#Maelstrom Command | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dreamersworldduh · 3 days ago

Note

Is requests still open? If yes, can you make a Hal Jordan x M!Reader where the reader is also the member of the JL (It decided by you his powers), and Hal is casually admiring him then eventually asked to go on a date with him with a touch of smut on the end.

Sorry if I may ask for too much, please. Just take your time!! And also, love your fics!! ^^

SECRET ADMIRER

• HAL JORDAN x MALE READER

SUMMARY — Hal Jordan never expected to fall this hard. What started as playful admiration of Y/N's extraordinary power and effortless grace on the battlefield quickly turned into something more. From flirtatious banter during Justice League missions to an unforgettable first date, Hal found himself drawn deeper into Y/N's orbit. Their chemistry was undeniable, their connection effortless, and soon, one night together turned into something more��something real.

WARNING! 18+ MDNI. Suggestive Langauge. Violence. Swearing.

WORDS! 9.6k

AUTHOR'S NOTE! Sorry about the delay, but I have fallen for Nathan Scott and I have been writing about him for a bit, daydreaming but don’t worry I’m checking back into reality. Anywho, enjoy your reading✨🫶🏽

The battlefield was a maelstrom of destruction, a chaotic symphony of clashing energies, monstrous war cries, and the distant rumble of collapsing structures. Hal Jordan stood at the heart of it, his emerald-clad form unwavering as he scanned the battlefield. His sharp green eyes locked onto Y/N, a mixture of admiration and intrigue flickering within them. He had witnessed countless warriors, battled cosmic titans, and stood against the wrath of gods, yet something about Y/N was... different.

Y/N stood amidst the chaos like a beacon of untamed power, an enigma of both human resilience and Anodite supremacy. He was neither fully mortal nor fully ethereal, yet he commanded the raw, boundless energies of the universe as though they were an extension of his own will. His body shimmered with an aura of undiluted mana, a luminous cascade shifting seamlessly between hues of deep violet, iridescent indigo, and brilliant silver. The very air around him pulsed and crackled with an intensity that made the fabric of reality quiver in his presence, as if space itself bent in deference to his power.

As the enemy forces—grotesque, otherworldly invaders from the farthest reaches of space—swarmed forward in a frenzied wave, their monstrous forms blotting out the light, Y/N barely flinched. His fingers twitched, a faint glow igniting at his fingertips before flaring into a blinding, celestial blaze. Without a single wasted motion, he raised a hand, and the energy obeyed like an extension of his soul.

A tidal wave of unfiltered mana erupted from his palm, cascading forward with an elegance that bordered on divine. It surged across the battlefield, a radiant force of destruction and beauty, sweeping through the advancing horde like a cleansing fire. The invaders were obliterated on contact, their forms dissolving into nothingness, leaving only the lingering echoes of their existence in the wind. For a fleeting moment, silence fell over the battlefield, the only illumination coming from the ethereal afterglow of Y/N's unleashed might.

Hal exhaled, leaning against a floating construct of his own creation—a luminous green platform, solid yet weightless under his touch. His arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable as he studied Y/N. Unlike most warriors, who fought with grit, rage, or desperation, Y/N wielded his power with an effortless grace. Every movement was precise, deliberate, as if he were composing an intricate symphony rather than engaging in a battle for survival.

It was mesmerizing.

"You make this look easy," Hal finally remarked, his smirk barely concealing the awe in his voice. The glow of his power ring flickered against the radiant light of Y/N's swirling mana, two forces of unimaginable power coexisting in perfect contrast—one forged by will, the other by sheer, unrelenting magic.

Y/N turned slightly, his eyes gleaming like distant stars, depths of wisdom and unspoken power lurking beneath their gaze. The energy coursing around him swirled and coiled like a living entity, responding to his presence, attuned to his every thought. There was something both intimidating and fascinating about the way he carried himself—unshaken, assured, as if he had long since come to terms with the enormity of his existence.

"It helps when you're part Anodite," he quipped, his voice laced with quiet amusement. There was a knowing smirk on his lips, one that spoke of experience beyond years, of a power so deeply ingrained in his being that it was as natural as breathing.

Hal chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. "Remind me not to get on your bad side."

But even as he spoke, his gaze lingered on Y/N, unable to pull away. It wasn't just the power, the elegance, or even the sheer destructive force Y/N wielded with such ease. It was something deeper—an essence, an unknowable brilliance that set him apart from anything Hal had ever encountered.

Y/N wasn't just strong.

He was something else entirely. A force that defied classification, a being that could tilt the scales of any battle with the flick of his wrist. And for the first time in a long, long while, Hal Jordan—Green Lantern of Sector 2814, a man who had faced the unimaginable—found himself in awe.

The battle was far from over, but as the next wave of enemies charged forward, Hal wasn't just thinking about victory anymore.

He was thinking about the sheer, terrifying, and extraordinary force that fought beside him.

Y/N moved like a celestial force given form, his presence exuding a raw, mesmerizing energy that bent reality itself. Each flick of his wrist sent dazzling arcs of mana cascading through the battlefield, tearing through the monstrous invaders with unrelenting precision. Their grotesque forms barely had time to register their destruction before they disintegrated into motes of nothingness, consumed by the sheer potency of his attacks.

Hal had encountered countless warriors, beings of immense power that could shake the cosmos with a thought—but Y/N? He was something else entirely. There was a seamless, almost artistic grace to the way he fought, as if the battlefield was his canvas and magic his brush. His every movement was controlled, deliberate, and yet carried an air of effortless mastery that Hal couldn't tear his eyes away from. And if he was being completely honest with himself, the way those pulses of glowing mana outlined Y/N's well-toned physique certainly didn't go unnoticed.

His admiring gaze was rudely interrupted by the sudden crackle of static in his earpiece, followed by a low, gravelly voice that carried every ounce of irritation one would expect.

"Jordan. Get your eyes off Y/N's ass and focus on taking down the creature."

Hal blinked, momentarily startled before a slow, amused smirk curled across his lips. He barely turned his head, still watching as Y/N dodged a hulking beast's attack with an effortless backflip, mana swirling around him in hypnotic waves. The smirk only grew.

"C'mon, Bats," Hal drawled lazily, leaning further into his construct as if he were watching an entertaining performance rather than an all-out war. "You're monitoring from the Watchtower. Don't tell me you're not at least a little impressed."

"That's not the point," Batman snapped, his tone carrying that signature mix of exasperation and barely restrained irritation. "The creature is still standing. Quit gawking and do your job."

Hal hummed noncommittally, but his attention was already drawn back to Y/N, who was currently dismantling another wave of enemies with almost casual ease. His luminous mana pulsed in rhythmic bursts, glowing embers of violet and silver lingering in the air like celestial dust. It was hypnotic—the way his body twisted and turned, dodging incoming attacks with liquid fluidity before retaliating with breathtaking precision.

With a knowing smirk, Hal finally responded, "Nah, Bats. He's got it under control."

On the other end, there was an audible sharp exhale, followed by what Hal could only assume was Batman pinching the bridge of his nose in sheer frustration.

Unbothered, Hal simply crossed his arms, tilting his head slightly as he continued his very important task of 'monitoring' Y/N. The way he fought—every movement sharp, yet fluid, exuding confidence in every strike—was damn near hypnotic.

"Man," Hal murmured to himself, ignoring the chaos still unfolding around him, "it's like watching a damn fireworks show. A really attractive one."

"I swear to god, Jordan—"

Hal, still grinning, cut the comm line before Batman could finish his impending threat. With the Dark Knight suitably ignored, Hal returned his full attention to the spectacle before him. After all, why interfere when perfection was at work?

The battlefield lay in eerie silence, the aftermath of battle lingering like the final notes of a war song. The once-roaring chaos had settled into an almost reverent stillness, the only remnants of the monstrous foe now nothing more than drifting embers of dissolved energy. The air remained thick with the scent of scorched earth, metallic ozone, and the residual charge of magic that had been unleashed moments prior. Wisps of violet and silver mana still crackled in the air like spectral fireflies, drawn toward Y/N's fingertips before dissipating into the void.

Y/N exhaled slowly, lowering his hand as the last flickers of power receded beneath his skin. His breathing was controlled, steady—though there was no denying the sheer force he had just wielded. His presence alone radiated energy, a quiet yet commanding force of nature.

From above, Hal Jordan let out a low, appreciative whistle, cutting through the tension like a blade. He remained casually perched against one of his glowing emerald constructs, arms crossed, his ever-present smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "Well," he drawled, "if that wasn't the most graceful ass-kicking I've ever seen, I don't know what is."

Y/N turned slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in mild amusement. "You could've helped, you know."

Hal pushed off his construct, activating his ring once more as he floated down beside Y/N, his green aura casting a soft glow against the residual shimmer of mana in the air. "Oh, trust me, I was helping." He grinned, gesturing toward himself with mock grandeur. "Moral support, expert-level commentary, and, most importantly, making sure you looked damn good while doing all the work. Arguably the most important job out here."

Y/N rolled his eyes, but there was no real annoyance in the motion. "Right. Sure, Jordan."

Hal chuckled, but there was something else in the way he looked at Y/N now—a lingering glint in his eye, something just beneath the surface that he wasn't quite ready to name.

With the battle won and the city below now secured, the two of them lifted effortlessly into the sky, breaking through the upper atmosphere with practiced ease. The world fell away behind them, fading into the vast stretch of space. Up here, beyond the chaos and destruction, the universe stretched infinitely before them, stars glimmering like scattered diamonds against the endless black. It was quiet, the kind of quiet that only existed in the void—heavy, yet peaceful.

Hal flew alongside Y/N, hands resting behind his head in a seemingly relaxed pose, though his gaze kept flicking toward him every so often. The glow of Y/N's mana still pulsed faintly around him, a subtle luminescence that made his features stand out against the cold backdrop of space. Hal felt something tighten in his chest—not in fear, not in unease, but something else. Something unfamiliar. He had seen power before. He had seen warriors, legends, gods. And yet, there was something about Y/N—his presence, his confidence, the way he carried himself like he belonged among the stars themselves—that made Hal pause.

He wasn't sure what it was. And frankly, he wasn't sure he wanted to analyze it too deeply just yet.

Instead, he opted for what he did best—charming, casual, and just a little reckless.

"So," Hal began, tilting his head slightly as he turned toward Y/N, "I was thinking... We've saved the world, kicked some serious ass, and probably made Bats roll his eyes so hard he's given himself a migraine." He paused, purely for dramatic effect, watching the faint curiosity spark in Y/N's expression before continuing, "Seems to me like we deserve a reward."

Y/N arched an eyebrow, smirking slightly. "And what exactly do you have in mind?"

Hal's grin widened, though there was something genuine behind it—something just a little less playful, a little less deflective. He shrugged, floating just a little closer. "Dinner. You, me, somewhere nice—preferably a place where we're not getting shot at, blasted, or dealing with some intergalactic nightmare." He raised an eyebrow. "What do you say?"

Y/N regarded him for a moment, as if considering, weighing the offer like one would a well-placed bet. Then, with a soft chuckle, he nodded. "Alright, Jordan. You're on."

Hal couldn't stop the surge of satisfaction that spread through him at those words. He wasn't entirely sure what this was—just a bit of fun, or maybe something more—but whatever it was, he was more than willing to find out.

As the Watchtower loomed in the distance, the stars reflecting in their eyes, Hal found himself looking forward to whatever came next.

As Y/N and Hal Jordan descended onto the Watchtower's pristine metallic flooring, the soft hum of their energy dissipated into the hushed stillness of the station. The docking bay, illuminated by the ambient glow of reinforced LED panels, stretched before them in sleek, futuristic elegance. Beyond the Watchtower's expansive windows, Earth hung suspended in the void—a breathtaking sphere of blue and white, small yet vibrant against the backdrop of infinite darkness. It was the kind of sight that could make anyone pause, that could remind even the most seasoned heroes of the beauty of the world they fought to protect.

But Hal Jordan was preoccupied with something far more intriguing.

"Well," Hal declared, rolling his shoulders with a lazy grin, "I'd say that was a hell of a team-up. We saved the day, looked damn good doing it, and—most importantly—I managed to score a date. All in all, not bad for a day's work."

Y/N chuckled, shaking his head as he ran a hand through his slightly tousled hair, a few errant strands still wild from the intensity of battle. "I don't know if I'd call it a 'team-up,' considering you spent most of the fight standing around and watching."

Hal gasped in mock offense, placing a hand over his chest as if wounded. "Hey now, I was tactically observing. You were putting on a whole damn light show out there—I didn't wanna interrupt the magic."

Y/N smirked but didn't press the argument. Instead, he stretched slightly, rolling out his shoulders before exhaling. "Right. Well, I'm gonna go wash up. See you later, Jordan."

With that, he turned on his heel and strode toward the locker rooms, the faint glow of residual mana still crackling in the air around him like distant static. Hal, however, remained standing where he was, hands on his hips, watching Y/N disappear down the corridor. A slow, smug smile crept onto his face.

Yeah. Today had been a very good day.

Without wasting another second, Hal pivoted and made his way toward the common area. He knew exactly who he needed to find.

As expected, Barry Allen was there, comfortably leaned back at one of the sleek, high-tech lounge tables, flipping through a stack of mission reports at super-speed. His fingers blurred as he rapidly scanned through the data, his mind processing information at an incomprehensible rate. Hal, of course, had absolutely zero interest in mission reports.

Clapping his hands together, he announced his arrival with the energy of someone who had just won the lottery.

"Barry, my guy," Hal drawled, dragging out the words as he strolled up with the confidence of a man who had just conquered Mount Olympus itself. "Guess who just landed himself a date with the most ridiculously powerful, unfairly attractive half-human, half-Anodite badass?"

Barry didn't even look up. "Please tell me it's not you."

"It is me."

Barry groaned audibly, finally setting the reports down before giving Hal a long, suffering stare. "Why do you sound so proud? You annoyed that poor guy into dating you, didn't you?"

Hal scoffed, placing a hand on his chest. "Absolutely not. It was pure charisma. Natural charm. Irresistible good looks."

Barry blinked once. "So, annoyance got you the date. Got it."

Before Hal could retaliate with a rebuttal, a much deeper, far more unimpressed voice cut through the air like a blade.

"Jordan."

Hal tensed slightly. He knew that voice. He also knew exactly how much trouble he was probably about to be in.

Turning slowly, he found Batman standing in the corner, arms crossed, the dark folds of his cape making him look as immovable as a statue. His glare was sharp, unwavering—silent, yet speaking volumes.

Hal coughed, attempting to school his expression into something casual. "Uh, hey there, Bats. You hear the good news?"

Batman's glare did not waver. "Yes. And I also heard you spent more time admiring Y/N than actually contributing to the fight."

Barry, who had previously been exasperated, suddenly perked up with an eager grin. "Oh, this I gotta hear."

Hal held up both hands in defense, his ring pulsing faintly as he gestured wildly. "Okay, first off—not true. I was supervising. Second, Y/N had everything under control. And third—" He smirked. "Can you blame me? The guy is a walking celestial light show with the body of a damn Greek statue."

Batman exhaled through his nose in what could only be described as the long-suffering sigh of a man trying very, very hard not to commit murder. "You're impossible."

Hal's grin widened. "And yet, completely lovable."

Batman turned sharply on his heel and walked away, his cape billowing in a dramatic flourish. He didn't say another word, but the tense way he carried himself screamed frustration.

Barry, meanwhile, had officially lost it. His laughter echoed through the room, full of unrestrained amusement. "Oh, man. I cannot wait to see how this date turns out."

Hal plopped down in the seat across from him, still grinning like he had just won a bet. "Trust me, Barry—neither can I."

The entrance of Celesté, one of Coast City's most renowned fine dining establishments, gleamed under the warm glow of golden chandeliers. The faint clink of crystal glasses and the soft murmur of refined conversation drifted through the air, punctuated by the lilting notes of a grand piano nestled in the corner. Everything about the place exuded elegance—from the impeccably dressed waitstaff to the delicate flicker of candlelight reflecting off polished silverware.

And standing at the entrance, adjusting the cuffs of his sleek black tuxedo, was Hal—a man who, under normal circumstances, would rather be in his flight suit or his Green Lantern uniform. Dressing up wasn't exactly his thing, but tonight? Tonight was different.

Tonight, he had a date with Y/N, and there was no way in hell he was half-assing it.

Despite his usual easy confidence, Hal found himself rolling his shoulders as if shaking off an invisible tension. It wasn't nerves, not really—he didn't do nerves—but there was an anticipation buzzing beneath his skin, a restless kind of excitement that had nothing to do with the mission reports he had totally ignored earlier that day.

He checked his watch, lips twitching into a smirk. Any second now.

And then—like the universe had been waiting for the perfect moment—Y/N stepped through the restaurant doors.

And Hal's breath? Yeah, it hitched.

The shift in the atmosphere was almost palpable. Y/N carried himself with an effortless confidence that commanded attention, but it was the way the tailored suit hugged his frame that made the whole thing downright unfair. The smooth, high-end fabric moved with him, accentuating sharp lines and quiet power, each stride filled with the kind of grace that couldn't be taught.

His hair was styled—refined enough to suit the occasion, but still holding just enough of that untamed edge to remind Hal exactly who he was dealing with. And that? That was dangerous.

For a moment, Hal just stared.

Holy. Hell.

Y/N's gaze swept across the restaurant before locking onto Hal, and just like that, Hal snapped out of it, forcing his signature cocky smirk back into place as if his brain hadn't short-circuited seconds earlier. He squared his shoulders, exuding every bit of the cool, effortless charm he was known for.

Showtime.

"Well, well," Hal drawled as Y/N came to a stop in front of him, his tone smooth, but his eyes shamelessly lingering for just a second longer than necessary. "I was already looking forward to tonight, but man—you just made my entire week."

Y/N let out a low chuckle, his lips curving into something amused, and Hal felt a flicker of satisfaction at the sound. "That so?"

Hal gestured with an exaggerated sweep of his hand. "I mean, look at you. That suit? Criminally good. You clean up ridiculously well, and frankly, I think it's kinda unfair to the rest of us."

Y/N arched an eyebrow, the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. "Coming from the guy who looks like he just walked off the cover of GQ?"

Hal's grin widened, preening just a little as he straightened his tie. "What can I say? I had to step up my game for you."

For a fleeting second, something flickered in Y/N's eyes—something warm, something genuine. It wasn't just amusement anymore; it was appreciation, maybe even something fond.

And that? That was a win.

Y/N exhaled softly, his voice smooth as he said, "Well, you did a good job."

Hal's grin turned just a little smug as he extended an arm in an exaggerated gentlemanly fashion. "Shall we?"

Y/N rolled his eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it. Instead, he took the offered arm, the warmth of his touch settling against Hal's suit sleeve, and together, they stepped further into the restaurant.

The golden candlelight flickered around them, the hushed ambiance of the room embracing them in an atmosphere of something undeniably electric.

And in that moment, as Hal walked beside the most ridiculously powerful, unfairly attractive, and completely intriguing person he had ever met—he knew one thing for certain.

This? This was already shaping up to be one hell of a night.

The soft hum of conversation wove through the elegant restaurant like a well-rehearsed symphony, mingling with the delicate clinking of silverware against fine china. The warm glow of flickering candlelight bathed the room in an intimate ambiance, its golden hues casting elongated shadows along the crisp white tablecloths. The air was rich with the tantalizing aroma of expertly crafted dishes, each plate an artful display of culinary mastery.

At the center of it all, seated at a secluded table near the window, were Hal Jordan and Y/N.

For once, they weren't warriors, they weren't heroes locked in battle—they were simply two people, enjoying the company of the other. No cosmic threats loomed over them, no urgent mission awaited. Just this moment, unburdened and uninterrupted.

Hal leaned back in his chair, his broad shoulders easing into the plush seat as he lazily swirled the deep red wine in his glass. The crimson liquid caught the candlelight, casting rippling reflections onto the table's surface. Gone was his usual cocky bravado—the one he wielded like a second skin in the field. Instead, he had settled into something more relaxed, the version of himself that only surfaced when there was no need to impress—not that he needed to.

After all, Y/N had already agreed to this date.

Across from him, Y/N looked effortlessly composed, his well-tailored suit somehow still pristine despite the long evening. Yet, there was something warm in the way he chuckled at Hal's last remark, amusement flickering in his eyes.

"So let me get this straight," Y/N said, setting his fork down with a smirk. "You crashed a fighter jet on purpose just to prove a point?"

Hal grinned, holding up a finger. "Technically, I landed it in a way that looked like a crash. Huge difference."

Y/N shook his head, his smirk deepening. "And your superiors just... let that slide?"

"Nah, they were too impressed I actually pulled it off." Hal leaned forward slightly, voice dropping into a smooth, conspiratorial tone. "Besides, I've always been good at getting out of trouble."

Y/N hummed, lifting his glass to his lips before taking a slow sip. "More like good at getting into trouble."

Hal laughed, tipping his glass toward him in a mock toast. "Fair enough." He set it down, resting his elbow on the table as his gaze softened with curiosity. "Alright, enough about me. I know what you're like in the field—calm, collected, freakishly powerful—but outside of the whole 'saving the world' thing, what's your deal? What do you do when you're not making Batman twitch with stress?"

Y/N smirked, clearly enjoying the question. "You mean when I'm not dealing with you flirting in the middle of a fight?"

Hal placed a hand over his heart, gasping dramatically. "Hey, I multi-task."

Y/N chuckled, leaning back slightly as he considered the question. "Honestly? I like the quiet. I spend so much time surrounded by chaos that when I finally get the chance, I just want to be somewhere peaceful. Reading, stargazing, finding those little moments where I don't have to be 'on' all the time."

Hal studied him, intrigued. "Huh. So you're the 'find peace in the little things' type?"

Y/N nodded slightly, twirling his glass absently between his fingers. "Something like that." He tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. "What about you? When you're not flying around with that power ring, what does Hal Jordan do to unwind?"

Hal smirked. "Besides annoying Batman?"

"Besides annoying Batman."

"Well," Hal tapped his fingers against the table, as if contemplating, before shrugging. "I like fast cars, good drinks, and making bad decisions in Vegas—sometimes all at the same time."

Y/N chuckled. "Somehow, that doesn't surprise me."

Hal grinned but then, after a pause, his smirk faded just slightly. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before finally adding, "But when I actually want to relax?" His fingers traced the rim of his wine glass before he admitted, "Flying."

Y/N lifted a curious brow.

"Not with the ring," Hal clarified. "Just flying. When I was a kid, my dad used to take me up in his jet, and ever since then, being in the air just... calms me down." He exhaled, a rare glimpse of sincerity slipping through. "It's the one place where it's just me, the sky, and nothing else. No responsibilities, no pressure, just freedom."

Y/N watched him carefully, his expression softening ever so slightly. "That actually makes a lot of sense."

Hal arched a brow, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Oh yeah?"

Y/N offered a small smile. "Yeah. You spend so much of your time fighting for everyone else. Guess it's only fair you have something that's just yours."

For a second, Hal blinked.

He was used to the banter, to the playful teasing, to keeping everything light—but this? This was understanding.

And it threw him off guard.

For a brief moment, neither of them spoke. But the silence wasn't awkward—it was comfortable, filled with unspoken words neither of them felt the need to voice. The candle between them flickered gently, its golden glow dancing along their features as a soft piano melody drifted in the background.

Then, because Hal Jordan had never been one to let a moment linger too long, he leaned back and grinned.

"Well, damn," he mused, flashing a charming smirk. "I was just trying to impress you with my whole 'deep, brooding pilot' side, but you actually went and got all insightful on me."

Y/N chuckled, shaking his head. "Don't worry, Jordan. You're still just as ridiculous as ever."

Hal smirked, lifting his glass. "And yet, here you are. On a date with me."

Y/N rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched into something fond as he clinked his glass against Hal's.

"Guess I must like ridiculous."

And just like that, Hal felt that same victorious spark again—but this time, it wasn't about the chase, or the flirtation, or the thrill of the moment.

This time, it was real.

And for once?

He wasn't in any rush to figure it out.

The city had settled into a quiet, comfortable rhythm, its usual chaos giving way to something far more tranquil. The distant hum of traffic blended seamlessly with the muffled sounds of laughter from late-night diners and the occasional honk of a car horn. A cool breeze drifted lazily through the streets, carrying the faint scent of rain-soaked pavement—a reminder of the earlier downpour that had long since dried beneath the glow of neon lights and streetlamps.

Beneath that glow, Hal Jordan and Y/N walked side by side, their pace unhurried, their footsteps in sync as they navigated the quiet streets.

Hal had long since abandoned the last remnants of his formal composure—his tie loosened, tuxedo jacket slung over his shoulder, and hands tucked casually into his pockets. The evening had gone better than even he had expected. Dinner had been incredible, conversation never dulled, and there was an undeniable energy lingering between them, something that had been simmering beneath the surface all night.

And Hal? He was in no hurry to let the night end just yet.

"You cannot tell me," Hal said, nudging Y/N's shoulder with a smirk, "that a guy like you doesn't have a list of crazy fan encounters."

Y/N shot him a questioning glance, amused.

Hal gestured broadly. "I mean, c'mon—you're a walking celestial light show. Someone's definitely tried to propose to you mid-battle before."

Y/N let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "Surprisingly, no. Though I did have someone try to start a cult around me once. That was... an experience."

Hal stumbled slightly, stopping in his tracks as he turned to gawk at Y/N. "A cult? Oh, now you have to tell me that story."

Y/N smirked, ever the enigma. "Maybe another time."

Hal groaned dramatically. "You're killing me here."

Their laughter softened, gradually fading into something quieter, something unspoken. The warm glow of the streetlights bathed them in golden hues as they reached the entrance of Y/N's apartment building. The polished glass doors reflected the city behind them, the moment suspended in time, as if the universe itself wasn't quite ready to let them go their separate ways.

They slowed to a stop, the space between them small, but charged.

Y/N slipped his hands into his pockets, glancing toward the doors before looking back at Hal. "Well... guess this is my stop."

Hal nodded, rocking back on his heels slightly. "Yeah... damn, and here I was, hoping this street just kept going forever."

Y/N's lips curved into a smirk. "Smooth, Jordan."

Hal flashed his most roguish grin. "I try." But there was something softer in his eyes now, something far more genuine than his usual bravado.

For a beat, Y/N just watched him, as if studying something about him he hadn't quite figured out yet. Then, without warning, he leaned in and placed a quick, teasing kiss against Hal's cheek.

"There," Y/N murmured as he pulled back, his voice laced with amusement. "Consider that your reward for not being too obnoxious tonight."

Hal froze for half a second, his brain short-circuiting before he blinked and turned to look at Y/N, a mixture of amusement and disbelief crossing his face. "Oh, that's dirty. You're really just gonna do that and walk away?"

Y/N tilted his head, pretending to think it over. And then—before Hal could process it—Y/N closed the distance again.

This time, it wasn't just a tease.

This time, it was a kiss—real, deliberate, and slow enough to make time itself hesitate.

It wasn't rushed, wasn't hesitant. It was confident. Certain. Like Y/N had decided something, and this was how he wanted Hal to know.

Hal barely had time to react before instinct took over—his fingers twitching with the urge to grab Y/N's waist, to pull him in, to deepen it. The city, the streetlights, the night itself—all of it faded into the background noise as Hal let himself get lost in it, in the feel of Y/N's lips against his, in the quiet intensity that had been simmering between them all night.

And then, too soon, Y/N pulled back, a smug little smirk tugging at his lips as he watched Hal try to process what just happened.

Hal blinked. Once. Twice.

Then, slowly, his lips stretched into a grin—one that was equal parts impressed and thoroughly wrecked.

"Okay..." Hal exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair as if to ground himself. "Yeah. Way better than the cheek kiss."

Y/N chuckled, his voice smooth. "Glad you approve."

Hal licked his lips absently, still feeling the ghost of the kiss there. "So, uh... where does that leave us?"

Y/N's smirk deepened just slightly as he reached for the door handle, pausing just long enough to glance at Hal with something undeniable in his gaze.

"It leaves us with you coming upstairs with me."

Hal blinked, then arched a brow, his grin widening. "Oh."

Y/N simply shrugged, but there was something teasing in his expression, something that said he knew exactly what he was doing. "Unless you'd rather go home and spend the rest of the night thinking about that kiss instead."

Hal let out a breath of laughter, shaking his head. "Nope. Absolutely not."

With that, Y/N pushed the door open, stepping inside with effortless ease, tilting his head slightly in a silent invitation.

And without hesitation, Hal followed.

The moment Y/N and Hal stepped inside the apartment, the door had barely clicked shut before Hal was on him. With a swift motion, he pressed Y/N back against the nearest wall, his body a solid, warm presence against him. The tension that had been simmering all night—through lingering glances, teasing words, and unspoken promises—snapped like a live wire, igniting something urgent, electric, inevitable.

Hal's hands found Y/N's waist, fingers pressing just firm enough to pull him in, as if closing the last inch of space between them was the only thing that mattered. Their lips crashed together in a kiss that was hungry, heated, laced with both impatience and purpose.

Y/N smirked against Hal's lips before flipping their positions in a blur of motion, suddenly pressing Hal back against the wall instead. The shift was seamless, a silent challenge exchanged between them.

"Eager, are we?" Y/N murmured, his breath warm against Hal's mouth, teasing, yet laced with something undeniably predatory.

Hal chuckled, the sound low and rough, his smirk never faltering. "You invited me up." His hands skimmed along Y/N's waist, palming the sharp lines of his hips before giving a light, suggestive squeeze. "What'd you think was gonna happen?"

Instead of answering, Y/N claimed his mouth again—but this time, the kiss was slower, deeper, dripping with something intoxicatingly deliberate. His fingers worked on the last bit of Hal's already loosened tie, pulling it free with practiced ease before his hands slid downward, working at the buttons of Hal's dress shirt.

Hal responded in kind, his own hands already tugging at Y/N's suit jacket, sliding it off broad shoulders and letting it pool onto the floor. Their movements were urgent, desperate, a battle of dominance wrapped in heated friction, neither wanting to slow down.

Somehow, in between kisses, between touches, Y/N guided Hal backward down the dimly lit hallway, their lips barely separating, their hands mapping every inch of exposed skin as they impatiently shed layers between them.

Hal let out a quiet groan when Y/N's hands slipped under his tuxedo jacket, pushing it off in one smooth motion before immediately tearing at the buttons of his shirt. The fabric slid down Hal's toned arms, exposing warm, sun-kissed skin, the sculpted planes of his chest now illuminated by the faint glow of the city skyline bleeding through the windows.

Y/N paused for just a second, his eyes trailing appreciatively over Hal's frame—not out of surprise, but undeniable appreciation.

Hal, noticing the moment, smirked, his breath still uneven. "You're staring," he teased, voice slightly breathless, though unmistakably cocky.

Y/N's lips curled into a smirk of his own, his fingers tracing slow, feather-light paths down Hal's abdomen before giving a firm push, guiding him backward until the mattress caught him. "You like the attention."

Hal grinned, reclining back on his elbows as Y/N climbed over him, the heat between them suffocatingly thick. "Can't blame you for looking." He reached for Y/N's own shirt, making quick, impatient work of the remaining buttons before pushing the fabric down broad shoulders. "But let's even the playing field."

With one final tug, Y/N's shirt joined the growing pile of discarded clothing on the floor, leaving them both bare from the waist up. The temperature between them spiked, skin meeting skin as their bodies pressed flush together in another kiss—this one slower, richer, deeper, filled with a quiet hunger that neither of them intended to leave unsatisfied.

Hal's fingers skimmed downward, his hands settling on Y/N's belt, pulling it free in one fluid motion. Y/N responded in kind, unbuckling Hal's belt and sliding it off with expert ease, the leather making a quiet whispered snap as it was discarded.

Their hands continued their exploration, neither wanting to waste a second, their movements fevered and searching—stripping away the last barriers between them one piece at a time until there was nothing left but bare skin, heat, and the raw pull of gravity between them.

Hal let his gaze sweep over Y/N, his smirk briefly faltering as something darker, more primal flickered in his emerald eyes. He had always known Y/N was powerful—he had fought beside him, seen him in battle, unmatched and untouchable—but this was something else entirely.

Y/N, catching Hal's gaze, arched a single brow, his smirk sharpening. "Not surprised."

Hal chuckled, dragging his hands down Y/N's sides, his thumbs grazing along the sharp cut of his hips. "Oh, you were thinking about it, huh?"

Y/N hummed, leaning in just enough that their lips barely brushed, a tease, a challenge. "I had my suspicions."

Hal's grin turned wicked, his fingers flexing deliberately against Y/N's waist. "Glad to know I didn't disappoint."

Y/N's fingers ghosted over Hal's chest, tracing the defined lines before pressing him back onto the mattress, their bodies following in one seamless motion. His voice was silky smooth, teasing, but dripping with something far more dangerous as he murmured,

"Let's see if you live up to the attitude."

Hal let out a low, pleased chuckle, his gaze dark with undisguised anticipation. He propped himself up just enough to meet Y/N's lips again, his hands already sliding over bare skin, tugging him closer, claiming him with the same reckless confidence that had always defined him.

"Oh, trust me," Hal murmured against Y/N's mouth, his breath hot, his grin devilish.

"I always deliver."

Soon the sheets beneath them were already a tangled mess, twisted and bunched where their bodies had moved, their warmth sinking into the fabric. Y/N was above him, his hands braced against the firm expanse of Hal's chest, fingers splayed over taut muscle as he moved with a rhythm that was deliberate, intoxicating, and entirely unhurried.

Hal lay beneath him, his head tilted back slightly, breath escaping in uneven gasps and quiet groans, but his eyes remained locked onto Y/N—half-lidded, dark with something insatiable. He was drinking in everything—the way Y/N moved, the way his lips parted slightly with every breath, the way his body responded with effortless control and quiet dominance.

Hal's grip on Y/N's waist tightened, fingers pressing into warm skin just enough to leave faint impressions, as if silently staking his claim.

"Damn," Hal groaned, his voice rough, uneven, as he let his hands roam over Y/N's back, tracing the ridges of muscle before gripping just a little firmer. He wasn't leading—he didn't need to. He was content to follow, to watch, to feel. "You really know how to take control, don't you?"

A slow, wicked smirk played on Y/N's lips as he continued his steady, calculated movements, his rhythm precise—teasing, yet never cruel. His fingers dragged deliberately down Hal's chest, nails grazing over heated skin before settling against his sides.

"You did say you liked a little chaos," Y/N murmured, his voice laced with amusement, but beneath it was something darker, something hungry.

Hal let out a gravelly chuckle, though it quickly dissolved into a sharp inhale when Y/N shifted just right, the change in motion sending a ripple of pleasure through him. His fingers flexed against Y/N's hips, guiding, encouraging, but never fully taking over. No—he wanted to feel every moment of this, wanted to watch Y/N unravel him piece by piece.

The room was filled with the sound of ragged breaths, low murmurs, and the faint rustling of fabric against skin, their movements measured yet deliberate, indulgent. The push and pull between them—this quiet battle for control and surrender—was a dance neither of them was in any hurry to finish.

Y/N's breath hitched slightly as he leaned down, pressing his forehead against Hal's, their lips brushing without fully meeting, teasing that last sliver of restraint still lingering between them.

"You're taking this way too well," Y/N muttered, his words a quiet taunt, though his voice was breathless, heated.

Hal smirked, his hands sliding up Y/N's spine, fingers dragging, tracing before gripping his shoulders. "Oh, don't worry," he murmured, his tone rough, teasing, edged with something smug yet undeniably wrecked. His lips barely grazed the corner of Y/N's mouth, his breath hot against his skin. "I can handle you."

Y/N let out a low hum, a sound of satisfaction, before pulling back just enough to meet Hal's gaze head-on. The moment stretched between them, their bodies flush and burning, the weight of their unspoken challenge settling in the air like the final note of a song waiting to be played.

And then—with slow, deliberate ease—Y/N continued.

The pace never faltered, never rushed, but the heat between them only intensified, growing thicker, heavier, their bodies moving in sync, breath mingling in the dimly lit room.

Then Hal decided to take control, the shift was seamless, as if it had always been inevitable. With a firm grip on Y/N's waist, he moved with fluid, effortless strength, flipping their positions in one smooth motion. The rumpled sheets cradled Y/N's back as he landed beneath Hal, the fabric warm, tangled, an echo of the heat lingering between them.

The air between them pulsed, thick with something raw, electric, unrestrained. Hal hovered over him, muscles taut, his body a solid weight above Y/N's, their breaths mingling, overlapping, heavy with anticipation. His emerald gaze burned, taking in everything—the way Y/N's lips were already parted, the way his chest rose and fell, the undeniable invitation in his eyes.

Hal leaned down, capturing Y/N's mouth in a kiss that was deep, consuming, and utterly unrelenting. There was nothing hesitant about it—only heat and hunger, only the undeniable pull of gravity between them. His hands mapped their way down Y/N's sides, fingers tracing every sharp line and soft curve, lingering just long enough to draw a shiver from beneath him.

And then, with practiced ease, he slid his hands lower, gripping firmly at Y/N's thighs before hooking his legs around his waist in one swift, commanding motion. Their bodies collided again, flush against each other, the friction igniting something deeper, something dangerously intoxicating.

The pace shifted—no longer teasing, no longer experimental. Deliberate. Controlled. Every movement was measured, but filled with Hal's signature confidence, that undeniable cocky charm that made it clear he knew exactly what he was doing.

And judging by the way Y/N arched beneath him, the way his breath hitched at every slow, precise motion, Hal knew he was right.

A smirk ghosted against Y/N's jawline before Hal let his lips drift lower, grazing the sensitive skin just below his ear. His breath was hot, teasing, his voice laced with something smug, something darkly amused.

"Thought you liked being in charge?" Hal murmured, his words dragging across Y/N's skin like a slow burn.

Y/N's hands had already found purchase on Hal's back, nails pressing just enough to leave faint scratches, little reminders of the push and pull between them.

His voice was breathless, but still laced with defiance, that ever-present challenging spark in his gaze.

"I do," he murmured, legs tightening around Hal's waist, pulling him even closer. His smirk was dangerous, eyes dark with amusement and something far more primal. "But I don't mind letting you try and keep up."

Hal let out a deep, gravelly chuckle, his grip tightening just slightly, enough to make a point. He pressed in deeper, the movement slow, precise, devastating.

"Oh, sweetheart," he drawled, his tone dripping with amusement, arrogance, and something darker, "I don't try—I deliver."

Y/N barely had time to fire back before Hal's pace changed again, the rhythm stronger, more focused, deliberate in every push and pull between them. A sharp gasp escaped Y/N, and Hal drank it in, memorized it, let it fuel the fire already burning deep within him.

Their bodies moved in perfect sync, the world outside this moment irrelevant, insignificant. The only thing that mattered was this, the way Y/N responded, the way Hal could pull him apart and put him back together with nothing but touch, movement, tension.

Y/N's fingers tangled in Hal's short, tousled hair, fisting the strands, pulling him down into another kiss—this one hot, urgent, filled with something dangerously addictive. Hal groaned into it, his hands roaming, gripping, claiming, as if trying to etch this moment into existence, refusing to let a single second slip away.

This wasn't just taking control—this was staking a claim, ensuring that every movement, every moment, every lingering breath was something Y/N would feel long after the night was over.

And judging by the way Y/N clung to him, his body tense, trembling, lost in the sensation, Hal knew he was doing exactly what he promised.

The faint hum of the world outside—the distant murmur of traffic, the occasional honk of a car horn—faded into nothingness, swallowed by the symphony they created together.

The rustle of sheets. The rhythmic sound of their bodies moving in perfect sync. The deep, ragged breaths, punctuated by gasps and murmured curses—it was a melody that belonged only to them, a song of tension, release, and something far more consuming.

And Hal couldn't take his eyes off Y/N.

The way his body arched beneath him, the sheen of sweat glistening on his skin, catching the faint light and making him look almost ethereal. The way his lips parted, breath hitching, spilling out ragged, intoxicating moans, each one a spark igniting something primal, all-consuming inside Hal.

Y/N was breathtaking.

Absolutely wrecked—but still so in control, the contrast devastatingly beautiful. His usual sharp wit, that calculated confidence, was softened now, undone by sensation, by Hal.

Hal's grip tightened on Y/N's hips, fingers digging into warm skin, grounding himself as he watched the way pleasure carved itself into every inch of Y/N's expression. His chest rose and fell in uneven waves, his head tilting slightly back, exposing the smooth column of his throat—an invitation, deliberate or not.

And god, the sounds spilling from his lips—low, breathy, sultry—made something deep in Hal's chest tighten, something raw and possessive clawing its way to the surface.

He wanted to draw out every sound, to push Y/N to that edge over and over, just to hear that perfect melody again.

"You look so damn good like this," Hal murmured, his voice thick, rough, filled with something deeper than admiration, heavier than lust. His lips found Y/N's jaw, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses along his throat, his collarbone, savoring the way he shivered beneath him.

"Could watch you like this forever," Hal admitted, his words gravelly, reverent, pressing harder, lingering longer, lips moving with purpose, with claim.

Y/N let out a breathless chuckle, though it was fractured, unsteady, as if he were barely holding onto control. His fingers dug into Hal's back, nails dragging faint red lines down heated skin.

"Cocky," Y/N muttered, his voice husky, teasing, but it wavered at the edges, betraying just how lost he was in the moment.

Hal's smirk curved against Y/N's skin, mischievous, knowing, before he rolled his hips just right—a deliberate, calculated movement that sent a sharp gasp tearing from Y/N's lips, his fingers tightening against Hal's skin.

"Damn right," Hal breathed, voice rich with amusement and something darker. He leaned back just enough to drink in the sight of him, eyes dark with hunger.

His smirk widened. "And judging by the way you're falling apart under me? I'd say I've earned it."

Y/N let out a shaky, uneven exhale, his head tilting back against the pillow, exposing himself to Hal completely, his body arching instinctively to meet every movement.

Hal memorized everything—the way Y/N reacted, the raw emotion flickering behind those darkened eyes, the sounds that sent shivers racing down his spine.

It wasn't just about this, about the way their bodies moved together in perfect sync—it was about him.

Y/N.

Every moment with him was intoxicating, a force Hal wasn't sure he could ever step away from, even if he wanted to.

And as he leaned down, capturing Y/N's lips again, pouring every bit of that realization into the kiss, Hal knew one thing for certain.

He would never get enough.

The early morning light filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a soft, golden glow over the room. It painted gentle patterns across the rumpled sheets, illuminating the faint traces of last night—the scattered clothes on the floor, the lingering warmth between tangled limbs, the quiet, unspoken intimacy woven into the stillness.

Outside, the city was beginning to stir—the distant hum of traffic, the occasional chirp of birds, the subtle rhythm of a world waking up. But inside the apartment, everything was quiet, wrapped in the kind of warmth and serenity that Hal Jordan had never been one to chase.

Yet, here he was.

Hal inhaled deeply, stretching slightly before his mind caught up to where he was—and, more importantly, who he was with.

A smirk curled at the corners of his lips as memories of last night flooded back—every touch, every sound, every moment that had left him wrecked in the best way possible.

Yeah... he had definitely outdone himself this time.

But what really had him feeling like he was on cloud nine wasn't just the mind-blowing night they had—it was this. The quiet aftermath.

The feeling of Y/N's warm, relaxed body pressed against him, his back flush against Hal's chest, his slow, even breaths ghosting over the pillow.

Hal let his arm tighten slightly around Y/N's waist, pulling him closer, reveling in the way their bodies fit so naturally together. Y/N's skin was still warm, his bare back smooth against Hal's chest, his scent lingering from last night—a mix of something intoxicating and uniquely him.

God, this was nice.

Hal let out a deep, satisfied sigh, nuzzling into Y/N's shoulder, content in a way he rarely let himself be.

He had never been one for cuddling after sex—it always felt too intimate, too much. But with Y/N?

Yeah. He liked this.

Maybe even more than he was ready to admit.

He was just settling into the moment, relaxing fully, when it happened.

Y/N shifted.

A small, unconscious movement, the kind that happened in the hazy depths of sleep. But the effect?

Immediate.

Because Y/N had pressed back against him, his bare ass fitting perfectly against Hal's lower half, sending a jolt of awareness straight through him.

Hal stilled.

For a moment, he tried to process the situation, tried to tell himself he was a grown man with self-control, for god's sake.

Then Y/N shifted again, pressing even closer, his breathing still slow, steady, completely unaware of what he was doing to him.

Hal's grip on Y/N's hip tightened instinctively, his fingers flexing as heat pooled low in his stomach. His breath hitched, and he closed his eyes for a second, silently cursing the universe.

Oh, come on.

Hal tilted his head back against the pillow, exhaling sharply through his nose, trying—desperately—to ignore the fact that his dick had very different plans.

This is fine, he told himself. I can ignore it. I can be normal about this.

Y/N let out a soft sigh in his sleep, his body molding even further into Hal's, and Hal immediately knew—

Nope. Nope. Not fine. Not even a little bit.

His jaw clenched, his fingers digging slightly into Y/N's hip as he fought every instinct telling him to wake Y/N up in a very, very interesting way.

His options were limited.

He could either:

A) Wake Y/N up.

B) Suffer in silence while Y/N continued to sleep peacefully, blissfully unaware that Hal was fighting for his damn life.

He sighed dramatically, resting his forehead against Y/N's shoulder, his voice a low, tortured groan.

"You're killing me here," he muttered, knowing full well that Y/N was still lost in sleep, completely unaware of his struggle.

Hal wasn't sure how long he could last like this, but one thing was certain—

Mornings with Y/N were going to be very, very dangerous for his self-control.

Y/N slowly stirred from his sleep, stretching slightly against the warmth surrounding him. His mind was still groggy, lost somewhere between dreams and reality, but the steady rise and fall of a firm chest against his back made him remember exactly where he was—and who he was with.

A small, satisfied smirk tugged at Y/N's lips as last night's memories resurfaced. Oh yeah. That happened.

Still feigning sleep, he remained still for a moment, listening to the quiet sounds of Hal breathing behind him—slow, controlled, forced. It was subtle, but Y/N could feel the tension in Hal's body, the way his muscles were coiled, how his hand was resting just a little too stiffly on Y/N's hip. And then... there it was. The unmistakable hardness pressing against the small of Y/N's back.

Well, well, Y/N thought, suppressing a grin. Good morning, indeed.

Deciding to have a little fun, he shifted slightly, pressing back against Hal just enough to gauge his reaction.

The result was instant. Hal inhaled sharply through his nose, his grip tightening ever so slightly on Y/N's waist as if trying to will himself to stay still.

Y/N fought back a chuckle, but he wasn't done yet. He stretched again, slower this time, deliberately rolling his hips ever so slightly, pressing himself further into Hal's very obvious problem.

Hal let out a soft hngh sound—barely audible, but Y/N heard it. He grinned to himself.

"You awake, Jordan?" Y/N asked, voice thick with sleep, as if he hadn't just set Hal up for absolute torture.

Hal let out a slow, controlled exhale. "Mmhmm," he replied through gritted teeth.

Y/N hummed, shifting again—just a fraction, just enough to make Hal's fingers twitch against his skin. "You sure? You seem a little... tense."

Hal groaned softly, pressing his forehead against the back of Y/N's shoulder. "You're killing me, you know that?"

Y/N smirked, finally turning his head just enough to glance back at him. "Oh? Something wrong?"

Hal's fingers dug into Y/N's waist, his jaw clenched. "You know what's wrong."

Y/N turned fully now, shifting onto his back so he could face Hal properly. And damn—the look on Hal's face was priceless. His usual cocky confidence was hanging by a thread, his lips parted slightly, eyes dark with barely restrained frustration.

Y/N reached up, running a slow finger down Hal's chest, watching with amusement as his muscles tensed under his touch. "I seem fine," Y/N said, his voice dripping with playful innocence. "You, on the other hand..." His gaze flickered downward with an exaggerated slowness noticing Hal's dick hard and firm before meeting Hal's eyes again. "That looks like a problem."

Hal exhaled sharply through his nose, his hand moving up to cradle Y/N's jaw, thumb brushing over his cheek in a way that was far too affectionate for how frustrated he clearly was.

"You love testing my patience, don't you?" Hal murmured, voice low, rough.

Y/N grinned up at him. "Well, you're fun to mess with."

Hal's lips twitched into a smirk. "That—" he suddenly rolled his hips just enough to turn the tables on Y/N, making him gasp this time—"was a mistake."

Y/N's breath hitched slightly before he narrowed his eyes playfully. "Oh? Gonna do something about it, flyboy?"

Hal's grin widened. "Oh, you have no idea."

And just like that, the morning took a very interesting turn.

#x male reader #dc x male reader #dc #hal jordan #hal jordan x male reader #gay #green lantern #green lantern x male reader

143 notes · View notes

novaursa · 6 months ago

Text

Eternal Blaze

- Summary: You go after Aegon with your dragon to fight at Rook's Rest.

- Pairing: reader (twin!wife)/Aegon II

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N and has same shade of eyes as Aegon. The reader is bonded with a dragon called Starfyre. For full chronological order of these works visit my blog. The list is pinned on the top. Or, you can read it as a one-shot.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 2 475

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

You soar through the skies atop Starfyre, her gleaming silver scales reflecting the sunlight, with hints of pale blue and alabaster shimmering underneath. Starfyre’s powerful wings beat in rhythm with your heart, carrying you swiftly to the battlefield at Rook’s Rest. Below, the chaos of war unfolds, but your focus remains on the sky, where your twin brother and husband, King Aegon II, battles Rhaenys Targaryen, the Queen Who Never Was.

The air is thick with the scent of blood and smoke. You can hear the clash of steel and the screams of men, but above all, you hear the roars of dragons. Starfyre lets out a fierce cry, a call to her brother and mate, Sunfyre, as you near the fray.

In the sky, you see them: Aegon on Sunfyre, his golden scales glowing fiercely, locked in combat with Rhaenys on Meleys, the Red Queen. Meleys clamps her jaws around Sunfyre’s neck, and your heart skips a beat. Without hesitation, you urge Starfyre forward.

"To Aegon, my love," you command, your voice steady despite the turmoil within.

Starfyre responds with a burst of speed, her silver form cutting through the air like a comet. You reach the battle just as Aegon lets out a cry of pain and fury.

"Y/N!" Aegon shouts, his voice strained. "Help me!"

You and Starfyre dive at Meleys, claws extended and jaws snapping. Starfyre's roar echoes through the sky as she rakes her talons across Meleys' crimson scales. Rhaenys turns her attention to you, her eyes blazing with fury.

"Y/N, you traitorous wretch!" she yells over the roar of the dragons. "You will fall today!"

Your only response is a determined glare as Starfyre breathes a stream of pale yellow fire at Meleys. The heat is intense, and the air sizzles with the clash of flames. Meleys releases Sunfyre, turning her wrath on you and Starfyre.

Aegon, though injured, maneuvers Sunfyre to attack from the other side. "Hold on, Y/N! For the throne, for our family!"

You nod, feeling the bond between you and your brother strengthen. Starfyre and Sunfyre, born of the same clutch, fight with a ferocity unmatched. However, Meleys is a formidable opponent, her jaws snapping dangerously close to you more than once.

Suddenly, Aemond and Vhagar join the battle. Vhagar's ancient form casts a massive shadow over the battlefield. Aemond circles above, waiting for the right moment to strike. The combined might of Sunfyre, Starfyre, and Vhagar seems overwhelming, but Rhaenys is undeterred.

"Burn them all, Meleys!" Rhaenys commands.

Meleys unleashes a torrent of dragonfire, and the world around you becomes a blaze of red and gold. You feel the searing heat as Starfyre is engulfed in flames, her scales sizzling. She cries out in pain, but you hold firm, determined to protect Aegon.

Aemond seizes the moment, Vhagar's massive jaws closing around Meleys. The Red Queen thrashes, but Vhagar's grip is unyielding. Meleys' death throes are violent, and in her desperation, she lashes out one final time, her flames mingling with those of Vhagar, Sunfyre, and Starfyre.

The sky is a maelstrom of fire and blood. You hear Aegon scream, a sound of both rage and agony, as Sunfyre crashes to the ground, one wing half-torn from his body. You reach out, but it is too late. You can only watch as your husband and his dragon fall in a blaze of fire.

"Aegon!" you scream, your voice raw with despair.

Starfyre, grievously injured, struggles to stay aloft. Her once gleaming silver scales are now scorched and bloodied. You hold on tightly as she begins to falter, the strength draining from her with each beat of her wings.

"Hold on, Starfyre," you whisper, your voice trembling. "Just a little longer."

But the effort is too great. With a final, mournful roar, Starfyre's wings buckle, and you begin to fall. The ground rushes up to meet you, and the world around you becomes a blur of smoke and flames. The sound of your descent is like thunder, a deafening crash that echoes through the battlefield.

As you fall, you think of Aegon, of your love and your shared dreams. You reach out, as if you could grasp him from the air. The last thing you see before darkness claims you is the shattered form of Sunfyre, and the knowledge that you fought together until the end.

The ground trembles beneath the onrush of Criston Cole and his men, their armor clanking and weapons drawn. The sight that greets them is one of devastation and heartache. Smoke and dust fill the air, mingling with the acrid stench of burnt flesh and dragonfire.

Starfyre, despite her grievous wounds, has crawled over to Sunfyre. Her body, a gleaming silver now tarnished with blood and ash, curls protectively around her brother. Sunfyre, his golden form marred and broken, lies motionless beneath her. The two dragons, once the epitome of beauty and strength, now lay in a pitiable heap, their breaths shallow and labored.

Cole’s eyes scan the battlefield until they fall upon the twins. Aegon and Y/N lie side by side, their bodies bruised and bloodied. Aegon’s one side is horrifically burned, his armor melted and fused to his flesh, the pungent smell of charred meat filling the air. His ribs and hip are shattered, his breathing ragged and uneven. Beside him, Y/N is no better off, her body covered in bruises, blood trickling from her nose and mouth with each strained breath.

“Over here! Quickly!” Cole shouts, his voice urgent and commanding. “The King and Queen need immediate aid!”

The soldiers rush forward, their faces pale with fear and determination. As they reach the fallen royals, Aemond descends from the sky atop Vhagar, the massive dragon landing with a ground-shaking thud. Vhagar’s ancient eyes survey the scene with an almost sorrowful gaze, while Aemond dismounts swiftly, his usual cold demeanor shattered by the sight of his siblings.

“Aegon! Y/N!” Aemond cries, rushing to their side. He falls to his knees beside Aegon, his hands trembling as he reaches out to touch his brother’s charred form. “Brother, hold on. Help is here.”

Aegon’s eyes flutter open, pain and exhaustion etched deeply into his features. “Aemond…” he rasps, his voice barely a whisper. “Protect… her…”

Aemond nods, his eye glistening with unshed tears. “I will. I swear it.”

Y/N’s breaths come in shallow gasps, her eyes barely open, but she reaches out weakly towards Aegon. “Aegon…” she murmurs, her voice frail. “Together…”

Aegon’s hand, though shaking with pain, reaches out to grasp hers. “Always,” he breathes, the simple word carrying the weight of their bond.

Criston Cole watches, his expression grim but resolute. “We need to get them to the maesters. Now!”

The soldiers work quickly, lifting the twins with as much care as possible. Their bodies are fragile, and every movement elicits groans of pain. As they are carried away, Starfyre lets out a weak, mournful cry, her eyes following them until they are out of sight. She then curls tighter around Sunfyre, her protective instinct undiminished by her injuries.

Aemond stands, his gaze hardening as he looks at Cole. “Rhaenys and Meleys may be gone, but this war is far from over. We must regroup and prepare for what comes next.”

Cole nods, his face set in determination. “Aye, my Prince. We’ll see to the wounded and fortify our defenses. The realm needs its King and Queen alive.”

As they move to attend to the aftermath of the battle, Aemond casts one last look at the fallen dragons and his injured siblings. He vows silently that their sacrifice will not be in vain, and that the bloodshed at Rook’s Rest will be avenged.

In the depths of unconsciousness, you relive your last night with Aegon. The memory is vivid, as if it were happening all over again. The firelight from the hearth bathed your chamber in a warm, flickering glow. Aegon's eyes, the same shade as yours, were filled with a mixture of determination and a tenderness reserved only for you.

That night, the world outside ceased to exist. The war, the politics, the looming battle at Rook’s Rest—all faded away in the sanctity of your shared moments. Aegon’s touch was fervent, his kisses desperate, as if he were trying to etch the memory of you into his soul. You responded with equal passion, your hands exploring the familiar planes of his body, every scar and contour telling a story of shared history and love.

“Aegon,” you whispered, your voice a mix of longing and love. “Promise me we’ll come back to this.”

His lips trailed from your neck to your ear, his breath hot and uneven. “I promise, Y/N. We’ll always find our way back to each other.”

Your bodies moved in perfect synchrony, each touch, each kiss, a silent vow of your unbreakable bond. The world might be at war, but in that moment, it was just the two of you, lost in each other, making love with a fervor that spoke of both desperation and eternal devotion.

The memory fades, and you are pulled back to the present by a wave of excruciating pain. Your body feels heavy and foreign, each breath a struggle. Slowly, you open your eyes, the bright light of the room blinding you for a moment. As your vision clears, you see your mother, Dowager Queen Alicent, sitting by your bedside, her face etched with worry.

"Mother?" you croak, your voice barely a whisper.

Alicent’s eyes widen in relief and she quickly leans forward, grasping your hand gently. "Y/N, thank the gods you’re awake."

You try to sit up, but the pain is too much. Every part of your body protests, and you fall back onto the pillows with a groan. Beside you, Aegon lies unconscious, his face pale and drawn, the sight of him sending a fresh wave of fear through you.

"Aegon…" you murmur, reaching out weakly towards him.

Alicent’s expression hardens slightly as she follows your gaze. "He is alive, but his injuries are severe," she says, her voice a mixture of relief and reproach. "You should never have gone after him, Y/N. You risked your life recklessly."

Her words sting, but you can see the fear and concern in her eyes. "I couldn’t let him fight alone," you reply, your voice strained. "He is my twin, my other half."

Alicent sighs, her grip on your hand tightening. "I understand your love, but you are the Queen. Your duty is to your people as well as to Aegon. If both of you were lost…" Her voice breaks slightly, and she takes a moment to compose herself. "The realm needs its King and Queen, Y/N. We cannot afford to lose either of you."

Tears well up in your eyes, partly from the pain and partly from the weight of her words. "I know, Mother. I know."

Alicent’s expression softens, and she brushes a strand of hair from your face. "Rest now. The maesters are doing everything they can. We will get through this, but you must be strong. For Aegon, for the realm, and for yourself."

You nod weakly, the exhaustion overwhelming you. As you close your eyes, you feel Alicent’s comforting presence beside you, her hand never leaving yours. The last thing you see before sleep claims you again is Aegon’s still form, and you silently vow to be there for him, just as he has always been there for you.

The room is dimly lit, the only light coming from the flickering candles casting shadows on the walls. You are barely awake, drifting in and out of consciousness for days now. The pain is a constant companion, a dull ache that ebbs and flows with every shallow breath. The maesters have done what they can, but their prognosis remains grim. Your fate, they say, is now in the hands of the gods.

Aemond enters quietly, his usual confident stride subdued by worry. He pauses at the foot of the bed, his gaze moving between you and Aegon. Orwyle, who left a few hours ago, had briefed him on your condition earlier.

“She suffered severe internal bleeding,” Orwyle had explained, his voice heavy with concern. “Her fate is uncertain. We’ve done all we can. Now, we must pray.”

Aemond steps closer, his face a mask of determination hiding his worry. He sits beside you, his presence a solid, reassuring anchor in the storm of your pain.

“Y/N,” he says softly, reaching out to take your hand. “Can you hear me?”

You manage a slight nod, your eyes fluttering open. “Aemond…” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “Our dragons… Starfyre and Sunfyre… how are they?”

Aemond’s jaw tightens, but he answers with as much calm as he can muster. “Both are grievously wounded but alive. Starfyre and Sunfyre are being tended to. Ser Criston ordered his men to feed them with the bodies of fallen soldiers until a steady source of cattle can be provided.”

A flicker of relief crosses your face. “Good… they need to be strong.”

Before Aemond can respond, Aegon stirs beside you, his face contorted in agony. He awakens with a gasp, his eyes wide with pain and fear. “Y/N… where is Y/N?” he croaks, his voice thick with desperation.

“I’m here, Aegon,” you whisper, mustering all your strength to squeeze his hand. “I’m right here.”

Aegon’s eyes lock onto yours, and for a moment, the pain seems to lessen. He clutches your hand tightly, his grip trembling. “Don’t leave me,” he pleads, his voice breaking.

“I won’t, ” you promise, forcing a weak smile.

Aemond watches the exchange, his heart heavy with emotion. He feels a surge of protectiveness, vowing silently to do whatever it takes to keep you both safe.

“I’ll get Orwyle,” Aemond says, standing up. “You need more care, both of you.”

He leaves the room swiftly, his mind racing with thoughts of how to ensure your recovery. As he walks through the corridors, he passes soldiers and servants, all bowing respectfully, their faces lined with worry. He finally reaches the maester’s chambers and bursts in.

“Orwyle, they need you. Now,” Aemond commands, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Orwyle nods, gathering his tools and potions quickly. “I will do everything in my power, Prince Aemond,” he assures, following him back to your chambers.

Upon their return, Orwyle immediately begins to tend to you and Aegon, checking wounds, administering potions, and murmuring prayers under his breath. Aemond stands by, his presence a silent promise of protection and support.

As you drift back into a fitful sleep, the last thing you feel is Aegon’s hand in yours, a small comfort in the midst of your suffering. Aemond watches over you both, his heart a mixture of hope and fear, determined that the gods will grant you the strength to survive this ordeal.

#house of the dragon #game of thrones #alicent hightower #aemond targaryen #criston cole #aegon x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii targaryen #aegon x you #hotd x reader #hotd aegon #dragons #sunfyre #vhagar

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oldschoolfrp · 11 months ago

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Flight to the Star Kingdoms -- The party commands a fleet of ships at sea, passing through a magical storm into a void between worlds (Valerie Valusek, D&D module M1: Into the Maelstrom, TSR, 1985)

#D&D #Dungeons & Dragons #Valerie Valusek #Into the Maelstrom #flying ship #flying ships #dnd #Master D&D #BECMI #Dungeons and Dragons #TSR

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mimimarvelingmarvel · 5 months ago

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time bound part twelve

pairing: worst wolverine!logan howlett x f!mutant!reader

Part Twelve - Masterlist

summary: Y/n’s life takes a dramatic turn when the Time Variance Authority intervenes, pulling her from a critical moment in her timeline. The TVA sends her to the void where she eventually meets with Deadpool and a very familiar face. With Deadpool's universe in the balance, alongside his reluctant would-be pal, Wolverine, and the enigmatic time-bending mutant known as the Veil, the trio must complete the mission and save Deadpool’s world from an existential threat.

overall warnings: 18+, Fem!Reader, AFAB Reader, Use of Y/N, Her X-Men name is Veil, She/her pronouns, Swearing, Angst, Heavy Violence, Character Death, Deadpool (he’s his own warning), Hurt, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, TVA

word count: 2.7k

a/n: So sorry for the late update, but I’ve just returned to uni and got the flu almost immediately. I am watching the Greatest Showman to make me feel better.

A high-pitched ringing fills my ears, drowning out every other sound. My body feels like it’s being jolted by thousands of volts of electricity, every nerve burning, every muscle straining to hold on. I can barely see through the blinding light, the energy warping around me, threatening to tear me apart at the seams.

“Y/N!” A voice cuts through the chaos, desperate and loud. My head whips to the side, and I see Wade, his arm outstretched, hand reaching for me as he tries to squeeze through the violent storm of energy surrounding us.

“What are you doing?!” I scream, the words barely audible over the roar of matter and anti-matter colliding.

Wade grins, though it’s strained. “Saving your life, Bub!”

Before I can process what he’s doing, I feel another presence to my left. “Take my hand.” Logan’s voice is rough, commanding. His hand is outstretched, eyes locked on mine with an intensity that cuts through the blinding light.

My heart pounds in my chest, and I feel tears welling up in my eyes, blurring the chaos around me. Logan. Wade. Both of them reaching for me, trying to pull me out of this—whatever this is. I stretch my arms out, trembling from the force of the energy ripping through me. Wade’s hand clasps mine tightly, and Logan grips the other, their strength anchoring me as the meeting of matter and anti-matter surges in a deadly collision.

The energy pulses violently, the air crackling with power. I’m the anchor. The focal point holding it all together. And I can feel it building to a breaking point, the pressure unbearable, my whole body vibrating under the strain.

Then, everything erupts.

The world explodes around us. A deafening boom rattles my bones as the ground beneath our feet gives way. I see walls crumbling, debris flying in every direction, a swirling maelstrom of destruction. But somehow, through it all, I remain anchored—connected to Logan and Wade, their hands the only thing tethering me to this world.

As the building collapses, I feel Logan move. He pulls me into his chest, wrapping his arms around me in a protective embrace. His body, hard and unyielding, shields me from the falling rubble as the room disintegrates around us. Wade is somewhere nearby, swearing loudly between coughs, but I can’t focus on him. All I can feel is Logan’s warmth surrounding me, his heart pounding in his chest, his breath hot against my ear as he whispers something I can’t make out over the chaos.

Eventually, the chaos begins to subside. The air clears, the dust settling around us. Logan’s grip on me loosens slightly, but he doesn’t let go, keeping me pressed against his bare chest as he rises from the wreckage, surveying the damage.

My head swims as I open my eyes, coughing through the dust and smoke. Logan still has me held tightly, his shirt ripped away in the explosion, leaving his torso exposed. My eyes can’t help but wander over the way his muscles ripple as he moves. He glances down at me, his face streaked with dirt, but his expression softens as he meets my gaze.

“You alright?” he asks, his voice low and gruff, concern etched in his features.

I nod weakly, my heart still racing. “Yeah… I think so.”

Logan’s eyes linger on mine for a moment longer, then he releases me gently, stepping back as Wade stumbles over, covered in dust but grinning like a maniac. “Well, that was fun!” he quips, brushing off debris from his suit. “Let’s do it again sometime.”

I roll my eyes, still trying to catch my breath. “You’re insane,” I mutter, shaking my head.

Wade winks at me. “You love it.”

Logan lets out a low growl, giving Wade a hard shove on the shoulder. “Enough.”

We make our way through the debris, stepping over broken stone and shattered glass. Logan stays close, his arm brushing mine occasionally as we navigate the remnants of the room that was once whole but now reduced to ruins. The scent of dust and burnt metal fills the air, thick and cloying in my throat. My body still aches, my muscles protesting with every step, but it’s nothing compared to the adrenaline pumping through me.

We round a corner, sparks fly around us, the lingering energy from the explosion still crackling in the air. Wade walks out first, declaring; “He has risen, baby girl!” Standing there, looking anything but pleased to see us, is Paradox. “Fuck!” He’s flanked by a group of TVA agents, each of them looking ready to intervene at any moment.

Deadpool points to me, his expression mischievous. “Found your new Anchor Being.”

Paradox stares at me, disbelief clear on his face. “I don’t understand. How is she still alive?”

With a flourish, Deadpool shrugs. “Turns out she’s basically a little mutant cross between a human and a time ripper. Indestructible motherfucker.”

One of the TVA agents steps forward, her voice steady and commanding. “Let’s get this Deadpool variant back to The Void,” she orders, her eyes locking onto Wade with a no-nonsense expression.

Wade’s eyes widen in mock horror. “Wait, hold on, what?”

Before anything else can happen, a new figure enters the room—Peterpool. He rushes in, arms waving. “Nope, actually, this one’s homegrown,” he says, nodding toward Deadpool. “Like me, he belongs here.”

The TVA agent, her badge reading B-15, raises an eyebrow. “And you are?”

Peterpool grins. “Peterpool. But you can call me Peter. And I hope that you do.”

Paradox, still clearly frustrated, throws his hands up in exasperation. “What the fuck is happening here?”

B-15 crosses her arms, unimpressed. “You are under judgment for operating an unsanctioned Time-Ripper. Take him,” she orders, and in an instant, her agents move in on Paradox.

As they grab him, Paradox struggles, his voice rising in anger. “I was just doing what you don’t have the guts to do! Get off, get off! Your hands off me!” He continues to shout as the agents drag him through a shimmering TVA portal, his voice fading as he disappears.

B-15 turns her attention back to the rest of us, her gaze landing on me and Logan. “I’m grateful. Let’s hold the bows, though,” she says dryly. “You led an Omega-level mutant to this timeline.”

Deadpool’s grin widens. “You’re welcome.”

B-15 looks between me and Logan, her tone growing serious. “And you two shouldn’t even be near this timeline.”

Deadpool steps in, unfazed by her reprimand. “They’re welcome.”

She pauses, her eyes sliding over to Peterpool, her expression softening slightly. “And you look damn good in that suit,” she says, a hint of a smile pulling at her lips.

Peter’s face flushes, his voice apologetic. “I’m so sorry.”

B-15 shakes her head, clearly amused now. “I wanna show you something. Something huge.”

Deadpool, ever the opportunist, quips, “That’s what Scoutmaster Kevin used to say.”

Ignoring him, B-15 gestures to her little TVA device. “Do you see that? Your universe is regenerating.” The lines that represent the timeline is slowly fixing itself. “Whatever you did here, you not only saved your world, but you also spared your timeline from extinction.”

B-15 steps back, preparing to leave. “Rest up. I have a feeling your work is only just getting started.”

She turns to go, but Deadpool isn’t done yet. “Wait! We couldn’t have made it out of The Void without some help from some people that the world kinda forgot. Is there any way you could maybe find a way to bring them home?”

B-15 hesitates, glancing over her shoulder. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“And,” Deadpool continues, his voice taking on an uncharacteristically serious tone, “I promised my friends here that the TVA could undo some pretty awful shit in their timeline. What would you say to that?”

She looks at us, her gaze thoughtful. “Change the past?”

Deadpool nods. “They did help me save the world.”

B-15’s expression softens, but there’s an edge to her tone as she responds. “And their pasts brought them here today. There’s nothing to fix, Mr. Wilson.”

With that, she steps through her portal, disappearing into the stream of time. The reality of it all settles in—I'm forever chained to this world, this timeline. But somehow, it’s almost comforting to have a place to live again. A world that, despite all the chaos, I’m now part of.

Deadpool breaks the silence. “Shawarma?”

Logan, his voice as gruff as ever, grunts, “I could eat.”

As we step away from the destruction, the world feels both unfamiliar and strangely right. And for the first time in a long time, I feel... at peace.

Next Part

taglist: @oscarissac2099 @somiaw @100percentlazybonez @obsessedwthdilfs @sun7lowxr @corvid007 @aheadfullofsteverogers @raptor192 @bontensbabygirl

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fanficapologist · 7 months ago

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Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Eighty-Six

The next few weeks at Dragonstone passed swiftly as there was much to do. After seemingly coming to a stall once the dragonseeds had left to take Tumbleton, reinforcements finally arrived. The castle bustled with activity, the sound of preparations and strategy discussions echoing through the halls.

A new Small Council had formed at Dragonstone since the previous council was overthrown in the Capital. With the arrival of Lord Commander Criston Cole and Unwin Peake from Harrenhal, along with the unexpected presence of Lord Larys Strong, deliberations began on how the Greens would retake King's Landing. The war room was frequently occupied, maps and parchments scattered across the table as heated discussions ensued. Yet, despite the fervent brainstorming, the ideas suggested so far proved unsuccessful, each plan encountering insurmountable obstacles.

Aemond, anticipating the need for sound medical and scholarly advice, had written to the Citadel, requesting a Maester to join them at Dragonstone. The Citadel responded affirmatively, agreeing to send a number of candidates from which the royal couple could choose who would serve as the Grand Maester on the newly formed Small Council.

However, it became evident that the selected Maester would not arrive in time for Maera’s birth, which was now predicted to be a mere fortnight away. When she first found out she was pregnant, Maester Orwyle had examined her carefully, his face lined with concern and concentration. “The very end of the eighth moon,” he predicted with a note of finality.

In the meantime, Maera remained resolute, continuing her duties despite the increasing burden of her pregnancy. Her steps were slower, her movements more deliberate, but her spirit remained unyielding. She attended council meetings alongside Aemond, her presence a silent reminder of the stakes involved and the future they fought for.

With the arrival of the boats from both Harrenhal and King's Landing, Maera found her belongings slowly filtering their way through Dragonstone and ending up back in her possession. Each day brought new parcels and crates, some familiar and comforting, others a stark reminder of the upheaval they had endured.

She was sure that Lord Unwin Peake had grabbed what he could from her rooms in the Riverlands after he received the summons. The items were neatly packed, a testament to Unwin's efficiency. But it was Lord Larys who had brought her belongings from the Red Keep, and Maera still did not trust him. The thought of him personally going through her property made her shudder. He was a creep, and his unsettling presence always seemed to lurk just at the edge of her awareness.

As she unpacked her things, Maera experienced some sadness that not all of her possessions had found their way back to her. She knew this was a time of war, and the Lords had probably only grabbed what they deemed as essentials. Still, it pained her to think of the personal items lost in the chaos, relics of her past now scattered or gone forever.

Among the returned belongings, her black and gold dresses emerged, rich fabrics glinting in the torchlight. Her jewels, too, were there, glittering with the promise of better days. Books she had collected over the years, their pages worn from frequent reading, were stacked carefully in a corner. Some of her weapons had also arrived, including her old hunting bow and a spear sent from Dermot years ago.

Despite the arrival of her possessions, Maera found she couldn't use most of them so late in her pregnancy. The journey on Ēbrion to Dragonstone had weakened her previous injuries, forcing her to take a break from riding on dragonback. The thought of mounting a dragon now was unbearable; her body ached in ways she had never imagined, and the weight of her unborn child made every movement a laborious effort.

There was no way she could use her bow, her swords, or her spear. She was too exhausted just from walking up the stairs, let alone sparring outside. The very idea of engaging in combat or even practicing her skills felt like a distant memory, a part of her life that seemed almost unattainable in her current state. Her once agile body was now cumbersome, each step a reminder of her physical limitations.

The only thing she could do was write letters to her allies. She spent hours at her desk, scribbling replies diligently, aware of the importance of maintaining these connections. Many letters needed to be written, but the task quickly grew tiresome. The monotony of correspondence weighed heavily on her, draining her spirit. There seemed to be no time for fun or joy.

Is this what being a Princess was supposed to be? she wondered, frustration bubbling beneath her composed exterior. Even her giving birth, something she had once envisioned as a deeply personal and private experience, was now a matter of national importance. Her womb was no longer just hers; it was a vessel for the future of the realm, scrutinized and monitored by those who saw her child as a pawn in their political game.

Maera sighed, setting her quill down for a moment, her hand aching from the relentless writing. She looked around at the familiar trappings of her past life—dresses, jewels, books, weapons—all now out of reach, relics of a time when she felt in control of her destiny. The once comforting presence of these items now only served to highlight her current helplessness.

She rubbed her swollen belly, feeling the baby kick beneath her hand. There was a glimmer of hope in that tiny movement, a reminder that despite everything, life continued to grow within her. It was a small solace, but enough to keep her going through the long, tedious days.

The tender moment was interrupted when Maera’s chamber doors opened. Aemond entered, his straight silver hair swaying as he walked, cutting a striking figure in his own clothes. The green tunic he wore reminded Maera of her father’s eyes, her own eyes. She wondered if their child would have her eyes too.

There was still tension between the couple, both walking on a knife’s edge when interacting with each other. They remained separate most days, apart from the few short hours they would spend eating a meal together. Depending on the atmosphere, sometimes the meals were filled with idle chatter, and other times, deathly harsh silence.

Maera rose from her seat, one hand on her stomach and the other on the back of her chair, pushing herself to stand. The pressure on her back and stomach, as well as her injured leg and arm, was intense, but she managed. Once stood up straight, she sighed in relief and bid her husband a respectful nod.

“Is there anything you need, my Prince?” she asked, confusion in her voice.

Before Aemond could answer, a flurry of stewards entered, carrying wooden chests, which only heightened Maera’s confusion. She glanced at Aemond, searching for an explanation in his stern features. His violet eye, usually sharp and calculating, softened slightly as he looked at her.

“I’m not sure how long we’ll be here. At the very least, we won’t leave till you’re recovered from birth,” Aemond said before gesturing to the chests now being placed around the room. “I thought I would bring you some things to pass the time.”

The Princess blinked, momentarily at a loss for words. She watched as the stewards opened the chests, revealing a plethora of art supplies. The vibrant colors in the paint pots and variety of materials were overwhelming.

There were thick, rich reds and blues, delicate pastels, earthy tones, and metallic hues that shimmered in the light. Brushes of all sizes and shapes were meticulously organized, from fine-tipped for detailed work to broad, flat ones for sweeping strokes. Sponges of varying textures and shapes promised endless possibilities for creative expression. The parchments and canvases were of the highest quality, their pristine surfaces waiting to be transformed by Maera’s touch.

Aemond stood back, observing her reaction. His usual sternness was softened by a hint of anticipation, as if hoping this gesture might bridge the widening gap between them.

“This… this is thoughtful,” she said, her voice catching slightly as she ran her fingers over the tops of the paint pots. “Thank you.”

The one-eyed Prince nodded, his expression still serious but with a hint of relief in his eye. “I thought you might find some solace in it. You painted frequently at home.”

Maera smiled faintly, the tension between them easing just a fraction. She could see a glimmer of hope in his eye, a momentary easing of the tension that had plagued their relationship.

Aemond looked down, his long silver hair cascading over his shoulders as he avoided her gaze. After a moment, he suggested, “Perhaps you would join me for dinner this evening as well?”

Maera paused, uncertain. His gesture was thoughtful, yes, and it did clear the air slightly. But there was still a long way to go. “I require my rest this evening,” she replied politely, her voice tinged with hesitation.

Her husband nodded, his stern face masking the disappointment that flickered in his eye. He looked away, the muscles in his jaw tightening briefly. With a sigh, Maera then suggested, “But maybe we could break our fast together in the morning.”

Aemond’s expression softened slightly, and he agreed with a small smile. He reached for her hand, his touch gentle yet firm, and placed a small kiss upon it. The warmth of his lips sent a rush of unexpected emotion through Maera, causing her face to blush.

The Prince lingered for a moment more, his thumb caressing the sapphire and gold ring he had given her. The gesture was intimate, filled with unspoken words and unexpressed feelings. He then turned on his heel and left, his presence lingering in the room even after he had gone. Maera couldn’t deny the butterflies she felt at the thought of breaking their fast together, a fleeting smile forming on her lips.

The days grew longer, and for Maera, time seemed to stretch interminably. For the majority of her marriage, she had been pregnant, a state of being that was all too familiar for noble ladies of her status. It was common for them to be with child almost every year, a cruel arrangement that seemed to trap them in a cycle of childbirth until they could no longer bear it.

Preparations for Maera’s impending labor continued in earnest. The midwives were put on high alert, their presence a constant reminder of the imminent arrival. The chambers were meticulously readied with the necessary supplies, an array of linens, herbs, and tools placed strategically for the moment of need. Aemond, though often occupied with his duties, enquired about her well-being daily, either directly or indirectly through the castle staff. His concern was a small comfort in the midst of her growing discomfort.

The months had completely transformed Maera, both emotionally and physically. The trauma of war had left indelible marks on her spirit, and the rapid changes in her body were no less overwhelming. Her curvaceous figure had morphed into something unrecognizable, her body adapting to the demands of the growing life within her. Maera’s hips had widened, her breasts were harder than rocks, her muscles ached tremendously, and after all of her suffering, she had still not given birth.

The babe, now nine days late, seemed determined to take its time. Maera, exhausted and increasingly agitated, found herself in a constant state of anticipation.

The midwives assured her repeatedly that all was well. The babe within her kicked and wriggled energetically, a sign of its robust health. It was in the right position for birth, they said, and everything was progressing as it should. And yet, the birth did not come. Maera’s frustration grew with each passing day, her patience wearing thin as she awaited the moment that would finally bring an end to this prolonged ordeal.

Her concern grew as each day passed without the presence of a Maester. She remembered that Maesters were typically present at births when complications arose, so their absence must have been a positive sign from the Gods, indicating that her labor would be swift and uncomplicated, with no need for medical intervention. But if all was to be well, why was the baby still not here?!

The midwives had suggested confinement to minimize stress and give Maera a chance to take in the sight of her newly furnished chamber. The room was now adorned with a cradle, baby clothes, and soft rugs, intended to create a comforting environment and potentially jumpstart her labor. However, to Maera, the room seemed to taunt her, rubbing it in her face that the child had not yet come. The thought of staring at the same four walls endlessly filled her with dread, knowing she would go insane if she remained confined.

Desperate for a distraction and some semblance of control, Maera sought refuge in Dragonstone's library. She pulled out a number of books and scrolls, searching through ancient texts and medical treatises in a futile attempt to find something, anything, that might relieve her suffering and allow the babe to come.

After poring over several books, Maera finally stumbled upon sections related to pregnancy and childbirth. Over the course of a few days, she attempted numerous strategies to initiate her labor. She found recipes for spicy teas and drank them, but nothing happened. Determined, she took vigorous walks around the castle, pushing through the pain in her leg and the exhaustion that accompanied her efforts. Yet, there was still no sign of the baby’s arrival.

One morning, Maera awoke to a sudden pain, her abdomen squeezing and releasing for a few seconds. Her heart leapt with hope. Finally, some movement. However, as she turned in her bed, the pain subsided. Perplexed and cautiously optimistic, Maera summoned the midwives.

Upon examining her, the midwives declared the pains to be ‘false contractions.’ While they reassured her that this was a good sign, indicating that her body was preparing for labor, it did not mean the labor was beginning. Maera huffed in frustration, feeling the weight of disappointment. It was back to the drawing board.

Determined not to give up, she resumed her search for solutions, combing through more texts and experimenting with different methods, all while the anticipation and tension grew within her. Each moment felt like an eternity as she yearned for the arrival of her child, hoping that soon, her efforts would finally bear fruit.

After another evening of tireless reading in hopes of finding a miracle cure for her ailments, Maera finally stumbled upon something promising. The practice was outdated and certainly frowned upon by the Faith, but she had already done things the Gods would not approve of. She resolved to ask for forgiveness later.

The text she found described a method first documented in Old Valyria during the time of Aenar Targaryen, her ancestor who relocated his House to Dragonstone. If it had worked for her ancestors, surely it must work for her, she concluded. The excitement and desperation mingled within her, pushing her to try this ancient practice.

Maera made her way back to her chambers and summoned the midwives once again. They strongly advised against it, citing that she should allow nature to take its course as the Gods intended. Maera rolled her eyes at their caution. Surely the Mother and Maiden would understand her plight?

Ignoring their protests, she ordered the maids to dress her in a black sheer nightdress that accentuated every single curve of her body. Her hair fell loose into curls, a beautiful mix of brown and silver. She dabbed some perfume onto her neck and wrists, the scent of jasmine and vanilla filling the air, before leaving her room.

“I was not expecting you here this evening.”

The stone walls of the room were adorned with tapestries depicting the fiery history of House Targaryen, their dragons soaring majestically over battlefields and burning cities. Heavy wooden furniture, intricately carved with dragon motifs, filled the room, and the hearth was always alight, casting a warm glow over the dark stone and keeping the chill at bay.

Now that Aemond had unpacked his belongings, the room began to reflect his character. His polished armor and weapons were meticulously arranged on stands and racks, each piece gleaming and well-cared for. Books on history, warfare, and Valyrian lore were stacked neatly on shelves, alongside maps and scrolls detailing strategies that could be used in the ongoing war. A dark green tapestry bearing the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen hung prominently on one wall, a symbol of his allegiance and ambition.

When Aemond entered his chambers, he furrowed his brow, seeing the shadow of a stranger perched upon his bed. His hand instinctively went to his sword, but as he drew closer, he was met with the sight of his wife in her sheer black nightgown. His violet eye quickly widened, taking in the sight of her fully, his gaze raking up her body.

Maera attempted to appear desirable, though she felt nothing of the sort. Her heart pounded with nerves, and her body ached from the weight of her pregnancy and the exhaustion of her efforts. She resolved that this was merely a transaction to get what she needed and would attempt to play her part convincingly.

The Princess took a deep breath and met his gaze, her voice soft but steady. “Me neither,” she replied, her tone attempting to be sultry despite her inner turmoil.

Aemond's eye swept over Maera's form one last time, lingering on the curves accentuated by her sheer nightgown. Then, without a word, he moved to sit on the chair next to the dresser, beginning to unbuckle his boots. Maera sighed, realizing she needed to be more direct.

"I require your assistance," she stated, trying to keep her voice steady.

Aemond's eye flicked up as he removed his boots, repeating her words as if trying to make sense of them. "My assistance?"

Maera nodded and gestured to her swollen stomach. "I'm exhausted," she explained, her frustration evident. "And if I hear one more midwife telling me to relax for the sake of the baby, I will burn this castle down."

Aemond breathed out a laugh, the sound unexpected but welcome. He then began to unbuckle his dark green doublet, agonizingly slowly, and Maera could not tear her gaze away. When he removed it, leaving him in just his cotton shirt and trousers, he looked at her with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. “So what do you need from me?”

She gulped, attempting not to be overcome by desire for her husband. Despite her anger and the gulf between them, the sight of him stirred emotions she could not easily suppress. "For you to perform your duty," she said, trying to maintain her composure.

Aemond tilted his head, confusion evident in his eye. Maera clenched her jaw, frustration and longing mixing in her voice as she clarified, "The marital act, Aemond.”

The Prince smirked, a glint of amusement in his eye. "It's already evident that I have performed my duty," he replied, gesturing to her rounded abdomen.

Maera dug her nails into her palm, the sharpness of her frustration growing as she tried to explain herself. "I read in a Valyrian tome that the act can bring forth labor towards the end of pregnancy," she reiterated, her voice carrying a mixture of urgency and irritation.

Aemond nodded slowly, his violet eye studying her with a hint of amusement dancing beneath the surface. He raised his brow for a moment, as if pondering her words, before decisively removing his cotton shirt. The action revealed his lean, muscular form, marked with scars that told tales of battles fought and dangers faced. Despite her current state of mind, Maera couldn't deny that he was undeniably handsome, and the sight of him after their prolonged separation only served to intensify her desire.

Pulling his silver hair free from its confines, Aemond's locks cascaded over his broad shoulders, framing his sharp features with a striking contrast. He spoke in a low, measured voice, his words laden with a subtle challenge, "Well then, wife, all you need do is simply ask me.”

“…ask you?” She parroted, her mind racing to comprehend his meaning.

“Yes.” Aemond stepped closer, looming over her on the bed, his presence commanding and magnetic. He leaned down slightly, bringing his face closer to hers, and repeated in that same low tone, "Ask me."

Her breath quickened in response to the intensity of his gaze and the proximity of his body. A mixture of anger and longing churned within her as she felt his deliberate attempt to tease and provoke her. She clenched her jaw, fighting the inner turmoil of pride battling against desperate need.

Their eyes locked, and in that charged moment, Maera felt the room shrink around them, the air thick with unresolved tension. She struggled to maintain her composure, her hands trembling slightly at her sides. Despite her determination to resist, a part of her yearned to surrender to the allure of his presence, to bridge the emotional chasm that had grown between them.

The Princess rose abruptly from the bed, her hands pressing firmly on Aemond's shoulders as she shoved him backwards. Her breath was quick, eyes flashing with a mix of frustration and defiance.

"Coming here was a mistake," she declared sharply, her voice tinged with anger. She turned away from him, walking briskly towards his dresser. Running her fingers through her curls, she decided to play Aemond's game of cat and mouse. "It's a pity Hugh Hammer has already left," she remarked coolly, her tone laced with provocation. "He would have jumped at the chance to bed me."

Maera heard him storming towards her, and she glanced into the mirror to see his looming figure behind her. Before she could react, his arm darted forward, grabbing her neck and yanking her backwards. She gasped as her back pressed against his bare torso, feeling the tension radiating off him.

“You would dare let someone touch you?”Aemond growled into her ear, his grip tightening slightly. His voice was edged with possessiveness and anger.

Meeting his intensity, Maera asked in return, her own voice steady despite the pressure on her neck, "And what would you do if I did?"

There was a charged silence between them, the air thick with tension and unspoken desires. Aemond's grip on her neck loosened slightly, his breath brushing against her skin as he leaned closer. “Slit their throat and let the blood spray and drip down your beautiful face,” he murmured, the brutality of his words causing her stomach to do flips.

Maera's expression hardened as she spun out of his grasp, facing him chest to chest. Her eyes locked onto his with defiance and frustration, yet beneath the surface, a flicker of something more complex lingered.

"You're insufferable," Maera declared sharply, her voice a blend of exasperation and an underlying current of something deeper, something primal that stirred within her.

Before Aemond could respond, she made her move. Leaning forward, Maera closed the distance between them in one swift motion. She crushed her lips against his with a fierce hunger, the kiss a tumultuous blend of passion and frustration. Her hands moved to grip his shoulders, fingers digging into his bare muscles.

Her lips moved against his with a fervor born of months of tension and misunderstanding. She tasted the familiar essence of him, a mix of warmth and something distinctly Aemond. His response was immediate, his arms encircling her waist, pulling her closer into him, melding their bodies together in a desperate embrace.

Maera felt herself being pushed back to the bed, her husband’s hands venturing to her shoulders as he pushed sleeves of the nightgown down, the sheer material falling off of her body and pooling at her feet. Aemond’s hands immediately flew to her breasts, squeezing and massaging the rounded flesh, which brought her great relief. A soft moan escaped her lips as she surrendered herself to him, his touch fueling the yearning within her that she had desperately tried to deny.

Aemond pulled away for a moment, grabbing one of the pillows at the top of the bed before placing it behind her. He then dropped to his knees, his hand crawling along the length of her leg, the calloused fingertips dancing along her calf before meeting the soft rounded meat of her thigh. She instinctively widened her legs, inviting, if not begging him, to touch her, revealing her glistening cunt to him.

“Fuck, you have missed me,” he purred before swiping his tongue through her folds.

“Oh Gods,” Maera sighed as her husband lapped at her core like a man starved, his tongue delivering deliberate strokes to her clit, causing her to squirm. Each flick of his tongue and the firm pressure at her aching core intensified the desire pooling inside of her.

The Princess’s hands gripped the sheets tightly as she felt herself getting closer and closer to her peak. Aemond’s eye flicked up, grabbing onto one of her hands and placing it firmly onto the back of his head. All semblance of control left her body as she finally fully surrendered to him, whimpering as she gripped his silver tresses.

Maera allowed her hips to roll against her husband’s face, that oh-so familiar knot tightening in her stomach as he savoured the nectar of her arousal. Aemond’s hand squeezed her thigh harshly as his other moved down to let his fingers join his tongue. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head in pleasure as two fingers entered her, whilst he peppered kisses against her puffy clit.

His digits curled inside of her, brushing against that rough patch within. The Prince groaned as he heard her muffled voice moaning his name, the sound of her arousal echoing throughout the chambers. Mere seconds later she saw stars as she gasped for air, the tight coil snapping as pleasure completely washed over her. She held Aemond in place, her nails digging into his scalp as he continued licking and sucking her clit through her peak.

The one-eyed Prince did not give her time to catch her breath before flipping her onto her front, her swollen belly resting on the pillow he had previously put behind her. As Maera turned her head to see what he was doing, she felt is tongue run through her folds, lapping up her arousal before licking all the way to her puckered hole, causing her to gasp. Then without warning and the sound of rustling fabric, he entered her in one swift movement, filling her to the hilt before setting an erratic pace.

Her orgasm had left her sensitive and she swore she could feel every inch, every ridge, every vein even more intensely than she had ever done before. She bit her lip, determined to not let any more moans escape her. She had already given too much of herself away. This was supposed to be a transaction, a means to an end. And yet it felt so fucking good.

Maera gripped onto the sheets for dear life as her legs began to shake, his cock hitting that rough patch within her over and over again with each forceful thrust. She felt his hand slide up her neck and tangle into her brown and silver locks before pulling her upwards, her back now against his chest, his breath fanning against her face. When his other hand snaked down to stroke her bundle of nerves, Maera’s back arched instinctively, hand hand flying backwards to tangle once again in his hair.

The pressure began to build once again in her stomach, blinding hot pleasure wracking through her body like electricity. She turned her head to look at him and took in the beauty before her. Aemond, his face flushed, his jaw slack as he looked down, watching as his cock disappeared into her.

Without thinking, she pulled his face towards her, colliding her lips with his. Aemond’s tongue slipped past her parted lips, lapping the inside of her mouth as he tasted her. After a moment, he pried himself away, simply resting his forehead against hers, both of them gasping for air as they chased their peaks, their breaths mingling. The hand in her hair began to snake down her body, pausing momentarily on her breast, grabbing and kneading the flesh harshly, before descending further and resting on her swollen stomach.

It was intimate. Too intimate for what this was supposed to be. But Maera did not have time to dwell, her mind and body out of sync as her cunt fluttered around him, pulsating with a rhythm that was overwhelming, gripping and squeezing his cock like a vice. His release followed soon after, his hot white seed painting her walls, a feeling that she had missed, no matter how much she tried deny it.

After a moment, once their breathing had slowed, Aemond collapsed onto the bed beside her, and Maera turned to lay on her back, her hair fanning around her like a dark and silver halo. She was covered in a sheen of sweat, her face flushed from her two peaks, her body feeling practically boneless.

She felt amazing. Desired. Wanted. Loved? No, that was too much. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She felt his hand brush against hers hesitantly, as if he did not wish to scare her away. But she could not stand it, and abruptly sat up, her heart still pounding from the intensity of their coupling.

She reached down to the floor, her fingers brushing against the sheer fabric of her nightgown. With a swift, almost frantic motion, she pulled it over her head, the delicate material clinging to her still-flushed skin.

There was no time for tenderness or comfort. It was not possible. He had betrayed her, slain her kin, and almost gotten her killed through his sheer lack of action. Yet why did she only feel whole when she was with him? When she surrendered to his whim? When she accepted that her hate for him was also intertwined with her love for him?

As she stood, she let out a deep sigh, frustration gnawing at her. She was mad at herself for giving in to her desires, and even more so at Aemond for his infuriating ability to provoke her. She turned to leave, but her injured leg gave way slightly, causing her to stumble. She caught herself on the edge of the bed, her breath hitching in pain.

Aemond’s voice cut through the tension. “Are you-?”

Maera whipped around to glare at him, her eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and vulnerability. She didn’t want his pity, not now, not ever. “I’m fine,” she snapped, her voice cold and sharp.

Without waiting for a response, she stormed out of his room, her movements brisk despite the pain in her leg. The corridors of Dragonstone seemed to stretch endlessly as she made her way back to her chambers, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Reaching her room, she closed the door behind her, leaning against it for a moment as she tried to steady her racing heart.

Maera woke alone in her chambers the next morning. The bed was cold and empty, a stark contrast to the heated passion of the previous night. She lay there, staring at the ceiling, a mix of frustration and regret gnawing at her. She had allowed herself to become so close to Aemond, and it had awakened feelings she thought she had long since repressed.

She swore she could still smell his scent on her—leather and dragon smoke, a heady mix that made her heart clench painfully. The memories of their encounter played vividly in her mind, his touch, his whispered words, the intensity of their shared desire.

She knew last night had been a mistake, a desperate plea for aid to an adversary. Aemond had done what she asked, but he didn’t have to be so smug about it. Or make her feel so good. It was supposed to be a transaction, nothing more. Yet, in his typical manner, he had twisted it into something deeper, something that left her feeling exposed and vulnerable. Such a devious son of a-

“Oooooofff.”

A sudden and intense pain seized her. It radiated from her lower back and surged through her lower stomach, shooting down the back of her thighs. She gasped, her hands instinctively gripping the sheets as her muscles tensed in response to the unexpected agony. Her breath hitched, and she closed her eyes, willing the pain to pass.

When it finally subsided, Maera knew this was different from the false contractions she had experienced before. She immediately rang the bell to summon the midwives, her heart pounding with a mix of anxiety and determination.

The midwives arrived quickly, their faces a blend of concern and professionalism. One of them, a young woman with kind eyes, asked, "Are you sure it isn't another false contraction, Princess?"

Before Maera could respond, the pain struck again, more intense than before. She clutched the bedpost for support, her body doubling over as she tried to breathe through the agony. The midwives moved swiftly, two of them holding Maera’s hands, whispering words of comfort, while the oldest midwife, a seasoned woman with a calm demeanor, began her examination.

After a few moments, the older midwife looked up, her expression resolute. "Her labours have indeed begun," she confirmed. The other midwives nodded, their grips on Maera’s hands tightening in solidarity and support. The room buzzed with quiet urgency as they prepared for the task ahead.

A million thoughts raced through Maera's mind. Relief washed over her at the prospect of her pregnancy finally coming to an end, but it was swiftly followed by a wave of anxiety. Surviving the pregnancy had been one battle, but childbirth was an entirely different and more dangerous ordeal. The absence of a Maester to oversee the process only heightened her fears, amplifying the possibility of complications spiraling out of control.

Trying to steady her nerves, Maera addressed the midwives. "I know this stage of labor can last for days, especially with a first child," she said, her voice edged with determination. "I need you to assist me in dressing. I have a meeting to attend in the main hall."

One of the younger midwives, her face pale with concern, strongly advised against this plan. "Princess, you should begin confinement immediately to prepare for a safe delivery and ensure you get enough rest," she pleaded.

Maera, ever resolute, pushed back. "We are at war," she stated firmly, though willing to find common ground. "I will attend the meeting, and once it is over, I will begin my confinement. You can wait outside the chambers in case you are needed."

The midwives exchanged uneasy glances but complied. They helped Maera into a dark black dress, sparing her the restrictions of a corset. The dress flowed around her, accommodating her swollen belly. As they laced up the back of the dress, Maera tried to focus on the task at hand, pushing aside the fear and pain. Every movement was a reminder of the life inside her, the child that would soon be born into a world of chaos and conflict. As the midwives finished, Maera took a deep breath, steadying herself for the journey ahead.

Maera walked down the corridor, flanked by guards, her midwives trailing a few paces behind. The grand hallways of Dragonstone seemed longer and more daunting than usual. As she moved, a sharp pain struck, radiating from her back and lower stomach, searing down to the backs of her thighs. She halted abruptly, her hand flying to the wall for support, her other clutching her swollen belly. The intensity of the pain forced her to grit her teeth, her breathing shallow and rapid as she fought to stay in control.

The corridor’s dim torchlight cast long shadows, flickering over her strained features. She tried to steady her breathing, focusing on the rhythm to regain control. The contractions were coming every ten minutes or so, a relentless reminder that time was running out. But she needed to attend the meeting.

One of the guards turned and approached her with concern etched on his face. "Princess, are you alright?" he asked gently.

As the pain subsided, Maera straightened, smoothing out her dress with trembling hands. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve, pushing her hair back from her face. "Move on," she commanded, her voice firm despite the lingering ache. The guards nodded and resumed their pace, Maera following behind, albeit slower and with a noticeable limp.

The midwives whispered amongst themselves, their hushed tones barely audible but clearly filled with concern. She imagined they were analyzing her labor, tracking her progress with each step. Maera pushed their voices to the back of her mind. She needed to focus on the meeting ahead. The world outside the chamber was still at war, and she needed to be informed, prepared for the future that awaited her child.

She paused at the doors, taking a deep breath, hoping to keep her composure. The pain was a constant companion now, but she could not let it overwhelm her. Not here. Not now. She squared her shoulders, resolved to stay in control, and signaled for the guards to open the doors. The heavy wood creaked open, and she stepped inside, every step a testament to her strength and determination.

The grand hall was an imposing room, its high, vaulted ceilings echoing with the whispers of history. Tall, narrow windows lined the walls, casting thin beams of light that danced with the flickering of numerous torches and candles. The cold, dark stone of the walls was adorned with ancient Targaryen banners, their red and black hues deepening the hall’s sense of foreboding and power.

In the center of the room stood the stone table, carved with meticulous detail into a map of Westeros. Candles were lit beneath it, their flames illuminating the hidden contours of mountains, rivers, and cities etched into the table’s surface. The soft, warm light created an almost ethereal glow, making the map appear alive.

The council members were gathered around the table, their faces a mix of determination and unease. Aemond’s gaze flicked up as Maera limped towards them, his violet eye never leaving her. With a subtle gesture, he signaled a steward to bring a chair forward, ensuring Maera could sit beside him.

Lord Unwin Peake was the first to stand, his seasoned face breaking into a smile. Maera returned his greeting with a polite, though strained, smile, her teeth grinding as her womb contracted once more. The pain was a constant undercurrent, but she refused to let it show more than necessary. Lord Commander Criston Cole looked striking in his Kingsguard armor, the pristine white and gold of his cloak contrasting sharply with the dark stone of the hall. A golden chain around his neck signified his status as Hand of the King, the heavy emblem resting on his broad chest.

Lord Larys Strong, the Master of Whispers, leaned casually on his firefly-embellished cane, his smile polite yet inherently sinister. He offered her a respectful nod, his voice soft as he commented, “Princess, I am surprised to see you in attendance.” Maera merely rolled her eyes, unwilling to engage with him, and continued her determined walk to the seat beside Aemond.

As the lords began to sit, Larys continued, “If memory serves correctly, you do not have a seat at this council.” His words hung in the air, a thinly veiled challenge. “And with your baby overdue-”

Aemond was quick to interrupt, his tone cold and firm. “Were it not for my wife, none of us would be standing here in the first place.” Maera reached her seat and Aemond rose, pushing the chair in behind her. He turned to the room, his voice commanding attention. “The Princess is a valuable asset and a dragon rider. If anyone has a problem with her attendance, they are dismissed.”

The room fell silent, the authority in Aemond’s voice leaving no room for dispute. Maera sat, her breathing steadying as she focused on the council’s proceedings. The illuminated map of Westeros beneath them seemed to pulse with the weight of their decisions. Despite the pain and the tension, she was determined to play her part.

News from King's Landing was shared with a solemn gravity, each piece of information adding weight to the room's already tense atmosphere. It was assumed that Ser Tyland Lannister, the Master of Ships, had succumbed to the tortures in the dungeons. Maester Orwyle had attempted to escape but failed miserably, resulting in his return to the dark depths of his prison.

Reports indicated that the smallfolk had seemed to accept Rhaenyra's rule, but Maera silently concluded that their acceptance was likely born out of fear. It was hard to argue against the people and their dragons who now held the city with an iron grip. The gold cloaks, who maintained their loyalty to Prince Daemon, held the gates of the city firmly closed, preventing anyone from getting in or out. The troubling news of Helaena and Alicent being taken as hostages brought no new developments, leaving an ominous cloud over the council's proceedings.

As the updates were fed back to the room, Maera found it increasingly difficult to listen. The pains came in rapid succession, each one more intense than the last. She clutched the arms of her chair, her knuckles white from the effort. Her back felt as if it were on fire, and she ground her teeth to distract herself, sweat forming on her brow. Every word spoken around the table seemed distant, overshadowed by the agony coursing through her body. Her focus wavered, the room blurring at the edges as she struggled to maintain her composure.

Aemond's watchful eye had never left Maera, and his concern began to grow as he observed her increasingly pained expressions. Leaning slightly towards her, he asked quietly, "What is wrong?" Maera, still conflicted about their previous night together and determined not to show any weakness, shook her head, gritting out a terse "Nothing." Aemond, sensing the tension and knowing better than to press further, returned his attention to the meeting, though his gaze frequently flicked back to her.

Suddenly, the doors of the grand hall burst open, and Ser Alfred Broome, a guard who had previously served Rhaenyra, entered in a panic, his eyes wide and a scroll clutched tightly in his hand. The council members looked on furiously at the interruption, but the distress on Ser Alfred's face quickly turned their fury to concern.

The knight began to apologize for the intrusion, but Aemond cut him off, asking sharply, "What has happened?" Ser Alfred's eyes darted around the room, taking in the tense faces of each council member. Maera studied his gaze, sensing the gravity of the situation.

Ser Alfred stuttered, struggling to get the words out. "My Lords, a raven has arrived from Harrenhal." He paused, visibly shaken. "It is Prince Maelor."

Maera's heart sank, a cold dread washing over her. No. Surely not. Thena had gotten him out. He was on his way to Tarbeck Hall. The scroll in Ser Alfred's hand shook with his nerves as he continued, "He has been...he is..."

Aemond stormed out of his seat, his face a mask of fury and fear. He approached the knight in a few swift strides and snatched the parchment from his trembling hand. His eye went wide as he read it, the color draining from his face. The room fell silent, the tension thick as Aemond's reaction confirmed their worst fears. “Gods be good.”

The news of what was on the scroll quickly became apparent without the need for further words. The council members exchanged horrified glances, their faces paling. Prince Maelor, who would have become King, the last son of Aegon, was gone. Just like Aemond’s other nephew, Jaehaerys. The Blacks had succeeded; they had vanquished Aegon’s line.

Maera’s heart pounded in her chest as another, far more terrifying thought dawned on her. This did not mean the Greens were without a leader. Aegon and his sons were gone, but the late King Viserys had more than one son.

Did that make Aemond the…?

Did that make Maera the…?

“Arrrgggghhhh!” Maera lurched over, one hand gripping the edge of the stone table and the other clutching her swollen stomach. The pain that tore through her was unlike any she had felt before, a searing agony that radiated from her back to her lower abdomen and down the backs of her thighs. It was harsh, brutal, and all-consuming. She groaned, her face contorting with the effort to remain standing.

The suddenness of her movement drew the attention of everyone in the room. Conversations halted, and concerned murmurs filled the air. Maera’s vision blurred as she fought to steady her breathing, but the contractions were coming too quickly now, leaving her little time to recover between them.

She felt something warm and wet running down her leg. Panic surged through her veins. Gathering her skirts in a trembling hand, she glanced down to see blood flowing between her legs. A sharp cry of alarm escaped her lips. She looked up at Aemond, her eyes wide with terror, and saw his face mirrored her own fear.

“The babe is coming,” Maera declared, her voice quivering with fright and desperation.

Notes: *insert panicked Michael Scott meme here*

Tags: @0eessirk8 @magicseahorse @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @thelastemzy @kckt88 @darylandbethfanforever9

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

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aftermidnightspecial · 6 months ago

Text

⛧Demons of Abbadon⛧ - Male Demon (Raumael) x GN Chubby Human Reader

Wordcount: 3,573 Summary + warnings: Smut with plot | size difference | You are an aspiring demon lord and intend to summon a strong demon. But when things don't go to plan, you get more than you bargain for when Raumael answers your evocation. Coming to an agreement, you seal the contract, paying the price with your soul and body. ⛧ A/N: Shout out to the anon who requested a demon fic. C: And special thanks to @sea-stone for beta reading this for me and letting me know I needed to add more smut.

⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧

You steadied your breath, fingers trembling over the spine of the ancient tome that rest in your hands. Your skin was drained of color and clammy in the candlelight. The sheen of your skin glistening in the low illumination of flickering flames that lapped hungrily at the wicks of the wax pillars. Each candle you had painstakingly lit till the room was bright and the temperature had risen substantially. The shadows that quivered and jumped along the walls tauntingly made you wince. Even your own traitorous shadow took part in this hellish provocation.

The chalk circle and neatly drawn sygils were scrawled over the floorboards in curious flowing patterns woven around your bare feet, where the same symbols and patterns were mirrored on your flesh. You close your eyes, desperation creasing your brow. Without further hesitation, despite your own wavering spirit, you parted a remarkably dry mouth and read. The ancient words spilled from your lips like boiling water, hissing and bubbling forth. The wooden planks beneath the chalk enchantments shuddered and began to quake angrily, the patterns on the floor rolling like the waves of the ocean.

This didn’t deter you, despite the roiling of your stomach, you continued reading, steeling yourself to this unsettling exhibition of power. As you continued to speak the words, the pages of the book ripped themselves free, and like a flock of doves, took to the air. A maelstrom of yellowed pages swirled around you. The paper flew past you violently, lightly slicing your flesh with each pass. You stared ahead, the page you needed to read from hovered in front of your face, bound by your speech, transfixed even as every object around you seemed to come to life by your words.

You faltered momentarily as the sygils that you’d drawn on your skin began to burn, but nothing would stop you now. Speaking the words that were on the page and in your heart, having memorized them prior to the evocation you were relying on. The final moment was upon you. Summoning forth the infernal being from the depths of the eternal burning pit to break free from the chains of Abaddon and do your bidding.

Hesitating for a moment, you revel in the power that surged around and through you. The same that had lifted up the books and pages, even your desk chair was spinning throughout the room.

Suddenly, the candles died, flames extinguished. It was now the sygils you’d drawn on the floor and on your own skin that glowed brightly in unholy illumination.

You let the demonic name roll off of your tongue in a smooth chorus, your voice powerful and commanding despite your normal demeanor. The floorboards cracked open, splintering and peeling back upon themselves. Dark smoke billowing from the gaping wooden maw, the large hole the magic had created was vomiting out ash and brimstone debris, sounding like a rumbling freight train was coming through the floor.

You tumbled backwards, taking deep, gasping breaths of air as you caught the briefest glimpse of the dark silhouette through the smoke. The figure that had emerged felt every bit as evil that you thought It might. Though instead of a disgusting monster as you’d expected, It seems you have evoked something else. Someone else. Rising from the hole, was an imposing, masculine figure, cloaked in smoke and shadows, but Its glowing eyes were on you, now examining you with dour displeasure and a furrowed brow.

"Oh no." You swallow, frozen in place.

There was an awkward stretch of silence as the smoke was beginning to settle, but It was the demon who decided to speak first. "Why am I here?" It drawled as It scorned you with, glowering with boredom. You could hardly process what was happening, merely in shock, suffering from both excitement and horror from what you’d done.

"A-Agannud?" You managed to ask, your voice only quavering slightly in Its presence. That is, you assumed the demonkin standing before you was the one you’d summoned.

The monstrous creature scoffed, as if he'd been insulted by such an accusation. "Wrong, wrong, wrong.” Its scowl turned Its lips down, serrated teeth on display.

The Hellspawn stood amongst the rubble of the room, the gaping hole in the floor having sealed itself at some point. You were now utterly alone in your bedroom with a demonic entity that was contained only by the chalk sygils you’d scrawled on the floor earlier. At least you hoped that the sygils were containing It. But you were no longer so sure.

It was something of a beast, but also had enough human qualities to give you pause. A human-like face, though… Its neck was perhaps slightly too long, even if the neck was thick with muscle and sinew. The facial features were obscured as Its coal black skin absorbed the light, made looking at the demon for too long a troubling task. It was also larger than you expected, perhaps seven feet tall, with muscular arms that were also perhaps a bit too long to be human. As It shifted Its weight and moved, you could have sworn Its shape changed, but It could be the low light playing tricks on you in a most unsettling way. Its lower half was still obscured in shadows and smoke, drawn around It like a cloak made of oblivion. For a moment, you could have sworn that multiple sets of eyes opened elsewhere upon Its body to observe you before they closed.

"N-no?” Unnerved, you pressed on regardless. You had studied this, you knew how to talk to demons. “How? I summoned Agannud? And, well, that has to be you?"

"You sound unsure. Are you positive it was Agannud you called forth from the pits of Abbadon?" Its voice rumbled in such a deep register that you felt the vibrations from your perch on the floor. Quickly you stood up but it did little to fortify your nerves. This demon was still towering over you, Its lips twisting into a smirk, serrated teeth gleaning in the light of the sygils.

"Well yes? But-" You were saying but, It cut you off before you could work through your logic.

Its glowing abyssal eyes were on you now, there was no escape from their scrutiny. “There is your answer. You're not confident enough to summon anything, so you could not know who you called forth. It's not a game you know. There is a price, I have a price.” The demon paused as It lowered itself to Its haunches so that they were eye level with you now. With little pause, It rest Its elbows on Its knees. “The price is high." It growled.

You froze, frightened of what was going to happen now. You had played with the darkest of magics and now there would be a tremendous penalty. Your life? Your soul? Could there be anything worse than losing your soul? You considered how to release him back to the depths of Abbadon, but would you ever get an opportunity to have summoned such a powerful demon? You had heard of Raumael and there was a reason you had not named him. Some entities were simply too strong to be controlled.

It continued to speak, "You are so very fortunate, because you've managed to catch my attention instead of that nobody, Agannud.” A toothy grin stretched Its maw, bringing no comfort to you, unable to partake in Its amusement.

“Though I have to admit, I'm rather embarrassed on your behalf. Despite how strong your evocation was, the fact of the matter is that your prompt was untethered, open ended, very erratic, and poorly executed.” An unnerving chuckle rumbled from the breadth of Its chest. “And that is exactly why your evocation normally would have gone unanswered. Damn my curiosity." It chastised you endlessly, sounding like a disappointed teacher rather than an infernal spirit here to do your bidding.

Its cutting remarks did nothing to fortify your will to speak out against that of which you’d summoned. But this was a demon you had called upon, sort of, and while it was an imposing figure with a crushing demonic aura to match, you had to take control. You took a step forward and steeled yourself for what came next.

"I don’t think so, demon. Tell me your name?" You commanded It with the same self confidence you had used to summon the creature itself.

It looked terribly unhappy with your renewed disposition, but It didn't have much of a choice and was forced to answer. "Raumael." It replied with contempt.

Flashing Its sharp, wolfish teeth your way was likely meant to scare you, but instead you found that the demon Raumael may actually have something of a nice smile. So much so that your cheeks began to feel warm, something that had little to do with the hellfire that radiated off of him.

“Then Raumael, you will do my bidding.” You commanded.

"I don't really feel like it. Maybe some other time." Raumael snidely remarked.

You balked, “What? You’re my demon! You have to?” baffled, you continued. “Those are the rules.”

“Not without a contract they aren’t. As I already told you, my price is high.” Raumael drawled, bored by you it seemed.

You clenched your jaw, aggravated.

He began to laugh, the deep rumble echoed throughout the small room. While It was unsettling, you didn’t find It unpleasant. “Hmm. Perhaps you will be the one following my orders and I’ll have your soul anyway.” The demon stepped closer to you, on the edge of the circle, towering over you, peering down over the ample curvature of his pec muscles. Perhaps Abbadon had a gym, you considered as this demon was fit.

You swallowed and shook your head, not so sure things wouldn’t wind up that way. “You aren’t leaving until you sign my contract. You get to walk around up here, but will do as I ask.”

The demon tilted his head, “Will I?” his tone mocking.

“You will.”

“Then you will pay my price.” Raum said as he stood and towered over you.

“Which is?”

“Your eternal soul. When you die, I will drag you down to Abbadon.”

You swallow, uncomfortable. “Anything else?”

“Your body.”

“My body?!” The suggestion was unthinkable. “Demonic possession is out of the question!”

“That is not what I’m asking for.” Raum said as he beckoned you to come into the circle with a crook of his claws.

You stayed still, the request unclear.

Obsidian eyes pierced yours, “I want to seal the contract with your body.” The demon parsed out, and as if sensing you were still dumbfounded, clarified, “Not possession.”

This was an uncommon practice, but not entirely unheard of to seal a demonic contract with a sexual act. This seemed to be the case here. But with a demon as powerful as Raumael at your command, you’d accomplish everything you had set out to do. What was a bit of sex and your immortal soul in exchange for unlimited infernal power at your fingertips?

Steeling your nerves, you step into the circle with the onyx skinned demonkin, your body tense, moving with all the flexibility of an eight hour old corpse. He clicked his tongue disapprovingly as his claws circled the nape of your neck, the other prickling at your hips as he reclined you within the illuminated ring of sygils. The glow from the enchanted glyphs better elucidated the demon’s features, a handsome, masculine face, you thought. Though the longer that your eyes roamed his features, the more things you found were not quite human. Like your sight was playing tricks on you.

The ashes and debris surround your head like a corona of chaotic wreckage, but it did nothing to dissuade your demon from sealing your contract. Raumael languidly climbed atop you with his long limbs on either side of your smaller, human body. His dark, substantial frame absorbing the light, as if his flesh was made from the abyss itself. Intense mercurial eyes stared down at you, lips parting as he lowered his head, his warm mouth brushing your shoulder. You clench your fists and tense up, waiting.

"This doesn't have to hurt, little Master." He advised, claws tracing the length of your arm with surprising care.

"I'm not your master yet." You manage.

"Per our agreement. You'll be my Master while we're under contract. You may not find the other monikers used for mortals so flattering.”

You nod with hesitation, continuing to observe the way he moved, his larger body engulfing you, knees pushing your legs apart. A razor sharp claw cut through the fabric of your shorts to expose the tender flesh of your lower torso. A shudder wracks your body, feeling wound as tight as a coil while the warm air of the room washed over your bare skin.

“Calm yourself and you just may enjoy this.” He said gruffly, his large body pressing down on you. Suddenly, distinctly male anatomy prodded at the cleft of your rear, his other claw slid down the length of your spine, careful not to shred your delicate human skin.

You nod your consent, trying to relax as he licks two of his fingers before reaching down to get you slick with saliva, mindful of his claws, he avoids penetrating you with his digits. The pads of his fingers firmly rubbed the tension from the tightly clenched flesh between your legs. To your surprise he moved back, his lips kissing your collarbone and down the center of your chest. Raum’s hand released your nape and was instead put to work as they began to fondle down your torso, sliding over your chest, his mouth descending to take a pert nipple between his lips, rolling his tongue over it. You cried out, surprised and trembling as his serrated teeth brushed the tiny bud of flesh, sending a jolt of arousal through your entire body.

Raum’s lips moved onward, kissing and nipping their way southward as you squirmed under his attention, he couldn’t have looked more pleased. You considered him as you peeked through your lashes at the immense demon, long talon-like digits tracing down your ribcage before settling on either side of your hips, squeezing your padding as they explored your body. Raum wasn’t complaining about extra flesh, if anything, the demon seemed to enjoy touching and squeezing you like a glorified stress ball.

Everywhere Raum’s skin grazed yours was left warm, as if his pleasure was dependent on your own arousal, reveling in your soft frame. He left you trembling, arching into his caress as he seemed to want to cause more of your wanton behaviors. The way you mewled and tensed and shuddered for him. You entirely went stiff, physically aching for more than delicate touches, you wanted so keenly to be filled.

“Please.” You rasped, muscles all over your body clenching and unclenching with need.

This plea only slowed the demon, who now seemed to be moving at a glacial pace. He was in no hurry to take you, to penetrate you and seal the contract. Your impatience would be your downfall, clearly. In a desperate attempt to take what you needed, you foisted your hips upwards at him, but not quickly enough. He pulled back, his cock still out of your reach. “Not yet.” He said, watching as your face contorted, awash with lust.

The head of his length pressed firmly against you, parting your flesh indelicately, but went no further than the tip of his colossal length pressing at the tender split at the apex of your legs.. “Is this what you want, Master?” He asked as claws circle your waist, your belly compressed underneath razor sharp nails. His lips curl as he elicits a gasp from you as his cock throbs with need against you, precum dribbling into your hole.

Nodding eagerly, your shoulders pinch together as you twisted beneath the weight of him, a moan slipping past your lips, surprising you as you thought you’d sealed yourself against enjoying the act, but you’d fallen so far so fast. Raum had seen to it that your body would enjoy itself whether you liked it or not.

Raumael slanted his slightly too large mouth over yours, sliding his hips forward so that your bodies were pressed hard against each other, his talons gripping tightly at your nape. It was a possessive hold, a possessive kiss.

Your lips softened and gave way to his tongue, tilting your head upwards to receive more of his heated kiss. Your breath escaped as he folded atop you, his hips finding their rhythm quickly as your flesh parted for his ample girth. You groan as you’re stretched, your tender flesh splayed wide to accommodate his fat cock as he rocked your body against his, his claw firmly on your lower back holding you. His rock hard length slid deeper inside you, knocking the air from your lungs with each bone-rattling thrust.

You cry out, every part of you feels like it's on fire, your hands clawing at the massive pecs that hovered above your face before finding purchase on his broad shoulders. You weren't sure when you stopped thinking of him as It and more as a he. Perhaps when his cock barged its way inside of you, or earlier even when you'd noted his physique and handsome face.

Squirming underneath his weight, the heat of his skin warmed you to your core, as he pushed into your body, all of your nerve endings suddenly at attention as the burn of his hellfire washed over you. You wrapped your legs around him, welcoming the heat as you felt yourself unfurling, digging your nails into his shoulders as the glow of your orgasm was building. Your thighs quivered as your body seemed to have a mind of its own.

You gasp, mindlessly as his breath stirred against your shoulder, serrated teeth and warm lips pressed on the soft skin there. The demon’s hard length thrust into you, hot like coals and smooth as silk, as the base of his mound crashed against your hips. Slick with precum and fluids mixing in an obscene union. Your body was raw and pulsing as you tensed with every thrust, toes curling in pleasure, nails raking over his obsidian skin. Your breath hitched as every part of you felt as if you had shattered in that moment. Your orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks, your eyes rolling back as you silently clenched, holding onto your demon for dear life.

Raumael held you in a bruising grip, pumping furiously into you, every muscle tense and strained. You felt him swelling, growing harder, filling you more than you ever could have anticipated. He lifted you by your pelvis off the floor, angling you higher to meet his fearsome thrusts, his face contorted with evident focus. The demon’s dark brow furrowed, lips curled in a snarl as a spasm began to shake him. With a guttural hiss, his body jerked as he suddenly flooded with you what felt like an endless supply of hot, slick fluid, flooding out of you as you were filled to capacity as it smeared your inner thighs and trickled down the cleft of your bottom.

Suddenly then, the illumination of the sygils stopped. The only light that was cast upon you was the tiny sliver from beneath the closed door and a pair of dark eyes reflecting that miniscule glow back upon you. Your body was numb, like it was made completely of static and you felt utterly drained, slick with sweat, a mixture of yours and his.

There were several minutes where both of you only focused on breathing, the demon still having pinned you beneath him, his cock stuffed inside of you as cum gushed out and pooled on the floor. A terrible mess you both had made.

"Is that it?" You asked, breaking the silence, your breathing unsteady.

All the candles flickered to life suddenly and your demon peered down at you, quite offended. "Did you not cum too?" Raum scowled as he sat back on his haunches, carefully releasing you from his grip as his erection slowly dissipated.

"Oh! No, I did!" Your face turned scarlet at the questioning and you realize how that may have been misconstrue. "I meant...our contract is sealed?"

"You can't tell?" Raumael scoffed, unimpressed as he observed you closely now.

"It’s just that you're my first." You explain as you sit up, gesturing to the sygils and then to him.

"First?" Raum perked up, as you seemed to summon every ounce of his attention.

"Yes...first demon and..." You trail off.

He glanced down at you for a moment, "Oh, that makes things interesting. You should have negotiated our contract, Master. I would have given you a better deal." He chuckled, but very tenderly began to clean you up. This bit of information seemed to garner a modicum of sympathy from the devil.

Perhaps it wasn’t too late to renegotiate?

“No.” He said simply, as if he was reading your mind. This did not stop him from examining you for damage. How cute he was concerned, but there was a very legitimate reason for it. You shouldn’t confuse his concern for care. It was contractually his job to make sure you’re okay.

“But-”

Raum shook his head. “Absolutely not.” He reaffirmed.

⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧

Original works Masterlist

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mtg-cards-hourly · 25 days ago

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Maelstrom Pulse

The storm of mana thundered and crackled with unlimited possibility. It would be beautiful, if it weren't so deadly.

Artist: Svetlin Velinov TCG Player Link Scryfall Link EDHREC Link

#mtg #magic the gathering #tcg #$0.45 #svetlin velinov #maelstrom pulse #bloomburrow commander #sorcery

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saltpepperbeard · 1 year ago

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no because really, i think stede is operating in a way he thinks will win him respect. i think he's operating in a way he thinks is the expectation. i don't think he likes it, and i don't think it's "him," but i think he enjoys the positive reinforcement from everyone around him. he's literally never had that before in his life.

he was bullied as a child for what he enjoyed. he was cast aside by his father for being himself. the crew threatened to mutiny against him or even just flat-out kill him because he was too "weak."

and here he is trying to pull himself up out of maelstrom of mistakes. "he's been a failure his whole life." he's trying to do everything he can to rectify that. he wants to be the lighthouse for his crew. he wants to be a good captain. he wants to be a good pirate. he wants to be a good lover. he wants to be something.

and he was actually getting there himself--he just didn't realize it. listening to his crew more, showing them kindness, leading them when they were lost and had no place to go, putting his own grief on hold and taking back the revenge...

he was getting there! but still, he was surrounded by those haunting expectations, by the fear that it wasn't enough.

the whole conversation between he and ed where ed is encouraging him to command respect/be tougher. the whole conversation between he and izzy where izzy says he's "never met anyone with a total lack of skills." zheng saying that she didn't "conquer china by letting people go on and on about their feelings."

not to mention the goading from ned. "once you kill me, you're a real pirate. you're not an amateur." "see? that's why he likes you. your bumbling amateur status."

it all keeps swimming circles around him, looming above his head like a shadow.

he thinks he has something more to prove. he thinks he has to be more. even though his own methods work, like ned's crew turning on him simply because stede showed kindness and understanding, all these phantoms keep telling him it isn't enough and that the other methods are more effective.

because he kills, and looks visibly shaken by it, but his crew cheers. he grabs ed by the collar despite them wanting to take things slow, and they grow intimate. he walks into jackie'z after it all, a place where he was previously banished from, and is treated like a sort of pirate hero.

it's not him. "we don't just banish people, do we? that's not us."

but it's encouraged. it's celebrated. so he thinks it should be.

#OFMD #OFMD Season 2 #OFMD S2 Spoilers #Stede Bonnet #Revenge Rambles #WHEW #listen #listen listen #i have trust #i have faith #i really truly believe he's just caught up way WAY too much in all of this #that he's in WAYYYYY over his head #that he's riding the wave of FEELING like someone #and isn't really taking anything else into account #because like #idk man #as someone who has struggled to fit in and struggled to be respected/treated well by my peers through school #i did some things that i would normally not do #i acted in ways uncharacteristic for me #and i thought i enjoyed them at the time #i rode the thrill of getting approval from everyone else #but looking back on it now #it was absolutely NOT worth it and was not something i'd do presently #i just did it simply because i thought i had to #and i think that's more of what's going on with stede right now

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zarvasace · 28 days ago

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Pathfinder Chain 2.0

Masterpost

In which the LU boys are interpreted as having lived their lives and adventures in Golarion, as seen in Pathfinder 2e. Post/Mid-Godsrain. Will include art (mostly for character designs) and fic (specifically Febuwhump 2025.)

For some context in case you are unaware: Pathfinder is similar to Dungeons & Dragons, in which characters have numbers and you roll dice. It is generally played with a group of people each with their own character, but here I'm giving them all the numbers and using them as a basis for fic. It is a high-magic setting built on a foundation of Tolkien-inspired fantasy.

First appearance: Jan 8, 2025

Tag: #pathfinder chain (old designs use this tag, as well)

Previous Pathfinder Chain post, with old art.

Main fic series on AO3

My previous Pathfinder Chain was made attempting to model the existing characters in the game as closely as possible, so we saw a lot of rangers and fighters and really only the one spellcaster (two, if we're counting Shadow.) These new character sheets have a different philosophy in mind, one that attempts to put the characters in the existing Pathfinder world and mesh their stories and gods with the lore. By that logic, there are more spellcasters, and I'm attempting to indulge the high-magic kitchen-sink god-bothered fantasy feel with these designs and stories. I'm very happy with them so far!! I'm planning to talk about the designs here, mostly, and reveal story details in fics.

In the update from 1.0 to 2.0, some of my decisions about ancestry and class changed, but plenty stayed the same. I've actually created character sheets this time, however, so I'm very excited to talk at length about those. :) For anyone interested in learning more about my choices, asks are open, and so is 2e.aonprd.com, the free, licensed online database of Pathfinder rules. I’m using Free Archetype and they’re all level 5.

Without further ado, may I happily present my second-version Pathfinder Chain, to be updated as I complete details and show you all the art that I'm working on!—

Four - halfling aiuvarin, artisan, thief rogue, ancestors oracle

Hyrule - sprite ganzi, nomad, phoenix bloodline sorceror, living vessel

Legend - elf beastkin, free spirit, thaumaturge (wand/weapon), sleepwalker

Sky - songbird strix, chosen one, exemplar, fighter

Time - human changeling, feybound, warrior muse bard, chronoskimmer

Twilight - awakened wolf, farmhand, untamed order druid, curse maelstrom

Warriors - keen-venom vishkanya, guard, commander, medic

Wild - human duskwalker, amnesiac, dragon instinct barbarian, wandering chef

Wind - azarketi sylph, sailor, rascal swashbuckler, air kineticist

All intro posts complete as of 1/15/25

#pathfinder chain #linked universe #lu #pf2e #this is that new au i was talking about #febuwhump 2025 #im doing a few things here that i havent done in the past #namely making a lot of character decisions ahead of time (and some details that ive never used before)#some of it might not come up #but im quite excited to do things with these bous #boys #ive already identified several whumpable traits ehehehe :D

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dee-writes-anime · 25 days ago

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Chapter 7: The King’s Consort

FEATURING Ryomen Sukuna x Witch!Reader

SUMMARY On the battlefield, you unleash your full power, a force of precision and ruthlessness that silences any remaining doubts among Sukuna’s court. Back at the estate, the celebration is a stark contrast to the chaos of war, but it’s not the feasting that defines the night. When Sukuna leads you to his chambers, the tension that has simmered between you finally erupts. What begins as a battle of wills becomes a surrender—not to him, but to the undeniable connection that binds you both. Together, you are unstoppable.

CONTENT WARNINGS Highly detailed and graphic descriptions of battlefield carnage, including bloodshed, dismemberment, and death, depictions of brutal killings by cursed spirits and warriors, involving visceral imagery of crushed bodies, entrails, and shattered bones, SMUT aka explicit sexual content with graphic descriptions of intimacy and anatomy, including Sukuna’s unique physical traits (e.g., four arms, multiple eyes, two penises, and a stomach mouth), scenes include BDSM-adjacent themes of control, defiance, and surrender, depictions of overstimulation, dominance, and consensual power exchange, emotional manipulation and psychological tension woven into Sukuna and the reader’s dynamic, the juxtaposition of violence and pleasure, highlighting the darker aspects of their relationship, themes of possession, claiming, and ruthless ambition as part of the romantic and narrative arcs.

PLAYLIST

SERIES MASTERLIST

The ridge beneath our feet was jagged and uneven, slick with the residue of countless battles fought long before this day. The dark stone glistened, as though it drank in the blood spilled over centuries, staining its crevices with memories of endless violence. Below us, chaos unfolded in a nightmare tableau. The battlefield stretched far and wide, a living, heaving mass of carnage and destruction, each moment more brutal than the last.

The air was suffocating. It carried the sharp, metallic tang of fresh blood, thick enough to coat the tongue, mingled with the acrid stench of charred flesh and cursed energy. A fetid wind blew in short, sporadic bursts, spreading the rancid smell of death across the ridge and forcing the acrid taste deeper into the throat. Every breath felt like inhaling smoke from a pyre, heavy and cloying, a visceral reminder of the carnage below.

Above, the sky churned like a cauldron on the brink of boiling over. Black clouds swirled ominously, shot through with jagged streaks of crimson lightning. Each crack illuminated the battlefield in sharp, stuttering flashes, revealing brief, harrowing glimpses of the destruction below. The heavens themselves seemed to rage, an uncontrollable storm mirroring the chaos on the ground.

Sukuna stood beside me, silent but commanding, his presence a force more tangible than the ridge beneath my feet. His crimson robes, embroidered with jagged gold sigils, rippled faintly in the howling wind, as though even the air itself was hesitant to touch him. His cursed energy radiated outward in steady pulses, pressing against my skin with an almost suffocating intensity. He surveyed the carnage below like a monarch inspecting his domain, his four eyes gleaming with a dangerous mix of amusement and bloodlust.

“Look,” he murmured, his voice low and resonant, cutting through the cacophony like a blade. “This is what defiance earns them.”

I followed his gaze, my eyes drawn to the chaos below, where Sukuna’s forces clashed with Kaito’s rebels in a maelstrom of violence. The battlefield was a living nightmare. Sukuna’s cursed spirits, monstrous and grotesque, tore through the rebel lines with merciless efficiency, their inhuman forms drenched in blood and viscera.

A hulking spirit, its body covered in overlapping plates of bone that gleamed like ivory, let out a deafening roar as it slammed a clawed hand into the chest of a rebel soldier. The impact was brutal, a sickening crunch echoing through the air as ribs snapped like dry twigs. Blood sprayed in an arc, splattering the ground in vivid crimson. The soldier’s body convulsed once before going limp, his lifeless form discarded like refuse as the spirit turned its attention to its next victim.

Further down the line, a serpentine spirit coiled around a screaming rebel, its glistening black scales reflecting the flickering light of cursed energy that crackled across the battlefield. The man thrashed desperately, his screams choked as the spirit’s crushing coils tightened, bones snapping audibly under the relentless pressure. The spirit’s fanged maw darted forward, tearing into his throat with savage precision. Blood erupted in a torrent, pooling beneath the writhing mass as the man’s struggles ceased.

The ground itself was a hellscape. Torn earth mixed with spilled blood and entrails, forming a grotesque mire that squelched underfoot as the living struggled to maintain their footing amidst the carnage. Severed limbs jutted from the muck like grotesque markers of the fallen, their pale flesh stark against the dark, churning ground.

The sounds were relentless: screams of the dying, guttural roars of cursed spirits, the sharp clang of metal striking metal, and the wet, nauseating squelch of flesh torn asunder. A rebel soldier, barely more than a boy, stumbled through the chaos, his face a mask of terror. He clutched at the stump of his arm, crimson spurting from the jagged wound as he tried to flee. A spirit descended upon him, its taloned foot crushing his chest with a sound like splintering wood. His scream ended abruptly as the spirit’s claws plunged into his abdomen, disemboweling him with one savage motion.

Sukuna’s forces were merciless, their loyalty to him etched into every savage blow they delivered. A cursed warrior in blackened armor swung a massive mace, its spiked head dripping with gore. With a feral roar, he brought it down on a rebel’s head, shattering the skull like a ripe melon. Brain matter and blood sprayed outward, painting the nearby fighters in a gruesome mist. The rebel’s body collapsed in a heap, twitching feebly before going still.

The rebels, though desperate, fought with an intensity born of hatred and fear. Kaito’s soldiers hurled themselves at Sukuna’s forces, wielding cursed weapons that shimmered with volatile energy. One such soldier—a woman with wild eyes and a blade that glowed faintly red—managed to pierce the hide of a cursed spirit, her weapon sinking into its side with a wet, crunching sound. The spirit shrieked, its many eyes bulging as it convulsed violently, but its agony was short-lived. A second spirit, its form hunched and sinewy, leapt onto the woman, its needle-like teeth tearing into her throat. Blood spurted in rhythmic bursts as the spirit shook her like a ragdoll, her body flopping lifelessly before being flung aside.

“Do you hear it?” Sukuna asked, his tone laced with dark satisfaction. “The sound of their desperation.”

The cacophony below seemed to grow louder, as if answering his words. A rebel captain bellowed orders, his voice raw and strained, but his commands were drowned out by the chaos around him. A cursed spirit lunged at him, its grotesque body covered in oozing boils that burst as it moved, spraying viscous black fluid. The captain raised his weapon, but the spirit’s claws tore through him before he could strike. His body crumpled to the ground, his eyes wide and unseeing, as the spirit howled its triumph.

The ground trembled beneath our feet, the force of the battle below sending faint vibrations through the ridge. Lightning cracked across the sky, illuminating the carnage in brief, horrifying clarity. In the flash, I saw a rebel impaled on the jagged horns of a cursed spirit, his body writhing as the spirit lifted him high before tossing him aside like a broken toy.

I turned my gaze back to Sukuna, his crimson eyes alight with cruel satisfaction as he surveyed the slaughter. His presence was unshakable, a towering force that loomed over the battlefield like a god presiding over his domain. The pulse of the choker at my throat quickened, its energy threading through me like a steady drumbeat, grounding me amidst the chaos.

“This is their choice,” Sukuna said, his voice low and deliberate. “To stand against me. Let them see what their defiance has earned.”

Below, the tide of battle raged on, but there was no question of its outcome. This was not a fight. It was a massacre.

The ridge beneath us trembled with the force of the battle below, the vibrations echoing in the soles of my boots. The acrid air, thick with blood and despair, clung to my skin like an unwelcome shroud. Beside me, Sukuna stood as an immovable force, his four crimson eyes surveying the battlefield with unshakable certainty. The faint glimmer of amusement that curled at his lips was overshadowed by something far more potent—bloodlust, raw and unrestrained, woven with the faintest flicker of pride.

“You’ve seen what defiance earns them,” he murmured, his voice low, carrying the weight of a command. He turned to me, the sharp angles of his face illuminated by the violent crimson flashes of lightning that cracked across the sky. “Now show them why you stand at my side.”

My breath caught, not from fear, but from the raw intensity in his gaze. His words weren’t a request—they were a demand. A decree. One that carried the weight of his trust and expectation.

I nodded, the pulse of the choker at my throat quickening, its energy resonating with my own. The crimson gemstone glowed faintly, casting restless shadows that flickered across the polished plates of my armor. The armor itself was a masterpiece, each piece etched with jagged patterns that mirrored Sukuna’s sigil, glinting gold against the deep crimson base. The chest plate hugged my form, its surface polished to a mirror-like sheen, while the pauldrons arched upward like jagged flames. A layered skirt of flexible metal plates hung at my hips, allowing for movement without sacrificing protection.

The armor wasn’t just functional—it was a declaration. A reflection of the power I wielded and the place I had claimed at Sukuna’s side.

My cursed energy thrummed beneath the surface, coiling tightly like a serpent poised to strike. It hummed in tandem with the choker’s pulse, sharp and electric, begging to be unleashed. As I stepped forward, the weight of the moment settled over me, heavy and unrelenting, but I didn’t falter.

The path down to the battlefield was steep, the jagged stones slick with blood and viscera. My boots crunched against the uneven terrain, the sound barely audible over the cacophony of battle cries and the wet, sickening thuds of bodies colliding and breaking. The screams of the dying mingled with the guttural roars of Sukuna’s cursed spirits, creating a symphony of chaos that stirred the fire burning within me.

Sukuna’s gaze lingered on me as I descended, his presence a steady weight at my back. He didn’t need to speak to make his thoughts clear—I wasn’t just stepping onto the battlefield as a combatant. I was stepping into my role as his equal, his partner, his chosen.

The battlefield was chaos incarnate, a living tempest of blood and curses, steel and screams. It writhed with unrelenting motion, the clash of armies staining the torn earth in crimson and shadow. Yet, amidst the carnage, there was a clarity to my purpose—a sharp, crystalline focus that sharpened every movement and guided every strike.

I moved like a phantom through the chaos, my armor whispering against my skin as I stepped into the fray. My cursed energy flared to life, its tendrils slicing through the dense fog of curses and bloodshed with deliberate precision. Each lash of power struck true, severing limbs and shattering weapons, reducing even the most defiant rebels to twisted heaps of flesh and armor.

“Show them,” Sukuna’s voice echoed in my mind, a steady drumbeat that fueled the fire in my chest.

A rebel soldier lunged at me, his blade arcing through the air with a desperate ferocity. I sidestepped his strike with fluid ease, my energy coiling around his wrist like a living serpent. His scream tore through the chaos as the tendrils tightened, snapping bone and tearing flesh before the final strike pierced his chest, silencing him. Blood splattered across my armor, painting the gleaming sigil etched into my chest plate.

I didn’t pause to watch him fall. My cursed energy surged outward in a jagged arc, finding two more targets—one a hulking brute wielding a spiked club, the other a smaller figure with a jagged staff. The tendrils struck them in unison, the brute’s club shattering as his chest exploded in a spray of viscera, while the staff-wielder’s throat was slit so cleanly that his head lolled grotesquely before his body crumpled to the ground.

The movements of the enemy were erratic, driven by fear and the sheer force of Sukuna’s cursed army. I read their disarray like an open book, calculating the flow of the battle as though it were a puzzle meant to be solved. With every step, I maneuvered the chaos to my advantage—luring soldiers into traps, dividing their ranks, and picking them apart with ruthless precision.

Above the cacophony, Sukuna’s power roared like a thunderstorm made flesh. His cursed energy surged in waves, crashing through the rebel forces with an unrelenting ferocity that was almost beautiful in its destruction. He stood at the heart of the carnage, his four arms a blur of motion as they wielded jagged claws and brutal strength to cleave through enemies. His strikes were raw, visceral—bodies split apart as though they were nothing more than parchment under the edge of a blade.

Where my attacks were calculated and deliberate, Sukuna’s were devastating and overwhelming, his cursed energy swallowing entire swathes of the battlefield in shadow and flame. The ground cracked beneath his onslaught, the earth itself groaning under the weight of his power. Screams filled the air as his cursed energy coiled like a living storm, devouring rebels and their curses alike.

Yet, despite the contrast in our methods, there was a strange synchronicity in the way we fought. His ferocity created openings, scattering the enemy’s formations and leaving them vulnerable to my precision strikes. My calculated maneuvers drew enemies toward his path, herding them like cattle into the jaws of a lion. Together, we were unstoppable—a force that moved as one, the battlefield bending to our will.

A rebel officer barked orders from atop a jagged hill, his voice rising above the chaos as he rallied his troops. His silver armor gleamed in the flickering light, the crimson accents on his chest plate marking him as a high-ranking leader. His presence steadied the rebels around him, their desperation giving way to a grim determination as they turned to face us with renewed vigor.

My gaze locked onto him, my cursed energy flaring in response to the challenge. With a single motion, I raised my hand, summoning a wave of energy that surged forward like a tide. The officer’s eyes widened as the tendrils lashed out, striking the ground around him with a deafening crack that sent shards of rock and earth flying into the air. His shield shattered under the force of the impact, the jagged metal slicing into the soldiers flanking him.

He stumbled, his composure faltering for a split second—just long enough for me to close the distance. My cursed energy swirled around me, a crimson vortex that cut through the air as I leapt onto the hill. He raised his blade in a desperate attempt to counter, but my strike was faster. The energy coiled around his arm, twisting and breaking it with a sickening crunch. His scream was cut short as a second tendril pierced his chest, lifting him off the ground before hurling him into the midst of his retreating troops.

The rebels hesitated, their leader’s defeat sending a ripple of doubt through their ranks. It was all the opening Sukuna needed.

His laughter rolled across the battlefield, low and menacing, as his cursed energy surged like an unrelenting tide. He moved with terrifying speed, his massive frame blurring as he tore through the enemy ranks with brutal efficiency. A swipe of his claws reduced a line of soldiers to little more than torn flesh and broken bone, while his cursed energy surged outward in tendrils of shadow that consumed everything in their path.

The battlefield was no longer a clash of armies—it was a massacre, a symphony of death and destruction orchestrated by Sukuna’s will. And at the heart of it all, I stood as his equal, our powers weaving together in a dance of precision and devastation that left no room for defiance.

We fought as one—a storm of blood and fire that swept across the battlefield, leaving nothing but carnage in our wake.��

The tide of the battle shifted when Kaito’s focus snapped to me. His golden eye burned with malice, the jagged staff in his gnarled hand radiating a raw, untamed energy that seemed to pierce the chaos. He stood atop a rise of shattered earth, his dark robes billowing around him like a predator poised to strike.

"You," he snarled, his voice carrying over the battlefield like a blade cutting through the din. "You are nothing but a distraction, a mockery of power."

The weight of his gaze settled heavily on me, but I did not falter. Around us, the cacophony of battle dulled to a distant roar, the air thickening with the static charge of his cursed energy. The ground beneath my feet cracked as his power coiled outward, a wave of black and crimson that surged toward me with the force of a hurricane.

Sukuna stood a distance away, the carnage around him momentarily stilled. His crimson eyes locked on me, two half-lidded with apparent disinterest, while the other two gleamed with sharp intensity. He made no move to intervene, his towering presence passive yet commanding. His silence spoke volumes: this was my fight.

Kaito’s attack tore through the air, jagged tendrils of energy lashing like the claws of a starving beast. They writhed and twisted, their movements erratic but deliberate, each arc aimed to ensnare and destroy. The ground they touched shattered, molten shards spraying outward as the cursed energy carved a path of devastation.

I stood my ground, my cursed energy surging to the surface as I raised both hands, summoning the full weight of my magic. The choker at my throat pulsed wildly, its rhythm matching the sharp thrum of my heartbeat as the power coiled and twisted around me.

The tendrils struck first, crashing against my barrier with the force of a tidal wave. Light flared between us, the collision sending a shockwave through the battlefield that knocked nearby soldiers off their feet. The air burned, the acrid scent of scorched energy mingling with the metallic tang of blood.

Kaito’s sneer deepened, his energy surging harder, testing the limits of my defenses. “You think you can withstand me, witch?” he roared, his voice dripping with disdain. “You’re nothing but a pawn playing at power!”

I didn’t answer. Instead, I reached deeper, drawing on the energy coiled within me and weaving it into the threads of his attack. My magic threaded through his power, seizing control of the chaotic tendrils and twisting them into a deliberate shape—a blade honed from his own energy.

The shift was immediate. Kaito’s sneer faltered, confusion flickering across his scarred face as his attack turned against him. The jagged tendrils, once wild and destructive, now coiled back toward their origin, striking at him with a precision that mirrored my intent.

The first tendril slashed across his shoulder, tearing through his robes and biting deep into flesh. Blood sprayed into the air, the dark crimson stark against the pale glow of the cursed energy. Kaito stumbled, his staff trembling in his grip as he struggled to regain control.

“You underestimated me,” I said, my voice calm but edged with steel. “And now you’ll pay for it.”

Another tendril struck, this time slicing across his chest, leaving a jagged, smoking wound that glowed faintly with the remnants of my magic. He let out a guttural snarl, his golden eye blazing with fury and pain.

From the sidelines, the lords and courtiers who had been watching in tense silence erupted into murmurs. Their voices carried a mixture of awe and terror, their expressions a blend of disbelief and grudging respect.

“Did you see that?” one whispered.

“She turned his own power against him,” another murmured, their voice trembling.

“She’s not just surviving,” someone else said, their tone tinged with fear. “She’s dominating.”

Kaito staggered, his energy faltering as he glared at me with unrestrained hatred. The jagged staff in his hand cracked under the weight of his frustration, its crystal tip dimming as his power wavered.

“You dare to—” he began, but his words were cut short as I took a deliberate step forward, my energy flaring brighter.

“You dared first,” I said sharply, my voice carrying the weight of command. “And you failed.”

The battlefield stilled as Kaito's power faltered, his jagged energy retracting like a wounded beast slinking back to its den. His golden eye burned with defiance, but there was fear now too, a flicker that he couldn’t suppress. Blood oozed from the wounds I had carved into him—thick, dark rivulets that dripped onto the broken earth beneath us. The acrid scent of scorched flesh and cursed energy mingled with the metallic tang of his lifeblood, hanging heavy in the air like a storm cloud refusing to disperse.

“Stand down, Kaito,” someone muttered from the sidelines, their voice trembling. But there was no escape for him. Not now. Not ever.

I stepped forward, my heels clicking softly against the shattered stone as my energy coiled tighter, sharp and deliberate. My crimson and gold armor gleamed in the flickering light of the cursed flames scattered across the battlefield, the jagged sigils etched into the plates reflecting the eerie glow. I tilted my head slightly, the faintest smile curving my lips as I regarded him.

“Is that it?” I asked, my voice carrying a mocking sweetness that cut through the stillness. “I expected more from the great Kaito of the Obsidian Claw.”

Kaito’s chest heaved as he struggled to stay upright, his staff trembling in his bloodied hands. “You… will regret this,” he growled, though his voice cracked under the weight of his own weakness.

I laughed, the sound low and sharp, ringing across the battlefield like the tolling of a bell. It wasn’t the laugh of someone merely amused—it was the laugh of someone reveling in the exquisite thrill of destruction, of domination. “Regret?” I echoed, my eyes gleaming with wicked delight. “Oh no, Kaito. I don’t regret anything. Least of all this.”

With a flick of my wrist, my energy surged outward, twisting into jagged tendrils that circled him like predators closing in on prey. The sharp crackle of my power filled the air, a symphony of violence that sent shivers racing through the watching court. The tendrils danced around him, slicing through the air with deliberate slowness, their edges gleaming with the promise of pain.

“You’ve caused enough trouble,” I said, my voice dropping to a soft purr as I stepped closer. “Now it’s time you learned what happens when you challenge someone like me.”

Kaito’s curses grew louder, his defiance rekindling in the face of his inevitable defeat. “You’re nothing but a pawn!” he spat, his words laced with venom. “A puppet on Sukuna’s strings, pretending to—”

“Pretending?” I cut him off, my voice sharp as a blade. “Oh, Kaito. You’ve mistaken me for someone who cares what you think.”

With a snap of my fingers, the tendrils struck. The first lashed across his legs, slicing through muscle and sinew with brutal precision. He screamed, the sound ripping through the battlefield as he collapsed to his knees, his staff clattering to the ground beside him. Blood poured from the fresh wounds, pooling beneath him in a dark, glistening puddle.

The second tendril wrapped around his arm, tightening with merciless force. The bones beneath his scarred flesh cracked audibly, the sound sending a shiver of satisfaction racing through me. He howled, his golden eye wide with agony, but I didn’t falter. I leaned into the moment, savoring every flicker of pain that crossed his grotesque features.

“You talk too much,” I said, my smile widening as I twisted the tendril tighter. The jagged edges bit into his flesh, carving deep grooves that bled freely, staining the dark stone beneath him.

Kaito’s struggles grew weaker, his curses dissolving into ragged gasps. His golden eye darted wildly, searching for an escape that didn’t exist. “Sukuna… he’ll—”

“Sukuna?” I interrupted, laughing again, the sound brighter now, more unhinged. “Sukuna doesn’t need to lift a finger. I’m handling you just fine on my own.”

I crouched before him, the hem of my crimson gown brushing the bloodstained earth as I tilted his chin upward with the sharp edge of a tendril. His face was pale, his body trembling, but I saw the flicker of hatred in his gaze—a hatred I would snuff out before the end.

“Look at me, Kaito,” I commanded, my voice soft but edged with steel. “I want you to remember this moment. Remember who ended you.”

With a final surge of my power, the tendrils coiled tighter, their jagged edges sinking deeper into his flesh. His screams rose again, raw and broken, echoing across the battlefield like the final notes of a symphony. I laughed once more, the sound reverberating through the air as I relished the sight of him unraveling before me.

And then, with deliberate slowness, I raised my hand, summoning a single, searing tendril of energy. It hovered above him, its edges glowing with a molten intensity that promised nothing but agony.

“This is for your arrogance,” I said, my voice dripping with cruel satisfaction. The tendril plunged into his chest, piercing through muscle and bone to the core of his cursed energy. The light in his golden eye flickered, dimming as the tendril twisted, consuming him from the inside out.

Kaito’s final scream was cut short as his body crumpled to the ground, his cursed energy dissolving into ash that scattered in the faint wind. Silence fell over the battlefield, heavy and absolute, as every eye turned to me.

I straightened, the pulse of the choker steady against my throat as I surveyed the carnage I had wrought. Blood stained the air, the earth, and my armor, but I felt no shame—only exhilaration. My laughter rang out once more, bright and unrestrained, as I turned to meet Sukuna’s gaze.

Sukuna’s laughter rang out across the battlefield, low and resonant, cutting through the lingering tension like a blade. “Well done, little witch,” he said, his tone laced with approval and amusement. “You’ve shown them why you’re mine.”

The words sent a ripple through the court, their murmurs growing louder as they processed the declaration. Pride and fear mingled in their expressions as their gazes flicked between Sukuna and me.

“You’ve exceeded even my expectations,” he continues over the noise, pleased.

I inclined my head slightly, the faintest smirk curling my lips. “I told you I was more than capable.”

The murmurs of the court grew louder, their voices laced with awe and fear as they whispered of the witch who had brought Kaito to his knees. But I didn’t care about their opinions. I cared only for the thrill that still coursed through me, the rush of power and domination that left me craving more.

As I stepped back into the fray, I knew one thing for certain: this battlefield was mine, and anyone who dared to challenge me would meet the same fate as Kaito.

The battlefield fell eerily silent as Sukuna stepped forward, his towering presence commanding attention. The faint crackle of cursed energy still lingered in the air, brushing against the senses of all who stood witness. The storm clouds above churned with crimson streaks of lightning, a tempest echoing the tension and finality of what was to come.

Sukuna’s crimson robes trailed behind him, stained dark at the edges with blood and soot from the battle. Each step he took was deliberate, a reminder of his dominion over all present. His four eyes gleamed with an intensity that left no room for doubt, two half-lidded with amusement while the other two burned with a sharp, predatory light.

The faint whispers of his court and soldiers stilled entirely as he reached the center of the ridge, his gaze sweeping over the bloodied battlefield below. The jagged earth was littered with broken bodies and the remnants of cursed energy, a testament to the carnage wrought in his name. And at his side stood me, my crimson and gold armor glinting faintly in the flickering light, the pulse of my choker steady against my throat.

Sukuna’s gaze flicked to me, his grin widening into something cold, deliberate, and impossibly proud. Then, his voice boomed across the battlefield, low and resonant, carrying the weight of an unbreakable decree.

“This one,” he began, his words slicing through the heavy air like a blade, “stands with me—not as a servant, not as a follower, but as my equal.”

The words struck like a thunderclap, reverberating through the gathered forces. The court lords, the soldiers, even the lingering spirits frozen in the wake of the battle—all turned their attention to him, their gazes wide with shock and disbelief. The weight of his claim hung heavily in the air, undeniable and absolute.

“She is no pawn,” Sukuna continued, his tone sharpening into something more dangerous. “No mere piece to be sacrificed in the games of lesser men. She has proven herself in blood and fire, in strength and ruthlessness. And now, she is mine.”

He stepped closer to me, his cursed energy coiling outward in sharp, deliberate waves. The weight of it pressed against me, heavy and suffocating, yet grounding in a way that left no room for doubt. His hand lifted, his clawed fingers brushing lightly against the edge of my jaw as his crimson eyes met mine.

“My queen,” he said, his voice dropping lower, softer, but no less commanding.

The silence that followed was deafening.

I straightened, my gaze steady as I met his, refusing to shrink under the weight of his declaration. The bloodstained earth beneath my feet, the sharp tang of iron in the air, the whispers of power threading through the choker at my throat—all of it burned with a singular truth: this was no mere title. It was a claim, forged in battle and sealed in the ruthless power we had both unleashed.

The words reverberated through me, their meaning sinking deeper than they ever had before. I had resisted, challenged, and even mocked the idea of standing at his side. I had worn my defiance like armor, my hesitation a shield against the gravity of what this role demanded. But now, standing here amidst the blood and fire, the truth was undeniable: this wasn’t about submission. It was about power, about taking what was mine and ruling as the force I was meant to be.

My hesitation unraveled, piece by piece, until only clarity remained. This was my place, not in the shadows or at the edges of power, but in its heart, where decisions were made, and kingdoms were forged. The fire that had always burned within me flared, no longer caged but roaring to life, a flame that would consume everything in its path.

I turned my gaze back to Sukuna, meeting his with a sharp, unflinching intensity. “You’ve waited for my answer,” I said, my voice steady and carrying an edge of finality. “And now you have it.”

He tilted his head slightly, his grin widening as though he had already known what I would say. “Do you mean to make me wait longer, little witch?” he teased, his tone laced with dark amusement.

“No,” I replied, stepping closer until the space between us was nearly nonexistent. My voice dropped, each word deliberate and brimming with conviction. “I accept.”

The storm above roared in approval, the crimson lightning striking the distant horizon as though sealing the moment with fire and light. The choker pulsed sharply against my throat, a tangible reminder of the power now tethered to me, not as a servant, but as a queen.

Sukuna’s grin sharpened into something darker, more triumphant, as his gaze burned into mine. “Finally,” he murmured, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver racing down my spine. “It seems you’ve come to your senses.”

The weight of his cursed energy pressed against me again, heavier now, as though acknowledging the shift between us. But this time, I didn’t push back. I stepped forward, into the heat and suffocating presence, letting it thread through me like molten fire. It wasn’t submission—it was a claiming of power, an acceptance of the role I had fought for and earned in blood and ruthlessness.

A ripple of energy swept through the crowd as the weight of Sukuna’s words sank in. Some of the lords bowed their heads in silent acknowledgment, their faces pale but resigned. Others exchanged sharp, uneasy glances, their discomfort betraying their reluctance to accept the reality before them. The soldiers murmured softly, their voices carrying a mixture of awe and terror.

And then, one by one, they knelt.

The lords, the soldiers, even the cursed spirits lingering at the edges of the battlefield—all fell to their knees, their heads bowed as they submitted to the claim Sukuna had made. The sound of their movements was a quiet chorus, a symphony of submission that rippled outward until none remained standing.

Sukuna’s grin widened, his satisfaction gleaming in the sharp light of his gaze. His hand lingered at my jaw for a moment longer before he turned his attention back to the gathered forces, his voice booming once more across the battlefield.

“Let this day mark the beginning of a new era,” he declared, his tone carrying the weight of an unyielding command. “An era where power reigns, where strength is rewarded, and where those who stand against us are crushed beneath our feet.”

The murmurs of the crowd swelled briefly before fading into silence once more, their collective fear and reverence palpable. Sukuna turned to me again, his grin softening into something colder, more deliberate.

“And you,” he said, his voice dropping into a near-growl as his gaze burned into mine. “You will rule at my side. Together, we will tear down kingdoms and reshape this world in our image.”

The storm above roared with approval, crimson lightning splitting the churning clouds as the battlefield trembled beneath the weight of his words. My chest tightened, the pulse of the choker quickening as I nodded once, the faintest smirk curling my lips.

I turned to face the gathered court, the pulse of my cursed energy rippling outward in sharp, deliberate waves that coiled through the air like a warning. Their gazes lifted cautiously, their expressions a mixture of fear and reverence as they looked upon me, no longer a figure of doubt but of undeniable authority.

“I am not your weakness,” I said, my voice cutting through the silence with a clarity that left no room for argument. “I am your reckoning. And if any of you doubt that, step forward now and face me.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Not a single lord, soldier, or spirit moved. Their fear was palpable, but so was their acceptance, their acknowledgment of what I had become. My chin lifted, the smirk curling my lips a reflection of Sukuna’s own, sharp and triumphant.

Sukuna stepped beside me, his towering presence a shadow that loomed over the gathered forces. His four eyes gleamed with satisfaction as his voice boomed across the battlefield once more.

“Let it be known,” he declared, his tone carrying the weight of an unbreakable decree. “This is your queen. The one who stands with me, not beneath me. The one who will rule this court with a strength unmatched and a fire that will consume those who stand against her.”

The court remained kneeling, their silence a testament to the power that now bound them to me, to us. Sukuna’s gaze swept over them one final time before returning to mine, his grin widening into something that sent a thrill racing through my veins.

“You’ve done well,” he said, his voice dropping lower as he leaned in slightly, his breath warm against my ear. “But this is only the beginning, little queen.”

“You said this was only the beginning,” I said, my voice quiet but deliberate. “Let it be.”

His grin widened, sharp and dangerous, as he leaned closer, his voice a low growl that sent another shiver through me. “Then we’ll rule together, little queen,” he murmured. “And the world will tremble beneath our feet.”

The battlefield trembled as the storm raged on, and for the first time, I stood at its center, unshaken, unrelenting, and undeniably his.

The storm raged on, the battlefield trembling beneath the weight of what had been claimed, not just by Sukuna, but by me. And as the world seemed to bow beneath our feet, I knew there was no turning back.

This was my place.

This was my power.

This was my kingdom.

The halls of Sukuna’s estate blazed with vibrant life, an opulence so rich it felt suffocating. Golden lanterns hung high from the vaulted ceilings, their delicate frames adorned with carvings of dragons entwined with flames. Their warm light cast intricate patterns across the polished wood floors, refracting off gilded walls and jeweled goblets clutched by the uneasy hands of Sukuna’s court. The air was thick with indulgence: the rich scent of roasted meats glazed with exotic spices, the tang of aged wine pouring freely, and the faint burn of incense coiling like a serpent from ornate braziers.

Laughter and sharp voices filled the cavernous space, a false cheer that masked the tension lingering just beneath the surface. The clatter of silverware and the low hum of hurried whispers reverberated against the walls like a symphony out of tune. The scene was a stark contrast to the battlefield—a place where blood and chaos had reigned, now replaced with silk-clad decadence and fleeting triumph.

At the head of the hall, I sat at Sukuna’s right hand. His presence was inescapable, a tangible weight that pressed against my senses. His arm rested casually along the back of my chair, his long, clawed fingers brushing the carved wood. It was a subtle gesture, but no less potent than a banner unfurled—an unspoken declaration that I was his. Not a servant, not a plaything, but something more.

The lords sat in neat rows along the long tables that stretched the length of the hall, their silks and jewels glittering in the firelight like the scales of snakes. Their eyes darted toward me when they thought I wasn’t looking, sharp with judgment and thinly veiled fear. The smiles they wore were brittle, cracking beneath the weight of whispered conspiracies and the unspoken truths that now bound them. They bowed their heads, they raised their goblets, but their unease clung to the air, heavy and unmistakable.

Sukuna, of course, thrived on it. His crimson eyes gleamed with a sharp, predatory amusement as he leaned closer, his breath brushing against my ear like a phantom touch.

“Do you hear them, little queen?” he murmured, his voice a low rasp that sent a shiver down my spine. “They toast to our victory, but their fear? Their fear is louder than their cheers.”

I turned my head to meet his gaze, unwilling to be swallowed by the intensity of his presence. His four eyes bore into me, two half-lidded in calculated indifference, while the others burned with the glint of something darker, something hungrier. “Good,” I said, my voice steady despite the thrum of the choker at my throat. “Let them choke on it.”

Sukuna’s grin widened, sharp and feral, as he lifted his golden goblet. The chalice caught the light, its jagged edges glinting like a blade as he stood, his crimson robes pooling around him in fluid waves. The hall fell silent at once, the hum of whispers dying as every gaze fixed on him.

“To my queen,” Sukuna declared, his voice cutting through the quiet with the weight of a command. It carried effortlessly, settling over the court like the blade of a guillotine. “May her strength be as unrelenting as her fire.”

The words hung heavily in the air, their weight pressing against the gathered lords like an iron hand. For a moment, no one moved, the silence stretching taut as their gazes flickered between Sukuna and me.

Then, reluctantly, they raised their goblets, the motion stiff and mechanical. Their voices rose in unison, low and hollow, the words carrying a mix of forced reverence and thinly veiled resentment. “To the queen.”

I lifted my own goblet, the dark wine swirling like blood beneath the firelight. “And to the king,” I said, my tone smooth but edged with a deliberate sharpness. “May the world tremble beneath his shadow.”

The lords drank deeply, their discomfort as palpable as the weight of Sukuna’s presence. Some avoided my gaze entirely, their eyes fixed firmly on their goblets, while others dared to glance at me, their expressions tight with barely concealed fear.

Beside me, Sukuna chuckled, the sound low and resonant as he sank back into his chair. His arm remained draped along the back of mine, his claws brushing the edge of my shoulder in a touch that was both casual and possessive. His amusement vibrated in the air between us, a quiet storm that only I could feel.

“They’ll kneel,” he murmured, his voice low enough for only me to hear. “Eventually. Fear is a powerful motivator, little queen. And you wear it well.”

I tilted my head slightly, the faintest smile curving my lips as I took a deliberate sip of my wine. “Then let them kneel,” I said softly. “Let them learn their place.”

His crimson eyes gleamed, his grin widening further as he leaned closer, his breath brushing against the curve of my neck. “Oh, they will,” he said, his voice dripping with dark satisfaction. The corridor leading to the side chamber was quiet, a stark contrast to the cacophony of the grand hall. Each step felt deliberate, my pace unhurried, as if the very walls of Sukuna’s estate encouraged reflection. The air was cooler here, untouched by the heat of roaring fires and raised goblets. The faint scent of tea and incense wafted through the hall, grounding me after the chaos of the feast.

The side chamber was modest compared to the opulence of the main hall. Low lacquered tables sat neatly arranged with carefully placed scrolls and simple floral arrangements that added a touch of calm to the room. The flickering lanterns cast long shadows on the polished wood floors, their light soft and warm, inviting introspection.

Uraume stood at the far end of the chamber, their pale, frost-like eyes focused on a tray of tea and delicately arranged dishes. Their movements, always meticulous, carried an edge of tension now. Their hands, though steady, lingered just a second too long on the edges of the tray, as though their mind was elsewhere. Even their usually impeccable posture seemed slightly less rigid.

I lingered in the doorway for a moment, taking in the sight before me. For all their sharpness and composure, there was a quiet humanity in Uraume now, one that I hadn’t fully noticed before. It was subtle but present—the faint crease at the edge of their brow, the way their shoulders curved inward ever so slightly.

“You’re avoiding the celebration,” I said, my voice soft but carrying enough weight to break the silence.

Uraume looked up, their movements unhurried, as though they had already known I was there. Their pale eyes met mine, and for a moment, something unspoken passed between us—a quiet acknowledgment of everything that had transpired. “And you are not?”

I smiled faintly, stepping further into the room, letting the door close softly behind me. “It’s different for me,” I said, moving closer. “They’re watching.”

“They always will,” Uraume replied, their tone calm but laced with truth. “You’ve chosen this path, and it’s not one that allows for shadows.”

I stopped just shy of the low table, the faint scent of the tea reaching me as I folded my arms. “And you?” I asked after a pause, my voice quieter now. “Are you... satisfied with what’s come of this?”

Uraume stilled, their hands hovering over the tray before finally resting at their sides. They glanced at the tea as though searching for the right words, then slowly turned to face me fully. Their expression, so often a mask of detachment, softened. Their lips quirked faintly—not quite a smile, but close—and their eyes carried a warmth I hadn’t seen before.

“I am,” they said simply, their tone steady but quieter than usual. “I’ve served Lord Sukuna for many years. In that time, I’ve seen many attempt to stand beside him. None succeeded. None could.”

They took a single step closer, their gaze never leaving mine. “But you... You’ve done more than stand. You’ve proven yourself. To him, to the court, to everyone who doubted you. And, if I may speak plainly—”

“You may,” I interjected softly, though my voice held a quiet curiosity.

“I couldn’t imagine anyone else ever fitting the role,” Uraume said, their tone carrying a weight that was unshakable. “You belong here. And I... am glad for it.”

Their words struck something deep within me, a place I hadn’t dared to acknowledge. For all my defiance, for all the power I had claimed for myself, there had been doubt—a lingering shadow of wondering whether I truly belonged in this place, at Sukuna’s side, under the relentless gaze of his court. But Uraume’s words carried no hesitation, no room for misinterpretation. They weren’t merely acknowledging my position—they were accepting it.

I lowered my gaze for a moment, not out of submission, but to gather myself. The weight of their sincerity pressed heavily against my chest, threatening to unravel the composure I had worked so hard to maintain. When I looked back at them, my voice was softer than I intended. “Thank you.”

Uraume inclined their head slightly, their usual composure returning, though their eyes retained a flicker of warmth. “It is not gratitude I seek,” they said simply. “Only that you understand what this means—not just for you, but for all of us.”

I tilted my head slightly, curious. “All of us?”

“You’ve changed the court,” they said, their voice quieter now, almost reverent. “They see you as a threat, as a challenge. But I see you as something else entirely. A balance. Something... necessary.”

The words settled between us, their weight heavier than the air in the chamber. I exhaled slowly, my hands dropping to my sides as I stepped closer to the table. “And you?” I asked again, my tone softer now. “Where do you see yourself in all of this?”

Uraume’s lips twitched faintly, their eyes narrowing slightly as though considering the question. “By your side,” they said finally, their voice carrying a quiet conviction. “As I have always been.”

I couldn’t stop the faint smile that tugged at the corners of my lips. “You make it sound so simple.”

“Because it is,” they replied, their tone firm but not unkind. “You’ve earned this, and I... I am honored to witness it.”

For the first time, I saw Uraume not as Sukuna’s steadfast second, but as someone who had chosen to trust me, to place their faith in my strength, my choices. The realization was as humbling as it was empowering.

I stepped back, my smile lingering as I inclined my head slightly. “Thank you, Uraume.”

They bowed their head in return, their movements as precise as ever. But before I could turn to leave, their voice stopped me.

“The king will be looking for you,” they said, their tone lighter now but carrying an edge of amusement.

I arched an eyebrow, a faint smirk playing on my lips. “Let him wait.”

Their lips quirked faintly, the closest thing to a smile I had ever seen from them, before they turned back to the tray of tea. The quiet sound of pouring water filled the chamber as I stepped into the corridor beyond, my pulse steady, my heart lighter than it had been in days.

When I returned to the hall, the revelry had quieted, the lords and soldiers sinking into the haze of wine and exhaustion. Sukuna was already on his feet, his towering frame a beacon of authority as he waited by the doors.

His crimson eyes locked onto mine the moment I entered, a flicker of something dangerous and primal gleaming in their depths. Without a word, he extended a hand, the gesture both a command and an invitation.

I took it, my pulse quickening as his cursed energy brushed against mine, sharp and electric. He led me through the shadowed halls of the estate, the silence between us charged with unspoken tension.

The air in Sukuna’s private chambers was suffocating, thick with his cursed energy, wrapping around me like smoke and seeping into my lungs. Each breath felt heavier, each step more deliberate as the door clicked shut behind us, sealing the space from the rest of the estate.

The room was vast but intimate, a paradox of opulence and power. Dark silk tapestries adorned the walls, their jagged golden sigils glinting faintly in the flickering firelight. The braziers burned low, casting restless shadows that danced across the polished wood floors and the intricately carved furniture. The faint scent of incense lingered in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of cursed energy that seemed to hum in the very walls.

Sukuna turned to face me, his towering frame silhouetted by the warm glow of the flames. His robes hung loose, their crimson and gold embroidery catching the light as he moved. His four crimson eyes bore into mine, their sharp intensity making the space between us feel both infinite and impossibly small. His grin widened, predatory and sharp, as though he could taste the tension coiling between us.

“Tonight,” he said, his voice a low growl that reverberated through the room, “you are not just my queen. You are mine.”

The words pressed against me like a physical force, his cursed energy surging in time with their weight. My chest tightened, the wild thrum of my heartbeat echoing against the stillness as his gaze held me captive. The firelight carved sharp shadows across his face, highlighting the edges of his grin, the curve of his jaw, and the hunger that burned in his eyes.

I didn’t back away; I took a step forward, closing the distance with deliberate defiance. My chin lifted, and my voice carried a sharp edge as I met his intensity head-on. “I don’t belong to anyone, Sukuna. But if you think you’ve earned my place at your side, show me.”

His grin faltered for the briefest moment, his eyes narrowing with something sharper, more dangerous. Then his laugh broke through the air, low and rough, curling around me like smoke. “Bold,” he murmured, his tone brimming with dark amusement. “You think this is about earning you?”

“No,” I replied evenly, my gaze unwavering. “It’s about proving to me that standing beside you is worth the cost.”

His cursed energy flared, the force of it sending a sharp ripple through the room, rattling the edges of the braziers and making the shadows leap. His expression darkened, but there was something gleaming beneath the sharpness—something that might have been approval.

“I’ve already proven it,” he said, his voice dropping lower, more deliberate. “You’ve seen what I am. What we could be together. And still, you stand here, defiant.” His gaze burned into mine, the weight of his presence pressing closer, suffocating yet exhilarating. “But if you want me to show you again...”

It was then that Sukuna moved. His hand came to rest on my waist, his grip firm as he pulled me closer, the heat of him searing through the layers of silk and armor as though they weren’t there. His other hand braced against the wall beside my head, his claws grazing the polished wood with a deliberate scrape that sent a shiver racing down my spine.

“You’ve tested me at every turn,” he said, his breath warm against my temple. “You’ve pushed, defied, and still, here you stand. But let’s see how far that defiance really goes.”

My hands moved instinctively, bracing against his chest. The fabric of his robes was smooth beneath my fingers, but the heat of his skin burned through it, electric and unrelenting. “And what will you do if I never stop defying you?” I asked, my voice steady despite the tension coiling in my chest.

His grin widened, predatory and sharp. “Then we’ll burn the world down together,” he said simply, his tone carrying a dark promise. “And you’ll love every second of it.” After a pause, he spoke again, “don’t you feel it?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly, a velvet rasp that sent a shiver racing down my spine. “The pull between us. It’s been there since the moment you stepped into my domain.”

I said nothing, my breath caught in my chest as I stepped away from him, frozen near the door. His words were true, and he knew it. The electric tension that coiled in the air was undeniable, a force that drew us together even as my defiance screamed against it.

He took a slow step forward, his robes whispering against the stone floor. “You’ve fought it, little queen,” he continued, his grin widening. “Clung to your defiance like it could save you. But tonight, there’s nowhere left to run.”

His cursed energy flared, brushing against my senses like a tangible force, suffocating and intoxicating all at once. I swallowed hard, my fingers curling into fists at my sides as I forced myself to meet his gaze.

“You think you know me,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “But I’m not some plaything for you to claim.”

His laughter was low, rumbling, and dark. “Not a plaything, no,” he said, closing the distance between us with deliberate slowness. “A partner. My equal. My queen.”

The words sent a jolt through me, the weight of his declaration sinking deep into my chest. He reached me then, his four hands moving with disarming gentleness to brush hair from my face, to trail claws lightly down my arm, and to rest firmly at my waist. The contradiction in his touch—gentle and possessive—left me breathless.

“I’ve seen your strength,” he murmured, his voice softening, though it still carried an edge of command. “Your fire. And I’ll take it all.”

Before I could escape, he surged forward, one hand threading into my hair to tilt my face up as his lips crashed against mine. The kiss was anything but gentle—hungry, consuming, and laced with the same dominance that radiated from him. My protests dissolved, swallowed by the heat of his mouth and the relentless pull of his cursed energy.

I gasped against his lips when I felt his lower hands slide lower, gripping my thighs and lifting me effortlessly. The cold stone wall met my back, the contrast to the searing heat of his body against mine sending a shudder through me. His tongue teased against my bottom lip, demanding entry, and when I relented, the kiss deepened, turning feral.

“Still defiant?” he growled against my lips, his four eyes gleaming as he pulled back just enough to watch me. “Or will you admit what we both know?”

“You want words?” I spat, my breath hitching as his tongue, the grotesque one on his stomach, slid against the bare skin of my thigh. “You’ll be waiting forever.”

His grin widened, dark amusement curling at the corners of his mouth. “I have all the time in the world.”

The stomach tongue flicked higher, teasing at the edges of my wetness, and I couldn’t suppress the sharp gasp that escaped me. He took full advantage, his hands spreading my legs wider as the wet appendage began its assault. It lapped at my clit, slow and deliberate, as though savoring every reaction it coaxed from me. The obscene sound of it only heightened the heat pooling low in my belly.

I tried to close my legs, instinctively seeking to deny him access, but his hands simply wedged them apart, his strength making resistance futile. His tongue delved deeper, teasing and thrusting into my wetness, tasting me in a way that was both torturous and intoxicating. I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing my moans, but my body betrayed me. My hips rolled of their own accord, seeking more of the sinful pleasure he delivered.

“You’re already so wet,” he taunted, the tongue on his stomach withdrawing momentarily as his hands repositioned my hips to hold me still. “You can say ‘never’ all you like, but your body knows the truth.”

I opened my mouth to retort, but he surged forward again, his tongue curled against my most sensitive spots. He licked, sucked, and thrusted with a skill that boarded on cruelty, leaving me trembling and on the edge of an orgasm that I knew I shouldn’t want.

I bit down hard on my lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of my moans. But Sukuna was nothing if not patient—and wickedly skilled. His tongue curled and pressed in ways that had my hips bucking against his hold, my breath hitching despite myself.

“You’ll beg,” he said, his voice muffled but dripping with confidence. “They all beg.”

“I’m not them,” I managed, though my voice wavered under the strain of holding back.

He chuckled, dark and taunting, the sound vibrating against my skin as his tongue plunged inside me. I arched against him, my nails clawing at the wall behind me as the relentless motions of his tongue sent sharp jolts of pleasure racing through my body. Every flick, every thrust was calculated to push me closer to the edge.

Just as I felt the coil of my orgasm tightening, he pulled away abruptly and left me gasping, empty, and shaking with frustration. I cried out, the sound raw and needy before I could stop it. The cruel satisfaction in his eyes burned as he leaned in close, his lips brushing my ear.

“Beg for it,” he commanded, his voice low and dangerous.

I shook my head, my resolve faltering but not yet broken. “Never.”

His hands tightened their grip, one sliding to press against my throat, the gentle pressure igniting another wave of heat. “We’ll see,” he murmured, his voice dark with promise.

He adjusted his stance, the blunt head of his cock pressing against my entrance. The sheer size of him made me hesitate, but he didn’t wait for permission. With one hard thrust, he buried himself inside me, stretching and filling me in a way that left no room for thought, only sensation.

I screamed, my head falling back against the wall as he began to move, his pace unrelenting. His second cock brushed against my folds, sliding against the sensitive flesh with each thrust, adding another layer of overwhelming sensation.

“You take me so well,” he growled, his hands everywhere—gripping my thighs, holding my waist, caressing my breasts. “Your body was made for this.”

His words sent a thrill through me, the possessive heat of his voice driving me higher. My resolve shattered as he shifted, angling his hips to hit a spot deep inside me that made my vision blur. When he thrusted into me, the stretch was intense, overwhelming. Every nerve alight as he filled me completely, his cursed energy crackling against my senses like a storm.

I tried and bite back my cries as I struggled to adjust, but Sukuna doesn’t give me time. He set a punishing rhythm, his hips drove into me with a force that left no room for hesitation. His four hands held me firmly, guiding my movements as he thrusted deeper with every motion. I clawed at his shoulders, my moans escaping freely now, I no longer cared about giving him the satisfaction he craved.

“Look at you,” he growled, his voice rough with satisfaction. “Your body loves this—taking me, begging for more even when your lips refuse to admit it.”

My magic flared in response, a golden glow that intertwined with his cursed energy, creating a storm of light and shadow that engulfed the room. The clash of our powers only heightened the intensity, every thrust sent shockwaves through my body.

Despite the overwhelming sensations, I met his rhythm, my defiance sparking brighter than my fear. My voice was breathy but firm as I matched his taunts with my own. “Is that all you’ve got, King?”

He growls, low and dangerous, and the pace quickens, his movements growing rougher as his cursed energy pulses with unrestrained power. Each thrust drives me closer to the edge, my cries mingling with his guttural groans as the storm within the room reaches its crescendo. The stomach tongue joins the assault, flicking against my clit in time with his thrusts. The combined sensations tore a scream from my throat as my orgasm built, impossible to deny. My walls tightened around him, drawing a guttural groan from his lips.

“Say it,” he demanded, his thrusts growing faster, harder. “Say you’re mine.”

My mind spun, torn between the need to defy him and the overwhelming pleasure wracking my body. He leaned in, his teeth grazing my neck, his voice a rough whisper against my skin. “Say it.”

“I—” My voice broke as the coil of pleasure snapped, my orgasm tearing through me with a force that left me shaking in his grasp. “Yours,” I gasped, the word spilling from my lips as my body convulsed around him.

“That’s it,” he snarled, his pace quickening. “Come for me, queen.” It didn’t take much longer before Sukuna roared his satisfaction, his movements growing erratic as he followed me over the edge. His release came in hot, overwhelming waves, filling me completely and leaving me breathless. He didn’t pull away immediately, his hands and tongue lingering, teasing and prolonging the aftershocks of my orgasm. When he finally withdrew, I slumped against the wall, my legs trembling, my breath ragged.

Sukuna tilted my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze once more. His smile was triumphant, his voice softer but no less commanding as he says, “You belong to me now, little queen. No more hesitation. No more doubt.”

I glared at him, even as my body betrayed me again, still trembling from the echoes of his touch. “We’ll see,” I whispered, but the words lacked the conviction they once held.

His grin widened, his satisfaction evident as he leaned in, his teeth grazing the shell of my ear. “Oh, we will.”

dividers by @strangergraphics

AUTHORS NOTE I'm back with a little treat as an apology for my absence 😼 hope you all enjoyed it! <3

TAGLIST @slutlight2ndver @surielstea @duhhitzstarr @arcanefeelings @numbuh666 @tejan-sunny @lavenderandoranges @after-laughter-comes-tears @maomimii @theplacetoputfics

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