#(Should I have been allowed to watch/read it that young? NO not at all. But Guts and Casca are my OTP of OTPs and even though it's likely)

[babyangelsky]

I love that Phu was wearing his teddy bear pajamas when he got blown by Cir

And I love it specifically because it flies in the face of a rather unfortunate trend that's always been present but that has been on my mind a lot lately.

A couple of months ago, I came across a post that referred to Teerak from Your Sky as "basically a child" and went in on the show for portraying him in any sort of sexual light and then went in on Muenfah and criticized him for wanting to do anything remotely sexual with Teerak and just—

No. NO. NO!

Listen, I don't give a fuck how someone interprets a character even if I disagree on every possible level. Art is subjective. How someone sees the art they consume and what they get out of it is none of my fucking business.

But there's this awful tendency to conflate cuteness with immaturity and to infantilize any character that exhibits any traits or preferences that can be read as cute. Hell, sometimes even a character's appearance is all it takes for them to be infantilized.

And it's always the same shit. If a character is shy, soft-spoken, bubbly, cheerful, or sweet, they're seen as a child. If they have plushies and enjoy lots of color, they're seen as a child. Act cute? Child. Like cute things? Child. Shorter than their love interest? Child. Younger than their love interest? Child.

Fucking STOP.

The person who made the post I referred to used a screenshot of Teerak hugging his Snoopy plush to somehow justify their interpretation and you know what? LIKING PLUSHIES AND CUTE THINGS DOES NOT MAKE SOMEONE """"BASICALLY A CHILD"""".

Whether or not a character (or a real actual person) likes cute things or happens to be sweet and soft-spoken and shy has nothing to do with how mature they are and it certainly says nothing about their sexuality and sexual desires. I turn 31 years old in just over a week and there are plushies on my bed. I put hearts all over my blog. Liking cute things just means you like cute things! That's all!

Teerak is adorable and colorful and sweet, and he's also a young man who's deliriously in love and HORNY for his boyfriend. He ALWAYS wanted to fuck that man and if he hesitated at first, it was due only to his lack of experience. Nothing else.

Which is partly why this scene:

Was so fucking great to watch. Not just because Teerak wanted to fuck his boyfriend and made his intent crystal clear and took the initiative, but because he was allowed to by the story. @iguessitsjustme wrote a great post about it, go give it a read.

More and more we're seeing BL's where both characters (THE CUTE ONES INCLUDED) are allowed and shown to want each other sexually and it's been amazing to see. Mutual horniness will never not be amazing to see.

Allll of that is why I love that Phukan was in his teddy bear pajamas in his love scene with Cir. Because like Teerak, Phukan is exactly the type of character that gets infantilized and that people get all pearl-clutchy about when he's portrayed doing anything sexual.

Phu is adorable and colorful and he likes being babied and he collects those cute little trinket things I can't remember the name of and he ALSO REALLY WANTS TO FUCK CIRRUS. To quote @poetry-protest-pornography , he was an active and enthusiastic participant in his first blowjob and that's exactly as it should be regardless of what he's wearing or what he likes! He's a full person with a functioning libido and I'm so happy and grateful that the story isn't infantilizing him.

TL;DR, some of ya'll have got to let go of the notion that a character being/acting cute and them experiencing sexual desire are mutually exclusive.

[queenshelby]

Neighbour (P.1)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Virgin!Reader

Warning: Corruption, DDLG, Teaching, Smut

Living next door to a famous actor had always been interesting for you and, even though he was married to a woman named Danielle, you couldn't help but wonder what it might be like to be a part of his world.

Unlike your very religious parents, he was rather open-minded and you often spent time with his eldest daughter when she visited him, enjoying her free-spirited company.

Occasionally, you would be talking to Cillian too and it was recently that he found out about you having taken a liking in a local boy named Ethan. Ethan was a young man from church. At 20 years old, he was only one year older than you and was incredibly popular among the girls in your church group and in school.

You had first met him when you were out at the local farmer's market helping your mother sell her home-made baked goods. He was a student at your school and was helping his mother out as well. You had nursed a crush on Ethan for more than five years, but never said a word about it to anyone before that day, because you were shy, innocent and naive about the ways of the world. You had always been too nervous to talk to him.

In addition to that, you had no idea about what to do with boys as you were brought up strictly.  You had a very basic understanding of intimacy and that was based on the knowledge from your religious school and the books that the library stocked that your mother allowed you to read. But that knowledge was far from complete and your understanding was far from comprehensive.

After having finally watched some of Cillian's work, however, you became more curious and it was  only the other day that you had decided to take matters into your own hands and had finally come up with the courage to confide in Cillian, your neighbor, about your crush and your lack of knowledge about intimacy.

You felt a little bit uncomfortable talking to Cillian about it but you trusted him. He had always been welcoming and friendly and open, ever since your family moved next door to him a year ago.

He would often speak to you in a way only an experienced man his age could or tease you lightly to make you laugh, and you felt comfortable opening up to him.

You sat in your garden, the late afternoon sun warming the nape of your neck. The scent of freshly cut grass and blooming roses filled the air. You fidgeted with the hem of your sundress, nervously testing the ground. "I think I want to date Ethan," you blurted out, avoiding eye contact. "But I want to learn about things first," you explained as Cillian, leaning against the fence separating the yards, gave you a soft smile and a reassuring nod.

His piercing blue eyes, full of intensity, were a stark contrast to your timid ones. "I mean, I don’t know what to do," you admitted shyly. "I don't know how to kiss him, or how to touch him, or what he'll want to do." Your cheeks flushed pink, and you looked down at your hands, twisting nervously in your lap.

Cillian's smile widened as he saw this and you felt even more confident that he would help you out. "Well, Y/N, that's something I can help with if you want.  I know all about these things," he said, his voice low and reassuring. "I think I can teach you, but it'll take some time to get you ready."

You hesitated, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. "Teach me how?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper as your heart was beating out of your chest.

Cillian's eyes were like a shot of whiskey, strong and intoxicating, burning a hole into your soul. You could feel your body responding to his seductive gaze.

"Well, I could show you how to make a man feel good if you like," he said, his voice husky, his tone turning confident and suggestive. "I'll warn you now, though, it's not going to be like the books you read. It would be more physical, so maybe you should think about this before you agree to anything," he offered as he noticed the blush creeping up your cheeks and the way that your eyes were glued to his lips. He was obviously enjoying making you feel this way.

"Okay, I think I would like that," you agreed, your voice barely audible as you struggled to find your voice.

Cillian's eyebrows raised as he glanced over at your front door and then back at you again. "Alright then, let me give you a quick taste of what we could do. Is your mother at work?" he asked and you nodded.

"She'll be back in a few hours," you replied.

Cillian's eyes widened as he smiled and nodded, "Well, that's enough time, so follow me," he offered as he moved forward, and you dutifully followed him inside.

After having offered you a glass of water, he took a deep breath and looked at you in awe.

"Come on, let's go upstairs to my bedroom," Cillian said, his voice warm and smooth like honey dripping off a spoon as he reached for a clean towel from the washing basket by the stairs and you wondered what this was for. 

"Uhm, okay," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. You followed him up the creaky wooden staircase, the dim lights casting long shadows that danced on the walls. 

When you reached his bedroom, he smiled and you gave a little smile and shuffled your feet, - trying to keep your nervousness at bay.

It was a large space, with a king-sized bed in the centre, a large window that let in the soft glow of the night sky, and a bookshelf filled with books in one corner. You had never been in his room before and you were captivated by the scent of his cologne that lingered in the air. You could also sense a mild scent of sweat mixing with the pine fresh air that his cologne did not quite over power.

Cillian sat on the bed, his movements casual and unhurried as he placed the towel next to him. You stood by the door, your hands clasped together in front of you, and you gave a little smile and shuffled your feet, - trying to keep your nervousness at bay.

He patted the bed beside him, a small smile playing on his lips. "Don't be so nervous, sweetheart. Tonight, I'm just going to show you how to touch a man, alright?" he said as his eyes twinkled with a roughness that made you giggle. “Nothing more,” he reassured you and you were not quite sure what he meant by that.

“Do you mean, down there?” you asked, gesturing vaguely towards his lap, your cheeks flushing a deep shade of pink.

“Yes, down there," he chuckled, his voice gentle yet firm. "Do you know what that is called, down there?"  Cillian asked with a half-smile on his face as he gestured with his head towards his crotch.

You bit your lip, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. "Uhm, I think so," you murmured, your voice barely audible. You had read about it in books, heard whispers from your friend and seen things on the internet, but you had never been in this position before. 

"Can you say it?"  Cillian pressed, his eyes never leaving yours.

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest like a drum. You were not used to these kinds of conversations, and it made you want to hide under the covers.

"P-penis," you finally whispered, your voice so soft it was almost inaudible.

Cillian smiled, a hint of satisfaction in his expression. "Good girl," he said, his voice encouraging. "Although I prefer the word cock," he said with a cheeky grin on his face. "But we'll start with whatever you are comfortable with."

You stared at him, wide-eyed, your blush deepening. You had heard the word before, but never from someone in the flesh.

Cillian reached out and gently took your hand in his, his thumb gently caressing the inside of your wrist.

"Come and sit with me," Cillian said, his voice a soft murmur. He patted the bed beside him again, and you hesitantly took a step forward, then another, until you were close enough for him to gently tug you down next to him. The bed dipped slightly under your weight, and you sat stiffly, your hands folded neatly in your lap.

Cillian leaned back against the pillow, his eyes never leaving your face. "You are so beautiful, you know that, right?" he said, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine.

You swallowed hard, your cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink as you nodded shyly while Cillian slowly unbuckled his belt. You watched, wide-eyed, as he undid the button on his jeans and then the zipper. 

"Now tell me, do you know what a man's cock is for?" Cillian asked, his voice gentle but firm. You nodded again, your eyes fixed on his face, afraid to look down.

"I-I think so," you murmured, your voice barely a whisper. 

"Can you tell me?"  Cillian asked, his voice gentle yet insistent, his hand gently squeezing your wrist. You swallowed hard again, your mouth dry as cotton.

"Uhm, for, uhm...making babies," you finally managed to say, your voice barely audible. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as you struggled to keep your eyes from darting to his crotch.

"Yes, well, that's one way to put it." Cillian's lips curved into a knowing half-smile. He shifted slightly, his movements deliberate and slow.

“But that's not all it is for,” Cillian said, his voice low andultry. He raised an eyebrow, his eyes never leaving yours. "Sometimes, it's just for fun," he added, his voice a low murmur that sent a different kind of shiver down your spine.

You bit your lip, unsure of what to say.

"What do you mean?" you finally managed to ask, your voice shaky.

Cillian chuckled, a soft, warm sound that seemed to wrap around you. "I mean, sometimes, it's just about the feelings, the physical connection, you know?" he said, his voice gentle yet firm. He moved his hand from your wrist, only to gently grasp your chin, forcing you to look into his eyes.

"Now tell me Y/N... have you ever seen a man's cock before?" Cillian asked, his voice still gentle, but there was an underlying intensity that made your heart race.

You shook your head, your eyes still fixed on his face, your heart hammering in your chest. “No, I haven’t,” you admitted softly, your voice barely a whisper. You had seen body parts online but this was different, this was real.

Cillian smiled softly, his eyes never leaving yours. "That's alright sweetheart. Tonight, I'm going to show you what it looks and feels like," he said gently, causing you to nod. 

"You're a bit nervous aren't you?" he asked softly, his voice gentle. His thumb swiped across your knuckles, the movement slow to make sure that you could see it. 

You nodded, your breath catching in your throat as you tried to steady yourself. "A little," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Cillian leaned in closer, his voice a low murmur in your ear. "It's okay to be nervous but just know that I won't hurt you. I promise." His breath was warm against your skin, and you felt a shiver run down your spine.

He reached over and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering for a moment before he pulled back slightly. He then stood up to push down his jeans and boxers and then he sat back down, leaving just enough room for you to see his manhood.

"Come on, come here, don't be nervous, sweetheart," Cillian said softly, his voice gentle and reassuring. He patted the bed next to him again, and you scooted closer, your heart pounding in your chest. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, and you could smell his familiar scent, a mix of soap and something else that was uniquely him.

"It's okay, you can look at it," Cillian encouraged, his voice soft and patient. You took a deep breath and let your eyes drift downwards, taking in the sight of him.

He was hard and big, and you felt a pang of nervousness in your stomach. 

"Why is your cock hard?" you asked, your curiosity briefly overriding your nervousness. Cillian smiled, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

"It's called being aroused, sweetheart. It means I'm excited . It's a natural response to certain thoughts and feelings, and maybe to having you around, too." he replied, his voice gentle yet firm.

"Now give me your hand " he said and you hesitated for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest. But you saw a different side to Cillian on him being so patient and gentle this made you want to trust him. You reached out your hand, your fingers trembling slightly as you placed it in his. He took your hand and gently moved it towards his manhood, his grip firm yet reassuring. 

"It's okay, sweetheart. Just relax," Cillian murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through your very bones. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves, and let your hand rest gently on him, feeling the smooth, velvety skin beneath your fingertips.

"Now, gently stroke it up and down, like this," he said, his voice soft and patient. He guided your hand in a slow, rhythmic motion, his eyes never leaving yours. His length heaved and his body tensed so slightly that it wasn't even noticeable to someone else. He continued to guide your strokes, showing you the pace and pressure.

This was so new and strange to you. But you felt safe under his guidance. The room was quiet save for the faint humming of the streetlights outside your window and the soft rasp of your breaths. You could sense Cillian's breath steadying to match your rhythm, his eyes never leaving yours, his smile more indulgent. You shivered at being looked at like that.

"This is nice isn't it?" he asked, his voice a soft rumble. You nodded wordlessly, your cheeks flushed a pretty rose color and you felt like your heart was going to race out of your chest.

"Keep going, like that," he said, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his own pleasure.

You took that as a cue and continued your gentle strokes, your eyes fixed on his face, watching as his features tightened with pleasure. The room air was now thick, and so was the weight of the moment.

"I find it hard to tell you how good this feels," Cillian groaned. His voice was a low, husky whisper.

He reached out to brush a lock of hair from your forehead, tucking it gently behind your ear you didn't know what to say to that, so you kept moving.

"That's good, Y/N. It feels nice. You have really soft hands," Cillian said and you could feel his body tense beneath your touch, and you marveled at the sensation of power that surged through you.

"Almost there, sweetheart," Cillian murmured, his voice ragged with desire. He reached down, his hand covering yours, guiding your strokes with a firmer grip. "Just like that, baby. Keep your eyes on me. I want you to see what you do to me."

You met his gaze, your eyes wide with a mix of innocence and newfound confidence. You saw the raw desire in his eyes, and it made your heart race even faster. Your hand continued to move, guided by his.

"That's a good girl," Cillian breathed, his voice hoarse with pleasure. His eyes were locked onto yours, and you felt a strange mix of emotions—excitement, nervousness, and a sense of empowerment that you had never felt before. You marveled at the power you held over him in that moment, the way his body responded to your touch.

Cillian's grip on your hand tightened slightly, his breathing becoming more ragged. "Just like that, sweetheart. Don't stop," he murmured. His eyes were now closed, his lips slightly parted, and you felt a warmth spread through you at the sight of him losing control.

Some strange clear  liquid was already seeping from the tip of his cock, and you watched in fascination as it glistened in the soft light of the bedroom.

Cillian's grip on your hand tightened even more, his body tensing beneath your touch. "Y/N, I'm close," he warned, his voice a low growl as he opened his eyes, locking on to yours and you had no idea what he meant by that.

"That's it. Keep it going," Cillian’s voice a hoarse whisper as he closed his eyes once again, his grip on your hand tightening even more as you felt his shaft throb beneath your fingers.

You felt a strange mixture of excitement and nervousness. The room was quiet and you could hear the steady rhythm of his breaths and your own heartbeat. Cillian’s body tensed and you could see the strain of pleasure in his face. His eyes remained closed to savor the moment. "That feels so good," he groaned, his voice strained.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, his body trembling beneath your touch. "Don't stop, sweetheart.

We're almost there," Cillian panted, his voice laced with urgency and pleasure. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, his skin slick with a thin sheen of sweat. You bit your lip, your eyes wide with a mix of curiosity and nervousness, but you kept your hand moving, guided by his grip.

Cillian's breath hitched, and his body tensed even more. "That's it, Y/N. Just like that," he urged, his voice strained. You could see the muscles in his jaw clench, his lips parting slightly as he let out a low groan. You felt a sense of power and curiosity, wanting to see what would happen next.

However, what happened next surprised you as you felt a sudden warmth and wetness on your hand, and you gasped in shock, your eyes widening as you looked down at Cillian's body.

A thick, white fluid pulsed from him, coating your hand and his length, and you quickly pulled back, a mixture of surprise and curiosity washing over you. 

Your eyes darted to Cillian's face, taking in the sight of his flushed cheeks, his chest heaving with ragged breaths, and his eyes fluttering closed as if savoring the moment.

"You did good, sweetheart," Cillian murmured, his voice low and husky. You watched as he reached for the towel he had placed next to him earlier, using it to gently clean himself and your hand.

"What was that?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, your eyes wide with curiosity.

"That, sweetheart, is what happens when you make a man feel really good ," Cillian said, his voice still a bit ragged from his exertion.

He sounded pleased, his eyes still closed, as if savoring the aftershocks of his pleasure.

"It's called cum and you made that happen," he added, a hint of pride in his voice.

Cillian’s eyes finally opened, and he looked at you with a soft, almost tender gaze. He reached out to gently brush a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering for a moment on your cheek.

"So I made you feel good?" you asked, your voice soft and curious. You were still processing everything that had just happened, your mind a whirlwind of new sensations and emotions. You had felt a sense of power, of control, but also a deep sense of vulnerability. You felt a burning heat on the inside of your cheeks and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. You had never felt so close to anyone, so intimately connected.

Cillian smiled, his eyes warm and gentle. "Yes, you did. It felt amazing and I think that, maybe next time, you could take my cock into your mouth," he said , his voice soft and gentle, like he was coaxing a wild animal. You flushed deeply, feeling a mix of excitement and apprehension.

The thought of taking him into your mouth made you feel both curious and nervous. You had never done anything like that before, and the idea was both thrilling and terrifying.

Cillian must have seen the unsure look on your face as he quickly added, "But only if you want to. There's no rush, sweetheart. We'll take things at your pace, okay?"

His voice was reassuring, and you felt a wave of gratitude wash over you. You nodded, feeling a sense of relief and trust in him.

Tags:

@sunbeamseas @saint-ackerman @oatmealisweird @naxxsstuff @amanda08319 @r-m-cidnah @elysiannook @cillshot @infireddabdab @tastycakee @harrysbestiee @lilybabe22 @adalynlowell @henrywintersdearestgirl @ietss @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @ryiamarie @axionn

@nela-cutie @futurecorps3 @delishen @nosebleeds-247 @thirteenis-myluckynumber @gills-lounge @hjmalmed @lost-fantasy @tiredkitten @sidechrisporn @smallsoulunknown @charqing-qing @hopefulinlove @aporiasposts @shycrybaby @me-and-your-husband @hjmalmed @lacontroller1991 @galxydefender @aporiasposts

@galxydefender @hunnibearrr @saint-ackerman @lunyyx @gentlemonsterjennie1 @ihavealotoffandomssorry @nadloves @lost-fantasy @nolucesn@mcavoy-girl @hjmalmed @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @blushykiss @tatumrileyslover @teawithsatanx @orijanko @rhaenyra4ever @xcinnamonmalfoyx @budugu @nadloves @kmc1989 @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @smailaway @sophiaaguirred @blondie-22 @meadows5 @randomcreator-09

[red-hemlock]

🐸

Mun Questions n' Stuff!

🐸 Something that makes you smile for fandom reasons?

(Let's do another fandom. Deepest apologies if you do not happen to know it, but if you do... Berserk. 8'D

OKAY. SO I KNOW IT'S BEEN A HOT WHILE SINCE IT HAPPENED BUT MAN. WHEN RICKERT SLAPPED GRIFFITH??? MY SOUL WAS FREKKIN' SENT, AND GETS PROMPTLY RE-SENT EVERYTIME I RE-READ THE SERIES TBH.

MY ASS WAITED SO. DANG. LONG. FOR THAT NASTY TRAITOROUS SCHMUCK TO HAVE SOME KIND OF CONSEQUENCE HAPPEN TO HIM; AND WHO SHOULD DELIVER IT ON THE SHINING PIMP-HAND OF JUSTICE, BUT MOTHER-FLIPPIN' RICKERT. SEROTONIN DELIVERY UNREAL.

GET REKT FICTIONAL SON, IDEC IF IT DIDN'T 'HURT', YOU KNOW YOU'RE SALTY AF ABOUT IT. 100/10 CAN'T WAIT FOR CASCA AND GUTS TO SHOVE THE DRAGON SLAYER DOWN YOUR THROAT. >8P)

[avatar-of-the-web]

People's "get off the internet" advisory would be funny if it weren't sad.

[cordidy]

Just needed to get this out of my head after Sylus's Myth so i hope you like it :)

TW : drunk MC, fluff, it's sad I guess ? No proof read cause i'm a savage, english is not my mother tongue

“......tail ?” 

“What did you just say kitten ?” Sylus asked, gently patting the back on your thigh while steadying you on his shoulder as you exited the elevator together, .

At first he had been quite surprised to receive your call.

Even more so when you bluntly asked him if he would be ok playing bodyguard and keep an eye on you while you indulged in a night of carefree debauchery at the club but hey, who was he to judge ? 

Besides, if you felt safe enough to be in such a vulnerable state around him, going as far as trusting him with your safety and your apartment key to make sure you would make it back safe and sound, he was not going to complain.

“I….I said…ooooh that spins…do…do you ever miss your tail ?” you repeated, your voice tired and slurred, words barely comprehensive despite your best effort.

Sylus couldn’t help the chuckle that came as you poked his lower back through his jacket.

You really were wasted…

But you had a good reason !

Your week has been shitty as hell.

Your nights were even worse lately, barely getting a couple hours of sleep only to wake up either with a sore throat, screaming or crying at something you could not recall.

And, on top of that, you were off duty as Zayne decided you needed a break and refused to sign your abilitation.

“Come on Zayne, look, I’m fiiiiiiiiine” you tried to convince him with a huge smile and so much concealer on your face you could open your own makeup shop.

“As your physician I cannot let you go on field with such results” he retorted not even looking away from your chart “You should be dead with such a high blood pressure”

“I’m a tough cookie !”

“And you’re going to have to stay in the jar until these get better. You’re not only a danger for yourself right now but also for your partner”

That was a low blow but he had a point.

Clearly, you needed a break, something to unplug your brain, something fun, a good night out to leave all your problems behind and get shitfaced to oblivion. What you did not need though was the unwanted attention a young woman alone at the club would probably get and, while you were very capable of handling those kinds of situations, you did not really want to have to be on the lookout constantly or end up in a cell for assault.

You tried Tara, back to her family for the Holidays.

Simone ? Night shift.

Xavier….doing God knew what God knew where….

So, with a heavy heart you picked up your phone and called your secret weapon…

“Not necessary,” Sylus finally answered in a calm, composed voice, as he opened your apartment door, being extra careful as to not bump you in the doorframe. Based on the current humming coming from you right now and your kicking feet, your head was already going to kill you tomorrow.

Better not add “commotion” to the list of your impending issues.

“To be honest, being half human half cat was quite annoying” he admitted, walking you toward your bedroom to tuck you into bed. “I don’t like not being in control of myself and beside, it was bad for business to be away from the N109 zone for so long...although…I kind of enjoyed having to hide here and spend time with you…” he added with his signature smirk, poking your side before tossing you onto the bed, making you giggle like an idiot as you plopped on your back. It was the first time you allowed him into your room and, although he did plan on being a gentleman despite what you could think of him when sober, he couldn’t help the loving smile on his face as he watched you mumble something about a potato bag while fighting with your plushies for room.

“I miss you tail” you retorted in your drunk voice, closing your eyes in hopes it would help with the dizziness while Sylus started to remove your shoes and socks.

“I quite remember you telling me how insufferable it was” the man said in a collected tone while making his way to the kitchen once he was done. 

“Yeah but it was sooooo pretty…I miss how you used it to grab me with it and…and toss me around ! That was funny !” you laughed, mimicking being tossed around like a ragdoll in the middle of your plushies as Sylus was coming back in your room, a glass of water in his hand.

He stopped in his tracks, a puzzled look on his face.

“I never use my cat tail to...toss you around” he corrected. His Evol, yeah, on a daily basis at some point actually, just to annoy you and enjoy those little lovely sounds coming from your mouth, threats mostly.

He had not been able to use it at all during the time those damn kittens from Hell had turned him into one of them though.

Your foggy brain did not hear him though and just kept mumbling in your drunken state, propping yourself on your elbows, trying to focus your gaze on him.

“You would think scales are cold and harsh…” you started, raising a finger to look all serious before falling back onto your pillow, not registering the look of surprise on his usually steady face.

“Kitten wh…” his voice was faltering as he looked at you getting all comfy like you had not just shaken his world upside down with your words.

“...but it was sooooo soft and sooooo warm…” you continued, grabbing your pillow to hold on tight as if you were looking for said warmth. 

Your voice was starting to fade as sleep was settling in.

“...felt safe when you wrapped it around me…I kept holding mine to sleep after…but…”

The glass in his hand fell to the ground, shattering as he froze in place, eyes wide open in shock. 

“…it was not…not the same…” you mumbled before losing consciousness, your body going limp against your pillow, before starting to snore.

______________________________________________________________ Pssssst, you liked it ? P2 is already up here :) https://www.tumblr.com/cordidy/770227784125677568/a-few-days-ago-i-wrote-this?source=share

[entitled-fangirl]

Sweet nephew.

Gwayne Hightower x wife!reader; One-sided love from Aemond

Summary: Gwayne's wife is the epitome of everything Aemond was never given as a child- a sweet voice, a caring hand, and a comforting presence. He grows a love for her, and Gwayne's pissed.

A/n: This is unlike anything I've ever written and I have mixed emotions but oh well. It's the forced smile in the Gwayne gif for me

Masterlist

............................................

"Hello, sweet nephew."

Aemond's attention immediately shifted to his aunt. 

Y/n stepped into the library, moving to Aemond's side. Her hand reached out and ran through his hair, "What are you reading?"

"Mere histories, dear aunt."

"You've always been well studied, my prince."

He leaned back to look at her. "Did mother send you?"

She let out a playful scoff, "Am I just a mere raven to you?"

"No," he quickly defended. 

"No," she smiled. "Your mother did not send me. I came to borrow a book."

He stood, "Allow me to help you."

"No need, Aemond. I can find it," she offered.

"Please, Lady Hightower. Let me do this."

She nodded, "That would be nice."

As he stood and walked around one of the many shelves. "Tell me about Old Town."

"It is without change. Your brother has been wonderful."

"And Gwayne?"

She smiled, "Gwayne has always been wonderful."

He didn't miss the light in her eyes, "And how long do you plan to stay?"

She shrugged lightly, "As long as my husband needs me here."

"The war could last years. Old Town will suffer without you two."

"He may send me home before then. My father-by-law, excuse me, your grandsire, should be there by now for Daeron."

Aemond reached up, grabbing one of the books for his aunt, handing it to her, "Hopefully so."

She took it, opening the cover to the first page, "This will do. Thank you, nephew."

"Of course."

She closed the book and held it in the crook of her arm, "I shall see you at supper then?"

Aemond hummed, "Yes."

She smiled and pushed herself to her tip-toes, kissing his forehead.

The prince watched her walk away, a curious look coming across his face.

…

"Ser Gwayne," a steady voice uttered over the courtyard.

Gwayne turned, seeing the Prince confidently moving towards him. "My prince. How many I be of assistance?"

Aemond walked up to his uncle, "I dare ask for a bit of your wisdom."

Gwayne's brow quirked up in surprise, "I see."

He watched as Aemond's eye moved to the other side of the courtyard, admiring Gwayne's wife.

There she sat on her knees, playing with her and Gwayne's young son.

A protective feeling came over the man and he was eager to get the attention away from her, "What was it you needed exactly, my prince?"

Aemond's eye slowly snapped back to Gwayne. "How did you do it?"

"Do what?"

The two men looked back to the woman.

Y/n let out a laugh as her son jumped into her arms, knocking her over. 

"You're happily married, dear uncle."

"I am."

Aemond shifted his weight to his other leg, "How?"

Gwayne's brows lifted as he considers the man's question, "My wife is a copy of the Mother. I have been truly blessed to have her at my side."

He noticed how his nephew's confusion never lifted, so he continued to speak. "I married for love, my prince. Not all men have that honor."

"No, they don't," Aemond said. "However, it was no disgrace for you to marry her."

"Never," he agreed. "She's from a noble house."

"She loves you greatly."

Gwayne nodded, "Indeed." He finally had enough, "You wish to marry for love, Prince Aemond? Is that it?"

Aemond hummed, "Something of that sort."

"Gwayne?" Her voice interrupted.

The two men turned to her as she approached them. 

Gwayne smiled and reached out to take his son in his arms, "What timing, dear wife. The prince was asking how I've gotten you all to myself." He leaned down at kissed her cheek before turning his attention to his son. "You've been good for your mother, yes?"

Their son giggled and shook his head.

Gwayne feigned shock. "No? Well, we cannot have that. Your mother is a saint." 

She held her arms out, "It's time for his studies."

Gwayne held his son close. "I'll take him myself. Perhaps you can keep the Prince company until I return, hmm?"

Her eyes flickered between the two men. "Oh. Of course. If… If that is alright with our nephew."

Both Hightowers stared at him.

Aemond tilted his head side to side before a smirk came across his face. "I believe that shall be just fine."

Gwayne reached his free hand out to his wife's chin, forcing her to look up at him. "I'll return in a matter of minutes, dear wife."

With that, he let go of her and began to walk his son into the Keep.

They watched him disappear and an awkward silence permeated the air.

"I imagine," she finally said, "that this war has been unkind to you thus far."

Aemond was a bit thrown off by her kind thought but he couldn't help the scoff under his breath, "They seem to blame me for its beginning."

Her brows came together, "Yes, I heard of what happened. I can't imagine the guilt you felt…" she paused. "Still feel, I assume."

Aemond's expression grew to confusion. "You don't seem angry."

She shrugged and looked up at him sweetly. "I know you, Aemond. You wouldn't do that. You didn't mean to."

That look in her eyes broke something in him. The tough swordsman felt an oncoming of tears pricking at his eye.

She was understanding a part of him that no one else had dared try to.

"Oh, Aemond," she cooed at the sight of his watery eye. She reached up and caressed his cheek. "Every great warrior must have emotion. That's all that differentiates them from animals. And you, Aemond Targaryen," she spoke with assurance, "Are no animal. Let your tears fall, for I hold no judgment of you."

When they indeed began to fall, she noticed the deep blush in his cheeks due to the embarrassment of crying in the courtyard. She looked around and tugged his hand, pulling him to a corner more hidden away from prying eyes.

Once there, he pulled her against him and weeped into her shoulder. It was a strange sight to see the tall stern prince weep against his small aunt.

But regardless, she held him steadfast, softly cooing and running her hands through his hair as you would a child.

He clawed at the fabric of her dress, and soon his weeping finally coming to a stop.

He sniffled at the two dared not move.

She was worried of what he would do next. Would he push her away and reclaim his harsh exterior or would he let it fade into the background?

His head lifted just barely and a tension rose. Their faces were now inches apart.

She was just now aware of the implications of their position and a worried expression crossed her face. 

She took a step back just as Aemond leaned further in to try to kiss her, resulting in the gap staying between them.

They both paused with surprised expressions. "Aemond, I'm not-"

"-Why?"

She hummed, a pattern that Aemond has picked up from her. "You're my nephew. I love you, yes, but not in that way."

His jaw set harshly. "Is that not what love is?"

"No. No, no, no. It's not always, Aemond. You're a wonderful nephew, but that is what you'll stay. I am beyond content with my husband."

His voice rose, "Then why do all of this? Why make me vulnerable? Does it make you feel powerful?" He scoffed.

Gwayne returned just then, with worse timing than ever. In all honestly, he had been standing in the courtyard for a while, witnessing with a cautious eye. He could read the silver-haired dragon rider better than most. 

But only when Aemond made a move on his wife, did Gwayne interfere, running across the yard with a fierce anger as red as his hair.

He wrapped an arm around her waist, "Dear nephew, you've kept her safe for me, I see." The smile on his face was very forced, but he was good at hiding it.

Aemond's eye looked between the two. "I did."

"Wonderful. Let us go, woman."

Gwayne practically drug her from the courtyard. 

Once through the doors, he hissed. "What happened out there?"

She was still dumbfounded by the entire situation. "I… I'm not sure. I didn't mean to, I promise you."

He rubbed his hands up and down her biceps as a sigh fell from his lips. "I know," he spoke softly. "I shouldn't be angry with you. I just… I can't stand seeing the way he was looking at you."

"The way he looked at me…?"

"It's the way I look at you. I don't want another man to ever look at you that way. I'm a jealous creature, my love."

"I am truly sorry, Gwayne. I'll fix this."

He shook his head, "You have no faults in this. Perhaps a talk with his uncle would help."

She shook her head and gripped his tunic. "No, no. That might anger him more."

Gwayne sighed again. "We'll handle it together. Yes?"

She nodded. "Yes. That's generous." She kissed his cheek. "Thank you, my love."

…

He tried to stay true to that promise until he saw his sister. 

"You must control your own son!" He sneered through his teeth as he slammed the door behind him. "I'm tired of the rest of us being trotted upon like shit in a barn!"

"Gwayne, please," Alicent sighed. He hated how calm she was, but that was always her demeanor. She held a hand to her forehead. "Whatever Aegon has done, I can fix. Just let-"

"Not that one." He wanted to tear his hair out in frustration but he knew his wife would scold him for doing so. She loved his hair so much.

A bit of relief flooded over Alicent. "Oh." That then turned to more panic, realizing that while Aegon's problems were often, foolish, and naive, Aemond's were few, calculated, and always had dire effects. 

"Your son has a love for my wife," Gwayne explained. "And I won't stand for it."

"What are you talking about?" Alicent asked in confusion.

"Aemond has taken advantage of my wife's kindness. He practically forced himself upon her in the courtyard after manipulating her into comforting him." He ran a hand through his hair. "It disgusts me."

"Gwayne, I'm sure this is a misunderstanding," she said with a forced smile. "Perhaps Y/n… led him on a bit."

His eyes almost came out of his head. For being a relatively calm man, he was growing angrier by the moment. "Do not say that again. My wife is a saint. You'll do well to remember that. If another move is made to her, you'll have no help in battle from this Hightower."

His words were final, a full threat she knew he'd hold to. Gwayne had a flair for dramatics, but threats and promises, no matter how outlandish, he stayed true to. 

"What would you have me do?" Alicent asked him. Having a queen ask for council from a knight was a rare sight.

"Just…" He cursed under his breath and placed his hands on his hips. "Maybe ask yourself why he'd do such a thing."

"What are you implying, Gwayne?"

"My wife would not raise our son to do such a thing to a woman. Makes me wonder what you've done all these years."

Gwayne was a fierce protector, often doing so for his sister. But this was his last straw, and everyone was on the metaphorical chopping block in his mind.

…

During Gwayne's talk with his dear sister, Y/n had crept up to Aemond's chambers in hopes of apologizing. 

She knocked thrice and heard nothing. 

Pushing the door firmly, she saw Aemond curled up on his bed, still in his riding gear and his hair messy against the furs.

"Nephew?"

He shot up, his eye wide in realization, though puffy from tears that no one was supposed to see. Immediately embarrassment flooded his entire soul. "Come to gloat?" His hoarse voice echoed through the room.

"Hardly. I feel awful."

"I thought you'd be like her. Better, even," he whispered, though she was sure it was meant to be kept to himself, "but you're not like her at all."

 "Who, sweet nephew?"

His eye widened once again, his entire body seemingly caving in on itself like a defense. He was running out of ways to shut her out. He said nothing.

"My mother was the most caring woman I knew," she began to explain in the silence. "She only wanted the best for her children, and she always had such a steady hand. It was so comforting." She picked at her nails, a habit she caught from one of the Hightowers. "I told myself I wanted to be just like her. Forgive me if my efforts to be comforting came across in a misleading fashion."

"Is that not what a wife does for her husband, though?" His vulnerable voice asked.

"Well, yes. But it's different," she explained. "I treat my husband and my son very differently."

"How?"

"Uh," she was unprepared to answer this question. "I'm responsible for teaching my son the right ways to live. To have him grow to be a great Hightower. But Gwayne is a man grown. I can't teach him things that he already knows. Nor should I have to."

"But you don't tell your son what to do," he pointed out.

"No," she said as if ridiculous. "He should get to explore the world and find things for himself. I only help him when he needs it."

"Mother has never done that."

Y/n's face paled. Suddenly everything was clicking into place.

"Aemond, your mother is surrounded by Targaryens with great dragons as a queen with no power. It's a scary thought for her. She doesn't know how to help you."

"But she does not try!" He exclaimed in frustration. 

She let out a breath. "Perhaps so. But she does love you. In her own strange way." She brushes over his cheek. "You are a strong man yet, Aemond. And you'll have a wife soon enough."

"Just not you," he manages through a teary eye.

"No," she gives a small smile. "Not me."

He takes her hand from his cheek, giving a kiss to her knuckles. He took his time, truly savoring the soft skin of his dearest aunt. "May you and my uncle live full lives, by the will of the Seven."

…

She moved from the room, shutting the door behind her. She stepped down the corridor, almost running into her husband.

Gwayne grabbed her waist. "I've decided to speak to the prince."

Her hands rested on his chest. "There's no need. It has been handled."

"Handled?" He questioned. "How so?"

She shrugged lightly. "He... apologized."

Gwayne's brow furrowed. "Did he? That's… kind."

"Like a true gentleman," she added. No one really needed to know of his tears. "Where's our boy?" 

"Should be done with his studies soon. We still have time though."

"Time for what?"

He tipped her head up to look at him. "I fear I don't admire my wife as much as I should."

"You know you do."

"No," he bent down and kissed her. "If I worshipped you every day, it still would not be enough. You're sought after by many in the Realm, it seems." He brushed her hair behind her ear. "But me, most of all."

"And you have me."

"Aye. That I do."

……………………………………………

[humanpurposes]

Nightblooms

It was a single night, such a trivial moment, two children sharing lemon cakes in a brothel, but she has not forgotten it. He will not recognise her, surely? // Main Masterlist

Aemond x unnamed female character

Warnings: 18+, smut, angst, sex work, unresolved childhood trauma, implied underage and non-con (not explicitly depicted), mentions of war, violence and death

Words: 9.7k (she's a bit of a monster)

A/n: my humble offering of another Aemond brothel fic. I hope you like :) You can also read this on AO3 if you feel so inclined.

He remembers the bed, the thin curtain draped around it, the slight breeze that drifted in on the night air and made it flutter. The throw was richly decorated, red, black and brown, and he picked at the thin threads of embroidery with his fingertips until his skin was red and white. 

The heat in the room was unbearable, the stench of wine, incense, his own sweat clinging to his bare skin. He was weary to breathe the air in, to tarnish himself any further than had already been done. 

He flinched as the door opened. The madam was back, now wearing a gown and all her gold jewellery. A silhouette stood behind her, he couldn’t see them properly, concealed in shadows. 

“You are shivering, my Prince,” she said. 

He could feel it, his knees brought up to his chest and his arms clinging around his legs. His clothes were neatly folded in a corner, his eyepatch atop the pile, he just hadn’t managed to reach for them yet.

“Have some wine if you like,” the madam said. 

The silhouette stepped into the flickering candlelight. In years to come her face would fade from his memory, but she was young, perhaps as young as him. She was dressed like the other whores, in a loose gown of blue silk that exposed glimpses of her skin, her shoulder, her thigh through a slit in the skirt. She held a pitcher of wine and a cup in her hands.

“She is undertaking her own education,” the madam said, noting how long Aemond’s eye had lingered on the girl. “She’ll help you bathe and dress.”

He made no sound of protest. The madam took the pitcher. He could smell the sour scent of the wine as she poured it. Already a few cups deep, the numbness of alcohol was starting to wear off and a pulsing pain was blooming in the back of his head. The madam placed the cup on a table and then she left.

The girl took a single step towards the bed. She lifted her arm, holding out her hand to him, as if he were some street dog to be tamed.

He scowled. His left eyelids were sewn shut back then, his wound mostly healed after three years, but still hideous enough that people would stare in shock at the sight of him, the ailing King’s maimed son. The Lords and Ladies of the Red Keep averted their eyes when they saw him. His mother looked at him with tears in her eyes. His father… the last time his father must have looked him in the eye was on Driftmark.

But this girl looked at him unabashedly.

If he had his wits about him he might have scorned her. Smallfolk like her should know their place, they should revere their Princes. He shouldn’t inspire pity, he should inspire fear and awe.

His stomach was turning. Anger coursed through his blood. His eyes were hot and stinging but he would not allow any tears to fall. And he was restless. It was all familiar to him, the frustration, the humiliation. He couldn’t bear to sit on the bed anymore, cowering like a child.

“I have a bath drawn,” the girl said. 

He had heard her, but he could not find the will to move, not for a few moments at least, moments which felt like hours.

“I have some cake as well. I find it helps me regain my strength… afterwards.”

He felt his head nod.

“It’s lemon, do you like lemon cake?”

“Yes,” he muttered into his knees.

He watched her fetch a robe from the back of a settee by the fireplace, draping it over her arm. “We only have to go to the next room, not far at all.”

He blinked as he looked at her. He felt the dampness on his cheeks, the stinging cold left in the trail of his tears as another breeze swept into the room. 

All the faces around him this night were unnerving. Aegon had been far too delighted with his so-called “gift”. He’d entered Aemond’s chambers with a snarling smile before he’d gripped him by his shoulders and dragged him through the stairways used by servants to stay out of sight. “You are a man now, Aemond. Time to get it wet.”

The madam had a calm gaze, soft lips and small eyes which considered him intently once she had taken the purse of coins from Aegon. The scent of her perfume was sharp and he could still smell it in his nostrils. His stomach lurched again. 

“Come,” the girl said.

Hers was the only face he found any ease in, and he could not explain why that was.

She held out the robe for him and asked before she secured the tie at his waist. She went to a small door in the corner of the room which he had not even noticed until then. It led into another chamber where the air was hot and humid but not as suffocating.

A basin stood in the middle of the room. She took out two small brown bottles and let a few drops of oil fall into the water, filling the room with a gentle, fresh scent. “Lavender,” she explained, “and rosemary. They are meant to be calming.”

He stepped into the water, glad to find it just below scolding. 

The girl kneeled by the basin, gently pouring cups of water over his hair, running it through with a sweeter smelling oil. She took his hand and allowed him to settle, scrubbing his skin with sugar, cleansing it with an amber soap.

When it was done she rested her chin in her hands at the edge. “That’s better, isn’t it?”

He’d stopped crying now, his limbs felt steadier, more his own. He nodded.

“I don’t feel myself until I’ve washed it all off. It makes me feel as though my skin is truly mine again,” she said.

He felt his hands over his arms, the sweat and the fluids rinsed away, the dead skin scrubbed smooth.

“Thank you,” he said. His voice was thick, unnatural in his own throat.

“Do not thank me yet,” she said with a small smile, and suddenly jumped up to her feet. She walked out of his sight, past his blind spot, but she soon returned with a small wooden box. She kneeled beside the basin and opened the lid to reveal three small cakes, dusted with sugar and topped with thin slices of candied lemons. “Take one then,” she said.

He bit down on the inside of his lip to hide his amusement at her impertinence. He did as she told him and ate half of one cake in a single bite. A pleasant sourness burst on his tongue, not like the wine, sweeter, zestier. She was right, his mind was starting to feel a little less numb, the life flooding back into him with every breath he took, lavender, rosemary and lemon.

“You have one too,” he said.

“I’m not meant to,” she said, “they’re for the patrons.”

Aemond lowered his chin to look at her. “Take one.” Now it was his turn to deliver the orders.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes darting between him and the cakes.

“If anyone reprimands you I’ll feed them to my dragon.”

Her expression ignited. “Alright,” she said with a sly smile.

They devoured the rest of their cakes and shared the remaining one. She insisted that he should have the other candied lemon.

“Do you really feed people to your dragon?” she asked, wiping the crumbs from her mouth.

Aemond licked the sugar from his fingers. “I’ve not done it yet.”

She seemed stunned at his answer, then she giggled. “Yours is the big one, isn’t it?”

“Vhagar. She was Queen Visenya’s mount during the Conquest.”

“I see her sometimes, flying over the city.”

“She is too large for the Dragon Pit,” Aemond explained, “she nests along the shore of the bay.”

“And roams where she pleases?”

“Never too far from me.”

“No,” she said, her voice wilting, “of course.”

He suddenly wondered what this sad, sweet girl kneeling beside him would do if she had a dragon. He could picture her on Dreamfyre, the mount of his sister. Helaena adored flying and would often guide her dragon to glide above the waters of Blackwater Bay and the hills surrounding King’s Landing. This girl would take her dragon further, he thought, she would soar up above the clouds. Perhaps she would take her dragon over the seas, to Essos, to the Summer Isles, to the far corners of the world.

He did not flinch from her when she offered him a towel and patted his skin dry. She fetched his clothes from the other room, the awful room where he could not breathe, buttoning his shirt with swift fingers, doing up the buckles on his jerkin.

She was not much shorter than he was. She stood close enough that he could smell the lemon cake on her fingers, and there was something sweeter and richer underneath. It made him think of fresh fruit and vanilla, rose petals and nightblooms.

Her eyes drew slowly up from his collar to his face, to the wound slicing through the space where his eye once was.

“Does that hurt?” she asked.

He was no stranger to pain. It had persisted since the incident itself, stinging and shooting through his skull. It once made him cower like a child, but of late it had lulled into more of a passing irritation. Had the extent of the pain subsided, or was he simply used to it now? “Sometimes,” he said. 

“How did it happen?”

The years had passed quickly since then. He remembered the joy he felt flying before the moon and the stars over Driftmark on Vhagar, the faces of his nephews and cousins in the dark. He spat cruelties at them. They shoved him, punched him, kicked him. He remembers the taste of his own blood, the crack of Lucerys’ nose under his knuckles, the dust in his eye and then a pain like fire piercing through to his brain.

Three years and he still felt clumsy in his movements. He would often lose his balance or misjudge his steps. He would miss objects as he went to reach for them, and he was still not quite used to turning his head so that he could see past his blind side.

He’d never had to say it out loud before, not all of it. It had been enough for Lord Commander Westerling to find his face covered in blood and the remains of his eye. He had told his father he had been attacked, but it went unheard to the pleas of innocence by the bastards and their mother. The maesters studied his wound. Cole told him he could regain his strength if he worked for it. Everyone else tended to avert their eyes altogether.

She was looking at it, trailing her fingertips over the edges of his scar and the twisted flesh of his eyelids. 

“It was the night I claimed Vhagar. I was returning to Hightide and they came at me, Jace, Luke, Laena’s daughters–” he suddenly realised these names meant nothing to her, but she did not seem discouraged.

“Go on,”

“Rhaena, well, Vhagar was her mother’s dragon. She wanted her, but I claimed her first. I was not afraid of them. Baela struck me first. Then Jace and Luke came at me, and Jace had a knife.”

She breathed a small gasp.

“Luke took up the knife. It all happened very quickly.”

“They did that to you, over a dragon?” She said, trailing her touch lower, over his cheek. 

He remembered the cool surface of the rock in his hand, hovered over Jace’s head. One of the girls shook her head, begging him to stop. And he did—  or he was going to stop…

That’s when Luke had slashed the blade at him.

“I was weak,” he said, brushing her hand away from his face. “It’ll never happen again.”

She tilted her head at him. Her eyes were glassy, like she might cry. Guilt tugged in his chest. He had not wished to upset her.

Then she took a quick breath and went to take up his cloak and his eyepatch. He placed them both on, covering his silver hair with his hood.

She beckoned him to follow with her fingers. They weaved through the close corridors and the few women and men they passed, some fully dressed, some wearing nothing at all. It felt ridiculous and somewhat unbelievable to see how unashamed they all were, women with their breasts out, men with their cocks hanging between their legs. 

His stomach turned again.

He reached for the girl’s hand. Her head whipped around and she held onto him, firmly. He didn’t want to lose sight of her, he couldn’t bear the thought of being alone in this place.

Neither of them let go when they reached the doors. People were passing though so they kept close to the wall, face-to-face. 

“Can you find your way back to the Keep from here?” she said, only having to whisper.

Aegon had long since disappeared. Aemond had rarely been out into the city, save to accompany his mother to the Sept, or his siblings to the Dragon Pit. He was alone now, no guards, no wheelhouse, but the Red Keep with its turrets, battlements and flickering lights in the windows would not be difficult to locate. He nodded.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“What for?” 

“For what happened to you.”

His stomach turned again, less nauseating, more unsettling, uncertain. He supposed this would be the last time he saw her.

“Will you be alright, here?” he said.

She took in a sharp breath and she frowned as though she were in pain. “Yes. The madam is good to me. She keeps me fed and clean.”

But the things they must make her do…

“Go, return to your royal castle and your servants,” she said with a grin. “Far better that I am here and not starving in some gutter.”

So he did. He slipped through the door, his last memory of her being obscured by shadows, perhaps that’s why he could not recall the details of her face. 

Walking through the streets of King’s Landing, he had never felt so aware of his body, his skin under his clothes, shifting over his bones. His limbs felt slightly numb, his feet moving of their own will while his mind… was clouded. His head felt heavy and the noises around him were distant. No one paid any mind to the boy trudging over the dirt and cobbles, but he felt the eyes of the gods on him and it made him shiver. They had seen his sins. What if his mother knew where he had been, the things he had done? He imagined her brown eyes, filled with disgust rather than grief.

He could not look at Aegon for weeks afterwards. He shied away from his mother’s touch, especially on his legs, his knees. In the Sept he begged the gods to forgive him. He begged to forget it.

Years went by. Some nights when he felt a certain tension in his stomach and a stirring in his breeches, he’d think of it, the heat and sweat and incense. And after there was no relief, just an emptiness in his chest.

He could wash it all away, with drops of lavender and rosemary oil in his bath, with sugar scrubbed into his skin.

If there was one thing he wished to remember of that night, it was her. He still thought of that girl, a face obscured in shadow, when the servants brought out lemon cakes after supper, when Helaena insisted on walking through the gardens at sunset and the air was sweet with nightblooms. She pointed them out to him, the silvery white flowers growing in the leafy green bushes lining the path, their petals like little moons in the foliage. 

“How curious are these,” Helaena had said one evening, “they retract in sunlight, but in darkness they flourish.”

Daylight dies with a golden sunset and night blooms with a sky of red and indigo clouds. 

The King’s body is now ash. Sunfyre had the honour of being the dragon to do it. It was a hasty affair, in the hours after Aegon’s coronation, when the chaos at the Dragon Pit still had their family and the Small Council stunned to silence. Aegon wore the steel crown as they stood on a cliff over the bay, waiting for him to give the order. The heads of his mother and his sister hung heavy, but Aemond did not avert his gaze from the flames. He felt the heat on his face, seeping through his skin. 

At long last, his father is gone. Aemond has not wept for him, nor does he feel a desire to. His father was once a young man, well loved, so he is told, but to Aemond he was always a frail old man. Save for the few times he ever proved his strength, and even then his strength was only ever resolved for his dearest child. 

Rhaenys will have made it to Dragonstone within a matter of hours, and Aegon’s ascension will not come without consequence. 

On the morrow he will fly for Storm’s End and secure the allegiance of Lord Borros Baratheon. His mother has assured him this will be a simple enough feat, swords for a marriage pact with one of the Baratheon girls, but a crucial one. His brother will not hold the throne long without Lords to uphold his claim and men to fight for it. 

He wonders if the Stormlands will live up to their name; how dull the entire affair will be if it only amounts to flying Vhagar through a downpour of rain. This is the war his mother and grandsire wish to fight, with letters and diplomacy. He is sure the dragons will become restless soon enough. Rhaenyra has been steadfastly sure of her own importance her entire life, and with Daemon at her side, she will not bend the knee without a challenge.

And what of Aegon, is he ready to fight for his crown?

When Viserys breathed his last and the pieces were all finally in play, Aegon had not been where he needed to be. Not in his rooms, not within the walls of the castle. He was squandering his duties, evading the position he was born to, as he always has done. Aemond himself was the one to drag him from the streets of King’s Landing to the Red Keep. Cole had spent hours with him, convincing him to take up the crown rather than fleeing on a ship across the Narrow Sea, to Pentos, to Yi Ti, some far corner of the world where the burden of being their father’s son would not weigh so heavily on his shoulders. 

The first place Aemond had thought to look for his brother proved to be a fruitless endeavour. The establishment was a familiar one, and with every step he took along the Street of Silk his memories phased into reality. The knocker on the door was the same. The madam was the same, the same long, auburn hair, the same gold jewellery, the same knowing smile on her lips and a gleam in her eyes. 

“The Prince is not here,” she had said. “His tastes are known to be less discriminating.” Of course. Aegon could pay for the most expensive, sweetly perfumed whores in all of King’s Landing, but instead he sullies himself with the scum of Fleabottom, rolling around in the dirt like a pig.

The madam’s gaze then turned to Aemond. She remarked how he had grown. It felt an obvious thing to say. He was no longer the child he was when Aegon first brought him there.

While he and Cole wandered the city in search of his wastrel of a brother, a thought passed through his mind. He thought of a face in the shadows of the brothel, steam rising, gentle hands, the scent of lavender, rosemary, rose, nightblooms…

She could have been there, on the other side of the door, within the walls of the establishment. She would be a woman just as he was now a man. Or she might have left years ago, to a better life, or perhaps a worser fate. Are the lives of the smallfolk not meant to be brutish and short? 

A hollowness settles in his chest, restless and hungry, like it’s writhing under his skin. He paces his chambers, reads until the hearth has died and the sky beyond the windows is black, but sleep will not come to him.

In the hour of the wolf, he dons a cloak and retraces his steps.

Men are all the same. They strut into the establishment like peacocks, with an ego that outweighs their purse. They flash a few coins and ask for wine rather than ale, a symptom of refined taste. They run their hands over her body, her waist, her hips and her rear as though she should be grateful for their attention. They tell her uninteresting stories while they drink themselves into a stupor. They convince themselves that it is their charm and decent looks that have her leading them to a bed in a quiet corner of the pleasure house, or falling to her knees and undoing the laces on their breeches. The truth is that she will do what is asked of her, so long as they have gold. It is only motions of the body, and afterwards she can wash it all away. 

Until the next night… and then the next… and then the next…

Madam Sylvi has promised her to a Lannister tonight, a man of Lord Tyland’s household, no doubt paid well by the family he serves. He is supposed to be waiting for her but first she must pretty herself for him. She wears a gown of blood red that bares her back and her arms, that will easily fall away with the undoing of a clasp at her neck. She lets her hair fall freely and tints her lips and cheeks with rosewater. Finally she dabs her perfume into her wrists, her neck, on the insides of her ankles, a scent she has worn for years, sweet, rich and floral.

She descends the stairs by the door. At the darkest time of night the pleasure house is alive. Music hums over the laughter, the moans, the cries. The air is thick with the sourness of alcohol and the smell of sweat and sex.

A man with silver hair stands in the entrance hall, Sylvi beside him. They speak with their heads close together, as familiars? As lovers? Sylvi strokes his arm affectionately, with a look glinting in her eye that means she intends to bleed this Targaryen of all the gold he has.

It does not sink in until he looks up, his single eye meetings hers. He wears an eyepatch over his left eye, dark leather obstructing his hair and pale skin.

The eyepatch… it cannot be…

Sylvi had always said men come here to take their pleasure on their own terms. This had not seemed to be the case when last she laid eyes upon Prince Aemond. She had seen them enter, the young Princes, one taller, merrier, with purple wine stains in the corners of his mouth. The other was solemn faced and unsure, ushered into the arms of the madam before she led him upstairs. Sylvi had other patrons to attend to once the deed was done, leaving the burden of caring for the young Prince on her equally young shoulders.

She still remembers him hunched over himself and shivering, the distant look in his eye, frozen in a single moment of time. The most she had been offered after her first time was a cup of moon tea and an order to change the sheets for the next patron.

It was a single night, such a trivial moment, two children sharing lemon cakes in a brothel, but she has not forgotten it. He will not recognise her, surely?

“Her,” the Prince says, “I will have her.”

Her heart drops. She has reached the end of the steps and freezes, looking to Sylvi for instruction. Anticipation stirs in her gut, somewhere between terror and curiosity.

“I’m afraid she has been spoken for tonight, but I would be glad to–”

“I will pay double what any other man has promised,” Aemond says with an air of finality. This is an offer that cannot be refused. Perhaps the minor Lord will be disgruntled, but he will be compensated generously. Defying a Prince is treason. 

While Sylvi has gone to deal with the outbidded Lord, her legs carry her down the last few steps until she is face to face with Prince Aemond.

He is taller for a start, at least a head above her. His hair is longer, his face is slimmer and sharper, his lips are settled into a slight pout. He carries himself differently, proudly. Her eyes move over his leathers under his cloak. She is not meant to admire the men who seek her services. She is meant to take their coin and fulfil their desires.

“Some wine, my Prince?” she asks, nodding towards the inner chamber, the heart of the pleasure house where the musicians play and bodies mingle out in the open or behind drawn curtains. 

He offers her a cryptic “hmm,” and follows her inside.

One of the other girls stands in a corner, carrying a tray of full cups. She passes one to Aemond, his fingertips brushing over her skin as he takes it. 

The Prince studies his surroundings like a hunter looking for quarry, lips quirked, jaw tight, somewhat amused but silent. Something tells her he has not returned to the pleasure house in the years since his first visit. This is all unfamiliar to him. He sips his wine and takes a slow breath. No doubt he will prefer somewhere a little more secluded.

She takes his hand and weaves through the room, to one of the adjacent chambers lit by candlelight, large enough to fit a bed and little else.

With the curtains drawn the other sounds fade into nothing. She takes Aemond’s wine and sets it aside, coming to stand before him.

She keeps waiting for him to lean into her, to grab greedily at some part of her flesh, to claim her lips with his. Instead he stands stoically, his chest rising and falling from underneath the thick leather of his tunic.

“Are you not awfully warm, my Prince?” she says in a honeyed voice, one she has practised for years that usually feeds the lie she actually wants what’s about to happen. She trails her fingertips over the shiny silver buckles that conceal him from her, his body stiffening under her touch.

She takes a breath to steady the erratic beat of her heart and the wanting stirring in her belly. It is not often that her own forwardness seems out of place. 

She remembers the boy with silver hair. She remembers the scowl on his face, how it melted into confusion and fear. He had needed patience then and she was happy to give it. Because she was ordered to. Because she pitied him. Perhaps because she recognised something in his expression and the way he seemed unsure in his own skin.

She places a hand on his shoulder, testing the waters of how close she can get to him. He does not protest. His nose twitches as he inhales deeply and exhales slowly. “Perhaps we should make ourselves more comfortable?” she says.

He places his hand over hers, guiding it to the top buckle at his collar. His expression is stern, his face bathed in golden candlelight and the shadows caught in the angles of his face. His eye is somehow soft but intent.

Undressing him is not to be rushed. She takes her time with every buckle on his jerkin and pushes it slowly from his shoulders. She untucks his undershirt from his breeches and he pulls it over his head. His skin is smooth, mostly unmarred, save for a small scar in the crook of his elbow that had not been there the last time they met. He is all muscle, lean and lithe. She places her palms at his chest and lets them drag down his abdomen, to the waist of his breeches.

He holds her wrists to stop her.

She looks to his eye, terrified that she might have overstepped.

Instead he kisses her. It’s gentle and chaste, his hand against the bare skin of her back, pulling her against his body. When she teases his tongue with hers he chases it, only for the kiss to become messy and clumsy. She cannot bring herself to dislike his inexperience.

“Wait,” she says, pulling away, putting her hands on either side of his jaw. “Follow my lead,” she whispers, leaning in to capture his lower lip between hers. They find a rhythm then. She shows him to move slowly, to be firmer. As their kiss deepens she allows herself to melt into his arms. Her hips are rocking against his, his hand trailing over her skin until he finds the clasp of her dress. The material falls away as simply as it should, leaving her bare before him.

He studies her the same way he studied the room. How many men have laid eyes on her since she came to this place? Too many to count, insignificant men, who have no names or faces in her memory. She has no shame in her nakedness, but there has never been any doubt in her mind that those men found her desirable. Being under Aemond’s scrutiny makes her tremble. She wonders if the sight of her pleases him. He has enough gold and enough pride to be selective. 

He had asked for her though. Why?

He’s staring at her. “They crowned my brother today,” he says.

It is not what she was expecting to hear. “I saw.”

“You were there?”

“No.” The gold cloaks did not empty the whorehouses when they were ordered to fill the Dragonpit with witnesses for the King’s coronation.

Aemond’s attention is on her body now. He reaches for her arm, tracing circles over her skin with his thumb.

She had not seen the King himself but she had seen the crowds flocking. She had heard the tremendous noise of crumbling stone, people screaming, a dragon’s screech. “I saw the dragon. People say it is an omen.”

Aemond’s face darkens but his attention is still on his own hand, now at her waist. With the other he pulls the eyepatch from his head and tosses it towards his discarded shirt. She does not get much of a chance to refresh her memory of his maimed eye before he leans into her again. His lips are at her shoulder, then her neck and it leaves her utterly weightless. 

“Your perfume is the same,” he mutters into her skin.

He remembers.

Aemond seems content enough following her lead. He lets her slip his breeches past his hips and take him into her mouth. He lets her sit atop him and grind her core against his hardened cock until her peak washes over her, blissful and warm.

When he starts to buck his hips and dig his fingertips into her hips she decides to give him respite. She sinks herself onto him with a soft sigh. It is a rare opportunity to chase a feeling rather than letting herself go through a rehearsed set of motions. 

His eye moves between her face and the space where their bodies meet, as if he cannot decide which is more fascinating. She is pleasantly surprised when he places his thumb at her pearl and circles over her sensitive flesh.

She loses herself in it, how deep he reaches, pleasure rising and tightening until it releases suddenly, violently. She falls forwards on her hands to steady herself. 

Before long Aemond lifts her off his cock, finishing himself with a stuttering groan and his seed dripping through the folds of her cunt.

He holds her close, caging her in his arms and bringing her into his chest. There’s a numbness that follows pleasure and she cannot bring herself to care that he is crushing her ribs. It doesn’t matter. She basks in the heat of his skin and the smell of him. 

He makes good on his promise of payment. The purse of coins he leaves on the bed before he leaves is worth ten nights with any other patron. 

There is less pretence the next time he visits her.

It is only a day later. He comes in the middle of the night, his hair, coat and leather gloves soaked, but there is no rain in King’s Landing. They tear at each other’s clothes and kiss like starved dogs devouring scraps. Aemond holds her by her jaw and her neck. When she draws his teeth over his lip he grins.

Once he is bare she realises his skin is cold and he is shivering.

“You should sit before a fire and warm up properly–”

“No,” he insists, “I just want you.”

She chases her pleasure once more, Aemond’s hands bruising into her hips as he thrusts up to meet her, the coldness of his palms seeping through her skin. This newfound urgency is thrilling and she finds herself curling over her body as her peaks tears through her.

Aemond is not finished with her yet. He positions her beneath him, spreading her legs apart with two wide palms before fucks her with a brutal precision, and he does not stop until he has reached his own end, painting her belly and the tops of her thighs.

After, he takes her into his arms, positioning them both so that he lies under her arm with his head nestled on her chest, between her breasts. She strokes her fingertips through his damp hair, over his skin, all the places where lovers touch each other, his cheek, his neck, underneath his ear, his shoulder. With his arm draped over her stomach he clings to her like he may never know such intimacy again. His skin is still cold and yet she holds him close, determined that she will draw some warmth from him.

Hours pass. Days could pass and she’d be content to lie with him.

“The dragon was an omen, you said,” he mutters.

It takes her a moment to rouse herself. Her eyes had closed, her mind half asleep. “That’s what people are saying. A coronation marred by death must surely only lead to more death.”

She feels his arm tighten over her stomach.

“You’re cold,” she says.

“I was instructed to fly to the Stormlands.”

“Why?”

“To secure the support of Lord Baratheon. He has pledged his banners to my brother’s cause and in return I am to wed his daughter.”

His state suggests to her that he has not yet returned to the Red Keep.

“Is there to be a war?” she says. 

He remains frozen for a few moments.

“I believe war may now be inevitable,” he says. She feels his lips brushing over her skin.

“How so?” she says on a quiet breath.

“A boy is dead because of me.”

The coldness of Aemond’s body has decidedly taken root within her, like a fist closing over her heart and throat.

“Lucerys was there, at Storm’s End. Lord Borros shunned him from the hall but I… it wasn’t enough. I pursued him on Vhagar. His dragon is nothing to her, they didn’t stand a chance.”

She is not sure she wishes to hear of this, but a new kind of stillness has settled over her. She is too afraid to move, to disturb him. 

“He is the one who took your eye,” she says.

Aemond hums. “He never paid for what he did to me. My father was more concerned with the slanders against my sister than he was with me, with my blood spilled by my own kin.”

She closes her eyes, imagining the little boy from all those years ago is curled up in her arms. She runs her fingers through his hair, undoing the knots and tangles. She cradles his head in her arms so he knows he is not alone.

“His debt is paid now, I suppose,” Aemond says.

It is in the early hours of the morning when he finally leaves, the first glimpses of sunrise chasing night from the sky. She helps him dress and fastens his eyepatch over his head. He leaves another purse in her palm, a more than generous amount. 

He comes to her nightly. He is an unhurried lover and fucks her slowly, hovering his lips above hers so that they share the same air, keeping their bodies pressed tightly together as if he wishes to smother her, or else crawl under her skin. She’d let him do it.

It is not simply her body he wants. When they are done he wants to be held, and then his thoughts slip from between his lips. 

He had not expected to return to the Red Keep a hero for slaying his nephew, but now he says his mother can hardly look at him. His grandsire, the Hand of the King scorns him for his recklessness, for his impulse for violence that now means the false Queen may strike at any moment. Vhagar circles the city during the day, she sees the dragon when she goes to the market. Aemond insists that his dragon could make short work of destroying any other who would seek to oppose her, but Rhaenyra has dragons to spare. He sits in meetings of the Small Council and watches in despair as the Hand and the Dowager Queen advocate for patience and diplomacy. 

“We should be marching,” he says one night, tracing his fingertips over her stomach. “We should secure the support of the Crownlands, adding their numbers to our host. Rhaenyra is isolated enough on Dragonstone, but we could cut her off from her allies completely.”

“And none would stand against you and Vhagar,” she says. Assuring him has become a learned skill these last few weeks.

“Alicent wishes for me to remain here, to deter an attack on the city.”

“That is sound logic,” she says. “The people of King’s Landing will be grateful for your protection.”

Aemond hums irritatedly.

“I for one would despair at the loss of our Prince,” she adds, ghosting her lips over his cheek, where his scar cuts through his skin.

For a little while he entertains her, turning his head to kiss her properly. She slips her hand between their bodies, taking hold of his hardening cock. He melts into her, chasing his pleasure as she strokes him.

“I am ready for more,” he says breathlessly. “I’m ready to fight.”

“As you have proved,” she says, coming to kiss his throat. 

In a single breath he is above her, pinning her hands by her head. He positions himself against her, rocking his hips so his leaking tip pushes against her pearl. He knows this about her now, how to draw her pleasure from her body. “Storm’s End was no battle,” he hisses into her ear. “Luke was a child. I want fire and blood.”

“Your time will come,” she says, her voice catching in her throat as he quickens his pace.

“The war must be inevitable,” he pants, “the realm will realise it soon enough. Aegon is the King and yet he is hostage to those with weaker wills.”

“You are his brother,” she sighs as Aemond slips lower to her entrance. “You can convince him to act–”

“Not now,” Aemond says, pushing into her with one sudden thrust. “Just take it, that’s it…”

He fucks her slowly, deeply, with his face buried into her neck. His desperation fuels her own desire, his hot breath against her ear, his pants and his groans. When he is finished he does not leave her wanting, trailing his lips and tongue down her body, her chest, her stomach, driving her towards her own peak with his lips and tongue.

“My grandfather takes my aspirations as insolence,” Aemond mutters to himself as he dresses. “He thinks me weak. He thinks I am still a child.”

“Then he is a fool,” she says, still buried beneath the throw on the bed.

“My mother and grandfather seized the throne, now they will not do what needs to be done to hold it.”

“Perhaps they fear what a war might bring.”

Aemond tuts. “The first blood has been drawn.”

“Do you not…” she pauses when he looks at her, his eye wide, anticipating something he will not wish to hear. “What if Rhaenyra comes for you? What if she seeks vengeance for her son?”

Aemond smiles like he has a secret and stalks slowly towards the bed, her stomach tightening in anticipation. 

In some ways, Aemond terrifies her. He has a presence of danger and bloodlust which fades away when she peels away the layers of his leathers. Without his eyepatch, in the warmth of the candlelight, he is the picture of Valyrian beauty, a man who belongs in histories and legends, not the living, breathing realm she exists in. 

He leans into her, taking her chin between his fingers to kiss her. She relishes it for as long as she can, knowing it won’t be enough to charm him back into the bed.

He pulls away, reaching into his pocket for a purse of coins. “Let her try,” he says as he places it beside her, “but I will not be easily ended.”

The girls all share chambers, bedrooms and a washroom with basins and baths. She rises early in the morning to bathe, to drop her lavender and rosemary oils into the tub and scrub away the remnants of last night. Before, she would not allow herself to fall asleep until she was clean. Lately she finds an odd sense of comfort in the reminders of her royal patron. Her skin is littered with love bites and bruises, her neck, her collar, her breasts. It shouldn’t be like this. Usually she does what she can to forget the men she has been with.

They share their duties. This morning she is to help wash the bed linens, and find cheap grain and cuts of meat from the markets.   

The clothes she wears are modest, covering her arms and her neck, unflattering to her figure. Some people still eye her with disgust, with hatred. You can always spot a whore. What can strangers know of her? Can they see through her skin and see her sins as the gods judge them all from the seven heavens? It was not as if she had chosen this path for herself out of an endless number of possibilities. 

Sometimes she remembers the life she had before, a woman’s laugh, a particular taste on her tongue, a tune humming in the back of her mind she can’t quite piece together. She used to think the gods had forsaken her, but now she thinks they do not concern themselves with the lives of people like her. So she finds little point in looking to the past, of imagining a future for herself. She survives and that is enough.

Summer is nearing its end. There is no warmth to be found in sunlight obscured by clouds. People walk quickly, keeping their belongings in deathly grips. A woman with a babe in her arms begs the baker to accept one copper instead of five for a loaf of bread. A man despairs that the apothecaries cannot offer him a medicinal herb from Lys for his sickly daughter. The shipping lanes are blocked by the Velaryon Fleet holding the Gullet, and no ship can get in or out of King’s Landing. A woman cries for her son, a rat catcher, his body hanging from the walls of the Red Keep. 

She gets what she needs to, grain she will bring back to the kitchens for the cook to turn into plain tasting flatbread. A butcher sells her tough cuts of beef for a reasonable price to go into a stew. He worries that there have been no imports of salt or sugar. How is the city meant to preserve food for the fast approaching winter? 

“It’s the fucking war,” he grumbles, “why can’t the King just burn the ships so the rest of us can eat?”

In the distance she hears drums, the clatter of horse hooves against the cobbles. She keeps her basket tightly on her arm, not stopping to make eye contact with the people she passes, past the stalls, mules, the buckets of sewage and dirty water falling from windows above her head.

As she emerges from one of the side streets her way is suddenly blocked by masses of people. She had guessed some sort of procession was afoot. This is no celebration, it is lamentation. People weep and wail around her, a mass mourning that she does not understand, and yet she feels it in her chest and behind her eyes, an urge to cry.

Over the sea of bodies before her she sees two women in an open carriage, richly dressed with black veils over their faces. Petals fall from windows and footbridges. People cry the name of Queen Helaena and Dowager Queen Alicent. 

She finds a small ledge to lift herself onto at the base of a statue. What she sees could stop her heart. This is a funeral procession. Queen Helaena’s carriage follows the body of her son, wrapped in a green and gold shroud, with flowers woven into his white hair. For a moment she tells herself the boy is an effigy, that he could be made from wax or porcelain. 

“Behold the work of Rhaenyra Targaryen!”

The whispers follow her as she scurries back to the pleasure house. The Prince was slain in his sleep. Two assassins cut his head from his body. They made his mother and twin sister watch. 

Bile rises in her throat as she hands cook the cuts of meat, blood seeping through the wrappings. She swallows it down.

When Aemond comes to her that night he is more subdued than usual. He pulls her into his arms and she strokes her hand over his hair.

“My nephew is dead,” he utters. He sheds no tears, he seems confused more than anything.

Rhaenyra’s retribution had come then, swift and brutal, a son for a son. 

She undresses him but he leans away when she tries to kiss him. They lie back on the bed and Aemond settles his head on her shoulder.

“My brother is in a rage and wants Rhaenyra dead. My sister has not left her rooms; I tried to go to her but she would not speak to me,” he says.

“How did it happen?”

“There were two. One was a gold cloak. They found him at the gate of the gods with Jaehaerys’ head in a sack. He confessed the other was a rat catcher.” 

Now the bodies of a hundred men hang by their necks, though only one of them is guilty.

“Daemon sent them to kill me,” Aemond says, “but I was out.”

She rests her fingers at the pulsepoint on his wrist to remind herself his heart is still beating. “You were with me,” she says. She feels the guilt weighing in her chest. While she and Aemond had kissed and fucked and held each other, a boy had a lost his life, the very body she had seen paraded through the streets.

“In truth I am proud that he considers me such a foe, that he would seek to murder me in my bed.”

She cannot tell if she admires him for it or not, to gamble with life as though it means nothing.

Aemond is watching her, his hair loose and framing his face. “Do you think he fears me?”

She has never seen Aemond wield a blade. She’s never seen him ride his dragon, not up close. She’s never seen him fight with his fists. She’s never seen him slur his words and throw away threats in a drunken argument. He is always composed. He is always softly spoken, and in a way that terrifies her more than it should. They say the blood of the dragon runs hot. Aemond’s blood does not seem to burn, rather it simmers under the surface of his skin. 

“Perhaps he fears what else you might be capable of.”

Aemond is the closest she has ever seen him to tears. His eyelashes are damp and heavy, his seeing eye vibrantly blue and glassy. “You think me a monster,” he utters.

She could never say it, could she? But this is a man who took the life of his own kin as a reparation for his eye. Violence is carved into his face, beautiful, set with a gemstone, but it is there nonetheless. 

She brushes her fingertips over his cheek and plants a delicate kiss to his lips. After only a few moments he shrugs her off and repositions himself, curling into her lap like a child, clinging to her limbs and the fabric of her gown. 

“I lost my temper that day,” he says. “I should have known Vhagar would not relent. I am sorry for it.”

Her blood runs cold. Should she be glad to hear he is remorseful? He may not be a cold hearted killer, but destruction lives at his fingertips. 

She reaches for his hand and he takes it. His touch is gentle and hesitant. “There was no justice in what happened to you,” she says, “blood has paid for blood…” but where does it end? With Lucerys? With Jaehaerys? With the next?

Aemond says nothing. She feels his tears slip onto her legs, his fingernails forming crescents in her skin.

Remorse will not return Rhaenyra’s son to her, it will not bring back the little Prince paraded through the streets of King’s Landing.

She clings to him, hoping she can ease whatever torment plagues him, and banish what darkness consumes him.

She never tires of the sight of him. His body bare, his hair tied away from his face, the uneven edges of his sapphire glinting in the lowlight, laid out beneath her. She runs her hands over his chest, tracing the lines that are familiar to her now. “I want to taste you,” she says sweetly, knowing he’ll already be desperate for her. 

He hums quietly to himself. By the slight smile threatening to break in the corners of his mouth, she knows he is content.

“On your knees then,” he says, and positions himself to sit at the end of the bed.

She runs her tongue over his length first, finishing with a teasing lick at the tip where he’s already weeping. She takes him into her mouth gradually, pushing a little deeper with every bob of her head. He is her Prince, he takes his pleasure from her and holds her hair from her face but it is she who sets the pace, who revels in his moans as his mind lulls. 

But he pulls her head away by her hair before he finishes. Suddenly she’s on her back and he’s kneeling over her with his fist moving furiously over his cock. He reaches for her breast and squeezes. In the morning when she bathes, she’ll look at the bruises and remember how he touches her. Her own had slips between her legs, tracing circles over her pearl at the thought.

This pleases Aemond. His brow hardens and his jaw falls. “Fuck, are you going to finish with me?” he whispers.

She nods in reply, her breath catching as a whimper in her throat. 

His grip on her breast tightens. She winces at the pain and it only fuels her own pleasure. She succumbs to her senses, chasing the feeling in her gut that only wants for release. Her fingers work frantically over her wet and wanting cunt.

“Make yourself come for me, that’s it,”

She obeys him with a cry, her body reduced to a shaking, dazed mess as Aemond reaches his own end. She watches his seed spurt from his cock, warm as it paints her skin.

He has habits, she’s noticed. He does not spill inside her. Of course, with the nature of the establishment there is no shortage of moontea, but she never questions him when he removes himself. He prefers to see it on her skin. 

Targaryen bastards are not uncommon in King’s Landing, commoners with silver hair. It is said Prince Aegon himself has sired many on the women of Fleabottom. Perhaps the idea is distasteful to Prince Aemond. He is discreet. He does not bring drinking companions with him to the pleasure house and he keeps his hood up as he enters and exits. 

He takes a cloth and wipes his seed from her skin. She bites back another jolt of anticipation in her spine. She would take more from him, but instead he lies beside her, curling into her embrace, tucking his head into her chest. 

He could fuck her quickly and be done with it, it would be more efficient. He could take a different girl each time. He could have one brought up to the castle. Yet since the day of the King’s Coronation he has found his way into her arms to her each night. In these quiet moments she lets herself think there is a reason for it.

They trace their fingertips over each other’s skin and he tells her things she shouldn’t know, that the King has named a new Hand in Ser Criston Cole, that while Queen Alicent seeks to avoid open war, Aegon wants to fly headfirst into it.

“It’s not his place. He’ll not stand a chance against Meleys or Caraxes.”

The names are strange to her. Sometimes it feels like a cruel joke, a reminder that some Silk Street whore is not meant to understand the realm he exists in. Other times it feels like an honour, like he’s gifted her a part of himself, a glimpse into his mind.

“He is no warrior, but he wishes to live up to his namesake. He wants for glory alone; it is a reckless pursuit but he would risk his life for it.”

“He is the King, is it not his war to fight?” she says. 

“He is not capable of it,” Aemond says, “but I…”

It is not a thought he dares to finish.

King Aegon wears the crown of the Conqueror, or so people say. She’s never seen a real crown. She’s seen paper ones worn by the mummers in the square, and she’s seen girls wearing wreaths of flowers on their heads for the festival of spring. They are only delicate things. Real crowns are made of gold, silver and steel. As Aemond’s eye flutters shut he looks divinely peaceful, but unsettled where his sapphire continues to stare at her. She pictures a crown of spring flowers fashioned from steel and imagines it upon her Prince’s brow.

Footsteps thud upon the stone floor, too close to the curtain, closer than anyone should dare to come near. She lifts her head as it’s drawn back.

It takes a moment for them all to realise what’s happening. Several faces stare at her– at Aemond. One of the men has silver hair, shorter and choppier than Aemond’s. He bares his teeth as he grins.

She sees a flash of fury in Aemond’s face as he turns to face them.

The silver haired man starts to laugh, the sound shrill and unpleasant. His friends do not join him. “Aemond the fierce!” he cries, pointing, staring.

Ameond parts himself from her instantly. He retreats as far as the edge of the bed, hunched over himself, his knees in the crooks of his elbows. He keeps his head hung, not looking at the men and the leader of their pack. He does not look at her, he does not look at anything. 

She sees the child he once was, frightened and confused. 

The man staggers towards the bed, clearly half out of his mind by the smell of wine drifting from him when he perches on the bed. On instinct she covers her breasts, devastated to realise her robe is out of reach.

“And here I thought you were as chaste as a fucking septon! You know,” he says to his companions, “I brought him here for his first too. And how far you’ve come, curled in the arms of a whore like a greenboy!”

There’s a bite to his– the King’s words, a cruelty that only makes Aemond shrink further into himself. Her heart aches for him, that she cannot help him. 

“Are you tired, brother? Did you fuck her like a hound?” An idea he emphasises with an impersonation of a hunting dog.

Aemond doesn’t move or speak.

Still in hysterics, Aegon turns his gaze to her, unashamedly lingering on her chest and her legs. “Hard luck for your squire, Ser Martyn,” he says, drawing his tongue over his lips, “as pretty as this one is, she is very much occupied.”

His laughter is the only sound in the chamber and it pierces her skull. 

Aemond starts to shift. Helplessly she reaches out her hand, unsure of what it is she intends to do. He doesn’t take it. He doesn’t even look at her.

He stands before the King and his companions. His humiliation has melted away. In the place of the boy is a man who speaks calmly and clearly. “Your squire is welcome to her. One whore is as good as another.”

He strides from the chamber and she is entirely forgotten.

Or so she wishes that were true. There are still four men in her midst. And she is still, for all the hours she has spent in Aemond’s company, a whore in a pleasure house. 

I've kinda given up on taglists, sorry <3

A/n: I'm quite happy with this! I've been playing with the idea in my head for a few weeks, then I saw episodes 2 and 3 and it just had to happen. Would be very cool if you wanted to let me know what you think :)

[mailmango]

One-on-One

Pairing: Professor Henry Cavill x Student Male Reader

Genre: Fluffy Smut, MDNI

Kinks/Warnings/Notes: AMAB Reader; Calling the reader a slut, a whore; Calling the reader a good boy, praise; Slapping and spanking; Age gap; Professor x Student

Length: 5.1k words, Fic

Synopsis: You're one of the lucky few to have ever experienced one of Professor Cavill's lectures. And you are the lucky, singular person to have ever experienced his heart-racing one-on-one session.

A/N: oml hiiii! If you're reading this, then thank you very much! this is my first time writing something over a thousand words (of my own volition) in probably 3 years at least! It's also my first time writing serious smut GAHAHAHAH I would appreciate feedback (totally optional), but most of all, hope you enjoy :D

Credits: @/aquazero for the divider and @/starboye for helping me with formatting and tagging!! ^-^

I picked this one just for you! I hope it’s sweet and juicy…

You’ve always liked your Ancient Mythologies Studies class. It was an easy A, one that came packaged with an interesting topic to boot. Who doesn’t want to hear of the religions and myths of civilizations from thousands and thousands of years ago?

The answer is most people. It was one of the smallest classes–even with a size cap of twenty, it had barely filled out ten slots. It seemed most people simply didn’t take interest in the subject. That meant that most people were poor, unfortunate people, because they didn’t have the pleasure of knowing Professor Cavill. 

Professor Cavill had worked at the university teaching their Ancient Mythologies Studies class for the past several years. He was a graduate of this school and, after having established himself as a prominent archaeologist, he opted to take time and teach a course for two sessions weekly. In his words he, “Wanted to help inspire any young people with a passion for learning about those that came before us.” 

You had found those words so, so interesting. But it was more so about the man saying them. 

Professor Cavill–Henry–was a tall, broad-shouldered man in his mid-forties. He was kind and considerate to each member of his class, treating them with a warmth and manner you’d read about in an overly unrealistic romance novel. And yet, he was very much real. You had class with him every Monday morning and Friday night. 

Classes which you would sit in, bouncing your leg and hiding a raging boner as you watched the man fiddle with and adjust his tie. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Y/N, are you sure you’d rather not attend the festivities?” 

Ah, just your luck, wasn’t it? Your college had been holding a concert for a handful of its alumni to celebrate their band’s first national tour. The university had decided that, due to the band falling under the alternative genre, they would allow classes to continue should any students or staff be disinterested. 

It just so happened that, as much as you weren’t opposed to them, you also weren’t heavily inclined to actually attend their show. You had figured that at least one of your ten classmates would feel the same. 

Apparently not.

Hence, you now sat alone in a small lecture room, the chairs beside you empty as you stared at your beloved professor, Professor Cavill. 

“Ah, no, professor. Were you looking to attend?” 

“Myself? My personal taste doesn’t align with their music. As much as I love Clive-” 

Clive was the lead singer and, as you recall, one of Professor Cavill’s former students. 

“-we’ll be meeting for a congratulations dinner tomorrow evening. We’ve already discussed.”

He smiled, dimples forming, as he flipped open his files for the night’s lecture. 

Then he had to reach for his stupid tie. 

“Would you mind if I loosened my tie? I’ve been feeling warm as of earlier this evening.” 

His large, somewhat hairy hand was already holding the knot one either side. He did it often; you had come to suspect it was an unconscious habit at times. He would tug at his tie, calling attention to his strong chest or those bulging biceps…

Damn his stupid tie. Today, it was his blue tie, one you knew to be one of his favourites. He wore it at least thrice a month, most often during Friday sessions.

Every time he would touch it, toy with it, it sent shivers down your spine and blood straight to your cock. You almost weren’t sure if you hated or loved that he was almost never without one.

“Ah, not at all, Sir. Go ahead.” 

“Thank you, Y/N.”

God, your name sounded so good out of his mouth. He drew the syllables out, gave it this weight that you hadn’t heard your name spoken with before. You could get addicted to the way he had said it just now. You were tempted to find an excuse to have him say it again. 

That opportunity came as, for the first time, he pushed past absentminded tugs at his tie and now pulled the knot away from his chest. For the first time, you saw his neck without the tie drawing attention. It almost sounded manic to say but… the sight began to draw you in. 

And then he overshot it. The tie came off, knot still done, but it was completely removed now. He stared down at the cloth before using his free hand to undo it, leaving it nice and straight in his hand. 

“Do you mind if I forgo it?”

Eye contact. He made eye contact with those god damn near hypnotising eyes. They really were unique; the man had something called segmental heterochromia. He had mentioned it once before. It meant that his left iris, though mostly blue like his right, had a patch of brown in its upper half. 

It felt mystifying, like a siren whose song you couldn’t ignore. He continued to look at you, and without him breaking eye contact, you were hopelessly unable to do so yourself. Instead, you simply muttered a weak response. 

“Go ahead, Sir.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Class seemed to fly by. Your hand wrote on its own as your legs bounced, mind and senses completely and utterly hinged on the man’s every word and movement. Though he entranced you each time you sat in on his lectures, tonight was different. You had always blamed his tie. It’s the tie. The playing with the tie, his stature with it, that’s what you blamed for your constant erections. 

But it was difficult to deny it when, as the man orated with his tie discarded, you found your cock throbbing more eagerly than you can remember it having ever done before.

Sweat rolled down your forehead from the heat you were feeling. You cursed yourself, begging that the man would somehow not notice the warmth that afflicted you. But, as you let yourself look at him again, really look at him, you were both relieved and mortified to find that he was under the same circumstances. 

“Is the air conditioning broken?”

His words were breathless as he fanned himself with his papers. He was tugging at his collar now, further exposing his neck, now slick with sweat. It seemed to be bothering him more than it was you, somehow. 

“I-I think so.”

You could barely manage to let the words out. Your breathing had gotten unsteady, mind and body unable to focus as the man groaned from the discomfort. Seemingly without realising, his hand undid the two topmost buttons of his shirt. It exposed his chest–a strong chest covered in wild, dark black hair that you had been completely oblivious to the glorious existence of.

“Y/N? Are you alright? Is something-”

Of course now he notices your stares. It couldn’t have been when it was something that was easily explained away, like you were staring at him due to intent listening. No, it had to be when your gaze, which he followed, led down to his exposed chest. His exposed chest which had, mortifyingly, caused a wet spot to form in your pants. 

“Ah, my apologies. Let me redo my button-” 

“No! I mean-”

Your words came out too eager. Your brain was screaming at your mouth not to speak, to not make an utter fool of yourself. But your mouth chose to go rogue, instead opting to speak like a horned-up teen begging his boyfriend to keep making out with him. 

“Y-you don’t have to. I don’t mind.” 

An eyebrow was cocked in your direction. 

“Is that so, Y/N?” 

Your silence was used to scream, rather than actually think of anything remotely close to damage control. 

“Y-yes Sir. I don’t mind if you keep your buttons undone.”

“If that’s the case, then…” 

Was this… reality? Surely it could be. It was impossible. 

You were sitting there, cock leaking with precum like you were a virgin watching your first porno, as your handsome professor began to undo buttons, one after another. He was exposing himself further and further with each passing second, each button exposing a new section of chiselled, hairy, sweat-covered skin.

His breaths were deep and heavy, sighs and groans of relief sending more and more sensations to your cock. Every vibration of his vocal chords seemed to be felt in full force by your erection, not helping your situation in any way whatsoever. 

Then the man had the gall to take his shirt off, folding it neatly and placing it aside. 

His body truly was magnificent. Plush, thick muscles were a constant, whether you looked at his chest, his abs, his shoulders, or any of his muscles. They radiated strength, covered in that same black hair as on his chest and equally slick with sweat. His body glistened under the dim light of the lights hanging above, almost like a gladiator fresh from battle. 

How the hell were you supposed to react? What the hell were you supposed to do? 

“Y/N, it’s hot, isn’t it? Would you mind if I further… undressed?”

How the hell were you supposed to say no to that? 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was almost pathetic how easily the man got you to fish your cock out of your strained pants. Little more than an offhanded request, actually. 

Now you sat, pants and underwear around your ankles, your own shirt unbuttoned, as you feverishly pumped your erect dick. Your hand glided up and down due to the slickness of your overflowing precum, breathing unstable and desperate. But you were helpless, the possibility of you stopping a distant memory.

Professor Cavill was now nearly nude. He had discarded his elegant brown leather shoes and well-tailored pants, also in a neat pile on his desk. It left him, his statuesque form, completely exposed to you and your horny, unabashedly feral mind. It was a wonder you hadn’t cum yet. 

“Keep pumping for me, Y/N. Be a good boy and keep going.” 

Fuck, you couldn’t stop. Not when he said your name in a gruff, demanding voice. Not when he called you the sweetest pet names. Not when he stared at you, panting and eager, with a hunger that a predator has for its prey. 

Most especially when his cock strained against dark, black fabric, as he rubbed along his clothed shaft as he took in the sight of your desperate form. 

“Prof-” 

“Henry. Call me Henry, Y/N.” 

Shit, you could feel your cum about to well up and burst. 

“Henry!” 

He gave you a curt nod of approval. Your stomach pulsed with excitement. 

“P-please, fuck me-!” 

You looked at him, eyes wide and begging, and desperately awaited a reply. With mercy, he gave you one. 

“Alright, Y/N. I’ll fuck you.” 

You let out a pathetic, strangled mewl as your cum sprayed up and onto your sweaty torso. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Henry–gah, you got to call him Henry–had a cock that you couldn’t fully process was actually human. It was too perfect. It was thick, nearly as thick as your wrist though thankfully just short. It was lengthy, having had to be nine or ten inches at full mast. His balls were heavy, full of cum that he was eager to let out, and the base of his shaft was buried in a wild, thick, furry bush. 

It was so close to you. It throbbed in front of you as you sat in your chair, the proximity allowing you to see the thick, pulsing vein that ran from base to near the tip. It let you watch as that fat, mushroom tip leaked a viscous, sticky precum. It lets you inhale that delicious, heady musk, intoxicating your mind and sending it reeling. 

It was almost too much to process. Almost.

You were far, far too eager to begin sucking on the fat shaft. Who could blame you? People would pay good money to get a taste of a cock this perfect. 

Fuck, the taste! A salty, somehow indescribably masculine taste, that flooded and overwhelmed your mind. It felt like you were at risk of addiction. Nothing had ever or would ever taste this damn divine. The copious amounts of thick, even saltier, precum being pumped into your throat was an excellent, equally addictive addition.

Even though it hurt and strained your jaw to stretch that wide and accommodate its length, the activity felt simply euphoric. If Henry would let you, you’d opt to do nothing more and nothing less than worship his cock, day and night. 

“That’s a good, good boy, Y/N. Lube up my cock.”

You always were one to follow Henry’s instructions. Always one to listen, to be a good, obedient puppy. Maybe that’s why you were his favourite. 

And, as he uttered praise and guided your head with a large hand’s firm grip, you certainly weren’t going to start disobeying now. With a hum of acknowledgement, you dutifully continued your task.

Once satisfied, Henry grunted and lightly tapped the back of your head. 

“That’s good, baby. That’s enough. Come, get off my cock now.” 

Part of you wanted to resist. How were you supposed to tear yourself away from his dick? It sounded impossible. But, you were eager for his praise, to hear him call you a good boy again. So, with one last deep dive down, your nose pressed into his hairy bush and your lips to the base of his shaft, you reluctantly pulled your face away and off of his delicious dick. 

“Good fucking boy. You’re a very, very good boy, Y/N.” 

Your cock throbbed with lust-filled need as you nodded with pure excitement. 

“You deserve a reward. Lay on my desk, Y/N, and let me take care of your now.” 

This was somehow the easiest instruction of the night to follow. You found yourself, now nude with your clothes having been folded just like Henry’s, laying on your back on his wooden desk. The surface felt cold and hard, but the feeling of a sturdy base comforted you. You knew that you’d need it. 

As you took deep, steady breaths. The first of the night, actually. Your mind was trained on one thing, one concern rather. 

How would you take his monstrous cock? 

The answer would come soon. Without warning, your legs were lifted by two strong hands. You looked down, seeing as Henry in all his glory set your ankles on his broad shoulders. He began pressing light kisses to your skin, beard tickling your skin, as he maintained unwavering eye contact. It caused you to let out a soft laugh, which he opted to respond to. 

“Your voice is beautiful, Y/N. Save it for me, okay?” 

You felt it then. His fat, throbbing, steaming hot cock was set beside yours, pressed between your dick and your thigh. He was slowly and subtly moving his hips back and forth, groaning at the sensational friction.

“You’ll let me hear you sing tonight, yeah? Let me hear your wonderful voice, Y/N.” 

His words were sweet like honey. It was almost enough to distract you from the prodding of his thick fingers against your tight hole. But, as you felt them push past your tight ring of muscle, your voice came out like the gates had been torn down, a moan resounding through the room. 

“There you go. Good boy… moan for me. Let me hear each and every one, okay?” 

You stared at him, eyes half-lidded, and nodded with an eager need to please.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Deep breaths, Y/N. Deep breaths for me now…”

How could someone so sweet cause so much pain? Henry was hunched over, his large, comforting hands on either side of your head as he hovered his face no more than four inches from yours. His heavy breaths fanned against your cheeks as he kept a steady, solid eye contact between you two. It was wondrous how much fire brewed within you from such a mundane act. 

“Are you ready? I’m going to insert the tip, alright?” 

He looked at you with such care and concern that it almost shocked you. He was a big, hulking man with a terrifyingly huge cock, but as it has come to be shown, a larger heart. It was so damn cheesy, wasn’t it? 

But that didn’t matter as you nodded once again, body unable to take the anticipation, the waiting, for him to shove his fat cock inside. 

…Except maybe it had to. His cockhead slipped inside with ease, but that wasn’t to say it wasn’t fucking painful. You let out a strangled half-moan half-scream, and within seconds, those large hands were patting the side of your head.

“Y/N? Is it too much? I’ll stop, okay? Should I pull out?”

Henry was kissing your forehead, your cheeks, the sides of your lips. He muttered small praises and comforts, every other kiss targeting a tear that had fallen from the pain. He kept true to his word; his hips remained still, his cock not pushing a millimetre further inside. It was from that moment of calm that, as you adjusted to the burning stretch, you were able to speak. 

“D-don’t. Just- give me a second to-“ 

You huffed out, desperate for air. 

“-adjust!” 

He smiled, pressing a kiss to your lips. He tasted, somehow, better than his cock. It wasn’t quite something you could place, to be frank. It was a savoury taste, one with hints of candies you couldn’t identify and a tea whose flavour you couldn’t imagine. But it was entirely and wholly the delicious thing you’ve ever or will ever have. 

That was worth getting addicted to. And if Henry would let you, you’d chase that taste every single moment you can. Something told you that yeah, he would. 

“You’re doing so, so good for me, Y/N. So good, you feel so good…” 

Henry’s voice was low and comforting, just as much, if not more than his calming touches. He spoke in whispers between each kiss, and it led you to slowly, but surely, adjust to the pain. Before you had even realised, all you felt was the desire for him to push even further. 

“H-Henry, you can move now… please…” 

“Are you sure, Y/N?” 

Hearing your name roll off his tongue, so casual by this point, only cemented your enthusiasm. You nodded slowly and weakly, smiling the best you could. 

“Fuck, you’re beautiful… Hold on to me, and tell me if I need to stop, okay?” 

Your cock nearly bounced at the praise. You eked out another nod as your hands came up to rest on his shoulders, leading him to return your smile with one of his own. And fuck, it was gorgeous. 

He kept his movement slow. It was torturous, but you could appreciate the time and the caution he took. His face watched yours, now scanning for any sign of pain or discomfort. At every wince or scrunch, he would stop, waiting for a nod or smile as your sign of readiness. 

“You feel excellent, Y/N. Being with you… I could get obsessed with this feeling, you know?” 

He leaned down to kiss you yet again. He kissed you, giving you yet another helping of that impossibly lovely taste: his taste. 

And then… then he brushed against your prostate, his cock like a mallet smashing into a button. Even slow, it sent a shock up your spine and a resulting heat through your nerves. Your loud, vulgar moans were taken with great joy and adoration from Henry, his smile only growing fonder. 

“You sound so good, Y/N. Let it out for me…” 

Perhaps you took it a tad too far as your cock, with the pressure to your prostate, burst with another spray of hot, sticky cum that painted both tour and Henry’s stomachs. Such a reaction was met with a warm laughter. 

“Not what I meant, but I’m not complaining. It’s good to know you feel good, baby.” 

He leaned in for yet another kiss and, in the hypnotising exchange, you just barely processed a large, encapsulating hand taking hold of your cock. Henry began to spread your cum across your own shaft, using it to pump your still-sensitive cock towards unbearable pleasure. 

“I’m gonna keep making you feel good, okay?” 

Sweat had beaded all over your skin now, streams running down your body as Henry’s own dripped down and onto your frame. He was pushing just a bit faster now—you almost couldn’t take the wait any longer. That once painful stretch had evolved into pleasure. It had evolved from a burning heat contained to your ass and spread into this resounding, unending warmth washing through you. In the process, it had devolved you into a writhing, moaning mess.

His cock was large, that was certainly clear. It was the kind of large that made your stomach bulge, the kind that you knew you wouldn’t ever be able to take with ease no matter how many times it had fucked you. And shit, you hoped that it would fuck you so, so many more times. 

But your composure only broke down further when his cock seemed to reach so impossibly deep inside, spreading your insides apart like it was trying to break you. Moan after moan fell out as your back arched involuntarily, only accentuating the bulge in your stomach. 

“Baby? Y/N?” 

You hadn’t even realised it, but Henry had stopped pushing himself deeper. Now, as he buried into what felt like the core of you and sent waves of electrifying heat with even the slightest twitch of his dick, his hips were flush against yours. He had bottomed out. 

“Henry…” 

Words other than the man’s name didn’t seem to be able to form. He, however, had so much to say. 

“Fuck, you’re amazing, Y/N. You’re taking me so damn well…” 

The hand not on your cock let go of your face and glided down your body, tracing lines down your shaking body, and stopped just over the bulging portion of your stomach. He brushed it gently, causing yet another crackle of electricity to wrack through you.

“Can… can I start to move?” 

Oh, you could’ve broken your neck with how fast you agreed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Shit, shit! You feel so damn good, Y/N.” 

Henry’s calm demeanour had taken a backseat. It was still there, in careful touches to your face and sweet caresses of your body. You could still hear it in every little praise he threw out, and every loving glance he gave your half-lidded eyes. 

His hips, though, had practically lost any form of restraint. 

He withdrew and pushed back in with speed and force, hips slamming with a harsh and sharp slap. Your ass felt sore by this point, but it was a warm, comfortable soreness when paired with the sheer, blinding pleasure of Henry’s cock. 

By the gods, the pleasure was insane. It was driving you mad, your vision going white. His cock, no matter how many times it was thrust into you, remained impossibly large and impossibly deep-reaching. It felt as though it only went deeper and deeper with each push, a result of your fractured state. 

But how could one stay sane when their body was being overwhelmed with such unimaginable pleasure. 

As drool began to spill and your eyes rolled back, Henry was quick to grab you by the chin and lock you into yet another kiss. Unlike the times before, though it carried the same sweetness, it was now heavy with a hunger, a need. He hungered for you, and he needed to fucking ruin you. 

And Henry’s a man who accomplishes his goals, isn’t he? He began thrusting into your harder, harsher than he had before. He thrust over and over and over again, his movements without a single missed beat or second of hesitation. 

His kisses remained constant too. His thick, strong tongue had shoved its way past your pretty lips and began to gnash against your tongue. It was a strange but nonetheless mind numbingly good feeling to have him invade your body even further. 

By now, his grip had transferred to and firmed on your hips. He kept you nice and planted in place on that damn sturdy desk of his, even as each thrust threatened its integrity. His pace was relentless, the wood starting to creak with his forcefulness. 

He drew back, saliva still stringing your mouth and his. 

“Y-you feel good, Y/N?” 

Who knew this man could stutter? But fuck, he made it sound hot. He sounded so lost in the pleasure, and even then, so firm in his every word. 

“Y-yes!” 

He gave a crooked smile at your words. 

“Good! Do you like the way I taste, Y/N? The way my spit tastes?” 

How vulgar was that? And how vulgar was it that, the second you tried to respond with a very clear yes, he decided to drop a fat glob of hot spit onto your cheek? He brought his thumb up to rub it into your skin and, hell, you were about to thank him for it. 

You couldn’t as he cut you off with yet another breathtaking kiss. You were left panting and unable to speak at all when he pulled away.

“You’re a whore, you know? A beautiful, obedient, whore.” 

His words carried no malice, only a heavy lust that he was just barely stopping from pushing him towards ruining your body completely. 

“But you’re my whore, alright? Don’t you ever fucking forget.” 

He slapped your cheek. It wasn’t one of anger, moreso just trying to snap you into focus. He wanted an answer and, as his best and favourite student, he knew he would get a reply out of you. 

“I-I’m your whore, sir!” 

It was a miracle you could speak, really. It was especially miraculous because the second he heard that, with one resounding slam of his hips into yours, you felt it. 

“Fuck, Y/N!”

In the moment, as you arched your back and let your mouth flow with moans at the highest possible volume, Henry’s cock pumped gush after gush of burning hot, viscous, cum. 

It felt like molten steel, an impossible extreme of everything that semen was meant to be. And as such, it brought the pleasure you felt from having your stomach pumped full of it to a high that you could never reach with any drug imaginable. 

And through it, his hips hadn’t chosen to stop. Every thrust was now being punctuated with a new load of cum filling your already full belly, each one followed then with another slap to your ass or lust-driven proclamation of love. 

“God, I love your tight fucking ass-”

You were screaming as you came at the height of the moment’s intensity.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You weren’t sure when the night ended, exactly. It seemed that the man had fucked you for hours on end, until he had emptied his fat balls’ storage of cum and filled your belly with it. He had fucked you till your cock hurt, and each climax produced a dry orgasm due to empty tanks. 

He had fucked you till you were left unable to think of anything but his cock and the taste of his sweet, delicious lips.  

And now, he was buried deep inside you still, pressing kiss after kiss to your neck as you desperately gasped for air. 

“Did I go too hard? Are you hurt, Y/N?” 

Your body was, in fact, aching. It was this numb, almost muffled pain that was eclipsed—or perhaps even part of—this euphoric pleasure that continued to grasp you. Things no longer felt real, at this point, but a dream you’d rather not wake from. 

But things were very much reality, and that included a high-off-sex and full-of-affection Henry. 

“I apologise for the slaps, they were rather forceful…” 

You managed out a shake of the head to signal a no. The laugh that he gave, boisterous yet quiet, made your heart pound again. 

“I see. I suppose we’ll need ample time to explore what we both enjoy, hm?” 

The idea of more time with Henry, more time doing this, was certainly exciting. He didn’t need more than your dumb little smile, one you couldn’t wipe off your face even if you wanted or tried to, to tell you thought. 

“I can see you like the prospect, hm?” 

Another chuckle and another kiss. What bliss this was. 

“I’m going to pull out now, so that we can both get cleaned up, okay? Just breathe for me, Y/N, just like earlier.” 

You tried to follow, you really did. But as your hole was quickly left empty, gaping and clenching around nothing, you couldn’t help but whine unintelligible mutterings. Henry responded with even more pecks to your lips and caresses to your soft, delicate skin. 

Henry was certainly a gentleman. He had taken some tissues from the box he reserved for students with colds and used then to to clean the outer portion of your sloppy hole. His hands, as large as they were, moved soft and delicate, careful not to press against any overly sensitive parts. 

He had taken to cleaning himself—drying his cock, much to your dismay, with more paper towels. He had noticed your sadness and, with an admittedly smug smirk, said he’d allow you to suck his cock clean next time. It was still strange, even after the night you had had with him, to hear such lewd language uttered from the refined man’s mouth.

By the time he had dressed himself, your breathing had steadied. Your backside was still sore and leaking, but he had promised to help with that back at his apartment. 

Wait.

His apartment? 

“Ah, would you rather not? I can clean you up in the facilities here and-” 

“No, no! I’d-”

You coughed. All the sweat, mixed with what was now cool night air, had left your body just a tad sick. Well, that and the exhaustion from having taken on such an impossible task and cock. 

“-love to. I’d love to go home with you, Henry.” 

He smiled like he hadn’t heard anything quite as lovely before. You smiled back in return. 

He was the eager to tug on your boxers and wrap you in his suit jacket as a means of decency. He lifted you up bridal-style and pressed a kiss to your forehead. The man was strong and, with the ease that was carrying you, he even held your folded clothing in the hand supporting your butt. 

You even found the strength to be humorous in the moment, letting out a joking, “Ooh, strong guy, huh?” 

He graced you yet again with one of those pure, unadulterated laughs.

“I’m glad to have had this one on one session with you, Y/N. Certainly was productive, wasn’t it?”

THANK YOU to my lovely beta readers! There's a shit ton GAHAH

@inhumanshadows @worstwolverinesbf @darlingminjin @alatrysev @starboye @spermeboy @starrykie @sleep-0-deprived @slytherslvt @kurominis

Love you all :D you're all soooo nice and helped me finish this with your kind comments! Hope I didn't let you down with the end :>

[mrscarpenter]

BED CHEM

Jacaerys Velaryon x Dornish!reader

Summary: The Prince gets send to gain a powerful alliance that the house targaryen has wanted for a long period of time, and he stumbles upon you. A gorgeous dornish queen.

Includes/warnings: dornish!reader this is probably horribly written so thats a warning in itself, not proof read but i believe Y/N has been used on multiple occasions. Did not give reader a description other than female & dark black curls. There is an age gap in this (reader is 16, jacaerys is 19, but it is never actually mentioned) like i said, not proof read, if you see any spelling errors feel free to point them out!

🪐notes: idk much abt the dornish, especially not in this timeline/au so please ignore any mistakes. Jace is not engaged to baela in this. :)

from my short & sweet collection

You were standing in the hall of your castle in SunSpear. Waiting for the arrival of the prince Jacaerys Velaryon, heir to the iron throne and prince of DragonStone. Or he would be, had King Aegon Targaryen not usurped the iron throne.

The weather in Dorne was always exceptionally hot, so you wore a sheer gown. One thing about the Dornish was that you were not ashamed of anything, especially not what the gods had given you. The dress was a dark blue, with red and gold detailing, your long black curls hanging loosely over your shoulders.

Once you saw the prince arrive, you stood up straighter, clearing your throat silently, allowing a faked smug expression to fall upon your face.

“Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, to what is the pleasure of your presence owed?”

It was all a different environment to what he was used to at DragonStone. The strong breeze of hot air, the lack of thick winter-like clothing, the more exposed body, the tanned skin... it was all such a strange sight to a prince accustomed to the cold. He bowed gently towards the young Queen of Dorne, and looked at her dress. He admired the work that her seamstresses had to do to look so good on her.

“A pleasure indeed, my lady. May we chat inside? It is quite hot here, I confess.”

you nod curtly. “Of course. i am afraid i am in a bit of a hurry though, many important matters to attend.” You point out a hand, allowing him to walk beside you as you walk up the steps into the castle.

Jacaerys follows you, watching the way you walk and the environment surrounding the palace. The hot air, the sun, the tanned skin.

He looks over at you, trying to figure out more about the queen of Dorne. “You are quite young, my lady. Not that I'm much older, but tell me what's it like being queen so young?”

“I am quite used to it. I have been Dorne’s ruler since i was 6 summers old. The Dornish are respectable people, and very direct. It hasn’t always been easy, but it felt natural.” You spoke.

Jacaerys nodded as you walked, thinking it was somewhat impressive someone that young could ever rule. He smiled slightly at your comment.

“I can see the directness in you already, if you'll forgive my boldness. You don't seem like you're the type of woman to beat around the bush, are you?”

Jacaerys was trying to figure you out, as any man with an interest in women would do. He walked beside you as you both spoke, trying to gauge his chances.

after a few seconds you speak up “No, i indeed am not. And i do not expect anyone else to either, if i step on anyone’s toes with my words, they are not company i should keep.”

That comment made Jacaerys smile, appreciating your honest nature. He couldn't deny how attractive blunt honesty was, especially in a place where everyone was so used to keeping secrets and making alliances all the time. “So you speak plainly?”

He knew women with bluntness often became some of the most interesting ones. And a queen, with an attitude like that, made a very intriguing proposition. As curious as your boldness made him, he couldn't deny his physical interests.

That dress... Gods...

You bring him out of his thoughts with your reply. “Yes i speak plainly, and so should you, Prince Jacaerys.” You spoke softly, almost gentle-like. It was very refreshing.

Jacaerys took a long look at your body, his eyes slowly glancing at the details of your dress. The way the skirt of the dress swayed with your movements and how the gown itself left little to the imagination. The way your curly locks dangled and moved. The way your skin shone with the sun's blessing...

His gaze finally returned to your face, the soft features combined with the dark eyes and long wavy hair. He couldn't deny what was crossing his mind right now. Your blunt nature, combined with the way you looked, was certainly making him wish for things.

He couldn't help himself, as he took another look at you, before finally speaking. “That must come in handy for a queen like you, my lady. You're much less... complicated than one would expect from a ruler.”

Jacaerys approached one step closer, his eyes still locked on yours.

“If I may ask, are you married or betrothed by any chance?”

Your blunt words, your direct manner, and your pretty face only encouraged his desires. And it seemed the prince was rather blunt with his intentions as well.

Your eyes locked with his, as he asked the question you were certain was coming.

Of course, he must be interested in some deal. Just like any man, the prince wouldn't be able to simply let a beautiful young queen pass by.

You took a moment to think, wondering what to share.. or perhaps hide. "No, my prince. I am unmarried."

The corner of Jacaerys' mouth curled into a small, cocky smile. "Oh, is that so?"

A hint of teasing was clear in his voice, his eyes still looking for something in yours.

"Well, I suppose that does have some upsides."

He took another step closer, until he was at an arm's distance. The young prince could smell the scent of the air in Dorne, the sun-kissed skin, and the expensive perfumes of a queen. "Tell me, how might a man catch the interest of the queen of Dorne?"

The prince's voice had the tone of teasing, making your eyebrow raise slightly. His sudden proximity also caught you slightly off guard, his physical interests becoming very clear to you.

You couldn't deny how handsome he was. And you guessed perhaps you could use a bit of fun, considering you were unmarried and in your youthful prime.

You tilted your head slightly, looking up at him, his eyes burning a hole through your face. "Hm... What are you offering? Your family is at war, are they not? your visit is political.”

The prince let out a quiet chuckle, letting his eyes wander over your body for a moment.

The dress was certainly eye-catching, the way it hugged your curves, allowing his imagination to let loose...

The words you spoke only made his eyes find their way back to your own, and the smirk he had on his face only grew.

"Is the possibility of a political alliance enough to catch your interest, my lady?"

You watched the prince's eyes as they caressed your body, the boldness in his gaze, and the clear interest that you knew was there. You knew how to take advantage of an opportunity..

"Depends on what kind of a deal you're suggesting, my prince." There was an undeniable flirtation in your voice, your own subtle way of teasing him.

The prince didn't hide the smirk that spread across his face after that statement. His hand slowly reached over to your waist, his touch feeling the silky fabric of your dress.

"Would a marriage perhaps suffice?"

Your dress, as thin as it already was, provided no barrier against his touch. You could feel each stroke of his fingers, his thumb moving in circular motions against the thin fabric.

The marriage proposal was expected, but it seemed the prince had a more hands-on approach in mind.

You kept a straight face, not to give away how your mind was beginning to wander with the possibility of a marriage. "What would I gain? And what would you expect in return?"

He didn't let your serious expression stop his hands from wandering over the silk of your gown, his hand moving across your waist and down your side. "You would gain protection, support, and a powerful alliance."

"And I would gain..." He leaned closer, his breath against your skin, "A gorgeous Dornish queen as a wife..."

Your heart began to race as his words and his hand continued it's exploration of your side, the anticipation of where those hands might end up was growing.

The prince's proximity and the way he slowly looked at you, expecting some kind of reaction. You stayed firm, holding back the subtle reaction you felt with his words.

"Hm... We might have a deal, my prince."

And with that, his lips ended on yours.

Requested by: @avatar4life

explore post. masterlist.

please comment and reblog if you enjoyed. <3

© mrscarpenter, 2024.

[cressidagrey]

Stars all aligned - Chapter 9

Summary:

If there was one thing that both Azriel and Zahra Archeron had in common, it was that they were both very good at blending into the background.

They just never thought that their family were going to be the ones who never saw them at all.

Warning:

I'll keep the warnings, even though there is no outright mention in this part: Bashing of like...every IC member? Especially the Archeron Sisters, discussion of chronic pain, discussion of Infertility, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Underage Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Accidental Baby Procurement

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please, take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

(Lovely dividers thanks to @sweetmelodygraphics)

"He'll be fine," Esmeray said evenly.

Zahra couldn't help but flinch, her eyes fixed outside the window. She didn't get to see anything, there was nothing to see, but…"How do you know that?" Zahra demanded sharply.

Esmeray didn't seem the least bit surprised at the harsh question."Because my son will always do whatever he has to do to survive," she said drily. "Just as he should. He'll come home to you." Her words were blunt, straightforward and to the point and Zahra felt the sudden tightness in her throat ease slightly.

Azriel was going to come home…it wasn’t like he was walking into…enemy territory right? He had survived two wars…he could survive dinner with his family…

“But normally his enemies aren’t his own brothers,” she whispered. Regardless of her own personal feelings about Cassian and Rhys…she didn’t doubt for a moment that…they were both exceptionally powerful.

Esmeray said nothing for a moment, her face pensive. She watched Zahra with an intense gaze, the silence drawing on as Zahra tried not to fidget under her scrutiny, her own gaze meeting Esmeray’s as the older woman tilted her head.

“Has Azriel told you what happened to his hands?” Esmeray finally asked her.

That…wasn't what Zahra had expected to hear. Zahra blinked as she stared at Esmeray, her mouth opening uselessly for a few seconds as she tried to form words. But in the end, she couldn’t find the words and settled for a shake of her head, her eyes wide as she stared at Esmeray.

She had seen the violent scars. Of course she had. They were impossible to miss. And she knew how they had pained him…though the useless golden glow of hers seemed to at least have eased that particular agony. It hadn’t seemed like they had bothered him again. 

“Or where he spent the first few years of his life?” Esmeray continued.

"No," Zahra admitted, her voice small.

She had an inkling that whatever had happened to Azriel as a child...it must have been bad. Really bad.

“I was 17 when a Azriel was born. One of the Lords at a War Camp fathered him,” Esmeray said, her voice quiet. “I was young…I was stupid…and my family had too many mouths to feed. So…I became his mistress. He took my son from me, when he was still a babe. And he kept him from me…for the years that followed. I was allowed to only see him an hour a week. My own son,” she spat out these words

Zahra stared at Esmeray.

She felt...sick. Sick and furious and heartbroken all at the same time as she listened to Esmeray's admission."Any other child...They wouldn't have survived these years locked away in that dungeon. And if they had....they would have been angry at the world and ready to watch it all burn," Esmeray continued softly. "But not Azriel. Not him. Not my son… He got the scars on his hands when his half brother’s decided to see how fire and oil would mix. The scars… were the result."

She wanted to vomit. 

The pain and heartbreak in Esmeray's eyes spoke of horrors that she couldn't possibly begin to imagine.

"The shadows came to him after that...And his father...he realised how dangerous Azriel would be in the future. So he send him away. To train. And for one decade, I thought I was never going to see my son again," she recounted, shaking her head. "I thought that if the years in the darkness hadn't killed him...then the training would. Illyrian start training young. He was already 11. He couldn’t even fly, Zahra. They had bound his wings to his back since he was a baby."

Zahra stared at Esmeray, her eyes wide.

She swallowed. It sounded like torture. Plain and simple. 

She hadn’t been treated…well as a child... hadn’t slept in the same nursery as her sisters, but instead in the servants quarter on a lumpy mattress with some mice to keep her company…but she hadn’t been…she hadn’t been locked in the darkness. She had gotten food…not the food the family ate but what the servants ate. She had been ignored…but even if Nesta hated her…she had never put her hands on fire. 

And Azriel…

"But he survived," Esmeray continued. "He survived. With these shadows of his. And he became a Carynthian, he touched the sacred peak of Ramiel...and then he came back for me," Esmeray said with a shake of her head and a shaky sort of laugh. "He came back for you?" Zahra repeated, her heart twisting in her chest as she listened to Esmeray’s words.

She couldn't even begin to imagine the love and loyalty Azriel must feel for his mother, to survive all that, and return for her.

"He did," Esmeray said softly. "He had every right to forget I even existed...but he didn't. He killed one of his half- brother during that Blood Rite...and he killed his father the moment he set a foot in that training camp where he was born. And then he came for me and brought me here," Esmeray said softly. "This is what he did for me, his mother. For his mate? I can promise you one thing, Zahra, with absolute certainty: As long as there is breath left in my son, he'll return home to you."

The words sounded almost like a promise and Zahra felt the tightness in her chest ease. Hearing the conviction in Esmeray's voice, the absolute belief in her son...made Zahra believe, just for a moment.

"His father wasn't a...good man. He was a monster," Esmeray said softly. "And he did...horrible things to me. But I'll never regret having Azriel. He's the only good thing that male ever created."

Zahra felt her throat close up at those words. At the unwavering and fierce love in Esmeray's voice, even as she spoke of the monster...and her son.

Zahra thought about herself. She didn't know if she could have...if she could have loved a child created from what had been done to her. Wouldn't know if she could have...if she would have been...able to love them as fiercely and beautifully as Esmeray clearly loved Azriel. 

"He’ll come home to you," Esmeray repeated. "Don't borrow troubles."

It was easier said than done. 

"I never wanted him to fight with his family for me," Zahra said weakly.

"It's your family too, is it not? Your sister is married to Rhysand…your other to Cassian," Esmeray pointed out reasonably. "What happened?"

Zahra felt her face heat up in shame as she avoided Esmeray's gaze.

"My sisters don't particularly like me," she said weakly. "I am a constant reminder of our father's...infidelity."

"And what does that have to do with you?" Esmeray asked, voice sharp.

Zahra flinched back in surprise at the sharp tone and how direct the question was.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

Esmeray snorted derisively. "Your father's infidelity...is exactly what it says on the tin: your father's sin," she snapped. "Not yours. You are your own person, not an object created solely to hurt your half-sisters or their mother. Who do they think they are, to decide who you are based on their father's mistakes?"

She could just blink at Esmeray as she felt a knot in her throat. Zahra swallowed past it tightly. She had always just been a bastard created by her father’s infidelity. That was the one thing…that she would never get away from. 

But there was also…

"... I had an affair with a married man," she admitted weakly. "While I was human."

Esmeray fell silent, the only sound echoing the quiet.

Zahra didn't meet Esmeray's gaze, her hands curled into tight fists on her lap as she waited for the older woman to speak.

She was waiting for judgment. 

“Do you really think, you’ll get judgment from  me, when I did the same?” Esmeray asked her, her voice quiet. “Azriel is the result of that, Zahra. So were you…But you must have been…awfully young?” Esmeray said softly. “You are what? 20 now?”

"24," Zahra corrected her weakly. "I was 15. When it started."

Esmeray's face twisted in fury when Zahra answered her question. It was clear that she already put the pieces together, even before hearing the young woman's answer.

"You were a child," Esmeray snapped. "How much older than you was he? A few decades, l imagine?"

"Eighteen years older," Zahra responded quietly, her voice trembling slightly. "...Feyre was sick. He owned the apothecary. We had no money and she needed medicine and I..."

Zahra swallowed back the bile rising in her throat as she recalled the fear of those days, the pain and terror as she desperately tried to protect her sister.

She remembered how he used her. How he took advantage of her when she had no one else to turn to, no one else to rely on.

"In what world would you call this an affair, sweetheart?" Esmeray asked her weakly. "How long did it go on?"

Zahra took a shuddering breath as she stared at the ground.

"Six years," she answered, voice shaking. “I would rather call it an affair than call myself a whore,” she said weakly. 

Esmeray reached out to put a hand on her shoulder. "He hurt you." It was said flatly. Not a question.

"Yes," Zahra choked out, forcing the words passed the knot in her throat. "He hurt me." The words tasted like ash as they left her lips, the pain and shame they came with making her feel sick to her stomach.

She didn't want to think about it, about him, or the pain he made her feel.

She never wanted to think about it again, she didn't want to recall the things he did to her. There was no escaping the pain the memories brought, or the pain he caused for all those years. And still to this day. 

"I won't be able to have kids," she whispered. "He took that from me too."

Esmeray reached forward, a shaky hand resting in the younger woman's.

"Oh, sweetheart," Esmeray muttered, her voice shaking in sympathy and fury. And then..."There were two pregnancies after Azriel," she said softly. "I miscarried the first...the second...he beat me so badly that...the baby was too small to survive," Esmeray said softly. "Not anymore after that. He took that from me too."

Tears welled in Zahra's eyes as she listened to Esmeray's soft words.

"I'm so sorry," Zahra whispered. The pain Esmeray felt was so evident in those words, and Zahra couldn't help but feel sorry for her.

She couldn't begin to imagine how it must feel, to lose children the way she did.

"Don't be," Esmeray reassured her, voice shaking. "It was a long time ago...and I love my son. I love Azriel. He's more than enough for me. Why mess with perfection?" she asked, her voice firm. Zahra couldn't help a weak laugh that escaped her.

"And if you and Azriel decide that you want children one day...there are ways to have children that aren't the traditional way," Esmeray continued. "There are plenty of illyrian children that are simply...thrown away. Not here in Rosehall but in some of the more traditional camps. Not enough food for too many mouth to feed...bastards themselves...physical disabilities...plenty of reasons," she said with a shudder.

Zahra blinked in surprise at the words.

She...she hadn't had the chance to think about anything beyond surviving yet, let alone how...how she and Azriel would have children some day in the future, if they wanted. after everything that happened.

But children, a family...she had always wanted a family. A family of her own. She just...hadn't even considered how that could ever happen to her.

There were children like her, thrown away as unwanted, but she hadn't known that it was such a... common occurrence.

"That's horrible," she whispered under her breath.

To think that those children were left behind, abandoned, or thrown out when they were too young to even take care of themselves... It filled her with rage. How could an entire society treat people like that?

"Sometimes it's something as simple that they are girls," Esmeray said, her voice bitter. "Girls are useless in their eyes."

Zahra felt her heart twist in fury at the words.

The fact that an entire society could think that girls were useless enough to throw them aside...it sickened her.

"Azriel will come home," Emeray promised her with a squeeze of her hand once more as she pulled back to go back to her cooking. "Could you set the table?"

Zahra nodded quietly, her words stuck in her throat as she swallowed her tears.

She stood and slowly went over to the kitchen, gathering the things necessary to set the table for dinner.

But she couldn't get one thing out of her head. "Do you...Do you keep an eye on his half brother?" She asked the shadows softly. "So he'll never hurt Azriel again?"

The shadows writhed in the air, twisting around on themselves for a few moments as if in agitation.

Zahra swallowed slightly at the sight of the shadows reacting like that.

"Could you?" Zahra requested. "please? Just for my own sake of mind?"

The shadows writhed a little more before they seemed to quiet down, only a gentle shift in movement now, as if the shadows had accepted her request.

"Thank you," she said softly.

You're welcome, the voice was as soft as a breath, as otherworldly as that as well.

Zahra couldn't help the shiver that ran down her spine at the voice that echoed in her head.

It was as otherworldly as it was strangely soothing.

***

Azriel was tired. Tired and exhausted and hurting and furious and hungry, his rage and exhaustion leaving him on a hair trigger.

His shadows writhed in the air around him, agitation and fury rolling off of

It was done. He had had that talk. It had gone...better than he thought it would. Which was something, he supposed. But it left him tired...

His exhaustion was seeping into his bones, settling deep and leaving him heavy and...worn. He was exhausted deep in his marrow, all the way down to his very soul.

He didn't like to fight. He had never liked to fight. Especially not this kind of fighting. Fighting with knifes and swords was one thing...this kind of emotional bloodletting was another thing entirely.

It hurt so much more, to be vulnerable, to lay his emotions, his deepest secrets and insecurities, bare and have others know them. Have others be able to twist and use those things against him if they so desired.

And even when this had needed to have happened...needed to be done...this didn't make it any easier.

It had made him feel horrible to use…Zahra’s most traumatic moments as pressure points. 

He just needed...he just needed to see Zahra. Jsut needed to know that she was safe.

That need rose like a crashing wave.

He could feel it now, the need to get to his mate, to know that she was safe, to see her and feel it.

So he winnowed. The wards around Rosehall bent to his will...and just seconds later, he got to walk through his mother’s front door.

He heard voices, his mother's low murmur and Zahra's soft responses to the older woman, the words a quiet hum in the air that carried him further into the small home.

The smell of food rose in the air, the rich scent of stew and bread wafting through the hallway as he followed the voices and the scent of food into the dining room.

„Azriel!" and then Zahra was already throwing herself at him and he caught her instinctively, burying his face against her shoulder. Not a scratch on her. Nothing. Just the warm scent of her.

Honeysuckle and something he never could quite place. 

His mate was safe. She was whole and unharmed and right there...in his arms.

“She was worried for you," his mother said drily.

He ignored the words for a few moments longer, clinging to his mate.

Azriel took another deep breath, the scent of his mate so close easing the tension in his body little by little.

He finally pulled back, his hands moving to frame her face, just to feel her warm skin against his palms.

Their gazes met, the green of her eyes familiar and safe and comforting and Azriel felt some of his exhaustion and tension bleed away.

Being in her presence always felt like he could simply...breathe, no matter the circumstances.

In her presence, he could breathe.

"All is well," he promised Zahra who leaned into his touch, her eyes misted with tears. But she simply nodded.

She believed him. 

That small, simple gesture. The way she nodded and trusted his word, was enough to make him lean in and press a kiss against her forehead.

"Are you hungry? We made stew. Esmeray was nice enough to teach me how to make Illyrian flatbread." She asked him and he nodded. His stomach twisted a little at the reminder.

Yeah, he was hungry. Starving actually.

"Food and then bed for both of you," his mother said with some amusement as she filled his plate for him.

He huffed out a breath, his hands still in a gentle grip around Zahra as if to ensure she wouldn't slip away from his grasp.

For once, he couldn't bring himself to complain about his mother's bossy attitude.

The idea of food and then sleeping in a warm bed with his mate curled up against his chest, her steady heartbeat and slow breathing a reminder that she was there, safe and whole beside him...it sounded like perfection.

He cleared two plates of stew and then curled up in the guest bedroom with Zahra, tucked safely and warmly underneath his mother’s quilt.

"How did it really go?" Zahra asked him in the darkness of the room, drawing random patterns onto his naked chest. 

"Both better and worse than I thought it would," Azriel answered honestly. Then he grimaced. "...I told them. About what happened to you."

"Oh," she said, voice quiet even as she shifted closer and wrapped her arms around him. "How did they…..take it?"

He had expected anger. Expected…something.  "You aren't angry?" He checked and Zahra just weakly shrugged. "They wouldn't have understood without, would they?" She forced out, her voice trembling.

She was right. He wished they didn't need to use her trauma as a shield but...

She was right.

He hated it. But he couldn't deny the truth in her words.

"Your sisters were distraught," he said delicately. "Elain wants your forgiveness… Feyre wanted to know where you are."

He heard Zahra take a shuddering breath, felt the way her chest rose as she tensed.

"Why?" she muttered, sounding more tired than angry.

He didn’t need to be Rhys to be able to read her thoughts. Why did Feyre care now?

"She wanted to apologize," he answered softly as he felt the tension in her body, rubbing her should gently. 

"And Nesta?" Zahra asked weakly.

"Let's just say, I am pretty certain that Cassian and her are going to have a screaming match sometime soon."

"Why?" she asked, her voice so quiet and small that it made his chest ache. 

His hand moved to gently brush over her waist, slowly stroking along her side in what he hoped was a soothing motion.

"Let's just say that she didn't take the news of our mating bond well, and leave it at that," Azriel said with a snort. "It doesn't matter what she thinks."

Zahra huffed a small amount of breath, the tiniest of laughs.

"No, it doesn't," she agreed, body leaning more heavily against his as the tension slowly drained from her. "Your mother is lovely, by the way," Zahra said softly.

That made him smile a little bit, warmth flooding him at the mention of his mother. He was so glad Zahra and Esmeray seemed to get on as well. He couldn't quite put it word, the relief and happiness he felt at the knowledge that the two people he loved seemed to get on so well. And the shadows... well they were already enamored with Zahra as well.

He felt the shadows curl and twist around his waist in fond affection and he couldn't help but smile faintly.

They had been fond of Zahra since the beginning, but now..they were practically in love with her.

He pressed a kiss against her forehead and closed his eyes. 

Between one breath and the next Azriel fell asleep. 

Only to be roughly awakened by his shadows what seemed like seconds later.

Master. Master, you need to wake up. He was awake immediately, thrown back to the last time they had done the very same thing to him. But there was no iron-rich scent of blood in his nose. Nothing of that sort. And Zahra was peacefully slumbering away next to him, looking younger in her sleep than she did awake…nothing out of the ordinary. 

What's wrong? he demanded immediately. He could hear his mother's quiet heartbeat down the hall, nothing seemed to be amiss with her either.

Something… happened, his shadows whispered hesitantly and the sound of it made him sit upright in bed, his grip tight around Zahra, shielding her from danger as he stared into the darkness of the bedroom. We…maybe broke a rule, Master.

A rule.

There were only very few rules the shadows had gotten from him. Mostly to not outright starting to murder anybody unless he allowed it.

What did you do? he asked with a sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. Had they gone back to their habit of gambling a truly ridiculous amount of money all at once? He had gotten them to do it more often but with smaller sums of money so it wasn't as obvious as it once had been centuries ago.

Esmeray told her about what happened to your hands, Master, the shadows admitted softly. And that you went to get her after the Blood Rite... Our Mate asked if the shadows kept an eye on…*him*. 

Oh, he breathed out, the tension in his shoulders easing a little. What did you do? he asked with a sigh. Did he want to know? If they had killed his half-brother that would be...well there were worse things they could have done, he supposed...He just hoped they made it look like an accident if they did murder him. 

The shadows stayed silent for a moment.

He's still using the dungeon, the shadows said softly. But the warding is...broken. The warding that had kept him contained. Now it would be nothing but a blink of an eye to break...but for a weak 8 year old...it had been impossible to escape.

What did you find? he asked, swallowing.

We may have...taken her, the shadows admitted quickly. But if we hadn't, who knows how long she would have survived down there!

Azriel stared into the darkness, taking a breath at the word.

Who exactly is *she*? he demanded sharply.

His bastard daughter, the shadows said quickly. She's just a baby!

You kidnapped a baby?!?!

[grantmentis]

PWHL 2024-2025 Primer

It's that time of year again folks. PWHL starts on November 30th.

The sections of this primer are: What is the PWHL, Where can I watch, Rules/League Structure, Official league pages, journalists to follow, and an introduction to each team (what they did last year, who's on the team, notable players, you should root for them if you..)

What is the PWHL?

The Professional Women's Hockey League was created in 2023 and launched in January 2024. It is currently the sole professional women's hockey league in North America.

Heading into the 2024-2025 season, the PWHL has six teams: The Toronto Sceptres, Boston Fleet, Minnesota Frost, New York Sires, Montréal Victoire, and Ottawa Charge. Each team plays 30 regular season games per team. You can find the full season schedule here.

Where can I watch?

Disclaimer; We don't have an official 100% confirmation on the American and non-North American ones yet, just reports from journalists who I do deem trustworthy. I will edit any changes and highlight them in bold if necessary.

On Television/Streaming

Canadian fans will have games on TSN and its affiliates (such as TSN+) primarily, with select games on CBC and Prime video.

French broadcasts of Montreal games can be found on RDS (18), Radio-Canada (6) on ICI TÉLÉ and ICI TOU.TV

Full streaming/television schedule for Canada

All fans not in Canada are available to stream on the PWHL Youtube regardless of location (so if you're "in market" there's no black outs like there is NHL games)

Last year regional games were held on: Bally Sports North in Minnesota, NESN/NESN+ in Boston, MSG/MSG+ in New York, Sportnet Pittsburgh has carried select games. Not 100% confirmed this will be the case last year. Even if your regional sports network carries it, however, you should be able to access it on Youtube in America

In Person

Toronto and New York (sort of) have new locations this year

Toronto Scepters play at Coca-Cola Coliseum

Ottawa Charge play at TD Place

Montréal Victoire play at Place Bell

Boston Fleet play at Tsongas Center (Lowell, MA)

Minnesota Frost play at Xcel Energy Center

New York Sirens will play at Prudential Center (Newark, NJ)

There are also many neutral site games this year including Detroit, Quebec City, Raleigh, Vancouver, Denver, Buffalo, St. Louis, and Seattle that you can read about here

What are the rules? The League Structures?

Who makes the playoffs and what do they look like?

Please keep in mind that with such a young league, it's possible this will be tinkered with.

Each game is worth three points: 3 for a regulation win, 2 for an overtime win, and 1 for an overtime loss

Last year, the PWHL had 4 of the 6 teams make the playoffs. The number one seed got to choose their opponent between the third and fourth seed.

All series were best of five series, the two semi finals and then the finals.

Rules

If you are an NHL fan looking to jump in, here are the differences in the PWHL. The rulebook is also here.

Bodychecking is allowed in the PWHL, so long as it is done in an attempt to play the puck or gain possession. While women's hockey has always been physical, bodychecking at this level is fairly new, the SDHL in Sweden started to allow it just in 2021 and then the PWHL last year, so refs and players are adjusting in how they're going to draw the line between legal and illegal. This is also not the case in international competition, so it is a little different than the olympics or worlds if you are used to watching those.

The PWHL has a "jailbreak rule" which means that if you are shorthanded and score, the penalty ends.

In shootouts, a player can go as many times as they'd like.

New this year is the "No Escape" rule where players of a penalized team are required to stay on the ice to start the penalty kill.

Coaches can challenge delay of game puck over glass penalties.

Hits to the head, headbutting, and grabbing an opponents helmet strap, throat protector, or hair is an automatic major penalty and game misconduct.

What are the official social media pages? Who are good people to follow?

Official league pages:

PWHL: Instagram / Twitter / Tiktok / Youtube / Website

There's also a unofficial bluesky bot that re-posts all of the PWHL X content

Sceptres: Instagram / Twitter / Tiktok / Youtube / Website

Fleet: Instagram / Twitter / Tiktok / Youtube / Website

Victoire: Instagram / Twitter / Tiktok / Youtube / Website

Frost: Instagram / Twitter / Tiktok / Youtube / Website

Sirens: Instagram / Twitter / Tiktok / Youtube / Website

Charge: Instagram / Twitter / Tiktok / Youtube / Website

News and Journalists:

This is not a comprehensive list, just a starter pack! feel free to add any recommendations in the comments.

Kyle Cushman: Works for the score, covers the whole league (as well as some nhl), keeps public statistical information. The Score author page / Twitter / Bluesky

The Ice Garden: Long time women's hockey publication. I'd also recommend going through their contributor/author page and following them individually! Website / Twitter / Bluesky

Hailey Salvian: Long time reporter for the Athletic for women's hockey Twitter

Kenzie Lalonde: TSN reporter based in Montreal covering PWHL among others, also does play by play Twitter

Rick Menning: Local reporter for the Sirens Twitter

Kelsea Durham: Local reporter for the Boston Fleet for Inside the Rink Linktree

Christine Roger: French-Canadian reporter, who posts in French, mainly about Montreal Twitter

PWHL Report: Content aggregator for if you don't want to follow a bunch individually and really the only one i've seen post stuff to Instagram Twitter / Instagram

Who are the Boston Fleet?

The Boston Fleet were last years runner up in the league.

Their roster can be viewed here, with updates to be expected in the next few days as training camp cuts and contract being signed, the waiver period starting for teams to sign players that got cut from other teams training camps, and final rosters are made.

Notable players: Hilary Knight (captain), Aerin Frankel (Star goalie), Alina Müller (Swiss hockey star), Hannah Bilka (first round pick this last draft.)

You should root for this team if: You like defense-first hockey, strong New England college hockey connections, rooting for the youngest ice hockey player to win an olympic medal (Alina Müller), a player who got a custom outfit for pride night (Jamie Lee Rattray), Jewish hockey icons (Aerin Fankel), and players who are also podcasters and make a lot of tiktoks (Lexi Adzija and Taylor Girard)

Who are the Montréal Victoire?

The Montréal Victoire finished second in the standings last year, where

Live roster viewable here with expected updates the next few days

Notable players: Marie Philip-Poulin, Laura Stacey, Erin Ambrose, Ann-Renée Desbiens (all four are long time Team Canada legends), Lina Ljungblom (young Swedish superstar), Mikyla Grant Mentis and Kennedy Marchmand (both former PHF MVPs)

You should root for this team if: You love two way defensive minded centers, rooting for the league favorite, star players who are married to each other (Poulin and Stacey), short defenders (5'1 Amanda Boulier and 5'2 Cayla Barnes), post game victory dances, I dont even know how to describe this but heres grant mentis and Lásková watching golf i have to put it here

Who are the Toronto Sceptres?

The Sceptres were the first place team in the PWHL last year.

Roster here, once again will change this week

Notable players: Natalie Spooner (league MVP and long time team Canada player), Sarah Nurse (Olympic record holder for points and top scorer), Julia Gosling (first round pick), CJ Jackson (backup goaltender, social media darling, and LGBT activist), Renata Fast (top defender for both PWHL and Team Canada)

You should root for this team if you: love all the Team Canada players who grew up outside Quebec and also the coaches (all but three players are Canadian and many have played internationally for Canada, the coaching/management also largely from team canada and shares stylistic similarities), are interested in Nursey Nights (Sarah Nurse's collaboration with Black Girl Hockey Club during Toronto Sceptres games!), want to root for the other league favorites, love noted pancake enthusiasts (Kali Flanagan), or if you're more on the savory side, love a hot dog enthusiast (CJ)

Who are the Ottawa Charge?

The Ottawa Charge finished fifth in the league last season

Roster here with updates to come

Notable players: Brianne Jenner (team Canada and captain of Ottawa), Emily Clark (top scorer), Kateřina Mrázová (top scorer and Czech national team icon), Danielle Serdachny (second overall pick), Ronja Savolainen (Finnish national team mainstay and SDHL icon)

You should root for this team if you: Have an interest in Czech players (Mrázová, Vanišová, Tejralová), you like podcasting players (but gay this time), enjoy a team that regularly updates their youtube channel and does a fan fest and has some of the best player created content, like a team that is not afraid to make bold roster moves

Who are the Minnesota Frost?

The Minnesota Frost are your inaugural PWHL champions!

Here is a live, updating roster

Notable players: Kendall Coyne (Captain, Team USA), Taylor Heise (last years #1 overall pick and one of the leagues scorer), Grace Zumwinkle (also a top scorer), Nicole Hensley (star goalie and also Team USA starting goaltender typically), Michela Cava (extensive experience as top player in PHF, SDHL, and Russia.)

You should root for this team if you: Have a lot of midwest pride and like teams in the WCHA, value speed when watching hockey, like players with unconventional paths to stardom (Hensley, who played at Lindenwood in college and made team USA only after college finished), want to root for the ultimate playoff sicko (Michela Cava, who has 4 championships across four leagues, two finals MVPs, and is over a point per game combining all playoffs), like franchise cornerstones who are besties and call each other 'the dog to their cat" and vice versa (Heise and Zumwinkle)

Who are the New York Sirens?

The New York Sirens finished last in the PWHL last year

Roster with updates to come

Notable players: Abby Roque, Alex Carpenter (both team usa and PWHL top scorers), Corinne Schroeder (had the best goaltending season in PHF history in 2023 and followed it up by having one of the best PWHL seasons despite a tough workload), Sarah Fillier (first overall pick this year, team Canada star), Maja Nylén Persson (round two pick, SDHL best defender of the year last year, team Sweden's #1 defender), Noora Tulus (finnish national team star and one of the best SDHL players of all time.)

You should root for this team if you: want to see a team really build itself up from the ground floor, as theres a lot of roster turnover this year and a new coaching staff, with a lot of exciting draftees. like a team that has a little more physicality/grit. want to maximize the number of crossovers with other professional sports teams possible, like the nickname pizza rats. Want to enjoy some of the best mic'd up content (Roque)

[ladyloveandjustice]

My Top 12 Favorite Anime of 2024 (and more)!

We had a lot of good anime in 2024, so here's the list of my top 12 favorites and some bonus great anime as well. If you get tired of clicking the review links, check out my anime overview collection for all of them here.  

You can also check out my post about my favorite manga from 2024 here and my favorite books of 2024 here.

These are in no particular order!

Delicious in Dungeon (a.k.a Dungeon Meshi)

Dungeon Meshi  is one of my favorite stories period, and easily my top anime of the year. The basic premise is that Laios and his party of adventurers need to travel through a monster-infested dungeon rescue his sister. Rather waste precious time earning money for food, Laios decides they should just eat the monsters they encounter as they travel. But then that simple plot spins off into so much more...

The story combines cooking and adventure animanga expertly. It has some of the most impressive and fascinating worldbuilding I've ever seen, top-tier varied character design and a great plot. It's also funny as hell, and I love its main cast of nuanced eccentric weirdos with all my heart. Even the characters who have five minutes of screen time feel like you could watch a spin-off series about them.

It's not just about food, but the cycle of life and death, about hunger of all kinds, about ecosystems and societies and finding solace in the monstrous...there's a lot simmering under this story!

So, go ahead and eat up! And read my review here for more!

Mayonaka Punch

Canceled YouTuber, Masaki, meets a pathetic lesbian vampire, Live. Live agrees to help Masaki launch a new YouTube channel, but in exchange, Masaki has to let Live suck up all her blood when they reach 100 million subscribers.

 This is the kind of stuff I watch anime for. This is what dreams are made of.

Do you support women's wrongs? Are you craving some women who are loveable shitheads? Do you want a great ensemble comedy about five disaster vampires wreaking havoc and a cynical human along for the ride? This show has all that, plus some down bad lesbian vampire shenanigans! But there's also a lot of growth for the main character, and the show has a lot of pathos in how it explores how the internet and its outrage train can do a number on one's mental health.

It's a ton of fun! See my full review here!

Magilumiere Magical Girls Inc.

Being a magical girl is no longer the domain of teenagers, and has evolved into an actual career dominated by adult women. Kana becomes a magical girl for a scrappy start up company, and tries her best to navigate working life.

It's the magical girl story about adult women I've been craving for years! Magical girl media often explores the struggles of adolescence and growing up, and this show takes us to the next step by using magical girls to explore what it’s like to be a young woman entering the working world. The focus is one Kana struggling to grow her confidence and accept support from her workplace, but it also has a lot to say about companies exploiting their workers, prizing efficiency and growth over actually taking care of their customers, and it shows how the world could be better than what it is right now. Check out my review here for more detail!

Girls Band Cry

After being bullied, Nina drops out school and ends up starting a band with four other girls, including the woman whose music saved her at her darkest moment. Nina's determined for the band to stick it to the people who once looked down on them. GBC features some wonderfully messy and entertaining teenage girls, actually incredible CGI animation and great music. Nina, the lead, is allowed to be angry and obnoxious and powered by spite, but the narrative sympathizes with her and loves her spirit, even if she sometimes messes things up. All the girls have rough edges and raw emotion and a great dynamic with each other. They also flip people off a lot.

It was kind of screwed over by streaming, but don't sleep on it! See my review here!

Natsume's Book of Friends (Season 7) 

Anime's sweetest boy and his horrible cat (affectionate) are back, and it's time for more yokai adventures! I’ve already talked at length about how this series is special–check out my series review/ Rec post for the series here. I also did an article titled The Courage to Speak: Mental Illness and Recovery in Natsume’s Book of Friends that goes into more in-depth analysis. The story is sweet and charming and sometimes heartwrenching and very important to me.

It's yet another season of lovely, bittersweet yokai tales that tug on your heartstrings, the characters continue to heal and grow in slow but satisfying ways. It just feels so nice watching this series again and letting the love, comfort, and catharsis wash over me. See my review here.

Dead Dead Demon's DeDeDeDe Destruction

A giant mothership is hovering over Tokyo. The aliens have done nothing, not even leaving their ship, but Japan and America are already trying to blow that UFO up, and show off who has the best weapons, causing many civilian casualties along the way. Meanwhile, two girls are just trying to living their lives.

This anime goes hard on criticizing the military industrial complex, Japanese nationalism and imperialism, American imperialism, xenophobia, mistreatment of immigrants, rich people, and conspiracy theorists. That means it's often devastating and visceral, but it also follows some fantastic weird girls and their ride-or-die soul bond, as well as other charming, funny teenagers who are just trying to live in a world falling apart around them. You can also look forward to some plot twists that recontextualize everything you know!

You should also see my review for some content warnings and a really important message about episode order if you want more detail, you can read it here.

Senpai is an Otokonoko

 Makoto is an "otokonoko" ( a term that means crossdressing boy) and he's figuring out his relationship to gender, and hiding his interests from his mother. A girl named Aoi confesses to him, thinking he's a girl. But he reveals the truth, she's ecstatic about it, much to his shock. Meanwhile, Makoto's best friend Ryuji is also crushing on him...

It's tough to be a queer kid in a world full of rigid gender roles and insidious homophobia, and this anime shows the unfairness of that struggle. But it also shows the joy of finding those who accept and understand you, and of slowly becoming comfortable with who you are. The show knows how to make you really roots for these great kids, and it's really good at tugging the ol' heartstrings. See my review here for more!

A Sign of Affection

The anime follows Yuki, a shy girl who's been deaf since birth, and Itsuomi, a world-traveler and polyglot, fall in love. They both live in very different worlds, but as their romance blooms, they're eager to learn more about each other.

A Sign of Affection is shoujo romance at its sweetest, with soft colors, gentle blushes, tender moments, and plenty of warm fuzzies. The animation is beautiful and the show treats Yuki's perspective with care and delicacy as the story goes on. It also have a great focus on communication and consent in a relationship. Read my review here! 

YATAGARASU: The Raven Does Not Choose Its Master

In this world, people have the ability to shapeshift into yatagarasu, the giant three legged ravens from Japanese mythology. Prince Wakamiya, who's next in line for the emperor, is thought to be an incarnation of the powerful "Golden Raven", so the four women chosen as his bride candidates (each who carry the hopes of their respective provinces) compete fiercely for his hand. Yukiya, a canny young boy, has been pulled into being the prince's attendant, and both Yukiya and the women soon find themselves pulled into a deadly web of mysteries and political machinations.

Yatagarasu is a tightly woven tale of political intrigue, featuring lots of palace folk plotting against each other, multiple assassination attempts, spies, fascinating worldbuilding and use of mythology, well executed plot twists, and complex characters. Yukiya is a very likeable little trickster with a heart of gold, and he works well as an audience surrogate who has to keep up with all this weird court drama. In the first half, the story focuses a lot on on women contending with rigid roles and how that leads to both enmity and empathy between them. But disappointingly, most of those characters are dropped or have their roles reduced in the second half of the anime, which is a shame.

Overall, this anime is a story that hooks you with it's story and it's dark, majestic atmosphere and never lets go. It's just plain good, and pretty underrated, so I'd suggest checking it out!

The Apothecary Diaries (Episodes 13-24)

The second half of The Apothecary Diaries was somehow even better than the first half, crafting a compelling ongoing mystery and delving into MaoMao’s backstory. There were quite a few big thrills that made me gasp aloud. MaoMao, the world's best poison-obsessed detective, pulled off some show-stopping feats and she remains an incredible, endearing character. Especially now that we’ve learned she has a killer evil laugh. Check out my review of the first part of The Apothecary Diaries here and slightly more detail on this run of episodes here.

Dandadan

 Another one you've probably heard of, it's the story of two kids- Momo, who was abducted by aliens and Okarun, who was cursed by a yokai. Now they have to break Okarun's curese while aliens and yokai are hunting them!

Dandadan is an anime bursting with absurd action and humor, and it has a boppin’ soundtrack and amazing animation from Science Saru. It’s wildly weird in the best way, and the characters are hilarious lovable losers. It's also the rare example of a battle shonen that actually treats its female lead as an equal to her male partner, in screen time and in battle. I adore Momo with all my heart- she's fun, she's bombastic, she's badass, she's everything.

However, the main problem I have with the show is its pattern of putting Momo in sexual peril. I go into more detail about this and the show in general in my review here.

Train to the End of the World

 A story about four girls and a dog traveling across a weird, warped version of Japan to find their missing friend, Train to the End of the World is wild. I absolutely adore bizarre anime about equally bizarre girls, and this delivers. We see the girls encounter a cult with mushrooms growing out of their heads, screaming goatmen and even zombies on their journey. The dynamic between the different characters is great, and the dialogue is snappy. If you appreciate wild and weird zaniness that also has a lot of heart and great friendships, give this show a try. My full review is here.

Bonus Anime- some other stuff you might want to check out!

Cherry Magic! Thirty Years of Virginity Can Make You a Wizard?!

Despite an extremely goofy title Cherry Magic quickly became a surprisingly grounded, thoughtful and heartfelt BL romance worth watching. See my full review here.

7th Time Loop: The Villainess Enjoys a Carefree Life Married to Her Worst Enemy!

Rishe has lived seven lives, had lots of adventures, and in every single one of them, she has been killed as result of the world war started by the emperor of a neighboring kingdom. Each time Rishe dies, she's sent back to the moment the crown prince of her own country broke off their engagement (she's actually pretty happy about it). But in her seventh life, the future Emperor sees her, is instantly smitten by how cool she is and proposes to her. Rishe decides she might as well enjoy life chilling in the palace before things inevitably go to hell.

7th Time Loop has a fun conceit, and it features a vivacious, badass heroine who's a joy to watch. Having lived as a commoner in most of her past lives, she's ready to use her smarts to help people--whether it's going undercover to help a maid who's being bullied or addressing illiteracy among the servant girls. Whether she's beating up kidnappers or politically maneuvering, she's learning and growing and kicking ass. While her love interest is a bit too broody for me, I do deeply relate to how Rishe's badassery clearly turns him on. The antagonists and plot are sometimes a bit silly, but it's always a good time. A josei anime about an awesome gal is just what the doctor ordered.

Acro Trip

A silly show about a magical girl fangirl who's recruited to an evil organization by an incompetent villain,  Acro Trip is a lot of fun, and I recommend it to any magical girl enjoyer. I also recommend it to anyone who loves pathetic failguys and girls. Our "villain" Chrome is the most hilariously pathetic of them all. You like bad boys? Well this man is literally bad at everything. See my full review here.

Whisper Me a Love Song

 I have to give a shoutout to the only textual yuri anime that came out this year--it's production basically completely collapsed, but it's still watchable and the story is a sweet and solid girl band romance. At least consider giving the manga a shot if nothing else! See my review here!

[yourheart-inmyhands]

Hellow hellow (⁠☆⁠▽⁠☆⁠)

May I request yandere zhongli, diluc and possibly neuvilette with reader who's a talented musician that often like to play alone and doesn't want anyone finding about their hobby?

ah this was such a cute ask! i've never played an instrument aside from the recorder i was forced to learn in 4th grade so i apologize if this isn't super accurate :D

Warning: this post contains yandere-themes, including delusional behaviors, honestly the guys are pretty sweet here, and other potential topics. Please read at your own risk!

Diluc:

Being a bit of a musician himself, Diluc can understand the desire to be alone. He won’t ever intrude on your alone time, allowing you a room to yourself with whatever instruments and setup you’d like. He makes sure to let all the staff know to not bother you while you are there. If you’d like he’d even be willing to set up a lock on the door so that no one can enter, so long as he is allowed a key.

If you should ever change your mind and ask Diluc to join you for some music, he’d be more than happy to comply. He knows quite a few different instruments so he’s happy to partner up as whatever you ask of him as well.

A soft smile graces Diluc’s face as he hears the music start-up in another room. You were back to practicing again, working away at a particular piece that had been troubling you lately. Normally he wouldn’t seem so happy about your mess-ups, but he thought your dedication to the instruments to be endearing. It reminded him a bit of himself when he was young, before he had taken over the winery business unexpectedly. He had offered to play the piece with you a handful of times over dinner, but your polite refusal each time was enough to keep him from simply forcing his way in. He didn’t want to disturb the one thing you seemed to enjoy so thoroughly. 

Zhongli:

Zhongli was never much of a musician, he preferred books and literature over the finer arts. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t appreciate them though. He does dampen a bit when you deny him the access of watching you play, insisting that you prefer to be alone, but he relents regardless. His keen hearing from across the home-like cave was enough for now.

Instead, Zhongli offers his support in the form of sheet music, going out of his way to obtain obscure or new sheet music for you in the style that you like so that you never run out of new melodies. It’s a simple act of appreciation for your gifts, if he could write any himself he’d have done so as well, but his ear for music wasn’t as fine-tuned as yours. 

Zhongli pauses in his reading for a moment, his ears adjusting to the slightest tune echoing through the cave. It was barely there, but enough for him to hear. It seemed as though you were playing quietly today. It’s another moment that passes before he places a marker into his book, setting it aside before rising from his chair. He couldn’t explain it but your music always seemed to inspire him to get up and do something. Typically it was cooking, with him making a light meal or snack to bring to you when it sounded like you were taking a break. It helped to hear that you were playing the newest sheet music he had brought you. He didn’t know much about music aside from how to read notes on a paper, but there was something about that one specifically that just reminded him so dearly of you.

Neuvillette:

Neuvillette has always admired music, but his mind was more focused on the law and justice system, he had never really had time to explore that interest. When he finds out about your talent in that field, he at first is hesitant to ask you to teach him. He doesn’t want to bother you especially after you confessed that you prefer to play alone. So instead he listens silently from the next room over, replaying the melodies over and over in his head as he tries to teach himself an instrument.

It’s sweet, the way Neuvillette is always keeping you up to date with things. Always making sure your instruments are in proper working order and that anything you need for them is easily available. He had learned about instrument care as soon as he started trying to learn, and because you don’t leave the house often he makes sure to pick things up that he thinks you might need while he’s out. 

He doesn’t say anything to you as he silently enters the room, noticing how you paused mid-line, turning to look at him. He just offers a warm smile, walking over to you quietly before sliding your music stand away. It takes a moment to realize what he’s doing as he slides a brand new one into place, carefully moving your sheet music from the old one to the new one. “I apologize for disrupting, please continue.” He gives a polite bow of his head before turning to leave, taking the old music stand with him. You weren’t sure how he knew that you needed a new one, since the old one had a problem with staying extended to the height you wanted it, but silently, you were thankful. 

[pbelfz]

Title: Lessons in Submission Pairing: Izuku Midoriya x Reader Includes: daddy kink, teacher/student, controlling behavior, stalking? PB's Masterlist

You peered through the crack between two books on the shelf.

He smiled again as he leaned over her, offering that gentle, warm chuckle you loved. You watched him gesture to something in her textbook, and the girl followed his finger diligently as he spoke.

An underclassmen. You didn’t know her.

You pulled back, sighing through your nose as you finally placed the book you were holding in its correct spot, blocking your view of Izuku. Wrapping your fingers back around the metal of the bookcart, you pushed it from behind the stacks, out to where Izuku could see you.

His current pupil was too enthralled in her work and didn’t notice the sudden slack in Izuku’s attention; he glanced at you, intending to catch your eye. His gaze lingered on your choice of clothing today, wondering if it was allowed to wear such a short skirt on campus. You paid him no mind as you reached upward, placing another book on the higher shelf. You felt the burn of his stare as you stood on your tip-toes, purposefully pushing your lower back out slightly, almost teasingly, as your skirt rose a little.

Izuku shifted in his place, looking back down at his student’s progress. He tapped his finger on the polished library table, pressing his weight into his palm as he watched her complete the rest of her trigonometry. Tutoring was one of his many side-gigs – one that led him to you. Izuku was a teacher at U.A. full-time and a pro hero part-time, but he found he enjoyed the art of helping others in more mundane settings. You started working at the Tokyo University library just a few months ago, and you grew closer with Izuku due to having to share the same space. At first, he hadn’t been here too frequently because of his other jobs, but now it was difficult not to run into him. You read him accurately upon first meeting, seeing him as the fidgety young staff whose button-ups fit his muscles just tightly enough.

So, this is the hot tutor that all of the girls have soaked panties for, you thought when you first saw him.

Except your soaked panties were the only ones Izuku wanted. You knew that now.

Something about keeping what you two had a secret always made Izuku want to push the boundaries. He glanced at you again; if you were in the same room as him, he always kept you in sight. He’d always been that way since before you introduced yourself.

You moved. You were no longer by the bookshelves. Where are you, my angel? Izuku peered around the library. Oh, found you. You’re back by the front desk. The inside of Izuku’s cheek rolled between his back teeth; if he were alone with you, he would’ve reminded you to let him know before you left his sight. You had a bad habit of wandering, and when you two were together, Izuku often found himself keeping a hand or arm resting on you to keep you near him. That, and maybe it satisfied a need to touch you.

“Mr. Midoriya?”

Izuku’s head snapped down to see that his student had finished her trigonometry worksheet a few moments ago.

“Are you okay? You just started staring off,” she observed. Izuku shook his head, leaning back over her to check her worksheet.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry,” he skimmed her math, but it wasn’t exactly registering, especially as his gaze continued to flicker up to you.

A male student approached you at the front desk, giving you a familiar smile and nod. Izuku’s chest thrummed when he saw you return the gesture with your own lively magnetism, giving the boy a smile as he took some books out of his backpack. Izuku’s jaw tightened, and his student noticed his finger tap on the table again. Her gaze crept up his arm to his face, but by then, he had already looked back down, masking his previous irritation.

“I think you should look this one over again, Sai-san,” Izuku uttered, pointing to an equation in the middle of his student’s worksheet. “It looks like you mixed up your ratios for–,” your laughter over by the front desk suddenly cut Izuku off. It wasn’t particularly loud, but it was definitely over the preferred volume level of the library. Izuku’s eyes quickly found you, leaning forward in your chair, pushing your chest up just a bit against the library table, as that same boy from earlier continued to chat you up. A grin was plastered on your face as you talked to him, and Izuku knew you were doing all of this on purpose.

This is because I’m not giving you attention, isn’t it, (Y/n)?

Izuku sighed, standing upright and no longer leaning over his student. “I’ll be right back.”

He strode over to where you and that boy were at the front desk, and you saw him coming as soon as he left the small study table in the corner. He placed his hands in the pockets of his slacks as he approached.

“Excuse me,” he spoke professionally and quietly in tone. This was a library, after all. Other students were studying and reading here. You were already watching Izuku, but the guy you were talking to – one of your classmates – turned his head to see the tutor standing behind him a few paces. You sat back in your chair, almost trying to appear like the well-behaved library assistant Izuku knew you could be.

“I’m trying to teach one of my students over there, and you guys are just being a little loud,” Izuku flexed his authority, the same way he flexed the forgiving tug on the corners of his lips. Your classmate turned away, looking to grab the books he was checking out.

“I was just leaving, sir,” your classmate says before bowing and, true to his word, taking his leave. He must hate confrontation.

Unfortunately, that left you and Izuku together. You shifted in your seat as you glanced back up at him; his small grin fell into a frown, something you didn’t see often when you two were in the school buildings.

You anticipated a further scolding or at least a disapproving sigh. You didn’t expect him to simply turn around and head back to where his student sat in the corner of the library, hands in his pockets.

Somehow, that upset you more.

Izuku waited in his car about two blocks down from the campus.

Classes ended, and the extra study sessions were over about twenty minutes ago. He scrolled mindlessly through his phone, glancing up occasionally each time someone passed on the sidewalk. You were taking longer than normal today…

Gentle taps on his passenger side window broke him from his thoughts.

You smiled at him, waving and gesturing to the locked door. Izuku wordlessly unlocked the car for you.

You plopped down into the seat beside him, and with you came all of your temptations. You must’ve dabbed your perfume on rather generously this morning because Izuku could easily identify it as the Chanel Chance Eau Tendre you keep on the top of your dresser.

You place your backpack between your feet on the floor. Izuku doesn’t give much of a greeting as he starts his car, but you lean over, giving him a sweet kiss on the cheek. He doesn’t look over at you, only giving a small smile.

You’re cheeky. Eyeing him, you place a hand on his inner thigh, close to his groin; you always loved how dense with muscle he was. You hold back a giggle, biting your lower lip, as Izuku keeps his gaze forward on the road. He knew you wanted attention. His brow became taut as he brought a hand to his chin, letting the other one rest on the steering wheel, and that was your only hint that, perhaps, you should give him space.

“Izu,” you hummed, pulling your hand back from him. Izuku didn’t answer, but it was only because he was trying to decide how to best approach this.

“Daddy,” you mewled, turning more towards him. That got him to glance at you before looking back at the road. As he came to a stoplight, he ran a hand through his forest curls and down the back of his neck.

“Your new friend seemed to like your outfit today,” he grumbled, turning his head away from you. You blinked.

“What?”

Izuku turned a corner as the light turned green.

“At the library.”

“That’s just Kujou. We take Logic together.”

Izuku’s lip tightened. “When’d you get that skirt? I didn’t buy that for you,” he redirected the topic slightly. His tone was no louder than a mumble as he dragged on, his face contorting into a scowl as he kept his eyes on the road.

He heard the pout in your voice without even looking at you. “You don’t like it? I went shopping this weekend. I thought–,” Izuku cut you off.

“We’ve talked about wearing things like this outside, (Y/n).” He was stern, and you often struggled with reading between the lines of your relationship: was he actually upset about this? So, you did what you do best around him. You froze. You shut your mouth. Getting a little huffy, you settled further into the passenger seat, your arms crossing in front of you as you gaze out of the window.

Izuku shot you a glance out of the corner of his eye before shaking his head.

You looked down at your outfit. It’s not even that short, you wanted to argue, but you knew it would’ve been in vain. The hem of the cotton came up to your mid-thigh, and if you tried to tell him you honestly just wanted to tease him while he worked, it would somehow backfire on you. It has in the past.

Izuku unlocked his apartment, stepping back to allow you inside first before closing the door behind him.

You dropped your backpack on the floor and kicked off your shoes before pivoting, meeting Izuku’s eye, while Izuku neatly hung his messenger bag on the coat rack by the door. You were used to the routine. He vaguely gestured to your clothing.

“Strip.”

You did as you were told, keeping your eyes on him, gauging his reaction. Izuku looked unimpressed as he followed your hands as they first pulled your crop top over your head, exposing your chest and tummy. Izuku’s own hands found themselves inside of his pockets – perhaps as a self-handicap – as yours pushed your skirt down your hips. You shimmied, and the skirt fell down your thighs to your feet, soon followed by your panties. You reached behind your back to unclip your bra, letting it fall to the floor with your other articles of clothing, before you stood completely bare in front of your boyfriend.

Izuku approached, his gaze zeroed in on your chest, foremost. You stood proud and tall, even though he towered over you, letting him inspect you. You felt his eyes drink you in as he looked you over, searching for any imperfections. He circled you slowly, the tips of his fingers coming to gently stroke your side. He was around the back of you now. His light touch traveled to your neck, brushing your hair to the side, admiring the few hickeys he left the last time you were here. You closed your eyes, tilting your head to show him better, like a prized purebred. He always talked about how proud he was to have his very own virgin, after all. How lucky he was to have scooped you up – such a pretty, little, dainty thing. He cupped your neck, offering a small, loving caress as a reward for your compliance as he slowly moved to the other side of you.

He did this each time you came over. You knew to get naked as soon as you entered his apartment now. He always told you he just wanted to take time to admire you, but sometimes, like today, he didn’t seem happy about doing it. You often questioned what his true intention was.

Circling back to stand in front of you with a hand stroking his chin, Izuku finally pulled his eyes away from your nudity. He sent a nod towards the back of his apartment.

“Bedroom. Leave your phone on the table.”

You sat naked on the floor with your feet underneath you, just like he trained you, waiting for him to enter. You always found your nails digging into your thighs while you waited for him, wondering if today would be the day you two would go all the way; he normally pulls back after foreplay, insisting intercourse should be something memorable for you, considering it would be your first time. You didn’t know how tonight would go, considering he still seemed to be in a bad mood.

He entered the room a few minutes later, tie removed, and you straightened your posture for him, watching him from the corner of your eye. He wasn’t looking at you, though. He was scowling down at your phone, scrolling through your texts, contacts, pictures, anything he could find.

He did this from time to time. You let him. It was within the boundaries of your relationship.

He stood right in front of you as he clicked on one of your contacts. “Arata? That’s a name I haven’t seen before.”

You piped up immediately. “That was the boy at the library. Sir.”

Izuku’s frown deepened. “I’m deleting it.”

“Yes, Sir,” you nodded, keeping your head down. It was against the rules to make eye contact unless told.

Izuku set your phone down on the bed behind you two before finally taking you in. How perfectly docile you were, propping yourself up on the wooden floor for him. He gripped your chin, tilting your head upwards to look at him.

“All contacts have to go through me first. You know that, baby.”

Your eyebrows screwed upward as you tried to defend yourself, tried to tell him you two just had to work on a project together, but Izuku drew his free hand back and brought it down in a quick, sharp slap across your cheek, sending your neck in the other direction.

Your face stung with red hot pain as you winced, keeping your eyes closed. Still, you persevered, allowing him to yank your head back to face him.

“Tell me what you did, sweetie,” his tone carried a sweet remedy underneath his usual timbre, but you knew better. His thumb gave your aching cheek a light stroke. You blinked up at him.

“I,” you took a breath, steadying yourself as you tried to remain calm. This wasn’t the first time he struck you like this, but each time, you were always on the verge of pulling your safe word. “I got his number without your permission,” you met his eye, giving him a pout to lessen the punishment even the slightest amount.

Slap.

This time, there was no coddling. He let your head hang there for a minute, and it took everything in you not to cry in front of him. You knew if you took this, he would reward you. Your ears rang, and you felt the skin of your cheek swell this time. Still, you eventually straightened in front of him, lowering your head to appease him.

“Thank you, Daddy.”

Izuku was your first exposure to a relationship like this, and while he respected your desire to take things slow, he couldn’t help but push. He had needs, too, you know? Plus, he was a teacher of sorts, and teaching you about the world of pleasure made him feel that much more control over you.

“Spread your legs wider, baby,” he guided, his head nestling between your thighs. You always became timid with his face so close to your core like this, even with the sunset dimming the light in his bedroom. He tied your arms behind your back in an armbinder knot with the shibari rope you two use. You ached, but the blankets beneath you provided some sort of comfort that Izuku didn’t give you.

Alas, you did as he told, and opened your legs more, welcoming the pecks he gave down your inner thigh which eventually reached the lips of your cunt. You shuddered, your back arching.

“Already dripping, I see…,” Izuku muttered. He liked to talk to himself, and you only answered with a whimper as one of his thick, scarred fingers swiped up your cunt, collecting some of your slick. Izuku sucked it into his mouth with a satisfied moan. He leaned up, giving you a deep kiss so you could taste yourself.

“You like when I’m a little rough with you, don’t you?”

You nod anxiously, wriggling beneath him. The mattress dipped as he moved back down between your legs, his lips fully enveloping your pussy. You gasped, your legs tightening around his shoulders.

Izuku liked to take his time with you. He could be mean, but fuck, did he worship you. His tongue lapped at your lower lips, dipping inside from time to time and sucking at your clit. He pulled back only to add his fingers, slowly finger-fucking you as he watched his work with hungry eyes. You wanted so badly to grab his head and shove it back down into your needy cunt, but the rope only dug into your skin, preventing you from moving. So, your hips made up for your lack of control and gyrated against Izuku’s fingers, circling them in time with the curl of his digits. Izuku licked his lower lip, coming back down to flick his tongue against your clit as he sped up his pace.

“Cum on my face, baby. Now,” it was a command.

You let out a throaty moan as you came, shuddering and pulling Izuku closer into you with your legs. He sucked on your clit, relishing in how you gushed on his fingers, down his wrist, and all over his mouth. Once he felt your thighs loosen around his head, he sat up, removing his briefs fully, as they’d been the only things left restricting him.

He lifted both of your legs to rest on one of his shoulders, and your stomach fluttered. You two have grinded before, and as you come down from your high, you felt yourself almost flinch at how the head of cock brushes against your clit. You almost wanted to push him away from being too sensitive, but yet again, the rope prevents you.

“Izu–,” you started to say, but the man in front of you – the man with your legs hoisted on his shoulder – glances up at you, sending you a scowl you weren’t prepared for.

“Daddy,” you quickly corrected yourself, wriggling your hips against him, feeling his cock catch on your cunt before pushing up between your thighs. Izuku bit his lip, his gaze flickering between your pussy and your face.

“Yes, babygirl?”

You didn’t want to break your role, but you sent him a knowing look, one that asked him, ‘Are we doing this?’

Izuku didn’t offer a complete answer, only bending forward and giving you a slow kiss on the lips, followed by another peck. “You know the safe word.”

Your stomach tightened, even as Izuku glided his cock up and down your slit. You practiced breathing. Deep inhale, deep exhale. Izuku watched his cock slowly enter you, your pussy lips stretching so beautifully around his thick cock. He felt your body tense, and that was when he glanced up at your face. You strained, eyes closed as you tried to make room for him.

“You’re doing so good, my good little girl,” Izuku praised as you slowly, very slowly took him in inch by inch. “Oh my god, you’re so fucking tight,” he groaned. “So fucking warm.”

You whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut as Izuku just couldn’t keep his mouth from overflowing with praise.

“Fuck, look at you swallowing me up,” he shifted, leaning over you and pressing your legs back, exposing both of your sexes. “Look,” he demanded.

You opened your eyes, tears quickly coming to the surface as you looked down between you two. His cock was only about halfway inside of you; he didn’t know how your tiny little cunt could take him. He pressed your thighs back against your chest as far as he could; he wanted to watch your pussy as he fucked you for the first time.

Once he was entirely seated inside of you, his jaw tightened, and he relished in your warmth. You breathed through your mouth, throwing your head back and feeling so, so fucking full. Izuku tested the waters, pulling his hips back slowly, and you whined.

“It’s Daddy’s turn now, okay?” Izuku reassured you, coming down to kiss away the stray tears that fell down your cheeks. You nodded, your eyes clamping shut as you felt his cock slowly stroking your inner walls.

“Fuuuuck,” Izuku dragged, leaning back and watching as his cock disappeared inside of your cunt with each thrust. He held back for you at first, but it was getting harder and harder with each buck of his hips.

His pace increased, and eventually, the pained expression on your face loosened to one of pleasure, and Izuku knew he had you. He felt his balls tighten as the sloshing sounds of your pussy echoed throughout the room.

“Such a sloppy little cunt,” you heard him grunt from above you. His endless pounding had your eyes rolling closed.

“Just,” his thrusting interrupted your speech, “Just for you, daddy.”

Izuku’s grip on your thighs tightened as his hips slammed into you at an unforgiving pace, leaving you almost screaming his name.

You felt his thick cock twitch as his pace suddenly slowed, his hips only rocking steadily as he shuddered. He let out a deep groan, and you gasped as you felt warm spurts of cum hit your cervix for the first time. Izuku pressed his legs into your chest, trying to catch his breath as a light sheen of sweat covered both of your bodies. He gazed down at his cock still inside of you, letting himself finish releasing inside of you. You whimpered as he slowly pulled himself out of you, and as his cock left you, his cum dripped out and down your cheeks, making him groan.

You watched the sight with him, wriggling your hips as best you could.

“Daddy, you made a mess…,” you managed to whine, still breathless.

Izuku couldn’t tear his gaze away from your beautiful, dripping core, covered in a mixture of your juices, as he slowly knelt between you two, releasing your thighs. You let your legs rest on the bed, and Izuku pulled one over his shoulder as he gave a kiss to your clit. His tongue swiped up your messy cunt.

“Shhh, Daddy will clean you up, babygirl.”

[junkdrawerfan]

I haven’t read the odyssey in a long time but from what I remember Epic!Odysseus is far more tragic than the original. By the end, Odysseus is a monster and a far cry from the man who struggled over killing a baby. Poseidon wins. He is ruthlessness. His mercy “drowned.” He has no guilt over the slaughter of 108 young men and is exactly like the Cyclopes he spared all those years ago.

And so little of it is his own fault.

In fact, you could argue that Epic!Odysseus’s hero flaw is his mercy, unlike the OG!Odysseus’s flaw of arrogance and pride.

He should have killed the cyclops. He should have killed his men to keep the wind bag closed. He should have left his men behind at Circe’s since they’ll betray him anyway. He was right to sacrifice six to Scylla. He was right to chose himself over his men. He was right to fight Poseidon. He was right to kill the suitors who threatened the fate of his family.

It’s a tragedy because we watch a good man lose his humanity to survive and ultimately be rewarded for it.

How much kinder would the world have been to EPIC!Odysseus if he’d just been cruel first?

Which is why I’m glad we don’t get the reconciliation between Athena and Odysseus in EPIC like we do in the Odyssey. Athena became more human as Odysseus lost his humanity. They are no longer able to walk together to a better tomorrow because Odysseus can no longer picture a kinder world.

I can easily picture the retuned King of Ithaca a hard and punishing ruler. His orders must be taken without question unlike before where he allowed discussion — before the betrayal of Eurylochus. He does not tolerate rumors. Punishments are swift. He will not allow others to try and trick him with their words. He’s a liar and a trickster and a thief and a murderer and stronger for it.

I still believe Ithaca will flourish under his rule. The power hungry are crushed. The King of Ithaca will trust no one except his wife and son.

I can also see Odysseus and Telemachus clashing often. Telemachus grows into the man Odysseus was. He is allowed to stay youthful and gentle under the tutelage of a kinder Athena and has always strove to craft himself to be like the man in his mother’s stories. Maybe over time, he’ll learn to be harder from the father who returned but never as cruel. The world simply hasn’t made him abandon his mercy.

[ginkgo-phyta]

Hotch would definitely give you the princess treatment, and you know what? Jack would too, after seeing his father he knows how to treat a girl right. And the team would definitely tease Hotch, because his son is going to steal his partner from him :)

omg no LITERALLYYY tho like just like omfg alright i got carried away with this and its not even really what you're talking about but listen to me okay LISTENNNNN

tagged spencer reid x reader because i want more people to see this teehee pls dont hate me i have spencer fics yall should read if you havent already but also you should still read this too

YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH AARON HOTCHNER AND ITS INFLUENCE ON HIS SON JACK gn!reader, FLUFF, no warnings(?) another informal blurb typa format :P

you and hotch decide together you'd like to date for a while first, take things slower and fully solidify and strengthen your relationship, before you become a part of jack's life. you didn't want jack to get attached to you or write you off too quickly in case life took you in different directions. you didn't know it at the time, but hotch introduced you to jack when he was sure he was going to marry you some day- and soon. he had been so incredibly head over heels in love with you and once you and jack got close, the little guy really got to witness how highly his father regarded you- and just how he showed you it every day. even in the little things. from the way hotch pulled out your chair, held all doors open for you, always kept your favorite drinks and snacks stocked up in the fridge and pantry, never let you open your own car door, the way he made spaces for you in his bathroom and closet without even being asked, and how he always stuck to your weekly dinner date- whether in person or over the phone. to the way his father would look at you, listen intently to whatever you were talking or ranting about, how he'd cup your hands and press quick kisses to them or move any bothersome strands of hair from your face when you'd eat, and how enthusiastic he always was when you and jack would spend time together.

jack was a bit hesitant with you at first, he was a bit older at that point and the quickness with which beth had left his life had admittedly stung him, leaving an ever-present welt behind. but he warmed up to you, appreciative of the way you welcomed him with open arms, never pressured him to spend time with or even like you (letting him accept you at his own pace) and how you clearly were not trying to take the place of his late mother- even many, many years into your relationship with his father. what he loved the most was how you always encouraged hotch to recount stories of haley, put pictures of her in jack's room or wherever else he wanted them, and how you would remind him: "your mother would be so proud of you jack." you would watch old home videos of their old family and jack never failed to notice how you wouldn't ever feel negatively about it. that was really what won him over. he also loved how open you were with both him and his dad- every day you'd say "i love you!" both casually and purposefully. it instilled in the young boy the importance of expressing appreciation, love, and care for others.

before you, hotch was always a just bit emotionally closed off. even when it came to jack he liked to keep himself a bit more reserved. he tried to stay a strong and unwavering inspiration, only wanting to show his son his best face. but once you came into their lives you inspired hotch to open up more than he had the last few years after haley's passing, inspired him to embrace even the "uglier" emotions he felt in life: grief, anger, sadness, and tiredness. it ended up passing onto jack in small ways, allowing him to feel even closer to dad. you became a huge structural post in jack's life. your love for one other inspired him, as he grew up he dreamed of one day having a relationship like yours. he looked forward to being able to treat his significant other the way his father cares for you.

you loved jack as if he was your own, though you never wanted to say that to him for fear of overstepping your role. aaron would always assure you, especially as jack grew older, that his boy felt it. you watched him go from a playful child, to a moody teenager, to a budding adult eager to make his mark on the world. and you were there supporting him the whole way.

you'll spend a lifetime with the both of them and although there will be many funny, loving, or frustrating moments you'll hold in a special place in your mind, there's one memory from when he was still a youngin that you love the most. it was a surprise dinner party at your fancy restaurant, aaron had booked the whole place just for you and the guests to celebrate your engagement and he had enlisted jack's help to plan the whole thing. jack, the bau team, and your friends and family were all there to shower you in love. the most memorable part of the night was the moment everyone sat down for dinner, all around a giant table (possibly multiple tables pushed together). as everyone moved to take their place jack ran so eagerly in front of you to pull your chair out before his father got the chance. you were shocked for a second before bursting out in a melodious laugh- it was so unexpected but you were incredibly moved. "oh, jack, thank you!" your loving, excited, and genuinely appreciative tone made jack's already huge grin grow even wider and more endearing. everyone else had noticed this too and laughed in joy along with you. "oh my god!" "that was so freakin cute" "he did not just do that!" rang out around you. of course aaron noticed, standing in silence for a second, a similar smile mirrored on his face, before he shook his head with a chuckle. as you took you seat, jack made sure to push your chair in just before you sat down fully, diligently executing what he'd studied his father do hundreds of times before. you turned to thank him, but before you could even open your mouth jack moved to take your cloth napkin from the table, shake it open, and carefully place it in your lap. awwws flooded in from all sides of the table

"oh you are just so adorable jack, thank you so much." you said as you pinched his still slightly chubby cheek "you are just the kindest, sir." you playful tone cause jacks entire face to blush and he shyly walked over to take a seat next to you.

"what? you take my job, and now you don't even want to sit next to me?" hotch spoke up from you other side. jack knew his father was joking, but he still bashfully giggled, sinking a bit more into his seat

"you better be careful, hotch," derek spoke up from across the table, motioning to his former boss with a breadstick, "looks like you got some competition there."

everyone broke out into more laughter, especially aaron. in the midst of the hysterics, the once-stoic man's hand crept into your lap to hold your own, thumbing over the back of your hand and the beautiful engagement ring wrapped around your finger. you shared a glance while you both laughed before you looked over to jack. wordlessly, your hand suddenly hopped up to ruffle up the little boy's hair, causing him to scrunch up his nose and giggle even more.

but you didn't have to say anything, your eyes held the truth. love. jack continued to look up at you, feelings of warmth, joy, and safety draped over him like a fuzzy throw, covering him from the crown of his head to the tips of his fingers and toes. he knew that with you in his life now, besides him and his father, everything would be okay.

A/N: SCREAMING how was this anon? sorry i didn't delve into the team teasing hotch more bc these thoughts were swimming in my head and i NEEDED to get them down perhaps i could do another post of just teasing quotes if that's something you'd like! i got a few ideas swimmin already teehee i hope you enjoyed my love!!