#and has held me in good stead

[not-poignant]

Hi Pia! Random question time! Do you have tattoos? What's your opinion on them??

Hi anon!

I do have a tattoo! (Only one, cost makes it hard to get more, lol)

I think tattoos are fantastic! If folks want them, great, if they don't, great, and if they want silly meaningless tattoos, great, and if they want super meaningful tattoos great!

Though honestly, my opinion of tattoos doesn't matter. Because I have no right to have an opinion on anyone else's body. I love tattoos for me though, lol.

[expirednukacola]

ORANGE COLORED SKY 🏜️ || Cooper Howard x Fem!Reader

𐚁⊹₊ ⋆☆

My first fic about this bonafide work of ART! AKA The one and only, Cooper Howard / The Ghoul. This MAN has everyone lined up to get a taste so I am here to deliver! This is also a little surprise for @lexiway121!!! Reader is fem and in her mid-ish - late-ish 20s in this fic! This will also be a two part fic!! ..Maybe even more. SUMMARY: reader is little miss janey’s babysitter (cooper is going to need all the help he can get ESPECIALLY DURING A DIVORCE) and reader was invited to the kids birthday party (seen in the beginning of ep 1) as cooper’s plus two just to keep an extra eye on janey and the horse/sugarfoot. everything was nice until.. FLASH! BAM! ALAKAZAM!

chapter 1.5 : here!

og gif made by: @lousolversons !!

“Flash! Bam! Alakazam!”

“Out of an orange colored sky!”

The birthday party was going perfectly! You and Janey were standing somewhat near Cooper as he did his lasso tricks on his beloved horse, Sugarfoot. The birthday boy, alongside with his plethora of friends, were all staring and gasping in awe as the cowpoke twirled the lasso up and down to where he was inside of the spinning circle of rope. Cooper noticed their precious, little reactions and smiled back at his audience, a tender yet low chuckle escaping his throat.

Seeing how happy he looked and smiled as well, your cheeks became a tad bit blushed.. definitely from the L.A. heat — and that’s when Janey looked up at her and noticed how you, her babysitter, were smiling at her dad.. “Twitterpated..” -Was what the seven year old mumbled under her breath; she really needed to slow her roll on asking her dad what certain words meant. You, on the other hand, didn’t quite hear what Janey mumbled so you jokingly decided to peep out a little, “What was that, sweetie?” and all you got in response was an “innocent” little “Nothiiiiiiiing!”

After a few minutes of continuing his lasso show, Cooper got off his trusty stead and adjusted Sugarfoot’s saddle with such care while Janey rushed over to try and help her father. “Alright, birthday boy,” The cowboy said while looking at the VERY excited kid, “Let’s get a photo of ya up here on Sugarfoot.” As Cooper picked up the boy to place him on the horse while his daughter held onto the reigns, the birthday boy’s dad and his buddy, aka Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dipshit, start talking about Cooper Howard.

“Why the hell is Cooper Howard workin’ kids’ birthday parties?” The dad’s friend muttered as he held onto a bottle of some pretty cheap beer, and the dad responded with the most embarrassing answer known to man, “What else? Alimony.” The asshole said nonchalantly before he went back to nursing his shitty bottle of beer. That made Cooper whip his head around to look at the father with his mouth slightly agape, flabbergasted he would even bring that shit up at his kid’s party. To make things worse, sweet Janey popped up and asked the billion dollar question.. “What did they say, dad?”

Cooper looked down at his precious little angel with a quiet yet warm voice, “That I’m lucky to have such a good helper like you.” Poor, innocent Janey didn’t know what was going on between her Dad and Momma. All she knew was that she would have some very long weekends with her Momma and her Grandma and then she would go back to stay with her tired Dad.

Knowing what Cooper was going through and hearing those horrible words come out of that assholes mouth, you glared at the boy’s father so hard that he could fucking feel it. The dad looked back at you and rolled his eyes, pointing at you while muttering, “Some people say he cheated on his wife with his kid’s babysitter.” That was the last fucking straw and you wanted to smack the living daylights out of him. “Are you fucking kidding me, you goddamn pig-” You muttered but Janey quickly grabbed onto your hand with that same sweet smile she always had.

The anger that boiled inside of your body slowly began to simmer down into nothingness as you moved out of the way so the dad (AKA the head honcho of being an asshole) could take a photo of his son on top of the horse with Cooper standing next to him and little Janey holding onto the reigns, “All right- You ready?” The dad positioned the camera and even though the kid had a smile that was brighter than the 4th of July, the cowboy’s smile seemed.. off. Usually, Cooper would have these sweet dimples on either side of his mouth when he would smile real big for photos or when his daughter would do something extraordinary.. But those dimples weren’t there for these pictures.

Click!

After the photo was taken, the cowpoke carefully lifted up the giddy child from the saddle on Sugarfoot to the soft and lush green grass beneath them. Cooper was just about to check up on you and his daughter, but- “Hey, honey- Honey! Get with Cooper. Let’s get a picture.” -Mayor Asshat of Assville motioned the man to stand next to his wife. Though Cooper was a little awkward about the whole ordeal, he quickly posed up next to the wife and had that fake smile on his face once more.

Click!

“Aw- Coop, Coop, Coop! Do your thumbs-up.” The jerkwad ordered and right as you were about to intervene, Cooper (sorta) stood his ground and quickly responded with, “..Yeah, you know, given the state of everything, I prefer not to, if that’s all right.” But guess what? Señor Shit-for-brains wasn’t having it because being an asshole was in his damn genes. “Why not?” asked Count Fuckhead-ula, “It’s what you’re famous for.” he added right after but his wife, the one with common sense in the relationship, told “Bob” to drop it.

“We- uh.. We gotta get this rodeo on the road.” Cooper said with his head tilted slightly downwards towards the vibrant green grass beneath his worn leather boots while the boy’s mother handed him a check. Quickly, you grabbed onto the reigns that hung from Sugarfoot’s neck and clicked your tongue to get the horse to start walking. “..Well that was just fuckin’ lovely, huh Sugar?” Muttering solemnly under your breath, you walked alongside the sweet stead, tying the beautiful horse up to a tree so it wouldn’t run loose.

A good 5 minutes roll on by like a tumbleweed and You were walking around with Cooper by your side.. while the two of you were picking up giblets of trash left behind by some kids and adults. “I never thought that I was going to be doing this at a kid’s birthday party, Mr. Howard. Picking up trash after people is not what I had planned.” You stood back up after having to bend over to pick up an empty bottle of orange flavored Nuka Cola. “Oh yeah? What did you have planned, missy?” Cooper looked over at you with one of his eyebrows raised up and a smirk growing on his lips.. those gorgeous lips alongside those beautiful hazel eyes- “Uhhh- I don’t know? Maybe mingle with some of the parents and swipe myself a piece of cake. I heard it was chocolate cake.” A little smile grew on your face but your blooming happiness all went to waste when you saw “Bob the Shit Talker” staring at both of you through the window.

“But for a grown ass man to talk shit about us with his lil buddy and then having us pick up trash left by him and his guests was definitely not on my list.” You angrily sneered at the man who continued to glare at you two through the window before letting out a loud and deep sigh. Cooper, God bless this sweet man’s soul, quickly stood up and looked at you. “He did.. what? I knew he was talking shit about me but he and Mr. Clean were talking about you? ..Fuck- It was that rumor again, huh?”

The sweet-hearted cowboy looked up at the sky as if he were silently praying to God himself to smite down that piece of shit before he looked over at your slightly blushed to make sure you weren’t boo-hooing over something that wasn’t even true. He knew you didn’t have to answer him because the look of embarrassment on your face was all he needed to know.. but at least you weren’t crying.

After a few minutes of some much needed silence, you both made your way back to Janey, who was eyeing that delicious chocolate cake as she wrapped her own little lasso around her hand. You saw how Janey was looking at that cake.. and you started to look at the cake the same way the little girl was staring at that frosted piece of heaven.

“Why didn’t you do it?” Janey’s words snapped you out of your hungered staring contest with the cake. You looked down at the little girl that was looking at her father, who was now crouched down next to her. “The thumbs-up.” Oh shit.. She just accidentally busted open a huge ass can of Marine flashbacks for Cooper. At first, he tried to make her forget about it by telling her it was “grown up business” but those sweet, sweet eyes of hers were just too much for his heart to handle.

You crouched down next to the girl and gently placed a hand on her upper back, gently rubbing your thumb against the material of her button up’s collar. “Honey.. The reason why your dad doesn’t like having his thumb up is because-” Your words were cut off from Cooper clearing his throat and placing a hand on your shoulder, immediately making you shut up so he could be the one to explain it to his daughter. The older man explained what they taught him when he was in the Marines to his daughter, telling her that he and his fellow marines would hold up their thumbs whenever a bomb would drop. If the cloud of smoke was smaller than their thumbs, they had to run for the hills.. and if the cloud was larger than their thumbs, they wouldn’t even have to worry about running.

“..Who wants some cake?” You chirped out awkwardly while standing up, brushing your hands against your top before placing them on your hips. Janey’s eyes immediately lit up with absolute joy from the thought of having a slice of cake, and she quickly nodded her head with her hands clasped together. “I’ll see if I can snag you girls a couple o’ pieces, ‘kay?” The infamous cowboy stood up as well and walked inside of the house and you decided to join him to grab your own slice of heaven.

FLASH!

Once Cooper grabbed his daughter a slice and you grabbed your own, you two rejoined his little angel once more but instead of seeing her sweet smile shining brightly on her face, you were both met with her holding up her thumb and a horrified look on her face. Her body was trembling, her bottom lip was quivering, her eyes were tearing up, and when she spoke, she sounded like she was looking Death itself straight in the eyes..

“Is it your thumb or mine?”

…

“It’s just a fire..”

You could hear the dread in his voice and the sound of her little heart pounding against her ribcage as you followed their gazes to a.. large cloud of smoke and destruction. Your own heart start to rapidly beat profusely inside your body and your eyes widened in terror as a wave of radiation started coming your way. Everything felt as if it were in slow motion as you and Cooper both decided to crouch down to clutch Janey close to your bodies to shield her from any harm.

As the wave finally passed through, the glass windows shattered into millions of shards varying from large pieces to microscopic fragments and felt one of the medium sized pieces plunge itself into the side of your calf. “Oh GOD!!” A horrifying shriek of pain found its way from out of your body as Cooper quickly scooped both you and his daughter up in his arms, quickly running towards his much needed horse, Sugarfoot.

BAM!

Dread pulses throughout your body while your eyes darted across the scene around you — Parents with their sons and daughters in their arms, people running around aimlessly like ants after a menace of a child stepped on their nest, and the screams and cries of frightened young children wanting to go home. You’re pulled out of your frightened state when Cooper tried to push you up on Sugarfoot after he placed his daughter up on the saddle. “Cooper.. Cooper! No!! Get Janey out of here! You have to get her out of here!!” You pushed yourself away from him and stumbled back, your limp leg giving its all to keep you somewhat supported.

“Y/N- Get on the damn horse! I can’t just leave you here!” He tried to pull you back towards him but you limped back away from him once more. “You need to get her out of here, Coop.. Please.” Tears welled up in your eyes and they fell down your cheeks when they became too heavy for your eyes to hold. “Please.. Go- Get out of here!!” You pushed him away and back towards the horse, and you swore you saw him shed a lone tear.

As more bombs fell from the sky, you watched in grief as your beloved cowboy hop on his horse and grabbed on the reigns, immediately whipping them a little to signal Sugarfoot to get the fuck out of there — away from the chaos and away from the horror.. away from you. You dropped to your knees as you bawled your pretty little eyes until there were no more tears to shed.. and when you heard the faint whistle of a bomb dropping nearby.

ALAKAZAM!

This was the end, you thought. The end of the world, the end of your life, and the end of everything and everyone that you loved.. and the beginning of a new age: The beginning of a nuclear fallout. As you kneeled down on the green grass that was way too vibrant to be real, you tilted your head upwards and looked towards the sky, smiling one last time before your skin began to burn, your insides feeling as if they were being cooked at a thousand degrees, your voice becoming rasped and broken as you screamed in complete and utter agony. You took your final breath of irradiated air underneath that hideous orange colored sky.

THE END ..?

—————

thank you so much for reading the first chapter of Orange Colored Sky! i hope you liked it as much as i did and i hope you can excuse the.. nicknames i gave “bob” at the beginning (he deserved it though! he was an asshole for absolutely no reason.)

TAG LIST: @lexiway121

[yzashaven]

FEATURING ! shouki no kami/archon!scara x fem!reader

CONTENTS ! there's a short fighting scene, robot fucking, grinding, implied worshipping, mating press, masturbating in front of him, degradation and praise <3, choking, breeding, scara fingers appreciation!! (think that's all :3)

NOTE ! a gift for my bestie @yukiitaooo ‼️ just pretend that the joururi workshop is in inazuma btw for the sake of making this plot work 😭 and do read the synopsis since it's a bit messy. special thanks to yukii for proofreading this for me btw <3

SYNOPSIS— reader is a shrine maiden and scara's lover. she wanted to see his god form aka the vessel/robot and test her skills along with her newly obtained powers by sparring with him. she uses a sword/katana and has an electro vision given by scaramouche.

—���

"are you sure about this?"

scaramouche asked with a sigh as he was carrying you in his arms, walking towards the joururi workshop, where the shouki no kami was situated within. you nod and lean into his chest, feeling the wind blow gently against the both of you. after some time, you reached what seemed like a small entrance cave which led to the gigantic destination in which in the distance you could see the small elevator-like platform that led up high. he held your hand as you walked along the long and wide corridors, guards and people around kneeling in their stead upon seeing their god, their archon, scaramouche—as per his set rules upon the nation. but you? he gave you permission to be the only exception in this rule of his, walking close beside him as you could sense the jealous wandering eyes of those around. how could a "mere" shrine maiden be worthy enough to walk alongside the god himself? people ask themselves in silence before the two of you finally reached the elevator that led to the main area.

he had already made the much needed arrangements to make sure everyone was unable to enter the area where the enormous robot was in. this was your first time seeing it with your own eyes, in all honesty. and of course, as soon as the main doors opened, your eyes widen for a split second. seeing that it was way larger than you had anticipated, looks like this was gonna be a rough fight. "don't be so nervous now..." he says in a low whisper, walking along the path leading to the machine. "...i'll be gentle with you." the subtle suggestive comment made heat rush to your cheeks into a faint blush to which he darkly chuckles to upon taking a glance behind his back at your direction. "i suggest that you prepare yourself for what's to come, my dearest." as scaramouche said those words with you following behind him, the doors suddenly shut hard from behind you, causing your body to jump in shock. he chuckles, back turned to you, before extending his hand out in front of him to channel some sort of elemental energy from his palm. you watch from a short distance as the shouki no kami slowly moves a few movements, scaramouche shuts his eyes before finally teleporting within the central control area of the robot. the atmosphere changes to one filled with tension as he maneuvers with the various mechanisms of the machine with ease as he lets out a seemingly psychotic laugh.

"bow before me, worm!" his voice had changed, echoing through the room loudly. with widened eyes, you summon out your weapon as you see him urging you to get closer.

"come forth! i won't hurt you... much." he whispers, voice in an alluring tone. you click your tongue as you witness how his cockiness is creeping up him again like always. you laugh shortly before sprinting towards him and skillfully dealing a few hits here and there with your katana, to which he just lets out a sigh, "you're doing practically nothing, mortal!" to your side you could see the arm of the vessel making its way to hit you, fortunately, you dodge it with ease. it's coming back but thankfully you have good reaction time and dodge that attack as well before landing multiple hits against him, using your electro vision as an extra source of power.

"oh? not bad~" he coos sarcastically as his right hand hits on the side of the platform hard, causing it to shake along with causing you to lose your balance almost instantly. you look over to where the sudden shaking of the ground from and see the large mechanical hand. your eyes for some reason glue themselves to the fingers of the vessel, thinking about how he could be moving then from inside. maybe the robot follows his own movements? 'but why does it look so attractive...?' you thought for a few seconds, 'his fingers really are just so... perfect though—' you then regain your composure and stop daydreaming upon getting hit by the reality that you were still sparring with him. looking up above you to see his other hand making its' way to crush you, you immediately raise your blade in an attempt to block the attack. the vessel's fingers were right on top of you, a faint blush spreads across your cheeks as your imagination went wild with sudden desires about him once again. success seemed to be on your side for now as you see scaramouche retreat his hand away but instead hits the platform again. you feel the ground below you slowly shatter until you felt nothingness underneath your feet along with your blade being lost from your grip.

a yelp was ripped from your throat as you braced yourself for the fall that looked as if it would be the last thing you'd experience in teyvat. with eyes shut, feeling the wind against your body as you fell from who knows how many feet high, you really thought this was your last day.

not until you feel your clothes getting caught in something. with a sigh of relief, you open your eyes and see that the shouki no kami was holding you between his thumb and index finger at the back of your clothes, "i've got you." he starts dangling you in front of his eyes as if you were some sort of set of keys that he was inspecting up close. "you look so vulnerable like this, so tiny." you whimper at his words as he toyed with you, "think that's enough for today." he declared, claiming his victory. suddenly, he placed his other hand below you before letting go of your body. when you dropped it didn't hurt but it seems that you had hit your clit somewhere on his palm, the unexpected contact made you moan out of nowhere. it wasn't that loud, it wasn't quiet either; but for sure he heard it. unbeknownst to you, he was already smirking from inside the control area, cock already hard within his pants just from watching your vulnerable body in front of him not too long ago.

as you try to pick yourself up and sit upright, you hear scaramouche laugh from behind. "was that a moan i heard? you fucking slut." the blush on your cheeks reddened even more as you felt a part of your dignity being stripped away, did you really-actually-legitimately just moan from that? "no, i-it wasn't...!" you defensively say while mustering up the courage to face him despite what you both know just happened. you can feel his sharp gaze and smirk at you through the metal, as if he was looking at an ever so helpless prey. well you kind of were the said prey in this situation. although you couldn't help but to feel aroused being on his hand knowing how bad you fantasized about it not too long ago. he brings his hand closer to his face to get a better look at you before speaking, "i'll have you know that i can feel your wetness on this hand. how perverted, lusting over me in the midst of a sparring session?" he teasingly coos at you. "now then, i'm sure you know what i'd like of you? go on..."

"touch yourself in front of me, in front of your god. i'm giving you permission to give in to your desires, take your chances."

hesitating to follow his orders, you look up at him with wide eyes of disbelief. but a part of you was convinced that you should just give in already. you want him, don't you? slowly spreading your legs in front of him as your fingers begin to trail down to a rather sensitive area, you feel yourself through the thin fabric of your panties, fingers delicately rubbing slow circles on your clit. "undress." he sternly says, to which you comply immediately. breathing heavily as you discard your clothes piece after piece, throwing them somewhere near. meanwhile, scaramouche was already palming his hard-on as his gaze was focused only on your form, taking in the sweet sight of you revealing your arousal once again to him as you continue to touch yourself as per his command.

he looks down at you from up inside the vessel, watching with interest as you pleasure yourself right then and there in front of him on the palm of the robot, your fingers rubbing at your clit at a faster pace. "do you really have no shame?" he asks before chuckling darkly, you close your eyes as to focus on getting yourself to cum quicker, but then you feel something large and cold against your entrance forcing your thighs to part. your eyes hurry to open and you see a finger from his other hand in between your thighs, "don't get shy now~" scaramouche says in a manner that seemed humiliating, as if he was mocking you, "grind on my finger, whore. you know you want to."

you couldn't help but whine at his words and the sudden temperature change between your legs. he noticed how you weren't doing what he had just ordered and decided to take control instead. he lets out a long sigh before slowly moving his finger back and forth, having his fingertip rub against your soaked folds, careful not to accidentally apply any sort of pressure that could possibly hurt you in any way—giving attention to the obvious power and size difference of your body and the shouki no kami. the sensation has you moaning out loud, voice echoing as if it were bouncing off the walls repeatedly. soon enough, you find yourself doing the work now, grinding against the metal until it was practically coated in your essence as one of your hands cup your breasts to knead it gently whilst the other rubs at your clit at a steady pace.

not long after, you feel your orgasm approaching already, breaths uneven as you continuously let out moans of his name all the while your body shakes slightly. but as you bucked your hips for friction—you notice how you felt nothing instead, your movements come to a stop as you look at him with pleading eyes. scaramouche lets out a small laugh as he saw your immediate reaction, he had moved his hand away from you completely. "oh, you fucking whore." he says with an intoxicating tone, "if you're gonna ruin this vessel, then..." you try to ignore his words as you focused on getting yourself to climax instead. your eyes closed shut as you start to desperately touch yourself a bit more aggressively than before. unfortunately for you, it didn't really seem to work. well, not until you felt something suddenly fill you up completely, your eyes opening at the intrusion. you gasp as you finally feel his cock buried inside your warmth, along with his thumb replacing the spot occupied by your own fingers that were on your clit as he pinched the bud gently, causing you to let out a moan.

"...i'm gonna ruin you as well."

scaramouche's voice was laced with intoxication as he spoke to you in a whisper. he then began to pound into you roughly, with long, deep, strong thrusts that hit all the right areas with ease as you screamed for him with each snap of his hips against yours. picking up the pace soon after, he began fucking you fast and rough, just the way you like. grunts and groans occasionally left his agape lips as he held your thighs apart. "you love it, right? you love how helpless and submissive you become underneath me~" he says before pulling you closer to him and repositioning you into a mating press, having you folded in half and entirely at his mercy before he started to pound into you once again—reaching even deeper parts of your cunt as he rubs circles on your swollen clit. "fuck, i'm gonna breed you sooo good. you want me to fill you up, don't you?~"

you nod frantically in response, being unable to construct proper words as the overwhelming pleasure takes over you completely. "so close... ah~ scara~!" you cry out as he continues to thrust into you relentlessly, hitting your g-spot over and over again until you were a sobbing, moaning, shaking mess below him. "that's it~" he coos, "come on, cum for me. you are a good girl after all, aren't you? cum for your god." his words bring you to the edge as you cum hard, a pornographic moan escaping from your lips as drool began to drip from the corners of it. "s-scara—" "my lord." he cuts you off, correcting your words before he started thrusting into you again, knowing damn well how sensitive you felt, having practically no time to recover from your previous orgasm. "my lord-aah~! right there...!" you mewl out as he hit another perfect angle that drove you crazy, "tell me..." his hand suddenly went to your neck, fingers wrapping around the soft flesh tightly—not tight enough to the point that you couldn't breathe, but tight enough to make your head spin as his eyes pierced through yours with desire filled in them.

"how does it feel getting fucked by a god like me? having this much power and control over both your body and your mind."

"s-so good... hngh~ ah~!" your vision slowly get blurry as you feel yourself getting weaker by the minute. you feel his cock twitch against your walls, signalling how close he is as well. "you feel so good around me, fuck~" the grip he had on your neck tightens slightly as he groans deeply, "beg me to cum inside you." scaramouche sternly says, "beg your god for his seed~" he grins mischievously as he watches the tears that had formed in your eyes slowly drip down your flushed cheeks. "c-cum inside me, my lord—ahh~! master... m-my god~" you choke out as you feel another amazing climax about to erupt from you, "please~!" your voice cracks a bit as you said those words. not long after, he snaps his hips against yours one final time, making sure to be balls deep as he shoots ropes of his thick and warm cum deep inside your pussy, which had definitely reached your womb as well. "oh, fuck~" he moans lowly as he gently pulled out of you, gaze falling towards your cunt as he keenly observed how your mixed fluids drip out to pool below you, all over the shouki no kami's hand.

you try and relax your body, closing your eyes and just letting yourself lay there tiredly, while scaramouche watches your chest rise and fall as you pant heavily after the intense session. normally, he'd let you rest but that doesn't seem to be what he wants right now. you whimper and look at him with teary, half lidded eyes as he suddenly pulls you towards him once again, pushing his cock back inside, along with pushing the cum back and reaching further down your pussy.

"one load won't be enough to breed you, darling~"

[ladythornofrivia]

Lady with Teal Eyes || Aemond x Aunt!Hightower Reader (Part One)

word count: 2,733

author’s note: i’m sorry that i didn’t post much stories, as I’ve been reblogging and changing themes in my profile. i’m trying my best, but I’ll make up for it.

warnings: incest, cockwarming, teasing, sucking, p in v, rough play, flirting, wholesome moment, jealous aemond, possessive, roughness, mild manhandling, mild degradation, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex, second hand embarrassment, dark content, mentions of su*cide, Aemond being too touchy with his aunt, degradation, humiliation.

summary: Aemond meets his aunt for the first time, and there’s more than meets the eye. (there will be three parts).

There hasn’t been a day that you never left your homeland. All in prosperity. All in solitude, all in mindful thoughts that even the castle walls were unable to perceive. Oldtown is known for the oldest kingdom within Westeros.

We light the way, those are the words from House Hightower, a tall, silver tower with a green light of flames atop. Members of the Hightower court are known to be proud and resilience. Perhaps too greedy to your taste. Less fickle to their needs, their desires, their secrets, their ambition.

All minds think alike, as they said. But your mind is unalike from theirs.

There hasn’t been a single day where your life change—steady as it goes. But when your older sister, Alicent, sent a letter to you from a raven fled from miles, you instantly ripped the seal and unveiled her letters, written in neat cursive. In the days where you can recall that Alicent taught you to read and write, before accompanying your father, Otto Hightower, to aid the ailing king and his throne.

In King’s Landing, where Aegon has set and had trees felled after his conquest in Westeros. The stories of dragonlords and ladies has caught you into a slighted dot of peculiarity. But with your father, you knew that your father wanted more than being as the Hand of the King. Like any folk in Oldtown, he’s all in the same cloak of mind and heart as the rest. The only difference is he has resided in King’s Landing with the Targaryens, warming the throne with Alicent’s political stead.

With you, as Alicent’s half-sister, one thing you adored about her is her resilience, no matter how the power struggle may have been, Alicent held her head high, it inspired you to do the same cause, not for the greater good, but for you to steady your heart. With Alicent’s brown eyes, anyone would be easily swayed at her beauty. With your eyes like glowing water, the subjects were to assume that you’re either a sea creature in the ocean, or have been reincarnated as a woman. Common folks assumed that you’re a goddess sent by Maiden herself. But others theorized you’re born in the sacred pond within the forest.

Despite the nonsensical rumors, you carried out your duties dulled within life, but with your brother, Gwayne Hightower, entered in your chambers without a warning.

“Sister!”

“Good heavens, you gave me a fright,” you screeched, hand clutching over your chest.

“A word from the raven,” he resumed, pulling out the letter. “It’s from our dear sister.”

She hasn’t written you a letter for months. Understanding of her high authoritative position, thankfully enough you aren’t the queen. You couldn’t bear to think about gifting children into the world from your maidenhood.

“Alicent!” Departing from the chair, you snatched the letter from Gwayne’s hand and ripped the letter open, straightening the scrolled paper.

My dearest sister,

I regret to inform you that I cannot visit in the Oldtown due to personal circumstances that our father has been trifled with the matters in King’s Landing. As queen, I must fully prioritize my duties and smite the inconsiderate undutiful thought of others. My dear husband, King Viserys, has been unwell as of late, growing slower day by day, but still the same man who loves his histories and shed upon endless favoritism on his daughter and her plain-featured sons, as well his miniatures he rarely finished. As of this moment, we are preparing the feast for the upcoming celebration. Misery and dread and politics has been my company, and I’d be happy if you come to King’s Landing and stay here for more than a month. I also send Gwayne and his men to escort you back. I hope you still have the new dresses and jewels the seamstress sorted to your taste; I always know that you hated attire that itched your flesh or suffocating. Words cannot expressed about how I miss the sweetness of your smile and laughter. We shall meet soon.

Signed,

Alicent Hightower

Jumping with joy, your body lunged at Gwayne, locking him into a tight hug, slightly hopping in place with a big grin stretched onto your lips.

“Have my things ready, brother,” you said, hasting, forgetting about the silks and fabrics in your hands.

“But you need more time. You’ll stay in King’s Landing as our queenly sister instructed.”

“Send the maids, then. I can’t do this alone.”

“You mustn’t make haste!” Gwayne shouted as you ran off, never minding the silks on the ground only for him to pick up.

“The sooner the better,” you shouted back.

~~~

The trailed ship took no more than three days to reach King’s Landing. Alicent hasn’t mentioned anything particular to the celebration. But you have come to acknowledge that Alicent lessened the details.

By the time the ships rested at the shore, you rushed down to the clear path and greeted your father, who was rather cold and emotionless. Nevertheless, you gave the courtesy of shallow inclination of your neck bent down. Though your heart shattered at the motionless greeting; a chilled wind spiraled on your thickened sleeves.

“Father,” you said, grinning ear to ear.

“Queen Alicent awaits,” is all he said, then left without abiding on you.

“But—”

“Ser Gwayne, escort this lady in the Red Keep,” he wasn’t saying it with care.

This lady.

Months without communication and souvenirs, you’d ought it’ll soften your father’s resolve regarding onto the estrangement.

Another clash of heartbreak has struck again. But it comes as no surprise.

Both of you hadn’t spoke since of his second wife—your mother’s—passing.

As numb as it may be, the small pang in your heart resolved again as Gwayne Hightower escorted you to the high steeps close, reaching the royal grounds of Red Keep.

~~~

Infiltrating from climbing the steps until reaching the indoors, the green queen appeared.

Your sister.

“Alicent,” you rushed and clung her to embrace.

“Sister, how good of you to come,” Alicent replied.

The halls greeted you in cold and dreaded air clinging onto your sleeves, goosebumps flooded over your skin, the thick air of candles and torches has impaled your stomach. You didn’t like this feeling. These halls, darkened in heralds of statues and stars that your pupils recognizant.

Faith of the Seven.

Hightowers held their religion in the highest regard, while you, don’t cherish the ideologies of the religion, filled with fanaticism and hypocrisy. Even Targaryens have the queerest customs, of marrying brother to sister, relative to relative since Aegon I. It dire consequences of genetics and birth, and the fruition of a child birth into an unshakable world of politics and desires. According to the Citadel, in secret debate, those who are born of incest are nothing but sort of monsters lurking, a defect to a bloodline.

The Targaryens disagree—couldn’t care less, of course. As you often heard of keeping the bloodline pure.

Bloodline pure. People speculated that the Targaryens are closer to gods than men. Thus their words ‘Fire and Blood’ is in order. In Valyria, their source is magic and dragons, long before volcanic eruptions swept the lands and dragons into ashes. The last Targaryens resided in Westeros, and thus, their last kind is dwindling, hence creating pure bloodline. As theatrically hysterical as it is, you trudged along the halls.

“It has been so long since I saw you last,” Alicent began.

“It has, but we rarely sent letters as of late.”

“Being a queen is no simple task. Our father’s ambition has gotten stronger.”

“Your father,” you said bitterly.

“My dear sister,” Alicent resumed, her voice soothed. “Father is doing his best to stabilize the realm.”

“Cold, cruel and calculated,” you answered. “Your strength and dutiful as queen is one of the things I admire about you. But, sister, it feels as if my existence is no longer needed. I feel as if I’m useless. My mother received no love from your father.”

The doe-eyed look in Alicent’s eyes protruding. “Sister, I—“”

“Half-sisters,” you reminded. “Everyone thought I was some sort of creature that shouldn’t belong in the realm. I’m no fool; I could hear everyone whisper, even closed doors.”

“Creature or not, you’re still a Hightower. We share the same blood. Nothing will ever change between you and I.”

“But your father will never accept me,” you replied.

Alicent clasped her hands onto yours. “The next time we see each other, I’ll be visiting the Oldtown.”

“You said that the last time on our previous letters,” you chimed. “Let him stabilize the realm alone.”

“That is why you’re here. I needed time apart from the council and subjects,” Alicent reasoned. “Men are often ambitious with their politics and trifling over gold than their wives.”

“It appears so,” you agreed, huffing.

Ironically, Alicent served men, and still is. First Jahaerys, then Otto, then Viserys. Though you wouldn’t so recklessly give your personal opinion away to Alicent.

“We have yet to explore the grounds. We must rest at the gardens. I know how much you love staying in the gardens.”

Your cheeky smile was showing. “I do.”

Alicent squeezed your hand. “Let us be off. It’s considered bad luck if we let our food grow cold.”

“Never knew that it involves bad luck.”

“I’ve been told.”

“By who?”

Not once, Alicent answered.

~~~

“Make yourself comfortable,” Alicent said, indicating the spare chair, and watched you sat with ease, eyeing the lavish outdoors where the Weirwood stood as main view.

“Quite nice out,” you complimented.

This was Alicent meant when she said gardens.

“I chose this spot for a reason,” Alicent said as the servants settled the meal over the table—bowed and left. And the last servant entered, placing a stacked candied almonds and candied plums on a gold platter, alongside of Dornish wine.

Alicent watched your eyes lit up.

“I took the liberty of having the kitchen staff ready for your sweet-tooth,” she clarified.

“You know me well, sister.” You grinned.

“My lady,” a soothing masculine voice said behind you.

“Ser Criston,” Alicent addressed, glancing. “I’m occupied as of this moment.”

“There has been urgent matters regarding to your son.”

Puzzled, Alicent spoke with, “Which son?”

Appalled, your eyes darted at her. On the other hand, you never retain information from Alicent.

“Aegon,” Criston answered, eyes turning away. “I’m afraid his excursions have rather been…” Then his dark brown eyes flicked to yours, his mouth opened, choosing his words carefully.

“We’ll speak no more of it,” Alicent pleaded. “I’m under the liberty of entertaining my sister at the moment. Do ignore Aegon’s excursions for now.”

Somewhere in between the lines, you knew Alicent’s calm demeanor struck hard when the excursions take place, wrath kept within, as you read between Alicent’s lines furrowed on her forehead. Ser Criston glimpsed at you and bowed before withdrawing from the outdoors.

“My apologies,” Alicent said to you in a dreaded voice. “The excursions in the daylight hour upon King’s Landing hasn’t ended.”

“I never knew you had a son,” you said, munching on the candied almonds.

Alicent swallowed the contents of the food. “I mentioned it once before in the letter. That I was having a babe in my belly.”

You pondered for a moment. It was back when Alicent married Viserys and carried a child in her.

“But you never mentioned that it’s a son,” you commented.

“But I’m sure you heard Aegon’s name the moment he arrived into the world.”

Your teeth clenched. “I can assure you I did.” The Oldtown spoke of Aegon in high regards, but as you grew older, you never hear much of Aegon’s doings, hoping to meet your nephew, you waited, but as usual, you sister never once sent letters to offer you an invite.

“Things have been hectic for the past years, and I doubt that’ll cease. With the Iron Throne empty and with all that it stands, we’re keeping the place intact with politics and debate,” Alicent reasoned.

You stayed in silence.

“If you would like,” Alicent continued, “I would be happy to take you to the gallery. The Red Keep has been nothing but a dread. I shall escort you and give you a tour to the Red Keep unless you want someone else to—”

“No, I’d be thrilled if you were to accompany me,” you paused, then said, “sister.”

Alicent gently beamed at that.

~~~

When you and Alicent both went inside the Red Keep, the royal subjects and guards bowed before the green queen as their eyes lingered onto yours, and an incoherent of whispers were passed to your ears.

The sister of the green queen.

And as you ascended the staircases, from there, you saw the shaded eyes of violet and curled hair—a young girl, a few years younger than you.

“Mother, have you seen my—” The girl’s youthful stare darted to yours, backing away gradually.

“This is my sister, (y/n), your aunt,” Alicent introduced. “This is Princess Helaena, my daughter,” Alicent said to you.

“A pleasure.” As you made an inclination to your neck, smiling to the princess as you hadn’t realized that the others accompanied none other by two young men behind Helaena, both with Targaryen features.

Your heart stopped—leapt with warmth—when you first glanced at the tall prince with gold, lithe hair as his other eye covered with eyepatch.

“These are my other sons…” Alicent said, searching for the third son with a slight frown on her features. “Where is Aegon?”

“Drunk as usual,” Daeron rolled his eyes, crossing his arms.

“That blasted fool…” Alicent hissed, then smiled merrily in a way to appease herself. “I hope you and Lady (y/n) would get along.”

“Yes, I remember now! You’re that boy—that cupbearer in the council!” you said to Daeron.

Daeron beamed. “I am proud to serve my mother’s family in Oldtown. Ashamed we never met circumstances in the Reach, yet here we are!” he chuckled. “For my dear father’s name day contained in private ceremony, I’m glad you came.”

You sensed the sarcasm in the word “father”, but shrugged it off.

The dread of unwanted unwelcome washed away with glee. “Indeed. I shall look forward to the festivities.”

Aemond lifted and placed his kiss upon the back of your hand. A kiss placed with gentle fire ignited your dulled soul, envision with flames of blush blaring your dewy cheeks. “A pleasure to meet you, my lady.”

Breath caught in your throat, eyeing on his hand still lingering his intertwine fingers to your skin. “Likewise, my prince…”

For the first time in your life, the gentleness of a dragon has captured your heart and soul.

As for Aemond, with the slighted news of your presence, there’s nothing more than mere maiden who needs to be soiled with his perversions trapped and coiled and enflamed in between his legs. When he first laid his gaze on you, he pictured your flushed skin wrapped with his own, his lips captured yours as his presence trapped into your mind for eternity. But alas, with a wandering thought just now, it wasn’t like him. He mustn’t be capricious and avarice on the spot.

With your grand arrival, Aemond had already decided you’ll become his.

One day at the time, he reminded himself.

“It’s unusual for you to be courteous to someone,” Alicent commented.

“I never wish to scare anyone with my presence, mother,” Aemond said. “It is my duty as a prince to make our special guest comfortable.”

A hot tingle between your legs stirred as you eyed on him—on his lips—how rolled off words with his tongue, finding yourself imagining at the thought of your nephew tasting your folds as you ride him, warming the bed—riding him whilst lace and corset of your precious dress torn apart by his own rugged and young hands.

“He’s only being courteous like Prince Daeron,” you noted, clearing your throat. “Everyone must fulfill their role to the realm. We mustn’t decay our customs to rudeness.”

Aemond’s eye gleamed at your flushing features whilst you looked at Alicent in the eye, you speak with assurance yet your body wavered, dying for your hungered coil in you—the scorch caged within your dress to be set free.

You cannot fool me, my princess, he thought.

In the end, nobody can fool a dragon like him.

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[greycaelum]

I have another question, sorry if I'm spamming 🫣 but I was wondering if Kouki has ever attended meetings with his parents as the heir to the Gojo family? And how are Reader, Kouki, and Saiki treated in the world of Jujutsu Kaisen as the wife and children of the "strongest" ?

Kaleidoscope Series—Clouds and Mochi Chapters: { Field Trip }

—Gojo Satoru X Wife Reader

𑁍 Genre: traditional clans, politics, parenthood

𑁍 WC/CW/TW: (1.2k)—/timeline where Satoru managed to accomplish his goal of resetting the jujutsu society, remnants of traditionalist clan, politics, Y/n's role as the Madame of Gojo Clan, Kouki and Saika are candidates for being the next clan head—/

𑁍 A/N: will be catching up to the piled-up asks one by one~

If someone told you a decade ago you will be seated in meetings of the Gosanke, meet and discuss matters with the prime minister regarding matters with the jujutsu society, or the one overseeing the Gojo Clan in Satoru's stead, you would laugh at them and tell them they got their heads in the clouds.

Yet perhaps, one cannot really talk with finality because fate seems to always like bending what seems to be impossible to possible.

After all what would they expect from a human with a not so significant amount of curse energy to manage the top family of the jujutsu clans? Much more to be the drive behind movements in the Gojo Clan, resulting in movement in the stagnant jujutsu society.

Many traditionalist clans spited Satoru for such "preposterous" action. While the minority saw it as progress. Either way, they have not much of a choice but to address you accordingly as the Madam of the Gojo Clan and treat you as the wife of Gojo Satoru.

"If you don't feel good, you can excuse yourself and go with Yuta Onii-chan. He's guarding outside." You held hands with an eight-year-old Kouki who is wearing his light blue traditional haori and hakama with the Gojo Clan crest whereas you wear a kurotomesode with five Gojo Clan crests signifying the formality of this meeting. "Whatever you hear in the meeting must stay in that room and will never be brought out, do you understand, sweetheart?"

"I will be fine. I will sit beside you and protect you, Mama." Kouki looked at you with a determined look on his face so much as if you were looking at Satoru.

"Really? Mama feels safe having you beside me today sweetheart." You gently pat his head and motion for your bodyguards to stand outside as you enter the meeting chambers of the Three Great Sorcerer Clans and the Higher-ups.

You walked in with a stolid greeting to everyone as you found your seat on the round table and Kouki sat one step behind you in an impeccable seiza form he perfected in his etiquette classes.

It seems no one has expected the young scion of the Gojo Clan today and didn't take long to point out your son's presence. The others greeted Kouki as he returned them politely, the others took some time to eye the son of Gojo Satoru before turning to you.

"This isn't a playground for kids to easily enter."

You glance at the vicious tone of a minor clan head, one of the few traditionalists who survived the crusade.

"He is eight years old, and done with his hakama-no-gi." You glance at your son wearing his kimono like any adult in this room, then back to the older man. "Borrowing my husband's words, it's a field trip."

"Gojo Y/n, this meeting is not for kids to attend. This regards confidential matters of the Jujutsu administration. What are you trying to do?" An elder man seconded the motion.

"Young as he is, my son is one of the candidates as heir to the Gojo Clan. He needs to learn. Unfortunately, my daughter is still young so she cannot attend yet." You smiled.

Kouki saw the disagreement and unsatisfied looks of the people around them.

This is probably why his father always looks haggard when talking about this formal stuff. Clenching his fists he kept his mouth shut and looked at the people around the table, imprinting their faces in the back of his head. If he wants to protect the people he loves, then he will need to do better than this. He needs to protect his Mama.

"Oh, Kouki. Are you here to accompany Y/n-san?" Maki, in her hakama and haori with the Zen'in Clan crest, entered the room and was surprised to see the kid sitting behind you.

"Maki-san, good morning." Kouki promptly nodded at his elder sister who sat beside his mother after ruffling his head.

"Y/n-san, good morning. The hamburger steak you sent yesterday was very delicious. Thank you." Maki smiled brightly at you and looked at the people around the table with narrowed eyes.

"The Daiginjo Sake you sent last week was so good too Maki-kun." You chuckled at the younger girl and whispered. "Satoru was knocked out with just one shot."

With the landscape of the Jujutsu clans extensively reformed from the succeeding wars and tragedies that rocked the society's long-term traditions and foundations, it has also been quite rocky but more open for change regarding the stigma and decisions the higher-ups must execute for more viable options regarding the non-sorcerers and sorcerers welfare.

You were focused in the meeting and had long discussions with the people present. Sooner or later you know Kouki will grow bored and you don't fault him if he wants to leave, after all, no matter how good a kid your eight-year-old son is, he is still a kid, too young to sit on seiza for hours straight.

"Kou-kun? Do you want some onigiri?" Yuta sneaked in a rice ball on the boy who sat straight with his hands on his thighs. "We can go out if you want."

"I will stay with Mama." Kouki couldn't fully understand what the elders were discussing but all he cares is that he can see you work and hold your ground in front of all these people so gracefully. You look so effortless as you handle the matters being thrown at you regardless of how heavy the topic is. You've always been a good communicator, unlike his Papa who can be very nonchalant.

An hour later the session took a break and everyone went out to get some fresh air.

"Sweetheart, your legs must hurt from all the sitting, let me see." You were surprised that Kouki managed to sit through the meeting without being fussy.

"Mama, when I grow up, I'll be like you." Kouki scrunched his nose when he felt how numb his legs had gotten from sitting like that. Your surprised eyes met his determined ones.

"Like me? You're gonna handle clan matters, Sweetheart?" You chuckled and took some snacks for Kouki and Yuta to eat.

"No... I'm gonna be calm and smart like you." He met your eyes. "And I'm gonna protect you."

"You don't wanna be like your Papa?" Satoru popped out of the corner, one hand tucked in the pockets of his slacks, the other carrying your four-year-old daughter with her glittery backpack and frilly yellow dress. "Don't you wanna be strong and handsome like Papa too, Kikufuku?"

Satoru walked by your side and set down Saika who immediately ran to hug you.

"Mama! I missed you."

"Satoru..." You hugged Saika but then sighed at your husband. "Why did you bring her here?"

Satoru shrugged, pulling up his blindfold, and exchanged it with his black glasses. From the slit of the glasses, he swept a sharp glance over the spectators who gathered on the corners since he came with his daughter. It was enough to turn them away. He's just making sure no one would bother you and his son and at the same time make a statement to anyone that would dare that he's watching over his family.

Satoru looks back at you and puts an arm around your waist. He glances down at his son who notices the people watching them as well. The boy certainly is observant more than what's expected of him. Good boy... He returned his eyes to you and just grinned.

"For field trip..."

Footnote:

Hakama-no-gi: Five year old boys celebrate this. When wearing a kimono was commonplace, boys would start wearing the hakama and those boys from a samurai family would wear a haori (jacket) over the hakama. This signifies that the boys have started their journey into adulthood.

—GreyCaelum

PLAGIARISM IS A CRIME

Check out the Masterlist for more

All rights and credits of the Jujutsu Kaisen character(s) mentioned images(s) and songs(s) used, belongs to their respective owner(s)

General/Kaleidoscope Series Taglist: @ice-icebaby @aeanya @gummy-dummy @tender-rosiey @lexiene @nevermoresworld @loml-riri @pelicanpizza @emichou-chan

[melodic-haze]

... Arlecchino with a reader taller than her? Would that change anything? I'm so curious 😇

☆ — DEMO TRACK: sub!Arlecchino x dom!Reader

☆ — TYPE: NSFW

☆ — CONTENT WARNINGS: Reader has a cock/strap referred to as such

☆ — NOTES: Can I say I tried to make this sfw first and then failed when I realised the potential

☆ — PARTS: Part 1 (you are here), Part 2

This is so fucking funny to me bc when you think ab it Arlecchino's acc REALLY fucking short without heels compared to her height ON heels

Don't laugh at her face ab it though unless you want death 🤷‍♀️

I'm like 5'5 I wish I was tall enough for Arle to have to look up at me :/

In all seriousness though I do think that she uses heels both as a weapon with those fuckass blades, but also as a way to seem taller and more intimidating—the cold, unfeeling Father that she wanted to present herself as, completely untouchable

When you're taller than her though?? God, without heels it gets her feeling things she hadn't thought she'd ever feel, let alone being taller than her WHILE she has heels on 🫶

She actually feels powerless, a feeling that is usually most unpleasant, and yet.......she actually finds herself liking the height difference as she looks up at you to actually look you in the eye

It'd wake up the undiscovered size kink she didn't even KNOW she had bc nobody else reaally made her feel sooo I mean yes ���️ Something very much changes in her ☺️☺️☺️☺️

"Ah.. mn..!"

Long nails, practically talons at this point, threatened to break your skin as you pounded her insides relentlessly. Arlecchino was always such a good girl for you, taking whatever you gave her without a single complaint.

You couldn't help but deem yourself lucky, to witness such a docile, subservient side to her, considering the ever-so-stoic persona she dons. Not as if it stopped with you simply witnessing her majesty, no—you were the entire reason why she was pliant like this, a powerful figure practically turning herself into an obedient ragdoll for you to use for your own satisfaction.

Not as if you were selfish though. No, if anything, from the way she had often looked at you and the fact that she would much rather let her own actions speak in her stead, she enjoyed being used like this.

..Enjoyed it a little too much, actually.

There were times when you've seen her look up at you woth a dazed look in her eyes—the crimson crosses often scanned you up and down before looking away with a tint in her cheeks. Of course, it had confused you to no end; was there something she saw?

You only figured it out when she had decided to idly comment on your height one time when you had helped her with taking a book from the uppermost shelves, her heels gone in favour for comfort within the safety of your own home.

"You.. are rather tall," that's all she said, the same coat of rare pink on her cheeks before staring at you—at your hands—before shaking her head and walking away swiftly.

...

Actually, this might be the best time to test your hypothesis.

You sat up, putting your pace into an abrupt stop, as you placed your hands on the curve of her ass and kept her close.

As knee-deep in pleasure as she was, one could never take away the sudden instinct of alert observation, "Is.. mm.. Is there something wrong, my beloved?"

You shook her head, "No, no, just.. brace yourself."

"Why would-- ..!"

Her breath hitched as you lifted her into the air, her hands crossed onto your shoulders as she held onto you in shock. Not as if you gave her room for a reaction, anyway, since you had easily slammed back into her the next second.

The new upward angle paired with the closeness between the two of you had her practically seeing stars as you hit spots that she hadn't realised existed within her. Every time your cock plunged inside her pussy, the tip hit the deepest spots—ones you had only grazed when you really went rough with the Harbinger.

Not to mention her feet weren't touching the floor.

You had lifted her up, and with the height difference between you two, she was exactly she couldn't allow herself to be.

Powerless.

Considering the way she rolled her eyes with a groan before putting her head on your shoulder and biting your skin as you pounded her into the air, she actually fucking enjoyed it.

She'll have to assess.. everything later, but for now she didn't care. Not when you're having your way with her.

Moment you have her up in the air is the moment her mind goes I fear

Like you mean to tell her that she's?? Up in the air without her fucking power??? Because you're tall enough for you to just. Lift her up?????? Her feet aren't touching the ground and the realisation has her juices GUSHING out ohhhhmy god

Not just the fact that she feels so powerless with you, but the way that her feeling small in your arms = her feeling safe as well???? Like you're her barrier from the world that's done her wrong time and time again, the world that's taken the most important things—people—away from her. Being fucked like this in your arms helps her forget all those for a while and feel safe and small, like she's the one being taken care of this time instead of the other way around

She wouldn't be asking you to do this again though, mind you..........but she does look at you and sizes you up and really that's all you need as a notice of what she wants 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

[lale-txt]

𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐇 (𝐎𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐮 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫) ❦ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟎𝟔: 𝐌𝐢𝐲𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐛

♫ Habibi - Angel Eyes

Yeah he has a tender tone Seems he's always been alone But his eyes have more to say And I wanna take him home

✰ 𝐜𝐰: vague description of a panic attack (just the beginning, doesn't become a full blown one), written part between SMAU parts.

⭅ back to m.list

“Happy birthday, Bokkun!!”

There’s warm arms engulfing you, kisses pressed to cheeks, a sea of voices as two worlds collide. You hear yourself laugh but it also feels far away, like you’re underwater. Let me put the cake down first, then I’ll give you a big, fat hug, you say, and you swallow down the familiar buzzing in your chest. It’s been there since last night, quiet but there, asking to be unraveled.

Demanding to be felt. 

You were never really good at that, weren’t you? Always shoving those unwanted feelings away, clawing at them, drowning them; in hopes that they’d never surface again, mirroring your distorted self.

The noises around you melt into static noise, and you take a few steps back, trying to quietly pull yourself out of this, just enough so you can breathe again. This isn’t the time for your facade to crack. Your fingers clench tighter around the cake box, holding onto it like a lifeline. 

Your back meets the wall–or so you think.

“Hey there.”

A voice soft and golden like honey. A pair of big, warm hands coming to your shoulders, steading yourself so you don’t stumble. A smile, so gentle it makes you want to flee again. 

The buzzing dies in your chest, replaced by a calmness you haven’t felt in a very long time. How strange.

Osamu spins you around and now you’re facing him, standing a little too close in the cramped hallway, all your friends still in one big pile of hugs and cheers, while it feels like your whole world has just shrunken down to the two of you.

“That looks heavy, lemme help,” he mutters and reaches for the cake box in your hands, slender fingers now on top of yours, brushing over your knuckles. There’s this heat and you think about flying too close to the sun again. The urge to pull your hands back is overwhelming, but you keep them perfectly still.

For the cake, you tell yourself. For me, your heart sighs. 

“Nah, you’re gonna drop it.” “I promise ya, I won’t.” “I held onto it for the past seven hours. It’s fine.” “Wish that was me.” “What?” “C’mon now, I still have some gravy on the stovetop, it’s gonna burn if ya don’t let go.”

Somehow his fingers manage to coax yours off the cake box, and you’re not sure which loss you’re more upset about–the one of the heavy cake in your hands or his skin against yours. Your heart stutters and stumbles in your chest, but instead of running you follow his orbit towards the kitchen. It does smell delicious here and you hate it; hate how you wanna lift every lid and peek inside, have a little taste of everything, a thousand questions burning on your tongue.

Only the sound of his voice draws you back.

“Fuck, this is delicious,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. Before him on the kitchen counter is the cake, the box already open, his thumb collecting some of the smudged buttercream from the top of the packaging.

“Hey now,” you huff, reaching out to close the cake box with one hand, the other shoving his arm away. Stupid arm sleeves getting in the way of feeling his skin underneath your palm again. “That’s not your cake.”

“Just a little taste test,” Osamu grins, his dimples showing and his tongue swiping across his thumb, licking some leftover buttercream off it. His gaze never leaves yours. “So sweet.”

Well. Fuck.

✽ 𝐌𝐢𝐲𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐛 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧…

THEY MEET AGAIN

Osamu got jealous for a minute when he believed y/n was kissing someone else

do not worry about Bokuto, he has his head resting in Akaashi's lap who plays with his hair and tells him how pretty he is while all of this goes down

there's a strong alliance forming between Yukie, Makki and Sunarin

Sakusa tried his best at y/n duty but threw the towel when she turned down his offer to leave the party and watch the stars from her new parking lot with him instead

in her defense, she was too busy questioning Osamu about the favorite meals of his childhood and what kind of evil dinner he cooks past 11pm

usually Osamu would have taken the arm sleeves off once he's done with cooking but he noticed y/n ogling and decided to keep them on for the night

Osamu tried one of y/n's pickle recipes and didn't like it

y/n is convinced he did something wrong in the progress because there's no way it tasted bad when she invented it

what a terrible inconvenience that they have to settle this argument once and for all over at Osamu's place (it's where the pickles are at)

✰ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓:

@brithedemonspawn @gigiiiiislife @yuminako @notverymarley @krissiekris

@wyrcan @kentocalls @simp-simp-no-mi @uncovered-mad-man @honey-deku

@yukichan67 @dailyakira @nu-suave @zq13 @morgan-lowell

@ellouisa17 @toges-cough-syrup @lovingjeankirstein

[the-desilittle-bird]

AN- I am back after my long writer block. Here is a little preference for you all...

Requests are Open and Well Appreciated!

Thank you and Enjoy your reading.

HOTD Preferences

You Are a Foreign Deligate

Characters - Daemon Targaryen, Aemond Targaryen, Otto Hightower, Corlys Velaryon, Cregan Stark and Criston Cole

Warnings - Angst for Criston (given that he is a King's Guard)

Daemon 'Rogue Prince' Targaryen

You are a visiting foreign delegate from the Free Cities and went to Westeros in order to establish good relations between the two places.

You and Daemon met far too later after your arrival.

You met the King's brother during the feast held in order to honour the new relations; and you were the guest of honour for the evening.

His long hair of silver catch your eyes and you were enchanted by his looks.

Viserys was the one to introduce you and you two hit it almost instantly.

While you were completely spellbound by his voice, Daemon found your intelligence extremely eye-catching.

At the end of the evening, if the prince feels quite giving, you will be spared a rare dance or two.

Or you would be sharing a cup or two of wine with him, in his room or in some tavern of Flea Bottom.

It is safe to say that he becomes obsessed with you till the end of your trip.

One fine morning, a few days before your departure back to Essos, you are informed that you will return to your place; but with an extra person.

Your marriage to Daemon was shipped on the point of strengthening the alliance, but everyone knew better...

Aemond 'One-Eyed' Targaryen

You were from Qarth and were sent by the Thirteen to secure a safe trade route. It was during the time when the King was disappointingly sick and the Queen and Hand of the King held the throne in his stead.

It was the time of extreme peace, every person in the harbour discussed quietly.

You were quite excited but also extremely nervous. You wondered what would happen if you failed to complete the task given to you.

You met the young prince when he received you at the port of King's Landing.

Despite his quietness, you were completely mesmerized by his commanding aura and killer looks.

It takes long period of time of observing you from a far on Aemond's part before he decides to talk to you.

The talk would start formally before he starts asking you about your country.

The entire conversation would be pleasant and you would be smitten at the end.

Maybe even fantasizing a life with him.

You two would met during the Council meets where Alicent makes him sit with his drunken brother. No wonder that Aegon will flirt and will end up being punched by Aemond.

A few days later, expect the One-Eyed Prince proposing you in the name of 'a way to strengthen the bonds'.

Otto 'Hand of the King' Hightower

This man has lost his wife and has plenty of kids, while you are a young and bright assistant of sorts to the visiting delegate.

You are feisty and know your way around the formalities well.

Otto notices you when you punch one of his family's knight after the knight made some comment on you.

Even though he was clear to show his disappointment to you, he kept the interest brimming in him inside his head.

Suddenly, he asks for your opinion and sometimes, catches you on your walk around the garden.

The Queen also warms up to you, surprisingly, and invites you to tea.

While you like the attention, you are confused.

And hence, you confront him.

Otto is nervous as heck. And starts blabbering along the lines of 'I know that you might not like me...' and 'We are born ages apart...'

And as much as you found him enduring, you wanted for him to shut up.

And so, you slam your lips to his.

Corlys 'Sea Snake' Velaryon

You aren't exactly a delegate but more of his friend who knows the rules of the sea.

You arrive at Westeros with him and are ushered quickly to the Small Council's chamber in order to discuss a safe route for trading.

You were quick to realize that no one in the Council knew about the pirates or literally any other threats of sea.

You were ready to interrupt the Hand of the King but before you could, the Sea Snake does.

You are surprised by his understanding of the sea.

When Corlys is done, he settles back into his seat with a smirk as his eyes find yours.

He approaches you later after the meeting is over and you two end up flirting quite a lot.

Days pass with both of you sharing your experiences.

And you end up kissing him one fine day after having enough of his teasings.

He was smug about it. But at last, ends up proposing you.

And you two end up marrying on the shores of Driftmark with only a few close friends.

Cregan 'Wolf of the North' Stark

The Lord of Winterfell was surprised to receive a raven informing him to prepare for the arrival of the king and a foreign delegate from Meereen.

That was quite unusual, but Cregan could done nothing to object.

When you arrive alongside the King, he was left completely spellbound.

Your wits and broad thoughts intrigue and so does your beauty.

Also, you aren't afraid of drinking with the vassal lords or dancing with the common ladies.

At end of a fortnight, he is completely and utterly in love with you. And you do notice.

But you wait for him to approach you.

But you hadn't expected a marriage proposal at the very beginning.

That is when you decide to approach him for a conversation.

The entire conversation was pleasant.

And at the end you decide to accept the proposal.

Criston 'Kingmaker' Cole

You notice him first when you met the Queen and you were completely infatuated, to be honest.

But your first ever conversation happened days after, on a feast.

You weren't quite accustomed to loud celebrations and quietly slips out of there unnoticed.

You see him there and somehow gather the courage to make small talks to him.

You find him a man of great morals, even if they were twisted in their own way.

That conversation sparked the flames of love in Criston's cold heart.

You try to keep whatever it is between you two a secret, given his position as a member of King's Guard.

And soon, the day for you to leave came.

You had asked him to come with you, only for him to reason with you.

At last, you part ways, grieving whatever you had.

Doubting whether it was even true.

[sayafics]

Dance of Shadows - Chapter II

Thank you to everyone who showed so much love to Chapter I and waited so patiently for this chapter! I do hope you enjoy it. Reading all your comments and seeing your likes and reblogs made me feel so appreciated, so thank you again!

This chapter will be very Daemon/Saenyra focused, but please presume everything else happens as normal <3

This is quite a long chapter, but I hope it's worth the read!

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

The crowd roared in unison, a crashing wave of victory and excitement rolled through the tourney grounds as the people of King's Landing yelled in celebration - the tourney has begun, and so has Queen Aemma's labours.

Saenyra's father held the tourney in honour of her maybe-brother that was itching and turning to leave her mother's womb.

She wanted to be by her mother's side, to hold her hand, and ground her during the pains of bearing a child.

But Viserys had promised the girl Aemma would be fine, that it was of more importance she was to attend the tourney. As that was where her duty required her to be - an ornament, a prize placed at the forefront of a bloodied battle for men to lust for, soldiers to grovel for, and Lords to prepare bounties in exchange for.

Of course he had not said so directly to her, even his words, so gentle and kind, were not her's to listen to. Yet they were a silent command to follow.

Viserys had spoken the words to Rhaenyra, Saenyra had simply been there and nodded like the obedient child she was and obeyed an order they did not feel the need to grace her with.

In the back of her mind, Saenyra knew if her absence did not draw up the suspicions and whispers of the people, then her father would have paid no mind. Rhaenyra is heir, if not to the throne, then to Dragonstone.

She was simply a princess, with no power tied to her name nor land for her to cherish. All that came to her - all that would be her own, would first belong to the man her father asked her to marry. And, some nights, Saenyra feared she would not be able to deny her father's wishes, because she had always seen her father's words to her as they truly were - commands of a King, not the gentle whispers of a loving father.

The tourney had begun, and Saenyra sat next to her sister as she gazed upon the grounds, suppressing a flinch as she watched the men collide into each other with a violent crack. The sound was enough to snap her out of her reverie, realising she had already missed the introductions and did not know who was competing. She sat straighter, spine stiffening as she rolled her shoulders - it would not be good if the Lords and Ladies were to catch her ill-attention, cursing it as a lack of manners and a mockery to the Court.

She paid no mind to Alicent's and Rhaenyra's incessant whispers, knowing their words were not for her and to include herself would only lead to them drawing back until she stopped. So she sat, quiet and proper, eyes flitting over the game in front of her in feigned interest.

The man who had fallen was Ser Gwayne Hightower of Old Town, Alicent's brother. Saenyra remembers him well, recalls the whispers that Otto Hightower had proposed a marriage between his eldest son and one of Viserys' daughters, but it was Aemma who denied the match. She did not think it a coincidence when she had ran into the man the following evening in the library, and she was bound in suspicion when he offered to walk her back to her chambers.

To this day, Saenyra finds herself grateful that Ser Harwin Strong had found her in those moments, and she was gladdened to hear him offer to escort her back in his stead. Ser Harwin was a dangerous man, but he was also loyal to the crown and would do her no harm.

Ser Gwayne Hightower was his father's child, and Saenyra, despite all her years sharing the castle with him, had never known Otto Hightower enough to trust him.

She watched how Alicent held her breath as the armoured man knocked Gawyne off his horse with brutal ease. Ser Hightower conceded, and the man dressed in an armour of dark grey and riddled with red as dark as rubies cheered in victory.

Saenyra's eyes traced over the armoured man, following every curve and line that decorated the fine metal-work. She noticed him draw closer, and at his proximity Rhaenyra leapt up from her seat.

Rhaenyra exuded a familiar scent of childish glee at the sight of the man, and it was only then that realisation sunk in as gentle lavendar hues met the molten colour of vicious violet.

This was Daemon, dressed in armour fit for a dragon, so unlike the one she had seen him only before. He stood now, clean and shining. His eyes were bright, glowing with the fire of a new battle, his expression seemed eased, and Saenyra knew the tourney was nothing like the bloodbaths Daemon loved to seek.

"Nicely done, Uncle."

Daemon's eyes flitted to Rhaenyra, squinting against the sun as a pleased smile crossed his face. Saenyra couldn't help the jealousy that festered under her skin, to see her sister once again preen under the attention of their uncle who seemed to care for one sister more than the other - just like her father, just like her mother, just like the Kingdom and probably, just like her brother too.

"Thank you, Princess."

Daemon's words were spoken with a lilt, and any passerby would have assumed the man was enamoured by the girl who stood in front of him - the Realm's Delight.

Instead, his eyes bounced from Rhaenyra to her friend standing loyally beside her, and his mouth parted, ready to ask a question.

It was at that moment a glint caught Daemon's eye, and his eyes darted back to the quiet girl who sat in the shadows of her sister's tall and domineering presence. It was at that moment he remembered a call for a promise and a whisper to wait until the time came to be.

Daemon could have used such a promise to bargain some leverage, to gain the upper hand, and receive power or triumph in turn. But, eyes roving over the girl who avidly avoided his boring stare, he found he did not want to wait and see if a different opportunity arises. Not when he could live in a whispered moment of his desires right now.

"Now I am fairly certain I can win these games, Lady Alicent," Daemon watched how Rhaenyra's face fell as he addressed her friend instead of her, knowing what question lay on the tip of his tongue, and for a moment Daemon truly felt pity for the girl. "But having the favour of one so kind and gentle would all but assure it," he watched Alicent radiate a warmth of eagerness at his words, despite her attempts to stifle it in Rhaenyra's presence.

As a man who abhorred the existence of her father and his twisted words, Daemon could not help the thrill that wracked through him as he continued his words and watched the Hightower girl deflate.

"Would you send for my dearest niece? I have a question for her."

Alicent looked between Rhaenyra and her sister, pulling herself together as she deliberated her next course of action. Daemon raised a brow, and she nodded hesitantly in reply. She stepped backwards - once, twice. As though she was waiting for Rhaenyra to stop her - she never did. So Alicent turned on her heels and walked ever so slowly towards Saenyra who determinedly looked towards her fumbling fingers and avoided the eyes of her sister's friend, dread settling in the pit of her stomach at the sound of the approaching figure.

"Princess, your uncle calls to you."

Saenyra looked up with a frown, "what does my uncle want with me?"

Alicent looked over her shoulders for a moment, glacing at Rhaenyra's tense shoulders and Daemon's narrowed eyes - "I believe it is something you must ask him."

Saenyra regarded her with suspicion, eyes flitting over to see her uncle and sister locked in a bout of seething words. She found she did not want to approach, worried of what she may hear and what she may be asked.

Did Daemon want to ask for his favour now? Was it truly to do with Rhaenyra? Was that why she was so angry? Did Rhaenyra not want her to overhear what Daemon plans to ask of her?

Despite all the questions echoing in her mind like a deafening storm, she finds herself standing in a graceful manner and making her way to them with Alicent lurking a step or two behind.

When they approached the pair, Daemon and Rhaenyra were sharing a gaze heated by the fire of dragons - Rhaenyra glared at the man as though they had shared venomous words, despite them not being overheard by others.

Saenyra waited a few steps back, hesitance clouding her mind as she waited - hoping Daemon would call to her.

And he did.

"Saenyra," her name sounded so sweet, rolling off his tongue, his anger that flowed in steaming waves now seemed to lull in the air of her presence. "I have something to ask of you," a knowing look crossed his face, a sign that he was referring to their meeting by chance a few short days ago, and it was as though he knew she had not forgotten about it either.

Saenyra glanced towards her sister, but Rhaenyra simply avoided her gaze and stood with a passive expression painted along her face. Saenyra cleared her throat, her voice almost a whisper as she spoke, unsure of what to say, "of course, Uncle. What is it that you desire?"

She had stumbled over her words, cringing as she spoke faster than her mind had been able to think. But Daemon paid no mind, though his lip quirked with amusement as he thought of asking for her, then and there.

Alas, he knew he could do no such thing. So he commanded, an air of reverence in his words, "give me your favour."

His words were simple, so close to the words he truly wanted to say, but knew he could not with his brother's watchful eyes upon him.

Saenyra's cheeks heated at his words, but she did not miss how Rhaenyra's fingers tightened upon the railing, nor how her jaw twitched as she clenched it in irritation.

She almost said no, a part of her even wanted to - fearful of hurting her sister's feelings and possibly losing her in some way. But there was a selfish part of Saenyra, so young and wanting, that had craved for a moment such as this, where someone would ask for her in place of her sister. And she would truly be mad to deny this moment, regardless of how fleeting it came to be.

She bit her lip in feigned contemplation, and Daemon found himself growing warm in the confines of his armour at the sight. She glanced back at Daemon, unable to stop the teasing smile slipping onto her face as she leaned towards him over the railing - "only if you say please."

A flare of pure, unadulterated want radiated through Daemon at her words, and he found himself leaning towards her without a care for the watchful eyes of his audience - "please."

Despite all his savage glory, his plea was close to a whimper, and it seemed to ignite something in Saenyra he had never seen before. Her eyes glance to his lips before moving back, she pulled herself back with heated cheeks and laboured breaths as she clears her throat.

Saenyra turned to grab her wreath, only to find Rhaenyra stood infront of her with it in her grasp.

She stared at her sister for a few moments, unsure of what to do. It seemed even her father was not sure if he should intervene, and Otto simply watched with an interested gaze.

Rhaenyra held the wreath tight, her unrelenting grip causing the flowers beneath to crumble and give in. Saenyra glances back to Daemon's waiting figure, a shroud of determination settles in her as she regards Rhaenyra again, taking slow steps towards her before holding the wreath firmly and taking it from her grasp, she spares her sister a stiff nod - "thank you, Sister."

Rhaenyra doesn't move, nor acknowledge her. She simply waits to see if Saenyra would truly go ahead with this, and give Daemon what he seeks.

Saenyra walks towards Daemon, her steps much more sure and confident. She leans over the railing and gives him a shy smile. He returns it with his own - a broad and mischievous grin.

She reaches towards him to place the wreath, and just as the flowers brush the tip of his sword, he cants his horse to step back away from her as a glorious laugh escapes him. Saenyra can't help the way her heart flutters at the sound, but she rolls her eyes all the same - "Uncle."

Her words were drawn out in feigned annoyance, and he pulled himself back closer at the sound, waiting for her to reach out again before moving away.

"Ugh, Uncle. I swear to the Seven, I will simply take my seat again, and you can fight without my favour."

Daemon tuts, "we can not have that now, can we? Perhaps to make it easier, you can come onto the grounds?"

He raises his brow in challenge, so sure she would not heed. But a look over her shoulder, into the eyes of her raging sister, was all it took for her to move towards the stairs and duck under the arms of a cautious guard.

She ignored the calls of her father and his Hand, the indignant call of Rhaenyra and her friend. She stepped onto the grounds with a huffed breath, but her lips were stretched into a traiterous smile as she walked towards Daemon, who met her halfway.

Daemon unmounted his horse, leaving his joust on the ground as he moved towards her in slow, deliberate steps. He paid no mind to the baited silence of their audience nor the exasperated calls of the Court. He stood in front of her, his armoured boots brushing against the billowing skirt of her dress - a pale pink that stood brightly against the sun.

Saenyra held the wreath out towards him, a simple ring of flowers decorated in shades of blues and yellows - her favourite flowers, irises and begonias, formed into a colourful cluster.

Daemon reached out to accept it. His fingers, encased in his harsh and cold armoured gloves, brushed slowly over the petals to then skim the skin of her warm and delicate hands. Saenyra shivered, goose-flesh running up her arms as she repressed the tremble that silently wracked through her body. His touch paused as metal met metal, and his armoured fingers glided against a ring made of familiar steel.

A ring, so dark and grand, sat on the Princess' hand in place of where her future bethrothed's would. And it was made of Valyrian steel, a shared piece of ancestry.

Daemon admired how the ring looked upon her finger, how the blood-soaked jewel hammered into it radiated against her skin as though it was proud of its wearer and yearned to be showcased because of it.

A shared piece of him.

***

Daemon had avoided Saenyra after his trysts in Silk Street, unable to meet her eye or hear her voice without his mind flashing back to his escapade with Myseria, where all he could think about was Saenyra.

The lengths he would have gone to have her, or someone that simply looked like her.

His stomach would roll with nausea, and his mind was heavy with questions. He found himself needing to apologise with no true need except for the guilt that plagued his mind due to his traiterous fanatasies.

The night after his venture with Myseria, he found himself lazing away in his chambers as the sun fell into the arms of the night sky and the moon rose in its place.

Daemon found himself staring up at the ceiling, eyes tracing over every animate shadow and ears on alert for every step and whisper that sounded at his doors.

His heart beat at a calm pace, but every thud brought a sinking feeling of unease to settle in the confines of his chest. His mind began to wander, his thoughts flitting between images of his night with Myseria, to his gift to Rhaenyra, to walking into his little niece.

Daemon remembers how he struggled to force his gaze away from her bare neck - a princess of a Kingdom so grand and powerful, and yet her father would rather have the girl dressed as a commoner than royalty.

Daemon scoffed at the thought - oh, how he wanted to adorn her in jewels and diamonds, to weigh her heavy in the best of refineries so others would see just how much her beauty was worth. How much she is worth.

But he had already given Rhaenyra a necklace, and he wasn't blind to Saenyra's stares of sadness and envy. He knew to give her the same gift he gave Rhaenyra would be nothing short of an insult.

He would do no such thing.

He closed his eyes in frustration, his racing thoughts barely allowing him to catch a breath long enough to lull himself to sleep. He sat up stiffly, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed as he held his head in his hands.

A deep sigh escaped him, thumbs digging into his eyes as though he was forcing away the images of Saenyra - trying to forget her moonlit hair, her pale eyes, her murmured words and her hesitant breaths.

Daemon glanced towards the fireplace that now burned low, the heat had dampened down, and a cold chill filled the air. It was a feeling akin to flying Caraxes in the winter sky, a scathing feeling that somehow brought a warmth to him all the same.

His eyes rested upon his sword, which stood defiantly against the hearth. Dark Sister looked almost black in the shadows of a dying fire, the rain-guard glinting a violent gold against the blade.

Rhaenyra's necklace had been a piece of shared ancestry.

But Saenyra deserved something more. For all she had done to be a dutiful daughter, she had not shared the grace of being a true dragon despite the blood of one burning through her veins.

When she was younger, a hopeful child who was so sure her egg would hatch as she aged, Daemon had pitied the girl. Even now, his heart would clench in sympathy for her. But he could see how such a loss of an opportunity had strengthened her.

She was just as much of a dragon as he was, despite never having one to call her own. She was just not able to see it yet.

Daemon saw a fragment of his soul in hers. The part of him that yearned for his father's approval, his brother's love. The fraction of him who had ached and begged for a dragon before he made it his mission to tame his own.

Daemon had called for a blacksmith the next day before daylight had broken and offered a pouch of Gold Dragon coins with one hand and his Dark Sister with the other.

Daemon knew exactly what his sweet girl deserved - what she needed.

Saenyra was a dragon, through and through - she simply needed a reminder of such.

The blacksmith had returned before dark, standing nervously with trembling hands as he offered Daemon his sword with one hand and held forth a cotton bag in the other.

Daemon glanced over his sword, his eyes easily catching the part that did not belong. The pommel was the same gold as his rain-guard, but it seemed dainty in comparison. He longed to hold his sword and test it for deficiencies, but his eyes caught the ivory bag clenched tightly in the hands of the blacksmith.

Daemon laid out his hand, and the bag was placed upon it with hesitance. Daemon rolled his eyes at the man's slow movements and snatched the bag away, pulling the ties open and tipping its contents into the palm of his hand.

A bejewelled piece of metal fell with a light thump. The metal felt familiar, even though it had been melted and twisted into something he did not recognise.

The band was simple, engraved with vines and flowers that were so quaint yet so detailed. And fitted perfectly in its centre sat a timid, glowing jewel likened to a pool of congealed blood.

Daemon thought back to the necklace he gifted to Rhaenyra, how its jewels were a bright and lively red. A mockery of who Daemon pretended to be.

This jewel, this colour, this steel. It was a part of him - a reflection of who he was. It was admiration and bloodshed and protection all in one. It was a silent promise and a vicious outcry.

It was a gift, fit for a princess. Fit for Saenyra.

Daemon reached for his sword, turning it over to have a look at the pommel of his sword where Valyrian Steel had been replaced by something else - it was a worthwhile sacrifice, he thought. His hands fisted around the ring, relishing in the feel of it imprinting against his skin.

Daemon had walked through the Keep with the ring settled in the pocket of his chemise for days now, unable to bear the courage to face her in fear of what his desires may ask of him.

It was not until the day of the tourney that he found himself in front of the youngest Princess' chambers. He nodded in greeting to her guards, not waiting for them to announce his presence before he marched into her chambers - he could not risk allowing hesitance to cloud his decisions and walk away.

Daemon held his breath as he closed the doors behind him. Saenyra sat at her dresser, combing through her hair before the sound of Daemon's loud entry forced her eyes to meet his in the reflection.

She was still dressed in her sleeping gown, a sheer shade of pearl that hugged against her figure. Daemon roved his eyes over her by instinct, hungrily drinking in the sight of her whilst he could. Saenyra was not blind to his devouring stare, clearing her throat despite her skin flushing under his heated gaze - "Uncle, can I help you?"

Daemon's eyes met hers, and the desire that pooled in them began to wane as he pulled himself together into the semblance of a gentleman.

"Saenyra," there it was again, her name passing through his soft lips with a gentle caress, "I have something for you."

She raised a brow in question, turning to look over her shoulder at him instead, "and what would that be?"

Daemon did not speak further, he walked closer towards her before stopping at the foot of her bed. He sat cautiously, waiting to see if she would object and send him away, but the girl was much too curious to do such a thing.

He beckoned her forward, and she hesitated for a moment.

"Come."

His voice was firm, as though he knew she would obey without question, and as she stumbled to her feet, she had the fleeting realisation that she would do anything Daemon had asked. She would follow him to the ends of the world and more, if he so desired.

She stood in front of him, and still she felt so small despite the fact that he had to look up to her. Her hands fiddled with the ends of her gown, which brushed against her thighs lightly - the idea she was so exposed in front of her uncle sent a shiver down her spine.

Daemon forced himself to keep his eyes upon hers, to not disrespect his darling niece when she had so politely adhered to his wishes despite the burning temptation to drink in the sight of her bare legs only a hairs-breadth away.

If he leaned forward, he was sure he could run his lips against her bare skin, and his body heated at the thought of her trembling under his touch.

He shook himself from his thoughts, looking upon Saenyra with adoring eyes as one of his hands took hers. He tugged her gently, tempted to pull her onto his lap but knowing it was a move much too daring.

Instead, she fell neatly onto her knees between his parted legs, and Daemon had to hold back a groan. She eyed him with such trust, full of so much naivety and innocence he found himself intoxicated with the idea of corrupting her and taking her as his own.

But he couldn't.

Shouldn't.

"I have a gift for you."

His words were a gasped whisper, spoken only between their shared breath that she had almost missed it, becoming so distracted by his warmth - by his dragon fire.

She blinked slowly, as though she was confused, "for me?"

He smiled at her, kindly. Something so unlike Daemon that even he was struck with the oddity of their circumstances. Still, he nodded.

She frowned, "why?"

His head tilted in sympathy to see his niece so surprised by such an act - "why not? Anything for my favourite niece."

Her eyes widened in surprise, "I'm your favourite?"

He grinned, "who else could it possibly be?"

Her head became down-turned, "everyone knows you love Rhaenyra more."

Her words struck a cord in his heart, is that what she truly believed? "And yet it is you I brought a gift for."

She looked back up at him, her face dead-pan as she spoke, "that is because you already brought her one. This is probably something gifted out of guilt."

She was close to the truth, but not entirely. This was a gift out of guilt for his wreckless thoughts and violent desires, but it was also a token of his devotion. Not that his dear niece needed to know.

He shook his head in turn, "this is so much more."

His hand reached into the pocket of his chest, nimble fingers pulling out the jewel he held so close to his heart as he waited for this moment. Her lips parted at the sight of it, and Daemon was sure he saw unshed tears pool within her eyes.

"That's for me?"

"Just for you."

Her eyes flickered to meet his disbelief, painting her expression - "Daemon," she spoke his name as though it was natural to her, and it sang with melodic delight causing desire to curl in his chest and hum contentedly. "Daemon," she repeated, so sweetly and softly, "I can't accept this."

"Yes you can."

"It is too much. It would not be fair to accept such a prize with nothing given in return."

Mischief raided through his heart as though it was a second nature, it clashed with desire and became pronounced - "then take it in exchange for another promise. A bigger one," his voice dipped, lowering into a whisper, "a dangerous one."

Saenyra didn't let her gaze fall from his, she knew she should deny him and his gift. She should send him from her chambers and pretend nothing had happened, but to have him so close and to see him act so daring, to challenge her so openly - it sparked a burning fire within her, setting her dragon alight - "so, what is it that you want?"

Her words felt like an echo of the ones she had said to him only days ago.

"I guess you shall have to wait and see."

She couldn't help the shy smile that slipped across her face at his echoing words, nor the heated flush that painted her cheeks as she felt him take her hand and slip the ring onto her left hand. It sat snugly on the finger where her future bethrothed's ring would have sat. And a small part of Saenyra, the one so selfish and greedy, knew no other man would have been able to produce a perfect fit for her apart from Daemon.

Saenyra couldn't pull her eyes away from his, she watched as his eyes darkened under her curious gaze. His own glanced towards her lips that she bit anxiously, and a thumb came to brush across it softly as he pulled it out before she could abuse it further.

His thumb sat on the bed of her lip, and he kept her gaze with a new ferocity. She glanced to his now, watching how he wetted his lips under her watchful gaze as his head grew heady with desire.

A knock on the door, loud and harsh, startled her from his grasp. His hand was still outstretched towards her, and his eyes never left her, even as she stood and brushed the gown straight.

Ser Harwin entered the room, a curious gaze passed between the unusual pair, before he focused upon the simmering figure of Daemon Targaryen- "my Prince, the King calls for you. The tourney is to begin."

Daemon lets out a frustrated sigh as he pulls himself to his feet, he walks towards Saenyra and pulls her focus back onto him. He holds the hand bejewelled with a piece of him and presses a longing kiss upon her knuckles - "I hope to see you on the grounds, Saenyra."

She did not get a chance to reply. He turned on his feet and walked out her chambers - not without sharing a sharp glare with Ser Harwin Strong.

After he had left, Saenyra shared a nervous smile with Ser Harwin before he prompted her to get ready as he would send the handmaids to help her. She nodded in agreement, returning to her dresser to brush through her hair, but throughout it all, she was unable to tear away her gaze from the fine ring that adorned her hand.

A flutter sang within her chest, and a traiterous smile and bubbling laugh escaped her as she thought of Daemon's glimmering eyes and bright smile.

***

Daemon had been knocked onto the grounds by Ser Criston Cole, the man was skilled in tourneys but Daemon was better - more experienced.

He launched from the grounds, demanding his sword before slashing and swinging against Criston's flail. He sent a frenzied attack that was oragnised yet doused with the fire of unbridled rage.

He admired the man's strength and his stubbornness, but Daemon was not one to lose.

He had knocked Criston to the ground, Daemon's shield had been shattered to splinters, but he swung his sword with ease, his golden pommel a shining beacon for the girl who owned the original piece.

He turned towards the audience, towards her - cheering and celebrating. He searched for the missing part of his sword in the victorious cries of the Court, in their waving arms and broad smiles. His sword usually felt light in his hand, as though it was an extension of him, but the longer he struggled to seek her out, the heavier it felt.

She had left the tourney before he had even succeeded, she had not waited to celebrate his victory, she had not shared a parting goodbye or stayed for a boisterous celebration.

And with her, she had taken her favour.

Daemon had let his guard down, and Criston had taken advantage of his wavering heart and beat him to the ground whilst his back was turned - the act of a coward, but the rise of a victor.

Daemon yielded.

His eyes closed in frustration as his mind flooded with flashes of her once more - why had she left?

***

Within the walls of the Keep, Queen Aemma's cries sounded loudly. Saenyra had wanted to comfort her mother, but they tore her apart before she could reach her.

They let her mother cry and scream and beg until her last dying breath. And the babe followed shortly after.

Perhaps her mother did not care for her as much as she did Rhaenyra, but Aemma was her mother.

Perhaps the babe would have preferred his eldest sister, the dragon-rider, to his other sister, the timid. But Baelon was her brother.

She had gained the affection of her uncle, but lost her mother and her brother as consequence.

Saenyra felt as though her body revolted in the shadows of a dark and humourous curse, one that took and took and gave so little.

Saenyra stared at the ring Daemon placed upon her finger, her eyes were blank and her face was streaked with tears, her breaths were coming out short and panicked and she tried her best to avoid her mother's gasping breaths, her pleas for a daughter who was absent and not the one who was present, her last tear and her father's wails.

She stared at the ring, and a piece of her - the growing envious beast within - wished she had never accepted the token, believing if she did not, she would still have the half-love of a mother and the possible love of a brother, in place of a displaced infatuation of an uncle.

She wanted Daemon, but she was not sure how.

She wanted Daemon, but she wanted her mother more.

I honestly loved writing this chapter, it was like the words just flowed. I really do hope you guys like it! Please comment, like, and reblog! Every single one is so greatly appreciated <33

I have so many ideas for the next few chapters, I can't wait!!

Taglist: @marihoneywk @ahristata @gracielikegrapes @luanasrta @pet1t3

[forever-rogue]

Now that reader has moved to Steve's house, how about there's one day where Daisy feels a little bit under the weather but it's really taking her energy and she only wants to cling to reader? Like when Daisy's awake, she instantly go to reader in the kitchen with teary eyed and reader gets worried and pick her up. And when Steve wakes up and sees the scene, he can't help but fall in love with reader more and can't wait for the day they finally get married.

AN | These three make me so soft and I can’t wait for them to get married either 🥺

Warnings | Sick Kiddo

Pairing | Steve x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 1.9k

Masterlist | Steve, Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You really shouldn't have had all that water before bed. This was the second - third? - time you had to get up and go to the bathroom that night. It was the water among…other things but right now you were cursing everything. All you wanted to do was get some sleep. 

Once you were done, you popped into the kitchen to grab some more water (hydration is important, alright?) when you heard some soft sniffles. Your heart dropped into your stomach when you realized it could only have been one thing, one little person, in your house.

"Mommy?" And yeah. That still made your heart flutter, but the tears you could practically hear in her voice made you want to cry too. Daisy Mae Harrington padded into the kitchen, her stuffed dog in one hand, fuzzy bunny slippers half on, and a deep frown on her little way.

"Hey baby," you crouched down so you were eye level with her, and held out your arms to invite her in for a big hug, if she wanted it of course, "what's wrong, baby girl?"

Before she could even say anything, big, fat crocodile tears ran down her cheeks as she tried to contain her sobs. Without hesitation she stepped into your arms and clung onto you as tightly as she could with her small grasp. 

You made a small sound as you hugged her in return, picking her up and soothing her back with soft circles. She'd buried her face into your neck and you could feel her tears soaking into the fabric of your t-shirt.

"I don't feel good," Daisy was finally able to speak after a few moments of struggle, "my tummy hurts and my throat too and my nose is all stuffy."

"Oh my love," you felt your heart break knowing she was sick. You wished that you could take it all away from her and be the one in her stead. It would have sucked but it would have been better than watching her go through this, “it sounds like you’re getting a bit of a cold.”

“I don’t wanna be sick,” she sniffled and you instinctively rocked her gently. You kissed the side of her head tenderly.

“I know,” you held onto her tightly as you walked to her bedroom. The least you could do was try to help her get to sleep. You sat down on the bed and set her down so she could try and get under the covers. She sighed softly, which to your chagrin turned into a cough, before pulling back the blankets and getting under them. You brushed back her soft curls and put the back of your hand onto her forehead. She felt a little warm, “after some sleep you’ll feel better. Do you think you can sleep?”

“I can try,” she gave you her best smile but you could see the hazy look in her eyes. Before you could get up, she reached for your hand, “will you stay with me, mommy?”

Even before she could get her soft little request out, you knew the answer to her question. You nodded and her little face lit up happily, “of course I will, my little love.”

You went to the other side of the bed and got in behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her into you. She sighed contently, clutching onto her stuffed dog and her hand. She mumbled a soft I love you, which you eagerly repeated to her, and it wasn’t long before you heard her snoring. 

At least you knew she was safe and sound for the time being. You couldn’t fix it, but you could make her feel better. Fortunately, it wasn’t too long before you fell asleep either. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When Steve woke up, he rolled over and reached for you, as had become his routine since you’d moved in. But this morning, he found your side of the bed empty and cold. You’d been gone for a while. It was still early, so you wouldn’t have been at work and it was too silent if you were in the kitchen. 

With a groan he rolled out of the bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He pulled on a shirt and walked into the hallway, listening for anything suspicious. But nothing reached him except for the early morning stillness. 

“Daisy? Angel?” no answer reached his ears so he walked down the hall towards Daisy’s room. The door was cracked open and he lightly pushed it further and stepped inside. The sight in front of him made his heart full to bursting. You were sprawled on your back and Daisy was curled up into your side, her little arm flung over your stomach, “oh, my girls.”

Like a moth drawn to a flaw, at the sound of his voice you slowly opened your eyes, blinking away the bleariness until you saw him. A smile spread across your features as you mouth a small hello at him. 

Daisy was still sleeping so you maneuvered out from under her as best as you could. She was out cold and didn't even make a sound. You padded over to him and he wrapped you up in a warm hug.

"Hey baby," he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head as you curled up into his warm body as much as you could, “c’mon. Let’s firstly get some coffee.”

“Ahh yes,” you grinned as he led you out of Daisy’s room, “my one allotted cup of coffee for the day.”

“It’s something,” his laugh was magical as he took you down the stairs and to the kitchen. It had been so easy to fall into a routine with him, to fall into a comfortable life with him and Daisy. It always felt like this was exactly where you were meant to be. You’d never been more thankful for deciding to get coffee that fateful afternoon when you met him, “what were you doing with Daisy? She normally comes into our bed.”

“Yeah,” a little pout settled on your features and Steve wanted nothing more than to kiss it away. But he could also tell that something was up when you remained silent for a moment, “it was the middle of the night when I went to the bathroom and stopped to get water, when Daisy found me. Poor thing wasn’t feeling good at all, Stevie.”

“Oh no,” he ran a hand through his hair and sighed heavily. He hated the idea that his baby girl was sick and there was nothing he could do to help. If it was possible, he would have traded places with her without hesitation, “I should have known…when I picked her up after school yesterday her teacher said that a bunch of kids had gotten sick that week. I just hate that it’s our daughter.”

Our daughter. That still made butterflies flutter in your tummy every time. Even though you knew it was true, and you absolutely considered her yours, it still made you so happy to realize that both of them felt the same. 

“Me too,” you agreed, leaning against the counter and gratefully accepting the cup of coffee he’d prepared just how you liked it, “she asked if I could stay with her when I got her back to bed. I couldn’t say no to her.”

“I don’t think anyone can,” he clinked his mug against yours, “we’ll just have to keep an eye on her and make sure she rests.”

“Yeah,” you mused for a moment, “I’ll make some soup and when she gets up I can give her a bath. Whatever she needs.”

“As if she wasn’t already spoiled enough,” maybe spoiled but still a well behaved and wonderful kid, “how are you feeling today, angel? Any nausea or anything?”

“I’m feeling pretty good,” you reached over and touched his face, brushing your thumb over his cheek. He really was such a good man, always so attentive and loving, “much better than I have been. And yes, my love, don’t worry, I’d tell you if anything was off.”

“Good,” he stole a few kisses but before anything could go further, you heard the soft pitter patter of footsteps on the kitchen tile. His face lit up when he spotted his daughter, immediately crouching down and holding up out his arms. She made a small muffled sound before throwing herself at him, “hi kiddo.”

“Daddy,” her voice was muffled as she buried her face into his chest. He peppered her face in kisses as he picked her up and settled her on his hip, “mommy.”

“Daisy,” he teased her softly before peppering her face in kisses, “are you feeling any better, kiddo?”

“No,” she sniffled and wiped at her stuffy nose, “I feel like poop.”

If she hadn’t been feeling so bad, you might have laughed; you could see Steve trying to hold back a smile, “don’t worry, babe, I’ll take care of you today and will try to make it all better.”

“I don’t have to go to school?”

“No,” he promised her, “definitely not. Right now all you have to do is to get better.”

“Okay,” she looked between the two of you, “can you both stay with me today?”

“I have to go to work,” if he hadn’t been in the middle of a huge project - or had such a wonderful partner in you - he would have stayed home in an instant, “I’m sorry, baby.”

“But if it makes it any better, I’m going to stay home with you,” her eyes were glossy and hazy but there was a spark to them when she realized that you were to be home, “and we can do whatever you want today.”

“Okay,” she nodded seriously, “can I have cereal?”

“Sure,” Steve set her down and she came over to you, wrapping her arms around your legs. He was weak at the sight and quickly kissed the both of you, “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to get dressed and get going. I’ll call school and let them know that neither of you are going to make it in today.”

“My hero,” you’d miss your classroom of kiddos, but your kiddo needed you now, “I love you, Stevie.”

He paused for a moment, all heart-eyed and soft, “I love you too. I can’t wait to marry you.”

“Oh,” your eyes widened in surprise before softening. You were definitely looking forward to that too, “me too, Steve. Me too. But right now, you need to get going, love. We’re not going anywhere…never.”

“I know,” he really had the sweetest smile that made you want to melt into a puddle, “I’ll see all three of you tonight.”

“Bye daddy,” Daisy waved a little hand at him, “have a good day!”

“I will,” he promised, “and you feel better.”

“Okay!”

“Okay.”

[leeeeeeeeech]

Been thinking about eldritch Beej a lot, and I'm in the process of polishing up my ao3 fic, but I just had to get a scene out of my head so enjoy :3

Fem! reader

Well, this was not how you anticipated your night going. The date started off well enough. The guy was cute, handsome even. He said all the right things, he was interesting, he was the perfect guy to take home to the folks….

But he wasn't Beetlejuice.

That was the issue. The kerfuffle if you will. The whole date, I couldn't stop thinking of that damn pervert. Imagining how he would react to what I said. Probably some fumbled sex joke instead of the polite cough I received in its stead. Polite, and superficial. Like a business meeting. Transactional intimacy at its finest. I got a goodnight kiss at least. But, all I could think about was what was missing. The lack of scratchy stubble, the smell of dirt, the grabby hands...

"No dice?" Beetlejuice had asked me. He had told me that guy seemed like a loser, not worth my time, yadda yadda. I remember rolling my eyes and muttering something about keeping his dirty shoes off my couch before storming off to my room. I could still feel the fiery white hot sensation in my chest as his echoing laugh followed me down the hall.

At first, I mistook it for annoyance. Beetlejuice always had something to say about my dating life. Nobody was good enough. I knew he just didn't like the idea of me giving my attention to someone else. He had to get over himself at some point!

Now, I'm in my bed, fucking myself with my fingers. Apparently the line between anger and horniness has dwindled significantly.

Go figure.

"Hmnn." I bit my lip, trying to keep myself quiet. It's been a while since I've masturbated, my pussy tingling deliciously as I furiously rubbed at it, growing impatient. All I wanted was to cum and go to sleep. I just wanted to forget my stupid feelings for the night. I could sort them out tomorrow.

A low growl reverberated throughout the room, making me freeze in place. A green glow filled the space, illuminating my room in a otherworldly light. The air seemed taught, like a string about to snap. My eyes darted around just as a low whine stretched itself from the doorway to me. Beetlejuice stood there, with an expression I didn't quite recognize.

I snapped out of whatever spell I was under, and covered myself with my blanket. He laughed, taking a step closer towards the bed.

"Little late for that toots."

He breathed in deep, his nostrils flaring. He closed his eyes, and that low rumble filled the room once again. Like thunder.

"Get out. I don't want you here." Another step towards the bed. His eyes shone in the dark, there glow held a primal power that made my insides throb with fear, or maybe desire. Hell, it was probably a little of both.

"We both know that one's a lie, Y/n~" He smirked, tugging on the blanket. I tightened my grip on it.

"N-No. I want you out." Wow, even I didn't believe myself. He chuckled, tearing the blanket away with ease. I snapped my legs together as the cold air hit my exposed sex.

"Don't be shy now, babes. I know you were thinking about me." He drawls. My face heats up at the declaration. He doesn't say anything regarding it, but I don't miss his shit eating grin.

" I can smell how wet ya are around me ya know," His eyes rake over me, and I feel like I'm burning underneath his gaze.

"I know you like it when I feel ya up." A set of hands appeared by my chest, giving my breasts a playful squeeze. I gasp, but there gone before I can do much else.

"It's been torture to hear ya practically scream for me in yer sleep." I can't get much more red at this point. This is humiliating, being emotionally eviscerated like this. I feel that familiar throb once again, like my ovaries are pounding at the door to the outside, begging for him.

"Whatever yer fantasizing, I can do sooo much better~" He winked, giving a small chuckle.

"Wha- why...?" My words caught in my throat as I felt something slimy wrap itself around my ankle. I look down and gasp as a tentacle waves at me before stretching itself towards my thigh, pulling my leg outward. My breath hitches, and I try to fight it.

"Never been one fer slowburns. Gets boring. I like a lotta action." Beetlejuice chuckled. Another tentacle appeared from behind him, diving straight for my other thigh, practically wrenching my leg open. I panted from the overexertion, and watched helplessly as Beetlejuice leaned forward, his arms boxing me in as he looked me up and down once again before meeting my eyes.

"You want me to stop, you know the words." All I do is nod, giving in to him. He smiled that signature toothy grin, before sliding down my torso. He gives a small bite to the inside of my thigh, making my breath shudder. He chuckled again.

"Don't worry, Y/n, I'll take very good care of you~" His tongue snaked its way out of his mouth, and made it's way towards my dripping sex.

[farity]

Insufferable

Pairing:  Aemond Targaryen x reader

Summary:  Aemond realizes his sister’s best friend is being considered for a political marriage

Warnings:  Smut

“I can take them back, you know I will be careful with them.”

“Of course, you are one of the few people who loves them as much as I do,” Helaena smiled at you.  “I will say good night to the children.  Much will change tonight.”

You didn’t exactly love the insects and other small animals she was so fond of, but you were careful and considerate with them.  They were important to your friend so you took good care of them in her stead.  You carried the small cages back to the shed and began putting them on the shelves as Helaena preferred.

When you turned, you were surprised to see her brother Aemond standing there.  “My lady.”

“Prince Aemond,” you curtsied, “the queen has gone to put her children to bed, is there something I can help you with?”

One corner of his mouth lifted.  “I hear there is a gathering tomorrow afternoon.  Three suitors vying for a certain lady’s hand.”  There was an undertone of bitterness to his voice and you wondered at it.  

“Yes, it is time for me to marry,” you replied.  

“And you will accept any of them?”

You walked to the flower table, where various cut flowers were leftover from that morning’s stroll in the garden.  “I will accept whoever father chooses for me.”  Because the one man you really wanted for your husband did not seem to know you existed other than to ask you where his sister was.

When he said nothing, you turned.  There was anger in his gaze and he took a step toward the table.  “You will accept it so easily.  Someone else’s choice.”

“Father will make a good choice,” you continued, not really sure where this odd conversation was headed.  “He would not choose someone I would despise.”

“Are you sure about that?”

You smiled at the prince, but his expression didn’t change.  “Yes.  Father wants a good alliance but he also loves me and would not choose someone insufferable, or cruel.”

Aemond scoffed at your words.  “So as long as they are not insufferable or cruel, they’re a good match?”

“Prince Aemond, I do wonder at all these questions,” you were beginning to lose your patience.  “You must know what political marriages are, I consider myself lucky in that father is in a position to choose from various possibilities.  Mmm, this one is lovely,” you held a pale yellow bloom close to your nose, inhaling its delicate scent before it was taken from your hand.  “Oh!”

He was holding the yellow flower to his nose now, considering its scent before he put it down.  

Truly, he was behaving very oddly.  

You picked up another flower, this one a deep magenta, and held it to your nose.  “No, don’t like this one.”  

Again he took it from you and again he held it to his nose before putting it down.  Then he walked around you until he was standing in front of you.

“I have known you for a while, my lady,” he said softly, “and by now, I know what my favorite scent is.”  He leaned in until his nose was very close to your cheek.  

You held your breath, and he moved until his nose was below your ear.  You felt his hands on your hips and he pulled you closer.  You let out your breath as he lightly brushed his lips on your neck.  He continued traveling down the edge of your neckline until he reached the swell of one breast and again, lightly brushed his lips back and forth over the exposed skin.

“Prince Aemond,” you whispered, “this is most improper.”

He pulled back, looked down at you.  “How improper?”

You studied his face, usually so unreadable.  “What you are doing is a, uh, a lover’s caress, and,” you swallowed, wondering why you had to explain why his mouth on your breast was inappropriate, “no one has ever, uh, I mean, I have never allowed-”

“Is this a lover’s caress?” He brought a hand up to cup your cheek, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on your skin.

Your whisper was almost inaudible.  “Yes.”

His hand slid down to your chin, lifting your face to his.  “Yet we are not lovers.”

You placed your hands on his chest.  Mistake number one.

Looked up at his eye, blue fury bearing down on you.  Mistake number two.

Your gaze dropped to his mouth.  Mistake number three.

Reaching up, you did something you had dreamed of for years, and wrapped your hand around his hair, bringing his mouth down to yours.  You felt him inhale in surprise in that split second before his lips touched yours, and then he brought his hands down to your bottom, pulling you sharply against him.

You felt him raise you to sit on the edge of the table, making space for himself between your thighs.  You knew where this was going, you knew if found, you would be ruined, and yet you held on as he fumbled with the laces on his breeches.  Your other hand caressed his cheek while he kissed you, the taste of him one you would never forget.

You felt him nudging against you, knew that if you wanted him to stop then you needed to speak up now.

Instead, you curled a leg around his hip and felt him start entering you.  He took his time, going slowly before finally snapping his hips, and you gasped against his mouth.  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.  “it should not hurt for much longer.”

You knew this, had been told what took place between a man and a woman, and knew what it meant.  Instead of shame you felt a surge of joy fill you, for it meant you were his.  Even if you married someone else, you would have belonged to him first.  You pushed aside the thought of your marriage, curling your other leg around him as he moved within you.

“My lady,” he murmured, kissing your neck as he started moving faster. hips pumping while you held on, “I have wanted you for so long.”

His words puzzled you, but there was something happening, an ache that had blossomed into need low in your belly, and you rocked your hips, seeking more.  

“Yes,” Aemond whispered, “just like that.”

Encouraged, you rocked your hips again and felt yourself fluttering around him, something wondrous almost within your grasp.  Aemond grabbed one of your legs, raising it higher around his side and the change in angle made you gasp.  You were so close, and then everything began to go blurry and you felt the most delightful pleasure you had ever felt in your life.  It pulsed through your body, and you almost swooned in his arms.  You felt him kiss your temple, and as you were coming down from your incredible high, you felt him reach his own, holding you tightly against him.

It took you both several moments to recover, him gently withdrawing from you as you readjusted your skirts and stepped down from the table. 

“I must go,” you said, not wanting to go through some embarrassing and probably awkward farewell conversation.

“You will not marry any of them.”

You looked up at Aemond.  “What?”

He began tying the laces on his breeches, then dropped them.  “Unless you fall madly in love with one of them, that is,” he smirked, “unless one of them is so not-cruel and not-insufferable you cannot possibly resist their suit.”

“Prince Aemond, I am well aware of what we have just done, as I am well aware that it does not make for any obligation on your part.”

He slapped his hands on either side of you, gripping the edges of the table where he had just had you.  “It is not obligation, my lady, that compels me to repeat how long I have wanted you.  And not just to have you.”

You waited, the intensity in his eye pinning you in place.

“Do you really think I am not aware of where my sister is at any given time?   She has the same routine every single day.  I have been remiss, it seems, in making my feelings known, and have let it get this far until it was clear that I was going to lose you, but-”

You grabbed him and kissed him, interrupting him, and he wrapped his arms around you, not letting go for a long time.

Eventually you pulled back.  “You truly have left it to the last minute, Prince Aemond.”

“Aemond.”

You smiled.  “Aemond.”

He smirked again.  “We can send ravens and let the suitors know the gathering tomorrow is cancelled.”  He kissed your hand.  “If you will have me for your husband.”

Your smile grew, “well, you are very much not-cruel.”

.

@arryn-nyx   @greenowlfactif  @hydrationqueensworld    @megzdoodle@melsunshine  @queenofshinigamis     @throughgoeshamilton   @travelingmypassion​  @kaemond-zafiro    

[starsreminisce]

I'm know I've mentioned it before, but considering that Feyre and Rhys are both two halves made whole, Nesta's and Elain's books essentially mirror ACOMAF split into two. Nesta's journey parallels Feyre's healing from her UTM ordeal, with Rhys's full Illyrian counterpart. Meanwhile, Elain's exploration mirrors Feyre's ascension to reclaiming the High Lady title, with Rhys's full fae counterpart.

While SF may have faced criticism, Nesta had to heal through aspects that had never bothered her before, much like Feyre did, and Cassian has already worked through most of his issues, though he still acknowledges his self-worth issues. Their story seems complete, but ACOMAF hints more towards Elucien's story, especially when dissecting Rhys's chapter 54 alongside Lucien's journey throughout the books.

Though Rhys's and Lucien's experiences differ, there are enough parallels for me to draw connections. SJM loves her patterns, so it wouldn't be surprising if she continues this trend in Elucien's story as well.

Indents are from chapter 54 and orange is Lucien

He paused, swallowing. “I was chained in the mud, forced to watch as they battled. To watch as Jurian took my killing blow. Only—she slaughtered him. I watched her rip out his eye, then rip off his finger, and when he was prone, I watched her drag him back to the camp. Then I listened to her slowly, over days and days, tear him apart. His screaming was endless. She was so focused on torturing him that she didn’t detect my father’s arrival. In the panic, she killed Jurian rather than see him liberated, and fled.

A tight sigh. “His father had her put down. Executed, in front of Lucien, as his two eldest brothers held him and made him watch.”

And that night, when she kept turning her attention to me, I knew what she wanted. I knew it wasn’t about fucking me so much as it was about getting revenge at my father’s ghost. But if that was what she wanted, then that was what she would get. I made her beg, and scream, and used my lingering powers to make it so good for her that she wanted more. Craved more.

He wouldn’t meet my gaze. “She insisted. Tamlin was … Things were bad, Feyre. I went in his stead, and I did my duty to the court. I went of my own free will. And we completed the Rite.” No wonder she’d backed off him. She’d gotten what she wanted. “Please don’t tell Elain,” he said. “When we—when we find her again,” he amended. He might have completed the Great Rite with Ianthe of his own free will, but he certainly hadn’t enjoyed it. Some line had been blurred—badly.

But your final trial came, and … When she started torturing you, something snapped in a way I couldn’t explain, only that seeing you bleeding and screaming undid me. It broke me at last. And I knew as I picked up that knife to kill her … I knew right then what you were. I knew that you were my mate, and you were in love with another male, and had destroyed yourself to save him, and that … that I didn’t care. If you were going to die, I was going to die with you. I couldn’t stop thinking it over and over as you screamed, as I tried to kill her: you were my mate, my mate, my mate.

Lucien staggered a step forward as Elain was gripped between two guards and hoisted up. She began kicking then, weeping while her feet slammed into the sides of the Cauldron as if she’d push off it, as if she’d knock it down— “That is enough.” Lucien surged for Elain, for the Cauldron. And the king’s power leashed him, too. On the ground beside Tamlin, his single eye wide, Lucien had the good sense to look horrified as he glanced between Elain and the High Lord.

So Amarantha died, and I spoke to the High Lords mind to mind, convincing them to come forward, to offer that spark of power. None of them disagreed. I think they were too stunned to think of saying no.

Elain was still shivering on the wet stones, her nightgown shoved up to her thighs, her small breasts fully visible beneath the soaked fabric. Guards snickered. Lucien snarled at the king over the bite of the magic at his throat, “Don’t just leave her on the damned floor—” There was a flare of light, and a scrape, and then Lucien was stalking toward Elain, freed of his restraints. Tamlin remained leashed on the ground, a gag of white, iridescent magic in his mouth now. But his eyes were on Lucien as—As Lucien took off his jacket, kneeling before Elain. She cringed away from the coat, from him

When I went to leave you … I think transforming you into Fae made the bond lock into place permanently. I’d known it existed, but it hit me then—hit me so strong that I panicked. I knew if I stayed a second longer, I’d damn the consequences and take you with me. And you’d hate me forever.

But Elain was staring over Nesta’s shoulder. At Lucien—whose face she had finally taken in. Dark brown eyes met one eye of russet and one of metal. Nesta was still weeping, still raging, still inspecting Elain— Lucien’s hands slackened at his sides. His voice broke as he whispered to Elain, “You’re my mate.”

I heard you were going to marry him, and I told myself you were happy. I should let you be happy, even if it killed me. Even if you were my mate, you’d earned that happiness.

“My mate is engaged to a human male.” He spoke more to himself than to me. “I’m sorry if—” “I want to see her. Just once. Just—to know.” “To know what?” He hitched my damp cloak higher around us. “If she is worth fighting for.” I couldn’t bring myself to say she was, to give him that sort of hope when Elain might very well do everything in her power to hold to her engagement. Even if immortality had already rendered it impossible. Lucien leaned his head back against the rock wall behind us. “And then I’ll ask your mate how he survived it—knowing you were engaged to someone else. Sharing another male’s bed.”

“It killed me, Feyre, to send you back. To see you waste away, month by month.

Too thin. She must not be eating at all. How can she even stand? The thoughts flowed through his head, one after another. His heart was a raging, thunderous beat, and he didn’t dare move from his position a mere five feet away. She hadn’t yet turned toward him, but the ravages of her fasting were evident enough.

But I couldn’t … I couldn’t stop being around you, and loving you, and wanting you. I still can’t stay away.

Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing.

[fuedalreesespieces]

inuyasha's time on the tree is honestly a subject that fascinates me. imagine you were a kid in the village where this all happened, fifty years ago. you hear rumors of the hanyo skirting around the village, but your parents tell you that miko-sama will take care of it - after all, she's taken care of every demon that's showed on the village doorstep, so this should be no different. and then she dies - the woman you thought was invincible, that everyone told you was invincible, untouchable, dies. she bleeds out surrounded by people, and you hide behind your mother's wrap skirt while you watch the pyre burn, and the smoke pour into the sky. your village's only protector is gone, and in her stead is a little girl around your age, who up until now has only held her sister's quiver. is she able to hold her sister's mantle and all that comes with it? it's a question too heavy for you to think on.

kikyo-sama's murderer - that's what they say he is - is pinned to the tree in the forest. you are forbidden from playing there anymore, but there are days where the ball rolls out of the street and into the foliage, and you chase it over the moss-covered crags until you find yourself there. and at first you're terrified to go any closer, plagued with images of the hanyo stirring to life and attacking you. but he doesn't stir. he doesn't move. he almost doesn't seem to breath, and it is only by the slow rise and fall of his chest, punctured with kikyo's arrow, that you know he must still be alive.

you can't fathom how he still lives.

you ask around. it's a touchy subject, and nobody in the village has anything good to say. the rumors are shrill and inescapable, like cicadas during summer: he charmed her, he bewitched her, he played at being her friend and betrayed her. always, he is the betrayer. you learn nothing from them and there is nothing to unearth. the right people to ask are no longer able to respond. the ones old enough to give you answers speak with restrained anger, rage tightening the skin around their lips. you visit kikyo-sama's grave, leaving flowers with the other villagers, but her empty headstone provides no answers, either.

the hanyo is silent, and the forest grows around him. you had never looked at him before, only knowing his face torn apart in anger and shock, moments before the arrow's magic overtook him. you, against all the chastisements of your parents, and all the recurring tales you've heard of youkai, find yourself at his tree without thinking. and it is his tree, just as it's his forest, because nobody dares to step foot in it. nobody except you. you linger by the generous shade of the trees, watching from a distance, expecting something. but the tree he rests against may as well be a gravestone, too.

you find yourself in the forest doing menial things, like collecting firewood, even though your mother tells you that it's best to avoid treading too far. the trees by the hanyo are too thick for someone as tiny as you to put a dent in, anyway, but you imagine it would be easy work for him - his claws peek just under the fluttering rim of his sleeves, and again you imagine him tearing himself free of his prison and stalking towards you. he doesn't. no matter how much noise you make, his eyelashes lay low, and his body hangs limp, like your sister's rag-doll.

you imagine this may be a mistake, but you continue to make the same choices. perhaps it's the lack of answers, or the childlike curiosity that tethers you back into the forest. maybe it's the fact that while you were able to gaze upon kikyo-sama from afar, you never quite knew her. you admired her as everyone else did, but just like the gods themselves, she was distant. the closest you'd ever been to her was the day of her death, when her mask of serenity broke into a thousand pieces, and she clung to her sister's arm for the first time, begging kaede to follow her instructions. a face of pain, a twin with that of the hanyo's - a thread between them, sewn together by the death itself.

somehow, this hanyo is the last remaining piece of the village's deceased priestess.

you move on with life. you grow older, and get married to someone in the village, and watch your own children get married - but the hanyo is there, just as he was decades ago, as unchanging as a statue. it's an unfair comparison, you think - any statue you've seen is cold and immobile, but the hanyo's blood pulses under his skin, like he's constantly running. though he looks peaceful, you still believe, after all these years, that he could escape at any moment.

but inuyasha doesn't escape. a girl in strange clothes frees him, and when his eyes flash open, you see life enter them again for the first time in fifty years.

[toasttt11]

shipped

February 1, 2024

Maddox was walking of the ice with the rest of the all star players after the draft and the cameras had been turned off. Maddox having been drafted first by his brothers to their team. Maddox turned around and saw someone slipping he quickly grabbed their waist and steading them. “You good?” Maddox questioned.

Tate Mcrae laughed nervously having almost just ate it on the ice in her heels, “Yeah thank you, I knew the heels were a bad idea.” Tate smiled looking up at the really tall hockey player who is insanely good looking knowing exactly who he is, “I’m Tate.” She smiled holding her hand out.

Maddox let out a small chuckle, “Trust me i know, my little brother and best friend are obbessed with your music. I’m Maddox.” He shook her hand back.

“Really that’s awesome! Trust me I know.” Tate smiled always touched when people listens to her music and laughed repeating what Maddox said. Tate went to take another step and slipped slightly making Maddox hands go to her waist catching her again.

“Here let me help.” Maddox offered his arm letting Tate held onto him as they got off the ice, last out of all the players.

“Thank you.” Tate smiled at him tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear.

“No worries.” Maddox nodded and walked away to the locker room to chage out of the red all star jersey, He put back on his leather jacket over his black long sleeve and white pants with black old school vans, he was the last in the locker room and ran a hand through his hair as he walked over out of the room towards the press where he had to do more interviews before he got off for the night.

What Tate and Maddox didn’t notice was all the people watching them interact and had filmed the interaction making it blow up all over social media.

February 2, 2024

Trevor groaning shutting his phone and slamming it down on his bed, hating seeing all of the edits and posts in social media.

He’s barely been up for an hour and he has alreadly seen so many edits and pictures of Maddox with Tate last night during the draft.

Trevor ran a hand over his face hating how his stomach twisted uncomfortably seeing Maddox laugh with a girl, especially seeing the whole world ship them after one interaction.

Trevor frowned hating how that wasn’t him and how he knew he never had a chance for that to be him.

[giorno-plays-piano]

Thorns In His Mouth

Part VII

Pairing: fae!Steve Rogers x reader

Warnings: obsession, dubious consent, minor character death, drugs (neither reader nor Steve are involved), slight eating disorder, mentions of tumor, high tech elves.

Words: 1.2k

Summary: Maybe it was a good idea to chat with a waitress a bit more once she brought you your order. Perhaps she could at least tell you with whom you should speak because you simply couldn’t force yourself to look at others, most of them already high, shouting something loudly or laughing or weeping. You could constantly hear the flapping of someone’s wings, weird whispers and noises, and the sound of boots and hooves that made your hair stand on end.

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI

_______

"But where are we going?" You hurried after the elf who was walking way too fast on his goddamn perfectly long legs.

"My friend is a phooka who doesn't like sunlight much," Steve said, turning his face to you but not slowing down. "Since magic costs us too much in your world, not many fae can afford constant glamour. And phookas don't exactly look like humans, so he has to hide where not many people can see him."

Oh. You hadn't thought of that. Phookas were black-haired cat-like - or goat-like? - creatures, as far as you remembered from a book about Celtic fairies you've had as a child. It would be incredibly hard not to freak out if you suddenly saw one in the middle of the city.

Poor creature. Where was it living? How hard it would be to not only be unable to use magic, but also communicate with pretty much anyone at all with an exception of fellow faes? Steve, on the other hand, looked perfectly human even with his strange face and piercing blue eyes, his ears perfectly normal. Was he using glamour?

He seemed to be amused with your expression as he laughed, extending his hand to you so you could walk close instead of dragging behind him.

"Do you use glamour to change the shape of your ears?" You blurted out, unable to keep silent to satisfy your curiosity, and then shame bubbled up inside you as you realized it was a too personal question to ask a literal stranger. Nevertheless, you took his hand when his fingers brushed against yours.

His gaze warmed up. "I do. What, do you want me to oblige you and show you their true form?"

"No, no pleasure, I'm sorry! I don't know why I asked that."

"It's a shame," the elf winked at you. "I'd ask you for a wish in exchange."

Warmth crept into your cheeks: was Steve flirting with you just now? Or was it his fae nature showing itself? The fair folk were supposed to be overly playing - or utterly horrifying. Steve, you thought, was likely both.

Turning to the left, away from the bus station with a long queue of tired students nervously clutching their Ipads and Iphones, you followed the Watcher with your eyes on the road instead of looking at him. It never came to your mind that he considerably slowed down his pace so you could keep up with it, his palm warming yours as he held it gently. You missed his intent stare as he stopped smiling, and his eyes flashed oddly.

"Your first lesson," he finally said after a couple of minutes, breaking the awkward silence. "Don't ever bargain with a fae if it demands a wish in return. Always try to propose something first. Give it something valuable, but what you're ready to part with."

"Like my earrings?"

There's a faint smile on his full lips, "Like your earrings."

"But what if I really need to bargain with a fae, and it wants nothing else but a wish?"

Steve abruptly stopped, and you nearly fell down the ground if he didn't catch you, steading you with his unbearably hot palms on your shoulders, towering over you, his expression somber.

"You NEVER bargain with that fae," he said, and your knees started to tremble out of nowhere when he squeezed your shoulders tight. "Never. Come find me, and I will trade something else with you to help."

There's something dangerous in the way his lips crooked, but you continued staring at his face, anyway, like a snake charmer at a cobra - except it was you being controlled, his voice a low command.

"There has always been plenty of malicious fae even in Sacred lands, but many turned worse in exile. You will never guess which one is which, and you don't want to know what they'll do to you if you give them a chance."

"But... but weren't fair folk forbidden from harming us?" Your voice trembled a little, and Steve blew out a little breath, his thumbs drawing circles through the fabric of your blouse to comfort you, probably, after he stopped painfully squeezing your shoulders.

"When you give them a wish, you hand them the power over you. Do that, and the law will no longer work in your favor."

It was a rule #1, perhaps the most important one among the long list of other rules you were given when dealing with the little folk. Never have you ever allowed a fae to ask you for a wish since then, promising yourself you wouldn't waste your own life even for your mother. There was always a different way, Steve said, glancing down at you as he towered far above you. Sacrifices, whatever their nature, rarely led to anything good in the end.

By the time he walked down the stairs to enter the nearest metro station, you realized you had a very vague picture of a place you were going to, immediately asking the elf where he was planning to take you. Why were you leaving fae's part of the city? Did some creatures live outside it? Was it far? Was it a dangerous place, too?

The man was chuckling again at a limitless number of questions you could ask without drawing a second breath. "You were a worrier, weren't you?" He asked, and your cheeks grew hot with embarrassment.

"He lives close," he finally said, motioning to the metro tration. "And no place is dangerous as long as you're with me. You might get nervous, though. It's dark and dirty there."

Dark and dirty? Was it, like, some sort of a cave.

Looking at the growing smile of the elf, you suddenly realized why he was taking you down the metro station. Dear God, that's where that hairy phooka lived, right? Somewhere on an abandoned metro line or between the stations where no one but rats would see him, and so he wouldn't need glamor.

It all felt like some sort of urban legend.

You didn't have it in you to stop, knowing your mysterious friend was expecting results in return for his earnest work, but when Steve was helping you jump over the protective fence right on the tracks, you squeezed his hand, breathing heavier.

"Can I hold your hand, please? This place gives me the creeps," you smiled nervously at him, and Steve let out a loud laugh in his typical fashion, grasping your shoulder.

"You weren't scared of coming to a place full of drug addicts and all sorts of scum, but the metro scares you?" He helped you up when you had finally jumped down, barely believing you were really doing it, your anxity amping up. "Don't fret, you lovely little thing. I know this place better than anyone. I've lived here for many long years myself."

________

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