#IRS Scandal

[dontmeantobepoliticalbut]

A House committee on Friday made public six years of former President Donald Trump's tax returns, which showed he paid relatively little in taxes in the years before and during his presidency.

The House Ways and Means Committee had voted to make the thousands of pages of returns public in a party-line vote last week, but their release was delayed while staffers redacted sensitive personal information like Social Security numbers from the documents. Friday's release, the culmination of years of legal wrangling and speculation, included both personal and business records.

Trump on Friday blasted the release in a statement and on his Truth Social platform, saying “the Democrats should have never done it, the Supreme Court should have never approved it, and it’s going to lead to horrible things for so many people."

He also maintained the returns he fought to keep hidden — despite modern precedent that Presidents make their returns public — "show how proudly successful I have been and how I have been able to use depreciation and various other tax deductions as an incentive for creating thousands of jobs and magnificent structures and enterprises.”

The panel’s top Republican, Rep. Kevin Brady of Texas, called the release of the documents “unprecedented,” and said Democrats had unleashed “a dangerous new political weapon that reaches far beyond the former President, overturning decades of privacy protections for average Americans.”

“This is a regrettable stain on the Ways and Means Committee and Congress, and will make American politics even more divisive and disheartening. In the long run, Democrats will come to regret it,” Brady said.

The returns confirm much of what was contained in a 39-page report from the Joint Committee on Taxation released last week, including summaries from Trump’s personal tax forms and business entities.

For example, in 2020, Trump appeared to owe nothing in taxes, the report showed. That was thanks to Trump claiming $15 million in business losses, which resulted in him having negative $4 million in adjusted gross income. Trump then claimed a $5 million refund.

Trump reported millions in negative income in 2015, 2016, 2017 and 2020, and he paid only $750 in federal income taxes in 2016 and 2017.

In 2019, Trump and his wife, Melania, reported significant losses of more than $16.4 million but reported a total income of $4.4 million.

The returns also show Trump had numerous foreign bank accounts between 2015 and 2016, including in China, the United Kingdom, Ireland and St. Martin. The existence of the China account was first reported by the New York Times in 2020. Trump Organization lawyer Alan Garten told the paper then that the company had “opened an account with a Chinese bank having offices in the United States in order to pay the local taxes” after opening an office “to explore the potential for hotel deals in Asia.”

The other accounts were in countries where Trump had properties. His 2018 through 2020 returns only note having an account in the U.K. “I have many bank accounts and they’re all listed and they’re all over the place,” Trump said during an Oct. 2020 presidential debate. “I was a businessman doing business.”

The committee report also listed several overarching issues it believed the IRS should have investigated. For example, Trump claimed large cash donations to charities, but the report said the IRS did not verify them. The report also said that while Trump’s tax filings were large and complicated, the IRS does not appear to have assigned experts to work on them.

The Ways and Means Committee separately released a 29-page report summarizing its investigation into an IRS policy that mandates audits of returns filed by presidents and vice presidents. The committee found that the IRS had largely not followed its own internal requirements, beginning to examine Trump’s returns only after the House panel inquired about the process. Just one year of Trump’s returns was officially selected for the mandatory review while he was in office, and that audit of Trump's 2016 taxes was not complete by the time he left the White House, according to the report.

An audit of Trump's 2015 taxes was started shortly before the 2016 audit in 2019 — the same day the Ways and Means committee asked for information on the mandatory audits. Neither the 2015 audit nor audits of Trump's 2017-19 taxes that began after he left office were marked as being part of the audit program, and as of last month, none had been marked as completed either, the committee said.

The committee obtained Trump's tax returns in November, following a yearslong court fight for documents that other presidents have routinely made public since the 1970s.

The dispute ended up at the Supreme Court, which rejected Trump’s last-ditch plea to block the release of his tax records to House Democrats in a brief order handed down just before Thanksgiving.

Trump's refusal to release his returns led to a swirl of suspicions about what he might be trying to hide — foreign business dealings, a smaller fortune than he'd claimed publicly or paying less in taxes than the average American.

During the 2016 campaign, Trump maintained that he couldn't release his returns because they were under audit, and that he would make them public when it was completed — a vow he walked away from after he took office.

Information about his taxes has dripped out over the years.

In October 2016, The New York Times published some of Trump's 1995 state taxes and reported that he'd declared a $916 million loss that year. Three tax experts hired by the paper said the size of the loss and tax rules governing wealthy filers at the time could have allowed Trump to legally pay no federal income taxes for 18 years.

After Trump took office in 2017, reporter David Cay Johnston went on MSNBC's "The Rachel Maddow Show" with what he said were two pages of Trump's Form 1040 from 2005.

The documents, which were published on Johnston's site DCReport.org, showed that Trump had paid $38 million in federal income tax on more than $150 million in income.

In September 2020, the Times reported that it had obtained two decades of Trump’s tax information, which showed he had not paid any income taxes in 10 of the prior 15 years, mostly because he reported significant losses. In the year he won the presidency and his first year in office, he paid just $750 in federal income tax, the paper found.

Asked about the report at the time, the then-president said the story was “made up" and that he’s “paid a lot of money in state” taxes. He later tweeted that he’d “paid many millions of dollars in taxes but was entitled, like everyone else, to depreciation & tax credits.”

Trump also fought unsuccessfully to keep his tax information out of the hands of investigators in New York, who were probing his business practices. That clash also went all the way to the Supreme Court, which denied Trump's attempt to block a grand jury from getting Trump’s personal and corporate tax returns in February of last year.

Those returns helped prosecutors from the Manhattan district attorney's office build a tax fraud case against Trump's company, the Trump Organization. The company was convicted this month of carrying out a 15-year tax fraud scheme that prosecutors said was orchestrated by top executives at the company.

During the trial, Trump's accountant Donald Bender testified that the former President had losses totaling $900 million in 2009 and 2010.

The company is scheduled to be sentenced on Jan. 13. Trump, who was not charged in the case, has dismissed the allegations and conviction as part of a politically motivated "witch hunt."

[todayisafridaynight]

I mean KH posting, Yakuza posting, Jojo posting, FE posting, AND DB posting definitely made you rise to microceleb status.

MAYBE SO... if i squint..

[igotanidea]

Just right: Anthony Bridgerton x reader

part 1 to too much

part 2 : not enough

part 3 : almost there

part 4: Stuck

A/N: I am NOT sorry for all the possible spellings and punctuation mistakes there. It's been almost 2 months since "Stuck" and I am FREAKING OUT posting this while crying because it's over. Enjoy and thank you <3

Warnings: end of series, 4082 words (!!)

***

He felt like a fool.

Reverting to his old ways instead of showing all the emotions coursing through his veins.

Turning around and walking away, leaving her alone, when all he wanted was to fall to her knees and beg for forgiveness.

But how would the viscount Bridgerton look, while doing so, observed by all the ton, including the two biggest gossipers in the person of lady Featherington and lady Danburry?

Seemed like whatever he would choose to do, he would end up being a dolt.

“Anthony!”

He didn’t even flinch hearing someone calling him, nor recognize the voice. Too stubborn to stop he only continued his marching pace, hoping for the love of god that whoever dared to try and approach him in this furibund mood would get discouraged.

Not very gentlemanly of him.

“Anthony!”

He quickened his pace.

“Anthony Bridgerton!”

“What?” he almost spat spinning around on his heel, leaving a dent in the ground, taking on his most stern expression. If his obvious ignorance of the caller was not a deterrent perhaps the frown and fiery eyes would.

Supposedly it might have worked on anyone else, but soon enough Anthony transformed from the head of a family and the viscount into a little child, upon noticing that it was his mother, exhorting him to the halt.

“Mother…” he muttered looking at the ground, having only confirmed his previous theory of his role in this entire disarray.

“Let us take a walk.” Violet smiled brightly taking her eldest’s arm and imposing a walking rather than soldierly pace. “What did you Anthony?” the gentle expression never left her face even when she was scoffing her unmanageable child.

“Why would you think it was me that--?” the viscount took the last resort to protect his own pride, but the tightening grip on his forearm betrayed the fact that Violet knew the entire backstory, behind the marital disagreement.

“I raised you. I daresay it gives me enough knowledge to not answer your question. “

“If you let me –"

“Don’t, Anthony. Y/N has been nothing less but charming since the beginning.. "

"That's the way to describe her--" the man muttered

"Strong-willed and persuasive, surely, you wouldn’t take anything but, but charming nonetheless. So do tell me so we could remedy the damage before it arises further.”

“Shall you mistake me for Daphne and ask about my feelings—”

“Anthony Bridgerton!”

“I am a man, mother. A head of the family.”

“Clearly said head has been missing guidance in the right direction.”

“Mother!”

“Do not raise your voice on me son.”

“Apologies…”

“Good.” Violet beamed serenely “Do you think me so little knowledgeable to ask your emotions? I do not. I’m merely asking for facts, which you clearly have such a strong inclination to.”

Anthony mumbled something once more.

“do you wish you lose your wife, viscount?”

“What?” such possibility never crossed his mind. Y/N’s anger, her hurt, pain and merciless avoidance – yes. Abandonment and lack of her presence nearby? No. She would never… She could never. Lord above, who was she thinking she was? A woman married into a noble family wanting to cause a scandal by resenting her husband?

And once again, while his heart should have been shattered and humble enough to clarify the turmoil, the sudden blood rush turned into clenched fists and ire. All because he could not bare the thought of losing her for good, however hiding behind all the negativity was easier. It was something he was used to for years.

Nevertheless it was impossible to deny the facts further. It was her influence that caused the improbable openness in his soul was the exact same reason of his spirit bleeding.

And he needed her back.

Each minute without her was a minute lost. A minute less in the so very limited time they were given as a miracle on earth.

“What do I do?” he raised gaze at his mother, now truly looking like a lost man. Man in love, who was probably not the most romantic and gentle one with words, but still deeply infatuated with the woman who gave her whole life to him.

“Do not fret my dear. We shall alleviate the situation immediately.”

***

Y/N’s feelings were beyond anything possible to describe with words.

There she was, with her feet rooted to the ground, wishing for – and willing to accept – apologies but met with the harsh reality of the stone wall of Anthony’s behavior.

Accompanied by Eloise, smirking like the know-it-all she was, and Benedict with the compassion written all over his face.

Presumably, shall they not be there, the young lady viscountess Bridgerton would abandon all the pretenses of a woman of her position and begun blubbering in the middle of the promenade. However, the most mischievous of Bridgerton siblings acted with wit and sense, involving their dear sister-in-law in a challenging conversation, capably hauling her away from prying eyes and gossipmongers, preventing any possible rumors about incongruousness.

***

For unmistakable reasons she was not in the mood to see their ludicrous older brother and with the sudden disappearance of Violet, Benedict and Eloise took the privilege to invite Y/N back to the Bridgerton’s family house and extend the invitation for indefinite period of time. After all, Anthony might have been the head of the family as he proudly announced to anyone who was willing to disobey his wished and/or not listen, but Benedict was the oldest bachelor of the house and was more than willing to make a few decisions of his own to finally be seen as something more than merely second son and waiting for his time. 

***

Violet returned home few hours later and accepted the presence of her daughter-in-law with a mysterious smile and not a single word of objection. As amazing and uplifting as such approach might have been, it was also highly surprising. Viscountess Bridgerton was well known for her mitigating skills and tendency to scotch conflicts almost immediately, especially in her own family.

And it raised a lot of questions and secrets that Y/N and Eloise tried to uncover spending the night in the former’s bedchambers, talking for hours, creating conspiracy theories and preparing for whatever may have been coming.

Cause the fact that Violet was going to help her oldest son in winning back his wife’s attention was more than conspicuous.

Only that Y/N, who was forgiving and accepting at the begging was slowly turning cold at the fact that her husband could not simply apologize but rather resorted to some intricate ways of regaining her favor.

After a year of marriage, should he not know her enough for independent ideas and not seek his mother's avail?

***

First thing happening in the very early morning, was Y/N’s most trusted servant humbly asking for her lady’s time, which was bizarre and – as any other family may have deemed – inadequate and even shaming.

Moreover, any other house would quickly discard the commoner showing at the mighty's doorstep but Bridgertons were prone to discarding rules in private and with those who earned their trust. Be it servants or nobles. And Y/N was no exception to the rule, welcoming her maid with a smile upon seeing the person from her own household.

“My lady.” The girl bowed so low, she almost touched the floor with her nose.

“My dear Laura, please stand up, there is really no need for that-“ Y/N grabbed her hands and forced the girl up. “I assure you that-“

“But Lady Violet and Miss Bridgerton –“

“I assure you that they do not expect you to kiss the ground they walk on.” Y/n almost laughed at Laura’s discombobulation. Poor one was doing everything in her power to not make her lady embarrassed and act like a good and obedient servant, almost expecting Violet or Eloise to be cruel and judgmental.

“Dear Y/N, did you give your helpers the idea that we are some sort of tyrants?” Violet send her daughter-in-law a honest smile, which immediately got Laura’s reaction in the form of blushing.

“Lady Bridgerton I apologies if my appearance is the dishonor on-”

She didn’t even finish the sentence, met with Y/N, Violet’s and Eloise’s laugh and a polite look from more balanced Francesca sitting on the chaise longue.

“Do not fret, my girl, we are more than happy to welcome you in our household.”

“Tha-thank you my lady…”

‘Now I assume you came to talk to your lady, so we shall give you some privacy. Come girls, make haste for the matter to cover is of utmost delicacy.”

“And how shall you know it mamma?” Hyacinth almost twitched her ears, not really understanding much of why Y/N was with them rather than with Antony, but curious as a young girl could be.

“Precisely mamma, how shall you know?” Eloise, immediately picked up her sister’s question, only not so susceptible to extenuations.

“Eloise Bridgerton, I shall expect you to practice the bowing before your incoming debut in front of the queen. Daphne made quite an impression and –“

“Daphne was deemed diamond of the season and such title is below my ambition.”

“Regardless, you do not want to trip or slip do you?”

Eloise (and everyone else) obviously remembered what happened to Featherington’s sisters and the embarrassment so with a heavy, exaggerated sigh and one quick, sharp, bright look at Y/N Eloise left the room, followed by her mother and sisters.

And once the lady and her trusted eyes and ears of the house were alone, who could stop the two of turning a lot more unmindful of societal norms?

“My lady, the lord has been quite annoyed since the quarrel you lordships have had. He even refused to eat his favorite meal.” Laura confessed with blushing cheeks

“Are you to tell me that Prescott prepared the roasted pork for Anthony after he was so unjust towards the lady of the house? I shall have a word about a loyalty with him upon my return.” Y/N satirized wholeheartedly.

“When shall you return my lady? Seeing as that viscount is not the one to have a change of heart and admit his wrongdoing easily?”

“He will Laura. One way or another I am fairly convinced my husband may take a long way to do so and take the aid of his mother whilst deciding. It’s just I am not fully convinced if the apology made with cheating are worth accepting.”

“Oh! You took the lower route here my lady forgive the audacity.”

“Just the route of a woman who expect honesty from her man.”

“Fair enough I suppose. But shall you be agitated my lady I take it you do not wish to accept the viscount bestowment?”

“Bestowment?” Y/N frowned a little in confusion “and what shall that be?”

“I do not know, my lady. I am merely a messenger—”

“I believed you to be on my side Laura.”

“And I am, my lady! But one do not object the command of the lord, that is clearly ready to vent his anger on the first soul that happen to be unfortunate enough to be around.”

“My god, you are a prattler!” Y/N laughed “where is that gift in question? Cause since it is mine either way we might as well get a little curious, shall we? Would be such a shame to put it to waste.”

Laura stood up from her chair and started heading to the corridor, but Hyacynth was first to barge into the room carrying some parcel that was almost bigger than her.

“Y/N! Is this that gift from Anthony!?” clearly she was eavesdropping  “Can we take a look, please? It’s so big I wonder what it is? Come on, open it up! Open it up!”

“Curiosity killed the cat.” Eloise muttered but there was no denying she was equally curious as her sister.

Y/N only rolled  her eyes, inviting all the girls over and opening the box. Fishing out the most beautiful and definitely expensive new dress. The color was perfectly matching Y/N’s complexion and the material delicate yet durable – Anthony knew his wife and her adventurous tendencies.

“It’s so beautiful and elegant” Francesca whispered touching the dress with delight.

“So what, he think he can just buy her the garment and she will forgive him?” Eloise scoffed “Men are so simple minded and belittling of women!”

“Try it on, Y/N!” Hyacinth encouraged, almost jumping from excitement

“Do not try it on! This would be relenting!” Eloise objected.

“He made a gesture!”

“It’s not a gesture! It’s an attempt of buying her forgiveness!”

“Y/N!”

“Y/N?!”

“Quiet!” Y/N finally managed to break through the noise of two sisters. ““No offence girls, but this is my marriage and my decision. One I have to make by myself. So thank you “ she smiled brightly but with a hint of annoyance “for your positions on things, but I am perfectly capable of weighting the significance of the gift, on my conviction to forgive or not forgive him.”

“Uhm. My lady” Laura cleared her throat “I’d like to elaborate that the viscount also made an invitation to one special place….”

“Do not go Y/N!”

“Stop interfering Eloise! Y/N you have to go!”

“For heaven’s sake, Violet is truly a saint for surviving you two!” “Uhm. My lady” Laura cleared her throat “I’d like to elaborate that the viscount also made an invitation to one special place….”

“Do not go Y/N!”

“Stop interfering Eloise! Y/N you have to go!”

“For heaven’s sake, Violet is truly a saint for surviving you two!”

***

Anthony was waiting for her in the garden outside some estate she had no idea existed. After all, Y/N has spent her entire life in London, rarely being invited to the cottage. And in this case it could have been used a leverage, not that he was aiming for measuring forces and cold calculation.

No.

He was walking back and forth, almost trampling a path in the ground in a place where it should never be. Nervous enough to anxiously fiddle with his fingers like a lady before her debut entering the society. Hoping she would come. Wishing for any entity in heaven might want to listen that she would take this dress he send her as an expression of humility rather than boosting like a rooster. Praying that Eloise wasn’t there with her sharp tongue and unrestrained thoughts to discourage his beloved from accepting both the gift and the invitation.

The minutes turned to hours and even his father’s pocket watch refused to work with Anthony in this important moment. Having no regard to the poor flowers any other plants standing no chances against his heavy riding boots, the time seemed to stand still.

For whatever it was worth it, Anthony Bridgerton swore to himself that he would rather turn into a sack of boned waiting in this desolate place than walk away while there was still a glimmer of hope she might appear. He was done and fatigued with missed opportunities, poorly chosen and ill-spoken words.

It was never his intention to said all those atrocious words to her.

Too much.

Dear Lord.

Now that he was thinking about it, his heart was capering in a way that filled him with self-hatred. After all the pain he might have caused her during that little hurtful exchange while she did nothing more than be there for him. Even if he not exactly wished for it. Even if he himself didn’t know that her presence in his life was the best thing that happened since his father’s death. If not since forever.

Anthony wasn’t the one to believe in signs or any spiritual influence on earth, but the more he was dwelling on his own misery, the more deliberative of their first meeting he was becoming.

It was late lord Bridgerton’s death anniversary and as any other year – he separated himself from the rest of the family. To show how adamant his heart and mind was and to underline that this was nothing more than just another day in a line of any other similar ones. But the truth was, he wanted to visit his father’s grave alone without any possible disturbances or havoc that his younger siblings could have caused. None of them really knew Edmund Bridgerton the way Anothony did. The first born son, the heir to the title, deprived of his father’s guidance and presence and forced to take responsibility for the family in way too young age.

He needed to be by himself, cause god forbid anyone seeing him showing any signs of humanity and indulging in grief.

And his family knew and accepted it.

She didn’t.

Just a stranger, strolling by herself in the area, looking like a commoner, having no regards to the sanctity of the moment nor the place she found herself in.

And worse for her – spotting Anthony in the never-seen moment of vulnerability written all over his face.

“Lord Bridgerton” she bowed in a way that showed that the savage, Anthony took her for, actually had manners. And that he knew him, but this was not so unexpected.

He only grunted in response to annoyed by an unfortunate set of circumstances that worked against her. The viscount himself was not going to bow to a girl that was clearly a servant, with messy hair and in a dress that was far from anything a woman, even of lower position should be seen in.

“Don’t you have anywhere else to be, girl?” he muttered under his nose, throwing daggers with his eyes.

“I’m sorry my lord but-“

“You should be sorry. I am convinced your lady nor your lord will be pleased with the fact that their service wanders alone in an area that does not belong to them!”

“Service?” Y/N smirked looking at him with amusement and twinkling eyes. And Anthony with his youthful energy and virility could not miss the fact that she was actually pretty.

“Yes, service.” He hissed at her “now get out of here girl, before you get yourself in far more trouble from me and end up on the street!”

“I shall-“ she obviously was not going to let anyone maltreat her like that, but her acuity wore up that very moment. She noticed the weariness in viscount’s eyes, noticed the monument nearby, and realized what day of the month it was.

“Forgive me, my lord.” She bowed in respect “I shall be on my way. And I shall not mention this meeting to anyone, hopefully wishing for you to forget my impertinence.”

She was gone as fast as she appeared, and Anthony thought to never see her again.

Until the next rout Daphne was attending, where he actually did.

Immediately realizing the scope of his previous mistake, upon learning that the service girl was in fact Miss Y/L/N, the youngest daughter of Lord Y/L/N. And met with another look of those glistening eyes and amused face expression. Forced to accompany her for the evening, since apparently Lady Bridgerton and Lady Y/L/N has made some arrangements for the future.

He was thinking it was all just a coincidence back then, but now he came to conclusion that it must have been his father who send this girl into his life. Knowing better than him that she would turn his ways around, challenge him, test him patience mercilessly and yet – that she would be the one to love him unconditionally and whom he would love with all his broken and unperfect self.

And the burden of possibility of ruining it all for them was even more overwhelming.

He clasped his hands behind his back, walking shorter and shorter distances, turning back more and more often, stuck in his belief that he would stay here as long as she didn't show up, even if -

“Anthony.”

Viscount spun around so abruptly it almost caused him falling to the ground.

She came.

She truly came.

It was like meeting her all over again, back in time, back next to his father’s grave.

Only she wasn’t looking like a servant girl now.

She was wearing the dress he sent her, looking not only like a viscountess, but like a queen herself. His queen. His wife. His love. His everything.

Her skin was radiant due to the color of the material (just like Violet predicted), cheeks flushed, hair done in perfect curls surrounding her face, bright like a sun.

“Y/N….”

“It was so unwise on your part viscount to call upon me and invite me into a wild place a woman like me should never step foot on.” She said sternly, but the everlasting and never changing glistening of her eyes betrayed her true intention “and perilous, may I say? Far from the city? Lady travelling alone? So many hazards awaiting me on the way.”

“Benedict and Colin were following your post chaise.”

“Oh I knew I heard someone laughing on the way. But my coachman brushed my concerns off!”

“Did you really believed I would send my greatest treasure into the wild without proper security?” Anthony took a few steps forwards, reaching for her hands and placing gentle kiss on her knuckles.

“Your brothers?” Y/N let him show the courtesy, but raised eyes in skepticism of the words.

“Believe me my lady, you should never underestimate the man of the Bridgerton house.”

“In what aspect my lord?”

“In every aspect, dear.” He looked deep into her eyes.

“Why did you ask me to meet you here?” Y/N quickly averted her eyes, because Anthony’s gaze were so full of passion, love and genuine remorse and apology she found herself falling into his charms. And this couldn’t have been so easy for him. “You sister discounselled me on coming here.”

“And yet, you came my lady.” Anthony reached for her chin and slowly, gently and with tenderness turned her face towards him so that their eyes had to meet again.

“Anthony I –“

“My love, I am sorry.”

“this is not—”

“Let me speak” he hushed her, not breaking eye contact. “I asked you here, because this is the very place where my father asked for my mother’s hand. Where he pledged her his undying love, support and loyalty. And you, out of all people in the world, learned how much I cherish my father’s memory and his legacy.

“Anthony-“

“Therefore, here I am. Standing in front of you, expressing my deepest condolences-“

“Oh, dear lord, Tony!” she cried out in frustration “stop using the words you would say to me if Lady Whistledown were nearby! Tell me how you feel!”

How he felt was not with words.

How he felt was expressed by the way he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her to his chest, capturing her lips in the searing but gentle kiss that conveyed more than any noble and dignified words of a lord could.

I love you.

By his strong arms encompassing her like a shelter from the storm.

I won’t ever let go of you.

By tender caress of her hair and back.

I will always cherish you.

By the way his lips were moving against her, whispering silent words understood only by two souls forevermore yearning for each other.

I am sorry.

She was the first one to pull back for air, reluctantly so.

“My love. My beloved.”

She smiled at him, connecting their foreheads, allowing his arms to tighten around her waist and waiting for what was coming next to assess the truth behind his words.

“Am I too much now?” she whispered

“You are always too much. To much for me to keep. To much for me to even wish and pray for. Too much of a blessing in my life. Too much in the best possible sense and—”

This time It was her who cut him off by a kiss, silencing anything else that might come from his lips. He was honest and sincere. And if he was trying to apologize by saying anything else and backing out on what he said back there she probably would not forgive him sensing manipulation. But this?

“I forgive you.” She whispered against his lips.

“Thank God.”

“Is this cottage inhabited or--?”

“No. It’s not. And I intend on taking advantage of it right this moment.” He grabbed her and carried inside bridal style, ready to not get back to London for at least a couple days.

(spoiler alert below)

I got a request for a fluff pregnancy fic.... <3

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[darklinsblog]

Blinding Ire | Mattheo Riddle

Summary: Mattheo couldn’t bring himself to admit his feelings for the Hufflepuff girl, but as Goyle puts his hands on her, his anger got the best of him.

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Hufflepuff! Reader

Warnings: Harrasement, mentions of physical assault

A/N: Couldn’t Shake the thought off of my head so here it is

As an Scamander and coming from a long line of outstanding wizards you truly wore your family’s name with pride. You had half of Hogwarts crushing and drooling to your feet, you were breath taking gorgeous, smart and everyone just wanted to be around you.

Mattheo Riddle was no other than a polar opposite, smug, cold in his demeanor, borderline arrogant and self-centered but he would be lying if he said you did not catch his eye.

But he did not allow himself to pursue you actively, he couldn’t explain it, but when it came to you his confidence flew out the fucking astronomy tower. He could barely put together a whole sentence.

To your understanding, Mattheo was just reserved, so his sharpness when talking didn’t cut through you.

Something nobody seemed to know was that Goyle had been stalking you for months now, at first you thought it was a simple crush but it started escalating as he began following you around the corridors, sneaking into your dorm when you were in class and stealing your personal belongings.

Honestly, it started being unsettling how unsafe you felt, but you didn’t have the courage to speak up. Goyle could just throw money onto the whole situation and make it go away and in the end, you would be the one to blame.

Perhaps you should have spoken up, but you thought it was better to not make a fuss, involve the families and make a scandal that would follow your moves like the ghosts at Hogwarts.

Right now, you were in Class for Care Of Magical Creatures and Goyle was slowly and carefully making his way to you, whilst you graciously scurried away, Mattheo noticed this, making his eyebrows raise and his eyes narrowed distrusting.

But just then Hagrid gave you the instructions to go seek for food for the Fire Crab, the group broke apart and you went your way,focusing solely on the assignment at hand, allowing yourself to enjoy nature until you began hearing footsteps behind you.

“Hello?” You called out but there were no answers other than the crackles of branches, leaves and the wind. “Anyone there?!”

Nothing.

You took a deep breath and walked a few steps before a hand covered your mouth, you screamed and squirmed away. Suddenly, you were spooned around to find Goyle looking at you with crazy eyes.

“G-Goyle?” You spoke trembling, he stepped closer to you and you flinched back

“Bloody hell you are never gonna love me, are ya?” His tone was dark and as he keep stepping closer until you decided to take a leap and started running away into the woods feeling your heart pounding.

But Goyle tackled you to the ground, pinning you down onto the soil as you tried to break free but it was useless, he was twice your size, holding you so roughly you were certain your wrists were near to crack in two.

“HELP! PLEASE HELP!” You screamed at the top of your lungs as the tears started rolling down your face.

“SHUT IT!” He screamed in your face half-panicking and just as he raised his hand, ready to slap you across the face, his hand caught mid-air.

In the blink of an eye Goyle was off you and as you were now free from danger, you noticed the image of none other than Mattheo Riddle punching Goyle straight in his face, making blood pour out of his nose.

Although , Goyle could land a few punches that would too, cause harm, Mattheo was a raging bull, there was no way of stopping his ire.

You sat there completely out of it, as you watch the scene unfold, but you wanted to do something, anything to stop Mattheo from getting more hurt or in trouble for defending you, but your body was utterly unresponsive to your heart desires.

The commotion was so big the whole class catch up to the woods, you saw how Theodore, Draco and Lorenzo force him up. Yet, he was fighting them off trying to finish what he started.

“IF YOU FUCKING LAY A FINGER ON HER EVER AGAIN I WILL AVADA KEDAVRA YOUR ASS!” He roared.

“OI! Let’s not get carried away, will ya?” Hagrid said rapidly, trying his best to get a hold of such disaster.

Then, at such words, a switch light up in Mattheo’s brain, he looked in your direction and you were still sat down, with your back resting against a tree and your eyes wondering into absolute nowhere.

The Riddle boy approached you calmly, even with his clothes stained with the blood of his numerous injuries, somehow he projected an oddly reassuring calmness as his eyes found yours.

“Y/N you-“ he started questioning you but was quickly caught off guard by you launching into his arms and holding onto him for dear life.

He was taken back for a moment before slowly embracing you as you clawed onto the fabric of his shirt

“Thank you, thank you, thank you…” you kept mumbling in his ear as you cried, and even though your hug was doing no good to his bruises and fresh wounds, he could not have given less of a flying fuck.

Because in that moment, his only purpose was to ensure you felt safe. So much so, that he refused to leave your side as you went to the hospital wing, you were just checked up and asked about what happened, while Mattheo acted as if you were the one injured, constantly asking if you were okay.

After you were let go off, you visited Mattheo’s bed, he was freshly patched up and his eyes lighted up at the sight of you, he had a charming smile plastered on his face that almost made you forget his cuts and dry blood.

“Hi” you greeted him softly.

“Hey” you played with your fingers nervously, as the heat creeped up your cheeks, not knowing what to say. Whilst Mattheo soaked in the sight of you completely mesmerized.

“Does it hurt?” You asked inspecting his face and he shook his head.

“I’ve gotten used to it. Don’t sweat it, sweet girl” he shrugged, you smiled softly and Mattheo realized he had called you sweet girl without thinking of it.

“As grateful as I am I would appreciate you, not disfiguring your face in my behalf, Mattheo” you joked making him laugh.

“Why’s that?” He asked curiously stepping closer to you.

“You might have a nice face to look at” you teased, nuzzling his cheek with your index finger softly, your touch was so gentle and mindful it was practically impossible to explain how he felt his skin burst into flames.

“Might? That hurt, Scamander”

“You’ll survive, Riddle”

You were both smiling and there was a moment of absolute silence before his eyes softened.

“You sure you’re alright? Say the word and he’s dead” he said with mischief but you knew he meant it and it was an odd feeling to know someone was willing to kill for you. Especially if that someone was Mattheo Riddle.

“What? Are you in love with me or something?” You joked nervously, he did not crack a smile, but you could see something clicked inside him as he looked at you dead in the eye.

“Yes” you were surprised as he answered you without hesitation and you just kissed him, finding words wouldn’t cut it, this boy was your biggest crush for years and he had just saved you from an ugly situation, kept you safe and confessed his feelings, you would be dammed if you let that go.

[laenordeservedbetter]

My Way

Words: 6.7k

Pairing: Modern!Rhaenyra Targaryen x Fem!Hightower Reader

Synopsis: Rhaenyra wants a scandal. You want to get back at your father. What happens when Laena brings the two of you together?

Warnings: Otto Hightower, Criston Cole (this one-shot is not Criston Cole friendly, I'm sorry), mentions of assault, cursing, inaccurate business jargon, self-deprecating thoughts, drinking. [Let me know if I missed any.]

masterlist || previous work

—

“What did you say to Jackie?” You seethe, slamming your fists onto your father’s desk.

“Nothing, my dear. Why? Did something happen?” He questions, briefly glancing at his lackey, Larys, prior to meeting your gaze smugly.

You could feel the sting in your palms from clenching your fists, but you paid no heed to it. Despite your figure towering over him, Otto remained in his seat as if your outburst was merely entertainment for him, fueling your ire. “You know what you did.” You spat.

“If you are referring to your companion’s refusal to return your calls, you must know that I played no hand in that.” Otto says calmly.

You regarded him with a look of disbelief. The earliest occurrence you could recollect that is akin to your current situation was when you went on your first date. You believed that it was your fault dear Tabitha ran for the hills. You were inconsolable for weeks on end until your older brother, Gwayne, informed you of your father’s… meddling. You know not of the details of the transaction between Tabitha and your father, but you did notice how luxurious Tabitha’s life became through her online feed that you definitely did not go through every single day for an entire rotation. Numerous incidents succeeded the first to the point where you could not recall the exact number. Now, your date, Jackie, the daughter of one of your father’s associates, has been denying your calls after drawing up plans to get dinner together. You knew that your father was responsible.

“Maybe Jacqueline has seen reason.” Otto offers, interlocking his hands together as he leaned against his chair. “It’s about time you do the same, daughter.”

“I am being reasonable. You can’t keep meddling in my affairs like I’m some toddler.” You argue.

“I will stop meddling in your affairs once you start pulling your act together.” Otto retorts.

Taking a deep breath, you will yourself to keep calm. As calm as you can manage, of course. “And how do you suppose I do that, hm? By marrying one of your senile friends?”

You could tell the insult irked him by the way he blinked twice whilst keeping a smirk on his face, bringing you a semblance of triumph.

“No, but now that you mention it, I do have a list of eligible bachelors that are interested in you. Perhaps you should take a look.” He pushes a stack of papers towards you.

It dawned on you that he had it prepared before you stomped your way into his office. He anticipated your arrival, which meant that you played right into his game. You smile mockingly at him, accepting the papers. Otto smiled back, believing that he somehow managed to get through to you. However, his self-satisfaction melted once you flung the papers into the trash bin before walking out of his office.

-

Rhaenyra rolls her eyes at her phone before tossing it to Daemon, “Read.” She orders, her tone leaving no room for discussion.

Daemon, although stunned at the abrupt shift in Rhaenyra’s expression, catches the phone with ease. Sighing, he goes on to read the headline of the recent article centered on their family’s —or his— wrongdoing.

“From Genius Turned Mad Man: Daemon Targaryen Assaults Criston Cole in Broad Daylight”

“Well, this article is overexaggerated.” Daemon jibes after reading the entirety of the article. “I barely touched him.” He flops down on the couch, throwing the phone in the air and catching it (barely). Despite Rhaenyra’s strong glare, he repeats the movement until his niece breaks the silence.

“The media is in a frenzy.” Rhaenyra points out. “A few Criston Cole ‘defenders’ on social media are demanding that you be put in jail,” She states, her tone growing louder as she speaks each reaction. “The Baratheons plan to back out on their investment, father is under severe stress that goes beyond planning the company’s annual party, and news outlets are questioning Baela and Rhaena’s safety with you as a father.”

The last information brings Daemon back to his senses. He sits up swiftly, Rhaenyra’s phone landing on his head. Daemon grasps the phone furiously, flinging it across the room. Rhaenyra doesn’t spare her presumably dead phone a glance as she continues looking at Daemon and his sour expression. He had a right to be angry, she thought. But he did bring this upon himself.

“How dare they include my children.” Daemon raves.

“They’re just looking for any excuse to attack our family.” Rhaenyra utters gently.

“Did they even look into the bigger picture?”

“They never do.”

“That whore deserved it.”

Rhaenyra nods, “Perhaps he did.”

Daemon raises an eyebrow, as if challenging her to say more. “But?”

“But… what’s done is done. Our problem now is how we can fix this.”

Daemon opens his mouth to speak before realizing that it was no use trying to instigate a fight with Rhaenyra. She is not the object of his ire, after all. With a sigh, he looks at Rhaenyra expectantly. His niece has gotten the family out of precarious situations multiple times and was exceptional at it. Daemon would think Rhaenyra was suited in PR if he didn’t believe that she was destined for greater things.

“What is that look about?”

“Give me solutions and I will follow them.” Daemon shrugs.

Rhaenyra contemplates his words for a moment before ultimately saying, “No.”

Daemon scoffs, “No?”

“You got yourself into this mess, you get yourself out of it.” Rhaenyra says unwaveringly. She was exhausted of Daemon’s antics and having to clean up after his messes. It was time for him to handle the consequences of his own choices without being coddled. He gets enough of that from Viserys, thank you very much.

Daemon’s jaw clenches, disapproving of Rhaenyra’s denial.

“Well?” Rhaenyra looks on expectantly.

“I suppose I could think of two ideas.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“The first one is,” Daemon exhales theatrically, the thought being enough to make him want to hurl himself off the building. “publicly apologizing to Criston and vowing to never do it again, as well as to right my wrongs.” Rhaenyra and Daemon scrunch their faces at the suggestion, for the both of them knew that action would contradict Daemon’s entire being.

“And the second?”

Daemon gives Rhaenyra a sly grin.

“Create a bigger scandal that would make this one look like child’s play.”

Rhaenyra lets out a laugh, mirroring Daemon’s expression. “Now that, I can get behind.”

-

One thing you loved more than gossip was Laena Velaryon. Your friendship began through the business transaction between your father and Corlys Velaryon. You were brought to the office by your father, who thought it was a fine idea to acquaint you with Corlys’ son, Laenor. To his astonishment, you and Laenor got along quite well. However, it was Laena you were drawn towards. You were two peas in a pod. Both of you had a knack for defying your fathers’ wishes and visiting unrenowned coffee shops. Though, the purpose of your visits was more about escaping the scrutiny of the public (and by extension, your families) than actual coffee.

You’re in one of your favorite shops, drinking coffee with Laena that you actually enjoy. The ambience was remarkable. The place was always clean, the staff were nice, and there were booths that acted like little houses with curtains that could obscure you from the other people inside the café. It was another quiet day, which was alarming. It’s been like that for weeks now.

Lyman, the owner, opened the curtains with one hand and a tray of lemon cakes in his other. He places it on the table between you and Laena carefully, “Here you go, girls.” He says, offering both of you a smile.

It was a strange sight. For as long as you’ve been visiting the shop, Dyana has been the one to serve you. Come to think of it, you haven’t seen the girl since entering the place. Curiosity gets the better of you, prompting your question, “Is Dyana not working today?”

You wish you hadn’t asked.

Lyman’s smile falters. “We had to let her go.” He explains, “Business hasn’t been that good lately. It’s just me and Sandra now. If this keeps up, we’ll have to close the shop.” He says, his gaze on the counter.

You and Laena share a look, as if having a silent agreement.

“But don’t worry, girls.” Lyman smiles once more, but it doesn’t meet his eyes. “If the shop closes, I’ll give you my lemon cake recipe so you could have it anytime you want.”

“Lyman…” Laena starts.

Lyman waves her off. “It’s alright now, Laena. Sandra and I will be okay.” He winks before leaving to go back to the counter.

Laena sighs, shaking her head. “Tell me what your dad did again.” She requests, focusing on your problem for now. If you offer Lyman help directly, he wouldn’t accept it. Better to address the issue without him knowing.

“Influenced Jackie to refuse taking my calls, then handed me a stack of names of eligible bachelors interested in me.” You frown, “I wish he would just stop messing with my life, you know? Every time I think I’m close to being happy, he rips it from me. I couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t attempt to use me for his own gain. He sucks the life out of everyone who loves him and it’s so exhausting.”

Laena looks at you sympathetically, feeding you a portion of lemon cake. She waits for you to finish eating before asking, “So, what do you want to do?”

“I want to get back at him.” You mirror Laena’s earlier actions, giving her a bite of the lemon cake. She shoots you a knowing look which you disregard by finishing your coffee, looking away from her.

“Among all your attempts at getting back at your father, which one has worked?” Laena questions rhetorically. Seeing your discomfited look, your friend pushes you further. “You need to take your goal seriously, not just doing things that he can simply brush off. If you want to get back at him, do something that will really leave him unconsolable for a long period of time.”

“Like a scandal?”

Laena raises a brow, “What kind?”

“I don’t know, like… Targeting his favorite business associates on Twitter, spread nasty rumors about our own company, go out with someone he despises or go on a date with someone older than him, spend a large amount of money on a shitty private jet, give people raises without consulting him...”

Laena ponders your ideas, playing out possible scenarios in her head. Your brows furrow, her words to you a couple days prior ringing in your ears.

I am a visionary, Hightower.

She gasps, gripping your arm firmly, the sudden movement jolting you forward.

“Have you met my cousin Rhaenyra?”

-

“You’re going to take a Hightower as a date to the biggest party of the year? Have you gone mad?” Daemon clenches his jaw, scowling. Laena stood beside him, rolling her eyes at his frenzy of rage. “Do you have any idea how long that family has been plotting against ours?”

Rhaenyra shrugs.

“Since the beginning of time, Rhaenyra!” Daemon answers himself, scandalized at Rhaenyra’s impassiveness. She was going to defy centuries-old rivalry by bringing a Hightower to the Targaryen company’s annual party. Not to mention that Rhaenyra’s date is one of Otto Hightower’s children, making the circumstances worse. Oh, how Daemon hated that cunt. His greed knew no bounds and neither did his ambition. If Daemon had not stepped in, Otto’s quest for power might have dented their family. And now Rhaenyra plans to step on his efforts. Daemon’s hard work will be all for naught. “This would ruin our family’s reputation.” He states, matter-of-factly.

“No, it wouldn’t.” Laena murmurs.

Daemon stares her down.

“Uncle,” Rhaenyra interjects, remaining practical. “This is the scandal we were looking for.”

“This wasn’t what I had in mind.” The silver-haired man expresses.

Rhaenyra regards him for a moment, trying to see the situation from her uncle’s point of view. The Hightowers, second only to the Targaryen business dynasty, are their major rivals. Otto Hightower, the CEO, has been doing everything and anything he can to usurp the title of the biggest conglomerate in Westeros. He came close to achieving his plans once upon a time. Daemon had done something to stop him, but the Targaryens did not come out of the battle unscathed. It took years to bring back the shareholders’ trust and improve their defenses. Getting close to a Hightower would be a suicide mission. Rhaenyra’s date might try to earn her trust in order to achieve her true goal: to gather information on the enemy.

But, as it stands, the Targaryens are grilled by the masses due to Daemon’s recent altercation with Criston Cole. Additionally, the Baratheons refused to move forward with their investment, disliking the idea of their business being affected because they are associated with the Targaryens. Rhaenyra has to resolve this conflict before permanent damage is done. Being associated with a Hightower may do just that.

“Our stocks are plummeting because of your dispute with that Dornish boy. Criston works for Otto. Taking a Hightower to the party would be a power play. It will appear as an alliance between our conglomerates. A truce, if you will.”

The words cause the gears in Daemon’s head to turn. The act would indeed serve as a silent agreement between the families. Cole would be humiliated, which was an added bonus. The company he’s working for humbling him by brokering a deal with the family of the person who destroyed his nose. It will be quite the spectacle. But something wasn’t quite adding up.

“Why would the Hightowers agree to such a thing?” He asks. “Cole has been working for them for a long time now. He’s practically an honorary Hightower. Why insult him through an alliance with us?”

Laena speaks up, smiling sheepishly, “Here’s the thing…” She chuckles nervously, “We’re not… exactly… brokering a deal with all the Hightowers.”

“Just one.” Rhaenyra elucidates.

“What do you mean?”

“It’d be better if she explains it herself.” Says Laena.

Daemon purses his lips, his patience wearing thin. “Who’s ‘she’?”

As if on cue, you enter the room, everyone turning their attention to you. “Apologies for my tardiness.” You say guiltily, freeing your hair from the dark hoodie you were wearing. “I had to get past security.” As you remove your sunglasses, Daemon moves towards you like a predator stalking his prey. You meet his gaze, annoyance shortly crossing your features. “Daemon, is it?”

He doesn’t blink.

You don’t let his coolness perturb you. That’s just how Daemon is, Laena once said when she was talking about her family. He seemed…. Not nice, exactly… But he wasn’t giving you any indication that he was going to punch your face, so it’s something, right?

“I’m Y/n Hightower.”

“Hm.”

Your eyebrows raise in disbelief. You’d think that he’d offer more words based on the way he seemed intent on standing before you. “Right.” You sigh, moving past him to greet Rhaenyra.

The heir to the Targaryen dynasty was clad in grey suit and pants, her tie loose. Rhaenyra welcomes you with a warm smile, ushering you towards the couch. “Please. Sit,” She instructs, waiting until you’ve taken a seat to offer you light refreshments. It hits you suddenly that she was just as nervous as you were, easing your nerves to some extent.

“Lemon cake?” Your eyes light up upon sighting the delicacy, meeting Rhaenyra’s gaze.

She looked flabbergasted that that was the first dessert you turned your attention towards. “Would you like some?” Rhaenyra offers you the plate with a spoon. She knew beforehand that you had a liking for lemon cakes because of Laena’s recent Instagram post. (You and Laena took a photo of you eating lemon cakes, the name of the café plastered on the background.) However, it did little to help her hide the astonishment she felt as she watched you take the cake from her hands eagerly.

Daemon regarded you with thinly veiled disgust. A bug within his family’s premises. Look at you, eating cake and making yourself at home while Rhaenyra is made to play the role of welcoming host. His niece was a willing participant, of course, but that did not make the thought easier to swallow.

You ignore his glare until you could no longer bear it. “Is something the matter, Daemon?”

“Out of all your siblings, why are you the one making a deal with us in behalf of your family?” was his query.

“None of them know I’m here.” You state impassively, passing the plate to Rhaenyra, who fixates on how meticulously the slice of cake was cut in half. It was an impressive feat, bearing in mind that you weren’t using a knife. “Eat.” You murmur to her while resuming your staring match with Daemon.

“Why not?” Daemon scowls.

“I’m doing this behind their back.”

“Why?”

“I want to piss my father off.”

Enthralled by your words, Daemon (at long last) displays an emotion other than disdain, “And why is that?” He tilts his head. Maybe you weren’t as boring as he thought.

“Must there be a reason for wanting to anger him?”

“For me? No. For you? Yes.” Daemon says bluntly, “You’re his daughter. He must have done something unforgivable for you to turn to the enemy.”

“‘Enemy’ is exaggerating it, but alright.”

You tell the three other people present in the room about your frustration with Otto, not leaving anything out. You tell them about the meddling, the lengths he went to in order to cover up your failed romances, the list of eligible suitors, how Otto continues to undermine your hard work, and the rest of the sordid details that even Laena wasn’t aware of. By the end of your report, Daemon was stupefied.

If he didn’t have any more reason to despise Otto Hightower, he surely does now. Otto was despicable in business, but Daemon never thought that he would be the same with his children. Does this man hold no love for anything other than power?

“Your father is a cunt.” says Daemon.

Rhaenyra and Laena gasp at his crassness. He really said those words in front of you, Otto’s daughter. While you might not have the best relationship with your father, it must be grating to have others speak about him in a bad light, the two women think.

You nod, agreeing with Daemon’s words. “I suppose that’s one way to put it.”

The two Targaryen women lock eyes, shrugging.

“The party is in a week, correct?” You ask to confirm the details.

Rhaenyra shakes her head in affirmation. “Yes. The Hightowers are invited, as always,” Even though your families were at “war” with each other, there was still a place for your family in the Targaryen annual parties. You believed that it was Rhaenyra’s strategy.

Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

“—But you will be arriving the party with me.” Rhaenyra continues, analyzing your expression. “We have to arrive late, in the middle of my uncle’s speech.”

“Quite the dramatic entrance.” You murmur, a smile gracing your lips. “I like you already, Targaryen.”

Rhaenyra grins triumphantly in response.

You spend the rest of the evening planning out your actions for the party. Daemon continued treating you with apprehension, though he was less insufferable about it. Thank the Seven. Rhaenyra proved to be a pleasant company, assuring you that you would never have a boring moment in the event. The party would last for eight hours, beginning at four p.m. sharp. Every important person you could think of will be there, all the more reason why you and Rhaenyra need to make sure that this would be the biggest scandal of the month.

You just hope that it will drive your father mad.

-

The day of the party rolls around and you are bubbling with anticipation and anxiety. You and Rhaenyra have been texting each other back and forth about the chaos that would ensue in just a few hours. As you read her recent message, you find yourself grinning at the kitchen table, giddy with excitement for what was to come.

“Ooh, what’s that?” Gwayne speaks from behind you, grabbing your phone. The shock gives you no time to react, your older brother scrolling through the messages. “Who’s ‘R’?” He stretches his arm, holding the phone above his head, and standing on his tiptoes to ensure you wouldn’t be able to reach him. “You have plans tonight?”

Letting your impulse take over, you punch his shoulder, causing him to drop your phone from his hand. Gwayne groans in discomfort while you pick up your phone, identifying where he stopped reading. You let out a sigh of relief once you realize that he wasn’t able to read anything that would indicate your plans for this evening.

“Nothing.” You state stiffly.

“Come on, I know when you’re lying.”

“I’m not lying.” You grit your teeth, wondering why he wouldn’t drop the subject.

Gwayne, sensing your displeasure, raises his hands up in mock surrender. “Fine, don’t tell me. But the Targaryen party is tonight. Are you sure you want to miss it?”

You recall your earlier practice with Laena, reciting the script she has given you word for word. “I have an important meeting. I can’t go with you tonight.”

“Dad won’t like that.” Gwayne reminds you, “You know how much he loathes them. We need to form a united front against the Targaryens.”

“If he hates them so much, why bother going at all?”

“To keep track of their moves.” Gwayne explains as he takes one of the chocolate pancakes your cooks had made. He then proceeds to chew very loudly in your ear, invading your personal space. “Business 101, sister.” He says, “See, you’d know that if you actually listened to father.”

“Between the scheming and the bullshit he says, it’s hard to tell which one is worth listening to.” You move away from him, sitting down on a kitchen stool.

“What kind of meeting are you going to, anyway? Is it more important than the party?”

“Yes.”

It wasn’t technically a lie. Your upcoming scandal with Rhaenyra is more important than the party. But then again, you’d have to be in the event for the scandal to work. But you can’t tell Gwayne that you’re going. It’ll ruin the surprise. But at the same time, your father will wonder why you aren’t going. He’ll probably send Cole after you.

Ugh.

Criston.

“Is it a date?”

“You could say that.” You try to sound as nonchalant as possible.

“What do you want me to tell dad?” Gwayne looks at you seriously, his brows furrowing.

Ever since he could talk, Gwayne’s main goal has been to gain your father’s approval. He thought that if he played the dutiful son, Otto would hand the company over to him. And for a while, your father did give off the impression that Gwayne would be his successor.

Until Alicent decided to go no contact.

You have to applaud Alicent’s resilience. She was twenty-three, fresh out of business school. She had money in her account, but it wasn’t much. Her departure was sudden. You didn’t hear from her until two years later, when her face was plastered on billboards across Westeros as a creative director for a renowned fashion brand. A year after, she started her own fashion company in the luxury industry. Your father reached out to her in order to “reconnect” and they’ve maintained a business relationship since. While the reason for Alicent’s exit remained undisclosed (even to you), it is clear that she is the most favored among your siblings. It wouldn’t be a surprise if Otto gives her the company when he retires.

Since then, Gwayne has decided he was going to “step up”, become the next man of the house. He would take on more responsibility that he can handle, refusing to buckle under the weight of the pressure and hoping that one day, Otto would see him.

“Tell dad I’ll be late.” You mumble, but it was enough for him to hear.

“You won’t be late, though. You won’t attend.” Gwayne points out.

“Don’t worry about it.” You smile, patting his shoulder on the way out.

-

Hours succeeding your father and brothers’ exit from your estate, you began to get ready. You took your mother’s infamous red dress from her closet, pairing it with some of Rhaenyra’s jewels that she lent you days prior. As you put on the necklace with the Targaryen crest, thrill washes over you. The piece looked good on you and the colors suited you well.

Otto taught you that going against your family is the greatest iniquity you could ever execute. But if committing this grave sin meant seeing the color from his face drain in front of the masses, you would carry out this act of treason a hundred times over. You felt no remorse for what you were about to do. It was about time you paid your father back for the hurt he caused you. However trivial and juvenile it may seem, you had dreamt of this day for a long, long time, despite the specifics being last to get finalized.

You finish putting on your makeup just in time for Rhaenyra’s car to arrive in front of the mansion. You open your door to the sight of her in an off-shoulder, black sleek dress. Her hair was styled in intricate braids with a few strands let out from the left side of her face. She looked otherworldly, like a goddess, perhaps. Rhaenyra had a beauty that could make individuals conclude themselves blessed purely by being around her existence.

“You look lovely.”

“You look beautiful.”

A laugh escapes your lips, finding it amusing, the way you spoke at the same time.

“You look lovely.” You repeat, taking in her features once more.

Her smile widens, “Thank you.” She observed you with awe and another emotion that you couldn’t decipher.

Throughout Rhaenyra’s life, there was never an instance wherein her thoughts were silenced. Her mind consists of a plethora of ideas that tangle themselves together, leading to everlasting noise inside her head. But at the moment, her world was entirely quiet. All she could ruminate about was how ethereal you looked.

“Let’s go?”

Your words snapped her out of the trance-like state, pulling her back to reality. She offers you her hand, which you take in yours, marveling at how gentle her grip was. You make your way to the Mercedes and Rhaenyra opens the door for you.

“And they say chivalry is dead.” You joke as you enter the back seat, Rhaenyra following soon after with an eye roll.

-

Numerous photographers and journalists lined the entrance of the venue, as if they were waiting for something interesting to happen. Some of them were sat on the ground, scrolling through their phones. These people are likely the ones who weren’t permitted inside the party. The sun has almost set, which meant that the temperature wasn’t as harsh as the earlier hours. But they’ve spent their entire afternoon under its glare, making you feel sorry for them. The heat was a formidable enemy, a sentiment everyone in your vicinity shares.

You feel a hand on top of yours, the tenderness of Rhaenyra’s touch making your breath hitch.

Gods, she’s playing this act a bit too well.

“Daemon texted me.” Rhaenyra says softly, squeezing your hand. “He’s delivering his speech now.”

Gaze fixed upon your hands together, you hum in response, then look back at Rhaenyra. You try to decrypt her emotions, almost losing yourself within those amethyst eyes you find so beguiling. You wanted to know her thoughts about this, if she wanted to push through. A part of your desire to know is due to your own doubts. Doubts that aren’t about the mess you were about to get yourself into, but rather the need to save Rhaenyra from your family before things get out of hand. The Hightowers have done well to mislead the people, persuading them to think that the family is the epitome of composed and organized. However, those who have seen what you and your relatives are like behind closed doors, know that everything you’ve shown to the public is merely a deception. Tonight, would be no different. If Rhaenyra gets insight on how fucked up your family was, she might want to run for the hills.

The second reason is simpler than the first.

You want to know Rhaenyra.

You want to understand how her brain works. You want to know how she is able to get her family through muddy waters and how she comes up with solutions that does not only benefit the Targaryens, but also everyone who associates themselves with them (workers included). You want to know her opinions on things, even the random ones. You want to know how she spends her time when she’s not working. Does she spend it like you do, reading books and doing anything you can think of, or does she have her own preference for how she utilizes the days without work. You want to know what she doesn’t like. You want to know if she hates Jason Lannister like Laena.

You don’t know Rhaenyra Targaryen, but you want to.

The questions you wish to ask don’t come out of your own mouth, however, as Rhaenyra beats you to it.

“Are you sure about this?” Rhaenyra’s brows were furrowed when asking the question, as if she has been thinking for a long time if she wanted to say it. The query was sudden, Rhaenyra’s words coming out in one breath. The situation was laughable, really. You’ve spent the last two minutes trying to figure her out while she was worrying about the same thing with you.

You can’t help but return the question, “Are you?”

“I asked you first.” Rhaenyra huffs, not liking that you evaded her query by shooting the question back at her.

“I’m sure.” You try to quell her worries by your words, ensuring that you sounded as sincere as possible. Rhaenyra doesn’t look convinced by your statement, cocking her head to the side with a challenging look. Gods, this woman was stubborn. “I’m serious, Rhaenyra.” You play with the ring on her finger, noting how that was the only one she was wearing in her hand, an unusual sight, given her love of rings.

Rhaenyra stares at you for a moment longer before determining that she believes you. With a sigh, she puts her phone back in her purse, getting ready to leave the car.

“I wasn’t joking when I asked you the same question, though.” You confess. “Are you sure about this?” Rhaenyra doesn’t respond for a while, which made you even more anxious. “Because if you’re not, then we can just go separately. No one will have to know and we can go about our lives like before.”

The idea of going back to a life without you scheming with her was unacceptable to Rhaenyra. Although she has only been granted the presence of your company for a week and a half, those days have been the highlight of her year so far. To call off your plans would entail the possibility of never speaking to you again. Rhaenyra would rather face Otto Hightower herself than be divested of the chances to hear your laughter. So, with a shake of her head, she utters, “No.”

Your face falls. It was to be expected, really. Who would want to involve themselves with you, with your family? Rhaenyra has every reason to back out. You probably look so stupid right now. But this is for the better. Rhaenyra wouldn’t have to deal with your family and wouldn’t get roped up in your father’s schemes. She probably didn’t even want—

“No, sorry, I meant, I don’t want to go back to the way it was before.” Rhaenyra confesses apologetically. Seeing you crestfallen brought an ache in her chest that gradually spread throughout her entire body like wildfire. “I’m sure of this.” She reassures you, squeezing your hand. Rhaenyra gives you a few seconds to breathe before she tells you that it would be best if the two of you head to the venue now, lest you miss Daemon’s speech and let your strategy go awry.

You thank Erryk for driving you to the place and he wishes you luck before you and Rhaenyra step out of the car.

The journalists, reporters, and photographers don’t notice you for a while, wrapped up in conversations amongst themselves. Erryk drives past you with astonishing speed, leading the press to turn their heads and question whose car it was. Erryk was no longer in sight, but in his place was you and Rhaenyra. The people stared at the two of you, dumbfounded.

“That’s Rhaenyra Targaryen.”

“She’s late.”

“She brought a date.”

“Who is that?”

“No way.”

“It’s Y/n Hightower.”

“Hightower?!”

“Hightower.”

“What are they doing together?”

“Aren’t their families—”

Rhaenyra turns to you, locking your arm with hers, “Ready?”

You exhale shakily, “Ready.” Closing your eyes momentarily, you steel yourself for what was to come.

When you open your eyes again, the media headed towards you and Rhaenyra. Mics were being shoved into your faces left and right. Photographers were snapping pictures of you, the light from their cameras blinding. It was a miracle you could still see.

Three of Rhaenyra’s bodyguards paved the way for you, guaranteeing your safety. They held off the press and made certain that they wouldn’t get too close. You held Rhaenyra’s hand, letting her guide you towards the entrance of the venue. You haven’t even faced the difficult part yet things were beginning to get overwhelming. Though, having Rhaenyra by your side did make it easier.

The security guards positioned at the entrance opened the doors as soon as they saw Rhaenyra. They bowed their heads in respect. You couldn’t hide your grin even if you tried.

“Don’t let go.” Rhaenyra murmured, referring to your interlocked hands.

“I don’t plan to, my darling.”

You could have sworn you heard Rhaenyra’s breath hitch as her grip tightened around your fingers. Together, you entered the venue, walking the red carpet laid before you. The place was massive. Banners with the Targaryen symbol of the three-headed dragon was placed all over the area. There was even a giant dragon statue near the stage. It seemed excessive, but there was no doubt that everything screamed luxury. While you’ve been to Targaryen parties before, you haven’t paid much attention until now.

“—And I thank my brother, Viserys, for giving me the opportunity to—” Daemon’s words get stuck on his throat when his eyes land on his niece and you. Viserys smiles at him cluelessly, wondering why he stopped in the middle of his speech. Aemma had to nudge him to turn his attention to the doors. Daemon hides behind a smirk as everyone in the room looks at you.

The attendees’ disbelief rose to a clamor, trying to make sense of what they were seeing. A Hightower and a Targaryen side by side. Surely, this would be included in the history books to come. Being under the scrutiny of the public gave you an uneasy feeling. You felt like a caged animal, a spectacle. Everyone was looking at you like you’ve done something wrong.

Taking a deep breath, you recall the lessons your father gave you on propriety. You hold your head up high as you waked with Rhaenyra, not letting go of her hand.

Walk now, overthink later.

You spot your father and your siblings on the left, near the stage. Otto had an incredulous look on his face, his eyes widening in horror. You school your expression, refusing to laugh as you imagined the things he would say to you when you got home. If he would even allow you to come home, that is. Gwayne and your brothers stood, dumbfounded, while Alicent raised a glass of champagne towards you, downing it in one gulp. Your father was too fixated on looking horrified at the scene before him to notice. The man would not move. Criston stood by his side with his jaw set firmly. It was hard to tell who was more appalled. Him or Otto. The former’s gaze hardened, staring Rhaenyra down.

At last, you make it to the front. Rhaenyra brings you to the stage, beside her parents, whom you’ve never shared an interaction with.

“Hello.” You smile shyly, unsure what to do.

“Hello, Y/n.” Viserys and Aemma reply, both of them grinning. This was the first time Rhaenyra brought someone with her during a Targaryen party. With a grand entrance, if they may add. They saw the smile on Rhaenyra’s face as she looked at you and immediately knew that you were someone who made their daughter happy. They had more questions, sure, but Rhaenyra seemed content around you and that’s what matters for now.

“It appears my niece has made quite the entrance.” Daemon says into the mic in order to get the attention back to him. “If my speech bore you, you could’ve just said so.” That earned a laugh from the guests.

“Sorry, uncle.” Rhaenyra whispers even though Daemon knew quite well what was going to happen.

“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” More laughter came from the crowd, successfully turning the attention away from you and Rhaenyra. You silently thanked Daemon for the ephemeral respite from the critical eyes of the masses. “I would like to thank Viserys for giving me a chance in helping him plan this party.” He turns to Viserys, “Your trust means greatly to me. I love you.” Daemon whispers the last sentence and…

Wait.

Is that a tear?

“Lastly, I would like to thank you all for coming and I hope you enjoy the evening.” Applause echoed around the room as Daemon finished his speech, stepping away from the mic and letting Rhaenyra take over. The praise died down promptly, the audience observing Rhaenyra with keen interest, eagerly awaiting her words.

“Good evening, everyone.” The silver-haired woman started. “I apologize for my tardiness. As you know, I’ve never been one to keep track of time. To my uncle, I offer my apologies as well for cutting your hour-long speech short. I know how far you had to go to perfect your writing abilities.” The sea of people dissolved into laughter once again. Daemon narrowed his eyes at her remark. He did not like being mocked. That much was clear. “The Targaryen party is an event that I look forward to each year. Not only do I get to see your lovely faces, but also the simple truth that it brings us together. We may not always see eye to eye on things, especially in business,” Rhaenyra locks eyes with Otto, “but there is no denying that during this day, we are granted the privilege to treat each other as companions. The tensions are eased and everyone gets to enjoy each other’s company,” Your father bristles at Rhaenyra’s words while others murmur in unison, agreeing with Rhaenyra.

“This event is dear for me and my family, which is why I chose today to make my announcement.” Rhaenyra reaches for your hand, “My love,” You move forward, intertwining your fingers together. She analyzes the crowd nervously, fearing their possible response to her impending revelation. “You may know her as an influential and stubborn businesswoman,” You hear Jason Lannister snicker at the word “stubborn”, still not over the stunt you pulled with the Starks. Jason’s family was promised a great deal from the latter, but because of your interference, the Starks offered their contract to you instead. “Or you might know her as Otto Hightower’s daughter . . . I’ve had the honor in getting to know the different sides of her and I can say that she is definitely as tenacious as she looks. It’s a miracle I’m here today, really.” Rhaenyra jests, “But, in all seriousness, this woman has inspired me to do better every day and never failed to offer her support whenever I needed it. You know her as a businesswoman, but right now, I would like to reintroduce her to all of you as the magnificent Y/n Hightower. My partner, the love of my life, and most importantly… my fiancée.”

Otto lets out a strangled cough.

[shotmrmiller]

Simon 22’s phone number is the same as Simon 09’s phone number.

Imagine Simon’s ire after he’s *flooded* with messages from her. She never stopped texting his number pictures, meme’s and shit after he died.

“WOMAN WHAT DID YOU DO!?” As his phone is blowing up while she’s like- grabbing at his phone as he holds it high in the air. She’s hoping he doesn’t see the *old* messages that were not exactly PG- she doesn’t want *this* Simon to see her old nudes! Those were for her Simon! Not this ass!

(I think it’d make him soften up towards her, reading all the newer stuff she sent. Long texts about how she misses him, stuff she didn’t get to tell him while he was alive, how her day was doing without him…)

first of all, I might take this so thank you for your contribution.

secondly, yeah.

Simon's eyes soften every time his phone buzzes and he sees that it's your number.

He feels his tiny, cold heart pitter patter against his chest whenever he opens to read them because he knows at the end of every message, you finish it with an 'I miss you, Si. I love you.'

And then he almost threw his phone out a window when he saw a scandalous picture of you, but then zooms in on it because—

Is that a sheet ghost tatted right above your bikini line?

he grips his phone so tight the screen cracks.

[gaytedlasso]

Oh absolutely not. No way in hell. Pride flag and camera set up in one corner of the press room equals nightmare fuel. Trent looks over at Keeley, glaring daggers at her — and she just giggles. Goddamnit. Apparently that 'pissed off journalist who will end you' expression of his has softened quite a bit over the past few years. Suppose that's what happens when you're married to a literal ray of sunshine.

"So Rebecca and I thought a pride campaign this year—"

"Flattered but no thank you." Trent's voice is clipped, arms crossed in front of his chest.

"But whyyyy?" Keeley pouts up at Trent. "It's not like this is breaking news any more!"

Trent is well aware. The media frenzy when the press caught wind of their fledgling relationship was nothing short of a firestorm. (Trent will kill Ernie. That is non-negotiable at this point.) They always knew it'd be front page headlines, but Trent grossly underestimated the vitriol thrown at them both. Colin's kiss on the pitch was barely a blip on the radar; the press saved all their ire for Ted-and-Trent.

But as with all things, it died down once Rupert had yet another scandal and the news shifted to that story like a flock of magpies gravitating to the next shiny thing. Sure they all circled the proverbial wagons (fucking hell Ted, Trent's tired of thinking like you.) the day Ted showed up on the pitch with a wedding band and Trent, in the press room at his new job as ~~lion tamer~~ press wrangler wore a matching one.

Neither of those were planned events. Ted and Trent had always tried to just keep their relationship quiet — never secret just... quiet. Never flaunting.

This... this is flaunting. This is a public display. This is in your face...

Trent isn't concerned about his own queerness, he's worried about Ted. He's worried about their children. He's worried —

"Don't overthink," Ted says, wrapping his arms around Trent from behind, moustache tickling Trent's ear. "I can smell just how hard those gears are turning. When Keeley asked I said you'd have more reservations than a sold-out Marriott on super bowl weekend."

Turning around in Ted's arms, Trent lifts a hand, threading through the soft tawny strands at the base of Ted's neck.

"You're not worried?"

Ted chuckles, the sound warm and slithers down Trent's spine like a warm hug. "Not a whit, Walt Whitman," Ted replies. "I look at it as an opportunity. Besides, some wise woman once told me to fuck the haters and—"

As always, the f-word spilling from Ted's lips incites some sort of pavlovian response in Trent.

Trent doesn't even hear the sound of the camera click.

- drabble written by my beloved @singaroundelay

~

Fuck the haters! Happy Pride 🏳️‍🌈

inprnt / redbubble

[shesjustanothergeek]

The Gods We Can Touch

Archmaester Gyldayn’s Testimonies of Princess Aelora Targaryen’s Youth

Masterlist of Series

Summary: The older twin of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, you were a picture of the maiden, untouched and untainted by man's sins. At least, that was what Alicent Hightower believed when she held you in her arms moments after her old friend's labors. You were her shining light, her dream. Though you were never hers, she believed you were meant to be.

What will become of you as time passes and the Queen's shining light grows within the blackened darkness? Will her eldest son's morbid fascination with the light burn the realm? Or will her second son's obsession with the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen change the course of the Seven Kingdoms as we know it?

Author's Note: This is kind of a filler chapter until I can finish chapter 7. I was planning on either putting this at the end of chapter 6 or the beginning of chapter 7, but here is as good as any. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that I'll be able to finish chapter 7 by next Sunday. Thank you for your support and patience. Love y'all! (⁠*⁠＾⁠3⁠＾⁠)⁠/⁠～⁠♡

Chapter Warnings: mentions of childhood SA, mental illness, suicidal ideations, Targaryen queerness.

Princess Rhaenyra’s eldest child blossomed into a captivating presence at Dragonstone, earning admiration from those close to her but invoking fear and ire in those who dared to cross her. Known for her unpredictable temperament, she would fall into fits of anger and sorrow, during which her judgment would become clouded, leading to subsequent regret. In bouts of profound grief, she sought solace in Aegon’s Garden with the company of flora and fauna, finding peace and consolation by tending to the roses and lilacs and fashioning delicate flower crowns for her siblings to wear.

When Princess Aelora was approximately ten and two, eyewitnesses observed her standing on the balcony railing for an extended period during one of her episodes, seemingly trance-like. Despite numerous attempts to persuade her to step down, she adamantly refused, stating her desire for a better view of the landscape. In response to this concerning behavior, Princess Rhaenyra took the drastic measure of ordering the balcony doors to be permanently sealed shut. The exact cause of her distressing episodes remains shrouded in mystery. While many attributed it to the infamous Targaryen madness in her bloodline, the Fool Mushroom believed it was linked to a specific incident involving Prince Aegon during her early years.

Late one night, he claims to have spied on Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon in their bed chambers on Dragonstone. He overheard the Princess confiding in her husband about her eldest’s behavioral problems and impulsivity. He alleges that she confessed to a rape committed by Prince Aegon on her daughter while they were living in King’s Landing. However, this information is heavily debated, as there has been no further mention in oral or written records.

When Princess Aelora reached ten and four, scandalous rumors began circulating on Dragonstone about her relationship with her twin brother, Prince Jacaerys. It was whispered that their stepfather went to her rooms after reports of suspicious sounds emerging from behind closed. Prince Daemon was rumored to have discovered the Prince in a compromising position between the legs of the Princess. In response to the gossip, Princess Rhaenyra sent her daughter to study abroad at the Citadel and in Dorne as a gesture of goodwill, hoping it would ease her troubled mind. This separation was particularly difficult for the twins, as it was the first time they had ever been apart. Prince Jacaerys was visibly upset during this time, spending hours upon end sulking inside his chambers and absconding his duties until Princess Aelora finally returned home once they both came of age.

Nevertheless, Princess Aelora radiated warmth and kindness to all she encountered. She was admired for her outgoing and naive nature, and she took great delight in her love for nature, herbalism, botany, and medical techniques gathered from her journeys around the realm. Her fondness for citrus plants was evident as she carried the sweet scent of the fruits wherever she roamed, though they were difficult to cultivate on Dragonstone’s soil. Adorned in her late father’s distinguished Velaryon blue, she was never seen without the elegance of pearls, aquamarine, topaz, and sapphire, with a delicate headpiece and veil enshrouding her dark, lustrous locks.

When eligible suitors ventured to Dragonstone intending to court Rhaenyra’s eldest daughter, she dismissively turned them away, leaving the cock hurt Lords to return home scorned. It was said that during a gathering of the court, Princess Aelora boldly declared that she harbored no yearning for a marital alliance, as she found solace in the enduring companionship of her beloved dragon Gaelithox and her loyal brother, firmly indicating that she had no intention of entering into matrimony.

IMO, the reader suffers from borderline personality disorder. People with BPD are often mistaken for having depression, but the main qualifier is periods of mania with impulsivity, which is more susceptible to hypersexuality and addictions. They're typically triggered by actual or perceived separations, disagreements, and rejections. Highly sensitive to abandonment and being alone, which brings about intense feelings of anger, fear, suicidal thoughts and self-harm, and very impulsive decisions. People with high-functioning BPD experience frequent negative thoughts, fear of rejection, and regret about expressing their feelings. I'm by no means a mental health expert. This is just my head cannon.

Masterlist of Series

Spotify Playlist

Jace and the reader fulfill the Targaryen queerness. Who would've thought? XD

Thank you for reading! (⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡

P.S. the reader wears what's called a French hood. I couldn't find one that matched her aesthetic unfortunately.

Tagged Peeps: @millies0bsimp, @britt-mf, @marvelescvpe, @haikyuusboringassmanager, @discofairysworld , @lottiemsgf , @nessjo , @fiction-fanfic-reader , @qvnthesia , @hotvillianapologist , @p45510n4f4shi0n, @theendlessvoidofdarkest , @readerselegance , @gothamgurl2024 , @aleemendoza2425-blog , @vaylint , @ln8118 , @prettyduckling22 , @primroseluna

Bold means I couldn't tag you for some reason :(

[preeningpisces]

Report - Kenjaku x F!Reader

Kenjaku shows up unannounced, and makes himself all too comfortable in your apartment. Pwp, 4k, Crossposted on AO3

A/N: At first I referred to him as Geto in this, as I found it unlikely YN would know his real name, but then figured this has no plot and there isn't many Kenjaku x reader fics without Geto & swapped it to Kenjaku ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Shoutout to this lovely anon for giving me a reason/the drive to write something for my favorite hoe 💚

Content: p-in-v, m!oral, sex toys, size kink, unprepped sex, edging, choking, biting, spit/cum stuff, degradation--personally I think this is more tame than it sounds

18+ content below, mdni, implied chubby!reader, enjoooy!

The figure seated at your dinner table makes your soul leap from your body.

Tonight you planned a date with a hot shower, your favorite snacks, and three seasons’ worth of TV to binge. You’d only completed step one, so recently that your skin hasn’t finished absorbing the lotion, leaving your calves and thighs tacky.

His back is to you, but you know he’s aware of your presence. For once, he isn’t wearing his signature robes, and instead sports simple black clothing. Seeing him dressed down is comforting, makes him seem less untouchable, and more like a regular person.

You lament the change in your evening plans, knowing your guest will occupy a decent portion of your time. 

“You take awfully long showers,” he says without turning. “I’ve been here for over an hour.” 

Springing up at random isn’t out of the ordinary for Kenjaku, though it’s more common for him to send messages from unknown numbers or ‘coincidentally’ run into you. He’s never showed up at your apartment before, let alone at such an odd hour of the night. Briefly you wonder how he knows where you live, but then dismiss this as a foolish thought—of course he knows.

“I’m just thorough,” you say as you round the table and sit across from him where he reads one of your books. A silly romance that was popular online; hardly revolutionary or life-altering, but it was a sweet, endearing story and you enjoyed it quite a bit. With how far he’s in, you wonder if he picked a random spot or simply reads that quickly.

“That you are.” He glances up, and a shift in his eye tells you he wasn’t expecting the cotton bathrobe with matching shorts. It’s a favorite that you got off a discount rack, lying somewhere between the lines of sensual and comfortable. Flattering, but hardly scandalous; you don’t feel indecent in his presence. 

“I’m surprised you enjoy this drivel,” he says, judgment evident. “You seemed more intelligent than that.” 

“They’re just for fun. Sometimes it’s nice to read something simple,” you reach for the book, beginning to feel defensive. 

He leans back, now flipping through its contents. It reminds you of a schoolyard bully holding your belongings above you and taunting you for being too short. 

“Are you here to antagonize me, or are you here for something actually important?” As soon as you say this, you know you made a mistake: the ire in your voice will only encourage his pestering.

“I came for your report, but now I’m more interested in your terrible taste.” He gestures to your bookshelf—small, and housing a modest collection of varying genres with the occasional knick knack. “I’ve gone through several already, but saved what I suspect to be the worst for last.”

“Then you can follow me on Goodreads, if you’re so curious. Now give that back,” you hold out your hand, growing agitated. The light catches the ridge of his scar, and taunts you to tug on one of those stitches, which look much less secure than they should. 

“Embarrassed?” He smiles, and makes no move to relinquish the book. 

“If I say yes, will you give it back?” 

A snide puff.

“No.” 

Knowing how fickle he is, you relent; he’ll grow bored with the book soon enough and move on. But minutes of his skimming pass, wholly ignoring your crossed arms and impatient tapping.

“Ah, I see. Is this why you’re so fond of these?” He turns the book for you to read: it’s one of the few sex scenes, and his finger points to a questionable line of dialogue. 

You can’t resist the bait, and indignation rises in your chest. You spring forward in your seat, aiming for the book. Unfazed by your aggression, he avoids you with ease and an infuriating smirk. It only provokes you further, now motivating you to one-up him.

There is a sudden pause in his movements that allows you to snatch the book. As you look at him triumphantly, you notice his eyes aren’t directed at your face; instead, they’re fixed on your chest. Following his gaze, your heart sinks when you discover your robe hanging open, revealing your right breast. 

When you look at him again, his eyes are on yours. Heavy and lidded, they freeze you in place with their weight. The playful energy from before halts, as if the room itself is holding its breath. Without breaking eye contact, he slides his hand in the opening, and cups your breast.

Shocked, you drop the book with a muted thud, more from his boldness than the sensation. A gasp escapes you when he pinches your nipple, rolling it slowly, and your hands fly to his shoulders, not wanting to topple over from the awkward position.

His other hand joins and teases your unexposed breast through the cloth; you fall against him, and a soft noise warms his ear before tracing the stretched lobe with your lower lip. Whether it’s ticklish or it’s your interest in his ear that entertains him, his shoulders thrum with amusement. The plastic clacks between your teeth as you toy with the plug, seeing how far you can rotate it before he becomes irritated.

It doesn’t take long, because a hand winds itself in your hair and pulls you forward, but the table creaks in protest under your weight. 

“Not here,” you say, husk already tinting your voice. “It’s a shitty table.” 

He releases you and follows you down the hallway to your bedroom. You don’t even have time to flick on the light before he pulls you backward, connecting your ass to his groin with his large hands fondling your breasts.

The eager touch surprises you—he hadn’t seemed at all bothered when you stopped him before. You can’t help but shiver when he sucks on your neck, fixing it with hickeys and bites. A renewed focus on your nipples makes you whimper and squeeze at his forearms. 

“Sensitive here, or are you just desperate?” He punctuates with a pull of your left nipple. 

“A bit of both,” you say, and press your ass against him. It’s been some time since you’ve felt this kind of touch, let alone by someone as attractive as him. 

“Cute,” he hums, and grinds his forming erection against you. 

Cool palms slide beneath the robe again, making your nipples so peaked they sting. Deft fingers are quick to melt the cold with slow rolls that morph into pinching and dragging from areola to tip. The attention makes you squirm in his hold and rest your head against his shoulder, weaving your fingers through his glorious hair—which is every bit as silky as it appears. Needing an outlet for your rising desire, you detach him from your neck and angle his head so you can force your lips together. 

The kiss is more passionate than you expected, and it only makes you melt further in his hands. You scratch his scalp and earn a surprised moan. His right hand trails upward, wrapping around a considerable portion of your neck. Air isn’t cut or restricted, but he squeezes enough for your pulse to quicken and make your head fuzzy.

A twist of your nipple makes you arch your back, and he sucks your lower lip until it bruises. Teeth scrape it briefly, before he pushes his tongue into your open mouth and greets yours unabashedly. 

Kenjaku has an air of grace to him, of superiority; you’d think him above such things as these. But he doesn’t flinch or show any disgust when drool pools from the messy kiss—he even licks the bit that trickles down your chin. He breaks the kiss, parting slowly to appreciate the strand that connects your mouths. 

A tug of the simple knot at your waist peels your robe open, and you help him by shrugging your shoulders free. The hold on your neck tightens, and he feels down your stomach, dipping below the waistband of your shorts. Your skin prickles with embarrassment when he squeezes the full softness above your pussy. A pleased noise comes from the back of his throat when he realizes you have no underwear and finds slippery arousal. 

“Look at me.”

You feel how heavy your eyes are, how blatant lust must be on your face. His middle finger finds your clit and traces a single rough, short line, making you flinch. Almost imperceptible circles soothe the rough sensation, leading you to loosen your grip on his hair and hold his wrist. The featherlike strokes feel like static, and every tingle of your flesh touching makes you wetter. 

When your eyes shut, he squeezes your neck again, demanding you keep your focus on him. Even in moments like this, his eyes are full of condescension and superiority; the lowliness you feel in his presence only stirs your need. 

Awkwardly, you feel around behind you for his cock and rub your palm over it as best you can. Despite the clumsy touch, his breath hitches, and his clever fingers pause. Thrill dances in your chest and you stroke him more firmly.

His hand flexes around your neck, and you can’t tell if it’s a warning or a green light. Whichever he intends doesn’t matter to you, because you squeeze his bulge. The firm tap of his finger on your clit reads as chastisement, but you ignore it, already deciding your next move. 

“I want to suck your dick,” you say. You aren’t too prideful to kowtow to his desire for control. “Can I?” 

Dark eyes shelter his thoughts as he considers your offer, and for a moment you think he’s going to turn you down, but he dips his finger in your hole and briefly skims the edge before swiping back up to your clit. A small noise comes out, and your face must be comical because he looks more amused than before. 

“How polite.” The lack of heat and touch as he steps away are disappointing, but the sounds of his belt and zipper more than make up for their loss. “I suppose I’ll let you.”

“Let me,” you snort as you watch him undress. “As if you didn’t start this.”

A broad hand presses down on your shoulder, urging you to kneel—which you do eagerly, not minding the cheap carpet scratching your knees.

“I did, and now you’re exactly where I want you,” he removes his sweater, bearing the impressive muscles of his abdomen. You wonder if this was his true intention coming here tonight and that he played you like a fiddle.

These thoughts disappear when he pulls his trousers and underwear down; you can’t help when your face twists in shock: his cock is huge.

“No wonder you’re so full of yourself.” 

He smirks, and you dread what this affair will do to his already inflated ego.

You scoot forward, assessing the beast, and idly rotate your jaw to prepare for the task at hand. Despite most of his head being exposed and dripping with pre-cum, you push back the remaining foreskin to fully reveal the dark head. You lean forward for a kiss, but land it on his groin instead. 

The click of his tongue and the twitch beneath you is reward enough for the entire night; you’re confident he would never beg for anything from you, but this disappointment feels close enough to claim the satisfaction all the same. 

Still positioned at his tip, your thumbs softly stroke the sides, more soothing than pleasurable as you continue to mouth everywhere but his cock. Fed up, he grips your hair and pulls you back. You get the message, and eagerly suck his head in your mouth, where you set your lips and tongue to work; it’s difficult with his girth, but you manage. He grunts and loosens his hold, allowing you to do as you please. 

To show your gratitude, you plunge him deeper, tongue now rubbing along the seam of his cock as you flex and contract your lips. The muscles in his thighs jolt, and you feel energy rolling off him—the urge to do something, to react.

Steeling your resolve, you slide him further in and pull back, never stopping the pulse of your lips or tongue. It’s then that you suck around him, creating the wet sounds of suction that fill your small bedroom.

The light from the hallway glows behind him, making him radiant; like he’s a god, and this is your offering.

You cup his balls gently and rub a thumb over them to test the waters. Your curiosity is rewarded when the single hand in your hair becomes two, and he moves your head for you.

They cover your ears, cutting out all sound. Whether this is intentional, you can’t say. All you can hear is the wet sounds of your mouth molding around his cock. It’s as if this is your entire world, that this is the only thing you’re good for, and the thought makes you drip. 

Lewdly, you hum and moan your prayer around him. Noises of his own join yours, but you are not worthy of hearing them. Overeager, he pulls you down further on his cock, poking dangerously close to your gag reflex. Your second unoccupied hand wraps around the portion not in your mouth preemptively, and stroke him in time with your mouth. Seeing right through your attempt, he holds your head still and begins fucking your mouth.

It takes only a few thrusts for him to push deeper than before, making you gag softly, which causes him to throw his head back and continue the deep thrusts. It’s uncomfortable, but not so much that you feel the need to stop him. Watching him loosen up is so hypnotic you don’t register how worryingly deep he is in your throat. Until he surges himself all the way forward, forcing your nose to meet his groin. 

When you choke, he groans deeply, and rolls against your face as your throat convulses around him sporadically. You’re about to beat at his thigh, but he pulls you off his cock entirely.

Quickly, you recover and recapture him despite the pull on your hair, doubling down with a soft mouth, tonguing all the sensitive spots you found. And to your surprise, hot cum spurts down your throat with a low groan. You drink it all until he pulls your head back and strokes his cock, shooting the remaining spurts on your face.

You didn’t think he’d be so quick to cum, and it seems, neither did he.

A painful yank of your hair forces you to stand before you can comment, and full of surprises, he licks a line of cum from your chin and smears it over your tongue with his own. The dirtiness of it makes a raw noise come from your abused throat.

Not breaking the kiss, he walks you to your bed and pushes you back; you scoot yourself to the headboard and barely shimmy your shorts off before he crawls atop you, flaccid cock in hand. With a surge of reversed cursed energy, he urges it to re-harden. 

“Is this the difference between special grades and the rest of us?” 

He doesn’t acknowledge your taunt, and after two pumps, positions his cock at your hole. Unprepped, his tip presses against the ring of muscle for several moments, unable to breech despite ample lubrication.

“The Viagra tech-”

Your pussy finally yields, and his cock spears itself to the hilt.

“Fuck!” 

Mercifully, he doesn’t rail you, and instead rolls his hips, stroking your most receptive spots. It aches, his cock stretching you to what feels like your capacity, but it’s the sort of ache that makes you crave more. You meet his hips with your own, desperately chasing more of the electric feeling. He grabs the underside of your knees and leans forward, putting his weight on them. The position angles his cock upward and fucks you with more fervor. 

“Jesus, it’s so big,” you say, legs trembling in his hold. 

Needing a distraction, you cup the back of his head and pull him as close as your breasts and stomach allow. You kiss at whatever flesh you can reach, starting at his damp hairline, and following up immediately with the seam on his forehead. The simple kiss earns you a sharp cant of his hips and a hiss, tempting you to fixate on the scar.

Your tongue traces the divot faintly, careful not to press too hard and minding the sutures. The effect is immediate, as he ruts into you, slow, deep, and hard, surprisingly loud moans spilling from his pretty lips. Even his moans are rough, as if they scrape his throat on their way out. Like his vocal chords haven’t made such sounds in some time. 

“Sensitive?” You murmur your tease against the raised flesh. 

“Wounds tend to be, yes.” He kisses you tenderly, and when you sigh, bites your lower lip with a crunch. Teeth pierce, and copper flavors the kiss. You part with a hiss, and his thumb swipes at the puncture. “See? Or do you need further demonstration.”

“You’re such a dick,” you mutter, batting his hand away from your sore lip.

His attention falters, and you follow his eyes to your nightstand. You live alone and have no need for secrecy, so your vibrator charges in plain sight. Owning sex toys is something you’ve never thought twice about, let alone felt any shame towards, but you become flustered when Kenjaku leans over and unplugs it.

Excitement overpowers your embarrassment when he turns it on. To your surprise, he doesn’t place it on your clit, and instead keeps it in a low setting and traces it along your labia. His hips slow, but they maintain a steady pace. Your body tenses with anticipation anytime it nears your clit, but it still doesn’t touch you. The stretch of his cock feels amazing, but your clit practically burns with need, swollen and begging to be touched.

“Now, what do you have for me this week?” he asks, full of mischief.

“What?”

He pushes your chubby mound upward and finally places the toy on your clit—you gasp. 

“Your report. It’s what I came here for, after all.” 

He circles the vibrator around your clit in time with his hips, looking all too amused when you struggle to respond. You ignore his question, and instead squeeze your eyes shut as your orgasm approaches at an alarming rate. You’ve waited so long, you’ve been so pent up, you just need—

“Ah, ah, you’ve got a job to do. Stay focused,” he tuts, and lifts the vibrator. You swear loudly, and your hips chase the toy, but he pins you with a hand on your hip. 

“T-the first year,” you begin, legs trembling with pent up anticipation, “students–” you whimper when the vibrator returns. 

“Go on,” he coos. 

“They-they…” you trail off when a slow and delicious drag of his cock steals your mind. The vibrator moves, and you throw your head back. “Theywentto–fuck!” 

“Speak clearly; this is vital information.” He presses it on fully, directly, gleefully watching you struggle. 

“They wen-went to Ro-oooh,” with a click, he turns it up a notch. “Fuck, you’re–” he nestles it between your lips and rotates it teasingly. Only a few hums more and he removes it again. 

“Please, please don’t stop.” Your voice warbles pathetically, “please let me cum. I need it–”

“And I need your report,” he smiles, as if he isn’t torturing you. 

The hopeless look you give him must spur him on, because he fucks you with the most vigor he’s showed thus far. Ripples roll across your soft stomach and thighs, and your breasts bounce wildly, but you’re too far gone to pay them any mind. 

“They went to R-roppongi!” You manage, and before he can torment you, add, “it was just—third-grade curses.” 

Even now, as he fucks you hard and fast, he doesn’t pull out much, and instead focuses on stroking your all of your sensitive areas relentlessly. It’s so different from what you’re used to, and so, so much better. You don’t know if you’ll be satisfied getting fucked any other way now. 

“And what of Satoru Gojo?” he grunts when you squeeze him particularly hard.

“A meeting–he had a meeting,” you breathe heavily, trying to catch your breath. The pause must displease Kenjaku, because he slaps your wet clit with the buzzing toy, making you jerk beneath him. 

“Wednesday!” you yell. “The Higher uh-” you’re cut off with a kiss that’s more teeth and tongue, agitating your bloody lip. 

“No need to shout, I’m right here,” he says cheekily, and grips your jaw, demanding your attention. “I’m sure you’re eager for your reward.” You nod the best you can.

A large palm spans your lower belly, pressing the plump flesh down to meet his upward thrusts. It feels like you’re even fuller, even more sensitive; your eyes bulge when a deep pressure builds. 

“Can you feel it?” His eyes look wild, more unhinged than before, and it makes you squeeze him in apprehension. “How large this cock is—incredible, isn’t it?” 

If you weren’t on the verge of exploding, the way he marvels at his own dick would make you roll your eyes. 

“Hmm?” He pulls all the way out for the first time, and sharply thrusts back in, meanly stabbing your deepest, most tender area.

“Yes, yes—I feel it!” He repeats the motion, aiming higher. “It feels so fucking good!”

He chuckles and ups the vibrator’s setting, rocking into you faster. All you can do is hold on to him, your mind too scattered and pliant for anything more. With each powerful thrust, he hits the spot near your cervix, causing your pussy to clench around him and draw melodic sounds. You force your eyes to stay open, fully aware that this is a sight you’ll never forget. His disheveled hair clung to his sweaty skin, with most of the strands of his top knot undone. Pink tinges his cheeks, and his brows crease ever so slightly. The sight causes a sudden leap of pleasure, and you feel yourself dancing at the edge.

“Are you ready to come?” He asks, as if sensing the sudden development.

“Oh, god yes!”

A smile is the only warning you're given before he withdraws the vibrator again. The cruelty almost makes you cry. Before you can plead, he pushes the hood of your clit back and the vibrator returns.

“Then come.”

Everything you held onto breaks as you come, abdomen convulsing deeply, and mouth wide open. You soar so high you forget he’s with you for a moment. Your pussy gushes, and clenches him so hard it feels like it’s trying to push his cock out along with your release. The euphoric sensations quickly become a sting as the vibrator doesn’t falter, and you claw at his back and wail.

With a click, he turns off the toy as he tosses it aside, and traps you in his arms with his head nestled in the junction of your neck and shoulder. Teeth sink into the flesh hard enough to draw blood and a shout. Only four pumps more and he fills you as deep as he can reach, as if his cum seeps directly into your womb.

He lies on you for several moments, his cock softening and twitching occasionally. It’s pleasant, and oddly domestic, feeling skin against your own and listening to the sounds of each other’s breathing. Eventually, he slides free, and you’re reminded that he came inside you when it trickles down your ass. 

“I’m not on birth control, you know.” You eye him as he flops next to you, making himself comfortable, as if this is his bed and you’re the guest. “Unless you want some kid of yours running around, you owe me a Plan B.”

He shrugs.

“Makes no difference to me. It wouldn’t be my first child or my last.” 

“Ha, right,” you stretch your legs, sore from being bent for so long. After a pause, you turn to him again.

“Wait, really?”

[apricitystudies]

crimes of the elite: a deep dive

voted on here. (other editions) bold = favourite

corporate harms

behind the smiles at amazon

the long, dark shadow of bhopal (bhopal gas disaster)

how lobbying blocked european safety checks for dangerous medical implants

7-eleven revealed

who controls the world's food supply?

the true cost of tuna: marine observers dying at sea

how a big pharma company stalled a potentially lifesaving vaccine in pursuit of bigger profits

24 years after, some victims not compensated and still can't live normal lives (pfizer's nigeria vaccine trials)

the corporate crime of the century

uber broke laws, duped police and secretly lobbied governments, leak reveals (the uber files)

the baby killer (nestle infant formula scandal)

2 paths of bayer drug in 80's: riskier one steered overseas (hiv-risk contaminated blood product scandal)

global banks defy u.s. crackdowns by serving oligarchs, criminals and terrorists (fincen files)

the ultra-rich

eliminalia: a reputation laundromat for criminals

the fall of the god of cars (international fugitive carlos ghosn)

a u.s. billionaire took over a tropical island pension fund. then hundreds of millions of dollars allegedly went missing (cyprus confidential)

how the wealthiest avoid income tax (the irs files)

the haves and the have-yachts

madoff and his models (madoff ponzi scheme)

the imposter (blockchain terminal fraud)

the ultra-rich: (allegedly) stolen antiquities

crime of the centuries

stolen treasure traders

a hunt for cambodia's looted heritage leads to top museums (pandora papers)

an art crime for the ages

[reminiscingtonight]

A Lesson In Sharing

Katie McCabe x Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

[WOSO Masterlist]

It’s tense. 

For a night that’s supposed to bring light hearted laughs and relax the lot of you, everything that’s occurred tonight has done anything but. 

Your jaw’s beginning to ache from how hard you’ve been clenching it, annoyance and anger spewing from all of your pores.

By now even your teammates have picked up on something at play, nervously looking between the two of you as if someone is about to snap. 

And they aren’t too far off. 

“Katie. A word.”

Katie, in all her glory, is sitting with an arm laid over the couch, the other clutching at a beer as if everything is alright with the world. For most of the night she’s been acting nonchalant, as if she hasn’t been treating you, and your relationship, as a joke. 

Her response follows suit. 

She raises an eyebrow at you, face straight, expression not giving anything away. “I’m in the middle of something.”

Viv, who’s sitting across the table from her, puts her hand up, quick to drop the pen in her hand. “She’s all yours.”

The audible sigh that comes out of your girlfriend’s mouth is enough for the entire room to freeze and stiffen. All head’s turn at the growl-like sound that comes out of your mouth. 

“Kitchen. Now.”

Katie’s eye twitching is the only indication of the storm brewing within her head. She gets up without a word, silently following you into the kitchen. 

The sound of the door swinging shut behind the two of you acts as a trigger point, you whirling around and pinning your lover with a scathing look the second it closes.

“Why are you like this?” you hiss, arms crossing in anger as you take in your girlfriend.

Katie frowns, eyes narrowing. “I don’t like her.”

You roll your eyes in response. “She’s our teammate, Katie.”

“I don’t like her!” she repeats, ire growing with every word. 

“Katie.”

It’s almost childlike, the way she stomps her foot, arms coming up to mirror yours. 

“Leah is my best friend,” you sigh, almost as if the reaffirmation of your relationship with the English captain would bring any relief to Katie. 

You’re a fool to think it would.

“And I’m your girlfriend.”

It’s starting to sound a lot like a whine, her possessiveness. The set in your jaw tells Katie just how amusing you find the whole thing. Spoiler, not much.

Before you have a chance to say much more, there’s a bang behind the two of you.

A flash of blonde hair comes streaking in, the very subject of your conversation coming into view. Leah throws an arm around your shoulder, quickly pulling you into her side. 

“Williamson.” Just the acknowledgement of your friend is enough for a grimace to form on Katie’s face.

“McCabe.” Leah meets Katie’s greeting with the same energy, eyebrow raising in challenge.

It’s silent for a moment as the two of them size each other up.

The longer Leah’s arm remains draped over your shoulder, the more you can see the metaphorical steam rise from Katie’s ears. You’re just about to break the air when Leah lets out a sharp click of her tongue. 

Katie scowls, hackles rising in response. “Are you just going to--”

“Suck it up, McCabe,” Leah rolls her eyes. “The two of you are literally glued together 24/7. You’re not going to miss much if you give me (Y/N) for the night.”

“You have a lot of nerve--”

“Once a month. That’s literally all I ever ask for.”

“I’m not one for sharing, Williamson! That is not the type of relationship I signed up for.”

“There’s no need to be so dramatic,” Leah tuts, arm tightening around you. 

When Katie shoots you a scandalized look, you have to shrug in response. “Mates before dates.” 

“Us Milton Keynes girls have to stick together.” Leah grins, hand dropping to receive the fist bump you send her way. 

It’s hard to stifle the twitch of your lips at the way Katie’s face twists into a pout. “Babe!” Katie turns her attention onto you, but you’re quick to shake your head. 

“You’re not going to find any support here, Katie. I’ve been dying to be on Leah’s team for weeks now.”

“Where’s the loyalty?” Katie groans. “First Cait ups and leaves me, and now you too?”

“Don’t give me any of that. Don’t pretend you wouldn’t drop me for Caitlin in a heartbeat,” you laugh. “You’re just afraid we’re going to beat your ass at pictionary. And Caitlin abandoned ship with good foresight. The two of you were going down long before Kimmy told us it was time to switch up our pairs.”

“Too many game nights dominated by Viv and Beth would do that,” Leah sighs, head dropping onto your shoulder with fake dramatics. “Rest in peace their streak, it’s time for the MK girls’ reign.”

Katie frowns, but whatever she’s about to say is interrupted when the door opens behind you again. The three of you turn to see Lia staring right back at you, hands propped up on her hips. 

No words are spoken, but just her gaze alone is enough for all of you to feel chastised. 

You swallow. “Wally--”

“Okay, enough is enough. (Y/N), you’re with me.” Lia ignores Leah’s protests, grabbing you by the hand and yanking you away from your best friend. 

A hand coming up stops Katie before she can give her input as well. 

“Congratulations, Katie, Leah, the two of you will make a great pair. (Y/N)’s my partner, the two of you are each other’s, and game night can continue without any more interruptions.”

Both girls turn to you, as if you’ll help defend their cases, but you grin, snuggling into the Swiss woman’s side. “Well you heard her, go, get. Don’t leave the other girls waiting.”

When you and Lia end up destroying everyone at pictionary and the three games that follow, Katie and Leah are only left to mumble their grievances under their breaths to each other. You send your girlfriend an air kiss, knowing full well you’re going to pay for it later when you get back to the privacy of your bedroom. 

Sometimes Katie’s possessiveness can be a bit taxing. Other times it comes with… treats that you and your girlfriend can both find enjoyable. 

And sharing is caring, of course, especially when it comes with such delicious consequences.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Bright Eyes | 3

Part 1 2

Prince Aemond's marriage was borne out of necessity and political advantage. Let it never be said that he did not know duty, for duty was what kept Aemond Targaryen grounded. But in truth, the prince felt cheated by the match, for he felt his wife was getting scraps as her dowry. After all, she was chosen for him because of her family's wealth and resources. It was then rather scandalous when the icy prince became temperate to his bride.

Aemond Targaryen x Reader | 2k+ | cw: fem!reader, arranged marriage au, smut (vaginal penetration, breeding kink), jealousy, reluctant lovers ig, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: This is part of the 'house of the dragon big bang celebration' that's also available on AO3 and my art was made by @ewanmitchellcrumbs

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @delicious-xx @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony @risefallrise @slavyanskiyahui @thebullship @sa3losa @toodlesxcuddles @shygardengalaxy

For the past weeks, Aemond had been unknowingly attending a play. He had not realized he was an avid watcher until he caught two servants muttering to each other about the very observations he had: the princess is an odd one.

The realization came about when a lord visited The Keep, dressed in a ridiculous cape and a large flower broach. The man had concerns for his village and aired his errs with the king. Or he would have, except the king would not see him, or rather could not; Viserys was too busy wasting away. The Lord Hand could not see him either, nor did any lord in the king's council, all of them preoccupied with something else.

His older brother, Aegon, with a head powered by mead, could not possibly entertain the lord. So, that left him.

Except he was not there when this poorly dressed fellow came to King's Landing, and so, naturally, his wife that attended to this man who awaited his return.

Aemond had asked those two servants where his wife was upon returning and not finding her in the usual places she stayed. The women explained the situation and said you were showing a lord around The Keep.

With a raised brow, Aemond asked if the Lord was from a major house, and the servants said no. In fact, he was from a house that's serves under his wife's. They then both expressed mutual befuddlement on why the princess acted as though that were not the case. 

Aemond listened to how the servants went about how the pompous prick of a lord talked about the scenery of his home soil, and how he would gladly host her there to experience it, and the princess never once mentioned that she has seen all the sights he'd boasted about.

Irritation grew within him as he walked around the palace looking for his bride and the rat she was touring. Upon spotting them, he froze in his spot when he witnessed the lord pluck a flower from a bush and hand it to his wife. His eye twitches when she accepts.

She smiles and mutters something to him, making him laugh and Aemond finally storm over. She places the flower on the man's cape, which makes him strike a pose.

They're both laughing when Aemond comes up to them.

Once he's made his presence known, the man immediately bows and begins to drone about how good of a host his wife was. Aemond impatiently tells him he knows all about why he was here, tells him he'll speak to the king, then dismisses him, taking his wife by the hand as he did.

They get to their chambers. Aemond finds he is visibly annoyed, given how his wife gently pacified him. He doesn't know why he doesn't rip his arm out of her grip when she touched him, nor why his glare softened when he looked at her.

She sits them down on the side of their bed. At this point, the ire in his belly out.

"How was your ride on Vhagar?" she asks, taking his hand and placing it on her lap.

Aemond looks at her face then his hand, cradled in hers. He holds her wrist for a second then sighs, "fine."

"That's good. I was concerned when it drizzled."

"It did not where I rode," Aemond lifts his gaze.

He watches her nod then averts his attention back on his hand on her lap. He rubs the fabric of her skirts.

"I have given quite a few solutions to Lord-"

"Do not speak of him to me," Aemond quips. His hand on her skirt grabs the fabric. He lifts his eye up to her face, "I have my hand on your lap."

She opens her mouth but says nothing.

Aemond's focus is on her lips now.

"I beg your pardon, my prince."

Aemond leans closer, "as you should."

They kiss and Aemond immediately rips her skirts up. He heaves and pushes her down on the bed. There is a fire within him that can only be put out by the wetness of her cunt.

As much as he wanted to strip her naked, he could not wait. He tugs his pants down and barely even gets her smallclothes past her knees when he started to fuck her.

He presses her legs to her chest and traps her beneath him. The sound of her cries further fuel his depravity. He thrusts faster, squeezing her thighs to keep her put under him.

"Whose children will you sire?" Aemond presses.

He watches her squirm and whimper. He snaps his hips rougher, demanding an answer.

She digs her nails into the sheets and whines out his name.

"Louder."

"Yours, Aemond," she barely has the breath to say.

Aemond makes her cry out his name until she comes undone. The feeling of her tightening around him makes his body flush with a greediness. His head spins with the thought of her being filled by him, and it sequentially pushes him to his peak.

He spills into her just as he feels whatever was pent up inside him spill out. As he slows and stops, the craze that powered his mind fades; he finally has the mind to strip her naked.

Aemond rips her smallclothes off, her footwear, then his top. He throws them all off the bed. He grabs her by the bodice and sits her up on his lap, unwilling to be separated as he rids her of her dress.

He can hear her heart pulsing as works on her laces of her corset.

He doesn't speak, but he looks at her with something akin to desperation. Was this jealousy?

The thought makes him dig his fingernails into her back. The way she moans and tightens her thighs around him makes him realize he doesn't care if he was.

He gulps when she mutters, "my prince."

I cannot help the laugh that leaves me when the Queen coos and pulls me into a tight embrace. I smile from ear to ear as I wrap my arms around Queen Alicent. Her warmth was comforting, even more so her whispers, "oh... well done, my sweet girl."

My chest tightens at her praise. I involuntarily feel my eyes water.

When she pulls away, her pout flips into a faint smile. She cups my cheeks and rubs my skin, "well done."

I nod and blink away the tears that were forming.

"Have you told Aemond?"

I shake my head, "he is on dragonback. I will tell him when he returns."

She nods and rubs my arms, "good. Tell him at once," she clasps her hands together, "add that the Queen advices him to lessen his dragon rides."

"Of course, mother," I curtsy.

With that, Alicent gives one last look, and resumes what she was doing before I came to her chambers.

I decide to head to the gardens as I await the return of my husband. On my way there, I rub my belly and fantasize about his reactions to the news. I'm sure he'd be relieved to know I was finally with child, and yet I wonder if he'd be... happy.

"My lady."

I avert my attention to the man in the garden. It was the same flamboyantly dressed man who I had met a moon ago.

Before I can respond, he walks over to me and extends a hand. I politely take it and maintain a smile as he gives and exaggerated bow before he kissing my hand.

When he does not release me right away, I pull out of his grip. I play it off with a smile, "to what do I owe the honor, my lord?"

The man gives a grin, "you forgot to mention when we met that you belong to the greater House that presides my village."

I offer a chuckle. Before I can respond though, he's speaking again.

"You've made me ramble like a fool about places you grew up going to," he raises his brows.

Once more, he continues to speak before I even open my mouth, "my ego is quite bruised, my lady. Whatever could be done about that?"

The smile on my lips thin as he gives me a hurt expression.

And yet, he gives me no opportunity to even speak on the matter. The Lord waves his hands and shakes his head, "no matter. I've come here to make amends." He raises his hands to prove a point, "for the sake of my pride."

At this point, I don't try to get a word in and merely nod.

He smirks and pulls out a letter from his breast pocket and, again, bows deeply as he hands it to me.

I stare at what appeared to be a letter bearing my father's sigil and link my fingers together, "and what is this thing you've brought to make amends?"

The man straightens up and somehow looks confused by my question. He purses his lips and waves the letter as he speaks, "a letter from your mother, of course."

My brows knit.

"I was instructed to have it delivered to you with great urgency and discretion," he brings the letter towards me again.

I hesitate, but take the letter and read its contents. Sure enough, it was from my mother, clear from the writing, its contents, and even the paper that was used. My stomach rolls at her words. My throat tightens, and my mouth goes dry.

Yet again, she write meticulous instruction for the benefit of conceiving. And though she expressed no direct disappointment, this letter was mere proof of it, a reminder of my continuous shortcomings.

The man before me looks with concern.

I erase the worry on my face with a smile. I bow my head to him, "thank you for your services, my lord."

The man bows lowly once again. He then gives a prolonged smile where I expected him to leave.

I grin wider, "I will not kee-"

"Pardon-" he cuts me off.

My brows quirk.

"-me, milady," he tilts his head in regard, "but might I know what it is your mother wrote?"

My expression drops, "what?"

He motions aimlessly with his hand and shakes his head, "well, you see, I went through a great many lengths to get here as soon as possible."

I cannot contain my look of disbelief as he steps closer and adds, "I do think it is within reason for me to know what was written. After all, I could have read it myself, but you see, I did not."

"I do not think it is possible, my lord," I affirm, "nor appropriate that I divulge the private words of my mother to a stranger."

"My lady! I am not a stranger," he laughs as he places a hand on his chest, "I am-"

"A dead man walking."

Black leather and blonde hair floods my vision. As quickly as a gasp leaves me, I realize my husband yanked me back to come between us. I hear a choking and the sound of soles skidding against gravel.

Aemond holds a knife against the man's neck, already nicking it with how tightly he pressed it against him.

The man squawks, "my prince-"

"Correct," he nods in approval, "I am the prince, and the woman I am married to is my princess. You will address her as such."

"O-" he chokes as he is forced down. His hands flare out, not knowing what to do with them, "of course."

I watch as my husband makes the man wobble back. My breathing grows heavy with every move. I follow after them but make no attempt to intervene.

"You see," Aemond mutters, "my princess is too kind for her own good. She's learned to make due with the short end of the stick."

A bead of blood trickles down the man's throat.

"Mmm," the prince hums.

I squeal when the lord yelps from being forced down on his knees.

"I do not share in her naiveté. I'll force the stick out of your hand and beat you with it."

The man shudders, "my prince-"

"Evidently, I am unopposed to violence."

I grab the back of the prince's coat, "Aemond."

Aemond ignores me. He clenches his jaw then releases the man with a shove.

My husband wipes his blade on his sleeve then sheathes it. I come to his side and take his arm. I am ignored still, his eyes locked on the man before him.

Aemon raises his brows in offence, "quickly, jobbernowl."

The man looks at the prince, terrified.

"Or must I chase you and make a meal out of your-"

Aemond does not continue as the man effectively scrambled to his feet and ran as fast as he could.

We both watch as he disappears. Once he was out of sight, he finally turns to me. His lone eye roves my body, and once it lands on my face, I am unable to hold it.

I turn to my feet, fidgeting with my letter.

He takes the letter from my hands.

My lips part. I take in a breath before explaining, "my mother sent it. She said-"

"I did not enquire."

I watch as my husband folds the parchment and places it back into its envelope. He takes my hand and returns my letter. My heart quickens when he does not release me.

I muster the courage to look up at him.

"Why do you do that?"

I inhale deeply, "...do what?"

"Permit audacity."

I press my lips into a line

"Have charlatans take you for a fool."

I shake my head and turn back to my feet, "I'm not a fool."

"I know that," Aemond lowers his head to hold my gaze, "you are the bride of a prince. You should not stand to be trampled, if not for your own sake, for mine."

"I-"

He takes my chin and lifts my gaze. I behold his disapproving look.

"It will not happen again," I say.

He releases me and tilts his head, "good." He clasps his hands behind him, "still. Answer my question."

I turn to the letter in my hand then back to him. I explain, "solace is found after bloodshed. Peace achieved through forced is futile."

Aemond makes a face then chuckles dryly. He shakes his head, "so you would face the wrath of a dragon in hopes it will spare you after?"

I press my lips into a smile, "it would be an honor to behold such ferocity."

He scoffs. A line forms between his brows. His face contorts so much his eyepatch shifts a fraction out of place.

I place a hand on his cheek. I fix his patch and huff whilst smiling, "how fortunate to know I am on the other side of the flames."

The prince stares at me for a moment. I fix his hair as well before pulling away.

"I will not always be there," he takes my wrist, "what if they hurt you before I hurt them?"

My body grows warm, at both his touch and his sentiment. The smile on my face grows, "then I would hope you arrive before then."

Aemond groans. He lowers my hand, "no. That cannot be a probability."

"My prince. You needn't-"

"From now on, if you are not within my gaze, you will have a guard hot on your heels."

I decide not to argue, seeing the severity of his expression. I smile in response.

"And in your spare time, I will teach you how to use a dagger."

I blink at his words but ultimately nod, "if it pleases you."

Aemond says nothing more, but he is clearly still uneasy. I take his arm and lead him into the garden.

He and I walk in silence for a moment, watching as the wind blows through the leaves of the flora.

"I would not have you hardened," he says, making me turn to him. His eyes remain fixed in front, "I would have you strengthened."

I take in the shape of his nose and think about how our children would inherit it. I smile at the thought.

"I am with child."

He stops in his tracks. He takes a second before turning to me.

I smile grows, "all the more reason to teach me, no?"

Aemond looks down as I take his hands in mine. He looks up at me and nods, "indeed."

[factorydefaultlu]

Could you do an aemond x reader, kind of linked to the one you did about his eye but instead the reader finds the patch sexy and won't stop staring at him so he thinks she's disgusted by him like everyone else

Beauty and the Beast Pt. II

Link to Pt. I

Link to Pt. III

Content warning: mentions of rape

(there will be a spicy yet fluffy part 3 soon!)

Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

The following day after the Lady had heard Aemond and his brother talking, she struggled to come to terms with her feelings. Not only was Aemond scarred, he was a prince. Yes, she was from a noble house, but that didn't mean that the King would allow a betrothal to his son. She could be his mistress if it ever came to it. She blushed at that thought, how scandalous would that be. Although if Aegon is right and no woman would want to bed Aemond, then she could satisfy him. Having him all to herself mad her heart soar and stomach tingle.

She started to roam the halls every free chance she got. Hoping to run into Aemond, or even catch a glimpse of him. Finally when she was about to give up and go find Helaena she saw him. He had turned a corner, walking quickly. The Lady had swiftly moved against the wall, as not to be in his way. He noticed this and stopped abruptly. Turning to her, ire seeping from his entire being.

"Why is it that ladies like you are disgusted by me. Are you so full of yourselves that you can't see past a flaw. I'm missing an eye, not morals. Plenty of unscathed, handsome men would sooner put you to the stake than marry you. Some would even take advantage of you. Rape you every chance they got, and strangle you if you cried." Aemond's chest was heaving with anger, his words spit out like dragon fire. In his rant he had moved closer to her. The Lady was frozen in fear, she didn't think he would hurt her, no; She felt bad about how he sees himself, how he thinks he's lesser because of his looks.

"No I-I just wanted to get out of your way, I didn't mean to offend. I apologize if I did anything wrong." her words shook as she spoke. Aemond was a mere foot from her, his jaw tense. "What is it that's wrong with me?" he asked, trembling. The Lady looked up at his face, his eye full of tears, threatening to spill. "Nothing at all, my prince." she whispered and brought her hand up to touch the cheek under his patch. He seemed to flinch away, like a kicked dog, however he allowed her to rest her hand on his face. The Lady rubbed her thumb over the part of his scar that peaked out from under his patch.

Aemond moved closer, placing his hands on her waist hesitantly. "It alright, you won't hurt me." she whispered and gripped his wrist, leading his hand to the small of her back. "You're not scared?" he leaned in closer and pressed his lips to the shell of her ear. The Lady shivered "I'm scared for you." she whispered. "People are cruel, they don't deserve you." she leaned into his neck, pressing her lips to his skin. They stood there like that for a while, basking in the embrace of each other. "Oh, well well. What have we here." the couple jumped back from one another. Aegon sauntered down the hall, flagon of wine in his hand. He was drunk, what was new. "Don't let me interupt, I was hoping it'd get good." he smirked, and Aemond stepped towards him. "Shut up, you saw nothing. You will say nothing." Aemond said in a threatening tone. "Or what, you'll take my eye?" Aegon jeered. "You'd certainly look better." Aemond responded and walked past him disappearing down the corridor. The Lady quickly bowed to the prince and rushed off.

She had not seen Aemond for days after what they shared in the hall. She worried she had aggrieved him in some way, and wished she could apologize. She hadn't seen him at family dinners, or in the gardens. She was apprehensive about approaching him in his chambers, but surely there was no where else he'd be.

The sun was setting and the Lady pattered quickly and quietly to the prince's room. Red and yellow light poured from the windows in the hall. She approached the large wooden door, she held her breath and rapped her knuckles lightly on the wood. Shuffling was heard inside, and soon the door swung open. "Please, leave me-" Aemond stood there shocked when he saw who it was, expecting a servant his mouth was slightly agape. The Lady looked him over, she had never seen him this way before. His silver hair was down, framing his face. His shirt unbuttoned, shoes off. Most noticeably his patch was missing and his sapphire was gone.

Aemond immediately turned face away from the Lady, in a feeble attempt to hide his eye. "My lady, what do you need from me at this hour." he seemed nervous, afraid. "I haven't seen you for days. I was worried." she stepped into the doorway and Aemond took a step back from her. He felt as he had the night he lost his eye. Trapped.

"I-I haven't been feeling well. That's all." Aemond had completely turned his back to her. "I'm sorry if I've offended you in some way, or hurt you the last time we spoke." the Lady furrowed her eyebrows, she reached a delicate hand out and laid it to rest on Aemond's shoulder. He flinched, "Please don't pity me to make me feel better. I know what I look like." his voice shook. "I don't pity you, and I know what you look like too. You have gently curved nose, dimples on either side of your lips. Your eyes a light blue and you have silver hair." the Lady maneuvered her body so she was in front of him. She looked up at him, at his face. Tears streaked his cheeks, " I'm not afraid, your beauty never really scared me. I just couldn't put into words how it made me feel. But now I can, your beauty causes my heart to race and my stomach to flutter." her hands reached for his face, wipe his tears. Aemond shook as more tears spilled. He finally pulled her into a tight hug, wrapping his arms around her tightly and burying his face in her hair. She held him as he sobbed, rubbing circles on his arm and shushing him. He finally spoke.

"You don't know what they did to me."

* @discowizard88 @highexpectationsgurl @moonmaiden1996 *

[shattered-eagle]

Shattered Eagle RO Descriptions

Hi all, I got some questions on what the ROs look like and their personalities, so I thought I'd share what I had in mind while writing. All of the ROs are some shade of bisexual, if I hadn't noted that already.

Empress Julia Vitallia Hevernica: The Empress of Iudia is a forty-eight year old woman of average height, with a pale complexion and dark black hair on a slow but steady journey to silver. She has gray eyes which tend to bore icily into whoever she happens to be speaking with. Even as Empress, she has remained active from many years of military campaigning, with a fit and athletic physique. She tends to wear her hair short, barely reaching past her ears.

She is known to be cruel to her enemies, ruling through fear of her merciless wrath. Nevertheless, as a savvy politician, she takes care to project an image of harsh, yet fair, justice at her hand, if dealt with in good faith.

In her most personal relationships, Julia can often be more distant than she intends, as she seeks out understanding and care from her loved ones, despite her cold exterior. She is well known to be estranged from her husband.

Legate Antonius Lethungius/Amalrik Wulfhid: The general of the barbarian auxiliaries is a tall, clean shaven, forty year old man with a great blonde mane of hair. His once youthful good looks have, however, been marred by the scars of countless bloody wars. He has bright green eyes, flecked with a faint gold. A formidable foe in battle, he bears a strong and stout frame.

The Legate is half of 'civilized Iudia' and half of 'barbarous Gruthungia,' and everything from what clothes he wears to what accent he speaks with may change by the audience he finds himself in front of.

As a result, it is difficult to tell whether he is a a fierce, unbowed barbarian warrior, or a obedient, dutiful son of the Empire, an ambiguity is he seems content to maintain.

Ever careful about who he lets get too close, the Legate has been known to be somewhat aloof, trying to steer clear from personal relationships, supposedly out of his sense of obligation to his soldiers and their needs. His resultant lack of experience is then a source of embarrassment, though he does not let others know this readily.

Consul Consentia Plinia Dorcia: An older woman of fifty-five years old with a fair complexion, Consentia nevertheless has features that have aged as well as a fine vintage. Her dark brown hair, once near matching her brown eyes, has long since turned grey, however, reaching down a few inches past her shoulders.

Refusing the indulgences that many of the matrician class enjoy, Consentia is healthy and fit for her age, considering the long hours of work she tirelessly puts herself through for the business of the Senate.

Carrying elegance with her every step, she is well known to be polite and courteous to all in search of a new, more republican form of government, though she reserves ire for the 'barbarians' she views as emblematic of Iudia's decline. She is also a skilled orator, giving rousing speeches filled with carefully crafted rhetoric.

In her personal relationships, the Consul has been widowed for many years, having eschewed remarriage. Some whisper she has taken on a paramour or two in the past decades, though few socialites are brave enough to do more than speculate on the matter.

Tribune Ceto Vera: The Tribune is a forty-three year old woman with shoulder-length brown hair, an olive complexion and hazel eyes. Her features are calloused and weathered from her upbringing in the harsh streets of the slums of Kyro, an attribute most expressed in her scandalously low-class accent, a trait which she proudly bears even amongst the highest of matricians.

Though she stands rather short, Ceto carries a lean frame, her quick reflexes lending her a vicious talent with a dagger.

Despite her brusque demeanor and crude humor with the ladies of Kyro, however, she carries a talent for rousing the passions of the dispossessed and the discontented, using her criminal empire to generously reward those lending a voice to her populist cause, and ruthlessly make examples out of those who would refuse.

Ceto's personal life is shrouded from the knowledge of most, for all her shameless comments and advances she does not speak much on her past relationships. Nor of how she came to rise to power in the streets, both mysteries being either a source of regret or resentment for her.

Prince Darius of Pharia: Darius is a thirty-three year old man, standing at an average height, with black curly hair, a rich brown complexion, and a short and well groomed beard. In public, he bedecks himself in silks, radiant colors, and copious amounts of fine jewelry.

Trained as a warrior as any Prince should be, he is most skilled in the Pharian repeating crossbow, a curious invention that few Iudians have ever wielded.

Despite his status as a foreign hostage, the man has a charming, almost obsequious manner about him, inviting many dignitaries and notables of the capital for tea and idle talk at his embassy, which supposedly functions as his cage.

Darius often speaks of himself as an open book, and has carried on more than a few flings during his time in Iudia, though none have stuck around very long in the Prince's company.

[pendragonsclotpole]

succession but bruce wayne is 45 and tired of having to attend pointless board meetings when he’d much rather be plotting how to get rid of all the stupid money he has (he’s tried everything, invested all of his funds into gotham, secretly funded the justice league and hid it from his tax returns in hopes that the irs would bust him. spoiler: they don’t, they consider his anonymous donations to be charity AND WRITE HIM TAX BREAKS. he’s even given everyone at WE a living wage, offered free daycare, amazing healthcare, in hopes of making running WE so expensive it drives down profits, but all it does it ramp of productivity and stock prices. he’s in too deep. let one of his children handle it pls).

candidate #1: dick grayson-wayne, bruce wayne’s eldest boy, former cop, circus acrobat, college dropout and style icon (TM). he immediately takes himself out of the running when a pap keeps calling him “richard” and he shouts back “dick.” that’s his name, but no one cares. also his pics from his mullet era resurface. the world is never the same again and the board summarily agrees he’s too divisive.

candidate #2: jason todd-wayne. initially the main contender when alleged footage of him breaking into a very important wayne warehouse leaks. he’s shouting “reclaim the means of production.” wayne enterprise stock falls but the internet is in favor. he’s unfortunately taken out of the running as all legal records indicate—he’s dead? but there’s cute footage of a 13 year old jason todd ardently defending the historical accuracy and superb writing of jane austen’s pride and prejudice. he loudly proclaims he’ll marry mr. darcy at the end. his candidacy remains very popular and the internet starts publishing memes about converting to satanism and practicing necromancy to revive jason todd-wayne.

candidate #3: tim drake. a popular front runner for the old guard of gotham as tim’s also the heir of the drake fortune. unfortunately, he runs away screaming every time someone comes up to him asking about the possibility of taking over WE full time. a major scandal breaks out when he’s caught buying something in a shady alleyway, and people are convinced he’s another partying rich boy. until the full footage leaks and it’s revealed he was buying coffee beans from a barista in the alleyway behind a newly opened coffee shop. multiple coffee shops then make posts online that yes, bruce wayne has called each of them and offered them copious sums of money to NOT serve tim drake or anyone representing tim drake caffeinated drinks after 5pm and before 5pm. many of the videos feature framed photographs of fake wanted posters featuring a very tired looking tim. tim, on a caffeine withdrawal posts a tiktok ranting about the injustice of tyrannical parents think this energy:

and the hashtag save tim wayne trends.

candidate #4: damian wayne. except as a twelve year old he’s not really in the running, except he’s the only wayne by blood so some members of the board are gunning for him. one of them kidnaps him, huge mistake, and footage leaks of him chasing his kidnappers with a katana? appears. he’s officially out of the running but it also fuels calls for bruce to be liberated so he can actually parent his children. joke’s on them, damian’s damianess is 99% thanks to richard grayson.

candidate #5: cassandra cain-wayne. she takes herself out of the running but she’s a dark horse because everyone loves her youtube channel Cass Cayne and her business decisions for brand deals are top tier. bruce makes background appearances and the internet learns cass is def the favorite.

candidate #6: stephanie brown. she’s not a wayne? people think? are 99% sure? but like she’s always there? she dated tim drake? maybe? she calls bruce dad!

[emmaofnormandy]

~A Medieval Tale: The Rogue & His Lady. Part II~

Plot: Y/N is a damsel who captures the heart of a rogue, misunderstood prince named Aegon Targaryen in 14th century England… with no civil war to disarray the family.

It’s fluffy, very mediæval like; smut; long post.

(+21)

***

Even sun sets in paradise.

Clouds rumble in the skies, a sign of storm, a bad omen to all those who fear the ire of the divine. Many were the peaceful years of King Viserys’s reign. Some would incline to judge this monarch as fool, others, wise, good even.

Whatever epithet this king deserves, it goes to wind, blown away by the first evidences that peace is yet to be supplanted by something worse. What might that be… is yet to be found out.

With the sun eclipsed, new events are setting stage. Aegon and you are forced to be apart by these circumstances and you fear to remain a shadow in his memory, praying to the divine that he does not forsake you .

On his part, this redeemed prince has renewed his vows to you. But he’d come to find that easier is said than done for his attentions are required elsewhere. Demons are coming out to reclaim his soul and he’s the target of evil again.

Indeed, to be surrounded by such creatures requires an inner strength that a fragile faith cannot knock down. Here, Aegon finds difficult to shake ‘em off.

Oh why Lord hast thou forsaken me?

Masking his pain, his porcelain skin turns to ivory. Sweet Prince is now a king… who faces the opposition of partisans who threaten to replace him with Rhaenyra.

Where there is smoke, there is flame. And someone might get burnt.

You, despite yourself, feel inclined to let be consumed by these unnatural flames.

Already pained by how politics are preventing one to find the other, you swallow your pride and discreetly search for him.

Aegon is found in secretive talks to Lord Daeron, his brother and councilor, who thinks best to marry off his sister in order to prevent political troubles that could arise in her state— and none seems to suspect, though, that the Lady Rhaenyra is holding the reigns of her life by taking her own uncle, Lord Daemon Targaryen, as her husband.

How bold, the scandalized court would whisper.

Part of shadows, you are invisible to the eyes of men—and to those of the women, too. For who are you if not part of a nobility that few are familiar with? Your family possessions may give them some credit, but no name, no blood, nothing… could commend you to His Grace.

The tentacles of the Devil hereby try to persuade you of your insignificance, thus trying to work against the designs of the Cupid by pushing you away from him, the one your heart desires.

To the most pious, though, this is read as an announcement of a heavenly battle for two lost souls. Which one is going to be the victor?

One could only pray to fight away such impertinent demons…

But a soul when linked to the other is prompted to recognize its other significant half… regardless the crowd that tries to part them.

Which means to say that His Grace’s lilac eyes find the y/c eyes of yours. So lost. Plagued by this intermittent chaos.

In silence, screaming for the lover stolen.

“Lady Y/N!”

The stunned group of councillors, and here his relatives are included, follow the cause of the king’s disrupted distress.

To many, the evident surprise in their faces when seeing it is you the very reason why Aegon II is more concerned to a damsel than politics may lead to that old superstition, understood as a sort of common sense, which places the blame of wrongs in women… simply because they are not obeying the natural orders.

Regardless, spotlight is on. The Cupid dances, the Devil threatens. Fate is about to play deadly its cards.

“I could not reach out for you. I pray you forgive me for being…”

Even if staying at the center of this stage is something you do not wish for, it is too late to storm out. Your destiny escapes your hands, it’s been woven by the divine. This is all you know.

“Do not apologize, lord. There is nothing to be forgiven for”, you smile, but Aegon sees sadness in your irises. “What can we do before duty? Should be me the one to ask you forgiveness for my meekness, my spirit so prompted to be passional…”

“I see nothing in you to be faulted for. Reason cannot conceive it. Lady Y/N, I aim to reclaim not your body, even if it arises the desires of my flesh, but your soul, so only I before it can be whole.” He cups your face with his hands, in complete ignorance of his mother’s baffled countenance. “Even so, unworthy of thee as I am, take me not as king, but as a man.”

“Poet of mine heart”, you sigh, to the delight of the Goddess of Love who claps before this chaotic profession of most profound sentiments. “I could not refuse you, whether as a beggar, whether as a king. Likewise, my heart is yours to be commanded… despite my most inappropriate station.”

Aegon smiles and it is as if sun shines the brightest. To a general astonishment, the king loves. And such a love is above mortal, fable laws; above lust, inferior desires that have made no other victims than himself.

“I care naught about the laws of men, for I stand before them. My wife you will be, lady of this court, mistress of the realm”, says he in a tone that leaves no argument to it.

Devil is finally fought off. Victory is placed in the hands of Cupid. Heaven smiles below… even if skies remain grey still.

***

Nothing evokes a greater scandal than unexpected unions. Disregarding reason and every sensible advise, the king intends to make his word law of the realm.

All of this is suffice to say that making you his queen attracted great disapproval of the court. Something unseen since the days of Maegor the cruel.

But Aegon may be many things. Cruel he is not. And you are unlike any of his consorts.

Despite the gleefulness of finally being tied to Aegon, you know that working for peace is part of your queenship.

Therefore, days before the wedding you come after the dowager queen, lady Alicent Hightower. You hope to be as convincing as possible in arranging domestic peace, for you do this overall for the man you love—never forgetting, however, how uncommon this union is, out of the Targaryen inbred and hierarchically mismatched.

The redhaired lady, once praised for her piety and discreetion, who once possessed a crown over her head, welcomed you with distrust in her eyes—even if you see how queenly she is in manners. That is to reinforce the regal obligations one has… out of habit, perhaps, when dealing with others she is less… inclined to like.

“Madame the Queen”, you address her accordingly. “I thank you for welcoming your humble servant.”

Your speech definitely surprises the dowager queen. The lady Alicent has judged you as some sort of gold digger, who craved your nails in her son and whose manners were most undignified of Aegon—even if he is not, as she knows well, the great moral of her house.

However, when studying you, your modesty and meek speech, she realizes she’s been wrong. Not many could surprise Alicent Hightower, but you, Y/N Y/LN did.

“Please rise, child”, she softens towards you. “I am not a queen… not anymore.”

“One never ceases to be a queen, even if the crown is legated to another. You are the force behind this house, my lady. I would do harm to all of us if I only followed my heart.”

Wise move. Oh, this lady possesses a sharp wit. Certainly not like any of the mistresses Aegon had conquered to warm his bed.

And yet… hasn’t Lady Alicent been remembered of that heroine whom she admired, Isolde being the character’s name?

Though the dowager queen envied you for being who she aimed to be since the days of her girlhood, she is not unreasonable where you are concerned.

“I appreciate you come after me for that. I admit all of this caught me out of surprise, for little I expected seeing my son so besotted.”

You try smiling, charmingly if you dare.

“Indeed it has baffled me as well that the king considered me in high esteem. Unworthy as I am, I, however, feel likewise.”

“But you surely must be aware of his flaws”, the dowager queen could not help herself. You remind her of sweet Helaena, who, however, even in her sweetness had a driven force that led her elope with Aemond, her brother.

“I am, my queen. I do not love for the king he is, but for the man he is becoming. I too have my flaws.” The final card is yet to come… “Before the divine, we are inferior beings, all longing for redemption.”

The Queen smiles. You’ve succeeded in captivating her.

“This is very true. Sometimes… when we least expect, we come to learn that love sent from above is yet to redeem us all.”

From this day on, you and the dowager queen become close, perhaps occupying the vacant position left by the princess Helaena.

***

It is the ceremony day. Here you and Aegon are, lawfully married. A banquet is held on your honor, as well as tournaments are drawing high and low born men alike who spots in the jousts an opportunity to write their names in history.

Most want to be the lady Y/N’s champion, but you’ve already granted your favour to Lord Daeron, the king’s youngest brother, who used to be your childhood playmate.

As wine is poured in your silver glass, you and your lord husband speak as if there is just the two of you in a gold and green salon.

“I espoused you”, says he with his typical smug.

“Indeed”, you side smirk. “But I pray you are reminded daily that I was not any conquest of yours.”

“No”, he agrees, looking deep into your eyes as he takes your hand to his lips in a lingering kiss. “You are the redemption of a lost sinner, my lady.”

But this sweet, intimate moment is interrupted by Aemond’s boast.

“It appears”, he announces in his own way, “this is the moment we have all been waiting for. The bedding ceremony.”

You look away, crimson pink painting your cheeks all the whilst Aegon raises his eyebrows at his brother—though he’d indulge in lies if he didn’t admit he’d been looking to it. Perhaps too much for a man who until recently was slaved by his flesh.

*

A path of flowers follows your steps as the gentlewomen remove every piece of your green gown. Your carefully embroidered hair is now loose in your back and every jewel that embellished your skin is carefully removed.

Never before you felt so nude, so exposed. Specially under the cries and giggles of the ladies, some of which behave in what you judge to be somewhat in the old ways.

“Be merry, my dear. Today is the day your queenly duties begin”, someone tells you.

You smirk at them, but pay little attention to their sayings, detesting this exhibition. Until your mind suddenly goes blank before the view of perfection that stands right under your eyes.

Aegon Targaryen hasn’t seen you yet. Perhaps to drink away his nervousness, he downs his glass of wine. His hair is somewhat a mess, falling short down to his neck; but your eyes scan his muscles, perfectly shaped after years of sword training.

The lines of his body that reinforce his shape awake something different in you. And when he turns at you….

Your face goes instantly red.

“My queen”, and it doesn’t help you that he scans you with the eyes of a predator.

And you like it how he smirks and moves all the way to welcome you properly.

“You look beautiful like always”, his whisper is like a summer breeze, warming and cozy; his arms are like a fortress, strong and safe. “Do not shy away from me, my dear.”

He is right behind you, his arms snaking around your waist, thus involving you in between. His chin is resting over your shoulder, his lilac eyes staring at your heart-shaped face as he uses one hand to play with your hair all the whilst the other is resting over your belly.

“You are gifted with a beautiful out of this world. As a sinner, I should not dare to look at you, but because of my weakness, I have my feebleness exposed.”

“Oh Aegon, you are no man, nor king, nor something in between. You are above all, and as your subject I boldly commend myself to you.”

Speeches are silent from the moment his lips meet your skin and your mouth drops in an “o” right as you give in under his touch. His slender fingers caressing your belly, squeezing gently your waist before cupping your breasts make you experiment—truthfully this time—this dragon fire.

And you want to get burnt so desperately.

“Aegon…”, you moan softly, dropping your head at shoulders.

Sinful has never been so tempting. Where there is a flame someone is about to get burnt, and you place yourself willingly in this position, notwithstanding the morals of the Church against lust and the dangerous of having pleasure in marital bed—everything must be balanced.

You certainly do not feel condemned by any means when he’s kissing your neck and cupping your breasts; nor guilty when his tongue paces slowly towards your neck.

Aegon too revives his old self, though he is now controlling his lust, not the other way around. As when he lowers his right hand and through forest he finds waterfall in you, diving in you and together finding pleasure in sin.

“Oh yes”, he groans in your ear, pleased to please you. “Give yourself to me, my dear”.

When your gazes meet, you know it’s your end. You are doomed.

And Aegon, has truthfully been tamed.

***

As when sun and moon meet, so it occurs a significant event the moment your body meets his. When he holds your thighs and pushes within you, when he looks at you with a mix of love and lust… you know it’s nothing regular.

It’s supernatural.

Divine.

Like when Mars met Venus and in her he planted his seeds, so the king plants his in you.

When does profanity begin? When does sacred end? A line so fragile between extremes is yet to be traced.

But one gaze, one kiss… one bliss is enough to bring altogether what has ever been apart.

Victory thus falls upon the hands of the Cupid, and Heavens will too bless this unique match. No one could have foretold the plans of the divine… as no one could have fought them either.

***

• Epilogue.

The king sits on his throne, eyes glued on his dancing queen. A smile dances over his lips, some might say Lady Y/N is a witch.

A love for a crown?

A crown for love?

When all eyes are set on their offspring, doubts are quietened. A pair of twins is seen dancing with their mother, whilst another, the elder and heir, is found by his father’s side.

All is well that ends up well… with you.

Aegon smiles. Against all wishes, the peace he provides. And he rises, uncontestedly victorious.

Their family is yet to grow further, with Lady Y/N, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, mothering at least ten more children. Their lives will last… until spring comes and summer passes.

During the autumn of life, when marriages thrive, you outlive your husband only to see Jaehaerys II with Jaehaera by his side.

Thus it is how this Targaryen line survives…