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[asiandavinci]

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[mondaymelon]

₊⊹ "𝐧𝐨𝐨𝐨, 𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝…" | xiao, childe, alhaitham x gn!reader

「 "𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐚𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮!!"」

— in which you've gotten drunk... drunk enough to fail to recognize your own lover.

— silly fluff. soft xiao, had this one in the drafts for far too long and its about time i choke it out... happy white day !!

the moment your slurred words reached his ears, XIAO knew that he never should've let you get your hands on that cursed rice wine.

in a way, he supposed it could be his fault. the one time he had decided to indulge in trivial mortal matters like alcohol due to your constant insistence... well, just look at you.

red-faced, the tips of your ears and cheeks stuck in a helplessly drunken flush, you babbled incoherently with half of your face smushed against the table. xiao could only stare in contempt as you feebly reached towards the already-emptied bottle,

( xiao had taken one sip and refused any more indulgence, claiming it was bitter, when in fact, you had gone out of your way to find a sweeter drink ),

and sigh, massaging the bridge of his nose with a certain disillusionment.

"come on, you're getting to bed." the man was just about done with your hopeless actions. he grabbed your wrist and tugged, only to be met with resistance. you're pouting like a child, brows furrowed lazily as you stare upwards at him.

"nnno. m'not going with you."

"...excuse me?" what in the archons was the problem now? he tugged again, this time with a small margin of force, and was met with an even larger pull back, this time paired with a low whine. "hey, it's late, and all the wine is gone, so just comply with me won't you?"

"i already told you... i have a husband..."

your complaint met the cool night air and the adeptus' silence. his lips were slightly parted as his round eyes blinked once, then twice, in a sort of stunned stupor. "...love, i am that husband."

archons, how had he found himself such a foolish mortal to love?

"don't lie to me!" you shook your head profusely, wiggling around in his grasp relentlessly until the adeptus had no choice but to let go. "i know my husband when i see him... and he's way handsomer than you, stupid..." you stared him up and down with squinting eyes, eyeing the way his ears were beginning to turn pink, and sat heavily in thought as you pondered the man before you.

definitely not your husband.

idiot. with a huff, he easily hauled your body over his shoulder as if carrying something as trivial as a sack of potatoes. you hung loosely over, landing a couple weak punches on his back as you proceeded to prattle on, your defiance seemingly having little effect.

then, you were silent, and xiao had to look back to make sure you hadn't gotten hurt. sure, he had considered once or twice leaving you out there all passed out on the balcony, but not without reason, yet he'd decided against it. you seemed fine, mouth hung slightly ajar as you snoozed peacefully, your eyes shut and cheeks still warm from what you'd downed. the audacity to fall asleep... xiao couldn't deny that his sigh was one of fondness.

"night, this husband of yours loves you."

strange, wasn't the wine from liyue supposedly far less intense compared to the vodka CHILDE had tried back home?

that, or the people here simply were more susceptible when it came to the topic of intoxication. you were no exception — he'd taken you out drinking, his mistake, thinking it'd be an easy, splendid time.

and don't get him wrong, it was! not just, well... conversation was rather hard to make when the other person was practically unconscious. you're practically splayed across the mahogany table, eyes nearly drooped close and fire across your cheeks.

you giggled. it's a muddled sound, when you're mostly mumbling into the table. "hhhey, pour me another glass~"

childe scans your less-than-ideal state and procures an answer in a little under a second. "love, you've had too many."

you seem shocked at his words, leaning forwards a little with narrowed eyes. your figure sways as you shake your head lazily, from side to side. "wwhhhat? nnno, that can't be right..."

the man holds back an amused chuckle. it's entertaining. "and how many fingers am i holding up?" he holds up just one hand, displaying a reasonable amount of three.

there's a beat of silence. "...nineteen?" you blink a couple times, as if to shake you out of your stupor. "...nineteen," this time, with confidence.

childe claps his hands together, a sudden sound that makes you startled, and he moves to apologize immediately. "we're getting you to bed, love. clearly you've had more alcohol than you can handle."

"what, was i wrong??" there's tears forming in your eyes, and your lips tug downwards in a frown. "u-uhm, fifteen? nno, four...?"

"still incorrect, love. i'm afraid it's time for you to go to sleep. you'll wake up with a hell of a hangover tomorrow morning, but..." he sighed, thinking back to his time in shneznaya, then made a mental note to prepare you a hangover drink in the morning. his hand found its familiar place in your hand, unnaturally warm with your skin rosy from the alcohol. he smiled, turning to glance at you, but ceased when he saw you on the ground, tears now falling from your eyes, quietly sobbing as you shook your head back and forth.

panic immediately sets in. what has he done wrong?? "love, what-"

"nnnno, don't call me that..." you squinted upwards at him, looking quite displeased. "no 'love', 'kaaay? i'm not your love, mister."

he paused. wait, you didn't possibly think that... "love-" oh, old habits died hard, and the word had already left his lips before he could process what you'd said.

"i have a husband, you!!" in some sort of fit, or perhaps better worded as a tantrum, you stood, wrenching yourself from his grip and then hitting him repeatedly in the shoulders, chest, anywhere your fists could reach, really. the alcohol had surely affected your capabilities of combat — you missed half the time, and what punches did land caused no pain at all.

as your anger subsided, your step faltered, body swaying in the open air before childe reached over to catch you in his arms. he was concerned, naturally. "lov- are you alright?" his worry only grew when he heard no response, but it ebbed with a chuckle when he saw you were already fast asleep in his arms, snoozing without a care in the world.

"a husband, hm? whoever it is, he must quite be the gentleman..."

ALHAITHAM knew his night was fated to end in idiocy the moment you knocked on his door.

it didn't even strike him that you were holding wine, of all things, when you waltzed into his house like it was your own. sure, it wasn't as if these occasions weren't frequent, but really anyone would be surprised to glance up from a quiet reading session only to see their (annoying) lover pressed against the door, repeatedly calling out his name in a sing-song, satire-like voice.

like... calling a cat. it was a realization he made with not too much contentment. silently, he thanked the archons that kaveh was not home — they knew that he could not handle the both of you.

it was only when you sat down at his table, where he'd been reading up to the point when you barged in, that he noticed. green-tinted glass, a little wind motif on the front... dandelion wine from mondstadt. now, just how did you get your hands on that?

"connections," you had stated. with a note of pride, he might add. what, was he supposed to congratulate you on being able to talk to other people? even he, a person who generally hated people, could do that.

ah, but he didn't hate it. your voice, that is, when you rambled on for hours on end. he didn't have the heart to interrupt you, especially when you were so heated on a topic — be it work troubles, an especially annoying sailor, or you accidentally dropping your pita pocket into the water when walking along the port, he didn't mind.

"...mmbottle. haaithammm, the bottle..." your drunk complaints reach his ears, and he his irritation is more so disrupted with inward amusement as he watches you in the predicament you've landed yourself in.

"the bottle?" he questions, raising an eyebrow. his hands are crossed over his chest; he's clearly getting a ruse out of this. "just what would you need the bottle for, love?"

your eyebrows scrunch together. he can tell your brain is working at its max capacity. "...im. thirsty?"

"you've already drunk two thirds of this bottle." he holds said bottle high above your head, hopelessly far from your reach. "if you're so thirsty, drink water."

"i don wanna."

"..."

"just... one drop?"

"hah..." he pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply, and places a hand on your shoulder. you barely react, and don't even glance at the sudden weight. "love, you're staying over. you're going to bed."

"bed...?" horror crosses your face, paired with evident irritation. "y...you, who do you think you are, to suggest such things!?" your face is bright red, and you're hugging yourself with one arm and pointing an accusing finger towards the male with the other. "i have a husband!!"

ah. "...what's his name?"

"and why do youuuu want to know?" you narrow your eyes suspiciously at him, but seem to come up with an answer to your own question, for you answer him anyhow. "haitham."

"do you love this 'haitham'?" alhaitham's enjoying himself. when he teases the sober you, all you do is retort back, but now... he can see your flustered expression on full display as you stammer out an answer.

"o-of course! a-and, if you wanted to know, he's waaaaay handsomer.. than ... you..."

just like that, you topple over and sink into the couch, knocked unconscious. a trace of a smile crosses alhaitham's lips as he looks at your sleeping form.

"fortunately for you, this 'haitham' you speak of loves you too."

(a/n) bye i was gonna add kaveh to this one too but i realized oh fuck its white day i said id post a month ago what the fuck am i doing so i just like regurgitated this out and spat it onto your dashboard. ahodfjlds

tags (id paste the aesthetic thing but i cant find it so we're just gonna roll w this):

@manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @ @falors, @swivy123, @scara-is-my-wife, @lupicalbestwolf, @justyoureader,@fiannee, @aether-darling, @ceneid, @avensuersa, @solxima

[twistedlovelines]

who in the twst cast lets you put a ribbon on it. (Diasomnia, Rollo, Crewel)

NSFW, MDNI, gn! reader <3

(Heartslabyul, Savannaclaw Vers.) (Pomefiore, Ignihyde Vers.) (Octavinelle, Scarabia Vers.)

Diasomnia

Malleus Draconia

Of course he lets you put a ribbon on it. He would raze down entire kingdoms for you. A ribbon is nothing . The moment you mention it, ribbons appear out of thin air, dancing around you in a flurry of the finest silks procured from all across Twisted Wonderland. Whether you prefer a more simple ribbon, or one decorated with gold and jewels, he will offer you all that your imagination could dream of and more. Every single option you choose will be laid on a display with care, and he’ll be surprisingly reverent in doing so.

Genuinely treats this as an act of courtship and treasures the act of you tying the ribbon around your cock with such delicacy and tenderness. Every brush against his skin sends a heightened sense of pleasure through his body- more so than usual. The slipperiness of the silk is simply divine against his skin, but frankly, your touch is what brings him over the edge. 

Silver

Oh? He’s never really hard about putting ribbons on one’s cock, but he doesn't feel super strongly about it either way when you mention it. He does have experience making flower crowns, though, so if you want to do a styled pattern on the ribbon or want to do a particular type of knot, he’ll do his best to help! The skin of his cock does tend to be sensitive, so take care not to use a bow made of polyester; otherwise, he’ll be overstimulated and not in the fun way :(

He may or may not fall asleep with the ribbon on. It just feels so soft and nice against his skin…as aroused as he is, the caress of the fabric lulls him to the waiting arms of sleep. However, if you took precautions and worked him up a fair bit beforehand, he enjoys the added sensation of the ribbon combined with your own hand <33 Slightly tightening the bow while he’s temporarily dazed works wonders- the sudden constriction jolts him awake and makes him want to chase this pleasure until he’s spent.

Sebek Zigvolt

He’s so bewildered when you mention it to him. It reminds him of the tales Lilia told him, where royalty and maidens alike would grant knights their favor with a ribbon or handkerchief…hearing of a similar tradition in a sexual context makes him incredibly flustered. He will ask if this is an odd human courting ritual of yours. (He’s disappointed when you say it isn’t . Just a little .)

Put in so much time searching for a ribbon after you mention it tbh. It’s special to him, even if you had only brought it up as a passing interest. Of course he’s going to find one that’s made with enchanted silk, one that’s been created by nothing but one of the best. (He may ask Lilia for help in this area, as the older fae is likely to have expertise in fabrics and whatnot). When it’s actually tied around him, he feels as if his soul is going to leave his body. The soft, act of possession as you tie a ribbon around his cock make him incredibly weak, and he’s practically putty under your hands for the rest of the night <3

Lilia Vanrouge

Oh he’s having fun. He has plenty of ribbons from when he was experimenting with different fashion styles, so you’ll have a fair share to choose from!! From ribbons with frayed edges to ones with fine embroidery, the only issue you might find is having to untangle them all and pick out which one you like best ^^; He even offers a few suggestions that are more in-depth than you’d expect…

If you can’t choose one, he offers that you try multiple in one night (or even in one round!). Why not try all that you can in order to experience this kink to the fullest? I don’t think he has a particular preference for any particular fabric, although he does seem to gravitate towards ribbons that have more lace and textures to them! Will most definitely bring it up again whenever the craving strikes, and will have absolutely no shame in asking if he could do the same to you <3

Misc.

Rollo Flamme

Oh. Oh dear. He becomes incredibly fond of the thought even as he vehemently scolds you for having such perverted thoughts about him. He already carries around a handkerchief with your signature scent on it, of course he would want you to claim him properly as well. Despite this, he can’t help but feel flustered and ashamed. To do something so lewd in such a loving manner…he can’t contain how incredibly horny that makes him.

He’ll spend time with you picking out a ribbon, though he already has one in mind. One of classic silk with a bit of a lace trim- there’s simply no other ribbon that could do. When you finally tie it around his cock, it takes all of his might to not cum on the spot. The sheer intimacy of the moment overwhelms him, and he can’t help but want to have your touch engulf him wholly as he succumbs to your desires. 

Divus Crewel

You want to tie a ribbon around him? You better understand what a commitment that is, pup. He typically prefers to dom in the bedroom, and you wanting to collar him (in a sense) is quite the intimate proposition. If you ask this of him, he takes it all rather seriously. Taking you to specialty boutiques to pick out a ribbon that would symbolize your bond best, to lending you a book detailing different types of bows and styles one can decorate their lover’s cock with. 

He’s patient throughout the whole ordeal, watching your every move with bated breath. Every single loop the ribbon makes around his cock, every knot you make…he engraves every movement in his mind as he feels pre-cum drip over the edges of the luxurious fabric…He will pay back the pleasure that you will draw from him tenfold <3

a/n: Thank you for reading the final installment of my "who in the twst cast lets you put a bow on it" series! If you have any ideas you want me to elaborate on, feel free to stop in my inbox <3

[just-some-random-blogger]

Could I pretty please request a cregan fanfic, where he gets jealous/possessive over the reader? I adore the way you write him! Thank you so much for your time❤️❤️

A/N: this has been in my drafts for a while now. i did a birthday poll and cregan did not win by any means but its my birthday and its storming and im sad and i just want someone to be kind to me. i hope you like this nonnie

Flicker

One could easily say that Lord Cregan Stark was a fair person. He is just and generous with the decisions he makes for his people. But if the matter is with his bride, there is no just or generous, only selfish and greedy; he has no inclination to share.

Cregan Stark x Reader | 1k+ | cw: fem!reader, wife!reader, irrational!cregan lol, fluff?, typos, etc.

Cregan clenches his jaw at the sight of you from across the yard. Not one, but two young lords are hot on your heels. They have not let up tailing you since they've arrived and, what's worse, is that you have been so terribly temperate with them.

The Lord Of Winterfell is beside himself in jealousy, and as the hour grows later, the cloud over him grows darker.

He could not blame those... young lords for acting a moth drawn to flame, in fact, he understood perfectly, but he can blame them for taking up your time. This was a harvest festival after all. How can Lady Stark make her rounds with two shadows weighing her down?

Just as you giggle at whatever nonsense was spoken to you, you turn and find not two faces but one broad back. Cregan grumbles, "boys."

The young lords, with their grins, nod at their liege lord, "Lord Stark."

"I'm sure my wife has enjoyed your company, but, it is nigh time for her to entertain other matters."

You come to your husband's side. He turns to you, seeing your smile's been replaced with raised brows. His own furrow.

"Come now, my lord," one of the two speak, "we were just telling our dear lady the folklo-"

"My dear lady had much else to do," Cregan interrupts, voice louder than necessary. He rolls his shoulders back, and suddenly the great sword on his back is more apparent than it was moment ago.

Though the two knew the Lord was not quick to resort to violence, still, they understood that it was time for them to depart, so they do.

Your face contorts as you watch your husband's nostrils flair after the two leave, his hot breath condensing with the cold air. He turns to you and you expect him to give you a talking to. You are frozen in shock when he merely nods and walks away.

Confusion holds your features, so you follow him. Cregan simply goes back to what he was doing, however, which was speaking to one of the farmers about the colts in his stables.

You are left confused, and honestly hurt by the strange treatment from him. After realizing he did not actually want you around him, you find something else to do. Cregan, though kept constantly preoccupied, keeps a close watch, and he is glad that no one lingers longer than they should this time around.

By the end of the day, when you are home eating supper, there is a tension between you two that only you can feel. Cregan is happily finishing his meal when you call out to him.

He averts his attention from his nearly empty bowl to you, "yes, my love?"

You press your lips together, doubting the otherwise plain way the pet name falls off his lips. You procure the gift you'd ben keeping on your lap the whole dinner, pushing it across the table to your husband.

Cregan's brows quirk at the wrapped object. He unfolds it, finding the gift to be a handful of candies. He turns back with a smile, "sweeties."

You return his smile with a softer one, "your favorite."

He pushes the sweets to the middle of the table, "dessert."

You turn to your bowl; you've only eaten half of your food, but your appetite was no longer present. Your husband takes a sweetie, then pushes it closer to you, urging you to take one. So, you do, popping it in your mouth.

"Thank you, love."

You release a breath, finally finding it in you to relax upon receiving the expression you did, "I take it you are no longer cross with me."

"Cross?" his brows knit, "whoever said such a lie?"

You raise your brows, "you ignored me the whole time after telling off Lord Caplan and Derby."

Cregan clears his throat, straightening up in his chair, "aye, I told them off, but I was not ignoring you. I told you I would be preoccupied greatly today."

You deflate "... Yes," you look around aimlessly, "you did."

Cregan's face hardens. He sighs, pushing his chair back, "come to me."

You stare at him for a moment. Part of you wishes to be difficult but you decide to slowly come over to him. Once you were within arm's reach, he scoops you into him and seals you against his chest.

You instinctively adjust atop him, arm coming around his shoulders while his own circle around your torso. He presses a few kisses on your neck before you lean into him. He rubs your sides, "forgive me if it appeared so, my heart."

You turn to him, frowning, "it did appear so, my lord."

Cregan's brows quirk. My lord? What horror. What pain. He frowns back, eager to set things straight, "how might I make it up to you?"

You ghost your fingertips down his cheek, examining his distraught expression. You lean your forehead against his, "I don't know."

Cregan tightens his hold on you, sighing out, "please. I do not wish to be your lord."

The faintest of chuckles slip past your lips, "mmm, but you are my lord, Lord Stark."

His one hand squeezes your thigh, "do not insult me so cruelly, my love."

You giggle under your breath and cup his cheeks.

Cregan relaxes slightly, but he still urges you with his eyes.

"Very well," you hum, "first, you must confess... were you jealous of the two lords?"

"Yes," he admits unabashedly quick.

You are taken off guard by it. You knit your brows and tilt your head, "w h y ?"

"Why?" he tilts his head the other way, "my person smiles at another. Need I say more?"

You raise a brow in disbelief of his explanation.

Cregan nuzzles against you neck, "I cannot help my feelings. Do not hold it so bitterly against me."

You chuckle and clutch the back of his head, leaning your cheek on him, "now... my dear—"

He perks, pulling away to look at you.

"—why ever would I do such a thing?"

Cregan grins, then peppers kisses across your jaw, "my thoughts exactly."

You push him away, gaining his full attention again, "but there is another thing you must do, silly pup."

His nostrils flare. It is not his favorite pet name, but he'd rather that than my lord. "Name it."

You trace his nose before tapping the tip, "take me to bed."

You yelp at the immediate reaction, as does the chair that crashes behind your husband when he jolts to his feet to carry you back into your quarters.

[dutiful-wildcraft]

Restoration Worship

Nikolai x Fat F! Reader Tags: monsterfucking, gargoyles, dubcon, overstimulation, tail sex, anal play, double penetration, squirting, cunnilingus, p in v, dirty talk.  I think thats about it, I think yall should know by now that every reader I write is fat, blacked out and wrote 3K words of gargoyle smut sooo… enjoy!

It had begun as a research effort, a little trip to the cemetery to hopefully procure some interesting insight into a little project she’d been working on for the museum. Eyes scanning over lichen covered graves and cracked mausoleums, words long faded in time. 

She’d seen the videos before. Kind strangers brushing away years of decay with a brush and patience. Who would we be without the knowledge from our predecessors after all? 

So with a passion for restoration and a need for busy hands she set to work, uncovering gracious prayers and one of the best cookie recipes she’d ever tasted set within the worn stone. 

It’s months before she comes across him. He’s a big boy, covered in lichen and the webs of spiders, stone stained heavily from the elements. Sharp claws curl into the pedestal he hunkers on, broad wings curled against his back, stone teeth bared in warning. 

Even like this he’s beautiful, strong features carved delicately in tarnished marble. 

She’d found her next project. 

A decade had passed since death had been at Nikolai’s doorstep, when he’d let the stone take him, closed himself off from the world to rest after an egregious injury. He’d watched over the lowly cemetery with weak eyes, until they too became covered. Until he’d lost himself to the void, consciousness falling into inky blackness as he waited amongst the trees. 

That is, until her.

His days had shifted from the chittering of squirrels and bird song to an incessant chatter. A soft english lilt that stirred something in his hazy mind. He likes the english. Past visions of old friends flash in his mind, warm dark skin, cigars, a mask made of bone. 

How could he forget? 

He strains, willing his senses back to life, listens harder for the soft voice amongst the tombstones. 

She talks to the dead, chattering away at graves that will never speak back to her. This graveyard is old, quiet, its occupants long passed over after they stopped burying the dead here, when their loved ones had long passed on themselves. 

She asks them questions, makes up stories, tells them about her day. She’s a museum conservator and she brings things back to life all the time. Making them shiny and new, loving them through hard work and careful hands so that others may get to love them too. 

And when she’s not talking she’s humming, or singing so off tune that even the birds grumble. But she’s laughing at herself,  looking up songs from the years written on the graves and playing those too, a little tune the deceased might be familiar with. 

Her voice bounces from grave to grave, and he realizes she’s cleaning them, scrubbing the dirt away and bidding them adieu when her task is finished. 

Sweet thing, he muses, wishing he could see her, wishing she would bring him to life too.

His dream comes true on a sunny afternoon, the summer rays warming his stone, waking him just a little more. 

She’s close, footsteps rustling the leaves at his feet as she circles him. 

“You keep watch don’t you?” she asks him seriously, and she’s right there. So close he can smell her, like blueberries and vanilla sugar, it’d make his mouth water if he could just move.

She speaks again, but he can barely register the words as warm gentle hands clear the infinite dark from his field of view. Brushing away vines and lichen.

“There! That’s better!” 

And there she is. A big soft girl, with sweet round cheeks flushed from the heat. He needs to hold her, crush her close and reward her for her kindness, but she’s gone just as quickly, promising to return to clean him properly, and his marble heart warms at the thought. He commits her form to memory, watching her soft braids sway against her back as she leaves.  

A longing seeping deep into his marrow as he lets the sleep take him again. 

She returns the following weekend, small spray rig and gentle cleaner in hand when she finds him again. She’s mindful, soft hands gently tugging at his limbs to test the durability before ambling her soft body onto his platform. It’s wonderful, to finally feel the heat of another against his skin, and he thinks if the sun weren’t touching him he could come to life now, tackle her into the soft grass and ravish her. He knows she’d be so sweet, whimpering and mewling under his touch. 

It would wait for another time. 

She works from the top down, soaking him with warm water before scrubbing him with soft bristle brushes. She’s delicate, leaning her soft body against his as she cleans, washing away years of dirt and moss. She scrubs behind his ears, in the bend of his horns, clearing the nests of insects from between his teeth. He revels in the feel of her, soft breasts and belly pressed to his skin, gentle hands stroking over the sensitive margins of his wings. Had he been mobile he’d be purring, with spread wings and stiff cock all over some gentle petting. 

He mourns when she leaves, water cooling against his stone as she packs up before nightfall. 

But it gives him time to practice.

It takes days, weeks, before he can move under the cover of night, limbs coming to life sluggishly, the world becoming more clear to his dulled senses. 

She returns like clockwork, spending the afternoons with him, chatting and humming, leaning against his platform as she eats her lunch. 

He can’t move far, just a few movements, but he gets greedy, finally willing his wings to open, letting them stretch pleasantly in the cool night air and freeze there when the sun freezes him again. 

She’s a bit startled when she returns, eyeing him with confusion and the broad reptilian wings spread proudly behind his back. Come closer love, they’ve always been this way.

Nevertheless she scrubs those too, warm hands petting over the webbing, ghost along the modified fingers of his wings. He has half a mind to wallow in the night, cover himself in more dirt if only to keep her trips regular. But he knows his time is coming to an end when she dusts away the last leaves from his pedestal. 

She has a final rest with him, his sweet keeper perched at his feet as she watches the sun disappear behind the trees. 

And finally, finally. As the soft light of the moon kisses his skin, he greets her. 

“Hello solnyshka” he purrs, voice low and gravely,  amusement crinkling pupil-less eyes, as he watches her nearly jump out of her skin. Scrambling away and whirling to take a look at the massive gargoyle.  He can see now, really see, and she’s lovely. Freckles dusting round cheeks, bulky denim and cotton hiding big soft curves underneath. 

She’s frozen, staring at him with wide eyes. He stretches, not unlike a cat, trembling slightly with the effort as he spreads his wings, lifts his hands above his head to crack his own spine, shaking away the stiffness from his tired bones. He relaxes again,  smiling at her fondly, revealing sharp fangs underneath. 

“I’m grateful for your work.” he calls again, taking a slow step off of his platform, clawed feet digging into the earth below. He is truly, his new keeper being the first ray of sun to truly grace his skin in decades. Just the light he needed to wake him from his slumber.  He needs to hold her, feel her softness under his claws. 

She swallows, clasping trembling hands in front of her. 

“I didn’t mean to be a bother, sir”

Sir.

He purrs at the honorific, but why did she think she was a bother? Had she not heard him?

“Not a bother, you’ve “restored” me” he chuckles, “quite well too” he adds looking over his limbs as he eases closer. “Call me Kolya.”

She repeats it, mimicking the accent just right, and being the polite thing she is, she gives him her name in return. It melts in his mouth like sugar, His pretty prize unaware of the hold she’s given him with just her name alone. 

“Come here, let me have a look at you”

She hesitates a moment before inching towards him, and he meets her halfway with a long stride, chin to his chest as he looks her up and down. His poor thing is so nervous. Fidgeting under his gaze, pulling, pushing and twisting at the joints of her fingers, desperate to get them to pop, to alleviate some of the tension in her body. 

He takes her hand in his, sliding a claw between her fingers to shake them loose, letting her soft little hand curl around his own. He dwarfs her, already half-hard with just her palm in his. He moves her carefully, flipping her hand over to trace a dark claw over the sensitive lines of her palm drawing a small shiver from her that has his cock twitching in interest. 

He continues, gliding his fingers up her arm, over her shoulder, toying briefly with the denim strap of her overalls. She’s bashful, keeping her eyes averted, a hot flush to her cheeks as he looks her over. 

“None of that” he chides, sliding his fingers beneath her chin, tilting her back. Her lips part, pupils blown as he smiles down at her, some of her nervousness melting away as he handles her so gently.  “So pretty, daragaya” and the stars in her eyes as he praises her break what little self control he has left. 

He’s quick, catching her round face in both hands and bending low, pressing a hungry kiss to her lips. She squirms briefly, hands flying up to grip his wrists in panic, he curls a tail around her calf, holding her neatly in place as he licks into her mouth, earning a soft gasp from his keeper as her lips part for him. 

Good gods, she even tastes sweet. 

He purrs happily into her mouth, savoring the taste of her flavored chapstick, the end of his tail flickering happily, brushing the soft curve of her ass. She’s panting now, a soft little whine bubbling from her throat at the contact. He dives low, licking a stripe across her jaw, reveling in the salt of her skin before nibbling and kissing his way down her throat, clawed fingers easily popping the cheap metal clasps of her outfit, pushing the denim away before yanking off the extra cotton shirt underneath. 

Nikolai thinks it should be forbidden for such soft curves to be hidden like that. She’s a vision, an angel with the most beautiful soft curves, and when he has her back in his den he’ll dress her in the finest silks and jewelry, pretty chains to hug her waist, dangle nicely between her breasts. Highlight all his favorite parts. He might even keep her bare, just for his eyes to see. 

She shivers in the cold, using her arms to cover her breasts as best as she could, eyes averted from his hungry gaze.  Why did she hide from him? There should be paintings of her, statues in her image. She was perfect. So warm and soft, he kneaded at the handles at her hips, clawed fingers tracing over the soft swell of her belly, the rolls at her sides, skin hot beneath his fingers. He huffs, snagging her wrists and holding them well above her head, using the extra digits at the ends of his wings to hold her there, pulled taught and vulnerable beneath his gaze.

With a sharp claw he rips away the scrap of fabric that covered her chest, large hands palming them eagerly, nipples pebbling under the warm drag of his thumbs. He hums, pinching and pulling at her perfect little tits, hard cock nudging incessantly at her belly, leaving glistening webs of pre-cum over her skin as she whimpers and gasps. 

“Kolya” she whines as he drags a hot tongue over her soft peaks, flicking his tongue over her pert skin before drawing a nipple into his mouth, nibbling and suckleing greedily. He breaks away, grinning up at her, sinking his teeth into the meat of her breast cheekily. She squirms, eyes squeezed tight and teeth dug into her plump lip as she tries halfheartedly to escape him. Though the wiggling only gives her tits a lovely jiggle that has him diving in again, nipping at her nipple just to earn himself another squeal. 

He kisses over the skin in a gentle apology before sliding down her belly, pressing a trail of hot kisses there before he reaches the seam of her panties, cute little curls peaking out around the edges at her thighs. He marvels at the dark stain of her arousal, pressing his nose into the soaked fabric and breathing deep. She bucks against his face, squirming madly to get some kind friction. Not so demure now are you?

“I’ll take care of you greedy girl, patience.” he warns, tail patting her ass fondly as he drags his tongue along the sodden fabric. He rips those away too, thick tongue sliding against her folds with little preamble, the resounding moan like music to his ears. Using his tail to tug her legs further apart, he lavishes her in earnest, slurping at her cunt like a beast, using his thumbs to spready her puffy lips apart. She’s heaven, sweet and tangy on his tongue, and he would stay here for hours, drinking her down until her legs gave out and then taking more. 

He sinks his tongue inside, licking into her tight heat as his nose brushes against her clit, humming wickedly as she cries and bucks. He takes control, dragging his claws up to grip her hips, guiding her into a nice and easy rhythm against his face. He loves every minute of it, reveling in the drag of her soaked folds against his tongue,  the broken whines as he breaks away to suck her clit. He drags her to the edge over and over, fucking his tongue back into her wet heat and nosing at her sensitive nerves until she’s gushing against his face with a choked cry. 

“So good, solnyshka” he praises, sitting back on his haunches to admire his work. He leans in, licking a hot stripe up her thigh, catching the errant rivulets of slick as they drip from her. 

“So wet, I bet we can make a bigger mess can’t we?” he purrs, dragging his knuckles against the soaked seam of her sex, drawing a tired whimper from her. She sags against his hold, chest flushed, and thighs soaked. He could devour her whole like this. 

He releases her, lifting her spent body into his arms, easing her down onto the clean pedestal that was once his. Pushing her legs apart he slides between them, sliding his neglected cock over her folds, using his tip to rub at her sensitive clit before sliding it along her body. He’s thick, head tapered to a near point, thick ridges rippling along underside of his shaft for a textured drag. Heavy balls kiss the seam of her sex as he rests there, tip drooling against her stomach. He needs her to see what she’s getting herself into, how much she’ll need to take for him. His soft girl looks up at him, big glassy eyes full of nervous anticipation. 

“I know” he coos, grinding himself against her skin, “you can take it, my perfect girl, we just need a little more room.”

He needs her pliant, well stretched to take him fully. With his claws as they were, using his fingers wasn’t an option,  but he does have another solution. Dragging a heavy palm through her slick he grabs hold of his tail, coating the tapered end thoroughly before guiding it toward her entrance, using a thumb to circle her clit as he slips inside. 

The tip is easy, no thicker than a couple of her fingers as it pushes its way inside, the glide nice and easy from her previous orgasm. He fucks nice and slow, thrusting the tip in shallowly until she’s whining for more. He leans over her, rutting his cock against the crease of her thigh as he sinks his tail in further, fucks into her with more speed, using his hands wisely to play with her tits, rolling her nipples between his fingers and nibbling at her lips to distract her from the stretch. She’s holding on for dear life, hands gripping his horns for purchase. 

Even as spent as she is, she clenches around him desperately, sweet pussy desperate to take as much of him as she can. He can’t wait to feel her pulsing against his cock. Wet and hot, and so so tight. 

He growls, rutting into her with more fervor. She’s close, chubby thighs clenching as he curls the tip of his tail a bit, just to bully more of his length inside of her. She’s lost in it, frantically kissing at his face as her peak draws closer and closer.  Sneaking a thumb against her clit she cums again, legs slamming shut against his tail as he fucks her through it, laughing as she sobs, shoving at him weakly as she gushes messily around him again, slick coating his abdomen and dribbling down the stone underneath. 

“Good girl, one more for me zoloste, I know you can do it.” He yanks her thighs apart pulling his tail from her greedy cunt and dragging her further down the pedestal, her plush ass hanging off the edge. He rests her thighs against his chest, kissing her ankle soothingly as he drags himself through her slick folds, thoroughly coating himself before lining up with her entrance. 

Even with the prep it’s a tight squeeze. He takes it slow, bullying his way inside her soaked heat, gummy walls squeezing him tight as he sinks in, whimpering as the ridges of his cock drag against her sore entrance.  He fucks slowly, pumping in shallow thrusts before he pulls out again, teasing her tired clit and pushing in again, head thrown back with victorious groan as he finally pushes himself to the hilt. 

Its a gorgeous sight, her pussy split open on the girth of him, legs spread wide and clit twitching as he fucks her with tight shallow circles. She’s a mess, cheeks streaked with tears and trembling against the stone, whimpers and little hiccups falling from her lips. He hushes her, sliding his palms against her thighs, catching her hands to curl his fingers in hers, anchoring her there as he picks up the pace. 

She’s already close, cunt clenching around him with every thrust. He fucks into her with earnest, her pretty fat pussy swallowing him down to the balls as the sticky slap of it echoes through the cemetery. 

“Fuck, taking me like you were made for it.”  he snarls bending over her to lick into her mouth, swallowing every little cry and plea as he fucks her mercilessly, soft body jiggling with the harshness of it. 

“You’ll give me anything won’t you? Let me fill up this pretty pussy.” he pants, yanking her closer, and with a sick knowing grin, his tail slides underneath her, slick tip toying with her asshole. “Let me fill this pretty ass too, wouldn’t you?”

“Anything you want, Kolya, please, please,”  she begs, his perfect girl cock drunk and hazy, tears spilling down her cheeks as she rocks into him for more. 

“Don’t even know what's good for you, silly girl, you’d let me tear you in two.” he chuckles, “ but I’ll give you a little taste.” His tip slides between her cheeks, already slick from her own juices.  He teases her there, flickering playfully at her hole before sinking in slowly, pushing just past her tight ring of muscle to fill her up, groaning at the feel of his own cock sliding against her walls. 

Her next orgasm takes her like a freight train, soft body arching and trembling as it ravages through her. He fucks her through it, pussy clenching him like a vice as he pulls his tail from her ass, sharp claws digging into the meat of her hips hard enough to draw blood as he chases his own end. 

Snarling like a beast he pounds into her, sinking himself deep as he comes with a low growl, painting her insides with long spurts. Filling her completely until his spend seeps out around his cock, spilling down her thighs and into the soft earth below. 

He holds them there like that, cock buried deep as he marks her from the inside out, his bulky head resting against her breasts as they both come down. 

His, his, his. 

His perfect soft girl, flushed and damp from sweat and slick, trembling hands carding though his dark hair.  Kind and gentle despite the way he ravaged her. 

And when she leans up, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips with a nervous giggle, he knows he’ll guard her for the rest of his days. 

[moondirti]

I have to ask about the sheep reader bc my god your brain is so wrinkly and now the images won't leave my head ahhhh love your writing so so much

hybrids. manipulation. brief smut. referenced neglect

it was that or cult leader price which i feel like has been done before so,,, idk man. something about sheep girl! reader being gifted to him by a hybrid averse neighbour, trussed up in the back of their pickup, soft belly up, eyes quivery and wet with tears. though he does not need an addition to his flock — certainly not one that would require extra care — he notices the abrasions sectioning your bare patches of skin (consequence of crowding in with the more animal individuals of your kind), and chubs up upon realising how easy it would be to soft-soap you into submission.

all it takes is a bit of kindness. he herds you into his home, bathing you in a galvanised steel tub with shampoo made for human women. his hands are large and rough, work-worn, but they weave into your wool gently as to not tug on the knots that have accumulated with neglect. you bleat in the novel attention, peering up at him shyly when he works the soap down your back, cupping between your legs to make sure he gets the dirt spoiling your privates.

freshly clean, you’re a pretty thing. round in the most mouth-watering places, teeth healthy upon inspection, plump lips perpetually cast in a pout. price goes so far as to tell you while he detangles your hair with an animal comb, petting your bare cheeks to feel the way they warm. loveliest lamb i’ve ever had the pleasure of caring for. set to be my favourite, at this rate. the most special.

that’s what the collar he buckles ‘round your neck seems to argue, too. fashioned himself out of full grain leather, dyed pink, antique buckle making a sturdy hook for the bell he will eventually procure.

you give in like he’d brought a meat tenderiser down on your flesh. pull apart like a well-cooked feast, unspooling all your ripe sentiments on his lap. as he sups on lamb chops — seated on his arm chair with you by his feet, making you suck his fingers clean — he tells you what to expect in your new home. the schedule, the other animals, your place within it all. you will not be given this treatment daily, yet it does not mean he loves you any less. most winter days, he’ll lay a bed of straw in the barn, assuring you that it’ll be away from the rams and their meddling horns, and come to check in on you when you can. that way, you’ll make friends who can keep you company while he’s busy.

and the way you nod, nose twitching under his heavy palm, hesitant but so trusting of the only kindness you’ve ever known — he can’t help but skip a few steps. promises you that if you get along with everyone well enough, if you’re good, he’ll reward you with a nice bath, trim, and private meal weekly. it’s the right thing to say, too, because your hips jut excitedly at the suggested luxury. just one taste of it and you’re so easily conditioned.

he can’t imagine how eager you’d be if he were to give you more. more; like fondling your doughy pussy as he is so tempted to do, kneading until you’re sloppy and soaked through your wool. like giving you a taste of climax, fingers foraging expertly within your walls, stretching your hole out to eventually supplant them with his cock. you’d move so well underneath him, fluffy and malleable, legs moved up and out of the way to press against your teats. if he knows anything, he knows sheep acquiesce to handling like butter to the knife. he could bend you, tie you, pick you up in whatever way he sees fit, and you’d take it. all he has to do in return is make you squirt messily onto the soft grass, and pump you full of his seed until you cannot clean yourself out without the help of his hand and a hose.

all in due time.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Trick or Treat

John "Soap" MacTavish x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): brief mention of alcohol, dad!Soap, married life, fluff, suggestive themes (at the end)

Word Count: 750

A/N: Requested by @glitterypirateduck for 3.5k Spooky Bingo (Trick or Treat)

You and Johnny take the kids for their first American Halloween. Afterwards is for the adults.

ao3 // main masterlist // 3.5k spooky bingo masterlist

"Are the kids ready?"

"Aye, love. Wee ones are ready."

"Costumes?"

"Yes, love."

"Makeup?"

Johnny slips his arms around, pulling you into him. He has a lazy, contented smile on his face. "We're all ready to go. Stop fussing."

Your lips part, ready to ask another round of questions, but Johnny silences you with a kiss that sends heat right down to your toes. You can’t help but return the kiss, draping your arms around his neck, leaning into the kiss.

"Mum! Da!"

Your children's voices float down the hall, their pounding feet accompanying them. Johnny retreats with a wink, grabbing his coat and yours off the bed, and offering yours to you as the children appear in the doorway.

Both of them are dressed as their characters. The choice was made last minute, as was the trip to the local Halloween store to procure everything necessary. They are eager. Excited. This is their first Halloween in the States and not Scotland.

"We're going to miss all the candy!" groans your son.

Johnny chuckles. "Goblins. The both of you," he teases, ushering the two of them out the bedroom door and into the living room.

You slide your coat on and follow them. The children grab their empty pillowcases, and Johnny herds the two of them toward the front door.

"What's that?" you ask, staring at the red wagon parked next to the coat rack.

"Survival," replies Johnny.

"For who? Us?"

Johnny grins and grabs the handle, the four of you exiting and heading into the neighborhood with all the other families.

From the wagon, he retrieves two thermoses. "Added something extra," he says as the children charge for the first house.

You open the lid and smell it. A warm, comforting aroma greets you. Taking a sip, you smile around the rim. There's an underlying burn.

"Naughty," you laugh.

Johnny flashes you his best smile.

As the children's pillowcases fill with candy, the burn of your drink becomes a warm tingle, leaving you light and a bit buzzed. Johnny keeps an eye on the children, monitoring their candy progress and touching up makeup instead of leaving you to do it all. You're able to enjoy yourself, and when the night becomes a bit colder, he wraps you up in a blanket.

"Show me," you say, and your children open up their pillowcases. They're full to the point of bursting. "Good haul."

Your son picks something out and starts to unwrap it.

"No. It's late. Bedtime." Johnny snatches it right out of the boy's hand before he can get it open.

"But Da!"

"You have school tomorrow. Costumes off. Shower. Brush your teeth. And then bed."

The children groan but they leave their pillowcases of candy on the kitchen counter, the two of them taking off to see who will get to the bathroom first. Johnny rinses out the thermoses and unpacks the wagon, taking it to the garage once it's empty. You start the dishwasher and hit the lights once the children are tucked in.

Both children crash the moment their heads hit the bed. Yawning, you head into the bedroom, removing your coat and getting ready for bed yourself. In the bathroom with your toothbrush in your mouth, you don't notice Johnny entering. You spit the minty toothpaste into the sink and glance up, only to jump in surprise.

"Johnny!"

He's wearing a mask that covers everything but his mouth. It's black. A skull face. Other than that, Johnny wears nothing else except black boxer briefs.

"You startled me," you laugh, rinsing the toothbrush and putting it back in its holder

He saunters forward, grabbing your hips, and pulling you close. "Looking for my own treat tonight."

"Are you?" you tease, offering your mouth.

Johnny leans in. The kiss is deep and demanding. His hands slide from your hips to the curve of your ass. He squeezes, and then descends further, slipping his hands under your nightdress to find his prize.

You gasp against his lips as his fingers part you, seeking your slickness.

"Will you go willingly? Or do I have to drag you?"

A little resistance is always fun.

"Is the door locked?" you ask.

"It is."

"Then no. I won't go willingly."

With an amused growl, Johnny's finger delves inside. You moan, head falling back slightly with pleasure. Johnny's lips skim the side of your neck. He nips. A tease. Then, a bite.

He inserts a second finger.

"Trick, then," murmurs Johnny. "Treat comes later."

taglist:

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@ferns-fics @tulipsun-flower @miss-mistinguett @ninman82 @eternallyvenus

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@umno-yeah @jackrabbitem @arrozyfrijoles23 @lovely-ateez @spookyscaryspoon

@ash-tarte @enarien @gingergirl06 @certainlygay @greeniegreengreen

[mysteryshoptls]

2024-2025 Player Birthday Login Message Lines

These are all the messages that you get from the boys when you log in on the birthday that you set in-game from 18 Mar 2024 to 17 Mar 2025! For those that want to hear them, you can find them in the Archive, under the tab その他　→　監督生バースデー④. (This will not be in your game archives until the birthday you set passes.)

You can find the 2021-2022 Birthday Login Message Lines here! You can find the 2022-2023 Birthday Login Message Lines here! You can find the 2023-2024 Birthday Login Message Lines here!

HEARTSLABYUL

Riddle

Happy Birthday, [Yuu]. Thanks for always looking out for those two dorm students of mine. Actually, we're planning on hosting a reception this weekend at our dorm. I would like to invite you, as part of your birthday celebration. Heh. My apologies. Looks like that has caused you a little anxiety. No worries, I'll be beside you teaching you the proper manners the whole time.

Ace

Yo, [Yuu]. Happy Birthday― Mmkay, so let's get started on the birthday party. I'm just gonna pop on over to this one restaurant in town and nab some tasty-lookin' stuff! Just chill and wait here at Ramshackle... Hey, c'mon, I ain't tryin' to pull anything over on ya. Sometimes I just want to have a normal celebration too, y'know!

Deuce

[Yuu], Happy Birthday! Let me take you to go buy a prese... Eh? You're saying that I've already given you a present because I fixed the broken lights in Ramshackle the other day...? No way, you don't gotta hold back like that! I want to go all out for my pal's special day. That's what makes me happy.

Cater

[Yuu]-chan, Happy Birthday―☆ Did ya post on Magicam that it's your birthday? Oh, not yet? Then, let Cay-kun here with all his power and wisdom write a post for you! We'll attach a cool photo and some slammin' hashtags... Whaddya think? A perfect gift from me, or what?

Trey

Happy Birthday. So, about your present... I do have one. It's just... I was asking around for what to gift you and in the end, I couldn't really figure out what I should get... So in the end, after being at a loss, I ended up getting you this shirt. I look at it now and wonder what possessed me to pick this pattern... Yeah, I know, it's just laughable.

SAVANACLAW

Leona

Yeah, yeah. Your birthday's come 'round again, hooray. ...What're you doing, setting up a chessboard on the floor like that? You practiced just to win a game against me? Oho, so you're challenging me, then. Look at the pluck on this herbivore. So, what're you willing to bet, then? No way you're gettin' away with just a simple game after throwin' down the gauntlet at me like this.

Jack

So, it's your birthday today. Have you set up any new goals yet? What, you're going to surpass me in our classes? Heh, that's a hilarious joke. You really think you can beat me? But I'll take you on. If you get a better score on our next test, I'll get you some kind of present.

Ruggie

Happy Birthday―! 'N that means, I got you somethin' that's fittin' comin' from an upperclassman like me. Ta-da! A homemade fishing rod～ ...Ah, you totally just thought it's a cheap gift, didn'tcha! But this totally works! I know what it's like to go hungry too, y'know～ You're probably always goin' through things, so if you're ever in a pinch, make sure you use this!

OCTAVINELLE

Azul

A very Happy Birthday to you. Have you thought of a gift you'd like to get for yourself? Please, allow me to procure it for you... ...Oho, you have a keen eye to request something of that caliber. It may be considerably difficult to just anyone to acquire. HOW-EV-ER! If I were to handle it, that is a different situation altogether. I shall definitely make sure to retrieve it for you. Please wait expectantly.

Jade

Happy tidings for your birthday. I do hope this year will be another fruitful year for you. By the way, [Yuu]-san. Have you eaten yet? Oh, not yet, how wonderful. As a matter of fact, I thought I would treat you to something in my own little way. I only offer this with the best of intentions, of course. Fufu.

Floyd

Oh hey, Shrimpy-chan. It's your birthday today, huh. Mmkay, then I'll give you some snacks. I got these strange tastin' gummies, these wicked hard cookies, and some squishy jerky. Awesome, right? I got a ton, but all of them expire today, so. These are my presents to you, so you better eat them all without wastin' any, 'kay?

SCARABIA

Kalim

[Yuu], Happy Birthday! Here's your present, from me to you. Ahaha, did that surprise you? I tried making a pop up birthday card just for you. I also tried making a ton of paper flowers that we use during celebrations back in the Scalding Sands. Don'tcha think they came out real pretty?

Jamil

Happy Birthday, [Yuu]. It isn't much, but here's your present. Ramshackle is a fairly old building. I'm sure there are bugs that will find their way in and try to settle down here. However, if you use this, you can rid yourself of all of them in an instant. I can vouch for its effectiveness. Use it as soon as you can.

POMEFIORE

Vil

Happy Birthday, [Yuu]. ...You wish for me to come to your party here, at Ramshackle? And to top it all off, you've prepared a healthy menu just for me... Heh, how considerate of you. Very well. I suppose I can make an appearance out of respect for your enthusiasm. I do hope you're honored that I'll be there to celebrate with you.

Epel

Happy Birthday! I put in a lot of thought picking out a present for you. Here ya go, fingerless gloves! Nice design, right? Makes using your phone a lot easier, too. It'll make you look super cool, and the more you use it, the more comfy it'll feel. I hope you use it tons!

Rook

I've been waiting, Trickster. Waiting, that is, to celebrate your birthday with you. A spectacular day requires a spectacular memory. That is why I've come up with a wonderful plan of my own. First, we watch two back-to-back theater performances, then attend a poetry reading, and finally, watch a movie in the evening. There will be no time to rest. Come, we must quickly fly towards the theater!

IGNIHYDE

Idia

Kk, time to pretend we all get along and celebrate a birthday again... Eep!? D-Did you hear that just now...? Uh, so... Happy B-day, I guess... Soz, I don't have a present for you. Didn't even know it was your birthday... What, you're seriously just happy hearing me wish you a happy b-day? [siiigh] Nah, I'll order something small online and have it shipped to Ramshackle sometime later.

Ortho

Happy Birthday! Here's your present. Go ahead and open it! Hehe, you see what I did? I used a laser to engrave a birthday message on a glass tumbler for you. It was a little difficult fine tuning the power adjustment for the more detailed parts, but it came out pretty good, don't you think? I really hope you like it!

DIASOMNIA

Malleus

Child of Man, I see today is your birthday. ...Hm? What's the matter? You look a tad glum. Ah, I see, you are struggling to carry all your presents. Well, allow me to deliver them to Ramshackle with magic in your stead. No need to protest, this is an effortless task for someone like me. You should enjoy your special day to the utmost.

Silver

Happy Birthday. You're curious about this braided cord? It is your present. Lilia-senpai explained it to me thusly... If a string wrapped around your wrist or ankle snaps off on its own, then your wish will be granted. I strung this cord together in hopes that you may have your wishes come true. It may be a tad ill-shaped, but if it pleases you, it is yours.

Sebek

As I recall, today is your birthday... Hm? You want me to come to your birthday party? What poor semblance of a joke. I don't have the spare time to waltz into some human gathering like... WHAT!? MY LIEGE HIMSELF WILL ALSO BE THERE!? THEN SAY THAT FIRST! For goodness' sake, humans like you are just... so thoroughly thoughtless. Hurry and provide me the location and commencement time!

Lilia

Ooh, nice. So today's your birthday. Just look at how big you're getting. ...Khee hee hee. Don't look so downtrodden. It's just me pretending to be a doting gramps. The other guys in my dorm don't ever let me joke with them like that. And so, I have a present for you. Here, a CD of my performances, specially made! Take this and enjoy my raging screamo music with your whole heart and body.

OTHERS

Crowley and Rollo do not have new lines. Theirs are repeated from last year's.

Grim

Today's your birthday, huh. Happy Birthday to you! ...Huh? Do I got a gift for ya? What're ya even saying? Shouldn't ya be happy enough that you're my number one favorite henchie? Fiiine. Guess I can use my paws to pad you a massage sometime. Wouldn't want to hafta sit in a hard and uncomfy lap, after all!

Crowley

Ta-daaa! What do you suppose this could be? That’s correct, it’s an exchange coupon for use at the Mystery Shop! You have been a consistent helping hand, so… This is a special gift for you. Happy Birthday. Incidentally, that is only worth 500 madol (5 Thaumarks). It cannot be exchanged for something pricier than that. Please don’t hold it against me.

Crewel

It seemed rather rowdy in here, but now I see it was just you, pup. Are you excited simply because its your birthday? I see, well, in that case, I have a special present just for you. As for what it is... It is a special alchemy homework assignment. You should be happy; you'll be able to improve your skills even further with this, don't you think? Haha, Happy Birthday.

Rollo

Whatever is the matter, [Yuu]-kun? There is a strange glimmer in your eyes… ...Ah, I see. Today is your birthday. A present? Hmph. I hardly think that it should be something you request of others… But no matter. Indeed, birthdays should be treasured. However, what would be an acceptable gift…? I am afraid I’m rather unaccustomed to this. I would hope I do not disappoint you with a poor gift choice.

Fellow

Oh, my, hello there, my learned scholar! I've been searching, and finally, I've found you! I was fervently hoping to wish you well for your birthday. Here, your present. ...As fellows lacking in magical abilities, we should get along together, don'tcha think? Happy Birthday! Fwahaha!

Requested by Anonymous.

[illwilledomen]

At the Riverbank

Steve raised his axe high in the air, and with a swift, clean swing, one piece of wood became two. He chucked the two small pieces into his pile, which had grown to a considerable size as he had worked through the morning. Winter was coming soon. The Stonemason family’s eldest daughter had just had a little baby, and Steve wanted to make sure they stayed warm. 

The soft trickling of the nearby creek beckoned Steve over to take a break. He did just that, throwing his axe aside and plonking himself down into the soft riverside grass. He closed his eyes and listened to the water for a moment. 

It was time to practise.

My name is Steve. I live in the village of Creek-in-Meadow. I like the colour blue. I am something called a person. 

Steve opened his eyes again and frowned. Other villagers could say so much more in an introduction, but Steve knew very few things about himself. 

He tried again, gleaning his mind for any information that he was certain was true.

My name is Steve. I live in the village of Creek-in-Meadow. I like the colour blue, and my favourite flowers are poppies. I am something called a person, and I am a Man.

No, he wasn’t sure if he was a Man. He didn’t really know what those were, or how they were different from Women. 

My name is Steve. I live in the village of Creek-in-Meadow. I have a horse named Butterscotch. I like the colour blue, and my favourite flowers are poppies. I am something called a person–

A branch snapped, and Steve shook himself awake. He looked around for the source of the noise. 

For a split second, he saw a pale, freckled face watching him from behind a tree, before disappearing with a frightened gasp. 

The water trickled on, and Steve carefully averted his eyes from the tree.

The face peeked out again. Steve slowly looked back, and once again the blur of white and ginger ducked behind the tree trunk. He decided to fix his gaze on the riverbank below them.

Steve felt a little nervous, but not scared. He had seen them before. Not all too much of them, they were awfully timid, but he’d known they were there.

“Hello.” Steve tentatively called out. “It’s a nice morning.”

The face slowly peeked out. It was rounded and thin, framed with fiery red hair, with big green eyes and freckles. Their nostrils flared with nervous breaths as they clung to the tree. 

“Do you live here?” Steve asked. The face didn’t respond, they only stared, flinching a bit when he spoke. 

“Um… My name’s Steve. I live in– I live in a village, and my favourite horse– My fa– Um, I have a horse.” Steve cursed himself for messing up his carefully planned introduction. “Do… Do you know what a horse is?”

The face seemed to have relaxed a tad, and moved out further from behind the tree. Steve could now see their hair was long, tied into a braid. They also wore a stained green tunic. 

“...You can ride them. Horses.” Steve swallowed nervously. “I don’t live here. I live in a village. In case you forgot.”

The face and body was now a person, standing with only their hand on the tree. They watched Steve curiously, their fear ebbing away slowly but surely.

Steve slowly looked back up, and this time they didn’t flinch when their eyes met. 

“My papa is a cleric. He’s not really– He didn’t get married or nothing, but he found me. I’m not a cleric. My profession is doing things for people. I, um, I like to help. I can make… I can make things too.”

Steve rummaged around in his pockets, before procuring a little wooden statue of a villager. Steve held it out for the visitor to see. “You see it? I made it.”

The figure craned forward, before they crouched down for a better look. They looked back at Steve with a blank expression, though Steve sensed no displeasure. 

“I can make other things too. Like houses. I am real strong. I can make things without getting tired. I dunno why, I was born in a funny way. That’s why my nose is small, see.” Steve pressed a finger into his nose. The figure furrowed their brows in intrigue. They lifted a finger, and pressed it to their own.

“Hey!” Steve grinned. “You’re like me.”

The person’s lips twitched with the ghost of a smile, and they nodded ever so slightly. They glanced to the side, a hint of trepidation in their movement, before they sucked in a breath and pointed to their chest. Out came a toneless, croaky voice, wavering and whistling as if it had not been used for a very long time. “A–leks.”

Steve furrowed his brows. 

“A… Alex. Name is Alex.”

“Oh!” Steve paused, and nodded in understanding. “Hello, Alex.” 

Alex sniffed, nodding back, before pointing at Steve. “Stefe.” 

“Aye! That’s my name.” Steve beamed. “Are you a person?”

Alex nodded. “Yes.”

“So am I. I didn’t know there was anyone else like me.” 

“Me as well.”

“Where’d you come from?” Steve bit back his questions though his mind was on fire. He wasn’t alone! He wasn’t alone!

“Nowhere.”

“Nowhere? Me too. I was found.”

“By village?” Alex glanced to the side nervously.

“Yes. And they are very nice to me.”

“Hm.” Alex trailed off, hunching their shoulders. “Good.”

“Do you want to meet them?” Steve asked, sitting up at the idea. 

Alex shrank back a bit toward the tree. They glanced to the side reluctantly and shook their head. “No.”

“Oh.” Steve hung his head. “Are you sure?”

Alex nodded their head vigorously, their eyebrows knitted together in a fearful expression. “I can’t.”

“Can I still see you, Alex? Outside of the village?”

Alex thought for a moment, before nodding. “Yes. Here.”

Steve’s smile returned. “Okay. Here. I’ll meet you here tomorrow.”

Alex nodded, smiling a bit themselves. “Tomorrow.”

“Goodbye, Alex.”

“...Goodbye, Steve.”

The two departed, having arrived as halves and leaving as whole. They were not alone.

[ddarker-dreams]

play fighting — chrollo lucilfer.

Hot cocoa is a staple when cooler weather starts setting in. 

By your reckoning, it could find a place on every tier of Maslow's hierarchy of needs. A warm, decadent cup with wisps of steam rising from the swirling surface. This mouthwatering mental image is what led you to the kitchenette. Dutifully following the package’s instructions, you rip into the chocolatey package by the serrated edge and get to work. 

All the while, a pair of inquisitive eyes track your every movement. You can’t imagine why the sight of you in fluffy pajamas pulling milk from the fridge has Chrollo’s rapt attention. He’s leaning against the counter, sipping on his own concoction. Earl gray tea, if the scent is of any indication. 

Your masterpiece is almost complete. Now, for the finishing touch — marshmallows. 

Alas. You’ve encountered a problem. The marshmallows are stored in a cabinet that evades your reach. To make matters worse, Chrollo has perched himself right where you’d need to climb up. Should you list clairvoyance among his many capabilities? Logically, you know that feat eludes him, but your suspicions remain.

“Is something the matter, dear?” 

Ah, you forgot that you’ve been silently squinting at him while the gears in your head spin. Round and round they go, never producing a viable solution. 

“No, not at all,” you dismiss. His gaze never leaves yours, even as he takes another sip of his drink. You can see it in his eyes, that ‘oh, really?’ look. You don’t appreciate that look, for you receive it often, thanks to your shenanigans. 

“Your drink’s getting cold,” he points out. 

Very astute of him. 

The way you see it, this can go a few ways. One, you could ask for his help in procuring your garnish. You could, but… he regards you with such bemusement, finding pleasure in every little thing you do. You’re tired of the court jester role. Asking him for something almost always guarantees that you’ll be putting on a metaphorical cap and bells. 

So you cling to your pride. You stand close enough for your shoulder to brush against his, as your target necessitates such sacrifice. Straining while on your tiptoes, your fingertips brush against the damnable cabinet handle, gold and mocking. Vigilant as your efforts are, they’re ultimately fruitless. Your prize remains just out of reach.

Huffing, you turn to face Chrollo, who has no right to look as innocent as he does. 

“Could you…” you trail off and shoo him with your hands. You hope that gets the message across. 

“Can I ask why? I feel perfectly content here.” 

Of course he does. 

You’re unsure what spurs on your next action. Pettiness? Irritation? Righteous anger? Who knows. You rest both your palms flat against his bicep and push, as if he were nothing more than an inconvenient obstacle, which, in truth, is a fitting description. He doesn’t so much as budge. The full weight of your body and strength combined amounts to nothing. You can’t comprehend how hard his muscles feel beneath his shirt, it’s like you’re touching a wall. 

Although it’s quiet, you hear it. A breathy chuckle escapes his lips. 

Your equilibrium is thrown into chaos as you go from your nice, secure spot on the floor to being lifted high. Two large hands settle right above your hips, holding you in place. Your reflexes kick in and you squirm. Fortunately, Chrollo’s grasp doesn’t falter. You realize what he’s getting at and make quick work of opening the cabinet and getting your stupid marshmallows. He brings you down. You only relax when your soles touch solid ground. 

Chrollo gives your hips a playful squeeze. 

“Try again,” he whispers near your ear.

You want nothing more than to scamper off, but his body envelops you, cutting off any escape. You’re caught between a rock and a hard place, clutching a bag of marshmallows, your Hello Kitty slippers askew.

You sigh.

Life certainly has its challenges. 

Should you start with elbowing him or stomping down on his feet…? 

[the-californicationist]

There’s always a sexy little literature element in your books. I’d salivatteee over price as a grumpy librarian in some small town. Ughh with some small glasses and flannel. He’s so obsessed with the nerdy little frequenter who hides away in some section in the back to read. Imagine him peeking thru the books to catch a glimpse and sees her putting on a private little show in the some hidden away section. Little does he know she wants her grumpy librarian to watch 🦭. I know you’d make this so sexy and delicious, you deviant woman 🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️

i love you so much @ofdivinity01 <3 i hope this quick fic hits those points for you <3 <3

The Archives

John Price has retired, and he has tried out a number of different jobs to keep his mind occupied. One of his favorite jobs so far has been working in the archives of a library, especially since there's a pretty little regular that has been haunting his thoughts.

TW: female genitalia, overt sex, pwp, seriously its plotless, 3rd person POV

AO3 Link

Working as a library archivist was not how John Price had pictured his retirement beginning. To be fair, he didn’t need the money. Retiring before the age of forty with a comfortable (substantial) bank account to reflect a job well done was already an achievement. So, tackling another high-stress, high-profile career seemed doable yet unnecessary. He’d stuck around the house for a while, pottering about with some renovations or garden projects, but it wasn’t enough. He was antsy. It was only when his old friend, Steve Kosser, the director of a top-level historical documents archive, called him and asked for some extra security coverage that he’d realized having a gun on his belt felt familiar in a way that he wasn’t sure he liked. But, he loved the library. 

John had always loved books. His house was full of them. He had stacks on each and every surface. The classics, some Shakespeare, a bit of poetry, some nonfiction… he would read anything. There was even a bodice-ripper or two tucked away unseen, but he wasn’t ashamed. Reading kept him sharp. It taught him about people, about their nature, about possibilities, about hope in places where there was none. 

His work had quickly transitioned from security to desk work, and from desk work to archival data entry. Now, he was a procurement specialist, reaching out across the world to find texts and documents that his clients needed. Being close to the university meant that he had some repeat customers, but there were few who caught his eye like her. 

She was his shadow-cloaked phantom, haunting him from the back corner. Her wardrobe was black on black on black, never daring to show him more than a hand or a wrist, or a bit of her neck other than her face. But, he lived for that face. Round, full cheeks, and a downturned smile when he greeted her each evening that she decided to come in to work. He dreamt of that smile almost as much as her plump, thick ass, and heavy, ample breasts; all hidden beneath her modest clothing. Part of him warred against his lust, chastising him for ogling her when she was just here to work on her graduate research, but the other part of him was… harder to convince. 

But, tonight, in his almost empty archive section, he was given a true gift. She came in from the downpour outside, and he almost didn’t recognize her. He saw her tumble into the door, shaking her umbrella, frustrated and wet, but he’d needed to do a double-take. This was not his modest little raven, hiding behind her feathers. No, she was a bird of paradise tonight. 

Her feet were lined with strappy black heels, high and platformed, shining in patent leather, wet from the puddles outside. Her legs were bare, and as he raked his eye upwards, he lingered on her round calves, her muscular thighs, wide and smooth, all leading him up under a high, pleated skirt, dark green plaid, sitting high on her waist, doing little to hide that juicy rump. She had on a button-down shirt, starched and white, but he could see her black bra underneath, the rain making the fabric of her top transparent. Her hair was up in some sort of style, pulled away from her face and her neck, curling and gleaming from the droplets. 

She was panting from the cold, and from rushing inside, and that didn’t help his cause. He’d been battling a succession of throbbing hard-ons ever since he’d first spotted her, and that was weeks ago. At home, he’d retreat to his bedroom, rod in hand, working himself into an orgasmic froth, trying his best to picture literally anyone but her. But, she would flash into his mind, her smile, those eyes, that skin… and he’d be lost. 

When he saw a request come in from her library account, it was just as bad if not worse. His primal body would celebrate, happy that she needed his help, and that he could provide for her, and he’d be in a tumultuous, heart-pumping, cock-stretching predicament yet again. He’d cloistered himself away, deep in the darkness of the stacks, fisting himself in rushed, punishing strokes, coming in his open palm, stopping himself from ruining the historical treasures he was meant to be protecting, hanging his head in love-drunk shame. 

But now, in some sort of twisted, scholarly fantasy, here she was. His curvy little grad student, dripping wet and coming straight up to his desk. 

“Hiya, John,” she whispered, her voice somehow cutting through the blood that pounded through his ears. 

“Hey there, love. It’s cats and dogs out there, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she looked down at herself, trying to squeeze the water from her top, stretching it even thinner across her visible bra line, the black lace now fully visible to him, its floral pattern burning itself into his mind like fire on a page, licking black soot and tormenting him deep in his belly.

“Do you think you could help me?” She looked up at him with those doe eyes, pleading.

His body responded before he did, plumping himself back to life, feeling how the body of his prick pressed itself down the leg of his jeans. Yes, sweetheart, we’ll fuckin’ help you, won’t we, mate?

John shook it off, nodding his head, 

“Sure, what’s the problem?”

She pulled some copies out of her bag,

“A friend sent these over, but I don’t think they match the microfiche film that you have here. I hate to ask you this, but could you help me do a cross-check? I really just need someone to listen while I read from the fiche film.”

“You bet.”

John followed her like a loyal mutt over to the dark microfiche machine, his tail surely wagging if he had one, stealing glance after fiery glance at that delectable body as she walked, those heels clacking against the terrazzo floors. 

She found the machine she wanted and perched herself on the tiny stool. He sat beside her, eyes glued to the page, afraid of himself if he dared look anywhere else. The way the machines were set up meant that she would have her eyes stuck in the viewfinders, like she was scoping out the horizon on a submarine, while the soft golden glow from the machine would light up her unbuttoned cleavage, making her body that much more visible as he stared at her from his periphery. 

“Okay,” she positioned her eyes in the machine’s goggle-like viewer, unable to see anything around her but the film she was flipping through, “We’re on page seventy-four, right?”

John looked down at his packet, 

“Yep, seventy-four.”

“Okay, oh—!” She twisted herself on the stool, trying to get more comfortable, but her ass was too much for the tiny seat to handle. He reached out on instinct, catching her on her flank, gripping her none too lightly, saving her from falling. 

“Gotcha,” he laughed. 

She peeked out of the viewfinder for a moment, smiling, 

“Shit, I’m sorry. Mmm,” she cooed, “Your hand is so warm. Didn’t realize how cold I was.”

“Tha’s alright, love. We’ll getcha warmed back up.”

She gave him an encouraging look as she turned back to the viewfinder, and John felt like he had earned her approval to keep his hand planted right where it was. 

As she read from the film, he followed along, not really needing to report any corrections, but his palm was itching to travel. He had a hold on her hip, part of his hand riding the hem of her skirt, feeling the chill of her flesh, pebbling from the damp cold. Then, he began to pet the spot, rubbing it to create some warmth, generate some heat with his friction, and every brush from his palm meant that the wool of her skirt would scrunch up, revealing more and more of her plump butt as he did so. Eventually, he was under her skirt, realizing that the skirt was all there was. No panties, no hose, no nothing. 

“Ah, uh…” He made his excuses, “Sorry, love. Got a little carried away keepin’ you from freezin’ in here.”

He removed his hand for a moment, and then, the impossible: she grabbed it and placed it back where it was, peeking at him from the fiche machine, 

“Top of page seventy-nine, according to Marchante, the lost letters from Smith to Callant, prior to the war of 1617…” 

Game on. 

Price followed along dutifully, confirming each page with her, but now, spurred on by her teasing consent, his hand wandered unbridled. His fingers squeezed her body like the flesh of a ripe peach, soft and supple, giving way under his ferocious strength. Deeper and deeper, he snaked his way down the curve of her cheek, hunting for the parts of her that wouldn’t be taken by the cold. Her little, dripping furnace; that’s what he wanted. 

When he found it, her breath hitched. His ring and pinky fingers dropped far enough down to find her hanging right off of the stool, her holes uncovered, open to the air, unguarded and vulnerable to his searching hands. The slick, lava-hot heat that he discovered there as he sank between her folds warmed him from the inside, turning his erection into a huge fucking problem, painful and hungry for her sticky, sweet treat. When her words stuttered, he pumped his fingers deeper inside of her, steady in and steady out, up and down, the quiet milking noises muffled by her skirt. 

“Tch. C’mon, love, don’t stop readin’,” he purred in her ear, daring to plant a soft kiss in the hollow of her neck, pulling back to watch the goosebumps pebble across her skin not from the chill, but from him. 

“...in the, uh…” she was breathing heavy.

“In the coming months…” he prompted, teasing her with his hand, curling his fingertips as he delved deeper, pulling out some of her wetness to paint her lips, feeling her muscles loosen up for him, readying her for something more than his thick digits. 

“...in the coming months, the two armies… they… um, they…”

“C’mon, sweetheart. Tha’s a good girl. Keep going.”

She tried her best, and he almost felt bad for her, but not that bad. Because when he added another finger, sinking his middle alongside his ring, letting his pointer finger lazily tease its way up the slick surface of her folds, reaching for her clit, her reading stopped entirely. 

“Mm, fuck!” She hissed under her breath, “John… I can’t…”

“I know, baby. I know. But, this is your bloody fault, innit?” John whispered, his voice gravelly and rolling beneath his breath, “You came in here, you wanted this, didn’t you?”

“No…” She whined, her mouth hanging open, her lips shining with a little bit of her own drool. 

“Don’t lie to me,” he warned darkly, “You wanted to see if I would take your fuckin’ bait.”

Another finger, three of them, twisting and curling, bending and rubbing against her tight walls, and that was enough for her confession.

“Yes. Yes, I… yes, fuck…”

“And you wore this just for me, didn’t you?”

“...yes.”

“My good girl,” John praised her, tossing the packet down on the desk and using his free hand to widen the neckline of her shirt.

He pulled at the fabric until he broke a button, forcing her breasts through the opening, shoving his hand into her bra to fondle her nipples and squeeze her full tits. Then, he made a true effort to tuck her clothes under them, letting her breasts sit on top of her bra cups, hanging freely in the soft glow of the reading machine. Now, with her nipples on full display, he could bend down to kiss them, to nip at them softly, suckling at her skin as he fingered her, eliciting nothing but desperate, quiet mewls from her open mouth. 

“John, please…”

She was barely perched on the stool anymore, her ass shifting and trembling, trying to present itself to him, her body wordlessly begging for more and more of his touch. 

“Please, what? Want me to pull a different document?” He chuckled, removing himself entirely, making as if to stand and leave her there a half-naked, dripping mess. 

“No!” She gasped, grabbing him by his shirt, yanking him back, shying away from his cruel laughter. 

He returned to her, using his fingers to explore her swollen pussy and, now, to lightly rim his way around the tight ring of her asshole. His once-gentle suckles against her puffy nipples turned into rough, bruising kisses, making her squirm from pleasure and pain, crying out for him. 

“Greedy thing,” he panted, feeling her flutter around his hand, “You wanna come on me? Right here? In the middle of my fuckin’ library?”

She nodded, her eyes now fixated on the way he was playing with her tits, stealing sweet kisses from her mouth when she would cry out too loudly. 

“Teasin’ me for weeks,” he admitted, pulling his hand from beneath her skirt, suckling on his fingers to taste her, sticking them in her mouth so she could join him, watching her pupils dilate as her own heady fluids touched her tongue. 

“So pretty…” John kissed her, and then it was his turn to gasp. 

She had let her hands wander to his lap, rubbing the outline of his cock through his jeans, teasing the head when she finally found it, encouraging him to buck against her touch. 

He started to fuck her with his hand; long, deep strokes, no longer caring about the lewd noises he was making as his knuckles churned within her, soaked and pumping in an unravelling rhythm. 

To hide her screams, he pressed his mouth against hers, stuffing her pretty cheeks full of his tongue, feeling her suck against it for comfort as she fell apart. 

Then, she was wet beyond belief, dripping all over his palm, creamy and hot, giving him a reward for every cruel thrust of his hand. She was gripping onto his cock’s shaft for dear life, holding it like a lifeline, and her tight grip was enough to drag him right along the edge with her. 

By the time he pulled away from her, she was a shuddering, trembling mess. Her legs were shaking, barely able to keep her balance on the tiny stool, her tits red and purple from his assault. 

“C’mere, sweetheart. Let’s go back to my office, yeah? Get you all cleaned up.”

She nodded, not even bothering to cover herself as he helped her stand, walking in front of him as he led her through the back door to the restricted area, her eyes hooded and exhausted from her ordeal, so sweet and trusting. 

“Thanks for your help, John,” she sighed, smiling up at him with that same grin that had haunted his dreams, “I wish there was some way that I could repay you. Is there anything I can do?”

Now that they were in his office, he sat her on his desk, unbuttoning the last remaining buttons of her blouse, peeling her bra away from her shoulders, unzipping the side of her skirt, grinning down at her wet sex, licking his lips like the wolf that he was,

“Oh, baby, there are so many things you could do for me. But, let’s start with you spreading your legs, hm?”

“Like this?” She did as he asked, watching him slide her skirt off of her body, letting it ruffle to the floor, leaving her in nothing but her heels. Slowly, she pulled her knees apart, showing off for him, knowing that as much as he was the wolf, she was more than just prey. 

“Holy shite,” John murmured under his breath, watching as she bloomed for him, a pink petal in the darkness of his own shadow. 

He knelt before her, eager to put his mouth against her softness, lapping his tongue against her like he was starving. Her thick thighs felt good in his hands, and he pried her open with them, pulling her legs even wider than she had dared. 

He dragged his tongue along every fold and dripping line of delicate skin, finding the swollen body of her clit nestled beneath its hood, shining for him like a pretty pink gem. He pressed his fingers back inside of her, not granting her any mercy, starting with three, stretching his way back in. 

John’s hand fucked her as he drank from her, reaping what he sowed, over and over, in and out, rubbing her to her peak and dragging her over the edge. 

She was gleaming down his beard by the time he’d had his fill. His tongue coated in her slick, swallowing her down his throat, enjoying the lingering taste of her in his mouth. 

His poor darling was hoarse from her keening, sweating, trembling below him, a drenched mess on his desktop. He chuckled, petting her skin with his callused hands, 

“Had enough?”

Her eyes were full of worry and anticipation as she looked up at him, wanting to say yes, but shaking her head no. 

He teased her, unzipping his fly, letting his cock roll out onto her belly, thrusting it forward until he was flush with her hips, showing her just how deep he would reach. Her eyes widened with shock as she reached down to touch him, feeling him dripping with precome far above her navel. 

John tapped himself against her, heavy and stiff, 

“Change your mind?”

“Um…” Her voice was small, but she still looked up at him expectantly, so he rubbed his head through her folds as a final warning. 

“Ungh! Mmf– John…” She moaned his name, rocking her hips against his long shaft, her knees shaking every time his head buried itself in her folds. 

He slapped his cockhead against her clit as if knocking for entry, making her gasp, 

“I’m not hearing a no, love.”

She covered her mouth with her hands, trying to stop herself from screaming as she felt him notch his head into the cradle of her pussy, pressing forward just enough to stretch her with the body of his cock, watching as her eyes began to fill up with tears, overwhelmed by his size. 

By the time he was halfway into her warm core, her eyes had rolled behind her fluttering lashes, her breath stuck in her throat, her lips parted, showing him her lolling tongue. 

“Tha’s it, sweetheart. Let me take care of you, yeah?” John grunted, shoving himself the rest of the way through her clenched muscles, listening to the sounds of her wetness as her body tried to make room for his immense girth. 

As John began to thrust into her, she squeezed herself against him, fighting off another orgasm, each of them coming closer and closer together as she became almost overstimulated by him. He held his fist over her lower belly, leaning forward to put his weight down into his knuckles, making her feel every inch of him. 

The pressure from his hand turned her into a gooey mess, her body throwing everything it could to accommodate him, her cries dragging out into deep moans, fully under his spell. 

He couldn’t help himself. All of those nights where his cock had only been comforted by his own hand were running him down, crackling at the edges of his mind, eating away at his humanity, ravenous and desperate. Finally feeling her, hearing her cry for him, watching the way her pussy sucked him in; it was making him wild. 

His desk was rocking off of its feet, scooting across the floor of his office, John’s strength too much for it to hold him back. He pulled her knees together, using them to push her thick thighs against her belly, holding her down at a new angle. For a few moments, he let himself get lost in the delightful jiggle of her body as he railed against her, admiring how her fat ass rippled with each of his thrusts. 

“John… J–John. Oh, my God,” she gripped the edge of the table, her elbows framing her head on either side, the new position making her breasts hang and sway like heavy teardrops. 

“Come for me, love. C’mon. Let me feel it,” he growled breathlessly, leaning against her leg, letting his lips and tongue graze along her ankle, tracing the skin between the straps of her gleaming heels. 

“I’m… so close…”

John kept his pace, even though everything within him wanted to breakdown and follow her over the edge. His cock was throbbing, sending him every signal that it was ready to burst, his aching balls full and tight, the nerves in his groin burning with hot pleasure. 

Then, he was rewarded for his patience. She began to unfurl beneath him, unraveling like a tangled ball of yarn, chaotic and spinning out of control. Her muscles within her core clamped down on his cock, milking him like a hungry mouth, yanking him deeper inside of her as she came. With all of the strength he had left, he pulled himself out of her at the last moment, spraying rope after rope of his come across her pulsating hole, painting her pussy with his own orgasm, grunting like a rabid animal. 

He let her legs fall open, weak as she was, watching as she melted on his desk, laying beside her. She curled into him, resting her head on his chest, still fully clothed in stark contrast to her nakedness. Both of them were breathing in ragged, exhausted bursts, clinging to each other for any kind of strength they could find left. 

“Thanks for… helping me, John,” she smiled up at him, kissing his neck. 

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he kissed her forehead, “Research is my second favorite thing.”

“What’s your first?” She looked lost, still reeling from what he had just put her through. 

“Oh, love,” he let out a low rumbling laugh, “Gimme a few minutes and I’ll show you again.”

[twistedlovelines]

Please! Please! Puh-LEAZ! Elaborate on Lilia, Crewel, and Rollo with bow tying. 🎀🙏🏻

I'm thirsty. Parched. Delirious even! m(；∇；)m

Thank you!

tying a ribbon around his cock (Lilia, Crewel, Rollo): round 2 <3

18+, MDNI

a/n: oh no!! (rushes to bring you water). don't die of dehydration please QWQ

(Elaboration of this)

Tags: d/s dynamics, light bondage (tying a ribbon around his cock), light darcyphilia in Rollo's portion

LILIA VANROUGE

Lilia’s not unfamiliar with experimentation; he’s turned from a general to a father, and has dyed his hair every color conceivable- not to mention his experience in the kitchen! So when you bring up the concept of tying ribbons around him, he’s absolutely ecstatic. Cater’s shown him a few different styles based off of trending characters or whatnot, but did you have any particular ones in mind?

He sits happily perched over your shoulder as you scroll through a few options you had saved, explaining the appeal in each type. A few catch his eye- cutesy ones with a bit of edge, as well as ribbons with more textural elements to them, but ultimately he suggests that life is too short to only choose one, so why not buy them all?

The actual act itself is rather intimate, Lilia leaning back on his hands as you’re on your knees, making sure to fasten the ribbon around his cock just right. He can’t help but grin. What a sacred act of ownership this is! He’s seen human traditions similar to this throughout his travels, but he never thought he would be on the receiving end of one. 

“Is it tight enough for your liking?��� He chuckles, letting out a sharp exhale as the fabric momentarily constricts his cock with little to no room for movement.

“Apparently not, if you can still talk like this~”

How cruel of you…perhaps he ought to pay back the favor.

DIVUS CREWEL

As much as he had teased you for suggesting the idea, Divus practically preened when you had suggested the idea of tying a ribbon around his cock. Who was he to deny your desire to possess him as he possessed you? 

Neither of you were unfamiliar with kinks such as this, as your partner had taken care to be upfront with his preferences and desires when you began your courtship. Still, this was a different dynamic than what you had naturally grown to fall in to. An array of collars and ties made of silk, leather, and other quality materials lay neatly in a specific section of Divus’ closet, and this would be the first time they would be worn on him.

Frankly, he’s rather proud of you. He doesn’t doubt you’ve learned well from both him and other resources you’ve sought out, and he trusts that he can bare his neck to you without fear. 

The ribbon is silk, richly dyed black with a lace trimmed edge. It slides around his cock easily, the fabric so soft that you have to tighten it a hair more than you had assumed so that it stays in place. As you tie the final bow on his cock, Divus moans softly, his thighs relaxing underneath you. 

“You spoil me, my love.”

ROLLO FLAMME

Never had such a thought even crossed his mind.

A tender act of devotion expressed through such filthy means, a desecration of what is sacred, a blatant act of utter dishonor- how shameless of you, to have even voiced such ideas into existence, and with that, possibility. Do you have no regard for his propriety? 

Your smile is all he needs as a response, and he’s all the more chagrined because of it. 

Of course you would suggest something like this to him. You never had much care for traditions in regards to romance, much less intercourse. Still, the concept sends a fierce heat through his body, his hand tightly clutching his handkerchief in a futile attempt to ground himself.

Still, when you show him the selection of ribbons you had procured, he begrudgingly chooses one the color of a white dove, the color slightly creamy. When you suggest the addition of pearls and lace, he only huffs and turns his cheek. 

“Fine.”

He refuses to look you in the eye as you tie the ribbon, head turned to the side as his legs are hitched around your waist. You’re on your knees, settled between his legs, yet he can’t shake the feeling of helplessness of being laid on his back as you’re decorating his cock.

A small whimper tears its way out of his throat, and you coo, stroking the uncovered flesh of his cock with affection. 

“Are you alright, darling?”

You catch a glimpse of tears in his eyes as he finally faces you, face flushed with embarrassment and desire.

“Hurry up,” he rasps, hips uselessly stuttering under your touch, “or are you unable to follow through with your barking?”

a/n: rollo....orz he's sooo cute i love he...

[copperbadge]

All the weebs love me for my swag and by swag I mean my dope new wax seal of a cat enjoying ramen.

This is by far the most absurd hobby I've ever had but being fair, it's also one of the cheapest. How much joy can be procured for $7? More than you'd think!

[ID: A photo of my hand holding a round stamped wax seal; it is black with a gold center where the stamp impression is placed. The impression is of a cartoon cat with a massive bowl of ramen, using chopsticks to scoop noodles into their mouth.]

[seat-safety-switch]

My cat is not enormously smart, nor is he particularly brave, but these simple flaws are outdone by the fact that he is also extremely disloyal. Lord Fluffbottoms, who we once believed was some kind of Norwegian Forest Cat but whose citizenship has since been contested by Norway, constantly pees all over my house whenever he gets the least bit upset. And, being dumb, he gets upset all the time.

Once, I watched him chase a fruit fly around my kitchen for over an hour. I cheered him on, although my enthusiasm began to wane after about fifteen minutes, in the same way that a parent eventually gets tired of watching their ambitious toddler repeatedly fall off a merry-go-round. Eventually, the fly got away. Escaped into some nether regions of my kitchen. Lord Fluffbottoms responded by angrily peeing on what he thought was my record collection, but was actually an empty Rubbermaid bin that I had surreptitiously filled to the brim with kitty litter. Got you, you little bastard.

I think he figured out that he had been tricked, because shortly after that he got out. It wasn't my fault: while I was at work, the city bylaw inspectors got the sheriff to cut through one of the grates holding the front door shut, and he snuck out and into the patrol car during all the commotion. If you ask me, he was probably trying to hot-wire the damn thing, but one thing led to another. Soon, I was requested to come and pick up my endlessly urinating cat from the pound, which I quickly did.

"He's such a gentleman," cooed the gentleman working the front desk. "He always wants to cuddle, and he uses the litter box perfectly."

"He uses the litter box?" I asked. "What kind of drugs did you put him on?"

It turns out that he had not, in fact, been on any drugs at all. Lord Fluffbottoms' endless ammonia-based aggression towards my life and property was just a thing he liked to do to show respect for the master of the house (technically, my landlord, but until they can procure a death certificate from whatever country his body washes up in, me.)

Still, I was beyond happy to have my special little buddy back in my life again. The field mice? Not so much, as in his absence they moved quickly into colonizing the various Plymouths dotted about the backyard. I ended up having to move what was left of my sopping-wet kitchen table out there in order to scare them back into the bushes. Lord Fluffbottoms watched the whole thing.

[merakiui]

So I know overall yandere talk is on Skully atm, but I've been having some thoughts kicking around in my head for the Heartslabyul hive and how it could work. So here are some of my thoughts for it:

Why is the hive so desperate for a Queen? (Breeding Queen?)

My current thought is that maybe Riddle's mother was the last Queen. And for whatever reason, the hive rejected her. This can happen with bees if their queen gets a parasite or the like, but the overall process beyond that would be to already be breeding another, but just starve the last Queen to death. Or brutal regicide, kind of depends.

I mean, it's Riddle's mom, whatever reason can kinda fit. But for some reason, the hive was still unable to produce their own queen naturally. So they went out and procured the next best thing.

Even better if Riddle was *supposed* to be the next Queen that was being raised, but ended up being a drone. This screws up the last Queen's plans, making he far more brutal or violent or whatever.

And maybe he and the other drones (the Hearts boys) didn't like the mistreatment from her. Sooooooo Regicide? And that is when they get desperate looking for a new Queen.

2. Why go for a human?

Could be convenience, could be temperature is just right. Either way, if the way the drones work is that they're depositing eggs into their darling, then fertilizing them, then that would just be using their own egg and sperm. This could explain the breeding rotations, though.

One dude fills with eggs, the next fertilizes them. Keeping some genetics in there and providing some diversity. Unless Riddle can, somehow, be the only one who can deposit eggs and the rest can fertilize? But I kind of like the idea of them taking turns for clutches and for quicker rounds.

I would imagine whoever is on the clutch rotation, though, would be pampered just as well as their precious incubator. Maybe they spend a lot of time together, getting fed good foods, courting a bit. Making eggs in general is, of course, very energy/time consuming for the body. So the idea of the egg-depositor getting to be spoiled

Maybe most of the drones let this be Riddle most of the time after all the BS with his mom. Maybe they just like spoiling the two of them the most, but they get turns sometimes too. Sometimes Riddle wants to spoil others, obviously~

3. Pheromones

Hot. Little bit of hypnotism, little bit of bug stuff. Very good recipe for breeding shenanigans.

4. Hierarchy

I like the idea that the Queen is at the top, but second to her is the "King." The way this could work is that the Queen is the one who (normally) produces eggs for the hive, then everyone else in the hive tends to her. Y'know, bee logic. Drones are constantly breeding the Queen in order for her to produce said eggs, then all the workers are feeding her and cleaning her, etc.

But I like the idea for this hive is that it works like this:

Socially speaking, the Queen is at the top. The Queen births the young. Then, there's a King, the one who's decided is like. The best genetics or something along those lines. Maybe the brightest colors (Riddle with his bright red hair and the like) determines who has the strongest genetics.

Then the other drones are beneath him. The King's main duties are tending to the Queen and ensuring she is best cared for.

---

Anyway, I have more thoughts but these are the ones to kick around for now.

--Science Freak Anon 🤡🧪

👁 👁 my dear science freak anon, this is so DELICIOUS!!!! I am devouring each of these thoughts like a starved dog who has just discovered a veritable FEAST. The idea of breeding rotations is especially scrumptious........ if the responsibility fell to Riddle to keep the hive in line while searching for a new queen, it's only right to do so through rules and schedules. The same goes for breeding so that no one is too greedy with you, and everyone is granted a turn so long as they follow the schedule. OTL

AAAAAA I love the idea of mutual pampering, too!!! >w< both of you being spoiled after so much physical exertion. orz the entire hive doing what they can to make things comfortable, adoring you so much!!!

[kckt88]

Byka rūklon II.

Summary:

Prince Aemond Targaryen has never given much thought to any of the maids who worked in the Red Keep, until he met Y.N.

In her Aemond found comfort and solace, the two of them kindred spirits until the Dance of Dragons forces them apart.

*Features an Aemond POV

Warnings - Angst, Drama, Secret Relationship, Discussion of Non/con Brothel Visit, Kissing, Smut - Oral Sex, FIngering, Loss of Virginity, P in V, Mention of Betrothal, Mention of Death, Vulnerability.

AEMOND TARGARYEN x Y.N

Word Count: 8382

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8

Aemond Targaryen strode through the dimly lit corridors of the Red Keep, on his way back to his chambers after an extended study session in the library.

His mind swirled with the weight of the lore and histories of his ancestors. As he rounded a corner sharply, he collided with someone, a small figure who tumbled to the ground with a startled squeak.

Aemond looked down, his single eye narrowing. At his feet lay a young maid, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she scrambled to collect herself. “Watch where you’re going,” he demanded, his voice cold and imperious.

The girl’s eyes widened as she hastily bowed her head. “Apologies, my prince,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Aemond’s gaze fell on a tatty book that had slipped from her grasp. Curious, he bent down and picked it up, the worn cover rough beneath his fingers. “What is this?” he asked, his tone carrying a hint of disdain.

The girl lowered her gaze further, her eyes fixed on the stone floor. “It belonged to my mother, my prince” she murmured.

Aemond’s curiosity piqued. “And where is your mother now?”

“She-she died twelve moons ago, my prince.”

“And what of your father?”

“He sold me as a maid to the Red Keep because he couldn’t afford to keep me,” she replied, her voice trembling slightly.

Aemond studied her for a moment, a mixture of annoyance and a flicker of something softer in his gaze. “What is your name?”

“Y.N,” she replied, her voice steadying as she looked up at him through her long lashes.

Aemond extended his hand, and she hesitated before reaching out, her fingers trembling as they met his. He helped her to her feet, the moment stretching out as she steadied herself. Handing back the book, he watched her clutch it to her chest.

“Thank you, my prince,” she said, her voice sincere.

Aemond gave a curt nod, a thoughtful “hmm” escaping his lips before he turned and continued on his way, leaving the young maid standing in the corridor.

Aemond stood in the training yard, the clashing of swords echoing off the stone walls as he sparred with Ser Criston. Each swing of his blade was precise, fuelled by a combination of rigorous practice and a relentless drive to prove himself.

"Good, my prince," Ser Criston praised, parrying a strike and stepping back. "Your form is improving."

Aemond took a moment to catch his breath, lowering his sword. As he did, the sound of jeering voices caught his attention. He turned; his eye narrowing as he saw a group of men gathered near the entrance to the keep.

In the midst of them was Y.N, her arms laden with food procured from the markets, her gaze fixed firmly on the ground as the men made lewd comments.

Anger flared within Aemond, and he gritted his teeth. Without a second thought, he shouted, "Don't you all have something better to do than harass the maid whilst she attends to her duties?"

The men immediately fell silent, their faces paling as they recognized the volatile one-eyed prince. "Apologies, my prince," one of them mumbled, and the group quickly dispersed, not daring to disobey his command.

Y.N looked up, her eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and gratitude. She bowed politely to Aemond, her movements quick and respectful. "Thank you, my prince," she said softly before rushing back inside the Red Keep, the food still balanced precariously in her arms.

Aemond watched her go, his expression unreadable. He then turned back to Ser Criston, his grip tightening on his sword as he prepared to resume their training.

Over the next few weeks, Aemond found his attention increasingly drawn to Y.N. It began subtly, his gaze lingering on her longer than intended whenever she was in sight.

During dinners, as she moved gracefully among the tables, pouring wine, he noticed the quiet efficiency with which she worked, her eyes always downcast, her presence almost ghostly.

Unlike his older brother Aegon, whose hands were notorious for wandering where they shouldn't, Aemond had always maintained a respectful distance from the maids.

Aegon's unseemly behaviour brought dishonour upon their family, especially upon his wife, Helaena, a fact that irked Aemond to no end.

He was the second son, a scholar of history and philosophy, a dedicated swordsman, and the rider of Vhagar, the largest dragon in the world. His life was defined by discipline and a relentless pursuit of knowledge and skill.

Yet, despite this, he couldn't help but feel drawn Y.N. She was different, and that intrigued him.

He found himself observing her while she swept and scrubbed the floors of the Red Keep, her movements methodical and precise. There was a quiet dignity in the way she carried out her duties, a stark contrast to the bustling activity around her.

What truly captured his attention, though, were the moments when she thought she was alone. He noticed how her eyes would linger on the sky, a look of longing and wistfulness in them. It was as if she were dreaming of a world beyond the confines of the Red Keep.

He also saw the way she smiled when she took a moment to rest and read from the tattered book she carried. Her face would soften, and a gentle smile would grace her lips and he would often find himself wondering what she was thinking in that exact moment, if she ever thought of him the way he thought of her.

He wondered about the softness of her skin, the arch of her lips and the shade of her eyes.

Thinking about her was tormenting his mind, she was maid and he a prince of the realm, he should be focusing on his duties, but he couldn’t help himself.

Night after night as he laid in bed, he would picture her in various stages of undress, and the two of them laying with one another.

He felt ashamed, his thoughts were wrong, he prayed in the sept for forgiveness and understanding but none ever came.

Even escaping the confines of the Red Keep and taking to the sky with Vhagar did little to quell his curiosity over Y.N.

He did think that if maybe he stopped watching her and tried to avoid her, then his interest in her would fade and he would be able to resume his duties without suffering any further distractions.

Aemond was returning from a rigorous training session, his muscles aching, and his mind filled with the day's drills. As he approached his chambers, he heard an almighty crash followed by a raised voice, “Foolish girl!” The sound of a pained wail echoed down the corridor, drawing his attention. His steps quickened, his curiosity and concern growing with each stride.

Rounding the corner, he saw Y.N. slumped on the floor, her face contorted in pain. An older maid stood above her, a thin wooden rod in her hand. With a cruel expression, she whipped Y.N. on the back again, eliciting another cry of pain from the girl.

“What in gods’ name is going on here?” Aemond's voice was sharp and commanding, cutting through the tense atmosphere.

The older maid turned to him, startled. “My prince, this girl is a clumsy fool who has caused a mess. Her behaviour needs correcting,” she said, raising the rod for another strike.

Before she could bring it down, Aemond reached out and snatched the whip from her hand, his grip like iron. He threw the rod down the corridor with a forceful flick, his gaze burning with anger. “Don't let me ever see you do that again—do I make myself clear, or I will have you fed to my dragon.”

The older maid’s face drained of colour. She nodded fearfully, bowing her head. “Yes, my prince. I understand.”

“Good. Now get out of my sight. And from now on, Y.N. will be assigned to me.”

The older maid bowed again and scurried away, not daring to look back. Aemond watched her go, his expression stern and unforgiving. Once she was out of sight, he turned his attention to Y.N., who was still on the floor, her body trembling.

Aemond knelt down and gently helped her to her feet. “Come,” he said softly, guiding her back to his chambers. Once inside, he sat her down in one of the chairs and fetched a piece of cloth, offering it to her. She took it gratefully, using it to wipe her nose, her breath still hitching every so often.

“Thank you, my prince,” she whispered, her voice shaky.

Aemond nodded, his expression softening as he looked at her. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” he asked, concern evident in his tone.

Y.N. shook her head. “No, my prince. Just my back. I’ll be fine.”

Aemond’s jaw tightened at the thought of the older maid’s cruelty. “You will not be subjected to such treatment again,” he said firmly. “You will be under my protection now.”

Y.N. looked up at him, her eyes filled with gratitude and something else—something like hope. “Thank you, my prince. I don’t know how to repay you.”

Aemond waved off her thanks. “There is no need for repayment. Just-rest for now.”

As Aemond sat in his chambers, the reality of his impulsive decision began to sink in. What was he thinking, demanding that Y.N be assigned to him? He was supposed to be avoiding her, not drawing her closer into his daily life.

This arrangement was bound to complicate matters, and the thought of Y.N reporting to his chambers every day, attending to him, drove him to the brink of madness.

Aemond leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair in frustration. His mother had been surprised at his request. She knew of her son’s wariness towards women being in his personal space. It was a trait that set him apart from Aegon, whose indiscretions were a constant source of shame.

When Aemond informed her of the caning incident, however, Alicent's demeanour softened. She had always trusted her favourite son, confident in his sense of honour and integrity.

She knew he wouldn’t hurt Y.N., nor would he violate her trust. Reluctantly, she had relented, allowing Y.N. to be assigned to him.

In the days that followed, Aemond found himself both anticipating and dreading Y.N.'s presence. Each morning, she would appear at his door, her demeanour respectful and quiet.

She would tend to his chambers, bring his meals if he chose not to dine with his family, and assist with whatever tasks were required. Aemond watched her closely, noting the way she moved, the way she carried herself. There was a grace and resilience about her that he couldn't ignore.

Despite his initial reservations, Aemond found a strange sense of calm in her presence. She never pried, never asked questions. She simply did her work with a quiet determination that he admired. It wasn’t long before he began to appreciate the small moments of interaction between them, the subtle exchanges that spoke volumes without words.

Alicent observed the changes in her son with a mix of curiosity and approval. She trusted Aemond’s judgment and saw that he was handling the situation with the same meticulous care he applied to all aspects of his life.

Y.N., for her part, seemed to thrive under his protection, her confidence slowly growing with each passing day.

Aemond, however, continued to wrestle with his own feelings. He couldn't deny the growing attraction he felt towards Y.N., but he was determined to keep his distance. He reminded himself of his duty, of the expectations placed upon him as a prince of the realm.

Yet, despite his best efforts, Aemond found himself drawn to Y.N. more and more each day. Her presence was a constant reminder of the delicate balance he had to maintain, the fine line he walked between duty and desire.

One day, as Y.N. was attending to her duties in Aemond's chambers, changing the bedding with meticulous care, she heard the door open. Aemond entered, his face contorted with pain, his hand pressed against the left side of his face.

With a sharp yank, Aemond pulled the drawer too forcefully, causing its contents to spill all over the floor—clean rags and various salves scattering across the room. He ripped off his eyepatch in a fit of anger, revealing the sapphire that took the place of his missing eye.

At that moment, Aemond noticed Y.N. standing there, her eyes widening briefly before she immediately lowered her gaze. "Apologies, my prince," she murmured, gathering the bedding, and making a move to leave the room.

"Stay," Aemond commanded, his voice strained but firm. "Help me."

Y.N. nodded, setting the bedding aside and moving cautiously towards him. He sat down, his head tipped back, his fingers still pressing against his eye. "The dirt from the training yard has aggravated my eye," he explained, his tone softer but laced with pain. "Clean it with the rags and salve."

She knelt beside him, picking up a clean rag and dipping it into the salve. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached up to touch his scarred cheek. Aemond hissed in pain when the rag made contact with his skin.

"Apologies, my prince," she said again, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Stop apologizing all the time," Aemond snapped, his frustration more with himself than her. He noticed her gaze remained lowered, avoiding his face. "-Look at me," he demanded.

Y.N. hesitated, then slowly lifted her eyes to meet his.

"Are you afraid of me?" Aemond asked, his gaze intense and searching.

"No, my prince," she replied, her voice steady despite her initial hesitation.

"Does my scarred face repulse you?" He scrutinized her expression, looking for any sign of disgust.

"No," she answered firmly. She took a breath, her eyes meeting his directly. "I think you are beautiful."

Aemond was taken aback, his eye widening in surprise. He had expected pity or fear, but not this. There was no trace of deceit in her gaze, only sincerity. Her words hung in the air between them, a stark contrast to the pain and anger that had filled the room moments before.

Y.N. continued to clean his wound, her touch gentle and deliberate. Aemond watched her, his earlier anger dissipating as he absorbed her words.

As she finished tending to his eye, Aemond caught her hand in his, holding it for a moment longer than necessary. "Thank you," he said, his voice low.

Y.N. nodded, her eyes meeting his with a quiet strength. "Anytime, my prince."

Without fully realizing what he was doing, Aemond began to move his face closer to hers. The world around them faded into the background, leaving only the two of them in that quiet, intimate moment. Y.N. gasped softly, her breath hitching, and he paused, searching her face for any sign of discomfort or hesitation.

Instead, he saw something else—a spark of anticipation, a flicker of desire that mirrored his own. Encouraged, he closed the remaining distance, his lips brushing against hers with a tentative, almost reverent touch. For a moment, they remained still, the kiss delicate and uncertain.

Then, Y.N. leaned in, responding to his advance. The kiss deepened, growing more assured and passionate. Aemond's hand cupped her cheek, his thumb gently tracing the line of her jaw as he savoured the warmth and softness of her lips.

Y.N.'s free hand came up to rest on his chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic as she responded to the kiss with equal fervour.

When they finally parted, both were breathing heavily, their foreheads resting against each other as they tried to catch their breath. Aemond's eye searched Y.N.'s face, his heart pounding with a mixture of exhilaration and uncertainty.

"Y.N.," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "I-"

Y.N. placed a finger gently on his lips, stopping him. "It's alright, my prince," she said softly, her eyes shining with the same intensity he felt within himself.

"Y.N.," he began, his voice soft but firm, "I want you to call me by my name, not my title. Call me Aemond."

Y.N.'s eyes widened slightly in surprise. "My pr— Aemond," she corrected herself, her voice filled with a mixture of wonder and hesitation. "Are you sure?"

He nodded, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Yes. When we're alone like this, I want you to see me as I am, not just as a prince. Can you do that for me?"

Y.N. smiled back, a warmth spreading across her features. "Of course, Aemond."

Hearing his name on her lips, spoken so softly and with such affection, sent a thrill through him. It was as if a barrier had been lifted, allowing them to connect on a deeper, more personal level.

He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, feeling a sense of contentment and clarity he hadn't known he was missing.

"Thank you," he whispered, his breath mingling with hers. "It means more to me than you know."

Over the next few weeks, Y.N. continued to diligently attend to her duties, her professionalism unwavering. In public, she maintained the expected decorum, her interactions with Aemond strictly formal.

She served wine during meals, cleaned the chambers, and carried out her tasks with the same quiet efficiency she always had, ensuring that no one could suspect the growing bond between them.

However, in the privacy of Aemond's chambers, things were different. There, they could let down their guards and be themselves, free from the watchful eyes of the court.

One evening, as they sat together in the dimly lit room, Aemond took her hand in his, his gaze earnest and sincere. "Y.N.," he began softly, "I need you to know that I will not take what isn't given willingly. It's important to me that you're with me because you want to be, not because you feel forced."

Y.N. squeezed his hand gently, her eyes meeting his with a steady, reassuring gaze. "Aemond, I feel safe with you," she said, her voice filled with conviction.

As they kissed, their connection a palpable energy that neither could ignore. Y.N. found herself fumbling with the fastenings of Aemond's tunic, her hands eager to remove the barrier between them.

However, Aemond suddenly pulled away, shaking his head. "No," he said, his voice strained.

Y.N. looked up at him, her cheeks flushed with both embarrassment and confusion. "I'm sorry-" she whispered, her voice trembling. "I thought we could take things further."

Aemond's eyes softened, and he took a deep breath. "I want to, Y.N., believe me. But I'm scared." He looked away; his gaze distant as he gathered his thoughts. "I-I need to tell you something."

She waited patiently, sensing the depth of his unease. He took another breath, then began to speak, his voice low and hesitant.

"When I was thirteen, Aegon took me to a brothel," he said, the words heavy with the weight of old memories. "He declared it was time for me to become a man. There was a woman there, Sylvi. She was much older than me. What she did, I didn't like it. It made me feel-dirty. Afterward, I returned to my chambers and scrubbed my skin raw in the bath. I never want to feel like that again."

Y.N.'s heart ached for him, understanding dawning in her eyes. She reached out, her hand gently cupping his cheek. "Aemond," she said softly, her voice filled with compassion. "I'm so sorry you went through that."

He leaned into her touch, closing his eyes briefly. "That's why it's so important to me," he continued, his voice steadier now. "The trust and willingness. I don't ever want to feel like I'm taking advantage, I need to know that you're with me because you want to be, not because you feel obligated."

Y.N. nodded, her eyes shining with empathy. "I understand, and we can take all the time we need," she assured him. "I'm not going anywhere."

As Aemond's name day approached, Y.N. found herself determined to present him with a gift. Despite her limited coin, she scoured the markets, seeking something meaningful and unique.

After days of searching, she finally discovered a small, intricately carved miniature of Vhagar, Aemond's dragon.

On the morning of Aemond's name day, Y.N. felt a mix of excitement and nervousness. She had carefully wrapped the miniature dragon in a piece of soft cloth, and now held it close as she made her way to his chambers. She knocked softly on the door, waiting for his familiar voice to bid her enter.

Aemond looked up from the book he was reading as she stepped inside, a smile spreading across his face. "Good morning, Y.N.," he greeted her warmly, his tone lighter than usual.

Y.N. took a deep breath, stepping forward and holding out the small, wrapped bundle. "Happy name day, Aemond," she said, her voice gentle. "It's not much, but I found this in the market and thought you might like it."

Aemond's curiosity was piqued as he took the gift from her hands. Carefully, he unwrapped the cloth, revealing the miniature carving of Vhagar. His breath caught as he examined the intricate details, of his beloved dragon.

"Y.N.," he said softly, his eye gleaming with genuine appreciation, "This is-incredible. Thank you."

She smiled, a mix of relief and happiness flooding her features. "I'm glad you like it”

Aemond placed the miniature dragon on his desk, then turned back to her, his expression tender. "You've given me more than just a gift," he said, reaching out to take her hand. "You've shown me thoughtfulness and care, and that means more to me than you can imagine."

Y.N. felt a warmth spread through her at his words, her heart swelling with affection. "You deserve it, Aemond," she replied softly. "You deserve to be celebrated."

Aemond pulled her into a gentle embrace, holding her close. "Thank you, Y.N.," he whispered into her hair. "Not just for the gift, but for everything. You've brought a light into my life that I didn't realize I needed."

As Aemond held Y.N. in his arms, he felt an overwhelming surge of emotion. He gently pulled back, his eyes searching hers for any hint of hesitation or doubt. Seeing none, he leaned in and kissed her, softly at first, then with a growing intensity that spoke of his deep, unspoken longing.

When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling in the intimate space between them. "Y.N.," he whispered, his voice filled with a mixture of desire and tenderness, "I'm ready. I want to take you to bed."

Y.N.'s eyes widened slightly at his words. She bit her lip, her heart racing. "Aemond, are you sure" she asked softly,

“Yes-I want this. I want you” replied Aemond.

"I-I've never done it before” muttered Y.N.

Aemond cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs gently caressing her cheeks. "I promise I will be gentle," he vowed, his voice low and earnest. "I want this to be as special for you, as it will be for me."

Y.N. felt a wave of warmth and trust wash over her. She nodded, a soft smile playing on her lips. "I trust you, Aemond."

Taking his hand, she allowed him to lead her towards the bed. The room seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in their own private world.

"Tell me if you want to stop," Aemond whispered, his breath warm against her ear. "At any time."

Y.N. nodded, her trust in him absolute. As he began to undress her, his movements were slow and gentle, giving her time to adjust and ensuring her comfort. She did the same for him, her fingers trembling slightly but steadying as she felt the warmth of his skin beneath her touch.

When they were both bare, Aemond took a moment to simply look at her, his eye filled with awe and admiration. "You are beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

"So are you," she replied, reaching up to touch his face, tracing the line of his jaw.

Y.N had lost most of her senses the moment Aemond had pressed her onto the bed and knelt down between her legs.

“My girl-my sweetest-” whispered Aemond.

Y.N’s eyes rolled into the back of her head as Aemond’s tongue swept across her slick wet folds.

Y.N bit the back of her hand to keep herself from screaming as Aemond began using his long fingers to tease her entrance.

“None of that. Let me hear you” growled Aemond.

“A-Aemond. Oh god. Please” moaned Y.N.

“I know your almost there. Let it happen my sweet. Come for me” whispered Aemond, his tongue moving across her pearl.

Y.N arched her back and let out a loud scream as her pleasure erupted.

Aemond crawled up Y.N’s body, placing gentle kisses on her skin as he moved higher and higher.

Y.N blushed furiously when she saw that Aemond’s chin was shining with her slick.

“Calm yourself byka rūklon” muttered Aemond (Little flower).

“W-What does that mean?” asked Y.N

“Little flower-” whispered Aemond as he slowly reached out and ran his hands over Y.N’s breasts, marvelling at the stiffened rosy peaks.

Goosebumps erupted over Y.N’s skin as Aemonds hand then began to move lower.

“I-I need to prepare you a little more” whispered Aemond.

“P-prepare me?” whispered Y.N

“I don’t want to hurt you” replied Aemond.

Y.N gasped when she felt Aemond’s fingers rubbing her folds.

“Aemond” exclaimed Y.N as he slowly slipped a finger inside her, the slick from her first peak easing the way.

Aemond buried his face in Y.N’s neck as he began peppering kisses along her smooth skin as he added another finger, moving them in and out slowly.

“I-I think I’m ready” whispered Y.N

Aemond removed his fingers and then laid between her open legs, supporting his weight on his left arm as he reached down and took his hard cock in his hand and placed the tip of it against her slick entrance.

“A-Are you sure?”

“Yes-I want you Aemond-all of you” replied Y.N

Y.N shut her eyes tight and took a deep breath as Aemond sheathed himself within her.

“Your doing so well-” muttered Aemond trying to control himself.

“I-It hurts-“ whimpered Y.N

“If it’s too much I can pull out-“ offered Aemond.

“N-No just give me a moment” replied Y.N softly.

Aemond’s cock twitched and throbbed with need, and he released a shuddered breath while Y.N sighed in relief. 

“Are you ok?” asked Aemond.

“I-I think you can move now” whispered Y.N her hands running along the smooth plans of Aemond’s back.

Slowly Aemond withdrew and then moved forward, his cock reaching deep inside her.

“Are you ok?” repeated Aemond as he thrust inside her.

“Y-yes-I think you can move faster” muttered Y.N

Aemond rested his head in the crook of her neck as he thrusts faster, his quiet moans muffled against her skin.

“Ooh Aemond-that feels good” whined Y.N

“Your perfect-“ whispered Aemond.

Feeling a spark of pleasure Y.N dug her fingers into Aemonds back, holding him close.

“P-please Aemond. F-faster. H-harder” exclaimed Y.N.

“Y.N-“ moaned Aemond as he began to pound into her, his hips slapping against hers.

“OH-Aemond. My Aemond”

“Fuck-that’s it Y.N” muttered Aemond as he slipped his hand between their bodies and began rubbing her pearl.

“AEMOND” screamed Y.N as her peak exploded, making her entire body shake.

“Avy jorrāelan-Avy jorrāelan” moaned Aemond pushed into the hilt for one last time, his cock throbbing as he spilled his seed (I love you-I love you).

“A-Are you ok?”  Aemond as he gently pulled his softened cock from Y.N

Y.N nodded, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, wanting to keep him close.

As they lay together in the quiet aftermath, Y.N. felt a myriad of emotions swirling within her. She turned her head slightly to look at Aemond, her eyes searching his for reassurance. "Will it always be like that?" she asked softly, a hint of vulnerability in her voice.

Aemond smiled, his fingers gently brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "It can be," he replied, his voice filled with tenderness.

Y.N. felt a sense of relief and happiness at his words, but another thought quickly surfaced. "I need moon tea," she said, her tone serious.

Aemond nodded understandingly. "Of course. I will have some brought to my chambers for you."

Y.N. hesitated, concern etching her features. "Is that wise? Surely the prince requesting moon tea is bound to raise suspicions."

Aemond frowned, considering her words. "You’re right," he admitted.

Y.N. gave him a reassuring smile. "I will sort it out when I return to my room”.

Aemond looked at her with a soft expression. "I trust you”.

In the months that followed, Aemond and Y.N.'s relationship deepened. Every night, Aemond would take her in his chambers, sometimes more than once. His appetite for her was ravenous and he revealed in it.

Sometimes during the day, Aemond would find her and then take her in the hidden alcoves within the Red Keep, her legs wrapped around his waste as he thrust deep inside her, his hand clamped over her mouth to muffle her screams of pleasure.

However, as the nights turned into months, Y.N. found herself troubled by thoughts of the future. Despite the happiness she found in Aemond's arms, a dark cloud of uncertainty loomed over her.

She knew that Aemond was a prince, bound by duty and expectations that extended beyond their private world. Eventually, he would be expected to take a wife worthy of his title, a woman who would stand by his side in public and bear his children.

The thought of Aemond with another woman, of being replaced in his life, filled Y.N. with a deep and aching sorrow. She could not imagine a future without him, yet she knew that falling in love with a prince could only lead to heartache.

Many nights, after their passionate encounters, Y.N. would lie awake, tears silently streaming down her face as she thought about the inevitability of their separation. She would cry herself to sleep, her heart breaking at the thought of losing the man she had come to love so deeply.

Despite her fears, she never let Aemond see her pain. In his presence, she remained strong, giving him all the love and devotion she had. She treasured every moment they spent together, even as the spectre of the future loomed ever larger in her mind.

Aemond, unaware of the depth of her inner turmoil, continued to hold her close, whispering words of affection and desire. To him, she was a source of solace and strength. He did not realize that each tender word, each passionate embrace, was tinged with the unspoken fear that one day, their love would be forced to end.

As the death of King Viserys plunged the realm into turmoil, Y.N.'s worst fears began to unfold with chilling clarity. Instead of Rhaenyra, the king’s passing saw Aegon crowned king, setting the stage for a bitter and bloody conflict known as the Dance of the Dragons.

Aegon's ascent to the throne sparked immediate unrest, with factions forming behind either Aegon or Rhaenyra, his half-sister and rightful heir.

Amidst the escalating tensions, Aemond found himself thrust into the heart of the storm. He was commanded to secure alliances, and so he flew Vhagar to Storm's End to offer his hand in marriage to one of Borros Baratheon's daughters in exchange for their support.

However, the political manoeuvres quickly turned deadly when Lucerys Velaryon arrived, seeking the same alliance.

In the skies above Storm's End, Aemond and Lucerys clashed, and in the chaos of battle, Vhagar tore Lucerys and his dragon Arrax too pieces. The act branded Aemond a kinslayer—a stain that would haunt him for the rest of his days.

Devastated by the consequences of his actions and fearing for Y.N.'s safety, Aemond made a difficult and heart-wrenching decision. He ordered her to leave the Red Keep immediately, to board a ship and sail across the Narrow Sea to safety. He gave her what money he could spare and promised that once the war was over, he would come for her.

Y.N. listened to his words with a heavy heart, knowing that their love had become a casualty of the conflict. Tears streamed down her cheeks as they spent one last night together, with Aemond making sure Y.N felt every ounce of his love and sadness, with every thrust of his hips and touch of his lips upon hers, Y.N was left clinging to the hope that they would one day be reunited.

The departure of Y.N. weighed heavily on Aemond's heart as he watched her ship disappear over the horizon, bound for safety across the Narrow Sea.

With her gone, a deep sense of sorrow and longing settled over him, but duty called him back to the Red Keep and the tumultuous affairs of the realm.

However, the peace he hoped for was shattered by a devastating blow—news of his nephew Jaehaerys' murder, orchestrated by Daemon's orders. Assassins had infiltrated the Red Keep, claiming the young prince's life as vengeance for the death of Lucerys Velaryon. "A son for a son," they had said, leaving Aemond reeling with grief and fury.

Amidst the chaos and grief, the war continued to unfold with relentless brutality. The Battle of Rook's Rest saw the demise of Rhaenys and her dragon, Meleys, while Aegon lay severely injured and Sunfyre crippled.

In the wake of these losses, Aemond found himself thrust into a position of greater responsibility and authority—he was named Prince Regent, tasked with leading the realm in Aegon's stead.

His first command as Prince Regent was clear and decisive: take Harrenhal.

Aemond knew the strategic importance of the ancient fortress, and he understood that securing it would bolster their position in the ongoing conflict.

As he gazed out over the waters of Blackwater Bay, thoughts of Y.N. lingered in his mind. He wondered if she was safe across the sea, if she knew of the turmoil consuming Westeros, and if she would ever forgive him for the choices he had made in the name of duty and honour.

Aemond and his garrison of soldiers, led by Ser Criston, arrived at Harrenhal with swords drawn and banners flying high. They had anticipated a fierce battle against Daemon and his forces, prepared to reclaim the ancient fortress at any cost.

Yet, as they breached the gates and entered the sprawling, desolate halls of Harrenhal, they found the castle eerily quiet and abandoned.

Confusion turned to elation among Aemond's men—they had won without striking a single blow. They revelled in their victory, boasting of their prowess and the cowardice of Daemon who had fled before their might.

Aemond himself allowed a fleeting moment of triumph to wash over him, believing that his uncle had indeed chosen to retreat rather than face him in battle.

But the taste of victory soon turned bitter as grim news reached Aemond's ears—King's Landing had fallen to Rhaenyra.

His uncle's apparent retreat from Harrenhal had been a ruse, a calculated manoeuvre to deceive and divert Aemond's attention while Daemon struck at the heart of the realm.

Enraged by the betrayal and the realization of his own folly, Aemond's temper flared into a storm of fury. In his wrath, he exacted a brutal reprisal upon Harrenhal.

The ancient castle, already steeped in dark history and ominous legends, became a scene of carnage and slaughter as Aemond unleashed his fury upon its strong inhabitants, determined to wipe out those who lived there, all except for one a healer named Alys Rivers.

In the aftermath of the harrowing events at Harrenhal, Alys became an unexpected presence in Aemond’s life. Despite the devastation and bloodshed, she had witnessed, she proved to be invaluable with her skills as a healer.

Her knowledge of herbs, poultices, and remedies helped tend to the wounded and sick among Aemond's soldiers and her ability to see things in the flames granted Aemond a number of small victories against Rhaenyra’s forces in the Riverlands.

As days turned into weeks, Alys remained by Aemond's side, a constant companion in the grim reality of war and turmoil.

Yet, one evening, as Aemond sat in his chambers, nursing the ache in his heart that thoughts of Y.N. brought, Alys entered quietly.

She carried a basin of warm water and clean cloths, her dark eyes watching him with an intensity that was both unsettling and intriguing.

"You should let me tend to your wounds, my prince," she said softly, setting the basin down and approaching him.

Aemond nodded absently, allowing her to clean the cuts that adorned his body.

"-My prince," she whispered, her voice soft and inviting, "you bear so many burdens-"

“I’m not-” said Aemond quietly.

Her hands moved from his wounds to his shoulders, her fingers kneading the tension there. She leaned in closer, her breath warm against his ear. "You don't have to be alone," she murmured, her lips brushing his skin. "I can give you what you need, you are a man, You have needs, just as any other. Let me comfort you"

Aemond stiffened, his mind instantly flashing back to Y.N. and the love they had shared. He hadn't laid with a woman since her departure, his heart belonging solely to her. The idea of being with someone else made his stomach churn and it felt like a betrayal.

"Alys," said Aemond, his voice firm despite the turmoil within him, "I appreciate your care, but this-this isn't what I need."

She pulled back slightly, her eyes searching his. "You don't have to be alone," she repeated, a hint of desperation in her voice.

Aemond shook his head, moving away from her touch. "I'm not alone. My heart belongs to someone else. I cannot betray her, not even in thought."

Alys looked at him with a mixture of sadness and understanding. "I see," she said quietly. "If ever you change your mind, you know where to find me."

Aemond nodded, his gaze distant. "Thank you, Alys. Your skills as a healer and your visions are valuable to me and my men. But being with you in that way-it is not something I can do”

She bowed her head slightly, acknowledging his words. "I understand, my prince."

From that day on, Alys continued to serve as a healer and discussing her visions in the flames, they never spoke of her attempts to offer him comfort again, Aemond remained steadfast in his loyalty to Y.N, his heart aching with the hope that one day, he would be reunited with her.

Aemond stood amidst the haunting ruins of Harrenhal, his heart heavy with grief and fury. He had received the news that Jaehaera and Maelor, were dead. His sweet sister Helaena, tormented by her grief and despair, had taken her own life. Aegon had simply vanished without a trace.

Rage boiled within Aemond, a tempest of emotions threatening to consume him. This had to end. The losses were unbearable, the pain unfathomable. With grim determination, he issued a challenge to his uncle, Daemon, the rogue prince.

Two weeks later, Daemon arrived at Harrenhal atop Caraxes. The tension between uncle and nephew was palpable as they faced each other amidst the ancient stones of the cursed castle. Aemond's eye burned with fury as he declared, "You have lived too long, uncle."

Daemon's reply was terse, acknowledging the bitter truth they both shared. "On that much, we agree."

With their words echoing in the air, the two Targaryen’s mounted their dragons and ascended into the skies above the Gods Eye. The clash of dragon against dragon, unleashed a spectacle of fire and fury that seemed to shake the heavens.

In the midst of the aerial duel, Aemond's neck seared with agonizing pain as Caraxes flames licked at his flesh. He writhed in agony, his vision blurred with tears and smoke. Through the haze, he saw Daemon descending upon him, Dark Sister raised for a fatal strike.

With a surge of desperate strength, Aemond drew his own sword and managed to impale Daemon through the stomach, just as Daemon’s own sword connecting with the side of his head. Their dragons roared and spiralled downward, tearing chunks of flesh from one another.

As Vhagar and Caraxes crashed into the dark waters of the Gods Eye, Aemond was still strapped to Vhagar’s saddle, the both of them sinking beneath the murky depths.

In his mind, he saw Y.N., her face a beacon of hope and love. Sending out one last desperate prayer for her safety and happiness.

But then, the strap binding him to Vhagar's saddle snapped, and Aemond managed to claw his way to the surface, gasping for air. He dragged himself to the muddy shore of the lake, his body battered and broken, consciousness slipping away.

Face buried in the cold mud, Aemond's world faded to black,

Aemond awoke in a dimly lit chamber, the flickering light of a single candle casting long shadows on the stone walls. Pain radiated through his body as he tried to move, but his muscles screamed in protest, and he let out a groan.

"Stay still," a soft voice instructed. He turned his head slightly to see Alys kneeling beside him.

"You took quite a beating," Alys said, her voice steady and calm. "I've been applying a salve to your burns and managed to stitch the wound on the side of your head. You lost a lot of blood, but you will live."

Aemond's mind raced, trying to piece together the events that had led him here. The battle above the Gods Eye, Daemon's sword, the plunge into the icy waters... He should be dead.

"I should be dead," he rasped, his voice rough and weak.

Alys met his gaze, her eyes filled with an intensity that belied her calm demeanour. "The realm believes you are," she said quietly.

Aemond's heart skipped a beat. "Daemon?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"Dead-" Alys replied.

"Why did you save me?" he asked, opening his eyes to look at Alys.

Alys paused; her hands gentle as they applied a cool salve to his burns. She met his gaze, her expression unreadable. "Because everyone believing that you are dead is a chance for you to reunite with your lost love-"

Aemond's breath caught in his throat. The thought of Y.N., the woman he had been forced to send away, flooded his mind with a mixture of hope and longing. He had been so consumed by duty and vengeance that the idea of seeing her again had seemed an impossible dream.

"In death, you are no longer a prince," Alys continued, her voice soft but firm. "You are simply a man. And simple men can choose their own fate. They can live without the constraints or expectations that come with a title."

Aemond closed his eye, the weight of her words sinking in. The realm believed him dead, which meant the burdens of his name and his duty no longer bound him. He could be free, for the first time in his life, to make his own choices.

"But what of the war?" he asked, opening his eyes to look at her. "What of my duty to my family, to the realm?"

Alys' gaze softened. "The war will rage on, with or without you. Your family is all but gone or soon will be. You have given so much, sacrificed so much. Of course, you may return to Kings Landing, and you will be made King within the year, but with such a title as King there comes certain expectations. A wife to call Queen, you will lose yourself as the lords of the realm pick at you until there is nothing left”.

“Alys-”

“The choice is yours my prince, I only pray that you make the right one. The crown or your heart, but you must know that your Queen will never love you-not in the way your little flower does-”

“The choice is a simple one-“ muttered Aemond.

Alys's hands were gentle as she continued to tend to his wounds. "-Rest now," she said softly. "-You have been given a second chance, Aemond. Use it wisely."

Aemond stood on the shore of the Gods Eye, staring at the calm waters that now served as the grave for his beloved Vhagar. The weight of loss pressed heavily on his heart, mingling with gratitude and sorrow.

"Thank you, old friend," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the gentle lapping of the waves. "For everything."

With one last lingering look at the watery expanse, Aemond turned away and made his way back to Harrenhal. Alys stood at the gates, waiting for him.

"Farewell, Alys," he said, his voice steady. "Thank you for all your help."

She nodded, her eyes holding a mixture of sadness and understanding. "Where will you go now?" she asked.

Aemond smiled, a rare softness in his expression. "You already know," he replied.

As he walked away, Alys called after him, her voice carrying on the wind. "Be happy, Aemond. Enjoy the flowers' bloom."

He glanced back, offering her a small nod before pulling the hood of his cloak over his head, concealing his face and silver hair. The coins Alys had pressed into his hand that morning clinked in his pockets, a lifeline to the future he was determined to find.

Aemond made his way toward Duskendale, he ��hoped the port town would have a ship, and that the coin he carried would be enough to secure passage across the Narrow Sea. Every step brought him closer to the promise he intended to keep, to the woman who had never left his thoughts.

Reaching Duskendale, Aemond kept his head low, avoiding the curious gazes of townsfolk. The harbour was bustling with activity, sailors and merchants shouting and haggling over goods. He approached a grizzled captain, offering the man a handful of coins.

"I need passage across the Narrow Sea," Aemond said, his voice firm despite the cloak of anonymity he wore.

The captain eyed the coins and then Aemond, a sceptical look crossing his weathered face. After a moment, he nodded. "We sail at dawn."

Aemond spent many weeks in Pentos, tirelessly searching for any sign of Y.N. The bustling city, with its narrow streets and crowded markets, offered little solace as he combed through every corner, asking questions and following every lead.

To earn coin, he worked as a sell sword, protecting merchants and nobles alike. It was far from the life he once knew.

His princely leather garments were replaced by more practical attire, and his hair braided and kept covered in public, he briefly considered cutting it but lost his nerve at the last moment, he felt foolish as it was just hair, but it was all he had left, the last remnant of the prince he used to be.

Without Vhagar, the search was infinitely harder. The vastness of the world stretched before him, and he often found himself wondering if Y.N. had simply moved on to another city.

The thought of her slipping through his fingers, and living a life without him, gnawed at his heart. Yet, he couldn't give up. He wouldn't give up. If it took the rest of his days, he would search every corner of the world to find her.

Dark thoughts occasionally crept into his mind—fears that some accident had befallen her, that she had died. But he quickly dismissed these notions. If something tragic had happened, he would feel it, he would know she was gone.

Yet in his heart, he knew she was alive.

One day, while sitting in a small, dimly lit tavern, nursing a cup of ale, a hushed conversation at a nearby table caught his attention. A woman matching Y.N.'s description, working as a seamstress. His heart pounded in his chest as he strained to hear more.

"Aye the seamstress, she's been there for months now, the high borns send her plenty of work-" one man said, his voice rough and low. "Quiet sort, keeps to herself.”

Aemond's mind raced. Could it truly be her? He had to find out. Finishing his drink, he stood abruptly, tossing a few coins on the table before leaving.

He made his way through the town and toward the hills, the landscape growing wilder as he left the city behind. Each step brought a mix of hope and anxiety. What if it wasn't her? What if it was just another dead end? But he couldn't let doubt deter him.

Aemond stood behind one of the trees, his breath catching in his throat as he watched a woman kneeling on the ground, her back to him as she dug vegetables in the garden.

His heart hammered in his chest; every sense heightened by the significance of the moment. Then he saw a small child sitting on the ground, playing with his toys. The boy’s silver hair shone in the light, a sight that made Aemond's heart skip a beat. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the child.

Was the child his?

When the woman turned toward the child, Aemond's heart stopped. It was Y.N. She looked the same, yet different—stronger, more determined, but with the same beauty that had captured his heart so many moons ago. Taking a deep breath, he stepped out from behind the tree, his movements deliberate and slow.

Y.N. paused, sensing his presence. She quickly straightened up and reached for the child, hauling him into her arms before withdrawing the small knife hidden in her sleeve. Her eyes were fierce, and her voice steady despite the fear coursing through her veins.

"Stay back. I’m no weakling woman—I will slit you from cock to throat if you dare lay hands upon me or my son," she commanded, her gaze unwavering.

"Byka rūklon-“

"Aemond”