#* ic » drabble.

[suiana]

yandere! ice skater and first time skater reader. gang this is so gangsta!!! imagine going onto the skating rink for the first time and falling constantly like a little kid 😂😂😂 u even have a helmet and one of those seals 😂😂😂 meanwhile yandere! ice skater (who's also your longtime admirer) is literally an olympic skater that makes doing jumps and axels look easy.

"AURGH-"

"oh dear, shall i help you?"

the ice skater gracefully glides over to you as you fall onto your ass for the fifth time since you fell onto your ass. you came in ten minutes ago.

he meticulously adjusts your position, teaching you the basics while holding onto your hand as he encourages you.

"well done, you're doing great, sweetheart. yes, just like that..."

by the end of your little lesson with him, you could hold yourself up for at least ten minutes!!!! wowzers!!! you thank him gratefully before trying to skate off...

only to realize that he was still holding onto your hand.

"where do you think you're going? i never said our lesson was over, did i?"

?????

[pretty-little-mind33]

Ice Hockey James Potter x fem!reader

Summary: You wait for your boyfriend after his game — In the same universe as Suburban Legends

Genre: Fluff <3

Warnings: muggle au, college au, swearing

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

You stand in the lobby of the rink, your arms are crossed across your chest and you're cursing yourself for only wearing his jersey instead of something warmer. Still, you smile. How can you mind when you can remember how happy James looked when saw you in the stands?

You pace around, waiting another few minutes until you start to become impatient. All his teammates have left the rink, which is something you know because you've counted each of their high-fives.

You have only been dating James Potter for a month now, but his teammates act like they've already taken you in as one of their own. 

"I didn't think you'd wait for me this long." you hear him. His voice is a little hoarse and he's rotating his shoulder around as he grimaces.

"Is your arm okay?" you ask, standing up and meeting him in the middle of the lobby. He was shoved pretty hard into the plexiglass and you look up at him, concerned. 

His lips curl into a little smirk, "Worried about me, Y/l/n?" He whispers and leans in close.

"As your girlfriend, I feel like if I wasn't worried then we'd have a problem," you chuckle and roll your eyes at his insistence to continue calling you by your last name. He says it's a habit but you're convinced he just likes to see you flustered.

"Come on I'm starving," you take his hand and try to lead him towards the door. 

"Shit," James groans, "I forgot my gloves in the locker room," 

You drop his hand and turn around, crossing your arms. "Are you seriously making me wait for you longer than I already have?" 

He shakes his head with a smile, "No. You're coming with me this time." It's his turn to take your hand and he practically pulls you to the locker rooms. 

"Jamie, slow down," you say.

Suddenly, you're pressed against the wall of the empty hallway as James's arms cage around your head. His hockey bag had fallen onto the ground and he leans his head downwards so that you can look into his eyes. His eyes shine and he's giving you the most obvious, "I wanna to kiss you," pout. 

"What are you doing?" you feign coy behind a laugh as he slides his hands down to the side of your head and cups your cheeks in his hands. He's so close it's incredibly intoxicating.

"Kissing you?"

You smile, nodding, and he leans down to kiss along your neck. His hips press into mine and you think I've finally lost all sensibility. "You drive me insane — you and my fucking jersey," he whispers as his kisses move upwards and his knuckles skim the fabric of his jersey near your breasts.

"You're the one who wanted me have it."

"Yeah, to wear around your dorm—not during my games," he says and his hands climb up the wall again as you look up at him, "If your plan is to distract me when I'm supposed to be paying attention to the game, you should know it's working more than it should…"

You grin and stare at him with wide eyes. You make sure to chew on your lower lip so that you're doing exactly what you know turns him on. "Seems like a misunderstood then," you say, "Still, I didn't think you would have a problem with everyone knowing I'm yours, James." 

Something snaps inside him and that's when he kisses you. 

It's raw and rough, but the way his strong arms wrap around you waist to pull you closer is gentle and you melt into his arms. Wantonly, you run your hand through his hair. The dark brown locks are slightly messy from being under his helmet and when James feels me pull on them, his breath jumps in his throat,

"Everyone already knows you're mine." He whispers and then continues to kiss you.

You pull him even closer and with his good arm, he wraps one of my legs around his hip. You're both so engrossed in our activity you, unfortunately, don't hear footsteps until, James's coach clears his throat,

James stops kissing you and carefully lowers your leg onto the ground. He hides you behind him as you turn around, his cheeks crimson from embarrassment, as you attempt to calm your internal panic. 

"Hey," James says, weirdly casual.

"Rink is closing, Potter. Go home." His coach says and you peek at him from behind James's shoulder. He sees me and sighs, "You too, Y/n."

"Will do, sir." James says. Quickly, he lifts his bag back onto his shoulder and holds your hand. You mumble a small, "sorry" as you walk by his coach but you don't think he hears you considering you can't even bear to look at him. 

Once you're back in the lobby, you bury your head in your hands, "I'm so embarrassed," you groan. James laughs and rubs your shoulders.

You look up at him and frown, "This really isn't funny."  

"Coach doesn't care. I promise." James reassures you.

"Why? Is this not the first time he's caught you kissing someone here?" you ask, sounding more jealous than intended.

James's expression softens and, holding your hips, he pulls you close enough to kiss your forehead, "How many times to I have to promise you I'm not, and have never been, a player?" 

You nod, smiling guiltily, "Yeah, I know. I shouldn't have asked that, I'm sorry."

"Water under the bridge, Y/l/n," James jokes and kisses your temple. He swings his arm around your shoulder, "I remember someone said they were hungry, shall we eat now?" 

"Wait, what about your gloves?"

James grins wolfishly. "Oh, those are in my bag, I just wanted to make out with you."

tags: @mischievousmoony, @sayitlikethecheese, @longlivedelusion, @fangirl-swagg (pretending like i didn't just forget this until now!!)

[castieltrash1]

hiii since you're taking got requests and i saw sandor is one of your faves: there's this post that's like "submissive like a guard dog is submissive" (i hope this makes sense even if you don't know what i'm talking about) and it always makes me think of him bc he's. you know. the hound. so what i'm saying is anything sandor-related with a dom reader would be very appreciated since i've never really seen anyone write him like this before :] if that's not your thing, that's totally fine though !

oh dw anon u came to the right place <3

sandor clegane x gn!reader; smut, dom/sub dynamics, dog motif, the hound is ur beaten and battered guard dog <3 mentions of violence, strong language, etc.

it doesn’t matter how you meet. maybe he serves your family. maybe he’s kidnapped you. maybe you’re just some lowborn whore whose face he pushes into the mattress to avoid looking at when he’s fucking out his anger. at some point, regardless of the roots of your relationship, the hound begins to heel. it’s not always obvious -- especially if you’re not some little lady/lord he’d be beheaded for lifting a finger to -- but it’s there. he’s already spent most of his life like this, and being with you is no different. you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.

once he (somewhat) lets you in, the dynamic shifts. you’re not just his liege, his captive, the prettiest face at littlefinger’s silk street brothel -- you’re his. and that makes him yours, he thinks. it means taking care of you, giving you as much comfort and safety that he can offer in this hellish life. it’s the least you deserve for picking him, since now he’ll never let you leave. you’ve resigned yourself to a cruel, cold, and crass beast; who cares if he has to behead a man or two to keep you fed or hold an entire inn hostage just so you can sleep on a featherbed for the night? he’ll never say please or thank you, but he’ll always stand in front of you. he’ll always lean against the door in case someone tries to break in.

he’s not gentle. he’ll growl when you tug his hair, a makeshift collar threaded between your fingers, urging him between your legs or bringing him back up to your mouth. he’ll bark about breaking you in, splitting you in half, vulgar words foaming at his mouth the longer it goes on. and when you lock eyes with him, he’ll always crumble under the weight of your gaze, lowering his head in some twisted form of obedience. he’ll eat out of your palm and you’ll know there are mutts in volantis better fed than him.

“sandor?”

you could hear the resulting sigh from a mile away, the sound of his armor clanking as he heeds your call. when your eyes lock on his figure, he rolls his shoulders back, masking the way he bows his head as if it were nothing more than loosening a crick in his neck. it’s hard to tell when he’s blushing, but you swear there’s a hint of flush blooming down his neck. you think if you asked him to kneel right now, he might even do it.

“i’m hungry,” you say instead, making your way toward him with a small, knowing smile. “let’s go eat.”

+ you’d be better off never mentioning it, but the similarities between sandor and your average dog aren’t too far off. he sleeps like one, always either curled into a ball or sprawled halfway out of bed; huffing and kicking with night terrors. he slurps out of bowls and licks his plates clean. he’s good at sniffing out enemies, even better at finding their scent on you, teeth bared as he asks where you’ve been and who with. he loves being pet and, if you catch him in a good mood, he'll sometimes nuzzle against your hand. and when he’s got you on all fours, clawing at the sheets or floor while you scream his name, it’s not hard to see he's always been more animal than man.

game of thrones weekend (reqs open!)

[kaoribriefs]

it was strange for her, it was something new even though she hadn't been a child for a long time. Dany found this way of making love from her new husband strange, he was hungry of her but it wasn't the same hunger of her sun and stars or the forgotten Daario, no, Jon Snow cared about giving her pleasure, he was strangely altruistic , when he put his head between her legs, he caressed her or looked into her eyes gently as he moved inside her. For the first time Dany felt a new warmth inside like she no longer felt from the red door, she didn't worry about being enough for Jon...but only about hearing his heartbeat...in the night.

[aphroditelovesu]

Hi, can you please write a Yan!Daenerys prompt 27?

[27]; "My dark nature is a reflection of the depth of my love for you. I know I'm a monster, but I'm your monster."

❝tw: mention of death, mildly angst (?) and obsessive behavior.

The smell of ash and blood filled King's Landing almost like a plague. The screams of those burned by Drogon, once so excruciating, became just uncomfortable memories in Daenerys' mind.

For that was all they would eventually become. It wasn't right but Daenerys didn't care. She no longer cared about becoming what she became. As long as she had you in her life, the entire world could be consumed by dragon fire.

You were all that mattered to her.

Daenerys watched the devastation around her, her eyes fixed on the smoldering ruins of the city that once represented the heart of the Realm. Her expression was a mix of cold determination and a rare tenderness reserved only for you.

She did it for you. All for you.

"I did this for us. For you." Daenerys whispered in awe, more to herself than anyone else. Your presence beside her was an anchor amidst the chaos, a shining light in the darkness she had created.

You looked at her as if you no longer recognized her and, in a way, that was true. This was no longer the Daenerys you knew and once loved. This was a shell of what she once was.

A woman dominated by grief and the fear of losing someone else she loved. And only the gods knew what Daenerys would do to the world if something happened to you.

"Some things need to be destroyed so that others can flourish." She continued, turning to look at you. "They would never understand. They would never accept the world I want to build."

You felt the weight of his words, the intensity of his gaze. There was a deep pain there, a loneliness that only you seemed able to alleviate. Even with all the power and destruction she commanded, Daenerys was, deep down, a woman looking for love and acceptance. And she wanted that from you, just you.

Her gaze, although filled with burning passion, had a coldness that hadn't existed before. The glow in her eyes was now more intense, but also emptier, as if an essential part of her humanity had been consumed by the fire of her own despair.

And it hurt. The sight of a person you loved, maybe still love, being destroyed like this was too much to bear.

"You didn't have to do that." You tried to say, trying to reach the real Daenerys that remained somewhere inside her. "You didn't need to destroy King's Landing, you didn't need to burn all those people and destroy their home. There was another way, there always is."

But your words seemed to be lost in the freezing winter wind, swallowed by the distant sound of echoes from a city in ruins. She lifted her head and the strength in her voice left no room for doubt. "I can't go back anymore." She declared. "What's done is done. And now, you're all I have."

There was a palpable fear in her words, a fear of what might happen if you walked away, a fear that made her cry out for your presence, not just as a partner, but as her anchor in a sea of ​​uncertainty. Not that she would let you get away, but she wouldn't want to hold you prisoner.

Daenerys looked at you with an intensity that mixed love and despair, her voice a painful whisper filled with truth. "My dark nature is a reflection of the depth of my love for you. I know I'm a monster, but I'm your monster."

Her words seemed to hang heavy in the air like a sentence of condemnation and devotion at the same time. She was not just revealing herself, but giving herself completely, displaying her scars and shadows as if they were a sign of absolute love.

What was left of Daenerys, the woman you loved and feared, was desperate to hold on to what she still could hold, even if it meant sacrificing the world around her. And when you looked into her violet eyes, you knew there was no going back.

She was your monster. Your queen. And she loved you so hard that she would be willing to burn the world to the ground, even if that wasn't your desire. It didn't matter in the end, though. Daenerys would always hold on to you.

[eddiesghxst]

hello! here is something short about eddie being a dumbass <3

18+ — minors dni

————

like on some real shit, eddie is clumsy. and it’s embarrassing because the first time he has a pretty girl in his bed, looking at him with these brain melting fuck me eyes, he somehow ends up nearly giving her a fucking concussion.

it was really just a series of miscalculated movements. you’re on top of eddie, engrossed in a heavy make out that is sure to be leading somewhere further considering the way eddie’s pressing up against your core has you dizzy with lust. and eddie needs more, he needs to feel and touch and kiss and lick every inch of you. he needs to fuck you.

so he wraps one arm around your back to hug you closer before he shifts to flip you over. and it would’ve been a seamless process if eddie had been mindful of the hard ass fucking wall that serves as a headboard to his bed. long story short, the back of your head hits the wall…hard— hard enough for you to whimper out an ouch and have eddie pulling away with a gasp. he’s quickly scrambling to hold your head as he spews out apologies, “shit, shit, shit. fuck, are you okay? i’m so fucking sorry—“

he stops rambling when you press a hand to his chest, your other hand still holding the back of your now aching head. you stare at him for a moment and he just knows he’s fucked it all up because there’s no way you still like him after he’d nearly just sent your head through a literal wall.

but then you laugh. you fucking laugh, and eddie is looking at you like he’s seen a god damn ghost. “you’re laughing… why are you laughing?” he asks with a nervous laughter. and it only makes you laugh harder.

“i’m okay, eddie, i promise,” you manage to say between laughter. “but jesus christ, man. when i said i like it rough i didn’t mean toss me through a god damn wall—“ and now eddie is laughing and peppering fluttery kisses all over your face as you giggle.

he kisses you one last time before he pulls away and narrows his eyes at you, “y’sure you’re okay? i didn’t rattle anything in there too bad did i? how many fingers am i holding up?” he holds up two fingers in front of your face and you hum as you pretend to think. “um…three?” eddie’s face falls, “wait are you serious?”

you can’t hide the smile that creeps onto your face and has eddie deflating in relief before saying, “you’re sick, you know that?” and you snort before pain shoots through your head that has you wincing between laughter, a hand shooting up to hold your head, “don’t make me laugh too hard, asshole, it still hurts.” eddie winces and makes a face, “yeahh, i definitely rattled some shit in there.”

[konigofmyheart]

warming könig up

“lemme come warm you up, you been out in the snow/ baby my tongue goes numb, sounds like ho,ho,ho”

<MDNI>

(smut, blowjob, gn!reader, no actual mentions of christmas!)

° :. ★　 * • ○ ° ★ ° :. ★　 * • ○ ° ★ ° :. ★　 * • ○ ° ★

you and könig rent a cabin in the woods for the holidays, taking advantage of his many accumulated vacation days (imagine the look of surprise on his superiors’ face when they saw his week-long time off request! they actually did a double take as könig had only ever taken an average of two days off each year- never around the holiday season- before he started dating you).

a couple days in, after amusing yourselves hiking through the woods to take in the scenery (thoroughly bundled up to stave off the chill of the snow), soaking in the giant hot tub in the bathroom (he can finally stretch out in a tub for once!), and having lengthy movie nights, könig ventures out to chop more firewood for the rustic fireplace in the den. the house is warm enough, but the moment you remarked how you loved the fireplace and how it makes the cabin feel amazingly cozy, könig made a vow to always keep it lit for you. you’d assured him it was fine, that you didn’t need it permanently lit, but he wouldn’t hear it. why shouldn’t his liebling get every single heart’s desire?

when he comes back in, shaking snow from his heavy winter gear as he hauls in bundles of wood, you apologize for the umpteenth time. “nonsense, schatzi, you have nothing to apologize for. i love doing things for you, being useful to you” he hushes as he sheds his layers and boots, walking over to where you sit on the couch armrest. he leans down, gently pulling you in for a kiss. you shiver, gasping softly at how cold his lips feel. “come here, kö. you’re freezing!” you fuss, leading him over to the couch and pushing on his chest to get him to sit. you place your blanket around his back like a cape before taking his hands in yours, rubbing warmth back into them. he brushes off your fussing, acting like he doesn’t live for your loving and doting.

your chest tightens with affection as you think of what a wonderful time you’ve had at this cabin thus far, all thanks to könig’s planning and effort. you settle on the floor before him, the plush rug cushioning your knees comfortably. “what are you doing, schatzën- ah” he ends with a hushed groan as you lean forward, nuzzling at his cock through his pants. “just thanking you for the perfect vacation, mein könig”, you flutter your lashes at him, your voice velvety soft.

his eyes darken like turbulent oceans at the sight of you looking up at him like that. it’d make anyone weak in the knees. your teasing nuzzling has his cock hardening, filling out to its full length, and the moment a barely-there whine slips from deep inside him, you move to undo his pants and free his cock. normally you’d tease him for longer, see how long he lasts before he gets truly needy, but this is supposed to be for his benefit, a thank you for everything he’s done to make this the best vacation ever. you gently brush your fingers against the tip of his cock before wrapping your hand around it, stroking him at a slow, steady pace.

“thank you for having this idea, first of all. then thank you for picking the prettiest cabin ever. thank you for letting me sleep the whole drive up here, although on the way back i’m definitely staying up to keep you company on the drive , and you’re going to wake me if i start nodding off, okay?” you pause for a moment, looking up at him expectantly

“okay, but you really don’t have to-” his breath catches, muscular thighs tensing as you keep up your steady pace on his cock, his precum dribbling down the side to help your efforts.

“thank you for cooking every meal, especially because you’ve made just my favorites- don’t think i didn’t notice. tomorrow i’m making your favorite, and i’m not hearing otherwise. understood?” you scold, rubbing your thumb over the tip of his cock. he nods quickly, a breathy “yes, schatzi, whatever you say,” slipping from his lips.

“…and, obviously, thank you for the fireplace. you always do everything to make sure i’m happy, and for that i can’t thank you enough, but i can try to do the same for you, hm? what do you think?” you’re leaning forward a bit now, your warm breath ghosting over the sensitive head of his cock. forgive him for his incoherent, stuttered response, he doesn’t really understand words at the moment, even less so when you place a teasing kiss on his tip.

you can’t help but laugh softly as you seal your lips around him, sucking gently, earning a strained groan from your man. he’s practically gone entirely pliant, the sight of such a strong, man falling apart because of you going to your head a little. your contented little hum sends torturously delicious vibrations down his cock, making him twitch inside your mouth. now, you know you could make him cum in seconds if you wished, but you really want to treat him, reward him for being so good. you maintain a steady, slow pace, easing more of him into your mouth with each bob of your head as you stroke the base with your hand.

you make sure to do everything you know he likes, maintaining eye contact as you sink your mouth lower, hollowing out your cheeks, swirling your tongue around his length as much as you can (it’s a bit difficult with how big he is; there isn’t much room left in your mouth). he’s practically floating in the clouds at this point, the way you’re sucking him off drives him crazy. time slows, suspending the two of you in this moment where you are all that exists for him, and he’s all you know. he’s looking down at you with such an affectionate warmth in his eyes, as if you hung the very stars in the sky. you’re sure your expression is no different, dutifully working your way down until the tip of his cock is brushing against the back of your throat. it took you a while to be able to take this much, and from the feel of what you’re still stroking, you still have a ways to go before you can take him all the way.

there’s time for that another day, though, and even könig seems to agree, his hands gripping the couch cushions as a way to stop himself from pushing you further than you wish to go. he’s always like that, putting you before him, isn’t he? you pull off his length, voice a little breathy as you praise him for keeping his hands to himself. that praise earns you a pathetic little whine, a sound that’d make him blush if he weren’t so close to cumming. you stroke his length with both hands as you catch your breath, cooing sweet words at him that he answers with groans and whines, his cock twitching in your hold.

“you wanna cum in my mouth? you know how much i like it, kö,” you tease, tilting your head to the side as you look up at him through your lashes. you kinda have to do this to get him to cum in your mouth, otherwise he’s insisting on just cumming all over your hands, not wanting to pressure you into swallowing it if you don’t want to, but now that you’re asking him for it… well, he did agree to “whatever you say”. he nods, a hushed “ja, schatzi, bitte” dropping from his now bitten lips. you smile, leaning forward to take his throbbing cock back into your mouth, warming it once more.

you look up at him with a special glint in your eyes, knowing all it’ll take is one more push. that push comes in the way of your free hand cupping his heavy balls, teasingly toying with them as you intensify your efforts, relishing in the way he trembles. he moans your name as he cums, the sound like music to your ears, spilling into your mouth with each twitch of his length. your muffled whine around his cock only adds to his pleasure, especially with how that makes your throat squeeze around his sensitive tip. careful not to overdo it, you maintain the pace of your hand and mouth, steadily working him through his high. you take his seed as it comes, swallowing every drop like you were made for it.

once he’s spent you pull off, panting softly as you lick your lips clean. “and now thank you for cumming for me like that, baby,” you tease, smiling as he pulls you up onto his lap, his hands soothing stroking your sides. he buries his face in your neck, little tremors still running through his body as he comes down. “i’d do anything for you, liebling. anything.” he whispers quietly, his breath tickling your neck before he pulls back, kissing you passionately. you melt against his body, answering his loving licks with your own, getting lost in the feeling of completeness. you’re more than surprised when he pulls away from the kiss, pushing you onto your back on the couch. he grins deviously as he settles between your spread legs, his big hands squeezing your thighs. “kö, what are you-”

“now it’s my turn to thank you for that, schatzi”

[sehaedazokla]

robb stark and a witch reader

fem! reader terms and descriptions 

a/n: robb and witch reader you will always be my most beloved…

you have never cared much for human men and hold every intention to continue that tradition with robb stark. despite his own misgivings, robb wishes to offer you all the courtesies a gentleman can provide. not without a tense jaw and a tight hesitation to his body; he has asked your house for assistance and been sent a lady in return. as alluring as your peculiar and haunting beauty is, robb needs men. he is met with equal disappoint in your own eyes – you have been sent to assist the lord of winterfell, not his young heir. neither of you extends a hand in welcome, but robb at least plays the part of a gracious host. no warmth is to be found in your stunning visage.

you find him rather boorish, brutish, unseemly – likely incompetent, having never seen battle. save for the blue of his eyes, brighter and clearer than the sky above. he is offput by your strange customs and odd manner of speaking, alongside the obvious dislike for humans.

your suggestion for a blood pact to seal your allegiance, for example, gives robb pause. he convinces you a signed scroll shall suffice.

sensible and cold, your advice comes to robb in eerie whispers with unimpressed gazes. he discovers quickly you have knowledge of a great many things and does not dismiss your counsel even if he is wary. in the stressful months following his assumption of his father’s role of his absence, it is you whom he finds himself turning to.

when not directly advising robb, your tongue spins unsettling riddles and breaths of valyrian, often cast to robb when he says something you deem foolish. there is no softness in your presence, no need for it. it is practicality that you offer, and practicality that robb is requiring. 

he is left watching as you draw in the world at your whim. your penchant for shadow and flame, how light and dark alike seemed called to dance upon you. the winds of the godswood blow high and crisp as you walk beneath their branches, robb leading you to the weirwood tree his ancestors have prayed to for centuries. light breeze carrying your hair about your face as you are told warnings and wisdoms by voices long since lost to most human ears.

the strangest of strangers to him. unknown and foreign, as distant and cold and lovely as the moon.

save for when you gain the favor of his direwolf, taking long strolls through the castle with the creature at your side. you speak to him in valyrian, and robb cannot tell if grey wind understands your or not. robb is almost childishly jealous of the ease with which the wolf took to you – had all loyalty been discarded at the arrival of this witch?

and rickon and bran do not seem to fear you in the slightest. robb would find this is because you have given them no reason to. your general scorn for humans does not extend to the children, whom time and attention are given to whenever it is asked. you never seek out their company, but always provide it when you can, even if it means leaving robb in the middle of providing counsel.

and perhaps it is both of your innate instincts to parent and protect that you notice in each other as a surprisingly piece of common ground. pensive gazes watching after the other as you both engage with the young boys. robb knows without your saying that you are the eldest of your siblings as well. 

but your efficiency in that department is where your true talents lie. you bloom like nightshade in combat, your skill with a sword almost as terrifying as your eyes. many witches are natural healers, your nature is more destructive than that. you seem more creature than human when you fight. and when bran’s life is on the line and robb is forced to lower his sword, heart clenched and mind racing, he sees blood trickling from the eyes and nose and mouth of bran’s captor.

the man dies quickly, melting to his knees, choking on blood as it spills from his face in crimson rivulets. when robb whips his head to see you, he knows, but cannot prove it because you have collapsed to the ground, faint and then unconscious.

you would keep your oath no matter the price you paid, to serve and protect the starks. it is by your bedside that he waits with anxiously wringing hands, his thick brows drawn together while the maester tries and fails to discern what has befallen you. the fire in the hearth flickers lowly as the night drags on, each moment that you do not wake worsening robb’s concern. grey wind curls himself by the hearth, resting among the furs.

you wake with tired blinks and a hazy memory, the first words that come from your hoarse throat ask after the safety of robb’s young brother. robb is a turbulent wreck of emotions: relief at your waking, frustration at his reliance on you in a time of trouble, gratefulness for protecting bran, anger at your quickness to do something that seemingly put yourself in danger.

 when you stubbornly and coldly remind him of your promise to serve him, he grips the sheets of your bed in a tight ball as he leans towards you with pained and frustrated worry.

“your life is not mine. do not be so reckless, i order it of you.”

[2018-01-20]

hiii i heard you wanted some requests 👀 and I'm super glad you're back !! I missed you a lot lot <3

My head has been so full of post-dinner date Gojo ideas. The domesticity of getting unready with him and cuddling in bed right afterward. It's just so simple but so cute. oh oh and doing nighttime skincare with him :( having him sit down and rubbing in the different creams into his skin and the way he would lead into your hands. ahhh he has me so weak (_ _)

Feel free to use any of these ideas to write or take inspo from if you want! Gojo is such a cutie :3

Anyways, have a lovely day, and remember to take care of yourself!!

pairing. gojo satoru × gn!reader

content. bunch of fluff + comfort, reader has smaller hands than gojo (in case that bothers anyone!!) & sits on his lap, sappy reader + gojo!! read slowly for maximum enjoyment <3

sticky-note. nonnie u are so goated for this idea, i think this might be my fav gojo fic so far 😭 I MISSED U MORE!! hope u have a wonderful day and thank u for sending this in 🫶

satoru thinks your hands are pretty.

they’re smaller than his—of course they are. he can’t think of a single person who has bigger hands than him. he enjoys it, though. your touch is stimulating in a way; fingertips completely gentle as you rub the latest lotion that you bought onto his face.

“can’t keep your hands off of me, huh?” he leans back and grins, but you can’t even be annoyed by his teasing. there's a shine in his eyes that you haven’t seen a very long time—and you are more than happy to see it now.

“mhm,” you hum, softly kneading his cheeks like you would with a baby. his blindfold is off and his demeanor seems so relaxed, his face basking into your soothing touch. it’s hard to hold back your own smile. “you just have that type of charming effect, y’know?”

“you’re being awfully nice today,” he remarks suspiciously, peeking an eye open to look closely at you. you pinch his cheek in return. “what’s the occasion baby?”

you roll your eyes, pulling back your hand for a moment to scoop up a bit more lotion. you swipe it lightly onto his forehead. “what? i can’t give you attention? can’t i spoil my boyfriend for once?”

the tips of his ears redden at your words, making you giggle at the rare but pleasant sight. “....i mean, you can, but—��

“shh,” you shush him. he closes his mouth instantly. “no more talking! this is the most important part because i have to smooth out all the wrinkles in your forehead.”

he lets out a big gasp, being playfully offended—narrowing his eyes with an indignant look. the smile you didn't even know you were sporting grows wider at how cute he is. you wouldn't say it that out loud though, of course.

it is so beautifully quiet and peaceful. you can’t think of the last time you spent time with satoru like this: seated on the living room floor of his apartment as you slap your whole skincare routine onto his face. his back is against the couch with his legs sprawled out, but not too sprawled out so you are more than comfortable on his lap. it’s nighttime so the curtains are draped over the window, but you love the warm, dim lighting of his living room. gojo satoru is gorgeous, but is especially pretty in this lighting; with his head comfortably tilted back and eyes closed, but not forcefully or harshly shut as if he’s in pain.

for the longest time, you've been used to seeing satoru in pain. not in a physical way—but in an emotional and mental way that tugs at your heart strings just seeing him in that state. you know the burden that comes with being the strongest: there will always be a significant power divide between you and the people you love, which will never not be difficult for the other party to ignore. it also doesn’t help that he is so happy-go-lucky all the time, despite the jujutsu sorcerer duties that keeps piling rocks onto his shoulders.

but now in this moment, he is all yours. he isn’t the strongest, nor is he Gojo Satoru. he is just yours—just the lover boy who melts into your open arms whenever given the chance. just a boy who had to give up being a boy so he could be a man for others to look up to him. just someone you would want to depend on you, the same way you lovingly depend on him.

“i love you,” you suddenly whisper, in the midst of just simply applying lotion onto his skin. your slow, comforting movements make him want to fall asleep, but your words make him wide awake.

“out of the blue?” his head shoots up, eyes wide and visible despite being behind his messy bangs. he sits up and stares at you, the same glimmer back in his eyes. “i mean, i’m not complaining—”

you interrupt with a huff, “i say it everyday, jerk.” you place your hands on his chest to wipe away any of the lotion moisture left on your palms. he doesn’t bat a single eye. “what do you mean ‘out of the blue’?”

“i know, but...”

your jaw drops a bit. you actually cannot believe your eyes as satoru tilts his head a bit to the side, shyly averting his eyes as you see a tint of scarlet on his cheeks. “it just feels so intimate right now, so...”

good lord. you want to baby him so bad. you want to shrink him and keep him in your pocket and always protect him wherever you go.

“you’re too cute for my well-being,” you breathe, going back on your earlier words. “you know i always mean it when i say i love you, ‘toru.”

“stop,” he whines. he raises an arm to cover his face, eyes still unable to look at yours. “don’t compliment me. i don’t think i’ll be able to handle it right now.”

you can’t help but laugh, squeaking in surprise when satoru pokes at your sides with a little pout. you want to tease him, you think. you might as well with a smile permanently on your face now.

these are the type of moments you crave: moments when satoru tears down his walls and lets himself act like he’s a little boy all over again in front of you. it’s not like he necessarily had walls up with you in the first place, but being a jujutsu sorcerer has always meant protecting and guarding yourself at all times no matter the cost.

but now, you have him. and he has you in his arms, the one that sneak around your waist and warmly wrap around you to keep you close to his chest. it's cuddly but protective, both of your laughs drowning out any other background sounds.

and you are more than willing to protect him yourself.

[sugoi-writes]

Nun! Alastor X Reader - Part 2 - The Confessional

HahahaHAH ITS HERE!

Warnings: serious filth and sacrilege, mentions of tentacles, some choking, fingering, oral (surprise for whose receiving~) and some really depraved confessions and convos. Cursing!!! Yay, sin! I hope you guys enjoy 💗 there will be a VERY important poll at the end, so be sure to give it a look 👀

Edit: I noticed a few mistakes on my 100th read-through, and made some changes. Apologies for that!

Never had you felt more nervous when stepping towards a chapel, hands wringing themselves soothingly. The sweat clung to your palms as you looked up towards the looming structure, head straining to take in the full magnitude of the building. The intricate stained-glass windows were illuminated under the moonlight, casting grand scenes across the earth at your feet.

In Hell, most sinners were more active at night. Depending on the Ring you would visit, you would likely run into 'unsavory' company. But thankfully, this humble part of the Pentagram was lulling with sleep, as if abiding by the arbitrary notion of a "Sabbath Day". How ironic.

You wet your lips, cursing yourself for not taking better care of yourself, before you quietly enter the building. Your eyes scanned the main hall, the room you had sat in not too long ago. Candles lit up the pulpit faithfully at the front of the chamber, while torches lined the perimeter. In this lighting, the room seemed so different, giving off the air of a deathly calm and peace; a juxtaposition to its normally bustling, jittery energy.

You almost called out into the dim room, but restrained yourself. You bowed your head, looking down cast before uttering a gentle apology for the intrusion. When you looked back up, you nodded, hyping yourself up before coming into the room further.

It is by this point that you hear something shuffling, your head snapping towards the sound. Your bravado was instantly dashed as you flew into a panic. Your eyes flash with fear, hands flying defensively upward... before you sigh with relief. You caught sight of a small, fuzzy mouse, scurrying away from you. False alarm, for now...

Your eyes scan your surroundings again, before you spy a short hallway. You step towards it, noticing that there appeared to be a private area. You squint in the dim light, spying a humble looking booth within the room.

Bingo. This must be where "confessions" occur.

You start to make your way down the hall, eager to meet with the Priest about redemption. Your head was high; you had genuine, innocent hope that this wouldn't be some money laundering, bait-and-switch scheme. And if it was... well, you just might punch a priest.

Your eyes observe paintings on the wall; you were surrounded by familiar depictions. The birth of Jesus, the Crucifixtion of Christ... the First Fallen Angel, Lucifer's decent. The rise of both Lilith and Lucifer in Hell... all of the depictions reminded you just how dire your predicament was, and how much you desperately wanted to leave hell.

In the last frame in the hallway, you spy a photograph, pausing to get a closer look. In the center, arms folded pridefully, there stood the Priest, St. Vox... among him, to both sides, stood honest though demonic looking nuns. You squint at the form to his right, unable to make out the face of the tall, slender Nun. All you could make out was a set of yellowed, razor sharp teeth smiling back at you. You shuddered, unable to shake the feeling you were being watched, before you entered the private room.

You were welcomed in perfect silence, your eyes trained on the confessional booth before you. A simple construction, for sure, but the carvings and finishes made the booth seem... expensive. You walked up to it, hand tracing intricate carvings of religious iconography. Snakes, the Forbidden Fruit, Angelic wings... a myriad of designs and carvings litered the enter frame. Had you had better lighting, you would take the time to appreciate it more... but you were here on strick business.

Without hesitation, you entered the booth, having a seat in the left side. You were not comforted by a cushion or pillow, the seat creaking under you. You flinched, the noise almost deafening in the resounding silence. And then, you waited, waiting for a sign of the Priest you sought to speak to.

When the bench in the booth to your left suddenly creaked, you nearly banged your head on ceiling. Your heart was in your throat, frightened; did the door even open??? How did someone get in there so quickly???

A throat was cleared, the sound of static crackle replaced with a low hum, before a familiar voice cut through.

"Child, I apologize for keeping you waiting. Sadly, there's no rest for the wicked, nor those who seek to help them." You sigh in relief as Vox speaks to you, shoulders instantly relaxing. You fold your hands neatly in your lap, looking towards the booth's door as you spoke.

"No worries! It uhh-- it wasn't for long, if that's what you're worried about. I... well, your Nun informed me that you had a chance to hear me out? I hope that I came at the correct time..."

Midnight, on the nose. Though some cultures differed, you were sure you were correct on this notion...

"My Child, you came at the perfect time. But, I must fulfill my duty to you; to listen first. What have you come to speak about?"

You leaned back as your thumbs twiddle, suddenly sheepish," Well... I know your methods of redemption usually come through... err, "offerings". Monetary ones, at that. I was wondering if you had ever seen anyone be saved? Redeemed and brought to Heaven on just... good will and sinless lifestyle alone?"

A dark chortle... then, an uproarious laughter fills the booth as you look in shock.

"Oh, dear Child, you are mistaken! A sinner is not capable of change! Nor is a sinner able to even fathom walking to the Heavenly Gates. No... the actions taken can never be washed clean... at least, not in Hell. What's done is done. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. But..."

You feel your skin crawl as you feel the Priest facing you, still unable to see him in the darkness of the booth, just behind a lattice-patterned divider.

"You mention humble offerings... now those have proven to make life in hell more... comfortable. Much more so than that of anyone. Offerings have the ability to keep you safe; make you privy to things that others are not." You shrink back from the voice as it draws closer, a characteristic glitch setting in the tone.

"I-- your money can make you safe. It can welcome you to my fold, dear... Or... if money isn't on the table... there are... other ways to earn favor in this sacred place."

Your face instantly morphed from bafflement to rage, anger brewing in your core," What-- what are you saying?!?"

The voice past the partition seems to smile a wider," Dear, I believe you know that your soul could be traded... for freedom. For pleasures. Who best to give it to than a Priest who can promise you untold riches? No salvation, but, comforts in this life time? I can give you that-- and SO much more!!!"

"Forget it!!!" You shrieked, standing firmly on your feet and slamming your fist into the wall," I do have a confession to make, after all!"

You feel your eyes welling with hot, angry tears as your words spew out, unabashed," I LOATHE your methods! I think that taking people's money for their loyalty is-- it's sick! Almost as sickening as buying their love with promises of salvation! You're just-- just some pompous, religious twat!"

You slam your fist into the partition again, feeling your anger bleeding into your physical form," I'll tell you-- I'll tell you that I think you're a fucking sham.. this whole Chapel is! The only GOOD thing you have in this building is your fucking Nun, Alastor!"

The voice from the other end does nothing to interrupt you, seemingly silenced by your fury.

"In fact-- I think I will go seek her-- him??? THEM out!!!"

The door to your booth is slammed open by your hand, as you trudge towards the door.

"I've had it with this discussion. You aren't here to help me. You're here to coerce me. And I'm not gonna listen to another word of your warped gospel, you cheap, conniving, greedy fUCKER--!"

You gasped when you were suddenly slammed into the wall, body pressed flush to it as someone pinned you from behind. You struggled, choking as the air was unintentionally pushed out of your lungs. You became frantic as the hot breath of the demon behind you fanned across your ear. Shit-- shit!!! You fucked up!

A sickening, twisted laughed bellowed in the chamber, the tone of voice morphed and unable.

"At last, Sweet Lamb... you've begun to see the light!"

You freeze, eyes straining to look behind you. The voice of the Priest was no more, replaced with the familiar, velveteen tone of the Nun. You opened your mouth, struggling to speak with no support," Y-You! This is-- please explain!" was all you could squeak out, before a neutral hum sounds behind you. You shuddered as it reverberated through you, no time to think as you were spun around.

Again, the Nun's body pinned your own, craning downward to look at your frightened face," Sadly, the Priest could not make it to Confessional tonight... But, I was more than happy to step in, in his absence." You trembled as his arms left deep rivets in the wall beside you, swallowing hard," And, to be frank, the help he would have offered you would have been the same; inadequate, even."

You stopped struggling as you locked eyes with the demon above you, swallowing shallowly as he spoke again.

"Now, as for helping you: I'm afraid the only entity who can divinely interfere with your predicament is the Lord and his Seraphims. Not even the Ruler of the Hells could hope to overwrite God's Will." You eyes turn downcast, face heating at the words. Of course... that would make sense. Only God and the angels can open the gates, right? How foolish an idea you had...

"However..." You felt a clawed finger beneath your jaw, beckoning you to look up. You were faced with the same, wide smile, eyes narrow slits filled with delight.

"There are things that a Saint, such as myself, can still offer to you..." Your eyes widen in recognition: Aha! So he WAS a man, afterall. You blink, shaking your head quizzically.

"I have SO many questions-- for one, why would you be parading as a Nun, if you're a Saint?" Alastor's grin grows a touch mischievous, before a weighed sigh leaves him," Alas, the Priest here struggles with... containing himself. He has a history of giving in to Earthly desires, time and time again. I can bring him much discomfort with just my voice, let alone my body... I am merely a vessel for the Lord, and yet he wishes to, well, lay his claim. And so, the habit conceals everything he can't keep his eyes off of; everything he is not permitted to touch by the Lord."

His neck tilts, cracking with the harsh angle as he looks to you," I think it's quite the sound idea, don't you think?"

Alastor leans back, his hips still pinning you to the wall. Your face heats hastily with embarrassment. He seemed to be gauging your every move, calculating what you may try while under his trap.

"Sure, right-- Okay... perverted Priest. Wouldnt be the first time I've heard of that..." You looked up shakily to the nun... saint...? You aren't sure what to call him anymore. Alastor quirks a brow up at you, egging you to speak.

"Okay, okay, second question: what are you implying that you can help me with?" You yelp as a knee comes between your legs, caging you again. Alastor bends down at the waist to match your height, his face growing closer to yours. With hands at either side of your head... you were still so close... and so, so trapped.

"I think we both know that you have something else to get off your chest... Thoughts that you've been plagued with, My Lamb." A slender, warm finger runs down your cheek, knuckle first, ending the trail just below your jaw. You gasp as Alastor comes impossibly closer, his fringe nearly brushing your forehead.

"Wh...what do you mean...?"

The Saint chuckles darkly, shaking his head," Oh, wayward one... your eyes betray you. They betrayed you the moment you looked into mine." You nearly squeaked as his other hand brushed through your hair, ensuring he could see your entire face.

"I saw you, even from across the room... Eyes wide in awe, wonder... You were completely spellbound by a riveting performance. You tried to look away, you shifted in your seat to silence your nerves... And yet: your eyes never strayed far from this Servant of the Lord."

You could feel his breath ghosting over your lips, subconsciously parting them as he continued to speak," Your body kept betraying your internal struggle, Little Lamb."

A choppy gasp as the hand in your hair ran down to your neck, lightly caressing and pressing to your pulse.

"I could sense your heartbeat, quivering and loud, with each movement I made, each inhale I had to take to sing. Each time I smiled just a touch more... I could almost taste the sweat that ran down your brow, your eyelids fluttering during the final chorus. Your thighs could only do so much to relieve the pressure that built up in you. You were enthralled... but not by the Lord's gospel: but by me."

His hand drifted down to your chest, settling over the very spot your heart should be. Your breathing quickened, your eyes never leaving his. You cursed yourself, biting your lip to stifle any shameful noise you might create.

St. Alastor's smile never wavered as he leaned over you, that familiar heat ghosting over your neck.

"I didn't miss the way that your pulse quickened when I walked closer... you hadn't even been a part of my original section, you know. But Sister Eunice was more than willing to switch. Your palms became clammy, eyes glassy as you tried desperately to plan your escape... And the moment my arms caught you, I knew for sure: you also struggle with impurities of the flesh. Specifically..."

You watched with baited breath as his hand drifted lower, until they landed on the hem of your bottoms, ghosting just above your core,"... you struggle to keep your thoughts, your body's reactions, at bay around me."

You gasp as you are groped by the large hand of the Saint, breath already ragged from his words," But... to know for sure, I need to hear these impurities come from your lips. The first step to forgiveness is confession; honesty. You must repent for your actions, in order to properly atone. So... is there anything you need to confess to, Bashful One?"

Your eyes glazed over, a familiar heat brewing downstairs as you felt his palm grind against your clothed sex. Your head rolled back, lip quivering as the Saint waited patiently. Your mouth fell open, a quiet sigh escaping you.

"Yes, there it is... let it out, Lamb. Don't hide in shame from the Lord. Embrace it-- embrace this--" You whined as your arms grabbed at his habit, his hands shifting and rubbing you through your clothing torturously. You try to stifle another moan, eyelids fluttering," Th-This is-- haaah!" You let your eyes fall closed, brows furrowing," Y-You have the wrong idea, I didn't come here to f-fuCK--"

You could barely contain yourself as you felt the hands of the Saint slip into your bottoms, fingers tracing a sensual line from the bottom of you slit, up to the pearl that sat atop it. You whined as Alastor pressed against it, unable to think clearly as he began to swirl two digits around your clit. His movements are slow, not to overwhelm you, eyes taking in your expressions to monitor your progression.

"St. Alastor! I--" you caved to the feeling, grinding into the saint's hand," I-I didn't come for this, but... I-I did think immoral things about you." Good choice, Alastor thought.

You bit your lip as you were rewarded a pinch to your bud, back arching off of the wall as you wailed," I-I-- fuck-- y-your voice was really-- mmph!" You grabbed onto the demon's shoulders above you, rooting yourself in place as you felt Alastor's pace increase.

"Hah... y-your hands looked-- feel-- so warm! Uhhn! Y-your eyes were--" Alastor pinches again, correcting you," A-Are--! Your eyes are s-so deep-- it feels like you were-- i-it felt like you were undressing me with them!"

A sly smile graces his face, leaning in to place chaste, innocent kisses to your neck," ...and perhaps they were, clever Lamb... Perhaps they were~" You whined at the notion, mouth hanging open as you continued your confession. You could hardly think straight as you felt his fingers quicken, your eyes beginning to lose focus. You trembled, knowing that this confession had been doing lewd thing to your mind and body.

"W-When you caught me, for a moment I felt- hah-- saAAaafee~" You mewl as Alastor's fingers move lower, teasing your entrance, where you desired his fingers the most. Your face was tilted further to the side, before you felt a wet, hot mouth suckling at the junction of your neck. You shuddered, fighting the mewl he tore from you so easily. Unsatisfied, you felt sharp teeth biting down, making you shriek with surprise. Pain was quickly replaced with a soothing pleasure, Alastor kissing and licking at the wound apologetically. You sighed, working up the mental capacity to speak again.

"I-I felt, no-- I needed those arms around me again. I wanted..." Boldly, you moved your arms from his shoulders, pulling lightly at Alastor's veil," I really wanted to see what was underneath all of this, too... call it a sin, but... I... I have nothing to hide anymore; not from you or the Lord."

You watch as Alastor's head doubles over, a shaky groan escaping him. When he looked back up at you, his eyes blended in with the rest of the room: they became pitch black.

"What an obedient, honest fucking pet you are, Little Lamb~"

Without warning, two fingers made their intrusion, but your silken heat was relaxed enough to take him. You cried out in bliss from the reward, tugging at the head dress again. Alastor simply kept going, leaning in to kiss your forehead as he thrust his digits up into your welcoming, quivering heat.

"Ahh, ahh~ I've taken an oath, little one. No one is permitted to see such secrets~"

You whine as you clamp down on his wet fingers, brows furrowing. You needed more; you demanded to see more. You didn't miss the way that Alastor hissed, brows furrowing at how tight you were. It seemed that he enjoyed the display far more than he let on...

Attempting to ground himself, his hand landed on your neck, holding you in place. The effect seemed to make you wetter, eyebrows raising with realization as your moans deepened. What an interesting revelation~ The Lord most certainly worked in mysterious ways!

He leans down to your ear, voice low and dripping with a sacrilegious heat," ...Tap once if you would like me to tighten my grip. Tap twice to stop it immediately." Your eyes, wide with desire, fluttered and rolled towards the ceiling, but you nodded nonetheless. If this was how all of your confessions would go... then you would become a zealot of the Lord and the Saint before sunrise.

You gave his shoulder a tap, hand landing there as you let his fingers explore and scissor the walls of your pussy. Alastor was happy to oblige, his hand squeezing your neck gently.

The action made your mouth run dry, your eyes glazing with desperate, passionate tears as his fingers thrust deliberately in your core.

Another tap to his shoulder, your eyes gazing into the flickering radio dials that had become Alastor's pupils. Again, Alastor was happy to amuse you.

You couldn't contort or stifle the noises you made, grunts and mewls the only music to leave your delicate throat. St. Alastor's hand squeezed as promised, making you flutter pathetically around him. You whined as you took in the nun turned god, your tongue hanging precariously out of your mouth. He smirked, a dangerous chortle bouncing off the chamber walls.

"Already at a loss for words, Lamb?" Alastor's fingers inside of you flex inward, pressing against a spot that made you see the pearly gates.

"My, my, your confessions will fall unto deaf ears at this rate~ Speak up, won't you? The Lord and I are granting you an audience~" He knew you couldn't speak; he knew and he didn't care. He just wanted to see you keen and struggle against him, unable to do anything but beg for more or stop this all together.

You couldn't even think of a sentence, let alone speak it into existence. Your lips flapped desperately, hands snaking up to grip at the wrist and hand on your throat. Your legs quaked, your eyes threatening to roll back as you gave a singular tap. Just one.

Alastor's eyes gleam with insidious joy as his smile expands.

Even tighter.

You felt your hips guiding themselves along Alastor's devout fingers, chasing a feeling that was hastily approaching. Alastor did little to stop you, intrigued by the display. At the intrusion of a third finger, a wanton dribble of saliva cascaded down your chin. A strangled groan: you certainly didnt mind the delicious stretch that your entrance underwent.

St. Alastor returned his attention to your face, licking a heated stripe across your parted, swollen lips. You sputtered with ecstacy, the feeling further spurring you on. You felt your coil tighten, your throat burning as you panted with reckless abandon.

"Come unto me, Little Lamb."

You needed little motivation, a silent scream gracing your face as you completely shut down. Your legs spasmed and stilled, heart racing as Alastor finally let go of your neck. Your voice was hoarse for a beat or two, hands instinctively going up to your neck. You felt a small, dried blood trail from the bite on your neck, trembling with the notion that he visibly marked you. If he didnt intend to own you, then he made a grave mistake.

You only whine as the feeling of his warm fingers left your core; this only managed to light a fire in you. You look back towards the Saint as your eyes lidded, a heavy sigh his only warning as you pushed him off of you. Alastor, surprised, caught himself with a pitch black tentacle that manifested behind him. You start to unbutton your bottoms, pushing them off of your hips before kicking them to the side. You start trudging towards the Saint with a renewed heat in your eyes. Alastor's grin nearly split his face in half as he watched you, completely overtaken by your desire to commit more sins.

Alastor tilts his head, taking deliberate paces away from you and towards the confessional booth. He had a grand idea!

"It seems that you are still plagued with impure thoughts. Tell me, Dear Lamb..." Alastor practically chuckles as he takes you by the wrist, tugging you off your feet and into the booth. You land harshly on his lap, the both of you groaning as you grind down on his firm, tall erection.

His tone was dangerous, a myriad of tenacles materializing around your limbs," What other impurities trouble you, my Lamb?" You grow impatient, boldly reaching for his lap before your hand is held aloft. Cursed tentacle!!!

"P-Please, Sister-- Saint Alastor," Your tone comes our more like a plea than a demand, as your other arm is held over your head. Your legs are spread apart, your bare cunt dribbling your essence; it drips down your glistening thighs in a tantalizing way.

"I have had thoughts of you f-fucking me... a-and I don't know how to b-b-- AHH!!" Your hips buck at an unfamiliar feeling, one of Alastor's tendrils caressing and teasing your entrance," I-I don't how to-- How to banish the thought... I-I may need higher intervention. I-I need your blessing, St. Alastor."

A prideful, malicious smile replaces the amusement on his face, long, slithering tongue dragging across his lips," Well, that is certainly a hefty demand! You poor, sinful wretch!"

You cry out in pleasure as the tentacle spears you, exploring parts much deeper than his fingers could reach. You felt your arousal slicken the foreign body, making the intrusion easier. A wanton moan sounds in the air everytime the tentacle thrusts into you.

Alastor stands on his feet, flicking a wrist as the tentacle's speed picks up. You were completely helpless to his whims, your eyes threatening to roll back as you are overcome by the tentacles' hold and movements. The Saint looked all too pleased as you heard the rustling of fabric. You tried to look down, but a tentacle covers your leering eyes, making you wail in frustration. Alastor tuts like a disappointed teacher, shaking his head.

"And here I was, about to reward you for your blatant, unabashed honesty... Should I stop? Should I call the Priest to finish the job? Or should I leave you here, tied up and aching for relief... Just to let any-old-sinner find you in such a state?"

You freeze, biting your lip as the tentacle slows to a painfully slow slog. You whine again, thrashing your head in protest," N-No, no, no...! Ughhnn, no please! Don't stop! I-I still want your blessing, Alastor! Pl-Please!"

A wicked laugh sounds in front of you as a hand snakes up your top, finding and fondling your right nipple. You jolt at the sensation, the feeling multiplied due to the lack of sight. You weren't expecting the tentacle inside of you to stir to life at the same time, now with a renewed, brutal pace. You were practically screaming at the onslaught, bouncing from every thrust you were gifted.

"Ohh, I knew you would succumb to God's Will, my dear... You see, we all fall helpless, begging at God's feet."

You feel yourself being dragged down until your knees hit the floor , your hands still held high above your head. You weren't expecting warm, firm flesh to land on your face, gently slapping at your parted lips. You could only speculate what it was, your thighs unable to clamp together.

"I must warn you, receiving my blessing can be quite taxing... do you still wish to accept it, Lamb?"

Your tongue comes out from your lips, swiping along Alastor's cock. You feel his hips stutter as you lick all that you could reach, your head already lightheaded from your desire to please him. You swirl your tongue around the head, the tip of your tongue teasing the slit in your movements. You heard a warning growl, a hand fisting your hair and holding you in place.

Still unable to see, you look up towards the noise, mouth wide open," G-Grace me with your blessing, Oh Shepard..." You could feel Alastor's breath hitching, trying to restrain himself.

"Guide this Lamb to the light of the Lord. Please.."

You were given no time to prepare as Alastor thrust into your mouth, his animalistic grunt your only solice. You were shell-shocked as he and the tentacle worked in tandem to break you. You swiveled your hips and met the thrusts from below, arching your back as your head was used as a personal cock sleeve. Though you wished to see Alastor's own lips, bruised and panting, his hair clinging to his forehead as he thrust into you... the feeling would have to surfice. And though you wanted to run your hands along his abdomen, raking your nails across his pistoning hips... you couldn't deny that the feel of the whole ordeal verged on the precipice of Nirvana.

You groans and mewls made his cock twitch and leak more precum, making your mouth even more slick for his movements. He couldn't deny how good this felt; he, himself, would have a lot to answer for later, in the privacy of the basement. He moaned as he thought of his future atonement, limbs spread and head to the floor to form the cross before a statue of Jesus. His fingers would be clawing into the floor as he recited his virtues and prayers, pleading forgiveness for a sin he felt no guilt for.

His mind clouded with visions of you, trying to seduce and distract him. Your hands would trace along his body and caressing his traitorous, sensitive tail. This information, for now, was still unknown to you...

He practically shouted from the pleasure your mouth offered him, one hand holding your face still while the other braced himself against the confession booth door and splinted the wood.

He was already approaching his climax, and by the looks of it, you were nearing your second. His smile strained as his hips lost their rhythm, opting to seek the feeling and not the motion.

"Fuck-- fuck, Lamb... oh, my sweet Lamb!!!"

You whined around Alastor's cock, your hands struggling against their restraints as you cunt throbbed with the desire to cum.

"You are so-- fuck, so fucking warm!" You felt your orgasm bubbling in your core, your tongue doing its best to carress and snake around his cock, welcoming his release with open mind and body.

"An obedient Lamb... worthy of my blessing!! Arggh-- b-blessings upon you, Lamb!! Take it! Take every last drop-- Hah--"

You gagged as Alastor bottomed out in your mouth, unable to pull away as his 'blessing' painted you white as snow. You shrieked around his cock as a new tentacle traced fast circles around your clit, forcing your release to hit you by surprise. You screamed into the climax, feeling a warm gush between you legs as you finally came undone.

Alastor pulled out of your mouth, his tentacles still touching and pulling you through your release. Your eyes are uncovered as Alastor kneels before you, kissing you hard and passionately. Your hands were soon freed, and so you tore off the damned veil. You began tangling your hands into the Saint's red and black locks, your euphoria starting to die down.

Once you felt like you were back in the right state of mind, you parted from Alastor's lips, a pleasant smile on your face. You looked down to your lap, embarrassed at the unmistakable puddle you left behind from your passions. Alastor looked too, eyes flicking back to yours as his grin softened.

"Worry not. I will handle this, Lamb. No one will know of this night. And your confessions will be safe with me."

"...REALLY now..."

The both of your freeze, looking to one another as a familiar voice sounds behind you.

"Y'know, confessions: they're supposed to be in a private, sacred place... and from your actions, this place has been sullied and desecrated."

The door to the booth flies open, Alastor and you both jumping from the sudden BANG. Your eyes widen in horror at the Demon who stood in the doorway.

"What do you both have to say for yourselves?"

[ladykettlechips]

Prompt ideas:

- Kate has a secret admirer

- Kate and Anthony have a fight, Edmund (or Hyacinth) are worried that everything isn’t okay, and Kanthony have to explain that a fight doesn’t mean they don’t love each other

- Newton gets sick and Anthony comforts her through it (together or not together yet)

- Something goes wrong during their wedding but it turns into something funny and memorable

So many prompts, too many words rattling around in my nogging. Thank you so much, I appreciate yooooou (and adore you and all you do, forever and ever.) I want to return to one or two others in here, but I ran with a stereotypical Kanthony idea here (it could have been a cute Gregory as Kate's not-so-secret-admirer drabble) for 'Secret Admirer', and so here it is, all 2,003 words of it that have yet to be beta'd or even looked over after writing it. Hope you enjoy, I suppose it's sweet ahahaha. -------------------------------

Yours

“You have a package on your desk,” Cressida muttered, her lips twisting into that ugly frown she so often liked to wear. Kate blinked, finally looking up from her phone as she passed the front desk.

“Another one?” she asked, not at all surprised. Cressida didn’t deign her with an answer, of course; she simply went back to ignoring Kate, as she enjoyed to do most days.

Stalking toward her cubicle, Kate found the third—No, it was the fourth; it was a Thursday—gift that had appeared on her desk before the work day could even begin. This time it was a bouquet of tulips, in varying shades of orange and pink, neatly tie together with a lilac bow. They were gorgeous and, much like the other three gifts she had been receiving since the beginning of the week, left with a card that simply read:

For Kate,

May your day be as beautiful as you.

Yours,

And that was it. No initial. No name. Simply ‘Yours’, written in the most obnoxiously pretty handwriting Kate had ever seen. Whoever it was leaving her these gifts—Beautiful, often expensive gifts, at that—clearly had no desire to be found out, much to Kate’s (and Cressida’s) chagrin.

Really, would it hurt them to at least leave an inkling as to who they were? A hint so that Kate actually stood a fighting chance at learning who he—or she—was?

Sighing, Kate went to fetch one of the break room vases that was thankfully no longer in use, and fussed over the placement of her new bouquet. They really were quite gorgeous and, despite not knowing just who had given them to her, made her smile whenever she looked upon them.

“Nice flowers, Sharma,” came an unwanted voice and Kate had to bite back the groan that seemed ever-present on her tongue whenever he came up to her. “Another gift from your stalker?”

“Jealous, Bridgerton?” she asked, spinning to look at a rather smug Anthony Bridgerton, who was sipping his morning tea from one of the chipped office mugs. “I don’t see anyone leaving you gifts on your desk each morning.”

His smirk only seemed to grow wider. Prick. “True,” he said, though this fact didn’t phase him. “But seeing your delightful face every morning is a gift in and of itself, Sharma.” And before Kate could think of a retort—she couldn’t, annoyingly enough—the aggravating man tuned on his heel and left for his very private, very comfy office that seemed to cut him off from the rest of their colleagues.

Well, now Kate just felt annoyed; of course Anthony would choose to sour her mood, and right after she had been treated to such a lovely gift.

Falling heavily into her chair, Kate huffed as she switched on her laptop and started to work, the flowers seeming a little less joyful, now. How dare Anthony Bridgerton ruin her day.

######

As she packed up for the day, Kate carefully cradled her newest gift in her arms before taking her leave. Her previous gifts, though lovely, had not been quite as wonderful as the simplicity of a well-presented bouquet; she really did love flowers, she just seldom received them.

The day had, thankfully, gotten better; Anthony had been kept busy in his office, which meant his usual visits to her desk had ceased, at least for that day. And, while the office had seemed blissfully quiet, Kate couldn’t help but feel a little lonely that he hadn’t been there to annoy or disrupt her work.

It wasn’t that she had hated Anthony Bridgerton—no, hate was two strong a word; disliked was much better—because she didn’t. In fact, Kate found him to be quite charming at times, his smile infuriatingly pleasant. No, she simply found him to be exasperating, a tad cocky and, loathe though she was to admit, annoyingly handsome.

More often than not, they were at odds. He was set in his ways, often trying to ‘help’ her with her work when she very well knew what she was doing. In meetings, she often liked to point out his mistakes, earning herself an annoyed look as the dimple between his brows deepened.

He often retaliated by looming over her desk, his arms practically caging her while he looked over her work. His breath was always warm against his ear, his scent mouthwatering, divine. He never did this because he didn’t trust Kate, of course; she had considered that when she first started working there, but quickly came to learn that, in his own weird way, Anthony simply liked to bother her.

And with her recent Secret Admirer, he seemed to have increased his pursuit of annoyance. Not that Kate minded, really—again, she had felt quite lonely without him pestering her today—but since she had been receiving these gifts at the start of the week, Anthony had found multiple reasons to flock over to her like a pigeon poised for a fallen chip, his own work be damned.

Was he jealous? No, Kate didn’t think he was jealous, not that she knew what jealousy looked like on him. Maybe he just wanted to know, like the rest of their office—Anthony just so happened to be the only one brave enough to outright walk over to her desk.

She was waiting for the lift when Kate remembered she had left some documents on her desk. Cursing herself, she turned around and walked back towards the office, and straight for her cubicle. The documents were waiting for her, set in a neat little pile next to the now empty vase that she hardly noticed, until something caught her eye.

There, leaning against the vase sat a long, cream envelope, her name in the familiar cursive that she had been reading all week. Kate’s arm stilled, and her eyes grew wide.

Why was a gift already on her desk, as if in wait for her arrival tomorrow? Didn’t her secret admirer bring them in the morning?

Kate stared at it for a minute, maybe two, and held her breath before finally plucking the damned thing from its resting place. With trembling fingers, she opened it and, inside, she found two tickets marked for Saturday night. An opera, she realised; she had never been to the opera.

But she had always wanted to go. Kate had mentioned it once, in passing, to Sophie in the break room. How could her admirer know…?

Dropping her flowers onto the desk, Kate felt her feet move before she could think about this practically. Thankfully, the office was empty, so none of her colleagues would see her stalking down the pathway of desks like a madwoman. She was always one of the last people out of the office, finishing her work off while everyone else filtered out at five o’clock sharp. And yet, even as she left, there was always one person left, one absolute prick who seemed intent on being the final one to leave…

“What the fuck?”

Anthony looked up at Kate from his desk, wide-eyed with surprise, perhaps a little shock. She glared back at him, the opera tickets still in her hand as she stood in his office doorway, panting. As he stared at her, then at the tickets in her hand, Anthony groaned.

“You weren’t supposed to open them until tomorrow, you infuriating woman,” he muttered, one hand flying to his forehead to smooth over the creases that were beginning to form.

“It was you?” Kate hissed accusingly, though she’d already guessed as much; Anthony was probably the only person in the entire bloody office who could afford box seats for the freaking opera. Still, it annoyed her that she hadn’t guessed sooner.

Rolling his eyes, Anthony pushed against his desk and stood, his gaze unwavering as he looked towards Kate. “You weren’t meant to know until Saturday,” he replied coolly, and began making his way over to her. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

As she watched him stride towards her, Kate found herself almost at a loss for words when she finally took him in. Anthony was dishevelled, deliciously so. The knot in his tie had been loosened, his jacket since discarded and hanging over the back of his chair. His sleeves—usually down to his wrists—were now pushed up to his elbows, the veins in his forearms prominent. And then there was his hair, combed through from his own fingers after hours of work, no longer the perfect coif that Kate often thought of when she thought of him.

Oh, God; why did he look like he had just walked right out of a Mills & Boons novel? At this thought, Kate wrinkled her nose, though not in disgust.

“What, that you’re my stalker?” she finally asked, mockingly. Thankfully, Anthony seemed to take his own words being thrown back at him in jest, because he gave her one of those infuriatingly pleasant smiles she seemed to like so much.

“Secret Admirer sounds much more romantic, wouldn’t you agree?” he asked, finally stopping in front of her and—God, it irked Kate to think this was hot—leaned one arm against the door frame as he arched one perfect brow.

“Why me?” she managed, thankful that her brain hadn’t disconnected just yet. “Why have you been doing this all week?” Kate motioned towards the opera tickets, and then to her desk, and Anthony smiled widely, dimples beginning to form on his cheeks.

Oh, fuck. Of course Anthony Bridgerton would have fucking dimples. Kate’s stomach swooped.

“Why not?” he said simply, his shoulders lifting in a light shrug. “There are many reasons why I would want to spoil you a bit, Kate.”

Swallowing, Kate dared to ask, “Name one,” with shuddering breath.

“Because you’re hard working,” he whispered. Then, “Because I enjoy your company.”

“That’s two—” Kate protest, but Anthony shook his head, and continued.

“Because you deserve it,” he said, his voice soft and sweet, and Kate realised too late that his hand had come up to cup her jaw, his thumb gently stroking the indent of her chin. She swallowed, all too aware that she had now lost her voice.

“And, I hope you are listening to me closely, now, Sharma,” he murmured, his lips now impossibly close to her ear as he leaned into her. “Despite how infuriating you can be, I rather like you more than a colleague should.”

And then he was looking at her, those damning brown eyes filled with warmth and a gentleness Kate had not seen before. A look that would probably doom her if she gave in, allowed him to bewitch her with his gifts and the words that tumbled from his pretty mouth…

The same pretty mouth that, in a delirious haze, she had caught with her own, her fingers immediately winding into that glorious mess of hair.

He kissed her back immediately, his mouth greedy upon hers as Anthony dragged Kate over the threshold and pushed her against the wall. His hands were bruising on her arms, then teasing against her waist as he slipped his hands beneath her blazer, hot and wanting while he crushed her body against his chest.

All too soon—or not soon enough, given how hard Kate was panting, now—Kate pulled back, her gaze immediately falling to Anthony’s plush, red lips that looked thoroughly kissed. If she kissed them again, would they bloom even redder?

Before she could ask that, though, she had one more question.

“Why ‘yours’?” she asked, genuinely curious. “Why not sign with an initial on your gifts, or give me a clue?”

There was a beat of silence as she returned Anthony’s gaze, his eyes glassy and pupils blown wide. For a moment he stood there, still holding her in his arms, catching his breath. Then he was smiling again and touched his forehead to hers.

“Because I have always been yours, Kate,” he whispered.

[aeantizlkamenwati]

The Hound

So @the-kingshound updated and I dove headfirst into feelings and needed to get some feelings out...So I wrote a thing. As you do. A bit terrified to post outside of anon, but...2.5k words is too much for an ask and the discord...so...here we are.

Some moderate CW though, it contains depression, sexism (I know most people aren't going to want to delve into this sort of stuff because it's escapism, but I find it cathartic and validating when it's at least acknowledged how shitty it is to have a uterus at any point in time), and my Hound is not the nicest person around. (Arthur please don't give up on her, she'll get there)

OH and a part is inspired by a really old poll Kal asked about what color we'd like our dog-hounds to be and I know everyone went with the Christian Black Hound of Hell cause it IS iconic and spooky, but I was going...but a white hound would mean something to the Welsh. It makes a statement. SO I added it in the end to soften the angst.

Enjoy below the cut because I have no chill.

Guinevere stared across her small table at the King. Her husband, she supposed, though in the eyes of the court the title was not official. He seemed unable to meet her bright red eyes—not uncommon in her experience. Even in her own House people struggled to hold her gaze. More than once had she overheard whispers of the unsettling otherworldly heir, the one that must’ve been taken by some spirit or another.

Here was no different, only the terms changed. Annwn, Arawn, Mallt-y-Nos all were whispered as she walked past instead of Da Derga. ‘Bad omen that one’ was still the same though. ‘It’ll be the death of the Pendragons, letting one such as her share a bed with the King,’ in some form or another.

She waited patiently, stoically for the King to sort through whatever went on in his head. She refused to let her gaze leave him. To show any sign of weakness lest he go for her throat so to speak. She watched him as any prisoner might when face to face with their judge and executioner.

Arthur, as a person, was not…terrible. Though the most she saw of him was at their wedding, to be fair. Her hackles bristled at even the memory of the word. Wedding. It was nothing more than a celebration of her family’s downfall. The handfasting, nothing more than a shackle, a collar to show the might of Camelot.

But it was not yet a total victory.

After all, there were still more humiliations the king could bring against House Venegard. One, in particular, she dreaded more than others. She understood her duty, of course, and she would bear the torment like the cliffs do the raging sea…

That did not mean her stomach did not cramp. That bile did not coat her tongue. Her fists clenched in her lap, waiting those dreadful words, the terrible command. Her throat tightened against the rising emotions. Her skin prickled.

‘It won’t come to that,’ Saraah had told her. Radel and Ghaven had tried to comfort her as well. In their own way. Ghaven told her to use their wedding present on Arthur if he tried. It…it did make her laugh despite the crushing despair. Saraah had tried to tell her she’d be safe, that they doubted Arthur would force her to do anything.

She loved her siblings, but…she also knew they didn’t understand, not truly. They were, in the judging eyes of the law, men. They had the rights to their wives—not including Saarah of course.

They did not get the lectures from their mother about how to cut one’s own throat or womanhood should they ever be captured. They did not hear old wives tell horror stories of their first nights. They were not told tricks to get through it, how to fix themselves afterwards because their husband would just leave them once he was through—or fall asleep. They did not hope to die with the birth of their firstborn so they did not have to suffer anymore violations.

After all, what could be more symbolic of the King’s victory than breaking her in their marriage bed as his father did his mother so long ago?

Guinevere bit her tongue to keep her numbness in place. Pain forced her back into the hardened warrior her House had demanded she become. She remembered her mother telling her to never let any man see her scared, see her cry, and she refused to disappoint her.

Arthur cleared his throat. He straightened in his seat. He tried his best to look calm, but there was…some kind of nervous energy. He picked at his fingers out of reflex. His mouth opened and closed a few times. “I wished to ask you something,” he started carefully.

Her stomach twisted sharply. The slight dizziness that plagued her since her betrothal sent sparks over her eyes. She could already understand where this was no doubt going. The court had been rather loud as of late, crying that the marriage was not true. She was only surprised they didn’t demand the King show them the bedsheets afterwards.

She signed without feeling, as always, “Come to take your dues, then?”

Arthur blinked, reminding her of a puppy. “Beg pardon?”

She shrugged, each motion empty of any semblance of emotion. “I’m surprised they’ve let you wait this long. They seem quite eager for you to show me my place.” Her eyes drifted around the room. She noted the places she stashed weapons…assuming Gwyar hadn’t moved them again. They seemed exasperated every time they found a new hiding place…but they also didn’t take the weapons either.

“That’s not what I…” Arthur shook their head, as though trying to shake the thoughts into line. “I’m not—”

“So, a mistress then, that’s to be my humiliation,” Guinevere nodded to herself. “Probably for the best.” Her fingers gently traced the horrific scar across her neck, hidden by her bodice. “Wouldn’t wish to sully the Pendragon line with a wraith.” It was a stark reminder he did not wed a delicate flower, she fought and bled against him. One of his people nearly took her head off.

And the sick part was…she wished they had.

She shook her head against the darkness creeping up her spine. She figured out long ago she would never be a beautiful maiden; she would not be swept off her feet, or whatever Saarah’s fantasies were. She didn’t know why it still stung at this point.

She slowly rose from her seat. The fabric of her dress pulled and tugged uncomfortably against her movements. The neckline rubbed and scratched at the scar. Almost like feeling the rough, chipped edge of the sword again.

Her fingers were cold against her neck. She put them between her skin and the stupid Camelotian garment. Gwyar had convinced her it might be wise to attempt to acclimate to…here. Apparently, some of the court were scandalized by her tattoos. They apparently made her petite-self intimidating, like a barbarian. Or some other drivel.

Maybe they just didn’t want to admit her eyes scared them. Or maybe they were just trying to test to see if the King’s new dog would bite.

She plucked the letters from the table. The seal she was beginning to recognize as Saraah’s glared up at her in accusation. She assumed the others were from various other siblings he had corralled into sending to her. Probably sometime after the fifth letter she didn’t reply to.

She blew out a breath before placing them with the growing pile on her desk. Weight pulled at her bones. The old habit of talking to Saraah begged for her to try. Her chest hurt at the pain she must be causing them.

She drifted away before she could crumble. She had already broken in front of them; she would not do it again. She was the seventh heir of House Venegard. It was time she acted like it. Her feet took her to the window as they often did. Not to stare out over her new domain, but to the sky where birds played with the clouds.

A chair scraped over the floor. Perhaps the King grew tired of her. Or, more likely, he had other arrangements. Spending time with prisoners was hardly worth his time, but still nice of him to stop by, she supposed.

“I wanted to ask how you are,” Arthur’s voice disrupted her quiet contemplation of a flock of birds. She looked to the side as if she could see him behind her. Her back tensed. “We haven’t been able to speak since…” He didn’t say the words as she wrapped her arms around herself. “Your brother asked after you, well his husband asked, but on his behalf, I’m sure.”

Slowly, she turned, smoothing her face against anything that might show the crushing weight on her heart. “I am fine.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes at the simple answer. He kept quiet as he observed her carefully, as if he could pull answers from her like a sword from a stone. “If there is something I can do to make you more comfortable…”

“You cannot.” Her hands moved like swords, cutting off the line of questioning. “As I told Morien and Gwyar, I will remain living.”

Any more than that, she could not guarantee. She would pretend she was collared and leashed, sit when told, rollover as necessary, endure whatever she had to keep House Venegard alive. She would hide what and who she was, bury it so deep down it would crush her very soul into nothingness.

The two of them engaged in a strange staring contest. Her rubies as lifeless as the gems themselves against his captured-skies bright and beckoning freedom. He tapped a finger against the table. She could see him thinking and sorting through the thoughts, or perhaps he was trying to sift through the dense mist of her façade.

“Would you accompany me this afternoon?” he asked suddenly. “I was going to take Mordred, and I know we would both delight in your company as well.”

*****

Why she went was a mystery even to her. Perhaps it was strategic? To be seen with her husband and…stepchild? Show they did have some sort of relationship to keep the nobles at least somewhat complacent.

Maybe she just had a weakness for the child. Or was curious about the destination. Maybe after weeks drifting alone inside her rooms, only venturing out in the mornings to the dead training grounds or for mandatory appearances, she was going mad.

Arthur was pleased with themselves. They had a soft smile and a spring in their step as they escorted the group to a building. A kennel if the baying of hounds told her anything. Mordred’s hand tugged on their sleeve, eyes wide in either excitement or question. Arthur smiled wider. “Yes, they sent word this morning.”

And with those cryptic words, he pushed open the door and gestured for Mordred to go through. The child hesitated, but whatever was beyond the door drew them forward just the same. Arthur turned his smile to her, holding the door for her.

Guinevere eyed him oddly as she passed—well as best she could without pulling her neck muscles. She ignored the softest brush of warmth coming off him, reminding her how cold she always felt. She looked around the humble abode instead.

It did not take long for her eyes to find Mordred…being swarmed by wriggly, wobbly puppies. The mother hound watched over her litter like a queen, but didn’t appear to mind them entering her space. Her tail wagged as Arthur stepped inside behind Guinevere.

She blinked at the one, two, three…six puppies all bounding around on their tiny legs. Two were gnawing on each other’s legs, while a third played with one’s ear. One was pulling at Mordred’s tunic. Another was getting scooped by the child.

A bit of ice inside her chest cracked. It sizzled and popped at the scene. She turned to look up at Arthur. “Puppies?” she signed in confusion. “You brought me to see puppies?”

Arthur smiled. “Yes? They are cute and these ones the houndmaster said were old enough for a visit now.” He shrugged, though the way his eyes moved over the scene made her think he was up to something.

Of course, she always thought he was up to something, she supposed. Still…unless he was going to order the bitch to tear out her throat for good this time…what harm could puppies do?

“I was once told the Irish have great reverence for their hounds,” he eyed her, “even going so far as to give their great warriors and kings the epithet ‘hound’.”

She blinked at him, the nod almost involuntary. Why did he care to know that? Why bring it up? Her chest felt…twitchy under all the ice and darkness. She gave him a probing stare, trying to find answers. “Cú,” she spelled carefully, “it shows they are worthy of the loyalty hounds give.”

“I find it rather…beautiful to think a king is only worthy of his title if he is worthy of his hound first.” He smiled again, before motioning towards the puppies.

Ignoring the strange…prickle in her chest that his cryptic words seemed to conjure, she approached carefully, keeping an eye on the mother before gathering her dress to sit on the ground. The unoccupied puppy plodded its way towards her. It gave a little whine, perhaps a practice growl, before sniffing her. It was black like its mother with wavy fur.

Still, her chest clenched tightly. She made little tongue clicks at the puppies. Her hands petted the brave one that came up to her first. It wobbled and fell to the side. Her mouth parted in a soft laugh, more audible puffs of air than anything. Tiny teeth gnawed at her fingers as she tickled the soft belly.

When the puppy had its fill of her play, it tottered off to a group that gathered near Arthur. For a moment, their eyes met. Bloody red and heavenly blue. A strange pang struck Guinevere’s chest like a shard of ice had stabbed her heart as it broke away. She pulled her eyes down to his hands.

And found a tiny white ball of fur held safely against his chest.

She blinked. A glance at the rest of the litter found only blacks and a few red or fawn ones. The mother’s ears perked as the tiny bundle squeaked. She panted before sniffing the air as if trying to decide if the squeak was distress.

Arthur followed Guinevere’s eyes and gave the tiny bundle a soft smile. He shuffled over to her side, careful to keep a distance between them. He rubbed at the little puppy’s head. “This little one the houndmaster was worried wouldn’t make it,” he spoke softly, glancing up at her. “She’s the runt—and well,” he gestured to her fur.

Guinevere knew well what he meant. Pure white animals were often abandoned by their mothers, easily spotted by predators, or were otherwise ill. Runts were much the same. Her brows pinched together. She gently stroked the soft fur of the puppy’s ear. Her own white hair fell over her shoulder as she leaned forward.

“But it appears she’s much stronger than we thought—or just stubborn,” Arthur chuckled. “Some might say she’s a bad omen, that she’s already marked for Arawn’s pack and it is best to send her on her way…” He smiled wryly at her, like he knew the insults thrown her way. “Between you and me, I think they are just scared because they have wicked souls and fear she’ll sniff them out.”

He held the puppy out to her as another attempted to climb into his lap. The little thing was warm, soft like all babies were, but oh so still. She didn’t squirm or wriggle, just gave a dissatisfied squeak as Guinevere held her to her chest. The puppy’s tiny breaths pressed against her fingers.

Her heart twisted again. The bubbling need for this thing to survive choked her breath. She rubbed her thumb against its ear again, making clicking noises again. Fight, she told the hound mentally. She tried to impart some of her own will into the small hound. Fight and remind them hounds choose their master. And give them pity if they think they have any power over you.

[wonbriiize]

pairing; anton x reader

genre; fluff, friends to lovers

warning; a little bit of cursing

note; i thought i should try to write about another member in riize than just wonbin, so here is my first anton story !! hope u guys like it :)

bound to happen

in which you go ice skating with your friends but it’s your first time so you’re struggling and falling a lot. one of your friends (anton) can‘t see you hurting yourself because it pains him, so he rushes over to help you…

“hey, don‘t leave me here alone,” you scream over to your friends who left you as soon as you all stepped on the ice. “oh, you will be fine,” sungchan screams while starting to skate backwards. of course he is good at ice skating, he is good at everything.

you try to step forward with one foot but your legs are shaking too much and you almost fall. it’s making you angry that you can‘t balance yourself.

people say that ice skating is easy if you can rollerblade, but why is it not working for you then? you loved rollerblading when you were a child. hell, you’d even consider yourself somewhat talented in it. angrily, you start rushing forward because you think that might help you find balance. obviously, it doesn’t. you just end up falling on the ground.

“*y/n*! are you okay? let me help you!” anton skates over to you. he has been observing you the whole time but he thought he should let you try ice skating out by yourself at first instead of directly approaching you to help. but seeing you fall down, it made him feel like he just fell down himself. it hurt him.

“thank you,” anton helps you up and you shake off the snow from your clothes. “no thanks needed. if you want, i can teach you how to ice skate,” anton offers with a shy smile, scratching the back of his head.

he‘s so adorable when he does that, you think.

“i would love that,” you smile at him. “but if you would rather go and have fun you shouldn’t waste your time with me.”

“being with you is never a waste of time,” anton shyly says. you can tell that he’s embarrassed by saying this so you just smile and nod, ignoring all the butterflies he has given you just now.

anton skates in front of you, softly grabs both of your hands and starts pulling you forward. it’s actually working, you’re actually moving. well, anton is pulling you so you’re not actually doing a lot by yourself, but still, at least you’re not falling down.

“wohooo, anton, i see you stepping up your game,” seunghan is skating so fast, he flashes past the two of you followed by sohee who’s grinning like crazy. anton rolls his eyes, acting unbothered but you can see that his cheeks are becoming even more red than they actually are (because of the cold).

after a few minutes of letting yourself get pulled by anton, you stop him. ”okay, i think i‘m ready to try it on my own.” “really? are you sure?” anton looks deep into your eyes and you can tell that he’s actually concerned. it makes you feel warm inside. he cares about me, you think.

“yes, i will give it a try.”

anton softly squeezes your hands before he lets you go. “you got this.”

falling in front of anton would be the most embarrassing thing ever so you’re really trying your hardest.. and it’s actually going well. you lift up your feet, one by one and after a few more minutes, you are actually sliding smoothly over the ice.

“oh my god, i did it!” you couldn’t be happier.

anton catches up with you, also having the biggest smile on his face. “you’re doing so well.”

“i learned from the best,” you say, grabbing after anton’s hand. it shocks him at first because he didn’t expect it, but he‘s fine with it.

anton would never have a problem with holding your hand. it’s what he has always wanted to do. it’s what he keeps wanting to do in the future, too.

“well, you weren’t so bad to begin with, you just needed a little help,” anton gives you an encouraging smile while the two of you slide over the ice together.

your other friends are watching you two intensely, knowing that this was bound to happen sooner or later.

anton and you were bound to happen.

shotaro and wonbin approach you two with the biggest grin on their face.

“so i guess anton finally had the guts to tell you that he likes you,” shotaro wiggles his eyebrows.

wait, what? anton likes me? you are surprised. in the best way possible.

“now we don‘t have to listen to him talk about how he should confess to you every second of the day,” wonbin somewhat sounds thankful to you when he says that.

“anton, why is your face so red? it’s not that cold,” shotaro asks, looking confused.

you look at anton whose face is almost as red as a tomato. you didn’t think that it was possible for a human to turn this red.

“wait a minute,” wonbin‘s eyes widen. it looks like a lightbulb lit up above his head. “he hasn’t told you yet, has he?”

you try not to laugh, because you’re actually finding this whole situation hilarious, knowing that anton probably wants to sink into the ground at this very moment.

“i would have if you two wouldn’t have interrupted us,” anton glares at them. he actually sounds mad. it’s the first time you hear him talk like that because usually he’s very soft-spoken and doesn’t get angry easily.

“holy shit,” shotaro joins wonbin in widening his eyes too. they look at each other, back to anton and you, and then again at each other. “we should go,” wonbin suggests and shotaro nods hysterically. “sorry anton,” they say in unison and seconds later, the two are nowhere to be seen within your sight.

you turn to anton, not letting go of his hand. he lowered his head, avoiding your gaze. you don’t want him to feel awkward so you give him a little squeeze, just like he did to you before.

anton can’t look you in the eyes though, he is totally embarrassed. he had his whole confession planned out in his head after discussing it with shotaro and wonbin for hours.. days even. he keeps asking himself why they’d destroy the plan after helping him come up with it. he knows they had no bad intentions, but still, it annoyed him.

it was actually anton’s idea to go ice skating. he knew that you didn’t know how to do it so he thought that it’s the perfect opportunity to spend more time with you. he strictly told the others that they‘re not allowed to help you because he wants to be the one to do so. he had planned to confess to you at the end of the day but well.. what did eunseok once tell him? plans are meant to go wrong.

“i feel the same way,” you say.

anton raises his head up super fast, not believing what you just said.

“what?”

“well, if what shotaro said is true, then i want you to know that i like you too.”

now, anton is surprised. he had hoped that you’d feel the same way, but actually hearing you say it catches him offguard.

“it’s true,” anton says, smiling at you.

“well, then just ask me out on a date already,” you pout which makes anton laugh.

“*y/n*, would you go out on a date with me?”

to tease him, you let go of his hand and skate away. not fast because you’re still not feeling too safe on the ice, but compared to how you were skating a while ago, you were doing way better.

you turn around to see anton standing at the same spot, looking perplexed, not knowing what to do.

“you have to catch me to get an answer,” you stick out your tongue towards him and start skating even further away.

it doesn’t take anton long to catch up with you though. obviously. he is the better (and much faster) skater between the two of you.

anton pulls you into his arms, his chin resting on your head (since he‘s way taller than you).

“got you,” he whispers. “what’s your answer?” he distances himself a little from you so now he can look down to you.

you decide that after this little chase, he deserves to hear the answer.

“yes, i would love to go on a date with you.”

anton doesn’t let you go. instead, he wraps his arms around you even more and you let him. because you feel safe. because being this close to him makes you feel things you’ve never felt before.

and it also makes you forget that you’re in the middle of the ice rink right now, your knees feeling weak because of anton. you fear that if he lets you go, you will fall down.

“just promise me you won’t let go,” you look up to him, noticing that his face is even more handsome this close up.

antons smile only grows bigger once he sees you looking at him.

“i would never,” he says, pulling you even closer, if that’s possible.

[castieltrash1]

Can I request Jon Snow x Lady!Reader. Arranged marriage that becomes real love?

this is so sweet ty for the req :')

jon snow x afab!reader; arranged marriage, slow burn, vague mentions of sex, mutual pining-ish i think

when you’re finally brought to the godswood, gaze averted and flecks of snow glinting between strands of hair, jon finds himself relieved. he’d known his duties from a young age so when the time to wed arrived -- a wife already chosen on his behalf -- he didn’t fight it. he tried not to imagine your appearance, but it proved difficult, and many late nights at winterfell were spent concocting an image of you in his head. not nearly as beautiful or rich as robb’s future wife, surely, but you’d be worthy of a stark bastard at least… right?

it’s odd. you’re different, but somehow more beautiful. jon can’t really explain it and he doesn’t try, not wanting to offend you. the first night is painfully awkward regardless, and he’s relieved when you both agree to take it slow for now. everything happens eventually, of course, but your patience pays off. jon considers himself lucky -- he could’ve been stuck with anyone for the rest of his life, but he had you; you, with your kind words and pretty face, practically handed to him on a silver platter. he kept waiting for you to act monstrous, assuming your beauty had to be compounded by something, anything, but it’s not. your marriage isn’t perfect, but jon enjoys figuring things out with you by his side. he likes being a united front with someone. he likes the warmth you leave on the other half of the bed, sheets smelling like the oil from your baths. he enjoys keeping you happy, noticeably fulfilled when he’s seen as a good husband and dutiful partner.

the more you go through together, the deeper jon’s feelings grow. he knows it’s happening, despite his initial attempts to ignore it. you have a lifetime together ahead of you - there’s no need for him to rush things. but the affection gnaws at him, and he can’t deny himself any longer. he loves you. by the old gods and the new, he really, truly, loves you. he hadn’t expected it, thinking any romantic dedication to you would take years to build -- if it ever even came to fruition -- but now it’s here and he almost isn’t sure what to do.

it’s been on the tip of his tongue all day. he’d nearly said it in bed the night before, limbs tangled in sheets as he stared down at you, but the words were caught in his throat. now, every time he speaks to you, the declaration begs for release, desperate for you to know the depth of his feelings. three more opportunities arise before midday, but he lasts until after dinner, when he finds you overlooking the courtyard below and feels his heart skip a beat. you turn to face him and, somehow, his gentle expression tells you everything.

“i love you.”

+ after he says it for the first time, it takes him a while to work up the courage again, even if you happily return the sentiment. it felt like a reward and he doesn’t want to spoil it. the words aren’t careless to him and he wants them to mean something, not be taken for granted. soon enough, you’ll hear it five times a day, gruffly murmured in every free moment alone. and, despite its newfound frequency, it only seems to be more genuine each time.

game of thrones weekend (reqs open!)

[onekeii]

Wyman the Snowman

Day 1: First snow Game of Thrones: Robb Stark x Fem!Dornish!Reader Warnings/Genre: arranged marriage, fluff, show robb, light hearted game of thrones (god forbid) Word Count: 1,729 Summary: Your first time seeing snow. AN: Been working on a super long Robb fic for a while (10+ chapters in!) so this is a little teaser <3 excited for the rest of this challenge :))

Read on AO3

Weeks have passed since you first moved to the North, but it seemed the cold was something you might never adjust to. Just when you thought you discovered the ideal number of logs for your fireplace, or the minimal number of layers you needed to wear to not shiver while dining in the great hall, the next day would surprise you. The seasons turned; barren tree branches bent to the howling will of the wind and the sun dipped below the horizon faster with each cycle. You, too, had all but retreated, hugging your knees by the desperate fire.

“It’s snowing!” Laughter and footsteps barrel down the corridor outside your room, just as they pass your door the shrill voice rings again, “It’s stuck to the ground, come on- come on Bran, let’s go!” Slower footfalls follow, and they descend the spiral staircase together with varying levels of care.

Snow. The first snow of the winter season, and the first snow you had ever experienced. Dorne was lucky that it ever rained at all; snow was not something to dream about. It didn’t even appear in stories. All you knew was that it was cold and white, it looked soft but would sting your bare skin… Of course, you needed to see it for yourself.

You reluctantly crawl away from the fire and cringe at the draught that pours in through your window. But it pleasantly faces the courtyard, and for a moment you are blinded by how bright it is, like the Dornish summer sun. The courtyard is devoid of its usual drab of greys and muddy browns and darker greens, covered instead by a thick, white blanket. Already, Bran and Arya had ruined the perfectly flat surface, free from any grime or imperfection, in their valiant attempt to wade through. Now two lines streaked from the corner - the great keep’s exit - to the very centre of the courtyard. You’re a married woman, you remind yourself as you look away, you can’t just throw yourself face-first into the snow.

So, of course, you put on your layers and cloak, a warm hat and gloves… You’re still pulling them on your icy fingers when you, too, descend the spiral staircase. The doors at the bottom swing open for you and there it is: a wall of pure, white snow that reaches well past your ankles - the paths carved out by Arya and Bran before you would have to suffice to stop your skirts from getting soaked.

With one hand still bare, you reach out and close your fingers around a chunk, digging your nails in deep and prying a misshapen handful from the low wall. It really does bite, you wince but refuse to let go. It doesn’t slip through your fingers like sand. It just stays. And then it stings.

You drop the ball to the ground, wiping the cold and wet from your red palm on your skirts before finally putting on your glove. I’ll just check on Arya and-, you bravely step into the path they left for you, like trampled wheat in a field, when you notice a third party leaning against the stone wall - your husband.

“Good morning,” you say. Robb dips his head in acknowledgement, his attention still fully on his siblings playing in the snow. You hope that was enough to distract him from your spirited attempt to hold the snow bare-handed. There’s no way you can join the kids now unless your husband might start taking you for a fool. You turn to the door.

“This is your first time in the snow?” he calls out. He’s looking at you now, brown curls scattered with snowflakes and falling wildly about his face. He doesn’t wait for your answer and just holds out his own gloved hand - of course it’s your first time in the snow. “Let’s help Bran and Arya make their snowman.”

Robb leads you through one of the small paths, stopping now and then to push more snow aside with his foot or free hand, widening the path. Your skirts still scraped past it, but at least you didn’t need to push through with so much force. “What exactly is a ‘snowman’?” you ask.

He snaps his head around, “You don’t know?” You shake your head. Robb sighs, his breath turns to mist on its flight into the early winter morning, “It’s, uh, a man made of snow- We usually just roll up two balls of snow and stack them, and give it a face.”

You push your eyebrows together, “Why?”

“Why not?” A fair point. When you finally stop in the centre of the yard, you’re able to stand comfortably without the snow pushing into your dress - Arya and Bran had already cleared out an almost perfect circle in their excitement. “Here, if you push the snow together,” Robb grabs some from the infinite supply, clasping it carefully between cupped hands before holding it out to you, revealing a flawless ball, “It sticks, and we make our snowman like this, but bigger.”

You take the ball from him, watching it roll from one of your palms into the other with awe. “Man-sized?” You say. A laugh sticks to his throat. “Yes, man-sized, my lady,” he smiles.

The two of you spend the morning scraping and pushing snow into the centre of Arya and Bran’s carved-out space. Icy cold seeps through your thick leather gloves, rendering your fingers immobile, but you were desperate to see this snowman. Just when you thought the pile was tall enough, Arya piped up, “Taller! You’ve got to make his body taller!”

Looking at Robb in exasperation, your face twists in pain and horror when he simply nods at his sister and says, “Yes, ma’am.” She huffs in satisfaction and returns to the smaller pile that she and Bran are working on - it is to be the head, according to Robb. Finally, when the snow is piled as tall as you, and Arya gives a nod of approval. You and Robb start shaping it into a ball. He kindly offers to work on the lower half, so you don’t have to crouch and ruin your dress. Part of you wants to retire and just watch from your cosy window above - you swear you’d never forsake that draught again - but shaping really took no time at all. Sometimes he’d get carried away with his handiwork, sliding his hand over yours before you snapped your hand back. It warmed your face up just a little every time, making you thankful the cold had already bruised it red, and each glove-to-glove kiss reminded you of the last time you two actually touched.

Embarrassingly for a woman long-married now, it was when you exchanged vows on your wedding day. Robb’s warm hand, calloused and rough from swordplay, grasped yours gently. At night, you shivered in front of him in just your night shift, and he shook his head. “Only when you’re ready,” he said. You should have stopped him from leaving the room, but you didn’t want to. Weeks of nothing passed since; only polite, awkward conversations and short-lived glances.

“Finally!” Arya says. She was crouching by her perfectly round, smaller ball of snow. Bran smiled sheepishly on the other side as he watched his older sister spring to her feet and wrap her arms around their own masterpiece, lifting it up with ease and waddling over to Robb. He graciously lifts it from her without a word, carefully placing it in the divot the two of you left at the top of your perfect sphere. Robb steps back, and you follow, to admire the fruits of your labour. He leans over your shoulder and whispers in your ear before you can protest his proximity, “He looks like Lord Manderly, does he not?”

You scoff, trying to stifle your laugh, but it takes you by the shoulder and shakes you, “He does.”

Rickon soon comes flying into the clearing, holding out his hands to reveal several black and jagged stones in his palms. He looks up at you and Robb with blue eyes blown wide and mumbles, “I want to give him a face, but he’s too tall.”

“Oh dear,” you crouch down to face him properly. His lower lip is stuck out, pulling the corners of his mouth down, and his lopsided hat is evidence of a struggle to dress him properly. You tug it over his ears before scooping one arm around his shoulders and the other around his backside, pulling him close to your chest and standing up with effort. “How about now?” you bring him closer and he beams when he is perfectly level with the snowman’s soon-to-be face.

One stone is slightly off-centre - the nose, he says - followed by two eyes, one much bigger than the other. Then he presses the remainder into a jagged, upward-curve smile, underneath the nose. “Perfect,” you marvel. Robb smiles at you from the corner of your eye, and you shoot one back.

“Yeah! His name is Wyman,” Rickon exclaims, throwing out his arms in celebration and nearly throwing you off balance.

“Gods,” you whisper in shock.

Unsurprisingly, you were bedridden by the next morning. You weren’t even in the cold for as long as you thought, but your body had yet to adjust to such extreme conditions. The Maester assured you would be better in a few days. You hoped the snow would come again before then, staring fondly at the now lopsided Wyman, who smiled at your window from the courtyard below.

Two knocks at your door pulled you from your thoughts. “May I come in?” Robb’s voice was muffled through the thick wood.

Your hair was unbraided and, instead of the usual shapely dresses, you were just a ball of blankets and furs. You were sick, you could say no. What could he possibly want, anyway? To slide his ungloved hands over yours? To warm your shivering yet feverish touch? Finally, you speak up, “Come in.”

Robb slips into the window nook next to you, but you don’t take your eyes off the men at work in the dwindling snow. Every single one makes an effort to leave the proud snowman uninterrupted. A smile creeps across your face at the sight, at Robb’s presence, and at the way his fingers so naturally slip through yours.

@12daysofchristmas

If you enjoyed, please consider helping out by dropping a reblog or follow ☆

P.S. Thank you for letting me do this according to how I traditionally celebrate Yule !

[aphroditelovesu]

[🖤] - ''I don't want to force you to be mine, but I will if I have to.’’ + 💔] - ‘’You can't leave me. You will not leave me.’’ For Rhaenyra Drabble after her wife (reader) who while normally happy in their marriage starts to get tired and starts talking back to her after Rhaenyra basically imprisons the reader because she was paranoid about reader cheating on her?

[🖤] - ''I don't want to force you to be mine, but I will if I have to.’’

[💔] - ‘’You can't leave me. You will not leave me.’’

❝ 🐉 — lady l: this ended up becoming more than a drabble but I got carried away... I hope you like it, anon, and forgive me for any mistakes! Good reading! ❤️

❝tw: accusation of betrayal, mention of death, mourning, imprisonment and angst.

❝🐉pairing: yandere!rhaenyra targaryen x female!reader.

❝word count: 1,143.

You felt like a damn prisoner and maybe you really were.

Rhaenyra has become increasingly unstable and possessive over you and she has practically imprisoned you in her room, with only a few servants having access to you.

The reason for all this? She thought you were cheating on her, which was completely ridiculous. You weren't cheating on her and it never crossed your mind to do so.

You valued your life and loved Rhaenyra too much to even think about having a lover. You love her, don't you? You were sure you did it but after she locked you in, you weren't so sure anymore.

''I don't want to force you to be mine, but I will if have to.'' Her words still echoed in your mind and you only realized their weight when she finally lost her head after you spoke against her. The memories of that night were painful and you could still feel Rhaenyra's touch on your skin like fire.

Trapped in that golden cage, you stared at the richly decorated walls of her room, feeling increasingly suffocated. It was a luxury that became a prison, and every exquisite detail now seemed a cruel reminder of her situation.

The days passed slowly, with the routine of servants coming and going, bringing meals and clean clothes. They never exchanged more than a few words with you, and their expressions were always neutral. You wondered if they knew about your suspicions or if they simply followed orders blindly without question.

Rhaenyra visited you often, but your conversations were tense. You could see the paranoia in her eyes, a dark shadow that seemed to grow with each encounter. She asked questions, sometimes calmly and sometimes desperately, trying to get a confession out of you that wasn't there. Each denial from you seemed to fuel even more suspicion in her.

During these visits, you tried to calm her fears, reaffirming your love and fidelity, but your words seemed to lose strength with each repetition. Uncertainty grew inside you, not only about your feelings for her, but also about the future of this relationship that previously seemed so solid.

There were moments of silence, where you just looked at each other, lost in your own thoughts. At those times, you wondered what had happened to the woman you loved, the one who was strong, confident and fair. Now, she was a shadow of her former self, consumed by an irrational fear that was destroying her and you along with it.

You knew that Lucerys' death and the start of the war had affected her even more and you understood. You really did and you couldn't blame you for that. Although you didn't have children of your own, you loved hers as if they were your own and you were also grieving the loss of Luke but nothing justified Rhaenyra's accusations and her actions towards you. You knew it all came from her fear of losing you but that didn't make it any less painful.

The loss of Lucerys was a devastating blow to everyone. Rhaenyra has never been the same since that day. You clearly remembered the moment the news arrived. Her scream of pain still echoed in your mind, and you had felt a deep sadness as you watched the woman you loved fall apart. You tried to be as supportive as possible, to be by her side in every moment of pain, but it was as if an invisible barrier had risen between you.

Rhaenyra had become increasingly vigilant and suspicious. At first, you thought it was just grief manifesting itself in unexpected ways, but as time passed, her obsession grew. She began to question every one of your actions, every word spoken and even the moments of silence. At first, you responded with patience, believing that she would eventually get over it. However, her accusations became more frequent and fierce, culminating in your forced imprisonment.

You tried to justify her behavior to yourself. The coming war, the loss of her son, the constant pressure of claiming the throne and keeping the family together... It was all a crushing burden. And yet, in your most lucid moments, you knew you didn't deserve to be treated this way. Your love and loyalty were never in question. Rhaenyra's fear of losing someone else close to her was understandable, but it could not be a reason to imprison.

When Rhaenyra came to visit you, you decided you had had enough. You needed to make her see reason.

She entered the room, as always, with an expression full of distrust and pain. Her eyes, once so full of life, were now opaque, marked by sadness and fear. She approached you, her steps heavy and her gaze fixed on your eyes, as if she was looking for some confirmation of her fears. And when she noticed something in your gaze, perhaps the determination to get out of this situation, her face became furious and you could see her lips trembling.

''Rhaenyra, I never wanted to leave you. I never wanted to hurt you.'' You said, desperation evident in every word.

You took a deep breath, feeling the pain of the situation that was becoming increasingly untenable. Rhaenyra was mired in her own insecurities, and you knew you needed to break that cycle of fear and distrust. ''Rhaenyra, I love you. You need trust me. We are losing something precious in all of this.''

She remained silent, her eyes fixed on yours, as if she was trying to find something in your gaze that could ease her pain. There was a heavy silence, full of unspoken emotions, promises and fears.

You continued, your voice firmer, trying to reach the woman you loved. ''I'm not cheating on you. I will not leave you. We need to find a way to get through this together, before we completely destroy ourselves.''

The minutes passed, and the silence between you was deafening. Rhaenyra seemed to be fighting her own demons, insecurity and fear intertwining in her mind. You knew it was a crucial moment, an opportunity to salvage what was left of your relationship.

Finally, her voice breaking, she whispered, ''You can't leave me. You will not leave me.''

Your heart sank at her words. Rhaenyra was in shambles, and you knew you needed to act carefully, with love and patience. In a calm, low voice, you spoke, ''I am here, Rhaenyra. Let's find a way out of this together. I promise.''

There was a small spark of hope in her eyes, a spark that maybe, just maybe, could be the basis for rebuilding what had been lost. You approached her, reaching out your hand, trying to reach that piece of hope that still shined amidst the darkness.

Perhaps you could bring reason back to Rhaenyra.