#and the consequences of pushing against fate

[idkyetxoxo]

Daemon Targaryen - Atonement

Summary - Power and pride unfold as Daemon is brought low by his arrogance. In this charged moment of dominance and desire, he must prove his worth while confronting the cost of his reckless words. Submission is the only path to salvation—and the stakes are dangerously high.

Pairing - Daemon Targaryen x reader

Warnings - Sexual content (oral f!receiving)

Word count - 2503

Masterlist for Daemon • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

"Do you want me back?" I asked, arms crossed as I leaned back against the worn velvet of the settee. 

The room was dim, the flickering candlelight casting shifting shadows on the walls, but my voice was clear and unyielding. 

I was beyond the point of pretending to care—or so I wanted him to believe. 

"Say it," I demanded, eyes narrowing with a cold glimmer as Daemon Targaryen fell to his knees before me.

The sight was almost laughable—the rogue prince feared and revered in equal measure, brought low. To many, this scene would have been unthinkable. He, the fire-blooded scion of dragons, reduced to this. 

But I knew better. This was not just humiliation—it was a desperate man's one last gamble. His fingers curled into fists against the rug as he bowed his head, refusing to meet my gaze.

"I want you back," he said hoarsely, his voice trembling with emotion. "Please." The word cracked in the air like brittle glass, his pride bleeding from every syllable. 

He avoided my eyes, unable to face the abyss he'd been pushed into.

I studied him, unblinking, savouring the power that coursed through me. This was what I had warned him about. 

I had drawn the line clearly: disrespect me, and I would walk away. 

There were no idle threats between us. And when he had dared to shame me before his precious Goldcloaks, I made good on my word. 

Now, he knelt before me, feeling every ounce of that consequence.

"Say it again." My voice was soft, almost tender—a deceptive whisper of steel. I held his gaze this time, forcing him to lift his head. 

I wanted to see the hopelessness dance in his eyes, to watch him unravel.

"Please," he breathed, his desperation now laid bare. "I want you back." His chest heaved, the words drawn out of him with all the weight of a dying man's final plea.

A smirk tugged at my lips, and I allowed myself a low, mocking laugh. 

"Gods, you're pretty when you beg," I murmured, taking perverse pleasure in his helplessness. The room seemed to tighten around us, the air thick with a stifling, electric tension. 

He stared at me, as if searching for any shred of mercy I might spare him.

Slowly, I leaned forward, letting my fingers trace the line of his jaw. His breath caught, and I could see the raw vulnerability in his eyes, an emotion he rarely allowed himself to show. 

"Maybe," I teased, savouring the way he flinched under my touch, "but begging won't be enough."

His expression shifted—a war waged within him. Pride clashed with longing, but desperation won out. His shoulders slumped, and a glimmer of defeat softened his features. 

"Convince me," I whispered, my words curling around him like a silk noose. "Prove to me that you're not just desperate for a fleeting moment of forgiveness. Show me you're willing to fight."

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. 

"Convince me," I pressed, my voice an unforgiving melody. "Convince me that losing me would be a fate worse than any you've ever faced."

For a moment, the silence threatened to swallow us both. He closed his eyes, grappling with the weight of what I'd demanded. 

When he opened them again, his gaze was raw, his desperation more potent than before. 

"Please," he implored, the words scraping his throat. "I can't bear the thought of losing you. I'll do whatever it takes. Just... don't let me go."

Triumph sparkled in my eyes, but I kept my expression cool. "That's more like it," I purred, leaning back, savouring the small victory I'd won over him. 

"Now, let's see how far you're truly willing to go, Prince."

A flicker of determination ignited behind the vulnerability. "I promise you," he vowed, his voice gaining strength. "Not with empty words, but with every action, every breath—I will fight for us. Losing you is a fate I will never accept."

His resolve sent a thrill through me. 

"Good," I whispered, a smile playing at my lips. "Then prove it."

His desperation thickened the air, weighing every word he spoke, every breath he took. For a moment, I let the silence stretch between us, savouring his discomfort. 

Finally, he looked up, a glimmer of defiance mingling with the need in his eyes. "What would you have me do?" he asked, voice taut with the strain of his surrender. 

There was no hint of bravado now, just a hollow shell of the man who once thought himself untouchable.

I leaned back, feigning contemplation. My eyes never left him, and I knew he felt the burn of my scrutiny. 

"What was it you said to your Goldcloaks?" I asked, letting each word drop like stones into the heavy silence. His face paled slightly, and for a moment, I thought he might refuse to answer. 

But this was not the place for defiance, and he knew it.

He shifted uncomfortably, the proud prince reduced to a man cornered by his own foolishness. His jaw worked, his mouth opening and closing, but no words came out. 

"I'm asking a question, Daemon." My voice was ice, slicing through his hesitance. "Say it."

He stared at the ground, shame colouring his cheeks. "I said..." He faltered, voice a hushed rasp. "I said I would never... go down on a woman. No matter how sweet she was."

The admission hung between us, and I felt a cruel satisfaction as his words echoed back at him, stripped of their bravado. 

"Right," I said, drawing the word out. "And why was that said, Daemon?" 

I leaned forward, pressing him with the same relentless intensity I had felt when he first uttered those words to his men.

He looked away, his shoulders hunched. "I didn't mean it," he mumbled, barely audible. "I just wanted to seem..."

I cut him off, my voice cold and mocking. "Powerful? Feared?" I leaned in closer, the faintest hint of a smile curling at my lips. "Well, Daemon Targaryen, you are a liar. Because we both know you've tasted plenty of sweetness."

His eyes darted back to mine, a mixture of shame, frustration, and something darker. 

My words were a whip across his pride, a reminder of every whispered night, every unspoken promise made in the dark. I held his gaze, unyielding, and let him simmer in the weight of it all.

"Was it worth it?" I continued, my voice softer but no less deadly. "A fleeting moment of posturing before your men? A lie to paint yourself as untouchable, when in truth, you've knelt at my feet more times than I can count?" I leaned in, my breath warm against his cheek. 

"Tell me, Daemon, how does it feel to be exposed like this?"

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, I thought he might lash out. But instead, he bowed his head, the weight of his choices pressing down on him. 

"It was never worth losing you," he whispered, each word laced with regret. "I was a fool."

"More than a fool," I corrected, my tone merciless. "You were reckless. And now, you will pay the price for every careless word."

"Whatever it takes," he vowed, his voice raw, stripped of every last ounce of pride. "Just tell me how to make it right."

A small smile played at my lips. "You'll know soon enough," I murmured, tracing a finger down his cheek. "But for now, I want you to remember the taste of this moment—what it means to beg for what you once thought was beneath you."

He nodded, silent, and I knew he understood. There was no redemption without suffering, no forgiveness without penance. This was only the beginning.

The silence between us grew heavy, laden with his shame and my cold satisfaction. 

Daemon's head remained bowed, and I relished in watching him squirm under the weight of his own reckless words. 

"Please," he whispered, his voice rough with desperation. "Let me prove it to you. My words... they meant nothing. I was lying. I was a fool. I never thought you'd overhear or find out."

I leaned back, crossing my arms as if considering. Inside, my pulse quickened, heat blooming beneath my skin despite the icy mask I wore. 

I wanted to deny him, to make him grovel longer—but the sight of him like this, stripped of his pride and pleading for redemption, sent a thrill through me that I couldn't ignore. 

I took a slow, measured breath and uncrossed my legs deliberately, letting my gaze linger on him.

"Fine," I said, at last, the word slipping past my lips with cool detachment. I feigned disinterest, even as desire pooled low in my belly. "But understand this, Daemon—this is not forgiveness. This is your chance to prove just how empty your words were."

His eyes shot up to meet mine, wide with a mix of hope and fear. He moved closer, instinctively drawn to me, but I raised a hand, halting him in his tracks. 

"Slowly," I commanded my voice a whisper of silk over steel. "You do not touch until I say you may."

He swallowed hard, nodding, and I saw the faintest tremor in his hands. This was a man used to power and control, now utterly at my mercy. 

He inched forward, his movements measured, and I leaned back into the cushions, watching his every step. The room seemed to contract around us, every heartbeat, every breath, magnified by the tension coiled tight between us.

I tilted my chin, a cruel smile playing at the corners of my lips. "Show me, then," I said softly, an edge of challenge in my tone. "Show me that your words were hollow."

For a moment, he hesitated—just a heartbeat. Then he knelt before me again, the fire of determination mingling with the desperate need in his eyes. 

"I will," he murmured, his voice low and trembling. "I'll show you."

Slowly, reverently, his hands moved to my ankles. He glanced up, seeking permission, and I gave the barest nod. 

His fingers were gentle as they traced the curve of my calf, then slid upward, his touch feather-light, as if he feared I would shatter beneath him. I fought to keep my breathing even, to maintain the veneer of control—but inside, I was burning.

Daemon leaned closer, his breath hot against my skin as he pressed a kiss to the inside of my knee. He moved with a mixture of hesitation and fervour, each touch a plea, each kiss an apology. 

I felt his lips against my thigh, soft but insistent, and a shiver rippled through me.

"Is this what you said you'd never do?" I whispered, my voice tight. I saw the way his jaw clenched, the way he fought to contain his pride and obey. 

"Show me how much of a liar you are, Daemon."

He exhaled, a shuddering breath, before he pressed his lips lower, tasting me with a reverence that belied the arrogance he once displayed. His mouth was warm, and he moved with a blend of desperation and worship. 

I tangled my fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, forcing him to deepen his surrender. 

The air crackled with tension, and I revelled in every second of his degradation, every flicker of desire that betrayed his need.

"You're good at this," I taunted, my voice breathy despite myself. "For someone who claimed otherwise."

He paused, his eyes blazing with a mix of humiliation and raw yearning. "I was wrong," he rasped, his voice shaking. "I'll prove it to you, over and over, until you believe me."

I let out a low laugh, the sound vibrating through both of us. "We'll see, Daemon," I said, a dangerous promise in my words. "We'll see how far you're willing to go to earn my forgiveness."

And then I let him continue, knowing he would give everything, knowing he would not stop until I was convinced. 

In that moment, I held all the power—and I intended to savour every bit of his fall from the lofty pedestal he once stood upon.

His lips brushed lower, the heat of his breath mingling with my skin and making every nerve ignite. 

The moment hung between us, heavy and laden with unspoken promises, and when his mouth fully claimed me, there was nothing delicate about it. 

He devoured me with the hunger of a man who'd kept himself restrained far too long. 

Each flick of his tongue, every rough and tender movement, spoke of a desperation he could no longer deny. It was as if he sought to etch his submission into my flesh, to make me feel every ounce of the humiliation and pride he grappled with.

I gripped his hair tighter, feeling the silky strands slip between my fingers. The sensation of having him so utterly at my mercy made me dizzy with a sense of power that was almost intoxicating. 

I angled myself, demanding more, and he complied instantly, his mouth working tirelessly, the warmth of his tongue drawing gasps from me that I barely recognized as my own. 

Each flicker and press seemed to map out every tremble, every quiver I couldn't suppress. 

He was a contradiction of roughness and reverence, and it felt as if he was pouring all of himself—his resentment, his shame, and his desire—into this act.

"Good," I hissed, my voice jagged, designed to pierce and praise in equal measure. "I want you to feel it, Daemon. Every bit."

His eyes met mine for a heartbeat, the intensity there staggering, as if he understood every nuance of my words. And then he closed them again, giving himself over completely. 

There was no hesitation, no holding back as he used his lips, tongue, and teeth to push me further and further into oblivion. His hands, strong and sure, pressed into my thighs, keeping me anchored to him. 

There was no escape, and I had no desire for it. I wanted him to consume me—and he did.

The way he moved was calculated, deliberate, but there was a ragged edge to it, too, like he was being undone along with me. 

When his tongue traced patterns that felt designed to undo me, a groan escaped me, raw and broken. He paused just enough to murmur words that were lost to the haze of pleasure, but the vibration alone was enough to bring me to the brink. 

His humiliation became his offering, and he lavished me with it until I was trembling.

"Prove it," I managed to bite out, the words ragged, daring. And he did—over and over until nothing else existed but the heat, the pressure, and the way he unravelled me with a skill that belied every proud word he once spoke. 

The room around us faded, leaving only his mouth and the all-consuming fire between us.

I shattered, gasping his name, feeling his pride crumble with each ragged breath. And as he drew out every last tremor with his mouth still against me, I knew that I would take more. 

This was just the beginning of his fall—and my ascent to the height of our twisted exchange.

A/n - Love writing Daemon begging xx

[baphometsgirlcock]

ive rambled about this to my friends but i do genuinely find it so funny that dunmesh just randomly is like "by the way this woman has a penis now" as a throwaway detail. her brother has a one-panel crisis in the general vicinity of her newfound anatomy (which is played off more as a joke about him not being ready to have nieces / nephews tbh), and then it never comes up again. falin just Obtains A Dick and there are 0 narrative consequences. there is one panel of fridge humor and then nada. the most casual possible phalloplasty.

Which is fun enough on its own but also. it's a dragon cock. like. she didn't just get a dick, she got like The Dick Of Legend. truly a pioneer in fantasy furry transhumanism.

[ddejavvu]

remus x animagus!reader where he doesn’t know it’s her yet, and there’s just always this random cat (or other animal) following him around the castle, and cuddling up to him in the hospital wing after full moons

<333

"You shouldn't be in here."

Remus's stern words hardly deter you, especially because by now he's got the strength to push you off of the bed, but he doesn't. Instead he watches warily, neck craned and rolled into miniscule lines of chub that you'd kiss if you were in your human form, as your paws trace a path up towards his head.

"You're some sort of creature," Remus decides, speaking aloud in the deserted hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey only has one other patient now, but they've been quarantined in a separate room due to the infectious nature of their illness. It means that Remus can speak at will, and you're happy to plant yourself over his chest to feel it vibrate at the sound. You're more accustomed to doing so with your human ears, but it's nicer to hear your boyfriend's voice with cat senses.

"You're too smart to be a regular cat," He lifts a shaky hand up to your head, offering you a chance to inspect him as though you haven't already splayed yourself over his chest, "But the castle doesn't allow many magical pets. Which means you're not supposed to be in here at all. Definitely not in the Hospital Wing."

You offer him a soft, plaintive meow, purring when he strokes his knuckles over the space between your ears.

"Maybe you're an omen," He muses suddenly, eyes narrowing, "No one else ever sees you. Are you warning me of some cruel fate?"

You blink at him, slowly, and he decides, "You're not very threatening for an omen."

Remus has professed the exact same observation about your attempts to be threatening in human form as well. Somehow, the tightening of your brows and the downturn of your lips aren't enough to petrify Remus, though it works rather nicely on errant second-years who find themselves confident enough in the castle to misbehave, but too terrified to face the consequences.

You draw back your shoulders and let your fangs glint in the low lights of the hospital wing, mouth open to hiss warningly at Remus.

Your cruel fate is a good night's sleep, you grouse at him, lamenting the fact that he'll never hear the words, you'd rest more if you weren't always dishing out inexhaustible wit.

"Oh, very scary," He chuckles, poking teasingly at your left pointed fang, "I'm not afraid of you, cat, you couldn't hurt me more than I've already hurt myself."

And it's true.

His limbs, long and lanky, bear the scratch marks of his own claws, gnarled nails that lie in wait under the surface to be beckoned by the moon's silvery siren song. There's a tear on his cheek, skin split and blood carefully wiped clean, where he'd fought with himself, with the will of the universe, and tried clinging to his human skin. He's nursing a rolled ankle from thrashing about during his transformation, and a patch of his hair is still reddened with copper no matter how many times Madame Pomfrey had washed it with a wet washcloth. He's barely a boy anymore, more like a string of injuries hanging together with sutures and dittany.

In hopes that companionship works just as well as Pomfrey's healing remedies, you wriggle closer still to his face, draping yourself over his neck and laying your face against his own. It's an awkward position for him, probably more pressure than he's used to on his windpipe, but you keep your weight off of him as much as possible, and purr like the motor of Sirius's bike against his ear.

He's hesitant to accept it at first, which you knew he would be. He needs to be sought out, he needs someone to hold out their hand for five seconds before he decides to take it or not. You wait, one, two, three, four, five, and he exhales, the air hitting your fur.

"Don't be here when they check on me," He murmurs, hand back at his side as your tail curls around his opposite ear, "Thanks, cat."

[gay-dorito-dust]

could I request randomly shouting “floor is lava!” In front of the batboys? I’m in the mood for a crack fic

It was a dreary day within the Wayne manor and everyone was bored out of their minds. Nothing they did was enough to cure the boredom they were subjected to that day.

However a day of hope appeared before them in the form of you bursting through the door, holding a unbothered Alfred the cat in one hand and a confused Jerry the Turkey in the other, screaming: ‘THE FLOOR IS LAVA!’

Dick is pushed to the floor and stepped on by a mysterious assailant but manages to get up and use his acrobatic skills -cheat skills as Jason would like to call them- to project himself upwards to the expensive chandelier and clung on for dear life.

He was 100% safe.

Smug bastard and his cheat codes -Jason Tood, certified older brother hater aka the younger sibling.

Jason pushed dick onto the floor and step onto his back, somehow trips and lands flat on his face against the carpeted flooring. However he quickly recovers by picking himself back up and bolts towards the curtains instead, where he tries to cling onto them for dear life as the sound of fabric slowly ripping could be heard by everyone.

Jason was on a time limit before he was sent plummeting back to the floor and towards his second death. 39% survival rate.

Damian is the first of the bunch to move into action as he -somehow- managed to grab Titus in a feet of hidden strength fueld by adrenaline, throwing the Great Dane over his shoulder, and still found it within himself to then clamber up the book shelves in the library where he stayed to watch the chaos below him like he was god.

The bookshelves are wooden, it was only a matter of time before he and Titus would have to change to a different location. 50% survival rate. Titus is a good puppy.

Tim shuts the computer, sets it aside and follows Jason’s example by lying down on the floor and awaits his fate with a blank expression. ‘My time has come.’

0% survival rate, instant death but Tim don’t give two shits, he’s lived long enough.

Duke: poor lad is freaking out trying to find a good spot and settles with standing on the table with the janky leg as he was forced to continuously fight for his balance atop of it.

He’s lost too many times just to loose again. He hates floor is lava with a vengeance. 50% survival rate if he doesn’t fall off and looses his fight with the table.

Stephane: the mastermind behind the whole ordeal, cackles as she stays lounging on the plush sofa, sipping her drink unbothered by the consequences to come through the door.

50% survival rate, may drop lower if she tries to reach for her phone that she had left on the table where Duke was. She hadn’t thought this whole thing through admittedly.

Bruce Wayne: heard the chaos and went to see what was happening and sighs upon seeing his children, plus you, practically having destroyed the library over a stupid game.

He’s too old for this shit but ends up showing all of you up either way by standing atop of the stone mantle piece of the fireplace, menacingly.

10000% survival rate bc it’s Bruce Wayne.

[baby-yongbok]

My Forbidden

Hwang Hyunjin x afab!Reader

-`♡´- Genre - Smut - Forbidden Love -`♡´- Word Count - 4.4k

He's tall in front of you, his smoky aura suffocating you with a temptation you've fought to ignore for months. You told yourself you didn't want him. You told yourself that you couldn't have him. 

-`♡´- Warnings - So like, it isn't step-cest. I mean it. it isn't, but I will say that to some people it could look like it. It isn't, I swear but I will leave this here because I can see how it could look that way, Oral (f&m rec.), thigh riding [that's all??] -`♡´- a/n - Okay look, I had to write to these picture because Hwang Hyunjin tried to kill me when he posted them. True story. Anyway, I wanted to write a more unusual forbidden love story and this is where my brain took me. I tried to keep it away from being step-cest and I think i succeeded? It's like a step before it. Anyway this is the first fic I've written since having writers block so, enjoy! + reader is depicted as chubby/plus size and is a POC ♡

✧ Masterlist ✧

The art of control is a medium that Hyunjin wasn’t familiar with until he met you. He’s always been ambitious in his desires and exercises the drive to aim and shoot towards whatever he wants no matter the consequences. When he saw you for the first time his scope was set and locked. He watched and studied you. He longed for you. 

It was only a matter of time before fate worked in his favor. He was a model looking for a photographer and you were a photographer looking for a subject. What a coincidence. 

Hyunjin wasted no time charming you. He pulled out all the stops and you were impressed to say the least. You just clicked. It felt like a perfect fit, and then things got complicated. 

He had fallen for you, face first in a rosy smoke that he couldn’t resist. He knew that you weren’t far behind so he thought it would be a good idea to have you meet his mother. You thought the same, asking your father to come to dinner with you and your lover. The night went well, too well. 

Your rising interest seemed to be contagious at the table that night. Hyunjin knew from the excessive batting of his mothers lashes that she was into your father and vice versa. You’d never seen him smile like that, ever. 

“Hyunjin.” His name dances across your lips with each muffled exhale against the palm of your hand. Your other hand works lazily to pry his head from the crook of your neck. The gentle smack of his lips against the supple skin echoes through the open space. “We can't, we can't..”

The structure of your protests crumbles when his kisses trail down and over your shoulder. The thin strap of your tank top is pulled down with a hooked finger and his lips fill the now empty space with wet kisses. “Why not?”

He knows the answer. He knows that this isn't a dynamic that would be smiled upon. It's complicated. 

“You know why.” Your hands roam his body slower than they should until they settle at the waistband of his jeans. You stick your thumbs into his belt loops, using them as leverage to push him back. “You'll be my brother soon.”

“I will never be your brother.” His stare is heavy, his lips kiss bitten and sloppy with his own spit. He looks unhinged, desperate. “I wanted you first. They weren't part of the plan.” 

You push him back towards the set in the middle of your apartment. He complies, eyeing you as he backtracks one step at a time. “They'd be pissed.”

You push him into the chair in the middle of the photo set and he slumps against it. His sweater rides up his stomach, exposing the toned muscle and you steal a glance before retreating. 

“We were talking before they ever were.” He argues, letting his head fall back to stare up at the ceiling of your living room. “I kissed you, remember? We went on a date. Several dates.”

You grab your camera, distracting yourself with the settings to avoid Hyunjin's argument. He's not wrong, the two of you were seeing each other months before your parents got together. The two of you even reminded them about your evolving relationship the day after they announced theirs. You asked that they respect your connection but you were only guilted into breaking it off. 

Hyunjin didn’t give up as easily as you did. He fought, he protested but when it all seemed to be overwhelming for you he stopped. He settled, only because you asked him to. Hyunjin paced the space of his living room that night. He was seething, fuming, crushed. He tried his best, whispering to himself to keep his cool, keep it together, be your friend. Just your friend.

But he couldn’t. Not when he’d give you more than any other friend ever could, ever would, ever should. 

“I remember. I also remember our parents asking us to call everything off so the family dynamic wouldn't be weird.” He scoffs, sitting straight to look at you. His eyes have a piercing shimmer to them, you point your camera and click. 

“You mean when they tried to gaslight us into thinking that we aren't actually into each other?” He smiles, it's wide and somehow condescending. It makes you hot. “They aren't going to last you know? They've been fighting more. My mom seems to be getting fed up.”

You click another picture. “This wouldn't be the first time.” You mumble, unfazed by the information.

“She took her ring off.” You freeze, lowering the camera to get a good look at Hyunjin. The grin on his lips says it all. “She hasn't worn it in a week.”

“My dad hasn't said anything.” 

“He doesn't want you to get any ideas.” Hyunjin is standing tall with a simple push forward, his sweater rides up, his jeans sitting low on his hips as he stalks forward. “He knows that if they broke up at noon you'd be in my bed by one.” 

He's tall in front of you, his smoky aura suffocating you with a temptation you've fought to ignore for months. You told yourself you didn't want him. You told yourself that you couldn't have him. 

“We should wait until the break up is official.” 

His fingers dance along the skin of your exposed shoulder. He brushes your hair back, lingering over the spot that he knows drives you crazy. “We've waited long enough, don't you think?” His words manifest in a whisper and linger in your head as if they were your own. 

“Aren't you sick of waiting?” His other hand is on your waist, pulling your body against his own until you can't feel where you end and he begins. You've always just fit like that.

“You're here for photos.” You're breathless, eyes locked on his lips that are dangerously close to yours. It's tempting, intoxicating. His cologne lingers around you, dragging you down further into the forbidden bits of your desire. 

“Let's take some then.” His lips are on yours in an instant. It was the quickest slow motion you'd ever experienced. The gentlest storm you could ever be swept into. His arm wraps around your waist, holding you against him while his free hand reaches for your camera.

His lips take you in with a palpable yearning that Hyunjin has worked hard to tame. He tongue parts your lips with expert precision that makes this seem practiced. Your arms wrap around him, resting on his shoulders and fisting the flimsy fabric of his sweater. He licks into your mouth and you moan in time with the shutter of the lens. Hyunjin breaks the kiss, just barely pulling away to show you your debauched reflection on the screen. 

“We look good together don't we?” His lips just barely brush over yours. His breath fans over the tender flesh and you forget all that you were weary about. The complications evaporate with his touch just as they always have. 

“If we do this… If I give myself to you I don’t know that I can take myself back.” You whisper, eyes capturing him in a stare that could halt a bullet. “You’ll have to keep me if you take me.”

He pauses, the weight of your words hanging in the air like a promise, and in that moment, An intense longing flickers in his eyes, consuming him. “I wouldn’t dream of letting you go,” he replies, voice low and steady, a vow etched in every syllable.

Every part of him is drawn to you. Every night that you’ve been limited to the bounds of his imagination, every time that he’s had to contain his desire to sculpt you into something glorious beneath him. The sacrificed nights of sleep and months of sanity just to keep his control tight in his fist led him to this. To you. 

He dives into you like your waves would recede if he didn’t dip into you now. You spill into him, melting against his touch and letting your desire run rampant in the space around you. He clicks another photo, capturing the desperation leaking between your lips. You push against him, backing him towards the chair in the middle of the hommade set yet again. He sits when his calves hit the seat, breaking the kiss reluctantly to stare up at you with the honey he calls eyes.

“What if they don’t break up?” The concern in your tone is countered as you kneel before him, slotting yourself between his spread legs. He’s silent for a second, taking in the view that he’s dreamt of for months. The camera clicks. 

He smiles, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I don't care." he says, his voice a low rumble. He reaches out, sinking his long fingers into the thick curl of your hair and coaxing you forward. You lean in and just barely brush your lips against his naked hip, before pulling away. "I’m not sacrificing us again."

His hand moves to cup your face, the pad of his thumb runs over the apple of your cheek in gentle admiration and you reach up, your fingers brushing against his wrist. “What’re you doing on your knees, baby?”

“I’ll show you.” You lean back into his hip, brushing your lips over the skin and exhaling a heavy puff of hot air before placing a gentle kiss. Hyunjin watches you with the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth. A single strand of hair falls forwards to frame the shimmering brown admiring the lithe move of your lips against his skin.

Your hands roam the expanse of his denim clad thighs, your manicured nails dig into the fabric with a soft bite that makes the man above you hiss with a gentle flutter of his heavy lids. He slouches a bit more into the black framed chair, giving you better access to where he’s throbbing for you beneath the fabric. 

“You’re so pretty.” His voice fails him, the tension of the moment lays thick on his vocal cords and forces him into a rough whisper. A blush runs over the glow of your swarthy skin, it matches the rosy red that’s creeping up and over Hyunjin’s ears. He points the camera and clicks, another one follows when your eyes meet the lens and he groans at the preview on the screen.

“You, you’re the one who looks like…” Your eyes scan up his frame to take in the gray sweater pulled tight over his frame. The defined dips and curves of his arms are highlighted by the clinging fabric and his chest is teased through the deep V of the neck. And the buttons, the fucking buttons, they’re barely doing their job. “God, Hyunjin.”

His head falls back slightly, a muted groan escaping him. “Don’t do that.” His voice breaks at the final word. His eyes are shut tight. “Don’t say my name like that.” He sounds tortured, stuck between a dream and reality and it makes your heart skip. 

Your fingers work the button of his jeans and Hyunjin moves to watch. The brush of your fingers against the bareskin of his stomach makes him dizzy and the sound of his zipper separating to expose his black briefs to you only makes it worse. 

Your lips are on the dip of his V-line. Your tongue traces the flesh, one of your hands presses over his bulging length while the other works to lower his jeans. He lifts his hips, allowing you to get the fabric around the thick of his thighs for better access. His hand sinks back into your curls, his fingers scratch at your scalp delicately electing another moan of his name. His breath hitches at the sweet sound on your wet lips. 

“Take it out, please.” He mumbles, low lids fluttering softly at the sight before him. “Please, baby.”

That’s all that you needed to let it all go, the sediment of your reluctance was washed away in an instant and his bare cock was in your hand even quicker. He’s better than you dreamed of. 

“Oh my god.” You take him in with a moan. Arousal pools in your panties and your hands drag over his length on their own. The camera clicks. You lean forward, taking him in your mouth without warning and Hyunjin nearly drops the camera. 

“Shit, baby.” His mouth falls open, his brows furrowed and his fingers fist in your hair. This is insane. You sink the length of him into your mouth until he hits the back of your throat. You drool around him, slurping and sucking while your eager cunt throbs between your sticky thighs. Your panties are doing a horrible job at containing your excitement. Your jeans are surely ruined but so are you. 

“Fuck, that mouth. Your mouth feels so good, so so fucking-” His own body betrays him, interupting his ramble with a groan and a small buck of his hips. His cock leaks against your tongue as you swirl the muscle around the head. Drool pools at the hilt of his length and runs over his balls. It’s messy. You take him deeper, gripping his hips and scratching over the rising red marks that you’ve sucked into the skin.

“Just like that, baby. Just like that.” Your own arousal starts to become unbearable. Each ragged breath and groan from Hyunjin sends shocks to your system and you need something. With your thighs squeezed tight you buck your hips to match the bob of your head over his cock. You match the rhythm, imagining the head of his cock bullying your swollen walls instead of your throat. You clench around nothing at the thought.

“Get up, c’mere.” He guides your mouth off of him with his hand in your hair, a string of spit connects you to his cock and he lifts the camera lazily to capture the debauchery. “Sit on my thigh” Hyunjin guides his jeans the rest of the way down, taking his underwear with the denim and kicking it off. 

You move to unbutton your jeans quickly, fumbling with the button in a clumsy pursuit that Hyunjin interrupts with his long digits. He hooks his pointer finger into the front of your jeans and pulls you closer into his waiting hands. They settle on your hips, moving up slowly to squeeze the fluff of your waist.

 “How are you this fucking fine?” His fingers pop the button of your jeans with ease, he peels the fabric down your curves at an eager pace that’s translated through the sloppy kisses planted along the hem of your messy panties. Your hands thread through his raven locks, combing his hair back out of his face. You watch him, he’s a vision in your blissed out haze. A dream personified. 

“Do you know how hard it’s been…” He mumbles against your skin, his dark eyes peer up to meet yours in a vulnerable soul gaze. “Do you understand how badly I’ve wanted to touch you...” His fingers trace a soft line up your leg and stop at the print of your pussy through your panties. He can see the dark spot on the gray fabric. He can see that you’ve felt the same. 

Hyunjin runs his pointer and middle finger over the soiled fabric of your panties and rubs a soft circle over your clit. Your breath hitches in your throat. You lean up on the ball of your foot and shift your weight from one leg to the other. Hyunjin continues, rubbing harsher circles and spreading the stain of your slick further as his lips and tongue work at the expense of your stomach.  

You strip yourself of your tank top to give him more access, leaving you in only your panties since you chose to forgo a bra this morning. You gasp a moan when he presses up against the swollen bud. It throbs against the contact and you squirm, whining at the harsh touch. 

“Please, don’t stop touching me.” You plead, pushing yourself further into his touch. “More, please.”

Hyunjin’s eyes shut with a furrow. Your words make his cock jump. He hooks the fingers that are teasing your clit into the hem of your panties to move the ruined fabric to the side. A string of arousal follows and he groans at the sight. “Baby, you’re soaking. You’re, you’re fucking…” He’s leaning in before he allows himself to finish his sentence and places a soft kiss against your exposed center.

You moan, the grip you have in his hair tightening as the simple kisses against your clit turn into desperate kitten licks. “Jin... Hyunjin, fuck.” He hums as he continues, the small licks quickly evolve into long drags of his tongue through your folds while one hand palms your ass and the other holds your waist.

He blindly reaches to the side where he’s discarded the camera, detaching from your core for just a second to grab it and hand it to you. You take it, clumsily putting your arm through the attached strap and situating the device in your hands. Hyunjin dives back in, his lips wrap around your clit and you point and click with a loud moan. 

“You’re gonna make me cum.” Hyunjin moans at the admission, this would be the first time he makes you cum. The first time he sees your beautiful body fall apart for him. “Oh, god, I’m gonna cum in your mouth.” Moans follow, tumbling forward with clumsy thrusts of your hips against his tongue and chin. You’ve never gotten to orgasm this fast. You’ve never fallen apart this easily for anyone but him.

His eyes are closed as he laps at your pussy, sucking and licking like his life depends on it and you snap another picture before falling apart. You're gushing into his mouth with a choked sob. The camera falls from your hands and is saved by the strap around your arm. Your grip in Hyunjin’s hair is punishing as you ride his face through your high. He groans at the pain, pulling away from your core after a second and forcing you forward to sit on his thigh.   

He presses the muscle of his leg up against your core and the squelch of your drenched sex against his skin echoes between you. “Listen to you, angel. Fuck.” Hyunjin licks his lips but you catch them in a heated kiss before he can clean them completely. You taste yourself off of his lips and he melts into you, moaning at the force of your tongue against his. 

His fingers dig into your hips, guiding you over the naked skin of his thigh. “You feel so good in my hands.” He presses his forehead against yours, listening to each heavy inhale you take. “Your pussy is fucking - you’re dripping. God, I can still taste you.” 

“I need you, now. Can’t wait anymore.” You cup his face with one hand while your free one grips the backrest of the chair. You kiss him, it’s soft and slow. Your lips move against each other with a rhythm that only the two of you can access. His tongue pushes against yours, milking moans from your chest while you grind over him. “Wanna feel you, wanna be yours. Please make me yours.” 

“Baby.” He shivers, taking in the slick feel of your arousal dripping over his leg. Your hard nipples brush against the fabric of his cardigan and he suddenly wants it off. Now. “You can’t say shit like that to me. You can’t say that and expect me to not fucking fall apart.”

His breath fans over your lips with a heavy exhale. His swollen pink lips brush against yours with each word. “Don’t you dare hold back.” You tilt his head up, driving his hazy gaze towards your own. “Give me what they wouldn’t let you. Give me everything.” 

A rumble rips through him, something akin to a growl as he shifts you into his lap. Your words, they lit a new fire in him and he needs to feel you now before it goes out. He needs to make you his. “I’ll give it to you.” Hyunjin scoops you up, your core rests over his cock as he stands with you in his arms. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, squealing softly as lifts you. He silences you with a kiss, swallowing the sound while moving across the room to try and get you to the stairs. He wants to take you to your room. He wants to lay you on your bed and finally fuck you the way he’s dreamt of when he fucks his fist to your memory. But he can't make it. 

He only gets a couple steps across the open space of your living room before the aching of his cock betrays him. You barely even make it to the couch, he stops right in front of it, lowering you so that your back rests against the front of the sofa. 

Your hands roam and grab in a hungry attempt to feel his chest against yours. You fist the gray fabric and pull, popping the first two buttons of his cardigan. He groans, sliding his hands under your thighs and pulling your core to his. Your panties are in the way and he moves to change that instantly. He pulls at the fabric, ripping it at the seams and working it down the plush of your thighs. 

“Turn around.” Hyunjin is moving fast, helping you turn around to face the couch. Your knees dig into the fuzz of the carpet, your forearms rest against the couch cushions. You reach your hand back, taking his dribbling length in your hand and spreading his slick. 

“Do you - Do you have a condom?” He pants against your neck, trembling with the brush of your hand over his cock. “Cause I can’t… I won’t pull out.”

The thought of him stuffing you full of his cum has you keening, your pussy clenches and the answer to his question almost vanishes. “In the drawer of the table behind you.”

Hyunjin turns, reaching back to fish through the drawer. He finds what he’s looking for just as your phone starts to vibrate on the coffee table. Hyunjin sees the caller ID before you can turn around. His heart skips and falls to his stomach but he hides it. He moves quickly, kissing you in an attempt to distract you from the call until it goes to voicemail. “Focus on me, baby. Focus on feeling me.” 

He rolls on the condom and breaks the kiss to bend you over the cushions in front of you. You sit up on your knees and he sinks into you slowly, easily splitting you open. You moan in unison, Your eyes rolling back with gasp. “Holy shit, baby.” Hyunjin’s head falls forward, resting on your shoulder. 

“If I move I’m gonna cum. You’re too much, too good. Shit.” Your pussy clenches around him and he hisses, just barely grinding his hips into yours. “I’m gonna have to fuck you again.”

“Please, have to feel you again...” You turn your head to the side straining to see him. “Move, I wan’ it. Please, baby.”

“I got you.” He pulls back, setting into a steady pace. “Oh god, baby. I got you.”

You’re falling apart in an instant. Crumbling in his arms as he wraps them around you and sits you up so that your back is against his nearly bare chest. He whimpers in your ear, kissing the shell of it as you bounce in his lap. Sloppy squelches and skin slapping drown out your moans. 

His fingers dig into the flesh of your hip and thighs and yours reach back to claw at whatever you can reach. “Hyunjin.” One of his hands dips down to rub tight circles into your clit. His moans pitch higher with each passing second. The rumble of his desperate satisfaction clawing up his throat drags him closer to the edge. 

Your spit gets caught in your throat with a sharp gasp when he hits a spot deep inside you. He angles his hips a bit to hit it again and again and again until you're creaming around him. “Baby, baby, ‘m gonna - fuck - please.”

You’re trembling in his lap, shaking like a leaf in his hold. “Me too.” He pants, biting his tongue with his eyes shut tight. He wants you to cum first. He wants you to fall apart. He wants to watch.

“Right there, right there.” You’re chanting to him, singing and sighing praises mixed with his name. “Mine, mine, you’re -” It hits you, it’s blinding and hot and so fucking good. Hyunjin uses his free hand to tilt your head back against his shoulder. He watches your mouth drop open in a scream. He watches the small drop of drool run over your bottom lip. He watches you fall apart around him.

“Yours.” He finishes your sentence, his rhythm falters, his thrusts get more sloppy by the second. “I’m yours yes, yes I am baby. Fuck, oh god, look at you.” 

He holds you close while you ride out your high. You’re moaning louder now, still shaking in his arms at the overstimulation. Your pussy clenches and throbs around him and it drives him to his end. His arms wrap around you tighter, holding you firm against him as he stills behind you. He moans your name, repeating it like a prayer as he unravels. 

 His breath is hot against your neck, his cock twitches against your pulsing walls and a comfortable silence fills the space for a couple heartbeats until he whispers in your ear, “I love you.” You feel your heart flutter and you whisper back, "I love you."

You’ve both waited. Waited so long to say it. 

“No one is going to keep me from you. Not anymore.” Hyunjin pants, his grip around you loosening and his heart swells with something that goes beyond his longing. It’s a step above needing your presence. It’s deeper. Intangible. “I’ll talk to them. We’ll work this out.”

The vulnerability of the situation floods back in at his vow. A tear escapes you. Blurring your gaze all over again. “Okay.” You leave the conversation there and shift. He pulls his softening cock from your sensitive sex and starts cleaning you up. He finds your clothes and helps you dress before he pulls his jeans back on.

You find your phone as you wait for him to dress, checking to see who called. Your heart skips a beat. “Hyune.” He reads your tone, looking over to you as he zips his jeans. “Check your phone.”

He moves over to the kitchen counter, grabbing his phone and unlocking the device. His heart skips a beat. His eyes meet yours from across the room.  

“They broke up.”

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[songbirdmunson]

Kiss The Rings- Emperor Geta x Fem!Reader

a/n: I struggled with this one heavy, but I hope you all enjoy it nonetheless! hair pulling, name calling, basic p in v sex, dirty talk, oral (male receiving) reader is just there to be used up, there is consent beforehand of course! 18+ only please! not proofread so if there are mistakes I apologize. feedback is welcome and appreciated! 💞

word-count: 938

Spending your time at the feet of the snarkiest emperor around was not how you pictured your life going, but here you were. Geta was hell bent on everyone knowing you were his. You’d managed to escape once and suffered the consequences, so now you accepted your fate. Maybe you even were starting to like it but you would never let that be known.

“Cmon, you can do so much better than that with that slut mouth, I said, kiss them.” The crazed look in Geta’s eyes made you want to hide and offer yourself up for him at the same time as you sat at his feet. A vile smirk was plastered on his lips as he held his hand out in front of your face. The rings on his fingers were sparkling from the rays of sun peeking through the windows. “Anything for you.” You breathe out, internally rolling your eyes before leaning down and kissing each of his rings.

A sound rumbled out around you, it should’ve been a laugh but it sounded more feral than anything else. “That’s it pet. Look at you, you’re certainly a pathetic creature, sitting on your knees and doing whatever I tell you.” Your face was hot as he degraded you, the words flowing out of his mouth causing a pit to form in your stomach and a wetness between your thighs. “I bet you’d love for me to split you open right now, wouldn’t you?” Everything in you was screaming yes, your heart beating harder as you slowly looked up at him, his eyelids heavy with lust as he scowls down at you.

You slowly open your mouth up for him as he taps the pads of his fingers against your mouth, he slides them in quickly, causing you to gag a little as drool runs around them and down your chin. The salty taste of his skin was the best thing you’d ever tasted, and even though he could be harsh, you would do anything for a taste. “I think we should get some others in here to watch don’t you?” He asks, his fingers fucking your mouth, slowly picking up the pace until they’re going down your throat.

You hum around them, a gargled jumbled mess that made no sense but he knew what you were trying to say. He laughs before slowly pulling his hand away from you, pieces of his clothing slowly falling to the floor below you. “Changed my mind, not today, but maybe if you’re good enough for me I’ll consider letting your favorite general watch you, I know you’d like that.” Before you could say anything he was pulling you up by your arm, his grip around it making your skin sting as he dragged you over to a chair in the room. “Bend over for me, now.” He snarls, pushing down on the middle of your back, your hands gripping onto the arms of the chair so hard you may have splinters later.

“What a good little servant. Tell me you love it baby, tell me you love when your emperor fucks you.” He says, pushing your legs apart and flipping your dress up, he wastes no time before spitting in his hand. He strokes himself a few times quickly, spitting down against your ass and letting it run down to your pussy before he’s thrusting in. The stretch and burn sends your mind into a frenzy. You push your ass back against him as a quiet moan falls from your lips. “I- I love it, love you, love when you fuck me please sir, please.” You babble, his hand twists up in your hair, he pulls on it so hard you’re sure he’s actually pulling some hair out, but you didn’t care. He could feel you pulsing around him at his rough actions.

Loud smacks ring throughout the room as one of Geta’s big hands lands down against your ass, causing you to tense up. “Shhh, you’ll take what’s given to you. That’s for being late meeting me here today, you know better.” He smacks you 6 more times, before he’s roughly pulling his cock out of you. The emptiness you feel sending a bratty whine tumbling from your lips as he turns you around to face him. He makes quick work in pushing you down onto your knees, the dirty floor beneath you rubbing against them uncomfortably. Your heart pounds as he strokes himself in front of your face, sweat beads roll down his tone chest and onto his stomach, the urge to lick him clean overwhelms you entirely. “Open that whore mouth.” You normally hate swallowing, but for him you would do anything.

Your mouth drops open, your tongue lolling out like some sort of dumb puppy as he rubs the head against your tongue. The salty taste of his pre-cum overwhelms you as you smell his skin. He pinches your cheeks together, mumbling about ‘how you’re his favorite hole to fuck.’ Your heartbeat is in your ears, wetness pooling below you as you ache. You knew he wouldn’t take care of you this time because of your disobedience earlier in the day. He moans out a choked sort of sob before his cum is hitting your tongue, running down your throat. He strokes himself a few more times before laughing at the fucked our expression on your face, turning his hand over to look at it before showing it to you.

“Looks like there’s some left behind pet, clean it up.” He demands sticking his hand out to you. “Anything for you sir, anything for you.”

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[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Blood of My Blood

Summary: Stuck between duty and passion, she is given no choice but to yield to the game Aemond wishes to play | Words: 4.1k~ | Warnings: a lot of talk of illegitimacy, hatefucking, dubcon, incest (character is implied to have strong features), p in v sex, baby trapping, forced marriage

Can be read as a stand-alone or as a part two for The Blood is Rare!

His fingers tightened around her arm, the pressure a mix of anger and possessiveness. He forcefully ushered her across the threshold of the chambers she once called home, back when she resided there alongside the Hightower children. The worn flagstones caused her feet to stumble, while her forearm throbbed with bruises from his grip. She shot him a glance filled with both hurt and fury.

“You cannot treat me like this,” she spat viciously. 

Aemond merely stepped back, his expression unyielding. "You are to be my wife. I'll treat you as I please."

Before she could reach the double doors, they slammed shut, brass fixtures rattling as Aemond hastened to secure her inside. Despite her feeble attempts to push back against the doors, her fists bruised from the effort, he locked her in without hesitation.

“They will come for me!” she screamed in protest, “unlock this, at once!”

Locked within the confines of the chamber, her heart pounded with a mixture of fear and defiance. She paced the room, her mind racing with thoughts of escape and retribution. Outside, the distant echoes of footsteps and murmured voices hinted at the presence of guards or servants, but she knew she couldn't rely on them for help.

King Viserys was dead. And Alicent Hightower planted her son on her mother’s throne.

As the hours dragged on, her frustration grew with each passing moment. She tried every possible means of escape, but the sturdy oak doors remained firmly shut, sealing her fate within the chamber. Her mind raced with thoughts of her family, of the kingdom thrown into turmoil by the sudden death of King Viserys. And now, with Aemond's revelation of his family's plan to anoint Aegon on the morrow, she realised the true extent of the danger she faced.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps echoing outside her prison. The door creaked open, and Aemond stepped into the room, his expression unreadable. She studied his face, and saw he looked slightly withered and tired, covered with a mask of coldness.

"We have much to discuss," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "But first, you must understand the gravity of the situation."

She eyed him warily, her heart pounding in her chest. "What do you mean?"

"Aegon will be crowned tomorrow," he explained, his tone solemn. "And my family has plans for us as well."

Her stomach churned with dread as she listened to his words. "What plans?"

"A marriage," he said simply, his gaze unwavering. "In the traditions of our ancestors, to solidify our alliance and secure our place in the new realm."

Her mind reeled at the thought of marrying the man who had imprisoned her against her will. But she knew that in the game of thrones, alliances were forged with marriages as much as with swords.

A tension-laden silence filled the chamber, thick with unspoken words and unyielding resolve. her heart pounded in her chest as she weighed her options, acutely aware of the consequences of her decision. The memory of their clandestine tryst, a moment of forbidden passion she dared not admit she had enjoyed, lingered in the recesses of her mind, adding an unexpected layer of complexity to the situation.

"I will not be your pawn," she said, her voice trembling with defiance. 

A flicker of anger flashed across Aemond's face, but it was quickly replaced by a cold mask of indifference.

"You have no choice," he said icily. "You will marry me, for the good of our families and the realm. Just as Daeron will wed a Baratheon girl, to secure-"

She shook her head stubbornly, her resolve hardening with each passing moment. "I will not be forced into a marriage I do not want."

Aemond's gaze narrowed, his patience wearing thin. "Do not be foolish, mandianna. You have a duty to your family, to the legacy of House Targaryen. You will marry me, and you will bear me heirs to secure our place in history."

But she refused to be swayed by his empty words. "I will not be your broodmare, and I will not be shackled to you for the rest of my days," she declared, her voice trembling with righteous indignation. "Not when you have already taken so much from me."

Aemond's expression darkened, his features contorted with anger. "Do not speak to me of what I have taken," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "You gave yourself to me willingly, and now you will suffer the consequences."

She swallowed thickly, her pride blurring the edges of what she knew was the truth.

“He is no King of mine.”

A heavy silence settled over the chamber, the weight of her words hanging in the air like a shroud of defiance. Aemond's eye blazed with fury, his jaw clenched so tightly it seemed as if he might shatter his teeth with the force of his anger. For a long moment, neither of them spoke, the tension between them palpable. The threat of declaring treason hung heavy.

Finally, Aemond broke the silence, his voice cold and menacing. "You dare to defy me," he hissed, his words dripping with contempt. "You would betray your own blood, your own family, for the sake of your misguided principles?"

She met his gaze head-on, her chin lifted defiantly despite the tremble in her limbs. "I will not betray my mother," she declared, her voice steady despite the fear that gnawed at her insides. "You speak of blood after years of declaring me and my brothers alike your sole distaste.”

Aemond's nostrils flared with barely contained rage at her words, his eye narrowing into a slit as he took a step closer, his imposing figure casting a shadow over her. "Do not presume to lecture me on matters of blood," he seethed, his voice a low growl that reverberated through the chamber. "You may share the blood of House Targaryen, but you lack the fire that defines our lineage."

“Careful, Uncle,” she whispered, her voice tinged with fury, “I am as much Targaryen as you.”

A flicker of doubt crossed Aemond's features, his gaze faltering for a moment before hardening once more into a mask of disdain. "You may share the name, but you lack the strength and resolve to wield it," he sneered, his words like a lash that cut through the air between them. "You are nothing but a weak, insignificant girl who fancies herself a dragon."

Her jaw tightened at Aemond's cutting words, her resolve hardening as she refused to let his insults diminish her spirit. "Strength is not defined by the size of one's flames, Uncle," she retorted, her voice steady despite the turmoil within her.

Aemond's lip curled in a mixture of anger and begrudging admiration. Despite himself, he couldn't deny the fire that burned within her, the same fire that had characterised the Targaryen bloodline for generations. "You have spirit, I'll give you that," he conceded, his voice low and grudgingly impressed. "But spirit alone will not save you from the realities of this world."

She held his gaze, her breath coming in short, shallow bursts as she felt the tension between them crackle like lightning in the air. Despite their antagonistic exchange, there was an undeniable chemistry that simmered just beneath the surface, a primal attraction that neither of them could ignore.

As if sensing the shift in the atmosphere, Aemond took another step closer, his eye darkening with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. "You may defy me, niece," he murmured, his voice husky with desire. "But deep down, you know that we are bound together by more than just blood and duty."

She felt her throat close up, her body betraying what she wanted him to believe about her. That she recoiled at the mere sight of him. That she could not bear to be within the same quarters. That she hated him.

And all of it was a lie.

She would not have given herself so freely to him in that darkened alcove if she truly loathed him. And yet her pride marred the truth.

“You will be my wife,” Aemond stated, his voice devoid of negotiation. It was a command, wrapped in the certainty of his position, a reflection of the harsh realities of their lineage and the role they played in the ongoing struggle for power.

Her reaction was a mix of defiance and disbelief. This was not the offer of a partner, but the demand of a prince used to being obeyed. Yet, even as the words hung in the air between them, she could not ignore the complex web of emotions that tied her to this man. There was no love in this arrangement, but there was something else—something harder to define.

“You speak of marriage as though it were another battle to be won. I am not spoils of war to be claimed.”

Aemond’s eye, ever so piercing, momentarily hardened, hinting at the turmoil beneath his princely facade. His hand flew out, gripping her jaw as he had done that steamy evening, clutching her skin in his long fingers - a warning.

“Come with me, willingly or not. It is your choice, niece.”

Her eyes locked onto his with a fierceness that could rival any dragon's gaze, attempting to sear his very soul with her stare. Yet, in defiance of the forceful hand upon her jaw, she wrenched herself free, her breathing heavy with indignation. The so-called choice he presented felt like a cruel jest, highlighting the absence of any real agency she possessed.

The machinations of the Greens had cornered her into this union with Aemond, rendering any thought of escape futile from the outset.

Their wedding was a somber affair, marked more by the exchange of solemn vows and cold, resentful looks than any semblance of joy or union. Throughout the ceremony, her thoughts wandered, detached from the grim proceedings. And when the final blessings were about to be pronounced, she turned abruptly, her last vestiges of defiance carrying her away to the solitude of her quarters.

The sense of betrayal that churned within her was overwhelming, a treachery not only to her mother's cause but to herself. The disappointment her family would feel loomed over her, a burden more oppressive than the iron crown could ever be.

Moreover, the realisation that this marriage was orchestrated merely to secure an heir, to bind her bloodline to Aemond's as a political safeguard against total war, was revolting.

Standing alone, she tried to steady her trembling hands by focusing on the wine cup she held, just as Aemond's footsteps halted behind her. She braced herself for an encounter she dreaded, yet his next words took her by surprise.

“I shall bid you goodnight,” he said simply.

She spun around, half-expecting to confront a man prepared to enforce his will regardless of her consent. Instead, she met his gaze and found something unexpected—a reflection of restraint and perhaps a hint of understanding.

In that moment, a complex array of emotions coursed through her, challenging her perceptions and forcing her to acknowledge the intricate layers of their predicament.

“I will not lay with you tonight. You do not wish it.”

Her guard, so meticulously maintained, began to falter at the honesty in his words. "And what of tomorrow?" she asked, a tinge of cynicism threading her question. "When the sun rises, will your sense of duty not dictate our interactions?”

"It likely will," he conceded, the corners of his mouth turning down in a grimace. "But tonight, you've had enough battles to face. I won't add to them."

The silence that fell between them was filled with a tentative understanding, a fragile thread connecting two individuals caught in the crossfire of political machinations and familial obligations.

Yet, she was acutely aware that Aemond was not a mere bystander in the unfolding of these events. And it would be a mistake for him to assume she would quietly acquiesce to their circumstances.

Throughout the following day, Aemond's absence hung over her like a shadow, his presence felt more in his lack than in actuality. The dread of uncertainty twisted in her stomach, her mind conjuring scenarios that left her restless and wide-eyed, staring at the chamber doors until the early hours. The knowledge of her new status as his wife did nothing to ease her apprehension. It only highlighted her vulnerability, the potential for him to assert his marital rights in a way that robbed her of any semblance of control.

Yet, despite her fears, Aemond remained absent, his intentions opaque, leaving her to grapple with the anxiety of anticipation alone. The silence of the night was broken only by the distant, powerful beats of Vhagar's wings, a sound that resonated with ominous foreboding. She watched from her window as the great dragon, with Aemond upon her back, vanished into the stormy clouds that brooded overhead.

When Aemond returned to their chambers, it was not the composed prince who entered but a man storming in, soaked to the bone, his demeanor radiating tight, barely controlled anger. The storm outside mirrored his internal tempest, the rain that clung to him a testament to the chaos that seemed to follow in his wake.

His sudden appearance in the dead of night, the way he moved with a predatory grace, charged the air with a palpable tension. She could see in his expression the fracture of a man who had lost control, his ego bruised by the events that had transpired, a dangerous edge to his anger that made her heart race.

In that moment, the dynamics of their relationship stood on a knife's edge, the events of the night poised to define the course of their future interactions. It was a test of wills, a confrontation between power and vulnerability, where the choices they made could either bridge the gap between them or widen it into an insurmountable chasm.

"Aemond," she began, her voice steady despite the fear that threatened to choke her words. "What has happened?"

He halted mid-pace, turning towards her. The flicker of the candles reflected off his wet face, casting shadows that made his expression all the more inscrutable. "The game has changed," he said through gritted teeth, his voice a low growl.

Her eyes traced his movements, every nerve alight.

“What game?” She dared to ask.

Aemond's gaze was steel, the kind that cut deeper than swords. "The game we're all pawns in—the game for the Iron Throne." His words were heavy, laden with a darkness that seemed to suck the warmth from the room. 

“Aemond, tell me plainly. What have you done.”

Her voice was terse, but it trembled.

There was a hardness in his gaze, a glint of something fierce and unyielding.

"Luke," he finally uttered, his tone laden with a severity that chilled her to the bone.

In that instant, clarity and horror crashed over her like a wave. Luke was gone, his life extinguished in the brutal game of thrones that spared no one, not even the innocent. A gnawing question arose within her: Had her mother been informed, or was she, too, left in the dark until now?

The realisation that Aemond, now her husband, had been responsible for her brother's death sent a shiver of fear down her spine. The man standing before her, cloaked in shadows and rain, was no longer just the prince she had been bound to in a marriage of convenience. He was a killer, capable of extinguishing a life—a life she had cherished. Luke's laughter, his teasing smile, the memories they shared, all extinguished in a moment's violence. And if Luke, then why not her? 

Aemond's demeanour shifted, perhaps sensing the change in her perception. "You fear me now," he stated, not a question but a flat acknowledgement.

She took a cautious step back, her mind racing. The man before her, powerful enough to command dragons and armies, had shown he did not shy away from kinslaying. "I believe I ought to" she countered, her voice a whisper of defiance.

He paused, and in that silence, the harsh reality of their situation seemed to settle around them like a cloak. As Aemond moved closer, intending to assert himself, she couldn't suppress the instinctual urge to retreat. The space between them, filled with the unsaid and the undone, seemed insurmountable.

She could not help the stark whimper that escaped her when his fingers formed a fist in her hair at the back of her head, pulling her unyielding face up to meet his, his angered breath spilling over her face.

“You believe I would harm you.”

How could she not? She thought. He had so often shown a calm, quiet anger. And unleashed it all within a short afternoon, with Luke's body somewhere at the bottom of the sea surrounding Storm’s End.

“You dare to question this when you have murdered my brother,” she spat back at him.

Jaw clenched, Aemond raised his other hand to his eye patch, quickly ripping it off to reveal to her what was beneath it. The angry red scar extended from his forehead to his cheek, jagged, clumsy. And where his eye would have been was raw, a bright sapphire sitting firmly within the socket, forboding.

Of course, she knew what Luke had done, but she had never seen him like this. Fear gripped at her skin, and a strange throbbing between her thighs at the way he looked over her like this. Thought she attempted to now show that on her face.

Her expression must have mirrored poor Luke's mere hours before, as her new husband gazed down at her, his demeanour terrifyingly calm.

“You defend your little bastard brother after how he has maimed me?”

“Aemond, please-” she pleaded, only moving away an inch before her husband tugged her back, tighter.

“Your brother was of no use to this realm. But you,” he spat, one hand tucking up her skirts and then meanly digging at her hips, “I need your sweet little cunt for my heirs, mandianna.”

She felt her mouth go dry, unable to say a thing. She whimpered again when he used his grip on her hair to turn her body around, keeping her back towards his chest, his fingers slipped along her jaw, as if to communicate that he could wrap them around her throat at any moment.

Aemond was sitting on a knife’s edge. And she dare not tilt him in any particular direction. Equally though, she dare not admit to herself that it was exciting in a most forbidden way.

“You are my wife,” he murmured quietly, sliding her small clothes down her thigh, flourishing with gooseflesh, “and who am I to deny her her duty?”

She suppressed a yelp when her hands lay flat on the table, her breasts pressed hard against the oak as she felt Aemond's rapidly growing harness at her backside where he was rucking up her skirts. 

Though she tried to wriggle free of him, one hand at the nape of her neck with undeniable strength was all it took to remind her how much smaller she was than him. How difficult it would be to resist. Does she just go through with it? Let her Uncle, her brother's murderer, take her like a common whore whenever he wishes?

She could envisage no escape, and as ashamed as she was to admit it to herself, she could do nothing but submit. At least there would be some pleasure.

She jolted as his slender fingers parted her folds with a click of her essence coated his digits, dragging his touch from her opening to her overly-sensitive bud.

“See how wet you become for me still,” he murmured, pressing his chest against her back, broad body caging her in, “though I am the greatest sinner in the realm, your body still begs for it, sweet niece. What does that make you?”

“Kepus, please-” 

“A traitor to your own kin?” He whispered, exhaling shakily when he nudged her legs apart an inch and slipped the fat head of his cock between her arousal-glistened folds, disappearing into her without effort.

Her lips parted, a quiet moan slipping past at being split onto his length. And though little time had passed since their first tryst, she still felt the sting and girth of him as if it were.

Aemond groaned deeply, at the feeling of her sucking him in so willingly, her walls greedily tightening around his length.

“Or loyal to your kinslaying husband?” He added huskily.

How was she to respond when the air was incessantly pushed right from her lungs at every snap of his hips? The table legs creaked against the floor and her breasts ached from being pressed down to the oak by the tight grip of his fingers around her nape.

She wanted to say that he was brutalising her, taking what he wanted with no care for her pleasure, but even that wouldn't be true. Aemond's rhythmic grunts came hot against her ear as he rutted into her, his hand kneading the flesh of her buttock in one hand, grasping tightly to allow himself deeper access to her.

She felt as if she was betraying herself, moaning the way she was. And Aemond certainly did not miss a thing.

“Stubborn little cunt - saying you don't want it but I can feel you begging for my seed -”

The mocking tone of his voice had her clench around him, humiliation clawing at her skin the more Aemond speared her onto his length in quick rhythmic movements. Her moisture coated his shaft, his pelvis painting the inside of her thighs with it in the heat of their passion. 

Aemond looked down between them, his fingers leaving red marks on her buttock the more he gripped. Both hands drifted either side, pulling at her supple flesh to watch the way her cunt took him, his lips parted in appreciation of how he disappeared into her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling so boneless that she did not attempt to wiggle away when he was no longer holding her down. Instead her fingers curled over the table for stability in a desperate plea to ground herself from the hot, tight feeling building every time his cock hit her fleshy, wet end.

And just when she was getting used to the feeling, Aemond pulled her hips back to him, elevating her hips and slamming into her at an angle which brushed against that deep, sweet place inside her. 

A tingly, warm sensation fluttered up her spine, “kepus-”

“-fucking say you want it-” he murmured between breaths, pulling her onto him quicker the close the became to completion.

She bit her lip, if anything, using the last bit of her power to not give him the satisfaction of thinking she did in fact want it. So she remained silent, which only made his thrusts more aggressive and assertive.

“-I’ll give you my seed, watch you grow fat with child - and just when you think it's over, I'll fuck another one into you-”

Her nails dug into the oak, scraping painfully, lips parted in a soundless scream as she felt that wave of warmth and bliss crest, unable to control the way she fluttered around him.

Aemond strained, words caught tightly in his throat as he spilled inside of her, pulling her hips flush to him as if to mold himself to her irreparably. She shamefully felt herself tremble, her release still sending dull shockwaves through her blood as Aemond remained seated firmly within her.

She thought of her family. And how they would come to hate her for what she had become, allowing the man who had killed her brother to take her like this. She surely thought they would no longer see her the same with Aemond's child in her belly and tied to him by marriage. 

Tears threatened at her eyes, two feelings at war with one another, shame and pleasure.

She whimpered when Aemond pulled his softening cock from her, a rush of warm spend spilling down her thigh in a way that only exacerbated her humiliation.

“You will write to your mother and tell her of your loyalties.”

Aemond spoke so coldly in between soft pants, it was as if he was hardly the man she had known a few moments ago. It has always been like this. But in a way, it is what made him exciting. Unpredictability was as much exhilarating as it was terrifying.

A notion she held to as she glanced at him, his good eye hooded and blown wide and black with lust and the sapphire glinting in the orange glow of the room as if bloodthirsty.

The game had to be played. And if this was the way Aemond wanted to do it, then so be it.

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @valleyof-goldenlilies

[lowkeyerror]

Just Hold Me

Rio Vidal x Reader

Word Count: 1k

Notes: Fluff x 100, comfort x 1 million, very soft

Summary: You had a rough day and Rio wants to comfort you, but she wonders if she's doing enough.

An: The yearly fluff I post after Christmas. Soft as a bunny's tail.

Masterlist

Love was such a strange thing. Tangled up in emotions like hurt, betrayal, and longing, but also bathed in happiness, care, and optimism. It was complex enough with normal people, but you had fallen for Death itself.

Loving Rio was like loving a hurricane. It was wild and even if some things were predictable, you couldn’t always prepare for what was to come. Having a trail of destruction behind her was a part of her job.

It was something she only found shame in when she was with you. She didn’t want you to think that of her. The truth being, that you never could. It was what had drawn you to her in the first place. Death didn’t scare you, not at all. Falling into her embrace felt like destiny. You’d tell her, but Rio was never one for fate, she said if anything it was an omen.

She was so scared of the consequences when it came to being with you. She tried to go against her urges, but you were patient. In her mind you’d forget her and move on with someone more suitable, but you never did. You knew what you wanted and it was her.

There would never be anyone to come close.

Rio was a good girlfriend. She was affectionate, and as attentive as she could be. There were still some things that she was uncertain about when it came to her emotions. After all she had only learned them from her limited experience in other relationships and observing others. She had seen a lot, but that didn’t mean she understood it all.

So when she appeared in your home to find your curled up on the couch, hidden by a blanket, she simply tilted her head to the side before approaching you.

“Love?”

You heard her voice, but felt like you couldn’t move or speak. Instead you let out a soft hum in response. It caught Rio off guard, she was still assessing the situation, but it wasn’t looking good.

She stepped into your point of view, crouching so that she could meet your eyes. She was taken aback by the sadness in them. The bags under your eyes were dark and heavy. Rio pouted seeing the red hues scattered in them.

She reaches out cautiously to hold your face in her hands. Her touch was warm, it made you briefly close your eyes.

“What happened?” Rio’s voice was soft, as if she was scared of pushing.

However you weren’t like the lovers of her past. You wouldn’t push her away, so you took a deep breath trying to muster up your voice.

“Hold me,” you managed to murmur.

Rio was quick to shed her work clothes and create more comfortable attire for the sake of both of you. You briefly sat up on the couch, only enough for the Green Witch to slip behind you. Once she was behind you, you tugged her arm over your body. You held it in place keeping her hold on you tight.

Rio places a delicate kiss on the back of your neck, “I'm not going anywhere."

For a while you stay in that position silently. Neither of you break through the quiet. Rio thinks she’s eventually going to hear your breathing level but it doesn’t.

“Long day,” you mumble against her hand.

“I think I know something about those,” Rio threaded her fingers through yours.

You let out a small laugh, “I bet you do.”

You feel the time shift again. You turn to face Rio who scans over your features again.

“Is there something I can do?”

You see the worry in her eyes and it makes your heart swell. The smallest furrow in her brow, the usual mischief in her eyes is gone, her tone is missing the teasing edge.

“Just this,” you bury your head in the crease of her neck.

You inhale deeply, her scent always grounds you. That specific scent of earth freshly hit with rain. You could get lost in her aroma, it almost makes you feel like you’re outside. You can feel her skin cooling, which only submerges you deeper into the fantasy.

Now both of her hands hold you. She kisses the top of your head. Rio is still uncertain about it she should be doing more for you. This didn't feel like enough. She wanted to destroy whatever it was that made your day so hard. Seeing you in this state was tugging at her heart strings.

She began to trace patterns into your back. You didn't mind, you like having her hands on you, being this close together. It helped you feel safe.

“Are you sure it’s enough,” Rio whispers, insecurities gnawing at her.

You pull back just enough to look at her, “Rio Vidal you’ll always be enough for me.”

Your words knocked the wind right out of her, she felt her face getting warm under your gaze, but she wasn’t trying to hide it from you.

“I’d do anything for you, you know that? Legal or illegal. If I need to go fuck up your boss I will. If I need to pop your annoying coworkers tire, I will. If you needed me to hunt down a Karen I-"

“I know,” you cut her off.

“All of the above?” Rio wriggles her eyebrows playfully.

You move to sit up and she sits beside you.

You rub a hand over your face, “Work was fine, I guess. A few difficult customers, but nothing out of the ordinary. I don’t really know why, but today just felt harder to get through than other days. Nothings wrong, I just feel a little… down.”

Rio listen intently as you speak. When you finish she nods slowly, “I think I know what you need.”

“You do?”

Rio nods with a little more certainty, “Let me cook for us. We’ll order some snacks and pop in a movie. We can keep cuddling too. And tomorrow, I think you should call out. We’ll spend the whole day together, I know all the best parks for walks. How does that sound?”

You let out a sigh of relief, “That sounds perfect. I love you.”

Rio places a gentle kiss on your lips, “I love you too.”

Rio reluctantly begins to stand, but you pull her back down, “Just hold me a bit longer?”

She lays her back flat on the couch and pulls you on top of her, stealing another peck.

“Always.”

[kenjakusbraincum]

Feathers

Sukuna x Reader

Synopsis: Master Sukuna establishes a safe word with his favorite pet, to prevent hurting them again!

Word count: 0.8k

Tags/warnings: gn! reader, fluff, mentions of violence, hurt/comfort, mentions and implied nsfw

Author’s note: Another in a compilation of drabbles with pet reader and Master Sukuna <3 This is basically a bunch of scenes I want to eventually incorporate into my bigger fic/series Reverence!

There was a time when soft moments with Sukuna scared you as much as they excited you. You were so used to rough handling and bruises that as little as gentle touch would come as a surprise. It was a completely new territory with no clearly set rules. So many times you'd hold your breath or avoid moving in fear of angering him. But Sukuna warmed up to you. Little by little he would silently expand the things he'd allow you to do without consequences. It started with you being forbidden from touching him at all. Then he'd let you feel him up during your nightly encounters, snuggle up to him afterwards, sleep in his bed... All the while mumbling vague threats and giving you scary looks. "Careful with your hands.", he'd say when you'd run them from his chest to his stomach, feeling his muscles and stumbling upon his belly mouth. You pulled your hand back and opened your mouth to apologize. But he just gave you a look you couldn't read and put your hand back to his belly.

With time you've come to understand that there were some things Sukuna would never say out loud. "Keep caressing me", was one of them. "Sorry", was another. And a big one.

Sukuna was violent, it was simply in his nature. He's pushed your bounds before, he enjoyed it, but he wanted to see how far he can take things too. Naturally, slip ups happened. Hell, the first time you remember him ever being nice to you was one night when he roughed you up particularly bad. He would always leave to get dressed or refreshed, and expect you to be gone by the time he's back. But this time, you were still there, with your head in the pillow, muffling sobs.

Your heart nearly stopped when you felt the mattress dip with his weight by your side, thinking finally you have met your end. You didn't expect him to gently brush sweaty strands of hair out of your face, and look at you with brows furrowed in confusion.

"Why are you crying?", he asked, and you thought that he was mocking you. He's never shown you kindness, beyond providing you with bare necessities in life. So why would he be concerned with you now?

"H-hurts...", you say quietly, and try your best to stop sobbing. You spend so much time keeping Sukuna company at his throne. You know how quickly (and brutally) he deals with people who annoy him. You were so sure you were going to share their fate. Any second now, you thought as you squeezed your eyes shut.

"Where?", he asked. When you opened your eyes, he looked as docile as you'd ever seen him. And then his hand was in your face, and the back of his finger brushed your tears away. You blinked at him a couple times just to make sure you were processing the situation right. Then you shuffled around to touch the places that ached on your body.

And on his side, Sukuna was quite shocked to see how untrusting you were of him. For once he thought that he striked too much fear into you. Or maybe he was just under the impression, because his most obedient pet was crying. Either way, his hand followed yours, light against your sensitive skin. Careful not to cause any more pain for the night. You were stiff under his fingertips at first, still anticipating violence, but slowly relaxed as you felt the pain subside.

"There.", he says, instead of "Sorry". But he felt sorry.

The next time he brings you to his chambers, he stops you in front of the bed. "Pick a word. Any word.". You stop and think, not knowing where he's going with this.

"Feathers.", you say. Angels. His hands on your waist urge you to turn around, facing your back to him. He brushes your hair over your shoulder and kisses you, from the back of your ear trailing down. Your hand meets his and you think you'll melt into him. You've never experienced such tenderness, and to know it's coming from him...

"Only use it when you can't take it anymore. I'll stop.", he whispers against your skin. And just as you thought of how suspiciously nice he was starting to sound..."I wouldn't want to break my favorite toy".

Then he nudges you onto the bed and joins you. You don't have enough time to process the words, before he's on top of you and your focus is shifted back to him. And you don't think you've ever been so relaxed laying in bed with a monster. Later that night, when you were alone in your room, you felt butterflies at the thought of being his favorite. Even if you were nothing but a toy. Even if tomorrow when you stumble upon him in the hallway, or when he calls for you to make him company in his throne room, he'll be as distant and cold as the moon.

[beenbaanbuun]

possession w/ kang yeosang

i dreamt about spit play with yeosang as this is what has come of it….

@everyonewooeverywhere

words - 👀

genre - nsfw/angst

warnings - dom!yeosang, sub!reader, mentions of infidelity but no actual cheating, spit play, finger sucking

as you chase your boyfriend up the stairs to your apartment, you find yourself regretting your choices. the mindless flirting had seemed like a good idea at the time—yeosang knows you’d never cheat on him and it was just a little fun—but as you watch him enter the apartment, 5 paces ahead of you, you feel nothing but remorse. the door slams behind him, yeosang not even finding the courtesy to hold it open for you. you don’t blame him, although you can’t deny that it makes your heart sink. you’ve really pissed him off tonight.

with a sigh you climb the last few stairs, heading straight for the closed door that separates you from your boyfriend. there’s a lump in your throat as you hear your boyfriend shuffling around behind it, going about his business as if he didn’t just leave you stranded outside. he’s mad, this time; like really, really, mad. maybe even sleep-on-the-sofa mad! you can already feel the ache in your neck, waking up with your head at a funny angle and your body paying the price.

fuck.

you move slowly as you push the door open, trying to prolong your fate. while yeosang won’t argue with you, you have no doubt he’ll make his feelings clear through a few snide remarks and targeted looks. maybe it is your fault, but that doesn’t mean you want to face the consequences. it doesn’t mean you want your heart to be shattered into a million different pieces when your boyfriend lets you know exactly how much you’ve hurt him. is it selfish of you? yes, but as is the nature of people. no one wants to be the one to break the trust of the people they love; no one wants to know about it when they have.

yeosang is already sitting on the sofa by the time the door is wide enough for you to slip inside. he barely casts you a glance as you kick your shoes off and slip off the jacket he’d silently draped across your shoulders when the two of you left the bar. it almost brings a smile to your face, knowing that even when he’s upset with you he’s still a gentleman. well, besides the slammed door and what now appears to be the silent treatment. it’s what you deserve, you tell yourself as you fold your arms over your chest and make your way to the sofa where he quietly sits.

“yeosang, i’m sorry,” your voice is meek as you ask for forgiveness, awkwardly shuffling from one foot to another like a child asking their parent for something they know they’re not going to get. is that it? somewhere deep down, do you know you won’t get the forgiveness you crave?

yeosang doesn’t answer, not verbally at least. the way he shuffles to the side slightly and pats the sofa next to him is a clear enough sign for him to be able to remain silent. you don’t even have a reason to double guess yourself as you slip into the seat next to him. you’re careful not to brush up against him, not wanting to take liberties when you’ve already taken far too many tonight. perhaps your guilty conscience is working overtime tonight, but you’d rather that than make mistake after mistake. you’d rather prove that you can be good for him.

the silence is uncomfortable as you bathe in it, soaking it in since there seems to be no other option for you. the consequences of breaking it aren’t clear, and you’d rather not push your boyfriend any further than you already have. right now, you’re under his command, ready to bend to his every whim just for the slightest glimpse at forgiveness. you’re a toy soldier still in its box, waiting for the moment yeosang is ready to pull you out and play with you again.

you’d wait forever if you had to.

but just as you resign yourself to your fate, the sofa to your right shifts a little. you panic a little, not feeling even remotely prepared for the possibility of him leaving you so soon. it’s a relief when after a few seconds, the movement comes to a stop with yeosang still sitting firmly on the sofa. you risk looking at him, barely managing to stop yourself from jumping back in surprise when you find his eyes already on you, watching and waiting like tiger with its prey.

“my girl looks so pretty tonight,” yeosang purrs, his voice dangerously low, “that pretty little dress looks so good on my girl’s body, and your face? my girl has the prettiest one around, hm?”

my, my, my…

if that isn’t a sign of how big of a mess you’ve made for yourself, then you really don’t know what is. the only concept more terrifying than an upset yeosang is a possessive one, and you seemed to have flipped that switch without even realising. you gulp down your nerves, savouring the feeling of an empty mouth while you still have one. you know it won’t stay that way for much longer…

“yeosang, i—”

he shakes his head with a cruel smile, “that mouth has done more than enough damage already, don’t you think?” you nod fervently, wanting nothing more than for him to see that you can behave for him. it might not do anything to lessen your punishment, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try. he rolls his eyes as he watches you bend to his will, a hand quickly shooting out to grab hold of your hair and keep you in place. “pathetic,” he says softly, “trying so hard to please me as if you haven’t spent the whole night doing the opposite?” he tugs on your hair enough to tilt your head back, “if you really want to please me, then open your mouth.”

you knew this was coming, yet the command still sends electricity flowing straight down your spine to your empty hole. it’s a cruel fate, his words filling you with so much need that you know won’t be satiated tonight. as you part your lips and let your tongue roll over your bottom teeth, you can’t help the whine of disappointment that slips from your throat.

“good girl,” yeosang whispers as he slips two fingers from his free hand onto your tongue. you feel the drool pool up around his fingertips as he pushes down on the muscle and it doesn’t take long until they’re soaked in your spit. he retracts them, pulling his hand back and placing the two fingers between his own lips. it’s a disgustingly beautiful sight to see his eyes flutter closed as he sucks your spit from his own fingers, one that you couldn’t draw your eyes away from if you even tried.

the moans he lets out as he hollows his cheeks around them are borderline pornographic; you can’t help the way your thighs tense around nothing, your emptiness becoming more and more apparent with each passing second. what you wouldn’t do to sit on his cock right now, to sink down onto the thick length he sports between his legs. it fills you up just the right amount, making you see stars without the stretch being overly painful. you don’t think you’ve ever needed anything more, yet you know as well as the man it belongs to that the only thing that dick is going to be inside of tonight is your throat, and that's only if you're lucky.

yeosang pulls his fingers free with a pop, his eyes fluttering open softly. he looks like sin itself as he tips his head back against the sofa and grins, already fucked out despite you not even having touched him. it’s a beautiful sight to behold and as you watch him revel in the debauchery of drinking your spit, you try your hardest to commit him to memory. the flushed cheeks, the wet lips, the glazed-over eyes; it all paints a fine picture that if you had it your way, you’d never want to forget.

“do you want mine too?” he breathes out and you nod. it takes a moment or two for him to respond, but as he leans forwards, you let your lower jaw drop once more. he chuckles at your eagerness, simply watching you for a few seconds as you wait for him with your tongue out like a puppy. you’re patient, knowing you have no excuse not to be after your behaviour tonight, and with the way yeosang smiles so sweetly at you, you can tell he’s pleased.

but it doesn’t take long for his smile to melt away and a wad of warm spit to land upon your tongue. your feel it rolling down the muscle, inching its way towards the tip as gravity takes control. there’s a pleased look on yeosang’s face as you wait for his command to swallow, relishing your obedience as you let his spit slip away. “swallow,” he says just before a drip is able to fall and he watches in awe as you slip your tongue back into your mouth and gulp it down.

“that’s my girl.”

[queer-n-here]

I JUST SAW YOUR POST ABOUT WANTING TO BRANCH OUT TO DIFFERENT FANDOMS

AND THAT YOURE OK WITH MHA

BAKUGOU X READER PLS PLS PLS

Like brat Bakugou x brat tamer reader, breaking down his rudeness until he’s begging for it. PLS I wanna fuck him till he cries pls

(Sorry for the hornyposting oops k bye)

Yes yes yes yes yes yes yesssssss!!!

Fuck yeahhh brat taming Bakugo let's go!

(This was my initial reaction to recieving this req, no shit)

Contents: Lil headcannons bout taming Baku! Hope you like em!

Warnings: Smut, top male reader, edging, mentions of overstim near the end.

Bakugo, his ENTIRE character, screams 'I'm a little brat' like nothing else.

So I can see him being rude to you, too, mocking and joking around about some of your habits to piss you off. What that dumbass doesn't think of, however, is the consequences of his actions.

You grab Bakugo by the wrists and pin him to the bed you two were sitting at, press your knee between his legs and push them apart, holding him down despite his struggles.

"Look at you, all riled up just from some jeering." He says, smirking and completely oblivious of his fate. "What is it, haven't taken you- mmf!"

You cut him off with a kiss first, letting go of his wrists momentarily to rip his clothes off of his body.

Bakugo wouldn't admit it if you put a gun to his temple, but he loves being manhandled like this. You're stronger than him, which is something he tried to be in denial about earlier, but not anymore.

So when you enter his asshole without preparing him, he gives up the struggle and scrambles to find purchase to ground himself.

You fuck into him, making his hips buck up into yours. You hold him down, and began thrusting into him at a pace so slow it has him losing his mind.

You're hitting all the right spots, and the stimulation is making his back arch and eyes water, but its not nearly enough. Bakugo tries clenching around you, trying to rile you up to get you to fuck him senseless the way you sometimes do, but you just hiss and tighten your hold on him, pace slower than ever.

And it doesn't take long for him to lose his composure and fall apart in your hands. He's reduced into a needy mess soon, chest jolting as his breath hitches, hands grabbing at your shoulders so tight you feel his blunt nails dig into your skin.

"More, ah! [Name] faster!" Is the only string of comprehensible words that he can utter soon.

"Oh?" You grit your teeth against the sparks of pleasure each thrust is sending up your cock. "You wanna get fucked, hmm? Then why weren't you acting like it just now, Baku?"

And he just whines, feeling your tip barely brush against sweet spot this time, the denial of that pleasure he knew you could give him so intense it made him see black spots in his vision that he had to blink to clear.

So he begs, he begs like the whore he is in bed, like the cock-addicted little slut you've made him, who wants nothing more than to have you rearrange his insides to the shape of your cock.

You take pity on him, like c'mon, you can't keep edging him forever when your own cock is pulsing with want, right?

So you bend him in half and plunge into him, your pace like that of a wild fucking animal as you thrust into him, finally giving Bakugo what he wants.

Bakugo lays there, his brain slowly turning into mush as you finally, finally fuck him, his moans loud even over the sound of skin slapping against skin with each of your thrusts, sweat soaked hair sticking to his forehead.

I mean, the night is still young tho. Maybe you can overstimulate him next, rip orgasm after orgasm from him till his entire frame his shaking, till his dick is shooting blanks, till he passes out on the bed under you from exhaustion, leaving you to clean up the mess on the bed. Who knows? 😉

[ciciyup]

Yandere! Poseidon X fem! Human reader headcanons.

cw: Dark themes, toxicity, kidnapping, forced marriage, possessiveness, abuse, angst, little nsfw.

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Poseidon didn't like humans, he hated them. They were liars, hypocrites, violent, they destroyed everything they touched. Everything about them was wrong. There were plagues and he didn't care in the least about their fate.

He hated it when mortals threw trash on the beach, the water was covered in dirt, the sand was full of bags, groceries and more things where you could barely walk. Those filthy mortals dared to dirty their mares without thinking about the consequences, they were disgusting.

Sometimes, when the beach was empty, he would come to the surface and look around. He would look at the cleanest sand, he would look at the clearest water, he would look at you. She was just another ordinary mortal woman, but for some reason he would see you in the mornings recognizing the trash in the sand until the place was cleaner, he would see you in the afternoons swimming alone in the sea; Your hair floated in the water and shone in the sunlight, your white dress clung to your body as you entered the water, leaving your figure shining, your eyes closed calmly as you felt the touch of the sea.

Why were you doing all that? Why take the time? Even after you left and left everything clean, someone would come and dirty it again, then you were there the next day cleaning up again.

Poseidon watched you closely, he wanted to see what kind of person you were, and the more he did, the more he felt attracted to you. He felt disgust, him feeling attracted to an inferior being? He didn't even dare to repeat the question out loud.

I watched your wide, open eyes as he stood before you, he was nothing but cold and self-centered when he spoke to you, and yet you treated him with such kindness and sweetness. You tried to soften your heart with your words and actions, you wanted to see his soft side, not his hard shell. Poseidon never let you see him, he never showed it to anyone and he wouldn't for a mere mortal, but there were little things, always sitting close to you while he talked to you, paying attention to your words, looking intently at every detail of your face, that was how he showed it.

However, Poseidon had much darker feelings than he had ever shown you. He felt an incredible need for possession as soon as he saw you talking to someone else, he felt his chest squeeze when your dress was lifted by the strong wind revealing more than your legs, he felt a strong need to take you and take you with him so that you would never see the disgusting beings of your kind again.

He offered you everything. He offered you the whole world. He offered you trips around the world, the brightest jewels, the most luxurious clothes, immortality, all if you stayed by his side and you simply rejected him. You didn't love him, you didn't want to be with someone who was so cold. Fuck love. Poseidon hated you. He hated the fact that he was rejected by a mortal, a leech, a being inferior to him.

From there any trace of pity in him disappeared completely, if at any moment you thought of the slightest possibility of him coming out a little soft for you you quickly dismiss it. Is that what you wanted?

He takes you by force, pushing your body into the sand and lifting your dress, fucking you hard as the waves crashed against the rocks and the seagulls flew above you. There was not a sign of pleasure on his face, he was like a stone. He did not sigh, he did not gasp, he did not moan, he did not say a word, he only watched as your face contorted and your body writhed beneath him, hearing your weak pleas for mercy and your low sobs when he finishes and withdraws from you without feeling even a shred of pity for you.

Living with Poseidon is not easy, as he is determined to force you to stay in his home without the possibility of going out even for fresh air. His hand doesn't shake at all, are you complaining? You don't have any rights or opinions anymore, he's the one who will decide for you, so behave if you don't want to suffer the consequences.

You don't want to escape, oh, you really don't, the first and last time you tried he broke your legs. The exhaustion and resentment you feel towards him won't stop him from taking you, he'll force you to be intimate with him in every way. He doesn't care how you feel, it's all about his pleasure. You must do what he wants, just make sure to please him and don't make him angry, he'll manipulate you either mentally or physically when he doesn't get what he wants.

He wants to have you with him all the time, but at the same time it bothers him when you stick so close to him, he takes you to meetings with other gods ready to kill anyone who sees you in a different light, but at the same time he humiliates you and complains to his brother Hades about how annoying it can be to be married to a mortal.

He's not interested in other women, he couldn't care less whether they want him or not, yet he does nothing when some goddess comes near him nor does he make any effort to separate her, whether he's with you or not.

The deities were hypocrites, always hiding in the dark, always looking you up and down when you came, always mumbling around you, always having something to say about why one of the most powerful gods had married a mortal, didn't he hate them? Then the deities fall silent when they know he's there, but they speak again when it's just you.

The goddesses always look at you with disdain, they had everything and you were a poor little ant, why didn't he choose them? They make sure to let you know out loud how lucky you are. How lucky to be the chosen one. How lucky to be married to the God of the sea, one of the most powerful gods. How lucky.

Even after the sea was at your feet, the ring glistening on your ring finger, your bitter lips tasting ambrosia, his piercing eyes on you the whole time, he didn't give back everything he stole from you. Everything you once had seemed so far away because now the only future you had was with Poseidon, until the end.

Him is so cold. But that's how the tyrant of the seas was, you had to get used to it, right? Because now you were his wife, the woman who would be with him for hundreds of millions of years, and he expected you to play the role.

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[crithaus]

the more things change the more they stay the same huh? 2 sacrifices, both for love and both with consequences that have and will ripple throughout Exandria forevermore, and at the heart of it all, one man who loved his sister and his beloved so very much that it changed the whole world around them, who loved his family such that not even death could make him forget them, who loved so much it'll go onto inspire love stories for centuries, stories about family, love, heartache and sacrifice, and love and devotion stronger than any other force on earth. a man who couldn't stand two minutes without his heart, and gave his life to a matron that let him push past the gates to save his home from her untimely fate 30 years later.

Vox Machina will be an epic for the history books and at its core is a simple tale about love.

okay blurb done, this took me a WEEK but thats fine, that moment was so cute that it made me draw this, and while my thoughts about the reaction to it are more mixed, and also here bc i have Opinions, it still was cute. Vax still is out here risking life and limb for his girls and i'm happy to see it and now all we gotta do is free him so he can go move in with kiki and meet all his nieces and nephews and hug his fucking twinnie against gdi

and yea i thought the offering his fate string to RQ was a stroke of gay genius but what do i know, i hope you like this, please leave your comments in the tags they fuel me

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Godly Things | DIVINE WHISPERS: Fateful Tides DIVINE WHISPERS: Fateful Tides | divine whispers: fateful tides⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

Hermes left Ithaca with an unusual weight resting in the back of his mind, his sandals lifting him effortlessly from the palace grounds and carrying him up, up into the ether, past the clouds that shimmered with the dusk's final blush.

The night had only just begun to lull the world below, but Olympus was always alive—eternally vibrant, eternally gilded.

Hermes sighed, tugging at the edge of his red cloak, his gaze flicking toward the horizon, where the golden halls of Olympus glowed like a promise. His sandals' wings fluttered lazily as he landed without a sound on its marble steps.

It wasn't long before he found Apollo reclining as though the universe revolved solely around him.

Hermes had a knack for timing—always arriving right when it would make the most impact, and this night was no exception.

Apollo was reclining on a golden chaise, a nymph at either side feeding him grapes while a third played a soft tune on a reed pipe. His eyes were half-lidded, his dark curls glistening with a faint golden sheen, falling artfully over his forehead, and the lyre he had conjured floated above him, strings moving on their own as if he were still playing it.

The god of music looked every bit the picture of satisfaction—utterly self-assured, basking in his own splendor.

Hermes couldn't resist.

"Oh, brother dearest," Hermes called, a mischievous glint lighting his eyes as he strolled forward, his staff clinking softly against the marble. "I see you're surrounded by your usual entourage. Good to know you haven't let your ego grow too much in my absence."

Apollo's eyes snapped open, annoyance flickering across his features for just an instant before it melted into a smirk.

"Hermes," he drawled, waving off the nymphs as he sat up. "What brings you to Olympus this fine evening? Shouldn't you be off delivering things?"

Hermes let a slow grin spread across his lips, letting the silence stretch for a beat before speaking. "Oh, nothing of much consequence. Just thought you'd like to know..." He paused, watching as Apollo head lolled in bored, his eyes glinting with curiosity. "I finally delivered that little gift of yours. You know, the one for your favorite mortal."

The effect was instantaneous.

The lyre dropped, Apollo's eyes widening with excitement, and he pushed himself off the chaise, his curls bouncing slightly. The nymphs backed away as Apollo's full attention focused on Hermes, his face a mixture of delight and urgency.

"Really?" Apollo almost beamed, his eyes alight with a golden fire. "Tell me, brother, what was her reaction? Did she love it? What did she say?"

Hermes' brow arched, the corner of his mouth twitching as though amused by the sudden fervor. He shrugged nonchalantly, turning his staff between his fingers. "Oh, you know," he said, voice lazily drawling. "Mortal tears, the usual overwhelmed gratitude—I'd say you did pretty well."

Apollo's grin widened, his eyes sparkling. "Ha! Of course, I did. I chose it, didn't I?" He crossed his arms, his chest swelling with pride. "No doubt it moved her to tears. I knew it was the perfect way to lift her spirits after that vile princess shattered her precious lyre."

Hermes' smile froze, just slightly, as he tilted his head, feigning indifference. "Oh? So you knew about that?" He tried to sound casual, though there was a sharpness hidden beneath his words.

Apollo's features twisted, his expression darkening, his golden brows furrowing as a scowl marred his perfect face. "Knew about it?" he spat, his voice dripping with disdain. "I saw it. I felt it. The moment that girl dared to touch what was mine—I wanted to come down there and smite her where she stood, to wipe her from existence for daring to make her cry."

He ran a hand through his golden curls, exhaling sharply. "But alas," he added with a bitter edge to his voice, "Ares has his hand over Bronte, and we've an agreement not to meddle in each other's territories unless mortally provoked."

There was a pause, a flicker of something raw in Apollo's eyes before he continued, softer now. "She doesn't deserve that pain—she's too... fragile for it." His words lingered, his voice dipped with a strange tenderness. "Do you know, Hermes, how rare it is for a mortal to move me? They sing of us, praise us, offer sacrifices at our altars, but it's hollow. Empty gestures driven by fear or tradition."

His gaze shifted, a faint, almost reverent glow lighting his features. "But ____? She feels every note, every string, as if it were a part of her soul. She gives her music freely, without pretense or expectation. It's not just beautiful—it's pure. Untainted by ambition or arrogance." He leaned forward slightly, his golden eyes blazing. "How could I not protect that? How could I not claim that for myself?"

Hermes hummed in acknowledgment, but his gaze was sharper now, watching the way Apollo's fists clenched at his sides, how his eyes gleamed not just with irritation, but with a glint of something else—something possessive. He leaned casually on his staff, the air around him relaxed, though his mind was racing.

"Yes, yes, of course. I remember the pact, yadda, yadda," Hermes said, waving a hand dismissively, as if trying to defuse Apollo's seething anger. "It's just... well, you know me. I took my sweet time getting there, and I thought perhaps..." He trailed off, his eyes narrowing in a calculating manner, seeking a hint of truth behind Apollo's bluster.

Apollo's gaze snapped back to Hermes, his expression softening once more, the rage dissipating like a storm that had never really formed. "She's fine, right? ____?" he asked, the softness almost boyish, a strange contrast to his earlier fury. "Tell me she's happy now."

Hermes blinked, the corners of his mouth twitching upward again. Interesting, he thought. He let a small chuckle escape, reaching out to pat Apollo's shoulder. "Oh, she's happy enough, dear brother. You've made quite the impression, as always."

Apollo's eyes gleamed again, his smile returning as he nodded, clearly satisfied with himself. "Of course I did. She is my favorite mortal, after all." He said it with such casual conviction, the statement almost lost in the grandeur of his words.

Apollo's gaze grew distant for a moment, as if lost in thought. "Imagine the joy she must feel now, holding such a divine creation," he murmured, his voice softening. "The strings that echo the music of the heavens, the craftsmanship beyond any mortal's imagination... Surely, she must be overwhelmed with delight." He spoke as if he could already see it all, his eyes glinting with a mix of pride and longing, like the scene played out vividly in his mind.

If only you knew, Hermes internally scoffed, his smile fixed and unreadable.

His mind flickered back to the quiet room in Ithaca, the way your fingers had clung to the old, splintered lyre as if it were more precious than ambrosia. He could still hear your voice, trembling with raw emotion, speaking of its memories and warmth.

Your mortal sentimentality baffled and intrigued him all at once—a creation so divine cast aside, eclipsed by something far humbler, yet infinitely more cherished.

With a sigh that barely reached his lips, Hermes made up his mind. He wasn't going to get anything more out of Apollo. No revelations, no genuine answers—just endless rambling about his muse, his divine creations, and, of course, himself.

So, with a lazy flick of his wrist, Hermes' feet lifted from the ground, and he pushed off, a breeze carrying him away from Apollo's favored grove.

Apollo, for his part, didn't even notice Hermes' departure, too busy preening as he spoke of his sweet mortal—a fact that caused Hermes to roll his eyes.

No sense talking to someone more interested in his own reflection, he thought as he ascended past the clouds.

But instead of returning to his duties, Hermes decided there was something else he needed to do—someone else he needed to see. He wasn't quite done with his curiosity about the mortal girl Apollo had taken such an interest in.

He hadn't missed how even the smallest mention of her seemed to light up the god's entire demeanor. And if Apollo was this obsessed, then Hermes figured there had to be something more to it.

It didn't take him long to reach Athena's chambers, her owl-faced guards recognizing him and allowing him through without question.

He pushed through the heavy wooden doors, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on the goddess herself, bent over a scroll, her attention locked onto whatever she was studying.

"Athena, my dear," Hermes called, his voice carrying across the room as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "You look as radiant as ever, deep in your thoughts, I see."

Athena turned, her silver-gray eyes narrowing slightly, though her lips quirked into something almost like a smile. "Hermes," she said, her tone tinged with the familiar mix of mild exasperation and fondness. "What brings you here? Surely you have duties to tend to—deliveries to make?"

"Oh, don't remind me," Hermes groaned dramatically, clutching a hand to his chest as though wounded. He took a few playful strides toward her, leaning casually against a nearby pillar. "But I have to say, something much more interesting has caught my attention lately. I'm here to ask about someone—A mortal, to be precise." He raised an eyebrow, waggling his brows in that unmistakable mischievous way.

Athena's brow arched, her eyes sharpening, though a flicker of curiosity flashed in her gaze.  "A mortal?" Her voice was laced with dry amusement. "And why would you be interested in a mortal, Hermes? Should I be worried?"

"Not at all, dear sister. No mischief this time..." Hermes tilted his head slightly, pausing for effect. "...well, at least nothing that involves me." He crossed his arms over his chest, fingers tapping rhythmically against his bicep, watching her closely for any sign of a reaction. "It's about our dear brother, Apollo, actually."

She tilted her head slightly, her eyes flashing with curiosity. "Apollo?"

Hermes nodded, his expression growing almost conspiratorial. "Indeed. It seems our radiant brother has been somewhat preoccupied lately—obsessed even. He finally got me to deliver one of his divine lyres down to a little mortal he's been watching." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "A mortal from Ithaca, if that rings a bell."

Athena's eyes widened slightly, and Hermes didn't miss the flicker of recognition that passed across her face. "Ithaca, you say?" she mused, her gaze drifting momentarily.

Then something clicked in her expression, and her lips parted slightly in understanding. "Ah, yes... Odysseus and Telemachus," she said, the names laced with a faint nostalgia, her tone softening almost imperceptibly. "They've spoken of a servant before—Telemachus, particularly. I do recall him mentioning someone once or twice in our past conversations... "

She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "A sort of musician. I suppose that's the one Apollo's so taken with?" She paused, her eyes narrowing slightly as she seemed to recall something else. "I also believe I gave them an enchanted music sheet... I think. I'll have to retrieve it back at some point."

Hermes grinned, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "The very same." He made a dismissive gesture with his hand, as if trying to shoo away the absurdity of it all. "Can you imagine, our mighty Apollo, all aflutter over a mortal girl? He's been rambling on and on about her as if she's the next muse born unto the earth. Though, admittedly, he did make quite the scene when her lyre broke—if I'm not mistaken, he was moments away from descending and turning her little enemy into something very unpleasant." He glanced sideways at Athena, gauging her reaction.

Athena gave a small shake of her head, her eyes half-lidded in a mixture of amusement and something more guarded. "Apollo and his passions," she murmured. "They burn bright, but often far too hot. I suppose it's fortunate, then, that he didn't act on that impulse," She sighed, her expression growing more reflective. "Though I imagine his obsession won't fade anytime soon. Such things rarely do when it comes to Apollo."

Her gaze sharpened then, fixing on Hermes with a weight that silenced the humor in his smirk. "And you, brother? What business do you have meddling in Apollo's affairs? You aren't planning on interfering with another god's favored mortal, are you? You remember what happened last time."

Hermes lifted his hands in mock surrender, his smile widening into a playful grin. "Dear sister, you wound me! I am nothing if not a law-abiding god." He placed a hand over his chest, his face the picture of feigned innocence. "I would never think of getting involved in something as serious as that—I simply wanted to understand what has Apollo so enchanted. I mean, really, me, meddling? When have I ever been known to get myself tangled in anyone else's messes?"

Athena's gaze didn't waver, her silver-gray eyes cutting into him like a blade. She let the silence linger, her expression unreadable as if weighing every word. "You may convince yourself of your innocence, Hermes," she said finally, her voice calm but edged with steel. "But curiosity is a dangerous thing—even for a god. Apollo is not known for his restraint when it comes to those he holds dear, and you would do well to tread carefully."

"Just know, I'll be watching both of you, just as I watch over those who bear my favor." Her lips quirked into something faintly resembling a smile, though her eyes gleamed with warning. "And remember, the rules of Olympus apply to everyone... even you."

She turned back to her work, her fingers lightly brushing over the edge of her scroll. "Even the gods cannot see every thread of the Fates. So if you decide to get involved, be sure you're ready for the consequences, Hermes. Gods do not take kindly to interference, especially when their favorites are concerned."

Hermes looked at her for a moment longer, his usual grin softening into something more deliberate. "You worry too much, Athena. It's just a harmless bit of curiosity," he said lightly, though there was a glimmer in his eyes that spoke of more than mere curiosity. "Besides, trouble and I have been well-acquainted for millennia, and I've always made it through in one piece."

"Of course, you have, but the line between chaos and calamity is thinner than you think."

Hermes chuckled, pushing himself off from the pillar. "True, but thin lines make for the best balancing acts, wouldn't you say?" He turned on his heel, making his way back to the door before turning back to give an exaggerated bow. "Still, I suppose I should thank you for indulging me, dear sister." With that Hermes made his exit.

"Curiosity," Athena murmured under her breath as the trickter god lefft, her tone both knowing and resigned. "The beginning of far too many stories."

As soon as Hermes made it out of her chambers, his winged sandals lifted him off the marble floor of the temple. The wind caught under his feet, propelling him forward, out into the vast expanse of sky.

Hermes smiled to himself, his curiosity far from satisfied, but his mind already shifting gears. He had learned enough for now—at least enough to know there was something worth keeping an eye on.

The mortal from Ithaca—Apollo's favorite—you were certainly more than you seemed. And whatever Apollo had planned for you, Hermes was sure it would be entertaining enough to keep his attention—for now.

Athena's warning echoed faintly in his mind, but he shrugged it off with a smirk. He wasn't sure if it was going to lead to trouble, but then again, trouble was what made his life interesting.

With a grin and a flash of his winged sandals, Hermes took off across the sky, the shimmering landscape of Olympus disappearing beneath him as he sped away, laughter echoing in the wind. "Besides... when have I ever backed down from a little chaos?" he muttered to himself, the corners of his lips curling in anticipation.

A/N: here's a bit of extra scenes/plot to 12 ┃ 𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞  i didnt know where to put without making word vomit, lolol anywho hope you guys enjoyed the insights in the gods, might start doing this a bit more to fill in missing pieces/info lolol

[notebooks-and-laptops]

We all know that the real reason you hate Veilguard is that non-white people have agency and power in the story, unlike your precious BG3 fetishizing racism. Imagine you giving a shit about the fact that Karlach's story is incomplete because Sven Vincke believes that oppressed minorities deserve racist abuse.

Okay so obviously this ask wasn't sent in good faith (and bizzare considering Karlach, Lae'zel and Wyll are my favs in Bg3 and I've been outspoken about disappointment in their treatment by Larian compared to Astarion but I digress). But it has prompted an interesting thought because....

What agency do characters (any, but especially our non-white as anon has pointed out) have in Veilguard? I think of any RPG (maybe even any videogame?) the Veilguard companions have the LEAST agency I've seen.

All RPGs involve an element of helping to decide your companions fate; will Merrill smash the mirror or keep it? Will Isabela come back? Will Alistair become a warden, a king or a drunk? Will Leliana let ruthlessness or compassion rule her? And how you play does effect this; often there are important choices at certain moments.

I think these decisions in general work better when they're slowly built up over a number of choices (e.g. Leliana in DAI, who will be divine) or come from approval/disproval (Merrill smashing the mirror if she feels she has nobody on side vs. keeping it if she feels she has you at her back). This is because in these situations the characters are not just asking what to do to the player they are influenced by numerous situations and circumstances and that effects the decisions they make.

But veilguard...well. the approval system doesn't exist. None of the companions can hate or dislike Rook, they can only like you to various degrees of intensity. So that doesn't effect anything. They have no agency over their relationships and whether or not they like someone. And there is a total of one choice which I would say truly affects the game long term (maybe you can argue two if you say a meaningful decision with long reaching consequences can happen an hour before the game ends) and even making that choice won't really sour Lucanis or Neve against you fully.

I've mentioned a few times that veilguard companions have no line in the sand; they're very maluable to just...whatever Rook tells them. None of them have strong opinions about magic, religion, race, culture, society. Is that agency? Is it agency to water down a character so they have no stance on anything? Can a companion HAVE agency if they don't have any real negative opinions ever? If they never truly get to be influenced by the world to make decisions for themselves?

Each companion has a choice of two endings and Rook makes them for the companion in question. DA has done this kind of decision before (Bull comes to mind) but they've never followed such a formulaic system in which everyone looks to Rook at one moment and decides the fate of their lives (and in Bellaras case their people) from one decision the player makes. The companions don't push back against Rook for making a choice they dislike or regret letting Rook make for them. When you chose to kill Avelines husband for her she is pissy at you YEARS later for making that decision for her in the moment. In veilgurd there is just. Nothing. They lack any real agency in the narrative at all that can last beyond the scene they're in.

This I think is particularly aggregious with Bellara and Taash; Bellaras agency in the narrative is completely bulldozed by the fact that Rook is allowed to decide whether or not she keeps the archive spirit; something with deep significance to the Dalish/her culture. There's an excellent post about how this is akin to book burning even if DA didn't mean for it to be. You can just tell her to get rid of it and she does! No regrets! Because her culture is never truly at the forefront of her storyline it's viewed as something tangential to who she is; something she can easily discard if you tell her to. Is that agency? She doesn't get mad at you for any particular decision, is that agency?

And then Taash...God Taash deserved so much better. They're living a story about lack of binaries and yet every single choice is about forcing them in one. Taash says they're happy being multicultural at the beginning of the story and you slowly but surely strip that from them and you're FORCED to do so. Is that agency for them? Is that what you think giving characters agency Is? Is that not one of the more racist/insensitive options Bioware has EVER placed before a player.

Davrin spends the narrative learning there is more to him than having to die at the end of a hard fight; he becomes a father, and allows his love of Assan to guide him in the sense that Assan acts as a mirror; just as the griffins can be reframed as protectors of Arlathan rather than just wardens doomed to die so can Davrin...but then they decided that Davrin should be up as the choice of who dies and not only that but they made that decision because they thought players would find it hard to chose between ASSAN and Harding not Davrin and Harding. Which. Is gross. I do think Davrins storyline is handled the best out of everyone which is why he's my favourite, but the ending just adds a bad taste to my mouth.

Neve, Dorian, Mae and the Black Divine are happy to leave their countries future political situation to a complete outsider no questions or disagreements mentioned. Is that uhhh. Is that agency?

Even Solas is stripped of any agency in this narrative; Mythal made him do it! If she says he can stop he will! What? Where did THAT come from? How uninteresting does that make Solas?

As for if the Veilguard companions have power or are in positions of power....I guess? Maybe? Neve can be the leader of a smuggler gang (don't think too hard about what they might smuggle in the slave capital of the world) which is a position of power. Or an...inspiration? Which gives her very little concrete steps towards actually helping docktown. Lucanis can lead the crows I guess? That's powerful...altho he doesn't seem to want the position or be able to refuse it or even complain about it. We have no idea or clue what happens to Harding, Davrin, Taash after the game but hey maybe that's because they could all be dead.

The characters ARE powerful ill give you that. We have some immensely powerful mages in our party and I LOVE every scene where Neve throws up a sheild or places herself as a shield to protect her friends. I wish we'd got to see more of Bellaras science and tinkering smarts but what we get is GREAT. But having a powerful character isn't the same as a character having agency in their story or being able to effect meaningful change.

So yeah. I mean. Obviously bad faith anon straw manning me because I dared to have an opinion about a game they happen to like (and liking the game is fine! I like parts of the game! I think the characters deserved better but hey ho). But I think it's interesting to think about agency and power in this narrative because....I don't think anyone actually gets much of it. Certainly not in comparison to previous DA characters like Blackwall, Leliana, Viv, Zevran, Fenris, Anders, Merrill, Isabela etc.

[thedarlingdearestdead]

Losing Control

Summary: Anakin needs to let off some steam, he has found a willing partner.

Warnings: Yeah this is pretty shameless smut. R18.

Word count: 1,350

Missions did not always go well, and Anakin Skywalker hated it. 

He didn’t like to lose, never had. He didn’t like the disappointment - the losses, the debates, the paperwork, there were all worth it if the battle was won. But when they lost? He could barely contain himself. That’s where you came in.

A younger Jedi, assigned to his corps a few months ago, your relationship began after only your second mission together. 

On that fateful mission, the odds were stacked against the Republic forces from the beginning. Anakin's frustration was palpable as the mission unraveled, the enemy proving more cunning and ruthless than anticipated. The aftermath was a grim scene of wounded soldiers, damaged equipment, and a bitter taste of defeat.

As the surviving members of the mission trudged back to base, the weight of failure hung heavy in the air. Anakin, visibly seething, marched ahead with clenched fists. It was then that you approached him, respectful but determined.

"Master Skywalker," you began, choosing your words carefully, "we did everything we could. The enemy caught us off guard. We'll learn from this and be better prepared next time.”

Anakin shot you a stern look, his blue eyes flashing with frustration. "We can't afford mistakes like this, especially when lives are on the line. We need to be better, faster, stronger.” His agitation had become visible, he was practically vibrating with anger. This un-jedi-like behaviour would surely earn him a reprimand. Concerned, you dragged him with you down a hallway, trying to find him a space to calm himself, to straighten out his attitude. But he had only took the opportunity to kiss you, to push you against the wall, to drag you into a cupboard and pound into you until all this annoyance had been spent.

Since then it was like a ritual after every failures. He sought you out, you helped control him stabilise his moods. You were where he could focus his frustrations on, and you enjoyed it so much. 

Anakin was not a man to be messed with. He was a general, he was smart and strong and brave, and terrifying. Attributes which made him both the perfect soldier and the perfect lover. 

As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, your relationship with Anakin Skywalker evolved into a dangerous dance of desire and secrecy. The allure of forbidden love was intoxicating, fuelling the flames of passion that burned between you. Behind closed doors, away from prying eyes, you revelled in each other's touch, your bodies entwined in a tangled web of carnal need.

But with every stolen moment, a seed of doubt began to take root within you. The weight of secrecy hung heavy on your shoulders, burdening your conscience. You knew the consequences of such an illicit affair, the potential for scandal and disgrace that could bring ruin upon you both.

Yet, in those stolen moments, it was easy to forget about the world outside. Anakin's touch ignited a fire within you that could not be extinguished. His commanding presence combined with tender vulnerability made him irresistible. It felt as if the universe conspired for your bodies to collide, to find solace in each other.

So here you were yet again. Anakin dusty and sleep deprived, returning from battle unharmed physically, but the toll on his soul was heavy. You could see it in his eyes. And in the numbers which emerged from the ships, so many fewer than those who had left on them. 

His eyes met yours from across the hangar and you knew he needed you. Back in your chambers he had you shoved against the door, hot mouth biting harshly down your neck, onto your chest. 

“Force, I needed you. I need this.” 

Your breath caught in your throat as Anakin's lips trailed down your body. The familiar rush of desire flooded through you, eclipsing any sense of guilt or rational thought. In this moment, there was only the two of you, bound by an undeniable magnetic pull.

His hands roamed hungrily over your curves, igniting every nerve ending in their wake. Your skin burned under his touch, a testament to the intensity of the fire between you. As he claimed you with every fevered kiss and possessive stroke, the world outside ceased to exist.

“I want you right here, now.” He was on his knees then, mouth level with your burning core as he shoved your robes up to your hips. He was harsh and fast with his movements, desperate. 

The air in the chamber was thick with the scent of passion and the sound of your ragged breaths filled the room. Anakin's eyes, dark with desire, locked with yours as he continued to worship your body. The raw hunger in his gaze set your nerves ablaze, electrifying every inch of your being.

You clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh, as waves of pleasure coursed through you. The world around you blurred into a hazy euphoria, leaving only Anakin and the overwhelming sensations that consumed you.

“Oh Force, Anakin…”

“I could do this all day.” He said, stopping briefly and kissing up to your lower stomach before going back down again. Revelling in the feeling of your hands tangling in his hair.

Minutes passed in second and soon you were spilling into his face as he lapped you up. Hands moving up and down your legs to keep you steady, then just as you caught your breathe, he moved under your thighs and picked you up. 

Once his face was levelled with your once again he took your mouth in a hungry, desperate movement. Your slickness had left a tart flavour on his tongue as he consumed you, distracting you so much that you didn’t notice that he had lain you down on the bed. 

By time you realised, coming in and out of consciousness, he was already above you once again, and had already disposed of both of your robes. His heavy form pressed you down into the bed, strong arms reaching up and down your body, finally resting at the point where your two cores met. 

He nudged into you slowly, always giving you time to adjust to his size. He watched your face, his chin resting near your collar bone as he gazed at your open, gasping mouth, neck lent back into the pillows. He grinned an Anakin Skywalker grin, full of pride, and power, and anticipation, he revelled in your moans as he bottomed out inside of you. 

You were practically shaking, he cooed into your neck, kissing softly and moving slowly. The touch of his lips sent shivers down your spine, every sensation heightened as he moved.

Thrusts came in faster, an enthusiastic and increasingly wild rhythm that drove you wild, your nails digging into his skin as you urged him on. He plunged into you deeper, harder, your cries echoing in the chamber as his name tumbled from your lips."Anakin," you gasped, your back arching off the bed as you clung to him, his name a plea, a prayer, a desperate call to the force.

Soon he was groaning softly, his eyes fluttering shut as he reached his own peak. You could feel his body trembling as he poured himself into you. His climax was hot and intense, filling you completely, it was almost too much.

He collapsed onto you, his breath ragged and heavy, your skin sticking to his as your bodies mingled together. Your heart raced, your mind spinning, your body still impaled by his hard length. You could feel him still leaking out of you, so much of him must be staining your sheets but you couldn’t care. Not when it was him.

You looked down at him, the crease of frustration and fatigue which had dominated his forehead for weeks now, was faded. His breathing slow. You shut your eyes and smiled, you were the only one who could do this to him. The older General relied on you, on this time with you. And you were more than willing to oblige.