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prythianpages · 2 months ago

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Beautiful Stranger | Azriel

Azriel x Reader | Azriel gets injured while on a mission and meets someone he never thought he would. aka you finding an injured Az and the mating bond snapping.

warnings: mentions injuries and blood; other than that, this is light & fluff

word count: 4,342

a/n: I love Halsey's Finally//Beautiful Stranger & when it came on my shuffle while driving, this fic played out in my mind.

Humming quietly to yourself to keep your thoughts occupied, you allow the glow of the moon and fireflies to guide you back to the village. Dawn Court was your home, but after the fall of Spring, you had volunteered to help its fae, creatures, and land heal from the devastation left by Hybern’s attacks.

Though the damage to Spring was immense, its beauty still endured. The air still held a lingering heaviness but the flowers had begun to bloom once more with promise and hope of a better future. Your task today had been to gather healing herbs, yet when you stumbled upon a field of dandelions in full bloom, you couldn’t resist the urge to stop and admire the scenery. It was why you were returning late at night, long past the sunset you had promised to return by.

As you made your way along the path, the gentle breeze grew colder and sharper. It rustled the leaves on the trees and made the branches creak, its eerie sound halting your steps and silencing your humming. A chill of unease prickled your skin and your muscles tensed in alarm.

Then you saw them.

Shadows, darker than the night itself, swirling around you.

These were not the shadows you were used to seeing at night. No, these shadows felt alive and with purpose.

You should’ve turned back. But there was something in the way they moved, fluid and insistent, that made you follow. With every step, they guided you away from the familiar moonlit path and deeper into the forest, pulling you toward the river that ran through the heart of the woods.

A flicker of blue light was coming from just beyond the tree line, catching your eye. Curiosity tugged at you, drawing you closer. The shadows slithered toward the faint glow, vanishing into the darkness by the water’s edge.

When you finally reached the riverbank, your breath hitched at the sight before you.

A male lay sprawled on the shore, half-submerged in the water, his blood mingling with the river’s water. Blinking your eyes, you saw the shadows that led you to him, clinging to his battered form and limp wings. They pulsed in a protective manner. It’s then that you recognized the source of the blue light. It was coming from the gems attached to the leathers he wore.

Siphons. He must be Illyrian…but what was an Illyrian from the Night Court doing in Spring? Alone?

It didn’t matter. You immediately rushed and knelt beside him, your healer’s instincts snapping into action. Your finger’s pressed against his neck, mind racing with worry and dread as his skin felt cold against yours. He must’ve been out for awhile now. The nerves eased slightly when you felt a pulse.

Weak but present.

You slipped your arms beneath him, the shadows aiding you as they wrapped around his arms, helping you turn him over to his side. His dark hair clung to his face, your hand reaching up to brush it back.

Your eyes finally met the face of the fallen warrior and something snapped.

So piercing and electrifying, it had your heart fluttering from the intensity. All at once, the golden threads of the bond you’d only heard stories about unraveled in your chest. They weaved between your rib cage, pulling you tight toward him. A pull so strong it left you breathless and in shock.

Fate and shadows had brought him to you. Your mate.

But the exhilaration of it all was soon smothered by panic, the golden threads beginning to quiver. His blood, too much of it, stained the riverbank. His body was limp in your arms, his breathing shallow.

You had found your mate and already, you were on the verge of losing him before you could even learn his name.

Azriel wakes to the sound of singing, a nice and sweet sound, and he catches faintly to the words. He’s never felt so warm, so relaxed. His senses are dulled by grogginess, his body sluggish, but something feels… different. Lighter, somehow.

Beside him, his shadows stir, the familiar weight of their presence grounding him. But there's also something else— different from the cool and light caresses of his shadows. Firmer. Warmer. The pressure is foreign but comforting.

As his senses slowly return, the scent of herbs and incense reach him before his eyes flutter open. Where am I? He thinks, finally blinking his eyes to clear his vision.

The first thing he sees is you, the source of the beautiful singing.

Light streams into the room, casting a golden halo around you. It strikes him hard, stealing his breath and sending a shock through his chest. He doesn’t know who you are, what you are. But you’re beautiful, so beautiful that his brows furrow in bewildered awe. There’s no way, he thinks. I don’t belong here…

He wills his dry lips to part, his voice is rough and barely audible. “Am I…dead?”

Your eyes widen and your singing comes to a sudden stop, startled by his sudden words. The warmth he felt vanishes as you pull your hand back, and only then does he realize it had been your touch on his face earlier. Your hand hovers between you, glowing faintly with a bronze light, like the first rays of dawn, before you settle it into your lap.

“No,” you finally answer. “You’re not dead.”

Azriel tears his gaze from your face, even though some part of him protests. His eyes wander around the small room, taking in the sparse furniture, the wooden desk cluttered with jars and vials. The sunlight continues to stream through the single window, the curtain hanging doing little to dull the brightness thanks to the Spring breeze. It blinds him when it catches his eyes and he winces, looking away.

His attention is inevitably drawn back to you. You’re seated beside him, perched on a small stool that does not look comfortable by the bed. His shadows, the loyal dark tendrils that always remain by his side, are dancing around you. Their movement is playful, loving almost and you don’t seem bothered by it. As if they’ve done this before.

The sight stirs an unfamiliar flutter in his chest.

The flutter is cut short when one of his wings, too big for the bed he’s in, twitches and knocks into the bedside table. A vial tumbles to the floor, the sound of shattering glass jerking his body forward, and in an instant, the memories come rushing back.

He remembers the mission. Rhysand had sent him to the wall separating the mortal lands from Prythian. He had met with Jurian, the encounter brief, and then he was on his way back—flying over the Spring Court when he was ambushed. His mind aches as he tries to remember more but all he remembers is being struck by poisoned arrows and falling through trees. Multiple trees.

Hot, searing pain stabs through him at the sudden movement and your hands fly to his bandaged chest, gently urging him to sit back. “You’re safe,” you reassure him. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Azriel shouldn’t feel comforted by your words, not when he barely knows you. However, he finds your voice soothing. He listens, allowing himself to slowly lean back against the pillows, despite his mind screaming at him that you’re a stranger. Your hands remain on his chest, glowing again with that soft bronze light, and the sharp pain in his body begins to ebb away, fading into a dull ache. Much more bearable.

His shadows return to him, sighing with relief as they nestle close. Azriel watches you, keen hazel eyes taking in more of your features. The curve of your lips, the softness of your eyes. They draw him in, and he finds himself unable to look away. Had it not been for the pain that shot through him moments ago, he would’ve thought you lied to him about not being dead. Because surely you weren’t from this world to have him in a daze like this…

“Who are you?”

“I’m…,” you hesitate, uncertainty crossing your features. He watches with bated breath, waiting but the words seem to catch in your throat. You swallow, clearing your throat before speaking again. “I’m just a healer.”

“And here I thought you were an angel from above.”

A quiet laugh escapes you, and the tension in your posture melts away. The corner of your lips tug up into a faint smile, one that Azriel surprisingly finds himself mirroring. “Sorry to disappoint.”

He doesn’t think. The words spill from him before he can stop them. “I didn’t say I was disappointed.”

The flush that dawns across your cheeks doesn’t go unnoticed. You turn your head, trying to hide the reaction. It’s too late. Azriel already saw it and even if he hadn’t, his shadows are happily gushing over it. Some, the ones not distracted by your beauty, curled around his ear and whispered about the emotion lingering on your face, in your eyes.

There was more you meant to say. Words left unsaid and he wants to know, the curiosity and yearning bordering on desperate. His gaze assesses you again, searching for an answer. For a hint. His shadows continue to whisper. Good, they say reassuringly, sensing no danger or malintent in you. We found her for you!

She saved master's life. Master was out for three days and she stayed by master’s side. She’s–

“What’s your name?” You ask, pulling him from the silent conversation with his shadows.

Azriel is not one to give his name so easily, often going by what he was–a Shadowsinger– rather than who he was. He’s also not one to dwell in places he’s unfamiliar with longer than necessary. But you saved his life and for some strange reason, his shadows had taken an immediate liking to you. They seem to trust you and therefore, so does he.

“Azriel.”

“Azriel,” you repeat and his shadows shudder in response, as though they, too, are captivated by the sound of it on your lips. His stomach flutters in time with their movement.

“What about yours?”

“Y/n.”

“Y/n,” he says, repeating your name the same way you had his. His shadows dance in the air around you both.

It’s late morning, as you pick up the empty plate from him, that he feels the familiar sensation of talons scraping against his mind. Azriel?? Rhysand’s voice is urgent, the frantic panic of it making him wince. Your head immediately turns in concern and Azriel brushes it off with a small shake of his head.

I’m alive. Azriel responds, his answer curt as he’s once again distracted by your presence.

Thank The Mother, Rhysand breathes a sigh of relief. Where are you? Are you somewhere safe? Do you need me to–

I’m fine. I was attacked while flying through Spring.

Who? Rhysand demands.

Given the fact that whoever ambushed me has made no move to find me and finish the job, I’d say no one of importance. Azriel replies, lips curving into a small frown at the thought of being caught off guard and attacked. It rarely happened, his shadows always keeping him one step ahead of anyone and anything. Had they been distracted…?

He turns his head, searching for the shadows in question. Some remained with him, choosing to burrow under the blankets. The others, however, were hovering at your side and helping you clean up from breakfast. One even opens the door for you and he hears you murmur a small thanks as you leave the room.

Azriel had spent most of the afternoon sleeping. He didn’t want to, not liking the idea of being in such a vulnerable state with someone he barely knew. It’s not that he suspected you’d harm him or had bad intentions–you literally saved his life for Cauldron’s sake! It was just a feeling he was not used to. To be able to sleep safe and sound.

When he woke up again, it was a brand new day. He realized the bandages on his chest and arm had been changed. He was slowly gathering his strength back. One of his shadows must’ve given him away because shortly after he woke, you had walked in with a friend.

“Wow,” the dark haired fae murmured, her steps faltering. Her eyes had widened in wonder, taking in the large expanse of his wings that made the bed look ridiculously small. “The Cauldron truly favors you.”

Azriel’s gaze couldn’t help but narrow. Those words had been directed at you, not him.

You’d introduced her as Poppy, explaining she was your friend, another healer whose family had taken you in. Poppy had left shortly after setting a steaming bowl of stew on the table right next to the bed. She had been adamant on letting him know her mother had made it and not you, which he found odd.

Azriel was surprised to learn this was your room and you’d given it up for him. He tried to protest, offering to sleep on the couch or floor. Of course, you had refused and he was even more surprised to learn you were more stubborn than he was.

Where are you in Spring? Rhysand’s presence in his mind pulls him back to the present. He hopes he hadn’t accidentally projected his memory to his friend, wanting to keep it to himself for now. I can send Cassian, if you’re unable to fly.

No. Azriel responds immediately and he can feel Rhysand’s confusion. I’m alive and safe. I just need more time to recover.

And without waiting for a response, Azriel brings up his mental shields again, shutting Rhysand out. He can only hope he doesn’t send Feyre knocking on his mind next. Or worse, actually send Cassian to Spring, despite him saying not to.

He should’ve said yes, and accepted the help. The Spring Court was among the least favorite of his courts, in tie with the Autumn Court. He had a strong distaste for the High Lord, who remained wandering through his forests like a beast.

As you return to the room, Azriel catches sight of a faint glow wrapped around your wrist. He hadn’t seen it before, the glow of your magic outshining the gold ink etched there. A sun, cradled by a crescent moon, and below the moon, a fine lined star glimmers, connecting the two celestial bodies with its ray of starshine.

“You’re far from home.” Azriel comments, nodding toward the tattoo.

“So are you,” you answer, lips turning up at the slight flush that takes over Azriel. You then glance down at the tattoo on your wrist. The insignia of your Court with the added touch of your healing gift. The tattoo was an honor, a testimony of the oath you had taken after mastering your magic. “I came to Spring to help after the war.”

“Will you go back home after?” He asks, a little too quickly, then clears his throat. His shadows snicker beside him in a knowing manner. “Or will you stay here?”

“I’ll stay here as long as I’m needed.”

He doesn’t understand why but a part of him feels relieved that you’re not attached to this court.

“You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need,” you then add.

He feels an odd sense of relief, and his shadows give a little wiggle in excitement. He sends them a glare, and they sheepishly return to hiding under the covers. Though one brave shadow lingers by his side long enough to whisper, you'll find out soon Master.

“They’re cute," your voice pulls him from questioning his teasing shadow.

Azriel lets out a snort, the effort making his chest and stomach ache. Cute. His shadows had been called many things—strange, unnerving, even unsettling—but never cute. They typically clung to him, weaving around his form quietly, careful not to disturb anyone. Unless he sent them on a mission of their own or they had a mission of their own.

Occasionally, they’d make an exception for Cassian, creeping up behind him just to tap his shoulder and bask in his exasperation when he turned to find nothing there. They’d even tried their luck with Rhysand once, though he was never fooled. Yet, for reasons Azriel couldn’t fathom, his shadows had taken an immediate liking to you, drifting toward you whenever they could.

The said shadows peek out from under the covers, almost shyly. If they could blush, he’s sure they would be at this moment. They're never going to forget this moment.

“I wouldn’t call them cute,” Azriel replies, ignoring their indignant hisses.

Conversation flows easily between you two from there, Azriel giving into his curiosity to know and learn more about you. Much to his surprise, Azriel indulged you in your questions, telling you about his shadows and things about himself he rarely told others. They were small, trivial things such as his exact favorite shade of blue and his biggest pet peeve. Yet you held onto every word, every detail and it felt strangely comforting.

Two more days passed, Azriel’s body still healing. Slowly but surely. You had been able to recover one of the arrows that had shot him. Not that it mattered. Azriel was now, unfortunately, familiar with the effects of faebane. It hindered his healing and though it was frustrating, there was one upside to it all–the friendship blossoming between you and Azriel.

There’s a knock on the door as you mix Azriel’s concoction for pain. “Yes?” You call out.

Poppy peeks her head in. “I was just checking to see if I had given you enough spearmint for the pain tonic and also to let you know that we’ll be out most of the day. If you wanted to take out your ma—male for a walk or something without being bothered by the little ones.”

You freeze and a sheepish look takes over your features, tainting your cheeks. “Poppy,” you say her name again in what sounds like a warning. “He has a name, you know. And he doesn’t need to be taken on a walk.”

“Oh, right, Azriel,” she says, giving him a cheery wave. “Hello again!”

“Hello,” Azriel replies, shifting in the bed, despite the protests of his muscles. He’s not at all offended by Poppy, her aura too bright and cheery to be bothered. He flashes you a grin that has your grasp on the mixer faltering. “I think a walk would be nice actually.”

“Told you!” Poppy replies. “Anyway, we’ll see you for dinner. Send a butterfly if you need me.”

When the door closes, you let out a small sigh, shaking your head with a small, sheepish smile. “I’m so sorry about her.”

Azriel brushes off your concern, his eyes shining bright when he looks back at you. “How about that walk?”

Azriel grunts as he pushes to stand, his wings trembling as he shifts his weight, unused to bearing himself after days of bedrest. He stumbles right into your arms, his usually steady form swaying. You quickly catch him, your arms coming around one of his sides. His shadows dart toward his other side, helping you hold him upright.

“I’ve got you,” you say softly, your hold surprisingly firm.

He can't help it. He lets out a low, amused breath.

“What?” You ask.

“Usually, I’m the one saying that.”

Your lips quirk into a smile, a gleam in your eye, as you help him find his balance. “Well, even the best need someone to lean on sometimes, right?”

Azriel stares at you. Something in his chest tightens–a weird but comforting sensation. It’s similar, if not the same, to what he had felt when he first saw you. Warm and painfully sweet. The feeling reassures him that, though you were strangers mere days ago, you’re someone he can lean on.

“Come on,” you murmur, nodding toward the door.

Azriel lets you guide him through the house and out onto the porch. You settle there together, cutting the walk very short. You're mindful not to push him too far when he's still recovering. Azriel doesn't mind, the fresh air enough for him. He knows he isn’t at full strength to protect you should anything arise. Even though you most likely know these forests better than himself.

His hands drift to the porch railing as he leans forward for support, fingers curling around the edge. The sunlight glances off his scarred hands, each ridge and mark stark against his skin. He’d kept them hidden beneath the covers and out of your view while bedridden, hiding them instinctively, unable to forget the pitying glances they’d drawn in the past. Though he’s sure you must've seen them when you rescued him.

Now, as he feels your gaze slide toward them, a familiar discomfort tugs at him. He starts to withdraw his hands, wanting to tuck them closer to himself.

But you reach out. Your hand hovers, brushing slightly over his. There’s a slight hesitation—an uncertainty in whether to bridge the space or leave it. In the end, you let your hand rest gently beside his.

Azriel hesitates, unused to this vulnerability, yet unable to move away. He glances up to meet your eyes and his guarded expression softens slightly. “They’re… not easy to look at,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know they’re not.”

“I’m familiar with scars, you know. They don’t make you less of who you are.”

Azriel’s jaw tightens, his gaze dropping where your hands are barely brushing against one another. His throat feels tight, an ache he’s kept buried resurfacing.

“Not to me,” you continue. “I don’t see you any differently because of them.”

He searches your face and he sees something in your eyes that helps him slowly relax. His gaze returns to your hand, fingers hovering now over his. This time, there’s no hesitation as you gently lay your hand over his, holding it as if the scars didn’t exist at all.

It’s such a simple gesture, yet it speaks volumes.

His shadows slither down his arm and toward where your hands connect. For the first time, Azriel feels no urge to hide, no shame from the past that has long haunted him.

A silence drifts down between the two of you, settling like a blanket over the conversation. There’s no need to fill it, no awkwardness there. Just a gentle, shared peace, stretching softly around you both. He turns his head, shifting his gaze forward and takes a deep breath.

He closes his eyes and a breeze rolls in, brushing against his skin and stirring his hair. His shadows begin to whisper excitedly. He basks in the sun’s warmth, and lets the scent of spring fill his senses from the fresh earth to the blooming flowers and the faint sweetness of pollen. It brings forth a tickle in his nose, and before he can stop it, he sneezes. His body groans in response, wings shuddering.

“Bless you,” you say, but he notices the way your mouth quirks as if you’re holding back a laugh.

“What?” he asks, brows furrowing.

“I’m sorry,” you giggle, your free hand rising to stifle it. “It’s just… you have such a fatherly sneeze.”

Azriel raises an eyebrow, a rare, amused smile creeping onto his face. “Fatherly sneeze?” He echoes. He has never heard the expression before yet he somehow understands it. If you thought his sneeze was “fatherly,” he’s curious to see your reaction to one of Cassian’s sneezes. That thought is enough to make him laugh outright.

It's so silly but the sound is so contagious that you laugh too. His shadows began to flutter around you, as if joining in on the laughter. Azriel’s gaze then drifts down, watching the way your lips curve in laughter, how your eyes crinkle at the corners, how effortlessly you draw light into his heart.

And there it is again—that rush of warmth. It’s mixed in with joy, so pure and intense it has to be coming from you. His heart stirs, his pulse quickens, his mind clears, and in a single, life-altering instant, he knows.

“You’re my mate.”

Your smile falters, replaced by a moment of hesitation. Some shadows travel to you, brushing softly against your arms as if in a reassuring manner. He can't help but watch them, realization dawning on him.

“Yeah, I am,” you admit quietly.

“How—when…” His voice catches, unable to form the words.

“I was walking through the forest when your shadows came to me. They led me to you, by the river. You were unconscious and bleeding. And then… the bond snapped for me the moment I saw your face. You were so cold and--and…,” your face tightens, eyes glistening at the memory and Azriel can feel the panic you must’ve felt then. “I’d just found what so many only dream of and you were already slipping away...I thought I’d never get to know your name…”

Azriel feels a pang deep in his chest as he absorbs every word. His chest feels tight again and he swallows thickly. “And when I woke up, why didn’t you tell me?”

Your gaze falls, fingers twisting together. “I wanted you to heal, to feel better. That’s all that mattered.”

“I owe you my life.”

“You don’t owe me anything. I would’ve saved you, mate or not.”

Azriel searches your face, touched beyond words at the sincerity in your tone. It made sense why he felt so drawn to you since the moment he saw you, why his shadows took a sudden liking to you and kept whispering "we found her, we found her!" They had known all this time, been able to sense it before he even could.

Looking back, Poppy being the one to bring him food and water and not you was not as strange as he originally thought. You were being mindful, not wanting to accidentally accept the bond without his knowledge. He felt an overwhelming gratitude for how gentle and considerate you've been with him all along. He couldn’t help but wonder how he had gotten so lucky to be bound to someone like you.

“And would you have sung to me, mate or not?” Azriel asks, his mind drifting back to the exact moment he'd first woken up.

Your cheeks flush, and you glance away toward the gardens, suddenly refusing to meet his eyes. “What?” You let out a small huff. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“What did I hear?” Azriel’s tone borders on teasing, his expression shifting into one of exaggerated contemplation. “Something like… ‘Beautiful stranger, here you are…’”

“That’s enough!” You interrupt, your face turning into an even deeper shade of pink, caught somewhere between mortification and laughter.

This time, it’s Azriel holding back a chuckle. His lips curl into a small smirk, seeing the blush that lights up your face. He quite likes that shade on you—likes being the one to bring it out even more. “So…”

You keep your gaze straight ahead. “So…?”

Azriel leans in, his voice low and warm, making your stomach flutter. “Do you sing that song for just anyone too?”

“No,” you let out a laugh, your hands cup your face but there’s no hiding the blush there. “I’m afraid that song was just for you.”

“Good,” he murmurs.

You turn to look at him, realizing his gaze had never left you. Your hands drop back to the porch railing. “Yeah?” you whisper, your own heart pounding, not sure what it was you were asking.

But Azriel seems to understand anyway. He can feel what you’re feeling, now fully aware and attentive to the bond humming between you.

“Yeah,” he breathes, his smirk softening into a genuine smile, his heart finally at ease.

A gentle warmth surges through the bond, reaching every shadowed corner of his heart and wrapping around his soul. It’s a feeling he could get used to, one he’s spent centuries longing and yearning for. It’s a feeling he’s searched for in all the wrong places, enduring the heavy weight of heartbreak after heartbreak.

But now, with you, he feels the weight begin to lift. After all the empty falls and broken promises, it’s finally, finally safe for him to fall.

a/n: you can't tell me Az & Cas don't have dad sneezes lol. Anyway, I really wanted to write a fic where Az finally feels safe with someone because he deserves to. I hope you enjoyed this <3

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444 @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits13, @lorosette

@alwayshave-faith

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel fanfiction #azriel fluff #acotar x reader #acotar x you #acotar x y/n

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mysticchoreography · 1 year ago

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PINNED

TOA Canon [Diviner for the Church of Seiros]

AUHGKLSDLKDSZJKDSKLKDslk JDJKLKDSEKDEKKEWK BWAHHHHH HAHAJLDLKKJK

ABOUT | INTERVIEW | Please kindly do not use small text! (post)

#ic post #ic: moon and stars above #ooc #ooc: it's late and yet here i am #threading: even in my dreams; all i do is gaze at the stars #supports: what i hope you see is... a better me #mission: may the stars guide the way #housekeeping: may be better #drabble: the stage is mine #events: join me for one song #dropped: am i fated to join the stars?#inbox: like a shooting star

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cumironi · 5 months ago

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hi I see you want a request! hb some angst to comfort !drunkgojoxreader where he always shows up drunk confessing his feelings but then acts normal when he’s sobered up. Reader is tired of mixed signals and ends up going on a date with someone when gojo happens to visit sobered up

you can do whatever you want if u happen to be inspired! Hope this helps you get out of your funk

“OH, MY LOVER IS DRUNK” : GOJO SATORU

you and him, you were supposed to be best friends— supposed to. but neither you nor gojo can't keep the feeling of falling. he tries to deny the feeling so hard that he has to drown himself with alcohol, the thing he loves the least, just to forget the feeling, only to come back to you every time he is drunk.

w/c 4.5k

warning : drunk! gojo satoru, non-sorcerer gojo!, angst.

p.s thank you for giving me a chance to write you something, and I'm sorry it took me long enough to write this :'), but i hope you enjoy it! (i don't think i make this angst enough for my liking)

fanart credit to the owner.

it was a tranquil night, the moon casting a soft, ethereal glow through your apartment windows, bathing the room in a gentle light. though the clock read 3:00 AM, sleep eluded you, your mind too restless to find peace. lying on your cold bed, you stared at the ceiling, each pattern and shadow playing tricks on your eyes in the dim light. the blanket was draped neatly up to your stomach, its weight a comforting presence against the chill of the night.

your hands lay flat on top of the blanket, fingers nervously tapping the back of the other hand in a slow, rhythmic cadence. the silence of the night seemed to amplify every tiny sound: the soft rustle of the sheets, the faint ticking of a clock somewhere in the apartment, the almost imperceptible hum of the city outside. despite the stillness, a storm of thoughts churned within you, each one keeping you wide awake and alert, as if anticipating something just beyond the horizon.

you were anticipating something, no— more likely, someone. that someone, neither your boyfriend nor your anything, he just likely is a more sinister thing, disguised as a best friend, unfortunately. sinister thing, you describe him, where a silver thread lies between you and him— a bright and bold, tale of your love, gojo satoru.

he is, my sinister thing’ you thought.

you were adrift, suspended in the air, with no destination, no specific place to call home. you existed in a state of limbo, neither firmly standing nor lying down, hovering in a liminal space. your presence was neither filled with love nor marked by the experience of being in love.

you were perpetually caught in a paradox, always existing in a state of “neither,” but never fully reaching a place of clarity or resolution. your existence was defined by an absence of definitive states or emotions, perpetually undefined and drifting, forever caught between the edges of presence and absence.

it was always waiting, waiting, and waiting.

just like how the night before, and before, and right now, waiting in your bed for him to knock— and when he does, you, mindlessly, like you're in ecstasy running a little by little in the middle of the night to open your door, without realizing there's another door you open— your heart.

stumbling, drowning in a sea of alcohol he hates, gojo satoru walks in. and you, like the idiot you are, guide him to your barely-fits-for-his-over-six-feet -ass couch, comfortably lying him there.

“careful,” you whisper through the night.

your warm hands meet with his cold ones, gripping you as if he's holding on for his dear life. you drape his body with a blanket, big enough for you to shield not only his physical form but also the emotions he holds for you, hidden beneath the warmth, hide his love for you, not that you need to know. gojo‘s blue eyes are warm, and dull as they indulge softly in the moonlight and gentle glow from your little lamp on the cover of your living room, appear soft and subdued.

you find yourself seated on the cold, hard floor, while gojo stretches out on your couch, facing you with a look of serene contentment. his handsome face is illuminated by a crooked yet mesmerizing smile, a testament to his charm even in his inebriated state. his hands, chilled and seeking, grip yours with a familiar desperation, yearning for the warmth you effortlessly provide.

this nightly ritual has become a part of your routine—gojo, drinking away his soul, stumbles through your door, his steps wavering yet purposeful. he collapses onto the couch, and you remain on the floor, the quiet observer of his vulnerable confessions. as he speaks of his love for you with a fervor that seems to swell with each passing moment, it’s as if he fears losing you with the break of dawn.

he loves like you’re the very essence of his existence, the heartbeat of his every moment. his affection is a force that shapes his world, a flame that burns eternally in his soul. to him, you are the embodiment of all his dreams and desires, the one who makes every day brighter and every night more meaningful. his love for you is not just a feeling but a profound truth that defines his very being.

when the alcohol fades and his clarity returns, he resumes his usual demeanor, leaving behind only the tender echo of his heartfelt declarations and the gentle imprint of his touch on your hands. he pretends, gojo satoru likes to pretend.

“always so beautiful,” he whispered, his smile fading as his eyes wandered over every contour of your face. he traced the delicate path of each freckle, every mole, and the subtle lines that marked the passage of time, memorizing every exquisite detail in his heart. his cold hand gently cupped your cheek, sending a chill across your skin that mingled with the warmth of his gaze, as if he were imprinting the essence of your beauty into his soul.

he draws your entwined hands closer to his chest, where his heart, in truth, has always belonged to you. from the very first moment you met, it was never his alone; it has been yours from the start. as your palm rests against his chest, you can feel the soft, steady beat of his yours heart, buried beneath his flesh—an intimate rhythm that pulses with calm and a tender, unselfish devotion.

a small smile graces your lips as you rest your chin on the couch, gazing deeply into his eyes and letting yourself be enveloped by their depth. “i’m in love with you,” he murmurs, his voice heavy with intoxicated. “so in love that i can’t remember a time when i wasn’t, as if my soul has adored you since the dawn of everything,” you listen to his heartfelt confession, witnessing the gradual collapse of his defenses, and your eyes shimmer, heart-shaped.

gojo chuckled softly, his voice thick with intoxication. “do you recall the first and last time we made love? your lips on my neck, since that day, your mouth has been nothing but heaven,” his words tumbled out in a drowsy, slurred cadence.

you, too, remember that day with crystal clarity; it is etched deeply in your mind, an indelible memory that clings to your thoughts like a cherished, haunting presence. each detail, every sensation, has become a permanent part of you, woven into the very fabric of your being. the memory of his touch and the sweetness of his kiss linger, a profound and enduring echo that remains with you always.

you still can feel his touch on your skin.

��of course you don’t know,” he whispered, his voice heavy with the weight of intoxication, as his thumb traced gentle patterns across your cheek. “and i’ll gladly take the blame for that,” he continued, his words slurred with inebriation, “i-i kissed your hair while you slept in the morning,” his giggle, light and childlike, bubbled up with a carefree delight. “i wonder if you ever knew.”

you shake your head gently, a small, small smile touching your lips, just a little. you wouldn't dare to open your mouth, oh, you wouldn't dare. to speak would risk breaking the spell of his drunken state, causing him to sober up and retract the love he has so freely and vulnerably shared. the thought of him withdrawing those tender confessions and retreating into the safety of his guarded heart is a fear too profound to bear. because at that time, it's all you have, his drunkenly confession.

so you remain silent, savoring the warmth of his affection as it envelops you, clinging to this fleeting intimacy as if it were a precious secret. afraid that when the dawn’s approach looms, threatening to sweep away the ephemeral beauty of his heartfelt revelations, leaving only the ghost of his love behind.

it's a frightening, haunting, spine-chilling sensation that grips you, filling you with an aching dread, so you remain silent. because maybe, in those three am confessions are your only salvation. just like a dark mirror to cinderella’s tale, your reality is sinking down from the ceiling, swallowing you whole when he sobers up when the sun hits your cheeks warm.

“oh, god, i love you so much. . .” he whispered, his voice laden with vulnerability as he clutched your hand tightly, pressing it against his chest. “this love i feel—it terrifies me. i'm scared for the love i have for you, it seems so powerful, like it could burn me alive or utterly ruin me. even so, i know that i’ll let it be, but fuck. . . i'm so scared.” his breath was uneven and strained, each gasp revealing the depth of his fear.

his eyes, gleaming with the weight of his emotions, flickered with a poignant brilliance before finally closing. as he drifted into unconsciousness, the full embrace of the alcohol took hold, and the tender confessions of his heart were swallowed by the enveloping darkness.

you remain in quiet contemplation, letting his heartfelt words gently seep into your thoughts. you extend your arm along the edge of the couch, laying your cheek softly against it as you gaze at gojo’s tranquil, slumbering face. his lips, tender and slightly swollen, and his cheeks, flushed a soft, rosy hue reminiscent of crushed cherries from the effects of the alcohol, form a serene portrait of vulnerability.

in the gentle light, his features are softened by the peacefulness of sleep, creating a stark contrast to the emotional intensity of his earlier confessions. the calmness of his face, so vulnerable and exposed in repose, contrasts beautifully with the passionate turmoil of his words.

as you watch him, the room seems to hold its breath, enveloping you both in a tender silence that honors the depth of the moment. the delicate interplay of light and shadow highlights the serene beauty of his sleep, allowing you to cherish the profound intimacy of this quiet, shared space.

when the morning comes, he'll sober up, and the alcohol will have faded from his system, washed away by the sunlight along with his love for you. he'll blame the alcohol in case he said anything foolish, and you? oh, you would find yourself blaming the moon, even the sun, because it's breath away the day for night to come, for casting hope into your soul, into your heart, and also crushing it at the same time in the harsh light of dawn. leaving you to grapple with the fragile hope that was both a blessing and a burden.

it was cruel, worse than cannibalism. you could have borne the agony of having your flesh consumed, but not the ravaging of your soul and heart, oh please, not my heart’ you would plead into the darkness as night falls. you were scared too, not because of loving gojo satoru, loving him is as natural as breathing, but because of the depth of your devotion— you are scared your devotion would turn violent. your devotion would make you believe him like a god, and he'll betray you like a man.

yet, despite the pain, you find yourself eternally awaiting the arrival of night, longing for those confessions whispered at 3:00 AM, even knowing they will leave you shattered by morning’s light. each dawn brings the same heartache, and today is no different.

you awaken to the insistent chime of your notification, your eyes fluttering open to the stark emptiness of your apartment. the couch where gojo once lay is now vacant, the space where he slept cold and unwelcoming. the blanket he used before now wrapped around you, carries no trace of his warmth. the comfort it once offered has dissipated, leaving behind only a hollow chill and the echo of his absence.

your grip tightens on your phone, the pressure biting into your hands, but it’s a mere shadow of the pain coursing through your heart. suddenly, the dam within you gives way, and a torrent of tears spills down your cheeks, cascading like a relentless river. the exhaustion of navigating gojo’s endless emotional games weighs heavily upon you, a suffocating burden that leaves you breathless.

you don't want anything, the only thing you want can't be bought with money. if i ask for your heart will you give it to me?’ you mock yourself. what a fucking loser.

“oh god. . .” you whisper, forehead touching the floor as you wailing in silence.

you feel foolish for clinging to the hope that, perhaps this time, he might remember, that he might repeat the tender words of the night before. yet, as each morning dawns with the same emptiness, your heart aches with the weary realization that your hopes have been in vain, leaving you to grapple with the sorrow of unfulfilled dreams.

the evening was settling into a serene quiet, your apartment softly illuminated by the warm glow of your lights. you were almost ready for your date, anticipation mingling with a sense of hope as you made final adjustments to your outfit. watching yourself in the mirror, you realize how dull your eyes are, losing their spark. after everything, you decided to bury your feelings beneath your flesh until only you know your love for gojo satoru.

a knock at the door disrupted your preparations, and when you opened it, gojo stood there, sober and uncharacteristically subdued. his eyes, usually brimming with playful energy, now reflected a deep, almost mournful sadness.

“hey,” he said, his voice softer just like always. he glanced around the room, his gaze lingering on the subtle details of your evening preparations—the carefully chosen attire, the delicate scent of perfume, and your eyes, those bright, beautiful eyes.

you moved through your bedroom, selecting accessories and adjusting your outfit, each motion a quiet ritual in the evening’s anticipation. gojo watched from the doorway, his gaze fixed on you with a deep, almost reverent intensity. his silence spoke volumes, a contrast to the usual banter that characterized your interactions.

gojo’s voice, tinged with an unexpected vulnerability, broke the silence. “where are you going?” he asked softly, his eyes searching yours with a mixture of concern and hurt.

you hesitated, caught between the desire to protect both his feelings and the truth. his gaze, usually so playful and intense, now bore a raw, wounded quality. the gravity of the question hung heavy in the air, and you could feel the weight of the decision you had to make.

“i’m—” you started, but the words caught in your throat. you could see the hope flickering in his eyes, mingled with the pain of realization. you knew that this was more than just a casual question; it was a plea for understanding, for clarity amid his confusion.

he took a step closer, his usual nonchalance replaced by a genuine yearning to grasp the reality of the situation. “i just want to know,” he continued, his voice barely a whisper, “where you’re going. what’s tonight for you?”

you looked at him, your heart aching with the weight of his unspoken fears. the room felt charged with the intensity of the moment, every detail amplified by the quiet desperation in his voice.

“i’m going out with someone,” you finally admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “tonight is… it’s meant for someone else.”

the words hung in the air, their impact palpable. gojo’s face fell, the light in his eyes dimming as he took in the truth of your plans. he nodded slowly, the understanding settling over him with a heavy sadness.

“i see,” he said quietly, a bitter edge to his tone as he took a step back, giving you space. “i didn’t realize…” the finality of his words and the desolate look on his face were almost too much to bear.

you hesitated, unsure of how to respond, but before you could answer, his gaze wandered over you with a mixture of admiration and sadness. “you look…” he started, his voice faltering slightly as he struggled to find the right words. “you look really beautiful tonight.”

his eyes roamed over your outfit, the careful details you had chosen, and the way the light caught in your hair. there was a softness in his gaze that spoke of more than just physical appreciation— it was as though he was trying to hold onto every fleeting moment, every detail of this evening as if to etch it into his memory.

“you always look beautiful,” he continued, his voice thick with emotion. “but tonight. . .. tonight it’s different. you’re. . . breathtaking.” the sincerity in his words was palpable, mingling with the unspoken sadness in his eyes. he didn’t move, didn’t retreat from the moment. instead, he stood there, quietly observing, letting his admiration and affection fill the space between you.

“i didn’t mean to intrude,” he said softly, his gaze never leaving you. “i just wanted to see you one more time. before you go.”

the room felt heavy with the weight of his gaze, the emotional intensity of his words. you could feel the ache in his eyes, a mixture of admiration and longing, as he took in every detail of your appearance. the compliment, so genuine and heartfelt, seemed to hang in the air, a poignant reminder of the affection he still held for you.

“it's okay,” you nodded softly, gazing at him from your mirror with a little smile, kissing your lips. the date was meant to be an escape, a chance to move forward, but it felt like an endurance exercise.

your date was polite and engaged in conversation, but there was an undeniable disconnect. every word spoken seemed to drift past you, a mere backdrop to the whirlwind of thoughts that consumed your mind. the laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the casual chatter all felt hollow, lacking the vibrancy you had hoped for.

as the evening progressed, the sparkle of the city lights and the charm of the venue did little to lift the weight on your shoulders. the conversations felt superficial, the moments fleeting and unremarkable. you smiled and nodded in response, but your thoughts were miles away, tangled in the memories and the lingering presence of gojo.

you couldn’t help but replay the images of that earlier moment—gojo’s earnest eyes, the softness of his compliments, and the way his gaze had followed you with such unspoken longing. his presence had imprinted on your heart so deeply that everything else seemed to fade in comparison. the way he had watched you, the tenderness in his voice, and the painful silence after he had left all resurfaced in your mind, casting a shadow over every interaction of the evening.

the date dragged on, each passing minute feeling like an eternity. you forced yourself to remain engaged, but the thought of gojo’s unspoken words and the gentle way he had looked at you overshadowed everything. you were caught in a cycle of longing and regret, unable to escape the grip of your own emotions.

as you stepped out of the restaurant, the cool night air was a welcome relief from the stifling atmosphere of the evening. your mind was still heavy with the weight of the date's emptiness, and the city lights seemed dimmer as you walked towards your car.

just outside, by the entrance of the restaurant, you noticed a familiar figure leaning against a lamppost. gojo stood there, his posture relaxed but his eyes scanning the crowd with a determined focus. as your gaze met his, his face softened, revealing a mix of relief and something deeper.

there you are, beautiful, mellow you. walking alone looking pretty in that silk dress that you should be wearing for him, not the other man, him. seeing you so breathtakingly beautiful makes gojo satoru want to crash into every piece of you, and fuck, he swears to god, that's how stars are born.

“hey,” he said softly, pushing himself off the lamppost and walking towards you. the usually playful tone in his voice was replaced by a sincere warmth. “i thought i might catch you before you left.” you stopped in your tracks, a flutter of surprise and emotion rising within you. “satoru, what are you doing here?”

you're in front of him, eyes glimmering under the lamppost and the moon. gojo wants to run, to bury himself under the ground, or just tell you to stop looking at him with those eyes. stop touching me with your eyes’ he thought.

“i-i. . .”

even so, his eyes never leave yours, shaken as he tries to swim into your orbs. how its color slightly changes under the lamppost makes it even harder for gojo to speak as if the ground is a new language for him, and suddenly, he forgets everything he knows about gravity.

“please love me. .” he whispered, throat dry.

for a brief, electrifying moment, your eyes widened in astonishment. your heart is pounded with a frantic rhythm, faster than the fall of distant stars, yearning to escape its confines and find its way into gojo’s hands. it ached with a longing so intense that it felt almost unbearable.

the pain of desiring something so profoundly—something you’ve never truly known—made you question why your heart should yearn for a home it has never experienced. yet, despite never having been there, it cried out with an ineffable need to be held by him.

it was always his and never been yours since day one, but he already holds onto your soul with an unrelenting grip and your heart— your only refuge, is all you ever had to keep living. you can't live your life if all you ever had is just merely flesh and bone.

“satoru, are you drunk?”

“no—” he shook his head, fast enough to hold both your hands and bring them closer against his chest, where his heart was beating faster, also begging to be handed to you. “i'm in love with you, y/n. i'm sorry i always pretend like i don't remember in the morning, but please. . . i don't dare to, maybe if i love you less it would be easier for me to talk, but fuck—”

he paused for a moment, and in that suspended breath, your only fear was the possibility of him retracting his heartfelt confession. the weight of his unspoken words hung in the air, and you found yourself dreading the loss of such a precious revelation. the thought of him pulling back, of his feelings fading into silence, was the only shadow that cast fear over your heart.

so you shook your head, “no, don't stop,” you plea.

gojo swallows his pride, he feels pathetic. but he would bear the life long of feeling pathetic if it is meant to have your eyes on him, to have your skins and bones knit with his then so be it. “i love you—oh god, i fucking love you, in the purest, chaste, most victorian sense,” he says, laughing softly. “even a mere glimpse of your ankle might be enough to drive me mad.” you can’t help but chuckle along with him.

his hands enveloped yours with a desperate intensity, holding them as if they were the very essence of his longing. “i love you,” he breathed softly, his voice mingling with the whisper of the night breeze. “i want every single one of your tomorrows.”

he guided your hands closer to his lips, pressing a delicate kiss to your wrist, his touch both tender and reverent. his eyes locked with yours, revealing a depth of emotion that seemed to illuminate the darkness around you. the moment his lips left your skin, the faintest trace of coldness lingered, as if the warmth of his affection had left an indelible mark.

with a gentle but purposeful motion, his hands slid to your waist, drawing you nearer. his touch was both firm and delicate as he turned you around, guiding you until your back was nearly pressed against the lamppost. the soft glow of the streetlight bathed you both in a halo of light, casting long shadows and highlighting the closeness of your bodies.

in this intimate cocoon, the world seemed to fade away. the chill of the night, the warmth of his breath, and the quiet intensity of his gaze created a fragile moment of connection. his presence enveloped you, a promise whispered in the night air, as if he were claiming every future moment with you, even as the night deepened around you.

“please. . ..” he beg.

he leaned in, his face inches from yours, until his lips lightly brushed against your own. “please, love me,” he whispered once more, his voice tender and pleading. his warm breath caressing your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

the proximity of his lips, the softness of his words, and the gentle warmth of his breath all combined to create a moment of intimate vulnerability. his plea hung in the air, laden with the depth of his emotions, as he sought to bridge the gap between your hearts.

as the world around you seemed to slow, gojo’s gaze lingered on your lips with an intensity that made your heart race. his fingers, still resting on your waist, drew you even closer, the warmth of his body enveloping you. the soft glow of the streetlight cast a gentle halo around the two of you, accentuating the intimacy of the moment.

with a deliberate tenderness, he tilted his head slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. the anticipation built like a quiet storm as his lips inched closer, brushing against yours with a delicate, almost reverent touch. the kiss was soft at first, a gentle exploration that spoke of deep longing and unspoken desires.

his lips moved with a slow, deliberate grace as if savoring every second of the connection. the initial softness gave way to a deeper intensity, his kiss growing more passionate as he pulled you even closer. the world outside seemed to dissolve, leaving only the sensation of his lips pressed firmly against yours. his hands cradled your face, his touch gentle yet insistent, guiding the kiss with a blend of affection and need.

the warmth of his kiss seemed to infuse every part of you, a melding of hearts and souls that transcended words. when he finally pulled away, his eyes still locked onto yours, there was a look of profound contentment and vulnerability. the kiss lingered in the air between you, a testament to the depth of his feelings and the fragile, beautiful connection that bound you together.

as you slowly pull away from the kiss, your lips linger near his, you meet his gaze with a fierce resolve. “if you ever mock me or play with me,” you say, your voice steady yet charged with intensity, “i swear to god, satoru, i’ll fucking hunt you down.” the words hang between you, your breath mingling with his, a silent promise of the depth of your commitment.

gojo’s eyes spark with a playful glint as he hears your words. with a mischievous smile, he leans in, giving your lips a series of soft, teasing pecks. “i won’t,” he replies, his tone light and teasing, but with an undercurrent of sincerity. “i promise.” his playful demeanor contrasts with the intensity of your threat, yet his gentle touches and warm gaze convey a deeper assurance.

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dark-moonlust · 7 months ago

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Cockwarming Minotaur PART 2: Movie Night

This series started from this imagine of mine.

Pairing: Minotaur x f!human reader

Summary: you and Balen spend a quiet night together. He is gloriously naked and you have that urge to take his dick in your mouth. Your Minotaur is even more demanding.

Warnings: minors don't interact, 18+!!!!, monster smut, Minotaur huge🍆, oral(male receiving), cοckwarming, lots of come. Don’t like, don’t read please.

This is part of the “Cockwarming Minotaur” series. Find all the parts here.

It was a quiet night. The full moon hung up in the sky, its rays filtering through the thin curtains. The bedroom was dimly lit, the TV playing in the background. Your minotaur boyfriend Balen was resting on the bed against the headboard, hands behind his head as he watched TV. He was naked, every part of him exposed. His massive frame made the bed appear small. His muscles rippled and his eyes burned with desire. As naked as he, you were lying sideways on his hairy thigh cradling his thick cock in your palms nowhere interested in watching the screen.

You had a much better alternative.

Balen’s massive shaft stood proud and pulsing, the head leaking precum. You loved his cock; it was huge and filled with veins, the scent of his musk intoxicating. Mouth watering, you licked your lips and placed your hands on his thighs. Slowly, you closed your lips around the wide cockhead, tongue swirling around it, tasting the salty pre-cum that had gathered there. Your boyfriend moaned, his powerful muscles tensing beneath your touch.

“S-slow, slow…hn…” Balen rumbled, his large hand cradling the back of your head. “Or this will end sooner than we both expect.”

“But…hmp… I want to devour you.”

He chuckled at that. “Later. For now I want your warm and wet mouth around my cock while I watch TV.”

“Fine, you horny Minotaur,” you whispered teasingly kissing his balls. “I’ll warm your cock for as long as you like.”

Angling your head, you returned to his perfect dick and took him deeper, inch by inch, feeling the stretch in your jaw. Balen groaned, hips thrusting lightly against you. No matter how much you’d tried, you could only accept just one third of his shaft. He was too long and thick to accommodate. The tip of his cock kissed the back of your throat and you swallowed, gagging slightly at the fullness.

“That’s it, little mate,” he growled, his voice husky and thick with lust. “How good you take me. So good… hnn…”

Your hands wrapped around the part of his cock you couldn’t fit in your mouth and he groaned pleasurable, his large hand cradling the back of your head, keeping you there. You caressed and cupped his swollen balls as you tried to take him deeper, despite the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You were cockdrunk, having him so deep in your mouth sent tingles to your belly, making you incredibly wet for him.

You stayed there, cockwarming him with your mouth and at some points, Balen would gently guide you to pull off his cock with a slick sound so you could breathe properly. Meanwhile, you peppered kitten licks on the leaking cockhead and all over his sac, feeling the weight of his huge round balls in your small palms that almost overflowed with them.

You filled your mouth with him again, his cock stretching your lips. The feeling of his shaft filling your mouth, the taste of him, the way his heavy balls rested against your jaw made you all the more determined. So you stayed there, his cock down your throat without pulling out an inch.

“Fu—uhnnn…ck, you’re amazing,” he sighed, his breathing strained. “Warming your mate’s cock, such a good mate.”

You pulled back to breathe, and he caressed your face, his fingers wiping away the drool that had gathered at the corners of your lips. Then with a gentle nudge of his hips, his cock filed your mouth again. Balen threaded his fingers through your hair, then drew you back, watching the string of saliva connected from your lips to the swollen head of his shaft before thrusting you back down to swallow his cock. He did it again and again, watching at you, his eyes gleaming with lust.

“Pretty mate,” you heard him say throatily.

“Balen…hmnnp,” you could hardly speak with the throbbing minotaur cock in your mouth.

“What is it, love?” Balen asked, guiding you off his cock.

You took a sharp breath. Your cheeks were flushed, your lips swollen. “I wish I could take all of your cock.”

His mouth formed an adoring smile. “You are perfect the way you are. I love you.”

“Love you, too,” you said, licking blatantly a stripe from base to the tip of the cock. Your mouth took him in again, and he let out growl of satisfaction that vibrated through you.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Take it all,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

Relaxing your throat, you took him as deep as you could, your hands cradling the rest of his cock like an anchor.

You were aware of Balen moving. He reached out with his free hand and grabbed his phone.

“Gods, you look so beautiful with my dick in your mouth,” he said as he snapped picture after picture. “Your lips stretched, throat full of me… perfect.”

Balen took pictures of you in various angles, groaning at the sight of you. He did that often, he had a full album of indecent photos of you both doing unhinged things that were of course, for his eyes only. You stayed obedient, nursing his cock. With his dick in your mouth, you felt powerful — and a little cockdrunk, your mind hazy with lust.

You wanted him begging and out of control.

So you started pumping him, placing soft, kitten-like licks on the cockhead before diving down on his shaft, so deep that the depth made you gag, tears spilling down your cheeks. Still, you didn’t stop.

With each second you deepthroated him and each tempting swirl of your tongue, Balen’s breathing grew more and more ragged. His thighs quivered, his hairy chest heaving. His cock pulsed in your mouth, the salty pre-cum increasing. You moaned around his length; his moans sent shivers through your own body.

“Annn… close—agh… I’m close,” he groaned, his hips moving in small, desperate thrusts. “You’re gonna make me cum.”

“Want you—mmpff—” you breathed, tongue licking a vein from the base to tip. “Want you to feed me your cum.”

“Swallow it all, mate. Want you to swallow every— drop.”

The words sent a torrent of heat through you so you sucked him harder, tongue working feverishly. Your vision blurred, but all that mattered was Balen. He shuddered hard and tensed to stop his hips from thrusting into your mouth, his cock twitching violently in your mouth. He groaned, clutching the sheets, tearing them as he shot hot, thick ropes of his cum inside your throat.

Fondling his balls, you swallowed fervently.

It was too much but you didn’t want to waste a drop, you wanted his taste across your tongue and down your tummy. He rode his orgasm for what felt like minutes and when he finally pulled out of your mouth, you’d sucked him dry. No cum spilled. Your chest was heaving, your lips swollen, your throat sore. But it was all worth it because Balen had that dreamy look on his handsome bullface that was worth everything.

Cradling your head gently, he kissed you in his own unique way, thrusting his tongue in your mouth, tasting his seed everywhere. His fingers brushed away your tears as he whispered how precious you were and how much he loved you. Then, he went to the kitchen to bring you a bottle of water and helped you take a few sips.

“Thank you, little mate. That was incredible— no more than incredible,” he drawled. “And I shall reward you for it.”

“Balen you don’t have to reward me. I wanted to suck you—”

“And I want to worship your pretty pussy till morning. I want you to writhe and clench around my tongue, your thighs squeezing my head.”

Did you enjoy? What would you like to see next? Reblogs and comments are more than welcome 🖤 Follow for more monster smut!

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aeth-eris · 1 month ago

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★ moon signs | how they express empathy ★

★ aries moon: empathy for an aries moon is fierce and immediate, like rushing into a burning building without hesitation. they feel others' pain as a call to action, their heart igniting with a need to protect, defend, or inspire. their empathy doesn’t linger in quiet reflection; it’s raw, honest, and bold, often expressed through decisive action. they show up when it matters most, offering strength and courage to those who feel small, reminding them they are capable of overcoming anything. ★

★ taurus moon: taurus moon empathy feels like a warm blanket wrapped around you on a cold night. they offer comfort through presence, creating a steady, grounding space for others to feel safe. their empathy is tactile, expressed through gentle acts of care—a shared meal, a soothing voice, or the simple act of staying close. they don’t rush to solve or fix; instead, they hold space with patience, letting you know you’re valued and understood, just as you are. ★

★ gemini moon: gemini moons express empathy by�� weaving words into connection. they listen with curiosity, their heart sparking with every story shared, finding the threads that link their experiences to yours. their empathy is light and conversational, making you laugh through tears or helping you reframe pain in ways that feel lighter. they may not dwell in the depths, but they bring clarity and perspective, reminding you that life is full of possibilities even in your hardest moments. ★

★ cancer moon: empathy for a cancer moon is an ocean—vast, deep, and all-encompassing. they intuitively feel the emotions of others, often carrying your hurt as if it were their own. their empathy is nurturing, like a mother cradling a child, offering unconditional love and protection. they instinctively know when you need comfort, whether it’s through a soft hug, a kind word, or simply being there. their heart creates a safe harbor for others, a place where feelings can be honored and healed. ★

★ leo moon: leo moons express empathy like sunlight breaking through storm clouds, warm and affirming. they see your pain and immediately want to remind you of your strength, showering you with encouragement and love. their empathy comes in bold gestures—a compliment, a heartfelt reminder of your worth, or simply standing by your side when you feel alone. they lift others up by reflecting their light back to them, making sure you know you’re seen, valued, and deserving of joy. ★

★ virgo moon: virgo moon empathy feels like someone noticing the little things you didn’t realize you needed. their care is quiet and precise, often expressed through practical help—a problem solved, a task taken off your plate, or advice that’s exactly what you needed to hear. they show empathy by making your life easier, creating order in the chaos. their love is thoughtful and grounded, reminding you that healing often starts in the small, overlooked moments of care. ★

★ libra moon: libra moons express empathy through harmony, seeking to restore balance when others are weighed down. they listen with open hearts, reflecting your emotions with kindness and understanding. their empathy is graceful, often expressed through acts of mediation or support, helping you see beauty even in struggle. they make you feel heard and validated, as if your feelings belong in the grander picture of connection. their love is the soft hand that guides you toward peace when the world feels overwhelming. ★

★ scorpio moon: scorpio moon empathy is intense and transformative, like staring into the depths of a deep, unshaken well. they feel your pain as if it were their own, diving fearlessly into your darkness to help you find your way out. their empathy is raw and profound, unafraid to sit with the most painful truths. they offer their presence as a sanctuary for vulnerability, holding space for emotions others shy away from. their love is a reminder that even in your darkest moments, you are never alone. ★

★ sagittarius moon: sagittarius moons express empathy through optimism, offering their belief in your strength when you’ve forgotten it. they encourage you to see the bigger picture, helping you reframe struggles as opportunities for growth. their empathy feels like a warm fire on a cold night, comforting but also igniting hope. they may crack a joke to lift your spirits or invite you to explore new perspectives, reminding you that life is full of adventure even in hardship. their love is an open road, reminding you that brighter days are always ahead. ★

★ capricorn moon: capricorn moon empathy is steady and unshakable, like a mountain offering shelter against harsh winds. they express care through reliability, stepping in with quiet strength when others falter. their empathy may not be overly emotional, but it’s deeply practical—they’ll help you build stability in moments of chaos, offering guidance and structure. their love is a reminder that you’re not alone in carrying your burdens, that there’s always someone willing to share the weight. their presence is grounding, a constant you can rely on no matter how hard things get. ★

★ aquarius moon: aquarius moons express empathy with clarity and vision, seeing solutions where others only see problems. their care is intellectual, offering perspective that makes your struggles feel smaller and your dreams feel closer. they may not sit in the heaviness of emotions, but they’ll inspire you to rise above them, reminding you of the bigger picture. their love feels like a cool breeze on a sweltering day—refreshing and unexpected, pushing you to think differently. their empathy is a light in the distance, guiding you toward hope when you feel lost. ★

★ pisces moon: pisces moon empathy is boundless, like water flowing into every crack and crevice, touching places no one else can reach. they feel your emotions as their own, often carrying them without hesitation or complaint. their care is soft and intuitive, expressed through quiet acts of kindness and unwavering presence. they love without limits, offering compassion that feels like a whispered promise of understanding. pisces moons remind you that it’s okay to feel deeply, that even the hardest emotions hold beauty. their empathy is a gentle tide, washing over you with healing and grace. ★

★ book a reading ★ ★ masterlist 1 ★ ★ masterlist 2 ★

#astrology #astrology observations #astrology aspects #astro observations #moon signs

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ghostarii · 3 months ago

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arlecchino likes slow kisses -- impassioned, battling, slow kisses, full of twirling tongues and silky moans. she likes to wrap a hand around your neck to crane your head back, nibbling on your lower lip and smiling at your whines. pinning you beneath her and keeping you at her mercy -- heat building between you two with ghostly friction and desperation. arlecchino likes to kiss you slow and build anticipation- to make you want it, to make you crave it, to the point you’ll brim your eyes with tears and try to guide her hand between your legs. you’re your prettiest when you beg and so she makes you do it again and again: huffing out breathlessly in between kisses.

she never gets tired of kissing you -- licking into your mouth, sucking on your tongue and dragging sharp teeth along the muscle, nipping your lips and pressing your mouths together until they swell-- that’s priceless; and more than that, it’s intoxicating. it ignites a carnal, desperate flame inside of arlecchino’s chest to where she teeters on the edge of sanity. she’ll come to needing you so much that her touches burn, singing through the fabric of your clothes until they begin to practically hang on by a thread, perfectly falling off of your frame. she likes you completely bare: kissed by the moon’s illumination and unable to preserve modesty. she can consume you both literally and figuratively: drinking in and committing your bare purity to memory before defiling every inch of your skin in traces of her. bites and scratches and fingerprints and hickeys trail from your neck to the ends of your legs, lighting every part on fire until you burn white hot--and then, only when you’re writhing for some ounce of direct pleasure, she will fuel your fire to an uncontained blaze.

arlecchino likes slow kisses because she can taste more of you. slowly slotting her mouth with the puffy curvature of your pussy, parting the labia as her mouth opens, allowing her tongue to slip through and tangle amongst your folds. agonizing, slow, deliberate kisses have her eyes closed, completely focused and enamored in the taste of you. tonguing through sloppy, syrupy folds and drinking as much of you in as she can. nudging her nose against your clit as she swirls and spins her tongue around--acting as though she was a master player and you were her instrument, being strummed to death and eliciting the most beautiful chords of music. she takes her time in devouring you, ensuring that no inch goes untouched and untasted because when she makes her way to your pulsing, weeping entrance, her performance reaches its climax and you’re along for the song.

arlecchino likes slow kisses because they crescendo into a form of heat unfelt and time melts away between your legs. those kisses are a catalyst for an enlightening, gut-wrenching climax, that makes all the time lost so, so worth it.

#ʚ cins corner ɞ #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin smut #genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #genshin headcanons #genshin x you #genshin imagines #arlecchino x female reader #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #arlechinno x reader #arlecchino smut #arlecchino #reposting w working tags :(

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fieldofdaisiies · 1 year ago

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Lucien…

Lucien curling his arm around your shoulders, his eyes closing, drawing in a deep inhale, humming, "This is where you belong. Right here. In my arms."

Lucien, leaning against the doorframe, eyebrows raised teasingly, drawling, "Needy?"

Lucien grinning, "If I offer you the moon on a string, will you give me a kiss too."

Lucien, guiding you by your hips while you are on top, panting, "Fuck, just like that, little fox. Making me feel so good."

Lucien, kissing your hair, saying, "You smell like a breath of fresh air."

Lucien, titing your chin up with his index and middle finger while you kneels on the ground in front in him, drawling, "That’s my good girl."

Lucien growling, "You’re mine and now let everyone hear it," while he pushes into the hilt.

Lucien, his thumb stroking over your chin, the tip of his length positioned at your entrance, saying in a sensual voice, "Open up my little fox, let me make you feel good."

Lucien whimpering and groaning when you give him head.

Lucien yelping when you flick his hear after he teased you.

Lucien laughing from the bottom of his heart, the sound rich and pure, when you say something funny.

Lucien crying when talks about his past or when you share something emotional about your past.

Lucien whispering, "You are my mate," begore kissing you gently but nevertheless deeply.

Lucien, his hand holding your above your head, thrusting into you, growling, "Don’t hold back, let them hear you. Let them hear how good I make you feel."

Lucien, holding the door open for you, politely offering, "After you, my lady."

Lucien pulling out a chair for you, smiling and saying, "My lady."

Lucien, sitting on the bed in a sprawl, letting his gaze roam over you, commanding, "Strip!"

Lucien raising a brow when he scents your arousal, purring, "Is it my cock or my tongue that you want?"

Lucien smiling, "This flower field reminds me of you - never-ending beauty."

Lucien holding you in his arms, squeezing you tightly, mumbling "I love you. I love you so damn much."

Lucien, hoisting your legs over his shoulder, nose teasing your clit, tongue driving deep into you, groaning, "You taste absolutely divine, my mate."

Lucien holding out his hand out for you to grab, "Sunshine."

Lucien, brows arched in an almost cocky way when turning to you, sleeves rolled up, standing in a lake, a fish in his hand, smirking, "Impressed?"

Lucien dragging his thumb over your lower lip, pushing inside, smirking, "Such a pretty little mouth."

Lucien breathing hard and fighting the tears when you trace your index finger over his scar, telling him how beautiful he is.

Lucien kneeling between your thighs, gaze heated and trained on your centre, purring, "You’re always so wet for me."

Lucien thrusting into you from behind, fingers threaded into your hair, tilting your head back, growling, "Grab the headboard, little minx."

Lucien kissing your knuckles, saying, "You’re re perfect the way you are - I love everything about you, every small detail about you. I love you."

Lucien, admiring you and whispering to himself, "Truly the luckiest male alive."

#I escalated a little with Lulu #I just love him okay?#a lot #lucien vanserra #lucien vanserra x reader #lucien x reader #lucien x you #lucien vandaddy #acotar #acosf

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luverine · 2 months ago

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ᖭི༏ᖫྀ Luan (Mothman) x fem! reader

How Luan got his name. // nsfw // MDNI // scratching // breeding // cockwarming // no proof read // word count: 0.8k

“You like the moon?” you ask softly, pointing towards the glowing orb that casts a pale light, making the cold night air shimmer.

The creature beside you lets out a soft chirp, a high-pitched sound that seems to tell agreement.

You hum, taking in his ethereal form- tall, dark, and lean with sleek fur. His eyes, wide and the deepest shade of ruby, reflect the moonlight. He’s gorgeous.

“You’re kind of like the moon, ya know,” you murmur, your gaze trailing over him. “Lunar, dark, quiet… breathtaking.”

A shuddering breath escapes your lips as he steps closer, the heat radiating from his body enveloping you despite the chill in the air. He lowers his head so that it's above yours, warmth seeping into your skin.

He traces his clawed fingers along the curve of your neck to your cheek, it tickles making you giggle. Turning to face him fully, you rise on tiptoe and nuzzle into the soft, downy fur of his neck.

“You always feel so nice. You’re always so… magnificent.” You let out a quiet laugh. “just like the-.”

A sudden thought brightens your eyes. “Luna! That should be your name.”

He tilts his head, a deep, rumbling whine vibrating through his chest. He glances between you and the moon, a silent request for something that feels sincere.

“Okay, okay,” you soothe, rubbing your thumb gently against his cheek. “Something more personal, more… you.”

——

The next morning, you immerse yourself in your small, beloved library, pouring over historical texts and old-time lore. Mythology and folklore have always been a passion of yours. Page after page, book after book, until you stumble upon the literature “Luan Zhi”- beautiful, virtuous wings… also referred to the moon.

“Perfect!” you exclaim, feeling a rush of excitement. This name would suit him perfectly. You can’t wait to share it with him!

——

That evening, you find him perched in his usual spot. Your fingers brush over his wings, marveling at the blend of black and white fuzz that feels softer than silk.

“I found a name for you,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. He’s already watching you, those dark ruby eyes gleaming with curiosity.

He lets out a soft, encouraging chirp, urging you to continue. You can see the anticipation flicker in his gaze.

“Luan,” you say with a smile. “Wings of the moon… my Luan.”

His eyes widen, sparkling like diamonds as he absorbs the meaning. In one fluid motion, he pulls you against him, his face pressing into the crook of your neck. His hold is tight, desperate, as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

A deep, resonant purr emanates from his chest as he breathes you in, his mind clouded with need. He’s intoxicated by the warmth of your scent, memories of being inside you flaring up with an almost painful intensity. His claws sink into your sides, drawing a soft yelp from your lips.

Luan pauses, concern flitting across his face as he checks if you’re unharmed. You nod, fingers threading through the thick fur at his nape. Your cheeks burn with arousal, a slick heat pooling between your thighs.

“Luan,” you gasp, your voice trembling with need. “I need you…”

His length, already hardening, presses insistently against you. Without hesitation, you peel away the fabric that separates your bodies, baring yourself to him. His fur spikes with arousal as he takes in the sight, his claws gently tracing over your wet folds, drawing out soft whimpers from your lips.

You’re grinding desperately against his touch, soaking his fingers with your slick. It’s too much for both of you; your desire has reached a high. With a trembling hand, you grasp his thick, curved shaft, guiding the pointed tip to your entrance. Slowly, you sink down onto him, the stretch of his girth drawing a moan from deep in your throat.

His claws dig into your hips, pulling you down onto his lap as he ruts up into you, the force making you gasp. Your chests are pressed flush together, your nails tangling in the plush fur at his neck. His thrusts are urgent, each one driving you higher, closer to the edge.

“I’m going to come- oh, gods, please, Luan, come inside me!” Your words are muffled against his fur as you clench around him, your climax crashing over you in a wave of bliss. He groans, a guttural sound, as he spills deep within you, his grip never wavering, holding you in place to fill you completely.

Breathless, you collapse against him, your head resting on his shoulder. “I love you, Luan,” you murmur softly, glazed eyes fluttering shut. His arms remain wrapped around you, keeping his softening length buried in you, possessive and gentle, as if he could keep you safe from the world forever.

And in this moment, in the quiet of the night beneath the watchful glow of the moon, you know he will never let you go.

A/N: Welp that’s Luan idk what else to do for him… anyways likes, reblogs, comments appreciated ᖭི༏ᖫྀ

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goldfades · 15 days ago

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could you write a fic with joe burrow where reader is a ballet dancer? i’m one myself and thought it would be cute to read 🎀🤍like maybe reader is getting ready for class and joe is all lovey dovey and infatuated with her skills or something along those lines😆🤍

this took such a long time cause i genuinely didn't know anything about ballerinas but i finally finished it! i hope you enjoy!

you’re standing in front of the mirror, tugging your hair into a sleek bun with a precision that feels second nature by now. the elastic snaps against your wrist, the rhythm of muscle memory guiding your fingers. the early morning light spills through the window, casting a pale pinkish glow on the hardwood floor of your apartment. your bag, stuffed with pointe shoes and an assortment of worn leotards, sits slumped against the door like a patient, silent companion.

you don’t hear him at first—too lost in the ritual of tying up your hair and mentally walking through the combinations you’ll be rehearsing later. plié, tendu, jeté. the words are as familiar as your own name. but then there’s the unmistakable creak of a floorboard, and you catch his reflection in the mirror, leaning lazily against the doorframe.

“how is it possible,” joe says, voice still gravelly with sleep, “that you look this graceful even when you’re just standing there?”

he’s in sweats, hair a mess, arms folded across his chest as he watches you like you’re some sort of masterpiece in motion. and maybe to him, you are. his lips twitch into that soft, lopsided smile—the one that never fails to disarm you, even after all this time.

you roll your eyes but can’t help the grin tugging at your lips. “you’re bias.”

“nope.” he steps further into the room, bare feet quiet against the wood. “just observant.”

you let out a soft laugh, shaking your head as you finish securing the last stubborn strand of hair into place. joe has this way of making every little thing you do feel like an event worth documenting, like he’s quietly cataloging moments to replay in his mind later. it’s sweet, if not a little overwhelming at times.

“shouldn’t you be at practice or something?” you ask, reaching for your bag. you don’t turn to look at him, not yet but you can feel the warmth of his gaze like a second skin.

“shouldn’t you be at class?” he counters, stepping closer. his hands find your waist, gentle but deliberate and he spins you around to face him. you barely have time to protest before he’s looking at you like you hung the moon. “i’ve got time before meetings. figured i’d spend it wisely.”

“wisely, hm?” you tease, raising an eyebrow. but there’s no real bite to it, especially when his thumbs start tracing lazy circles against your hips. it’s maddening how easily he can undo you with the simplest of gestures.

he nods, his expression softening. “yep. watching you do what you do best is a pretty solid use of my morning.”

you blink up at him, momentarily disarmed. “joe, i’m literally just putting on shoes right now.”

“doesn’t matter,” he says, tilting his head like he’s considering something profound. “you make everything look... i don’t know. effortless. like you were made for it.”

heat blooms in your cheeks and you glance down at your feet in an attempt to compose yourself. his words always seem to hit a little too close to your heart, peeling back layers you’re not always sure you’re ready to expose. but joe has a way of doing that—of making you feel seen in a way that’s both exhilarating and terrifying.

“stop,” you mumble, though your voice lacks conviction.

“not a chance.” his voice is low now, teasing but tender and you feel his fingers brush a stray thread of your sweatshirt. he tugs at it absentmindedly, his touch lingering like he’s unwilling to let you go just yet.

you step back, needing a moment to collect yourself and crouch to dig through your bag. the familiar scent of worn fabric greets you as you pull out your shoes. they’re old, the satin fraying at the edges, but still serviceable. joe crouches beside you, his knees cracking as he lowers himself down.

“i’m not trying to embarrass you,” he says after a beat, his voice quieter now. “i just... i don’t think you realize how incredible you are. how much work you put into this. it’s—i don’t know, just amazing to watch.”

you glance at him, and there’s no trace of sarcasm or pretense in his expression. just honesty. it’s almost too much.

“you’re such a sap,” you say with a smile, trying to deflect, but the words come out softer than you intend.

he grins, completely unbothered by your deflection. “you love it.”

and god, you do. more than you probably should admit.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

#joe burrow #joe burrow bengals #bengals #cincinnati bengals #joey b #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow smut #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x y/n #joe burrow x you #joe burrow x oc #nfl imagine #joe burrow fic #joe burrow fluff

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undeadcowboybutch · 4 months ago

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Femme Princess who’s a dominant bottom X her Butch Knight who’s a subby top. ( Full situation below the read more!! )

The Princess watching on with half-lidded eyes as her Knight settles on her knees next to their bed, breath catching in her throat as she begins lavishing her sweet sovereign with attention; pressing warm, full-lipped kisses to the inside of her ankle, her calf, her knee. Slowly working her way up towards her thighs as she so gently spreads her legs open.

The Knight groaning unabashedly as her Princess threads long fingers through her short curls, pulling none too gently as she guides her Knight’s mouth where she needs it most. The Princess works her hips in time with her tongue, all but grinding against her face as thick, molten pleasure builds inside of her with each fluid movement.

With a single tug, the Knight knows to change her attention — sucking her Princess’ swollen clit into her mouth and tracing the stiff shape of it with the tip of her tongue. It sends her careening over the edge, thighs held tightly against either side of her head as she bucks upwards with the force of her orgasm and rides out the resounding waves of euphoria that follow; aided by gentle kisses and touches that her Knight is all too eager to supply.

Anticipation continues to build. The Princess — heart still pounding and mind fogged with heady desire — grabs her Knight by the shoulders and ushers her into a messy kiss. She tastes herself on her lips, can feel the telltale stiffness pressing against her. As she bullies her tongue into her Knight’s mouth, she reaches for the base of her and aligns her cock with her entrance.

Still so gentle despite her more than apparent arousal, her Knight pushes inside of her — gasping into her mouth at the tightness that surrounds her. Fuck, she’s so close. She was already dripping before her Princess even laid a finger on her and now — with her lady whispering sweet words into her ear, gleaming canines nipping at her earlobe — it’s all too much.

Kiss-swollen lips part and her Knight groans audibly when she comes, grinding deep inside of her even as her knees threaten to give way beneath her. She captures her Princess’ lips and lets the sound of her appreciation reverberate through both their bodies, following her Princess as she lays back into the mattress and settling her weight over her.

Even as the sun sets and the moon begins to bathe the world in pale blue light, they remain in each other’s arms — pressing lingering kisses to heated skin, doling out affection in the form of tender touches and whispered words . . .

#lesbian #butch4femme #femme4butch #wlw #sapphic #wlw post #Knight X Princess #Royalty #First time posting lesbian smut on tumblr i’m nervous 😖#My Writing

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just-a-ghost00 · 6 months ago

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Their feelings and intentions towards you

In this reading we will try to figure out how the person you’re thinking about feels about you and what their intentions are. There will be three sections for each group :

1. How do they feel for you currently?

2. What are their intentions?

3. Advice on how to deal with this connection

The decks I will use are :

The White Numen tarot for the first two sections

The below the surface oracle deck and the Threads of fate deck for the last section

Group 1 - Saturn 🪐

1. Their feelings - knight of cups, king of pentacles, 9 of pentacles, 4 of pentacles, 4 of swords, knight of wands

This person is very serious when it comes to you. Their feelings are authentic, genuine. They're not playing games with you. They respect you and value you for who you are. They are grounded in how they perceive you and what they feel for you. This isn't just a whim, a little crush that will eventually fade away. No, this is solid and meant to last in their eyes. This person would tend to hide all of that deep beneath because they're unsure of how you feel toward them. They also feel very protective of you, intimidated in some way because their opinion of you is very high. You check all their boxes. They feel attracted to you both emotionally and physically. The numbers 4, 44 and 12 could be meaningful in this connection. They like to quietly stare at you when you're not looking, especially when you're working. They find your motivation and dedication very attractive. They feel safe with you and they can see in your gaze that you give importance to what they have to say, what they bring to the table. They feel curious, even more so when you're guarded around them.

2. Their intentions - Black Numen, King of pentacles, ace of swords, 10 of swords, The Emperor rx, The Moon

They would love to communicate with you and be honest about what they feel. But they don't think they're in a good mindset to do so. This person is facing a lot of hardships currently. They don't feel like they'd show you the best of them if they were to come forward right now. They don't want to look weak or out of balance in front of you. This person intends to keep their distance for now and hide from you the pain they're in. They wish to hide from you that an important cycle of their life is ending. They're waiting for this cycle to end to find an opportunity to be clear about what they want from this connection. They want to move on but they're aware that they need to heal first. This person is really mature and wouldn't do anything that would hurt you. They would rather be in pain than voluntarily cause you sorrow.

3. Advice - Higher perspective, 13 Dumbo Octopus - stop chasing, 33 spotted eagle ray - Let it go

Keep your distance from this person and give them the space to figure out a solution on their own. There's nothing you can control in this situation except for how it impacts you. If you keep pushing this person, you might get an outcome you won't be happy about. So leave it to them and the Universe. You have to trust that this person will take the best decision for them, no matter the outcome and you have to respect that. What you can do is also asking your guides for advice before making any irrational decision. By keeping your distance, I feel like you'll see this situation with more clarity. It's like taking a bird's eye view of what's going on. This person will come to you naturally when the time is right.

⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️

Group 2 - Sun and Moon 🌞🌛

1. Their feelings - page of swords, The Emperor, 6 of wands, Judgment, 5 of swords, 7 of wands

Not gonna lie, I don't get the best vibes for this group. It feels to me like this person wants to control you and keep you under their influence. They feel in control and pretty positive, because they know that you like them or that you can't deny them anything. For instance, if this person is your boss, they know that you wouldn't cross them or you wouldn't leave because you can't. So it gives them a lot of power and they're quite smug about it. They feel victorious, like a conquerer that has slain the beast. They have you under scrutiny. They watch your every move. They feel proud about themselves but also about you to some extent because you follow their lead well or they think you take after them. It's like they trained you well. They feel very combattive and possessive over you. They would litterally fight for you. If anyone comes near you, this person would snap. I get the feeling for some this person has acted behind your back to deter some people that were interested in you from interacting with you. They've withheld information to keep you in a state of neediness. They would bend the truth to their advantage. Like not telling you that a certain person likes you or that an opportunity has been presented to you. If it's business related, they speak in your name but not in your best interest. Like, imagine there's a superior that wants to entrust you with a project but since they're not sure if you're available or skilled enough, they go to this person for advice. And this person blatantly lies about your schedule or your skills, like "oh no this is too early for them, they're not ready for such a responsibility because this and that". And since they're influencial, nobody questions their input.

2. Their intentions - The Emperor, queen of cups, page of cups, The Star, 8 of swords, The Hermit

This is so twisted. Without any surprise, their intentions aren't the best for you. They want to keep you under their control and they intend to put you in a position of feeling compassion and gratitude for them to blind you and make sure you never leave their side. In some twisted way, this person "loves" you. Or at least they think they do. But really, they only love themselves and they want to use you to make them feel better. This person is tired of being alone at the top and they kinda want to create you in their image so that they're not alone and they have someone that gives credit to their BS. They hope that you can be their partner in crime. I'm getting serious god complex vibes and narcisstic tendencies from this person, this gives me the ick. They want to isolate you so that they can keep you to themselves like you're some kind of prized possession. One more trophy on their list of accomplishments. They're the kind of person that has weird fetishes. Like the kind of people that only entertains relationship with foreign people to convince others they're not a racist when clearly all they do is degrading this person and their culture. They're a fake friend, fake ally. They would litterally compliment you then manage to bring you down in the span of a few sentences. Like "oh yeah this person is so clever. Well people like them can only be that if they want to rob us of our jobs". Honestly they're so up their own arse the only thing they intend to do is to try to make themselves feel better by making you look pitiful. Ew.

3. Advice - The Wildling, Ask Body, 31 flying gurnard - Ask yourself if it's worth it

Cut the cord. Ask a healer to cut all ties with this person. Get them banned from your energy and life. Cleanse your body, spirit, heart from this person's presence. Set yourself free. Reclaim your power. You don't deserve what they put you through. Fight for your independence, your honor. Be smarter than them. Learn to see through the masks and read through the lines. Notice the patterns and swiftly move through the spider web they've been trying to weave around you. Invoke your spirit animal's help to kick them out of your life and protect you from their malevolent energy. The panther spirit could be relevent to you. I ask spirit to watch over you and keep you away from this person's evil doings.

⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️

Group 3 - Waxing gibbous moon🌔

1. Their feelings - Queen of cups, king of swords, The Magician, 10 of cups, 7 of cups, 2 of wands

Thank God we have a better energy in this group. They feel pretty postitively towards you. They feel hopeful and curious. They admire you and want to care for you. They have a lot of feelings for you. They consider you as a good option for them, especially because they think you'd be a good partner to have a family with. They envision a future with you. They are expectant when it comes to you because you keep them on their toes. You feel easy to read to them but also like a mystery they can't wait to unravel. They feel like you're magical and their destiny. They feel lucky and happy to be in your life and have you in theirs. They feel proud because you're a good person and they think they had a role to play in that. If group 2's person feelings were really toxic, this person only has your best interest at heart. They think of you highly and want to uplift you in every way they can. They want to support you, to celebrate you, to elevate you. They want to bring value to your essence and help you be the best version of yourself because they think you have a lot of potential. They view you as their equal but also as the missing piece to their puzzle. They feel like you would complement them and balance out their energies. They feel like you'd make a good team and that every moment spent with you is an adventure they're happy to experience. I have a very good feeling about this group.

2. Their intentions - 4 of wands, The Fool, Queen of cups, The Magician, 8 of cups, Page of cups

Out of the three groups, this one has the highest romantic potential. For some of you, this person wants to offer you commitment, possibly a proposal but if not they definitely want to have a lasting partnership with you. They intend to communicate their feelings and intentions, to make the connection evolve into something more solid. They're not afraid to make the first step and start anew with you, to discover you in a different setting, to get to know you even more. They intend to manifest you, to manifest a relationship with you. This person wants to move on with you and take things to a new level. They want to openly love you. They're tired of games and superficial relationships. They want something meaningful and they intend to work for it. This person is ready to be honest and authentic, to let you see them as they are, without any mask nor restraint. They wish to show you the good nature of their feelings and the best side of them. They want to appeal to you, to seduce you and win your heart and affection. Honestly they're so sweet. They could ask you out on a date, possibly a travel where there's water involved. I can picture people going to the beach, a water park or going kayaking on a river. Walking by a body of water during the Summer. For some I'm getting that this person has calculated everything to be able to cross paths with you on a specific day. And they would be like, "oh group 3! Fancy meeting you here, I didn't know you'd be there. Mind if I join you?" when clearly they've been waiting for this opportunity for days and they knew you'd be there, who you'd be with, when to approach you. For some I'm picking up on a sports event. Like a race or something. And you participate and they nonchalantly offer to be your team mate as if they weren't actually hoping for no one to be with you so that they could get closer lmao

3. Advice - The Alchemist, Power, 2 hermit crab - finding shelter, 43 koi fish - don't take life too seriously

Spirit is saying "go for it" ! They ask you not to resist what's happening because this is something both of you have been manifesting on a subconscious level. Both of you were hoping for such a connection that would be so carefree and uplifting. A connection where you wouldn't have to mind guess or be afraid of what the other's gonna do. They're saying that you can trust this person to be good to you. Some of you might think this is too good to be true or that your relationship might be "inappropriate" when it's just your destiny and the Universe's answer to your prayers. They say "there's nothing to be ashamed of" and "don't worry about others" because clearly you deserve it and that's all that should matter. Don't overthink this and just surrender to the blissful moments you may experience with them. Keep being optimistic and open to the energies around you. Be confident about your ability to be appealing to this person and keep them interested. Be confident about your personality, your looks, your skills. Because this person will only have eyes for you. Trust your intuition.

#pick a card #pac reading #love pac #just-a-ghost #tarot reading #oracle cards

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novaursa · 10 days ago

Text

The Second Daughter (the princess and the lion)

- Summary: You were born as a second daughter under the watchful eye of a full moon. And just like the moon you were beautiful—and cursed to exist only in the dark.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: introduction

- Next part: the rogue

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @l3thal-l0lita @ninihrtss

The air in your chambers is quiet, save for the soft scratch of needle against fabric. You sit by the open window, the summer breeze carrying with it the faint hum of festivities from the Great Hall below. Your hands move deftly, each stitch guided by memory and touch. The image of Silverwing, wings spread in flight, begins to take shape beneath your fingertips. You feel the curve of the threads, the texture of the fine silk as you pull the needle through, and you can almost hear the rustling of her wings in your mind.

"Your Grace," a voice interrupts gently. You turn your head, unseeing lilac eyes tilted toward the source of the sound. It is Marna, one of the older serving women, her voice always warm and kind. "The King has requested your presence in the Great Hall."

You pause, your fingers hovering over the embroidery. “The King?” you ask softly. It is not often your father summons you to public gatherings, preferring to shield you from the watchful eyes of the court.

“Yes, Princess,” Marna replies. “He wishes for you to join the festivities.”

You lower your hands, the needle resting against the fabric. "Very well," you say after a moment, though a pang of unease stirs in your chest. These celebrations are not your realm. You are content here, in the quiet of your chambers, with the world as you imagine it rather than as it is.

As if anticipating your thoughts, Marna steps closer. “His Grace will be pleased to see you. The court will be honored by your presence.”

Before you can respond, the door opens again, and two more servants enter, bustling with quiet purpose. You recognize them by the shuffle of their steps and the rustle of fabric they carry. “We’ve brought your gown, Princess,” one of them says—a younger girl named Alys.

The gown they bring is a masterpiece, as all your garments are. The fabric is a deep black, soft as shadow, embroidered with threads of silver that shimmer like moonlight. Tiny scales glint along the bodice, evoking the image of a dragon’s hide. The servants help you rise, their hands gentle as they guide you away from your seat and toward the center of the room.

Alys speaks as she works, her tone light. “It’s a fine thing, this gown. Fit for a dragon princess, if I may say so.”

You smile faintly, letting them guide you as they slip the gown over your shoulders. The fabric is cool against your skin, the weight of it settling around you like a second layer of armor. "Is it truly so grand?" you ask, your voice tinged with humor.

Marna chuckles softly. "It will leave the court speechless, Your Grace. They won’t see a thing but you.”

Alys hums in agreement as she adjusts the folds of the gown. "Even Princess Rhaenyra will find it hard to outshine you tonight."

The mention of your sister brings a small pang of guilt. “Rhaenyra is the Realm’s Delight,” you say quietly. “She belongs in the light. I am content in the shadows.”

Marna stops pinning the gown for a moment, her hand resting lightly on your arm. “You are both daughters of the dragon, Princess. The light would be lesser without its shadows.”

You nod, though the words do little to ease the flutter of nerves building in your chest.

Once the gown is secured, the servants turn their attention to your hair. Though already braided, they begin to pin the strands closer to your head, twisting them into an intricate crown that leaves no stray locks to chance. The weight of the pins presses lightly against your scalp, and you can feel their careful hands working as they speak.

“You’ll look like a queen, Your Grace,” Alys says softly.

“A queen I will never be,” you reply, not with bitterness but with quiet acceptance. “But I thank you for your care.”

When they finish, Marna steps back, her voice filled with approval. "You are ready, Princess. Shall I summon Ser Lorent?"

“Yes,” you say, smoothing your hands over the fabric of your gown. You can feel the texture of the embroidery beneath your palms, the shape of the dragons etched into the cloth. "And Marna," you add, your voice soft but firm, "thank you. All of you."

The servants murmur their thanks and curtsy as Marna exits to fetch Ser Lorent. The sound of her footsteps fades, leaving you alone in the quiet chamber once more. You sit for a moment, your hands resting in your lap, breathing deeply to calm your nerves.

It isn’t long before the sound of armor announces Ser Lorent’s arrival. The Kingsguard enters, his boots light on the stone floor. “Princess,” he says, his voice steady and reassuring. “I am here to escort you.”

You rise, placing a hand lightly on his offered arm. “Thank you, Ser Lorent,” you say, your voice calm despite the anxiety you feel.

As the two of you leave your chambers and begin the journey to the Great Hall, you can hear the distant hum of the festivities growing louder with each step. The scent of roasted meats and spiced wine drifts through the air, mingling with the faint notes of music and laughter.

Though you cannot see the grandeur that awaits you, you hold your head high, each step measured and poised. You know the court will be watching, their eyes on you as much as on your sister or your father. For now, however, the hall is still beyond reach, its doors waiting to be opened.

Ser Lorent pauses outside the towering doors of the Great Hall, the noise within a muffled roar of celebration. “Are you ready, Princess?” Ser Lorent asks, his voice low.

You draw in a steady breath, your fingers tightening slightly on his arm. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” you reply, the faintest smile playing at your lips. Then, with the faintest nod, you step forward into the unknown.

The towering doors to the Great Hall creaked open with slow grandeur, the sound of revelry spilling out into the corridor like a wave. Laughter and music mingled with the scent of roasted meats, spiced wine, and the faint tang of woodsmoke from the hearths. Your grip on Ser Lorent’s arm tightened slightly, but his steady presence was a comfort. The Kingsguard knight guided you with quiet confidence, each step forward measured and sure.

Before the herald could announce your presence, the rhythmic sound of hurried boots echoed against the stone floor—a stride too quick, too heavy, to belong to anyone at ease. Ser Lorent stopped abruptly, his body tensing, and you tilted your head slightly, listening to the approaching figure. The boots grew louder, their pace betraying haste or retreat, and then—just as you sensed the figure nearing—a clash was narrowly avoided.

"Hold," Ser Lorent’s voice was firm, his free hand raising to stop the oncoming lord. The boots skidded to a halt mere feet away, followed by the faint scrape of leather on stone as the figure steadied himself. A warm, rich scent of leather and sandalwood enveloped you, the fragrance unfamiliar yet striking.

“Forgive me,” came the hurried apology, the voice deep and resonant but rattled, as though its owner was caught off guard. “I did not see—” The man paused mid-sentence, and you could almost feel the shift in his demeanor, the sudden awareness of who stood before him. “Princess,” he finished, his tone now layered with formality and astonishment.

You inclined your head slightly, your soft voice breaking the tension. “There is nothing to forgive, my lord. No harm was done.”

The man, still somewhat flustered, cleared his throat. “Jason Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock,” he introduced himself, his confidence beginning to return. “I pray you’ll forgive my haste. It seems I’ve had a day of missteps.”

“Lord Jason,” you acknowledged gently, your lips curving into a faint, polite smile. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

For a moment, Jason Lannister did not respond. Though you could not see his expression, you sensed the weight of his gaze upon you. His silence stretched, filled with something unspoken, until he finally spoke again, his tone lighter but no less sincere. “The pleasure is mine, Princess Y/N. Your presence graces this hall far more than I ever could.”

There was a charm to his words, one likely polished by years of courtly practice, yet something about his tone carried an edge of genuine awe.

“Are you enjoying the festivities?” he asked, clearly striving to maintain the conversation and regain his footing.

“They are as lively as I imagined they would be,” you replied, your voice calm and measured, each word deliberate. “Though I confess, I find the quiet of my chambers more familiar.”

Jason chuckled, a sound rich and warm, though you caught the slight unease beneath it. “A sentiment I share more than most might believe, though it seems neither of us has much choice in the matter tonight.”

The remark brought a faint smile to your lips. “Indeed. Duty often calls us to places we do not choose, but such is the way of the world.”

Jason hesitated, as if weighing his next words, but before he could speak again, you felt a subtle shift in Ser Lorent’s stance. Though his silence remained, the stiffness in his posture was unmistakable, a wordless warning meant solely for the lord before him.

Jason stopped abruptly, his earlier confidence faltering once more. You could almost hear the unspoken exchange between him and Ser Lorent—the quiet assertion of the knight’s duty, the unyielding reminder of your protection.

“I’ve taken enough of your time, Princess,” Jason said finally, his voice tinged with reluctance. “Your family awaits you, and I would not delay you further.”

You inclined your head graciously. “You have been kind, Lord Jason. I wish you a pleasant evening.”

“And to you, Princess,” he replied, his tone softer now, almost reverent.

As Ser Lorent guided you forward, you heard the sound of Jason’s boots retreating a few steps, then pausing. Though you did not turn, you felt his gaze linger, the weight of it following you as you were led toward the dais where your family sat. His earlier thoughts of leaving the hall, you suspected, were far from his mind now.

For you, the encounter was little more than an unexpected moment in a long evening. For Jason Lannister, it was the beginning of something far more profound—though even he could not yet say what.

Your grip on Ser Lorent’s arm was steady, your steps slow and deliberate, as the herald stepped forward to announce your presence.

"Her Grace, Princess Y/N Targaryen, Daughter of King Viserys I Targaryen and the late Queen Aemma Arryn, of House Targaryen."

The herald’s voice boomed across the hall, and in an instant, the revelry died. Silence swept over the crowd, leaving only the faint crackle of torches and the low hum of the hearth. Though you could not see the eyes upon you, you felt their weight, hundreds of gazes fixed on your form as you entered the hall.

Whispers stirred at the edges of the silence, hushed murmurs of curiosity and admiration.

“She’s even more beautiful than they say,” someone breathed.

“Blind, yet she moves with such grace,” another remarked.

You kept your head high, your lilac eyes unseeing but calm, your expression serene as Ser Lorent guided you further into the hall. Your gown, a masterpiece of black and silver, shone under the torchlight, the embroidery of dragons glinting like scales. Your hair, intricately braided and pinned, crowned you in a way that whispered of royalty even without the weight of a diadem.

At the high table, you could hear your family stirring. The clink of goblets being set down, the faint rustle of Alicent’s silks as she adjusted herself, and the soft cooing of one-year-old Daeron in the arms of his nursemaid.

"Ah, my daughter," your father’s voice rang out, breaking the silence with jovial warmth. King Viserys’s tone was light but full of emotion. "Come, come, Y/N. Do not linger at the edge of the hall! Let them see you properly."

His laughter rolled across the hall, easing the silance. The murmurs grew louder, but the crowd relaxed, the King’s mood infectious. You were led closer to the dais, where the high table overlooked the grand hall.

“Here,” Viserys continued, gesturing eagerly, “sit beside Rhaenyra. You two have spent too much time apart of late.”

You could hear the scrape of a chair being moved and felt the shift of the air as Rhaenyra rose to guide you the last few steps. Her touch on your arm was firm and familiar, her tone bright and full of affection. “Come, sister. Father would not forgive me if I let you sit anywhere else.”

As you reached the table, you felt the gentle tug of her hand as she guided you to the chair beside hers. The high table was filled with those you knew so well: your stepmother, Queen Alicent, her hands folded neatly in her lap; Aegon, the prince whose nameday you celebrated, fidgeting with the hem of his tunic; Helaena, quiet as ever, her soft murmurings almost drowned by the noise; and young Aemond, his chair pulled slightly away as if he wished to disappear entirely.

Before you sat, you turned your head slightly toward your father’s voice, offering a small smile. “You honor me with your kindness, Father.”

Viserys laughed again, pleased by your words. “It is no kindness, my dear. You belong here, with your family.”

As you settled into your seat, Rhaenyra leaned in closer, her tone low enough for only you to hear. “They are all staring, you know.”

“They always stare,” you replied gently, your hands smoothing the fabric of your gown as you settled. “I do not mind.”

Rhaenyra huffed softly, but there was a note of protectiveness in her voice. “You should. Half the lords here don’t deserve to lay eyes on you.”

Across the table, Alicent cleared her throat delicately. “We are grateful for your presence, Y/N,” she said, her voice measured and composed. “It is rare that the hall is so quiet—it seems your arrival has had quite the effect.”

You inclined your head toward her voice, offering a polite smile. “I am pleased to bring some order to the chaos, Your Grace.”

Alicent’s lips curved faintly, though there was a flicker of something unreadable in her tone as she replied, “Indeed.”

Aegon, ever restless, shifted in his seat. “Does this mean we can eat now?” he asked, his tone bordering on impatience. Helaena giggled softly, her voice like the tinkling of a bell.

“Hush, Aegon,” Alicent chided gently. “This is your day, but do not forget your manners.”

The nursemaid cooed to Daeron as he fussed, her voice soft and soothing. Aemond remained silent, his presence more a shadow than a boy of his age. The atmosphere at the high table was a strange mix of celebration and tension, as was often the case in these gatherings.

You turned your head slightly, as though surveying the room through senses other than sight. The hum of voices, the clatter of dishes, and the faint strains of music filled the air once more. Somewhere in the crowd, you felt a subtle ripple of attention still fixed on you—perhaps the lingering gaze of a certain Lord of Casterly Rock.

For now, you let the world move around you, content to sit beside your sister, your father’s warmth anchoring you amidst the sea of courtly intrigue. The celebration continued, though its true tone—one of alliances and ambitions—lay just beneath the surface.

Jason Lannister’s stride, once filled with determination to leave the hall and the sting of rejection behind, slowed as he found himself retracing his steps. The echo of her voice still lingered in his mind—soft-spoken, gentle, so unlike the cutting sharpness of Rhaenyra’s words or the King’s dismissive tone. It was unintentional, of course, but the blind princess had unraveled something within him, leaving him both unsettled and curious.

As he approached the table where his family was seated, he became acutely aware of the stares that followed him. His siblings and cousins had witnessed his earlier debacle, and judging by the smirks spreading across their faces, they were eager to make the most of it.

“Well,” Tyland began as Jason took his seat, his younger twin’s voice laced with barely contained amusement. “That was… eventful.”

Jason glared at him. “Don’t start, Tyland.”

“Start? I think I’ve already missed the best part,” Tyland quipped, leaning back in his chair. “Though I must admit, I’ve never seen you move with such haste. I thought you were fleeing the hall entirely.”

Jason ignored the laughter that rippled through his family and reached for his goblet. “I had no intention of fleeing,” he said stiffly, taking a long drink of wine.

“Oh, of course,” Tyland replied, his tone mockingly agreeable. “You were simply… what? Taking a scenic stroll? Stopping to admire the craftsmanship of the Red Keep? Or perhaps nearly colliding with a princess was all part of your grand plan.”

At this, the table erupted into chuckles. Jason set his goblet down with more force than necessary, the sound cutting through their mirth. “It was a momentary lapse,” he said, his jaw tight. “Ser Lorent intervened before anything happened.”

“Ah, yes,” Tyland said, a glint of mischief in his eye. “And what did happen, brother? You looked as though you’d seen a dragon rise from the floor when you realized who you nearly bowled over.”

Jason hesitated, his mind returning to the brief but memorable encounter. The scent of her—delicate and floral, like something ephemeral. The serene way she had spoken, her words measured and without any hint of malice. Her presence had been disarming in a way he could not explain.

“She was…” Jason faltered, searching for the right words. “Unexpected.”

“Unexpected,” Tyland echoed, feigning deep contemplation. “Yes, that certainly explains why you looked ready to fall to your knees in apology.”

“She is blind, Tyland,” Jason said sharply, his voice low. “Do you think I would risk injuring her? I merely acted with appropriate care.”

“Appropriate care?” Tyland leaned in, his smirk widening. “Brother, you practically stumbled over your own boots apologizing. She left you speechless.”

Their mother, Lady Leonella, who had been watching the exchange with mild interest, finally interjected. “Enough, Tyland. Let your brother be. The princess is a rare beauty, even if she cannot see the chaos she inspires. Jason, tell me, what did she say to you?”

Jason hesitated again, his mind returning to the moment her soft voice had reached him. “She was… kind,” he said finally. “She did not chide me for my haste or question my manners. She simply… accepted my apology.”

Lady Leonella smiled faintly. “A rarity in this hall, then. Perhaps you should learn something from her grace.”

Jason frowned but didn’t argue. Across the table, Tyland was watching him with an expression that was far too knowing for Jason’s comfort.

“And what now?” Tyland asked, his voice laced with mock seriousness. “Will you abandon your plans to leave the hall in favor of lingering, hoping for another encounter?”

Jason bristled but didn’t answer immediately. The truth was, the thought of leaving the hall no longer appealed to him. He had come to the festivities with grand ambitions, only to have them dashed by Rhaenyra’s biting rejection and the King’s dismissal. Yet somehow, in the space of a few words and a fleeting exchange, the younger princess had left him intrigued.

“I am staying,” he said finally, lifting his goblet once more. “If only to see how the rest of the evening unfolds.”

Tyland raised his own goblet in a mock toast. “To the unpredictable, then.”

Jason said nothing, his gaze shifting subtly toward the high table where the Targaryen family sat. Though his pride still smarted from the events of the evening, the thought of the blind princess—her gentle voice, her unassuming presence—lingered in his mind like a whisper.

For the first time that night, his thoughts of leaving the hall were far behind him. Instead, he found himself wondering if fate might grant him another chance to cross her path.

The hum of conversation and the clatter of goblets filled the Great Hall, but at the high table, the atmosphere was quieter. Seated beside your sister, you felt the warmth of her presence, a comforting contrast to the chaos of the court below. Your father’s voice carried occasionally over the din, booming with joviality as he toasted his guests, while Alicent, ever composed, managed the children with quiet grace.

Your fingers rested lightly on the silver chalice before you, tracing the delicate filigree as you turned your head toward Rhaenyra. “You seem unsettled, sister,” you said softly, your eyes focused on her presence more than her face.

Rhaenyra let out a short huff, her tone sharp but not unkind. “It’s Jason Lannister,” she said, her voice low enough that only you could hear. “He proposed.”

Your lips curved faintly, though you knew her well enough to sense her annoyance. “Proposed what, exactly? Marriage, I assume?”

“What else would it be?” Rhaenyra muttered, her tone edged with exasperation. She leaned closer, her voice quieter now. “He came to me earlier with a golden spear, of all things. As if I would be swayed by such a trinket.”

“A golden spear?” you echoed, the faintest trace of amusement in your voice. “Perhaps he thought it symbolic of strength and conquest.”

Rhaenyra scoffed. “If he believes a princess of the blood can be won with such a gesture, he is sorely mistaken.”

You tilted your head, the ghost of a smile playing on your lips. “You rejected him, then.”

“Of course I did,” Rhaenyra said, leaning back slightly in her chair. “And not just the spear. I made it abundantly clear that I have no interest in him, nor his lion-infested castle.”

Her tone was sharp, but you detected the faintest flicker of guilt in her words. “Was it so cruelly done?” you asked gently.

Rhaenyra hesitated before sighing. “Perhaps I was… blunt. But Father had already dismissed him before he came to me. He should have known better than to pursue me directly.”

You nodded slowly, your fingers still tracing the patterns on your chalice. “Perhaps he hoped to charm you. Not all men take rejection gracefully.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze softened as she looked at you. “And you, sister? If such a lord came bearing golden gifts and lofty words, how would you respond?”

You considered her question for a moment, your expression thoughtful. “I would thank him for his effort and let him leave with his pride intact. Kindness costs nothing, even when rejecting someone.”

Rhaenyra laughed softly, though it was tinged with a hint of bitterness. “You’ve always been better at diplomacy than I. Father says the same. But what kindness do men like Jason Lannister deserve? He sees only the crown and the power it brings.”

You reached out, your hand finding hers on the table. “He may see power, but perhaps he also sees you. We cannot always know the hearts of others, sister.”

Rhaenyra squeezed your hand lightly, a gesture of gratitude and affection. “And what of you, Y/N? You are far more deserving of attention than I. Have you not had suitors of your own?”

The question caught you off guard, though you smiled faintly. “I have had no suitors, Rhaenyra, nor do I expect them. Men are often drawn to what they can see, and I… I do not inspire the same admiration that you do.”

Rhaenyra’s grip tightened slightly. “That is nonsense. You are as much a Targaryen as I, with all the beauty and grace our blood bestows. Any man who cannot see that is unworthy of you.”

You tilted your head, a soft laugh escaping your lips. “You are kind, sister, but we both know I am content in the quiet. Courtly games and suitors vying for my hand do not interest me.”

Rhaenyra leaned closer, her voice warm but teasing. “Perhaps you would not mind if the right man came along.”

“Perhaps,” you allowed, though the thought was far from your mind. “But it is a distant concern, if it is one at all.”

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, the noise of the hall fading into the background as you shared a quiet moment of understanding. Whatever grievances Rhaenyra had with the lords of the realm, her affection for you was unwavering.

Finally, she let out a sigh, her tone lightening. “You always know how to calm me, Y/N. If only I could borrow some of your serenity when dealing with men like Jason Lannister.”

You smiled, your fingers returning to the patterns on your chalice. “Perhaps one day, sister, the men of this realm will learn to approach us with the respect we deserve. Until then, let us simply endure.”

Rhaenyra laughed again, the sound bright and genuine this time. “You truly are the better of us, Y/N. It’s no wonder Father treasures you so.”

As the evening wore on, the bond between the two of you remained unshaken, a quiet strength amidst the chaos of the hall. Though Rhaenyra’s frustrations lingered, your words had eased them, if only for a time.

The music swelled as the minstrels struck a lively tune, and the Great Hall came alive with the shuffle of boots and the rustle of silk as lords and ladies made their way to the center of the room. The floor was cleared in moments, and laughter rippled through the crowd as couples began to take their places for the dance. From his seat, Jason Lannister observed it all with a practiced ease, his sharp eyes scanning the movement on the floor below.

His gaze landed on Princess Rhaenyra as she stepped down from the high table. Her confidence was unmistakable, the Realm’s Delight commanding attention without effort. But it wasn’t Rhaenyra who held Jason’s focus—it was you, her blind sister, when Rhaenyra reached for your hand.

You hesitated at first, your lilac eyes turned slightly toward Rhaenyra as she murmured something to you. Her voice was too low for Jason to hear, but whatever she said brought a faint smile to your lips. You rose gracefully, your hand lightly resting in hers as she led you toward the center of the hall.

Jason straightened in his seat, intrigued. The sight of you entering the dance, your movements measured and deliberate, was unexpected. The soft glow of the torchlight caught the silver embroidery of your gown, the shimmering threads giving the illusion of movement even when you were still.

“You’re staring,” Tyland drawled from beside him, his tone laced with amusement.

Jason ignored him, watching as Rhaenyra guided you into the steps. To his astonishment, you moved with practiced ease, your body attuned to the music and the shifting rhythms of the dance. Partners changed with each turn, and you adapted seamlessly, your movements fluid and confident.

“It seems the blind princess dances better than half the court,” Tyland added, swirling the wine in his goblet. “And yet here you sit, sulking.”

Jason finally tore his gaze away to glare at his younger twin. “I’m not sulking.”

“Oh? Then what do you call this brooding silence?” Tyland smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Though I must admit, it’s entertaining to see you so captivated. Shall I fetch a goblet of courage for you?”

Jason ignored the barb, pushing his chair back and rising to his feet.

Tyland raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “And where are you going, brother?”

Jason adjusted his tunic, glancing toward the dance floor. “I’m going to dance with the younger princess.”

Tyland let out a soft laugh. “Bold. Do try not to trip over her.”

Jason said nothing, his stride purposeful as he descended toward the floor. The music shifted to a lighter melody, the dancers spinning gracefully in their pairs. Jason observed for a moment, waiting for the perfect moment to insert himself into the rotation.

As the partners shifted once more, he stepped forward, placing himself before you as the next turn brought you toward him. To his surprise, you paused slightly before he could even speak, your head tilting slightly in his direction.

“Lord Jason Lannister,” you said softly, your lips curving into a faint smile. “Your presence is hard to mistake.”

Jason blinked, momentarily thrown off guard. “You… recognized me?” he asked, his voice low but edged with surprise.

Your hand reached out slightly, and he took it instinctively, guiding you into the next steps of the dance. “You carry a certain stride,” you said, your tone calm and assured. “And a presence that is difficult to overlook.”

Jason chuckled, his initial surprise giving way to a touch of admiration. “You flatter me, Princess. I did not think I’d left such an impression.”

“You nearly ran me down earlier,” you said lightly, the faintest hint of humor in your voice. “It would be difficult to forget.”

The corners of Jason’s mouth twitched into a smile. “A mistake I am glad to rectify now.”

You moved with practiced grace, following the rhythm of the music with an ease that belied your blindness. Jason guided you through the steps, his grip firm but careful, as though he feared misstepping and disrupting the flow of the dance.

“You dance well,” he remarked after a moment.

“Thank you,” you replied. “I was taught by the best instructors, though my lack of sight did pose a challenge at first.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed,” Jason said sincerely. “You move as if you can see the entire room.”

You smiled faintly, your tone thoughtful. “One does not need eyes to feel the music, my lord. Nor to trust a partner to guide them.”

Jason hesitated, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. “Then I hope I am proving worthy of your trust.”

“You have yet to falter,” you said, tilting your head toward him. “Though I suspect you are unaccustomed to leading without trying to command.”

Jason laughed, the sound low and warm. “You’ve discerned much about me in so short a time.”

“Perhaps,” you said, your voice soft. “Or perhaps I simply have a way of seeing what others do not.”

For a moment, Jason said nothing, the weight of your words settling over him. He guided you through another turn, his focus entirely on you as the other dancers blurred into the background. The music swelled, and the steps quickened, but you kept pace with him effortlessly.

At last, as the melody slowed, Jason’s voice dropped to a near murmur. “You are unlike anyone I have ever met, Princess.”

Your head tilted slightly, your expression unreadable. “And you, Lord Jason, are proving to be more than I expected.”

Before he could respond, the music shifted again, signaling another turn of partners. Jason reluctantly released your hand, stepping aside as the next partner approached to take his place. He lingered for a moment, watching as you continued to dance, your presence captivating him in a way he could not quite explain.

Jason Lannister sat back at his family’s table, his goblet resting in his hand, but his thoughts were elsewhere. The dance had ended, and the music shifted to a softer tune as the couples dispersed back to their seats or lingered to converse in the hall. His golden-haired brother, Tyland, leaned toward him, his smirk as sharp as the edge of a blade once more.

“Well?” Tyland drawled, swirling the wine in his goblet. “Did the lion roar, or was he tamed?”

Jason ignored him, his eyes following Ser Lorent Marbrand, who was escorting you back to the high table. You moved with a serene grace that made it easy to forget you couldn’t see the room around you. The knight’s protective presence seemed unnecessary; you navigated the space as if it were second nature.

Jason took a sip of his wine, his gaze narrowing slightly as Rhaenyra remained on the dance floor, basking in the attention of the gathered lords. Her laughter echoed through the hall, drawing eyes to her like moths to a flame. It was a stark contrast to your quiet return to your seat beside the King.

“Hmm,” Jason’s mother, Lady Leonella, murmured, leaning slightly toward him. “The King seems in high spirits tonight.”

Jason glanced toward the high table. King Viserys’s booming laughter filled the air, his jovial mood evident as he watched you sit beside him. His hand rested on your arm as he said something, his expression warm and fatherly. You smiled in response, your eyes tilted slightly toward him as you spoke softly. Whatever you said earned another hearty laugh from the King.

“He always looks like that when she’s near,” Tyland remarked, leaning back in his chair. “The younger princess has a knack for easing tensions. A rare gift, I’d say.”

Lady Leonella arched an eyebrow. “She does seem to command a unique sort of attention, doesn’t she? Quiet, yet... compelling.”

Jason didn’t respond, his jaw tightening as he watched the scene unfold. You were soft-spoken, poised, and effortlessly graceful—traits that seemed to draw others toward you without effort. It was a stark contrast to the brash energy of Rhaenyra, who now had several lords vying for her attention on the dance floor.

As Jason brooded, a movement at the high table caught his eye. One of the younger lords, bold and overeager, had stepped forward. Dressed in fine silk and adorned with a gaudy chain of gold, he approached the high table with the air of someone who believed himself invincible. Jason recognized him—Lord Harys of House Chester, an upjumped minor lord from the Crownlands whose father had earned the King’s favor decades prior.

“What’s this now?” Tyland asked, straightening in his seat as he followed Jason’s gaze.

Lord Harys stopped just shy of the high table and bowed deeply. His voice carried across the hall, drawing attention from nearby tables. “Your Grace, Princess Y/N,” he began, his tone overly smooth. “A dance with such grace as yours could inspire the bards for centuries. It is no wonder the King’s joy brightens the hall tonight.”

Jason scoffed audibly, the sound earning a glance from his mother. “What gall,” he muttered, setting his goblet down with a clink. “The fool thinks flattery will win him favor.”

“Or a place closer to the King’s purse,” Tyland added dryly, his smirk returning. “Though I can’t fault him for his boldness. He’s either courageous or too stupid to know better.”

Jason didn’t respond, his jaw tightening as he watched Lord Harys continue his display. The young lord straightened and turned his attention solely to you, his smile practiced but lacking sincerity.

“Princess,” Harys continued, inclining his head toward you. “It would honor me greatly to have a moment of your time. Your beauty and grace are unparalleled, and I would count myself blessed to know such virtues more closely.”

Jason’s hands clenched into fists beneath the table. Tyland noticed and chuckled softly. “You’re practically seething, brother. Should I go fetch him a chair, or will you swoop in yourself?”

Lady Leonella shushed Tyland with a wave of her hand, her eyes sharp as she turned her attention to Jason. “If you wish to act, Jason, do so with care. The King will not tolerate disruptions at his high table, no matter how galling the intruder may be.”

Jason exhaled sharply, forcing himself to lean back in his chair. “I won’t make a scene,” he said, though his gaze remained fixed on Lord Harys.

You, meanwhile, had tilted your head slightly in Lord Harys’s direction, your serene demeanor unchanged. “You are very kind, Lord Harys,” you said, your voice gentle yet measured. “But I fear I must decline. My father would surely miss my presence were I to leave his side so soon.”

The rejection was polite but firm, and Jason noted the faint tightening of Lord Harys’s smile. The young lord bowed again, though his retreat was less graceful than his approach.

“Wise of her,” Tyland murmured, lifting his goblet in mock salute. “Subtle, yet cutting.”

Jason said nothing, his eyes following you as you turned your attention back to the King. Viserys’s laughter boomed again, clearly pleased by the exchange, while Alicent remained composed but silent beside him.

“Will you let that fool’s attempt stand unchallenged?” Tyland teased, nudging Jason lightly with his elbow.

Jason shot his brother a glare. “He’s already embarrassed himself. There’s no need for me to make it worse.”

“And yet,” Tyland mused, his smirk widening, “I suspect you’re plotting your next move already.”

Jason didn’t respond, but his silence spoke volumes. As the hall returned to its revelry, he leaned forward slightly, his gaze never straying far from the high table. Whatever the night held, he wasn’t ready to concede just yet.

The warmth of the Great Hall seemed to dim slightly as the evening wore on, the air heavy with the mingling scents of roasted meats, spilled wine, and melting wax. You sat quietly at the high table, your hands resting lightly on your lap, listening to the hum of conversations and laughter swirling around you.

Beside you, your father, King Viserys, was beaming, his goblet in hand as he basked in the lively atmosphere of the celebration. His attention, however, soon turned back to you.

“My daughter,” he said warmly, his tone carrying the familiar blend of affection and authority. “You’ve been sitting here long enough. Go, mingle with the lords and ladies. Let them see what grace our family holds.”

You tilted your head slightly in his direction, the faintest smile on your lips. “I have mingled enough for one evening, Father. Surely, the court has seen all the grace they can endure.”

Viserys chuckled, but before he could press further, Queen Alicent turned from where she was tending to young Daeron and looked at you both with her characteristic calm. “Perhaps it would be best to let Y/N decide for herself, Your Grace,” she said, her voice measured but firm. “She knows her own limits better than anyone.”

Viserys waved a dismissive hand, his jovial tone still intact. “Nonsense, Alicent. The court always brightens with her presence. Have you not seen how they look at her? They practically hang on her every word.”

You turned your unseeing eyes toward your father, your expression serene but unreadable. “Most of them are liars,” you said softly, your tone devoid of malice but carrying a quiet weight.

The King’s laughter faltered, his joviality dimming as he looked at you. His smile waned, and a shadow of regret flickered across his face. “Y/N,” he began, his voice quieter now, “I only want to see you happy. You’ve always been so content in your own world, and for that, I blame myself.”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in his tone. “Father, you are not to blame,” you said gently.

Viserys shook his head, setting his goblet down with a faint clink. “No, I am. I see how you sit here, so comfortable in your solitude, while others your age laugh and dance without a care. I’ve allowed you to retreat too much into yourself, thinking it was for your own good.” He paused, his eyes softening. “But I worry, my child. I worry that you are lonely.”

His words settled over you like a heavy cloak, and for a moment, the noise of the hall seemed to fade into the background.

“I am not lonely, Father,” you said softly. “I have my family, and that is enough.”

Viserys leaned closer, his expression earnest. “But is it truly enough? You deserve more, Y/N. You deserve friends, companions… perhaps even someone who could care for you as deeply as I do.”

Alicent, still seated nearby, watched the exchange with an unreadable expression, though she did not interject.

You reached out, your hand finding your father’s and resting lightly over it. “You have given me a life of peace, Father. I do not feel deprived of anything. But I appreciate your concern more than I can say.”

Viserys’s hand tightened over yours, his eyes brimming with a mix of pride and sadness. “You have always been too gracious for this world,” he said quietly. “But remember, Y/N, the world is not meant to be faced alone.”

You nodded slightly, though his words lingered in your mind. “I will try, Father,” you said softly. “For you, I will try.”

Viserys smiled faintly, though the flicker of regret in his eyes remained. “That is all I can ask, my dear,” he said, his voice regaining some of its warmth. “Now, let us not dwell on such somber matters. Tonight is a celebration, after all.”

You offered him a faint smile, your heart heavy but warmed by his sincerity. As the noise of the hall returned to its full volume, you couldn’t help but wonder if your father’s concerns held more truth than you were willing to admit.

The warmth of your father’s hand still lingered as you withdrew yours gently. His earlier words weighed heavily on your mind, though his smile had returned as he turned his attention back to the celebration. After a moment of quiet reflection, you straightened in your seat and called softly, “Ser Lorent.”

Your sworn shield appeared at once, his boots light on the stone floor as he approached. “Princess,” he said, his tone low and respectful.

“Escort me down to the hall,” you said, rising gracefully to your feet. “I believe I should mingle, if only to ease my father’s worries. At least for tonight.”

Ser Lorent hesitated for the briefest moment, his gaze flicking to the King, who gave him a nod of approval. “As you wish, Your Grace,” the knight replied, offering his arm.

With his steady guidance, you descended the steps from the high table, the faint rustle of your gown and the sound of your boots against the stone carrying through the hall. The hum of conversation softened slightly as those nearest to the high table turned to watch your approach. You could feel their eyes on you, a mix of admiration and curiosity palpable in the air.

The first to greet you was Lady Redwyne, a matronly figure with a presence as commanding as her stature. She approached with a cluster of noble ladies trailing behind her, their whispers quieting as they drew near.

“Princess Y/N,” Lady Redwyne said warmly, inclining her head. “What a joy it is to see you gracing the hall this evening. Truly, your presence elevates the occasion.”

You inclined your head in return, a polite smile gracing your lips. “You are kind, Lady Redwyne. The honor is mine to be among such esteemed company.”

Lady Redwyne’s smile deepened, and she gestured to the ladies behind her. “May I introduce you to some of the finest flowers of the Reach?” She listed their names, and though they spoke with nervous politeness, their awe was evident.

The conversation turned to light matters—fashion, the music, the festivities—your voice calm and measured as you responded with grace. The ladies seemed eager to engage with you, their initial hesitance melting away as the conversation flowed.

Midway through the exchange, however, Lady Redwyne’s attention faltered. You could feel the subtle shift in her tone as she spoke, her words carrying an edge of distraction.

“Forgive me, Princess,” she said with a polite smile, “but it seems the attention of certain lords remains as undivided as ever.”

Though you could not see, you tilted your head slightly, sensing her meaning. “Is that so?” you asked, your tone light with curiosity.

Lady Redwyne laughed softly, though it did little to mask her disapproval. “Indeed. Some men find it difficult to understand the concept of boundaries.”

She said no more, and you did not press her, though you sensed there was more to her words.

Unbeknownst to you, Lady Redwyne had caught the lingering gaze of Jason Lannister, seated across the hall at his family’s table. The Lord of Casterly Rock, for all his earlier rejection, seemed unable to keep his attention from straying toward you. His golden-haired head tilted slightly as he watched your every movement, his expression contemplative but unmistakably admiring.

Lady Redwyne’s sharp eyes narrowed, and she turned to her husband, Lord Redwyne, who stood nearby nursing a goblet of wine. Leaning toward him, she murmured in a tone low enough to escape notice, “Look at that lion, eyeing the princess like she’s a prize to be won. He was spurned by her sister and the King only hours ago, and yet here he sits, shameless as ever.”

Lord Redwyne followed her gaze and frowned. “Ambition rarely yields to rejection,” he replied dryly. “Perhaps he thinks himself clever, pursuing the younger sister after failing with the elder.”

“Clever, indeed,” Lady Redwyne scoffed, her expression sour. “The court will eat him alive if he tries. Mark my words.”

Jason, oblivious to their whispered conversation, leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping idly on the stem of his goblet. His twin, Tyland, noticed his preoccupation and smirked.

“Still staring, brother?” Tyland asked, his tone laced with amusement. “It’s becoming quite obvious.”

Jason’s eyes flicked toward his brother, his expression unbothered. “She carries herself differently,” he said simply, his gaze drifting back to you.

“Differently than what? Rhaenyra?” Tyland pressed, his grin widening. “Or every other woman in this hall?”

Jason ignored him, his attention returning to you as you continued to converse with the noble ladies. Though you remained unaware of his gaze, your poise and quiet confidence held him spellbound.

Lady Redwyne, meanwhile, shifted her attention back to you, her disapproval of Jason carefully hidden behind a pleasant smile. “Princess, have you had much chance to enjoy the music this evening?”

“Not as much as I’d like,” you replied with a small smile. “Though I find the melodies no less beautiful from afar.”

The conversation moved on, and though the lords and ladies who approached you vied for your attention, Jason’s presence lingered at the edge of your awareness, an unseen but unshakable shadow. You continued to carry yourself with the same calm grace, unaware of the undercurrent of tension that rippled through the hall with each stolen glance from the lion of Casterly Rock.

Jason Lannister leaned forward in his chair, his goblet resting forgotten on the table. His gaze remained fixed on you as you moved through the hall with practiced elegance, your hand lightly resting on Ser Lorent’s arm. He watched as you exchanged pleasantries with the gathered lords and ladies, your soft voice carrying just enough to be heard by those closest to you. There was something in your demeanor—serene, composed—that set you apart from the flurry of vibrant personalities in the room.

“She’s not Rhaenyra, you know,” Tyland said from beside him, his voice teasing but not unkind. “Your new fascination doesn’t carry the same fire. She’s quieter, softer.”

Jason glanced at his younger twin, his expression sharp. “I know that.”

“And yet,” Tyland continued, taking a deliberate sip of his wine, “you’re still staring. Again. Are you planning to approach her, or shall I have the herald announce your intentions so everyone else is clear?”

Jason scowled, his hand tightening around the stem of his goblet. “She’s not like the others.”

“No,” Tyland agreed, tilting his head as he studied you. “She’s not. Which is precisely why the court will tear you apart if you try to get near her. Don’t think the Redwynes didn’t notice your little show of admiration.”

Jason shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his eyes narrowing as Lady Redwyne cast him another sharp glance from across the hall. “Let them whisper,” he muttered. “Their opinions don’t concern me.”

Tyland smirked. “No, but her father’s might. Or have you forgotten how Viserys dismissed you outright this very evening?”

Jason’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. The memory of Viserys’s polite but firm rejection still stung, as did Rhaenyra’s cutting words. Yet neither had left him so preoccupied as you did now. There was something about you that drew him in—a quiet magnetism that left him restless and unfocused.

“She’s untouchable, brother,” Tyland said, leaning closer. “The King dotes on her like a treasure, and the court treats her like a mystery. If you think you can simply saunter over and charm her, you’re more of a fool than I thought.”

Jason set his goblet down with a clink, his frustration bubbling just below the surface. “I don’t intend to ‘charm’ her, Tyland.”

“Oh?” Tyland raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Then what, pray tell, is your plan? Stand here brooding all night while she graces every lord and lady with her attention except you?”

Jason exhaled sharply, his hand running through his hair. His mind raced with conflicting thoughts. Tyland’s words stung because they carried truth; approaching you would draw unwanted scrutiny, not only from the court but from your family. And yet the thought of leaving the hall without speaking to you again felt unbearable.

“She noticed me,” Jason said finally, his voice quiet.

Tyland blinked, surprised by the admission. “She did?”

Jason nodded, his gaze drifting back to you. “During the dance. Before I could even speak, she recognized me. Said I had a certain presence and stride that was hard to mistake.”

For once, Tyland was silent, his smirk fading as he regarded his older brother with a rare seriousness. “She said that?”

Jason nodded again, his expression distant. “She sees more than anyone gives her credit for. And she listens.”

Tyland leaned back in his chair, his expression contemplative. “Well, that’s something, I suppose. But even so, you’ll have to tread carefully, Jason. A misstep here could cost you more than your pride.”

Jason clenched his fists beneath the table, his frustration mounting. Across the hall, you were speaking with Lady Redwyne and a cluster of noble ladies, your gentle laughter carrying faintly over the din. The sight of you—so poised, so seemingly untouched by the scheming and ambitions of those around you—only deepened his resolve.

“I’ll wait,” Jason said finally, his voice low but firm. “The timing has to be right.”

Tyland tilted his head, his smirk returning. “Patient for once, are we? Miracles truly do happen.”

Jason ignored the barb, his focus entirely on you. His twin was right; you were untouchable, a treasure too closely guarded to be reached by a single bold move. But Jason Lannister was nothing if not persistent, and the thought of you—your voice, your presence—was enough to keep him in the hall long after the festivities had begun to wane.

For now, he remained seated, his gaze never straying far from you as he waited for an opportunity that would not invite the court’s scrutiny—or your father’s ire. Yet deep down, he knew that patience was not his strong suit, and the thought of standing on the sidelines for too long was nearly as unbearable as leaving the hall without speaking to you again.

...

The Great Hall had begun to empty, the energy of the evening ebbing like the tide. Conversations grew quieter, and the clinking of goblets and plates was sporadic now, replaced by the sounds of servants clearing the remnants of the feast. You sat at the high table, your posture still poised, though the weight of the evening had begun to settle into your shoulders. The scent of spilled wine and fading candles lingered in the air, mingling with the faint chill that crept in as the night deepened.

Reaching out, your fingers found the neck of a wine jug resting beside your goblet. Carefully, you tilted it, the soft glug of the liquid filling the cup satisfying in its simplicity. Your hand hovered for a moment, gauging the weight of the vessel, before setting it back down. You brought the cup to your lips, the tart sweetness of Arbor Red warming your senses.

“Your Grace,” Ser Lorent’s steady voice broke the stillness beside you. “Shall I escort you back to your chambers? The celebrations are winding down, and most of the guests have already retired.”

You lowered the cup, considering his words. “Most of them?” you asked softly, your unseeing eyes turning toward him. “And what of my sister? Where is Rhaenyra?”

Ser Lorent hesitated, and though he stood just behind your chair, you could sense the shift in his demeanor. “She is not here,” he said carefully. “The last I saw, she was in the company of Ser Harwin Strong.”

You tilted your head slightly, digesting his words. The name carried weight, a name you’d heard whispered in hallways and murmured over goblets of wine. “Ser Harwin Strong,” you repeated, your tone even. “Of course she is.”

Ser Lorent remained silent, his duty-bound discretion apparent. He would not comment on the implications of your sister’s choices, but you felt no need for him to. Your thoughts had already turned elsewhere.

“She is betrothed to the wrong man,” you said softly, your voice carrying a note of quiet conviction.

Ser Lorent didn’t respond, though his stillness spoke volumes. His silence was not one of agreement, but one of loyalty—to you, to your sister, and to the crown.

You took another sip of your wine, the warmth of the drink doing little to ease the unease that settled in your chest. “Laenor Velaryon is a good man,” you continued after a moment, speaking more to yourself than to him. “But the wrong man for her.”

Ser Lorent shifted slightly behind you, his boots scuffing lightly against the stone floor. “It is not for me to say, Princess.”

“No,” you agreed, setting the cup down gently on the table. “It isn’t. But we all see it, don’t we? Everyone whispers of it.”

Ser Lorent remained silent, his expression unreadable.

You sighed, the weight of the evening finally pressing against you. The sounds of the hall faded further as the last of the guests trickled out, and even the servants moved with quiet efficiency, eager to finish their tasks.

“I would like to retire now,” you said softly, turning your head slightly toward him. “The night has been long enough.”

Ser Lorent stepped forward, his arm offered to guide you. “Of course, Your Grace.”

You rose from your seat with practiced grace, your hand resting lightly on his as he led you away from the high table. The cool air of the corridor was a welcome relief from the warmth of the hall, and the soft echo of your steps against the stone floor provided a comforting rhythm.

As the two of you walked, you allowed yourself a moment of quiet reflection. The evening had been full of whispers and glances, of strained smiles and unspoken truths. Your father’s words still lingered in your mind, his wish for you to find joy and companionship weighing heavily on your heart. Yet as the night ended, you couldn’t help but feel that you were still adrift in a sea of courtly games and ambitions that were not your own.

But for now, you pushed those thoughts aside. The sanctuary of your chambers awaited, and with it, the promise of solitude. And in the quiet of that space, perhaps you would find the peace that the court so often denied you.

...

Jason Lannister leaned back in his chair, his green eyes following your every movement as you rose from the high table. Guided by Ser Lorent, you moved with a grace that seemed almost ethereal, your hand lightly resting on the knight’s arm. The faint rustle of your gown and the deliberate click of your boots on the stone floor carried through the now-quiet hall. Jason’s goblet still sat untouched on the table before him, his focus entirely consumed by the sight of you retreating toward the doors.

Lady Leonella Lannister, seated to Jason’s right, noticed the sharpness of her son’s gaze and arched an elegant brow. “Jason,” she said, her tone carrying a hint of admonishment, “you’re staring again.”

Jason tore his eyes away, though he didn’t bother to mask his interest. “Am I?” he replied lightly, though his voice lacked its usual carefree tone.

His mother’s sharp eyes softened with something close to understanding. “You’ve been staring all night,” she said quietly, leaning closer to ensure her words were for him alone. “But staring won’t win you anything in this court.”

Jason didn’t reply immediately, his gaze drifting toward the now-closed doors through which you had disappeared. “I think I’ll stay at the Red Keep a while longer,” he said finally, his tone casual but firm.

Lady Leonella blinked, surprised. “Longer? Why? The festivities have ended.”

At the far end of the table, Tyland, who had been quietly nursing his wine, perked up at his brother’s words. He set his goblet down with a soft clink and leaned forward. “You’re staying?” he asked, his voice laced with curiosity and no small amount of suspicion. “Why, may I ask? You’ve never been one to linger when there’s no game left to hunt.”

Jason shot his twin a pointed look. “The Red Keep has its charms,” he said, his tone measured. “And its opportunities.”

Tyland smirked, though his golden eyes narrowed with understanding. “Ah. So it’s not the keep itself that interests you. It’s its inhabitants.”

Lady Leonella sighed, setting her goblet down more forcefully than necessary. “Jason, if this is about the younger princess…”

“And if it is?” Jason interrupted, his voice steady but resolute.

Leonella frowned, her expression a mix of concern and exasperation. “Then you’re walking a dangerous path. You saw how the King dismissed you earlier tonight, not to mention Rhaenyra’s outright rejection. Do you think Viserys will tolerate your attention shifting to his youngest daughter?”

Jason’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away. “I don’t intend to act recklessly, Mother.”

“Recklessly or not,” Tyland interjected with a laugh, “you’re wading into treacherous waters. The court is already buzzing about you—first rejected by one sister, now lingering for another. It won’t go unnoticed.”

Jason turned to his twin, his gaze sharp. “Let them talk. It changes nothing.”

“Does it?” Tyland countered, leaning forward. “The court is a beast that feeds on whispers, Jason. You can’t charm your way out of this one if you’re not careful.”

Lady Leonella sighed, her hand brushing against the stem of her goblet. “You’ve always been stubborn,” she said softly, her tone less cutting now. “But stubbornness will only get you so far when dealing with dragons.”

Jason’s expression softened, though his resolve didn’t waver. “I’ll tread carefully,” he promised. “But I’ve made my decision. I’m staying.”

Tyland chuckled, shaking his head. “Very well, brother. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when the King or the court decides to turn its attention on you.”

Jason ignored his twin’s teasing, his mind already turning over the possibilities. He knew the risks, and he knew the scrutiny that would come with his decision. But as he watched you leave the hall, your presence lingering in his mind like an unspoken promise, he felt something stir within him—a resolve that even his family’s warnings couldn’t shake.

For now, he would wait. The Red Keep was a place of patience as much as it was ambition, and Jason Lannister was a man who knew how to play the long game.