#I consider this character to have hopes for his dreams

[masochist-marmot]

Spoilers for HSR 3.0

Words cannot express how insanely much I love the relationship between Mydei and Phainon. It honestly feels like Hoyo went into their little character laboratory and created a dynamic specifically targeted at me. Okay so let's review:

Rivalry: Has to be mentioned since I live for rival dynamics (as my blog history will testify). There's just nothing better than two characters challenging each other with the hopes of surpassing the other. And the fact that they seem to be more or less equally matched in power. They'd probably consider sparring a valid form of foreplay.

Banter: The way these two flirt with talk to one another gives me life. Every interaction is perfect, with all the teasing and jabbing and general playfulness. And the best part is that it's reciprocal.

Genuine affection: Despite the way they talk, they very clearly care for each other and aren't afraid to show it in their own way. This is actually something that can often be lacking in rival dynamics, where the parties are by definition somehow opposed to one another. But these two navigate it beautifully. They may say they're both friends and enemies, but I think it's understood that they are friends who occasionally roleplay as enemies. (Until we get a moment where Phainon turns on us and Mydei has to beat him back to his senses. Not a prediction, but a girl can dream.)

Mutual trust: They obviously respect each other's capabilities and are willing to rely on one another, but it's not codependent. They work well together and they work well apart, and they trust that the other will manage. It feels really balanced too, since both parties clearly care about the wellbeing of the other.

Mutual understanding: They seem to have a deep understanding of how the other is feeling, even though they show it through convoluted means (like starting a competition to give the other the space they need but won't ask).

I just can't get over how perfect it is. Mydei waiting for you and Phainon during the competition to make sure you find your way through his hometown. Mydei being ready to concede his right for the final blow on Nikador as a result of the competition, but Phainon insisting on having a fair battle for it (because the whole competition was a pretense anyway). Phainon pointing out that Mydei would be better suited to carry the coreflame of strife even though it's been his life mission. (And on a sidenote, Mydei demonstrating silent wisdom by refusing the flame in the first place because he doesn't want to repeat past mistakes? King behaviour. I love him so much.) Phainon telling Mydei to skip his ritual to nurture his wounds, but then clearly being a little sad that Mydei is not there. And then Mydei showing up anyway because of course he was going to.

I probably missed half of what I wanted to say but god I just want more of these two, preferably injected straight into my veins.

[jujuicykaisen]

Hi dear! I saw the ask box was open and I wanted to send an a request. That being said: may I have some head-cannons on how Gojo and anyone else of your choosing would treat a close friend that they know has romantic feelings for them, but they don’t reciprocate. Please and thank you 🙏🏽❤️🥹

Hope you enjoy! <3

Characters: Satoru Gojo

Contents: gn!reader, unrequited love

Satoru Gojo

By nature, Gojo’s a bit of a troll. We’ve seen how he acts with Utahime, although she doesn’t appear to have feelings for him, aside from irritation. But I lowkey think he messes with Utahime so much because of how cute her reactions are. She’s just too easy to rile up.

Despite this side of him, he’s not cruel. He’s not going to joke about you being obsessed with him, or mock you for being out of his league, or whatever. 

Hidden Inventory Arc Gojo might have been this thoughtless, but he was bolstered by his friendship with Geto, and hadn’t experienced the loss and isolation that’s shaped him to the man he is today. 

He’s used to his position isolating him from others. People get complacent and stop seeing him as human, start seeing him as a tool. As the strongest. 

His true friends are few and far between. People who understand him and see him as human, with human needs, hopes, and dreams. Someone who sees not only that but also loves him? That’s a rare and precious thing. 

He’s gonna value that, even if he doesn’t return the same kinds of feelings. It’s hard for him to even consider any kind of romantic attachment, so even if he does start to develop something, he’ll rationalise it or squash it. This is both out of self-preservation and a desire to protect you, because any partner of his is going to end up with a huge target painted on their back. His Infinity can’t extend to the people he cares about, as much as he might wish it could. 

He’ll pull away a bit if you look like you’re on the verge of confessing, take some missions to distance himself a bit. 

He doesn’t really do vulnerability or emotional discussions. Avoidance is the only real way he can think to deal with it. 

Gojo might direct you toward other people he thinks will make good partners for you. He’ll always be joking about being your wingman, setting you up with some other hot sorcerer. 

Despite everything and even if the words are never said, it does mean a lot to him that you care about him that much.

[tuesday-teyz]

Hey, Teyz! I hope you have a good week this week. I'm back for my usual asking, so uh, i'm wondering... (in behalf of a friend), what hobbies do the different Br characters do in their free time. (Does Theseus even have a hobby considering how busy he is or perhaps when he was younger?)

He actually has/had plenty of hobbies, most of which were featured in the story multiple times!

Tommy does gardening (as part of maintaining his butterfly garden, but also for pleasure), knitting and embroidery, he sings and plays the piano. He used to love dancing as a child, but he hadn't done that in a long while. Who knows, maybe I have an occasion planned where he'll get a chance to do that again? wink wink

Techno reads books, spars and hunts, and Niki does all of that as well as bake (they are close friends, Techno taught her to wield a sword and shoot crossbows, but her weapon of choice is a spear), Dream's a skilled sailor and has a small sailboat back home that he takes out for routine voyages around the port (he does swordfighting and chess as well, but that's more of a competition thing), Beau paints and shoots a bow, Phil cooks and is excellent at woodworking, Sally composes music, Quackity is wicked good with card games and is a self-taught magician, Foolish is a gifted shipwright who designed the royal fleet's best vessels just because he likes it, Tubbo secretly enjoys tinkering with little mechanisms like locks and does a bit of light parkour, Sam's a writer when he's not busy inventing things or improving existing architecture, Drista's main passtime is to play pranks on people but she also can throw tridents with dangerous accuracy and is one of the best harp-players in southern court, Sapnap's got a bit of a gambling problem and regardless how much George's whole personality is based around chess, he finds that reading poetry is an acceptable replacement when a worthy opponent is not available. I think Wisp's job keeps him too busy for a hobby and when Purpled isn't shooting things, he is out horseback racing or roasting people for the fun of it.

[isthepame]

Blue Lock VS. U-20 JAPAN Serialised Interview, Part 2

Makoto Furukawa as Tabito Karasu – Exploring Karasu’s ‘Calculating Nature’ and ‘Aura of Dominance’

Interviewer: Could you share your thoughts on the story’s focus in Season 2, particularly the "U-20 Japan National Team Match"? What aspects of it do you find most striking or appealing?

Makoto Furukawa (voice of Tabito Karasu): Seeing the individuals who have previously clashed so fiercely now come together as teammates to face the U-20 players has a certain emotional depth to it.

When you think of the U-20 Japan National Team in real life, it’s often seen as a dream team, made up of players selected from across various regions. But in a way, the Blue Lock players are no less of a dream team themselves. This makes for an incredibly thrilling and dynamic development in the story.

Interviewer: What was your first impression of Tabito Karasu as a character, and what do you focus on when portraying him?

M. Furukawa: One of the key directions I received was to emphasise his "calculating nature." I try to incorporate that subtly throughout my performance. While his surname, "Karasu," means "crow," his personality and troublesome nature remind me more of a "snake" a comparison that was also highlighted in the direction I received.

Another important aspect is his Kansai dialect. I was provided with guide audio beforehand, and adapting its nuances to match the character's pace and the visuals was quite challenging. I’ve also had the opportunity to learn from people on set who are from the Kansai region, which has been incredibly helpful and much appreciated.

Interviewer: In Episode 2, we saw Team A face off against Team B in a match to decide the regular players for the "U-20 Japan National Team Match." There was also a scene where Karasu and Kageya Otoya stood together as the team's two forwards. Could you share your impressions of Episode 2 and any scenes that stood out to you?

M. Furukawa: Looking back after recording, I feel that this episode served as an introduction for characters who hadn’t yet had much opportunity to shine in the story. I hoped to convey the "aura of strength" that comes with surviving Blue Lock. In a sense, this episode felt like a self-introduction for many characters, so I hope viewers will continue to support them moving forward.

Interviewer: In this episode, Karasu’s sharp analytical skills and his knack for being a disruptor were on full display, such as when he referred to Isagi as "ordinary." How did you approach these aspects in your performance?

M. Furukawa: I focused on creating the sense that Karasu could "disable" his target player (functionally speaking). By subtly hinting at malice and applying pressure bit by bit, I aimed to build that tension in the performance.

Since I also considered the physical aspects of his character, it’s possible that the sense of pressure came across even stronger than intended.

Interviewer: Lastly, could you share what viewers should look forward to in the coming episodes?

M. Furukawa: As many already know, the match against the U-20 players is a major highlight. However, what excites me most is the personal growth and human drama that unfolds throughout the series it’s truly inspiring.

Personally, I was particularly struck by Ego’s long monologue.

Of course, the individual moments of brilliance from each character are also something to look forward to. Please enjoy the broadcast!

Interview by Chihiro Sasamoto.

Edited by Inari Ogawa.

Translated by isthepame (X)

[rei-ismyname]

I definitely agree. It would be difficult for there not to be. He's certainly viewed as a faction leader by most of the outside world post-Morrison, but I think he's viewed like that internally as well. Most of the characters who choose to be X-Men buy into his dream and his methods, often more than I'd expect them to. I feel like a common enough thought process is conflating the dream, Xavier, and the X-Men so the entire institution can be seen as an extension of the man.

Agreed, at least not with any kind of regularity. Although, when he does give orders pre-~1988, he expects them to be followed 'without hesitation.' He also overrules Scott in the field whenever he wishes. He had this position of general and teacher and I think that kind of dynamic doesn't go away organically, especially considering the occasions where he's in the field and taken command (Secret Wars I comes to mind.) Or, as you point out, trying to give Wolverine demerits and belittling Scott.

He has been generous with his resources, though the flipside of that is everyone is fighting his war using his methods. People died and lost loved ones, received unimaginable stress and trauma, and aside from saving the world etc you could say their primary mission is a bust. He chose who he wanted, and yes many are grateful for the help received, but I doubt any of them suspected they were being drafted into a forever war.

I definitely agree that Xavier delegates the risk from his position of relative comfort and privilege. Not just harm from combatants either but the ability to pass in society. He fought in Korea, and unless he was using his powers 24/7 (possible) he absolutely killed people, or at minimum saw combat. He's not a combat guy except when he is. He certainly expects his X-Men to be.

The thing about him going public as a mutant in New X-Men is that it wasn't even him that chose to do it. Cassandra Nova did it to harm and discredit him. We'll never know, but who knows how long he would have kept up the facade. It does say a lot that him doing that or leaving for the Shi'Ar empire (again) wasn't strongly questioned by the X-Men. They discussed it but accepted it.

Also, I feel very confident saying that he was not an effective activist while posing as human. If you look at situations like the Kelly hearings or the Stryker debate he's incredibly passive and fails to reach people. The person on the street is shown dismissing him as an out of touch egghead, lol.

Yeah I really liked that Hank data page/letter from Hellions. That the people he's comparing are Xavier and Sinister means nothing, I'm sure :). Hank is spot on there, and it makes me think he perhaps gets more loyalty than he's owed? That's a personal thing though of course, and you're right that different X-Men might have a different idea of who their leader is.

He's an absolute disrespectful clown to Storm at times, often for ego reasons. I feel confident saying that, and I'm surprised she stuck around considering his imperiousness and unwillingness to even entertain he might be wrong.

Yeah, the implication is that people agree with Scott there. Xavier's transgressions are fucking severe. Still, he found his way back each time.

Agreed! He was specifically not in Age of X-Man. Not sure where he was but definitely not there. I think it's a jarring shift too, but I think that was always going to be the case. Rosenberg was writing end of days shit without knowing what was coming. Feels like editorial dropped the ball tbh.

I mean, he was responsible for other deaths. But I don't think that's what anyone is mad at him about. It feels more personal. His secrets and manipulation, again.

I'd like the same outcome tbh. If nothing else I'd like to him to earn his position/trust back, through addressing the harm he caused and becoming a better person. 'I hoped you'd understand' isn't good enough, it's the same old shit. Same abuses of power. I could see Kitty and maybe Emma being holdouts too. Logan is hard to gauge. He did try to kill him not long ago, but he usually thinks the world of him.

Why is Charles constantly held up as this leader for mutants when there are many other mutants who would be a way better leader than him and he at times is not very good at it.

I don't know if I'd agree with the word "constantly", since I do think that Xavier's reception both in universe and out tends to fluctuate.

Xavier, at his best, is a man of high ideals, who took in five kids with the intention of giving them a safe place to learn how to use their powers.

It's a genre convention for kid/young adult stories, for the parents and mentors to be, at best, uninvolved and clueless. Because that's how the kids go off and have adventures to begin with. Spider-Man for example gets away with superheroing because Aunt May doesn't know what he's doing. And Uncle Ben is dead.

Xavier takes the genre convention a bit farther though, because rather than being completely clueless, he's the one who actually sends them into battle. And well, when you start to look at it from an adult perspective, you quickly go "wait, what the fuck?!"

It probably didn't help that Lee and Kirby were pretty fond of stories where Xavier would fake impairment and depowerment, or just go off and do his own thing, so that the kids could take charge and act on their own. Or the way he was actively involved in lying to Warren or Jean's parents about what their kids were up to. He starts looking a bit manipulative at best.

So we have a guy with two warring sides at work: the visionary benefactor vs. the manipulative plotter.

And well, X-Men is a franchise that's been ongoing for sixty years, so we have multiple generations who go from kids having fun to adults boggling at the characters' decisions, and I think that tends to get reflected in which traits get the most focus when.

It's probably fair to note that from about the early 2000s onward, Xavier really wasn't involved in a leadership position at all until Krakoa. He got kicked out twice for bad decisions, was hovering around in advisory capacity, and died twice to boot. The second, biggest time ushering in the post Avengers vs. X-Men period, which I think was great for really shaking up the universe.

It also though introduced a lot of really bizarre (Watsonian) veneration for the dude. Maybe it makes some sense, Scott Summers, a character who'd been recognized as a paragon by even his enemies, has proven himself flawed in his own right, so maybe that inspires people to look back at the previous guy more fondly?

(Or we could go with my theory, that Scott-as-Phoenix accidently mind-whammied everyone to love Xavier and hate Scott as much as Scott himself did at that moment.)

But then there's Krakoa, which was a pretty grand, pretty new experiment. And while I may gripe about certain aspects of the storyline, I can't deny that it was definitely a big, earth shattering concept change.

It also wouldn't have worked with anyone but Xavier at the head. Even though Rosenberg's X-Men arc had ended with Scott and Jean reunited, and positioned to lead what was left of mutantkind together, they're not really nation builder types. (Scott had Utopia, but that was less a nation than a garrison, IMO.)

For Krakoa to work, it needed nation builders. Xavier has the influence over mutant kind, and has the characterization of a benefactor. Which very much fits with Krakoa's modus operandus: giving humanity things for recognizing mutant kind, and scheming and manipulating when they don't.

And it makes sense, I think, that he was successful. Not only does he have the benefit of the absence makes the heart grow fonder veneration from his death. But he's offering mutants something tangible and amazing: safety, a home, freedom from death and persecution, a lot of their lost loved ones back.

That's a big deal. It's just unfortunately, Xavier has that other side of him too, and his blind spots and worse impulses play a big part in why Krakoa ends up falling.

(Though, to give him something: there IS a version of Krakoa still out there, in the White Room, where a nation of mutant kind has grown and developed beyond Xavier and the Council's flaws. But it's notable that they did this without him. It always seems to work like that.)

[rippi-17]

I have a serious weakness. Sometimes, it is a blessing, and I know it is, but most of the time it's annoying, or detrimental

I... have a bad memory. Like, really bad. My favourite comparison would be that of 1/2 of a goldfish, or a hard disk that is being magnetized every 2 minutes.

It's depressing knowing that everything I know of my past is severely limited and constantly degrading, in such a way that my oldest memory is when I was 8. I know it since I remember myself thinking about it years ago...

The only way to preserve a memory is to think about it, and think about it, and resonate with it. Even if what remains from it is just an outline (ergo, I remember i had arguments against me being autistic, but I don't remember them what they were, only that I believed in my argument enough to consider it a win), i can at least piece

But even that's not enough. If I do something repeatedly, I can remember it, like the lyrics or the beats of my favourite music, but that doesn't mean I can recall it as i please. I tried writing the lyrics of a song one time, with no guidance, and only got certain catchy phrases out of them, or the last phonetic sound I can hear.

This may be considered the drawback to my superpower of being able to manipulate others with my words, feelings, emotion and just by listening (read having extreme charisma to people I know of).

The thing is, I like the drawback more than I like my power. Being able to use my charisma for anything is despicable for me. Because no matter how good the advice of a friend is, they may not be able to make use of it themselves.

Why do I like having my drawback of not having a good memory? Well, most use (read happen to be used) this to forget their teenager days. Some use it to forget traumatic events. i like to feel like I have a chance at my ultimate dream and goal.

I like to feel like i am special, that there is really no one with a similar situation in the world. That I'm the one that can achieve my dream, and that i and I deserve It.

Or well, I can believe and i can hope.

[deimcs]

WYLL approves of valiant acts of defending the innocent or the defenceless, and appreciates kindness towards children. Peaceful, but decisive actions resonate with him, and those that take a genuine interest in him and the struggles he faces are also well-liked by him.

[bleue-flora]

Why I think c!Dream is Autistic - Part 3

[Part 1] - [Part 2] - [Part 3]

Alright, you’re gonna want to probably go read part 1 and 2 first, promise they aren’t too long.

Done? Long time no see buddy. :) Good deal. Now finally, the last reason(s) I think Dream is autistic is because of how it fits narratively.

Who better to frame as the villain than someone who is already on the outside, who is already different, weird, a little off, not like everyone else, obsessive, abrasive, and already setting off subconscious red flags of not fitting the norm. There’s a quote that most have probably heard by Andrew Smith that says, “People fear what they don't understand and hate what they can't conquer.” And does that not say it all? Talk about history repeating itself, real history. This truth is the basis of many real wars. And if communicating and thinking differently weren’t enough to garner dislike, sucess and intelligence are another foundation of hate and as I said in part 1, while not true across the board, high IQ is one way they identify people with ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder). So who better to frame as the villain than an autistic admin infamous for being one of the best Minecraft players.

Of course, I hear you ask - couldn’t you make the same argument for sociopaths/people with ASPD (Antisocial Personality Disorder) are they not also different than most people to garner inherent fear? The answer is: No, not really. Contrary to popular belief, people with ASPD are not the odd balls out but are more likely to be popular and well liked as they lie and manipulate others to get what they want. In other words, there is a more calculated persona/masking in both ASD and ASPD, but while ASD is just trying to fit in, people with ASPD often have an inherent entitlement to the things they want and are trying to gain power and stand above the crowd not in it. In addition, autistic people tend to be honest, to the point of inappropriate or rude because they are straight forward. In the dsmp, Dream’s default isn’t to lie in fact he tells a lot of truth before often being forced to change his answer [clip]. Unlike people with ASPD who lie because they enjoy the power it gives them and to get what they want.

There is of course empathy to be considered when comparing ASD and ASPD as perhaps the main difference between the two and I think there is a lot of evidence that Dream does have empathy. In fact, I think his moral compass is originally one of the strongest before the dsmp slowly wore away the edges. He returns items after wars, fixes creeper holes and destroyed property, helps people mine or gather materials, fights for the side of who was wronged first, constantly gives out food to feed people… etc. He does a lot of caring things he doesn’t have too. That give him no real advantage, but often even end up putting him in a sticky situation. I mean what better example do we need to prove he has empathy than him rebuilding Tubbo’s house [post]. There was no reason or manipulation or obligation to do that, he did it because he saw that Tubbo was upset. I mean I’ve said it before that we can’t truly prove whether someone does or doesn’t has empathy, but we can look at behavior and I’d argue that his less empathetic acts come much later on his arc and are not consistent across the board like they would be if he truly were a sociopath. Leaving us with the most obvious conclusion then that his logical mind that makes him look like he’s unempathetic and his masking must be because he’s autistic instead, which again aligns well with his high intelligence and obsessive development of skill.

Finally, and perhaps most notably, while a lot of times masking is associated with ADHD it is much more notable and important for an autistic person. Because we are not masking just to cover up our stimming or hyperactivity we are putting on a different face to blend in and be accepted and loved. We are shifting the very parts of ourselves to fit in a circle shaped hole when we’re squares. Which is a skill and habit I don’t find it hard to believe that Dream would use for his villain persona, especially since our (my) masks tend to change too based on environment, whether needing to fit into the family dynamic, student culture or professional world where the social rules change. Which is exactly what we see from Dream as his mask changes depending on who he’s with whether that be Tommy, a large audience, Wilbur, his friends, The Warden, Quackity, Badboyhalo, Techno… etc.

In other words, how fitting would it be if a character with the disorder infamous for masking had a literal mask. One that he literally had to take off to discover who he was all along. What better example of the dsmp main theme of seeing things from other peoples point of view to gain understanding, than the extreme case of that. What better picture of communication issues than a disorder infamous for social struggle. Like not only does it fit so very well with Dream’s character, not only does it make sense with the symbolism of his mask, and the narrative, but it fits the overall arching dsmp story too, because by being autistic Dream is kind of like the ultimate version of the theme and for him to be a main front runner of the story just truly drives the point home in a beautiful and important manner.

[that-spider-fan-over-there]

BNHA 429: It's not really a win when the only comfort is that Izuku/Ochako didn't became canon during a breakdown.

Honestly I think this is the most confused I've been with this story, so this might be the most openly critical I've been. (I've rewritten this five times already, so if it looks all over the place, I apologize).

"Joki Joki" being Tenko was debunked, which. You know what. Fair. Creating a character that looks like him only for be someone else with a tragic backstory five chapters before the finale? That's kinda cruel.

Harsh backstory for a small-role guy, by the way. A mutant Quirk (that we'll probably know only from supplemental material, if at all) his family didn't have, mouth sewn shut, locked in a basement for years, family leaves him and (probably) a Decay Wave was his only escape? And they say the world of BNHA isn't a harsh one /hj

I'm glad they didn't pull a Teen Wolf (iykyk). Ochako thinks Himiko is dead, Izuku's a shoulder to cry on. For... *counting* 4 pages of holding it in, 2 of actually talking about it, all of the 8 being about Izuku being nice but hypocritical (emotional suppression my dear beloathed Ch. 430 I fear you-).

Izuku says she's "his hero"- it's true, he thinks all his friends are his heroes. But we're shown 2/4 times (Blackwhip and the mob, but not Tenko cornering him in the mall, or their first meeting?) which made me realize he's the only named character/hero she "saved". The "who saves the heroes" thing? Not like she helped other heroes, that plot went to- oh.

Also, the whole "putting others before yourself", the only example listed that comes close to this is her giving some of her Entrance Exam points to him. The others are just her being nice to him, repressing her feelings, Blackwhip was the only other moment that kinda counted. The only "other person" she put before herself? Himiko.

I'll believe Himiko's dead when I see it; blood transfusions don't kill the donator. They take a minimum of 4hrs max. They sent Spinner and Touya to a hospital, but not Himiko, who was unconsicous, winging a transfusion out? Yeah, that's bullshit, "hope for a sequel" is becoming more and more of a plea.

I wish I could say I liked the breakdown, but all I think is "Ochako's a character development tool, with redundant, pointless arcs, and all she got is doomed yuri, trauma and reassuring words from a LI".

I didn't see Izuku crying at first; removing "Joki Joki's" 2 pages, the "talk" took 8/15 pages, I kept wondering when did he ever relied on "her strength", it's not like he trusted her enough to talk about his feelings, secrets or anything.

Class A interrupting was funny, I'm with Katsuki: Does Izuku still have embers (he does). I'm sorry to Ochako, I just didn't care anymore. I knew he didn't tell anyone else, lol (<- I'm shaking him into opening up-). But if he wasn't willing to open up about that I wonder what else doesn't Class A know. Does Inko know her son's dreams are over again or…?

Uh. One For All, crystalization of power from everyone's hopes, LFtR vestige scene, remaining embers looking a bit stronger, "Control Your Heart" is still a thing, "holding someone's hand makes me feel at peace", we have that talk with Katsuki, rule of narrative means if he opens up there's a chance this story can end on a hopeful note, Izuku fans here's how we can still win- (I'm inhaling hopium, I know)

I'm confused Hawks isn't getting ditching the Hero Billboards, just expanding it for "ordinary people". Isn't that continuing part of the problem? Part of why Dabi was created, why many heroes don't care about being a hero? I get it's to inspire others to be everyday heroes, but this if backfires in-universe...

Aoyama's farewell party with Eri singing was as sidelined as the 3Baka (… actually no, 3Baka is still more sidelined sob) and it hurts, but hey. Monoma got a statue before Katsuki, I just know if he isn't traumatized about his corpse he will brag. (I'm trying to find positives in this chapter)

The last pages. I know it's symbolic. Society extending a hand, Izuku "inspired" them to move. It's what Izuku was talking about in Ch. 1, "saving people is the coolest thing a hero can do". It's even from his poem inspiration "Called useless by all/Neither praised/Nor a bother/Such is the person/I wish to be".

But it doesn't come just from Izuku fighting giving up OFA, but from him still failing Tenko, who was doomed from the start, the LoV never knew who he was before "Tomura" (so. Spinner how's the book working out-). And no one else wants to, look at Ch. 427.

If it was still an ambiguous "AFO searched for Tenko", fine Ig, but since Ch. 419, it's half "No one helped Tenko except AFO" and half "Tenko never had a chance to live". I'm not saying them hating Tenko isn't justified. Look at what they have to rebuild. But ditching the "Tenko's whole life was planned" part, they still don't know the LoV came to be because they thought a child looked scary. Jeez, no one knows they were victims of ostracism, abuse, manipulation. Why they turned out the way they did.

And it ends on Izuku and Ochako smiling with the "future where heroes can relax" line. It's adorable, but they're still dealing with the guilt of Tenko and Himiko being gone. But I guess it's fine because they're smiling now? Because people are now doing something? So the reward from almost dying is: Bystander syndrome is chipping away?

*sigh* I guess the TL;DR for my opinions are:

Joki Joki isn't Tenko but damn if he isn't a woobie,

If I don't see the corpse Himiko isn't dead, I refuse,

Somehow Ochako's breakdown was more about Izuku, and we still didn't get introspection, just because it's comforting words doesn't mean they don't feel hollow,

It sounds like I hate her: I don't hate Ochako, I just hate the way she's written in "Tell, Don't Show" for Izuku, even my opinions about the breakdown are more about "dude what are you talking about" rather than it being about her and her alone, so I can't take her as seriously,

I think I just became Katsuki ATP: yeah yeah she's crying but what about Izuku and OFA- oh it's mostly fine.

The fun bits were relegated to two pages and small panels but I like to think Monoma goes to Katsuki's room to brag about the statue, Eri deserved to have a full page to sing

Hawks, I fail to see the point of switching Hero Billboards to "Everyday Ladybug" Billboards,

Bystander Syndrome is one thing, how are they gonna prevent another instance of the LoV if they don't know it was discrimination that started it all or that Tenko was a walking Greek Tragedy?

Izuku and Ochako's smiles give "Aw, it's adorable. Oh it's traumatized" vibes.

Yeah no, I'm not buying it. If Edgeshot can still live, why can't Himiko or Tenko? Why does Izuku still have embers, if we have one chapter left? What is the reasoning for "twisting fate", "saving and winning", "perfect victory with zero casualties", "I wanna save that little boy" if it ends on standard shonen ending?

Hell, OFA had dead people communicating with our protagonist and antagonist, and is connected to the deuteragonist, and you're telling me it doesn't mean something good can happen to Tenko?

... God now I just hope the next one isn't a timeskip, just Izuku and Katsuki holding hands, talking and being honest to each other (especially Izuku because oh boi I have seen some Writing Critics and I can't say I disagree) (maybe we'll confirmation on what actually happened to Himiko and Tenko, what about OFA, but that only depends on the page count of the next one).

Once again, sorry if it's all over the place, this chapter just. It wasn't great, in my (overthinking) opinion. I'm still unconvinced Himiko and Tenko are dead dead, until the last page of BNHA, we now have BKDK talking left, so let's see what the next one will bring. And I'm not rewritting all of this, I'm tired XD

So, yeah, that's my thoughts! Thank you for reading!

[slashingdisneypasta]

Hell-ooo writers. Imagine dying, and you were so loved by your fans that they draw you with your most iconic character/s saying goodbye to you ^^ Or standing at your grave giving the stone a respectful pat. Or sitting all alone cuz you're gone. Or smiling at a picture of you.

IMAGINE!!

[jackass-jones]

People in the notes have said physical therapist Akihiko and ohohoho you fools you fucking clowns you don’t even know. Imagine Shinji getting out of the coma and all the rehabilitation shit he’s gotta do all the physical therapy like you just know Akihiko is so fucking over the moon he’s done so much research he’s so excited to see Shinji have a “training regime” he infodumps about what’s happening with the muscle recovery process and what stretches work best hes just way too invested he talks over doctors and Shinji is just like “good god if you know so much why don’t you just be a physical therapist” and Akihiko’s like 😈

Akihiko becoming a cop is something that simply doesn’t happen in the coma route cuz Shinji would see that shit and be like Aki what the actual hell is wrong with you

[swordgrace]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐑 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒.

༆ jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader.

SYNOPSIS: as lady-in-waiting to rhaenyra targaryen, you find that her eldest son, jacaerys, is the only true friend and comfort you have amidst a brewing war that threatens to tear the realm apart.

note: jacaerys is nineteen, reader is eighteen.

༆ 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄.

༆ 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄.

{ FORMAT: one shot — requested.

{ WORD COUNT: 11.5K (this is a long one, not sorry!)

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), friends to lovers, inexperience from both reader & jace, loss of virginity (mutual), first time sexual experiences, sexual tension, p in v sex (unprotected), missionary position, lots of kissing and sweeter antics, slight risk of getting caught, oral sex (fem!receiving), handjob, fingering, hair pulling kink, brief overstimulation, tiddy sucking, this whole thing is soft & sweet smut, nothing disgusting here, jacaerys is the epitome of a perfect lover :))

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: I am lowkey transitioning into becoming a Jace girl, I absolutely love him and I’m really enjoying where his character is going! This was a request from an anon user who wanted something freeform! I hope you all enjoy it, thanks so much for all of the recent love & support for my work! It makes me so happy! ❤️

𝐒𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐏𝐄𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐊𝐒, harkened in from the gentle roll of the tides. Saltwater and dampened rock filled your nostrils, aided by the fluttering breeze as it danced across the obsidian cliffs of Dragonstone.

The castle stood the testament of time, a monolith to the rule of the Targaryens. It loomed overhead, less frightening in the lighter hours, blanketed by glittering rays of sunlight. A cloudless day — good for sailing, you thought, as vessels ushered in goods to the shoddy harbor below.

Beneath the vibrancy of a cloudless sky, you could see the shadow of a dragon soaring overhead — the Princess Rhaenys, from the horned shape above. You cupped your hand around your eyes, squinting to see, constantly mesmerized by such creatures.

In your fantastical dreams, you flew upon the back of a dragon, letting the wind scrape across your visage, feeling the weight of something so powerful beneath you. Of course, you were neither Targaryen nor Velaryon — possessing a dragon wouldn’t be in the cards for you, and perhaps that was a good thing.

As much as you enjoyed the beauty of Dragonstone, you much preferred the outdoors. The weather was splendid, and you took small victories wherever possible. With war on the horizon between your Queen Rhaenyra and her usurper brother, any chance at happiness was worth chasing after and holding onto, while you could.

House Celtigar had bent the knee to Rhaenyra, and your father sat at her council. You were made to be a lady-in-waiting, much your initial disdain. The station you held would’ve been considered a great honor to most young women, but you were inclined to be out in the ocean or on the back of a horse.

Now, you found enjoyment in it, wherever you could.

Oceanic air filled your lungs in a singular inhale, tinged with a saltwater sting. You stood near one of the many stone terraces lining the lengthy walkway to the castle’s entrance, accompanied by Joffrey. The boy had become your greatest joy amidst the brewing chaos, and you were rather grateful for it.

“Would you like to see the ocean, little Prince?” You held the boy’s hand, stooping down to wrap your arms beneath him, standing him up along the cobbled bannister. Joffrey’s laughter could brighten a whole room, and it did — it certainly lifted your spirits.

“When will I be able to ride a dragon?” He questioned, pointing towards the shape of Meleys in the sky. Joffrey was rather inquisitive — a sharp mind, one that would become a great leader someday.

You were unsure of how to answer such a question. Tyraxes was young and still small, just like Joffrey. “Whenever you grow up,” You hummed, a smile playing at either corner of your mouth. “You must be as tall as your brother, first.”

Joffrey toyed with the wooden dragon clutched between his hands, gaze falling toward the ground. “Luke wasn’t much taller.” He mumbled, and it nearly crushed your heart completely to hear the confusion and despair in a child’s voice.

Youth knew more than most, and in the mind of a child, something heinous could appear innocent, or something tragic was beyond their comprehension. Joffrey knew that Luke was gone — he wasn’t coming back. Silence drifted between the both of you, and you found it difficult to change the subject from Lucerys to something lighthearted.

“I miss him.” Joffrey’s sweet voice rang out like the pealing of bells, crystal-clear and downtrodden. You turned him around within your grasp, keeping your hands slotted underneath his arms to ground him. His eyes swam with unshed tears, prompting you to bring him into your embrace.

“It’s alright, my Prince. He’s still here,” You whispered, hugging the boy as tightly as you could. It was enough to rip at your heartstrings, tear you asunder as melancholy began to eat you alive. The fate of Lucerys was a tragic one — unfair and unwarranted, and now, a catalyst for destruction between kin. “We will remember him.”

From afar, Jacaerys observed you and his brother, standing along the ramparts with a palm atop the pommel of his shortsword. The emotional turmoil he continued to feel in regards to Lucerys happened to swell the moment he saw Joffrey clinging onto you — and he knew.

Wisps of a tempered breeze stirred his curled tresses, drifting across his regalia as it caught against his cloak. After the death of his brother, he had come out to the ramparts nearly every night, to sob and to curse the world, to pray to any God that would listen — return Lucerys, bring him home. He had lost count, and in turn, lost a bit of faith.

Remaining optimistic in the face of unavoidable danger was a difficult thing — fear had gripped him once, but no longer. He knew that the only time a man could be brave was in situations like these, where terror stared him in the face and dared him to submit.

Many still referred to him as a mere boy, with little experience and no real understanding of the world and its cruelty. Jacaerys had shed the raiment of boyhood the night he flew blindly into the darkness in the name of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen.

With the man born, he knew that whatever would come next, he was prepared to face such challenges head-on. Brazenness was not in his nature, but he had learned to adopt stoicism when it mattered most. It was easy to shed the facade around his family, and around you.

His friendship with you was a calm within the storm, a lull in the tempestuous hurricane you were all trapped within. You now had as much stake in this game as he did — your father served on Rhaenyra’s council with Celtigar bannerman pledging to fight in the war to come, and you served as his mother’s lady-in-waiting.

Your blossoming bond was a great comfort, and the tender way in which you cared for Joffrey was a wonderful thing. You had a soft heart — a good heart, and that was something rare to come by. The two of you were both of a similar feather, and the admiration he held for you only seemed to grow stronger each day.

The word friendship often tormented him, on days where you wore beautiful gowns and stood beside his mother, or whenever you smiled. It tormented him when you held Joffrey within your arms and protected him just as fiercely as Rhaenyra would.

Honor demanded that he simply remain just that — a friend, but Jacaerys found himself smitten with you in a way that transcended propriety. To cross that line, especially with you, invited the disdain of his mother and the ire of your father, amongst other things.

Betrothal would be upon him soon enough, likely with a young maiden from the Vale or the Reach to secure an alliance, but it left a sour taste within his mouth. He had little desire to be with anyone else when you were right there.

Jacaerys steeled himself, abandoning his whimsical line of thinking in regards to you. It was a fool’s errand, and he couldn’t afford to be a fool. He stepped closer, the crunch of stone resonating underneath his boots as he approached you and Joffrey.

“My Lady,” Jacaerys’s tone was amiable, like the comforting lick of a warm hearth. His gaze flickered toward Joffrey, bemused with his brother’s antics as you balanced him along the bannister. “What are you doing up there?” He asked, playful in the presence of his little brother.

“Flying,” Joffrey’s head lifted from your shoulder, eyes sparkling with mischief. You happened to carry him in such a way that he called it flying — and he was asking you to do it again. “Flying!”

With a giggle, you picked the boy up, swinging him up enough to let him get some air. His melancholy turned to jovial laughter as you soared him over to Jacaerys, who was more than happy to pick him up. Joffrey clung to Jace, hugging his brother with all of his strength.

“You are getting too big to fly,” Jace mused, holding Joffrey in one arm as he motioned for you to accompany him. His tousled curls and amicable smile sent your heart fluttering as it had many times before. It wasn’t subtle, your liking of Jacaerys, but you understood the nature of your affections. “Big enough for Tyraxes, soon.”

Jacaerys was perfect, with all of the hallmarks of what a true King should be. He was gentle and eloquent, honed with a blade, learned — and above all, he was kind. The rage that plagued him now was justified, and it pained you to see him become coiled with anger, but you understood why.

As Joffrey regaled the two of you with tales of childlike wonder, soaring his toy dragon around Jace’s head, Jacaerys seemed inclined to converse with you regardless. “I always know where to look, whenever I need to see you.” He mused, walking alongside you as you made your way up the ramparts.

“Is that so?” You chuckled, head canting to one side. “What did you need to see me for, your Grace?” It was a force of habit — he was the heir to the Iron Throne, after all. Jacaerys regarded you with a brief laugh, knowing that formalities were often abandoned whenever the two of you were together.

“Do I need a reason?” Jacaerys mused, voice light and inviting. The crash of the tide upon the beach provided a rather serene ambience, accompanied by the calling of gulls as they circled the bay.

You shook your head, skirts gathered in one hand as you narrowly avoided an upturned plate of stone. “Of course not,” You hesitated, gaze sparkling as your nose wrinkled in mild amusement. “Jacaerys.” You ensured to exaggerate his name, allowing for your conversation to become personal.

At the end of the ramparts, a flock of crimson-clad handmaidens awaited your return. It was likely that they were waiting for you to hand Joffrey over, much to your dismay. The black-headed boy looked to you as you neared the end of your walk.

“I don’t want to go,” He protested, reaching for you as you stepped forward, taking a hold of his hand. “When can we fly again?” Joffrey asked, lower lip jutting out in a rather innocuous pout. He leaned forward, partially out of Jace’s grasp to give you a hug.

“Tomorrow, my Prince. I will let you fly as much as you’d like.” You assured him, reciprocating his hug with one of your own, with all of the warmth one could muster. It was motherly in-nature, and you watched as Jacaerys planted him onto solid ground.

Joffrey took the outstretched hand of a handmaiden, glancing back at you and Jacaerys before they disappeared behind the castle’s massive gates. It always hurt you to leave him, but you knew that tomorrow would come swiftly. A begrudging sigh escaped you before you looked at Jacaerys, countenance somber.

Jace knew what you were about to say — something about Lucerys. The gaping wound left within his heart was barely healed, still oozing with pain, but he was making every effort to mend it. You helped — your resolute reassurance and shoulder to lean on, but sometimes, it wasn’t enough.

Instead, you reached for Jace’s forearm, giving it a brief squeeze of comfort. Whatever sentiments he held, you seemed to echo it, leaving it all unspoken. You and Jacaerys had already spoken about it all at-length — sometimes, he had little desire to tear himself open again.

His head hung low, heap of dark curls billowing in the wind. Jacaerys’s jaw tightened for a brief moment, and he imagined plunging his sword into Aemond Targaryen’s other eye — and then it passed, just as quickly as it had appeared.

A forlorn silence settled between the both of you, one that was born out of mutual understanding and empathy. Jace went quiet often, and you were content to sit in it for as long as he pleased. Instead, you stepped toward the bannister, palms planting themselves atop the stone as you gazed out toward the land surrounding Dragonstone.

“You are good with him,” Jacaerys broke the silence, deliberately stepping towards you as he stood by your side. Joffrey and his half-brothers, Aegon and Viserys, were all he had left. He would die for them if he had to. “He talks about you often.”

An exuberant smile crept onto your features, one of a sweet fondness in regards to Joffrey. “He is a sweet boy — very sharp-witted, though. I would imagine he will grow to be very wise.” You replied, idly tracing your fingers around some of the rocks socketed into the bannister.

“I remember the day he was born,” Jacaerys recalled, remembering the day that his mother, pale skin glistening with sweat, had wobbled into the drawing room, a newborn Joffrey in her arms. “It was a beautiful day, and Ser Harwin was there, and Ser Laenor …” He trailed off, recalling the way that Lucerys had begged to hold his younger brother.

The topic of both Laenor and Harwin were bitter ones — both men playing the role of father. Jacaerys loved them both, as any son would. Another gust of saltwater mist brushed along the ramparts, dusting your cheeks with wisps of moist air.

Wordlessly, you reached for Jace’s arm, looping yours around him as you let him lean against you for support. As much as Jacaerys insisted that he would recover and move on, you ensured him that grieving took time — it came in many shapes and forms.

Jace’s smile was wistful and threadbare, made sorrowful by memories of Lucerys. He didn’t want to sully the moment with his melancholy, holding his head high as he glanced toward you. You were not looking, but it allowed him a moment of appreciation and admiration.

Your beauty was unparalleled, your features delicate and smile like the warmth of a summer sunshine. The way in which you carried yourself was of a kindly disposition, made to be nurturing and helpful instead of imposing. Admittedly, you took his breath away — the feeling was a constant one.

Sunlight sparkled across your countenance, gaze soothing and full of empathy. The way in which you grasped his arm, kept yourself tucked away within his side, it invoked feelings of protectiveness — and newfound affection.

A dragon’s shrill cry reverberated throughout the skies, prompting Jacaerys to immediately look ahead. It was the familiar shriek of Vermax, his bonded dragon, who had grown exponentially. He was larger than Moondancer, with olive-colored scales and orange fins, eyes the color of a burnished gold.

“Māzigon, Vermax!” Jacaerys called, gaining the attention of his dragon as it began to approach, causing your heart to gallop within your chest. He looked at you with a hint of amusement, head canting to one side. “Would you like to see him?” Jace inquired, moving along the wall.

As majestic as dragons were, the wonder within your eyes had quickly shifted to wariness as it landed along the ramparts, rocks scraping underneath its talons. Vermax was much larger when in close proximity than he was flying overhead. “He is wonderful, Jace. Though, it is best if I keep my distance. He might not like me.”

Jacaerys laughed, amber-brown eyes sparkling with mirth. “Might not like you?” He mused, knowing that such a thought was outlandish. If he liked you, then Vermax most certainly would. A dragon could always pick apart friend from foe, and you were as far from an enemy as one could be.

“Yes, what — Jacaerys, that is a perfectly reasonable thing to say,” You countered, flustered by Jace’s reaction to your skepticism. His smile was cheery and heartfelt as he stared at you, and then offered his hand. “I do not think that this is a good idea.” A soft utterance emerged from under your breath.

“Trust me.” His tone softened exponentially, shifting from playful to gentle, reassuring. You hesitated before taking a hold of his hand, and Jacaerys nearly brushed his thumb across your knuckles out of sheer instinct. Whatever thoughts he had, he pushed them to the far recesses of his mind.

You trusted Jacaerys more than most, prompting you to nod as he ushered you closer to Vermax. His grasp was tender, as to not frighten you, which only made your heart flutter with affection. The dragon bristled and made a series of noises, some more serpentine than others.

Vermax lowered his head, pushing closer towards his rider as the dragon bowed to Jacaerys. You were close enough to feel the waves of heat wafting from his breath, close enough to outstretch your arm and feel his scales beneath your palm.

The scent of brimstone and dragonscale lingered upon Vermax, like a crackling fire and smoke. You watched with bated breath as Jace’s palm moved to Vermax’s snout, digits tracing along the olive-hued scales, and down toward his jaw. “Sagon iēdrosa,” Jace murmured, stepping closer to his dragon. “Sȳz.”

High Valyrian was an exquisite language, a beautiful symphony from an ancient era. Jacaerys had become proficient in such a tongue, and the way he spoke it had you mesmerized. With a gentle smile, he still held your hand, gesturing toward Vermax.

“What are you saying to him?” You inquired, losing some of your fear. It gradually waned the closer Jacaerys had inched you toward the dragon, who showed no ill will towards you at all. Instead, Vermax’s burnished hues glimmered with intrigue — you were a familiar scent, emblazoned upon Jace, but not a familiar face.

“I told him to be still for you,” Jacaerys replied, fingers flexing around your own as he carefully guided you toward Vermax’s neck, where the scales began to flare and thicken. Olive turned to emerald in some places, verdant shades clashing together. “Place your hand here.”

Your breath hitched within your throat as Jace became in close proximity to you, closer than he’d been before. His grasp was a tender one, placing your palm atop the dragon’s throat. Warmth crept along the length of your spine, filling your belly with an eruption of butterflies.

You made the mistake of glancing at Jacaerys for the briefest moment, able to spot the rosy flush of color within his visage and the gleam within his stare. As soon as you’d made contact, he happened to glance away, making a soft noise as it stirred within his throat.

Vermax chortled, the dragon’s attention fixated upon you as you brushed your fingers across his scales. Jace had dropped your hand, realizing the sliver of space between you both as he stepped aside, content to observe you with his dragon.

It was your enchanting laughter that lifted his spirits, the gentle way in which you stroked across Vermax’s neck and shoulder. “He is beautiful,” You hummed, countenance bright with a joyous radiance as you looked at Jacaerys once more. The gap between you had grown, much to your dismay. “How do you say that in High Valyrian?”

Jace hesitated, lips parting just slightly. His heart nearly skipped a beat when you smiled at him, expectant and awaiting his answer. He became so easily distracted in your presence, and it was somewhat vexing to behold. “Gevie,” He replied, briefly clearing his throat. “Gevie means beautiful, in High Valyrian.”

With a soft hum, you looked to Vermax, your grin toothy and amused. “Gevie, Vermax.” You spoke clearly, but the dragon did not seem to understand what you said — it wasn’t a command. Instead, he let out a series of reptilian noises, nostrils flaring with snort, almost like that of a horse.

Vermax’s lack of reaction made you frown, but Jacaerys appeared amused by it, at least. “Gevie isn’t a command,” He mused, head canting to one side. “Your High Valyrian needs improvement.” His tone was jocular, teasing — it made your heart stir within your chest.

“Fortunately, I have the perfect teacher standing before me.” You countered with a giggle, noticing the way in which a shade of pink settled into his features. Jacaerys was beautiful and handsome, but his flustered behavior only made him more perfect to you.

The dragon shook its head, seeking the embrace of his rider before he began to take flight. A massive gust of wind from the flap of his wings nearly knocked you down, causing you to crouch and grip the stone of the ramparts.

Jacaerys smiled, watching as Vermax ascended, taking to the skies above Dragonstone once more. You watched with a semblance of awe, slowly rising to your feet as the dragon became a mere specter amidst the cloudless sky. He did not stray too far, circling around with the likes of Moondancer and Syrax.

“Someday, I will take you flying with me,” Jace suggested, nose wrinkling slightly at your bewildered expression. “I would keep you safe.” He reassured you before words could emerge from your mouth, his chuckle amicable as he led you back toward the gates of Dragonstone.

“I trust you, but flying?” To see the world from such great heights sounded wonderful, but you feared the fall — and you feared the unknown of it all even more. “That might take more convincing than this did.” You mused, walking alongside him as the gates became closer.

A huff escaped him, hand dropping from the pommel of his shortsword to his side, a symbol of letting his guard down. A comfortable silence settled between the both of you, occasionally accompanied by a brief bout of laughter or tender smiles.

As the gates loomed over the both of you, Jacaerys hesitated, deliberating on what to say next. There were so many things he wanted to say to you — where did he begin? The nerves of first affection grabbed hold of him, but he remained resistant, wanting nothing more than to tell you how much you meant to him.

“Perhaps an exchange is in-order,” Jacaerys began, shifting his weight from one foot to the next. “You come flying with me, and I will teach you High Valyrian.” He mused, smothering his grin at your expression. You were clearly wary and unimpressed.

“Danger for something that I could learn in the comfort of a book? I think not, your Grace.” With a grin of your own, Jace happened to snicker, his visage invoking an unspoken challenge, albeit playful. “If I am ever feeling bold and spontaneous, I will inform you as soon as possible.”

Jacaerys hummed, head ducking for just a moment before he met your gaze again, doting and overflowing with a subtle warmth. “Thank you for this,” He began, tone heartfelt and genuine. “I would not know what to do if it weren’t for your company and comfort. I’ve found it difficult to remain jovial as of late, but it’s rather effortless in your presence.”

His genial compliments made your stomach turn with excitement, and you could soar away. Jacaerys would be an excellent ruler, should he take the Iron Throne — such grace, compassion, and gallantry were true hallmarks of what would make a good King. You felt the familiar, smitten flush dance along your skin.

“Of course, Jace — you never have to ask for it,” Your fingers twisted into the silk of your gown, an outlet for your growing nerves. “You’ve no idea how much your company means to me. We will get through this together, that much I know.” With a brief nod, you felt his stare grow in intensity.

Before he could bear his heart to you on a whim, the gates opened, revealing several Targaryen bannermen and Kingsguard. It was sudden and somewhat jarring, placing the two of you back within reality — in a realm on the brink of war.

“I should return to your mother, I fear I’ve neglected my duties enough today,” You murmured, offering Jace a kindly smile before dropping to curtsy. He seemed starstruck, as if caught within the depths of his own thoughts. “Good afternoon, your Grace.”

Formalities reappeared again, much to his disdain. He loved it when you called him Jace or Jacaerys, or your Grace whenever you teased him. To hear it used in the context of nobility made him feel distant, but he understood. You possessed a strong sense of propriety.

“My Lady.” Jace replied, watching as you took your leave to rejoin the other handmaidens and guardsmen. Jacaerys cursed himself for not making the most of the moment, but he knew that he could make his own opportunity, forge it if it never came about.

He intended to do just that.

𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐀𝐓 𝐃𝐔𝐒𝐊 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋, with braziers dancing across the obsidian interior. Stars sparkled above a clear night sky, dragons dancing above. It was almost like something from a fairytale or a painting, mesmerizing to behold as you gazed up at the scaling ceiling of your bedchambers.

Your quarters were small and homely, befitting of your status as lady-in-waiting. Rhaenyra had ensured that your lodgings and that of your father were enough — more than suitable, really. The feathered mattress you slept upon was made for royalty, you thought.

The constant flicker of candlelight provided a source of warmth as you rolled over within your bed, blankets hauled up beneath your chin. It was too early to fall asleep, too late to do anything of substance.

A knock at your door gave you pause, brows furrowing together as you retrieved your robe, lacing it around the sheer gossamer of your nightgown. Bare feet traveled across the cold stone, until you reached the metal hoop slotted atop mahogany.

With a pull, you opened the door, surprised to find Jacaerys, who had abandoned his traditional Targaryen regalia, hands occupied with a stack of various tomes and scrolls. His mop of dark curls framed his face, and even he seemed just as bewildered as you were.

“Jacaerys,” His nightly visits were rather uncommon — in fact, this was only the second time he’d come, the first following Lucerys’s passing. You swallowed the growing lump within your throat, stepping aside to allow him inside of your chambers. “Is everything alright?”

Jace placed the stack of books atop the table that sat amongst small lounge chairs, ensuring to clear his throat before he spoke. “Of course,” He replied, gesturing toward your newfound reading material. “I’ve brought you scripts to learn High Valyrian.”

You blinked, touched by such a thoughtful gesture. You smoothed your palms across your robe, stepping forward to inspect the books, many of which appeared ancient and weathered. “You didn’t have to,” You replied, head canting to one side. “Many of these seem important. Are you sure that no one will miss these?”

A brief chuckle escaped him before he shook his head. “The Maesters might, but they’ve read them a hundred times over, I’m certain of it. You will find more use.” He replied, retreating toward the threshold of your chambers. Jacaerys wanted to keep his visit brief — visiting a young woman’s quarters in the dead of night was not exactly an intelligent move.

“You’re leaving so soon?” Your inquiry held a twinge of disappointment, hoping that he would stay and converse with you, at the very least. “Jacaerys, I assure you that no one will admonish you if you stay for a few minutes longer.” The softness of your voice enticed him, and he very nearly confessed then and there.

The weight of growing sentiments felt as if they would swallow him whole if he did not speak them into fruition. With the threat of a looming war and the potential for oblivion, Jacaerys was unsure of what gave him pause. The fear of rejection, perhaps? That wasn’t it.

It took a moment for you to adjust, and when you did, you noted his own attire — a billowy tunic and dark trousers that happened to make him appear softer in the candlelight. The sharp black and crimson of his house’s colors made him intimidating and poised, but no longer.

You saw Jacaerys himself, doe-eyed and magnificent.

“I fear what will happen if I stay,” Jacaerys confessed, squaring himself with the door. If he continued to linger in your chambers without restraint or without additional eyes, he knew what would happen — he did not want to sully your honor. “I won’t.”

“Jacaerys,” You whispered, brows furrowing together to form a look of confusion and startlement. Out of concern, you stepped closer, abandoning the scripts of High Valyrian now scattered across your table. “What’s wrong? I don’t understand.”

The inner war he waged within seemed to reflect upon his countenance, as Jacaerys exhaled — it was laced with stress, a heaviness that you struggled to understand. He seemed flustered, not wanting to meet your amiable gaze. “It is best if I leave it alone.” He replied, taking a hold of your hands. “I would not tarnish your honor.”

That is what he meant.

Something boiled over inside of you, the butterflies and blossoming affection turning into a tidal wave that threatened to swallow you whole. As Jace held your hands, he seemed desperate to convey such a message — whatever he wanted, he could not have.

A brief exhale escaped you before you steeled yourself, thumbs brushing across his knuckles, over the veins of his hands. “You wouldn’t tarnish it,” You whispered, stomach churning with molten heat. “I know that you wouldn’t, Jace. I trust you the most.”

Jacaerys felt the stirring within his chest, the first inkling of arousal settling into his very bones. It was somewhat foreign — a new feeling, but exciting and exhilarating. “I would never hurt you,” He insisted, and you believed him wholeheartedly. “What I feel for you, I do not wish to feel this way with anyone else.”

If you could’ve collapsed then and there, you would’ve — you thought it would happen, with the way your knees rattled together beneath your nightgown. The beating of your heart accelerated into a violent crescendo, and then you felt the rush — the love you had for him, desire, admiration, neediness.

A tenuous silence drifted between you both, the tension thick enough to be sliced with a blade. Jacaerys had inched closer without thinking, able to peer down into your eyes, swirling with affection and bewilderment. “If I told you I felt the same?” Your voice barely rose above a whisper.

Deliberately, Jacaerys released one of your hands, allowing his palm to fully envelop your face, the pad of his thumb caressing your cheekbone. “I would never difile your virtue, or take it for granted. You must tell me if this is something you want.” He insisted, jaw tightening as he anxiously awaited your answer.

You knew that he wouldn’t — Jacaerys Velaryon was the most honorable man you knew, one that would never lay a finger upon you unless you consented. You couldn’t imagine a return to friendship if you happened to reject him — you didn’t want to reject him, either.

“I do,” A shudder ran down your spine, bringing a wave of thrill and anticipation with it. “I want this — and I want you, Jacaerys, if you’ll have me.” Part of you became nervous, knowing that you had never bedded a man before, but you pushed the thought aside.

“A hundred times over.” Jace uttered, dipping down to press his lips against yours. The kiss was incredibly sweet and delicate, something brief to test the waters as the two of you began to explore uncharted territory. Your hands reached for his chest, flat atop his sternum.

Allowing the kiss to linger, you tilted your head just slightly, enough to permit a sensual progression. He kissed you so sweetly, treated you as if you were precious, something to be worshiped. When he inevitably pulled away, you felt a twinge of nervousness.

“I’ve never done anything like this before,” Your confession was a strenuous one, and you hoped that he wouldn’t be disappointed by your lack of experience. Most men already had a plethora by the time betrothals and first love emerged. “Is that alright?”

“Of course,” Jacaerys reassured you with a gentle squeeze, brows furrowing together with insistence. He hesitated, somewhat sheepish to admit the very same, but he knew you wouldn’t admonish him for it. “I haven’t either, if that’s alright.” He mused, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile.

A sweet bout of laughter escaped you before you nodded several times over, unable to keep from withholding your happiness. “I suppose that this will be quite the learning experience.” You felt his thumb stroke along your jaw, his lips molding themselves to yours in another kiss.

Passion and tension began to mount, a continuous climb of affection, prepared to turn into something fiery. Jacaerys worried that he would disappoint you, or perhaps feel clumsy and awkward, but those were mere insecurities — he knew that you wouldn’t hold it against him.

One of his hands dropped, finding the pliant curve of your hip as he sank his digits into you, able to haul you closer, until there was no space left between the two of you. Kissing felt effortless with Jace, despite your inexperience — he was gentle and deliberate, ensuring that he took his time with you above all else.

Your fingers wandered from his chest to his broad shoulders, finding the curls of hair at the nape of his neck. Jacaerys exhaled, a shiver rolling down his spine as you began to gently tug at his tresses. He canted his head slightly, enough to deepen the kiss and hold you close.

It was Jace who slowly broke the kiss, but just enough to speak, warm breath fanning across your face. “May I take you to bed?” He murmured, tracing across the silky plane of your jaw. His excitement began to grow, heart hammering within his chest.

In such close quarters to one another, you noticed the faint dusting of freckles along the bridge of his nose, spreading just underneath his eyes. You pressed a kiss against the corner of his mouth. “You may.” Eagerness replaced any nervousness you were experiencing, then and there.

Jacaerys found your hand, twining his digits with your own as the two of you inched toward your bed. It was plush, lined with furs and enough blankets to warm the Seven Kingdoms. He stood at the precipice of a cliff, preparing to dive headfirst — and it felt incredible.

He watched with bated breath, rapturous and enamored as your digits settled along the many ties of your outer robes. You began the sluggish process of untethering each one until the garment loosened, enough for you to shrug it aside and drape it over the chest at the foot of your bed.

Even with the veil of sheer, silky fabric, Jacaerys quietly admired your physique, shapely and beautiful in every way imaginable. “You are perfect,” Jace uttered, hands coming to settle around your hips, searching for any sign of hesitation on your end. “Beautiful.” He exhaled, feeling you coax him in for another kiss.

Through the slip of silk and gossamer, Jacaerys deftly felt his way along your body, taking his time savoring you. Every curve and dip, every little detail he committed to memory, lost within a sea of you. Your kiss became passionate, and he was more than happy to reciprocate, the intensity burning between you both.

Jace felt your fingers tease the hem of his tunic, enough to elicit a subtle gasp from him. The sensation of your flesh against his caused goosebumps to spread from where your digits brushed against his waist. He released you for a moment, long enough for him to assist you in removing his nightshirt.

A pang of admiration struck at your stomach, breath hitching within your throat. He was pretty — well-muscled for a young man, with sunkissed skin, smatterings of freckles along his shoulders. Jacaerys felt your lips press against the hollow of his throat, warmth fanning out from the simple contact.

“I want to take care of you, if you’ll let me.” Jace murmured, insistent on pleasuring you above all else. He knew very little of what ensued between a woman and a man within the confines of their bedchambers outside of the simple act itself, but it was easy to imagine.

Your lips parted, heat sinking into your bones as you reached for his curled tresses, digits slipping through his soft, dark locks. “Yes”, Your voice was barely above a whisper as you coaxed him in for another kiss, one charged with arousal and desire. “I want you, Jace.”

The heady, wanton way in which you spoke his name caused him to shiver, bare chest pressed snugly against your own. Even the veil of silken fabric could not hide your supple frame from him, the peaks of your breasts soft and pliant.

His kiss was so gentle — it was charged with lust despite its tame nature, not that you minded. You felt his hands fall to your hips, melding into your curves before he began to gather the fabric within his hands. Jacaerys looked to you before continuing, and you gave him a nod to signal your approval.

Silky gossamer slowly crawled up the length of your legs as Jace gathered your gown, sliding it upward. You couldn’t fight against the onslaught of molten heat that churned violently within your stomach, shamelessly pooling between your legs.

Jacaerys hesitated, likely thinking of what to do next. He had been educated on what consummation was, the act of making an heir — but there was more to it, more of you to explore. Curiosity consumed him as he placed his palm atop the bare skin of your thigh, using the other to ease you down onto your bed.

He sat beside you, leg to leg as he continued to push your nightgown up toward your hips, skirts gathering around the middle of your thighs. “May I?” Jace’s voice seemed to grow husky with arousal, desire burning its way through his veins.

Instead, you gingerly took a hold of his hand, guiding it underneath your gown as you parted your legs enough to allow him unhindered access. He caressed you wherever he could, shuddering when you held the trail of your nightgown in one hand to push it up around your hips.

You nearly squeaked when his palm brushed along your inner thigh, lips parting with a sharp exhale. Jace moved closer, as close as he could as his mouth graced your neck, digits inching toward the slick heat between your legs. When he found it, you let out a simpering whine, reaching for his forearm.

A hushed moan escaped you as two digits trailed across your cunt, exploratory and feather-light. Your hips canted forward into the sensation, desiring more — and Jace obliged, pushing both fingers inward until they slipped past your folds.

“Jace,” You whispered, eyes fluttering shut as he continued to pepper strings of sweet kisses along your neck, gown sagging enough to let him kiss your shoulder. “Do not stop, please.” That breathy plea exuded some power over him, and he was enthralled, prepared to do whatever you asked of him.

“Is that alright?” Jacaerys asked, digits becoming a touch more vigorous as he stroked at your slit, surprised at how wet you were. If it were a common thing, he would know what to expect in the future. His thumb grazed your clit, and you gasped.

With a soft hum of approval, you nodded, shifting your legs apart just a little more. “Y—Yes,” Absentmindedly, your fingers slipped from the taut muscle of his forearm to his hand, the one wedged underneath your gown. “I — Like this.” You instructed him to touch you how you had touched yourself.

Jacaerys watched through a half-lidded stare, beyond entranced with you. You were beautiful — so painfully ethereal that it made him want to kneel before you, a goddess made to be worshiped. You adjusted his fingers, ensuring that his thumb pressed against your clit with continuous pressure.

Despite his nonexistent experience, he was doing wonders for you — he was attentive and willing to learn your body as you saw fit. He was so handsome, lips curling into an affectionate smile before he kissed your jaw, digits continuing from where they’d left off.

Your palm fell across his thigh, nails beginning to dig themselves into the muscle there as he touched your clit, digits tracing around the rest of your cunt. The candlelight highlighted his features in such perfect detail, the illumination slight.

Reverence seeped into each action, every stroke of his fingers evoking a string of whimpers from you. He was passionate and careful, willing to learn your body better than you. He continued to caress your clit, the sensation sending jolts of electricity throughout your body.

His name became your prayer, devolving into desperate moans and whispered pleas as you rocked your hips into the sensation of his hand. “Jacaerys,” You sighed with passion, feeling the stirring within your stomach. Arousal consumed every part of you, just as it did him. “Jace.”

The dark-haired Prince let out a soft groan into the hollow of your throat, wanting you more than anything, and the hand you had perched atop his thigh did little to ease the fever. He kissed your neck again, scarlet-faced and beyond eager, whispering sweet nothings in High Valyrian against your skin.

Excitement and the heat of the moment seemed to get to you, as you used one hand to sloppily unlace the leather ties of his trousers. You wanted to touch him too, let him feel exactly how you felt — how he made you feel.

Jace shivered, not objecting, but he wanted to focus on you above all else. “What about you?” He asked, feeling his cock twitch with want. The ache he had for you was almost painful, threatening to tear him apart if he couldn’t find relief.

“Together,” You suggested, turning enough to crawl into his lap, much to his delight. Jacaerys held you steady, lips clamoring together in a messy flurry of tongue and adoration. It was the anticipation of youth — the desire and sentiments overrode everything else, made duty disappear. “You are perfect.”

His brief smile made all of your worry dissipate, fading into mere background noise. Your hands returned to the leather ties of his breeches once more, sluggishly loosening them. Jace steeled himself, a fire burning within his belly as you reached down.

A low, satisfied groan tore past his lips when your hand gently wrapped around his cock, searching his visage for any sign of discomfort. There was none — only desire, lust festering within his gaze. He resumed touching you, digits circling your clit once more.

Within your delicate grasp, his length hardened, your palm finding a careful rhythm. Your hips twitched, rolling into the sensation of his hand. It was heavenly — the way in which he handled you was gallant and gentle. Arousal continued to gather between your thighs, a new and sticky feeling.

Intermingled gasps and groans filled the air, the both of you clinging to one another. Jacaerys leaned forward, mouth seeking yours, the kiss hot and gentle. Between your careful, uncertain strokes along his length and his digits teasing your cunt, the both of you were lost within the throes of passion.

He slipped his other hand underneath your nightgown, with enough leverage to remove it, if he so desired. Jacaerys broke the kiss long enough to ask, chest heaving with heavier breaths. “May I?” He whispered, voice husky and hoarse with lust.

You nodded, maneuvering your arms over your head as your nightgown slipped to the floor, leaving you bare before Jacaerys. The saltwater breeze which fluttered through your quarters left you shivering, both from the brief chill and anticipation.

The awestruck way in which he stared at you left you hot, body feverish beneath his tempered gaze. He kissed your collarbone, eyes warm and affectionate. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” He stated, nearly breathless. His heart was yours — every fiber of his being devoted itself to you.

Smitten beneath his sweetly-spoken compliments, you trailed your fingers throughout his soft curls. The other slyly descended to reach for his cock again, but Jacaerys seemed to place your hand aside. You seemed confused, head canting to one side. “Do you not like it?”

His bemused chuckle filled your chambers, amiable and as warm as a cozy hearth. “Of course I like it,” Jacaerys murmured, kissing along your jaw and neck, holding you as close as he could. “I’d like to focus on you. There’s something that I wanted to try, if you’ll allow it.”

Surprised, you seemed open to whatever he wanted to try. “Anything you want, you will have. It’s yours.” You expected him to put you on your knees or turn you on your stomach. Instead, he coaxed you down onto your back, getting you to lay down as he crawled between your parted legs.

His mouth pressed a string of affectionate kisses along your shoulder and collarbone, beginning to dip lower toward the perky swell of your breasts. You squirmed slightly, uncertain of where this would lead to. You trusted Jace to follow his own instinct.

Your back arched when his mouth graced your breast, pressing kisses all around the pliant flesh. A moan escaped you, signaling your pleasure as he wrapped his lips around one of your nipples, gingerly suckling on the pebbled bud.

“Jace,” You squeaked, one hand flying to his mountain of dark curls, pushing your fingers through. He touched you in a way that evoked a sense of yearning, as if you were the only woman in the realm. His hand kneaded into your chest, a shiver coursing through him whenever you moaned his name. “Please.”

Heat simmered through him, a wave of desire that only seemed to grow in intensity, demanding to be extinguished. Your flesh tasted saccharine upon his tongue, but there was something else he wanted to taste. As he kissed your chest, he released his lips from your breast, continuing his descent.

He kissed you everywhere, reverence seeping into each brush of his mouth as he traversed your body. Jacaerys pressed his lips against your stomach, and then to your hips, palms sliding against your thighs.

A sharp exhale escaped you as he peppered a string of kisses along the inside of your thigh, showering you in little pecks of affection before he flattened himself entirely. You swallowed the lump within your throat; the sight of Jace’s face wedged in between your legs made you shiver, arousal following suit.

Everything was gentle, even the way in which his veined hands gripped the pliant flesh of your thighs to let them rest against his shoulders. He hesitated, allowing you a moment to adjust and steel yourself before he dipped forward, tongue raking hot embers across your cunt.

The singular, experimental stroke of his tongue caused you to shiver, hands curling into fists. If you could melt away into your furs, you would’ve, feeling his mouth press kisses against your core. “Jace,” You whined, attempting to hold still and cease your squirming. “Don’t stop.”

It was all the encouragement he truly needed, digits soothingly caressing along your thighs as he began to lap at your cunt, adopting a pace that was a little less sluggish. He nearly groaned when he felt your hand grasp at his curled tresses, sinking in toward the base of his skull.

In the nighttime gloom of Dragonstone, you found warmth and comfort in one another — affections intensified, and whatever bond you had before was now redefined entirely. Jacaerys loved you, he had never been more sure of himself until now, dutifully bringing about your pleasure.

A myriad of soft whimpers and whines escaped you, hand gingerly tugging on Jace’s hair as he buried his mouth in the apex of your thighs. His tongue vigorously lapped and traced over your core, savoring your taste, committing it to memory. Bathed in moonlight, Jace appeared more ethereal than ever, the muscles flexing within his back.

With slow, eager laps of his tongue, Jacaerys made sure to savor you, letting it flick across your clit. The short, dizzying gasp that tore past your mouth spurred him on, as he pressed another string of kisses against your slit. The continued sensation of your digits carding through his curls made him sigh with elation.

He brought you closer, heart leaping into his throat when you began to writhe beneath him, hips tilting forward into each stroke of his mouth. “You’re perfect,” Jacaerys whispered, ensuring that you could hear it. Soft utterances of High Valyrian were etched into the flesh of your thigh. “Perfect.”

Blossoming beneath his sweet compliments, your fingers curled against his scalp, unable to lay still as Jace resumed his previous ministrations. The warmth of his tongue left you with a blistering want, stomach churning with a wave of arousal.

As he lapped at your clit again, you whimpered, moaning his name as if to keep his attention there. Jacaerys’s tender expression also bore a great deal of concentration, dark eyes flickering toward you. “There?” He uttered, hoping that you would guide him to where he needed to be.

Your head bobbed up and down against the furs, flesh beginning to glisten with the first inklings of perspiration. Everything felt feverishly hot, as if you would be turned to ash where you sat. Jacaerys was attentive and loving, following your breathy plea as he pursed his lips around the pearl of your cunt.

Jace shivered at the sounds you made, enticed by each whimper and moan, every twitch of your body. He suckled on the sensitive bundle of nerves, alternating between that and greedy, vigorous laps of his tongue. He let himself be lost within bliss, arousal mounting from pleasuring you.

You reached for his hand, fingers interlocking atop the swell of your hip as he continued to lap at your aching core. He squeezed your hand as a sign of reassurance, buried deep within your sweet cunt, something that he wanted to have again and again.

He was at your mercy, the heir to the Iron Throne, the Prince of Dragonstone — and you hadn’t the slightest clue. Jace’s brow creased in concentration as he focused on what spots made you squirm the most, continuing to dutifully lap at your clit until your knees trembled.

“Jace,” A needy moan left you, reverberating within the obsidian confines of your chambers. Arousal rushed through you, molten heat oozing from between your thighs, a nectar as sweet as honey. “I—I think I’m close.” You groaned, unsure if it was just the throes of ecstasy or reality.

Nevertheless, you were on the verge of reaching your peak, and you didn’t want him to stop. Instead, you urged his head forward, fingers laced within his dark curls, right at the nape of his neck. Jacaerys groaned in delight, thoroughly enjoying the way you continued to coax him inward — he happily devoured every drop.

With another barrage of his tongue assaulting your cunt, you whimpered, turning malleable within Jace’s hands. He knew that you were on the verge, and so he pursed his lips around your clit once more, and that was more than enough.

His name emerged from your lips like a reverent prayer, the only name that you knew in that moment. Your release was hot, like a rush of fire that didn’t simmer immediately. The residual sensation lingered, and Jace helped you through it.

Your thighs twitched, absentmindedly attempting to clench together, but Jace held you apart, soothing you with kisses along your thighs. The blissful, contented expression that soon followed was a beautiful one — Jace was shocked to know that he could do that to you, bring you to ruin.

His gallant smile gave you pause as you studied the rosy flush within his features, the glistening sheen of your arousal upon his lips. Jacaerys seemed entirely unphased, basking in your aftermath all the same, his curls tousled and disheveled.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Your tone was sheepish, realizing how much you’d tugged at his hair. If it were you, a tender-headed maiden, you would’ve been batting his hand away. Jace’s bemused chuckle caused you to duck your head.

Jace disarmed you with a charming, doting smile and a simple look of those earthen-brown eyes of his, and shook his head. “You could never hurt me,” He replied, his attempt at gentle flirtation. “I worry more for you.” His confession was soft-spoken.

The act of consummation was not intended to be a comfortable one — for a woman, at least. Jacaerys knew to broach this with care, to make sure that you were well enough before all else. He inched forward from between your thighs, resting his head atop your stomach.

He allowed you a moment of composure, feeling your digits trace the lines of his countenance, stroke at his tresses. Jace pressed a string of kisses all around your body, wherever his lips could reach. The moment was incredibly tender, lingering with the tension of a blossoming ardor.

Through the comfortable haze of silence, you cleared your throat, staring down at Jacaerys with what only could be described at a look of complete and utter adoration. He was so kind, so noble and gentle, yet with the fervor of the dragon’s blood, a desire to do good. You felt so fortunate, even moreso when he smiled at you, pressing a kiss to your hip.

“I want you, Jacaerys,” You whispered, watching as Jace began to sit up, letting your legs trap him on either side. “More than I’ve ever wanted anyone else.” It was the hitch within his throat that made you shiver, heart hammering beneath your breast as you began to confess your feelings — it was inevitable.

Jace reveled at the sight of you, naked and glimmering within the moonlit dusk, candlelight bathing your physique in shades of flickering orange. His descent was slow as he covered you with his body, lips parting to allow a shaky exhale before he kissed your brow. “You have my heart,” He uttered, forehead resting against yours. “Everything I am, is yours.”

Your palms moved to cup either side of his face, thumbs caressing along his cheekbones before you smiled, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I am yours.” You assured, your commitment resolute before the Gods — before Jacaerys Velaryon.

It was a poignant moment, one that seemed intermingled with the seriousness of your words, yet still tinged with the youthful excitement of a first love. He kissed you, slow and amorous, full of an unrestrained affection that no longer seemed weighed-down by unspoken sentiments.

“Are you certain that this is what you want?” Jace asked, his voice a soft caress through your haze of kisses. He would not fault you if you wanted to stop now — and he would if you wished it of him. As much as he desired you, he valued your virtue above his own.

“Yes,” You replied, your palms gliding from his soft visage to the taut muscle of his shoulders, lacing your fingers around the back of his neck. “Are you certain, too? I worry that you might regret lying with me.”

Jacaerys shook his head, brows furrowing together to reflect a semblance of disbelief. He reached down to caress your cheek, making sure that you understood every word. “Nothing in the world would ever make me regret this,” He murmured. “I’ve never been more certain about anything before.”

A brief stirring of adoration fluttered within your chest, and you knew that you wanted no one else ever again. You pulled yourself off of the mattress enough to kiss him, sinking into the sweet bliss of the moment as he reciprocated. His mouth moved in-tandem with yours, eyes beginning to flutter shut.

His hands planted themselves into the feathered pillow on either side of your head, but it didn’t last long. Jacaerys leaned back, maneuvering out of the leather of his trousers, flush against you once they were removed. You were so soft, like an ocean of silk beneath him.

He felt one of your legs hitch around his hips, bodies together beneath the furs. The chill of your chambers dissipated, replaced by the warmth of your skin. You kept your hands poised against his shoulders, dancing across the smattering of freckles there as you continued to kiss him, as if each one would be your last.

The hardened swell of his cock pressed against your lower stomach, and you could feel his breath grow heavier between kisses. He was perfect — flawless, so handsome that it made you ache with want.

Jace kissed you again and again, feeling the soft peaks of your breasts brush against his chest. He adjusted his weight, shifted his hips as he pressed the head of his length against your slick cunt. He was somewhat nervous — perhaps not as much as you, but anxious enough. He made sure to be careful, feeling your legs nudge themselves apart.

A look of mutual preparedness passed between you both, between your doe-eyed gaze of anticipation and Jace’s mounting look of want, there was little room left for uncertainty. He sat up enough to position himself against your aching core, his cock splitting past your folds before it prodded at your entrance.

You steeled yourself, and Jace made sure to be slow, afraid of hurting you enough to cause true discomfort. As he tilted forward, his length filled you, sheathing himself inside of you, inch by inch. Admittedly, it wasn’t a good feeling — not initially, anyway.

A sharp exhale escaped you as he bottomed out, staying still atop you as he allowed you time to grow accustomed to him. Waves of complete and utter bliss rolled through him, his own pleasure nearly overwhelming. You were tight, maidenhead intact for the next few moments until he began to move.

“Are you alright?” Jace whispered around the shell of your ear, pressing against you once more as he reassuringly kissed along the side of your face. He felt despicable for causing you any amount of pain, but you seemed to dismiss his concern.

“I am,” You placated him with a smile, coaxing him in for a kiss. It was best if you didn’t think about it — and with time, it would feel better. Everything was awkward and clumsy, the follies of youth, but as Jace began to move, a fire began to burn within your belly. “Jace.” You sighed, keeping your leg around his hips.

A soft groan resonated beside your ear as Jace adopted a sluggish rhythm, not wanting to intensify things so quickly. Your eyes fluttered shut, body content to bend to his thrusts, grow accustomed to the act itself. He reciprocated your kiss, black curls falling in front of his temples.

Bliss soon replaced discomfort, the more you allowed yourself to adjust. You shifted your legs further apart, one hand falling toward his bicep, the other remaining tangled at the nape of his neck. The sounds of your lovemaking soon filled your chambers, with your foreheads pressed together.

Your name fell from his tongue in a needy groan, and it made you shiver, body reacting with a barrage of gooseflesh along your spine. Perspiration grew upon his brow as he maintained his pace, digits curling into the furs on either side of you.

The sound of your pleasured moans made him feel better, a sign that you were no longer riddled with soreness and irritation. Jace pressed a trail of hot, messy kisses along your face, reaching to the sweet spot beneath your jaw. He kept himself anchored there, feeling your hand squeeze at his bicep.

“Jace!” You squeaked, flushed at the growing lewdness of the noises — the squelching, the passionate groans and heavy breathing. He was perfect, cock filling you in a way that left you completely satisfied. Jace felt your hand fall away from his bicep, reaching for his own, interlocked hands falling back against the cushions.

He shuddered, reveling in the way your cunt tightened around him, the sensation of your hand within his hair, hands joined at your side. Jace’s pace began to quicken, but only somewhat, enough to really feel the myriad of pleasure take hold.

You yearned for him in every way imaginable; your body ached with each movement, every thrust as he leisurely moved in and out of you. His cock pulsated with a dull throbbing, enough to fill his belly with a raging fire. He kissed you again, lips traversing wherever they saw fit, peppering every inch of your sweet skin.

Time seemed to move agonizingly slow in your presence — Jacaerys wouldn’t want it any other way. If he could capture this moment, he would’ve. Every moment was graced by a warm intimacy that sank into his very bones, his adoration for you furthered with each roll of his hips, sheathing himself inside of you.

His soft lips graced your collarbone, continuing to make love to you in the only way he knew how. It was passionate and gentle, in a way reserved for the deepest of lovers. Jace grunted when your hips involuntarily rolled upward to grind against him, lips parting as he squeezed your hand.

At last, he lifted his head, your eyes locking together. Your countenance was exceptionally beautiful, especially when painted with the shade of desire, and it had him aching with want. His jaw tensed when you brushed dark curls away from his eyes, palm lingering long enough to pull him down for a kiss.

His cock continued to hit your cunt with a tame fervor, filling you completely, testing your limits as he neared his peak. Jacaerys knew that there would be more moments like these in the future — his energy was waning, and perhaps, the unfamiliarity of it all contributed to this.

Your name spilled from his tongue, throat echoing with a soft groan as his pace became slightly erratic. It was difficult to control himself amidst chasing after his release, but he maintained what little composure he had, gritting his teeth together as he thrust into you again.

Pleasure contorted into ecstasy, becoming an unstoppable wave that was quick to take hold of him. Concentration intermingled with bliss were etched into his features, face pressing against yours, nearly breathless as you kissed him again.

With a groan, Jacaerys rocked forward again, spilling himself inside of you. In hindsight, it was both brazen and feckless, done in the heat of the moment, but he cared little of it for the time being. His cock throbbed, thrusting into you again a time or two before he stilled completely.

Heavy pants resonated between you both as you caught your breath, flush against one another in the aftermath. You pressed a kiss against Jace’s cheek, trailing your fingers throughout his hair. He was quick to kiss you, gathering his composure before he pulled himself out of you.

A rush of sticky warmth slathered the inside of your thighs, leaving behind a feeling of slight discomfort. Jace gathered a cloth for you to clean yourself with, returning to lay beside you as he rucked the furs up around your bodies. The air was colder at nightfall, injected with a saltwater mist.

“I apologize if I hurt you,” Jacaerys uttered, dark brows furrowing together as you wriggled closer, resting your head atop his bare chest. Your arm draped over him, allowing yourself to be close, a feeling that he wanted more than anything else. “It was not my intention.” He kissed the top of your head.

“You didn’t,” You replied, tracing soft patterns against his skin, angling your head up enough to kiss him. Jace cupped your jaw, leaning in to deepen the tender entanglement, lost within the bliss of your lips. “You would never hurt me.”

Jacaerys was fiercely protective over you, that much was true — even from himself. He kept an arm wrapped around you, cradling you at his side as he gazed into your eyes. He could see you, then — his beloved wife, the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Perhaps it was too early to tell, but he knew.

As the both of you settled in together, your maidenhead now lost, you couldn’t help but smile. Jacaerys had made your first experience more than anyone ever could — you hoped that it would stay that way forever. “Does your offer of teaching High Valyrian still stand?” You mused.

A huff of amusement left Jacaerys as he turned his head enough to look at you, a smile playing at either corner of his mouth. “I thought you wanted those dusty old books.” Admittedly, his offering of those damned texts is what started this in the first place — he had to be grateful.

“I knew that you would be kind enough to bring them to me,” You confessed, nose wrinkling in amusement. “An excuse to see you.” The look on Jace’s face was one of theatrical shock, and you erupted into a fit of laughter when he squeezed your hip.

“You might grow tired of me, if I am to teach you High Valyrian.” Jacaerys mused, his smile one of complete and utter warmth. Anyone would know that his love for you was obvious — there wasn’t any subtlety about it.

You shook your head, comfortably sinking against him, your upper body lounging atop him. “I could never grow tired of you, Jacaerys Velaryon.” You exhaled, exhaustion beginning to grip you. It was bound to happen eventually, given the abnormally late hour.

Jace was thankful that you weren’t looking — his face was dusted with a rather obvious layer of pink, and yet, the feeling was beyond satisfying. The two of you allowed the silence to sink through, accompanied by the sound of the encroaching tide as it broke upon the jagged rock and cliff sides surrounding Dragonstone.

“Will you stay?” You asked, hoping that he would be agreeable to it. It was a risky proposition, but Jace knew that he couldn’t leave you after this — he didn’t want to, either. No one would come clamoring about within his chambers at first light.

“Of course,” He murmured, lips twitching into a sweet smile. “Though, I should go at the first light of dawn.” Jace’s tone was one of clear disappointment, but it was best to keep suspicions low. You knew that he had duties that transcended you — he was the Prince of Dragonstone, the heir — and you were not betrothed.

A sense of understanding settled onto your features, but you still wanted him by your side — you wished that you could wake up next to him. “I hope that dawn never comes, then.” You whispered, taking his hand within yours as you pressed a kiss against his palm, knowing that there would be many more dawns to come with him at your side.

copyright @ swordgrace; please do not translate, steal, or copy my works and post them onto other platforms or claim as your own.

[kaivenom]

Hey hey!! Can you do the op dilfs reaction to reader who sleeps naked? 👀

One Piece Dilfs reacting to reader sleeping naked

Characters: Doflamingo, Mihawk, Crocodile, Smoker, Shanks

A/N: I hope you like it, it turns a little NSFW, but what other reason would the reader have to sleep naked?

Masterlist

Dracule Mihawk

I picture him sleeping naked or sleeping with a victorian nightgown, either way he doesn´t seem impressed by your naked body.

He just lays on the bed like a husband dying from influenza and sleeps buuuuut...

He has your naked body next to him and his mind knows so his dreams start to get a little horny.

Unconsciously his body starts to roll to your side and hug you from behind.

You smile noticing that, Mihawk could be very stoic but when he is asleep is when he is really vunerable, and emotional.

He starts dry humping your leg and moving to your crotch.

You just let it be, thinking it's just his unconcious body doing what he needs, but in reality, Mihawk is wide awake.

Donquixote Doflamingo

Many people thinks he will wake you up, WRONG.

He will put a challenge to himself: doing everything he can to you without waking you up.

He is big, really big so it's difficult for him to not wake you up with his mere weight on the mattress, but he tries... every single time.

He some times is able to sink his cock into you and other times he can't even put his hand on you... your sleep habits are very unpredictable.

He sometimes is more respectfull like brusing your inner thights, carresing your breasts, kissing your neck, etc.

Other times he is just all tongue on your cunt instantly and moaning like a mess.

One ocasionally situation when he doesn't try to do anything to you is when he is specially sad/nostalgic about his past.

Then he wakes you up and lays his head on your chest to just ear your eartbeat.

Sr. Crocodile

Spents like half an hour watching you sleep, building up his excitiment to approach you.

He wakes you up with a slight touch.

"Hey brat, what were you thinking going onto bed naked? You wanted to tempt me?"

You woke up slowly, with a smile on your face.

"Maybe"

"Then you have to get a punishmet but right now both of us need a reward, no?"

Simple and direct, just like his deals in job. He just wants to be with you in that moment.

Smoker

A little shocked at first, ¿what if somebody else came into the room instead of him?

But then he stares at you, ass up and just so peacefull.

He starts to feel hot and hard, even if he wouldn't admit it to anyone.

He says to himself that he is a better man and starts to wander around the house, moving and doing stuff, trying to relax his mind.

The thing is that he ends up in the bedroom every couple of minutes.

Everytime examining your body more and staying more.

He tries to shower but when he is about to enter the bathroom, he just regrets it.

He enters the bedroom so disturbed that he woke you up and instantly felt bad, all the hotness was thrown away.

Well, that was until you smiled at him and invited him to join you in bed.

He tried to continue with his rude being but as soon as you touched him, he started to melt in his softer side.

Akagami Shanks

He laughs like really loud and in consecuence, wakes you up.

He then starts to aproach you with a devilish smile.

The bed cracks with his weight and you start considering covering yourself with a blancket, that smile doesn't inspire confidence.

One word, animal.

Don't ask why he got so riled up but you know the how.

Being naked on bed, pretending to sleep, just waiting for him to come and see you.

That thing made a click on his brain and he just couldn't get enough of the view or you.

But all with that stupid grin, half love dork half savage animal.

[2crtz]

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑ TEMPTATIONS, DESIRES, AND IMPULSE.

CHARACTERS: capitano x f!readers

WARNINGS: mdni. arranged marriage. virgin reader. breast fondling. capitano has a big dick. probably ooc capitano. SYNOPSIS: after your recovery, you expected your relationship to change with your husband. however, it changed into something you could only dream of.

WORD COUNT:  2.830 A/N: i haven't written smut in so long so i hope i don't disappoint. this is part two. can be read as a standalone but i highly recommend reading part one.

Months have passed since the initial injury. Improvements have been made in your footing, yet not in your marriage. Capitano had been nothing but helpful during your recovery, but since healing, he's gone back to being distant.

You worried that you had said something wrong or been too demanding in your requests.

Maybe I've asked for an abundance of food or denied his company.

No matter the case, you prayed that things will be smooth sailing from there, but the gods did not answer you.

Capitano sat in his office most days, buried in work from the Tsarista. He never has a moments rest. Recently, he was sent off in Inazuma to aid a comrade whom lost an ancient relic. You have never seen a person's seething attitude fill up a room like his.

During his absents, you devoted your time in maintaining the garden, vigorously cleaning its stones and tending it with care. The garden became a safe haven, a place where you could run off to and soak in its beauty.

And when your husband came back from his travels, he headed straight to his office.

You never understood the allure of his office. Why did he choose it as his refuge instead of the comfort of his chambers? Lacking the courage to step foot into that space, its secrets remained a mystery.

────

Capitano looked out the grand window and viewed the meticulously tended garden. A stir of frustration flickered in him as he realized you have pushed yourself to keep the grounds beautiful, despite recovering.

Even if it had been months since the fall.

Yet, with a pained feeling in his heart, he found himself battling the tides of thoughts. Months have slipped passed-- months spent avoiding your presence, months where he sought refuge to his calloused, rough hands. Still, those vivid images of you lingered in his mind, taunting him.

Capitano considered himself a coward for succumbing to lustful thought of his wife. The flame of carnal desires coursed through his veins, causing it to be exceedingly difficult to maintain and keep his composure whenever he is near your being.

However, we he did find the courage, one look into those bright and pure eyes, his mind betrayed him and he found himself avoiding you once again.

It wasn't until a knock on his office door rang him out of his thoughts.

Never once have you shown a passing interest in Capitano's line of work, nor dared to interrupted him during his paper work. So why was this evening unlike any other?

As Capitano rose from his chair and opened the heavy wooden door, his eyes fell on you holding up a silver tray of dinner you prepared earlier.

Once realizing the time, he undoubtedly missed dinnertime.

Capitano side-stepped to allow you into his office and you took a long look around. It wasn't anything you expected.

Towering bookshelves reaching up to the heavens, a grand window that bathed the room in a soft light from the setting sun, and his desk sitting adjacent to the window, giving his access to view the garden.

You understood why he spent his time in here.

As you deliberated where to put his dinner, you noticed the lack of space on his desk from the overwhelming amount of papers. Noticing your trouble, Capitano silently collected his documents and neatly gathered them to one side to make room for you.

"You need not to trouble yourself with bringing my food here," Capitano eyes gazing upon the meal you have prepared. Not understanding why you went through the lengths, he could not suppress the appreciation sprouting within him.

"It is no problem at all." you replied softly, placing the tray down with care. It took every ounce of power within you to conceal the tremor in your tone, aching to reveal itself.

There you stood, in a delicate light blue nightgown barely reaching below your knees. A picture of a woman prepared for bed. And there, a familiar peak poked through the thin fabric, teasing and taunting Capitano once again.

He swallowed quietly, avoiding your gaze and instead looked down at his food. To him, you looked far more delicious than the meal. Your presence igniting a hunger he could not simply fill.

"Thank you."

In your head, that was your cue to leave, but when Capitano handed a piece of silverware, his unspoken invitation sent a flutter through your stomach.

For the first time, you were having dinner with your husband.

────

The grass felt soft beneath your fingertips. A blanket of feathers could not compare to how the garden comforted you. While you wished you could spend time with your husband here, he was simply too occupied with work.

Again, only a prayer would give you a smidge of hope.

A prayer indeed.

Your eyes grew heavy as the beaming sun hit the peaks of your face. A soft breath exhaled through your lips while your arms outstretched onto the soft ground.

"It is not clean for you to lay on the ground." A deep voice spoke above you.

Opening your eyes to a man whom never showed his face nor allowed himself to be vulnerable before others. There he was, bent down with his hands resting on his knees, your husband, was in the garden. With you.

The scene before you exposed a shock in your core, and in an instant, you shot upright sitting up in a sharp motion.

Noticing your sudden movement, a low chuckle erupted deep within his thick, metal armor.

The sound was an unfamiliar sound in your ears.

"Would you like company?" he asked.

Perhaps the heavens have heard your prayers, waiting until this moment. You have longed nothing more than to spend time with your husband, even if his heart remained distant and shown no affection or serenaded you with tender words.

You quickly nodded, a gentle, but faint, smile stretching your lips, and patted on the space beside you.

Silence hung in the air for a moment before Capitano decided to speak first, his tone laced with genuine curiosity. "You spend most of your time here. Why is that?" he held your gaze.

"I enjoy the sun." you replied. While his eyes remained hidden, you imagined the way they might look, perhaps softening as you answered.

"I cannot help but wonder why, out of all the time we have been married, you choose now to come into the gardens." you felt your body involuntarily moving closer to his. "Are the orders of the Tsaritsa too much to bear?"

Capitano took a moment before replying. "Since I am away most days, and soon will embark on another mission, I suppose I wanted a moment to escape from reality." He took a pregnant pause.

"I want you to be my reprieve from the demands of my work, my anchor." his tone had a humorous tone hidden, though he was being honest. "But before I place such a burden on you, I must get to know my wife."

A laugh escaped between your lips. It was sudden, but not unwanted. "It is strange how we are married but complete strangers."

"Life has other plans." Capitano looked off into the distance, onto the lush horizon. "Ones that betray our dreams."

There was something you've always wondered about your husband. What was underneath that helmet of his? Did he look like a troll? A disfigured man? Or a scarred, damaged face?

"If you don't mind me asking," Capitano's attention turned towards you. "may I know what you look like?" you asked.

Curiosity flickered in your eyes, a look so earnest that Capitano could not refuse. And slowly, he removed his steel helmet, revealing his face.

A soft gasp freed itself from your lips, eyes settling on his face. It was neither mangled nor deformed, but a strikingly beautiful one that was half in black. Could this be the rumors of the decay?

You've heard tales about the brave Capitano's face, but none prepared you for what sights you might see.

As if on command, you hand reached out to touch the void-like black decay that marred his visage. It felt like skin, but didn't all at once. Your eyes soaking in the image of his face, his skin, his eyes. A piercing, bright pale blue color glowing beside the darkness that engulfed him.

Only one word could muster out your lips. "Breathtaking."

Your touch igniting fire within Capitano, coursing through his veins, setting his entire being ablaze. He found himself vulnerable without his helmet, but could not help but lean into your touch for warmth.

A new sensation awoke in Capitano. So foreign, so raw it threated to consume him whole. One that can only be described as love. A feeling so intense it burn holes in his heart.

For the first time, after all this time his gaze stayed hidden, you could finally meet his eyes.

Like an impulse eating him alive, from how your gaze held his, Capitano felt his being leaning towards yours like a magnet, closing the distance, and capturing your lips with him.

You felt your heart beating out of the confines of your chest. The sudden kiss had your mind running laps, but once reality settled in, you could finally relax into the kiss.

His hand reached behind your head and gripped softly onto your hair. Capitano felt his groin on fire, attempting to break free from his trousers.

As the kiss became intense and heavy, he broke the kiss before it went further.

"Tell me when to stop and I'll stop." A string of saliva that connect you broke and you stared into his heavy-lidded eyes.

"Don't stop."

Those two words were enough for Capitano to gather you into his arms and walk into your shared chambers. It was the first time you've truly been in this room together, and in this moment, was the perfect time to break it in.

Your heart pounded more vigorously as he laid you onto the bed, his hands steady yet deliberate. His movements were agonizingly slow, each motion a taunt to tease you as he unbuttoned his shirt. With each button undone, more of his sculpted torso was reveal. An ache began to appear between your legs.

The black decay reached even below his neck, following down inside his trousers.

Capitano's shirt throw carelessly as he lowered back down to you, seizing your lips once again and his hands searching your body. Rough hands that squeezed each part of your body, acting as his anchor, resistance, before grabbing hold of your intimate parts.

What Capitano didn't know, was that you were impatient. Your hand collect his black hair and gripped it tightly, asking for more.

Once receiving your silent request, his hands reached up to your breasts where he felt your harden nipples. Ones whom taunted him were now in his hold.

With his free hand, he lifted your nightgown. There, your bare body was exposed beneath his eyes.

"You are truly," his lips connected of your bare stomach, then reaching up to your neck, until he finally reached your lips. "flawless." his pitch went down a decibel, still holding a sultry tone.

If that didn't cause you to die on the spot, nothing will. Not even a spear through the chest.

Your heart burst into millions of particles and still, you were growing impatient for his touch, needy for him.

While he littered your breast with kisses, a hard object pressed itself against your core, sending volts of electricity through your body. A soft moan escape from your lips.

"You like that?" his voice low and breathing spreading across your body like a wildfire.

You absolutely loved it. You wanted, no, needed more.

Understanding your silent response, he pressed himself harder onto you, causing you to shift in your spot. "Please," you pleaded quietly.

"Please what?"

"Please touch me. Please, Capitano." finding your voice was a difficult task, but you needed the touch only your husband could provide.

Hearing his name from your mouth started the gears in Capitano's head. His cock was begging to be freed. It craved to be sunk into you.

A guttural groan formed within his throat and he wanted nothing more but to please you. His hands fiddled with his pants, fumbling with the button before completely tearing them off his being.

Capitano was known for being a patient man, but it all dissipated within seconds.

When your eyes landed on his cock, his sized terrified you, intimating you. Nowhere in that innocent mind of yours could fathom the thought of his whole length fitting inside you.

"I'm sorry, darling, but I am being impatient." Capitano apologized before he touched you.

You didn't care. You wanted be touched by him and only him.

Before he could fuck you relentlessly, he needed to prepare you. The leather gloves were quickly removed from his hand and his fingers grazed your wet cunt.

You relaxed against his touch, enjoying the delicate movements of his digits. When inserted a finger, your teeth captured your lips. You've never experimented with yourself, not understanding what to do, however, you wish you had.

Euphoria had unleashed and your body reacted with Capitano's fingers.

It wasn't until the second finger stretched you out when you felt the pain course through you. It was a sudden shock that hastily turned into pleasure.

As Capitano deemed you ready, he retrieved his fingers, leaving you empty, but lined his cock straight to you. It started with his tip then he slowly slid in.

He watched the expression on your face, ready to pause when it becomes overwhelming for you. And it was. The foreign object forcing it's way into you caused a rippling feeling, too much for you to handle.

"Is it too much for you, my dear?" his eyes holding so many emotions within them-- worry, lust, and care. Your hands reached up to hold his head.

"I can handle it." you reassured him.

Capitano loved your touch, and without missing a beat, he began moving into you until his length disappear in you, bottoming out. His fantasies being buried in you were no longer dreams. Finally, they were reality.

Sweat coated his forehead as he thrusted slowly, pacing himself to ensure you were comfortable.

Your moans echoed throughout the room, reverberating against the walls and back into Capitano's ears. His appetite was not clenched yet. His pace picked up, his hips moving sloppy.

Warm arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him down until his face was buried into the crook of your neck. His moans spread through the hollow of your collar.

The feeling of his cock rubbing every inch of your cunt had you mind in a daze. Your breathing labored, trying to find your breath as he took every ounce of air out your lungs.

"Capi-- Capitano!"

He finally found the sweet spot he'd been searching for. His arm picking your leg up to gain more access within you, picking up the pace until you become a disheveled mess.

Holding a tight grip around his hair, you couldn't allow him to free himself from you.

His nails dug deep into your flesh, anchoring you to stay in place as he pounded harder. "You are the definition of perfection," he spoke into your neck. "One only I can turn into a mess."

Your leg begun to shake from the building release. It was becoming too much. Your body was ready to fully shutdown, but you were too cock-drunk.

Feeling your body, Capitano was damn near to spilling his cum into you, filling you up.

"You're close." he felt it. You were tightening around him, suffocating him. "Come on, darling, let it all out."

Like on command, your body sputtered and shook, releasing all over him. Your breathing was heavy, working overtime to get a full breath of air.

Capitano spilt all in you, filling you to the brim with his cum. He rode out his high, leaving himself in you to watch your face.

Your face was one he could never forget. The image branded itself onto his memory, a scene he refuse to get over.

The sweat coating your face made you glow under the soft light from the window. Capitano noticed a tear running down your face. Not from sadness or pain, but pleasure.

His thumb ran across your cheek to wipe it.

Before he could utter a word, his body collapsed on yours.

You couldn't help but to laugh. It was soft, yet came from the chest. "You are something."

"I hope only good." his arms wrapped around your torso, holding you closer to his body.

"Far better than good." your looked straight into his eyes. "You are remarkable. Something I only see in my dreams."

Capitano smiled before lowering his head back down into your neck.

"You no longer have to dream, my dear. I am now your reality."

do not edit, modify, or republish.

[pochipop]

＃LOVE AND DEEPSPACE !! ♡ — HOW I CRAVE YOU IN THE MORNIN' (RAFAYEL X READER).

#. synopsis! — rafayel doesn't really like mornings, but heaven knows he likes you .

#. characters! — rafayel.

#. warnings! — none .

#. word count! — 1.3k .

#. alt accounts! — @ddollipop (nsfw) @hhoneypop (moodboards) .

#. others! — navigation & masterlist .

Rafayel has never been a morning person. He likes to watch the occasional sunrise if he wakes naturally to catch it, but heaven knows he’s loath to pull himself out of bed before he feels good and ready. You, on the other hand, don’t tend to have the luxury of sleeping in until whenever you please. The life of a Deepspace Hunter often requires early starts, and now that you’ve woven your life so tightly between the threads of Rafayel’s, he’s seldom excluded from the harsh ring of your alarm coercing you out of bed, out of your dreams of sweet nothings, and into the real world (which is often much less pretty.)

You don’t even have to open your eyes to know that Rafayel is already pouting at the mere thought of your departure, and your suspicions are confirmed when he snakes his arms around your waist, groaning.

“Baby,” he mutters, “don’t go, the bed gets so cold when you leave.”

You sigh.

“Have to,” you murmur, still half asleep. “Work.”

“Call in sick.”

“I’m not sick,” you answer, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “You know my work is important for more reasons than one, Rafayel.”

“I do know,” he sighs, though it’s clear he’s less than happy about agreeing.

In fairness, you’re not particularly happy about this either. You love your job, worked hard to get it and climb the ranks within it, but man, sometimes you wish it were possible to pay the bills with currency earned cuddling in bed with the man nuzzling into your neck like a kitten. 

“Then don’t ask me to call in sick,” you laugh, turning your head to press a soft kiss to his warm temple.

He groans again, though you know he appreciates the affection.

Gently and with great reluctance, you pull yourself from Rafayel’s embrace, though you can’t help but take a moment to marvel at the way early morning rays of light filter through the curtains, playing on his delicate features. His eyes like marbled sunsets lazily find their way to you, still heavy with sleep, peering up at you in a mixture of love and discontent.

“You’re a menace to my sleeping schedule,” he grumbles playfully.

“Consider it payback for all the nights you’ve kept me up too late,” you answer jokingly, shrugging your shoulders.

“I’ll have you know, keeping you up at night is a vital part of our relationship,” he pouts, but there’s an unmistakable glint of mischeviousness in his tired gaze.

You giggle, knowing he’s joking (at least in part.)

“I’ll make it up to you,” you move closer, cupping his cheeks in your hands and leaning down to peck his lips. “Promise.”

“You better,” he mutters.

“Don’t I always?” You inquire, fingers feathering through his soft hair.

“Yeah,” he acknowledges in a semi-rare moment of complete sincerity from the man who often goes through the world half-wittingly. “You do.”

You smile, soft and warm, leaning in for another lingering kiss, savoring the warmth and familiarity of Rafayel’s touch. His arms reach up, wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer, as if he’s hesitant to let go.

“Be safe, okay?” He says.

“Always,” you nod.

Before, you might have mistaken his concern for a lack of trust in your abilities, but you’re well past the point of pointless misunderstandings. Rafayel may be an artist, and he might spin his words like golden threads from time to time, making you read between the lines, but your sincerest assessment of the moment tells you he’s said exactly what he means. He wants you to be safe, wants you to come home in one piece, and you let him steal another quick kiss before standing upright.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” you add, hoping it might soften the blow of your departure.

His playful pout returns.

“You seem to doubt the depth of my ability to lament over your absence,” he states.

“I don’t doubt it at all, but I’d rather you find more enjoyable ways to spend your day,” you laugh.

He sighs dramatically.

“Bring back something interesting from your adventure,” he suggests, a teasing smile pulling at his lips. “Maybe something I can crush up, turn into paint.”

“Need I remind you what happened the last time you used an oddly sourced item for pigment?” You ask incredilously.

Rafayel rolls his eyes.

“Need I remind you that that’s precisely how we met?” He counters.

“Still,” you sigh, “I’d much prefer you not be endangered by your paint. Stick with oils and acrylics for a while. For my peace of mind.”

“Is that concern I detect from you, my little hunter?” Rafayel grins.

“Of course it is,” you reply honestly. “You might be pretentious and obnoxious, but I love you. I’d never want you in harm’s way.”

His teasing smirk softens to a genuine smile at your sincerity, and he stands, taking a moment to stretch before reaching out to caress the curve of your jaw with the top of his index finger.

“Obnoxious and pretentious, huh?” He chuckles lightly. “Thank you for the glowing evaluation of my character, darling. But, because I do happen to love you as well, I’ll let that little dig slide, —and I’ll do my very best to stick to safe and traditional mediums, at least for the time being, just for you.”

You can’t help but smile at Rafayel’s good-natured reply. His gentle touch lingers on your jaw, and you lean into it, relishing in the softness of his affection.

“Very much so appreciated,” you answer amusedly. “I’ll consider it a personal victory if we can avoid any and all paint-related Wanderer incidents for the forseeable future.”

Rafayel gives a curt nod.

“A noble goal, my dearest hunter,” he says. “Now go forth and fell any pesky Wanderers intent on disturbing the peace of our humble city of high-class electronic developments, bringing back tales of wonder and triumph.”

Heaven knows he has to be the most dramatic man you’ve ever met, but you couldn’t imagine him being any other way.

You play along and give him a mock salute.

“Yes sir, at once.”

Rafayel stifles a laugh, clearly pleased by your participation in his theatrics. He thinks for a moment that this life he lives with you is nothing short of fantastical, —the kind of comfort he only dreamed of just years ago, and now here you are before him, like some kind of angel he’s terrified he might wake up to find was a figment of his deepest desires all along. But his worries are quenched by the way your lips slot so perfectly against his own as he leans in, kissing you sweetly.

“May the cosmic forces be ever in your favor, my love. Return not only with tales of triumph, but also interstellar souvenirs for my viewing pleasure and artistic inspirations if you happen to stumble across any. Preferably ones that will not curse our modest seaside home.”

You laugh, and it makes his heart stutter.

“I’ll be sure to keep an eye out for cosmic trinkets,” you assure.

You’re thrumming by the time Rafayel pulls you in again, pressing you closer to his chest. There’s nothing he has to say to fill the silence, and you let your eyes close for a moment, awash in the silent exchange of understanding so deep it could rival the cosmos. Beyond all the playful banter and the theatrical mannerisms, there’s love here, and that’s really all you could ask for. Worries about your safety, concern over Rafayel’s tendency to attract bad omens, —they dissipate in the face of this connection that buzzes like a live wire.

As you finally pull away, you meet his gaze and find nothing but softness there, replacing all the prior amusement and tiredness from before.

“Return safely, my angel. Our oceanside abode awaits your triumphant arrival,” he takes your hand, brushing his lips over your knuckles. “And so do I.”

[ziseviolet]

If the coats with hoods aren’t historically accurate, what coats did Chinese people wear prior to the modern period?

Hi! Thanks for the question, and sorry for taking ages to reply!

By "coats with hoods", I assume you're referring to the doupeng/斗篷 (cloak/cape) commonly seen in modern hanfu and guzhuang (drama costumes), like the one below (x):

Chinese people did wear doupeng prior to the modern period, along with other kinds of coats. However, as I mentioned in my post here, historical Chinese doupeng did not have hoods attached to the cloak/cape. That is why many modern doupeng aren't considered historically accurate - because they have hoods attached. Below are examples of more historically accurate, hoodless doupeng (1/2):

In the image on the above left, the model is wearing a separate, detached hood/hat called fengmao/风帽 (wind hat) which was historically worn to keep warm. Below - examples of fengmao (1/2):

Historically, fengmao was often worn with doupeng when travelling during cold weather (x). Below - women wearing doupeng & fengmao in historical art (top row), and Chinese opera performers wearing doupeng & fengmao as part of their costumes (bottom row) (x):

Oftentimes the doupeng & fengmao are matching, which can give the impression that they are attached - but if you look carefully, you can see that they are separate. Below - Chinese opera costume (x):

Below are historical photos of women wearing doupeng in 1920s Beijing - note how they are hoodless (1/2):

Hooded doupeng, in contrast, are more similar to historical western cloaks, such as the below American/European cloaks from the 18th century (1/2):

The hooded doupeng of modern hanfu are likely based on those seen in guzhuang dramas - another instance of drama costumes not being the most historically accurate (x):

An example of a drama with a historically accurate depiction of doupeng & fengmao is the 1987 TV adaptation of Dream of the Red Chamber. As seen in the below images, the characters wear hoodless doupeng & occasionally matching fengmao as part of their winter wardrobe (1/2/3):

The 1994 TV adaptation of Romance of the Three Kingdoms also depicts historically accurate, hoodless doupeng & matching fengmao worn by men (x):

For more references, please check out my doupeng, fengmao, and winter wear tags.

Hope this helps!