#I AM NOT MERCIFUL AND I AM NOT KIND (musings.)

[mercy-burning]

Christmas Miracles

Mercy’s Ficmas 2024 | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Spencer aims to comfort you after a rather explosive breakup with your boyfriend during your Christmas party. Category: Fluff Content: Yelling, sad Reader, drunk Penelope (she's my fav, what can I say), a mistletoe kiss, Spencer is a yearner (he is also my fav, what can I say) Word Count: 2.6k

The first day of Ficmas has arrived! I'm starting you off strong with some short 'n sweet fluffy pining goodness <3 (who am I lmao)

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It's not uncommon for the holidays to be a lonely, depressing time for some. It's covered up in ribbons and bows and sparkling lights, but really, under the surface can lie a lot of darkness.

Spencer can see that in you— Not just this holiday season, though it's apparent now more than ever just how unhappy and exhausted you seem. When you're at work day after day, constantly thinking about and putting away criminals, and even then you seem more happy than you do when you're around your significant other, that's when there's a problem. And surely you must know how your friends have noticed... There's no way you couldn't have; It's practically all of your jobs to notice.

Still, you don't say or change anything about it.

He knows it isn't his place, but Spencer wonders why. His heart breaks for you, each and every time the jet touches down and your eyes darken with the realization that you're one step closer to going home. Home should be an escape from work, and not the other way around. Many times he's even offered to go somewhere with you as a distraction, a silent confession that screams, "I know you're not happy, but it doesn't have to be that way. You don't deserve to feel that way. And I'm here for you." Sometimes you agree and tag along, sometimes you don't. Every time, Spencer wishes you could see yourself the same way he and everyone else does.

And more than anything, he wishes that asshole of a man that calls himself your boyfriend would fall off the face of the Earth. In fact, "asshole" is too tame of a word to describe him, and "man" way too kind.

Much is apparent as the muffled argument rings high and dims the twinkling atmosphere of your apartment. The lights on your Christmas tree flicker in and out like they know that something is inherently wrong, like they're dying out and being suffocated by the thick tension.

Spencer's heartbeat flickers right alongside them, his gut twisting as your hurt and angry words cut through, sharp as a knife.

Finally, Derek's voice offers a bit of distraction, though not a very good one. "So, when are you going to swoop in and save the day?"

He winces. "She doesn't want my help. I already do what I can, but... It's best to let her handle it the way she wants to."

"Seriously? She's having a miserable time at her own Christmas party because of that dickwad, and you and I both know damn well that you're the only one who's gonna be able to help her out of it."

This time, your boyfriend raises his voice, cutting you off and making Spencer jump. He looks at the ground and continues the conversation with Morgan to try and distract himself. "I'll do what I can, but I'm not..."

He can't think of the right words, though Morgan seems to get the sentiment; He playfully nudges him with his elbow. "Why not? It's not exactly a big secret that you're in love with her or anything. And besides, we all know you'd treat her a thousand times better than—"

"It doesn't matter, okay? I'm not going do anything like that; I mean, they haven't even technically broken up, anyway, so... No."

Morgan sighs, and JJ offers a thought— how the last thing a woman wants after a fight with a man is another man to swoop in and try to whisk her away, no matter how good his intentions are. Morgan explains in turn that he's not actually suggesting any flat-out advances, and in a matter of minutes, the entire BAU ends up in a discussion weighing Spencer's options.

And then, the musing amongst the group comes to a close, but only at the screeching sound of your voice.

"You know what? Then you can leave!"

There's a collective gasp, a holding of breaths and clutching of champagne glasses in anticipation of the end, which comes crashing in with a resounding and cathartic, "And don't you ever come back! We're through! I never want to see your stupid face ever again!"

The door slams, and an immediate hushed chorus of cheers is not far behind. Morgan firmly pats Spencer's shoulder, as Rossi raises his glass and muses, "It's a Christmas miracle."

The real miracle, Spencer thinks, is you; even as your spirit waltzes back into the living area in pieces. Easily the most bright and beautiful soul he's ever known, it nearly crushes him to know how awful you probably feel in that moment, for something that isn't even your fault. He sympathizes, but more than anything he wants to reassure you that nothing could ever deter his steadfast belief in the simple fact that you are the only miracle one could ever need.

Penelope rushes to your side and embraces you in a warm hug, to which you drop your gaze to your feet.

"I'm sorry... I ruined your night."

"My dear, you've ruined absolutely nothing," Rossi offers gently.

His words elicit a sniffle from you, and then you're turning your head into Penelope's shoulder, hiding your face and slumping full-force into her arms. JJ and Emily rush over and pile on in a group hug, handing their drinks to Hotch. He's stayed verbally neutral over the situation, but Spencer can see the relief and hope resting in his expression as your grief slowly dissipates. A Christmas miracle, indeed, his smile seems to say.

The lights on the tree seem to brighten at the breath of fresh, unwavering life in the atmosphere that feels very much like love. A proper family. A support system. A warmth.

Spencer feels that warmth vibrantly in his fingertips— Even hours later in the cold, out on your balcony as he mindlessly observes the city below, every sharp breath of December air filling his lungs in slow, steady cycles. New snow isn't falling, but the streets are glittering with what's already there, every speeding headlight making the ground dance below him.

He wishes it were more quiet; something about the eerie silence of winter and the unexplainable feeling that somehow it might heal something within himself. Everything is always so loud, even as he closes his eyes to drift off into sleep. There's always some sort of man-made noise going on, whether it be a fan, or traffic outside his window, or even the quiet rustling of Hotch's paperwork on the way home from a case. For once, he thinks, it might be nice to drift off with nothing but the winter wind carrying him to sleep.

For now, though, he settles for car engines and crunching snow and the muffled bellows of joy beyond your patio door.

The joy crescendos for a moment, and Spencer turns his head to catch your glowing silhouette emerging from the door. The warmth he feels only pulses, hotter and brighter than before.

"There you are," you exclaim softly, stepping outside and closing the door. "Aren't you freezing out here?"

"Not really," he muses.

You take stance beside him, crossing your arms and overlooking the streets just as he'd been doing moments before. A soft smile ghosts over your lips, and on a breath out, your shoulders relax. "Great view, huh?"

"It is," Spencer confirms. "It's certainly better than the buildings I get to look at."

The laugh that escapes you in a cloud of visible air is quite possibly the most beautiful sound to him, especially when it's because of something he said. If he could indulge in the pleasure of making you laugh for the rest of his life, he would take the chance in a heartbeat.

"Well, then you're welcome on my balcony any time."

"Thank you," he says, trying not to give himself away as he feels the butterflies creeping their way in. With a nervous smile, he clutches his scarf. "I'll hold you to it. It's a nice balcony."

He kicks himself for that last part, inwardly cursing his inability to filter out the awkward, unnecessary sentences. He could keep talking and make it worse, but he ultimately decides that scrunching his nose in shame and passing it off as being chilled is the better choice. If you notice, you don't let on.

Taking that as a good sign, Spencer tries to relax. He breathes out, and you turn to him. "Are you... having a good time tonight?"

"Of course I am," he answers, perhaps a little too quickly. "I mean, you throw a great party."

You laugh again. This time the sound huffs out of you with a resounding sadness that cracks his heart once more. "It's not anything, really— just some lights, music, and drinks... But thank you anyway."

Before he has time to think better of it, Spencer calls you out by name, quick to defend you. But then he pauses, unsure of what else to say. He doesn't want to bring up your breakup and make you feel worse, but... what else can he do? The only thing that feels right is the need to remind you how inherently good you are.

So, that's what he does.

"You shouldn't sell yourself short. I... We all love you and we're glad to be with you, regardless of how... grand it is. Just being yourself is grand enough. You don't even need the lights or the drinks, or... him. You're better than all of those things combined."

At first you look pained, the mention of your ex-boyfriend exacting immense pressure on a fresh bruise, and Spencer almost regrets it— almost; Your features soften moments later as his words settle in and seem to melt away the pain, revealing a layer of disbelief and confusion. And then, softness.

Your lip trembles as you struggle to speak. "You don't... have to... say that."

"Yes. I do." As firmly as he possibly can while still being gentle, he reaches out and clutches your hands with his own. He hopes that whatever warmth he has immediately draws itself to you and wakes you up. He wills it to comfort you and make you see—make you feel. His fingers are desperate in their pursuit to love you, their grip unwavering and brimming with hope.

When your eyes meet his, he nearly collapses. There's so much love and relief and bewilderment sparkling in them that he suddenly feels the overwhelming urge to get lost in their depths—to explore and study each emotion until he knows every aspect of you. He almost forgets how to speak for a moment, his mouth dry and the concept of what he wants to tell you being clear as day, reflected in your eyes, as the words themselves slowly become less tangible.

All he can manage to say is the simple, unabashed truth. The love he has for you rests perfectly within those three words, anyway. They ring out and linger in the December air, floating softly around you like a feather, until it lands on your nose and wakes you up from your deep, dark reverie, releasing you into the light once again.

"You're utterly remarkable."

You clutch onto his hands like you've just been pulled from a frozen lake, grasping for any semblance of stability, and he's right there to guide you as you draw yourself closer to him. His heart beats loud and fast as you sigh out and smile, tears welling in your glimmering eyes.

"Thank you, Spencer," you breathe out sincerely in a broken whisper.

He smiles back at you, a weight lifting from his chest as he tells you, "Of course." As if it's the most natural thing in the world to express how wonderful you are.

A sudden burst of energy comes sweeping across the balcony as a loud, bellowing voice makes an expression of their own. It's Penelope, giggling and bubbly as ever.

"Hey! You two! It's present time! Get your pretty faces in here pronto!"

She's gone as quickly as she had appeared, leaving the door open a crack as you laugh and drag Spencer by the hand to follow.

He's grateful for the shift in activity, unsure how much longer he could have been out there alone with you before he said something he regretted. Not that he'd been looking for anything theatrical by any means, but in truth, the entire evening feels like it had been a movie, wrapped up in a neat little bow as the two of you cross the threshold into the rolling credits. The rest of his feelings he could deal with tomorrow, but for now, he's satisfied with this conclusion.

You stop as you approach the door, huffing a short laugh.

"What is it?" Spencer asks as you let go of him and turn around, plucking something from the panel of wood. From your delicate finger hangs a bundle of mistletoe. It sways gently in the wind before you clutch it in the palm of your hand.

"I always come out here after a fight... Guess I figured he might try to make it up to me or something... Like I knew he was going to let me down again..."

The words are sad, but your tone drips with amusement, or something close to it. You feel the plant in your hand, looking down at it and then back at Spencer.

His body freezes under your gaze, the implications sending him into a numbing warmth that both pleases and scares him in equal measure.

"You never let me down," you continue, stepping closer and interlocking his hand with yours, the mistletoe trapped in between. "I want to thank you for that."

Your face leans in, and at this point his heart is beating so loudly he can hear it drowning everything else out. He can barely hear himself stutter out, "It's not a problem, really... And I know you just got out of a relationship, so... You don't have to..."

"Yes. I do."

You kiss his cheek, firmly and quickly, and yet you don't fully retreat. Your lips linger near his jawline, and you squeeze his hand and whisper, "Thank you," against his skin.

He can feel the words worming their way into his pores and leaving trickles of static in their wake, spreading through him like lightning. Their sincerity moves him, and drives home your miraculousness with such force that he can't help but tilt his head down and capture the lips that uttered them in a swift, soft kiss of his own.

You press yourself into him effortlessly, a gesture that makes him wish he had the ability to stop time and keep it trapped in the palm of his hand and yours, like the mistletoe. He could spend forever in this moment if he were granted it.

But alas, time cannot be stopped, and neither can Penelope Garcia.

She bangs on the door and yells impatiently again. "Presents!"

You and Spencer break away in a collective laugh. He feels lightheaded and lovesick, every nerve ending alight with your essence.

"Okay, okay!" you yell over your shoulder, removing yourself from him completely this time and taking the mistletoe with you. You shove it in his coat pocket with an adorable scrunch of the nose and shuffle inside.

The moment you're out of sight, pulled back into the party and leaving him alone on the balcony to follow, he finally breathes out. And the slow inevitable smile that break out over his face feels bright enough to light the entire city.

The mistletoe hums vibrantly in his pocket through the rest of the night—his very own tangible reminder of a miracle; That time, for one brief moment, could stand still.

[queers-gambit]

The Battle Above the God’s Eye

part one: Sands of Time

prompt: decades after the Stepstones, it's his turn to be rescued.

pairing: Daemon Targaryen x female!reader

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 6.3k+

note: i'm not the happiest with this piece, so i'll most definitely (probably) write an alternative when the time comes and the show does the Battle. y'all know me by now, you know i love me a good ol' reader-insert and i didn't want to wait years to publish some kind of sequel so here we are.

warnings: reader isn't explicitly a Targaryen but we had to make this work and i'm burnt the fuck out. so fuck it, dragon rider reader. cursing, books spoilers, violence, imagination required, maybe Red Priestess reader, mention of more Little Birds (let author live), toxic family (duh), heavily encouraged imagination, depictions of death, angst, some hurt and comfort i think ? missing warnings 'cause wonky brain goin' wonky.

"There's rumor, Mistress, of a dragon the color of night," the hooded figure informed. "It nests in the Ruins of Ancient Valyria, seen by farmers and countryfolk; they say his wings beat like thunder. It's a colossal shadow they fear to engage, but after hearing your ransom, they reported it."

You hummed as you took a sip of scalding tea, finding comfort in the heat, musing, "I've been to the Ruins myself on two seperate excursions, I promise you, friend, there is no dragon that nests there."

"It's come from the East, a new beast in the sky."

"I require proof if I am to pay the ransom."

The man with a hood over his head reached for his rucksack and rummaged, a moment later, placing two items on the polished mahogany table between you both. One was unmistakably a dragon's tooth, and when you examined it, there was still clotted blood on the root - assuring it was a fresh pull. The second was a large black scale that weighed at least a dagger's worth.

You smirked, "This is promising. Where in the Ruins has it been seen? Who procured these artifacts?"

You discussed specifics with the man for an hour, offering him a hefty finder's fee after getting the name of the village the man had gathered his own information from. It was a messy journey from there; leaving the home you had made in the decades since the Stepstones to head for what was probably another dead end in Ancient Valyria. You were something akin to a magistrate, the people saw you as a figurehead, a leader; their person of authority who they were all too happy to follow.

Your village flourished, growing in size, number, popularity, and strength by the passing day. The people seemed happy, wealth flowing from exports and trade, and apparently, a few cartographers have begun the process of updating a few maps to add your village's name to history.

Much had changed in your time away from your Rogue Dragon Prince, but you knew that was all coming to an end soon. Your Lord of Light had shown you much in your flames, one of which was a repeating image of you, mounted atop a dragon all your own, soaring over the Narrow Sea with distinct purpose. You weren't a Targaryen, but your religious devotion seemingly gave you the ability to walk amongst beasts and their flames.

Exploring Ancient Valyria took over a year on foot.

You had plenty of encounters with the Stone Men, but all met their merciful demise - those left after that steered clear of you and your Valyrian Steel sword. Around the ruins of the ancient volcano that hadn't erupted since The Doom, you found a graveyard of goat, sheep, and cattle bones. There were bigger skeletons of aquatic creatures, something you found incredibly fascinating - what fully grown dragon went deep diving?

Soon, you found scat. For those who don't spend time in the wilderness or who are simply unfamiliar with the term, "scat" refers to waste produced by wild animals. Yeah, you're reading correctly, after you found the plethora of skeletons, you found dragon shit.

So, you knew you were closer than before. But the fucker still alluded you to the point you felt insane circling the Ruins.

You located about three different potential caverns, investigating them all with caution, but finding them all empty. Feeling exhausted from the months of searching, you claimed one of the caves as your own; hunting for a meal after gathering adequate fire wood. You listened to the untamed wilds of Valyria as you ate whatever you roasted, trying to distinguish familiar sounds of an approaching dragon.

Or perhaps even a distant one!

You'd take any sign!

It'd been weeks since you found the dragon droppings, no other signs appearing. You would search new areas for days, then return to your cave for rest; feeling disconnected from reality the longer you lingered in the ruined empire. You wondering what your village was doing, you were curious if the young woman, Ferona, had a baby boy or girl, if they had erected the new buildings you left blueprints for in an effort to create opportunist housing and houses of worship - as your people had requested.

How did the krill and shrimp season fair? What weddings happened this past spring? How was the irrigation system holding up?

Weeks drug by slowly. Weeks turned to longer months. Two years, you spent in that Gods forsaken ruin of a city - but couldn't find it in you to abandon your search.

Your Lord of Light had yet to send word, yet set your heart ablaze every time you "decided" to go home. You stared into the flames every night, desperate for any indication you were on the right path, but nothing was seen - nothing was said - nothing was shown to you. Until one night, during a torrential downpour and thunderous storm, you were shivering, drenched to your core, fighting the wind to let you keep your flames alive.

And there, in the dying, flickering warmth, you saw it. With wide, unblinking eyes, you stared into the flames harder; unsure how long you remained in the tranquil state before a particularly strong gust of wind nearly pushed you face-first into the embers. You gasped, looking around as the smoke nearly choked you as it filled the cave; stumbling out into the rain as you coughed and patted your chest. Stumbling slightly from malnourishment and delirium, you leaned on the outer shell of your "home", panting with relief before there came a screech so fearsome, you were then cowering into the wall with fear.

You dropped to your knees, huddled into the rock formation; the ground trembling as something enormous touched down. You gasped when through the haze of sideways rain, two nostrils flared and heaved thick plumes of smoke; reddened from the ignited flames deep within an invisible chest. You flattened against the wall, four taloned paws striking the ground and causing it to crack, quake, and tremble. With the fleeting clouds, you used the moon's light to distinguish the beast that loomed closer to you; over you; and then, in your face.

A long, blackened snout nearly pressed into your chest; fabric of your tunic caught in the razor sharp teeth. You had faced death, you had faced beasts, you had faced hacking axes and swinging swords. You had faced the wrath of the Queen Alysanne's court, the rumors of the common folk, and judgment from both man and God. But nothing was like this moment: a wild dragon staring you down, sniffing your chest and stomach, debating if it should just open it's mouth and eat you whole yet or not.

Thankfully, it chose an alternative route.

You're not fully sure how it happened, but you dedicated two years to finding this terrible beasty, and yet, it only took about 6 weeks to bond with the (obviously) young thing. Time with your Dragon Prince proved most useful, creating a bond so secure, you were beginning to wonder if someone deep in your bloodline had mated with a Targaryen. It was natural, the way you both became accustomed to one another; living together on a carbon-dated land long doomed.

The lessons from Daemon came flying back to you. You practiced your High Valyrian, laughing when you obviously got a word or two wrong because the dragon would snort at you. In the light, she was still the color of the night, but her scales were dusted the same gold as her eyes. She was impressive, she was huge in size but nowhere near Vhagar. In fact, you'd wager she had outgrew Caraxes - the only dragon you had true experience with.

Speaking of Caraxes, you were on the shores of Old Valyria, debating how you were going to convince your new companion to join you back "home" in the village, when suddenly, your beast gave a defensive growl.

Looking to the skyline, you spotted the distant dragon and frowned. This dragon wasn't the color of flames like Caraxes was, no, instead, it was a murky blob in the sky with two wings. You offered calming words to your dragon in her native language, not sensing danger, but your beast was unhappy leaving you in the open. Her tail curled around you to corral you back into her body as the muddy brown dragon landed with a thunderous shake a respectable distance away.

Your name was begged by the rider descending from who you recognized as a wild dragon by the name of Sheepstealer.

"Nettles? That you, love?" You asked in skepticism, managing out of your dragon's grasp. "What're you doing here? You all right?"

"I needed to find you," she panted. "I-I need you help - it's all - it's all gone wrong! Please!"

"What's wrong? The fuck's happened?"

"Do you know nothing, Auntie!? Do you know nothing of the war!?"

Your eyes rolled, "Watch that tone with me, girl. The Dance of Dragons is of no concern of mine, it had barely started when I came here."

"Well - it's your concern now," she insisted. "You took me under your wing - you helped raise me in a village you built from the ground, despite not ever needing to - "

"Your mother was a dear friend of mine," you cut her off sharply. "She was kind to me when I came back to Essos, let me stay with her and your father. When I set out on my own, she was always a friendly face, and when my settlement was established..."

"She came to you for help after getting pregnant with me," Nettles nodded. "You've told me this before."

"Then you should know better by now that I owed your mother more than my life, so, raising you was the least I could've done. A life for a life."

"And as such, you let me go into the world with stories filling my head of a handsome Dragon Prince that saved you from the Crabfeeder!" You scoffed at her words, ready to argue, but she rushed, "He's in trouble, Auntie."

You paused, finding no lie in the girl's eye. Slowly, you asked, "Come again?"

"I found him, Mistress," she nodded. "After I got back to Westeros, I found your Prince Daemon - the ones from the stories! He's... He's brutish and harsh, they call him Rogue, but he was kind to me when I told him I knew you. When he heard your name, Lady, he just - he insisted on keeping me close. He protected me, even against his wife - Princess Rhaenyra."

Your head cocked, "Hmm... He usually did have a taste for younger flesh. I'm not surprised he took to you - "

"No, no, no, Mistress, not like that," she insisted desperately. "He was kind, educational - similar to a mentor."

"I see."

"He needs your help."

"Prince Daemon does not need rescuing, he is no damsel."

"He searches for Prince Aemond," she informed, making you lift your chin slightly. Though lost in the wild of Valyria the past two years, you were still well versed in the affairs of King's Landing; staying updated, curtesy of your Lord, the Lord of Light: R'hllor. In your village, you were known to pay for any accurate information - eventually hiring your own spies to relay trustworthy information from around surrounding cities and villages. Nettles was one of your Little Birds.

You sighed, "And? What of it - Aemond killed Lucerys, did he not? Since he married his niece, her children are now his step-children, right? Daemon is within his rights to want some form of vengeance - it's war, Nettie, it's never fair to anybody.

"He will not survive this, you don't understand! It's horrible, Mistress, please, he-he-he's deranged. Mad with grief, lost to his wife's useless fucking war. It'll be the death of him, Auntie, please!" She paused, seeing you just stare back at her; so she begged again, "Please!"

You nodded, "What do you want me to do, Nettie? Hmm?"

"You've told me those stories! I remember them well! You always said he came back for you, saved you from The Crabfeeder," she reminded, making you stiffen. "Does he not deserve the same? Or at least a chance? Rhaenyra will not help, she'll kill him herself I fear, but you can - you can help!"

You nodded, "I will consult the flames - "

"I am telling you - "

"I have heard you, girl!" You snapped, glaring at your Little Bird. "But there are greater forces at work than what you know, I cannot just so willfully trust the word of a child before flying off across the Narrow Sea. Allow me my time with my Lord, I will have an answer for you." Turning from her, you gathered whatever materials you could; setting it up in a small teepee before stepping back.

In High Valyrian, you gave your command. From over your shoulder, your beasty opened her mouth and shot a single flame at the structure.

On your knees, you muttered repeatedly; chanting, summoning your Lord of Light to come to you now in a great hour of need. And He did. Through the flames, you saw what R'hllor wanted to show you: the two Princes engaged in a brutally epic fight that would claim them both in the end...

Unless you left right that moment, as your Lord commanded.

"Make yourself safe, Nettles, go back home," you told her in a rush, catching the pouch of Gold Dragons she tossed you when you sprung into action - and for the first time, mounted your dragon. Like your minds were connected, the Great Shadow took to the sky - leaving Nettles and Sheepstealer behind, and you'd never see either again.

You remained high in the sky, being a blob to the naked eye should any dare to stare at the sun.

You only paused to let the Great Shadow dive into the Narrow Sea for a meal; surfacing with creatures in her jaws as you swam an exhausting broad stroke. Was it terrifying to swim in the open water? Absolutely, but your dragon seemingly kept any threats at bay. When she was satisfied with her meal, the Great Shadow scooped you onto her back and relaunched into the air again to continue your flight for Westeros. You both dried in the air.

The trip was draining.

It was grueling on you both.

Yet when you saw the distant shore, you couldn't help the spike of relief in your heart and veins.

Once in Westeros, you were forced to ground yourselves in the open area of the Stormlands because you needed to know where to go since Nettles hadn't been sure where to send you specifically. Using the usual thunderstorm as cover, you had to separate from the Great Shadow; leaving her in the dark as you ventured to the closest village.

With the pouch of Gold Dragons Nettles gave you, you paid for information that you needed. You were told all the nitty gritty details about the Dance of the Dragons that you've missed, understanding what (Nettles and) the Lord of Light had been trying to tell you for years: the Black Queen would be Prince Daemon's death.

The time had come for you to return his favor from the Stepstones. If this worked the way you wanted it to, you wouldn't be his first, second, nor third wife, but his fourth and final. You knew what you had to do.

"What do you know of their whereabouts?" You asked the innkeeper who wiped down the bar you leaned on.

"The Princes?" She asked, tisking right after. "The One Eyed Prince has been burning the Riverlands for almost two weeks now. The Rogue Prince was in Maidenpool but he's called his nephew to meet him at, uh, oh... Oh, bullocks, what's that haunted castle? The one that was torched?"

"Harrenhal?"

She snapped her fingers at you, "That's the one!"

"Fuckin' Hell," you muttered, wiping your eyes. "What's your thinking, love? 'Bout this war?"

She scoffed, rolling her eyes, "Stupidest thing I've endured so far. How silly, the House of the Dragon does not know who rules it, or so says our liege lord. So we must all pay their price in Fire and Blood."

You nodded slowly, "Who do you think holds the better claim t'the Throne?"

"Depends on your views," she muttered, "but in truth, it doesn't matter to me - so long as this all comes to an end. But between us?" She leaned in, glancing around before muttering, "The Bitch Queen would burn us all. Can't say if King Aegon would be much better, but at least we'd know what we were dealing with."

"And if he was another Maegor?"

"Can't be worse than the Black Queen. Hear they call her Maegor with Tits."

You smirked, chuckling lightly, "Thank you, ma'am, for your words." You offered her a few Gold Dragons, repeating, "Harrenhal?"

"Harrenhal," she nodded, accepting the payment. "I do not know if the One Eyed Prince will answer the Rogue Prince's challenge, but that is where he lures Prince Aemond - Harrenhal. Now, how's about a nice bowl of stew? You look drenched, love, and a bit skinny - you been eatin'?"

"Your kindness is refreshing in this shit-for-a-kingdom."

You winked at her and tapped the bar in parting before turning for the door, and into the rain you ventured once more. You didn't notice the cold, your Lord kept you warm and moving; finding the Great Shadow, mounting, and shooting off into the unknown sky again.

It wasn't easy directing a dragon without a saddle nor any stabilizing reins, yet your beast was something of a decently smooth fly. You minimally directed her as you went, but in truth, her instincts directed you both more than anything. When the storm broke, you were soon flying over charred scores of land; homes smoldering and burning, the wind spreading the embers and never letting the fire fully die out.

"The fuck..." You muttered, sitting up straight as you flew through the carnage. "Seven Hells, he burnt it all, didn't he?" You whispered, needing to hold onto the spinal ridges of your dragon to keep balanced. "Gods be good," you gaped at the damage beneath you.

The sun moved into position, getting ready to set when you heard the horrible screams of feuding dragons. You couldn't see Harrenhal yet, but you heard the fight, and then, as the sun began to set, there came flashes of bright firelight that lit the sky to a new level.

It was nearly the shade of daylight with the way the flames danced against the setting sun. You were desperate to get closer, and after directing the Great Shadow over a set of charred rolling hills, you finally had Harrenhal in sight. "Go! Go, please! That's them - we need t'get there!" You begged through a small sob of panic, and if possible, your dragon flew all the faster.

You were so close, yet felt so far.

The air trembled when the pair of dragons, Vhagar and Caraxes, collided in the sky once more. They grappled and snarled and shrieked and blew flames and gnashed their teeth and slashed their talons. You paid no mind to the pregnant woman standing on the shoreline of the lake they fought over, and instead, focused on your task; feeling as if you were moving on pure instinct and adrenaline.

The Great Shadow dove low to the lake's surface as Caraxes and Vhagar came barreling to the ground. It all happened too fast. As the two dragons fell, you saw one man - in black armor - leap from his crimson beast with his Valyrian sword winking in the dying light. Just as his arm extended to pierce Dark Sister into Aemond's blind eye, the dragons were tussling enough to turn over and forced Daemon off their hide.

You gasped as you reacted - no fucking thought to your actions.

As the Great Shadow glided over the surface of the Gods Eye lake, you were leaping off her back to launch into the air; tackling the Rogue Prince hard enough to disrupt his impact on the water's surface. You hit the water all the same, but instead of it being like hitting fresh pavement, it was a softer landing due to the Great Shadow's expert and quick maneuvering.

Two dragons hit the water, three human bodies; sending a wave of water higher than the towers of Harrenhal's fortress. It was a shock to land in something so wet and cold, but your adrenaline was stronger than any feeling of freezing water. Your arms kept an iron-clad lock around Daemon's unconscious waist, surfacing as the lake rippled and churned from impact; turning a seeping red from the open wounds on the dragon sinking into the depths.

Prince Aemond never surfaced, and years from now, he'd be found still chained to Vhagar's saddle with Dark Sister still stabbed through his skull. His Red Witch standing on shore couldn't save him, it appearing that your Lord preferred the Rogue Prince to the One Eyed.

Keeping Daemon afloat was difficult, but to your shock, you were being gently propelled forward to the shore by a fatally injured Caraxes. You encouraged him best you could, trying not to choke on the water splashing around your frantic forms. When you were able, you started heaving and dragging Daemon up the lake's embankment; the crimson dragon crawling out of the lake behind you, slowly, heading towards Harrenhal. You wanted to offer the loyal beast aid or comfort, but you were much too preoccupied with his master that was dead weight in the water's surf.

You trembled as you swiftly hoisted his dragon winged helmet off to leave bobbing in the surf; unhooked his armor, shucking it off him and compressing his chest rapidly - just like a fisherman taught you to do.

"C'mon," you grunted. "C'mon, Daemon, breathe - fucking breathe, damnit! Please, come back to me - don't do this. I just found you again, c'mon, my Prince, breathe. Breathe, Daemon, don't give up - not now, not on us! Don't give up on us, c'mon, my Prince, breathe, w-we finally have our time." Sobs wracked your form. "Breathe, Daemon, please! Please! I'm back - I finally found you, please, my love, breathe!"

You shoved harder into his breast bone with increased ferocity until water came suddenly spewing from his lungs. You heard the Great Shadow land in the near distance, turning Daemon on his side to help him breathe better; choking the water out. You spoke in relief, "There, there you go, c'mon, love, breathe! Thank fucking Gods, you're all right, you're okay, get it out - you're okay, just breathe, my love."

Daemon choked your name in pure disbelief, holding one of your wrists in a vice grip that only briefly concerned you. He panted and relaxed into the embankment, loosening his grip as he turned over to look up at you in shock and wonder. "How is this possible?" He wheezed.

"It's a bit of a long story," you teased softly, caressing his cheek. "Bit of a boring tale, 'M afraid."

"How? How is - how can this be?"

"You needed me," you explained, "thought I'd return the favor since you saved me all those years ago, huh? You got me out of the sea, I got you out of the lake - we're even, yeah?"

He still panted, only staring at you as if he couldn't believe himself. "You've not aged a day," he whispered.

You smiled, petting his cheekbone with your thumb daintly. "You need rest, reprieve, aid," you whispered.

"No, no," he gulped, "not when I just got you back. T-Tell me 's done. Tell me we're done being apart."

"You have a wife still, Daemon. She won't let you go, she wouldn't let us be together."

"Tell me what your flames say."

"Now you trust my flames?"

"When they bring you back to me, yes - oh, fuck yes, I'll believe whatever those fucking flames say. Please, love, for us - consult your flames, tell me what they've said."

You frowned, petting a soaking wet lock of hair from his forehead. Quietly, you whispered, "My Lord showed me what was to pass if I did not come for you... This war, this Dance of Dragons, would claim your life, Daemon. Your wife, your niece... She'll be the end of you, my Prince. You will not survive if you go back to her. Neither of you will survive this... My Lord has shown me that Rhaenyra will meet her end in flames, but following her will cost you your life in water," you glanced at the lake. "Not a death befitting of a Targaryen Prince."

"And now?"

"Now, she will fight her own battles for the first time," you whispered, "and I will return home, and you will make a choice."

He smirked, "We've gone lifetimes apart, like you said before."

"We have."

"I would not go another day," he coughed, wincing in pain. "I do not think I can fight anymore anyways, love. Please... Please."

Daemon never begged. You swallowed harshly, asking him, "No? No more fighting?"

"No," he agreed. "'M so tired, my sweet. I-I can't do this forever," he half-slurred, making you perk up slightly in attention. "Retirement sounds all too appealing now. Rumor will spread that neither Aemond or I lived, it'll be the perfect escape."

You nodded in agreement, flinching when a new voice screeched, "YOU BITCH!"

The pregnant woman you saw on shore stormed towards you, making you chuckle dryly as you had already foreseen this Alys Rivers - pregnant concubine of the One Eyed Prince Aemond and fellow Follower of R'hllor. Alys was unique in the sense that her training was decent enough to ensnare Aemond (it seemed), but not so decent that the Lord yet favored her.

She wasn't more than ten feet from you when the Great Shadow opened her mouth and showered the Red Witch in holy flames; an end she surely did not see coming - not that R'hllor would've showed her. This all caught Daemon's attention, who flinched slightly when he had to turn and look; not expecting the flames nor the beast.

Then his eyes drifted over the land, breathing hitching, and he sat up with a painful groan. "Daemon," you worried, but instead of trying to get him down, you helped him up.

You knew what he saw.

When at Caraxes' side, you helped Daemon lower to his knees at his dragon's head. He whimpered and moaned, belly slashed open, wing torn apart; bleeding out into the cold soil he rested on. The Great Shadow moaned gently in sympathy, lowering herself around you three to let you grieve in peaceful, protective privacy and ease Caraxes to his next life.

The moon was fully in the sky when the crimson bloodwyrm took his final breath with the ebony giant's flames to warm you all. You weren't sure what could be done, but Daemon was pressing a tender kiss to his dragon's head before turning to face you - a lost, confused, vulnerable look coating his features. "Come on, love," you eased gently, helping him to his feet; knowing a few ribs were shattered and probably his clavicle, too.

"Where will we go now?"

"Well, I have somewhere safe for us t'live," you grunted in assurance, wobbling a little under his weight. "But we need rest for tonight. Any ideas?"

"I doubt anyone will venture to Harrenhal this night, should be safe..."

You agreed, and together, you and Daemon settled in the empty castle with the Great Shadow resting on the outskirts of the Keep. She was too big for the interior of the courtyard, so, she was left outside with Caraxes' corpse as you and Daemon settled in the room he had commandeered.

"How is this possible? How can you be here?" He asked, holding your hips as you worked between his spread legs. Daemon had minimal supplies at the ready; hopping up on a work bench to let you care for his injuries and wounds. He watched your every move with a softening look. "I thought I wouldn't ever see you again, that I'd be cursed to only remember you in my dreams. Rhaenyra said I say your name a lot at night, when I sleep."

"I'm really here, Daemon, ease yourself," you offered an assuring grin, tending to the head wounds he obtained from the fight.

"How?"

"Nettles."

"What?"

"Nettles," you repeated with a smirk. "She's one of my Little Birds, Daemon. It was not entirely coincidence she found you..."

"So she said," he frowned. "But how - "

"She told me you needed me," you smiled softly. "And when I consulted the flames, I was shown what could be. I made a decision, I just wanted you safe, no matter what that meant."

"I just want you. Fuck," he seethed, squeezing your hips, "'s been fucking decades since I've even touched you."

"You're delirious," you teased. "Sleep deprived, maybe concussed."

"Perhaps all at once, but I finally have all I've dreamt of. Please," he whispered, "do not deny us longer. I've endured lifetimes - "

"Daemon, being here and now, you know I can't walk away. But we've time t'talk it all out, I need you to let me help your wounds - so sit still."

He nodded, "One thing I do not understand, though - the dragon? How did you...?"

"Spent two years in Valyria, looking for her."

"Why were you there?"

"Searching for a dragon, of course," you smirked. "She's impressive, isn't she? And from her size, I wager she can easily support us both back across the Narrow Sea."

He grit his teeth when you cleaned his open cuts and wounds, wrapping whatever clean cloth you had around the larger wounds; easing him out of his tunic to have better access to the blackened ribs he sported. "Would you tell me?" Daemon whispered some time later.

"Of what?"

"Your life since the Stepstones?"

"Oh," you chuckled, "sweet love, you know it was dreadfully boring without you."

"Doesn't seem it, you being in Valyria two years? That's not heard of, what was it like? How'd you survive? Why go looking for a dragon?"

This lead to you both laying in bed, hands held together, resting, but not sleeping. You just spoke quietly, fingertips tracing idly over each other's faces; sharing in each others lives that the other missed, reminiscing together in fond memories.

When morning broke, you had to move swiftly. Caraxes was left where he laid and after a final parting to the loyal beast and commandeering his saddle, together, you and Daemon mounted the Great Shadow. She wasn't a fan of the restraints, but once you and Daemon were mounted, she did not fuss as it was evident you humans had an easier time with the leather contraption.

"I must confess," Daemon whispered in your ear, using you as an anchor and leaning into your back, "I fear I might feel something akin to guilt for fleeing home."

"That's natural," you assured, "you're leaving family behind, 's never easy."

"There was no winning this war," he admitted, sighing. "I lead so many to their death... Destroyed my family - "

"From what I have heard, this is not your doing," you argued sharply. "That night, when Aemond attacked Lucerys, what were you to do? Leave that kind of atrocity without consequence? No, that is not in the Targaryen's nature. You did not start this war, Daemon."

"But I knew..."

"You knew what?"

"I knew Jace, Luke, and Joffrey were Harwin Strong's, not Laenor Velaryon's. We thought if we married her sons to my daughters, nobody would care much else about lineage - but we were wrong."

"It's okay to be wrong," you promised, leaning your head back to let your forehead rest against his temple. "It's okay to make mistakes or have regret. Tell me, do you wish to return to your wife? I will take you now, no quest - "

"No. No, I do not wish to leave you. This is... This is Rhaenyra's war, I've done my part. I'm free and finally with whom I belong."

"Now it's time to heal," you told him.

"Time to rest," he agreed, squeezing your waist and placing a few kisses to your neck. "This is where I should've been all this time... After the Stepstones, I should've stayed with you, none of this would've come to pass. I regret leaving you everyday - "

"I told you, for us to get here, to this point, now, we had to separate. But look where we are," you smiled back at him, the Great Shadow soaring higher in the sky to keep Westeros at a distance, "we will not be apart again. 'S you and me, love... Until our end, which we will greet together."

Daemon's lips found yours at long last, whispering, "Together," against them before sweeping his tongue against yours.

The port was lovely this time of day, sun high in the sky to give light to the fishermen and vendors hard at work. Sailors made port, calms were being shucked, different Aristocats trying to barter and trade on their journeys abroad. You smiled at the people you passed, grateful to be home after a prolonged absence; arm looped tight with Daemon's as you both strolled the pier.

"It's hard to imagine you've done all this in a lifetime or less," he mused, a hand folded over yours, dressed in the best clothes you could find. "It's s marvel, my sweet," his compliment was sincere.

"Thank you," you whispered, hugging his arm as your skirts swished around your ankles, just tickling your bare feet. "This season's expected to be bountiful," you told him, pointing to the various teams bringing crustaceans, fish, and other sea life in different crates and traps. "I expect there won't be much of an off-season."

He glanced around, "And you don't collect taxes?"

"Why would I?" You scoffed. "We're more dynamic than that. Everyone works for their place, if you wanted to think of it that way. They are not expected to contribute, but the village seems happier that way. Being close knit, helping one another, sharing wealth. No one person has complained, so, I figure it's working so far. Even if it didn't work, I still wouldn't charge them taxes - it'd be like charging them to live. Always seemed silly t'me."

"Morning, Mistress!"

"Morning, Don," you beamed, leading Daemon towards the dock. "How are you, kind sir? Looks as if you've been working all day already."

"Aye, up before the sun," he nodded, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. "Wanted t'thank yah, actually."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, yeah, with that dragon? We're hauling in more ships," he chuckled, and just overhead, the Great Shadow glided over them all to head out to sea to fetch another round of ships. "Gets us out there quick, brings us back when done, 's like a wee bit of an assembly line, ain't it?"

You chuckled, "Sounds like it, friend. Uh, Don, have I introduced you to my husband?"

"Husband?" Don grinned, cocking his head, "No, Mistress, I wasn't aware you even had a suitor. Mariam don't tell me much gossip these days," he snickered, referring to his wife. "It's nice t'meet you," he told Daemon, "name's Don, just Don - no, it ain't short for nothin'."

Daemon smirked some, shaking the man's fishy hand boldly, "A pleasure, Don, Just Don."

"Oh, this one's got a bit uh humor, don't he?" Don laughed lightly. "What's your name, lad?"

"Daemon?" A voice answered for you all, and just above you, a little further on the pier, stood an aged Laenor Velaryon.

"Excuse us, Don," you spoke swiftly, confusion marring your features. He understood or sensed the slight tension, backing off to let you approach the "dead" knight.

"Oh, my - Y/N," Laenor breathed, another aged man at his side with what you assume to be his children. No question could be asked yet as your old friend launched himself into your arms, laughing merrily, giving you a tight squeeze with his still-toned arms. "Oh, the Gods are good for this!" He laughed, rocking you slightly, "Oh, how the Seven bless us."

"You're so dramatic," you laughed back, patting him happily until he pulled back. "But I must confess, I am so fucking confused - what is this? How are you here? I thought you died, Laenor, that's what ever spy reported."

"They should've," he nodded, glancing at Daemon, "but perhaps, the explanation will be better received after some wine?" He caressed your cheek in affection before looking at your husband, nodding, "It's good to see you again, my Prince. Or is it King Consort?"

"Neither, just Daemon," he corrected, your heart soaring a little at the idea that he would abandon his title so easily. Yet you knew, there was nothing to go back to for him.

"Well, how about I introduce my family?"

"Family?" You grinned, seeing him present the others.

"My husband," he gestured, giving his name. "And our kids," he introduced the other three.

"How?" You asked simply.

"We found a Red Priest who was willing to officiate the ceremony," Laenor explained, "and the kids were sired by different mothers, too."

"Whores," the husband smiled.

"Huh," you nodded in impression. "Well, perhaps wine is best to hear that tale, as well?"

"Perhaps," Laenor grinned. "Uh, but first, we should find accommodations - "

"Oh, come off it, you're staying with us," you waved. "Your belongings?"

"This is it," he half-shrugged, you eyeing the few rucksacks around their feet, neck, shoulders... "We heard of the prosperity here, thought it was worth the move."

"How right you are," Daemon answered. "Come, old friend." He picked up a few sacks for the kids and you looped your arm with Laenor's to lead the way. How good it was to have your friend back, your husband at your side, and a functioning, happy village with your placement amongst them most important... Everything you could've wished for, it seemed, came true.

And in your womb, a Dragon Seed was planted; soon to make its announcement known. Truly, a happier ending than you thought deserved - but R'hollr worked mysteriously, blessing those deemed worthy to spread his flames.

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

note: i'm not the happiest with this piece, so i'll most definitely (probably) write an alternative when the time comes and the show does the Battle. y'all know me by now, you know i love me a good ol' reader-insert and i didn't want to wait years to publish some kind of sequel so here we are.

[calliesmemes]

EPIC: THE MUSICAL — ACT ONE

ASSORTED SENTENCE STARTERS featuring lyrics and dialogue pulled from EPIC: THE MUSICAL by Jorge Rivera-Herrans, a new concept album adapting the story of Homer’s Odyssey into a musical.

CHANGE gendered words and in-universe phrases as needed.

SPECIFY muse for multimuses.

❛ I know that I’m ready. ❜

❛ I don’t think that you’re ready. ❜

❛ Know that he will grow from a boy to an avenger. ❜

❛ I could raise him as my own. ❜

❛ Please don’t make me do this. ❜

❛ The blood on your hands is something you can’t lose — all you can choose is whose. ❜

❛ This is the will of the gods. ❜

❛ You’re as old as he was when I left for war. ❜

❛ Will these actions haunt my days? ❜

❛ Every man I’ve slain is the price I pay. ❜

❛ I would trade the world to see my son and wife. ❜

❛ When does a man become a monster? ❜

❛ When does a reason become the blame? ❜

❛ Six hundred men under my command. ❜

❛ The problem’s not the distance; it’s what lies in between. ❜

❛ My kingdom is waiting. ❜

❛ So Captain, what’s the plan? ❜

❛ Look! There, in the distance. I see an island. ❜

❛ I see a light that faintly glows. ❜

❛ Something feels off here. ❜

❛ I say we strike first; we don’t have time to waste. ❜

❛ We should try to find a way no one ends up dead. ❜

❛ You can relax, my friend. ❜

❛ I can tell that you’re getting nervous. ❜

❛ Is this how we are supposed to live? ❜

❛ Here we have a chance for some adjustment. ❜

❛ Give it a try, it's not that hard. ❜

❛ This life is amazing when you greet it with open arms. ❜

❛ Whatever we face, we'll be fine if we're leading from the heart. ❜

❛ Stay back, I'm warning you. ❜

❛ Kindness is brave. ❜

❛ Have you forgotten the lessons I taught you? ❜

❛ I see you changing from how I've designed you. ❜

❛ Have you forgotten your purpose? ❜

❛ My life has one mission. ❜

❛ We'll make a greater tomorrow. ❜

❛ Enlighten me, what's your name? ❜

❛ If you're looking for a mentor, I'll make sure your time's well spent. ❜

❛ If there's a problem, we'll have the answer. ❜

❛ I still intend to make sure you don't fall behind. ❜

❛ Don't forget that you're a warrior of a very special kind. ❜

❛ It’s almost too perfect, too good to be true. ❜

❛ Who are you? ❜

❛ We’re just travelers. We come in peace. ❜

❛ What gives you the right to deal a pain so deep? ❜

❛ Your life now is in my hands. ❜

❛ I’ll take from you like you took from me. ❜

❛ There’s been a misunderstanding. ❜

❛ Maybe you and I could make a deal. ❜

❛ I’m so glad we see eye to eye. ❜

❛ If we're defeated, they're good as dead. ❜

❛ No backup, no chance for support. ❜

❛ Our foe must be thwarted right here and now. ❜

❛ Show me how great is your will to survive. ❜

❛ Stand up and fight for your lives. ❜

❛ Defeat is not allowed. ❜

❛ We must live through this day, so fight! ❜

❛ You’ve hurt me enough. ❜

❛ You won’t live through this day. ❜

❛ We must move quickly, we don't have much time. ❜

❛ But captain, what'll we do with our fallen friends? ❜

❛ We are not to let them die in vain. ❜

❛ Our comrades will not die in vain. ❜

❛ Mercy is a skill more of this world could learn to use. ❜

❛ The blood we shed, it never dries. ❜

❛ I am neither man nor mythical. ❜

❛ You're a warrior meant to lead the rest. ❜

❛ That's just like you, why should I be surprised? Selfish and prideful and vain. ❜

❛ Every time someone dies I'm the one who is left to deal with the strain. ❜

❛ This way, you won't plague my life. ❜

❛ What a waste of effort spent. ❜

❛ At least I know what I'm fighting for. ❜

❛ Since you claim you're so much wiser, why’s your life spent all alone? ❜

❛ This day, you lost it all. ❜

❛ Is it nature or divine or a blessing in disguise? ❜

❛ Our home's in sight. ❜

❛ Brace for a storm, the likes of which we’ve never seen before. ❜

❛ I'll ensure that we prevail. ❜

❛ We're taking too much damage to survive. ❜

❛ At this rate, we won't make it out alive. ❜

❛ Please don't tell me you're about to do what I think you'll do. ❜

❛ You've heard the legends; this proves they're true. ❜

❛ Don't forget how dangerous the gods are. ❜

❛ How much longer til your luck runs out? ❜

❛ I still believe in goodness. ❜

❛ I just don't wanna see another life end. ❜

❛ You're like the brother I could never do without. ❜

❛ Don’t forget how much we’ve already faced. ❜

❛ I need to talk to you in private. ❜

❛ I can't have you planting seeds of doubt. ❜

❛ I ask for your assistance so we at last can go the distance. ❜

❛ Sounds too easy, what's the catch? ❜

❛ Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. ❜

❛ The end always justifies the means. ❜

❛ Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. ❜

❛ Time for me to be the father I never was. ❜

❛ Why are my eyes and my heart and my soul so heavy? ❜

❛ It isn't very often that I get pissed off. ❜

❛ I'm left without a choice. ❜

❛ I’ve gotta make you bleed. ❜

❛ I need to see you drown. ❜

❛ Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves. ❜

❛ You are far too nice. ❜

❛ I've got no mercy left to give. ❜

❛ The line between naïveté and hopefulness is almost invisible. ❜

❛ I am your darkest moment. ❜

❛ What have you done? ❜

❛ Any last words? ❜

❛ There's only so much left we can endure. ❜

❛ I'm not a player, I'm a puppeteer. ❜

❛ I can’t sleep now knowing everything we've done. ❜

❛ I must say what a brilliant speech you gave. ❜

❛ I don't know who you are nor why you're here. ❜

❛ One wrong move, then you're done for. ❜

❛ All I hear are screams, every time I dare to close my eyes. ❜

❛ I no longer dream, only nightmares of those who've died. ❜

❛ I am the prophet with the answers you seek. ❜

❛ I see a man who gets to make it home alive, but it's no longer you. ❜

❛ How has everything been turned against us? ❜

❛ How did suffering become so endless? ❜

❛ Do I need to change? ❜

❛ What if I'm the problem that's been hiding all along? ❜

❛ If I became the monster, and threw that guilt away — would that make us stronger? ❜

❛ I must become the monster. ❜

[arcielee]

A love that burns.

Summary: Aemond is a man obsessed and you are the object of his unwavering devotion. Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Female!Reader Word Count: 1037 Warnings: Canon book Aemond, manipulation?, sexual themes, oral (female receiving), p in v, absolute depravity and murder. Author’s Note: This is a reader insert, but with the third person perspective, it is a bit Alys-coded kind of? (I rewrote one of her lines in F&B) A big thank you to @bhxrdy and @itbmojojoejo helping me fix some mistakes and for helping me choose the title 💜🦝 This story is dedicated to the wonderful, the talented @aegonx who gave me prompt #371 by @creativepromptsforwriting. She also made my nifty banner for my blog, so I owe her everything. I am always happy to attempt any requests, I just cannot promise a timely fashion, as it is more whenever the muse strikes. Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @schniiipsel @sylas-the-grim @aemondx @fan-goddess @babygirlyofthevale @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @amiraisgoingthruit @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @girlwith-thepearlearring @hb8301 @lovelykhaleesiii @darylandbethfanforever9

He was a dragon incarnate with the blood of Old Valyria knitted within the ichor that coursed through his veins. Aemond was proud, tall and lithe, his broad shoulders held back despite the burdened weight of his reputation that preceded him–Aemond the One-Eye, Aemond the Kinslayer, but those utterances only rolled like rain against the scales of Vhagar; he was unbothered, unharried, especially now his role within the kingdom elated with the title Prince Regent, and with it the Conqueror’s Crown to wear. 

The metal and rubies held a weight that now grounded him, reminding him of his purpose, and he went to reclaim Harrenhal with the intent of killing every Strong bastard. 

Here is where he had found her, an eerie calm amongst the chaos, silent despite the cries of mercy as each person was brought to the courtyard and slain. She had watched, unblinking, with an expression that was akin to when Aemond had watched his nuncle take the head of Vaemond Velaryon in the Throne Room a year prior; it had been a moment that kindled a bloodlust that thrummed beneath his skin, a vengeance that could not be forgotten. 

That night, when she was brought to his quarters, she greeted him like an old lover, a sweet kiss pressed to his lips, her soft murmur, “I have been waiting for you, my prince.” 

She came from a noble house without the wealth of Westeros, but revered still and old, old enough to carry the blood of the First Men and its mystical properties. She had followed her sister to Harrenhal when she was chosen to be the next wife for Ser Simon Strong.

Both were now dead and she did not seem to care. 

“Then why did you choose to accompany your sister?” Aemond had asked her after; it was that intimate exchange shared in their bared embrace, nestled on sex soaked linens with her plush thighs serving as a pillow.

Her fingers thread through his silver hair. “The Isle of Faces,” and she smiled, as if she were stating the obvious; she leaned forward to give a chaste kiss to his lips. “I came to listen to the whispers of the weirwoods.” 

Behind closed doors he was intoxicated by her proximity, with an unbridled lust that replaced the blood in his veins, as if she were the very embodiment of his siren call. They fell into one another, and he felt something that burned within him, something that perhaps was always there and only now  ignited by her soft touch, by her gentle pull that brought him flushed against her chest. 

Aemond would worship her through the night, drinking her very essence until the brim of her overstimulation, until he saw her lashes clumped together from her unshed tears, and only then would he shift his weight between her thighs, flushed and slick from her peaks. 

He would move to press his heady cock, heavy and wanting, against her silken folds, and despite their many nights together, she would still feel split open, aware of the ridges and the veins of his thick member as he sheathed within. Her soft gasps came in response to his thrusts that would begin again the crests of ravishment that warmed her blood; and he would not stop his pace until she was a mewling mess, until the lewd sounds of skin to skin mixed with her cries of release, until his name was a repeated reverent prayer that spilled from her lips. 

Aemond hummed her praises, his hot exhale against the curve of her neck. “The gods made you for me alone,” he would breathe against her lips and they would part in a silent cry, her skin pebbling with pleasure. “You were made to take my cock, and you do so well.” 

His words brought her to the precipice and when she felt his hot pulse within her velvet walls, her own clenched in response to chase another climax with boneless ambition, with a sobbed release as the air tore from her lungs but she was breathless to reclaim. Only then would they curl into each other’s arms, their skin aglow with the intimacy shared, with the soft murmurs and quiet exchanges of lovers in their post-coital haze.

“I will have your son,” she promised him. “I can already feel the flames warming my womb.” 

She was always at his side, devoted, everpresent, with a severe gaze that served as a balm for the Prince Regent in the most twisted way. They called her his Blood Queen as she seemed to encourage a sadism that pulsed beneath, speaking that the gods knew what had to be done and that he was the vessel of their actions, always encouraging him to listen to the beckon of the blood of Old Valyria. 

Aemond became a man obsessed and she fed into his depravity; she spoke with such conviction and he believed her every word, her every prophecy. When she would take a boat across the waters, he would remain on the shore pacing like an animal caged, while Vhagar roared overhead, the wind beneath her wings causing turbulent waves that crashed against the lakeside. 

She returned as her namesake with blood that covered her hands and her dress; she would whisper what she saw to him alone, of what was to come and what needed to be done. On one such day, she spoke of the betrayal in the Riverlands, of those who had chosen to ally with the Blacks and their false queen. 

Aemond called for Vhagar and they climbed aback; she was knitted against his backside with her cheek pressed between his shoulder blades, and she could feel his rumbled command, “Dracarys,” to rain fire below them, scorching the very earth. She hummed her contentment, the scent of sandalwood and smoke, a scent that intimately belonged to the Prince Regent. 

Her arms curled around his slim waist and he looked down to see her small hand pressed against his chest. Though the histories would recall all the ugly things they had done, in this moment, as his palm reached to cover hers, all he thought was how their entwined fingers were so beautiful together. 

arcie's masterlist

[nebulaafterdark]

Do you think you could write something with Aegon x velaryon or targ reader and it’s their wedding night? Plz and thank youuuuu

Yes! Here we go.

Sweet Girl

Aegon x Velaryon(Strong)!Reader

Warnings: 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI unprotected sex, loss of virginity, Targcest, soft!Aegon.

This is it. Y/N fidgets restless at the foot of Aegon’s mattress. Her uncle, her nemesis, her husband.

Aegon approaches with two cups in hand.

“No,” Y/N puts a hand out, pushing back against the gauntlet lightly. “Thank you.”

“You’re shaking.” Aegon says, pointedly. “Trust me, a drink or two always takes the edge off.”

“You don’t have to be nice to me now.”

“That’s not entirely true.” He frowns. “I have no desire to face the wrath of your mother, stepfather or the King.”

“You think my mother would be angry?” Y/N scoffs, “if Rhaenyra cared she would not have been so willing to let us marry.”

Aegon tosses back his drink. “You are her heir after all, there’s bound to be sacrifice required to pave your way. If it makes you feel any better, this was my mother’s doing as well.”

Y/N looks up at him, still standing over her with the cup.

“It is not poison, I swear.”

The brunette smirks, taking the offering in hand and chugging the liquid. It burns its way down her throat, much stronger than wine. “What is that?” She chokes out.

Aegon takes the seat beside her, the mattress shifting under his weight as he claps the princess once on the back. “Only the best for my wife.”

Y/N allows the cup to tumble from her hand and clatter to the floor. The effects of the concoction hit her fast.

“Would you like another?” Aegon asks.

“Somehow I don’t think that’s a good idea. Unless you prefer me unconscious.” Y/N muses, “on second thought-” she makes for the chalice.

“Oh no,” Aegon chuckles, catching her around the waist. “If I have to be awake for this, so do you.”

“Let us get on with it then.” Y/N tosses herself backwards onto the coverlet.

“You’re just going to lie there?”

“Mhm,” Y/N closes both eyes.

“Am I truly so awful?”

“That remains to be seen.”

“How are you meant to see anything with your eyes closed?”

Y/N peeks at him, through a slit in one eye.

Aegon moves over her slowly, leaning on his elbows. Keeping most of his weight off of her. “I’ll be good to you.”

She sighs, taking in his face above her, in full. Aegon is beautiful, she’ll give him that. And when he’s not being a twat, he can be kind. “Swear it?”

“I do.”

In a spirit induced state of willful negligence, she reaches a hand up to cup his cheek. “Could you ever love me?”

“Love,” he laughs. “What is love but a frivolous endeavor which breeds eternal suffering?”

Y/N lifts a shoulder, “I suppose you’re right. But there must also be benefits. Think of all those who live and die for it.”

Aegon shifts against her, making himself at home with his chest to hers. “I have never known love. However, lust and I are dear companions. You will find pleasure each time we lie together.”

“And when we are finished I’ll leave?”

“If that is your desire.”

“What if I stay?”

“That is my desire.”

“Then you do crave affection?”

“Among other things, yes.” He admits. “From you, as my wife, I crave affection above all.”

“I’ve never…been with anyone. I can’t say if I’ll be good at it.” Her eyes search his for reassurance.

“We could learn together.” Aegon leans in a bit closer, their breath mingling. “Conquer love and rule the Seven Kingdoms.”

Y/N pushes slightly off the bedding, capturing his lips with hers. “You’ll have to conquer me first.”

Aegon grins against her mouth, “gently the first round, then without mercy.”

Y/N inhales deeply, feeling his tongue invade her mouth. Lapping against her own, tasting her thoroughly.

As he suspected, she is sweet. Aegon relishes in this for a long moment, until her hips begin canting up against his. His finger tips grazing along the silhouette of her torso through the material of her nightgown. Squeezing the flesh of her hip, past her rib cage to the outskirts of her breasts. Cupping her soft mounds, nipples pebbling against his palm.

Y/N gasps, pressure building between her thighs. She rocks her hips against Aegon for relief, gasping at the feel of him, rock solid.

“Could you come undone like this, sweetheart?”

“I- I don’t know.”

Aegon hums, trailing kisses away from her lips, over her cheek, the corner of her panting mouth, sucking lightly at the pulse point on her neck. Rolling her peaks between his thumb and forefinger. “So responsive, I think you could.”

Y/N whines, looking for some relief from her aching core. “Aegon, please.”

“May I take this off?” He tugs at her gown, lightly.

She nods, staring up at him with glossy eyes. Following his lead, until nothing is left between them. Catching a glimpse of his length, she quickly moves her gaze away.

“You can look.” Aegon offers her a lopsided grin.

“Does it hurt,” Y/N motions to his cock, hard and pink at the tip.

Aegon kneels down between her legs, parting her thighs farther and finding her bundle of nerves. Y/N squeals, gripping his shoulders for purchase. “It wants attention, but it’s not painful yet.”

“I want you inside me.” Y/N rides his hand unabashedly.

Aegon groans, “need you to peak first, while my fingers fuck open your perfect little cunt.”

She whimpers.

“Lie back for me, dearest.” He purrs, still on his knees between her trembling limbs. He pecks a kiss to her knee. “Relax.”

Y/N’s muscles are taut in anticipation of his next move, bowing off the bed when his thumbs part her lips, making room for his mouth to connect with her pearl. He teases the swollen bud with his tongue.

“Gods, Aegon.” She cries out, desperately fisting his hair in hand. Unsure if she wants to pull him closer or push him away.

Aegon hums his approval. Sweetest cunt he’s ever had. Slipping a single finger carefully into her tight heat. Feeling her walls clench at the intrusion.

The feeling is foreign to Y/N, her husband allows her to get accustomed to it before adding a second. Curling them up to coax release from her.

He laps at her cunt as she thrashes above him. Overwhelmed with sensation. Calling out for him desperately. Three digits is a stretch and Y/N does whine a bit at the intrusion but Aegon keeps her attention on his lips. Closed around her pearl and sucking until she peaks. Hugging his fingers so tightly even Aegon moans.

Y/N nudges at his head, coming down from her high, “too much.” She cries when Aegon attempts to keep her in place.

He chuckles, licking a firm strip up her slit before slinking up her boneless form. “You alright?”

“I think so,” she pants, shuttering at the lightest touch.

Aegon steals a kiss from her lips, then the tip of her nose.

“I want you.” She repeats.

The prince has been a lot of things in his life, wanted is hardly one of them.

“There might still be a bit of pain from your maidenhead,” he warns.

“Do it all at once.” Y/N encourages, feeling the tip of him nudging at her entrance.

“Tell me if it’s too much, we’ll stop.”

Y/N nods, bracing herself.

Aegon takes her mouth once more, waiting until she is fully at ease, contented in their kiss before sliding into her. There is little resistance as he bottoms out in her warmth.

“Ah.” She whimpers, it burns.

“Such a good girl,” Aegon praises, nuzzling against her cheek.

“Aegon.” Y/N paws restlessly at his back.

“Shhh,” he slides an arm behind her shoulder blades, holding her fast against the crook of his neck. Fighting to stay still.

They remain like this for a long moment before Y/N experimentally bucks her hips upward. There is still a bit of pain from the stretch, but nothing unbearable.

“Oh, my sweet girl.” Aegon admonishes, “be still until you are ready. Do not tempt me.”

“Move,” Y/N murmurs, against the shell of his ear.

He pulls out, until only the tip of him remains, thrusting back in softly. “Alright?”

Y/N nods, her head cradled against him as he begins fucking her in earnest. All the breath leaving her lungs in short puffs.

“So tight,” Aegon grunts out. “Not leaving this room until you’ve reached your peak draped over every piece of furniture. Against every wall.”

“Please.”

“Would you like that, sweetheart?”

“Yes.” Y/N is drawing near the edge again, the nip of pain from their coupling only serves to heighten the experience.

“I’ll fill you to the brim with my seed so that you might be with child on the morrow.” Aegon promises, clenching and unclenching his fingers in her dark hair. Feeling the quickening throughout his entire body. “Come apart once more for me.”

“I need you to touch me…the way you did before.” She pleads, so close to the precipice.

Allowing not an inch of space between them, Aegon snakes his free hand down to her pearl. Letting her rock against his fingers for friction.

“Fuck,” Y/N sobs, clamping down hard around his cock.

“That’s my girl,” Aegon all but growls between gritted teeth as his orgasm washes over him. “My good fucking girl.”

Y/N continues milking his length, even harder at his words. Riding out their shared high until Aegon flops down beside her, spent. He smirks devilishly; reaching down to collect the bit of his release trickling from her and forcing it back into her warmth.

He has conquered her. Or perhaps they have conquered each other.

[kaciidubs]

OK OK LISTEN TO ME TWIN FLAME BBY TELL ME WHY

tell me why Hyunjin is the “hit it like it’s all mine” type

* not me listening to all mine -plaza on repeat with the image of Hyunjin drenching me with his spit and cum*

WHY DOES FHIS MAN HAVE TO BE SO FUCKING INSANE!!!!!

P.s love you

Estee I am clutching my PEARLS- OF COURSE YOU ATTACK WITH HYUNE OH SWEET MERCY--

No cause you're right, you're so right, he's the "hit it like it's all mine" type, and it especially comes out if you're in a friends with benefits situation.

Hyunjin is a lover, doesn't matter the scenario, he's making sure he's putting his all into the experience so even if you both agreed that feelings wouldn't get involved, he's still fucking you like he's in love with you.

It's the worst when it's after a night out, him catching the way a guy was staring at you the whole night while you were hanging off his arm - your favorite, tried and true tactic of getting free drinks from a man who couldn't think past his dick.

Back at the dorms he'll have you bent into the prettiest arch, bite marks and dark hickeys decorating you from your shoulders down, lips pressed to the curve of your ass with whispers of how beautiful you are, how you're his and his alone to have.

Of course you're drunk off of his touch, mindlessly replying with breathless whines of "All yours, Hyune" and "Only need you, baby".

He doesn't need to know if you actually mean those words, he doesn't find himself caring if there's truth behind them when he's sliding his tip through your wet folds, smirking when you buck your hips back.

"I'm the only one who can have you like this, hm? I'm the only one who can make you this wet, this needy, isn't that right, my muse?" when you merely let out a wanton moan, he chuckles, "It's okay, love, cause you're the only one who can make me this hard - get me this riled up over simply being you; irresistible, beautiful, smart, kind, it makes it that much more special making you crumble just from my lips, my fingers, my dick."

That's when he finally enters you, long and hard and so, so satisfying, you think you're already on the brink of an orgasm without him having to do anything more.

"I'll show them who you belong to," he hisses, slapping your ass before gripping your cheek in his hand, "I'll remind you who you belong to, love. You're all mine, remember that."

[unedited]

[settingmyheartablaze]

I'm so sorry that I love you.

gojo satoru x civilian!reader

authors note: this was a little something silly I cooked up that I imagined a potential part two for, but let me know what you think >:)

taglist: @milkm4nz @caelestismoondust @hunbuncinnabun @taeoxox @tachibannaa

content warnings: mentions of death, angst, shibuya arc, contains s2 spoilers

***

Satoru Gojo was the strongest. 

It was the only identity he knew for himself — no, the only one he was allowed. Since he took his first breath of the world’s cursed air, from the very moment his eyes hit the light, it was decided. He would be the world’s savior. Not because they knew it was even possible, or that he could ever bear that kind of burden, but because they needed one - desperately.

And maybe he had nurtured himself on that foolish title because if he had accepted a reality for even a brief moment where he could at the mercy of this cruel world, he was sure it would break him. He had been running from that feeling ever since he saw his best friend’s back turn and disappear into the shadows. He thought he knew what it was to feel helpless that day — to be afraid. 

And then, amidst all the screams of utter panic, he heard yours.

No, he didn’t even need to hear it. He could feel you, he always could. It had been one of the only parts of his eyes he considered to be a gift. Ever since he had met you, sensing your soul nearby was one of his only comforts. He thought he would never see the day when he didn’t want you right where his eyes could reach you. 

No.

You weren’t supposed to be here. The panic exploding in his chest nearly caused his heart to stop.

For what felt like the first time in his life, he understood was it was to be truly, utterly, and completely terrified. 

He had seen you just hours ago. You were fidgeting around in that costume that took his breath away by the mirror, giggling as you tried to pry yourself from his arms. 

“Satoru, I have to go!” You flushed, the smile on your face giving away how little you actually minded his resistance. He squeezed you even tighter, pulling you into him from behind as he pressed a trail of kisses down your neck. 

“Now how am I supposed to let you go when you look this good?” He practically purred in your ear. 

“You could always come with me.” You mused, turning around in his grasp to thread your fingers through his hair. It always made his knees go weak. He sighed, placing a kiss to your forehead before pressing his own against it. 

“You go ahead, it’s supposed to be a girl’s night. Besides, I told the kids I would take them around for a bit — Itadori’s hellbent on going to a haunted house.” He chuckled. 

You smiled at the mention of them, nodding in understanding. 

“I won’t be out long, maybe I can meet up with you all after. I’d kill to see how Megumi would react,” You giggled, finally pulling back from his arms that reluctantly loosened. 

He had grabbed your purse off the counter, sliding it onto your shoulder. It never failed to give him butterflies how even the smallest touch from him made your cheeks bloom like roses. His hand trailed back down your arm until it reached your own, grasping it. He met your eyes, his voice now a bit softer. *

It did that when he was feeling vulnerable. You never failed to notice it.

“Be safe, okay?” 

It was no more than a whisper, but you smiled warmly in reply, squeezing the hand that held your own a bit tighter than usual.

“I always am.” 

He knew you meant it. It was one of the things he appreciated most about you. With you being a civilian, it felt like a part of him was always on edge when you were away. He wasn’t even sure when it happened, but somewhere along the lines he noticed the breath he would hold until he heard your keys rattling the doorknob. You had become well aware of your importance in his life over the years, and always tried to do what you could to ease his mind. You couldn’t imagine what his job put him through, so you had always tried your best to be someone he felt he didn’t have to carry. (No matter how many times he insisted you were the only one he felt was worth the burden.)

“Now go on, get out before I change my mind.” He joked, ushering you to the door. “I really am the world’s greatest boyfriend, letting my girl go out looking this good.” He grumbled, as if he had been suddenly questioning his decision. 

You turned back to face him one last time, flashing him that damn smile that always made his heart stop. 

“I love you too.” You said, rolling your eyes in amusement. 

Despite his antics, you knew him better than anyone — more particularly, how he had always used jokes to stifle his feelings. He had never been the best at verbalizing what he was really feeling, especially after everything he had lost. It felt like a curse to utter words of devotion — like the second he had marked someone as precious to him, they would be ripped from him before he could blink. Because of this, you never pressured him to say the words he so desperately meant but always hid behind his lips. You didn’t need to hear him to say it, and he didn’t think there was a single thing he had done in his life to deserve that - to deserve you. 

Now, watching you come crashing though the ceiling of that train station, he had never been more disgusted with himself. 

I should have said it. I should have said it a thousand more times. It felt like the only words he knew anymore when he saw your terrified face plummeting towards the pile of cursed corpses.

I love you. 

I love you. 

I love you.

How may times must you have called him once you realized the situation you were in? You were smart, too smart for your own good. He knew you must have put things together quickly — you always did. How long had you been trapped in this hell, terrified, left with nothing to do but pray he would show up? 

No, you wouldn’t have even wished for that, and he cursed himself for it. You would have wanted him as far away as possible when you heard the people demanding his arrival. You must have known it was a trap. 

He had never been more furious with himself. He should have gone with you. No, he never should have let you walk out that door. You should have been at home, with him, curled around his frame and littered with shitty candy wrappers as the even shittier halloween specials cast a glow on your sleeping face.

To be the honored one is a blessing. To be loved by them, is a curse.

This is the price of the six eyes, but why did you have to pay it? 

I’m so sorry that I love you. 

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

BENEATH MILES OF STONE. XXI ;

🪙 chapter map 🪙 John Wick x Fat Fem Reader 🪙 the very delayed next chapter. i think this story was last updated in march. you guys don’t know how mind blown and grateful and giddy i am to have people connect with me over words and interests and the things i write. please enjoy and let me know what you think and pay attention to trigger warnings. 🪙 TW ; nsfw, violence

John’s a man of his word. Exactly 24 hours after he promises to fix things, and after 24 long hours of being tailed around an assassin hotel by at least eight bodyguards who, thankfully, know the meaning of personal space, he has a solution. 

A solution that he is scowling while telling her about. She tries to ease some of his rage while he talks, takes his boots off and ghosts her fingers up and down his bare back. 

He flips her hand over in his own, examining the pretty metallic black coated over her nails. “Who did this?” 

“Addie,” she says, smiling. “I really like her.” 

He smiles fondly at the shimmery hue. “Making friends?” 

A little giggle and eye roll, and he shudders when she reaches a particularly tender spot. How can she resist spidering back over it?

The uncontrollable way he bucks against her is insanely endearing, her soft touch more potent than bullets, apparently, and she can’t help but tease him about it. “I think I found your kryptonite, John.” 

He tackles her mid-chortle, puts her on her tummy and pins her there. 

“Can’t you just let me winnnn?” She kicks her feet into the mattress. 

“There you go again,” he muses, contemplating tapping the squirm out of her ass. Or biting into it, leaving the ident of his teeth on the plump, pretty flesh. “Trying to use cute as an advantage.” 

“Is it working?” She asks, looking over her shoulder at him. 

“Little bit.” 

God, she’s fucking adorable. It’s painful, this desire to gobble her up, sweeten his belly with sugar and everything nice. “I get this feeling sometimes, that you don’t want to be touched? And if you don’t, that’s okay…But you can tell me.” 

And what would be the harm, especially since she already seems to be inside of him so deeply he’ll never be able to unstick all her pieces from his marrow.

“I want you to touch me,” he says, aching at the prospect of her withholding that. “But I’m not used to it.” Even when he’s fighting, the number of times opponents land a hit are paltry in comparison to his own, and even then he barely feels it. 

Nothing like how soft she is with him. She is the direct opposite of what he’s used to; maybe that’s why he’s so love drunk, enraptured with the novel flavor of compassion. He grimaces at the dimpled red skin on the backs of her thighs, remnants from his rough facial hair, soothes over them with his thumb, unintentionally tickling her. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, squirming under him. “Just tell me if you get uncomfortable, okay?” 

“Okay.” He decides to go back in, because the thought of her avoiding him because of this debacle is terrifying. “I’m not used to losing. I’m not used to giving up control. I’m not good at it.” His monotone catches on a rare high note, and she blinks blankly at him for a moment.

“Have you ever been tied up?” 

He laughs at her suddenly shy, averted gaze. “Yes, I have.” 

“And you can get out of it pretty easily, I’m guessing?” She’s only teasing a little bit, prodding at his inhumane skill levels. 

“Your guess is right.” 

“So, have you ever been tied up in a way you can’t get out of?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You want me to, yknow, tie you up? Make it so you can’t win?” Nervous and writhing, quickly amending this. “You don’t have to, just if you want. I don’t wanna force you into anything and I—“

But he’s lost a little focus, thinking about being at her gentle, teasing mercy. About being bound and open for her, this small, kind thing intent to torture him with sweetness. His cock hardens until it leaks. “I would love that.”

“Yeah?” She asks, beaming up at him. 

He swallows. “Yeah.” 

He lets her up, smooths her hair back, kisses her head. “I need you to come to dinner with me. The Tarasov’s want to meet you, and they will keep you safe if I’m unavailable.” 

“Does Viggo need eight men to replace you, John?” She kisses his palm, thinking of the men in suits trailing her earlier, of the different ones now standing outside of their room. 

“I’m invaluable to him.” There’s really no cocky inclination to that, just a deep guttural sadness, a regret even. 

She pushes his hair back behind his ear. “Viggo needs you.” 

He nods. 

But I want you. This she keeps to herself, watching his lips ghost her knuckles. 

“Does this mean I get to go back to my life? Still with you in it?”

“Yes,” he tells her. “And if I find a way to keep you with me that’s safe, I’ll never leave you.” 

“I’m sorry I’m being like this, but I have responsibilities to other people. Other things. My patients, Michael—“

He shushes her with a peck to her top lip. “I know.” 

“Hm.” She smiles at him, wide, pretty eyes twinkling. “If I’m gonna tie you up, you gotta teach me how.” 

Chuckling a dark kiss to her forehead, he hums in agreement. “Do you have anything formal in your closet?” 

“Define formal?” 

“Dresses.” He pauses, imagining her in a pretty sundress, and his brain gets fuzzy again. 

“John,” she calls, snapping him back into reality. “What kind of dresses?” 

He really is distracted. Rubs the back of his neck, knows what he would like to see her in, something satin and clinging, accentuating her curves just enough to keep him from strangling anyone that looks too long, and then, to match, and underneath, only for him, sheer feminine lace. 

She tries to wait for him to become functional, and loses her patience. “I only have one dress and it’s off shoulder, knee length, flowery. Actually, I dunno if it even fits. It’s from a long time ago…college graduation, I think.”

He longs for the days where his cock was under control. She tries not to notice, eyes looking anywhere but down. 

“Is…that okay?” Big eyes, pursed lips, hopeful little smile. Additionally, then, he longs for the days where his heart was under control. 

“Let’s go get it,” he says. 

——————————————-

Thankfully, and despite lurid, bright visions of her modeling that coveted, pretty college dress for him, he manages to willpower his cock soft before they enter into her apartment where her roommate is busying himself in the kitchen.

“This is him?!” Michael is suddenly very angry, although the other two are very confused as to why. He spins around, and the flour on his neon pink apron fluffs around him. 

Michael marches up to the taller man and points a powdery finger into his chest. “You! John! You’re fucking around with my friend’s feelings?!” 

Before she can intervene on this interaction, Michael does something stupid, unexpected, and altogether horrifying: He slaps John in the face. 

[sadlynojellybeans]

So I am re-reading TOA and i have decided to write some things i noticed now that I know what is going to happen next.

THE HIDDEN ORACLE

Meg was about do develop a crush on Percy, and Apollo noticed. It was immediatly curbed by Percy mentioning his girlfriend. He did not even notice XD

Apollo actually got out of the three legged death race unscathed O.o Scared to death but unharmed

Lester is being surprisingly not pathetic??? I mean, he can't remember shit and has the constutution of a limp noodle, but he has not fainted in several chapters!!! Maybe it's because Camp Half Blood is a relatively safe space for them...

THE FORESHADOWING IN CHAPTER 26 IS DEVASTATING - he gets confirmation it is the emperors behind everything and he thinks "i would have rather tangled with Tartarus or Ouranos or Primordial Chaos" APOLLO PLEASE

Speaking of foreshadowing, Rhea?!??!? "Find your center. Enlightenment has to come from within" HELLO??!?!??

Apollo mentioning he caused an earthquake that wiped out most of Sparta and that he never liked the Spartans much??? What about HYACINTHUS???????

"I busted out some footwork the Nine Muses and I had been working on" please I want so bad to see Apollo dance. Especially Apollo as Lester

Apollo being absolutely convinced that he will never have a proper partner is tragic. "It was not in my destiny" bro

The Germani appear and the absolute first thing Apollo does is move in front of Meg. "Instinctively". This is the same guy that at the beginning of the book was evaluating which demigods would be best to keep on hand to throw at quests. I can't. Just how much exactly did he repress his protective instincts through the years and centuries?

I find so fascinating that Apollo wants to strike Nero down immediately after meeting him. Like, yes. Apollo is a god. And he would not allow anyone to threaten what he cares about. Even after his trials, he might be kinder and more attentive to demigods, but I think that anybody who crosses him (really crosses him) will have to start praying for mercy.

If there is one thing I can say about TOA is that it is certainly expanding my musical horizons, with all the songs I have to check out on youtube just to have an idea of what Apollo is singing about.

He did not suck during the confrontation with Nero?! Burst of godly strength saved the day and his dignity

"Just because she had lied about being my friend did not mean I wasn't hers. She was in danger. I was not going to leave her" man. He cares so fucking much. No wonder he never let anybody get close to him in the last years.

Didn't they say a sonnet was worse than a limerick in the next book?

"BLESS HIS CONNIVING LITTLE HEART". "Children of Hermes cannot rap". "[Cecil] was demoted to dancer" skjsjskansnkzbsnsmmsnzm

It's kind of ... sad? How happy Apollo is when flying on the giant ants. He is used to being a god who can fly whenever he wants, and a part of him is usually in the sky every day as he drives the sun chariot. And instead he has been stranded on earth, away from what is both his duty and something he greatly enjoys. "It felt so good to fly again. [...] For two or three seconds I was exhilarated".

AND THE ARROW OF DODONA IS FINALLY HERE AND TALKING FRIENDS!!!!

I cannot believe I am so happy because of a talking arrow

The arrow QUIVERED kjsnsksjsnsnzjxndnsk i love them so much

Not Apollo asking where Jason Grace is 💀

I genuinely cannot understand if this is foreshadowing or really lucky wording on Riordan's part. Rachel asks about Meg and Apollo thinks "She might as well have plunged the Arrow of Dodona into my chest". RICK. RICK DID YOU KNOW? HAD YOU ALREADY THOUGTH ABOUT THAT SCENE IN TBM OR WAS IT PURE CHANCE????

WE WERE ROBBED. I have been wondering for a few days if in TOA we ever see Apollo sing for fun (not to confuse enemies, not to open doors, not for any practical purpose. Just for the fun of it). The depressing answer seems to be no, although I might have forgotten. At the end of THO it is implied that Apollo, Leo and Calypso join the sing-along at CHB, but the fact that the books end before we actually see him sing is a travesty.

[lovelynim]

TickleTober2023/Day 22 - Tail/Wings

Honkai: Star Rail - Dan Heng x Caelus

“A-ahm, Dan Heng…” Caelus muttered awkwardly, trying to move his wrapped up limbs as he felt that intense gaze upon himself. But Dan Heng only smiled fondly, almost grinned, leaning a bit forward to face his boyfriend’s blushing face. 

“Yes, Caelus?”

“Can… y-you let me go?”

“No,” Dan Heng mused, even tightening his grip a little bit to make the other man gasp. That sure was one of the perks of his Vidyadhara form. Out of a pure clingy need, the archivist used said form and made Caelus a victim of his.

Wrapping his tail around the trailblazer body, Dan Heng dragged him closer with ease, leaving him at his mercy. “I kind of like it,” he said, running his hand through Caelus’s hair, pushing his bangs away from his forehead before planting a kiss on it.

“B-but I can’t play like this!” Caelus groaned shyly, blushing and kicking his feet as he tried to free himself, surprised by how strong Dan Heng’s tail’s grip was. As much as he tried, it wouldn’t move an inch. 

“Good,” he replied, placing his index finger under the other man’s chin and gently lifting it. “Maybe now you’ll be able to spend some time with me, hm?” Dan Heng moved his hand down, stroking the column of Caelus’s neck, making him squeal and scrunch up his shoulders as he tried to protect himself.

“H-hehey! This ihihis not fahahair!” He protested, only earning an amused chuckle from the dragon that showed no intentions of stopping.

Dan Heng’s other hand soon joined the fun, cupping Caelus’s cheek while the other traced and tickled the side of his neck, going up to caress the back of his ear and make him giggle lightly. “Hm? How come?”

“I cahahan’t- ahah, n-no mohohoreee!” The more he tried to break free, the tighter Dan Heng’s tail squeezed him. Not able to free his arms, the trailblazer saw no option but to keep pleading, hoping his words would make it to the soft side of Dan Heng’s heart. “Lehehet me gohoh! Ahaha, i-it tihihickles!”

The archivist smiled, pulling his victim’s body closer to him so he would be able to kiss him again. Planting his lips on Caelus’s smile, it felt like he was drinking his laughter, savoring each giggle that bursted from his mouth. “So, are you going to leave me, hm?” 

“O-of cohohourse not! Ahahah, n-now stahahap!”

“Hmm…” Dan Heng pretend to thing while gently digging his fingers into Caelus’s collarbone, making his blush spread down to his neck and to the tip of his ears - which weren’t left untickled for long. “I need to think about it, until then…”

“Whahat- woah!” Before he realized, the dragon moved his tail, carrying him along and placing him on his lap without, of course, loosening the grip a single bit.

“Let’s have some fun…” Dan Heng muttered, making Caelus’s heart skip a beat.

“W-wait, Dan Heng, noHOHOH!!”

A/N: Ohohoh, if there was a better character than Dan Heng for this prompt- what am I saying, there was no one better than him eheheh

Anyway, kudos for this fanart that inspired me greatly. See you guys next day ~

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

Love is a killer that never dies (part 4)

Dracule Mihawk x reader. NSFW!! Discussion of dub-con.

This fic is part of the Beast in Black series.

This is part four of four. Kuraigana Island is Mihawk's home in the manga/anime.

Shanks being in a relationship with his crew's doctor is an allusion to this headcanon list and then to this fic, even though they take place in a different continuity.

Mihawk having a sister is a reference to this headcanon list.

*****

The soft notes of a flute entered the room through the open window. Mihawk didn’t know who was playing, just like he didn’t know what time it was; the world out of his bedroom seemed to have disappeared, leaving only him, the woman he loved, and the bed he was lying supine on. 

(name) smiled as she sat on his lap once again; she bent to kiss him, letting her hands roam the naked expanse of his chest. “Sometimes I try to imagine you clean-shaved.” she mused “You didn’t have a beard when we met as kids, but I have never seen you without it as an adult.”

“I have had a beard since I was old enough to grow one.”

“Why? It does become you, of course.”

The real reason why Mihawk had always let his beard grow was to look as different as he could from his father, who used to shave every day; and after the old lord Dracule had died, by simple force of habit. He could explain it to (name), but he didn’t feel like talking about his father, at least now.

“I like my face the way it is.” he said in the end, and he felt her smile against his throat.

“I couldn’t agree more, darling.”

She kept kissing him, murmuring how good he looked and how happy he made her as she explored his chest with her mouth, gently sucking and biting his pale skin. “I want to kiss every inch of your body.” she declared.

Mihawk grinned. “No matter how meticulous I am regarding my personal hygiene, there are parts of my body it would be highly improper to kiss.” he pointed out.

“You heard me. Your feet, your elbows, your ears… any part of you is lovely and perfect; I want to show you how ardently I adore you.”

Mihawk stopped breathing when he felt (name)’s lips kiss the thin strip of hair that went from his navel to the waistband of his trousers; he lifted his head from the pillow to look at her, and the woman met his eyes with a smile, kneeling over him, her perky ass lifted in the air. He was starving for her, his throbbing erection begging for mercy, but (name) limited herself to observe the fabric-covered tent in front of her with an half-interested expression that was both arousing and infuriating.

“Hmmm, what do we have here…”

“For the Gods’ sake, woman!” Mihawk exclaimed, exasperated; he could have taken care of the matter himself, he wasn’t tied down or trapped in any way, but he wanted her to do it… to disrobe him, to feel her hands on him, to touch a part of his body he would have gladly allowed her to kiss “Will you take them off me or not?”

“I didn’t know you were so impatient.”

“(name), I’m not kidding…” Mihawk warned her before sighing, admitting privately he had no way, and intention even less, to threaten her. As if she had read his thoughts, (name) giggled; a moment later her fingers were resting to the hem of his trousers.

“May I?”

Mihawk didn’t answer; he simply lifted his hips, letting (name) free him from his clothes - all of them; no longer constricted under the fabric, his still painfully hard cock sprang up, rising as if it had felt the close proximity of the woman who would soon take care of it.

(name)’s eyebrow raised as she contemplated it. “Eager, are we?” she asked, but Mihawk could see she was impressed with the size of his erection, vainly trying to hide how her eyes lingered on the thickness of the column, and the veins that would feel so good inside her. 

“Am I not to your liking, my lady?” Mihawk inquired with a smile.

“You most certainly are, kind sir. Now, you remember what I said?”

Before Mihawk could answer, (name) had lowered her face to his cock, her lips brushing against the tip; the swordsman’s hips quivered. “Hello… it is nice to meet you, finally…” 

She kissed it; Mihawk moaned, a hand pressed to his mouth, and felt the woman’s tongue lick up and down his length, stimulating the member until its owner was literally babbling, unable to form a coherent sentence beyond “fuuuck…!!”

And then she swallowed. 

What followed were six minutes of complete bliss, that (name) spent worshipping and torturing Mihawk’s length to the best of her ability - an ability that the swordsman never imagined she possessed. His moans, heavy breaths and occasional swearing filled the room; Mihawk kept his dominant hand on the woman’s head, caressing her hair to demonstrate his appreciation, and used the other to grab the side of the mattress, to unconsciously try to keep himself anchored - to what, he couldn’t explain. To reality, perhaps; because she was driving him crazy, a folly Mihawk wasn’t sure he would ever want to come back from.

“Oh… oh, Gods… mmmh…! (name), don’t… don’t stop… oh… oh, yes, darling… oh-oh, fuck…!”

The last expletive left his lips as the woman did something particularly filthy with her tongue; she smiled at him, clearly happy and flattered at the way her lover -because this was what they were, Mihawk reflected; because of what they were doing, and so much more- was reacting to her ministrations. Then, unable to speak, she raised her eyebrows in a silent question.

Mihawk shook his head. “No, not like this.” he murmured; no matter how divine it would have been to come in her mouth, he had other plans for their first time, other places he wanted to feel her, and he wanted (name) to enjoy it as much as he did “Not now. Come here, my beauty.”

She kissed the tip of his cock one last time before crawling to him; Mihawk used his fingers to clean her mouth before kissing her, softly but intensely, and he felt the woman’s body mould itself against his.

“Let me make love to you.” Mihawk murmured; there was no real need to ask for permission, but he had to hear it - because he wanted (name) to be sure, and because he needed her to say she wanted him “Let me take you, let me make you feel good… I swear I’ll make you happy, it’s the only thing I want…”

(name) giggled; she circled his shoulders with her arms, close enough they could both feel the other’s heartbeat. 

“You still haven’t figured it out?” she asked, gentle disbelief in her eyes “Mihawk, I am already happy. How could I not be, when I’m with you?”

He had no answer for that - a new experience in his life. Mihawk turned carefully to depose (name) on the bed under him; she lifted her hips to allow him to take her panties off, but when she waited for him to do the same with her underskirt, the swordsman shook his head and simply lifted it to expose her pelvis.

He looked at her; he had to force himself to swallow as (name) opened her legs, tempting, inviting, open and warm for him. He lay down over her, and when he slipped a hand between their bodies he could already feel how ready for him she was, but he wanted to take no risks, and so he started to gently caress her, relieved and proud to hear (name) approve vigorously, her soft body writhing against him, until he suddenly felt her whimper, and his fingers were no longer damp… they were soaking wet.

He met her gaze, disbelief and delight dancing in his eyes. “Darling, did you…?”

“Hmm-hmmm.”

“But I haven’t even…”

(name) blushed. “Well, clearly what you did was enough.�� she admitted, and as she smiled Mihawk felt her hand, until now resting on the small of his back, descend to his buttocks to squeeze vigorously enough to elicit a gasp “But I want more than your fingers in me, Mihawk.”

He gave it to her. He felt her hold her breath as he penetrated her, his hips moving slowly, cautiously and deliberately as he explored the warmth of her body; he felt (name) tremble and hold her breath until he was immersed inside her to the hilt. Every inch of his being screamed at him to move, to drink from the cup that was now in his hands and that would finally satiate his thirst, but Mihawk didn’t; he searched her gaze, and in her smile, in the trust and adoration that filled her eyes, he saw she was alright, and then she was ready.

And then, reassured, Mihawk started to move, at first cautiously, and then, when she dug her nails in his back

“More.” (name) growled; the swordsman had never heard her talk like that, but given the shiver of pure lust that ran through his body, he immediately decided he liked that “Harder, Mihawk. Please…!”

He moved faster, and faster, and after a moment of awkwardness his body and (name)’s learnt to move at the same rhythm, guiding and following each other, and soon they were one, a single, trembling and fiercely hot thing, the sensual music of their panting matching the sounds of the man’s hips pounding against the woman’s, his muscles tense, his self-control already hanging by a thread, because he had known already she would be soft and warm and tight, and she was, much than he expected, the realisation of all of his dreams and so much more, and while he wished that moment would never end, the delicious torment of their coupling lasting until they would both forget their names and just be able to feel each other, on the other he just wished to let go, to relinquish control like he had never allowed himself to do in his life, to allow himself to be weak, if only for a moment, confident she would not judge him or think less of him for it. He wanted to make her come, yes, he wanted to hear her scream her pleasure and realise no one else could give her what he could, but what he needed was to find his peak inside her; it’d be a miracle, a moment of perfection in an otherwise dirty and squalid world, and Mihawk demanded that moment, he’d let nothing and no one take it from him, because (name) was her own woman, she belonged to no one, not even to him and that was why he loved her, but his first orgasm inside her - Gods, that was his and he couldn’t wait to take it.

“Oh… Oh, Gods… M-Mihawk… yes, darling…” (name) murmured; she was so beautiful like this, her hands clawing at his back and shoulders, her chest bouncing with the strength of Mihawk’s pounding, her legs now crossed around his hips as she moved, searching desperately for any ounce of friction and contact to satiate the thirst they had both awoken in each other “Take me, take me… Mihawk, please… this is so good…!”

“Do you love me, (name)?” Mihawk asked; he knew already, but he needed to hear her say it, and as usual, his woman did not disappoint.

His woman. It felt exhilarating to think about her like that, and at the same time natural, as if she were made for that, for being his just like he was hers. Mihawk smiled as he bent to kiss her once more, and (name) drank from that kiss like a woman who found a cup of nectar after dying of thirst for days.

“I love you; I love you so much.” she murmured; for a moment she looked frustrated, as if realising that, no matter how articulated and well-spoken she could be, no declaration could do justice to the intensity and depth of her feelings “I have never… I’ve never felt like this before. You’re part of me, Mihawk, and it’s… it’s almost scary how much I… the thought that one day I could lose you…”

“You’ll never lose me; I promise. No sea, no God, not even death could ever keep us apart.” Mihawk murmured; he was a breath away from penetrating her, he could already feel her warmth on his tip, but he wanted her to know the truth - to know that he would kill mercilessly anyone who would put her in danger; even if that danger came from him “Whatever happens, even the end of the world, I’ll always come back to you.”  

“Oh, Gods, Mihawk…!”

A breath held; a slow but deliberate arching of the hips; and he finally bottomed inside her, the friction between their bodies so perfect in its sensuality that it elicited a moan from both of them. Mihawk moved cautiously, determined not to hurt her, but to his delight he found (name)’s body was already open for him, the expression of bliss on her lovely face proof enough she was more than alright with what he was doing.

“Harder… harder, darling, please…”

“Hmm, so eager.” he murmured as he caressed her hair “We have all the time…”

“I don’t care… please… oh, yes… Mihawk, please, I need more… I want to feel all of you, I have wanted you for so long…”

So open in her pleasure, her body singing for him and at the same time craving for more, she was the most inviting sight Mihawk could imagine; he grinned, determined to drive her crazy, to give her more pleasure than she thought her body could bear, so much that she would be indifferent to any other man. Not that he thought she could betray him; but it was good imagining other men could perceive his mark on her body.

Without warning, he suddenly slammed his hips into hers, almost slipping out to then bottom out again; (name) screamed. “Yes! Oh, fuck… like that, love, just like that…” 

“You want more?” he provoked her; holding it together was becoming harder by the moment, but he was determined to make her come, and scream his name, at least twice before succumbing “Are you sure you can take it?”

(name) looked at him, both frustrated and supplicant; Gods, she looked so good like this, begging for him, begging to be ravished “Of course I can take it. Give it to me, Mihawk, it feels so good…”

“What feels good, my beauty?”

“Your-your cock inside me… fuck me, Mihawk, please…”

He grinned as he arched his back. “As you command.” he murmured before devouring her mouth once more to suppress the screams that would soon follow “My lady.”

*

A group of men was labouring in the gardens, hauling and assembling wooden planks to build a pentagonal-based gazebo; it was the sound of their work, the hammering on the nails and the saw’s buzzing, that awoke Mihawk from the deep slumber he hadn’t realised he was falling into, as he listened to (name)’s slowly decreasing heartbeat, his cheek pressed against her chest and her fingers in his hair. 

He woke with a start, instinctively looking all around for whatever danger might have penetrated the room, and relaxed a moment later, realising that he was safe - and indeed, in a place from where no opponent and no threat could push him away from.

“I’m sorry, I should have closed the window.” (name) apologised; she was lying next to him, her lovely body bathed in the early afternoon’s light. She smiled, and obediently offered him her mouth to kiss as Mihawk took her in his arms.

“I’m the one who should apologise.” the swordsman admitted “I fell asleep while we were together.”

“Well, I did tire you out. And I guess the last twelve hours weren’t the most relaxing of your life either. If you need to rest some more it’s alright, we can…”

“I’m fine.” Mihawk reassured her; he wasn’t lying, since all the pain and fatigue, all the agony he had experienced due to the flower’s pollen, had magically disappeared as soon as he had been able to release his impulses in (name)’s arms - for the time being, at least. The conversation with Shanks had to have reassured the woman his feelings for her were genuine, irrespective of any mortal danger celibacy could pose, but he planned of showing her himself how much he loved and desired her; they had already made love twice, and he planned on not leaving the bed before the next morning at least “Really. Which obviously doesn’t mean I plan on letting you go any time soon.”

(name) smiled. “I’m glad to hear that, because I didn’t intend to leave either.”

Mihawk smiled softly as (name) snuggled against his side, and circled her shoulders with his arm; for a while neither spoke, the two lovers content with simply enjoying that newly found intimacy. Mihawk had now skipped a whole day of meals, and he didn’t care - for the time being, at least; the warmth of his woman’s body pressed against his, and the quiet joy he knew both felt as they lazily caressed each other were enough.

“I don’t think I’ve ever told you I had a sister once.” Mihawk murmured after a while.

If (name) felt it was a weird topic to touch in their circumstances, she didn’t show it.

“No, I had no idea.” she whispered as she rested her cheek on his shoulder “What was her name?”

“Yoru. Lady Dracule Yoru.”

Neither felt the need to mention the large sword placed against the wall just a few steps from them, where its owner could grab and wield it at a moment’s notice. 

“Oh, Mihawk, that is so sweet…” 

“It sounded appropriate. This way I feel like she is here with me, wherever I go.” the swordsman explained; discussing his emotions was not something he was used to, but (name) was special, and that at least he had known long before he had fallen in love with her “She… she was all the family I had. Our mother died in childbirth, our father cared more about his gambling and business than about us, and gave us the boot when I was seven. Yoru took care of me, she made sure I was educated, she made great sacrifices to ensure I was safe, with a roof above my head and food in my stomach; I really don’t know what would have become of me if she hadn’t been there.”

“She must have been a truly exceptional person.”

“She was; she really was, I’m not saying it just because I was her brother. She… she died long ago; the same night I became the world’s strongest swordsman.”

(name) frowned for a moment; she perceived that was more than a simple coincidence, but she didn’t want to force Mihawk to share the truth with her, given the pain and regret she could see in his eyes.

“I am so sorry.” she murmured; words like those often felt empty and she knew Mihawk shared her opinion, but she couldn’t help it “I truly am.”

“Thank you. I… I really wish you could have met her.”

“I would have been happy to. Do you think she would have liked me?”

Mihawk seriously considered the question. Yoru, shy and reserved, with so much love to give and who felt most at ease alone or with the people closest to her, and (name), outspoken and self-assured, who could happily hold her own against both a Marines’ vice-admiral and the worst scum the world of crime had to offer, were probably as different as two women could be, but they were both clever and kind people, resilient in times of need. They would have probably respected each other seeing how much both of them cared for him, but Mihawk didn’t doubt the two women could have become great friends.

“She would have loved you. Really.” the swordsman added, seeing the joy in the eyes of the woman next to him “And I would have loved introducing the two of you. I know this is not the sort of thing one should discuss while in bed…”

(name) kissed his shoulder. “Mihawk, I thought it was clear that whatever you want, or need, to talk about, I will listen.”

“I know. I just… well, it is still hard to talk about her, but I wanted you to know about Yoru. She passed years before we met as adults, and after I lost her for a long time I thought I’d never… care for anyone else again in my life.”

“Mihawk…”

“I know. I am not saying you remind me of my sister or anything of the sort, but…”

Thank you. Thank you for reminding me what it means to love someone. He didn’t say it, but (name) understood it all the same, and a moment later it was her who had taken him in her arms, Mihawk gently kissing the softness of her breast -”It tickles!”- as his hand moved up and down her side. There was more than pleasure and affection in her, the swordsman realised, there was empathy and understanding and trust; he didn’t particularly need them, but it felt good to know he could find them in her.

Yoru would have been pleased.

“I am not done with you, you know.” (name) murmured after a while, circling Mihawk’s hip with her leg to lightly press her pelvis against him; the swordsman groaned, whatever tiredness he felt quickly disappearing from his body. He was half-hard already, but he lingered for a moment, looking into her eyes as if he could read his future in them; and that was exactly what he wished to do “I think I will never be.”

Mihawk smiled. “Now you’re flattering me.”

“Not at all. Which poses a question we should address, sooner or later.”

He saw his lover’s expression had turned serious, which made it easy for him to realise the meaning of her words. 

“You’re talking about the future. Our future.”

“I am.”

 “Hmmm…”

(name) turned on her belly, her arms crossed in front of her; Mihawk saw her stare into the void for a minute before sighing. “I have duties here.” she murmured, her tone not apologetic but factual as she described a truth she couldn’t and had no intention of challenging “In… many many years, I hope, but I am destined to become the lady of this island. This is my home, and I intend to take care of it to the best of my abilities, even if it means renouncing the life I have built for myself outside of it. Nor I plan on becoming a housewife, taking care of my home and then of my man when he returns.”

“I know. I would never ask you to change who you are, (name); not to mention I am not interested in a woman of that kind.”

“I know you wouldn’t, and I love you for it. Mihawk, this… thing we have, I want it to last; I want us to last. I won’t ask you to change who you are either, but there will be a time where I won’t be able to meet you on some island in a far-off corner of the sea for a weekend together, or to simply have dinner and spend the night in an inn after we met at the Marines��� HQ. I’d like that, and I can do it now, just… not forever.”

“I understand.” 

Mihawk was silent for a while; the noise made by the men working to erect the gazebo was unpleasant, but he didn’t want to interrupt the conversation, even if getting up to close the window would take him no more than a few seconds. “You want to… I mean, do you intend to get married?” he asked in the end “As far as I know political marriages are common among noble families.”

(name) smiled faintly. “Does it interest you?”

“Answer me, please.”

“Well, not necessarily. Here on the island marriage has long been deemed unnecessary for two people to live together and raise a family; many decide to do it nonetheless, but it’s a personal choice. I’ll have to decide what to do regarding the succession, since I cannot bear an heir, but no one can force me to marry… unless I want to, that is.”

“And you want to?” Mihawk asked again; (name) sighed as she took his face in her hands.

“What I want is you; lover, partner, husband, I don’t care. I just need to know wherever you are, whatever you are doing, you’ll be thinking of me, because I sure as hell will be thinking of you.” she murmured “And yes, I’d really like it if between trips, when you’re not busy with your Warlord duties or otherwise occupied, you’ll come back here, to me, not out of habit or because you have no other place to call home but because you want to - because you miss me.”

“I don’t think I’d be a good consort for the lady of this island.”

“I beg to differ; and I wouldn’t ask you to do anything you’re not interested in, or to stop being a pirate. I just want my home to be yours as well; I want to be your home.”

She already was, Mihawk thought, even though she didn’t know; that made things easier on one side, and immensely more complicated on the other. “Let me think about it for a while.” he said, and (name) smiled, suddenly getting up on her knees to straddle him; she sat on his lap, looking immediately pleased with what she could feel under her buttocks.

“Of course; the offer will stand as long as you need it to. Fortunately I shouldn’t have to take my mother’s place for a few years at least, barring accidents, so you have time before having to decide; I just thought…”

“... I ought to know what it entailed being with you in the long run. I understand.”

“I’m glad you do. Now…” the woman’s smile widened as she started rolling her hips “Do you need to rest, or to eat, or may I fuck you the way I have dreamt of doing for months?”

Mihawk grinned as he gripped her hips; he could feel she was wet again, or still, and while he usually disliked taking a submissive role he couldn’t say the current situation displeased him…

He felt the softest part of (name)’s body brush against his cock as the woman started to move. “Lift.” he ordered, gently pushing her hips upward, and the woman pouted.

“I thought I was in charge right now.”

“I’m more than willing to let you be so, but you need to give me some space to slip it in.”

“Hmm, in that case I might decide to obey…”

A moment later, just as (name)’s gentle but firm fingers guided Mihawk’s erection inside her and soon after the labourers in the gardens had interrupted their work, both lovers became aware of a noise coming from the fortress’s west wing: shouts, an heated conversations, a man screaming in pain…

“That… that is my mother’s voice.” (name) realised, her gaze turning instinctively towards the room’s door; she had frowned, momentarily distracted just as she prepared to impale herself on Mihawk. The swordsman sighed, but he understood why she was concerned: while he couldn’t discern her words, the lady Veressa sounded completely beside herself, either with rage… or fear.

“Do you think she’s in danger?”

“I don’t know; I thought she had gone out, and the fortress is well-guarded, but…”

She bent to kiss him, quickly but fiercely. “Forgive me. I’ll be back soon, I…”  

“I’m coming with you.”

“... you sure?”

“Of course. Not that I don’t think you can protect your mother.”

That last statement earned him another kiss. “Gods, I love you so much.”

They separated, and quickly got dressed; Mihawk retrieved his pants, and put on the shirt he had worn the previous day, while (name) slipped on the dressing-gown the swordsman had found in the room at his arrival at the fortress. Both bare-footed, they quickly walked out of the room.

“Where is the lady Veressa?” (name) asked the first servant they met “Call the guards, someone might have assaulted her…”

“She is in the main corridor of the west wing, my lady; and she is not in danger. She… well, you should see for yourself.”

Mihawk followed his lover, only partially reassured, to the corridor. The lady Veressa, he later learnt, had left that morning to visit a friend whose birthday fell on that day, soon before (name) decided to check why her guest was suddenly avoiding her; having returned to the fortress after lunch, she was informed (name) had ordered to have Theon locked in his room.

And then she discovered why.

The shouting, the two lovers found out, came from that very room, whose door the lady of the fortress had ordered to open before marching in and giving her nephew a piece of her mind. 

“I should have you put in the stocks in the courtyard!” she cried, under the impassive gaze of two servants standing at the door; Mihawk didn’t know whether she had ever used the riding crop on a horse -the woman, an avid rider, was also known for the love and patience she treated the animals with- but given the brutality with which she was now wielding it, Theon probably regretted he hadn’t been handed over to the jailers already “I can’t believe you would do something this despicable! To your own cousin!”

The man was lying on the floor, younger and stronger than his aunt and still unable to defend himself against her righteous fury. “Auntie… please, I swear it was just a prank…”

“Don’t call me aunt! You’re no longer part of my family from now on! And your prank could have killed (name) or her friend! What would your poor father think? You’re a disgrace, you… you bastard!”

“Mother, language.” (name) intervened idly, stepping closer to the older woman. She looked down at the man snivelling at her feet, and her expression darkened; she had probably left her derringer in her room, but her homicidal gaze said clearly she could easily kill her cousin without shedding a tear “Hello, Theon. Clearly our ideas of pranks differ somehow.”

“(name), I… I’m s-sorry…” the man stammered; he sat on the floor, holding his stomach where a particularly vicious blow from the riding crop had hit him “I had no idea someone could die… I only thought it would embarrass you, and cause gossip to spread around the island about you and whoever you would choose to…”

“And what if I wasn’t able to control myself? What if I assaulted someone and ended up hurting them? Or if someone abused me, taking advantage of the fact I wasn’t able to consent to a rapport?” 

Theon bit his lip; he didn’t even try arguing that he hadn’t thought about the possibility. A moment later he noticed Mihawk, standing silently behind the two women; he paled, as if suddenly realising who the friend who had been poisoned by his gift was, and knew instantly that apologising -and even begging for mercy- would be useless.

 “What are you going to do to me?” he asked, returning to look at (name) and her mother.

“You do understand what you did could qualify as treason, if we decided to consider it as such.”

“It was a joke! I swear I didn’t mean to hu… to kill anyone. Please… my family needs me…”

(name) sighed; he turned to look at Mihawk. “You want to have him killed?” he asked “You are the victim, you should at least have your say.”

The swordsman reflected on it. “Can he wield a sword?”

“He can.”

“I can’t!” the man protested, immediately seeing where the discussion was going; the lady Veressa looked at him, disgusted, and took a step back to avoid the man touching her.

“Then no. If he were a worthy opponent I could let him challenge me and settle the matter with a fight, but I think it’d only waste my time.”

He preceded the two women in leaving the room; (name) closed the door. “And I thought my opinion of him couldn’t sink any lower.” she muttered, while her mother looked at Mihawk; given the state the two lovers were in, and what she had learnt about the Lily of Twilight’s properties, she had to be well aware of what he and her daughter had spent half of the day doing, but there was no embarrassment in the woman’s eyes.

“Mihawk… I am so sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologise for, my lady. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Still, both you and Theon are guests under my roof, and I am the head of our family; I know he harboured resentment towards the two of us, but I really can’t believe my nephew would stoop so low. He does deserve to be punished.”

MIhawk, who didn’t forgive easily, agreed; he didn’t even want to think what would have happened if (name) had been the one poisoned by the flower… especially if he hadn’t been there to take care of her.

“Unfortunately we can’t have him killed like our ancestors did with the relatives they didn’t like a few centuries ago.” the younger woman mentioned, clearly unhappy “We could order him to send his child here as a hostage, to punish in case he misbehaves again…”

“(name).”

“I was kidding, mother. I can’t believe it, he’s really getting away with it? I know he’s part of the family, and punishing him would only exacerbate his hatred, but he needs to know he can’t defy us and suffer no consequences.”

In the end, the two women decided Theon would be banished from the island for a year; from then on, a person of trust would be sent to his house to discreetly check whether the man had learnt his lesson and was behaving himself, or he was still scheming against his aunt and cousin, whether for revenge, spite, or in order to become the new lord of the island.

The lady Veressa asked the servants who had remained nearby to help Theon to prepare his luggage, and to make sure he’d be out of the fortress within the hour.

“To think that his father was my favourite cousin.” she added with a sigh “Well, I better go back to my study, I have a few letters to write. Are the two of you… alright?”

(name) looked at Mihawk; the swordsman nodded, his expression impassible. “I think we have everything we need.”

“I’m pleased to hear it. I’ll see you both later.”

A smile and a nod, and the older woman walked away.

“Your mother doesn’t get embarrassed easily, does she?” Mihawk pointed out; from inside the room he could hear Theon moan that his aunt had covered him in bruises. (name) smiled, slipping under his arm to press her body against her lover’s “I mean, she could probably see you’re naked under your robe, and smell your perfume on me.”

“She really is; I think nothing short of a Buster Call could actually upset her. And she knew how much I care for you, so the fact that we are together now wouldn’t have surprised her in any case.”

She looked up at him. “You want to continue this in my room?” she murmured quietly, turning to face him “I could ask to have some food brought there; even the world’s strongest swordsman needs to regain his strength.”

“I could eat something.” MIhawk admitted; with a smirk, he slipped a hand under the hem of her dressing gown, immediately finding the warmth between her tights “Maybe food, maybe something else…”

“Hmmm, you’re so forward…”

(name) smiled. Mihawk felt her relaxing her legs just enough to let him plunge his fingers inside her; the woman’s inner muscles clamped around him, her lovely body wet and warm just like he had always imagined it to be. She was perfect, he thought admiringly as he gently rubbed the pad of his middle finger against her clit, eliciting a moan so exquisite and decadent Mihawk wished he could have tasted it, perfect for him and capable of bringing him so much joy, and he would never allow anyone to come between them. Whatever happened, no matter what challenge or obstacle the world threw their way, Mihawk would prove himself worthy of her love, and never let her doubt his.

He promised himself.

“Fuck… Oh, God, darling, yes…” (name) whispered; she had pressed her back against the wall facing her cousin’s door, as if her legs could no longer support her, shamelessly riding the wave Mihawk was gifting her with the simple but deliberate pressure of his fingers “Like this… just like… oh! Oh, yes, love…”

He knew anyone who needed to cross the corridor would see, and hear, them; she did as well, and neither cared. He made her come, a sudden kiss pressed to her mouth to swallow her scream, and when he felt her collapsing against him Mihawk was quick to lift (name) in his arms. She kissed him, hard and possessive.

“I’d ask where you have learnt to do that but I doubt I’d like the answer.” 

“I’m a swordsman; I’m good with my hands.” he pointed out “Now, I think food can wait.” 

He swordsman didn’t waste any time before setting out towards her bedroom. 

“You are stuck with me now.” he murmured; Gods, ambrosia was nothing on her lips “I hope you know what awaits you.”

The woman smiled. “I think I know.” she murmured before kissing him again “And if I don’t, I can’t wait to find it out.”

[girlybelle]

GUILTY PLEASURE — 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍 𝐀. ⋅ fem reader

armin eats pussy for his pleasure. it's one time you see him fully lose control over himself, his mind becoming intoxicated by the sight of you all pretty and splayed over the bed, cunt glistening and exposed to his gaze like a juicy feast; the moment you saw the last drop of self control leave his brain at the godly sight.

“armin, s-slow down–fuck!” you plead helplessly but to no avail. your scent, your gorgeous sounds and your addicting body all took armin far too gone and the way he lapped and slurped greedily at your juices only attested to his lost sanity. you moaned and squirmed away as you felt yourself spiral inevitably down your second orgasm this night.

“you taste so good, angel... so, so good.” the vibrations his voice sent to your clit only loudened your shameless moans and drawed out the waves of your high, “you're so pretty.”

armin groaned when you desperately pulled back on his tousled hair, clearly overstimulated. his eyes were half-lidded, pupils blown wide, chin glistening and dripping a combination of your juices and saliva while he still clutched your sore thighs, seeming to be in a complete trance. armin's always been gentle, a kind, passionate and selfless lover who'd always put your needs before his, it was just the kind of person he was– which made your discovery of this layer of him all the more exciting and hot. the fact that this was a need of his and you were the trigger to bring out this side of his complex personality like a switch only amplified your ego and arousal for him. armin looked like a madman. and you shivered when his eyes bored into yours as he continued talking;

“and all mine too, right? you're all mine.” he said already bracing himself, to your panic.

“yes, baby. i-i am, but wait–”

“one more, sweetie. just one for me. i promise i just need one. i swear.” he chanted almost incoherently.

“m-min, wait–” his sudden dive in your core melted your sentence into a strangled moan as he began his devour on you implaccably once again.

and you would give him one more, armin would make damn sure of it. as your body writhed and squirmed helplessly at his mercy, you mused at the safe word you two had agreed on that was at your disposition at anytime, all you needed to do was say it and armin would be back to you with comfort and his sickly sweet words in an instant. and yet, you didn't. because you were obsessed with every side and layers of armin arlert's, and he was more than willing to give you a taste of every one of them.

by GIRLYBELLE.

[have-you-seen-my-sanity]

Spiked up with obsession

Yandere!Marc Spector x afab!reader

Cw/triggers: Kind of delusional Marc, reader has been drugged and is tied up, Marc being Marc.

A/n: After Steven, I wanted to do the same for Marc. <3

Getting you to his place was easy, just as he expected it to be.

Marc watched you struggling against the restraints on you. Even tied up and at his mercy you were adorable.

"You done struggling yet?" he mused, raising an eyebrow at your futile struggles.

You looked back at him, narrowing your eyes.

Oh, how Marc wanted to hear any sass you were about to say, but he couldn't risk you screaming on top of your lungs.

He smiled, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Sorry for the tape but I had to make sure you keep your pretty mouth shut," he reached out to run his fingers along your jawline "and what else could do a better job on that other than duct tape?" he joked, pinching your cheek gently.

You rolled your eyes, huffing through your nose, your mind was reeling and you felt a sudden dizziness wash over you.

"Easy there, sweetheart. The effects will go away." he assured with a gentle pat on your cheek.

Marc was so happy to finally have you.

You glared at him, trying to come off as defiant as possible even though you're drugged up.

"Oh, what's that? Tryna smitten me even more than I already am with that face?"

You tried muffling out a fuck you at him.

Marc chuckled. "Careful. That might work." he gave a mock warning glance along with a faint smirk.

He stood up, leaving the room and came back later with some food for you, setting it down to the bedside table.

Your gaze shifted between him and the food, eyeing both with suspicion.

Seeing your suspicious gaze, Marc had to suppress a laughter. "That food is definitely not spiked if you're wondering that."

You tugged on your bound wrists, trying to get them free.

Marc sat back down on the bed, holding your hands in place. "Better stop that." he said lowly, leaning down close to your face.

"It's not like you're getting out of here anytime soon, honey. So you might aswell as accept it. You're mine now."

[inspirationalucky]

🪦 EPIC: The Musical: Act One: The Underworld Saga sentence starters. Going by the exact lyrics for the most part unless I'm making it less lyric and more dialogue. Definitely change things to fit your muse's situation<3

The Underworld

"No matter what we hear: full speed ahead"

"Full speed ahead until we find the prophet."

"This land confuses your mind"

"All I hear are screams every time I dare to close my eyes"

"I no longer dream, only nightmares of those who've died"

"Nothing's what it seems"

"The past seems close behind"

"Five-hundred fifty-eight men who died under your command"

"Why would you let the cyclops live when ruthlessness is mercy?"

"I keep thinking of the infant from that night"

"That voice, it can't be!"

"When you come home I'll be waiting"

"Even if you're the last thing I see, I'll be waiting"

"I'm right here, mom. Can't you see?"

"I took too long, and ventured too far."

"I'll always love you, I'll stay in your heart"

"Your past is always close behind down in the Underworld"

No Longer You

"I am the prophet with the answers you seek"

"I see past and future running free"

"There is a world where I help you get home, but that's not a world I know"

"I see the sacrifice of man"

"I see portrayals of betrayal and a brother's final stand"

"I see you on the brink of death. I see you draw your final breath"

"I see a man who gets to make it home alive, but it's no longer you"

"This can't be!"

"We've suffered and sailed through the toughest of hells, now you tell us our effort's for nothing?"

"I see your palace covered in red."

"I see your wife with a man who is haunting, a man with a trail of bodies..."

Monster

"How has everything been turned against us?"

"How did suffering become so endless?"

"Do I need to change?"

"I'm surrounded by the souls of those I've lost."

"I'm the only one whose line I haven't crossed."

"What if the greatest threat we'll find across the sea... is me?"

"What if I'm the monster?"

"What if I'm in the wrong?"

"What if I'm the problem that's been hiding all along?"

"What if I'm the one who killed you every time I caved to guilt?"

"What if I've been far too kind to foes but a monster to ourselves?"

"If I became the monster and threw that guilt away, would that make us stronger?"

"And now no one dares to piss him off"

"Who would care if we're unjust?"

"Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves, and deep down I know this well."

"I lost my best friend. I lost my mentor, my mom."

"If we must sail through dangerous oceans and beaches, I'll go where Poseidon won't reach us"

"I'll become the monster. I will deal the blow"

"I'll become the monster like none they've ever known"

"So what if I'm the monster lurking deep below?"

"I must become the monster, and then we'll make it home"

[mira-kairos]

You.

I seem to write lots of poetry, romanticizing nothing, making people fall for poems, and swooning over carefully constructed words, but lately there seem to be a disturbance on the surface of my heart, enough to break me out of my habit of long time, There is unusually a certain someone on my mind, whenever I have the chance to weave words into whatever rhyme I like. I didn’t know there was a void, there was a piece missing on the puzzle of my heart, until stars aligned and gods had mercy, I knew I found what I had just realized was missing, it was as if there was red string connecting to our pinkies, I swear I heard angles whisper into my ears, "he's special, and one you better cherish"

I started going down the rabbit hole we call love, and my poetry, somehow reflected the state of my heart, making people fall for you, the only guy I seem to write about, or the idea of you, making them wonder about person, who has melted the ice around my heart and managed to bloom a whole field of red rose flowers .

it was like being in a blanket on rainy cold day, with my favorite kind of food and book just a hand away, warm fuzzy feeling on my chest never seem to go away, and maybe if I managed to confess to myself, that I had already given you my heart, it was my own business and something nobody had the right to know about.

but of course, there is darkness after light, night after day, roses that are bloomed only has short lifespan, in the bliss of high, I had forgotten that common fact, roses are pretty, yeah, but some people only grow them to pluck them, my heart was bleeding from the love roses that were plucked away, so I watched with my silence as I watched you go away. my poems, people told me they are so raw, it was as if walking on glass with feet bare and alone, I am being asked if I had my heart broken, my poetries are starting to feel personal, the kind where that tear soul apart, but I don’t know, I don’t wanna tell anyone, I am still in denial, shock and betrayal, I don't' know how am I supposed to admit, that yes, my muse, your name and heartbreak, they all are singing the same tune.

©Mira Kairos --------------- Re-Written and was originally posted under my older blog.

[madameadelina]

is there any possiblity that we could get sort of a holiday-smut scenario for readers? i really hope its not too much to ask!

-🍸

🍸!Anon, hello! I'm so sorry to get to this a whole week after. I was on a bit of a break, but I can totally do this for you! Thank you for being so patient ~

------------------------------

The glow of the Christmas tree lights made the season, more specifically this day, more festive. Outside, snow blanketed the world in silence, but inside, the crackle of the fire and the faint sound of holiday music played in the background. You stood by the window, looking out at the snowfall, the faint chill in the air making you pull your robe tighter around yourself.

Behind you, he approached silently, his warmth seeping into you before his arms wrapped around your waist. His lips brushed against the shell of your ear, his deep, teasing voice sending shivers down your spine.

“Merry Christmas, Master,” he murmured, the title dripping with playful mockery.

You stiffened slightly, your cheeks flushing as his hands slid down your sides, his touch firm and possessive. “Don’t call me that,” you muttered, your voice shaking just enough to betray the way he affected you. Such a nickname felt as though you owned him, and that couldn't be further from the truth.

“Oh, but why not?” he continued, his lips trailing down the curve of your neck. “Isn’t that what I am? Your obedient little slave, here to serve you in any way you desire?”

His words were laced with dark amusement, but the heat in his voice was undeniable. His hands slipped beneath the fabric of your robe, his fingers brushing against bare skin as he pulled you closer. You tried to suppress the way your body responded to him, but it was no use—not when his touch felt like fire and his voice made your knees weak, and you felt yourself getting wetter by the second.

“You’re not a slave,” you said, though your voice lacked the conviction you intended. “Not to me.”

He chuckled, a low and rich sound that vibrated through you. “That’s sweet of you, Cupcake. But let’s not pretend.” His lips hovered just above your neck, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re the one in control. You could order me to do anything right now, and I’d have to obey, wouldn’t I?” It almost sounded like somewhat of a threat.

Your heart pounded as his hands gripped your hips, turning you to face him. His dark eyes locked on yours, the heat in his gaze almost too much to bear.

“Go on,” he whispered, his lips curling into a devilish smile. “Order me around. Tell me what you want from me, Master.”

“Stop calling me that,” you insisted, your voice trembling.

“Why?” He tilted his head, feigning innocence as his fingers trailed up the curve of your spine. “Does it bother you? Or…” His grin widened as he leaned in closer. “Does it turn you on?”

Your cheeks burned, and you quickly averted your gaze, but he caught your chin, forcing you to look at him. Truth be told, something dark and sinister inside of you enjoyed the sadist-coded title.

“I think it does,” he said, his tone dripping with smug confidence. His chocolate brown eyes now hardened, the pupils dilating as he looked towards your pouting lips. “The idea of having this kind of power over me. It excites you, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t—”

“Oh, but you do,” he interrupted, his voice a low, sensual growl. “You love the idea of me being yours. Of being able to do anything you want to me, whenever you want. And you love that I’d let you.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he silenced you with a kiss, his lips claiming yours with a hunger that left you breathless. When he pulled back, his eyes were darker, his grip on your waist tightening.

“What would they think?” he mused, his fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts, brushing against your bare skin. “The council, the public. What would they say if they knew? Their perfect, untouchable darling, completely at my mercy.”

You tried to shake your head, but the thought sent a thrill down your spine, one you couldn’t deny. “They’d think I was a hypocrite,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Exactly.” His smirk was sharp as he turned you back toward the window, pressing you against the frosted glass. His hands roamed your body, pulling the robe from your shoulders and exposing your skin to the chill of the room. “But you’re my hypocrite, aren’t you?”

“Warren—”

“Shh.” He pressed a finger to your lips, his other hand slipping between your legs. “Be a good girl for me, Cupcake.”

You gasped as his fingers found your heat, his touch slow and deliberate as he teased you, his name falling from your lips in a desperate plea. He chuckled softly, his lips brushing against the nape of your neck.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “So desperate, so needy. And all for me.”

Your breath hitched as he thrust a finger inside you, his pace unhurried but firm, every movement sending shockwaves through your body. You clawed at the window frame, your reflection in the glass betraying every ounce of your desire.

“Eyes on me,” he ordered, his voice firm as he tangled a hand in your hair, pulling your head back to meet his gaze in the reflection. “I want you to see what I see.”

Your eyes met his in the window, his dark gaze holding you captive as he added another finger, the stretch making you cry out. “You take me so well,” he growled, his voice filled with a dark satisfaction. “You were made for this. Made for me.”

Your legs trembled, your body clenching around him as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. His free hand gripped your hip, holding you steady as he worked you with precision, his fingers curling just enough to send you spiraling into bliss.

“Come for me,” he commanded, his tone dark and possessive. “Show me who you belong to.”

And when you did, your release crashing over you like the breaking of a dam, he held you through it, his lips brushing softly against your ear as he whispered, “Merry Christmas, Cupcake.”

The heat between you lingered as Warren scooped you up in one fluid motion, his strength effortless as he carried you through the soft glow of the Christmas lights. The firelight danced across his sharp features, casting shadows that made him look both dangerous and irresistible. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your breath still coming in short, shallow gasps from his relentless teasing.

“Where are we going?” you murmured, your voice shaky.

His lips brushed against your temple, his answer a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. “To make you see yourself the way I see you.”

Your heart skipped a beat, your cheeks flushing even deeper as he crossed the threshold into your bedroom. The snow outside cast a pale light through the curtains, blending with the amber glow of the fireplace that had warmed the room earlier. He set you down gently on the foot of the bed, your legs dangling over the edge. You watched as he dropped to his knees before you, the motion deliberate, reverent.

Your eyes widened as he turned your face toward the mirror at the foot of the bed. In its reflection, you could see everything—the way your robe hung loosely from your shoulders, baring your flushed skin, and the way Warren looked on his knees in front of you, his dark eyes locked onto yours.

“Look at yourself, Cupcake,” he murmured, his voice filled with dark satisfaction. “See how beautiful you are. See what you do to me.”

Some would beg to differ that it wasn't possible for you to get any wetter, but the sight of him between your legs in the mirror was enough to send you over the edge again.

You swallowed hard, your gaze flickering between his reflection and his real presence before you. The sight of him kneeling between your legs, his broad shoulders framing you perfectly, made your stomach tighten. His hands slid up your thighs, spreading them gently, and you gasped at the feel of his palms against your bare skin.

“Warren…” You breathed his name, your voice trembling with a mix of nerves and anticipation.

“Shh,” he soothed, his lips curling into a wicked smile as he leaned closer, his breath warm against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. “Keep your eyes on the mirror. I want you to see everything.”

Your pulse raced as his hands gripped your thighs firmly, holding you in place. His lips pressed against your skin, trailing a path of kisses up your thigh, each one more deliberate than the last. You couldn’t look away, captivated by the image in the mirror—the way his dark head moved closer, the way your chest rose and fell with every ragged breath.

When his mouth finally found you, sucking your clit, the sensation was almost too much to bear. You cried out, your hands gripping the edge of the bed as his tongue moved against you with expert precision. The heat of his mouth, the pressure of his lips, sent waves of pleasure crashing over you, each one stronger than the last.

“Warren,” you gasped, your head falling back for a moment before you forced yourself to meet his gaze in the mirror. The intensity in his eyes as he looked up at you, his mouth still working its magic, made you tremble.

“Eyes on me,” he commanded, his voice muffled but firm. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, pulling you closer to him. “I want you to see how good you look when you fall apart for me.”

The sight in the mirror was almost surreal—the way he knelt before you like a man possessed, completely focused on your pleasure, and the way your body responded to him, your hips tilting toward his mouth as if you couldn’t help yourself. It was intoxicating, watching yourself lose control under his touch.

His tongue flicked against you in just the right way, and you gasped, your body arching off the bed. He groaned against you, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure straight through you.

“Warren, I can’t—” You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat as he redoubled his efforts, his lips and tongue working in perfect harmony to push you closer and closer to the edge.

“Yes, you can,” he growled, his voice thick with desire. “You’re going to come for me, and you’re going to watch yourself do it.”

The sheer command in his tone sent a thrill through you, and you couldn’t fight it anymore. Your eyes stayed locked on the mirror as the tension in your body reached its breaking point, your release hitting you like a tidal wave. You cried out, your reflection showing every ounce of the pleasure he’d wrung from you.

He didn’t stop, his tongue continuing to move against you as he coaxed every last bit of pleasure from your trembling body. When you finally collapsed back onto the bed, your chest heaving, he pulled back, his lips glistening as he looked up at you.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, his voice filled with reverence as he rose to his feet. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, letting you taste yourself on him.

As he pulled back, his dark eyes met yours in the mirror once more. “Merry Christmas, Cupcake,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re mine.”

What a gift.