple of years," Little Hardi replied.

"I thought we agreed to keep our relationship professional after the handkerchief incident," Revati pointed out, and Little Hardi held a hand to his heart.

"I told you dozens of times I had nothing to do with my brother's plot," Little Hardi insisted.

"He accused me of cheating on you using an old prop handkerchief as evidence, and you believed him despite it being the exact same plot of the play Othello," Revati pointed out. The entire incident occurred over a year ago and ended with Revati kidnapped and tied up on the stage in a white fluffy nightgown.

"I'm a very insecure person," Little Hardi pleaded. Dating while trapped in a fun park during the apocalypse was difficult. Before the feral children came along, Revati was the youngest person on Baker Street. All the teenagers in Whistleton were raised to be incredibly prissy. Most of them refused to do anything more than dance or hold hands. Little Hardi had been a fun, age-appropriate choice. Little Hardi was happy to do far more than hold hands.

"No," Revati said firmly.

"No? Really?" he asked, sounding faintly surprised.

"First of all, your legal system involves killing criminals on stage in the middle of plays, which is horrifying," Revati pointed out, and Little Hardi shrugged.

"Secondly, I'm not an idiot! You just want to marry me so you can take over our greenhouse," Revati pointed out, and Little Hardi gasped as if looking deeply insulted.

"That's not true! If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. I have seen roses damasked, red and white, but no such roses see I in her cheeks," Little Hardi pleaded as Revati climbed onto the penny farthing.

[aemonds-sapphire]

Moonbloom

Summary: Your daughter accompanies Aemond through the various stages of your pregnancy.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: Pure fluff. Dad Aemond.

A/N: Can be read as part 2 of Of Flowers & Dragons, but also as a stand-alone. Hope you enjoy it!

Word count: 1.5k

It had been decided the previous day with Aemond that you’d tell her today.

The maesters had advised against it in case something went wrong as it had only been a couple of moons, but after weeks of withholding such information, today felt like the appropriate day.

Besides, you were starting to show.

Thankfully, Aemond was around already spending time with your daughter in the Red Keep’s gardens.

Targaryens took to the skies on their dragons, but she insisted on having her hands in soil and dirt, bringing seeds to life.

You watched from the balcony as your daughter of six knelt on the floor, hands and silver hair covered in dirt as she tended to her pots of colourful flowers.

Aemond stood nearby, looking elegant as ever.

But as you paced down the stone steps towards them, it was made clear both of them were bickering in High Valyrian.

A smile formed on your lips from the exasperated look on his face.

It was to be expected, after all.

Two dragons with fiery tempers were bound to clash.

He suddenly removed the tie that held his hair back and lowered himself to eye-level with the young child, bringing her unruly strands into a high knot.

She huffed in annoyance, pushing his hands away. “Kepa!”

It filled you with nothing but joy to watch his face soften into an adoring smile.

Noticing your presence, she stuck out her tongue at him in a clear display of defiance and ran to you.

Her cheek was soon pressed to your belly, short arms enveloping you into a tight hug, a single cutting of Moonbloom tucked behind her ear.

“Muña!” she beamed, rubbing stains of dirt into your dress. “Look at my garden! Grandmother says it’s the prettiest in King’s Landing.”

You ran your hands along her head, tidying a few strands in place. “Queen Alicent is absolutely correct.”

Aemond joined you, planting a tender kiss to your forehead, his now loose hair tickling your face. “Do we tell her?”

She pouted. “Tell me what?”

He crouched at her side, bearing the faintest smile, but enough to send your stomach into a lurch. “You wanted a sibling—”

But before Aemond could carry on, your daughter broke into a deafening shriek, causing birds in nearby trees to take flight.

Her mouth was left hung open in sheer excitement as Aemond placed her tiny hand on your discreet bump.

Lilac eyes widened and locked with his. “You planted a seed in mother!”

Her high-pitched remark turned a few heads and you could immediately spot panic settling on his handsome face.

“Sīr eglie daor,” he said, lowering his own voice. “Not so loud, little one.”

But your daughter cared not for manners in that moment and brought both hands to your belly, glaring at it in confusion.

“When do I get to meet my sibling?”

“Not for a few moons,” you told her.

She planted a soft kiss atop your bump. “Do I have to water it?”

You chuckled. “It won’t be necessary.”

Aemond placed his own hand next to hers. “All you have to do is aid me in taking care of your mother so she can take care of your sibling.”

Pressing another kiss, she glared at him. “That is all?”

He nodded. “Are you up for this very important, challenging, and difficult task?” he said dramatically while narrowing his eye.

She balled one fist and raised it high, her face twisting into a defiant smile. “Yes!”

☾

Aemond came walking in, footsteps as light as feathers as he paced across the poorly lit bedchamber, carrying his daughter.

You propped yourself on an elbow to better take in the adoring sight of the young prince holding his daughter against his chest, her face resting on his shoulder as her arms dangled with each step.

“Maybe we should have waited,” you whispered as he came to sit at the edge of the bed.

He shook his head. “Dawn is breaking.”

She was still fast asleep, but you had made a promise to her and promises are to be kept.

Aemond made sure of that.

He tried lowering her to lay next to you, but she immediately clamped her arms around his neck, whining softly.

Silently, he loosened her grip and brought her down next to your prominent belly.

She whined once again from the sudden lack of warmth he had provided, but soon shifted to curl into you.

“Wake up…” you said, dragging the back of your hand across her cheek.

Aemond pushed your nightgown up to expose your skin to her touch. “Byka Zaldrīzes…”

Little dragon.

That term of endearment was reserved for special moments, so he had once told you.

This was one of those.

Slowly but surely, you daughter stirred from her sleep, rubbing both hands across her fluttering eyelids.

With a jaw-popping yawn she stretched herself into your belly and, through sleepy eyes, she glared at Aemond in confusion.

“The babe is kicking,” he said.

The effect of those words was immediate and she promptly placed both hands on your belly.

She had made you promise you would let her know when you felt the first kicks, but nothing could have prepared you for how endearing it was to witness your daughter glaring expectantly, dragging her tiny palms across the stretched skin.

The babe kicked harshly inside you and you saw her eyes widen. “I felt it!”

Aemond’s eye was on yours and the glare he offered you made your heart swell with adoration.

If someone had told you that a few years ago Aemond would have traded early morning sword practice for time with his family, you’d ask them not to be absurd.

He placed a large hand on her back, rubbing her gently as she dove into a monologue with her sibling.

“You are very impatient,” she whispered as if she hand suddenly entered a world that was only theirs. “Must be dark in there… but you’ll come out soon and I’ll even let you tend to my flowers.”

Aemond chuckled. “Even your precious moonbloom pots?”

She paused in contemplation.

“… yes,” she ended up saying. “But only after making sure they’d be left intact,” she concluded with a determined smile.

“No harm would come to your flowers, sweetling,” he said, placing his other hand on your hip, his thumb rubbing your skin absentmindedly. “Besides, Uncle Daeron would have more shipped from Oldtown if something were to happen.”

The babe rammed into you once again, startling your daughter. “Was I also like this?”

“Very much so,” he said. “You were bent on not letting your mother rest properly… and, by extension, me.”

Her face lightened up. “I will ask grandmother if you were the same way, kepa.”

A smile curled his lips and lit a fire in you.

☾

Your second labour went by much faster than your first one and, by the time you felt the babe’s pushing down, no guards or handmaids were able to contain your daughter from sneaking inside the busy chamber.

Aemond was at your side every step of the way and made no further effort at keeping the young Targaryen at bay.

Wide-eyed and in complete silence, she strode forward to stand by your side, gripping two flower crowns in her hand.

“Push, my lady,” the maester urged. “Push, push!”

You were fortunate to have your husband sitting behind you, holding you in place and silently being the source of strength you required to push through the final moments.

Through gritted teeth, you mustered the last remnants of vigour within you and tried your best to heed the maester’s words.

Sweat rolled down your face and with a final scream, you felt the pain down below ease and the pressure vanish.

“A boy!” the old man said as he wrapped the babe with cloths

You slumped into Aemond’s chest, breathing heavily as tears rushed from your eyes.

An angry cry tore through the room as the young dragon announced himself to the world around him.

“Do you wish for me to take her outside for a while, my prince?” one servant asked, gazing at your daughter.

“Leave her be,” you heard Aemond snarl as she looped one arm around yours, holding on tightly.

She bared her teeth dramatically, frowning deeply at the failed attempt to have her taken away from your side.

As soon as they managed to cut the cord, another handmaid brought the babe to your arms, turf of silver hair sticking to his tiny head.

Relief washed over you as you embraced your son near your flustered chest.

Thorough your hazy state of mind, you didn’t even notice your daughter was holding out one moonbloom flower crown to you.

She seemed hesitant… even tense.

“Thank you, my love…” you breathed out, allowing her to place it on your head. “Thank you…”

“Can I…”

Your eyes shot to her lilac ones as she pouted, holding yet another flower crown, but a much smaller one this time.

“Made it with kepa…”

Aemond planted a long kiss to the top of your head before taking the crying babe into his arms and lowering him just enough for her to peak through with a gasp.

“Ooooh…”

Surprisingly, the babe’s cries came to a sudden halt when she placed the crown on top of the cloth wrapped around him.

One handmaiden placed a damp rag to your forehead and you sighed as your daughter carefully ran teo fingers along his face.

“Do you think he’ll like me?”

Aemond pulled her close to him and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “He already does.”

[passivenovember]

Steve's never tried a weed brownie before.

Hasn't really wanted to, if he's honest, because the rag-weed shit he gets from Tommy all throughout high school is fine. Even though it's mostly shake and stems and seeds, and the bag Tommy puts it in always looks like it's been mauled by Scotty, his 15 year old schnauzer.

It has to be the same bag, Steve thinks, but maybe that's the 20 minute high talking.

So he's never tried a brownie.

But. Billy Hargrove comes into his life like a storm cloud. Black and gray with impending doom, snagging the air around him with little fish weights until everything is heavy. At first.

But. Then Steve makes him laugh once during a game of shirts and skins, and. It's like the belly of the thing has ripped open, y'know, and the streets of the thing flood with rainwater, and all that existed before is washed down some swallowing, insatiable gutter along with mulch and twigs and the shaky belief that Steve's straight.

They're friends and Steve watches Billy laugh and smile, feels all ten fingers against his chest when Billy shoves him, some sort of atomical reaction to Steve making him laugh, and.

Steve can't believe he ever thought Heaven was in Nancy Wheeler's pants.

--

So.

Billy Hargrove is the Earth after the flood, and the ark carrying everyone to safety. He's the animals inside and the God that sits, watching the world swallow itself.

He feeds things, to Steve.

Lines. You got a really pretty mouth, Harrington. You're smart, you know that? Not. Book smart, but street smart. Dirt road intelligent, I guess, in this shitty fuckin' Hickville hellscape--

Feeds Steve art. That's Samuel Baruch. He's my favorite. Look how he paints cloth, how he tracks the divets and the folds and the shadows. It's like a photo. It's like a window--

Steve makes Billy laugh when he says, "That lady kind of looks like you." Feels all ten fingers on his arm, pushing, when he says, "You'd look cute in a bonnet." Steve nearly falls over. Almost goes easy, but he doesn't.

Billy grabs him. Holds him as he smirks, "Where the fuck would I find a bonnet?"

Steve looks around the art hall, eyes wide and owlish, "Indiana?" He says, out there. In here. And.

Billy stares at him. He's the canvas and the lady in her bonnet, the divets and the folds and the shadows, the artist himself when he wets his thumb and sticks it in Steve's ear. "Dumbass," He says.

Steve finally gets everyone's thing about art.

He snaps a mental image of the afternoon and tries not to smother it in his hands.

--

So.

Steve. His eyes open, bit by bit. And what he finds is blinding. Like he fell asleep in the back of his mother's station wagon and awoke to the screaming light of high noon.

Billy's like the sun, longer Steve knows him. Storm clouds be damned.

Like. He talks about art. And he feeds lines and compliments for shits and giggles, never really noticing that Steve falls for it, a dumb catfish stuck on Billy's sharp, unforgiving hook.

He does all that but he smokes. Weed and cigarettes. He drinks.

He takes Steve to parties and says, "Ever try this before, Bambi?" But it's just Jack Daniels. But. Billy leaning with his elbow on the wall next to Steve's neck, close enough that he can smell Billy's sweat and cologne. He's smiling and his lips are cherry red, rio red, and.

He wants to roll in it.

So. He says, "No," Because, "I haven't."

It's the truth.

So Billy feeds it to him right out of the bottle. Makes him get on his knees. Slaps Steve's wrists away when he tries to hold the vessel himself, because.

Something's happening. Here. There.

Steve stares up at Billy through his eyelashes, trying not to go blind.

--

He blacks out and wakes up in the face of some bitch in a red bikini.

He's still drunk, so it takes him longer than it should to realize she's a poster tacked to somebody's, and he's not at home, and someone's snoring on the rug next to him.

Steve wiggles his toes. Fingers. Tries to remember what happened after Billy's hair caught the dining room lamplight but it's all a blur of sea stone eyes and bright white teeth and all ten fingers, rubbing at him while he threw up under the four way stop on Douglas Street.

Steve groans.

He rolls onto his side and tucks into himself and falls asleep, hoping Billy got home okay.

--

It's silver when a warm, flat palm shakes him alive. "You gotta go," Someone says, their voice rough like flannel bed sheets.

Steve blinks up, into the silver light, and sees Billy. Considers padding from the mattress to sleep inside of Billy's throat, where he'll be warm. It's a familiar urge. It's entirely new.

Steve aches. "What time--"

"--Just before five. My dad gets up early for work," Billy says, like that's supposed to mean castles are crumbing in their kingdom, but he's staring at something on Steve' face.

Really puts things into perspective, because maybe it's supposed to be an emergency. The first wisps of smoke from a forest fire, but Billy has bed head. And pillow lines on his face. And he's looking at Steve like there's something stuck in his throat.

Steve rubs at himself, trying to clear exhaustion and embarrassment. Really, just rubbing it into himself like lotion. "It's Saturday." He says.

"We're poor," Billy tells him, "My dad--"

"Where am I?"

Billy stares at him for a moment and then chuckles, shaking his head, "With me," He mutters.

Steve wants to curl into it like a cat.

--

He's rushed out of the room. He has to climb through the window while Billy keeps watch like a guard dog, and Steve lands on his ankle funny so it isn't until later when he's showered and hung over and falling onto his own mattress that he realizes Billy was in a panic.

That was Billy panicking, like Steve gets when his dad tells him to clean his room before he gets home from work, but Steve was full of concrete and wouldn't do it. Just like that, but worse.

Steve tosses and turns and tries to decipher what there was to be panicked about. Billy's room was clean.

Not just clean but spotless, like someone took a billow pad soaked in bleach and scrubbed every wall and baseboard until nothing remained except that bitch in her red bikini.

The only witness to Steve crawling out through an open window.

--

The more he thinks about it the more it feels like an episode of The Twilight Zone.

He combs through the memory of waking up in Billy's room. He tries to piece together hazy, half-baked image of beige carpet and the bookshelf and the little makeshift vanity that housed all of Billy's hair products.

Steve searches for a spot of the boy he knows. He calls Samuel Baruch's name and hears it shatter against empty, maroon-colored walls and the bikini girl's airbrushed rack.

He tries to envision a wayward sock, left out in the cold. A cup of water on the bedside table. Used tissues on the bedsheets.

Anything.

Steve blinks around his own room and wonders if clutter is a luxury only afforded to boys in houses paid by Monday through Friday workweeks.

He tries to imagine Billy in that room inside the house on Cherry Lane, happy, sleeping until noon in his own boyhood nest while his father gets ready for work.

It sits heavy in Steve's chest. A fairytale.

--

So.

Billy asks him during homeroom on Monday if he's ever had a weed brownie. Really, he scribbles it on a note and has Mary Sandoval stick it under Steve's elbow on her way to the bathroom.

Steve presses the note open on his desk until it's delicately wrinkled, mulling the question over in his mind. He spent the weekend driving himself crazy trying to come up with a reason to invite Billy over, a nook to slip into so he can ask the hard questions.

This could be it.

Steve peeks over his shoulder, flushing pink when Billy wags his tongue.

He has a black eye.

Steve snaps like a piece of rotted driftwood. He turns back to the note and scribbles no, but I'll try one if you have it. Has Mary take it back with her.

Figures. Billy should see his room. Steve should open his eyes.

--

"Why does it smell like that?"

"Like what, pretty boy?"

"Like. Gasoline."

Billy tilts his head back, laughter shooting like fireworks against Steve's ceiling, "It's just the dope. It's how it smells when you bake it into the--"

"--I don't like it."

"Why not?"

"I just think brownies are supposed to smell like chocolate," Steve says, handing the bag over with a wrinkled nose, "It's not a very appetizing smell."

"It's just weed."

"Weed smells gross, too."

"You don't like weed?"

"No, I just--"

"--We don't have to do the edibles if you don't want--"

"--I want to," Steve tells him. "Please." Instead of I'd do anything you asked me to. You're the influence my grandma warned me about. You're the lighter and the cigarette and the smoke in my lungs. Getting me high.

Billy nods, "Since you asked so nicely," and severs the baggy, tearing the first brownie in half.

"Woah," Steve says, embarrassed, "I know I've never had one before but I think I can do more than half."

"They're strong."

"I'm strong too," Steve says. When Billy blinks at him, confused, Steve flexes.

The noise Billy makes is like a duck getting run over by a clown car. It reverberates off the walls and Steve aches to stand and chase it. "You can always start out small and take more if you need to, hot rod."

Steve crosses his arms over his chest. "How strong are they?"

Billy shrugs, fiddling with the chewed plastic lip of the bag. "I kissed a boy on half," He says.

It's the first time since Billy came to town that he won't stretch to meet Steve's gaze.

Steve takes the bag from him and shoves the brownie into his mouth, coughing over the dry exterior.

"Easy, man, easy," Billy smacks him between the shoulder blades, grinning and rubbing his back once Steve swallows.

[heaartzzforcupidzz]

A/N: skyla again, guys! I’m probably posting too much for you all so I’ll stop for a day or two. this was a request from another writer.

“Let me worship you to.”

Relationship(s) : catnap x prototype!daughter!reader 🔞

warnings: smutt , violence

this was a request from @2faced-fairy .. hope you enjoy, love.

you came back to the factory exactly 12 years after the hour of joy. you were 14 when your mother found out the news that your father had mysteriously “vanished”. not too long before the hour of joy took place. you were now 26 going on 27 and still hadn’t found any clues or answers to your fathers’ disappearance.

you were in playtime co. this place looked like a dump. but.. it was very spacious. before long, you came across the mascot. you looked up at him and smiles. he was cute. very cute to a child you supposed. you began to walk around more and you heard something.. move? you turned around, fast. The big blue huggy was gone. you began to run as everything started to feel like it was watching you.

Eventually, you had killed(?) huggy wuggy and a claw picked up the deceased Mommy Long Legs. you had finally made it to the playcare when suddenly you felt a sharp scratch along your back. you gasped as you had looked back to see.. a big purple cat? You ran as fast as you could, closing and slamming doors behind you but that didn’t help much. As you were sure, he was about to finish you off. that claw that took mommy came down and shooed the cat off you before leaving… that was weird? you thought as you got up. you took a sharp breath as you felt the scar on your back, opening.

you looked around the place for anything, anything at all to stop the bleeding. you sighed and sat when you found nothing. more then likely, you’d die from bleeding out or a pretty nasty infection. you took a breath before you heard someone in the shadows. you got up and got ready to flee before the big purple cat came out with some bandages and alcohol. he looked.. different? he was in a different form. you remember your dad saying this was their “bigger body” form.

it was quite awkward as he healed your wounds, making sure to be careful. he took off your shirt to make sure to clean up every inch of the wound. he turned you around and looked at your face. he then thought to himself. ���so this is my saviors daughter?..’

before long, catnap was kissing against your skin, murmuring soft apologies. you quickly shook him off and told him it was fine, really. but he would take no for an answer. he came close and stared at you.

“Let me worship you to.”

you could only nod as he came closer, scared he would get violent if you didn’t oblige. he kissed your neck before he slipped his fingers in your pants. rubbing circles on your clit. you moaned and bucked into his hand, loving the feeling his fingers gave you. before long, he had you naked and on your back as he ate you out like you’d be his last meal. his long, sharp tongue reaching places unknown. you cried beneath him as you soon came on his tongue. he licked you all clean, making sure you were slick enough.

his cock was long. the tip swollen and an angry red shade. pre-cum leaking from the tip. wow, these toys were very.. human like you thought. you weren’t paying attention and catnap thrusted into you, harshly. you yelled in ecstasy and pleasure and a bit of pain as your legs wrapped around his waist. he angled his hips to your g-spot, letting you grip on his fur and moan in his ears.

he bit into the side of your neck, leaving his mark on you for the other toys to know who you belonged to he belonged to. you looked up at him, tears welling in yours eyes at the stimulation. catnap licking them off your cheeks as he rutted against you, cumming in your womb. the splutters of hot seed against your womb, enticing a orgasm outta you.

when his knot deflated, he pulled you off him. he cleaned you up abit before cuddling into you. purring as he listened to your soft snores.

[writingjourney]

forget // otto hightower // f!reader, 700 words, filth, piv, mild breeding, established marriage, MDNI 18+

You can tell by his posture just how tense he is – the way his hair is disheveled, no doubt by his frustrated fingers repeatedly pushing it back, his shoulders drawn up to his ears, the deep furrow of his brow. He stalks over to the table, reaching for the carafe of wine to pour himself a generous glass. For a moment he stares into the deep red liquid, then he downs it so fast that a drop rolls down his chin.

"The council meeting did not go well, I take it?" you ask, standing in front of him and wiping at the red stain in his beard.

"Fools," he says. "Each and every one of them."

You reach for his doublet, hand pressed flatly to his chest and his much larger one comes to rest on top of yours. His gaze soften when he takes you in, the very image of the Mother, a wife any man could only dream of with the wits to match his, the understanding behind your eyes so genuine that it is the only comfort that never feels hollow. Without you he surely would have lost his mind already.

"Hm, perhaps it is best not to dwell on it," you suggest, opening the buttons. "The hour is late and I have missed you, husband."

Before you can fully undress him his arm snakes around your waist and he roughly pulls you close, pressing you so tightly to his chest that the wind is squeezed from your lungs. You gasp and his mouth urgently covers yours, an insistent kiss in which he unloads all of his stowed up frustration.

"Have you, my girl?" He mouths at your neck, beard and teeth scraping over your skin in an intoxicating combination of pleasure and pain. "Perhaps you can help me forget, then."

He hoists you up onto the table, the remaining glasses clinking in their effort not to fall, and then he is already hiking up your skirts, fingers hot as they grope at your thighs. Otto Hightower is a man who does not hesitate to take what he wants and before you manage to properly undress him his fingers already push inside of you. You gasp and he swallows the sound with his mouth, eagerly kissing you as he lures even more sweet whimpers from between your lips.

"So eager," he chides, removing his fingers from your cunt to push firmer against you, placing himself between your legs that you promptly wrap around his waist. "Have you been waiting for this as well, sweet girl?"

You nod and his fingers tangle in your pinned-up hair, pulling until your whole neck is revealed to him. You are not sure when exactly he frees himself from his constraints but when you suddenly feel his cock pressing against your entrance you give a surprised squeal. Otto chuckles against the soft skin that covers your jugular, his tongue leaving a trail up to your chin as he kisses and sucks at his leisure.

"Perhaps I must instruct the council members to vex you even more, my husband, if it entices you to have me every night," you whisper.

His reply is a firm thrust that makes you cling to his shoulders, the whole table shaking underneath you. You sigh at the welcome stretch, at the feeling of finally being filled by the man who fills your thoughts day and night.

"Oh my love, they are very capable of doing so without your instructions. And besides," he says between strained breaths, "no one vexes quite me like you do."

You smile and he sets a steady but rough pace, his pants and soft moans tickling your ears with every quake of the table underneath you. It is always special when you get to have him like this, unrestrained, pent-up, willing to use you without clinging to his distinct sense of propriety. When you clench around him a moment later he spills inside of you, pushing the evidence deeper into your cunt with a few more sloppy thrusts.

"A bath, my darling?" he eventually asks, reluctantly removing himself, sweat clinging to his brow and breathing still laboured.

You feel his seed dripping onto the wooden tabletop and nod. "A bath sounds delightful, my love."

short fic collection

[biteofcherry]

Sweet and stained

Sweet and stained

soft dark Nick Fowler x female reader

a Hades/Persephone inspired AU set in modern times, with an implied mafia background

summary: You live in the sun and blooms, under your mother's protective wing (or is it cage?). When Nick Fowler strolls into your life, he brings a wave of thrilling fresh with the darkness that follows him.

warnings: soft!dark Nick Fowler; sort of dub-con; kidnapping; manipulation; light corruption kink; mentioned breeding kink; a bit of smutty scenes included;

Author's Note: This is a trope that won the poll for my birthday celebration story. Honestly, the way I imagined this fic at first is completely different from how it turned out. Less sharp than my usual style and more of a gloomy, start-of-the-autumn poetics. Still, I hope you'll enjoy!

You never knew black could shimmer so brilliantly, even though you saw its various shades in petals of unique flowers. The night sky’s ink was dotted with sparkling dust, too, after all. Yet it was only now that you noticed the luminosity of dark, as your head tilted back on the softest pillows and your gaze roamed the supple garlands of the black canopy.

Dark interior, which scared you the first time you took a step inside, now engulfed you in heady warmth. Like a sip of spicy hot chocolate, so rich and thick it coats your tongue and fills your belly with a bitter bite to its general sweetness.

There’s more spice than sweetness to your captor, but you began realizing he remained the only one to treat you with softness. As if he truly cared.

Perhaps he did? 

Maybe the charm and patience he showed you at the beginning were as true as the ruthless possessiveness with which he bound you to him. 

You had years to find that out. Decades at his side, to unravel the scary mystery that was Nick Fowler.

Your husband.

His face above you, as he sat beside your sweaty, spent body, shone a serene glow. His eyes a shade of clear lake, with monsters luring in the depths. 

You still feared him, but Nick gave you enough proof that he wouldn’t hurt you. 

Even if his plan for you was weaved out of nefarious intentions. 

He set aside the glass of water which he brought to your lips a moment ago, soothing your throat that dried out from how much you screamed for him. 

It’s for the best that you couldn’t speak at the moment, your breath still ragged; since you didn’t know what you’d say to him after all the debauched things he did to you. Post sex pillow talk was never your forte, but it was even more awkward after willingly spreading your legs for a man who ripped you from your life as one plucked a flower from the ground.  

Silently, you watched Nick once again pick a crystal bowl from the nightstand, a shiny barrow of pomegranate seeds peeking above the rim. 

He devoured some moments before he indulged in your dripping pussy.  

Seeds glistened ruby richness on Nick’s fingers as he brought them to your lips; his own mouth stained with the juice. He left traces of the red sweetness on your thighs and mound, mixing pomegranate flavor with your combined spend. 

Your lips wrapped around his digits as he spilled fruity grains on your tongue. One of your hands rested on your belly, just below your navel. 

Nick has repeatedly filled you with seeds that night, not only those of a pomegranate. 

It made you tremble. His intent was clear; not only shown in relentless, deep thrusts, but dark and dirty words whispered into your ear. 

Your body shouldn’t react so eagerly to his plans, arching and spasming in whorish acceptance as he ordered you to take it; as he fucked you through one climax into another, telling you of his heir swelling in your womb. 

Disgust should have filled you, instead of arousal. Because as much as you believed Nick was going to dote on you, his owning of your body in every sense was driven by revenge. 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

With the wide rim of the sunhat on your head limiting your view and your focus on the pots dancing away from you (the wind that day was wickedly playful, knocking over the smaller pots every time you righted them), you weren’t paying much attention to your surroundings. 

People walked past, some gleefully talking about plants, others arguing on what was or wasn’t needed in their garden. On a sunny day like that, Demeter Gardens had as many customers as a fun fair on weekends. 

The staff was really busy on days like this, doubling their efforts, because it was usually when your mother chose to grace the place with her radiant presence - radiant to the customers, an absolute harpy to her workers. 

There were many traits you admired about your mother. The most inspiring was the fact she was a barely out of teens single mother who managed to raise you and start a business that flourished into a state known brand. 

She had her faults, too. Like the high expectations and harsh tongue when someone didn’t meet her standards.

It went both for her employees and her daughter. 

Working with plants soothed you, so at least your future as the heiress to the empire your mother wanted you to take over didn’t look as grim. Even if some evenings you cried into a pillow, because it wasn’t what you dreamt of at all.

Growing under her wing, you didn’t get much of a chance to explore what exactly you could dream of, what called out to you, but you simply knew that running a gardening business wasn’t it. 

You never dared to tell your mother that. Enough times have you suffered her cruel words, snide remarks regarding anything that strayed even a step away from her grand plans. Demeter had ambition rivaling many moguls and she poured it onto you as well. The only praise you got was when you won any sort of competition, or mentioned business plans. 

Your mother may have only spiteful words to say about your absent father, but she possessed the same self-centered core as him. Rotten and unkind. 

How plants flourished under her hands, you had no idea. 

Though she didn’t spend much time with them anymore, leaving it to people who really liked working with plants. You liked the peace and quiet it offered, which is why you spent almost every day at the gardening center. 

“Excuse me?” A smooth male voice startled you.

Not only with how sudden and close it was, but also because it was so unusual in a place mostly filled with cheery, loudly speaking families or couples. 

You turned your head, pulling the rim of your sunhat up with your dirty fingers, so you could see the person better. 

Your gaze met a pair of blue eyes, with a silvery gray swirl in them, that chilled you like an autumn rain pattering on your skin. A shadow of stubble along a chiseled jaw, which would feel under your fingertips like frosty needles of the first hoarse coating November leaves. Subtle, pink lips curved in a smile, but its charm didn’t fully cover the sharp threat of teeth that could sink in ‘till blood spilled like in spooky nightmares of autumnal season.

This man looked like the stillness of dying nature, engulfed in fog and chilling to the bones. A dark spirit amongst the lush greenery and blooming life that stretched all around. 

And yet he was more beautiful than any man you ever laid eyes on. 

“Yes?” You swallowed nervously, mostly to wet your suddenly dry throat. “Can I help you?”

“I’m sure you can,” he said softly, his voice a brush of cool silk. 

“See, I usually hire garden designers to take care of any greenery around my business buildings, but the one at my actual home? I wanted to work on it myself.”

“Understandable.” You smiled at him. “Having your own garden is a personal thing. Working on it helps you connect with the place that will be your oasis.”

“The problem is, I quickly realized I have zero idea what I’m doing. But I’m a stubborn bastard, who’s still adamant on chasing what he set his eyes on.” He sighed dramatically, making you laugh.

“Anyway-” he shook his head- “I’m Nick. Please, help me out?” 

You gave him your name, taking his hand when he outstretched it. His fingers were calloused, though it’s the cool brush of metal of his rings that sent tiny spikes of sensation through you. 

“What exactly do you need my help with, Nick?” You took off your sunhat and squinted slightly as the sunlight soaked your vision. 

“My tastes are… unique.” You knew he spoke about aesthetic preferences, but couldn’t help hearing the double meaning behind it. Especially with the sensual flick of his tongue over his bottom lip.

“I’m mostly out the whole day,” Nick continued explaining, “coming home only in the evening. Which is when I wish to spend most time in the garden. To relax and enjoy its secret beauty.”

“You want night bloomers.” You guessed, grinning ear to ear.

Flowers blooming in the evening and through the night were one of your favorites. There was something about them that called out to you. Perhaps the fact they were overlooked under the radiant sun, hiding their secret beauty to flourish in shadows, when no one could judge them. 

There was also the aura of mystery about them, pairing so well with your fondness for gloomy and gothic stories. 

“See? I knew I was asking the right person for help.” Nick mirrored your smile; his made you a little weak in the knees. 

“You have to get the Moonflower, of course.” You moved and gestured for Nick to follow you, as you led him to the far end of the center. 

“I have to?” Nick chuckled, matching your step to walk beside you rather than behind you. 

Shoulder to shoulder with him, you suddenly realized he was taller than at first sight. Much warmer than what his dark aura suggested, too. And his scent was a toe-curling reminder of spicy mulled wine sipped by the fireplace.

“Yes!” You nodded, brushing your fingertips along the plants you passed on your way. “Moonflower is my favorite. It’s similar to the morning glory. You won’t see its full beauty now, but I assure you it never disappoints.”

When you finally reached the corner with potted plants - from smallest to those quite grown already - Nick bent over to examine it closely. He gently trailed the heart-shaped leaves, then plucked the yellow card attached to one of the thin stems. 

“Moonflower, or moon vine,” he read aloud, “is a night-blooming morning glory that opens in the evening and stays full until morning.”

Nick straightened and turned to you, gaze slowly dragging up your body. When his eyes met yours, there was a glint of something cold and dangerous in them. As if for a split of a second you saw a flash of instrumental triumph.

“Opens in the evening and stays full until morning,” he repeated the words, his voice dropping an octave and filling your belly with unexpected heat. “I like it already.” 

“Uh, well-” you squeezed the rim of the sunhat in your grasp- “Yes, see, I told you. You’ll like it even more when it blooms in your garden.”

“I know I will.” Nick affirmed solemnly. 

Something about his gaze, or perhaps it was the set of his jaw, quickened your pulse with a warning that his intent was more than just a harmless flirting. There was this tinge of danger about him, fizzing on the tip of your tongue with a spicy aftertaste. 

If you licked his skin, the cold darkness may swallow you, but everything inside you would set aflame. 

Apprehension tingled inside your chest, like wind chimes’ pearly tune that lured with their woeful longing. Reason whispered to take a step back, but feet moved forward on their own, drawn to the inner flame that may as well be straight from hell. 

It was hard to break eye contact with Nick, but you feared if you didn’t look away he’d mesmerize you into selling your soul. And your body. Body which awoke with yearning to have his fingertips trail along your skin the same way he touched the plants.

Somehow you managed to turn away. The sun’s warmth returned to your cheeks, caressing your face with soothing lightness the second you stepped away from Nick’s gloomy aura.

“You should also get night blooming Jasmine. It smells so sweet.” You rambled about plants, clutching onto the topic like it was a lifebuoy keeping you afloat from sinking into fascinating, but scary depths that were Nick’s eyes. 

“And Angel’s Trumpets!” With your presentation, excitement returned. 

You were helping create something personal, something so very unique. However Nick chose to use your advice, you had a blissful sense of creating something yourself. A garden that may as well be yours, since it catered to your aesthetic and needs as well. 

Nick ordered so many of the plants you listed that not only did you run out of stock, but had to set up a delivery from another center. You weren’t sure how big Nick’s garden was, but considering the amount of plants it had to be a king-sized land. 

The thought of roaming it in the late evening, with dusk hiding hues of purple and gold in a shroud of ink black, and moonlit petals opening up for the life of creatures of the night; it made your heart yearn.

You’d love to wander through that garden. 

For someone who ran a gardening empire, your mother kept you both locked in a metal and glass skyscraper, in a two-floor penthouse with (amazing, but contained) view of the city. 

It was a cage. 

As you watched Nick walk away after he paid in advance for the order, though he took with him some chilling sense of danger, you envied his freedom to simply walk away from the sun and the blooms. 

Many would be jealous of you, you were aware of that. Living among lush greenery and constant sun seemed wonderful. It was to an extent. But this pristine, spring and summer only land, didn’t allow difference. There was no real room for unusual, dark undertones of wicked hearts that would love to have wild mushrooms spread over their lawn instead of snobby hydrangeas. 

When a cooling cloud shielded you from the scorching sun, coming along with Nick as he returned the next week, you felt like breathing freely for the first time since he walked away. 

This time he asked for fruit trees which he wanted to scatter among other types. The idea immediately struck you as unique, making your heart jump. 

Most of the time people divided their gardens - strict lines and areas for vegetables, separating them from decorative flowers. Mixing them up seemed chaotic, but so wonderful. What a surprise to walk through gemstone garlands of wisteria to find juicy peaches at arm’s reach. Or to tread through ferns and moonflowers to discover gooseberry bushes hidden amongst them. 

When Nick came on a third week, your excitement at his presence and news of his garden overpowered any sense of reason that kept you at a certain distance with him. 

And when he mentioned that keeping a routine and being at the center on the same day, same hour every week could be dangerous. 

“Someone could watch you, learn your schedule and plan how to steal you, Moonflower.” 

Having Nick call you Moonflower - the word rolling out on his tongue in a hum of wind, chilling to the bone, but igniting that deep-soul yearning - stirred feelings that overpowered the warning. 

Or maybe you started living for that rush of thrill Nick’s shadow elicited. The only spot of darkness allowed in your life. Enriching it thus. 

Still, fear resurfaced with tentacles of cold wrapping around you and plucking you from the sunny spot in broad daylight as you trotted to work the week after. On the same day as usual, with a bounce to your step as thirst for Nick’s brand of addictive flavor parched your throat. 

The car was black; a polished, obsidian arrowhead spearing the sheet of morning light. The engine’s sound more the growl of a prowling beast than the roar of an unhinged monster. 

Despite the speed, it stopped gracefully at the curb, cutting off your route. Nick’s silhouette stunned you as he exited the car; the blue-green depth of his eyes darker than when he walked along with you through blooming alleys. 

A smile didn’t have a chance to spread on your lips when his hand covered your mouth, the other arm wrapping around you. 

You screamed when he dragged you inside the car, but calloused fingers stifled the sound effectively. Wet tinkle of your cries reverberated against the metal of the rings adorning Nick’s fingers. 

Pleading eyes, so full of unanswered questions and fear, didn’t cut through the veil of composure. One had no chance begging their life out of death’s grip and Nick’s hold on you was a finality set in stone, as if the grim reaper came to harvest your soul to lead it to undying gardens for the rest of eternity. 

“No need for tears, Moonflower.” Nick took his hand from your mouth as the car sped away.

His touch traveled down your shaking arm, harsh fingers delivering surprisingly comforting caress. He took your hand in his and brough your palm to his mouth, kissing softly each knuckle. 

“I’ll make you a queen and treat you as such. No harm will ever be done to you.” 

“You kidnapped me,” you pointed out, voice quiet and quivering, though you bravely held his gaze. “That’s quite harmful.” 

“It’s only a means to avoid meddling of forces that would otherwise keep you away from me.” Nick rested his head back against the seat. “From what I found out about you, they’ve quashed you enough.”

“You know nothing about me, or my life!” You huffed, squirming back into the corner, your back against the side door.

You were never a physical fighter and Nick made no move to grip or hurt you other than pulling you into the car, so you didn’t attack him. You also doubted you had much of a chance of earning anything beside exhaustion and bruises. 

It was pitiful to admit, but you never fought anything or anyone beside the dragons in your head. The rebellion and storm were caged within your chest, mind full of words you wanted to scream at your mother, your father, the whole world. But you never did it. Never felt secure enough in your strength to cut those ties. 

“I know you’re dedicated and smart, finished on top of your class, gaining a degree that you never wanted to have in the first place.” Nick replied calmly.

His unperturbed composure was as much soothing as resonating with your usual behavior. Though you sensed that his limits weren’t pushable. If it came to it, his retaliation to being crossed would be severe. Lethal even. 

You envied that power. 

You wanted that power.

“You have passion for creativity and you are a fucking brilliant survivor.” Those words were spoken with admiration; a brilliant foam lighting up the sea storm of Nick’s irises. 

“You don’t love gardening as a business. I doubt you’re even interested in actual gardening work. But you see and love plants, their uniqueness, the details of them. You like their beauty, even the unusual ones. You’re an artist, Moonflower.”

Your heart burst with an intermixture of colorful emotion - a hail of fireworks against the black depth that is your caged life. 

“Artists should never be shackled into expectations.” 

“Yet you took me, because you expect something from it,” you retorted bitterly. 

“I expect nothing beyond you being by my side.” Nick’s fingers circled one of your wrists, thumb pressing against your pulse. “And strengthening the power of my empire.” 

“And how am I supposed to do that?” There was nothing of value that you could give him. Did he hope for a dowry and connections from your father? 

“Just by being with me.” He shifted, crowding you against your little safety corner. “Coming home to you would sweeten every hard day, knowing that I ripped something most precious from the one who took everything from my family.”

Comforting spices of his scent conflicted with the shadows he shrouded you in, painting a picture of a fairy tale that’s twisted enough that it shouldn’t be enjoyable. Yet struggling against the thorny veins of Nick’s plan seemed to have the opposite effect, pushing you further into forests of unknown thrills. 

“So I’m a vengeance plan?” You’d prefer it if your voice didn’t betray the disappointment, but it was too late to take back that undertone now. 

“Vengeance doesn’t mean burning the world down. That’s too simple and holds no ongoing effect.” Nick’s mouth curved in a scythe of dangerously alluring smirk, his eyes darkening. “Phoenixes rise from the ashes of burnt kingdoms. I rose from it.”

“My type of vengeance is to flourish on the fertile fields of my enemy’s broken ambitions.”

You believed Nick’s every word - that he had the resilience and endurance to build himself from whatever ruin his opponents left him with. It honed him, like hell fire does an indestructible blade. 

Many would use that lethal edge to cut the throats of all enemies. But Nick’s revenge wasn’t to bring short term pain and wipe out the others, he wanted them to drown in their suffering, to stretch it out plucking petal after petal of their lush empires. 

“You, Moonflower-” he skimmed his fingers along your arm and up the column of your throat- “are my prosperity. My core to thrive.”

“Binding you to me and allowing you to bloom into a woman you always wished to be, whatever form that may take,” Nick loosely curled his fingers around your neck, “will make me happy for I know you’re a brilliant gem. But I won’t hide that it will also crush the rotten heart of my enemy.”

“Seeing you at my side, growing along me and with me-” something about that particular choice of words unfurled heat in your core, like the time he mentioned flowers staying full-

“-will keep the flame of anger and pain consuming her daily.”

“Her?” you suddenly blinked, moving your legs slightly to alleviate the pressure that uncomfortably grazed your folds. 

“My mother?” You stared at Nick in bewilderment. “She’s your enemy?” 

Nick chuckled, though you weren’t sure if it was at your astonishment or the squirmy movement of your body which he noticed. He leaned closer still, knees brushing against yours. Where the fabric of your summer dress rolled up on your thighs, the fine fabric of his suit pants grazed your skin. 

“Your mother may present herself as the survivor against all odds and she is very determined, I’ll give her that. She also became heartless in her need to improve her life and show the world she doesn’t need help, ripping the fortune of others to build herself.” 

“She stole from you?” There wasn’t much shock in your response. After all, you knew the backstage face of the gardening queen; the truth behind the sunny smile of the nature-loving new age goddess. 

“From my family.” Nick gritted his teeth at the mention. “They took her pregnant under their roof, taught her family secrets of maintaining lush flowers. I was barely four when you were growing in her belly, but I remember her always slapping my hand away when I wanted to touch it, to feel a tiny baby miracle kicking.”

He didn’t say it, but you began to understand the part of possessiveness. The touch he didn’t withdraw an inch once he was able to reach for you freely. Something he was denied, now he ripped it away for himself. 

“First she stole the knowledge, then farms and fields.” Nick continued, his voice heavy with ice cold anger. “Came with fancy lawyers and bulldozers, chasing my family away from the scrap of land and the mounds of soil that my grandparents brought from Romania.”

You remembered one time your mother mentioned something about the secret being in the soil, a harpy reflection to her smile when she did. 

“My mother’s heart couldn’t take it. My father fled to Romania, finding the only solace in a small square of land where he grew a new hybrid of flowers. Named it after my mother.” 

Nick paused for a moment, his eyes boring into yours. A few breaths and the rage surpassed, leaving the lull of oceanic waves in his eyes. They rocked you as you held his gaze; your body attuning to the pulse of crackling fireplace on a dead cold autumn night that was Nick’s aura. 

“I’m not a gardener myself,” Nick shrugged, easing his free hand up your leg. “But I know how to plow through hard and high grounds. I’ve made myself a different kind of empire, though I always remained respectful of nature and plants, as my parents did.” 

You didn’t even feel him grip you any harder, yet somehow Nick managed to switch your positions in a blink of an eye - pulling you onto his lap. 

One of his hands remained at your throat, thumb gently stroking up and down along your pulsing vein. 

“You’ll be my queen. You’ll give me heirs.” It wasn’t a proposition, but a declaration of decision set in stone. “I’ll give you the freedom and power you so desperately crave.”

“What do you know of my cravings?” You hoped to challenge his confidence, to fight against the tendrils of magnetic pull that weaved around your limbs. 

“I know you turned my way like a plant does seeking the sun,” Nick’s hand slid beneath your dress. “Keeping so close, coming even closer each time, like an addict hopes to lick a single fleck of whatever gets him high.” 

Cool rings pressed into your skin, spiking your heart rate into a paradoxical pasodoble between desire and trepidation. Just like the nights you used your own fingers to the image of Nick fucking you in the night garden. 

“I know each time you thought I was coming to visit, you wore a shorter dress.” His fingers on your thigh inched further up. “This one today? If I met you inside the gardening center and you’d bend over to show me moss arrangements, I’d get a peek of your ass.” 

He did get that peek. 

When he bent you over his bed that night. After having you sign your name on all the legally (illegally too, undoubtedly) binding documents as a paid, stoic-faced registrar officiated your wedding. The ink was deep red, as blood that one spills for the devil. 

Red was also the wine Nick brought to your lips in a crystal glass. The rich, thick taste of it was a bland mist compared to the burning magma of Nick’s lips against yours, molting away the taste of your previous life as he sealed your contract. 

One hand on the nape of your neck, holding you in place as he fed you his sinful tongue, the other buried beneath your sundress. Firm, relentless fingers eliciting tangy, warm rain from between your thighs; watering the soil of the garden filled with plants that you picked. That you loved and Nick provided for you. 

He made you mark the land as yours, as he marked you as his. Your voice an enchanted cry of spell that was Nick’s name. 

Then he took you to the bedroom - the heart of the underworld kingdom. 

Though the dark interior sent a ripple of unease down your spine at first; it was like stepping into a cold, mountain stream after days of hiking in blinding sun. Then the jewel undertones of onyx and cuprite engulfed you. Shimmering black curtains of the canopy parted its wings for you, as Nick led you to the bed. 

You never strayed from dirt, but it only stained your hands and clothes as you worked with soil. The dirt spilling from Nick’s mouth as he took you seemed to twist your body into inhuman arches of pleasure, reshaping your mind so it became greedy for the sizzling impulses his filthy words elicited.

Tightest cunt.

Delicious hole. 

Breedable pussy.

Mine.

Tears trickled down your cheeks - a salty passage from a girly life of obedient silence into empowered if dark womanhood. Briny dew altered into shy sweetness as your moans stretched, tears turning into those of overwhelming pleasure. 

Nick showered you with it. With his tongue and fingers; with his cock that filled you with girth and the precious spent he cursed to take root in your womb. 

He led you like a queen, just like he promised, once you were able to stand on your trembling legs after hours of being both worshiped and owned. A silk robe in a color of a red so dark it might as well be woven from arterial blood floated around your frame as Nick took you into the garden. 

His fingers intertwined with yours. His pace adjusted to yours, not once rushing or slowing you down. 

Focused on admiring the beauty of silvery moonflowers and creamy bells of Angel’s Trumpets, you didn’t notice Nick’s eyes were only on you. 

[mariaxxxxx]

Gods fall sometimes (+18)

Summary: Summary: K'uk'ulkan for You to give him a baby (+18)

Warnings: 18+ ONLY/ Minors DNI, Angust, Hurt comfort, Sex, Apologies, Crying, Creampie, Passionate sex, size difference, smut, soft!dom!, HEA, good ending, slight degradation, pregnancy, unprotected sex (don't do that wrap this thing), kidnapping, aftercare, curse words

A/N: A sequel, or not, to Dragon Fruit. I feel like the reader and K'uk'ulkan have a lot to tell about the baby.

A/N: English is not my mother tongue. I apologize for any errors.

PART 1

You woke up at your usual time in the morning. A young maid came to the hammock and gently woke him up. Rested, you sat in the hammock, watching the cabin. It was already daytime, you assumed the sun wasn't present in that cave meters below the sea. So, the room was cold, indicating the presence of salt water around the stones. You stretched, passing your hand over the hammock, something you had become accustomed to doing.

He wasn't there, in fact, he never was. Her husband always slept next to her, but they never woke up together. K'uk'ulkan always woke up early and left the room, leaving her alone to rest. A habitation that You were already accustomed to. Even though, after years of marriage, he was still in the hammock while You woke up, it didn't take long, and he soon returned to Talokan.

You understood. I couldn't stay mad at him. Her husband had ruled for centuries alone, and taciturn habits were hard to shake. Although her days were lonely, her husband made the nights warm. Attempts to make a baby were fun, but fruitless so far. You thought you conceived a baby the day your husband made you pray for him, but the Gods gave you no such gift. The red spot between his legs the following month was enough to make him give up trying.

The Gods, not even K'uk'ulkan, were willing to make you a mother. If not even the divine was able to make you conceive, you thought that an infusion with dragon seeds wouldn't do it either, so you chose to leave it aside. You hadn't talked to your husband about giving up on him, you just continued to let him devour you during the night and cum while he whispered in your ear how beautiful you would look pregnant.

You shook your head to get the bad thoughts out of your mind. He got up from the hammock, noticing for the first time, a box on a small table. A box wrapped in jade green paper. Feeling attracted to that object, and as she approached, she captured a small paper containing the drawing of a celestial goddess generating life in her womb. A faint smile formed on her lips as she noticed her husband's enthusiasm in conceiving a child.

You ripped open the wrapping and opened the wooden box, taking out what appeared to be hair ornaments shaped like your crossed serpents encrusted in gold and jade stone. You smiled a sincere and charming smile. You loved getting jewelry and your husband knew it

“Beautiful, my queen.” Exclaimed the young maid. You hadn't noticed that she was still in the room. “Like the serpents in the hair that adorn the goddess Ixchel.”

“Oh.” You exclaimed in surprise. Only then did he realize that they really resembled the snakes in the hair of the statue of the Goddess Ixchel.

You underestimated your husband, as you always had, he knew you like the back of his hand. It was a not-so-subtle warning that he would continue to try to get her pregnant. He saw her as the goddess of love and the moon herself, this only revealed her adoration before You. Her hands felt for her hair ornament while her mind thought about how You could put an end to her anguish. Then an idea popped into his mind; an idea that could please or upset the gods. It will be her last attempt at conception, if it doesn't work, you will accept that the Gods were not willing to give you the gift of pregnancy. Determined, you turned to the young handmaid and said:

“Cancel all my commitments as queen. Then help me with something

(….)

You were on your knees in the soft reeds waiting for him. As K'uk'ulkan slipped through the curtain, wet from head to toe and richly adorned in gold, he froze at the sight of her figure sitting on her knees in the reeds. With the outfit, or almost none of it, more erotic than he had ever seen. He left him speechless and his cock hardened just by the sight. You looked like the Goddess of the moon herself. With her breasts uncovered, a huge black pearl necklace around her neck, a thin transparent petticoat that covered her intimacy, her perfectly styled hair held back by the hair ornament received in the morning.

 K'uk'ulkan didn't say a word or make a sound, like he could have. He just allowed himself to enjoy the most beautiful sight. It was You who dared to break the silence.

“My devotee.” You exclaimed in a low voice. “Tell me what You want.”

K'uk'ulkan laughs, realizing his joke and approving the idea. Would it be a challenge? Yes. He would do everything to please the young God who lived in his bed. For You, K'uk'ulkan would bend the knee.

“Ah, my beautiful goddess.” He murmurs, approaching the reed. He placed his knees on the soft padding, getting close to You. “Can I eat You, my Goddess? Put my seed in your blessed body?”

You lick your lips, push your knees up until your lips are close to his.

"Perhaps." You whisper. “Show me how much you want this. Show me how much you want me.”

Before you can react, he reaches out to tilt his cheek and presses his mouth against yours to begin a familiar dance between tongues. You kissed those lips several times, infinite times and it would never be enough. No amount of touching would be enough to satiate her love for this man.

You move away a little to breathe, resting your forehead against his and stroking his nose affectionately.

“Last time, my love.” You say. “If tonight we don’t conceive, know that it will be the last time we try.”

“Don’t say that” he says with a slight tone of sadness in his voice. “We will try as many times as necessary until my seed takes root in your womb.”

You wanted to argue and say how much the failed attempts destroyed you inside. She wanted to tell of the times she cried in secret during each new cycle of the new moon without a child in her arms to thank the goddess. But you didn't say it, you just withdrew that feeling to the bottom of your heart and kissed him again.

This time the kiss became more urgent as a silent promise of comfort and burning desire. He wraps his arms around your waist, until you're sitting on his lap. You snuggle onto his hardened cock, moving your hips just the way he liked it. K'uk'ulkan's desire rose like the rising tide before the full moon.

"Part." You murmur into his kiss. “Ask me. Offer me everything.”

"Yes." He says over moans. “My beautiful goddess. I guarantee that my offering will be satisfactory.”

"Hmm." You lick his lips.

Your husband takes a deep breath as his fingers curl around your hips propelling your movements, his lips pursed awaiting more of your kisses. You put your hands on his chest and push him so he lays down on the soft pillows. It was his turn to be in charge. He tries to get up to pull you to yes, but you push him away again, remaining firmly seated on his covered cock.

You lean in and start placing small kisses on his lips, which go down to his chin and neck. Before you know it, he distributes kisses and nibbles over his toned chest. With an expert touch, you pull the fabric of the shorts down. Her mouth salivates and her pussy tightens at the sight of his hardened cock.

“Oh, is this my offering?” You question, your voice full of desire. “I’m not sure it will be enough to satisfy me.”

You notice your husband's fingers gripping the sheets tightly as you wrap your hand around his cock and massage the damp head with your thumb.

“I guarantee that will be more than enough, my goddess.” He grits his teeth as he groans when You squeeze his dick tightly, just the way he liked it.

“I will taste my offering then.”

Sue husband sighs loudly as her fingers curl around him and her lips close over the weeping purple head. Even with little provocation, her pussy fills with excitement at having the salty taste of his seed on her tongue again. You start by kissing the tip, brushing your lips, then continue to tease him with brief sucks and nibbles, listening to your husband's cry for more contact.

"Do not tease me." He orders through his teeth.

"Silence." You exclaim. “I need to check if this offering is up to me.”

K'uk'ulkan rolls his eyes and moans loudly when You take him almost entirely down his throat. His mouth works well, extracting every drop of your salty essence. Her husband Sue pushes her hips up trying to make her swallow more, alternating between provocative sucks and playful licks on the sensitive skin. You keep him in a state of pure pleasure and he growls loudly at the audacity provoked. You were the only mortal who could have a god like him, so weak in the knees, panting like a whore. Her mouth opens wider, pushing herself beyond the limits of paradise, as if she wants to ascend to the divine status her husband has placed her in. You completely swallow it deeper into your throat. Even as his eyes water from the task, you lower yourself onto his cock until your own nose brushes the black hairs of his crotch and his purple head reaches the back of your throat. Your husband gasps as he feels the outline of his cock in his throat, a sight that makes him almost tear the sheets.

"My Goddess." He murmurs between moans and sighs. “Let me spill my seed inside You.”

You take it out of your mouth but wrap your hand around it to continue massaging. Making the provocation even more torturous.

“My worshiper” You tease with a quick movement of your hands, “What do you offer before me?”

"All. I offer everything. My body, my spirit, my nation. Just let me spill my seed into your pussy so that life will be nourished.”

You line yourself up, with your knees around him, to straddle him. Your hand guides the stiff, weeping cock into your wet pussy. You moan loudly as you feel him enter all the way in, your walls welcoming him with sacred heat and divine adoration. Now, no teasing or games. It was time to conceive the much-desired baby.

His cock sinks deep inside her pussy caressing every sensitive spot on her walls. Your hips gain momentum to ride him; rolling and jumping to extract all the lust.

"How many?" You question breathlessly without missing a beat. “How many babies do you want, devotee? Tell me and I will give them.”

“One, two, three...all of them, my goddess. Give me them all”

Your belly contracted with an indication of the approaching orgasm, but You refused to finish before it, as tonight would squeeze out every drop of your seed. K'uk'ulkan lifted his hips to meet his thrust, making it even harder to keep the ecstasy away. Her husband seemed not too far away from his own orgasm, to bring him even further to the brink of pleasure. You made circular movements with your hips as you bounced on his dick.

“Spill your seed!” You demand with the tides of your own release rising within your body, “I'm close, so close…”

Your pussy clenches around him, sobbing his name as you reach your orgasm. The rhythmic spasms of your walls dragging you to the edge along with it. K'uk'ulkan moans with his head against the pillow, his hips stutter briefly, but he continues to pump his seed deep inside her pussy. He holds her hips to keep her trapped and only lets go when all his cum has been emptied. You held in place feeling his penis soften inside You. His breathing was still labored, his head was spinning and his ears were ringing with the powerful orgasm given to You by the divine.

You got off of him, leaving his softened penis lying on his left side. She lay down next to him enjoying the little world of pleasure that surrounded them.

“Tonight, my love.” Her husband said, breaking the silence. “Tonight we will conceive a child.”

And he was right. It was that night that the first baby was conceived. Two months after that night the symptoms started; the swollen breasts, the nausea, the sleep. An old woman confirmed her pregnancy when You came to her to report about the illnesses. When You told him K'uk'ulkan spun her in his arms as she rejoiced promises of love and joy at having a fruit growing in her womb.

For a long nine months you were pampered and fawned over by your husband. No request, no matter how ridiculous, was too small or difficult for her devoted husband. When her belly and breasts became swollen, K'uk'ulkan massaged her body with scented oils for hours, tending to each aching muscle. And when the baby was finally born with its big cheeks and webbed ankles, such devotion also extended to the conceived child. It was no secret how deep K'uk'ulkan's love was for his wife and child.

[flowerandblood]

The Price of Pride (16/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, unprotected sex, targcest stuff, smut, the angst, sexual tension, imprisonment, abuse of power ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

She didn't know if there was a worse humiliation for a man than being forced to fuck his wife in front of other people – on top of that, if he was listening to mockery from his own brother. She didn't know what to do to help him, so she simply covered his ears so that he couldn't hear what Aegon was saying.

He had always been a twat.

He'd been lying with his first for years, surely imagining it was our mother.

Say, cousin, does he cuddle up to your tits too?

Does he suck on your nipples like a little baby?

She knew he was saying it to hurt them both and was furious that he had partly succeeded – she felt pain and discomfort at the thought of her husband returning to the embrace of another woman, the woman he trusted, the woman he desired, the woman he felt safe with.

The realisation that nothing he had experienced with her was new to him filled her with sadness.

She knew, however, that her husband was suffering more now and it was him she should focus on.

She prayed that Aegon's words didn't reach his ears – he was truly focused on his task, preserved in the embrace of her arms, cuddled into her breasts simply pursuing his peak, treating her body like his own hand.

He had to do this, and she begged in her mind for him to simply come, moaning softly, wanting to give him courage and deafen whatever was leaving his brother's mouth.

She felt a squeeze in her throat when he lifted his head, when she saw his gaze full of sadness and regret begging her to comfort him – she took his face in her hands and let their lips melt together in a wonderfully warm, tender kiss.

She sighed loudly when she felt his warm seed finally spill inside her, and he groaned quietly, moving inside her for a moment longer.

It wasn't until everyone had left and they remained alone that he burst out crying like a small child.

She wasn't surprised – she herself had been horrified by how cruel this spectacle had been, and wondered if this was how his brother had treated him all his life.

She finally understood why he hid behind a stony face, why he was cold and aggressive, why he was endlessly anxious to prove his worth – whatever he did, what he suffered in the end was humiliation.

She stroked his body and embraced him, lying behind him on the soft bedding, singing him the lullabies that her nanny used to sing to her when she was still a little child. Her voice must have been to his liking, because eventually he turned in her arms and cuddled his face between her soft breasts, demanding more.

So she sang for so long until she finally felt him fall asleep.

She flinched and twisted in her place, awakened in the middle of the night from a deep slumber as she felt his hand on her waist – his lips placed a soft, warm kiss on her neck while his fingers slid slowly between her thighs – she sighed, not opening her eyes, unsure if it was a dream or not, feeling his fingertips sink into her delicate, silky folds.

"– mmm –" She hummed, feeling a pleasant tickle in her lower abdomen as his fingers began to play with her little bud, trailing around it in lazy, slow strokes, slowly building tension deep inside her.

"– shhh – sleep –" He whispered in her ear, placing moist, gentle little kisses on her face – his other hand slid under her body and closed over her breast, teasing her hard, popping nipple, his fingers between her thighs soaked in her wetness.

"– ah –" She moaned as she felt his hard manhood hit her buttocks, then again and again – she sighed as his hand gripped her silken thigh and spread it, lifting it slightly upwards, the swollen, thick head of his erection pushed against her slit, opening her wide.

"– Aemond –" She mumbled out as he began to groan along with her, slowly sliding all the way into her, imposing an aggressive, fast pace on her at once. His fingers slid down from her breasts to her throbbing womanhood – while the tip of his length rubbed the spot deep inside her again and again, his fingertips stroked her little pearl from the outside.

She squirmed, clasping her hand on his arm, panting loudly along with him, listening to the way their bare hips pounded against each other with loud, sticky splats.

"– yes – yes, yes, yes, yes, please –" She begged, feeling that she was so wonderfully close, his hot, accelerated breath on her face telling her that he wanted nothing more than for her to come.

"– shhh – come on, soak my cock – thaat's it, there we go –" He whispered tenderly into her ear as her fleshy walls pulsed around his hard manhood in spasms of pleasure – she threw her head back, moaning sweetly along with him, feeling her moisture run down her thigh when, after a few messy, sloppy thrusts, her husband filled her with his seed with a sigh of relief.

She swallowed hard when he put his arms around her and hugged her back to his torso, entwining their legs together, leaving his throbbing length deep inside her.

"– can we remain like this? –" He asked quietly, and she nodded.

"– yes – I want to feel you –" She muttered, and he hummed contentedly, placing a warm, affectionate kiss on her bare shoulder.

She thought that she was going to experience nothing but rest until sunrise, but as soon as her husband awoke, still before dawn, he turned her gently onto her stomach and used her body to his heart's content.

"– ah – mghm – g-gods –" She mewled, half sunk in sleep, clasping her hands on the soft bedding beneath her, feeling the sweet tension in her loins again as he pounded into her from behind with loud smacks of their hips, hitting her little spot again and again.

"– sleep –" He breathed out in a voice heavy with desire, their bodies hot and throbbing, his swollen erection thrusting hard between her soft, warm thighs, not letting her escape.

She gasped as she came with him, listening to his groans of pleasure, unsure how many times he had done this to her – when she awoke, her cunt was all sore, leaking with his spend.

"– how many times have you taken me through the night? –" She mumbled, snuggled into his bare chest, trying to count in her thoughts.

Three?

Four?

Probably four, she thought.

"– I don't know what you mean – I slept like a little baby –" He murmured softly, running his fingertips down her back, not opening his eye.

She huffed quietly, knowing that he did this because he wanted to regain control over the situation, that he couldn't allow their closeness to be associated with the humiliation he had suffered because of his brother.

"– how am I supposed to fly on Sheepstealer today if I struggle to even sit down? –" She asked resentfully and heard him sigh heavily.

"– you had no objections then –" He grunted.

When, she wanted to ask to tease him further, but she didn't dare.

She raised herself on her elbow and shook her head, amused.

"– you must promise to let my poor, aching womanhood rest –" She said softly.

He pressed his lips together, tracing her bare, girlish body with the gaze of his healthy eye.

"– for how long? –" He asked uncertainly, unhappy.

She stroked his head with her fingers, looking at him with tenderness, his gaze fixed on her face gentle.

"– one night should be enough –" She replied.

He hummed under his breath and nodded.

"– mmm – very well – you have satisfied me many times tonight – you deserve to rest –" He muttered, and she placed a loud, lingering kiss on his cheek.

"– let's eat together –"

Despite the unpleasant events of last evening, the thought that they would be having a morning meal together for the first time filled them with good mood – her husband, dressed only in a linen shirt and breeches, sat down at the table as she headed for the seat on the other side, putting her nightgown over her shoulders.

"– what are you doing? –" He asked, grabbing for the bread, looking at her in surprise. "– take a seat by my side – unless I'm terrifying you so much –"

She smiled at his words and moved towards him, sitting down in the chair right next to him.

She wanted their closeness to be based on his desire – for him to know that he had control over what was happening between them and that she would not impose on him even as his wife.

It was the first time she'd seen what he ate in the morning – it didn't surprise her that he reached for scrambled eggs – a source of protein and strength he needed before sparring and training. She smiled under her breath as she herself reached for a platter of oatmeal, pouring it into her small bowl before pouring warm milk over it.

They ate in silence, but it was a pleasant kind of it, devoid of discomfort or tension – she couldn't help but smile, catching him glancing at her once in a while, the expression on his face gentle and content. She reached out her hand to him – he hummed under his breath and grasped her fingers in his, stroking her soft skin with his thumb.

So this is what her days will be like now, she thought, feeling nothing but peace for some reason.

"– I have a gift for you –" She said lightly.

He blinked and cocked his head, his smirk indicating that he was curious and excited.

"– mmm –"

She quickly ate a few spoonfuls of her porridge and rose from her seat, walking to one of the chests that had been moved to his chamber the day before.

Her Prince had wished her to have some of her belongings in his quarters, so that when she spent nights with him she could stay in his room in comfort.

She reached deep and smiled under her breath as she felt a long object wrapped in the fabric – she took it out and approached him – he wiped his hands in the white cloth, swallowing loudly at what was in his mouth.

She pulled the material off in a sweeping motion, and to their eyes appeared a long dagger specially made to her order – she had hunted many times with her cousin in Runestone and knew what proportions would be right for a man of his stature and height, making sure it would fit his hand well.

Her husband took her gift in his hands, completely surprised, gazing intently at the handle, which ended with the head of a dragon that had small sapphire stones inserted in the place of its eyes.

"– Vhagar –" He muttered, noticing in the beast's features a resemblance to his dragoness, which was no coincidence.

"– I drew her for the smith as best I could –" She confessed, and he looked at her, something in his gaze from which she felt a pleasant warmth in her heart.

He was touched.

"– it's a beautiful, thoughtful gift – of course that's what I received from my wife –" He said softly, taking her hand in his, lifting it to his lips, placing a delicate, tender kiss on her skin.

"– I also have a gift for you, ābrazȳrys – but I'm afraid it can't compare to yours –" He said, and she smiled with excitement and nodded.

"– wait for me –" He said and rose from his seat, moving towards the door, leaving the chamber.

What was this if he couldn't keep it in the room?

She waited for him for several long minutes, and when the door finally opened and he stood in the threshold, she noticed a small ball covered in fur in his arms, making a squeaky, high-pitched sounds.

It's a puppy, she thought in disbelief.

A hunting dog.

She got up from her seat and ran over to him, gushing with joy, reaching out her hands to him – her husband handed her the pup, who barked loudly and started wagging his tail – he had long, loping ears, his belly and paws were white, his back and sides brown and black.

"– I thought we should set off on a hunt together someday – when I saw him, I found you had the same eyes – I couldn't resist that pleading look –" He hummed, folding his hands behind his back, clearly pleased with her reaction.

"– hello, little one – ah, you're so sweet –" She mumbled as he licked her with his tiny pink tongue, squirming in her arms with excitement.

"– iksis ñuha ābrazȳrys biare? (is my wife happy?) –" He asked, and she threw him a joyful, bright look.

"– kessa (yes) – emā vēttan nyke olvie biare, valzȳrys (you have made me very happy, husband) –" She said softly, coming up to him – she stood up on her toes, placing a warm, wet kiss on his scarred cheek, from which a grimace of satisfaction spread across his face.

Her husband was to provide her little friend with an education so that, in fact, her dog could accompany them on hunts – the Prince burst out laughing when she said she would name her hound Daemon.

"– at last there will be a Daemon in my life whom I will be able to love –" She grunted, gently combing his hair after the bath – she longed to help him care for it herself and tie it at the back of his head, finding it a very private and intimate task, perfect for a wife.

She saw that, at the word love, he gave her a long, drawn-out look in the reflection of the mirror, but did not say a word.

She didn't care what he felt for her.

He was making her happy.

"Will you fly with me… to Harrenhal?" He asked suddenly in a voice strangely quiet and uncertain, as if for some reason he feared her refusal and rejection.

She threw him a quick, surprised glance, braiding the front strands of his snow-white hair with a black ribbon.

"Of course. My place is by your side. Always." She said without hesitation and placed her hand on his shoulder. She smiled warmly when his fingers caught hers, pressing her palm to his full, moist lips.

"– kirimvose, zaldrītsos (thank you, little dragon) –" He whispered, as if ashamed of his own words. "– kirimvose syt issare sȳz naejot nyke (thank you for being kind to me) –"

She blinked, feeling her heart squeeze at his words, so childlike, simple and sincere, guessing how difficult it had been for him to get such an embarrassing confession out.

"– iksā sȳz naejot nyke tolī, lēkia (you are kind to me too, big brother) –" She said softly, throwing her hands on his shoulders, leaning in so that her lips placed a gentle kiss on his temple.

When they were both ready, as planned, they set off on horseback to Vhagar's lair to soar into the sky on their dragons and fly over King's Landing – there was something beautiful in this act of unity, in the proof that from now on they were creating something common, together.

The meeting of the Small Council, which took place after their return, proceeded in a tense atmosphere – her husband made no sign of what humiliation he had suffered the day before, but his rage and desire for revenge was evident in his tense figure and sinister gaze.

His brother paid for rising from his bed with excruciating pain, so he was again given large quantities of the milk of the poppy.

"Now that the future of the Kingdom has been secured by marriage, we must take measures to take back Harrenhal from the Blacks. Daemon is gathering his forces there, ready to set out any day to his wife's aid. We must face him before the two armies are united." Said Otto in a voice full of calm and conviction about the rightness of his own words.

The Prince nodded.

"My wife and I will move at the head of our army in a few days to finally resolve this matter. I count on my sister and Dreamfyre, though not eager to fight, to defend the keep in our absence." He said coldly, and his grandfather nodded.

"I will see to it."

The rest of the day, which her husband spent on his duties, she spent in her chamber, playing on the floor with her new little pup – she knew she would have to return him to his guardian for the night to sleep with the other dogs, but now she could enjoy being with this sweet, innocent creature.

She liked how well thought out this gift was – not only did her husband show that he knew her nature, but he also gave her something to bring them closer together in the future, to give them another reason to spend time together.

This thought comforted her in the moments when her imagination showed her his face snuggled into the bosom of some pretty, mature, tender woman.

Did he love her?

Maybe he still does.

She blinked as the door to her chamber opened and her husband's sister, Queen Helaena, stepped inside – she rose quickly and bowed, surprised by this visit.

"I am sorry." She said, playing with the rings on her fingers. "For what happened to you last evening."

She nodded, accepting her words in her heart.

They had never spoken to each other before – after her son's death, it seemed to her that she had lived in a land of her own mind, unable to bear reality.

Her eyes lit up at the sight of her baby dog, who ran up to her on his short paws, squealing and whimpering, begging for attention. She smiled, looking up at her with an expression of childlike joy on her face.

"A puppy. Can I pet him?" She asked softly, and she nodded, throwing her a hearty, genuine smile.

"Of course, Your Grace." She said calmly, and seeing that the Queen sat on her knees on the ground, scratching Daemon's back, she did the same, taking the seat opposite her.

"My brother. He has changed." She said, however, not looking at her, but at her pup, busy combing his fur with her fingers.

"I don't follow, my Queen. Do you mean your lord-husband?" She asked in surprise.

"Aemond. Before he imprisoned you, he was on the path to his own destruction. There is a fire flowing through his veins that burns him from the inside everyday, however, he began to control himself for you – he doesn't want you to look at him like our mother does. With regret and resentment." She said calmly and gave her a long, dreamy look, then turned her gaze away again, as if distracted.

"Do you like to embroider? I like it a lot. Preferably all sorts of insects." She said lightly, suddenly changing the subject.

She blinked, feeling her heart pounding like a mad, unsure of how to behave, figuring she would simply follow the course of her thoughts.

"Unfortunately, I'm not talented in this aspect. Or maybe I didn't have a good teacher." She said honestly.

"I can teach you. It's not difficult if you master the technique properly." She replied, allowing Daemon to climb onto her thighs, content to recline comfortably in her lap.

"Very well." She replied without thinking, recognising that she should not refuse her.

Helaena did not look at her, but smiled broadly, as if her words made her happy.

"Your son will have your eyes."

She froze, looking at her in disbelief, wondering if she had heard correctly what she had said.

"Forgive me, Your Grace, but I do not understand." She muttered.

"I can see you holding him in your arms. The future king."

She swallowed hard, feeling the drop of a cold sweat run down her back.

"And my husband?"

"He is not beside you. All I hear is the sound of water."

She looked at her, feeling as if she froze, her heart stopped beating for a moment.

He is not beside you.

Why?

"What do you mean, Your Grace?" She mumbled in a trembling voice.

Helaena lifted her gaze to her, her face suddenly serious and fully focused – they both shuddered as the door to her chamber opened, and her lēkia stepped inside.

"Sister." He said cautiously, standing between them – Helaena, however, rose immediately without looking at them, her eyes widening again.

"– keep her close –" She said to him and walked away, leaving them with expressions of disbelief on their faces – her brother turned to follow her, concerned.

"What was that supposed to mean?" He asked when the door of her chamber closed behind her.

She shook her head, shrugging her shoulders.

"The death of her son has caused her to close herself off in her mind. She is lost." She muttered, herself not believing what she was saying, unable, however, to shift this burden onto him.

"What did she tell you?" He asked further, stepping closer to her, tense, his hands clenched into fists.

"She expressed her grief and sorrow for what her brother-husband did to us." She replied, thinking that telling him only part of the truth wasn't a lie after all.

All I hear is the sound of water.

"Never mind." He said, wanting to quickly change this uncomfortable topic.

"I have come to announce to you that summoning you to my chamber every day is tedious. I expect you to wait for me in my bed every evening." He said in an official tone, as if he had just presented her with some royal decree.

She smiled wearily and nodded, taking little Daemon's in her hands.

"Very well. I will take my friend back to his brothers and sisters and come to you." She said softly.

He hummed, pleased with her answer and left, leaving her alone.

She clenched her eyelids and burst into sobs as soon as the door to her chamber closed behind him.

He is not beside you.

All I hear is the sound of water.

So where will he be while she is caring for their child?

With his mistress in a hot bath?

She swallowed hard, looking down at her trembling hands, trying to calm herself, realising only now that Aegon's words had sunk into her heart like a thorn.

She preferred not to let him see her tears, so she cried until she calmed down – she recognised that prophecies and dreams, even if they contained a grain of truth, did not represent the full picture.

Surely there was something she could have done, she thought, trying to reassure herself, walking to his chamber in only her nightgown and a thin robe thrown over her shoulders.

Her husband was lying on his bed when she came in, holding a book on his thighs, which he was looking through curiously – he lifted his gaze to her when he heard her footsteps and hummed, his eye expressing gentle contentment.

"Come here." He murmured softly, drawing her to him by her hand when she was close enough, making her fall against his chest.

"– how is your little cunt? – did it rest properly today? –" He asked lightly, pulling the material of her nightgown up – he gently sunk his long fingers into her silky folds from the side of her buttocks, making her involuntarily smile with amusement.

"– yes – I am grateful to you for your understanding, husband –" She said softly, placing a warm, tender kiss on his cheek, while his other hand was stroking her back in lazy, slow motions.

"– mmm –" He said, spreading himself comfortably beside her as she lay on the soft bedding on her back, stroking his jaw with her knuckles.

He is not beside you.

She swallowed hard, feeling a squeeze in her throat, thinking that she cherished that face, those lips, those eyebrows, those cheekbones, that chin and nose.

"What are you thinking about?" He whispered, seeing that her thoughts had drifted far away.

She blinked, pressing her lips together, feeling warm tears begin to run down her cheeks one by one, his loud gasp told her he was surprised.

"– what's it? – look at me, ābrazȳrys – where are these tears coming from? – tell me –" He muttered with sincere worry, lifting her chin with his finger, as if he was afraid that something had happened that would make him suffer her rejection.

Could she have asked him about her?

Of course not.

He will be furious.

"I can't. It's a subject you certainly don't want to discuss with me or anyone else." She muttered wearily and heard him swallow hard, his hot breath enveloping her face.

He was silent for a long moment, as if hesitating, and then she heard him open his mouth.

"You are my wife. I allow you to ask me anything you wish. I know you will not deliberately offend me or cause me discomfort." He said slowly, his voice trembling slightly, betraying his anxiety.

She looked at him surprised, whooping with tears, meeting his concerned, sad gaze.

This was not what she had expected.

She licked her lower lip, dry with stress, wanting to find the right words, the right way to tell him what was bothering her and not discourage him at the same time.

"What Aegon said. Then. He was referring to a woman who was important to you. Who you trusted. Who you kept coming back to. I don't know what I expected, but hearing that you did the same things with her that you do with me hurt me. Maybe because you are my first. There was no one before you."

"And the servant boy?" He asked dryly, looking at her sternly, wrinkling his brow – although he looked as if he was frustrated, his fingers trailing down her neck and cheek softened his expression.

She blinked and shook her head, wondering what that had to do with anything.

"I was desperate. I wished for someone to make me feel good, to make me feel safe. After all, you know it – you were there. You gave it to me yourself." She whispered.

"And there you have your answer." He replied calmly.

They looked at each other in silence, just being and breathing.

You have your answer.

He was desperate.

He wanted to feel good.

To feel safe.

He had no one to turn to, no one to go to, so out of desperation he went back to the brothel, to the woman who gave him comfort, to forget, at least for a moment, what he was experiencing inside himself.

She nodded, accepting his words, and he sighed quietly, as if relieved, obviously afraid that she would try to continue the subject further.

His hand slid down to her warm cheek, wet with her tears, which he brushed away with his thumb. She felt a pleasant sensation in her heart as he leaned in, his forehead pressed against hers.

"– there's no point in dwelling on the past – not when there's a shared future ahead of us – yours and my fate – no one else's –" He whispered, as if he was telling her his secret, something he was ashamed of.

Yours and my fate.

No one else's.

Something in his words, in the way he said them, made her feel relieved. She smiled softly and he drew in a loud breath, looking at her for a moment, only to cup her face in his hands and sink his fleshy lips into hers in a hungry, aggressive kiss.

She moaned into his throat, clasping her fingers in his hair, teasing his mouth with hers with sweet sighs of delight, thinking of how much she adored his scent, his closeness, his touch.

"– hāedar –" He breathed out into her lips between the loud clicks of their saliva, as if he was saying the words of a prayer.

She let his hands tear off her nightgown, let his head lean down, let his lips clamp greedily on her puffy nipple, sucking on it with his loud grunt of pleasure, her fingers pressing his body against her breasts.

She sighed as his lips traveled higher, placing wet, sticky kisses on her collarbone, on the hollow of her neck, on her jaw.

"– I want you inside me –" She mumbled, and he broke his caress, throwing her a surprised look.

"– I exaggerated last night – I don't want to cause you pain –" He said uncertainly, stroking her hot cheek with his broad hand.

"– I want to feel you – just be gentle –" She said, throwing her arms around his neck, spreading her thighs in front of him without shame.

She was his wife after all.

No more encouragement was needed – his hands immediately slid down to his breeches, untying them, after a moment releasing his heavy, swollen erection that hit her lower abdomen.

"– come here – there you go – shhh – easy –" He whispered as he guided his long manhood to her slit and with a slow, lazy thrust he opened her on the head of his cock, pressing his forehead against hers, looking down at what he was doing to her.

"– sadly, this poor cunt won't get any rest tonight – mmm –" He gasped out as he gently slid all the way into her – she moaned, feeling her aching walls pulsing around his hard length with desire, thinking that all she wanted was to be one with him.

Don't go where I can't follow you, she thought, looking at his face, his misty gaze full of hot lust, feeling the soft, steady thrusts of his hips as he rooted into her with the quiet clicks of her wetness.

"– does it hurt? – I'll stop, just say a word –" He whispered, stroking her cheeks, her shoulders, the sides of her waist and her buttocks, as if he couldn't decide what was more dear to him.

He leaned over her as she shook her head and kissed her in a way from which her heart fluttered in her chest like a bird – his moist lips brushed hers in a wonderfully tender, sweet caress, his thumb stroking her silky cheek, holding her close.

She closed her eyes, concentrating only on that, on his scent, his loud, warm breath, his sighs, the fleshy structure of his full lips that melded with hers again and again, his hard, pulsing erection stretching her slick core.

"– my lips never touched hers – never caressed her down there –" He whispered into her mouth, making hot shiver run down her spine, her cunt giving his length one, greedy squeeze – they both groaned into each other's throats as he shyly quickened his pace, thrusting into her more confidently, hitting the sweet spot deep inside her fleshy walls.

"– then, in the library – it was my first kiss –" He breathed out with difficulty, slamming into her harder and harder, his hips bumping against her buttocks with loud slaps.

She sobbed into his throat as his full lips sunk into hers again, the loud clicking of their saliva all around them in the utter chaos of their tongues and teeth.

Then, in the library.

It was my first kiss.

"– don't leave me –" She mewled into his mouth, feeling the wonderful tension building in her lower abdomen, a pleasant, tickling sensation running through her nipples, her fingertips and her throbbing, leaking womanhood.

"– never –" He breathed out, pressing his lips against hers in a more violent, passionate kisses, matching his thrusts, rough and deep, evidence of his pure lust – his hand ran lower, between her thighs, his thumb finding her little bud, all swollen with desire, brushing it with circular strokes.

"– I love you –" She cried out, feeling that her peak was approaching, that she was about to experience the strongest fulfilment of her life – she heard him sigh in surprise, his cock throbbing hard inside her in response, pounding into her with sticky clicks of her moisture.

"– I love you – I love you – I love you –" She sobbed loudly, feeling tears run down the sides of her face, clasping her fingers over his soft buttocks – his gaze was hot and dark as he looked down at her, his mouth wide open in disbelief, his hips slamming into her as hard as if he had lost his mind.

"– me – me too – f-fuck, I love you too – ah –" He exhaled and gasped, feeling her warm cunt begin to clench on his cock in delight, sucking it inside, her sweet whimpers of pleasure making him just come with a loud grunt, all welted and sweaty just as she was.

"– good gods, hāedar –" He breathed out and fell on top of her, as if he didn't believe what they had just done and said.

And yet.

Her walls were sore all over, but the feeling of fulfilment she experienced now, when he was deep inside her, when she smelled his scent, when she heard his heavy breath, was irreplaceable.

He gave her neck a little, tentative kiss, panting hard along with her, his manhood throbbing softly deep inside her, filling her with the remains of his seed.

He wanted to slide out of her, but her hands clamped down on his buttocks.

"– no – not yet –" She mumbled, and he sighed as if relieved, with a gentle thrust sinking deep into her body again.

They lay like this in silence, just embracing each other and breathing, taking comfort from their closeness, from the warmth of their bodies.

She ran her fingers through his hair, stroking his back with her other hand and closed her eyes, wanting to remember this, this moment, them, together, happy.

I will always be by your side, she thought.

I will save you.

_____

Author's note: The dog she got from her husband is a Beagle. Aemond saw the servants carrying some puppies walking down the courtyard and, looking at one, thought "gods, he looks at me like my betrothed". He thought that she probably felt lonely in the Red Keep and perhaps she would be happy to have a companion.

[d0p3ys-delusions]

Zeyko

zeyko [zɛj.ˈk·o] vtr. heal, fix

Pairing: Aged up!Neteyam(20) x Omatikaya!FemReader(19)

Word Count: 2.8k Started: 20.7.23 Finished: 21.7.23

Synopsis: reader who is found as a child in her dead mother's arms is taken in by the Omatikaya, Mo'at raising her to be a strong healer. She's reserved to her own duties as a healer, similar to how Neteyam is always doing his duties of a warrior and as the next Olo'eyktan. After scavenging for a medicinal root, they have a heart-to-heart which led to their unspoken feelings get out.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, mentions of death.

a/n: hiii :) this is the first time I have written a one-shot and decided to upload it on here. I used to write religiously but second guess myself and end up taking it down. I hope you enjoy :) ♡

Word Index: palulukan- thanator, carnivorous hexapedal animal ; ar'lek seeds- medinical plant ; lortsya- shimmyfly, similar to Earth's butterfly ; kelku- house ; 'evi- child (affectionate) ; sa'nok- mother ; sanhì- bioluminescent freckles ; uniltaron- dream hunt, final passage of becoming an adult ; paskalin- sweet berry (term of endearment)

Your first memory is of your mother. Your mother who held you in your arms as her back was abused by the claws of a palulukan. Covering you with her chest and the ground. Her eyes squeezed together from the pain. Up until the moment the vicious thanator left. Your mother who still didn’t let you go as she rest against a tree, singing her songcord until the moment she left to the ancestors.

.˚ * ꒰ঌ✦໒꒱ * ˚.

You jumped down off your Ikran, Sya, named after how you noticed her wings resembled those of a lortsya, running your hand down her head, “tam tam…” [there, there]

You smiled at her before leaving her be with the other idle ikran. Humming, you looked down and opened your woven basket slung around your shoulders to see the red medicinal plant the Tsahik had requested you’d look for. Finding them intact you start to walk away to the Tsahik’s kelku.

You walk in, bringing your hand to your forehead and bringing it down, “I see you Tsahik…” She’s treating a wounded na’vi and quickly says your name. You set down your basket next to her. “I brought the ar’lek seeds,” You smile and gently take the ointment in her hand to take her place, “along with some yalna bark and sari seeds.” 

“Good, thank you, ‘evi.” She rushes to another na’vi waiting to be treated, “Kiri would enjoy the sari seeds.” Nodding you spread the ointment on the female na’vi’s back. 

“Would you like me to prepare the yalna bark after?” As you said that, Kiri alongside her brothers and sister walk in. Your gaze lingers on the elder of the four before quickly looking down at the Na’vi’s back, ears tilted slightly down. “Where else are you wounded…” You ask the Na’vi quietly. She pointed to her shin, so you bent in front of her to put ointment there also. The na’vi seemed younger than you, thirteen maybe, you smiled and looked up at her, “okay… parultsyìp, you could go back to your sa’nok.” She smiled and hops up, quickly leaving afterwards.

Standing up you pick up your basket and grab the yalna bark, Kiri says your name, “is that yalna bark?” Kiri walks towards you and rests a hand on your shoulder, “see grandmother, even your greatest healer thinks yalna bark is better.” You chuckle and begin preparing the yalna bark ointment. 

“It stings less…” You say softly and smile. You and Kiri grew close together from working with the Tsahik and the other healers. Kiri is what you would say warm grass feels, comforting. When they found you as a child the Tsahik took responsibility on you, with Kiri being close to her grandmother, naturally you would become friends, sisters even. 

Not remembering that day well enough Mo’at reminds you how Ewya brought you to her, to the Omatikaya, seeing a woodspite hover over you. You who just held your mother’s songcord close to your chest.

“I am Tsahik, once someone else takes my place it’ll be decided.” Mo’at says while treating the other Na’vi.

Lo’ak chuckles and shakes his head, “Unless Neteyam here finds a mate, it’s going to be a long time Grandma, stay comfortable.” Lo’ak says before being harshly elbowed by his brother. “What! The mighty warrior is the one becoming Olo’eyktan.” Your ears twitch up and you listen to their conversation.

“Stop it– brother.” Neteyam spits out and glances at you, still focusing on making the ointment, not noticing his glance. Tuk sits behind Neteyam and rebraids some of the strands that got unraveled.

“Mama said you don’t want to look for a mate because of–” Tuk was quickly caught off by Neteyam putting a hand over her mouth. You look at the pair slyly and tilt your head. “What?” Tuk says questionably not understanding why her brother stopped her. 

For the little memories you have from your childhood, you do remember meeting Neteyam and the rest. You hid behind Mo’at, clutching your mother’s songcord. Despite there being three kids, you thought Neteyam stood out from the rest. Even from the age of five he seemed strong, someone that was destined to become a warrior.

You stood from your spot and placed the yalna ointment away. “Kiri!” Spider came in and smiled, “Let’s go?” Looking at her you grab her hand gently.

“I thought we were going to loom bracelets…” Kiri looked at you apologetically and held your hand.

“I know, I know,” She looked down and then at Neteyam, “I forgot I promised Spider to go exploring with him and Lo’ak.” Nodding you let go of  her hand. “See you later.” She smiled sweetly and left with the two boys behind her trail.

Glancing at Neteyam quickly, the balls of your feet shifted, nervous on what to do next. “‘Ite,” You look at Mo’at, “we might need… some octoshroom root.” Your head shifts to the shelves looking for the root but are unable to find some. 

Sighing, you pick up your basket and sling it around your shoulder, “Seems we’re out, I’ll go get some Tsahik.”

About to leave you were stopped by Neteyam, “I’ll go with you, I have no other duties today.” Your eyebrows rose, you hugged your waist, you were hesitant to answer. 

“Yes, yes now go.” Mo’at waved you guys off. You reluctantly walked beside Neteyam heading to your ikrans. Your gaze kept on the ground while Neteyam looked at you slyly.

Thinking for a moment Neteyam scratches his head, “Kiri has said you’ve grown to be a great healer.” You both reach your ikrans.

“Sya…” You pet your sister and smile, “You have grown to be a great warrior…” Neteyam chuckles and nods, petting his own ikran.

“Grandmother seems to adore you, everyones does.” You look at him and blush slightly, your tail swishes behind you. You jump onto Sya, grabbing your kuru, you make tsaheylu with her. “Ready?’ Neteyam smiles on his ikran. 

Setting off, you Neteyam began to descend off High Camp. Your braids move from the wind, your eyes fall on the other ikran flying in groups. Neteyam ululates and you chuckle, your ikrans fly beside each other and go in a twirl motion. Your smile is wide and Neteyam's gaze stays on you. 

Getting absorbed in the moment you whoop along with him. Your ikrans roar seemingly with you, happy with the moment as well. You and Neteyam fly down on a hallelujah mountain, sitting on your ikrans and watching the sky.

Sighing, you look at Neteyam “We should go find the octoshroom…” Neteyam nods and you both bring your ikrans down near an opening of the forest. Neteyam shortly settles beside you. You jump off Sya and give her a small snack. “Sìltsan, Sya, tam tam.” You talk to her affectionately. [Well done][calm]

All the while Neteyam watches you curiously. “What's the octoshroom for?” You give Sya a quick command to be alert for your call. 

Neteyam follows you into the dimming forest, your sanhì glowing, “anti-venom… helps the stings of a slinger and other animals,” finding the tall fungi you crouch down to extract the root, “when grinded to a tea it remedies the affects.” Neteyam hums and crouches beside you.

He grabs his knife, “what am I looking for.” 

You glance at him, “We need to dig around the base first,” you both start digging, “then this root… here” point at the dark colored root, “and just carefully extract the root with your knife.” You set your basket in between the two of you. You smile slightly seeing how Neteyam is focused on getting the root.

You think about to the conversion Neteyam had with his siblings earlier, “how come you haven’t looked for a mate?” You grab some root and set it inside the basket, “your iknimaya and uniltaron went well did it not?” After na’vi go through their rites of passage it’s common for them to look for a mate aftwards. 

Neteyam looks at you, “what about you? You also haven’t looked for a mate.” You chuckle nervously, setting some root in the basket. 

“Other na’vi think I’m strange,” you think to your unknown origins, “Not knowing where I come sets me behind some bit. But you– you are the next Olo’eyktan, eldest son of the mighty Toruk Makto, you should hear the girls in mine and Kiri’s weaving class. They’re crazy for you.” You shake your head, “Some of them even make courting gifts.” You chuckle thinking of the girls making the gifts.

Neteyam sheepishly smiles, “I bet you’ve been given some courting gifts.” He says with his heart slightly beating faster.

Humming you shook your head, “Once, Rey’aw gave a necklace, I think Rolä courted him at the same time though.”

Neteyam blinks and sets the last portion of root in the basket, “Were you going to accept?” He asked nervously.

“No, I gave him the necklace back after finding out, they’re happily mated as you know,” you chuckle and think to their little boy, “Their boy is almost a year old now.” Neteyam sighs in relief knowing that you weren’t going to accept Rey’aw’s courting.

You look at the basket and shake it to see how much root is in, content with the amount you stand up, tucking a braid behind your ear. “So? The mighty warrior hasn’t gotten any courting gifts?” 

Neteyam stands up and bird calls for his ikran, you do the same, “No–no yeah I have,” biting your lip slightly at his answer you feel your chest tighten. Your eyebrows furrow when you don’t see Sya. “Where's your ikran?”

You stand up straighter and look around, doing your bird call again you still don’t hear the familiar roar of your ikran. “Sya!” You look at Neteyam and he quickly hops on his ikran.

“Come on…” He holds his hand out and you take it and sit behind him. “She must be back where we left them, sleeping.” You squint your eyes down on the ground seeing no sign your ikran, “She’s okay, she’s okay.” Neteyam tried to reassure you.

Memories of your mother surfacing. Your eyes shifted to every bark on trees, every blade of grass. Your ears twitched, listening to the chirps of the birds. 

You tilt your head, eyes squinting some more when you see the recognizable blue wings, you tap Neteyam’s shoulder and point down, “Neteyam!”

You practically jump off his ikran before he even landed, “Sya!” You rush towards your ikran, immediately noticing the gashes on her body. “Sya…” You say soft and cradle her head. “What…” Tears welled in your eyes, Sya tried to lift her head as best she can onto your lap. “What happened?” You look into her eyes and rest your forehead onto her body.

Neteyam watches, looking at his own ikran before looking around, his bow in hand.

Your thoughts went back to your first memory, to the unforgettable gashes of a palulukan. Working as a healer you’ve seen these wounds dozens of times after your mother. You felt your throat close up, a sob seeping through, “Neteyam…” He hesitates and sits next to you, “Wha– I don’t understand.” Your shoulders shake, “why didn’t she fly away…” Seeing the tears in your eyes, Neteyam wraps an arm around your shoulders. His eyes shift to Sya’s wings, taking a deep breath when he notices the state of her wings. 

He says your name softly, his ears are pointed down, “They– they might come back,” you shake your head, “come on…” 

“No,” you sob out and shake your head. Sya looks up at you weakly, eyes reflecting your own, you release a heavy breath and rest your head against her again. Closing your eyes you think back to your mother again. She sang beautifully to lure you to sleep. You start to hum and sing your mother’s songcord to Sya. Neteyam’s ear perk from earring the unfamiliar song. He stares at your face, his hand resting on your back. Trying to comfort you as best as he can.

The next few moments were fuzzy. You finished singing to Sya as she joined the ancestors, Neteyam gently grabs a claw and scale of her wings, putting it in your basket. All remember grabbing a stone that resembles her wings and Neteyam leading you to his ikran to fly back to High Camp. 

Neteyam was the one to bring his grandmother the octoshroom root, telling her what happened. Kiri and Lo’ak were back from their adventure, hearing the news also. 

Walking back to your kelku seemed like a chore. Your body felt heavy as you walked, quiet sobs leaving when you reached your room, collapsing onto your hammock.

Kiri rushed to your home with Neteyam and Lo’ak. You were still on your hammock, just looking at the wall not making a noise. Kiri says your name softly, “Sister…” She sits beside and rests her hand on her shoulder, “We heard what happened.” You blink back the tears from her words. “I’m sure Sya is with Eywa now, with your mother...”

Getting close to the Sully kids of course came to telling them what happened to your mother. Knowing how close Kiri is to Eywa and her biological mother Grace, you listen to her words closely, trusting on what she says. “I bet she’s also with my mother’s ikran Seze,” Lo’ak add in. 

You sit up and look up weakly, your eyes swollen from crying. Your lip shakes and you hug Kiri, feeling the sobs come back, Kiri rubs your back affectionately. “I’m so sorry sister.” Her eyebrows furrow and rock you both in comfort.

Sniffing, you pull away and grab your Songcord, it contains a rock you picked up when your mother died, when you first met the Omatikaya people, and taming Sya, all the moments in your life that made you who you are. Sighing you grab the stone you grabbed earlier, your hand shook so Kiri gently took it to help you tie it to your songcord. Neteyam and Lo’ak sat next together, watching you and Kiri quietly. 

Once the rock was tied to your songcord you rub over the stones. “Thank you guys…” Kiri smiles and holds your hand. You look at Neteyam and look back down, “you don’t have to stay, I’ll be fine.” 

Lo’ak shakes his head, “We could stay sis,” You smile at him.

“I’m alright,” Kiri goes to say something but you beat her to it, “really.” You try to reassure them. They hesitate but leave together. Netetam pauses and looks back at you, “Thank you Neteyam.” He nods and catches up with his siblings.

You’re not sure how long had passed, you were focused on making a necklace out of Sya’s claw and scale, looming it to have her blue colors. You hear a quick whistle and look up to find Neteyam, “hi,” you look back down to the necklace, “come in.”

He sits by you, placing down a bowl of sari seeds, “Kiri toasted some earlier.” He looked at the necklace and ran a finger down the intricate design you were weaving. “Looks good,” he smiles, “the mighty healer is also a mighty weaver.” 

You chuckle and shake your head, “that’s just– stupid,” you jokingly say. “You know my mother had a beautiful voice.” You smile, “She could sing anything and it’ll manage to make me sleep. Even…” You take a deep breath, “Even as she was passing she sang to me.” 

Neteyam looks at you and grabs your hand, saying your name, “Strong heart.” Rubbing his thumb over your hand, “in the tales mother tells us when she met my father, she saw he had a strong heart.” He looks in your eyes, his tail swishing. “When the sky people came back, dad said she had a strong heart.” He repeats your name softly, “You have a strong heart.” Your eyebrows furrow, tears welling in your eyes, “From the first time I saw you, I saw your strong heart.” A tear fell and you looked down.

Taking a deep breath Neteyam opens his pouch, pulling out a bracelet, “Kiri helped me make this…” He says your name, you look at him and tilt your head, “I–I asked grandmother if I could court you.” Your heart quickened, “I know she’s not your mother but– she took responsibility and felt it was best to ask still.” You gulp and blink at Neteyam, “would you accept my gift, paskalin?” 

Some stray tears fell down your cheeks, smiling you nod your head, “Yes,” you laugh sheepishly, “yes, Neteyam, I will accept your gift.” Neteyam smiles widely, he grabs your wrist and ties the bracelet around your wrist. You chuckle thinking about the event of today, “Courting me the day Sya died… Classic Neteyam.” You both laugh and rest your foreheads against each other.