#Great White Golden Star
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Prequel of the Monkey King (2009) 齐天大圣前传
Director: Liang Hansen Screenwriter: Liang Hansen / Li Weilong Starring: He Jiong / Zhang Yishan / Wang Hantao / Li Yang / Lu Nuo / Xie Na Genre: Drama / Comedy / Fantasy / Adventure Country/Region of Production: Mainland China Language: Mandarin Chinese Date: 2009-09-29 Also known as: Monkey King - Prequel / Prequel of the Monkey King Type: Retelling
Summary:
Sun Wukong (voiced by He Jiong) has no father or mother. He is a monkey that jumped out of the stone. With his extraordinary courage and wisdom, Sun Wukong quickly found a place for himself among the monkeys and became the Monkey King leading the monkeys in one fell swoop. However, after witnessing the death of an old monkey, Sun Wukong began to doubt his own existence and significance, and he decided to embark on a journey to find a way to make himself immortal.
Sun Wukong met Patriarch Bodhi and became his disciple. After going through many difficulties and dangers, he finally achieved enlightenment. After that, he came to the East China Sea Dragon Palace and turned the Dinghai Divine Needle into his handy weapon, the Golden Cudgel, and thus mastered powerful power. An accident caused Sun Wukong to break into the underworld by mistake, get the book of life and death from the Lord of Hell, and thus gain eternal life
Source: https://chinesemov.com/2009/Prequel-of-the-Monkey-King
Link: https://www.bilibili.com/s/video/BV1wt411L74u
#Prequel of the Monkey King#齐天大圣前传#Monkey King - Prequel#齐天大圣-前传#jttw media#jttw movie#movie#animation#retelling#The Monkey King#Sun Wukong#Beautiful Monkey#Great White Golden Star#Horse Monkey#Turtle Prime Minister#Horse-Face#Old Monkey#Ox-Head#Jade Emperor#rewrite
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EGOT winning american film, television, and broadway actor James Earl Jones has passed away on September 9, 2024 at the age of 93.
Jones made his film debut in Stanley Kubrick's Dr. Strangelove. He received a Golden Globe Award nomination for Claudine. Jones gained international fame for his voice role as Darth Vader in the Star Wars franchise, beginning with the original 1977 film. Jones' other notable roles include in Conan the Barbarian, Matewan, Coming to America, Field of Dreams, The Hunt for Red October, The Sandlot, and the voice of Mufasa in The Lion King. Jones reprised his roles in Star Wars media, The Lion King (2019) remake, and Coming 2 America.
Jones' television work includes playing Woodrow Paris in the series Paris between 1979 and 1980. He voiced various characters on the animated series The Simpsons in three separate seasons. He then was cast as Gabriel Bird, the lead role in the series Gabriel's Fire which aired from 1990 to 1991. For that role, he won the Primetime Emmy Award for Outstanding Lead Actor in a Drama Series and was nominated for his fourth Golden Globe Award, this time for Best Actor in a Television Series Drama. He played Bird again in the series Pros and Cons, which ran from 1991 to 1992; that earned him his fifth and final Golden Globe Award for Best Actor in a Television Series Drama. He then had small appearances in the series Law & Order, Picket Fences , Mad About You, Touched by an Angel, Frasier. His role in Picket Fences earned him another Primetime Emmy Award nomination, one for Outstanding Guest Actor in a Drama Series. His later television work includes small roles in Everwood, Two and a Half Men, House, and The Big Bang Theory.
Jones' theater work includes numerous Broadway plays, including Sunrise at Campobello (1958–1959), Danton's Death (1965), The Iceman Cometh (1973–1974), Of Mice and Men (1974–1975), Othello (1982), On Golden Pond (2005), Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (2008) and You Can't Take It with You (2014–2015). He was also in various off Broadway productions and Shakespeare stage adaptations such as The Merchant of Venice (1962), The Winter's Tale (1963), Othello (1964–1965), Coriolanus (1965), Hamlet (1972), and King Lear (1973). His roles in The Great White Hope (1969) and Fences (1987) earned him two Tony Awards, both for Best Leading Actor in a Play.
#James Earl Jones#Star Wars#Darth Vader#The Lion King#Dr. Strangelove#Conan the Barbarian#Coming to America#Field of Dreams#Matewan#The Hunt for Red October#The Sandlot#film#television#broadway#obituary#R.I.P.
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You’re Drunk
Lando Norris x Reader
Summary: Lando gets a call to pick up his not so sober girlfriend
A/N: Not particularly feelings this one but hope you guys enjoy!
Laughing to himself Lando sits on the couch scrolling through his Instagram stories coming across his girlfriends, where she looks to be having a great time with her friends. He replays the video that's been shared and smiles brightly at her drunken giggles as her and her friends stumble down the street. Lando can't help but go to rewatch the video for a third time but before he can an unknown number flashes on his screen. Confusion fills his mind as the phone rings but Lando decides to answer.
"Hello?"
"Lando, hey, it's Y/f/n" This made Lando more confused as he wasn't sure why one of his girlfriend's friends would be calling him. Until he heard your voice in the background. He could hear your small cries as you complained to your friends about being hungry but refused everything option of food they offered you.
"Need me to come get her?" Lando predicted.
"Pleaseeeee, we can't deal with her any longer. She just got us kicked out of the club" Y/f/n pleaded with your boyfriend causing Lando to let out a laugh being requesting your location and hanging up.
-
Pulling up outside the club you'd been kicked out of 30 minutes prior Lando swore you looked even more drunk then you had sounded on call 20 minutes ago. As soon as he stepped out the car you were running towards him with a speed he'd never seen from you. But unfortunately your legs couldn't keep up with your wanted speed and steps before you would reach Lando he watched you fall flat on your face. Holding in a laugh Lando quickly moved to your aid and looked at you with sympathy as you held onto him, tears welling in your wide eyes. Turning to look at your friends Lando simply nodded as a goodbye and they all seemed to let out a sigh of relief as they knew you were no longer their responsibility.
Now Lando had delt with you on a few occasions when you'd gotten a bit too drunk to have any independence but this time you seemed a bit more reliant than usual. After spending close to 10 minutes to even get you into the car and buckle your seatbelt without you unclipping it seconds later and laughing like it was the funniest joke ever, Lando was finally able to hop into the drivers side and begin the drive to your shared house.
The drive back started peacefully, no sound but the quiet hum of the radio as you had seemed to drifted into her own world staring out the window. Well that was until-
"Aeroplan!" You shouted giving Lando a scare causing him to almost slam on the breaks.
"What was that baby?" He asked softly glancing over to see both your hands planted on the glass as you started into the night sky with a child like wonder.
"There's an aeroplan" You spoke matter-of-factly even though as Lando looked into the sky through the car windows he saw nothing but stars littering the darkness.
"I don't see anything baby, maybe it was a star" Lando suggested cautiously but the suggestion still caused you to scoff loudly.
"You must be blind, because- maccas! I want maccas Landoooo" Your interest changed as you saw the golden 'm' in the distance.
-
You'd finally arrived home now after a detour to not only maccas but the supermarket as well to gather some baking ingredients as you were determined to make some cupcakes in your drunken state.
"Baby!" Lando panicked as he saw flour all over the floor. He'd left for one minute to use the bathroom, the kitchen far more spotless than it was now.
"Oopsie daisy" You giggled and when you spun to face Lando he couldn't help but burst into a fit of laughter. Your face coated in the white power, barely a spot of skin uncovered. Lando stepped towards you and took your face in his hands uncaring of the flour now coating his hands.
"Y/n, what have you done?" He asks rhetorically and receives a shrug in response from the girl in question but a sneaky grin never left her face.
"I want to sleep" You decided stepping back from Lando's touch and trying to make your way to the bedroom only to be stopped by Lando's hand grabbing yours.
"No, no, no. Not like that you aren't. You'll get flour all over the bed!" You groaned at Lando's words and wrapped your arms around his waist and nuzzling your face into his neck.
"I don't careee" Your words were both mumbled and slurred and Lando wrapped his arms around you humming.
"I know drunk Y/n doesn't mind but trust me I don't want to be dealing with her when she's sober and see's the mess from tonight's antics, ok baby?" You begrudgingly agreed seeming slightly more sober than you had previously.
"Good, come on let's go shower baby" Lando unwrapped you from the hug and led you to the bathroom by hand.
"Sexy time!"
Ok. Maybe you weren't that sober yet.
#writing#characters#imagines#love#requests are open#f1 imagine#formula 1#lando norris x reader#lando#lando norris#lando x reader
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— to you, who finally saw the sun.
pairing: sunday x gn!reader
premise: to you, who finally saw the sun, i bid you one final farewell.
— warnings: angst (kinda, i also dont know), bittersweet goodbyes, they do kiss yippie, written before the 2.7 update.
— author’s notes: in honor of getting e1s1 sunday, have this actual final stellaronhunter!sunday fic. art credits to 隐世樱yyy on weibo. also, fun little easter egg, colored texts are a reference to previous stellaronhunter!sunday fics i've made, so yeah!! maximum emotional damage!!!!!| ~2.8k words.
— tags: @ryescapades @mitsvriii @https-sourlimes @dazaisms @st6rly @pneumosia @tetrachrxmacy ; if you'd like to be tagged, please fill out the forms on my pinned or post or send me an ask off anon!!
how long has it been since sunday played the piano?
he can’t quite remember the last time he pressed a finger to the delicate white notes and let its noise resound in the room. but he does recount the harsh judgemental stare his instructor had whenever he made a mistake—a note lingering too long and going off course, it always led to the snap of a ruler to his wrist.
“do you play?” a voice from behind asked.
sunday turned around to capture the stars in your eyes. when he met your gaze halfway, a gentle smile grazed his lips before his golden eyes skidded to the instrument once more. “yes, i do. though i have not played in years.”
he heard the click of your shoes as you approached. sunday took a peek from the corner of his eyes as you longingly stared at the grand piano in front of you both. your gloved hands gliding over the polished wood before you eventually sat down by the small stool. you turn your head to him, hair fluttering with the wind as he feels the remaining breath in his lungs be taken away because of your smile. you patted down the space beside you and sunday reluctantly took it.
“will you play me a song?” your request was nothing but a small plea, one exhale away from crumbling. sunday didn’t know about that—he never will. you mask the desperation in your voice when the first note rang and sunday looked at you with a smile.
“i apologize if it sounds rusty,” he looked bashful and bare in this light. drapes of white clouds, dark blue galaxies, and golden suns hang from his body and you couldn’t help but stare. the wings behind his ears flutter in embarrassment with your silence so you laugh—forced, melancholic, and unlike you.
“i’ll love anything you play, sunday.” and you weren’t lying.
when the following notes soon echoed in the empty music room that was once reserved for only kafka, you let your desire to be close to him consume your entire being. sunday flinched slightly when your head fell on his shoulder, but didn’t shrug you off. with a flustered clear of his throat he continued.
sunday played the piano like it would be his last performance—forever caging himself to the audience after this performance to never take the stage again. he felt your emotions like they were tangible items courtesy to the halo behind his head, because the following song, he briefly muttered “for you” under his breath.
you both relished the moment spent by each other’s side.
to sunday, this song was dedicated to the person who dragged him onto the stage once more. despite all his reluctance, difficult attitude, and past grudges, he will always bathe you in a golden light like the followers of xipe. singing choirs about your greatness till the end of time as he remained as your faithful follower. this was his thank you to you, and he felt it would never quite repay the kindness you’ve given him.
but to you, this was goodbye. each note, though filled with tender affection and cherished dreams, pinched at your heart like tiny pins and needles. you looked up to gaze at his face—calm, moved on from the past, and freed. though not fully, his contract with jade still remains, he was as free as the express travelling the cosmos.
this was goodbye.
“will you play a song for me too, sunny?” a voice from the entrance joked.
there stood kafka, in her usual attire but without the coat, leaning by the door frame with arms crossed over her chest. you chuckled as sunday hid his embarrassed and flushed face, finding an excuse to say “no.” because everyone knew—order or finality—that sunday will only play for you.
“nothing to worry about angel,” kafka seemed solemn as she cleared her throat. she motioned for both of you to get up and follow her. “new mission is here. be sure to do your best, m’kay?”
sunday furrowed his brows as his wings twitched in confusion. kafka only took a few steps forward before leaving you two alone once more. you shook your head as you took his gloved hand in yours and tugged him in the direction of his new home. even though it's been a while since he joined, sunday still never voiced his worries—a habit you hope will slowly die out once he arrives at the boarding station.
“where are we going this time?” he asked. now he only realized your new attire and he feels his eyes wander. a black undershirt and pants, layered with a white asymmetrical coat. the gold cuffs of your sleeves caught the moonlight and casted a faint glow of your tears. sunday doesn’t get the chance to say something when a body crashed onto his back.
“good luck, mister,” silver wolf buried her face onto his back. arms tightly wrapped around his waist. if you looked closely, you would notice the way she slowly started stepping back—trying to prevent sunday from going out the doors he once entered from.
but sunday only chuckled. he turned to face the girl, patted her head and squatted down to her height as he slowly tried to pry the arms hiding her tear stained face. “it’s going to be alright, i have [name] with me, remember? they’re elio’s favorite, remember?”
the girl gripped the sleeves of his coat with an iron grip. sunday frowned in sadness, he hated seeing the girl so upset over a mission. and all you did was stand there, motionless as the clock by your waist continued to tick.
“sunday.” you call and you don’t know what shattered you the most: silver wolf’s fresh tears, or how sunday cradled and shielded her from your harsh reality.
silver wolf eventually peeled herself away. with a harsh motion, she wiped away all her tears and returned to her quirky self, “you better beat the final boss! if you don’t, then don’t bother to show yourself to me ever again!”
sunday nodded and once he reached your side, he waved the silver haired girl goodbye and fell into the same steps as you. each turn, each stairway taken to reach the skies, it drowns your lungs in realization. and like the time when you were both drenched in the rain, the ticket in your back pocket suddenly felt heavier than it should.
“leaving without as much as a word?”
you both stopped in your tracks and turned around. the hallway was dimmed, your only witness being the moon in its full glory. sunday was the first to break the delicate silence with a soft utter of ignorance, something you never realized could happen.
“a mission that requires both of us,” he replied, a sketchy smile on his lips as he slowly shielded your vision of the immortal man from view. “we won’t take long. it won’t end like it did back in the capital of passion. i promise.”
you felt blade’s judgeful stare before he let out a heavy sigh. he threw a small journal bound by beds of stars onto his hands and handed you a sheathed sword. “i expect you to be back before dawn.”
sunday nodded and you don’t have the heart to tell him that blade wasn’t speaking to nor about him.
“sunday wait!”
right when you were about to board your car—a testimony to your genius in engineering, sunday still wondered how you got it to work like the express. firefly ran out the door with nothing but her sleep attire. she clutched a small item to her chest as sunday looked at you. you hated the look of expectation in his irises, but you still relent. with a heavy sigh, you muttered, ‘5 minutes’ before you entered the car. sunday nodded like an obedient servant and met firefly halfway.
“i–!” she tried to find the words to say, but they always fell short by the time a sound escaped her lips. but sunday was understanding, he was kind, so he waited. like a dutiful older brother letting his baby sister come out of her shell.
beats of silence passed before firefly settled on a simple goodbye, “please take care on your mission.” she took his hand and handed him a small pen. his name delicately engraved on the fountain pen’s cap in her handwriting.
the wind howled and she shivered. and like a moment right before a mission started and ended, sunday took off the white hood over his shoulders and draped it over her. “thank you, firefly. i’ll be sure to put it to good use.”
sunday wished firefly told him the rest of her thoughts, but he saved them for another time he will never have. even as he buckled the seatbelt in your car and drove off, firefly tried to chase after you. and if he looked close enough, soft glimmers of hopeful tears would be seen.
“you never answered my question.”
you looked at him from the rearview mirror. the way he carefully placed the fountain pen in the journal and the way he softly grazed the cover—afraid that the small book would shatter under his fingertips.
“it must have slipped my mind. what was your question again?”
“where are we going?”
you wet your lips and tighten the hold on the steering wheel. you don’t answer immediately. instead, you let your vehicle warp through space like a nameless traveler through the stars. when you start unbuckling your seatbelt, sunday follows shortly and you both get out.
“penacony.”
sunday feels his vision blur and merge into one giant puddle. he feels you drape another hood identical to the one he gave firefly as you harshly tugged it over his head. your hand finding its way to his and tug him towards a familiar direction.
“h-hold on!” he cries out in a desperate plea, but you don’t turn around. “what business could we have in penacony?! and,” sunday’s eyes wander again over your figure and feels dread start to bubble in his stomach—you weren’t wearing a disguise like you did in past missions.
you don’t answer and sunday feels his wings hug his abdomen tighter and tighter. he can already imagine the ghostly hands of the family—even under robin’s guidance—do unspeakable things to you. sunday can’t have that, he will never allow you to be caged in their clutches like they did with him. so with all the force he could muster, all the while being mindful of your comfort, he caught your wrist in a firm hold and turned around. tugging you in the direction of your home.
“sunday.”
“apologies, but i promised blade. bare with me for a moment longer.”
“sunday.”
“[name], please.”
“sunday.”
“cease the uttering of my name! do you not understand the position we are in right now?!”
sunday never shouts—not in anger, but in worry. he takes gulfs of air into his lungs as if he’s being dragged to the bottom of the ocean as he looks at you with blown eyes. his wings flapping erratically, fanning the reddening of his face as the pair by his waist briefly flutters. if you close your eyes and listen carefully, you can hear the soft clinks of the golden exoskeleton you created just for him.
“sunday,”
“i believe this is where your journey ends, mister sunday.”
“our story is over.”
you feel the world still as small orbs of danger surround you both. a man with whiting hair stands behind him, a cane glowing in pink as you feel your body grow heavier and heavier. welt pushes his glasses up and lets his eyes fall to you.
“[name].” he says in a tense tone. the grip on his cane so tight you’d argue beneath the gloves he wore, his knuckles were turning white in confusion.
“mr. yang.” you reply back, calmer than the loud beating inside the column of bones inside your chest. “please let him go.”
the older gentleman debated in his mind. before sunday could raise a hand, you step forward and force him to face you. you feel your body go back to normal and you sigh. sunday on the other hand, remains on guard as the golden eyes you grew fond off stared at you with emotions that could only be named as betrayal.
“the express misses you, [name].” welt says, “it won’t hurt to say goodbye to them.”
you only nod bitterly. “thank you, mr. yang. but there’s really no need.”
“what do you mean our story is over?” you hear sunday murmur.
you take a shaky deep breath, of all the ways he could ask, why did he do it as if he was about to cry? you shut your eyes tightly, you let your desires consume you again as you interlace your hands together in one final hold before you relax and exhale. when you open your eyes, you feel tears drop one by one like idrila’s blood. welt stays motionless behind him, looking at you both in confliction.
“welt,” you lower both your hands, stepping in front of the angel. “i know this isn’t the reunion you had hoped for. but please believe me when i say that we come in peace. i’ve come to return what is lost.”
welt’s frown deepens, “i take it you aren’t talking about yourself.”
“no, and i never will.” you feel sunday’s arm snake around your waist and his head fall on your shoulder. and suddenly, it felt like your shopping trip with the rest of the hunters was today.
“please wait for us by the golden hour.”
“no…” sunday weakly protests. “i can’t leave, i won’t allow myself.”
“welt. please.”
“mr. yang, please don’t.”
“welt–”
“i’ll wait.” the older man says in a rushed tone. he was quick to turn around and start walking away. it was unlike him, but you don’t blame him. after all, the missing child of the express was now found and the previous head of the oak family were together—with conflicting convictions to top it.
his steps grew fainter and fainter until all you could feel was sunday’s tears and his quiet whimpers, begging you to not let him go.
“sunday,” you mutter, slowly facing him. “our story is over. you need to go.”
“what about you… will you stay behind?”
“i have to.”
“no you don’t!” his volume rises as his arms tighten around your waist. “you can come with me. they’ve been looking for you, they’ll accept you! so please, don’t make me lose you, too.”
you chuckle, and for the first time tonight, you smile genuinely. “silly bird, you’re not going to lose me.”
“but i already have…”
you frown. you try to pull away from his embrace but he still keeps you caged in his arms. “sunday, will you play me a song?”
“enough, please.”
you pat down his hair, pull away just an inch, and cradle his face. “sing me a song about adventures and stars. can you do that?”
“will you come with me if i do?”
you shake your head no and he dives his face into the crook of your neck again. you laugh in disbelief at his stubbornness. it reminds you of the time he first started to try and take flight. how long ago was that memory? you can’t quite put a number on it but it no longer matters.
“sunday,” you sing his name like a song to be remembered. reaching into your back pocket, you take out a golden ticket and gently lay it flat on sunday’s palm. when you meet his eyes again, his wings obscure half of his face. you gently push them away and rub away the tears staining his cheeks and press your foreheads together. “perform. not for me, but the world. your stage is set, all you need to do is step on it.”
his gloved hands hold yours, you feel his head turn for his lips to meet the palm of your hand as presses a soft kiss that leaves the spot tingling. “will you watch me play?”
you drag a knuckle down his nose, an action too affectionate for people who claim to be just “comrades.” suddenly it dawns on you that kafka’s teasing, firefly’s giggles, silver wolf’s eye rolling, blade’s huffs and elio’s script all align for this moment. with a careful step forward, you invade the line with the words “comrades” and look up. you feel his breath on your lips and you smile.
“for all eternity, my eyes will always be yours.” you stand on your toes and press your lips together in a final goodbye. his arms hug your waist just a tad bit tensely as sunday tries his reciprocate—but in the back of your mind, you know he doesn’t have to try. sunday loves you like it's as easy as breathing.
“sunday, congratulations. you’ve finally seen the sun.”
© vxnuslogy 2024. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works.
#sunday x reader#honkai star rail x reader#—stellaronhvnters.#honkai star rail imagines#honkai star rail headcanons#honkai star rail x you#honkai star rail sunday#hsr x reader#hsr imagines#hsr headcanons#hsr x you#hsr sunday#sunday x you#sunday imagines#sunday headcanons#( 🂡 ) – royal flush of stories .ᐟ
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A Fire Worth Burning (ruins of an empire)
- Summary: Aegon loved you since you were children, but your father, Daemon, would never let him have you. Not while he lived.
- Pairing: cousin!reader/Aegon II Targaryen
- Rating: Explicit 18+ (for blood, gore, violence and death)
- Previous part: 1
- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround
The world was fire and ruin. The smoke hung thick in the air, choking the sky until it was a dark, ashen gray. The battlefield of Rook’s Rest was strewn with the broken bodies of men and dragons alike, and at the center of it all lay Vermithor.
Your dragon—your great, ancient beast—lay sprawled across the blood-soaked earth. His once-mighty bronze wings, tinged with dull gold, were torn and scorched, his powerful chest rising and falling in uneven, rattling breaths. His golden eyes, dimmed by agony, still turned toward you where you lay beside him. His long tail twitched faintly, a final act of defiance against the death that clawed at him.
You could not move, though you were alive. Your body felt heavy, your limbs pinned to the ground by the weight of exhaustion and pain. Blood trickled down your forehead, stinging your eyes, and you tasted copper with every breath.
The sound of boots—deliberate and slow—crunched against the blackened earth. Through the haze, two figures loomed above you.
Ser Criston Cole stood at your feet, his white cloak now a sullied gray, splattered with soot and streaked with crimson. His expression was unreadable, the gaze of a man accustomed to watching the fallen.
Beside him stood Aemond Targaryen, clad in blackened steel, his pale hair streaked with ash. His violet eye burned cold and bright, fixed on you with a cruel sense of satisfaction.
“You fought well,” Aemond said, his voice even and void of sympathy. “But it ends here.”
You managed to glare at him, though the effort cost you. “I will see you in the Seven Hells before this is done.”
Aemond tilted his head, his lips curling into something that might have been a smile had it not been so devoid of warmth. “Perhaps. But you will arrive first.”
“Put her out of her misery,” Criston said curtly, his voice carrying the air of finality.
Aemond drew his sword, the steel glinting dully in the low, smoke-filtered light. “A fitting end for the Rogue Prince’s daughter.”
The moment stretched, time slowing as he took a step toward you. You forced yourself to lift your head, to summon the last scraps of defiance that burned within you.
But then—a roar.
It tore through the sky, deep and furious, shaking the earth beneath you. Sunfyre descended like a golden star, his shimmering scales glowing through the haze of smoke. His wings struck the air like thunder as he landed with a tremor that forced both Aemond and Cole back a step.
A figure leapt down from the saddle before Sunfyre had even stilled, his cloak billowing behind him like a banner of war. Aegon.
His pale hair was streaked with sweat and grime, his armor dented and scorched from the battle. His eyes—wild and bright with fury—locked onto you. And in an instant, he was moving.
“What are you doing?” Aemond demanded, his voice sharp.
Aegon ignored him. He strode past his brother and shoved him hard, enough that Aemond stumbled back a step, his grip on the sword loosening.
“Get out of my way,” Aegon snarled, his voice a low growl.
“My King—” Criston began, but Aegon silenced him with a glare before falling to his knees beside you. He cupped your face in his hands, his gauntleted fingers surprisingly gentle as he tilted your head toward him.
“Y/N,” he breathed, his voice ragged. “Gods, you’re alive.” His violet eyes roamed over you, his face contorted with something that looked suspiciously like panic. “I thought—”
Your vision swam, but you managed to rasp, “What… are you doing here?”
“Saving you,” Aegon muttered, as though it were obvious. “You’ve made a mess of things, haven’t you?”
Aemond stepped closer, his face twisted with anger. “What are you doing, Aegon? She is the enemy.”
“She’s not your concern,” Aegon bit back, his voice low and venomous. He looked up at Aemond, his grip on you tightening. “She’s mine.”
Aemond’s eye narrowed, his face a mask of cold fury. “Have you lost your mind? She rode against us. Her dragon burned our men.”
“And I don’t care,” Aegon snarled, his words as sharp as steel. “If you so much as touch her again, I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” Aemond sneered. “She’s a traitor, Aegon. She should die with her dragon.”
“I said shut up!” Aegon roared, his voice echoing across the battlefield. He turned his attention back to you, his hands cradling your broken form as though you were made of glass. His voice softened then, cracking with something raw and unspoken. “I won’t let you die here.”
Criston stepped forward. “Your Grace, you are making a mistake.”
Aegon shot him a glare over his shoulder. “You will say nothing, Ser Criston.”
Aemond’s voice cut through like ice. “This will be your undoing.”
“Then so be it,” Aegon snapped, his gaze never wavering. Without another word, he slipped an arm beneath your knees and the other around your back, lifting you effortlessly despite the weight of your wounds. You let out a soft sound of pain as he moved, but Aegon hushed you, his lips close to your ear. “I’ve got you. I won’t drop you, I swear.”
You wanted to protest, to tell him he was a fool, but the warmth of his arms and the steadiness of his hold kept you silent.
As he carried you toward Sunfyre, Aemond called out one last time, his voice ringing with a warning that felt like prophecy.
“You’ll regret this, brother,” he said coldly. “She will be your downfall.”
Aegon paused at the base of Sunfyre, his gaze sharp as he looked back. “Better her than you.”
With that, Aegon climbed onto Sunfyre’s back, settling you securely against him. The dragon let out a low, resonant growl, sensing his rider’s urgency. As Sunfyre’s wings unfurled, Aegon whispered to you, his voice soft and fierce all at once.
“I’ll keep you safe, Y/N. I promise.”
And as the golden dragon rose into the sky, carrying you far from the battlefield, the last thing you saw was Aemond standing amidst the ruins—his face etched with fury and something else: fear.
The flames in the great hall of Harrenhal danced wildly. The room reeked of smoke and I'll omen. The whispers of Vermithor’s return to Dragonstone without his rider had traveled quickly, and now, the Rogue Prince stood at the head of the hall, his face a mask of fury. The embers of his rage smoldered as dangerously as the fires of his dragon.
Daemon Targaryen was unhinged when angry, but this—this—was something else. He paced like a caged beast, his hands clenching and unclenching as if they itched to draw blood. Dark Sister hung at his hip, and his crimson cloak billowed with every sharp turn he made. His silver hair, usually so carefully kept, had fallen loose around his face, tangling in the heat of his movements.
“Gone!” Daemon roared, his voice echoing off the walls like thunder. “My daughter is gone, and all you fools can tell me is that Vermithor returned riderless?!”
A group of men stood near the far end of the room, silent and wary. Among them was Lord Simon Strong, a nervous sweat glistening on his brow as he wrung his hands. He had known war and bloodshed all his life, but the fury of Daemon Targaryen was another matter entirely.
“My prince,” Simon said cautiously, his voice calm though strained. “The situation—”
“Don’t speak to me of the situation!” Daemon cut in, rounding on the man with a snarl. “Vermithor would not abandon her willingly. He returned because he was forced to—because she is gone!” He spat the word like venom. His dark violet eyes blazed as he scanned the room, searching for someone to bear the brunt of his wrath. “Where were my scouts? Where were my riders? You’re telling me that self proclaimed king—a drunken, halfwit fool—swooped in like a vulture and took her, and no one could stop him?”
Simon Strong hesitated. “The… the king had Sunfyre. And Prince Aemond. It is said they struck as one.”
Daemon’s lips curled into a snarl, his teeth bared like a wolf’s. “Aegon… and Aemond.” He turned his back on the men, running a hand through his hair before slamming his fist into the stone wall beside him, the impact reverberating like the crack of a whip. “Those treacherous, lecherous bastards will burn for this.”
“My prince,” Simon tried again, his tone edging toward pleading, “we must think carefully. This is war, and emotions—”
Daemon wheeled on him, his voice sharp as a blade. “Carefully? Did Aegon think carefully when he stole my daughter from the battlefield? When he carried her off like some prize to his golden beast?” His breathing was ragged now, and his eyes burned with something feral, something unrestrained. “No. This is no longer war. This is blood feud.”
“Prince Daemon—”
“They have made it personal,” Daemon said darkly, his voice dropping to a low growl. “They have taken my child. Do you understand what that means, Lord Strong?”
Simon swallowed, taking an uneasy step back. “It means the war escalates further.”
“It means I will tear them apart,” Daemon corrected, his voice dangerously calm now. “Piece by piece, until there is nothing left but ashes and screams.” He began pacing again, his hands twitching as though he wished to summon Caraxes with a mere thought. “Rhaenyra must know of this immediately. The queen will decide our next move, but I will have my vengeance. I swear it.”
“Perhaps your daughter still lives,” Simon ventured cautiously. “Aegon may have taken her for… other reasons.”
Daemon froze, his back to the lord, shoulders stiffening. The silence that followed was suffocating, and when he turned back to face Simon, his expression was murderous.
“Do you think that comforts me?” Daemon hissed, his voice barely more than a whisper. “If that drunken boy so much as lays a finger on her, I will gut him myself and leave his entrails for Sunfyre.”
The room fell silent, the men avoiding Daemon’s gaze as though the fire in his eyes might consume them too. The Rogue Prince was unpredictable, and at this moment, there was no line he would not cross.
Finally, Simon dared to speak again. “What would you have us do?”
Daemon’s gaze turned sharp as a dagger, a dark smile tugging at his lips as he spoke. “I will take to the skies. Send ravens to Dragonstone—Vermithor must not fly again until he is ready. Rhaenyra will rally her forces; the Black Council will not suffer this insult. But make no mistake.” His voice lowered to something far more dangerous. “I will find her.”
“And what of Aegon, my prince?” Simon asked carefully.
Daemon turned his eyes to the banners that hung from the hall—Targaryen dragons on red and black fabric fluttering faintly in the draft. His smile was cold as death itself.
“Aegon has given me cause to kill him,” he said softly. “And so I shall.”
The wind howled as Sunfyre soared through the darkening sky, his golden scales still glowing faintly with the embers of battle. Aegon sat atop his dragon’s back, one arm wrapped securely around you, cradling you against him as the dragon’s wings beat steadily.
You were still weak, your head lolling against Aegon’s shoulder as your eyelids fluttered. The chill of the air bit at your skin, but you barely felt it. Your body ached, your mind still swimming with fractured memories of the fight.
“Aegon…” you murmured weakly, the words barely leaving your lips.
“I’m here,” Aegon said, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. He looked down at you, his violet eyes clouded with worry. “You’re safe.”
“You… stole me,” you said, though the accusation carried no real heat.
Aegon smirked faintly, though there was no true humor in it. “I saved you.”
“You are a fool,” you whispered, your strength waning. “My father…”
Aegon’s jaw tensed, but he tightened his grip on you protectively, as though he could shield you from everything—your father, the war, even the gods themselves. “Let him rage. Let him bring all the fury of the Seven Hells. I’ll face him if I must.”
You managed to look up at him, your voice weak but clear. “You’ll start a war you cannot win.”
Aegon met your gaze, and for a moment, you saw something in his expression that startled you. Determination. Devotion. And something more—something you had never seen before in those violet eyes.
“Then so be it,” he said quietly. “I’ll burn the world if I have to.”
As Sunfyre carried you both through the clouds, the war below shifted. The bloodshed to come would be worse than any before it, for Aegon had stolen the Rogue Prince’s daughter, and there was no wrath like that of a dragon robbed of its kin.
The skies above King’s Landing were blackened with dragons. Caraxes and Syrax descended upon the city like vengeful gods. The sound of their wings beat against the air like the drumming of war, a herald of doom that sent the city’s inhabitants into a panic. Bells tolled, their frantic clang swallowed by the deep, echoing roars of dragons and the cries of terrified smallfolk.
The Red Keep burned with the fires of conquest. The gates had been thrown open, the gold cloaks scattered or turned. King’s Landing belonged to Rhaenyra Targaryen.
The Great Hall was empty of its usual opulence. Banners bearing the golden dragon of Aegon II still hung above the Iron Throne, but now they were a mockery. The weight of silence pressed heavy in the chamber as Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen entered. Rhaenyra strode forward with regal fury, her black and red gown trailing behind her like spilled blood. Daemon followed close, his presence a storm barely contained, his violet eyes glinting with a fire that could set the room ablaze.
At the foot of the Iron Throne stood Alicent Hightower, her face pale but her expression proud and defiant. To her left, Otto Hightower stood with the measured calm of a man who knew his life hung by a thread. Beside them, Helaena Targaryen clutched her hands to her chest, her eyes wide, her lips whispering something inaudible as she swayed slightly where she stood.
Rhaenyra stopped at the base of the steps leading to the Iron Throne, her chin lifted. “Where is he?” she demanded, her voice clear and unyielding.
Neither Alicent nor Otto answered.
“Where is Aegon?” she repeated, her tone sharper this time, as though the words might slice through their silence.
Still, the Hightowers said nothing. Otto’s gaze met Rhaenyra’s, but he offered only the cold poise of a man who refused to break under pressure.
It was Daemon who stepped forward then, his voice low and lethal. “And my daughter?” he growled, his words dripping with venom. “Where is she?”
Otto turned to look at him, his expression unreadable. “We do not know.”
Daemon’s lips curled into something dark and feral as he took a step closer, his presence overwhelming. “Do not lie to me, Otto. You’re no stranger to betrayal, but I will not suffer you to speak false in my presence.” He paused, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Where is Y/N?”
Alicent lifted her chin, meeting Daemon’s fury with an uneasy calm. “We do not know where she is,” she said, though her voice trembled faintly. “Nor where my son has gone. We have not seen them since—”
“Since when?” Daemon interrupted, his anger boiling over. He moved forward, and for a moment, it seemed he might draw Dark Sister right there in the hall. “Since you let your drunken bastard son steal her away like a prize for his beast?”
Alicent’s face paled, but she did not falter. “We had no hand in his actions.”
“No hand?!” Daemon snarled, his voice filling the chamber like a clap of thunder. He turned on Otto now, his eyes ablaze. “Is that what you tell yourself, Otto? That you had no hand in this? That you didn’t whisper into your grandson’s ear to steal away my daughter—my child—to escalate this war? To bait us?”
“Daemon,” Rhaenyra’s voice cut through the room, sharp as steel. Her expression was cold, though the fury in her eyes burned just as bright. She placed a calming hand on Daemon’s arm before turning back to Otto. “You will tell us what you know.”
“I have already told you,” Otto said, his voice steady. “Aegon vanished. He took his dragon, and she was with him. That is all we know.”
Daemon’s laughter was a low, hollow sound. “So you let your so-called king run like a craven, and now you stand here and lie to my face.” He took another step forward, his hand resting ominously on the hilt of Dark Sister. “Perhaps a few heads on pikes will loosen your tongues.”
Helaena flinched at his words, her whispering growing louder as she clutched herself. “The golden beast flies… the golden beast burns… two heads, one shadow…”
Alicent turned to her daughter quickly, her hand resting on her arm. “Helaena, hush,” she whispered, though there was a tremor in her voice.
Daemon’s eyes flicked toward Helaena, narrowing at her words. “What did you say?”
Rhaenyra’s gaze turned to Helaena as well. “What shadow?”
“The shadow,” Helaena murmured, her voice soft and distant. “Two heads, black as night, chasing flames.”
Rhaenyra turned to Alicent then, her voice biting. “What does she mean?”
“She means nothing,” Alicent snapped, though her calm was finally cracking. “Helaena has always spoken in riddles.”
“And her riddles are no comfort to me,” Daemon said darkly, his voice vibrating with menace. “If she knows something—”
“She does not!” Alicent shot back, her voice rising as desperation bled through her carefully crafted mask.
“Then perhaps you should pray to your Seven that you are telling the truth,” Daemon hissed. “Because if I find out that you knew where Aegon has taken her—if you have kept her hidden from me—I will burn this keep to the ground, stone by stone. I will see every last one of you fed to my dragon.”
Alicent’s face was pale, her breathing shallow, but she held his gaze, her defiance flickering like a flame in the wind. “Then you will find nothing, Prince Daemon. Because I know nothing.”
Daemon’s glare burned into her, the silence thick and suffocating as tension hung over the room like an executioner’s axe.
Rhaenyra stepped forward, her voice cool but unrelenting. “We will find her. And when we do, the consequences of this act will fall upon all of you.” Her gaze swept over Alicent, Otto, and Helaena, before settling on the Iron Throne itself. “The time for mercy is over.”
Daemon turned on his heel, his cloak swirling behind him as he stalked out of the hall, his rage palpable. Rhaenyra followed after him, her jaw tight, her expression unyielding.
As their footsteps echoed down the corridor, Alicent let out a shaky breath, her hands trembling as she clutched Helaena to her side.
Otto turned his gaze to the smoldering doors of the hall, his expression grim. “This will only end in fire and blood.”
And far above the city, as smoke still curled from the ruins, Caraxes and Syrax roared into the heavens, their cries echoing the wrath of dragons unleashed.
The realm bled for a year under the shadow of war. Villages turned to ash, rivers ran red, and the cries of dying men became the music of Westeros. The realm whispered of Daemon Targaryen, the Black Prince, the Rogue Prince—a man possessed by fury, scouring the land atop Caraxes for the daughter he had lost. Towns burned in his wake, not out of cruelty but desperation, for no whisper of her whereabouts could satisfy him.
It was in the dead of autumn's cusp, beneath a gray and bloody sky, that Daemon finally heard the words he had been waiting for. Aegon was hidden in a long-forgotten holdfast near the Stormlands. And Y/N—his daughter—was with him.
Daemon’s eyes burned as he heard the news, his mind sharpening into a singular purpose. The war would end today. Either Aegon would die, or Daemon would.
The day of reckoning came cloaked in storm clouds. Caraxes roared as he descended over the jagged cliffs of the Stormlands, his serpentine wings casting long shadows over the crumbling holdfast below. His cry split the heavens, louder than the rolling thunder that chased them. Daemon sat rigid in his saddle, clad in black armor as cold and unforgiving as the wrath burning in his chest.
From below, the unmistakable gleam of gold emerged. Sunfyre’s roar answered Caraxes, piercing and defiant. Aegon sat astride him, his polished golden armor glinting dully in the gray light, the green cloak of his house fluttering wildly in the wind.
Daemon’s lips curled into a snarl as he urged Caraxes forward.
The dragons met in the sky with the force of titans. Caraxes, the Blood Wyrm, twisted through the air like a snake, his long, sinewy body moving with impossible grace. His scales were deep crimson, as though he had been bathed in the blood of fallen men. Sunfyre, the golden dragon, gleamed even through the storm, his wings vast and mighty, his form a vision of dragonkind’s majesty—terrible and beautiful.
Sunfyre struck first, his jaws snapping at Caraxes’s neck, but the Blood Wyrm was faster. Caraxes coiled his body, twisting out of reach, and lunged in return. His claws raked across Sunfyre’s side, shredding through golden scales with a sound like tearing steel. Sunfyre let out a scream of pain, and Aegon’s grip on the saddle faltered as his dragon dipped through the air.
“Hold, Sunfyre!” Aegon shouted, his voice hoarse as he clung to the reins. Sunfyre, in agony, rallied and beat his massive wings, rising again to meet Caraxes.
The dragons collided mid-air, their bodies smashing together with bone-jarring force. Claws tore, teeth sank deep into flesh, and blood began to rain from the sky, dark and thick. Caraxes sank his talons into Sunfyre’s underbelly, holding him fast as he raked his hind legs across the golden dragon’s sides, gouging deep, bloody furrows into his shimmering hide.
Sunfyre screamed and twisted, his massive jaws latching onto Caraxes’s shoulder. Teeth sank deep, piercing scales and drawing a torrent of blood. Caraxes roared in fury, but his grip did not falter. The two dragons plummeted toward the earth, their wings entangled as they tore at each other, desperate to kill.
“Burn him!” Aegon bellowed as he wrenched the reins. Sunfyre opened his jaws and let loose a torrent of flame. The fire licked across Caraxes’s flank, charring scales and flesh alike, but Daemon did not cry out. He held fast to his saddle, his face a mask of cold fury.
“Caraxes!” Daemon roared, his voice carrying above the winds.
Caraxes responded in kind, twisting his long neck to avoid the flame and snapping his jaws around Sunfyre’s wing. With a sound like tearing leather, Caraxes ripped the wing, shredding the membrane and sending Sunfyre spiraling down in a torrent of blood and broken scale.
Aegon screamed, clutching desperately at his saddle as Sunfyre plummeted to the earth. Caraxes released his prey at the last moment, pulling up into the sky as Sunfyre crashed to the ground with a sound like thunder. The golden dragon screamed, his massive body writhing as he lay broken on the rocky earth. Aegon fell from the saddle, landing hard with a sickening thud.
Daemon descended then, Caraxes landing with a rumbling growl beside the dying Sunfyre. Blood dripped from the Blood Wyrm’s jaws and claws, steaming where it struck the earth. Daemon dismounted, his armor streaked with soot and blood, Dark Sister gleaming in his hand as he strode forward.
Aegon groaned, struggling to push himself up from where he lay. His armor was dented, his face bloodied and streaked with dirt. He lifted his head to see Daemon approaching, and for the first time, fear flickered in the young king’s violet eyes.
“Stay back!” Aegon rasped, his voice shaking.
Daemon did not stop. He stepped over Aegon, barely sparing him a glance as he moved past the fallen king and toward the holdfast beyond. “Where is she?” he demanded, his voice as cold as death itself.
Aegon dragged himself up onto his hands and knees, coughing blood. “You won’t… take her,” he gasped. “Not from me.”
Daemon paused, turning back to look at him. The derision in his gaze was palpable. “You’ve lost, boy. You’re beaten. And you’ll die here with your dragon.” He turned his back on Aegon again, striding toward the shattered doors of the holdfast.
“No!” Aegon cried, dragging himself forward with shaking limbs.
Daemon ignored him, his boots echoing ominously as he entered the darkened stone ruins. Behind him, Sunfyre let out a final, pained roar, his body twisting as blood pooled beneath him.
The holdfast was silent—too silent. Daemon Targaryen strode through its broken halls like a shadow, his steps echoing against the cold stone. Dark Sister hung at his side, its blade slick with the blood of men who had tried to stand in his way. Caraxes waited outside, his roars still rumbling through the air like distant thunder, but inside, there was nothing. Just the heavy stillness of a place long abandoned.
Daemon’s violet eyes scanned every doorway, every shadow, his heart thundering against his ribs. He could feel it—some terrible truth waiting at the edge of his mind, clawing at him as he moved deeper into the ruins.
And then he heard it.
A faint, muffled sound. A whimper? A cry? It came from behind an iron-bound door at the end of the hall. Daemon’s hand tightened on the hilt of his sword as he approached, his breath slow and deliberate. He pressed against the door—it creaked on its hinges, heavy and reluctant—before he stepped inside.
The air struck him like a blow.
The chamber was dim, the torches burning low, their light flickering feebly against the stone walls. The smell hit him next—blood, sweat, something sour and sickly. And there, in the center of the room, was you.
You lay sprawled on a narrow bed, your body pale as milk, a sheen of sweat clinging to your brow. A bloody sheet was pooled around you, and your breathing came in shallow, broken gasps. Two attendants hovered beside you, their faces taut with fear, their hands stained red.
For a moment, Daemon did not move. His mind froze, unable to reconcile the sight of his daughter—his child—so small and fragile beneath that sea of blood.
“Y/N…” His voice was hoarse, barely a whisper, but it cut through the heavy air.
You turned your head weakly, your glassy violet eyes finding his. You blinked as though unsure whether he was real. “Father?” you rasped, your voice barely audible.
Daemon crossed the room in an instant, dropping Dark Sister with a clang. He fell to his knees beside you, his gloved hands hovering near your face, afraid to touch you. “What have they done to you?” he demanded, his voice breaking with a fury that could have brought down the heavens.
One of the attendants stepped forward, trembling as she spoke. “My lord—”
“Silence,” Daemon barked, his glare enough to freeze her in place. His eyes turned back to you, softening. “I’m here. I’m here now.”
You smiled faintly, a ghost of the child he had once known. “You came…” Your voice cracked as you winced, your body shuddering with another wave of pain.
Daemon looked down—and that was when he saw it. The attendants were pressing bloodied cloths between your legs, their hands stained crimson. It was clear now. You were giving birth, but something had gone terribly wrong.
“No,” Daemon muttered, his voice raw. He turned to the attendants, his expression murderous. “What are you doing? Save her!”
“We cannot stop the bleeding, my lord,” one of the women whispered, her face pale with terror. “It is too late.”
“Liar!” Daemon roared, rising to his feet. “You will save her, or I will have your heads!”
“Father,” you murmured, your voice faint. You reached for him with a trembling hand, and Daemon immediately dropped back to his knees, his fingers curling around yours. “Don’t shout… It’s all right.”
“It’s not all right,” he growled, his voice shaking as he looked at you. His thumb traced the back of your hand, desperate to keep you grounded. “You will not leave me. Do you hear me?”
You said nothing, your breathing growing weaker. A strained cry cut through the air then—a sharp, desperate sound. One of the attendants moved away from you, holding something swaddled in bloodied cloth.
“The babe, my lord,” she said softly.
Daemon turned his head sharply, his gaze narrowing on the squirming bundle in the woman’s arms. He stared at it as though it were a serpent, his expression darkening. For a long moment, there was silence.
You tried to speak, but your words were slurred, barely more than a whisper. “…a boy?”
The attendant nodded hesitantly. “A boy, my lady.”
Your lips twitched into the faintest of smiles, but the light was fading from your eyes. “Good,” you murmured. “Aegon will… be pleased…”
Daemon flinched at the name, his teeth grinding together as he looked at you. “Don’t you dare say his name. He’s the reason for this—he’s the reason you—” His voice broke, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against your clammy hand. “Stay with me, Y/N. Please.”
But you were already slipping away. Your breath rattled once more, then went still.
Daemon froze.
“No.” The word was a whisper, trembling and desperate. He lifted his head, his gaze fixed on your still face. “No.”
Silence answered him.
The attendants exchanged nervous glances as they stood, watching him carefully. Daemon sat motionless for what felt like an eternity, his hand still clutching yours as the storm of his grief began to swell.
The babe let out another cry, sharp and thin, cutting through the silence like a dagger. Daemon’s head snapped toward the child, his eyes wild with grief and rage.
The attendant flinched back, clutching the boy closer. “My lord—”
Daemon stood, his face carved from stone. “Give him to me.”
“My lord?”
“Give him to me.”
Trembling, the attendant stepped forward and placed the swaddled babe into Daemon’s arms. The child was small, red-faced, and screaming, his tiny fists waving uselessly in the air. Daemon stared down at him, his expression unreadable. For a moment, he tightened his grip, his knuckles white, as though he might crush the life from the boy then and there.
He remembered your pale face. Your soft words. “A boy… Aegon will be pleased…”
Daemon’s breath hitched, his throat tightening as he looked at the helpless child. The babe’s cries softened, his violet eyes—so much like yours—blinking up at him.
Daemon’s hands trembled. His grief and rage battled for dominance, screaming for him to act. To avenge you. To end this.
But he couldn’t.
With a ragged breath, he turned to the attendants, his voice low and unsteady. “Take him. Keep him warm. If he dies, I’ll burn you alive.”
The women nodded quickly, taking the child back with care.
Daemon turned back to you then, kneeling beside your still form. He reached out, brushing a lock of hair from your face, his fingers lingering against your cooling skin. “I will avenge you,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I swear it.”
Outside, Caraxes let out a mournful roar that echoed through the ruins, as if the dragon himself grieved with his rider. The storm raged on, but in that chamber, there was only silence—and the promise of fire and blood.
The door creaked as Daemon stepped outside, and the biting wind hit him like a blade. The air was thick with the scent of blood, smoke, and rain. He could hear Caraxes breathing nearby, the deep, guttural rumble of the dragon’s rage vibrating through the earth itself. Daemon’s steps were slow and deliberate, each one weighted with grief and fury.
Ahead of him, Aegon lay slumped against the broken form of Sunfyre. The golden dragon, once the most magnificent creature to grace the skies, was shattered, his scales streaked with crimson, one wing mangled and useless. His shallow breaths rattled through his great chest, the rise and fall slower with each moment. Aegon clung to Sunfyre’s neck as though the dying beast’s warmth might save him. His armor was battered and smeared with mud and blood. He was broken—utterly ruined—and yet he still lived.
Daemon approached him, his shadow stretching long over the king. His armor was black as night, spattered with soot and blood, and his face was carved from stone. Behind him, Caraxes crouched low, his red scales gleaming darkly in the storm light. The Blood Wyrm’s slit eyes were fixed on Aegon, as if the dragon knew who was responsible for the pain that had driven his rider to the edge.
Aegon stirred weakly, one hand clawing at the mud to drag himself forward. “Daemon…” he croaked, his voice barely audible. His head lifted just enough for his violet eyes—bloodshot and dazed—to meet Daemon’s cold, unyielding gaze.
Daemon stopped a few paces away, Dark Sister still clutched loosely in his hand. “You look pathetic, boy,” he said quietly, his voice empty of pity.
Aegon coughed, blood spilling from his lips as he slumped back against Sunfyre. “Where… where is she?” His voice cracked, raw with desperation.
Daemon stared at him for a long moment, his face unreadable. “She’s dead.”
The words were simple, devoid of embellishment, but they struck like a hammer. Aegon froze, his eyes wide with disbelief. “No…” he whispered, his voice trembling. He shook his head, tears welling in his violet eyes. “You’re lying.”
Daemon’s expression did not change. “She bled to death alone in that chamber, surrounded by strangers. Do you understand what you’ve done?”
Aegon’s face crumpled. His hands trembled as he pressed them into the mud, trying to lift himself. “No,” he gasped, his breath ragged. “No, she can’t—she can’t be…”
“You killed her, Aegon.” Daemon’s voice was calm, but his words were sharp as a dagger. “You stole her from her home, from her family, and you dragged her into your madness. She paid the price for your pride.”
Aegon let out a broken sound—a sob that caught in his throat. His head fell forward, his silver-gold hair matted with blood and rain. “I loved her,” he choked out, his voice shattered. “I loved her…”
Daemon’s lip curled into a sneer, though there was no satisfaction in it. “You loved her?” He took a step closer, looming over Aegon. “What you did to her was not love. Love would not leave her pale and broken, gasping her last breath while you clung to life like a coward.”
Aegon’s breathing hitched, his chest rising and falling with the weight of his grief. “The babe?” he rasped after a long silence. His eyes flickered up to Daemon’s, wild with desperation. “Our child—where is it?”
Daemon stilled. For the briefest moment, something flickered in his gaze, though it was impossible to tell what. Then his face hardened once more, the mask of a man who had nothing left to give.
“I owe you no answers.”
Aegon stared at him, his expression crumbling further. “Daemon—please,” he begged, his voice hoarse. “Tell me—”
Daemon turned his back on him without another word, his boots crunching over the wet earth. Caraxes shifted as Daemon approached, the dragon’s great head lowering, his nostrils flaring as he regarded his rider. For a moment, the Rogue Prince paused, one hand resting against the Blood Wyrm’s scarred jaw. His voice was low when he spoke, though Aegon could not hear him.
“Let’s leave this wretched place.”
Daemon climbed into Caraxes’s saddle, his movements heavy with the weight of loss. The dragon’s wings unfurled, their span vast and terrible against the gray sky. A single roar escaped Caraxes’s throat as he leapt into the air, the sound echoing through the ruins like a death knell.
Aegon remained on the ground, shaking and broken. Sunfyre’s breathing had gone still, the dragon’s golden form lifeless beside him. Aegon leaned into the mud, his tears mixing with rain and blood as the truth clawed at him.
She was gone.
His child lived, but Daemon had taken it.
And in that moment, the mighty King Aegon II Targaryen was nothing but a shattered man, left alone with the ruin he had wrought.
#house of the dragon#hotd#hotd x reader#hotd x you#hotd x y/n#fire and blood#house targaryen#a song of ice and fire#asoiaf#game of thrones#hotd aegon#aegon ii targaryen#aegon ii x reader#aegon ii x y/n#aegon ii x you#a fire worth burning
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ʟᴏɴᴅᴏɴ.
paring(s): jenna ortega x g!p!reader
warning(s): smut, p in v, unprotected sex, mentions of past break up, mentions of drugs, smoking, drinking, cheating, sex in a bathroom, sex in front of an open window, no pronouns used for reader, uhh that’s it i think(?)
summary: you get invited to jenna’s engagement party a year after your break-up.
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the crisps sound of the cigarette burning crackled as your lips wrapped around it, taking a long drag you let the smoke ease through your nose before you threw the stick to the ground and stepped it on, twisting your heel to put the burn out.
nothing but a flickering street light mixed with the red light of the street light illuminated over you face, as the rain drizzled you stood on the empty sidewalk looking up at the new york apartment building, the white invitation, that you had ripped apart weeks ago, was now tapped together in your hand’s tight hold.
“excuse me?” you let out a faint ‘huh’, turning your head in the voice’s direction.
there stood an unfamiliar man clad in a dark suit.
“are you here for the engagement party? could you tell me which building it is? i’m little the lost.” he ended his words with a slight chuckle to ease the tension, clearly telling the mood you were in.
“yeah. i’m heading up there now, i’ll walk you up.” you offer, finally getting collected enough to even go in, in the first place.
the man smiles, stepping close and you both turn your heads to either side of the road before jogging across it.
1580.
from very fresh memory, you press code to access the apartment building’s front door.
“you live here?”
“nah. i know the person who does.” you offer in a sulking tone.
the man nods his head with his mouth in an ‘o’ shape. “you know jen?”
“how do you know her?”
“oh, uh, my girlfriend and her are really close so i got invited by association. my girlfriend is already here, i’m just running late from work.”
you nod, uninterested.
“how do you know jen?”
“who’s your girlfriend?” you ignore his question as you step into the elevator.
“emma. you don’t like answering questions do you?”
“jen and i used to date.” you shrug off pressing the number 4.
a face of realization came over the man, “you’re y/n?”
“and you are?” this elevator couldn’t be moving any slower.
“john.”
silence had fell over you two as the shaft came to a stop, you both stepped out at the same time, coming face to face with your’ destination.
music and chatter could be heard through the door that held a sign that read, ‘just come on in.’
“well, cheers. thanks for walking me up.” john offers a smile before disappearing into the direction of the kitchen.
you stay planted by the front door, scanning the place, there were a number of faces you recognized. co—stars of jenna and mutual friends of yours.
as you looked over the familiar apartment your eyes caught the big sign that hung from the ceiling, ‘congratulations to jenna and ari!’ in a fancy golden fond with glitter around it.
i need a drink. the thought waved over you and immediately your feet moved to towards the kitchen as did john.
to your good fortune the kitchen was empty.
scanning over the choices of refreshments, you skipped over the soda and water, going right the alcohol where you would find patron to occupy your grievances.
“y/n? hey!”
a mouthed ‘fuck’ followed with the roll of your eyes before you turn to face jenna’s co—star and your mutual friend, mason.
“hey, mas! long time no see.” you face excited as you let the man pull you into a ‘bro’ hug.
“i know, it’s been like a month since we last linked up.”
you nod, taking a big sip from the red solo cup. “ah, you know, busy, busy, busy.”
you catch the way he nods his head awkward, knowing you’d barely talked to any of the friends you shared with jenna since the split.
“you working on anything new?”
“yeah, i just booked this dc movie. i start directing in a few weeks.”
“that’s great! i’m glad to see you here...”
you wanted to crawl into a hole in die.
“it’s good you and jenna are on good terms after everything. you two create magic together, romantic or not.” he reaches and pants your shoulder in support.
“but i gotta get back to dylan and ethan, you should come say hi later, yeah?”
“sounds like a plan.” a plastic smile flashed from you, immediately dropping when the boy walked away.
safe to say you needed more than just a drink now but a cigarette.
downing what little was left in the cup, you easily made yourself up the stairs that led to the bathroom which held three stalls and an open window, only two girls stood by the mirror doing what seemed to be gossiping. you flash a smile, making your way over to the window where you lit another malboro.
i can’t believe she’s getting married.
all your thoughts seemed to be consumed with the same six words. to be truthful, it was justified because how you could you come to terms with your ex-girlfriend of six years, that you were very much not over getting married just as year after your split.
a deep inhale consumes you as you thoughts wash over you, your eyes counting the city view.
where did it all go wrong?
“you showed up.”
your eyes flutter at the voice, immediately you hit the cigarette.
jenna.
“of course i made it. wouldn’t wanna miss your big day.” you turn, you body language filled with as much sarcasm as your voice.
you take in her body, she looked the same if not better a year later. well, better than the pictures you found while instagram and media stalking her.
“you could’ve said hi, you know? but knowing you, you probably would’ve disappeared after your cigarette.” she gestures to the stick that sat between your pointer and middle.
your head tilts as you smirk a smile, eyes going to the stick and back to jen. “join me?”
wordlessly the woman steps forward, her eyes never leaving yours she attempts to grab the cigarette but swiftly, you pull back, nodding your head ‘no’ before bringing your hand up to her lips, letting her inhale.
“you been standing in the rain? you’re all wet.”
looking back out the window, “i was contemplating if i even wanted to come in or not. let my sorrow consume me far away from you or right in front of you.”
“always been a battle of yours, huh?”
wordlessly, you reach forward, throwing the lit object from the window.
“when did you meet your finance?” you inquire, a small smirk coming over your face to which jenna rolls her eyes at.
“6–8 months after we split.”
you scoff, “you move on quick, and i think you mean after you left. we didn’t split. you made that choice.”
she squints, stopping to study you for a moment.
“i didn’t leave. the relationship was toxic and you knew it. you knew then, and you know it now but your pride would let you accept it.”
“just because we were in love doesn’t mean we were right for each other, y/n.”
dramatically you throw your hands up, letting them harshly fall back down to your side.
“so, what? we argued? who doesn’t? that doesn’t mean our relationship was this big tumultuous thing, jenna!”
“look at us, we’re not even together, i’m engaged and somehow we are still arguing. we should’ve never gotten together, i should’ve never mixed business with pleasure.”
it was true, you and jenna started off as co-workers.
you, being a quite known director had landed one of the many positions on ‘wednesday’, a job you’d had been quite a fan of considering you’d previously had a hugeee crush on jenna as she rose to ‘it girl’ status in the film world.
not to mention, ‘addams family’ was one of your favs growing up.
essentially, after the first two to three weeks of filming you and jenna really started to form a closeness. you’d started a traditions where at least one person on set gets pranked every wednesday and jenna, being who she was, just loved this.
wanting to get in on the pranking action, she sparked up conversation with you which formed into you visiting her trailer to plan your next to prank, which then turned into you asking her out.
from there, your relationship spouted.
at the start you guys held a pretty content relationship with each other, bickering placed between you two at times but nothing too serious to break up—well, until your first real argument a year in.
you had gotten another job after the first season of wednesday aired, directing for marvel’s new show ‘hawkeye.’
normally after the first day of filming is done, the cast goes out to a dinner to celebrate, unfortunately for everyone paparazzi got a tip of one of the stars of the show, haliee steinfeld, was out to dinner so of course they showed up. in the mix of every thing a few pics of you and haliee were snapped, which caused dating rumors.
let’s just say, when you got home jenna was not happy with you. the situation even causing you two to split up, for a week, but still it was a split up.
over all, your and jenna weren’t ones to agree on the bigger things which caused you ‘break up’ in the long term of your six year relationship and somewhere along the lines it became too much for the young actress as she already had enough to stress over with fame so she called it quits, leaving you to self-destruct with drinking, smoking, drugs, and partying.
in the mix of your wicked lonesome you’d always thought somewhere, somehow you and jenna would end up on the same street at the same time but just a month ago did you receive an invitation to her engagement party.
“if you feel that way, why’d you even invite me? i believe one of the last things you said to me was about how you never wanted to see me again.”
she leans back like she’s shocked by your words.
“our relationship might have been a mess but we spent six years together, i learned a lot from you and us in those six years. you’ll always be special to me, y/n, that’s why i want you here.”
“six years gone is just a couple of months.” you grit, turning to walk away in a haste but failing as the woman grabs to your wrist.
she pulls you toward her, a little to close if you ask anyone else, especially her fiancé.
“don’t walk away from me, y/n! i know it hurts but can you just be here for me? can you just be happy for me?”
“do you even love her?”
“of course i do, i wouldn’t marry someone i didn’t love.” her hand was still firmly around your wrist.
“ok, so,” a bitter chuckle falls from your lips. “are you in love with her?”
you could see jenna’s tongue roll around in her mouth in distaste as she turned her head to the side and back up to you.
“why are you asking me all this? all i did was ask you to be here for me.”
again, you let a bitter chuckle slip past your lips. “you’re not even in love with the girl and you’re gonna marry her.”
“i never said tha—”
“you didn’t have to. i know you, jenna—i mean, come on we dated for six years, you’re gonna have to do better at lying than thi—”
“i’m not lying!” she defended, finally pulling her touch away.
“yes you are.” you couldn’t be more amused in this moment than you had the past year.
“you know what, i’m not doing this. don’t stay. i don’t care.”
this time jenna is the one to try to walk away but you grip her wrist the same she had done yours, pulling her back to you but this time even closer, your bodies together.
“kiss me.” it came out softer than you intended, almost like a whisper but raspy and firm.
“i—i can’t. i can’t do this with you.” she attempts to pull away but your arms wrap around her waist, keeping her in place.
you lean down, only getting the chance to brush your lips over her’s as she quickly turns her head to the side, fighting any and all temptation.
wordlessly, you let your lips connect with her cheek and gracefully move down to her jaw before lifting your head to stare back to the woman you were so familiarly enamored with.
“jenna, kiss me.” you grip the sides of her face, pulling her in, to which she definitely no longer fought from by the way she kissed you back, seemingly even more in need of it than you.
you could taste the cigarette from each other’s lips, her breath mixed with cherry and your’s with the drink you had, had earlier.
mindless thoughts flew through your head in the moment, your body so heated with final desire it melted to the inside of you. while, jenna’s filled with so many thoughts she could probably explode from them in this moment.
she knew she shouldn’t be doing this and not just because she were with someone else but because your relationship would bring nothing but chaos of heartache, but damn she loved you.
she were in love with you, even after all this time. even after being with someone else, let alone engaged to them.
nothing compared to then taste of your lips that were firmly, but sloppily moving against her’s with haste in these very seconds. or the way your hands traveled across her, up from her waist down to her ass, which you gripped harshly in a wanting manner.
alone in the bathroom, only your pants of eager desire could be heard. shamelessly all over each other, just inches from the big open window for the world to see.
quickly but surely, you flip jenna’s body, her hands immediately holding onto to that window as you hike her black dress up before impatiently undoing the strings on your sweatpants that you let drop to your ankles, along with your boxers.
you harden cock sprung free, hollowly brushing against her ass.
“i missed you so much.” you wish in her ear before kissing it.
“arch a little more for me.” your tone was soft spoken with desire.
with your left hand pressed against her lower back you use your right to align yourself before slowly sliding in, letting a groan fall from your lips and your head throw back. you couldn’t believe what was happening after such a long time.
neither could jenna believe her actions but as tempting as you were it was bound to happen. her head pressed against the window as her eyes closed in fancy, mouth firmly open with pretty moans to fall from them.
your hands gripped her waist, fingers digging into her sides as your hips move in a back and forth motion, going in and out of her while your eyes watched the sight in awe.
“tell me you love me.” you demand.
“i love you.” she easily complies.
“again.”
“i love you.”
“again.”
“i love you.”
“fuckkkkk.” you draw out, moving with more pace.
“i love you too.” you words were as just as much fire to jenna as her’s were to you.
you enflamed her in way you were half clueless to but could definitely feel by the way she pushed back trying to get you impossibly deeper and closer.
“fuck, baby. if you keep doing that i’m gonna cum.” your head flies back in pleasure.
gaining a smidge of strength in the mix of your motions, jenna pushes off the window into you.
“i’m gonna cum too. i wanna cum with you.”
“keep going.” you utter, moving impossibly faster as you feel the build up in your body set to release, assuming jenna felt the same by the way she clenches around you.
“kiss me, kiss me.” you order, leaning down to meet the girl’s lips.
you moved your motions a few more times before feeling jenna’s juices gush over you.
you followed shortly behind, letting everything go inside of her.
there was moments of silence before jenna was the one to pull away from your embrace, fixing her now soaked underwear and pulling down her dress.
a content smirk filled your face as you collected yourself.
“you—”
“jen? jenna?” any cocky remark you had to say was put on hold by what seemed to be jasmin’s voice, a co—star of jenna’s and good friend of the both of you.
as the woman came through the door, she paused, eyeing the distraught state between the both of you.
“ari is about to do the toast, hurry out.” was all she could manage before exiting the same way she had came.
this would definitely be the topic of discussion later. jenna thought as she moved over to the mirror to check her semi-messed up makeup.
“i’ll be on my way out. come over later when you’re done breaking the news to ari.”
━━━ 👩🏽💻
#jenna ortega x y/n#jenna ortega x you#jenna ortega x reader#jenna marie ortega#jenna ortega#sam carpenter#scream six#tara carpenter#ghostface#ethan landry#scream#writingofn#mindy meeks martin#sam carpenter x you#jazzsonly#sam loomis#amber freeman#tara carpenter x female reader#scream 6#tara carpenter x reader#sam carpenter x female reader#sam carpenter x reader#tara carpenter x y/n#chad meeks x reader#amber freeman x y/n#tara carpenter x you
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hesperus
The evening star calls home. Ruin is your saving grace.
Tw/Cw; Suggestive/explicit scene, gender neutral reader, implications of religious themes (not great), dubious morals(?), reader is a COUGARRRR (implied), Sunday loves older authority figures (guilty), just guess at this point. Also reader is implied to be like a parental figure to Firefly. OOC because i love making canon characters my own ocs.
Pairings: Stellaron Hunter!Reader x Sunday (romantic), (hinted) Firefly x tb, (platonic) Firefly x reader.
A/n: 5.8k words, i hate this fic, enjoy whatever whatever.
——
“Will you be okay?”
The small girl looks up at you - trepidation and concern visible in her eyes.
“I should be asking you that, lovely.” You smile, gently tugging a strand of hair behind her ear. Her hair was beautiful, in your opinion. You often verbalized how beautiful it looked, mentioning it as silver under a blue moon.
Firefly still had concern in her eyes, dampened by your words, her hand clasped over the middle of her collarbone.
“I'll make it.. I think.” Her determination made way through uncertainty. You hum, smiling at her.
“You will, as shall I. If you ever need, I will be there.”
You wink, making the young girl smile a bit. The small, almost sad smile, still breaks through her worry.
“I've heard they've been on the lookout for us. I'm..”
She didn't have to continue. You already knew. Your hand comes up and pats her head, gently.
“We'll be fine. Go on, my sweet.”
You smile, softly. It seems to melt away the rest of her trepidation.
She takes a moment. Then nods. Worry and uncertainty now embers as determination fires through her eyes.
You wave her off, as she makes her way.
You are being watched. But you are aware.
–———
You hum, swirling the champagne glass in your fingers, watching the bubbles rise to the top, and stick to the edges in clusters.
“Interrupting your break, am I?”
The man beside you laughs, softly. Almost forced. He doesn't respond further.
“I'm guessing your weekends are spent tending to your white coat.”
You tilt your head, looking at him, a small smile playing on your lips. He doesn't bother acknowledging you.
“I give it to the dry cleaners, actually.”
“Ah, busy man. I suppose I should leave you be.”
“..I have an inkling you won't.”
His wings bristle slightly. His halo shines beautifully – a sort of warning that hangs over his head. Sharp edges, blinding gold. Angels crafted to deter the evil.
But you aren't phased. Perhaps it is the alcohol.
“There was a story, I remember. If you're up for it, of course. It's quite old.”
“Ah, an anecdote from your life?”
“I'm not an ancient tablet.”
“I wasn't aware.”
You chuckle, setting your glass down, the glass base clinking as you do.
You take a brief moment; simply to compose and immerse into the present moment. You look over at the man, allowing yourself to shamelessly scan him despite the unreturned glancing or staring.
“Owls and Ravens were once friends. And both had snow-like feathers. As pristine as white clouds on the expanse of a sky.”
His hair is soft, blue and hazy under the warm light of the bar, shimmering the slightest bit. He shifts in his seat, perhaps to get more comfortable.
“They decided, then, to paint each other, since nothing else was there to do. The Raven painted the Owl diligently, in patterns and dots. And the Owl sat patiently through the process.”
His eyes are piercing, golden, yet they rest, conserved and distant.
The alcohol hazed your vision, smoothing out the edges like a loving artist's strokes against the canvas of his visage.
Your fingers circle the rim of your glass, returning your gaze, watching the bubbles clear.
“But when the Raven's turn came, it never sat still. And as the Owl painted, it painted over the Raven entirely, marring it's feathers as black as obsidian.”
“What a shame.”
Your foot playfully taps the side of his, making his leg stop jittering up and down.
“Indeed.”
He hums, his gaze temporarily flitting from your foot to your hand, placed on your knee. He almost acknowledges you.
The background is a warm blur against your view of him, almost as though he's the sole performer on a podium – the light seemed to belong to him, and him only.
“You have a daughter, am I correct to assume?”
His fingers tap, rhythmically, like patters of rain.
“No, just.. a friend. But I consider her as such.”
“She left in quite a hurry.”
“She did, didn't she?”
“has the dream not been to her liking? In the case something has gone awry, The Family hopes–”
“Oh, you know, kids these days. They see someone they like and skitter like a fool.”
He doesn't seem to take your words in stride. But you smile.
“I see.”
You stretch, spinning in the small loveseat, planting your feet down as you rise,
“See someone you like?”
“Already got a view.”
Sunday finally acknowledges you - his eyes trailing your form as you walk away.
——–
“I love you!”
The voice crackles from the plush toy's broken voice box, as Sunday peers down at it. He doesn't move – idly looking at it, and yet not bothering to pick it up.
He stares, for a few more moments, noting the grime and the tears at the seams. The small stains of probably candy or something sweet sticking to its “paws”. The bear had worn down inexplicably from love. The very love it spoke at every press. And from abandonment. He found himself wondering at the fleeting childhood passing by like a reeling ribbon from a child's hands, as if the bear had been dropped unwillingly, and had not been allowed to reunite with it's owner again. A strange dilemma – not alive, yet full of the most humanly feeling. So full, infact, the cotton burst at the seams, and it's button nose was dull.
With careful movements, Sunday picks it up, by its collar behind its “neck” [if you could even say it had one]. His hand holds it at a bit of a distance.
“A fan of soft toys, Mr. Dreammaster?’
Your voice teases him. You watch his arm slightly falter, imagining a plethora of emotions on his face you'd love to pull at like strings of a tapestry falling apart.
“..I am the Head, of The Family. The Dreammaster would be–”
“It's alright. I was joking.”
“I wasn't.”
His voice is still, flat. There is no semblance of emotion.
“Feisty, today. Was your toy missing for a long time? Sour about how it looks, hm?”
Sunday breathes out; an amicable replacement for a drawn out sigh. He turns to you, still holding the bear at a distance, staying quiet.
“Now, that is no way to hold a gentleman.”
You walk forward, and gently grasp the bear in both of your hands. Sunday's eyes flicker to your gloved hands, as though in his own curiosity of your lack of concern in terms of hygiene.
“There. Better. You ought to be respectful to your elders.”
“Ah, yes. My apologies. I should have bowed when you spoke to me.”
He bows slightly in jest, his hand on his heart,
“Hm, that's right.”
Sunday smiles, looking up at you from his bowed state. You seem to pay more mind to the bear in your hands, an array of similar thoughts in your head as you process it's appearance.
“Do you want to take it with you? Who knows, you might come to like it.”
“Please, that's no way to ask someone to get rid of it.”
You eye his non-faltering, feigned innocent smile. He simply closes his eyes and continues smiling.
“Well, turns out it has a nametag. It won't hurt to stitch it up a bit and return it back.”
He hums, watching you fix the bear's little dishevelled bowtie.
And then he clears his throat, catching your attention.
You tilt your head, curiously looking at him.
“Yes?”
Sunday points to his own tie, slightly miffed. You chuckle,
“Well, now. Whoever shall fix that?”
“Perhaps an elder. They know better than I.”
You roll your eyes, setting the bear down gently onto the side, removing your gloves and fixing his tie.
———
“Cozy, cozy.”
Kafka purrs into the phone, the rasp of her voice not blurred by the digital medium, as you stare in the distance at the blue-haired halovian.
“Kafka, I'm gonna have to call you back soon.”
“Just when things were about to get interesting..”
You roll your eyes – she can't see it, but she chuckles, knowing what your silence meant.
“Alright, goodluck. Looks like you'll need it.”
You hang up before she has anything else to say, pulling out a compact mirror, and adjusting your appearance. Just as you snap it shut, a small creak of the loveseat beside you indicates his occasional arrival.
“You're late. And I hoped a man of your stature was more punctual than that.”
You tease, watching his eyes never meet yours. Only this time – you catch it. He swallows, rather thickly, watching his adam's apple bob as he does.
“I don't recall having scheduled any meetings with you.”
“Oh?”
His reply is curt, almost condescending if you weren't the type to brush it off.
“Seems my last story hasn't melted the ice yet.”
“Not an inch.”
“D'aw, alright. Wanna hear more, lovely?”
His wings – not his ears – twitch slightly at the pet name. You notice the faint rush of blood to the tip of his ears.
He doesn't answer, choosing to be chaste in silence. You huff out a chuckle,
“Alright, drink's on me then. I'll tell you something interesting.”
——
In your travels as a stellaron hunter, you've assorted many into repulsions and desires that draw you in.
To fast thrills, versus the indignancy of a dragging present. You find yourself drawn to the bright lights of a night bar, versus the blinding array of a scorching sun. To shallow connections in lieu of heavy and complex relationships. Attachment would be your downfall. Ruin is your saving grace.
However, you find yourself looking for your repulsions.
The grey haired girl stands in front of you once again, shuffling from foot to foot, her eyes low and shy as her hands fiddle with a stray lock of her own hair. You eye her for a moment, before humming, and gently coax her to face you by placing an index finger under her chin and raising it up.
“Little bug, what's on your mind?”
“Um..”
“Script not to your liking?”
You watch her mumble under her breath, her face slightly tilting down as she resists the urge to tuck it away again. As she does, you gaze from over the top of her head; a familiar blue haired man walking into the distance, followed by panicked coworkers. It seems he will be amiss once again, for today.
“I couldn't.. tell them.”
“The trailblazer?”
She hums, nodding.
You huff out a chuckle, patting her head.
“You have your chances, do you not? Rest easy, your time will come.”
She visibly relaxes, her shoulders slightly dropping, and her hands leaving the lock of hair to return to her sides. Her eyes are still low, as though scanning the pavement under your feet, as she contemplates. You watch her bite the inside of her cheek before she raises her face again and nod.
There is a fire in her eyes.
It is almost like the Sun.
You are almost afraid of it.
“I'll do it. As many times as I need to.”
You smile, leaning back onto the cold wall behind you.
“We should go shopping after your next attempt.”
You find your jaw clenching after the words slip from your mouth. Your repulsions are your weakness. Yet you still seem to subconsciously seek them out. It's a testament to your human nature.
She nods, smiling at you. She stays in her place for a moment, before she speaks again,
“I could.. ask Kafka to go with you if I don't make it.”
You turn and glance back at your usual spot at the open bar‐empty without you and the man you've been missing lately. Your smile only widens at her perception. Clever girl.
“No need. I'd like some silence anyways.”
She seems a bit unconvinced, as she continues to gaze at you for a brief moment more, scanning you for any deception. Out of worry than any ulterior motives, unlike the woman she mentioned a while ago.
Truthfully, you were lonely. This is what your ruin does to you, regardless of how it saves you. A few conversations lure you into a false sense of companionship, regardless of however brief it must have been, even encouraging you to divulge more than necessary if desperate enough. You find your eyes flitting at anything the colour of pale blue. At anything that glows gold under a light.
You chuckle and wave,
“I'll be fine, honeybee. Go, be on your way, now.”
She nods, smiling at the pet name.
You find your repulsions carry you elsewhere, the bar fading into the background as you walk the opposite direction, once all spying eyes have cleared. You find your eyes flitting to find him. However, no matter how blessed your vision may be, the absence left behind can only be described, not pointed to. Ultimately, it is your mind that hinges on the assessment of what you have lost, or gained.
But it seems this time your heart has taken the hit – a burrowing feeling between the slats and the depths of your ribs as though an animal had sprung from it, and left it behind as a husk of what it once was.
–——
Sunday tuts, his fingers taking a bold graze of your hair, sliding and gently tugging out a lock.
“You ought to take better care of your hair.”
You stay silent for a brief moment, and it's apparent to him aswell that you hadn't expected him to do something so.. casual, considering his formalities. He takes his time to address it in your period of silence.
“I simply noticed and commented on it, no need to look like a deer caught in headlights.”
His eyes flicker to yours for a moment, and avert immediately. You watch his hand fall to his side, his fingers slightly shaking. You can't tease him on it – it would be hypocritical. A slight, excited sort of feeling sparks in your stomach.
You lick your lips, and take a sip of your beverage, feeling your senses dry up a bit. The liquid instead burns at the dryness of your throat.
“You're into haircare, hm?”
You reply, ignoring the brief silence and the tension it carried.
“Often. It comes with taking care of my wings.”
“Ah, I see.”
Silence once again. Unlike the pleasant one you two usually shared, this felt different; it felt electric. Thick, a bit suffocating.
“I like your piercings.”
His hand, previously resting on the counter, subconsciously raises up to fiddle with his earring,
“Thank you.”
You stay silent again, almost inviting in the tension that causes him to graze his teeth against the inside of his cheek, a step away from chewing on the sides of it.
You break the ice first.
“Do you prefer gold or silver?”
“Silver.”
He stays silent for a moment. He's often found his mind wandering when it comes to you – wondering how various adornments would suit you.
“Really? Didn't take you as a silver type.’
“Ah, about me?”
“Who else?”
He felt silver suited you; more than your complexion, he simply felt.. drawn to it. Like the faint glimmering of a moon's reflection on a lake. You were someone who's depths were mysterious, almost alluring to him.
You stay silent, too. The question hangs in the air for a brief moment.
You watch his shaky fingers rub slightly at his nose. You've noticed a lot of things about him. The tips of his nose and ears that turns red a bit too easily. The faint fluttering of his ghostly blue lashes. The twinkle of gold – not just of his halo, but the various imprints of it on him; jewellery, and the woven golden threads of his pristine suit.
His eyes follow to your hand, on the bar's countertop, swallowing thickly again.
It seems despite everything, he's still a fool in the grasp of his shame.
He looks away,
“I prefer gold.”
——
Sentience is a curse, he thinks.
His fingers tap and circle the perimeter of the frail glass, a clink accompanying each one. Waves form on the surface of the shimmery liquid from the small force.
Morality is a cruel beast. Because it is unrecognisable. And it knows you.
It follows you, through your ages. A small, ghastly and putrid thing, akin to a shameful, big animal. Hunched over, following you like a chore. Like a lost, stubborn child. It grows with you. It becomes bolder. It becomes aware. It has your voice. Soon, the mind caves and buckles into the grasp of the dastardly beast, that grows like uncontrolled weed on a substrate. It grows and envelops. And it tells you – can you truly allow yourself to do this? And the answer is never yes. Morality is a curse. A big ugly thing, unafraid to show it's face. It fills the room when silence staves arguments in the form of chastened tension.
Yet he finds himself, almost seeking it out. Searching the cruel shackle of his morality, almost wanting it to shame him into hiding.
Your place is empty. He notes. He closes his eyes for a brief moment, fluttering lashes coming to a halt. He envisions the faint waft of your perfume, the dainty clicking of your fingers over the rim of the glass, the cheeky tap against his agitated foot. Sunday would find himself already ashamed, if he'd outright admitted he'd actually been staring at you, from his periphery. You overshadow the ugly beast, drawing out a sort of soft, beautiful serenity with a hollow voice, and an elusive persona.
Angels are, by design, made to stave evil. Somehow, however, it seems he has attracted one. A devil in the form of you. And yet, like a man yet to feel the cold relief of forgiveness on his lips, he wanders aimlessly in his mind, as though in search of you. Sin is unbeknownst, ignorance is plaguing, and yet he revels in it. Even for a moment.
He huffs out a laugh. A novel turn of events. Its his turn to wait for you, isn't it?
Yet it seems easy to do, simply imagining your form beside him once again, telling him another strange tale, either for your own amusement or to reel him in. He disregards the source. His weary face finds an ache, a pleasant one, as it pulls into a faint smile.
As sentience drives a being to deviate from instinct, his awareness has driven him to exhaustion. Yet you are a double edged sword – a balm for his exhaustion yet endlessly pushing him to caution.
——
“You've been gone too long, haven't you?”
You croon, a cheeky smile on your face, Sunday bashfully keeping his eyes locked to his drink. Despite everything, he cannot meet your eyes.
“I have.”
For the first time, the pastor is of the guilty. The devil has come to exorcise him. But exorcism does not mean erasure of sins, neither does it mean cleanly cutting off the strings that attach one to them. You may as well weave more of these strings, and craftily ground him to you.
“How will you make it up to me?’
You drawl, leaning on the palm of your hand, speech slightly slurred from the alcohol.
“..How would you like me to?”
His gaze is trained on his hand – gripping the fragile neck of the glass with a bit too much force.
You hum, twirling your own glass, watching the liquid rush and bubble at the edges.
“Tell me a secret.”
He swallows.
A secret?
“Is that.. truly what you desire?”
“Mhm.”
You take a sip of your beverage. Sunday is relieved, yet almost disappointed.
“..very well.”
He breathes in, and takes a moment to compose himself. His eyes flit to you, a small flicker of boldness somehow making him hover over a line he dares not cross. His gaze wanders to your lips, the slight crinkle beside your eyes, the squish of your cheek against your palm. He eyes your clothing.
A stellaron hunter.
It was as though he was placing himself as the bait in a trap. As though he was the one caught in the trap. What else could he complain about? Except for that of which he can't admit – his unbecoming is his fault.
His fault for unreeling like a ribbon under your daft fingers. He finds himself wanting to spill like an ink bottle, the surface tension of the liquid keeping it from just flowing over the thick, glass borders.
And he breathes in your perfume. He breathes in the expanse of the night's air. And he spills. He spills so cautiously, so quietly, as though he is afraid of staining his own lips with the tenacity of his words.
He has many secrets. Most of which were handed to him, more akin to an heirloom than an actual personal matter. More akin to a treacherous contract than whispered confessions. How he wishes this was a confession to you, than an unveiling over his disgusting innards.
But you listen, unwavering. A lazy smile still gracing your lips, stained with grapes and understanding. It is as though you were stained in so many ways, his words are unflinchingly simple to you. It becomes a confession, rather than a revelation at the altar of the cartilage shell of your ear.
And you keep it. You keep it like a lost prayer. Like a silent vow.
“..want me to whisper it to you?”
You return the sentiment, offering a request. It seems you are no guiltier than he innocent.
———
“Can't convince you, can I?”
“Not at all.” Please don't try, anyway. He lets those words die on his tongue.
You huff out a laugh, a bit forceful, as you look away from him, folding your arms.
“Shit, you don't pull any punches, huh?”
A pang of guilt hits him at the slight hurt in your forced laugh. But he can't be deterred.
Not that you were going to, considering Elio's script. It's on you, really. But you didn't expect it to actually hurt.
You watch the empty audience seats, his back turned to it.
“It's a pity. I wish I could have seen this theatre when it was filled to the brim with people.”
“..it would have been an extraordinary view. It always is.”
“You look forward to it?”
…
“Not anymore.”
You hum, your teeth nipping at the skin of your lips. The quietness of the theatre is exemplified at the rustle of your clothes, as you turn to look at his back. The light of the podium makes him look beautiful. His halo is almost blinding. He looks like the Sun. You'll be lead to your death, at this rate. Wasn't Ruin supposed to be your saving grace? Here you are – disguised as both Icarus and the blinding Sun.
Sunday stands still, a cleancut form, unable to face you. You can stare at his back all day. But the pain resounding in your chest from your heart hurting strings you back into the present. You breathe deeply, and sigh,
“Alright. Goodluck, then.”
With one step forward, you disappear as quietly as you came. It's a trick familiar to your group; as Sunday knows. But even then, he braces himself to greet the empty space you leave behind, his heart sinking further at the loss of your presence.
———
Sunday finds the shackles of punishment more liberating than death on his knees.
He learns this in isolation. He learns many things in isolation.
He learns how to miss you.
Phantoms and taunts of your words echoing the empty expanse of his empty mind, wafting through the many whispers of the stellaron that plagued his mind.
His finger twitches upwards, when his lifeless eyes imagine the faint illusion of your affection, grazing fingertips over his knuckles. You hadn't actually ever gotten so physically close to him, but he indulges himself. He imagine the soft sensations of your lips on his jaw, trailing up to ghost the shell of his.
“Miss me, Mr. Dreammaster?”
He shivers at the illusion. Your voice is close yet far; reverberating in the hollow wasteland of his mind like a single thread of gold.
A lot. He wants to say. He swallows the words, and for the second time, the fruit lodges in his throat. To admit is to acknowledge the sin.
“Make it up to me, Mr. Dreammaster?"
A knock. Your phantom, agonisingly so, vanishes like a mist casted away by a gush of wind. But the interruption is far from divine.
Jade, from the IPC.
——
Like gently settling fog, rumours stagnate over a crowd. The whispers and the hushed words are not elusive to your ears.
Your phone buzzes, but you ignore it. Firefly is accompanied by Silver wolf, you wouldn't have to worry.
As much as your thrills lure you to the lavish party to celebrate the Nameless, your repulsions seem stronger.
You sip your beverage, tipping the glass up, but your eyes stay on your phonescreen. You hadn't ever texted Sunday, and neither had he texted you. You two hadn't even called. There was no history. It would be as though you could keep your phone open for hours and no one would bat an eye. Even for the most prestigious of those in stature would have to occasionally practise patience when it came to him. Who would you be? The vague, elusive stellaron hunter who's suspected of causing trouble wherever they go? Like a stray piece of pebble that's easy to disregard and kick away, who is he to ever glance at you?
And so you stare, measuring in silence, the strange stirring of feelings in your stomach. You could blame it on your beverage, but you hadn't drank enough really, mainly because you couldn't even bother keeping it down.
Buzz
You blink, watching a notification pop up, and promptly retreat as you click on Sunday's contact again.
He messaged you?
No, it couldn't be. It must be one of The Family's members.
You push yourself off of the wall you'd been warming with your back, and take a small step forward in contemplation, your eyebrows knitted as you stared.
Why would they send you to his office's location?
——
Sunday breathes in, the cool, familiar air of his office hitting the back of his throat as he does.
There is a certain pleasure in ordinary things.
The patience of a ceramic cup that stays warm with coffee. The smooth crafting of the surface of a wooden desk. The ambience of the air conditioner accompanying the steady scribbling of a pointed tip on paper. The comfort in reclining back in a cushioned office chair. Things he may as well soon never come across again.
He swallows, his eyelids doing little to shield the overhead lighting of his office, but still keeping them closed to simply savor the feeling.
A shadow emerges, obscuring the light from his eyes, casting a shade on his face. It's soon accompanied by the faint wafting of perfume.
“Miss me, Mr. Sunday?”
This wasn't Ena's dream. But for a moment, he could have considered it.
You're leaned over from behind him, watching down at his face as he opens his eyes. He opens his mouth, but decides to stay silent.
Your hand comes up to gently cup the side of his face, your palm pressing beside his eye, fingers reaching the bottom of his chin. Your thumb lingers around the edge of his mouth. You both stare at each other, simply noticing the dilation of each other's pupils.
“It's just Sunday.”
He tells you. There is no animosity, no hostility in his voice. It's almost a whisper, as though he's unsure if you are real. His own hand reaches up, and cautiously, his fingers graze the side of your face.
Your skin is warm. Your relaxed smile widens as he does so. He shivers.
“Savouring your final moments?”
He smiles.
“I am.”
You stay that way for a moment, before slowly leaning back and standing up straight. Sunday gets up from his chair and moves to stand across you.
“Couldn't let me know where you were a little earlier?”
You tease him, but he can sense the slight irk in your voice.
“My deepest apologies. How can I make it up to you?”
You hum, spinning on your heel and walking around his office, fingers grazing the edge of his desk as you walk beside it, and to the front. You turn, leaning on it, your back facing him.
“A secret won't be enough this time, y'know?”
He watches your hand fiddle with a few trinkets on his desk, your other hand supporting you. He makes his way to you again, rounding the desk, and stands in front of you,
“What may help?”
You hum again, but he knows better. You're feigning your contemplation.
You smile, still leaned back against his desk.
“I wouldn't know. Something special before we depart?”
“Hm.. is that so?”
He steps closer, his hands placing themselves right beside your waist on the desk behind you, caging you in. His eyes never leave yours.
“Mhm.”
You smile, looking at him.
He leans in, eyes falling lower, on your lips, as he asks,
“Now, what shall I do?”
His warm breath fans over the lower half of your face, and the small exposed bits of your collarbone.
“Perhaps do as your seniors advise you.”
“Hm? Who?”
You grab him by the collar of his shirt, push off of the table and swerve him, pushing him against the desk as you lean in,
“You can listen, can't you?”
He breathes in, slightly winded at the switched positions.
“I might need guidance.”
You huff out a laugh,
“I'll guide you, so listen well.”
You lean in, your lips almost brushing his, but pull away when you sense he might lean in, his lips stay slightly parted as he watches you.
“You need to be patient, okay?”
He almost doesn't hear you, swallowing as he eyes your lips, his abdomen constricting, feeling something tighten and coil.
“I will.”
You smile. And lean in, testing his resolve,
“Do as I say, alright?”
His lips twitch, and his breath hitches. He waits, agonisingly, as your lips brush against his, but don't press. He whispers out,
“I will.”
.
“Good.”
You finally press your lips against his, and it's as though a river rushes through his veins, as he eagerly kisses you back. His breathing is heavy, his hands unsure as they hold onto your waist, but you're made aware of his desperation as his nails unconsciously dig into your flesh, through the thin fabric of your shirt. You suck in a breath at the feeling, and he almost moans, his wings bristling and tensing as he desperately tries to deepen the kiss, almost panting into it as your tongue brushes against his lower lip, eagerly parting them open.
Sunday can taste the alcohol mixed with your sweet saliva, causing his head to spin a bit, but instead he presses further, his tongue eagerly lapping at every inch of your mouth. You pull away for a moment, but his mouth follows close, kissing the side of your mouth and trailing them down the column of your throat. You breathe in, shivering as you close your eyes for a moment, each wet kiss electrifying and going straight down to your core.
He mumbles your name against your skin, his tongue laving at a spot before his teeth nip at it, causing you to gasp. Your hands crawl up to the base of his head, one pushing into his fluffy hair and fingers entangling within the strands.
“It's okay.”
You breathe out, but he shakes his head slightly.
His tongue presses against the base of your throat, and drags up all the way to the corner of your mouth, before his lips envelop yours again in a heated kiss. He parts, panting,
“I wanted to see you. Every second I spent there..”
His hands run up and down your sides, feverish at the contact they'd been restrained from,
“I know.” You say, looking at his dishevelled state, your hands coming to rest on his chest.
"I wanted to return to you."
You feel his hands slide down and rest on your hips, his knee nudging between yours, before he slides up further and pushes his thigh at your core, making you jolt for a moment at the contact. His hands stay firm on your hips, almost pressing you down onto his thigh. Your hands clench at the fabric of his shirt as the contact shoots up your spine, making you arch slightly into him.
He breathes in, leaning down, his lips graze the shell of your ear, hot breath coming out in puffs as he whispers,
“I'm yours, aren't I? So go ahead and prove it.”
You smile.
“Alright, then.”
–——
“[Name]!”
Firefly's voice calls out to you, and you smile, looking over her winded appearance.
But you weren't in the state to complain. You looked similar, if not even worse. Your shirt was slightly wrinkly, tie askew, your hair patted down in a rush. You hope no one noticed you wobble.
“are you okay?”
Firefly would be more worried instead of confused if not for the wide smile you've donned. She glances over her shoulder at the bustling crowd, her eyes almost searching for someone, before returning to you.
“I'm alright. Your hair.. seems exciting.”
You comment, and Firefly blushes, patting down her own hair.
“I'll tell you what happened later, but.. we should leave now.”
You nod,
“Silverwolf?”
Her hologram appears without a second's delay, her annoyed resting face almost lovingly familiar to you.
“Yeah, yeah, I heard.”
You both chuckle slightly at her.
The party ends on a positive note.
———
“Quite a pleasant surprise.”
“Greetings, to you too.”
You smile, your virtual form glitching slightly. Although Himeko doesn't disregard you as she does Kafka, she's still wary of you, as are the rest of the crew.
“Settling in well, chicken boy?”
Himeko cuts in,
“What do the Stellaron hunters need now?”
You chuckle, softly,
“Miss Himeko, it's been a while, hasn't it? Regardless, I sincerely apologise, but these questions are solely for Mr. Sunday here.”
Her face shifts, almost unnoticeable, clearly displeased by your words. She sighs, and glances back at the new recruit. The rest of the crew follow her suit.
Mr. Yang's voice flows in,
“Perhaps there remains any unfinished business with the stellaron hunters? It would be wise to address it sooner than later.”
“None of the sort, Mr. Yang.” You reassure, hands neatly folded, as you smile,
“Just a few, simple questions. Think of it as a.. survey, of sorts.”
“A survey?”
Sunday steps forward, facing your hologram directly. You would have blushed if it wasn't virtual.
“3 questions. That is all.”
“..alright.”
You sense his hesitation, slowly melding into trust as his thoughts process. Although relationships between your factors are complex and messy, it is you that's asking him.
“What is your name?”
“..I am Sunday.”
“Where are you stationed?”
“The Astral Express.”
“Are you happy?”
The question makes him hesitate, words stuck in his throat like a grape seed for only a moment.
“..yes. i am.”
You smile. Sunday faintly returns the expression. After a brief moment, you turn to Himeko,
“Kafka will speak to you shortly, Ms. Himeko.”
And you vanish. Just as mysteriously as you'd come into his life.
#moonink#hsr#honkai star rail#hsr x y/n#hsr x gender neutral reader#hsr x you#hsr x male reader#hsr x reader#hsr sunday x you#hsr sunday x y/n#hsr sunday x reader#sunday hsr#hsr sunday#honkai star rail x reader#honkai star rail x gender neutral reader#honkai star rail x you#honkai star rail sunday#sunday x y/n#sunday x you#sunday x reader#sunday#sunday hsr x you#sunday hsr x reader#sunday honkai star rail
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Winter Solstice | Yan!HOTD
❝ 🐉 — lady l: Merry Christmas, my dear readers! I wish you a great day and a prosperous New Year! I hope you enjoy this Christmas special with our yandere family from HOTD! Good reading, forgive me for any mistakes and once again, have a great holiday to you ❤️🎄.
❝warnings: yandere themes, mention of death and obsessive and possessive behavior.
❝🐉word count: 1,941.
A long, long time ago, when the Earth was young and the days were short, people looked up to the sky with wonder and awe. They watched the Sun rise and fall over the horizon, its heat bringing life to the earth and its dark nights bringing a deep sleep to the world.
In the ancient realm of the seasons, each cycle marked the eternal dance between light and dark. As winter approached, a whisper spread through nature. Leaves fell from the trees, animals sought shelter and the nights extended, enveloping the world in a blanket of darkness and cold.
It was the time of the Winter Solstice, a magical moment when the Earth seemed suspended between extremes. People gathered around campfires, telling stories of times gone by, sharing warmth and hope amid the impending darkness.
On the eve of the longest night of the year, eyes turned to the sky, waiting for the miracle. Slowly, the Sun began its journey towards the horizon, fighting the darkness with its golden light. The stars twinkled above, bearing witness to the celestial spectacle.
And then, in the most sublime moment, the Sun began to rise, rising majestically into the sky. The colors of dawn painted the landscape, and people celebrated the rebirth of the Sun, knowing that light and warmth would return to the world. It was a symbol of renewal, hope and the continuous cycle of life.
On the Winter Solstice, people came together to celebrate the courage of the light that faces the darkness, remembering that even in the darkest moments, there is always the promise of rebirth and the light that returns to warm the hearts and illuminate the souls ways.
It had always been your favorite time of year, you loved how the snow fell from the sky and painted everything white, the food, the exchange of gifts and most importantly, it was when your whole family was together. You appreciated more than anything the few moments of peace that your family spent during that date, all happy and together. Like a big, loving family.
Having them all together was what you loved most as you grew up. All the disputes, the fights seemed to disappear during this time of year. Your heart and mind were at peace.
The green of the forest and the fiery red of love and passion. Its fabric was as soft as a spring breeze, a harmonious blend of silk and cotton that moved like leaves dancing in the wind. The predominant green was reminiscent of treetops, its hue varying from a lush emerald green to softer nuances, like newborn buds. The waist was accentuated by a deep red belt, as if it were the blush of the petals of a passionate rose. The intense tone stood out, creating a magnificent contrast with the lush greenery, and a decorative bow added a touch of elegance.
Something beautiful and elegant, with both of your family colors. Of the Targaryens and the Hightowers. There was some small, discreet blue embroidery that symbolized the Velaryon, subtle but standing out in its own way.
You turned to your maid who was looking at you with affection, you smiled at her, ''What do you think, Diane?''
She smiled widely, ''You looked incredible, my princess/prince. A suitable choice for a dinner with your family.'' There was a hint of worry in her tone, but you just held her hands and squeezed them gently.
''Don't worry, Diane. Everything will be fine.''
She nodded, ''Yes... Do you want me to accompany you to where the banquet will be held?''
You politely denied, ''No, but thank you.''
A hint of disappointment flashed in her brown eyes, but she just smiled and after a simple bow, she left the room. You took a deep breath and looked at the ring that adorned your finger, a gift from your grandfather, Viserys. He was sick and you swore to yourself that you would do everything to make this dinner enjoyable for him. He deserved it.
Just as you expected, everything was impeccable and your family was already waiting for you. A majestic dining room, adorned with golden chandeliers that hung from the vaulted ceiling, casting soft light on long solid wood tables.
The walls were covered with richly embroidered tapestries, depicting scenes from Targaryen history and grand festivities. The polished stone floor gleamed in the light of the torches that adorned the walls, reflecting the grandeur of the space.
In the center of the room, a long table stretched out, covered in an immaculate linen tablecloth and decorated with wildflower arrangements and heraldry of noble families. Silver candelabras exuded a soft glow, while golden goblets glittered in the dancing light of the flames.
Music filled the atmosphere as skilled musicians played lutes, flutes and harps, entertaining guests with happy melodies and lively dances.
''(Y/N)!'' Your mother's excited voice called out to you and you smiled at Rhaenyra, who quickly hugged you, placing her head against the crook of your neck, ''You look great, sweetheart.''
''Thanks, mom. You look great too.'' And indeed, she did. Rhaenyra wore a dark red dress decorated with gold that fit her perfectly. She pulled back a little and smiled at you.
''(Y/N)! We're here.'' On one side of the table, your younger brothers sat. You looked at Jacaerys, Lucerys, and little Joffrey, who were smiling at you. You kissed Rhaenyra's cheek and went to sit next to your brothers. Or you tried, for that matter.
For you were quickly pulled to the side as Aegon grabbed you and pulled you closer to him, Aemond, and Helaena. You smiled at your aunt and uncles and greeted them.
''Sit with us.'' Aegon asked and pointed to an empty chair next to Helaena who was smiling sweetly at you. You looked nervously at your brothers, who were staring at Aegon with disdain.
Aemond frowned and placed a hand over your shoulder, ''Come, stay with us.'' His tone said there was no room for argument.
Luckily for you, the doors opened and revealed Viserys along with Alicent, both smiling when they saw you. You apologized to your aunt and uncles and quickly walked over to your grandparents, helping Viserys sit down.
''Ah, (Y/N)... You look great!'' Viserys praised you, as soon as he sat down. You smiled at him and kissed his cheek in thanks.
Alicent pulled you into a tight hug, ''My husband is right, you look great. This shade of green suits you very well.'' She murmured and walked away hesitantly, adjusting your clothes. You kissed your face.
''Thanks. You look amazing too.'' She smiled in response and held your hands, squeezing them gently.
After a few minutes of talking to your grandparents, you walked over to your father and uncle, who were sitting next to each other. Laenor smiled widely and pulled you into a tight hug, not wanting to let go. He only let go when Daemon cleared his throat, irritated.
Laenor rolled his eyes and let go of you, staring at Daemon with an iron gaze. Daemon returned the same look and you acted quickly before they fought.
''Happy Solstice to you both.'' You said, twiddling your fingers nervously. Daemon smiled and patted you on the shoulder twice, pulling you into a hug. You hugged him back.
''Happy Solstice, my child.'' Laenor said after you and Daemon parted ways.
''Happy Solstice, (Y/N).'' Daemon said, looking at you softly. You thanked them and apologized as you left them, wanting to greet your other family members. You spotted Baela and Rhaena sitting near your brothers and quickly walked over to them.
''Finally. I thought you would never come and talk to us.'' Baela complained and got up from the chair and hugged you tightly, ''I missed you, cousin.''
You returned the hug tightly, smiling at her words, ''I missed you too, cousin.''
Rhaena cleared her throat and stood up, hugging you as you and Baela separated.
You smiled at the squeeze and said, ''I missed you too, Rhaena.''
Joffrey got out of his chair and jumped into your arms, laughing loudly when you caught him in a tight hug.
''You're getting too big for me to keep doing this.'' You laughed and rolled him over, placing him on the floor. Russing his dark hair, you smiled when he laughed. You hugged Luke, who seemed especially clingy today. Jace also hugged you tightly and wished you a Happy Solstice.
After talking for a while with your brothers and cousins, you went to greet your paternal grandparents. Rhaenys and Corlys were sitting next to Otto, oddly enough, and the three of them looked at you with affection.
''Grandmother.'' You kissed Rhaenys's cheek who kissed yours back.
''Grandpa.'' You hugged Corlys and he hugged you back and complimented the blue details on your outfit.
''Otto.'' You greeted your great-grandfather, who smiled warmly at you. He seemed relaxed and calm, more so than he normally was.
''Shall we have dinner in honor of this happy day?'' Viserys's loud voice sounded in the room and everyone focused on the King. There was a bit of tension about where you should sit, but you chose next to Viserys and Rhaenyra, who shook your hand under the table.
Servants brought silver trays loaded with delicious delicacies. Large roasts of meat browned on skewers, exuding a tantalizing aroma of exotic spices. Tables were adorned with fresh fruit, from crimson apples to juicy grapes, and freshly baked bread that looked like it had come straight from the oven.
Plenty of wine circulated among everyone and soon everyone was laughing and talking. Your heart felt lighter when you saw your entire family happy, getting along for the first time in a long time.
After the banquet, you all went to one of the rooms of the castle, where the gifts were. The exchange went well, you received gifts from everyone individually and you presented them with what you carefully chose. Ser Criston was present and you gave him a gift too, under the watchful eye of your family, a pure Valyrian steel sword. He smiled in thanks and said he would give you a gift later.
When it seemed like the exchange of gifts was over, Otto said, ''We have a special gift for you, (Y/N). From all of us.'' He gestured to your entire family, who looked on expectantly. You took the gift from his hand, a wooden box with gold details, which was well packaged.
As soon as you opened it, all the color in your face disappeared. It was a head, a human head. You felt like you were going to throw up when you recognized the head. Diane, your servant.
''W-What is this?!'' You groaned, the words stuck in your throat as you held the box, your legs shaking as terror invaded your body. Everyone seemed calm, even Viserys.
''This is our gift to you, my child.'' Rhaenyra said and approached you, placing a hand on your shoulder, ''To remind you not to approach anyone.''
''They can't be trusted,'' Alicent began to say, ''Diane couldn't be trusted. Criston was the one who cut off her head and Rhaenyra, Helaena and I cradled her. The choice of the box was Daemon's.''
They looked at you expectantly, as if they hoped you really liked the gift. Your hands were shaking so much that the box fell to the floor, Diane's severed head falling to the floor.
A perfect ending to a loving Winter Solstice with your family, from their perspective.
#a song of ice and fire#house of the dragon#asoiaf#yandere house of the dragon#yandere hotd#hotd#yandere asoiaf#yandere house targaryen#yandere house hightower#yandere house velaryon#yandere x reader#yandere rhaenyra targaryen#yandere daemon targaryen#yandere otto hightower#yandere alicent hightower#yandere viserys i targaryen#yandere criston cole#yandere aegon ii targaryen#yandere aemond targaryen#yandere rhaena targaryen#yandere baela targaryen#yandere corlys velaryon#yandere laenor velaryon#yandere helaena targaryen#merry christmas
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Haircut //Jasper W. Hale.
Jasper Whitlock-Hale x gn! reader.
Summary: Jasper did a thing while he was in a mood.
Angst/Fluff. Jasper icon by @jasperhaleobsessed
The vampire steps out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist. The water dripping down his yellow hair, his pale hand wipes the steam off the mirror above the sink.
Golden eyes stare at his reflection.
Paper white skin decorated with deep scars. His muscles tensed up. He leans over, his hands holding hard on the sink, cracking it slightly.
It hasn't been a great week.
No, it hasn't been a great month. Year. Decade(s).
Since Victoria and her wannabe army of newborn vampires showed up he's been spiraling each day.
Slowly, the glass have been a drops away from spilling.
The memories just flooded his mind everytime he closed his eyes.
They're always there, but they're more vivid this time, he doesn't like this, Jasper knows this cycle too well, he doesn't want to be part of it again.
He thought he was getting better.
Jasper's been pushing you away and he's an idiot for that because he needs you, he needs you so so so bad but Jasper just can't tell you he's struggling. And he doesn't know why that is. Maybe he feels ashamed for being so weak, so broken.
There's a reason why you and him have been together for almost fifty years. You just bring the best of him and make the pain go away. Always.
A smile creeps on his face but it goes away quickly, he sighs and looks at the mirror one more time.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Jasper? Sunshine, you in here?" You asked while stepping inside the Cullen's house. The ironey flavor of blood still in your mouth after a successful hunt.
"...yeah." He mumbled from upstairs there was a slight shake on his voice. No waiting for you at the door? No bouquet of flowers? No forehead kiss? No 'Darlin' I missed ya.'?
Something happened. Something bad.
You approached your shared bedroom opening the door slowly.
Your eyes try to process what their seeing.
Jasper was sitting at the edge of the bed, eyes unfocused starring at the locks of hair on the floor. His pale fingers holding a pair of scissors, shaking.
And of course his hair. Short. Cut at random lengths after a fit of raw emotion. Anger. Sadness. Desperation. That's what his aura is filled with.
"Sweetheart..." You called softly and closed the door behind you. The vampire doesn't react to your presence at all, he just looks straight ahead, deep in thought.
Jasper catches on the steps getting closer to him and a gentle hand tilt his chin up gently to make his eyes meet yours. His almost numb expression makes you want to cry. The golden color of his eyes holds no shine, they're dull and empty.
"Hey, sunshine." You whisper softly and cup his face, leaning on your touch and a small gasp leaving his lips, if he was human he'll be all tears right now.
"Oh—it's okay, sweetheart." You whisper reassuringly. The blonde wraps his arms around your waist and holds you close, burying his face on your chest, taking a deep breath and drowning on your comforting scent.
You stroke his now short hair.
"...sorry" He whimpers against your chest trying to find some peace with your touch.
"Why are you apologizing, cowboy?" You whisper softly and caress his face, he can't look at you right now, he feel so ashamed because you're seeing him like this.
"... because— I'm a mess." His voice breaks and he holds closer to you. You just stroke his hair and kiss his forehead.
"...and my hair is ugly now." He added, a bitter chuckle follows. You take the scissors from his shaking hands and brush his hair down.
"May I fix it?" You asked before cutting anything.
"Can you?" He asks hopeless as he closes his eyes, he feels defeated, tired, he just wants to sleep but he can't sleep because of his nature.
"Well... either way I think you'll look handsome bald." You try to lighten the mood and it surprisingly works because his frown turns into a smirk. He nods and allows you to fix his hair.
You lean down to kiss his lips, a tender, slow and gentle kiss. He holds the kiss for longer, the feeling of your lips against his are a great distraction from the memories that are haunting him.
Jasper closes his eyes as you work on his hair. He doesn't know if the silence is dreadful or comfortable.
"Do you want to talk about what happened? I'm very worried about you, don't think I don't notice how distant you've been." You whisper with a serious expression.
He shakes his head slowly, the idea of discussing his feelings and pain being something he is not ready to do just yet. Your touches help in distract him.
"...maybe later, darlin', I'm sorry." Jasper whispers as he keep my eyes closed, focusing on the sensation of your fingers through his hair to avoid a relapse of his previous train of thought. He takes a couple of deep breaths as the gentle movement of your fingers helps him calm down and have a clearer mindset.
"Done." You said softly and clean his sweater from the fallen hair. You take on his image, his new look.
"You look real pretty, Jazz." You smiled, Jasper returned the smile in a much weaker way. He doesn't check himself in the mirror, he trusts you and knows you did a much better work than he did.
"....thank you, sugar." He whispers, feeling a little tired from all this. He holds your hand and kisses your palm.
"Cuddles?" You whisper back, he nods and picks you up to throw you in the bed with him.
He nuzzles his face on your neck, holding you so close to him. He takes a deep deep breath and closes his eyes.
".... you're- stuck with me forever...I'm sorry. You deserve someone better. I'm so sorry, sweetheart." He whispers against your skin.
"I'm happy to have you forever. I don't want anybody else." You whisper back and kiss the top of his head. He smiles weakly and hols you close, nuzzling to you like a needy kitten.
"...and I'm happy I got you too. I don't know who I'll be without you." Jasper closes his eyes and leaves gentle kisses on your neck.
"I love you so much." You whisper.
"I love you more." He answer with a gentle whisper.
"hmmm, I don't think so. I love you more than that." You speak teasingly, he chuckles softly and hugs you tightly.
"I love ya a hundred times that." He answers with a weak voice, like he's very sleepy.
"Well, I love you a thousand times that." You speak with a following giggle, Jasper chuckles and kisses your lips once more.
He's going to be okay. Here in your arms.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A/N: heyyyy, here's an angsty fic because an idea came to my mind thinking about why did Jasper has such a radical haircut in between movies. And I was like "that's how you cut your hair after a breakdown." Y'know? So here's this, hope you like it, requests are open!
#jasper whitlock hale#jasper whitlock#jasper cullen#jasper hale#jasper hale x reader#jasper hale x y/n#jasper hale x male reader#effervescent#twilight x reader
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✨My, My, Such a Sweet Surprise✨
A/N: I had to write this down real quick after I saw the most gorgeous Joel Miller looking man I’ve ever seen in my life today 🫠 This is a Drabble of what could of been if maybe I talked to the man 🤣
Summary: When you stumble upon a cute little property with a farmer’s market, you get more than you bargain for when you meet the man with honeysuckle eyes and a thick Southern drawl that makes you weak in the knees.
Pairing: Joel Miller x fem! reader
Word Count: 743
Rating: Explicit (18+ Only MDNI)
Tags: Unprotected P in V, cream pie, cute nicknames, flirting
Dividers by @saradika-graphics
It was supposed to be just a quick walkthrough of the little farmers market out in the country. A little Easter egg event for the dogs, at least that’s what you saw on the event listed online. That’s why you were standing in the warm spring air, your Great Pyrenees hooked to his leash, the soft summer dress blowing against your creamy thighs. That’s all it was supposed to be. A fun, relaxing event. That is, until you saw him.
A man that stood over six feet tall, yellow flannel buttoned up against tanned, strong arms, sleeves rolled up so you could see the thick veins that twisted down his forearms, large hands that could do some damage with an axe. And he was so fucking broad. And his eyes. Honeysuckle, warm heaven that clashed with his golden flannel.
You weren’t supposed to keep staring at him, weren’t supposed to even talk to him, but all that came crashing down the moment he walked over and spoke those first Southern drawled words to you, slipping like warm butter right down your tongue and that was it. You were completely fucked.
And that’s how you ended up in the back of his property, caged between his strong arms, your back pressed against an old oak tree, your sundress hiked above your hips, one leg hooked over his broad shoulder, the other clasped around his muscular back.
Your mouths latched together in messy, wet kisses. Your tongues lapped against each other’s in a burning hunger you couldn’t control. His fingers twisted against your messy curls as his thick cock rutted up inside you, the slick sliding down his long length as he stretched you wide and bottomed out again and again until you could barely stand the heat.
His mouth moved to your collarbone, his teeth nipping and sucking as your fingers ran through his tousled curls, your lips parting as the side of your face scratched up against his salt-and-pepper beard as your moans carried to the shell of his ear. You could feel yourself getting closer with every inch of his cock sliding against your sticky walls, the heat building in your spine as you dug your fingers into the back of his neck.
“Go on, come for me, darlin’. Squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight. Know you’re close. Tell me who makes you feel good, sweetheart. Let me hear it,” he purred into your ear as you felt yourself lose all control the moment he moved his calloused thumb down to your puffy clit and started making slow circles against your burning heat.
“Oh fuck, Joel. You do. You make me feel good. Ahh.” He pressed down harder, quickening the pace of his thumb and cock as he bottomed out inside you, moving to a position where he hit that sweet, spongy spot that made you see stars.
“Joel, I’m gonna-fuck, gonna come,” you whined, feeling your orgasm start to take over as your walls squeezed against his thick cock.
“Fuck,” he growled as his fingers dug into your hips, “that’s a good fuckin’ girl. So good, sweetheart, Goddamn,” he groaned as you spilled your slick all over him.
“Joel,” you cried as you closed your eyes and buried your face into the crook of his neck, feeling white hot heat spill from your center as your body shook through the intense orgasm.
“Mmm, that’s my good girl. Gonna fill ya up next. That what you want, sweetheart? Want my come inside that pretty pussy of yours?” he asked as he sped up his motions, drilling his cock inside you as you felt him bottom out again and again and again.
“Yes, please,” you begged as you moved your forehead against his as he lapped against your crimson cheek.
“That’s what I thought,” he smirked. Once, twice, three more times and he was spilling his seed inside you, warm ropes of come painting your walls as he stilled inside you and moaned into the base of your ear, his ragged breaths blowing hot against your jawline.
“Christ, sweetheart. Ain’t you the sweetest surprise I’ve ever had the pleasure of meetin’,” he smiled against your lips, his mouth brushing up against yours. “Am I gonna see ya again?”
“Oh, yeah. You’ll definitely see me again, Miller,” you teased as he pushed you back up against the tree and pulled your hair back.
“How’s about round two then, darlin’?”
And that’s exactly what you did.
Tags: @mountainsandmayhem @littlevenicebitch69 @keylimebeag @jasminedragoon @rav3n-pascal22 @casa-boiardi @lotusbxtch @amyispxnk @princesatracionera
#joel miller#joel miller smut#joel miller fic#joel miller one shot#joel miller fanfiction#joel x female reader#tlou fanfiction#no outbreak au#joel the last of us#joel miller pedro pascal#joel smut
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Yellow Emperor's Sword (2012) 春光灿烂之欢乐元帅
Director: Li Huimin Screenwriter: Zhang Tan / Gu Man / Zhu Yili / Fan Xiaotian / Xu Shalang Starring: Charlene Choi / Gillian Chung / Leo Kee Ku Genre: Drama Country/Region of Production: Mainland China Language: Mandarin Chinese Date: 2012-01-07 (Mainland China) Number of episodes: 48 Single episode length: 45 minutes Also known as: Happy Marshal of Brilliant Spring / Happy Marshal IMDb: tt2473962 Type: Reimanging
Summary:
This is a mythical and legendary comedy. In the ancient East, there was a beautiful village rich in "celestial silkworms", and everyone lived a leisurely life in a paradise. Tmall Girl (played by Zhong Xintong) escaped here because she stole the elixir of Taishang Laojun (played by Han Zhenhua). When she discovered such a fairyland, she became greedy. She put herself into Miaomiao's body and planned to occupy the village. Taibai Jinxing (played by Guo Jinan) came to Zhujiajiao to chase the cat demon, and was rescued by a piglet during a fight with the cat demon. In order to repay the favor of saving his life, he let the piglet sneak into the owner's body and become a human for one day, and named him Zhu Tianshuai (played by Leo Ku) ). Little Dragon Girl (Charlene Choi), who came to the world to repay her kindness, met Zhu Tianshuai and mistakenly thought she was his benefactor and fell in love at first sight. The cat demon is almost exhausted due to the loss of the golden elixir. She drains the blood of the villagers to replenish her physical strength, and the villagers whose blood she has sucked all become her minions. Seeing the cat demon wreaking havoc, Little Dragon Girl and Zhu Tianshuai decided to get rid of her...
Source: https://tv-1.chinesemov.com/tv/2012/Happy-Marshal
Link: https://www.iq.com/album/%E6%AC%A2%E4%B9%90%E5%85%83%E5%B8%85-2018-19rrh76hed?lang=en_us
#Yellow Emperor's Sword#春光灿烂之欢乐元帅#Happy Marshal of Brilliant Spring#Happy Marshal#jttw media#jttw television#television#live action#reimaging#reimagining#alternative universe#zhu bajie centered#Zhu Bajie#Dragon Girl#Third Princess#Heaven Cat#Great White Golden Star#Dragon King of the East Sea#Second Princess of the East Sea#Eldest Princess of the South Sea#Second Princess of the South Sea#Third Princess of the South Sea#Dragon Prince of the South Sea#Old Man under the Moon#Chang'e#Moon Goddess#Li Jing#Black Dog Demon#Houyi#Gao Xin
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An Elvish Love
Gil Galad x Elf F!Reader
Warning: smut 18+
You are nervous. Even if he is your husband and has been nothing but kind and loving towards you, he is still the High King. You don't want to disappoint him. It's your first time and you want to please him.
-Do not worry Y/N. Our King is kind and patient and he loves you. It won't change because you are a virgin. In fact, I'm sure it will please him. says Galadriel with a soft smile.
-You really think so?
-Absolutely. Now go and don't worry if you are not ready he will understand.
-Thank you Galadriel.
You leave your best friend's room to go to yours, where you know the High King is waiting. Deep down you know he won't pressure you into anything, but still a part of you is insecure and want him to be pleased. You take a deep breath and enter the room.
Your husband is waiting by the window, looking at the stars lost in thoughts. He looks ethereal with the moonlight on his face, still wearing his golden robes and his crown. He is beautiful. And he is yours. The High King turns around when he hears you and smiles.
-Meleth nin. You're here. I've missed you today. he says.
-I've missed you too vero. Busy day as always?
Your husband sigh and you see the tension in his body. Immediately you join him on his side of the room and take his hands in yours, comforting him. He smiles at the geasture.
-Tell me about it, it might make you feel better. you say softly.
-I don't want to trouble you with such problematics matters. No, it's kind of you to offer but I would like to be with you without talking about the kingdom.
-Okay, well I actually had an idea while coming here. you say blushing.
-Tell me. I'm intrigued.
-I though...well since we have been married for quite some time now... well could...consumate our union. you say shyly.
The High King smiles at your shyness and you can see he likes the idea. Very much.
-I would love nothing more than lay with you my love, but are you sure? I don't want to pressure you. he says.
You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him swilfty.
-I'm more than sure vero. I really want you.
-In that case, I will happily give wife what she wants from me.
The High King leans down to kiss you softly. You moans and put your hands in his longs brown locks. One thing leading to another, it's not long before you are laying naked on the bed, with Gil Galad between your legs. He makes you see stars two times with his tongue and fingers before entering you slowly with his cock.
It hurts at first, but with his preparations the pain soon turns into great pleasure.
-Oh my king... don't stop please.. you whisper in his ear as he moves at a steady pace.
-You're taking me so well Y/N. he praises you.
He kisses you passionately as you grab his hair and back to hold him close to you. That way you feel him much deeper and you are about to come.
-Ereinion I'm going to... you moan in pleasure.
-Let go for me my love. Let me feel you come around me.
You climax at his command, your vision going white in extasy. Your release triggers his and the High King groans in pleasure as he spills his seed deep into you.
You return to reality as your husband pulls out and lay at your side breathless. You are feeling sore but in a good way and really tired.
-Was...was it good for you? you ask him blushing.
-My love, it was more than perfect. I've loved it and adore you more than any word could express it. replies your husband smiling kindly.
He takes your left hand in his and kisses the back of it. You blush then yawn making him laugh.
-Sleep my love, you did so well for me. I'll be here tomorrow morning.
You fall asleep with a smile. You had nothing to fear at all. In fact, you realize now what you've been missing in these last few months.
#gil galad imagine#gil galad x reader#benjamin walker#the rings of power#elf#high king gil galad#rings of power imagine
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b-day boy
Walker Scobell x fem!Reader
warnings: some cursing
summary: it's walkers birthday, and you made sure it was a great sweet sixteen.
It was well into January fourth.
The time was almost midnight, and you were stuck on your phone. Awkwardly lying down to get used to the long white chord, you were left to your thoughts. You tried your best to keep the cord charging your device in the wall.
At eleven-thirty, you opened up another can of Diet Coke. Sipping steadily at it, you walked to the bathroom and splashed a bit of cold water on your face. You sighed and walked back to your bed, where another was sleeping steadily.
The tall boy (who was sprawled like a starfish across his bed) was none other than Walker Scobell. Walker was a child actor (and a successful one at that.) He starred in all the movies (or TV shows) he was in. When directors heard his name, their faces would lift in smiles.
Walker is the absolute best. His work ethic and drive keep this film going. There isn't one person in this room that doesn't adore him.
You climbed back in bed, trying to carefully move Walker's hand from your half of the bed to his.
You then picked up your phone again. 11:40
sighing, you picked up your Diet Coke, gulping down a long draft of soda. You decided to go onto TikTok and keep your mind and eyes awake by scrolling aimlessly.
You felt an arm snake around your waist. Turning your head to glance at the boy behind you, you felt a warm surge of affection. The feeling flowered and blossomed until a soft smile broke out on your face.
You shifted slightly, turning around to face Walker. Reaching out a soft hand, you carefully smoothed away a messy curl.
You continued to scroll on TikTok, checking the time every thirty seconds.
You finished your can of Diet Coke around 11:55. You carefully placed the can down on Walker's bedside table. You took the charging cord out of your phone. Resuming your position facing Walker, you snuggled closer to the boy.
His grip on your waist tightened slightly.
You glanced at the clock again. 11:57
You sang yourself Happy Birthday. 11:59
You counted to sixty. 12:00, Midnight.
Walker's Birthday.
Your hands found his hair, twisting a curl around your finger. Gently tapping his shoulder, you tried to wake him up.
"Walker, Walker. Wake up." You whispered. The boy next to you stirred a bit but didn't gain consciousness.
"Walker.." You tried again. You combed your free hand through his hair. The soft golden curls bounced back immediately. "Walker, c'mon, wake up."
You kissed the top of his head. "C'mon fish-face, wake up."
Walker slowly blinked open his eyes. Groggy blue irises met yours, and a soft smile graced his features.
"What is it?" Walker asked, his voice thick with sleep. You smiled and kissed him.
"Happy Birthday, Walk," you said after the quick peck.
"Birthday?" Walker looked slightly confused. "What time is it?"
You laughed, smiling sheepishly. "Twelve in the morning?" you said, giggling more when you saw Walker give you a look.
"You just couldn't wait 'till morning," Walker mumbled, his eyes already closing. You smiled, and the boy cuddled into you. His arm resumed the place it was, and his eyes closed with a smile on his face.
"See you in the morning, Walk. Happy Birthday." You whispered.
--
Walker woke up before you did. After all, he didn't stay up 'till Midnight like you did.
It was maybe 8:30 when you finally opened your eyes. The morning light streamed through the crack in the window shades, warming the spot of the hardwood floor in its path.
You honestly thought that you woke up before Walker because you sensed the steady rise and fall of his chest.
Looking down, you were met with soft blue eyes. You gasped and pressed Walker's head into your chest. Sort of like a hug.
"Jeez Walker. That scared me so badly." You said, laughing. Walker sheepishly pulled away from you.
"Sorry. I didn't want to wake you up. You just looked so," He paused, searching for a word. "Peaceful." Walker smiled up at you. You returned his grin and sighed.
"You're gonna have the best birthday. I'm making sure of it." You promised him.
--
You walked in, candles lit, as everyone around you started singing.
"Happy Birthday to you," You reached the table where Walker sat.
"Happy Birthday to you," You placed the cake before Walker.
"Happy Birthday to Walker," You smiled. You joined in the wall of people that were crowding around him.
"Happy Birthday to you..." Everyone finished singing. The Percy Jackson cast erupted into cheers with Walker's family. Walker drew in a large breath and let it out, successfully blowing out his candles. You clapped along with them, hugging Walker from behind.
Your arms fell over his shoulders, wrapping around his sitting frame. You laughed from next to him, and he placed his hands on yours. He leaned his head onto yours.
His mom walked up to him. "Walker, do you want to cut the cake?" She asked. Walker broke out into a grin and nodded excitedly.
"Yes, please!"
Mrs. Scobell handed Walker the cake knife, and you stepped back. Walker stood from his chair, showing off his crazy growth spurt.
To think that we were once the same height.
You laughed at the thought.
Walker sunk the knife into the blue frosting and cut out a piece of cake. He picked up the rectangle with his knife and carefully put it on the paper plate.
"Does anyone want cake?" he asked, grinning.
--
You didn't notice that Dior was filming when all of you sang Happy Birthday to Walker. She showed the video to Tamara, giggling to herself.
Tamara looked at the video, noting how it started and how she remembered.
Video-you walked through the doorway with the cake in your hands. Your face was concentrated, eyes staring at the cake and the floor, making sure that you wouldn't trip over anything.
The thing that you didn't know was that Walker was staring at you. His eyes traced across your face and followed your every move. He had this little goofy smile on his face the entire time.
Tamara and Dior practically died when they watched it.
You died when they showed it to you. At first, you didn't get what they were looking at, but when they pointed Walker's face out, you immediately blushed.
You thought they would keep it on their phones, but it somehow ended up on social media.
The video went viral, and several fans coo-ed in the comments. While most of the reactions were great, some were just saying that Walker was way out of your league.
Did you give a fuck? No, you did not. Walker was your boyfriend, not the fans.
And besides, it was Walker's birthday, and he needed to be at his happiest.
--
After cake, Walker (plus the Percy Jackson cast and Secret Headquarters.) all went to Leah's gigantic house to watch Deadpool 2,
much to the delight of Walker.
The boy was bouncing off the walls the entire time. He was whispering whole scenes to himself, and he acted it out with his and your hands.
All of the friends laughed at him and gave him a good tease, but Walker didn't care.
He used to watch this movie all the time when he was thirteen.
He diffidently didn't mind watching it again with his friends surrounding him.
--
"Y/n!" Your favorite voice called out. You turned around to see Walker come jogging up to you.
"How's my favorite b-day boy doing?" You greeted him. Walker broke into a grin and wrapped you up in a tight hug. It was unexpected but welcomed.
You snaked your arms around his neck, standing on your tip-toes as Walker picked you up slightly off the ground.
"Great. You're here, so everything is amazing." Walker mumbled against your shoulder.
You both pulled away slowly, the hug lingering in the space between you.
Walker shot you a boyish grin and kissed you softly. He then pulled back and rested his forehead against yours.
"My mom said that you planned all of this for me." He opened his eyes to glance at yours.
"It was nothing, really." You smiled. You felt a little bit of heat go around your cheeks.
Walker shoots you another shit-eating grin, and he pecks your lips again.
"You're the best," Walker said warmly. "The whole day with all of the cast has been amazing, and the cake was my favorite flavor, and Momo and Kenna were here. I'm so, so lucky."
"No, Walk. I am." You grinned at him.
i set this up to post at 12:00 am on jan. 5, hehe <3
@urfriendlywriter
^tysm for the b-day prompts <3
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“Dancing Under the Egyptian Moon”
The warm winter sun bathed Luxor and Aswan in golden light as Lewis and I stood on the deck of the Nile cruise boat, gliding lazily along the Nile. I felt at home here, the air rich with history, the land vibrant with stories I’d grown up hearing. It was magical watching Lewis and his friends—Miles, Naila, Timmy, Johnny, and Johnny’s wife—experience it all for the first time.
Every day felt like a dream: wandering through the massive columns of Karnak Temple, marveling at the haunting beauty of the Valley of the Kings, and soaking in the rhythm of life along the Nile. Sharing my culture with Lewis, watching him take it all in with that signature blend of curiosity and awe, made my heart swell.
Lewis was mesmerized by the beauty of Egypt and its glorious History & its greatness. But it’s not just the beauty of the land that captivated him, Miles could notice his best friend wondering eyes and twinkle on a specific Egyptian beauty that was just as proud & captivating as the greatness of her ancestors. You reflected the real essence & beauty of the land with your kind heart and being proud of your heritage & culture. Lewis couldn’t take his eyes off of you , skin as the golden glow of the sun, hair dark as the night sky and eyes brown as souille of the Nile with brightness as the stars.
On the last night of the cruise, it was the galabeya party, and excitement buzzed through the air as everyone got ready. I decided to go all out, choosing a galabeya that was both traditional and flattering, the embroidery intricate, the colors rich, perfectly blending my heritage with a touch of allure.
When I stepped onto the deck, I felt Lewis’s eyes on me before I even looked his way.
He stood there in his simple white galabeya, arms crossed, but his expression betrayed him. His lips parted slightly, and his dark eyes scanned me from head to toe, lingering a little longer than usual. I couldn’t help but smile shyly .
“You’re stealing the show tonight,” he murmured when I walked up to him, his voice low and rough around the edges.
“Let’s see if you can keep up,” I teased, giving him a playful nudge.
The party was lively, the music filling the air with the beat of the tabla and the melodies of the oud. The performers were energetic, their singing and dancing pulling everyone into the moment & the dance floor . I hummed along, knowing the words to the songs, and before I knew it, one of the dancers turned to me, smiling brightly.
“You! You know the songs! Come, join us!”
The crowd cheered as I hesitated for a second, but then I stepped forward. A mix of shyness and excitement buzzed through me as I let myself move to the rhythm.
The music flowed through me like second nature. My hips swayed, my arms moved fluidly, and my feet found the beat as if they were born for it.As they say in Egypt it’s in our blood . I couldn’t stop smiling as I danced, the music and the energy of the moment pulling me in. But every so often, my eyes found Lewis.
Lewis’s point of you of the dance
Lewis leaned back in his chair, completely transfixed as the music swelled. Youmoved with an effortless grace, your body swaying perfectly to the beat as the Nile river’s movement, your arms and hips weaving a story older than the Nile itself. Your joy was contagious, your shyness giving way to a natural confidence that left everyone on the boat mesmerized.
But you weren’t just dancing for the crowd. Every now and then, your eyes would find his, sparkling with mischief and affection. You’d give him a glance, subtle yet powerful, as if to say, This is for you. Only miles noticed the affectionate attraction between the both of you.
Lewis’s heart pounded in his chest. You were a vision, the way your body moved with the music—fluid, sensual, free. He realized you weren’t just dancing; you were sharing a piece of yourself, a part of her culture, your heritage, your essence. And in those moments, it was as though the entire world disappeared, leaving only you and the music in his mind.
His gaze was locked on me, intense and unwavering, like I was the only person in the world. His expression was a mix of admiration, awe, and something deeper—something that made my heart skip a beat. I couldn’t resist teasing him a little, letting my movements grow a touch bolder, my eyes sending him little sparks of playful seduction, as if this dance was just for him. The song did help too as the words were explaining how the attraction between the singer and lover.
By the time the song ended, my cheeks were flushed, and my heart raced—not just from the dance but from the way Lewis was looking at me.
I walked back toward him, a little shy now, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. Before anything, he stood up , pulled me into his arms, his hands firm on my waist.
“You’re incredible,” he said, his voice quiet but filled with so much intensity it made my knees weak. “How are you even real?”
I laughed softly, feeling a rush of warmth flood my chest. “I am just a girl who loves her culture & heritage,& besides it’s just a dance .”
“NO,” he said, his eyes searching mine. “ You’re… everything. Beautiful, brilliant, kind, and now? I don’t think I’ll ever get the image of you dancing out of my head.”
He leaned down, brushing his lips against my ear. “You’ve ruined me, you know that?Now everyone will say I’ve won the lottery with you..& it’s true.”
I felt my heart skipped a bite as he pulled back down , his hand sliding down to intertwine with mine, kissing my knuckles, while still having his other hand secured around my waist as if am going to disappear.
. The rest of the night blurred into laughter, whispers, we were entangled into each others arms with the kind of connection that only grows stronger with two people who see each other truth under the moon light of the Nile.
Lewis: for him this wasn’t a winter break vacation No it was the moment he knew, beyond any doubt his has found his forever.
#lewis hamilton#sir lewis hamilton#lewis hamilton imagine#lewis hamilton x you#lh44#lewis hamilton fanfiction#lewis hamilton fluff#lewis hamilton smut#lewis hamilton x reader#f1 imagine#lewis hamilton blurb#f1 blurb#f1 fluff
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Winter's Eve
- Summary: A short story for Christmas Eve.
- Pairing: velaryon!reader/Cregan Stark
- Note: The reader is Rhaenyra's daughter.
- Rating: Mild 13+
- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @daeryna @melsunshine @21-princess
- A/N: I'm wishing you all warm and happy Christmas Eve. Be kind to yourself. ❤️
The snow fell thick and silent outside the towering walls of Winterfell, blanketing the world in a hushed stillness that seemed sacred. The air smelled of evergreen and pine resin, mingling with the faint, rich scent of roasted venison wafting through the stone halls. It was Winter’s Eve, the North’s cherished celebration of hearth and kinship, a day to honor the gods for surviving the long night and welcoming the promise of lengthening days.
Candles glowed warmly in every nook of the Great Hall, their light shimmering off the polished swords hung as decorations along the walls. Evergreen boughs and red winterberries adorned the long wooden tables, filling the air with a faint, crisp fragrance. The hall was alive with laughter and song, the kind of revelry that made the cold beyond the walls seem a distant memory.
You stood near the hearth, the massive blaze casting your silver hair in a warm golden glow. Your gown, a deep blood red edged with silver embroidery, stood out amidst the furs and wools of the Northern lords and their families. At your side, Rickon, your stepson, and your eldest daughter, Lyanna, giggled as they shared a slice of honeycake. Your youngest son, Rhaegar, was bundled in your arms, nestled against your chest. His tiny hand reached up to clutch at the strands of your hair, cooing softly.
Cregan entered the hall, a commanding figure even among the gathered lords. His dark hair was windswept, and a light dusting of snow melted on his heavy black cloak. His presence always seemed to fill the room, his deep voice carrying as he greeted his bannermen, clapping hands on shoulders and exchanging hearty laughter.
“Y/N,” he called out as he approached, his grey eyes softening when they found you. “You’ve made the hall shine brighter than the stars themselves.”
“And you’ve brought the winter in with you,” you teased gently, noting the snowflakes still clinging to his beard. “Come here before the children think a bear has wandered in.”
Rickon laughed at that, reaching for his father, who hoisted the boy up onto his shoulder effortlessly. “A bear, is it? Perhaps you should be wary of this bear stealing your mother away.”
Rickon giggled, shaking his head. “Mother would never leave us!”
“Smart boy,” Cregan murmured, ruffling his son’s dark curls before setting him down again.
The merriment paused briefly as Lord Harwyn Manderly, a stout man with a booming laugh, entered the hall carrying a large bundle of fur. He set it down carefully at the edge of the fire, and the bundle shifted, revealing the unmistakable forms of direwolf pups. The room fell into an awed hush.
“Winter’s blessings, Lord Stark,” Manderly said, bowing slightly. “I thought it fitting to bring gifts for your children—a pack for the pack, as it were.”
The pups, four of them, were small but already carried the proud features of their species: thick, shaggy coats, sharp eyes, and strong paws. One was silver-grey, like freshly fallen snow; another was black as night. A third was mottled white and grey, while the fourth was a soft brown, almost tawny.
Rickon was the first to approach, his face alight with wonder. “Are they truly for us?” he asked, glancing at Cregan.
“Aye,” Cregan said, his voice warm with approval. “The North remembers its own. A wolf for each of you.”
You knelt beside Rickon, helping him approach the pups. The black one padded forward and sniffed Rickon’s outstretched hand before nuzzling into it. The boy’s face lit up with joy. “This one’s mine!” he declared, holding the pup carefully.
Lyanna hesitated before stepping closer, her small fingers gripping your gown. You encouraged her gently. “Go on, sweetling. They’re meant to be yours.”
The silver-grey pup seemed to sense her shyness and padded over, wagging its tail. Lyanna giggled as it licked her hand, her bright eyes wide with delight. “I’ll name her Frost,” she whispered, hugging the pup to her chest.
Even little Rhaegar was not left out. Cregan held the mottled pup up for him to see, and the baby cooed, reaching out to touch its soft fur. “He likes you already,” you said softly, marveling at how the wolf seemed to settle instantly in Cregan’s arms, as if knowing it belonged to the smallest Stark.
The brown pup, meanwhile, padded up to you, its head cocked as if studying you. Cregan chuckled. “Seems you have a wolf of your own, my love.”
You reached down to scratch behind its ears, smiling as it leaned into your touch. “Then we’ll call her Ember,” you said. “A wolf to match the fire in our hall.”
The celebration continued late into the night, with the wolves curling at the feet of their new masters and the children’s laughter echoing through the hall. Cregan pulled you close as the night deepened, the warmth of his presence as steady as the roaring fire.
“This,” he said quietly, his voice filled with reverence, “is what Winterfell was always meant to be—a home, filled with life and love.”
You leaned into him, watching your children and their wolves play in the firelight. “And it always will be,” you replied, your voice soft but certain, “as long as we’re together.”
The warmth of the previous night’s celebration still lingered, faint strains of music and laughter echoing in the air as a few lords and ladies, who had stayed the night, stirred slowly in their chambers. Fires crackled in the hearths, and the scent of bread baking in the kitchens mingled with the crisp winter air.
You stirred awake to the sound of muffled giggles and the unmistakable pitter-patter of small feet on the stone floor. It took only a moment to realize that the source of the giggles was your children. Rolling over, you found Cregan still beside you, his arm draped protectively over your waist, his breathing steady and deep in sleep. Smiling softly, you disentangled yourself from him and slipped out of bed, wrapping a fur-lined robe around yourself to shield against the morning chill.
The giggles grew louder as you stepped into the corridor, and you followed them to the courtyard, where Lyanna and Rickon were already bundled in their cloaks, dragging their new direwolf pups along on makeshift leashes fashioned from ribbon. Rhaegar toddled after them, clutching a toy carved from weirwood, while the brown direwolf pup, Ember, kept a watchful eye on him.
The sight brought a smile to your face, but the moment of quiet admiration was short-lived as you noticed what—or rather who—they were approaching.
In the far corner of the courtyard, nestled in the snow, lay your dragon, Balelyx. His massive, silver-scaled form shimmered faintly in the morning light, his great wings tucked tightly against his body to conserve warmth. Wisps of smoke curled from his nostrils as he slept, the ground around him melted into dark slush from the heat of his presence.
“Lyanna Stark!” you called out, striding quickly toward them. Your voice carried a note of warning, and the children froze mid-step, turning to look at you with wide, guilty eyes. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Rickon, always the boldest, spoke up first. “We just wanted to see if the wolves liked dragons.”
“Dragons and wolves don’t always mix well,” you said, softening your tone as you knelt beside them. “Balelyx is still half-asleep, but if you startled him...”
“He wouldn’t hurt us!” Lyanna interrupted, clutching her silver direwolf pup protectively. “He’s your dragon, Mama. He’d know we’re family.”
Your heart softened at her innocent trust, but you still shook your head. “Balelyx is a dragon, my love. He’s not like the wolves. He follows his instincts first and foremost. Come, step back.”
The children reluctantly obeyed, though Rickon glanced longingly at Balelyx’s massive tail, which twitched faintly even in sleep. “Can’t we just sit near him?” he asked. “We promise to be quiet.”
Before you could answer, a deep rumble echoed through the courtyard as Balelyx opened one great, molten eye, focusing immediately on the children. The dragon lifted his head slightly, a plume of smoke curling from his nostrils. For a moment, the children held their breath, but Balelyx only huffed softly, his tail curling protectively around his body as if acknowledging their presence but not perceiving them as a threat.
“See?” Rickon whispered triumphantly. “He likes us.”
You sighed, reaching out to stroke Balelyx’s scaled neck, murmuring softly in High Valyrian. The dragon relaxed under your touch, and you turned to the children. “You may sit nearby, but no loud noises, no sudden movements. And if he so much as growls, you’ll come straight to me. Understood?”
They nodded eagerly, settling onto the snow-covered ground with their pups, who sniffed at the dragon curiously but kept their distance. Balelyx watched them lazily for a moment before lowering his head back onto his forelegs, his eyes half-closing.
The scene might have remained peaceful if not for the arrival of Lord Harwyn Manderly, still dressed in his fine green doublet from the night before. His booming laugh shattered the stillness of the courtyard as he approached, accompanied by a few other Northern lords who had stayed the night.
“Well, well,” Manderly said, clapping his gloved hands together. “It seems the little wolves are braver than most grown men, sitting so near to such a beast.”
“Lord Manderly,” you said, rising to greet him with a polite smile, “Balelyx is no beast. He’s a dragon of Valyria and far smarter than he appears.”
“Smarter, perhaps, but still dangerous,” Manderly countered, though his tone was light. He turned to Cregan, who had appeared in the courtyard as well, his dark hair still tousled from sleep. “What say you, Stark? Shall we make this a Northern tradition—dragons in the snow?”
Cregan chuckled, crossing his arms as he surveyed the scene. “I think it’s enough that the children have wolves, Harwyn. Let’s not tempt fate by encouraging them to bond with fire as well.”
The lords laughed, their voices carrying across the courtyard, and you couldn’t help but smile at the warmth and camaraderie that lingered even after the festivities. Cregan approached you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as he gazed down at the children.
“They’ve inherited your boldness,” he murmured, his voice tinged with pride.
“And your stubbornness,” you replied, leaning into him. “We’ll have our hands full with these three.”
“Aye,” he agreed, his tone warm. “But there’s no joy greater than this.”
The morning passed in a blend of lingering celebration and quiet moments like these, the North’s stoic strength softened by the warmth of family and kinship. Winterfell, in all its cold and grandeur, had never felt more alive.
#house of the dragon#hotd#hotd x reader#hotd x you#hotd x y/n#fire and blood#a song of ice and fire#game of thrones#asoiaf#house stark#house velaryon#house targaryen#hotd cregan#cregan stark#cregan x reader#cregan x you#cregan x y/n
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This One's For You
Parings: Elizabeth Olsen x Female Reader
Tags: smut, fluff, fingering
a/n: Little short one shot of you and Lizzie at the Golden Globes. Thanks for reading!
"Sweetheart.. I've missed you so much.." she licks her lips after she speaks, her emerald eyes peering down at you.
You giggle, watching as she takes another step closer. Lizzie presses the front of her body flush against yours. You feel the lace of her white dress rub against the exposed areas of skin on your body. Her hands, those hands that look always look so soft and delicate, rest on your hips. Her grip is strong as she holds you against her. You feel her fingers trail along your arm, making your body shiver. Lizzie smirks at the sight of it.
She always loved watching how worked up you would get over the slightest touch. She loved how well your body reacted to hers, how it was so clear you needed her. Lizzie thought about it constantly.
"It's only been a couple hours, Lizzie.. you need to get back before they start wondering where you are," you say with a smile, keeping your voice low to a whisper.
"I don't care how long it's been, darling. I need you every second.." she leans down, letting her red stained lips touch your ear, "..of every single day. I can never get enough of you, you know that sweetheart.." you can't help the small moan escape your lips as you feel Lizzie take two steps with you, letting your lower back hit the cold porcelain of the sink in the small bathroom.
It had only been a few hours since you had seen Lizzie, but she felt as if it were a lifetime. You had to admit, you felt the same way. The two of you had to get ready separately for the Golden Globes, as no one truly knew you were together. The rumors had been swirling for a while, and the headlines were eating it up.
"Y/N Y/L/N and Elizabeth Olsen seen holding hands on set.."
"Elizabeth Olsen seen leaving Y/N Y/L/N apartment in NYC.."
"New pictures of Elizabeth and Y/N in LA!"
"From castmates.. to friends? Lovers? Read more to find out!"
Neither of you were ready for a big reveal, to burst the little (somewhat) private bubble the two of you had been living in. Although, recently, you had told her you were ready, but Lizzie said she wanted to stay in the bubble. You were fine with that because you knew she was the one for you. "It's okay, baby.. I promise. I love you, and I know you love me. Let's just have fun.." You were in no rush.
So the two of you showed up separately to the awards show. Lizzie arrives first in a form-fitting white lace dress that flows out towards the bottom. She was walking the carpet, posing for the cameras and doing a few little interviews, when she saw you walk in. You had caught the attention of the cameras immediately, but the only attention you were focused on was hers. That's why you had picked a green dress, fit to hug all your curves in all the perfect places. Lizzie stumbled through her interview, not being able to keep her eyes off of you.. or the man next to you.
You and your co-star were nothing but that. You really weren't even friends, but your agent said it would be great publicity for the movie and to keep the rumors at bay. Lizzie knew ahead of time this would be happening, but watching him lead you down the carpet with his arm entwined with yours, laughing at his jokes and posing with him for pictures, set something off inside of her.
Which lead you to this moment.
As soon as the first commercial break had happened, you looked across the room to Lizzie, who was already gazing at you. She tilts her head, a small smirk on her face as she watches you blush from such a simple act. So you stood and followed her into the maze of the enormous building, letting her grab your wrist when you were far enough away from everyone, and into a small bathroom away from the chaos of the show.
"Lizzie.. they're going to announce your category any minute now. You don't want to get caught with your hand up my dress, do you?" You bite your lip, looking up to her with pink cheeks. She smirks at your words, letting her hands do just that. You feel her hands on your waist, lifting you onto the sink. They move down your thighs through the slit of your dress, lifting it over your hips.
It's her turn to let out a moan, cursing under her breath. "No panties? You're so naughty, Y/N.." Two fingers run up and down your folds, painfully slow. "You did this just for me, didn't you, sweetheart?" The older woman says, looking down at you with darkened eyes. "You knew this would happen, huh? You wanted this to happen.." Her fingers tease your entrance, letting one slip easily inside of you.
"Fuck.. we-we shouldn't," you pant out, moving your hand down to her wrist. Your grip tightens, willing her to stop. "You said you weren't ready, if we get caugh-" your words are cut short by Lizzies lips pressing firm against your own. Your fingers loosen from her wrist, signaling for her to continue. She smiles against your mouth and adds a second finger inside of you. As she picks up the pace the kiss becomes heated, your hands finding themselves on her body, desperate to be as close to Lizzie as possible.
"I don't care, Y/N. I can't stand another moment seeing you with him.. you are mine. Fuck, let the whole world know," Lizzie parts to speak, and you see the desperation in her eyes, how intense every single word she spoke was. Her fingers curl inside of you, making you lean forward to bite her shoulder, hoping to subside the moans wanting to escape. Red lipstick stains begin to trail up and down your neck, and you don't care. All you can think about in the moment is her.
Lizzie. Lizzie. Lizzie.
The way her fingers feel pumping in and out of you, the way her soft lips leave sloppy kisses on your skin, her strong grip holding you up as you fall apart in her arms.
"I'm yours, Lizzie.. oh fuck I'm gonna-" your moans are cut off by her lips crashing against yours again. Her fingers curl once again, causing your lower stomach to burn in the most pleasurable way.
"That's it, sweetheart.. be a good girl. Cum for me. Let everyone know in this fucking building who you belong to.." her voice is low as her fingers continue to pump in and out of you. You follow her instructions, letting your body relax as a wave of pleasure takes over. She lets you ride out your orgasm, slowing her pace as you come down from your high.
"That's it, baby, that's it... good job... good girl... my girl.."
She whispers sweet words to you until you've caught your breath, letting you rest your head against her chest. After a quiet moment, the two of you take an inch back from each other, both of you letting out a quiet laugh at the others state.
Your dress was halfway up your hips, red lipstick staning your neck and lips. Your face was a shade of red, hair a mess. Lizzie was no better standing in front of you with messy hair, bite marks on her shoulder, and dress falling down at her arm. Before either of you could say anything, a loud knocking sounds at the door, causing a sigh to fall from Lizzies lips. You giggle and bring your hand up to her check, rubbing the pad of your thumb along her face softly.
"Ms. Olsen? Are you in there? It's almost time. They need you at your seat." You hear her assistant speaking from the other side in a somewhat panicked voice.
"No worries, I'll be right out," she calmly, before helping you clean up the best she could. After you were taken care of, she adjusted herself, putting on some more lipstick. She turns to you, a gentle look in her eyes and a warm smile on her face. "I meant what I said, Y/N. I am ready.. I want the world to know you're mine.." Lizzie whispers, leaning forward to peck your lips.
You look in her eyes, seeing nothing but love and care. So you nod with a happy smile on your face, reaching up to wrap your arms around her neck and kissing her once more. "Now go and win your award," you smile, parting from her. Lizzie only smiles wide and kisses you again.
"I've already won." You roll your eyes at her cheesy line and playfully slap her arm, watching as she leaves the bathroom. You stay for a moment and look at yourself in the mirror, realizing you had never seen yourself so happy. You were literally radiating.
"And the Golden Globe goes to... Elizabeth Olsen!" The crowd erupts in cheers and applause, the most noise coming from you. You're standing across the room, watching as she takes the stage in front of you. Lizzie looks out into the crowd, a smile on her face as she stares at you and only you.
"Wow! This is, this is unbelievable truly.. thank you to all the other actresses in the category. You're all so amazing. Thank you to the cast and crew.." Lizzie thanks a few more people before stopping to look at the award, and then back to you. She took in your tearful eyes and your joyful smile, the way you were the only one in the room still standing with your hands together on your chest.
"... and most importantly, I'd like to thank the person who supports me the most, who pushes me every single day. The woman I couldn't possibly live without.. the woman I love more than anything in this world. Thank you so much.."
You think she's done, and your heart is already racing at her words and the way she's looking at you. You know everyone in the room can tell who she's talking about. Neither of you cares. But then she holds up the award and says,
"This one is for you, Y/N."
Proclaiming her love for you in front of the world.
#elizabeth olsen#lizzie olsen#lizzie#lizzie x reader#elizabeth olsen x reader#elizabeth olsen x you#elizabeth olsen x female reader#marvel#wanda maximoff#scarletlizzard writes
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