#;heading straight for the castle {dawn}

[cherryredstars]

hi cherry!! i love ur fanfics so much (fr they're soo good). i was wondering if you did a knight (or bodyguard) miguel x princess reader. it's my fav romantic trope <33 thank you for reading!

Pairing: Miguele O'Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: None, Fluff

A/N: Had two similar requests so I combined them!!

Unedited

The other half of the bed is cold.

It usually always is, but it still causes a sleepy frown to pull at the edges of your lips. The covers, thick and warm, slide down your shoulders as you sit up in bed. Goosebumps scatter across your skin, the cold penetrating through the thin material of your night gown. The room is dark, the only light being a sliver of silvery moon through a crack in the heavy drapes.

You turn to your night stand, blinding searching the surface until your fingers brush against a box of matches. The sound of matches shifting fill the quiet room as you open the box, pulling a single match and striking it. The yellow light flickers, creating a small glow. You use it to find the candle lantern on the bedside, opening the small window before lighting the wick. You wave your hand to extinguish the flame, discarding the burned match into a dusty ash tray.

You shiver when your bare feet hit the cold floor, your hand grabbing at the handle of the lantern. You use the dull light to guide you, walking to the wooden door of your chambers. You hesitate before opening it, the wood protesting with a groan. When you peak your head out, you're met with nothing. The vast hall is brighter than your sleeping chambers, the curtains drawn back to let the moonlight in. You step out quietly, keeping a steady hand on the door to prevent it from slamming shut.

The stone floor is lined with a long carpet, muffling your steps. The material is slightly scratchy, and you get distracted from the feel whenever you hear a strange noise. You stop before hesitantly continuing again, trying to will away the paranoia clawing at your nerves. The castle's halls are eerie at night, making you uneasy. You try to rationalize your fears away, pushing ahead.

As if to justify your paranoia, a large arm suddenly tugs at your waist. Your gasp is muffled by a gloved hand placed over your mouth, the strong body pulling you into a dark corridor. Your wide eyes are forced to look straight ahead, body stiffening against the metal pushing against your back. You can hear the plates of armor shifting as the body leans forward, warm breath hitting your neck.

"You should be in bed, princesa."

Your body instantly slackens, the arms around you loosening. You lift the lantern higher up as you turn. You glare at the shadowed features of your husband.

"And you should be in our bed."

Miguel's in his knight's armor, sword sheathed at his hip. The clunky metal adds to the largeness he already possesses, making him frightening to everyone but you. You don't remember a time you haven't seen him in his armor, a saddening thought for a wife yearning for closeness. This man is your husband, yet you don't even know what he looks like dawning anything but metal and chain mail.

"You shouldn't walk around at night unattended." Miguel's eyes are focused on your face, but they shift downwards. "Especially not in your current attire."

Your eyes follow his gaze, looking down at your chest. You let out a scandalized gasp as you see your hardened nipples- sensitive to the cold- poking through your thin gown. You quickly throw an arm over your chest, cheeks flaring. You turn your back to Miguel, clearing your throat.

"Well," you squeak as you turn your head to look back at him, "good thing my husband is here to escort me back to our room."

Miguel makes a gruff noise at the back of his throat, but he doesn't protest as he gently takes the lamp from your grasp. He lifts the lantern high enough to illuminate your path, but he still places his hand against the small of your back to guide you. You shiver at the warmth radiating from his palm, unused to his touch. His hand applies slight pressure to encourage you to walk forward, and you stumble on your first step before composing yourself.

The walk is silent, only your dull steps filling the space. Your eyes stray to Miguel as you walk, taking him in. The lantern casts harsh shadows against his face, and his own attentive eyes focus straight ahead. They dart from side to side, accessing the space for any threats. He looks stunning, a gorgeous knight.

Miguel's eyes shift down to you, eyes squinting in question as he catches you staring. You turn your head sharply, thanking the darkness for blanketing your blush. You're lucky to stop in front of the chamber doors, watching as Miguel pushes the door open with a hand to let you enter. You mumble your thanks as you pass, heading towards your bed.

Miguel sets the lamp on your nightstand as you sit on the edge of your bed, silently watching him. Miguel turns to look at you, sighing before he walks over. He towers over you, pulling the covers back to reveal a space for you to lay in. You sink into the empty spot, eyes trained on Miguel's face as he fixes the covers over your body. You sigh softly as the furs instantly give you warmth, snuggling into the bed. Miguel lingers for a moment before he moves to turn.

Your hand shoots out quickly, wrapping around his wrist. He stops, his eyes dropping to your small hand before turning his head to you. You gulp nervously, opening your mouth and then closing it. Your eyes divert to the still-lit candle before meeting his eyes again.

"Stay? Please?"

Miguel's lips thin, looking down at you. A heavy pang of disappointment slams into our chest as he shakes off your hold, turning his back to you. You watch as he walks towards the door, only for him to stop. He turns to his side slightly, heavy hand reaching out until it grabs at the wooden chair that rests beside your vanity. He lifts it effortlessly with a single hand as he turns back towards you, setting it down near your side of the bed. Your heart skips a beat as his heavy body causes the wood to creak, shifting in the chair. His legs are spread, arms crossed as his eyes fall to your astonished face.

"Only until you fall asleep. I have duties to attend to."

A protest scratches at your chest, but you hold it back. This is already much for him, something he was never done before. You are willing to settle for this small peace. You nod, mumbling your agreement before you sink back into the bed. Miguel's hand comes up to fix the covers again, making sure they are snug against your shoulders. His hand comes to trace the shape of your jaw, caressing the soft skin before pulling away. Your eyes close at the affectionate gesture, blinking slowly open.

You can feel sleep tugging at your eyes, but you fight against it as you stare at him. You don't want to sleep through this moment. You want him to stay as long as possible. You want this to last.

Some emotion flashes across Miguel's face as he pulls his hand away, something you can't decipher. Your brows furrow as you try to figure it out and simultaneously fight away sleep. Your tiredness must be obvious as Miguel's eyes soften. He hesitates for a second before his thumb reaches up to smooth over the skin between your eyes. His fingers move higher up, pushing hair away from your forehead. He pauses before he leans down, placing a tentative kiss to your skin.

"Sleep. I will be here when you wake up."

He whispers it so quietly that it almost gets swallowed by the silence. But, it's enough to sooth any anxiety in your body. You don't try as hard to fight the tiredness, letting your eyes flutter one final time.

__________________________________________

When you wake, the first thing you see is the empty chair.

Something ugly pokes at your chest as you remember his words. A promise unkept. Your room is still dim from the drawn curtains, the maids not yet arrived to wake you. Your eyes shift up to the candle, the wax melted down to the wick. It must have burned throughout the night. You sigh heavily as you go to push yourself up and out of this disappointment.

You are met with resistance, an arm once again wrapping around your waist.

You turn your head quickly, looking down at the sleepy eyes of Miguel. He's in a light linen shirt, the sight causing you to blush ferociously. He hums in his sleep, arm tightening to coax you back into bed. You slowly settle back down, turning your body to face his chest. He sighs, something relaxed and content, as he pulls you closer to his chest. You're hit with his scent, something that makes your heart race.

His grip on your waist lightens, his other hand sliding between your neck and pillow to play with your hair. You hide your face in his chest, not wanting him to see how the sleepy gestures affect you.

"Stay." Miguel mumbles into your hair, lips brushing against your scalp. "It's still early."

You don't respond, only snuggle closer.

"You kept your word," You can't help but mumble, a wondrous undertone to your words.

Miguel stiffens a bit, before letting out a dismissive hum and relaxing.

Always, he thinks in his head, I'll always keep my word to you.

[reccyls]

Chaotic Night - Warned by the Reaper on Halloween Night (Victor Story)

My translation of Victor's halloween event story

--

(It's quiet...)

Almost as if the party we just held had been a lie, Crown castle was bathed in silence. Wary of the effects of ingesting extract from the Queen of the Night flower, everyone had said they would confine themselves in their rooms. However...

(It's such a beautiful night tonight, I had hoped I could spend it with someone.)

Feeling a little peckish, I had returned to the kitchen and grabbed an ornamental pumpkin filled with candy. Now I was walking around the garden, when I spotted the figure of a person standing there.

(Is that an intruder...!?)

Suspecting that someone had snuck into the castle, I reached for the gun I kept strapped to my thigh. And that was when the figure turned around--

Victor: Kate?

Kate: Victor...?

The mysterious figure turned out to be Victor after all, but...

(He has a mask and gloves on... Is that a Halloween costume?)

His black outfit seemed like a costume, but even so, I couldn't rid myself of a sense of uneasiness.

Victor: ...What are you doing here?

His sudden question brought my attention back to him.

Kate: I was a little hungry, so I went to get some sweets from the kitchen. Kate: I saw you from a distance and I thought you were someone suspicious, sorry.

Victor: No need to apologize.

I continued to look at him, unsure of why I was feeling such discomfort.

Victor: But, well... Victor: Perhaps for now, I am one.

He averted his gaze, and I couldn't help but feel confused.

(That's right, Victor also drank the extract, didn't he?)

As I thought back to the events of the party, more and more questions bubbled to the surface.

(Victor is cursed, isn't he?) (It's more likely than not that he is, considering he's a part of Crown. But I have no idea what his curse is.) (He won't tell me a single thing.)

I've known him for quite some time, but he's still an enigma.

Victor: On Halloween night, walking alone in the castle is more dangerous than walking around town, you know.

Just as I was about to walk towards him, who had not taken a single step closer, I noticed the withered flowers.

(Huh...?)

The flowers around Victor had all withered unnaturally, dried leaves lay scattered at his feet.

(But just this morning they were blooming.)

As I took a step to approach the odd scene...

Victor: You must not come any closer.

His strong, solemn command stopped me in my tracks.

Kate: Victor?

The expression on his face was more serious than anything I had ever seen before, adding to the gravity of his words.

Victor: Turn around, head straight to your room, and lock the door. Victor: No matter who comes knocking on your door, do not leave your room until dawn.

Startled by his stark words, I took a step back, but--

Kate: Ah-

I dropped the pumpkin I was carrying, where it rolled to a stop at Victor's feet. He reached down to pick it up, and the moment his fingers brushed it--

Kate: What...?

Even through his glove, the pumpkin instantly started to change color, to rot, and shrivel away. Just like all the flowers around him.

(What just... happened...)

Unable to make a single sound, I met his eyes.

Victor: I could end your life with a single touch.

Kate: !

Victor: If you don't want to die, leave this place now.

Wracked with a terrible fear, I took a step back. And another. But, as the distance between us grew, his expression morphed to one of painful sorrow.

Victor: Just like that. I... I don't want to kill you.

I bit my lower lip. No longer able to bear it, I stopped.

Kate: --tomorrow!

Victor: What?

Kate: Tomorrow, can we have tea together?

His eyes were wide and confused, and I gave him my biggest smile.

Kate: To make up for today. We couldn't enjoy tonight's party until the end, right? Kate: And...

(I still don't understand everything that's happening, and I'm still scared... But despite all that...)

Kate: I want to be with you.

Victor: ...

Kate: Staying at this distance... it's lonely. Kate: So tomorrow, when I come back, let me stay beside you.

I waited for a little while, but he didn't reply. So I ducked my head, and left. Guilty for being afraid, regretful of my ignorance.

(I still know nothing about Victor.)

I felt the sting of pain and sadness building at the back of my nose.

...........

(I couldn't sleep at all...)

I looked up upon hearing a knock at my door the next morning, and opened it. The maid standing there passed me a letter, and a decorative pumpkin.

Kate: Is this from yesterday...?

Reading the letter, I saw a polite apology from Victor, As well as an invitation for a leisurely tea time with Victor later this evening.

(Oh, thank goodness everything seems to be okay now.)

My relief lasted only for a moment, because the last line of the letter made my heart race.

Kate: "Of course, just the two of us."

(What kind of face should I make?)

Though the pain and sorrow still lingered, every time I saw him, my heart leapt with excitement and it was as if the colors of the world changed.

Kate: ...I want to see him as soon as possible.

Giddy with anticipation, I raced towards my closet.

[justhereforxreaders]

The Prince and the Dragon Rider - Part Four: The Test

Jacaerys Velaryon x dragon rider!reader

Summary: you set forth to prove your worth as a dragon rider but must work to overcome your own insecurities while doing so.

Warnings: anxiety attacks, acrophobia (fear of heights)

soundtrack

part one: the oath

part two: tempest

part three: the dawn

part five: precipice

part six: pieces and players

part seven: the rift

As your new title echoes throughout the throne room, there is a quiet moment of reverence before Daemon steps forward from the shadows, already clad in riding armor. Glancing at Jace out of the corner of your eye, you stand to your feet before the future King Consort.

“Muster your dragon,” he nearly snarls, “and fly to the northern shore. You shall receive your instructions there.”

He disappears into the crowd as they begin to disperse and Rhaenyra steps up beside you, quickly followed by Jacaerys and Lucerys.

“Go to the dragonmont,” she utters softly, “we will wait for you and Tempest on the beach.”

You look up at her and give a stern nod, though your feet suddenly feel as though they are rooted to the floor. Noticing your hesitation, Rhaenyra turns to her sons and they stand at attention.

“Show them the way to the dragonmont then meet me at the north shore.” She commands her sons then looks back to you, “Best of luck.”

All three of you bow to the Princess and she smiles fondly before retreating back towards the throne.

“Shall we, Dragon Rider?” Jace jests playfully at your new title.

“After you, my Prince.” You tease in return.

Jace turns his face with a bashful smile as that subtle blush begins to creep across his cheeks. Lucerys steps forward proudly, oblivious to his brother’s embarrassment, and tugs on your arm to follow after him.

“This way!” Luke calls to you while marching towards the grand doorway.

You shoot Jace an apologetic smile as you chase after his brother and he returns the gesture with a gentle shake of his head.

The servant girl kindly holding your clothes rushes forward to hand them back to you before you pass through the doors. She offers you a curtsy and hurries away before you can voice your thanks.

“What’d she give you?” Jace inquires.

“My old clothes,” you reply with a thoughtful smile and turn them over in your hands, “I wanted to be comfortable for Daemon’s test.”

“Do you fly better with certain garments?” Lucerys asks, eyes alight with curiosity.

“Hah, I don’t know truthfully, but I thought it was better to be prepared.”

“I can’t wait until Arrax has grown big enough to ride! I want to learn how to fire a crossbow while flying!” He skips ahead giddily, spouting off more ambitious plans for dragon riding and you and Jace chuckle quietly.

As Luke rambles on you notice your ability to track your path through the castle is slightly improved as the dark halls are filled with the late morning sun. But you are still glad to have the princes’ company. Luke’s musings are a welcome distraction as your nervousness begins to build with every step towards the dragonmont. It finally comes to the surface when you reach a familiar entryway and Jace comes to a stop. Your hands tremble and your chest becomes tight. Jacaerys takes notice and gently nudges you with his uninjured arm.

“This path will lead you straight to the dragonmont.” He sighs and you let out a sharp exhale as you take a step forward. “Wait,” he calls, “take this with you.”

He reaches under his cloak and reveals a length of thick leather cord from beneath his sling.

“I wish could offer you a saddle but this will have to do until it can be finished.”

You take the cord and tilt your head at your friend.

“Lash them to Tempest’s horns,” he explains, “so you have something to hold on to.”

“Thank you, Jace.” You smile warmly and place a hand on his shoulder. Taking notice of Luke’s eyes on the two of you, you reach for his shoulder with your other hand. “And thank you, Luke, for leading the way. I’ll see you both on the beach?”

They both nod and make their way in the opposite direction.

You receive the same cold greeting from the robbed figures that guard the entrance of the dragonmont, but try to walk with more confidence as you pass through. Once you are out of sight, you hastily tuck yourself away into a small chamber and change out of your formal attire, taking a moment to stow them away for after the trial.

Finding your way through the dragonmont is much more straightforward and you quickly make your way to the large cavern where you left Tempest the night before. It is daunting to stand on the precipice of the stone platform, calling her name into the darkness. Daemon’s words from your first meeting, repeating in your mind.

In your years flying together, she had picked up on verbal cues from you that she seemingly obeyed, such as directional commands and when to lift off and land. But with the seeds of doubt Daemon had planted, it dawns on you that you never truly knew if she was listening to you. After all, she would act against your instructions on occasion if she sensed something that you could not perceive. Will Tempest follow your commands if she feels threatened? How will you complete Daemon’s task if she doesn’t?

Your hands begin trembling at the thought until you hear the comforting beat of Tempest’s wings approaching from within the mountain. The subtle iridescence of her black scales shimmer in the beams of sunlight streaming through the cave’s entrance. She trills happily and lands before you, gently nudging you with her massive head. You rest your head atop her nose and breathe deeply.

“You trust me, right?” You sigh and she lowers her head to allow you to climb just behind her horns. You huff a laugh, “I suppose this is one way to find out, hmm?”

She rises to spread her wings and you quickly secure either end of the leather cord to the pair of horns closest to you, creating improvised reins. Tempest then takes wing towards the morning sky, and as she does, you begin to feel some of that weight lift from your chest.

Although it takes a moment for you to orient yourself from this new vantage point of the island, you quickly make out a small gathering of people dotted along the sand. Tempest screeches in alarm when she spots them, unfamiliar with flying freely in broad daylight. Sensing her discomfort, you reach your hand to the top of her head.

“We’re alright,” you say calmly, “we’re safe.”

She chitters quietly and turns her head slightly to spy you out of the corner of her eye. You nod decisively and take hold of the reins before she dives down to the sand. Most of the onlookers scatter when Tempest alights among the shallow tide. All except the Princess and her sons. Once the sand has settled, a quivering man steps forward with a small scroll of parchment and begins to read aloud.

“A red banner has been placed amongst the ruins of the Whispers along the shore of Crackclaw Point. Retrieve it and return to Dragonstone before sundown.”

The man rolls up the parchment and turns to retreat.

“Wait!” You shout hurriedly, “Is that all it says?”

Rhaenyra extends her hand towards the caller and examines the scroll. She nods her head before handing it back to the caller.

“Daemon and Caraxes were seen flying north,” she calls, “I imagine they are waiting to oppose your efforts to complete this task.” She adds and watches your reaction closely.

A new dread begins to take hold and you look to Jacaerys who wears a grave expression upon his face and he moves closer to be sure you can hear him.

“Caraxes is fearsome and experienced but you two are cunning enough to catch him by surprise. And if that fails, you have him outmatched in swiftness.” He advises, a determined look in his eye.

Tempest roars, sensing your anxiety, and Jace calmly backs away with his hands raised in compliance.

“Easy, easy,” you utter, trying to calm both her and yourself.

You gaze out to the north, spying the cliffs of the mainland in the distance. Settling yourself with a breath, you turn back towards Jace and Rhaenyra.

“How far is the ruin?” You ask the both of them.

Rhaenyra looks towards the horizon then up to the sky.

“If you follow the coast, you should arrive before midday.”

You follow her eyes, noting the sun’s position in the sky and grab tight to the reins. Tempest sways side to side, like a large cat readying itself to pounce.

“Fly, Tempest.” You mutter and she lifts from the ground, the force of her wings causing the onlookers to brace themselves.

You spare one more glance towards Jacaerys before turning your attention towards the distant cliffs. Tempest follows your sight and, to your relief, she changes her direction to fly towards them without a word. A proud smile grows across your face and you once again place a hand upon her head, quietly thanking her.

Your first instinct is to urge Tempest to fly as high as possible to approach the castle from above but as you survey your surroundings you are reminded of her choice to fly just above the water when you first arrived on Dragonstone. As she quickly closes in on the mainland, you gently pull the reins to the right.

“This way,” you murmur, “stay low.”

She heeds your words without protest, rushing forward eagerly, keeping the coastline off to your left. As she effortlessly glides over the water, you keep your head on a swivel for any sign of Caraxes. After some time however, you find yourself captivated by the beauty of the environment.

The cliffs of Westeros are more jagged and the sea more treacherous than the coasts you had come to call home throughout Essos. But in watching the waves churn the dark water below your dragon’s wings, you feel a strange sense of belonging. You glance down at the powerful creature to whom you have entrusted your life time and time again and a deep sense of purpose begins to surge throughout your being.

The sun continues to climb higher while you soar along the coast and as it approaches its peak you encourage Tempest to creep closer to the cliffs. You scan the tops, searching for the ruins but the tree cover becomes too dense for you to distinguish castle from rock. With a defeated sigh you tug on the reins to instruct Tempest to fly up but before the command leaves your lips, a haunting trill reverberates through the air. You whip your head around just in time to catch the flash of a red tail disappearing over the top of the cliff.

“Dive, Tempest!” You cry in a panic and take a deep breath as she swiftly plunges into the water.

The cold water sends a shock through your body that you thankfully only have to endure for a moment before she breaks the surface. You gasp for air and quickly turn your attention back to the sky. Another shrill cry rings out from above but the way it echoes around you prevents you from discerning which direction it came from. As calmly as you can manage, you urge Tempest to swim towards the cliff face, keeping your eyes fixed on the place you saw the tail vanish.

Despite the knowledge that Daemon is lurking so closely, you find relief in knowing that the castle must be hidden nearby as well. You narrow your eyes at the cliffs once you reach its base. Though it becomes steeper as you look up at it, it is significantly shorter than the sheer rock faces of Dragonstone. Tempest carefully clamors up a formation of rocks and you wait with bated breath for another screech from your pursuers.

When you are met with only the sound of crashing waves and your heart racing in your ears, you wrap the reins around your forearms and cling tightly to Tempest with your legs.

“Tempest, climb.”

You press your forehead into Tempest’s scales and brace yourself as she starts to crawl up the jagged wall. The sound of seabirds fleeing their nests at her approach becomes louder than the waves as she continues the ascent. Your arms begin to fatigue and threaten to fail just as Tempest comes to a sudden stop. She chitters in distress and you follow her gaze to see the bone chilling visage of the Blood Wyrm peering over the ledge off to the right of your position, looking out to the sea. Tempest snarls and Caraxes cocks his head to the side, trying to locate the source of the noise.

You hold your breath as he scans the rocks, willing your hands to keep holding on. He suddenly leaps over the edge, swooping down past you and Tempest and begins searching the waves below.

“Go!” You say in an urgent whisper and Tempest pushes off the wall, soaring swiftly over the top of the ledge and landing with a crash among the trees.

You fall forward upon her back and begin unwrapping the reins from your forearms, wincing as you pull them away from the deep red lines they leave behind in your skin. Sliding off her neck, you run back to the ledge to locate Caraxes only to be blown back from the force of his wings as he crests the cliff top right in front of you. You are sent to the ground behind you and Tempest roars at the sky and to your horror, launches up to pursue Caraxes. They chase each other above you then dive back over the cliff towards the sea. Moving back to the ledge, you watch them weave around each other, neither of them seeming to gain any ground over the other.

Your attention is then drawn to your left as you spy three crumbling stone towers poking through the trees. Fearful tears begin to escape out of the corners of your eyes as you look back and forth from the chase and the ruin, trying to decide what to do now. After one more painful moment of watching Tempest dodge Caraxes, you tear yourself away from the edge, sprinting into the forest toward the ruins.

“She will find me.” You utter to yourself, tears flowing freely as you run. “Just retrieve the banner and get back to her.”

The roars off in the distance compel you to run faster until you stumble into the overgrown courtyard of the ruined castle, a red banner sticking out of the ground across the open space. You choke back more tears and rush to the banner. Eagerly plucking it from the ground with your shaking hands and taking a moment to breathe then turn towards the sound of dragons clashing.

Rather than running back to where Tempest landed, you instead run directly towards the ledge, hoping to catch Tempest’s eyes. As you skid to a stop just before the drop off, you notice the roars have fallen silent. You peer over the edge but find no sign of either dragon on the horizon.

“TEMPEST!” You scream over the edge, causing another flock of seabirds to take flight from their nests below.

The cry of the birds and the waves below are once again the only noise your ears detect, so you draw in another deep breathe to shout again but are cut off by the crash of trees directly behind you. A snarl sounds and you whip around to see the wicked grins of both Caraxes and Daemon perched upon his back.

“The beast has fled,” Daemon smugly shouts at you. “As I expected.”

Caraxes lunges at you and you jump backwards, teetering on the cliff’s edge. Daemon laughs bitterly and begins to berate you but it all falls on deaf ears as your skin prickles at the sound of Tempest’s call from below. Without a second thought you turn your back on the two of them and leap from the ledge while clinging to the banner. An involuntary scream escapes your lips as you fall towards the water until Tempest swoops beneath you, catching you in the air.

You adjust to grab hold of the reins before glancing behind you to see Caraxes take to the sky with a shrill roar. He follows furiously behind, gnashing at the empty air between you. This time, however, Tempest charges forward with ease. No longer feigning an even match for the sake of the chase. Although Caraxes still pursues you relentlessly, it quickly becomes apparent that he cannot hope to catch up. You beam with pride and embrace the back of Tempest’s neck.

“Let’s go home,” you sigh and she roars in agreement, rushing forward with even more speed.

- - - - -

Jacaerys sits alone on the beach where you left him, drawing shapes in the sand with the end of a stick, occasionally glancing up towards the spot where you disappeared on the horizon.

“You know you have lessons to attend,” his mother’s voice calls from behind.

He throws the stick into the tide and crosses his arms over his chest.

“I didn’t see the use in going if my attention would only be focused here.” He mumbles quietly.

Rhaenyra sighs and moves to place her hand on his head, tousling his dark hair.

“You’re very attached to, y/n,” she says warmly.

Jace shuffles to his feet, avoiding his mother’s face.

“They are one of the few people who don’t make me feel like a pawn in someone else’s game.” He mutters, still staring at the sand. “And now I’ve invited them into the same life that they provided me refuge from. If any harm should come to them I don’t know that I could forgive myself.”

Rhaenyra watches her son with a sorrowful smile. She reaches an arm around him but he suddenly darts forward out of her grasp. A distant roar over the water draws her attention as well.

Jacaerys and Rhaenyra watch as the black shape of Tempest comes into focus as she approaches, Caraxes coming into view further behind. Jace smiles up at his mother before turning back to the horizon.

Tempest lands in the water before the Prince and Princess and Jace watches with pride as you dismount with a red banner in your hand. He runs forward to meet you in the water. Rhaenyra watches from the shore as the two of you converse happily but looks back up to the sky to see Caraxes nearing the beach. As he moves in to land, Tempest snarls but you place a hand on her neck.

Daemon stays mounted upon his dragon as Rhaenyra moves towards them. You and Jacaerys follow suit, emerging from the shallow water to converge on the beach.

“Satisfied?” She asks, raising an eyebrow.

Daemon smirks and looks to you as you walk with the banner in hand. Before you and Jace have closed the distance, Daemon calls out across the sand.

“That was reckless!”

You freeze mid stride, bracing yourself for some scathing reprimand.

“Well done.” He continues with a subtle nod.

He looks back to Rhaenyra and bows before departing from the beach in a flurry of wings and sand. You step forward and offer the banner to the Princess. She graciously takes it and drives the pole into the sand between you before reaching out to take your hand.

“The maesters will meet you in your new chambers.” She murmurs while examining the red lines carved into your forearms.

You and Jace exchange a glance and you look up at Rhaenyra.

“New chambers, Princess?” You ask.

“Yes,” she says casually, releasing your hands, “you shall be moved into a larger room befitting your station. I’ll send for you after you’ve rested.”

Jacaerys beams at you and Rhaenyra discretely does the same to him. She begins to depart and Jace backs away after her.

“I can’t wait to hear everything.” He says with a smile and bids you farewell. Turning away with a calming warmth in his chest.

[vellichor-of-the-solivagant]

Like Birds on a Broken Branch | 3

Monster! Task Force 141 X F!Reader

Previous Chapter / Masterlist

Context Warning: NSFW! Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dub-con/ Non-con, Fingering, Murder, Author's Poor Attempt in Dark Fic, Monsterfucking, Mentions of Slavery

Your eyes were already open before the sun had spread its light across the horizon, staring up at the crimson blinds of your canopy, counting its folds. Normally, you would have slept in until nearly noon, but something at the back of your mind woke you up before the crack of dawn, and so, you heaved yourself up from bed.

The hem of the black, silk dress you had been put into last night, fell under your knees, and with each step you took, it gave a satisfying rustle.

You padded over the books, fingers hovering over the expensive leather binds, the titles and the authors’ names dusted with gold. You pulled out one and pondered over its cover, an engraving of a man in a cloak, holding a scythe with one hand. A Reaper.

You walked over to the chair next to the windows placed it down on its red cushion, for a later read, and headed towards another table, where a mirror was placed above and a litter of jewelry and ornaments rested in lofty boxes.

You took a seat positioned in front of the table and gazed upon the glistening gems in your sight. But you didn’t dare place a finger on them and went straight for the drawers instead. Upon the third one, you found scissors.

You began to hum and carefully closed it. You pulled open the first drawer, where the hair brushes were stashed, and took one. You parted your hair and the door swung open. Through the mirror, you watched John Mactavish make his way towards you with a grin.

“Good morning, love,” he greeted in a bright voice, too loud and clear to start a morning with. He wrapped his muscular arms around your frame and planted his lips on the bare skin of your nape, before taking a whiff of you. “Yer up quite early. A morning person?”

You remained silent for a moment, before shaking your head. “Not really.”

He took the brush from your hand and you didn't bother to utter a protest as he started to untangle your locks with careful strokes. “What made ye get up early?”

Oh, nothing. Just being almost fucked by monsters? You clenched your fists, holding yourself back from reaching towards the scissors to rip his throat open.

“Hmm, I get it.” He swiped your hair to the side. “Living with monsters and all, now.” He put down the brush and rested his chin on your shoulder, once again wrapping his arms around you. “But of all things, ya should be glad we are the ones who got ya.”

He gently placed his fingers on your chin, angling your head for more access to your neck, where he began to dust your skin kisses. Whilst his hand hovered over the strap of your dress, slowly pulling it down. Then, he stopped and clicked his tongue.

“Really, Ghost?” The incubus groaned and placed his forehead on your shoulder.

In the mirror’s reflection, you watched Simon shrug and turn away, just like he did last night before you had dinner.

“Breakfast is being served, and I'm not going to tell the servants to save some more for you,” the Wraith proclaimed.

You didn't know why he kept interrupting his brothers, but you were a bit thankful for that.

With no time and consideration to change into a different dress before breakfast, you were dragged by the incubus to their dining hall. By the time you arrived, no thanks to the winding corridors and hallways of the fortress, you just wished to sit down and sleep on the table.

The dragon and the siren were already seated across one another in a long dining table, where food had been placed. They looked over their shoulders as you sauntered in with the Wraith and Incubus, and both smiled at you.

Mactavish guided you towards the seat at the end of the table, which you knew by reading books was supposedly the seat of the highest person in a castle. But when you frowned at him in confusion, he merely nodded and forced you to sit down. Then, he took his own seat next to Kyle, and Simon next to Price.

“Are you supposed to not say anything to your husbands on this lovely morning?” Price spoke up, his chest puffing out through his deep v-neck shirt.

Your eyes went back and forth between the four of them and knitted your brows deeper. “Good Morning?” you offered them, unsure of what the dragon wanted, but that was what people would usually say to other people at this early hour.

“You speak as though that wasn't a custom to everyone,” he huffed, angling his head to the side.

“Because I've got no one to say that greeting to,” you muttered and lowered your gaze, eyeing the perfectly grilled meat in front of you. You gulped.

“You have us now,” Kyle claimed in a silvery voice.

You snapped your head in his way, captured by his words. To someone who had been deprived of other people's presence and touch, a siren who was as alluring as his voice was dangerous.

But he . . . spoke of the truth. Even the incubus did.

A shelter above your head to shield you from what was to come, a lovely room where you can sleep instead of an old mattress infested of insects, and more than sufficient amount of meal to fill your stomach.

Other females would kill to be in your position.

Have you truly been lucky to be in their arms?

No.

No, it was the Siren’s song working through your mind again.

Do not fall for it.

Do not drown in it.

“While we're at it,” Price’s deep voice burned through the veil of thoughts unrolling in your head, and you met his eyes, currently in the shade of blue. “Don't you have another thing to do for your husbands after saying good morning?”

Once again, you went into a spiral of thoughts, your mind going through the books and stories of women you have read throughout your life. But all of it was the tales of their suffering.

Was this lizard mocking you even after knowing you didn't know shit about having partners?

You stared at him for a good minute till your gaze drifted down to his lips, and he smirked his sharp fang flashing.

Why was this guy so hold-up with fcking old traditions of humans that had been under the land a long time ago?

You fought back the grimace threatening to appear on your face and slowly rose from your seat. You walked over him as his eyes trailed over your body, before settling back to your face.

You reached to his face, hand trembling as you leaned down. You lowered your lashes and placed a kiss on his lips, at the same time you felt his hand circling your waist.

“Gracing us with a gorgeous view, aren't we?” He questioned when you pulled away and his eyes fell on your nipples firm under the thin silk dress.

“Kyle dressed me up on this,” you said and removed your hand from his face, but he was quick to grab your wrist. He placed it over his mouth, dusting your palm with kisses.

“Can't blame myself for having good fashion.” The Siren shrugged. “That said, where's my kiss?”

Price let you go as if permitting you to go. You shot him a glance and left his side, skipping over to Kyle. Repeating the same actions as you did for the dragon, you left him with a smile when you went to the incubus by his side, who seemed to be more eager than the other two.

Mactavish pushed himself closer to you kissing as soon as your skins met, but soon pulled away. Then your eyes met the Wraith’s.

Simon, a monster of a few words, and seemingly the least interested in you.

“Well, I'm waiting,” he said, his eyes narrowing. Under his mask, you knew he was smiling.

Maybe, he was as needy as his brothers, but he just didn't show it. Nevertheless, as you came closer to him, your heart thumped, fearing what he would look like under his mask.

He reached out a hand to you, which you took hesitantly, and with your other hand, you reached up to his face but hovered over the fabric.

“Go on, sweetheart,” he ordered, and with a finger, you pulled it down.

You blink at his features. It was perfectly normal. Good-looking, as much as you hated to admit it, like every single one of them There were a few signs of scars but not a spot of rotting on his face, despite being a wraith.

He opened his mouth to speak, but you planted your lips on him, stopping him from uttering a word.

He was a high-ranked wraith, that was the only answer to his perfect body.

You later learned, during their not-so-late self-introductions over breakfast that he was a Duke, the incubus and the siren were nobles, and their acting leader was the sovereign of dragons.

The crown felt heavy and yet, at the same time, it felt like nothing but a feather on your head. You were not suited to be a Queen, a Duchess, or any sort of nobility. A slave were meant to be underneath their feet, not someone who would sit on the throne.

You removed the ornament adorning your head and placed it down on the table, meeting Jonathan's eyes on the mirror's reflection.

His eyes flashed gold, his round pupils turning thin and his grip on your shoulders tightening. “Why'd you remove it?”

“Get yourself a Queen, not a slave,” you imposed, watching his brows knit, “Have some . . .” you trailed off as his hands went down to your breast and waist. “Have some dignity,” you finished.

“You are my woman.” He kissed your shoulder, bare from the off-shoulder dress you had changed into, but it was also dangerously low on the chest, giving him access to easily strip it off you.

He pulled the neckline down under your breasts as he sucked on your neck, his fangs grazing your skin, and pinched your nipple. “My wife.”

You gripped his arm, trying to pull it away from you, but he only strengthened his hold on you, eliciting a cry of pain from you. “I just got dressed—”

“And who gave you those dresses, hm?” He twisted the sensitive bud and you clawed on his arm, wincing at the discomfort.

“I did not ask for it!” You shouted at him and he grabbed your jaw, making you face your reflection. Your visage flashed red at your sight and on your neck, you could see his eyes changing back to gold.

“Really?” He swiped the boxes of jewelry and the crown off the table, and flipped you over, heaving you onto the surface. He forced your legs open wide and leaned down.

“Jonathan,” you begged just as he kissed your folds through the thin fabric of your undergarment. You bit back a moan when he ran his tongue over. “S-stop.”

Yet, he continued, ripping your panties off with his fangs.

“I said, stop!” You pulled on his hair, making him stop and look up at you through his lashes. You flinched at his gaze that seemed to have imprisoned the purgatory, ready to unleash its flame to burn you alive. You pulled your hand back, but he was quick to catch it.

He placed a kiss on your knuckles and his horns sprouted from his forehead. “You deserve only the best, my Queen.”

Price had you holding onto one of his horns. He slurped at your cunt with thirst as he gripped your thighs, his claws digging into your skin through every lap. His beard was drenched, soaked in the flavor of your slick, and each time his nose hit your clit, he would feel you flinch. His breath as he chuckled fanned your sex, now diving to the sensitive bud, his tongue dragging it into circles.

It was hard to breathe from the stimulation, your body felt like it was set on fire as Price continued his overwhelming abuse. “Stop, please, please,” you cried, feeling the sting of his claws on your trembling thighs.

“You're dripping wet and you want me to stop?” A laugh once again escaped his lips. He removed his grip on your thigh only to place his fingers onto your drenched folds.

Your breath hitched and you grabbed his wrist, shaking your head. “Not the claws.”

“Why not?” He raised a brow.

“It—it will hurt,” you told him in a low voice and gulped when he didn't utter an answer. “Please, Jonathan.”

“Fine,” he scoffed, finding himself frowning at the sound of his name from your mouth, and felt his cock twitch under his pants, already painfully hard.

His claws retracted in a blink and his fingers quickly traced up to the hood of your clit and once again, circled the nub. This time, as compensation, you hold onto his muscled shoulder, and as though he understood it as permission, his fingers moved in further and dipped into your flittering hole without warning.

He picked up the rhythm and before you could clamp your hand over your mouth to hold back the moan, he wrapped his hand around your neck, pulling you into a kiss.

Your moan rose, became more hectic, and he drank them all as he worked on your clit with his thumb.

The noises that echoed around the room were pure filth, and you hated every single second of it. But you couldn't deny the pleasure he was giving you. So, you wrapped your arms around his neck, closed your eyes, and bucked your hips on his hands.

Jonathan smiled at the kiss.

Women were easy to get, was what he might be thinking, and that was the reaction you wanted.

Next Chapter / Archive of Our Own

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[lipglossanon]

♔ 𝔉𝔦𝔳𝔢 ♔

• A Dozen Roses • Fairy Tale AU •

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, dead dove, incest, father/daughter incest, possessiveness, kissing, groping, thigh riding

Dawn does not break. A summer storm overtakes the early morning sky and overshadows the sun with pounding rain that comes down in sheets as lightning forks in the distance. Your chamber maids dress you warmly for even inside a chill is persisting along the stone corridors. 

Your father is nowhere to be found. Off with his fellow knights on a hunt, waylaid by the weather. That’s what the stable hand tells you as he points out the empty stall where your father’s steed usually rests. You frown out across the wide terrace as the maids usher you back inside. 

The day passes slowly, your ladies trying to distract you with music and sewing. One even whispers to you about the most recent gossip floating amongst the gentry. That your father has already chosen you a suitor— someone he was to announce after his hunt. 

“Is this so?” You murmur quietly, eyes seeking the window and yet only seeing the storm. 

She nods, threading her needle, “Yes, Princess. But tis only a rumor, just another tale to spread for those with too little responsibility.”

You smile at her, “I suppose that’s true enough.”

The talk turns to other things, letting you fall back into your thoughts. The book containing your mother’s story lies tucked against your side. Your grand plan of speaking to the King this morn dissipates like mist in the light. The day drags along and after supper, you visit her portrait hoping to glean more insight into this ghost. 

Refreshing her wilted lilies, as you have countless times before, makes your heart race with longing. Magic is all well and good but it seems to only have a place for you in the shadows of your heritage. Gifting her a single red rose, you place the thorny stem in the middle of the lilies and take your leave. Your ladies-in-waiting walk with you back to your chambers, bowing and bidding you a goodnight as you part from them at the door.

Once you’re completely alone, you light a candle and read over the words and secrets left behind in the diary until they swim across the page. You hear loud movement coming from beyond the door, leading you to creep across the cold floor to press an ear to the wood. The deep voice of your father can be heard but you are unable to parse what is being spoken. 

When you’re sure the hall is empty once more, you climb back into bed, hand reaching for the book you set aside. Eyes gaze unseeing upon the leather cover. The King has known everything all of this time and yet kept his distance. It hurts you. Makes you seek him out now regardless of the late hour, book in hand as you enter his rooms uninvited. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He’s seated in front of the fire, dressed down for the night in a simple tunic and breeches. His hair and clothing are soaked from the storm still raging outside. You suddenly realize you’re in your nightgown and how improper it was to walk through the castle in such undress as well as to be standing in the King’s antechamber. 

“Tell you what?” He tilts his head, eyes dark and heavy as they drag down your immodest shift—fists clenching where they lay against his thigh, “tell my precious little princess she holds magic in her blood?”

“Yes,” your voice turns pleading, “why hide from me what is my right?”

He shakes his head, “Twould do no good,” standing, he walks over to you, water dripping from his hair to the straight line of his nose, “would you have had me toss you off to that forest witch to be raised?”

Chills race down your back as he brushes stray hairs away from your face, “You are my daughter, my property... my responsibility.”

“You never cared before,” words burst from your lips like overripe fruit. “You paid me no mind until this summer, Father.”

“Because you look like her,” he growls, eyes flashing in the low light, “you could be her.”

He grasps your upper arm and walks you over in front of the looking glass; his free hand reaches up to cup your chin roughly, forcing you to gaze at the mirror image. You clench your eyes shut and he chuckles, a low mean sound, against your back. 

“Look, my naive daughter,” his calloused hands pinch into the skin of your jaw and you meet his eyes in the reflection, “you have given me a most precious gift— a second chance with my dear beloved.”

A gasp spills from your lips as the King lets go of your arm to cup your mound through your thin nightgown. 

“Have you been good while I’ve been away, Princess?” He murmurs against your ear, fingers rubbing slowly against the heat gathering at the apex of your thighs. 

“Yes, Father,” your brows pinch together, body leaning into his touch. 

“Good girl,” his thumb rubs across your bottom lip. 

That hot shivery feeling you sometimes get overtakes you, eyes darting to the King’s mouth. A yearning cavern opens in your chest, a hollow echo of loneliness making your lips part. It’s the same feeling that you had when he took it upon himself to confirm your purity, his mouth hot and wet upon your cunt. 

“You should check, Father,” the damning words whispered as if that would soften the indecent request. 

He presses his thumb past your lips, pushing against your tongue as you suckle the digit. 

“I should,” he rumbles, gaze hot on your mouth as he turns your head to the side, “just to be sure your chastity is in place.”

A chaste kiss is dropped to your mouth, fleeting like the brush of a butterfly's wings. Whining, you tilt your head further, bodily asking for more. He presses another kiss against your lips, so different from Lord Winters. Your father claims your mouth for his own. He makes you sigh and gasp against his lips as he tastes you deeply, tongue stroking alongside your own. 

Your legs nearly give out and he wraps his broad arms around you, holding you to his firm chest as he kisses you heatedly. Head fuzzy, you sink against him, letting the King kiss you senseless. Pulling away, he shushes your whining before tugging you to the armchair in front of the fireplace. 

Once he is seated, he pulls you into his lap, indecently straddling one of his legs as your gown shifts leaving your bare cunt to rest on his trouser clad thigh. He pets your sides, a strange little smile hovering over his lips.  

“I never thought I would have this again,” he murmurs, “come, kiss me again, my sweet daughter.”

You’re much too eager and uncouth, but he takes it in stride; slowing you down, guiding your lips and tongue until you’re moving in sync with him. It’s addicting, like eating sun warm strawberries from the garden. Forbidden but so so sweet. The juice sticky and syrup thick, filling your mouth with decadence. 

His sword calloused hands grip your hips, guiding you into a rocking motion that makes you bleat and moan against his lips. A rare warm chuckle from him makes your mind buzz. You follow his motions until he’s able to squeeze and pet your hips as you rock against his thigh. The sharp bolts of pleasure make you leak until his trousers are soaked, sticking to the soft lips of your cunt. 

“Want me to teach you?” He whispers hotly in your ear, “teach you all the ways to feel good, my precious princess.”

“Please, Father,” you mewl quietly, kissing him needily.  

“I’ll show you,” he promises, voice dark as his eyes, hands grasping your gown to delve underneath, fingers skimming across your bare hips, “teach you like I did her—such gorgeous witches I’ve owned.”

Thoughts too hazy to pay attention, you sigh and gasp when his hands drift under your nightgown to grasp your breasts, squeezing the soft fat with a groan. The King’s mouth drifts along your neck, lips soft as he kisses the sensitive skin. Chills race down your body, your mind a haze of wanton need. He kisses your breasts through the nightgown as he pinches your nipples. 

Whimpering at him, you tangle your fingers in his still damp hair. Your body is hurtling to that peak that whites out your thoughts, pleasure curling up like a sated cat in your stomach. The rough fabric of his trousers rub against your soft, wet heat as you rut back and forth on his thigh, making you moan softly. 

“My sweet witch,” he pulls away to gaze up at you in satisfaction, “my beloved made whole again.”

Bringing your face closer, he kisses you far sweeter than before. This surprising show of tender affection brings you to your climax. Your voice stutters out, a broken cry lost in his wet kisses. The fire in the hearth roars to life like dragon’s breath as glasses on the mantle shatter only to land as glittering diamonds on the floor. 

Your father chuckles warmly and it sends a frisson of heat pulsing at the apex of your thighs. 

“Such a gift, my precious princess,” he brushes his thumb across your swollen bottom lip.  

The expulsion of magic makes you tired. The King keeps you on his thigh, the rough material of his breeches bringing you to climax again and again as he kisses the moans from your mouth. Never pushing it further, he makes a promise to show you everything with each time you clench on nothing and cum on his lap. 

It’s cock crow when you finally pull away from your father’s embrace. Lips and cunt swollen from his rough touch and yet your body and heart ache for more. 

“I shall escort you to your room,” he helps you stand on trembling legs, wrapping one of his heavy riding cloaks around your body—his smoky scent surrounding you. “I’ll make sure you have the morning to yourself for resting.”

You hum, exhausted in more ways than one, and easily follow the King back to your room. As he tucks you into bed, you pout and grasp his shirt, seeking another kiss before you fall into slumber. 

“Sleep well, beloved,” he murmurs, kissing your temple before pulling away. 

Although you wouldn’t realize until too late, it’s the end of your old life. 

[anna-hawk]

Fingers 2.0

Frank Castle x implied F!Reader

Summary: You just really like Frank's fingers.

Explicit 🔞 // WC: 1,8k

Tags and Warnings: PWP, breath play, fingering, hand/finger kink, cumshot

A/N: After the result of today's poll, I felt like quickly writing this down, using the three first favorite options. One comment in particular from @puddle--wonderful inspired something for the end, so please enjoy my third little fic revolving around Frank's fingers. No, I'm not obsessed, shh.

Gif by @darlingshane 🧡

At 10pm, Frank was relaxing on the couch in his apartment, reading one of his favorite books. He’d come home a couple of hours ago, but he hadn’t bothered to dress down, still wearing his dark Henley over a pair of denims and his eternal combat boots. He held himself up with an elbow on the arm rest, the fist under his jaw, as the other hand held the book. One of his feet sat propped up on the coffee table, while his other foot was on the floor and made his leg bounce sporadically as he lost himself in the story. 

He was getting to a good part, when there was the sound of keys opening the apartment door, followed by you appearing in the door frame. Frank’s eyebrows rose, and his head tilted curiously to one side as he studied you. You threw the keys into the dish sitting on a shelf next to the door and pulled off your coat and shoes with jerky movements. Not that it really mattered if you did, but you hadn’t told him that you were coming, which you usually did. 

“Hey.” Frank sat up as he greeted you, placing the book with the page lying open onto the coffee table so he wouldn’t lose the page. 

“Hey,” you replied quickly, as you strode towards him with hurried steps. 

You didn’t stop in your motion until you were on top of him, straddling his thighs and kissing him swiftly. Frank’s hands automatically went to your waist as he caught you, making a soft sound of surprise at your actions. You then cupped his jaw to tilt his head up to kiss him more comfortably. 

“Touch me, Frank,” you breathed against his mouth before you sucked at his bottom lip until you caught it between your teeth. 

Frank grunted as you pulled on his flesh, and tightened his hands on you. You gasped, making you release his lip, as his fingers dug into your waist, and you pressed your crotch down into his. Never one to back down from such a request, Frank leaned you back as he kissed you again and moved his hips until he was sitting on the edge of the couch with you. He pulled at your top, your lips separating as Frank tugged it over your head and threw it to the side. This time, his mouth went to your neck, sucking a mark into your skin just underneath your collarbone. He hissed as your fingernails drew sharp lines against his back in your hurry to get the Henley off as well. You only shot him an unapologetic shrug, not hiding your grin for even a second. As soon as his shirt was off, Frank retaliated by drawing one of your nipples into his mouth and using his teeth to tug at it sharply. He let go with a satisfied chuckle as you cried out halfway between pleasure and pain. Now that was much better. He returned his attention to your neck, where he’d initially started, but frowned as you pulled back and grabbed one of his hands by a wrist. 

“Like this,” you said in a hushed voice, staring him straight in the eyes as you placed his palm over your throat. “Please.”

Frank stared at you as understanding dawned on him as he remembered your earlier request for touch. Watching you keenly, he slowly curled his fingers around your neck until your mouth opened, and your eyes closed halfway into a blissful expression. 

“Yes,” you hissed, gyrating your hips over his and rubbing against his confined erection. 

As his lips lifted into a smirk, Frank suddenly threw you bodily onto the couch, making you land on the spot right next to where he had been sitting. You gasped out loudly in shock, but relaxed instantly as his hand returned to your neck and pressed you down into the cushions with it. While he loomed over you from between your parted legs, Frank knew that he was starting to cut off a little of your air. Judging by your reaction and your silent request just before, however, that was exactly what you wanted from him. He definitely could work with that. 

“That what you came for, Sweetheart?” he rasped, as he used his free hand to open your pants and rip them off your legs as you lifted your hips helpfully. “Just so you could have my fingers ‘round that pretty neck?” 

You nodded quickly and moaned, one of your hands gripping at the arm he was using on your throat while the other squeezed the couch pillows. What a sight you made, laid out for him like that, completely at his mercy and desperate for his touch. With a one-sided smile, he let his eyes travel down your body, while the hand not currently on your neck followed the same path. 

“What about those fingers, huh?” he wondered almost absently, circling his fingers all over your skin as he went from the mark he’d sucked into your collarbone, to the nipple he’d played with. 

His eyes met yours as he pulled at said nipple again, wanting to see your expression, and grinned as you gasped sharply. He eased up once more and let his hand wander lower and lower, over your belly button and finally between your legs. Quick, panting breaths came through your lips as you watched him watch you, until he tightened his grip on your throat some more at the same time he reached between your legs. He groaned deep in his throat as he felt your arousal coating his fingers as soon as he slid them over your flesh. 

“Yeah, think that’s where you need them too,” he said emphatically to your long moan of pleasure. “Shit, look at you, spreadin’ your legs even more for me.” He slid one finger inside you, teasing you as he rubbed the pad just along your entrance. 

A second finger quickly followed the first, and Frank hummed at the way your back arched up and your hips pressed down onto his fingers as you keened high in your throat. His cock jerked in his pants as he watched you writhe on his fingers, and licked his lips when you moaned as loud as you could with his fingers around your throat as he began stroking your walls with intent. 

“Think you can take another finger, baby?”

Frank knew you could, since his dick was a good deal bigger than three of his fingers, but he loved seeing the abandon on your face as he gave you the option for more. Sure enough, you nodded frantically, rotating your hips unconsciously over the fingers already playing inside you. 

“Please, Frank”, you managed through the fingers squeezing again harder. 

Frank almost lost it at the sight of your glassy eyes and erratic breathing, your whole body surrendering to his touch and begging for more of it. Frank leaned in quickly to share a filthy kiss with you, more tongue than anything else as he plunged that third finger inside you and ripped a cry of pure ecstasy from you as he did so. Leaning back up, he started to fuck you hard and fast, his index and middle finger curling up to rub against that special spot inside you that had your body going wild. 

“Yeah, look at ya. A fuckin’ masterpiece is what you are,” he rumbled with a rough voice, as he felt his dick pulsing painfully with the need for release as he watched you tremble under his touch. 

Through your exhilarated cries of pleasure, Frank could make out the faint beginnings of his name on your lips. He knew what you needed as soon as he looked into your eyes. Licking his lips as he breathed deeply, Frank squeezed the fingers around your throat until he knew that you couldn’t breathe at all anymore. He watched you raptly as your eyes rolled back into your head and your whole body bowed off the couch as you came in complete silence, only your mouth moving but no sound coming out. With his fingers still twisting in and out of you, Frank’s eyes never left your face as he waited and waited. His grip on your neck suddenly loosened entirely as the highest peak of your orgasm dissipated, living you choking and gasping for air, the action mixed with loud sounds of pleasure. He also stopped his hand and gently pulled his fingers out, but kept his hand loosely on your throat anyway as he reached for his pants. He unbuckled the belt and drew it out of its loops in a second before tossing it to the ground, before popping open the button and unzipping the jeans. Placing a knee on the couch next to your thigh, Frank pulled himself out and used your essence to coat his cock and jack himself off. 

“The things you do to me, Sweetheart.” He slowly ran his thumb along the already visible mark around your throat. “The way you fuckin’ trust me.” While keeping the fingers on your neck, Frank slid the thumb up your chin until he could pull your lower lip down with it. “Fuck,” he hissed, as you opened your mouth and invited the thumb inside, his cock spilling a few drops of pre-come at the view and the feeling. 

Frank didn’t hesitate and pushed his thumb inside, groaning as you closed your mouth again and sucked on it while locking eyes with him. You were the one to moan as he pressed down on your tongue, but Frank picked up the pace on his length as you only sucked harder, your eyes conveying that you did, in fact, trust him completely. He came a moment later with a sharp gasp, his come painting your chest and stomach in thick streaks. 

As he panted and stared at you through half lidded eyes, he saw you watching him attentively while gently swirling your tongue around his thumb. You grinned at him as you saw him watching, and playfully nipped at the digit before he withdrew it with a small snort. 

He let himself fall next to you with a long breath and turned his face towards you with one raised eyebrow as he put himself away again. 

“So… Somethin’ on your mind?” he inquired, as he watched you absently run a finger along the reddening marks on your neck. 

You would have to wear a scarf or a turtleneck for the upcoming days. While Frank would have felt bad about it any other day, he didn’t right then, considering that you’d come exactly for that if your satisfied smile was anything to go by. If nothing else, it was turning him on to see you this relaxed, fingering the marks and completely ignoring the splatters of come on your skin. 

“Mm, no, not really,” you grinned. “Just really missed your hands.”

Frank huffed out a laugh and rolled his eyes as you winked at him before he lifted an arm to pull you closer.

[hyperactively-me]

Hear me out for King! Ghost…the kingdom is under attack and (Y/N) is trying to find Simon through the chaos. She finds him in the castle garden, on the ground with the enemy standing over him with their sword raised. The next thing (Y/N) sees is her driving her sword into the enemy’s back, killing them. When she realizes Simon is okay, it dawns on her that she has killed a person…I’ll leave it up to you finish this prompt.

Btw your king! Ghost fic has had me on a chokehold it is SO good

thank you for the compliment :) i'm not fully satisfied with this, so i hope y'all like it lol

(noncanon)

king!ghost x reader -- like you've seen a ghost warnings: physical violence, descriptions of death, injuries/blood, heavy angst; this is NOT canon

How did it end up like this?

How were Kastron's forces overpowered, leading to the castle getting infiltrated and overran by enemy forces?

The first signs of trouble came when the castle guards, stationed at key points, were ambushed from within. Chaos erupted as the enemy struck swiftly and decisively, disabling communication and creating confusion amongst the guards and knights within the palace. Betrayed from within, the castle fell into disarray, and panic spread like a wildfire.

Simon shoves a sword in your hand and forces you into a closet, your fingers trembling around the hilt as Simon's urgent eyes bore into yours. "Remember what you've learned," he says, motioning to the sword in your hand. "And, for the love of God, do not move from this spot."

He presses a fleeting kiss to your lips, then shoots you a final lingering gaze before he slips his skull balaclava over his face.

As the closet door closes behind you, the muffled sounds of chaos outside become amplified in the suffocating darkness. The minutes crawl by like hours as you strain to hear any sign of Simon's return or the advancing enemy forces. The closet offers a stifling refuge, and each passing second intensifies the pounding of your heart. The distant echoes of the struggle outside seem to become more muffled.

A sudden hush falls over the room, and you feel a shiver crawl down your spine. The eerie silence is shattered by the creaking of the closet door as you cautiously open it, the cool air of the corridor rushing in. You twist your sword in your grip, angling it in a way that would let you strike anyone who came across you. You emerge from the closet into a scene of devastation—broken armor scattered across the stone floor, the faint scent of blood lingering in the air.

With trepidation, you move through the corridors, heart racing in your chest. There was no one to be found, not even a single knight.

As you round a corner, you stumble upon a grisly scene—the lifeless bodies of Kastron's guards and enemy fighters, the remnants of a fierce battle. Bile rises in your throat, panic gripping your chest, and you quicken your pace, desperate to find Simon. You don't dare call out for anyone in fear that the enemy will attack you.

Dizziness washes over you as you run down the corridor, stumbling upon the double doors that lead to the gardens. Outside the doors, you can hear yelling and the clashing of swords.

Simon wouldn't want you out here, you know it, but how could you stand by whilst Kastron is being invaded? The need to protect your home was overwhelming, so you stood as straight as you could before stepping outside. You shake your head, steadying your breathing as you push open the doors. The clash of steel and anguished cries intensify as you step outside, your grip on the sword tightening. The scent of crushed flowers and damp earth fills the air as you push open the doors, incongruous to the bloodshed within the castle walls.

No one seems to notice you, too caught up in their personal battles and one-on-one combat.

Your eyes dart between the people fighting, searching desperately for any sign of Simon.

In the midst of the tumult, you spot him, a lone figure fending off multiple adversaries. His movements are swift and purposeful, each strike of his sword fatal.

Until now, you've never seen Simon engaged in battle. Of course, you had heard tales of his skills and prowess before you even got married, but witnessing him in action sends chills down your spine. The stories did not do justice to the raw power and grace with which he moved through the battlefield.

You don't know whether you want to beg him to stop or stay back and observe. His skull balaclava looks even more menacing and deadly than ever.

Simon's blade is deadly, each swing and parry precise, calculated, and unforgiving. Each strike finds its mark, taking down each assailant efficiently, knocking them down one by one. Once he finishes off the hoard of people, he takes a shuddered breath, standing up tall as he surveys his surroundings.

Unbeknownst to him, one person had snuck up behind him, kicking Simon down with a loud thump.

The world seems to freeze for a moment as Simon crumples to the ground, caught off guard by the unexpected attack.

"No," you whisper to yourself, eyes going wide at the person pushing your husband to the ground.

Your heart skips a beat, and instinct propels you forward. The enemy, emboldened by their surprise attack, raises their sword for a final, fatal strike.

Time slows as you charge towards them, the sword in your hand cutting through the air. The enemy, unaware of your presence until now, turns too late to defend themself from your onslaught. Your strike stabs straight through their back, a fatal blow.

The enemy gasps, dropping their sword before they could drive it into Simon's chest. They crumble to the ground, lifeless.

Your action hits you like a tsunami, and you stumble backwards, breathless. The world blurs around you as guilt and horror consumes your senses. He looks up, his eyes registering surprise and relief as he sees you unharmed.

Simon's voice pierces through the chaos as he rasps your name once, twice. You still don't fully register that he's calling for you, saying your name.

The ground beneath your feet feels unsteady, and you gasp for air, caught in the grip of a suffocating terror. You sink to your knees, the reality of what you did crashing over you. Your sword slips from your fingers, clattering on the ground. Your attention finally snaps back to Simon, who is still on the ground, momentarily incapacitated. He's struggling to rise, but determination glints in his eyes.

"Simon," you manage to croak, the taste of bile in your throat. You crawl towards him, desperate to reach him and make sure he's okay.

"I told you to stay in the closet," he manages to say.

But you can't comprehend his words. Panic tightens its grip around your chest, and your vision blurs with tears.

"I had to protect you," you whisper, the words barely audible over the din of the ongoing conflict. But the justification feels hollow, and a heavy weight settles in the pits of your chest.

You reach Simon, your trembling hands desperately searching for any sign of injury. His skin under his armor is battered and bruised, and thin trail of blood escapes from a tiny cut on his forearm, but other than that he's fine. The sight of the trickle of blood sends a surge of naseua through you, and you clutch his arm, as much for your own support as for his.

"Simon, I- I..." you stammer, unable to form words. Your eyes dart from his forehead to the attacker laying lifeless on the grass next to you two. Simon's gaze follows yours, and there's a silent understanding in his eyes.

"We need to move," Simon urges, his voice penetrating the disorienting fog in your mind. He starts to stand up, yanking your arm along with him.

You still don't move, too caught up in the way blood seeps into the earth.

"We have to go," Simon insists, his grip on your arm firm. The touch feels distant and disconnected. The urgency in his eyes is undeniable, and you force yourself to nod, pushing back the emotions that threaten to engulf you.

Simon's grip tightens as he pulls you up from the ground, dragging you by your arm harshly. You glance once more at the fallen enemy, anxiety gripping at your heart.

Together, you and Simon stagger away from the battleground unnoticed, moving through the castle's corridors. Simon's pace is brisk, purposeful, but the tension in his movements is palpable. He's still on high alert, ready to defend himself and you from any potential threats.

As you reach his study, Simon locks the door behind him and releases his grip on your arm. He moves to the bookshelf against the far wall and shoves it aside, grunting as he moves it. Behind the wall is a stone door, heavily fortified. With another aggressive movement, he's able to shove the door open, throwing his shoulder against it.

The hidden door reveals a dimly lit room. Simon motions for you to follow him, and you do so without a word. The air in the room is cool, carrying the scent of damp stone.

Simon leads the way with a determined stride, his jaw set. He pulls his balaclava off, revealing the frustration and concern on his face.

Simon finally turns to you, his eyes searching yours for a moment before he speaks.

"What were you thinking?" Simon's voice is low, his words weighted with disappointment. "I told you to stay in the closet, to keep yourself hidden."

Your eyes dart down, guilt and fear rendering you speechless. The images of the lifeless enemy you just struck down replays in your mind, each moment tormenting your senses. You feel trapped, and panic continues to tighten its grip on your chest.

"I... I couldn't just stay there. I had to do something," you stammer, your voice barely audible, tears now freely flowing down your cheeks.

Simon's gaze doesn't waver, his expression stern. Still, he reaches out to cup your face, swiping away some of your tears with his thumb. "You were meant to stay hidden, not to charge into the middle of the fuckin' battlefield. You put yourself at risk, and you put me at risk. I can't protect you if you don't follow orders."

Numbly, you manage to nod, your eyes finally meeting Simon's.

Guilt gnaws at you, a heavy lump in your throat. The reality of your impulsive actions sinks in, and the consequences unfold in Simon's disapproving eyes. You tremble, unable to shake the vivid images from your mind; the smell of the blood, the way it felt when your sword pierced through the person.

You start to breathe rapidly, the small room closing in on you. Everything feels too big, too much—

Simon's stern expression softens, replaced by genuine concern as he sees the panic taking hold of you. He leads you to a dingy chair in the corner of the room and he crouches in front of you, his hands gently holding yours.

"Easy now, love," Simon murmurs, his voice calm as he breaks through the fog of your panic. "Focus on your breathing. In and out. Slowly."

The panic continues to claw at your throat, choking on your tears and inability to get enough air to your lungs. You follow his lead, trying to match your breaths with his. The rhythmic inhales and exhales provide an anchor, helping to alleviate the panic that threatens to consume you. Slowly, you try to regain control over your breathing, clinging to the physical sensation.

"Thas' it," Simon encourages, his voice low. "In and out. We're safe."

Gradually, the tightness in your chest begins to ease, and the room seems a little less suffocating.

"I know it's a lot to comprehend right now—"

"I killed someone," you whisper, voice shaky and raw, tears welling up in your eyes once more. Simon doesn't move an inch.

His gaze doesn't waver, and he maintains a steady grip on your hands. "I know," he says softly, his voice a comforting anchor in the chaos. "It was self-defense, dove."

"I was trying to protect you," you mutter, your eyes dropping to the ground.

A sigh escapes Simon, and he runs a hand through his disheveled hair. "You had to protect yourself and, by extension, me. It's a brutal reality, but it's the world we find ourselves in right now."

You look up at him, searching for any sign of anger or blame in his eyes, but all you find is understanding. He pulls you into a reassuring embrace, his arms enveloping you as if to shield you from the harshness of the outside world.

"You did what you had to do to protect me," Simon murmurs against your hair. "But, charging into battle like that... it was reckless. I can't lose you."

You swallow thickly, squeezing his hand. Simon's thumb brushes against your knuckles, a gesture of both comfort and concern.

"I trust you, I do. But I need you to trust me," Simon continues.

He pulls away slightly, holding your face gently between his hands. His eyes search yours for assurance, a plea for understanding. "We're in this together, and I need you safe. Promise me, even if things get hard, you'll follow the plan and trust that I'll come for you."

You nod, your voice barely a whisper, "I promise."

- - - - -

(masterlist)

[themotherofhorses]

bewitched

pairing: alys rivers x fem!targaryen!reader, minor aemond targaryen x fem!targaryen!reader

summary: she is many things— this witch, and observant is one of them. alys rivers can see the way your older brother stares at you, that mix of heavy lust and longing darkening the violet in his eye.

it is quite cute, she thinks. such a shame she's decided to claim you for herself.

warnings: explicit language. aemond acting like book!aemond in the beginning (violence and death). seduction. mention of canon-typical targcest between siblings. oral (f receiving) and fingering. tiddy sucking. slight breeding kink. alys straight up stealing aemond's bitch.

masterlist

Without any further thought, you had followed your older brother on his sixteen days’ march to Harrenhal, riding alongside him at the head of his army, some four thousand strong. Your mother had protested it a great deal, demanding you stay back and remain with her and your broken older sister.

But you were Aemond’s in the way Helaena’s was Aegon’s, and where he went, you followed.

And it was you, his sweet little sister, who did her best to calm him down when, twenty days later, word of the fall of King’s Landing finally reached him. At dinner, Aemond felt thrice the fool, you knew, and cried out curses at his uncle and the “river scrum” and Rhaenyra, over and over again. His fury was fearsome but never directed at you. He loved you too much. That night, you held him close, cradling his head against your breasts as the two of you slept.

The following morning, he began his onslaught.

Under the dawning sun, Aemond soon killed Ser Simon Strong in a duel, cutting the old man to pieces before feeding the corpse to Vhagar. Ser Simon was the great uncle to Larys Clubfoot, you then remember, grimacing at the blood puddling across the castle’s courtyard. Larys Strong. Harwin Strong. Lyonel Strong. Bits of his limbs were scattered about too, a horrible mess of muscle and skin and greyed hair. The sight made you sick to your tummy.

Bring me his grandsons! Aemond demanded soon after, freckles of dried blood staining his cheekbones and brow. And every man or boy with Strong blood in his veins. The Stranger does not discriminate in his wielding, and neither will I!

You watched in tears as one by one, your brother’s men dragged out both man and boy, some no older than your niece and nephew. Their screams broke out across the courtyard as their bodies stacked in a pile almost three feet high. Clutching Aemond’s sleeve, you begged and pleaded mercy for the children, and for the womenfolk huddled within the wards.

“See reason!” you cried. “They are innocent in all this, the babes especially! Do not let your anger deceive you, my dear brother!” But Aemond was unmoved by your words, to your utter dismay.

No trueborn Strong was spared nor any bastard, both adult and child. All except Alys Rivers.

You pled mercy for her as well, and Aemond surprised you by granting it. He gestured for two soldiers to shove her back inside Harrenhal, safe and alive, before asking if you were finally happy. Your lips curled at the bite in his tone, and the madden glare in his eye.

“This is unlike you,” you told him. “I do not like it.”

Aemond rolled his eye. “And I do not give a shit, sweet sister. If you wish to cast blame onto someone, let it be our eldest whore sister and her damn husband. Ser Simon was a traitor to the crown, and died a fitting traitor’s death.”

“But this was unnecessary, Aemond! You’re many things, yes, but cruel is not one of them.”

“Do you honestly believe that?”

“I know it!” you insisted.

Aemond sighed. His sword was back belted to his hip, hidden by the cloak he wore. “We’ve entered a war, sister. Fairness and humanity do not survive long on the battlefield. Do not expect much compassion during these times.”

You frown. Was Aemond always like this?

Suddenly you wish to be at home, tucked within the Keep’s stone walls, in your mother’s arms. Perhaps if you closed your eyes, you’d be back in the gardens, smelling the warm earthy smell of early springtime and feeling the cool wind play with your hair.

I want to go home now, you wanted to say when you reopened your eyes to find yourself still at Harrenhal. I don’t wanna be here anymore. Anywhere but here.

You did not know this man in front of you. Not anymore. He was no longer your older brother and protector, the man you would soon wed when the moon turned again, and the one you loved with your whole heart. Your eyes drifted back to the corpses stacked atop each other, bloodied legs and arms and messy heads strewn all over the redden dirt.

With nothing else left to say, you turned and left.

She is many— this witch, and observant is one of them. Alys Rivers could see the way your older brother stares at you, that mix of heavy lust and longing darkening the violet in his eye.

It is quite cute, she thought. Such a shame she’s decided to claim you for herself.

Alys felt no guilt at that. You had saved her life, although she hadn’t the slightest inkling as to why. Or, maybe she did, actually. She herself was older by many decades, raven-haired, and as tall as the Prince Aemond himself. Her breasts were still heavy with milk from all the highborn children she fed throughout the years. She was a wet nurse, a bastard woman.

There were so many pretty maids, all of your own years, at Harrenhal, and yet you never once entertained them as companions.

No, instead your pretty eyes remained on her.

As the evening sunlight streamed through the castle’s windows, Alys arrived at your bedchamber, guised as a servant. In her hands, she carried a tray of plated roasted deer, goat cheese, and nutty bread, still steaming from the furn. You’ve barred yourself shut in your room for the better part of the day, too upset with your brother’s carnage to venture beyond the walls. The hour had grown late, and you must be starving.

“My princess,” she greeted softly, bowing when you let her in. You stand by the window, gazing outside at the east gate, near the Tower of Ghosts- one of the five immense towers bent and lumped and cracked from the Balerion’s fire during the conquest. As dark and ruinous as it now stands, it was still hauntingly beautiful. “Might you be hungry?”

You sniffled. “My appetite has fled me, I’m afraid.”

“At least try, child.” Alys set the tray on the desk, before taking a step back to study her new prize.

Up close, you’re very much a Valyrian beauty, with hair as silvery as moonglow and deep purple eyes. There is a certain softness and sweetness to you that strikes her fancy, from the elegant way you hold your posture to how you trailed after your brother, the prince. Her eyes fall to your breasts, and she licks her lips.

“Thank you…um…” you paused shortly, unsure of her name.

“Alys Rivers.”

You nod, smiling. “Ah, yes, Alys. I remember now. Thank you for the food,” but then you shake your head, chuckling, “But I don’t think I can stomach any food after today….brutality. I feel sick just remembering such…”

Alys felt the same way as well, though she didn’t fault the little princess for such. It was all your damned brother anyways.

An awkward silence soon followed, and it left her wondering if both you and her had swallowed your tongues in that moment. She didn’t know what to say or do, so she cleared her throat and offered you the chalice of wine she brought too. “Here, sweet princess. A bit of wine to wash away these ill thoughts.”

“Thank you, Alys.” You took a sip, quickly relaxing your shoulders. Mmm, very nice. “I wish mercy on Ser Simon Strong, and his grandsons too, may the gods give them all rest.”

Ser Simon was her great uncle too, Alys thought with some sadness. “He was an old done man, my princess,” she said, lacing her thin fingers together. She wore two silver rings on each hand that sometimes she twisted when anxious. “I like to think he lived a good life before now. He died with bravery and a sword in his hand, the way many in House Strong dream of passing.” Or dreamt, I should say. I’m the only one left, next to Larys.

The two of you spoke for the rest of the hour, moving to sit comfortably on the settee at the foot of the bed. Alys Rivers was a complete joy to be around, and very beautiful. As she talked, you took some time to admire her. Her green eyes shone like bright emeralds, and her hair was long and dark as the midnight sky, falling thickly around her ample breasts. Maybe it was the wine tonight, or perhaps her voice, but you were struck with the sudden urge to kiss her plump, pink lips.

So you did.

You leaned forward, kissing her— softly at first, until she wrapped her arm around your waist to tug you closer. Nobody had ever kissed you before, not even Aemond, although during boyhood he made several attempts to steal a kiss. Her tongue found yours in a short dance before you broke away from her, a tad breathless now.

“Princess,” Alys whispered, hands falling down to your shoulders.

“Apologies!” You buried your face in your hands, embarrassed. “I cannot believe I just did that—my sincerest apologies, Alys. I don’t know what overcame me, I—” your voice was muffed as you hid away from her gaze.

She just laughed. “Was that your first kiss?... Have you been deflowered, sweet princess?”

You shook your head.

“Really?” Her dark eyebrow lifted in surprise. “With the way your brother looks at you, in truth I would’ve thought his babes were already in your belly.” Prince Aemond hasn’t bedded you yet? Alys was astonished at that. A silver flower still blossoming prettily in the rosebush, ripe for plucking? A slow smile spread across her lips.

“Aemond—he hasn’t…we’re to be married when we return to King’s Landing, I believe.”

“Do you like him?”

“I do. He is a good brother, and he will be a fine husband, and father too!” You said in a quivering voice, trying to calm your breathing. “He loves me, I think, and I love him too.”

But Prince Aemond had made you afraid of him today, she could smell it on you, even if you would never admit it aloud. This was very good. She could use it to her advantage. “Ah, I see. Well, in that case, I wish you two a fruitful and blessed marriage. You’ll make a fine wife when the day finally arrives, little princess.”

That made you pause. “I don’t know…” you mumble, picking at the skin around your nailbed.

“Why do you say that?”

“Well…our elder brother, King Aegon, he took Aemond to a brothel on his thirteenth nameday. He likes to joke that our brother is well-educated in pleasing a woman. I worry that I’m not…I’m not up to his standard. Or that he may not desire me afterward.”

Alys drew back, shocked. Up to his standard? Non-desirable? Does she take him for an utter fool? For what man wouldn’t wish to bed a Targaryen princess like yourself?

She scoffed, leaning her face so close to yours that you could feel her warm breath against your lips. It sent goosebumps prickling up each arm. “Men always love a blushing maiden in their sheets. They may return to the whores in due time, but they’ll always welcome a maid in their bed, however inexperienced she might be.”

Your breath hitched at her words. Could she…maybe….? Your eyes fell back down to her heavy breasts. She was a wet nurse, after all, and confessed to being pregnant with several children of her own. Would that mean she is well experienced in pleasure…? You debated the thought in your head, weighing the consequences of asking such.

Is it really whoring if it is with another woman? It is not like I’m laying with another man….she would be a teacher, not a mistress. You closed your eyes, thinking of Aemond. And Aemond would never know. I’d never tell him.

“Will you show me?” you blurted. “Teach me, so that I might be somewhat educated in pleasure?” Maybe it would take your mind off of this morning too.

Mischief twinkled in Alys’s pretty green eyes. “If it pleases you, my princess.”

Alys is quick to lay you down on the bed before climbing over you, straddling your waist. “I can hear your heartbeat. Do not be scared, little love. Passion is a love song, and lovemaking is merely the dance that follows.” She then takes both your hands in hers, placing them on her breasts. "I am yours to do whatever you wish, my princess." Encouraged by the look she gives you, you rub her nipples with your thumbs, before leaning to take one in your hot mouth to suckle.

She moans, cradling your head closer to her chest. “Good girl,” she whispers, eyes shutting as you flick it back and forth with your tongue.

Your other hand squeezes her other breast, enjoying the way it feels between your fingers and the moans flooding from her lips. You want to ask her if you’re the first woman she’s ever been with and if this moment is as special to her as it is to you. But her tit is still in your mouth and steals all the words away.

After a few more minutes, she pulls your mouth away to kiss you, letting you taste a bit of her tongue. “Very good,” she murmurs against your lips, kissing you again and again. “Did you like my breasts, sweetling?”

“Mmmm,” and you tug at her bottom lip between your teeth. “I did a lot, Alys. They're so soft.”

She giggles before pushing you back down, your head sinking against the pillows. Her soft hand drifts across your belly, fingers skimming below the curve of your breasts down to your hipbones and waist. “You’re so beautiful,” she says aloud, her voice thick with awe. “I dreamt of Targaryens before, but you’re far lovelier than them all, little princess.”

Your brother has been blessed with your hand, she thinks, with a mix of both sincerity and bitterness. Men never deserve such tantalizing fruits. They are all the same in their words and actions. They never truly appreciate the gods’ given gifts.

Her green eyes remain on your naked belly, imagining a soft swell to it. You’d be such a lovely mother, she’s sure. She could never give you a baby, though, but maybe….her eyes look up to yours, noticing the faint glimmers of lust clouding the pretty violet hue. It is a mirror to your older brother, Prince Aemond.

Alys thinks and thinks, taking the time to fondle your smaller breasts.

Prince Aemond could plant the seed…and she could then tend to it.

Alys’s hand continues downward, finding the mound of fine silvery hair between your thighs, grinning when she feels how wet you are. “I wonder if your cunt is as sweet as your lips,” she wonders aloud, more to herself. You bite your lip, watching with large, doe-eyes. Alys moves herself between your thighs, her pretty face hovering over your soppy pussy.

“You are just so lovely, sweet princess.” She flashes you a quick smile while running a finger through your folds, gently easing you open. Above her, you tremble.

She then presses a soft kiss to your clit before sucking it into her mouth, tongue drawing small circles around it. “Ohhhhh,” you moan, face scrunching in blissful pleasure. Alys switches between sucking and lapping at your cunt, her eyes flickering up to watch the way you react to everything. There are tiny beads of sweat lining your browbone and temple, and your fingers are slowly turning white from the tight grip on the cream sheets.   

Scream. Allow me to hear those cries. Let the entirety of Harrenhal learn who’s claimed you tonight.

Your hips buckle up against her mouth as your head lolls to the side, breathless whimpers leaving your lips when she works two fingers inside your cunt, scissoring and pumping and stroking your sweet spot until all you can see are flashes of blinding white. “ALYS,” you shriek, bringing the sheet to your mouth to bite down as hard as you can to muffle the rest of your screams. “Oh, gods be good, Alys!”

You don’t wish for your beloved Aemond to hear you, nor anyone else.

Oh, but you taste so fucking good, Alys thinks, savoring your arousal on your tongue. She continues to eat you out, as well as fucking you with her fingers, partly dreaming of a wonderful new life where she wakes up every morning between your shaky thighs, breaking fast with every sweet orgasm she pulls from you.

My princess, mine own dragon.

Several seconds later, your legs twist around the older woman’s body, breasts heaving as your whole body shakes and shudders. Your pussy clenches tightly around Alys’s fingers, a sign that you’re close to cumming. “Cum for me, sweetling,” she coos, kissing the inside of your thigh- once, twice, thrice. She feels victorious in a way, a great pride simmering within her as she eyes the way your peak comes only closer and closer.

Prince Aemond One-Eye may have sacked her Harrenhal, but she sacked his baby sister, and made the little princess her own sweet whore.  

“Would you like for me to bring your dear brother next?” she asks.

You shake your head, panting through the moans and whimpers and gasps. “He—he won’t…take me—ah, until our wedding night—”

“I have a way of fixing that,” Alys says, leaning to lick a long strip up your pussy. She has many love potions and philtres to entice the prince, a collection that would surely inflame his deep passion and lust for his sister. Although, she thinks in amusement, it shouldn’t be that hard. He wants you as badly as she did, mayhap even more. “You’ll be heavy with his child soon, sweetling, his bastard’s fire blazing in your womb.”

“He won’t father a bastard. Aemond hates bastards.”

“He’d father anything if it comes from your loins, sweet one.”

You cry, flinging your head back as you come undone at her fingers and tongue. Alys drinks everything you give her, mouthing tiny spells against your cunt. One for fertility, the second for a blessed marriage, and the third for protection. Except it won’t be between you and the prince.

Alys Rivers always did prefer women to men.

taglist for "bewitched": @chainsawsangel @sweethoneyblossom1 @dahlias-and-marigolds @ilikeitbetterangsty @inlovewithhisblueeyes @the-cult-classic-bitch @666-aiko

taglist for everything aemond: @randomdragonfires @aemvnd @moonteas @chompchompluke

[valenli]

Baldwin IV x Reader

Imagine you meet the king as a foreign princess, and you two are to be wed? But to your surprise. The king is all for it

(warnings: mention of skin disease, stitches, detailed explanations for violent scenes)

(this fic is in no way tied to the real figure, this is only for the movie interpretation. As I do not write for real figures (dead or alive))

For the longest time, I never thought I'd find love a man who was not only a man of God, but would too love me. My mother, after all, was nothing more than a concubine. So I didn't quite have a good example from her nor father who couldn't set his eyes on one. But that all changed when Jerusalem called to many kingdoms, many were there to feel the presence of God, and so was I. I were to travel on my own but it seemed as though father had other plans. Every night that got closer to Jerusalem, whether by ship or horse, I could hear him speak with the advisers and other higher ups of a wedding, mine. I did not wish to get upset just yet, for I prayed heavily that the man I meet is someone with a wise, excellent, and beautiful heart, for faces did not matter once one was in heaven. But on the 7th night, something had happened. While we rested round a campfire in order to rest from the morning heat waves, we heard horses of at least 9 or so men rushing are way, father said these may be pilgrims, and that we need not to worry. But as they came closer it seemed they were none other than knights, dressed in pure white and red cross at the center of the chest. Father got up and waved at them, but a horse man swang his sword straight into his hand, cutting a chunk of skin out. I couldn't hold but the scream I let out as the blood hit my dress, I curled up against my horse when I felt a second horseman strike against my leg, only a cut but it no less hurt. They were ready to strike a final blow but I could see a blue clothed horseman arrive, he stood before us and looked at the white clothed horseman.

-------------

"do these look like locals, Guy? Have you any clue the harm you have caused against your king?" said the blue clothed horseman

"I have not a clue of what your talking about Tiberias. These people are in the boarders of our enemies, are they not are enemies?" the white clothed horseman who's name seemed to be Guy seemed all smug, or at least arrogant at best, in his answer. He seemed to not care that I had been cut, nor my father who held to his injury.

"these people, Guy, are the bride to be and her father. Had you have asked, they'd already been at the castle discussing matters beyond your small minded arrogance!" the man in blue, Tiberias, seemed familiar to father, as father tried to reach out to him. Soon the white clothed men who hurt us got us up and carried our things, by dawn we were at the castle. What a shame it was nighttime, for the city, and castle, were beautiful. Some physicians stitched my father's injuries and mine, and I were to meet his highness, my groom to be. In the bright morning I headed to his quarters, I felt at ease once opening the door, For it was just him, and me.

---------

Baldwin moved the headwrap away from his face, seeing that my groom to be was masked. I could only wonder why, had he committed a crime? Was he afraid of being spied on? It was common for the women to hide their face before marriage, but I'd never seen a man do it.

"ah, Y/N. You have arrived, I have hoped in one piece, but you were harmed. For which the man who laid hands upon you will be harmed, no doubt in that" he said as he rose up from his chair and gestured for me to follow, we reached the balcony and I looked over at him, then at the city.

"your highness.. It's unnecessary for you to punish him" I said as I turned my head back to the man I stood with, "he did not purposely harm me". I felt the king shake his head and hold my hand, "no, my dear Y/N. But he would have harmed another's life, innocent or not. As a knight, it is his only duty, as demanded by God, to never lay a finger on a innocent". Listening to him speak, it moved something in my heart I had not felt for anyone I had ever known, Yes, I was his soon to be bride, but I couldn't help but feel something. "Y/N. Just as it is the duty of a king to protect his people, it is my duty as your husband to protect you. I promise, even with my condition" he said, I could see his eyes looking away as though he felt ashamed, but of what?

"what condition your highness?" I held his hand more firmly, to which he did not respond, not even a finger moved on his hand

"i am a lepper king, my dear, that is the matter. My body is weak, yes, but I won't let it stop me" he looked back at me. He noticed I held his hand firmly when he looked down at mine, I saw his eyes smile at the sight

"your highness, you love me so even though we have no knowledge of one another, why?"

"for you see Y/N, a marriage is bond between man and woman, a bond of flesh to flesh, it is God's blessing to the people, and if God has blessed me with such a bride as you, Y/N, then who am I to deny it?" he spoke with such a heartfelt tone, I knew in that moment that this was the man of my prayers. I couldn't help but feel tears run down my face. I knew that his condition could bring his end, but I wanted to love him to the day we depart from the earth. I placed my hand on his mask and wanted to lay a kiss on his lips, but he gently stopped me.

"you need to know the lips you lay your kiss upon, as you are my wife, I want you to be sure" He said as he pulled down the mask. A cut through his lips and right cheek was the first thing I saw, his missing nose, and his small blonde hairs coming down from the headwrap. He held my hand as though he asked of what I thought. "my Baldwin.. Your a beautiful man, why you are afraid I can understand, but I love you not for your looks, but the heart" i said as I leaned to him, I felt his lips touch mine. I closed my eyes and placed my hands upon his cheeks, i knew in that moment that all my days of waiting, my prayers, my journeys, were worth having him. We soon left one another's lips

"I love you till the day we part, Baldwin"

"I love you, for everyday I live in your name, Y/N"

[sunseed-fandump]

Not Every Hand

Had a scene for the Liar's Circus AU pop into my head so I decided to write it out rq.

It's when Gingerbrave meets Dark Choco! Enjoy!

Gingerbrave wandered the dark halls alone. This was the palace the Enchantress had claimed as hers. It was kind of old and in need of a lot of loving care, but if he tilted his head just right, squinted his eyes, and imagined really hard, he could see how this would be a beautiful place again someday!

For now though, it was rather dark and dreary. Don’t get him wrong, Gingerbrave wasn’t afraid of the dark. There were plenty of dark places inside the Circus, after all. However, the tent felt a lot… Safer.

The darkness there was cozy, like a perfect summer’s night under the stars. The darkness here felt like it held malice. For who or what, Gingerbrave wasn’t sure, but he sure did hope none of it was directed at him.

Maybe he should have stuck with Strawberry and Wizard instead of going off on his own. If he was sensing this ominous feeling, then no doubt they were feeling it too. Ah, but Wizard Cookie had gone off to prove Licorice Cookie wrong about some sort of spell. Meanwhile Strawberry had taken to showing Poison Mushroom Cookie one of her games. Then there was the Ringmaster…

He’d been talking to the Enchantress for an awful long time by now. The two of them had shut themselves out on a balcony to discuss something important and haven’t emerged yet. Well… Nobody said making the world a better place would be easy. They were probably talking about all sorts of plans! Just thinking about the complexity of it made Gingerbrave’s head spin--

He bumped into something.

It felt as hard as a brick wall, but as he stumbled backwards he realized it was a cookie. He sort of recognized this stranger from when they had all been gathered earlier. The name escaped him, but Gingerbrave remembered him by his one striking red eye and the scar down the side of his face.

A hand caught his arm before he could go toppling over.

“Careful,” Muttered the stranger who helped Gingerbrave back to an upright position.

“Whoops! My bad…” Gingerbrave rubbed the back of his head with a sheepish grin, “Sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going! Thanks for the help. Er…” His smile faltered. The name was on the tip of his tongue...

“Dark Choco Cookie…” The stranger grunted, standing up straight. He seemed rather wary, but about what, Gingerbrave wasn’t sure.

“Thanks for the help, Dark Choco!” Gingerbrave’s sunny smile was wholly out of place in this dark castle. “I’m Gingerbrave, it’s nice to meet you!”

Dark Choco Cookie fixed the boy with an odd look. “You do not… Recognize my name?”

Gingerbrave took a moment to really think on it, his face scrunching up in a way he felt made him think better. After a beat, he shook his head. “Nope! Sorry. Should I?”

A bitter chuckle escaped the dark prince. “No, I… Am rather glad you don’t.” He wouldn’t be surprised if his father had stricken every record of him. “Plus, I suppose you would be a bit too young to have experienced it. Someone who’s only a decade old would not have been around for--”

“Wait, do I really look like I’m ten?!” Gingerbrave cut him off with surprise. Dark Choco faltered and took a moment to reassess the cookie before him.

For all intents and purposes, Gingerbrave looked and acted like a child around ten years of age. Unless, he had been distanced from normal society for so long he was starting to lose track of how proper aging was supposed to look…

“My apologies. I should not have assumed.” Dark Choco said instead, “How old are you?”

“Well… Let’s see…” The boy took a moment to do the math in his head, then redid it while counting off on his fingers to double-check his work. “I’d say… About a year? Year and a half?” When he looked back up at Dark Choco he was met with an astonished expression. The fallen prince’s eye was blown wide and his jaw had gone slack.

“But… There is no way that could be…” He muttered before realization dawned on him, “Unless… Were you baked by a Witch?” He whispered the word Witch as if afraid the shadows would hear him.

Gingerbrave nodded, “My friends Wizard Cookie and Strawberry Cookie were baked around the same time. Sooo, they’re around the same age!”

“I… See…” Dark Choco took a moment to regain his composure. He had heard legends of cookies baked by Witches hands. How they either had strange destinies or were gifted unique powers. The tales and whispers never stayed the same between storytellers, but one thing remained the same: they were forces to be reckoned with.

And yet this child seemed so… Innocent. So kind. His eyes lacked any form of shadow or guilt. Dark Choco couldn’t help but be ever so slightly jealous.

The sword at his side felt heavier.

“Allow me to offer you a piece of advice…” Dark Choco Cookie let his cloak fall closed. “Keep the knowledge of your origin close to you. There are many who would seek to abuse it.”

Gingerbrave fidgeted with his gloves and bounced on his feet. The boy seemingly couldn’t sit still for more than a few minutes at a time. Fitting for - if Dark Choco recalled correctly – an Acrobat.

“Yeah… The Ringmaster told that to me too. Something about how some cookies might want to hurt us or study us or something…” His distracted look turned into a warm smile a moment later. “But, you seem nice! So I trust you.”

Trust… Trust was the last thing Dark Choco Cookie felt like he deserved.

“Not every hand that is extended to you, is a kind one…” The fallen prince grumbled, but he knew it was probably falling on deaf ears.

“I… Don’t understand…” Gingerbrave’s brow furrowed.

He scoffed. Of course… “I’m saying, evil has many faces. Some harder to spot than others. You would be best to learn the difference between an ally and an enemy.”

Gingerbrave thought deeply on this advice for a moment. He still didn’t entirely get it. Bad guys usually did… Well… Bad things. And they liked doing the bad things! And they didn’t really help others so…

“Do you wanna be friends?” The question caught Dark Choco, who had begun to walk away, by surprise.

“… What?”

“You helped me not fall down and gave me some good advice!” Gingerbrave concluded with a confident nod, “You’re a good guy. So let’s be friends!”

He almost wanted to laugh. A good guy. If he was such a good guy then why did the weight of his sins threaten to crush him? Why was he here instead of anywhere else? Why had he betrayed the trust of everyone he had ever known?

Dark Choco did not believe he was a good guy.

And yet… Something about the boy’s innocent declaration made a small part of his frozen heart thaw. That small part of him who wanted to escape this nightmare, who wanted to leave his dark path, who still dared to hope, stirred at the thought that maybe… Just maybe…

He stomped on the emotion before it could turn into anything else.

Dark Choco Cookie didn’t respond. He turned his back and began walking away.

“Uh…! Okay! I guess I’ll catch you later Dark Choco Cookie!” Gingerbrave called after him. “You should come watch me and my friends practice later! It’s going to be cool! Bye!”

And like that the boy was gone, having taken off in the direction he had come.

Dark Choco Cookie sighed, suddenly feeling wound up. He changed his course to the training grounds, hand already itching at the hilt of his sword so he could let out this pent-up energy.

Just a child walking down a fool’s path… He wondered if his father had seen him the same way.

[humansofnewyork]

(4/54) “My father named me Parviz, after one of Iran’s ancient kings. His story comes at the end of Shahnameh, in the historical section. Parviz was a good king. Not a great king, but a good king. His reign was a golden age of music. But he made many mistakes. His grandson Yazdegerd would be the last king of the Persian Empire. Every day on the way home from school I’d pass by the ruins of an ancient castle, where he made his final stand against the armies of Islam in 642 AD. The Battle of Nahavand was the bloodiest defeat in the history of our country. Most days when I got home I’d go straight to my room and read Shahnameh. The book opens in myth: our oldest stories, from before the written word. But the poets say our myths are even truer than our history. They emerge from the collective psyche. They hold our dreams. They hold our ideals. When Ferdowsi writes about our mythic heroes, he writes about all of us. And in Shahnameh there is no greater hero than Rostam. The Heart of Iran. A knight with the height of a cypress. And a voice to make, the hardened hearts of warriors quake. At one point in Shahnameh Iran is on the brink of defeat. Three enemy kings have joined their forces. Our armies are almost beaten. Rostam arrives at the battlefield on foot: no horse, no armor, carrying nothing but a bow and arrow. And with a single shot he slays the greatest champion of the other side. I wanted to be Rostam. My brother and I built a gym behind our garden. We took the heads off of shovels and made parallel bars. We made barbells out of clumps of dirt. We’d wrestle sixty times a day. And while we wrestled my brother’s friend would beat a drum and chant our favorite verses about Rostam: his defeat of the demon king, his battle with the dragon. There were no dragons in Nahavand, but there were ibex. They only lived at the highest elevations. And they were beautiful with their horns. I’d climb all night. I’d make my way by moonlight. The cliffs were covered in ice, a single slip could mean death. But I’d reach the summit by dawn, and watch the sun come up on herds of ibex grazing on the peaks.”

 پدرم مرا «پرویز» نام نهاد - به نام یکی از پادشاهان ساسانی. داستان خسرو پرویز در بخش تاریخی شاهنامه می‌آید. او شاه بدی نبود ولی در کار فرمانروایی لغزش‌هایی بدفرجام داشت. پادشاهی او دوران طلایی موسیقی بود. نوه‌اش یزدگرد سوم پادشاه سال‌های پایانی شاهنشاهی ساسانی بود. روزانه، در راه مدرسه به خانه، از نزدیک ویرانه‌ی کاخی باستانی می‌گذشتم که جایگاه شکست یزدگرد سوم از سپاه اسلام در سال ۶۴۲ میلادی بود. نبرد نهاوند بدفرجام‌ترین شکست تاریخ ماست. همینکه به خانه می‌رسیدم، بی‌درنگ به اتاقم می‌رفتم و شاهنامه می‌خواندم. کتاب با اسطوره‌ها آغاز می‌شود: کهن‌ترین داستان‌های ما، از دوران پیش از نوشتار. برخی می‌گویند که افسانه‌های ما از تاریخ‌مان هم راستین‌ترند. آنها از روان گروهی‌مان برخاسته‌اند. دربرگیرنده‌ی آرزوها و آرمان‌های ‌ما هستند. هنگامی که فردوسی از پهلوانان افسانه‌ای ایران می‌سراید، درباره‌ی همه‌ی ما می‌نویسد. و در شاهنامه پهلوانی والاتر از رستم نیست. قلب تپنده‌ی ایران. پهلوانی بالابلندتر و نیرومندتر از همه. به بالای او در جهان مرد نیست / به گیتی کس او را همآورد نیست. با صدایی که دل‌‌های استوار جنگجویان را به لرزه می‌انداخت. در بخشی از شاهنامه، ایران در آستانه‌ی شکست است. سپاه سه کشور به هم پیوسته‌اند. رستم پیاده به آوردگاه می‌رسد: بی اسب، بی جنگ‌افزار، تنها با دو تیر و کمانش. اسب و سردار نیرومند سپاه دشمن را از پای در می‌آورد. می‌خواستم رستم باشم. من و برادرم زورخانه‌ای پشت باغچه‌مان ساخته بودیم. دسته‌بیل‌ها را جدا کرده و با دسته‌ها میله��های موازی (پارالِل) برپا کردیم. هالتر را از دسته بیل و گِل رُس تهیه کردیم. ما هر روز تا شصت بار کُشتی می‌گرفتیم. هنگام کشتی، دوست برادرم طبل می‌نواخت و شعرهای مورد‌علاقه‌مان را درباره‌ی رستم می‌خواند: شکست دادن دیوان، نبرد او با اژدهای پیدا و پنهان. در نهاوند اژدهایی نبود، ولی کَل و بزهای کوهی بودند. شاخ‌هایشان چه زیبا و شکوهمند بود. بر بلندترین قله‌ها می‌زیستند. تمام شب را از کوه بالا می‌رفتم. مسیرم را با روشنایی مهتاب می‌یافتم. گاه تخته‌سنگ‌ها از یخ پوشیده بودند، اندک لغزشی می‌توانست مرگبار باشد. ولی پیش از سپیده‌دم خود را به قله می‌رساندم، و به تماشای تابش آفتاب بر گله‌ی بزهای کوهی که سرگرم جست و خیز و چرا بودند، می‌نشستم

[ravenwriter16]

Hello EVERYONE!!!! This is part one of my new series, 'Creative Minds Think Alike!'

In these small snippets I will highlight some of the coolest (at least in my mind) DCA (or other, who knows) content creators!

SO think of these as a HUGE thanks to these creators for all their cool art, stories, and little worlds that they decided to share with all of us! You guys are awesome and I hope to get to your level of talent one day!

You can tell I'm not that good because this is not beta-read!

If you don't like my writing or story idea, then don't read Just a heads up, I will edit or straight up delete a fic episode if the creator I featured took offensive with how I presented them and their AUs. My intent isn't to mock or belittle them or their works

So here you are my fellow void travelers! The pilot fic episode to the series 'Creative Minds Think Alike!'. Featuring the amazing @missterious-figure! Enjoy!

The castle halls at night were truly a gorgeously horrific sight to behold. A person first trekking into this old and magnificent place would surely run away at the first shadow that seemed to move. At least the large windows allowed the moon to grace the hall with its ghostly glow.

Directly across from the windows are rows of doors, each one different from the last and never exactly the same as its neighbors. Each of these doors has a small plaque located either right next to the door, above the door, or on the door itself.

Currently walking down this strange hall is me. Good dawn, morning, afternoon, evening or night (or all of the above). I'm Ravenwriter Archivist number 16. But you can call me Raven if you want!

My boss calls me Ravenwriter16 because he doesn't want to waste breath on my title (His words not mine). I'm one of the many protecters of this castle. A Castle Archivist if you so will. I was given this title and job by none other than the Aligned Society of Creative Minds.

Not by my choice. They were short on time and randomly selected me, basically uprooting my life. For a time I was angry (and can you blame me?) but then I looked into the specifics of my duties and now I'm ready to work.

I'm no expert mind you. I'd just graduated from the academy and starting to get some control over my powers when I was shoved into this. But I love a good challenge!

But enough of this, I'm stalling.

I eye the plaques, scanning them intently. In my hands are two envelopes with containing letters I wrote earlier this week. They were for two of the millions of warriors living in the castle.

Two that I hand selected after spending hours scouring the resident scrolls (there are so MANY). I hope these two were as friendly as their scrolls stated.

After a few minutes of walking this ever-expanding hall, I finally find the door to the first warrior from my two chosen.

The door itself was made from a black natural material, not really wood, not really rock, not really metal. It seemed to morph between those three. It did have gold trimming woven into the strange surface. Above the door was a golden plaque with silver and bronze writing.

I take in a shaky inhale, rolling my shoulders and in turn shaking my wings. My black feathers bristling before settling back down as my wings fold into my back.

I tug at my black hood, making sure it was secured over my head. My eyes dart to my boots and I lift my feet up one by one to inspect them for mud and dirt.

phew...not even a speck.

Steeling my resolve (and accepting my possible death wish) I place my gloved hand on the door. I push the surprisingly heavy door open.

It creaks o it's hinges as it swings inward. the sounds of birds flying and water crashing startles me. I look into the room in awe. It was like someone took every biome known to man and mixed it all together to harmonize in this relm.

There was a desert in the distance to my left and a...a FROZEN WASTE LAND to my right?! Forest and grassy plains, hills and mountains?! This place seems to have it all.

I step inside and gently close the door behind me. To protect my letters I place them in my side pouch as I journey deeper into this world.

While trekking further and further into the room, my surroundings start to shift. Jungle recedes into moss covered, vine strangled stone. I could see stone arches and tapestries that have aged and withered over time.

I reach a clearing. The temple's main room. There was no ceiling exclude for the tree leaves. To my left was more ancient stone that opened up to the jungle more and to my right was a magnificent waterfall.

in front of me was a giant tree. It's roots weaved into a seat, a throne if you will. Carvings grace the wood, but they don't look man made.

My wings spread out in alarm when something brushes against them. Something smooth and cold. Whipping my head to my wings, I freeze and gasp.

A floating glowing orb floats in the air. Bobbing up and down in small movements. It moves closer to my face and boops my nose. My eyes widen and I laugh.

"Well hello there little one." I greet, cupping my hands underneath it. It flies down and rests in my palms. it glows a tad brighter and its color changes to a neon green.

It vibrates in my hand, a sign of its content. I laugh, "Wow. I've read about Relm Holders, but seeing one in real life is-,"

"Spectacular?"

I spin on my heels and face the throne. My checks grow warm and my wings puff up in embarrassment.

Sitting on the throne was an all-black, and I mean pitch BLACK, person with a...a uhm...

"I'm so SO sorry if this comes across as rude but uhm..." I tilt my head pointing at theirs, "Do you have a...square as a head?"

A single white eye with a white line over said eye (acting as the eyebrow) appears on the left side of their face. the eye widens.

"Oh, yeah..." the voice was feminine and held power.

I let go of the Relm holder and it zooms over to the stranger. No not a stranger...this was-

"Missterious-figure?"

"How do you know my name?" she asks, standing up. She holds the Relm Holder in her hand and I watch as scenes of hooves, horns, antlers, fairy wings (?) swamps, metalic colors shimmering with different color eyes, pass through the orb.

She blows on the Relm Holder and the orb evaporates into millions of fireflies. I follow some of them as they fly in spirals up towards the sky.

"Ahem?"

I snap my gaze up to her's and nervously laugh. "S-sorry. Allow me to introduce myself..."

I get down on my knee and put a hand on my chest as i bow y head, "I am Ravenwriter Archivist 16. I'm the-,"

"New watcher of the castle?" she asks with a tilt of her head. "What happened to Mr. Honer?"

"He was uhm...dismissed by the council." I risk a glance up at the. i yelp and fall on my bottom when I find how close they are. They look down at me with a raised brow.

"You are jumpy." she states calmly while i try to steady my heart. She offers her hand to help me up and I take it with a small smile.

"Thank you-AAAAAA!"

Hands grab me from behind and lift me up by my armpits. My wings flap in agitation as I'm turned around to face a golden feathered face. small blue feathers and long beautiful red feathers. White eyes shine in delight and mischief as they take in my face.

I stare in shock, mouth open. the being holding me laughs, "A new harpy from our beloved ruler~? Miss you shouldn't have!"

I yelp as I'm shoved into a very fluffy and warm chest. I try to pull away but the being, male I think, was too strong, keeping me in place with ease.

"Sun! Put her down!"

"But you made her for us, my queen! Why would I let go of such a lovely gift~?"

"She's not mine! She's the new Watcher-,"

I'm dropped immediately. I yelp and my wings spread out in pain. I stand up and rub my hip, "Oww..."

"I wish you told me that before I touched the dirty thing." Sun tsks, crossing his arms and swiveling his head to the side with his nose up.

"I'm not that dirty--YOUR TAIL!" My mumbling morphs into awe.

'What?" Sun glances at me with a raised brow. His eyes drift to his GORGEOUS golden tail feathers. "Did you get them dirty?"

I let his insult breeze over, too star-struck by his beauty. He smirks smugly and I hear Missterious-Figuren groan and roll her eye.

When she clears her throat, I shake my head, snapping out of my stupor. I face her, eyes averted and rubbing the back of my neck in embarrassment.

"Please don't feed his ego. It's already too big..." she sighs.

"I'm your creation, darling~." Sun croons, sauntering over to Missterious-figure and draping himself over her. He nuzzles into her neck, his feathers around his neck bristling.

"Uhm," I hold up my two index fingers, "Should I come back later-,"

"No. No this is probably a good time to talk. Peacock Eclipse is out checking in on my smaller boys, and Peacock Moon is trying to get the jump on Centaur Moon...Again..."

I snort but I cover my mouth when Missterious-figure tilts her head. "You okay?"

"Yeah, sorry. That's just hilarious to me...I mean after reading about your inclusive world and all." I nervously chuckle.,

"Cool." She pets Sun's head and he leans into her touch even kissing her palm. "Sooooo, did you come here to introduce yourself or-,"

"OH! Right..." I turn my attention to my side pouch. Some of items clinking together while I search for her envelope.

Sun perks up with a mischievous glint in his eyes. He leans forward to get closer but Missterious-figure slaps him. He gasps and holds his throbbing cheek as he gives her puppy-dog eyes.

She returns his look with a pointed look.

"Here we are!" I pull out the envelope and hold it out to her "This is an introduction letter from me with more of my contact information in case you have any questions, complaints, or concerns about the castle. And there's also some papers that need your signature."

She takes it from my hand and turns to her left. She looks at me and smiles, "I take it you need these back by a certain date?"

My wings puff up as I nod my head, "Yes, but I can convince the council for more time if you're busy-,"

"You don't have to do that...If you'll follow me to my lounge, I can sign these papers and send you on your way..."

"That would be great, thank you." I return her smile with a small one of my own. I go to follow her when she starts walking but a towel flies at me, smacking me in the face.

I pull it off and glare at Sun. He harrumphs and points to the towel, his silver glove shining in the sunlight as well as his feathers. "Clean yourself. I don't want any of your filth getting on the carpet."

With that he turns his back to me and walks after Missterious-figure. I can't help but stare as he swishes his hips, his tail feathers glittering as he walks.

I smack myself in the face with my wings. I shake my head and bite the inside of my cheek. FOCUS!

I wipe my face with the towel to appease the giant...handsome bird man, then follow after the two.

I try not to look around that much. I didn't want to impose more than I already have.

I was happy that Missterious-figure was so opened minded towards this whole...'New Castle Archivist' stuff. But I know I shouldn't take her kindness for passiveness. Her form I saw her in was her...calmer form so to speak. At least that's what I assume.

If she saw me as a threat though...I would be dead in seconds. She was one of the Head Defenders for a reason...

I was too deep in my head that the walk to the lounge blurred by. It was still a ruin temple theme, but now there are couches, plush chairs, red carpet, and even some hammocks.

A small desk was pushed to the side and that's were Missterious-figure was looking over the papers. Sun was draped over a couch, pulling at her pants, trying to coax her into paying attention to her.

I stand awkwardly in the doorway, crossing and uncrossing my arms. My eyes lock onto the window that gave a spectacular view of the grassy planes. I see a herd grazing and is that a yellow unicorn-,

"Sun stop...Alright! This looks fine to me."

I turn my head to her. My eyes widen when she uses a bronze peacock tail feather as a quill. She dips the tip into a golden inkwell then leaves her signature on all the dotted lines the papers required.

She places the quill back into the inkwell and pats the papers so that they were evenly stacked. She turns around and walks towards me, Sun whining that she was out of range of hold.

She holds out the papers for me to take. "I'm impressed with how these all fit in that tiny envelope."

I take the papers with a small thank you, "Yeah, nothing a little compact spell could fix. Thank you again for signing these. I know paperwork isn't the greatest of things to do...."

Missterious-figure shrugs then groans when Sun whines for her again. She looks over her shoulder at the dramatic harpy. "Behave or I'll cut your time short and hand out with Reptile you."

"No~!" Sun whines giving her puppy eyes.

She rolls her eye and looks back at me with a tired smile. I smile back and turn to leave, "Thank you so much for your time."

"Don't mention it."

"If you need anything, feel free to stop by my mushroom."

"M-mushroom?" she blinks at me and I give her a confused stare. "What happened to the Archivist office?"

"Oh that!...I destroyed it...It was too cramped for me..."

"Right..."

"Thank you again, I'll see myself out."

"Stay safe. Some creations are known to sneak out." She sighs, "Especially my moon..."

"Got it." I give her a small bow and make my way out of her room. I wave at the fireflies as they flutter around me. I take one last long look at this magnificent room.

'Maybe working here won't be as bad as I thought..."

I sigh, chuckling to myself as I leave. The doors closing behind me in a soft thud.

***

That's the end of part 1!

Episode Two is HERE

Episode Three is HERE

Episode Four is HERE

Episode Five is HERE

Episode Six is HERE

Hope you've all enjoyed! Part two will be coming soon to a Tumblr near you!

Thank you @missterious-figure for letting me use you and your boys for this. Please contact me if you are unsatisfied with how I represented you in this episode!

Hope you all have a fantastic day/night! Stay awesome!

[taeraemisu]

sorry i’m late ; niki enhypen

synopsis ; in a world where multidimensional travel exists, niki does all he can to find reader again.

genre ; angst, modern fantasy, time travelling / multidimensional travel, lowkey inspired by howl’s moving castle but only that one specific line

pairings ; niki x reader, mentions of heeseung

word count ; 1.3k words

niki takes in a deep breath.

you can do this, he told himself. after going through numerous tests and experiments, he was finally ready to travel. there was only one goal in his mind and it was to find you.

you disappeared years ago without a trace. no body, no clues, no leads. despite everyone saying you must have just left, niki thought otherwise. he was so sure you were out there, just lost.

“are you ready?” the scientist, mr lee heeseung, asked from behind the booth. he was the one in charge for niki’s travel to the multiverse and it was also his duty that he comes back in one piece.

“remember, you have only five chances to travel in one trip. if you use your last chance to travel to a different dimension and not come back here, you will be stuck-“ mr lee warned but niki waved his hand.

he heard it countless of times, he could probably say it in his sleep. “i know, i know,” niki muttered. he took a step forward, standing in front of a blueish-purple metal box. this was how he was going to travel.

mr lee gave niki one more concerned look before pushing a few buttons, starting the travel. “your watch helps you to travel from dimension to dimension,” he shouted out, pointing at the watch that was around niki’s wrist. “you know how to use it right?”

niki nodded his head, already feeling lightheaded. after all those years, he finally got the chance to find you again.

“i cannot guarantee you will find them,” mr lee shouted but the metal box started to buzz, drowning out his voice. niki couldn’t hear him anymore, he couldn’t wait any longer.

taking one more deep breath, he reached out for the door handle and pulls back, taking a step into the box.

one step closer to finding you.

dimension one . .

niki blinked a couple of times, his head and mind going all over the place. groaning, he sat straight up. what happened?

mr lee nagged at him that the first travel was always the hardest, but niki didn’t think he would get a stabbing headache out of it. “ouch,” he groaned, looking around where he landed, processing everything.

futuristic flashing buildings were all over the place. this was definitely not his dimension. it was such a marvellous sight, niki momentarily forgot about his multidimensional-sickness and stood up. his mouth was agape, the city was so different from his home.

snapping back to reality, niki focused back to the goal in hand. finding you.

and that’s when it finally dawned on him.

how?

he didn’t think that through. groaning, niki ruffled his hair. he knew it wasn’t going to be easy but he had almost zero clue on how to find you.

he made up all sorts of ideas and plans just for this very situation, but now that he was actually in a different dimension, his mind went blank.

oh, yn, where did you go?

dimension three . .

niki got used to the whole travelling already. he has now used up his third chance to travel, having one more chance before needing to head back home.

it has been months, maybe close to a year, since he has left home just to find you. he has stayed for an average of five to six months in his previous two dimensions cause finding you was not easy.

niki found his way on finding you. he tracked down the restaurants that sold your favourite food, he asked around for you (assuming you stuck with the same name), he looked through government records just to see whether you had some sort of existence.

anything you can think of, niki has done it.

once there was clear proof you weren’t there, niki left for the next dimension.

“maybe heeseung is getting bored,” niki chuckled to himself once he found a new apartment to reside in. this current dimension wasn’t all that different from home. though, the more noticeable differences was the fact that the sky was pink and that people travelled via underwater. no cars on land, all vehicles were underwater.

“yn loved to swim, there’s no way they aren’t here,” niki mumbled once he figured out the whole transportation system.

niki couldn’t wait to see you again.

dimension six . .

it has been almost three years since niki started his travel to find you.

more than seven years if you count when you first went missing.

in his previous trip, niki used his last chance to quickly head back home (much to heeseung’s annoyance that niki took two years to make contact) before setting out again.

he will never give up when it comes to you. it may take his entire life but niki won’t stop until he finds you again.

his current dimension was rather interesting. there was no technology whatsoever, it was as if he went back in time (technically he was always time travelling). everything was as if it was the medieval era, and niki was amazed with every single little thing.

he found himself a nice little cottage hidden in a nearby forest and that’s when it dawned on him again.

this was a medieval era dimension.

they do not keep records of people. there’s no gps.

niki groaned again, ruffling his hair in annoyance. “you have got to be kidding me!” he muttered to himself, annoyed.

niki spent roughly two or three months asking the villagers about you, and trying to map out the village and the surrounding villages.

living there made him wonder how did people survive in the past. niki realised he was way too reliant on technology that once he got back home, he should cut his usage. “oh, but i’m trying to find yn because of technology..” he mumbled to himself while he began to set off on his daily walk.

there was one neighbourhood left in that village for niki to ask about you and that was just where he was headed.

walking along the streets, the aroma of freshly baked bread went up his nose. he recognised that scent immediately. it was your favourite bread.

“should i get it?” he mumbled to himself, rummaging through his tiny bag for money. “yn would love that-“

“please leave me alone.”

niki’s ears perked up at that voice. it sounded way too familiar to him. he looked around for the source and found himself in a tiny alleyway and all the way at the end was a muscular and way bigger man harassing a tinier person.

niki tilted his head. even from a distance, the figure seemed way too familiar to him. he squinted his eyes, trying to get a better look. could it be-?

the figure then turned their head slightly, and everything clicked to niki.

it was you.

“i don’t have the money okay!” you almost shouted. “i need more time, please-“ you felt an arm wrap around your shoulders, bringing you close to their body. you looked up and-

niki?

“i can pay,” niki smiled softly at you before turning to the bigger man. he took out a tiny pouch from his bag and placed it in the man’s hand. “that should be enough, no?”

the man opened the pouch up and counted the money. he let out a grunt, annoyed but a little satisfied before turning his heel.

once he was gone, niki turned to look at you, a soft smile on his face. after all these years, you were right in front of him again. tears welled up in your eyes. you thought you will never see him again. but now, you were in his arms again, the one place you desperately wished to be in for the past seven years.

“sorry i’m late, i was looking everywhere for you.”

© taeraemisu do not copy my works !

perm taglist ! (send an ask) ; @wtfhyuck

[elen-tari2]

Aiding and Abetting

This fic is for Kastle Week 2024 Day 4: Observations/Through New Eyes

Plot Summary: Karen has a medical emergency and ends up hospitalized. Foggy is surprised by who shows up to see her. In character softness and fluff ensues.

Excerpt:

Leaning by the wall, one foot propped against it, was Frank Castle. His former client. Mass murderer.

He didn’t really look like Frank Castle, but Foggy still recognized him beyond any doubt. He had grown a beard and his hair was slightly longer in kind of a floppy, unkempt fashion. But the way he was dressed made for the least Frank Castle-like appearance Foggy could possibly have imagined. He wore green board shorts and a t-shirt with sunglasses tucked into the collar. A small bouquet of some absolutely lovely long-stemmed white roses was tucked under one arm. And he was wearing flip flops.

Foggy somehow didn’t let his brain melt and instead approached the serial killer. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Frank shrugged. “You called me.”

“What?” Foggy stared at him. Comprehension dawned, but it was like a train derailment— all the cars following one another off the security of their tracks, heading straight for an inexorable disaster. The explosion would certainly follow.

“You called me,” Frank said simply. “So I came.”

@kastlenetwork

[autisticlancemcclain]

Lance has always been a light sleeper. There’s a reason he wears all the equipment and shit. People who sleep like a fucking corpse — like, ahem, certain mullet haired boys who could pass out hanging from the ceiling by their big toe and sleep for eight hours — don’t wear eye masks and headphones.

It does, though, have the occasional benefit. Like having a natural defense mechanism to pranks by dickhead siblings, for example. Can’t put butter on his nose in the middle of the night to make him break out if he wakes up at the slightest creak, Marco.

Asshole.

But most of the time it’s a pain in the ass. It means that unless he is wearing those massive headphones, he’ll wake up if someone so much as sneezes four doors down.

Or, perhaps, if his training obsessed boyfriend likes to wake up at the asscrack of castle-simulated dawn, then Lance is rudely dragged from dreamland. And to make matters worse, if Keith thinks Lance is awake, he’ll try to convince Lance to go with him, as if Lance has any interest in all at doing intense cardio at five in the fucking morning.

He’s so goddamn cute when he’s hopeful that it works every time, too. He gets this stupid little smile on his face, like he’s imagining all the stuff they’re going to do together, that Lance physically has to drag himself out of their endlessly comfortable bed and go run laps around the training room or whatever, feeling like he’s half-dead and incapable of speaking in anything but grunts. All while possibly planning the murder of his morning-person boyfriend so he never has to do this again.

Lance has, coincidentally, gotten very good at feigning sleep.

Now, every time he hears Keith’s alarm go off — several fucking times because, as previously mentioned, Keith sleeps like a rock — he concentrates hard on being still, breathing evenly. Holding whatever position he’s in and fighting to urge to so much as crack open one eyelid. He’ll stay where he is as he feels Keith carefully pull his arms out from under Lance’s head and around his waist (because for all Lance grumbles and grouches Keith really does do his best to make sure Lance gets all his beauty sleep. Sometimes he’s so careful that it takes him several minutes to extract himself fully. Those mornings are always the hardest for Lance to pretend he’s still unconscious, fighting the smile that desperately wants to pull its way across Lance’s lips). Then Keith will tiptoe around the room getting ready, slipping on a t-shirt and sweatpants and braiding his hair. Finally there’ll be a few minutes of silence, as if Keith is just standing still, watching Lance sleep, and then he’ll lean over and press the gentlest of kisses to whatever part of Lance peeks out from his mound of blankets, before he’s off to go make himself sweat before he’s even had breakfast.

It is, if Lance is being completely honest, his favourite part of the day. That quiet, secret affection always makes something soft and warm bloom in his chest, making him grin as he fades back to sleep.

Only…one morning he feels Keith pull carefully away from him, hears him patter quietly around the room. The rustling sounds of Keith getting ready are a little louder than usual, a little less muted, as if Keith is rushing. And there’s no period of silence.

No kiss.

Lance sits up straight once he hears Keith’s footsteps fade down the hall, looking at the closed door in confusion.

Hey.

He considers, for a moment, just dismissing it and going back to sleep. It’s no big deal, after all. It’s not like Keith is getting less affectionate as a whole, or anything. In fact Lance woke up last night because Keith was talking in his sleep — about Lance, saying all sorts of dorky and adorable shit. Lance recorded it.

If he goes back to sleep now, he won’t have to get up for a couple more hours. And when he does, he’ll make his way to the kitchen where Keith will no doubt be waiting with a smile, a kiss, and a cup of coffee because he is literally the best boyfriend in the world, even if he wakes Lance up in the mornings.

Lance considers falling back asleep for one whole minute. It’s just a silly, chaste peck, after all. It’s not such a huge deal.

He scowls, throwing off the blanket and shoving his feet into his lion slippers. It is a huge deal. He needs his secret early morning kiss, dammit, and there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell that he’s going to let Keith forget it.

He stomps down the hallway, ignoring an amused Shiro who says something along the lines of “Looking bright eyed this morning, Lance,” and keeping his eyes locked straight ahead.

He will get answers. And apologies. Many of them, in fact.

He pauses right before he enters the training room, messing around with the lockpad settings so he can override the automatic function like Coran showed him.

This feels like a door slam moment.

Once the manual opening has been enabled, he takes a breath, then kicks open the doors with a bang, startling Keith so hard he nearly gets brained by the gladiator.

“So I guess love is dead,” he says once Keith has called for the simulation to end, glaring daggers at the man in question.

“Lance…?” Keith stands a couple feet away from Lance, panting, sword held loosely in his right hand and head tilted to the side. “What’re you doing up this early?”

“Obviously you don’t love me,” Lance says again, well aware that he’s being dramatic and childish and not caring at all.

“What? You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

He’s mad at Keith, dammit. He is. But suddenly he feels silly, barging in here feeling all scorned and a little genuinely upset.

Of course Keith loves him. He — it was easy, for him to say that. Like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Like it was an objective truth.

“You didn’t kiss me before you left,” Lance says, and he’s annoyed with himself for sounding hurt instead of petulant. “You always kiss me when you wake up. But you didn’t today.”

Keith softens immediately, stepping right up to Lance, sword clattering to the ground. “Baby,” he says warmly, cupping Lance’s cheeks and kissing him gently on the forehead. “I didn’t even know you were awake when I did that.”

Lance keeps his gaze trained on the ground, arms still crossed over his chest, stubbornly unreceptive. “Of course I do. You’re noisy. But if I wake up then you pout at me until I come train with you.“

Keith chuckles. “And you give in every time I ask.”

“Stop changing the subject, Mullet. You didn’t kiss me this morning, so obviously love is dead.”

“Love is dead, huh?” Keith presses another kiss to Lance’s forehead, then the bridge of his nose, then the tip of it. Then he moves to his cheekbones, his cheeks, the corner of his mouth. His jaw. The underside of his neck.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Keith mumbles. “We were up late last night and I ended up waking up late. I was distracted. I forgot.”

Lance tries so hard to hold on to his stubbornness, drag this out a little longer. If he’s grouchy long enough, Keith’ll do a face mask with him tonight to make up for it, he’s sure of it.

But then Keith nips gently at a particular sensitive spot, right under his ear, and Lance melts.

“I guess I can forgive you,” he mumbles, undoing Keith’s braid so he can thread his fingers through his hair. “But you have to make it up to me.”

Keith’s hands move down to his waist, and he tightens his grip. He doesn’t lift his lips from Lance’s skin.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” Lance shudders on a breath. “You have to — fuck — you have to do a face mask with me tonight.”

“‘Kay.”

“And — read to me. Out loud. I like it when you do that.”

“Whatever you want to read I will, Bluebell.”

Lance squeezes his eyes shut, trying desperately to stay focused, but it’s hard when Keith is so close to him, fingers slipping under his shirt, mouth tracing a line from his neck to his collarbones.

“And you have to come back to bed with me. Right now. I want to go back to sleep and I don’t want to do it alone.“

He’s expecting even a little bit of protest — Keith likes his morning routine and Lance can rarely convince him to sleep in — but instead he feels Keith’s grin press into his skin, feels his grip tighten.

“We can for sure go back to bed,” he says wolfishly.

“To sleep,” Lance insists. “It is five thirty in the goddamn morning. I barely have to energy for this conversation. I want to pass out and I want you to be holding me while it happens.”

He feels Keith’s grin get softer. Then he straightens up and presses one last, lingering kiss to Lance’s lips before pulling away.

“Alright,” he says, clipping his bayard to his belt and entwining their fingers together. “Let’s go back to bed.”

Lance smiles, relishing the feeling of their skin pressed together from the short walk back to their room all the way to sliding back under the covers, wrapped snugly in Keith’s arms.

Maybe he doesn’t mind being a light sleeper all that much.

———

based on this post (third slide)

[divinesolas]

aegon targaryen x reader where aegon likes reader but doesnt realize it til aemond asks for her hand angsty confession and aemond knew the entiee time and did it on purpose. thank you much love ❤️

A little encouragement

a/n: i loved writing this request tysm for requesting !!! my only warnings is that the charcs are probably ooc and aegons a bit of an ass (when isnt he lol)

pairing | aegon x gn!reader

wc | 1.5k

“What.” His chest heaves has his breathing grows more frantic, his fist clenching on the table. He can only stare at his brother with hate in his eyes.

“I plan on asking y/n for their hand-” One of his legs began to shake vigorously, he lifted one of his hands near his face and began biting his nails.

He can't be serious. “No.” Aemond scoffed, “Who are you to tell me no? you are not their father.” Aegon scoffs and shakes his head, “aegon.” His mother who sits next to him attempts to calm her son down but it is no use.

“You have never shown interest before-” “theyre is a great friend, they shall be a great-”

Aegon slams his hands on the table and stands, “I forbid it.” “Who are you to forbid me?” “Your future king.” It was the first time he had referred to himself as king leaving his mother speechless.

Aemond holds his ground giving his brother an amused look, “You will not be king when I marry them.”

Aegon glares, if looks could kill aemond would have been six feet under since his first word in this unforgivable conversation started.

Aemond crosses his arms, “Why are you so upset? You have never shown interest in y/n before hmm?”

He’s right, why was he so upset? You were the stupid friend helaena met as a child. He had seen you around the castle for years, sending him silly smiles or waving frantically if you saw him. He thought you were odd. He would always get this weird feeling whenever he would look at you. It had to be your fault.

Aemond shook his head at his brother before turning to alicent who could only sit there in shock, “I have only come to inform you of my intentions and to ask for your permission.” Alicent looked over to Aegon who didn't even spare her a glance too busy glaring daggers at aemond. “Of course I do not disapprove, y/n is a fine person but maybe we should take some more time to consider-” “I have no need to wait any longer.”

Aegon scoffs, “You have no affection for them.” Due to his anger aegon does not notice the amused and knowing smirk dawning aemonds face, “You know nothing of my affections for them.” Alicent sighs and stands up giving both the boys a pointed look. “Well, I need some time to think this over, you are both dismissed.”

Aegon swiftly left the room to go confront you leaving aemond and alicent in the room. “You are cruel to him, you know of his affections-” “It will be worth it mother just wait.”

Maids swiftly move out of the angry princes way as he rushes through the hallways with one particular person in mind.

He had spotted you sitting in the courtyard beneath a tree and rushed over.

The yard was empty other than the two of you and the occasional maid who passed through.

He froze to admire you for a second. You were reading some history book aemond must have lent you, not noticing the stare of the angry prince. His angry left for a moment, fully consumed by you, that feeling was in his chest again. The feeling he couldn't understand, again he grew angry and stormed over to you.

He felt himself rip the book out of your hands, you gasped and looked up in shock only to see him. “My prince.” You readjust yourself and sit up straight, he glares down at you. “What is the meaning of this?”

You tilt your head, “What ever do you mean my prince?” He scoffs, “Have you entered a courtship with my brother?”

You gasp lightly and look down, he notices your face is flushed, he feels his fists clench.

“I have no idea what you mean my prince.”

Your words are hushed and quiet as you play with your fingers.

He feels himself grow anger at your response. “When did that happen?” You stand and shake your head, “What-” “You have a fondness for my brother? Why?”

You shake your head but he continues growing closer , “What did my brother say to you hmm?” his face is now dangerously close to yours, his words growing more hushed, “Did he woo you somehow? Manage to get you into his bed and have his way with you, i always knew he was-” You shove him back. your chest heeaving with heavy breaths and your face flushed, was it nerves? was it anger? was it embarrassment? he couldn't tell.

“How dare you?” Your eyes well up with tears he feels himself grow uncomfortable by your saddened look. “I hold no affection for your brother prince aegon. I have no clue where you got this idea from.”

You turn your back to him, tears running down your face.

It had been aegon you had quickly fallen in love with as a child. Admiring him became a hobby of yours. He was beautiful, especially in the day light and strangely enough he looked gorgeous right now. Your childish affections grew into much more as the years went on, despite his seeming distaste for you you had always loved him. The words and accusations thrown at you would not hurt from anyone else, but they were from him.

“The only prince i hold affections for is you.”

He feels himself freeze at your words, “What.” Its a different what than earlier, it's quieter, less harsh. His hands are frozen, relaxed and open, his eyes widen as he stumbles back slightly as if youve stabbed him.

“I do not wish to repeat-” “please…” you turn back at the plea of his voice, you notice his expression has fallen into one of despair, his eyes water as he stares at you.

“Aegon.” You take a step towards him and he takes one back, you reach for his hand and grasp it before he can pull it away, “I… I have always loved you…..”

He looks into your eyes for a sigh of deception, you must be lying, how could you love someone like him?

But all he sees when he looks into your eyes brings the same familiar feeling in his chest he had been feeling for so long.

It was love.

The hand holding yours tightens as he pulls you into his chest, he hears you gasp slightly but it is lost to his sobs as he begins to cry.

You wrap your arms around him and he pulls you in even closer, “im sorry my love im sorry.” he mumbling into the croak of your neck.

“its alright aegon.”

He shakes his head, “no no is not i love you. i love you.”

You grab his shoulders and push him back slightly so you could look at him, he whines and tries to move back but you stand your ground.

“You should not say things out of pity…”

“This is not out of pityy!”

The harshness of his tone shocks you for a second, “i could never understand what i felt for you before but now i understand, i am in love with you my love and i think i always have been.”

your own tears begin to fall as you accept this and accept him.

He leans forward his face once again right against yours, “Please allow me to kiss you.”

You laugh and press your lips against his in an easy kiss.

This kiss fills him with an unfamiliar sense of comfort, sure hes kissed others before but it has never felt like this. He feels shock waves flowing through his body in pure pleasure as he deepens it. he should vow to never kiss another as another's kiss will never bring pure bliss loe yours has.

You two pull away and you can only stare at him in shock, it must have felt as good to you as it had him.

“Im glad you are still wooed by my charms my love.” You roll your eyes and shove him lightly, of course a kiss could bring him back to normal.

“You are an idiot.”

He shakes his head and grins, “I may be an idiot but i am your idiot my love.”

You flush and shove him again.

“Now please do not marry my brother.”

You take a step back in shocked, “What ever are you talking about?”

“He had asked for permission to marry you implying you two had entered some sort of courtship…” He trails off at the look on your face and his face grows hard, “that bastard.”

Aemond can only watch from the balcony above with a satisfied look, “i told you mother, he just needed a little encouragement.” Alicent can barely hear him over her happiness, she holds her hands against her chest and smiles fondly at her son, happy he found a happiness she never could have.