#beckoning ruler

[wanderingskychild]

From this moment on I’m going to go after cosmetics I truly want. I should have realized sooner but not all of them are so desirable to me.

No Offense Beckoning Ruler. 👑🐸🤴

[that-howling-sky-kid]

Beckoning Ruler came just in time for the 4th of July fireworks 🎆

Special thanks to my SkyTok buddy, Alex for helping me out with the video.

[lelanida]

Finally solving Beckoning Ruler (mini theory)

More than a year has passed since the end of the season of the Little Prince and the official confirmation that everything we saw in it is canon. Yes, for a long time we argued with foam at the mouth whether the little prince was really here or it was just a group hallucination. But no, that's it. The Starlight desert is on the map, shards from Eden fall there, there is an wind path there, so this is a real place. And along with the prince and the desert, of course, spirits living in this area became canon too. There was nothing particularly difficult here, places in the general lore had already been designated for the whole gang. The Star Collector is a traveling merchant. Narcissist is the champion from the Colosseum. Soldier - warrior from the Wasteland. Lamplighter - ... lamplighter. Geographer is a monk from the Vault. But there were some problems with Ruler. What place could such a spirit occupy in the kingdom? Where did he get these monarchical habits from? And I decided to make it clear.

Ruler is a rather strange spirit. All other representatives of the season with their outfit or location clearly show belonging to one of the kingdoms ...but not Ruler. His cosmetics and the island are so neutral that by himself he couldn't be attributed anywhere. But by the method of exclusion (and viewing concept art), we establish that the Ruler hails from the Isle of Dawn. Great, there is already something to move from.

Now let's look at his costume. He doesn't have a cape, but he has a hairstyle and a mask. Let's start with the mask. Yes, with the one that absolutely everyone hates. As far as I know, the mask is a reflection of the face of the spirit. So, we will divide the mask into two main parts. A beard and... a frog-shaped upper part? Should I call it that? With a beard, let's say everything is clear, but what the frog is for is a mystery.

Next comes the hairstyle. The ruler wears long curled hair on his head and, logically, a crown. How could a spirit have a crown? After all, he wore it during his lifetime, and wasn't there already a king in this world? And then the realization hit me like a truck. Do we even know how the spirits lived BEFORE the appearance of Alef??? Life didn't start with the king (it ended with them, if we're honest, ahEM-). What if Ruler is really the oldest spirit from the Desert, not by the years he lived, but by the era when he lived?

You can consider this an attempt to justify my favorite character, I don't care, but I really don't see a better place in lore for such character. We know that before the appearance of Alef, the kingdoms were divided.And there was some kind of government, wasn't there? Do you understand where I'm going? What if the Ruler is not just a crazy grandpa who talks to statues, but really a member of the old royalty? I am sure that the unexpected appearance of Alef was a surprise for the previous rulers/senators/chancellors or whatever they had, and not everyone wanted to take off their duties. And not all people, I believe, wanted to turn their lives upside down at once, for the sake of some prophecy. And what happens when the old regime is demolished against the will of the inhabitants? The Civil War. And the memories of the spirits of the season of Remebrance confirm this. The spirits really fought with each other for the unification of the kingdoms. I can't say what exactly happened to the aristocrats who refused to accept Alef's lead. But the proof that the Ruler was overthrown is the fact that his crown is BROKEN.

Take a closer look, it wasn't made like this. And before you tell me that the Ruler made it himself or found somewhere, I will throw a part of the frog from his mask in your face. This thing is also made of stone, but it is perfectly executed and not damaged. So, these attributes were made by a professional craftsman after all, and then the crown was broken. I assume that the Ruler did not die during the revolution, and remained to live out his life without a title. He kept his crown as a reminder of better times and since he was used to living in the past, after his death it was reflected on his island in the Desert.

The fact that he talks to statues can be explained by his prolonged loneliness, I mean, all the spirits in the Desert are strange (I bet Narcissist also talks to his reflection). So that's where I can finish my theory. I hope I raised this character in your eyes at least a little, because, to be honest, no one but me likes Ruler in the fandom. Thanks for reading.

[the-tomcat-disposable]

Under Stars would be a good song if this season had a quest in the starlight desert

[zephyrchama]

🌞

It was morning at Serenity Manor, the temporary human world home of the Seven Rulers of Hell. Despite having your own abode close by, it was nice to stay in the manor with them for a while. The building was far fancier and well-equipped than anything you could afford on your own, and it was reassuring to have your loved ones so close before the summer ended and they went back to the Devildom.

Birdsong outside the window woke you up unusually early. The sun was rising over the horizon, heralding the start of a beautiful new day. Despite the early hour, you didn’t feel tired at all. Rather, you felt content and at peace, ready to get up and see what the day had in store for you.

The house was silent as you plodded towards the kitchen in your pajamas. All of the hallway's identical doors were shut but you had already familiarized yourself with the manor’s layout, now only getting lost occasionally instead of constantly. You came upon the living room, where massive glass window panes gave you a nice view of the backyard and bathed the walls in the soft orange light of the rising sun.

You paused to admire it. Your admiration did not last long. It was interrupted by a strained “gyaaaaah!”

“Levi?” You peered over the couch expecting to see purple locks, only to be greeted by a shirtless Mammon staring vacantly up at the ceiling. “Oh. Morning, Mammon.”

His half-closed eyes flitted towards you as he lightly groaned. Beyond the couch, Leviathan and Belphegor were sprawled out on the floor. The third-born had an arm over his eyes and sounded like he was dying. The youngest was still fast asleep.

You walked around the couches and tables to get a better look at the scene. Empty chip bags, demonus bottles, and crumbs littered the floor. Cushions had been tossed to the ground, the tables slightly askew. There were three handheld game consoles flashing low battery warnings. An impromptu game night must have gone on for too long, causing its participants to fall asleep where they sat.

“Ahh, what is that?” Leviathan shuddered.

Literally nothing was happening. You observed in silence for a few seconds while Leviathan raised a shaky finger and pointed at nothing in particular. “Make it stooop. It burns.”

"You mean the sun?” you asked.

Still covering his eyes, Leviathan nodded.

”I can’t stop the sun.”

He let out a soft, garbled “aaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh” and curled up into a ball, brushing his long bangs over his face.

Mammon moved his hand back and forth in the air next to the couch, as if beckoning you over. As you moved closer, he grabbed your wrist. The grip was loose, and slowly slid down your hand. He shut his eyes without saying anything, and you realized your shadow protected his face from the horrible light, providing slight relief from the sun’s rays.

You squatted down next to the couch, curious what would happen. Mammon’s grip tightened and he let out a tortured whine as the light hit his face again.

“Will you two shut up?” Belphegor groaned, stirred awake at last by the loud complaints.

“Morning, Belphie.”

“Oh, morning…” When speaking to you, his voice was much softer. Almost like speaking a lullaby. He smiled and turned his head to the side, pointing his shoulders away from the windows. ”Good night…”

"It's morning, though..."

At least one of them didn’t seem bothered by the sun. If he was, he hid his feelings and didn’t vocalize it. You sat and leaned your back against the sofa, resting your elbow on your thigh, and slowly swung your forearm in circles while a half-asleep Mammon held on and moaned about the sunlight.

Leviathan crawled like a zombie, grunting with his nose to the ground, over to your knee. He was too tired to even support his own weight. He grabbed your pajama bottoms and dug his face into your leg.

“Isn’t the human world gorgeous?” you asked, basking in the sunny rays. You felt so awake and refreshed. This was your element.

“No,” responded three fatigued demons with hardly enough energy to spit the word out.

[pawpiefawn]

𝓪 𝓼𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓽 𝓼𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓪𝔂'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓻𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓪 𝓸𝓯 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 .𖥔 ݁ ˖

❤︎ wriothesley x gn!reader 0.7k words farmer's market day with wriothesley. reader gets a necklace, but this is gn.

market days with wriothesley were a highly anticipated day within the household – they were sunny days spent at bustling stalls, whenc shopkeepers haggled their prices at haughty customers who walked away with their smiles until they got the price they wanted, their grocery lists scratched out.

you loved the sights of it all, too – cats nipping at fishermen’s boots for sardines, and pigeons longing for their chance at some breadcrumbs from a clumsy child chasing after mama.

stalls stretched out in rows to the end of the market. they were full of the freshest vegetables, stacked full with rows of yellow corn and the brightest of carrots. even the locals beekeepers brought their stocks of the sweetest, golden honey – which were rare to find nowadays.

and of course, you took great pleasure in teaching wriothesley how to choose the best of the best; he adored simply listening to you ramble on and on about recipes you wanted to make that week; it just made market days even more exciting.

“keep up, sweetheart!” you squeal, ducking behind a grocery-seller’s stall – while raking your gaze over the assortment of sweet potatoes and broccoli for the week. you gave one a poke of good luck.

“you are cheeky today, aren’t you?” wriothesley catches your sides, panting quietly and catching his breath. you could only giggle in response and press an apologetic kiss to his cheek. apology kisses, of course, were always forgiven.

alright, market days were great and all, but what you could truly spend all your afternoons doing was walking up and down the aisles of the next lane’s craft market. hundreds of artists and creators flocking to tents to share their handcrafted goodness with the city – what was there not to like? some days there were adorable prints, other days beaded jewellery and bags and everything under the sun you could possibly think of.

perhaps a resplendent trinket from one of the jewellers would catch your eye, making you stop in your tracks.

well, maybe not yours this time – but it certainly caught wriothesley’s attention.

“love, look at this,” he holds up a necklace with all the care he could muster – oh, how beautiful. it was a simple necklace; translucent string with three white pearls and a small black bead between each one. every pearl reminded you of him ; a beautiful opalescent cream, bearing a gift from the sea and a homage to the ruler of the waters.

“that’s beautiful, wriothesley.” you hear yourself gasp softly, your hands reaching out to cradle the pearls. it was stunning, truly. you find yourself offering the crafter a small smile in gratitude.

“it is, isn’t it?” wriothesley smiles and beckons you over with a simple gesture; you find yourself standing in front of him.

“turn around,” he instructs – you follow suit. there was something so lovely about the shared proximity in public; even after all these years, your lover still never failed to tease the butterflies that nestled in your tummy.

you feel wriothesley touch the back of your neck as he brings the necklace up ; you instinctively freeze up, a soft giggle escaping your lips.

“i’m sorry, dearest.” wriothesley chuckles, fastening the clasp behind your neck. you feel the weight of the necklace press against your skin comfortably – it was perfect. almost as if it was carved and put together just for you.

the man presses a soft and gentle kiss to your nape for good measure. it felt warm and supple – oh, the butterflies were certainly awake now.

“it’s beautiful.” you touch the pearls once more, staring at yourself in the mirror with a smirking wriothesley behind it.

“my taste never lies.”

“it truly doesn’t. impeccable taste, my love.” you thumb his lips and pull him closer for a quick kiss, feeling a warmth between your ribs.

“i think we’ll take this one.” wriothesley pulls apart, slightly delirious with a grin and giving the jeweller a small nod.

you laugh and bury your head into his chest, leaning against his frame. oh, how warm and lovely market days were. you would spend every day in this little bubble of yours, this sweet marginalia of love in a footnote of your adoration for him.

“i think i like this one very much.” a soft giggle slips past your lips. wriothesley pokes your chest gently, smoothing your hair back to kiss your forehead.

“i think i like this one very much, too.”

[whateveriwant]

Reverse harem TF141 getting you all to themselves

18+ content, GN!Reader, Reader is the ruler of an ancient kingdom, Part 1

Soap

You're just finishing up with your last hearing when a figure shuffling at the edge of your vision catches your attention

There, peeking behind one of the columns, looking not unlike a stray kitten begging for someone to take him in, is Soap

He's been in and out of the hall all day, inching closer and closer as he's seen the line of townsfolk dwindle by the hour

Now that all your advisors and subjects have finally gone, leaving the room empty save for you and him, Soap's made his presence more obvious

He shifts back and forth on his feet, waiting for you to take notice of him, and when you silently beckon him forward with two fingers, he swiftly glides across the floor and up the dais to your throne

Carefully, he perches on one of your armrests, keeping his head tilted down. Despite his eagerness, it's like he's too embarrassed to hold eye contact with you, so he looks elsewhere, focusing on a loose thread on his tunic which he begins to pick

Yes? Did he have something he needed to speak to you about? Your prompting has him timidly raising his gaze to yours, chin still tucked in deference

He takes a moment to think and then, without a word, he carefully mounts your lap, bringing his knees on either side of your thighs

Your hands come to rest on his hips as his attention then drifts back down again, thick fingers fiddling with the intricate beads of your necklace

No, he doesn't need anything (though the prodding you feel against your lower stomach would say otherwise). He just missed you is all; wanted to spend time with you

That little pout on his face makes you sigh quietly, thumbs circling the bones of his hips in a soothing manner. You've been so busy all day – all week, really. You know you've been neglecting him (as well as the other men), and thereby neglecting your own needs

Nodding in understanding, you raise a finger to Soap's chin, tipping his head upwards until he's meeting your eye. You smile warmly as your gazes lock, eyes briefly falling to his reddened lips

Well, now it's just you and him, you promise. And he has your undivided attention

Gaz

You're just about to disrobe for your evening bath when the door to your chamber flies open

You spin on your heel to find Gaz striding in, platter of fruits and cakes held high in presentation

He hopes he's not intruding, darling, but he noticed how little you'd eaten during dinner. He wants to ensure you're being looked after, so he's brought an array of your favorite treats for you to indulge in

Though it's obvious what you were in the midst of doing, Gaz is unbothered by the fact that he's definitely intruding

He's bold in the way he stares (not to mention how he'd initially entered without asking your permission), and yet, you must admit it, you find it titillating how he doesn't look away even as your robe drops to the floor

With a flick of your chin, you encourage him forward, having him sit on the ground as you descend into the warm water

You rest your arms on the side as you let him carefully hand-feed you sweets, smiling as you watch him pop a few into his own mouth

For a while, you chat together, inquiring about each other's day. When his trousers accidentally get splashed at some point (but was it really an accident?), he figures it only makes sense for him to join you in the bath since he's wet anyway

He can't hide his grin as he stands and strips for you, positively preening as your eyes instinctively hone in on a certain part of his body. Lowering himself into the water, he comes up behind you, shameless as he presses flat against your back

Gaz begins to gently wash your hair, and your eyes flutter shut, a pleasurable groan escaping you at the feeling of his fingers massaging your scalp

As his touch gradually trails lower – down your neck, your shoulders, your spine – any vexation you might have felt towards him completely melts away

So what if he broke the rules by entering your chambers without permission? He's still new, still young, still has a lot to learn

And as his hands dip below the waterline, circling around to your front, you know you made the right decision letting him stay. After all, it'd be a shame to let such a nice bath go to waste

Price

You're scaling the last steps up to the observatory tower when you’re suddenly stopped dead in your tracks at seeing the figure that awaits you

It's Price (or, at least, you think it is) standing at the far end of the room. He's got his back turned towards you, his face angled up to the sky, letting the cool breeze flow past him as it drifts in through the wide archways

As you come closer to him, he doesn't move an inch, doesn't utter so much as a peep as your feet quietly pad against the floor

It's not until you join him by his spot on the balcony that he finally turns to acknowledge you, an affectionate smile rounding his cheeks, his eyes shining like jewels beneath the full moon’s glow

He doesn't appear to be even a little surprised to see you here. But then again, he shouldn't. He knows how much you love to watch the stars on clear nights like this

You're up late, you muse aloud. Normally, he's long been settled in bed by now in the men's quarters. That is, when he's not joining you in yours, of course

Price lets out a light chuckle at the observation. Yes, he knows you should both be asleep at this hour, but he couldn't help it. It's just such a beautiful night tonight. Wouldn't you agree?

Care to join him? He gestures to the pillows and throws lining the long bench before you

Does he even need to ask? The remark goes unsaid as you offer him a nod, lowering onto the plush seating alongside him

You sit together for a while, a comfortable silence passing between you as you both watch the sky. It could be hours, though it's more likely minutes, before you sense him turning to face you, eyes scanning your figure

Has he ever told you how enchanting you look under the moon, starlight? No? Well, he's a fool for not having mentioned it sooner

Steadily, he scoots closer until his knee is touching yours, hand reaching over to softly play with your fingers

Pray tell, have you ever made love under a full moon before? He traces your palm as waits for your response. No? Well… would you like to?

Ghost

You're in the stables brushing through the mane of your prized mare when a noise from behind startles you

You turn to look for the source and who should emerge from the shadows than none other than the palace ghost himself

His face is as emotionless as ever, his totally blank expression not betraying the thoughts in his head. And yet, as he draws near to you, shoulders held high and wide, there's a certain air about him that speaks to anything but apathy

Fancy seeing you here, Ghost's voice is taunting, almost sarcastic, as he saunters closer. He had no idea you were here as well. What a coincidence

The mirth tingeing his tone has you peeking over at him, arching a brow in question. But he doesn't notice (or if he does, he gives no indication) as he comes to a stop right beside you

He gives the mare you're tending to a few clunky pats on the rump, like it's not a common action for him to perform

What's he doing here, you ask. Well, he's just come to say hello to his favorite horse, Jupiter, of course. Why else?

Juniper, right. Yes, that's what he meant to say, obviously

Though he tries to play it off, you can almost feel the chagrin emanating from him, a tick forming in his jaw. But he doesn't let it deter him as he then asks whether you were you meaning to go for a ride, his eyes still focused on the animal which he continues to caress

You are? Where to? The cove at the edge of town? Oh, it's quite nice there. Peaceful. Solitary.

Ghost still doesn't meet your eye as he shifts his weight side to side, almost as if nervous. Would you mind if he tagged along with you? He could use some fresh air after being cooped up inside all day

The tentativeness with which he asks it has you smiling to yourself, biting the inside of your cheeks. And as you turn to face him fully, seeing him quick to mirror your movements, it only makes your smile grow that much wider

Of course he can join you, you concede jovially. Just give you a moment to fetch a second saddle

Oh, but there's no need, he assures you, stopping you with a hand on the wrist. He's smirking as you swivel back to face him. He prefers going bareback anyway

[shirefantasies]

Of Kings and Queens (F!Reader)

What is it like to be wife of the kings of Middle Earth, you ask?

Théoden

✧ You are his rock, reassuring him that the best thing he could give you is his heart, the very thing you have held for years. Still he has the best of everything he can have made for you and surprises you with trails of wildflowers just as he did when you were young and first in love, all to show his unending gratitude.

✧ A man in every sense, Théoden lives to ease your days, offering you his arm for the warmth, safety and stability of a walk. Any time your joined steps decline to a staircase or any other obstacle, your husband has a hand at the ready, the other resting gently against your hip. At the first sign of danger his arm will be outstretched across you, placing himself between you and the threat.

✧ He remembers the day he first took you to the stables, the way you extended a hand toward his horse hesitantly only for your eyes to light up like fabled fireworks when you made contact with him, creations a unity of new and old yet all magic. You were happy to follow Théoden's lead, wrapping your arms tightly around him as he guided your shared mount in a trot over green fields and toward the hills, air rushing through helmet and hair with speed gained. The sound of it paling in comparison to the music of your laugh, joyful freedom ringing out into the sunlit air.

✧ Always whispering praises between kisses, his breath tickling your shoulder, neck, right along the shell of your ear as he travels, telling you a different attribute, quality, or even part of your body he loves until he has praised all of you. Théoden realizes he does not always speak his feelings, share enough of his most vulnerable thoughts, but alone as he nuzzles against your skin he breaks down and the words tumble from him like a waterfall.

✧ Never will you bear a burden alone; not only is Théoden’s shoulder forever yours to lean on, but your husband, your king, insists on carrying the heaviest things for you. Even after a simple day on the market, he takes the basket from your hands. Even if you giggle and tell him you can take it, your heart warms every time, knowing he truly does not wish to see you struggle.

Aragorn

✧ Beyond all the rich things he could give you simply by means, Aragorn looks to your heart in all matters. His gifts to you will only be of fine shining things if that is what you wish, but if you, like him, value sentiment and a hint of practicality, you will find everything at your disposal toward the pursuits you love and the memories you hold dearest.

✧ Cannot get enough of the feeling of your skin upon his. Affectionately brushes his hand along the curve of your cheekbone, reaches a hand out to take yours, and breaks into a wide smile when he feels your leg hook his beneath a table. Trailing his touch up and down its surface absentmindedly. When you stroll side by side, it will be with Aragorn’s arm about your waist or hand in yours.

✧ There need not be any more than your simple presence for him to be happy. The sight of you beckoning him from your chaise, your smile as he complies, crossing the room to recline at your side, enjoy the music of your giggle as he runs a hand softly over your hair and inquires as to your thoughts in this beautiful moment.

✧ Nary makes a decision without weighing your words among all others. His love for you extends to your mind, the heart you have for those around you, all the qualities that make you an excellent queen as well as wife. Firm is Aragorn's belief that a queen is far more than an accessory to the king, but a ruler in her own right whom he would trust with his kingdom in any time of strife. His actions alongside his words of trust and praise remind you of this truth each and every day of your shared reign.

✧ Aragorn is always behind you to lace your dress and shoes, his hands so gentle as they work the ties and brush against your skin, caressing your hair or cheek as he finishes.

Thranduil

✧ Even beyond the feeling that he must grant you kingly gifts, he desires it greatly- both for the pleasure of seeing you dripping with silver that shines almost as bright as your eyes and also as any small token, for you deserve the stars themselves and Thranduil would gift you those if he could.

✧ Guides you with a hand about your waist whenever you walk together, not for any lack of trust but simply the way he can revel in your presence. Show you off. You are the most beautiful accessory he could ask for and so much more. A gem in far more respects than those of the earth.

✧ Thranduil takes interest in anything that you do, throwing himself into your passions with nearly as much fervor as your own. Be it writing, sewing, blacksmithing, pottery, the crafting of fine accessories, you say the word. At the king’s word, you will have a desk, workbench, wheel, or forge set up in your name, all the ink or steel or fabrics or clay you could desire, and of course your husband will be there at your side. Whether years of some royal training have already made an expert of him or his hands are virgin to your craft, Thranduil insists on lessons from you and the chance for your hands to come together as one just as your hearts, creating a thing of beauty together.

✧ Defends any slight or insult directed your way with such venom, it as as though the words address him. Which they do, as Thranduil professes to you afterward- the safety of your body, your heart, your mind, weigh upon him just as much as, if not more than, those of his own. You are the greatest sum, the greatest part of his whole. Just as he tells you, Thranduil proudly tells all.

✧ It had been an offhand comment, just a note of a day whose heat had ballooned your stress and ached your muscles. Continuing your tasks, you all but forgot you had even spoken it until Thranduil led you by the hand to your special little hollow where he had drawn a bath. Dripping fine oils into the water to send fragrance spiraling into the steamy haze, rings drifting out from each droplet and faintly disturbing the flowers floating on the water’s surface. So beautiful and all for you, he reminds you as he helps you undress and lower into the water with him.

Thorin

✧ No improvements can be made to the divine gift that is your body, the eyes that look upon Thorin with such love and devotion, and yet his heart swells whenever he sees you clad in the finery of his people, silken threads he commissioned just for you and jewels to symbolize every memory and passion you share: a secret language just for you two.

✧ Reserved as he is with his touches in public, keeping a hand in yours or gently upon your shoulder in times of needed protection or comfort, Thorin worships your form when only your eyes are upon him, yours and the stars and perhaps the Valar, who he suspects would even envy the way his hands trace over your warm, heavenly curves.

✧ At first he is reluctant to let you into the forges, the heat and smiths' sweat and harsh strikes of hammers falling upon steel. But was your position not a testament to your resilience, the love you showed an imperfect king day after day not a sign or strength untold, and did glimpses of you on the battlefield that Thorin would hold in his mind for eternity not capture your will? Soon you are his smithing apprentice, your smile at his side worth any risk it could serve to you.

✧ His favorite tales to tell young ones are those of you, the moment he realized you were his One, recounting times that his life was saved by you, of how his stubbornest of hearts was touched by love even more headstrong and open. Thorin is always there in your most vulnerable moments, wiping your tears, caressing your cheek and resting his forehead against yours as he whispers the perfect antidote to the poisons of your mind or others' words.

✧ Thorin listened intently when you lamented your favorite necklace breaking, how you thought it was going to last longer. He said little, did not offer a replacement, anything. Not three days later your prized jewelry lay upon your armoire, strong as if new again.

Bard

✧ He hadn’t wanted to be king. Not at first. You yourself had all but laughed at the prospect of being a queen, yet that was what suited you so well to the role. Over the years, Bard has felt the shift, the changing from practical gifts like the new apron he’d had made for you to things he’d once believed to be outside of your means. Things he always felt you deserved, but now can give you. Pretty necklaces befitting the queen you always were in your husband’s eyes.

✧ Bard’s hand upon you is often protective, the grip of your fingers being tightly woven into his to keep you close in a crowd or a hand resting gently against your shoulder when he, as if with a sixth sense, detects a spike of anxiety threatening to pierce your chest. He will be your shield as often as he can be, your comfort as his thumb gently draws circles on the back of your hand or along your shoulder blade.

✧ Forever it will be one of your memories the way your husband took you out one day upon the lake, paddling you out beneath the night sky, candles lit in jars he had cleaned and a meal packed in your basket. How Bard had managed to keep the soup so warm beneath the lake's winds you did not know nor question, not when your mug of it felt so warm beneath your hands and your husband's gleaming brown eyes fixed upon you so, encouraging you to join him in a kiss over the steam and beneath the canopy of the Valar's glittering blessings to your sky.

✧ Straight as his arrows did your husband’s words fly. Your virtues are as facts to him, stated as things beyond question.

✧ Sometimes it seems that Bard could fix anything. Be his feats replacing corset boning or tightening wardrobe knobs, you rarely go without with Bard by your side. For too long, after all, did his own family endure such. The one gratitude Bard feels in that being the ingenuity he has developed, the way he can silently aid his loved ones and make things last.

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[kalopses-sonderes]

Hey, hyper anon here...had this idea for a self aware cookie run x readers series or one shot If you're interested! It's kinda based off your imposter au!

Y/n gets transported into game and brought before the imposter! The imposter starts talking but then y/n claims they wanna talk to the imposter in private! When they talk in private, only the imposter and y/n, y/n reveals that they just want to live a normal life among cookies and they are totally fine with the imposter being the ruler of the cookies because they seem very cool and being a ruler seems too stressful (bonus: y/n doesn't feel worthy of being the cookie's ruler as well because they don't have powers or something like the imposter does...and bonus bonus if the imposter can do stuff like summon amazing cotton candy and stuff to bribe cookies with!) Imposter calls cookies in and apologizes for the misunderstanding and 'mistaking (favorite flavor) cookie as an imposter' and apologizes by helping them find a home and a place!

Oh and later on...cookies read imposter's dairy and discover that imposter is...well an imposter, and what their baker said to them and the little...deal they made (imposter being ruler, y/n just living their life as a normal cookie citizen of kingsom) but has an evil yet good plan (good in y/n's unknowing eyes, bad in cookie's eyes) where the imposter has slowly been bribing y/n and winning their heart so even if they are found out, y/n is singing their praises from on high and would vouch for them! (Example of bribes: giving y/n their favorite sweets, becoming their closest friend...which leads into something that would horrifying cookies more because jealousy, showing y/n amazing tricks, and taking them to places one could only DREAM of and more!) Thing that horrified cookies: the imposter was first doing it out of manipulation but is clearly starting to actually LIKE the baker and wants to be their friend...not to charm em to have the cookie's sweet baker singing their praises!

So, in order to get their y/n back and make y/n sing THEIR praises instead and make y/n WANT to he the center of their world...they start counter bribing! They start doing nice things to and for y/n, claiming that it's because they want to welcome y/n at first and then slowly up the spoiling...giving y/n more and more attention, making sure y/n is melting at THEIR fingertips and not the imposter's...making y/n desire them and not the imposter.

And when time is right...imposter is exposed! Imposter tries to get y/n on their side....buuut y/n can't resist the cookie's siren call of a sweet beckon and possibly a cute saying along the lines of 'oh sweetheart, come to [cute nickname they call themselves]' or 'oh [cute nickname], you shouldn't stress about this buisness...come, let's go home and [activity they like or find relaxing...examples, go bake some monster muffins to munch on or go cuddle or give y/n a backrub or something]' and it makes y/n go running to them like a savior unable to resist a siren's call.

A/n: Omg I want this to be a series, so this is gonna be like mostly my brain rotting rambles and small portions of little fics so we can build off it later on in the series

All the writing in purple is the little fics, default color is just my rambles and headcanons about it

“Imposter for Baker? Count me in!”

Series masterlist

- Just imagine little cookie y/n plopping into the cookie verse like “oop, guess this is my new life now.” They just start living a normal life on the outskirts of their kingdom so no one can find them. Cause, if you you were transported to a new universe, you would think you were their god/baker or they were gonna try and hunt you down. Soooo y/n decided to keep to themselves and not let their presence be known yet.

- BOOM! There’s news of the “baker” being spotted and brought to the big castle to take there throne and high power blah blah. The Imposter looks similar to you, just with purple eyes(If you have purple eyes… now you don’t). You can’t tell what the true bakers eye color is because the statues aren’t painted, so the imposter fit the bill well.an they had powers! It has to be their baker then!

- Y/n is absolute happy about that! They get to sit back and relax, they go in public now and just tell cookies they just were “ blessed with the looks of their baker” and how they aren’t them. Some of the cookies were extremely skeptical but let it slide since they said they weren’t their baker and weren’t trying to impersonate them, cause the imposter is totallyyyy the real baker!

“You look oddly familiar..” Pure Vanilla looks Y/n up and down.

The cookies surround Y/n, trying to figure out why you look exactly like their baker.. just with your boring eyes, not neon purple eyes like their totally real baker has. Espresso has a magnifying glass in your cookie face, looking at all the detail.

‘Uhhhhhhh… I was just blessed by our baker, and uh, they blessed me with their beauty and I’m not them. I don’t have purple eyes or cool powers! I’m just trying to live a normal life like everyone else.” You say, any normal person would have seen right through you and what you were saying, but the cookies believed you. You weren’t claiming to be their baker so they have no reason to not let you live a peaceful life, it could just be an odd coincident!

“Well they don’t seem like their lying.. Guess they get to go peacefully for now till the Baker decided what’s to do with them.” Milk shrugs, everyone nodding and humming in agreement with Milk.

- Once the imposter finds out you’re there they are instantly scared. What if you go hunting them?! Or take the throne and execute them?!

- They order a few cookies to go collect you so they can have a one on one talk with you disguising it as a dinner twitch their “look a like” for funnies. Once the cookies bring you back, the imposter leads you away to a more secluded room in the castle so no one can spy on you both as they question you.

“This is my throne and-“ The imposter started once they closed the door the small storage room.

“You can keep it, I don’t want to be the ruler of this kingdom, just live a normal life.” You interrupted, you looked pretty calm about the whole ordeal while the imposter looked like they’ve seen a ghost.

“Wait.. what? You’re just gonna let me keep it.” The imposter look dumbfounded, not actually believing you’ll let them keep at this power. They thought they wold have to threaten you or make an official announcement that you’re an imposter and let the cookies hunt you down for the. “Not even gonna put up a small fight.? I didn’t even get to finish my monologue I worked so hard on..” :(

- You got to live a pretty normal life under the imposters rule. Until Pure Vanilla decides to go through the imposters room and found a diary, I snooped through it and read it….. Finding out you’re the real baker! -insert Pure Vanilla doing surprised pikachu face- He was flabbergasted(I love this word so much for no reason) He didn’t expect to be worshipping the WRONG baker the entire time and their real baker was being bribed to like the imposter and be their friend. So if the imposter gets found out, you’d take Imposters side over the cookies! He also found out how you never wanted to be Baker and let the imposter take your spot! D:

- It clicked in Pure Vanilla’s head, you have been spending loads of time with the imposter and received even as house from them and gifts. He came up with an idea to also bribe you! He gets the other cookies in on it.. It’s basically a full on war!

- your house is basically full of gifts from all the cookies and you’re absolutely clueless on what this about and you didn’t mind it at first till you could barely see your living room floor from all their gifts piled up in there!

Who will win the real baker? Imposter or the cookies? Find out on the next episode of “Imposter for Baker? Count me in!”

A/n: kept it very open ended so the other parts of this series will fit well :D

[historyslittlebish]

Hiii, I'd love to submit a request if possible? I love your writing so much :3

Been thinking about King Baldwin iv, and he strikes me as the type of man to absolutely *melt* at head scratches. I'm thinking he's in pain and so tired, but super wired from having to deal with everything that's thrown at him. His wifey comes along, scratches his head, and he is ~out~. (And who doesn't love em: titty pillow???) Hope my rambling makes sense!

-Anon <3

A/n: I barley wrote much but tysm! I really like this idea because as someone who is sensory sensitive in general, its a great feeling. I was told I had really fluffy hair by a girl in my class in 3rd grade and she would spend most of reading time playing with my hair and stuff so yeah. Anyways here's a mini one shot. I hope this is accurate to some degree because again I never saw the movie and I was doing this at 2am soooo

=======================================

Warning: insecurities, slight angst, comfort and fluff

Baldwin sighed as he entered his quarters. Parts of his body were sore and aching for a relief of sorts. His eyes wandered towards the bed and he saw your beautiful/handsome figure. Your soft H/C hair was being braided/brushed by your own hand. After you finished the last of your nighttime routine, you turned and with a soft smile, beckoned your husband to come sit on the bed with you.

Happily, Baldwin obliged and slowly trudged his way over to you and slowly sat down.

As he sat down his muscles felt weak and sore. He let out a pained groan before settling on the bed, relaxing himself.

"My love, are you in pain tonight?" You asked as your hands reached over and gently stroked his clothed arm. Baldwin sighed and looked over to you, his eyes felt wet and he took his only functioning hand and grasped your smaller one with it.

"How can you love a man like me? What do you see in me?" Baldwin asked. He felt his heart ache for a true answer.

"Because you are a great man, you were god's design, you are a kind and strong ruler." You replied as you gently hugged his arm and rested you face on his shoulder.

"Would you like me to soothe you before you sleep?" You asked and you slowly reached to take off the yarmulke from his head while at the same time, hesitantly, Baldwin reached to remove his iron mask.

You both sat in silence as you stared at your dear husband. You smiled and leaned over pressing a kiss to the crown of his head, then beckoning him to lie down on your lap.

He allowed himself to lean into your touch as rested on your thighs.

While gently stroking his deformed face, you began to massage his scalp and stroke his shoulders and back.

There was a deep rumble in Baldwin's chest, a sound of pleasure from whatever sensory he could feel. He slowly lifted himself and pushed you onto the bed and grabbed the blanket to cover the two of you.

He nuzzled himself onto your chest and let out a sigh on content.

You giggled as continued to stroke, massage, and scratch him. He thanked God he is blessed with a woman/man like you as his love...He also prayed you would be alright, never contracting the same, awful disease he has.

Edit: @bl00dyarak I fixed it so the fic can be applied to both female and male people (or nonbinary too because you can read it as such) :)

[laenyrasdarling]

Hiii! Can i ask for an Haelena/ fem! Targaryen reader headcanons? No nsfw but romantic. Reader is the daughter of Rhea Royce and Daemon

.ೃ࿐helaena targaryen x fem!targaryen/royce!reader 

✦ some notes on the setting; pre-dance, with helaegon and the twins (+ aegon’s debauchery) still present, daemyra being alluded to whilst he’s married (frostily) to rhea and she to laenor, vizzy t’s in a somewhat fortunate state of health, i am here for helaena her only and the worldbuilding Shall reflect it

ׂׂૢ having spent much all of your formative years residing in the grassy hills and wild thatches of runestone with your mother and her family, your varyingly absent father’s request to depart to king’s landing not long after your coming of eight and ten felt like something not very far between a dare and a terror. 

ׂׂૢ as abbarantly furious as this suggestion had initially made your dear mother and grandsire, over the course of some weeks your gentle insinuations that some winters in the red-roofed capital may be of benefit to a silver-haired, violet-eyed lady such as yourself before she returned to her homeland to continue her path ontoward ruling runestone in her mother’s footsteps, you successfully found enough cracks in your doting family’s bronzed armour to see them abate. 

ׂׂૢ so armed with enough belongings to last you from late spring to the following summer and the strongly pressed guidance from your grandsire that this temporary dalliance was only so you’d return equipped with better skills and knowledge with which to one day rule over your true homeland, you set sail for king’s landing. knowing all at once that you were only permitted to embark on this journey for varying ploys that were not yours - your grandsire’s to see you evolve to a competent ruler, your father’s to better his standings in your all but estranged uncle viserys’ eyes - you tried to not let these meddling hands of fate dissuade you from also using this time for your own endeavours.

ׂׂૢ and none so prevalent was that mission made to you than when you first laid eyes on the princess helaena upon your arrival to the red keep.

ׂׂૢ this was around the time you first found yourself thankful for your father’s meddling, as his suggesting in his letter that you make yourself of use to your hosts and aid the lady helaena in her childrearing and courtly duties meant that you arrived pre-prepared with a reason to find yourself in her company so often. as frostily as things began, with you nervously hovering around the edge of the room as the twins played and she sewed stiffly, with suppertimes just as cold with the added intrusions of her fool husband and snide-tongued younger brother, summer had barely begun to depart on your first year when things began brightening.

ׂׂૢ your transition from outcast to dearly-held began in benign ways - jaehaera growing familiar with your shadow-still presence in the family’s quarters and growing bold enough to beckon you forth with a chubby-fisted hand, that held aloft a dragon figurine for you to join her in play with. then came your wine-fuelled back-and-forths with aemond at the dinnertable, earning you both your cousins’ delicately-balanced respect, along with that of ser otto - and later, when helaena would find herself peering from over parapets to catch a glimpse of you besting even some of the kingsguard in the training yard with your bow skills.

ׂׂૢ the gradual quality with which you immerse yourself into her life escapes even her, until she begins to find herself noticing when your relentless energy and imaginative ploys are absent from the twins’ mornings and when you deem to take ale with aemond and his goons instead of joining her and alicent for supper. 

ׂׂૢ her status as a crown princess, and one betrothed to the king’s eldest son at that, taken into account, means that it’s probably once in a blood moon that helaena needs to ask for anything. which is what makes it mean all the more than it already does when she starts asking for your company.

ׂׂૢ and oh, how unendingly glad is she that she did.

ׂׂૢ her droll mornings become filled with your endlessly interesting talk of runestone, and your studies, and the things you’ve noticed since your arrival here (much of which she may not quite understand, but loves to listen to all the same). you’re by her side for each meandering stroll through the gardens that seems to take longer and longer each passing day, for every family meal that you manage to instill life and laughter into, for each lavish ball that she no longer fears now that she has you on her arm to keep her grounded and safe.

ׂׂૢ it’s the confident ease that you carry yourself with that endears helaena to you so much. how no task, no conversation, no idea is below or above you; that you’ll see the good and the worth in everything and everyone like it’s as easy as breathing.

ׂׂૢ so really, it’s no wonder that when it’s drawing late one night and you haven’t swung by her quarters with that darling smile of yours to wish her goodnight like you always do that when she goes in search of you, she finds you having dismissed the handmaids for the night and taken to tidying up the twins’ toys and study materials yourself. in the light of the still-flickering hearth, you look as heavenly a woman as helaena’s ever seen; so she’d be forgiven for finding herself kneeling so very close to you on the stone floor as she helps you stow figurines and charcoals away, and for losing herself in your lilac eyes that she doesn’t realise she’s leaning in until her lips are already on yours.

ׂׂૢ from there, it’s another slow descent - but helaena ensures not to miss a second of it this time around.

ׂׂૢ linked arms as you stroll through the gardens become held hands and guiding palms on the smalls of backs when no-one’s looking. the sewing lessons she’s insisted on walking you through end up looking more like you sitting back against her legs, as she loops her arms around yours and guides you through each stitch with her own hand, and now it’s a heatwave in the north before you’ll trade an evening with her for drinking with her fool brothers.

ׂׂૢ and you best believe, that’s only the very beginning.

ׂׂૢ she has dreamfyre saddled for two, and laughs through your terrified screams as she takes you so high into the clouds that you fear she’ll never possibly find her way back down. but really that’s your fault, as if you didn’t hand so tight onto her waist and bury your face into the crook of her neck, she would have no reason to delight in your flights as much as she does.

ׂׂૢ none of the articles of clothing you arrived with are now without alterations from her hand. a tiny, glittering arrow on a dress sleeve, a bronze-threaded neckline that seems to merge with an emerald-toned green as it sweeps down your back, all so subtle but done with love that they ease a smile onto your face every time they catch your notice again. and that’s not even taking into account the garments that are her design and commission alone, which now make up more than half of your wardrobe - rich, silken robes in every colour you could dream of, soft undershirts better suited to the warm climate of king’s landing than the heavy cotton ones you brought with you, gowns to match hers for all the balls she now drags you to on her arm.

ׂׂૢ her demure nature accounted for, she personally rejects any talks of vows for your hand - right down to seeing to it that all visiting noblewomen who appear to find too much interest in your bright eyes or warm laughter won’t find themselves having any business being in your company again.

ׂׂૢ on nights where she really just can’t bear to part with you until the morning, she’ll have her most trusted maidservants beguile her guards with a lie about her feeling poorly and asking you to stay with her for company; ensuring there’ll be no questions if anyone were to find the princess and a noblewoman entwined in bed together, cuddled so close it’s doubtful they could ever be parted.

ׂׂૢ it’s in moments like those, so sweet and so sacred, where the safety of your arms emboldens her so that she’ll dare to speak beyond the here and now. about her dreams of renouncing aegon, of taking the twins and you and flying as far as dreamfyre will take you, until you find a place that’s safe. safe for her to take you as your wife, for all the issues of succession and war to be a distant memory, where she can be a seamstress and you a farmer and the twins whatever they so want to be.

ׂׂૢ and torturously, those moments where she feels brave enough to speak plainly are the ones you find you just don't have the heart to give her the same honesty. so you kiss her forehead, brushing back silvery strands of hair as you settle in against one another and pray that your dreams lead you both to the same place where you may be able to live out that fantasy if only for a night.

[lilylovestowrite]

TO NURTURE GROWTH ୨♡୧

PAIRING ୨♡୧ Al Haitham x AFAB! Reader

WARNINGS ୨♡୧ Degradation, fingering, mentions of bondage, dirty talk, spanking MDNI

SYNOPSIS ୨♡୧ Al Haitham finds a new way to help you revise for your exam

WORD COUNT ୨♡୧ 2.6k (Doctor, you're huge)

A/N ୨♡୧ I believe I've crossposted this in the past, don't worry, if you've seen it on Wattpad, it's still me! I just lost my password.

Divider by @/cafekitsune

“Focus.” 

Al Haitham picks up a pointer rod left in the lecture hall of the Akademiya and extends it. You don’t peer up at him, already averting your gaze in pure trepidation in meeting his sneering eyes. You hear his footsteps cease. The aroma of his cologne, surprisingly light and floral, similar to your own perfume, the scent of Sumeru roses, mix and the smell is so strong it makes you shiver slightly. “If you have time to daydream, I’m sure you can memorise that entire page.” He scolds you, his voice sounds authoritative but you can detect the traces of sadism. However, pointing out his enjoyment would only put you in  a worse position. 

The sunlight bleeds through the skylight above you, the architecture of the Akademiya so intricately planned out so that every inch of the classroom is kissed by the glorious splendour of light. The golden haze that illuminates the ivory marble and desks still do not manage to vanquish the looming tension that builds up between you. You’re starting to regret asking Al Haitham, your classmate, to tutor you in biology. He only accepted on the terms that you participate in an experiment he’s conducting. Al Haitham is constantly trying to pester you, intentionally getting under your skin using harsh words and even striking your hands with a ruler (albeit gently) to see how you react and then scribbling it down on a damned notepad.

Silence permeates across the lecture hall, plants decorating the lecture hall and the flowers act as jewels that make the resplendence of the Akademiya just that more defined. The lack of noise makes you nervous, as you should expect some type of demeaning comment by now. Instead, you yelp as he trails the rod he stole from the lecturer’s podium down your shirt. The contrast of the scorching sunlight and the cool metal touching your bare back and trailing up to your neck makes you jolt and sit straighter. “Your back is going to suffer if you stay hunched over like that. Don’t frown at me, I’m helping you out.” He chides, not concealing even a drop of the demeaning nature that floods his very manner of speaking. “Now, why don’t you tell me about the difference between plant cells in elemental blossoms and natural ones?” 

“The elemental blossoms are more likely to react to elemental reactions and they-” Your speech is cut off by a slightly stingy strike to your thighs with the rod. “Al Haitham! Don’t you think you’re abusing your power here? You can’t just discipline me without reason!” You exclaim, standing up and accidentally swiping your textbook off your desk. 

Al Haitham chuckles softly, “Without reason? Silly thing, the Akademiya exams are very precise with their words. Elemental blossoms are more ‘susceptible’ to elemental reactions compared to natural blossoms. Not only do you have to have the word ‘susceptible’, you also have to add the comparison to natural blossoms. You would have known that if you read the highlighted box. It’s highlighted for a-”

You’re about to storm out of the lecture hall until you hear a very stern, “Hey.” Out of instinct, you turn back. Al Haitham’s eyes catch the sunlight and the sheen makes the shades that paint his pupils much more translucent. His lean body leans against your desk and one of his fingers beckons you in a ‘come hither’ motion. “We’re not finished here. Pick up your textbook and sit down before I make you. Obviously this method isn’t working.” He quickly writes down something on his notepad as you meekly pick it up, fearful of the scribe’s wrath. 

“Now, instead of discipline, I’m going to try rewarding you. I might get a little up close and personal, but if you’re uncomfortable, you’re free to up and leave. Alright?” You sit down and scoff. His rewards must consist of lighter strikes across the palm or a limit of three adjectives to describe your incompetence per insult. Nevertheless, you’re enraptured by the scribe’s effortless charisma and find yourself agreeing. 

“Why not tell me about the effect of fertiliser containing a higher nitrate concentration on elemental plant yield?” 

“W-well first they increase exponentially, but they deteriorate faster because elemental blooms are not necessarily as long lived as natural blooms and are more sensitive to elemental weathering from the wind.” You wait for the strike, but instead you feel dread flip your stomach over as he approaches. 

“Good girl. Just one little thing, instead of saying that they live longer, I would say longer ‘lifespan’, seeing as the marking scheme would penalise you for using any other terminology.” His breath is right next to your ears as he leans over your desk to correct you. With tenderness in his touch, he unravels your fingers from the quill in your hands to circle ‘longer lifespan’ in the textbook. “You also study mathematics, right? They’re not so needlessly obsessed with definition, so I can understand your confusion. But I see the flashcards you’ve made, all you have to do is memorise them and you’ll be set.” He then threads his fingers through your hair, hitting a spot on the back of your head that makes you lean into his touch subconsciously. 

As you continue reading and muttering definitions to memorise them, Al Haitham praises you and smiles as you recite the pros and cons of using different types of fertilisers for various types of plants. The class, genus, and species rattle off your tongue with a newfound fluency aided by the sweet pecks to your cheeks and forehead. The Akademiya’s cream hued marble glistens under the moonlight by the time you yawn from exhaustion. You’re sitting on Al Haitham’s lap now. After you scored a high mark on a mock test he complied, he gently lifted you onto his lap and encouraged you by rubbing circles on your waist. You stretch after yawning and throw your head back into his chest by accident whilst you do so. He giggles softly and you feel his veiny and calloused hands rub your thighs, soothing the place he hit before. 

“Come on, just a few more for me, darling. I might give the rest of your body attention too if you succeed…” 

“Why so tense?” He runs his hands along your thighs and you jolt in his lap. “It’s not good for students like us to have bad physique. I’m sure I can find time to massage you.” Your hands tremble, nearly scattering flashcards all over the floor. 

You’re cranky. Irritated. Absolutely ticked off. Al Haitham had promised to give your body attention and even brought you to his house. But currently, you’re on his lap, as he lies on the couch, playing with you. 

“Al Haitham, I’m trying to concentrate.” You hiss at him, pissed. He’s set up this whole experiment, scolded you to your wits end, and now he’s trying to praise you? 

“You’re so obsessed with my focus, so surely you won’t mind if I ignore you for a bit?” You smirk up at him, and his brow twitches. He should look quite irked, but instead a rather competitive glare shuts you up and makes you recite the contents of the flashcards out loud. Warmth radiates from his body. And your body, naturally cold, merges into his comfort. But you’re not sure if it’s the scent of silk flowers from the burning incense in the corner, or Al Haitham’s hypnotic light perfume. 

“Oh, go ahead,” His hands grip your thighs and squeeze them together, “Ignore me.” The silk of his gloves slid across your skin, and his calloused hands stroke the skin just two inches below your pelvis. You try to peel his hands off your thighs, but even both of your hands cannot move his singular arm. Al Haitham pretends like you aren’t struggling in his grasp, and he starts kissing along your neck. “Darling, you’re not focusing.” He murmurs in between ticklish pecks that only make you squirm in his embrace even more. You only hope his hands grabbing your hips and thighs don’t accidentally brush across your crotch, where the effect he has on you is alarmingly stark. You can’t hold in the tiny moan that slips from your mouth when he kisses a certain spot on the expanse of your skin now glazed by the sheen of the moonlight.

“Cute…” He cooes and continues to kiss that spot until a red mark blooms on your skin, resembling a rose petal. “I’m obsessed with your focus, right? So, what are you doing, making all of these lewd noises instead of studying?”

“You’re distracting me,” You whine, slamming your fists on the desk in front of you with not enough force, because Al Haitham barely flinches. 

A devious glint in his eye makes you jolt, however. “Then do you want me to be mean again? I’m trying to help you learn, and if it means I have to coax you, I will. In fact, not another word from you, I think I know the solution to this. Bend over my lap.”

“Sorry?” You gawk as he waits for you to arrange yourself on his lap, “You want me to what?” 

Displeased with your indingance, he grabs your face and squeezes your cheeks, but gently enough that you don’t feel any pain. “Bend over. We’re going to do some active recall. Since you’ve worked so hard, I’m sure you’ll pass with flying colours.” The previous warmth his voice possessed has left his voice and he regresses back to his deadpan drawl. 

With that, you awkwardly drape yourself across his lap and he gives you a pillow cushion to rest your upper body on. When you sink your face in it, the material is both firm and soft. He takes off your pants, and you try to sit up so he doesn’t spot the wet spot on your panties. But Al Haitham uses one hand to force your head down into the pillow once more, muffling your protests. He soothes his hands across your bare ass, and you squeeze your thighs in anticipation.

“Now, how can withering zones be neutralised?” He asks, calloused hands running up and down your skin.

“The dendrograna secretes substrates that inhibit the enzymes of the withering zone.” You feel heat massage your entire body, chills making you jolt in the colder Sumeru nights. 

“Good, now what type of inhibition is it? Competitive or non-competitive?” His voice is dusted with honeyed lust, causing him to draw out his vowels that bit more. 

“Competitive?” Your head whizzes with lust the vivid shade of the red apples by the bedside table. 

“Oh dear, it’s non-competitive.” He stops rubbing your ass and strikes it instead. You yelp and squeeze the pillow. You look up from behind him to protest and have him do something less… mean. With humiliation written all over your face you open your mouth, but the sensual authoritative gaze in Al Haitham’s eyes, all the shades of the sky, keep you in your position like gossamer bonds.  

“Which plant may act as an aphrodisiac if burned in an incense?” 

You know this answer, but somehow, whatever has been encoded into your long term memory has completely vanished. The tantalising voice and hands pinching your behind urging you to answer dominate your senses. “Is it… silk flower?” Your voice trickles with uncertainty, the cadence of your voice raising ever so slightly, much like the brow of your tutor.

“What type?” Al Haitham plays with the ribbon hem of your panties, a laugh playing on his lips. “Nice frills, by the way.” You bury your face further in the pillow to hide your embarrassment at your childish, frilly, panties. But you know it’s a ploy to distract you and get you to say the wrong answer. 

“The non-mutant silk flowers, which is why they’re harvested in Liyue and ground up to make ointment paste.” Comes your reply, and a hand comes up to pet your head.

“What a good girl, I’ll give you an easier question. Who does this ass belong to?” His gentle voice coaxes you to an answer as he plays with your hair. 

A cheeky streak compels you, as sudden as a lightning strike and just as impossible to dodge as the snaky answer leaves your lips, “Me.” 

He doesn’t stop massaging your scalp, but you can hear the snarl and feel the atmosphere bind you. The air rises and expands in the heat, and although the clear skies of the city are cool, the pleasure keeps you resting in his lap in heat. “Incorrect.” He delivers three successive slaps to your ass. You yelp with each one, not painful, but unexpected and sharp. Vibrations oscillating from the flesh of your ass reverberates to your vagina, making you squirm. He holds you still by the hips and spanks you more. “Come on, correct your mistakes.”

“N-ngh, sorry- It’s yours! It’s yours!” You squeal, kicking your legs until his hand moves to carefully place them back down. The soft material of his pants carrying the heat of his body contrasts with the cool silk of his bedsheets.

“That’s right. I gave you a reward, and you foolishly try to rebel. I guess I have to be mean to you. I think that’s how you’ll learn your lesson.” He grins, lowering your underwear down your legs, and snickering when a string of dewy fluid stretches and snaps with the fabric as it loses contact with your flower, coated in sheen. “Already? I’ve barely started, and you’re already this wet. You’re way too needy. I guess this is what happens when you keep reading those filthy novels instead of educational textbooks.” You whimper in embarrassment, your voice is muffled by the pillow when you shyly enquire where he got that information. 

“Well, you see, I did see you at the bookstore multiple times. Don’t be too downcast, I think that ‘The Emperor’s Flower’ was very well written. I don’t read textbooks exclusively, you know, I happen to have similar tastes.” Al Haitham props your ass up further to spread your folds and graze your clit with a single finger. “I especially liked some of the scenes where the poor, sweet, heroine was edged and teased until she begged and sobbed. Should I make the same mess out of you, my helpless angel?” You can only moan, offering more of you to him as he rubs your most sensitive spot. 

“I think you like this. I think you enjoy it when I’m mean to you, right? I can see you clench over nothing when I tell you how pathetic you are.” He hums when you moan out an agreement, “That’s it, just let yourself go. I’m putting my fingers in, is that alright?”

You explicitly say yes, and he proceeds to plunge right in. Careful not to hurt you, he explores you so gently yet precisely, he finds your g-spot with only one or two pointers. He softly thanks you before striking up a brutal pace. 

“Ah- AH Haitham! Sl-slow down please!” 

“I’m just testing your limits, you know what to say if you want me to stop.” He keeps massaging the same spot, whilst his other hand occupies your clit. He goes faster as you writhe in overwhelming pleasure. “Stop squirming, I’m going to tie you up next time.” You burn in humiliation as he feels you clench momentarily. 

“Oh? You like being tied up? I thought so. You’re in luck, Kaveh has an infatuation of silk ribbons from Fontaine. I think you would look good all tied in light blue ribbon.” Your climax is fast approaching as he coaxes you and degrades you and praises you with such filthy yet elegance, and as you’re about to fall apart, he halts. 

“Wh-why?” You can only sob, but the clanking of his belt is music to your ears as he presses up against you. The aroma of his cologne mixes with your arousal, and you press back up against him. 

“I’m only trying to help. I’ll be gentle, but only because this is our first lesson…”

[intheheartoftheking]

Painting The Roses Red

Jacaerys Velaryon/Targaryen x Tyrell!Reader

canon divergent, mentions of war/ptsd, a lot! of fluff, yearning, forbidden love, mentions of death and infidelity, dragonrider!reader

summary: HEAVILY INSP by this HC from @enviedear Reader is restless from nightmares of the war and Jace soothes her back to sleep by reading stories of Targaryen History while reminiscing on their past. Jace wonders how their story will fit into the future of Targaryen History.

word count: 1,566

a/n: It started off short because I was inspired by @enviedear 's head cannon (THIS ONE IS FOR YOU BABE) about Jace reading you to sleep with Targaryen History but then it became a whole thing of its own since I crave fluffy Jace and I love forbidden love. I want to write the wedding so pls let me know if a part 2 with memories of their wedding or any other of their war adventures would be interesting.

You threw off your sweat-drenched sheets and found solace in the cold breeze through the window. Your sleep had been restless all through the war, and you thought once it was over, you would finally have some peaceful rest, but the fear had settled into your bones, and you would never be the same again. Tears welled in your eyes as the memories of the past two years replayed in your mind. You didn't even realize that soft sobs had begun to leave your body as you stared out at the sea; however, Jacearys did notice. His coarse hand wrapped around your wrist, startling you out of your trance as he pulled you into his chest. "We're safe, you're safe," he whispered into your hair, rubbing soft circles on your back. This had become a routine for both of you since you found yourselves back at Kings Landing, and both of you constantly had to pull one another out of the distant memories of war. "I know," you murmured, "but that still doesn't change the chill in my bones and the fear in my heart as I watch you die over and over again." you whimpered as he tightened his grip on you. "Jacearys, you almost died. I fished you out of the water and watched you come and go from consciousness. The maesters believed you dead." He sighed. "But I am alive, and our victories will be written in the histories. The greens will only grow to be a stain, but a footnote in the rich Targaryen history." He pulled away from you to grab a large leather-bound book containing the tales of Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters wives before settling back on your bed. "Come," he beckoned you over softly, "we shall be the rulers our descendants look upon with admiration and seek guidance from just as we look to our ancestors."

You shook your head, offering him a sad smile as you climbed alongside him, adjusting yourself in his chest. His voice was a lullaby that warded off the fear that threatened to destroy your peace, and with the vibrato that escaped his chest, you could feel yourself being pulled by sleep. Your eyes are heavy as you cling to every word of the stories of Rhaenys and Aegon. As Jace looks down to see you opposing your rest, he aids the sleep process by entwining his hand in your hair, softly running his fingers along your scalp. 

You can feel yourself losing your battle, and Jace knows he's won as he hears your soft snores in his embrace. He looks down at your peaceful face in admiration and sadness. It was rare to find you so calm. It had been years since he had seen you so happy and carefree. 

The war had taken so much from you, your home, your family, and most importantly, it shook your lineage. You were a firstborn daughter, a lady created for more domestic pursuits, the beauty of Highgarden. You weren't fire and blood, or so you thought. However, when the war made you a dragonrider, the garden's secrets became revealed as your mother had to uncover the truth of an affair your great-grandmother had with a Targaryen prince during the rule of King Jaehaerys. The gods were merciful, and this child bore only a tiny resemblance to the Targaryen prince who fathered him, and your grandfather, the heir of House Tyrell, would pass his Targaryen blood to you. Amongst learning to ride dragons and fight for the rightful Queen, you learned the news that your home and your family had been taken and slain. You were now the Lady of Highgarden, thrust into a position you were not born for and fighting to make your place in the world while also trying to preserve whatever you had left of the life before the war. 

Jacearys wasn't supposed to fall in love with you, and you weren't supposed to fall in love with him, but you two were drawn to one another, bound together by some invisible string. He thought that he knew what love was supposed to feel like. After all, he and Baela were affectionate and devoted to one another, but with you, it was different. He felt electric when you accidentally brushed your hands against his while adjusting your riding gear. Or the way that it felt that the air had been sucked out of him when you gazed into his beautiful ember eyes. The way that your laughter filled the room and made his heart sing. Being with you made Jaecarys feel like the world had stopped and only you two were transceding through time.

It was only a short time before Rhaenyra noticed her son became fond of roses and would always request them no matter how difficult the import may be to Dragonstone. She also noticed how their newest dragon rider began to shed the colors of her house in favor of the colors of House Targaryen. It was hard not to notice the late hours you spent with Jace in the library, desperate to learn the language and customs of old Valyria as you both filled the castle with laughter into the hours of the night. You and Jacearys trained together, constantly pushing each other to your limits as you both developed a dance, a routine where your motions almost mirrored the other and your fierce devotion to one another became unmistakable, as when one of you was assigned to a mission, the other was desperate to go along to protect the other. This devotion would make you the woman who saved the heir to the iron throne, Prince Jacearys Targaryen.  

Once you became the Lady of Highgarden, Baela came to Queen Rhaenyra requesting to end the betrothal between herself and Jacearys. "He loves her, Your Grace," she stated, "and I do not believe he will ever stop loving her nor she. As we have witnessed, they would give their lives for one another if necessary. It would not be fair to Jacearys to watch the woman he loves marry another man; he is far too honorable to take her as a lover. Instead, he will be trapped with me, always longing for someone he can't have. Wondering of a future that could have been."

Rhaenyra sighed, knowing all too well what comes from loveless and forced marriages. She knew her son's behavior, and Baela was right. Unlike herself, Jacearys was far too honorable to lie with another woman, but he may never bring himself to love Baela. Instead, the two young rulers would be forced to be yearning gazes at court with Baela caught in the middle of an unspoken desire. Rhaenyra sighed. "I will grant your request." 

Queen Rhaenyra announced the end of the betrothal that same night, causing mixed uproar from the lords and ladies at court. Jacearys looked at his mother and Baela in horror and confusion as one of the lords called out, "Who shall be the bride of the prince now, Your Grace!?" "Shall we all present our daughters?" "I have a girl of marrying age!" Jacearys eyes searched for you and found you staring back at him, hopeful. He felt guilt as he looked back to Baela, who only nodded at him. A small smile crept on her face, and her eyes gestured at you. "Go to her," she mouthed. Jacearys blinked in confusion as his emotions raged inside him, and he felt his body begin walking toward you as his mother tried to quiet the unruly crowd. 

The crowd hushed as they noticed the prince making his way to you, the court, holding their breath as the realization dawned on them. The prince had fallen in love with the most beautiful but thorniest rose in the Highgarden. "My prince," you whispered, "they are watching." 

Jacearys only hummed in response as he lifted your hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss on the back. Hushed whispers rang through the crowd. "The Highgarden girl?" "There are rumors that they are a love match, but the Prince was promised to the princess." "She saved the prince's life; I, too, would fall in love with any woman of the sort." Jacearys chuckled as he caught some of the whispers and looked at his mother, who gave him a permissive nod.

"I have decided to marry Lady Tyrell, the Lady of Highgarden, if she will have me." Tears welled in your eyes as Jacearys publicly declared for you. "I will accept your proposal, Prince Jacearys." You nodded, a smile covering your face. Your heart overflowed with your love for Jacearys; you had spent so much time holding back due to duty and scrutiny. He laughed heartily as he kissed your forehead, pulling you in for a hug. "A love match!" someone shouted out, causing the court to erupt in applause and cheers. This union would promise peace amongst Westeros, for the people would know that the dragon prince and his thorny rose would furiously protect each other and their people. 

Jace shook himself from the memories and kissed your head, closing his eyes to breathe you in. "I love you," he whispered before shutting the book and drifting off to sleep. He staved off the nightmares from both of you for just another night and dreamed of what tales they would write for you both. 

[eldritch-spouse]

i cannot believe no one has suggested this

imagine zizz walking in (or waking up to) on his queen humping one of the plushies

[This isn't exactly what you want it to be, but I had a massive brain vomit moment. Fem reader. There's art in this one.]

TW: Plushophilia (??? There's a doll monster is what I'm trying to say)

Rare are the days where you wake up alone in bed.

Zizz actually sleeps in quite a bit later than you. Granted he usually also settles down for the night much later. Nevertheless, it has become a habit of yours to wake up between his arms, tucked under his chin, or perhaps even being spooned, his hips somewhat restless behind yours.

It must have become an increasingly important aspect of your routine, because you find waking up alone to be more and more insupportable lately. So much so that you groan, immediately disappointed as soon as you register reality- No extra warmth, no gentle breathing beside you, no rumbling purr or claws petting across your hair.

Part of you wants to close your eyes, roll to the side, grab the nearest pile of softness and go back to sleep- Waiting for your King to return so you can wake up properly. And yet, another part is also restless.

What is he up to?

It's not as if you're worried about Zizz, he's probably busy with some project you can't be fucked to care about, but you're almost... Indignant. Some petty little voice in you demands you find the King and plop yourself on his lap, impeding him from working any further as punishment for denying you wake up affections.

When you yawn and make to get up, a slight tug is felt on your arm. Reflexively looking back, you find several of the stuffed companions you share with the ruler crowding your side, as if knowing you intend to leave and attempting to beckon you otherwise. It's tempting.

But not enough to halt you.

Because only a few moments later, you sluggishly take a stand, moving towards the large doors leading out of the bedchambers. All is fine until you turn one of the handles and... Nothing moves.

It actually takes your sluggish brain a couple of static-fillled seconds to register that. The realization followed by another tug, a harsher one to the twin handle, a fierce shove. Nothing. Not a budge, nor a creak.

They're... Locked?

In the relative darkness of the room -Kept this way to cater to Zizz's light-sensitive eyesight- You only note the piece of paper stuck to the left door after an embarrassing amount of jostling the fancy handles. Irritation makes you rip the notice away, squinting so as to make sense of the scribbled writing.

" Your excellence,

I lament to inform you that King Zizz has been called for an extremely urgent matter that requires his immediate attention. Under his command, I was instructed to keep you inside the bed chambers at all costs until his arrival. According to Lord Zizz, it should only take a little while. You may even still be sleeping by the time he returns.

Regards,

Jayde. "

Fury makes you crumple the sheet of paper into a ball, chucking it at the doors as if the force alone would cause them to suddenly part ways.

He's just going to keep you locked up in here like a doll? Like some pet?! The nerve.

For as much as Zizz says he loves you infinitely, incidents like these really serve to highlight a bitter truth you often turn a blind eye to. That he thinks less of you, that he doesn't trust you to handle the smallest things on your own. Maybe because he thinks you can't, that you're so limited to the point of having to be kept in a bedroom like some child.

Mind ping-ponging between all sorts of unearthed emotions, you consider behaving in exactly the way he seems to see you- By throwing a petulant tantrum befitting of someone truly as limited as he thinks you are. And just as a not so smart voice in your head congratulates you for such a thought, a touch halts that process entirely.

You jolt slightly, glancing down. One of the stuffed dolls from Zizz's endless collection lies on the carpeted ground, little rounded hand outstretched towards your foot. Have you seen this one before? It's hard to tell.

He's cute, a crocheted demonoid made of a mix and mash of pink yarn hues. The only other color on him is black, on his wide button eyes, a silk bow around his neck and his adorable tail adorned with jingling bells at the bottom. Why, he's so lovable! Is this one new in the King's collection? That doesn't make sense, Zizz would have shown you if that were the case, he always does. It must have been one you just don't get to see as often- Lord knows some of them are perpetually buried in the ocean of fluff and warmth that suffocates this room at times.

" Aw, aren't you cute? " You coo at the little thing, eyeing his little curved horns as you speak mostly to yourself. They listen however, you know they do.

" You want me to stay? If you reeeeally mean it, I guess I can... "

The choice isn't there, you're just trying to make yourself feel better and avoid getting angry until Zizz comes back.

As soon as you turn back, jingling and rustling can be heard. It's not cause for alarm, you're well aware these cotton and silken entities move on their own frequently, especially when no one's looking their way -It stopped being creepy after the first few days- So you assume the little pink thing is going to crawl back to its resting spot now that you have been successfully convinced to drop the doors.

Instead, you feel a much bigger pair of hands quickly shove your back. You yelp, a clumsy foot catching on your flowing nightgown and swiftly sending you tumbling onto the bed. It'd be lying to say that a small inkling of fear didn't course through you, steadily growing as you gather enough wit and reflex to roll around on the mattress and spot your assailant.

At the foot of the bed stands none other than the same plush you just talked to.

But he shifted.

Now much bigger, the yarn that once composed him has become a finely molded pattern over a much more humanoid form that shifts and moves exactly like your own. An amused, definitely mischievous smile creases the edges of his soft cheeks, covering up a bit of those button eyes- Surprisingly expressive for a thing that's supposed to have a fixed expression. It's extremely odd to admit this, but the more you look at him, the more weirdly attractive he becomes in spite of his strange fabric-based biology. Part of you almost wants to reach out and touch him.

Mild apprehension doesn't allow you to.

These creatures only shift into bigger forms of themselves when there's a good reason for such. Like imminent danger, intruders, tasks that require more refined figures. Most of the time, from what you recall being told, they're content to ragdoll and observe things or simply become inactive. So why is this one so active? Does he think you're going to try to escape? Yeah right, no amount of luck could make it happen.

" ... Buddy? "

The plush monster perks up, and when the ringing of tiny bells hits your ears, you realize he's wagging his tail happily. Not a second later, the yarn entity has climbed atop the bed and looms over your form with great stitched glee in its face. You don't even get to ask him what's happening before the pink thing sinks to snuggle against you in a warm hug.

He's so bizarrely soft.

As the monster silently rubs and nuzzles his head everywhere on your neck, chest and cheek, you can only marvel at the almost unbelievable smoothness of his... Skin? Not really. The sensation is so new that you don't even deign to think too much about what's happening, happily giggling when you bury your own face in the pleasant pink fuzz of his of his head. Okay then, he's just feeling affectionate, you can deal with that. In spite of the plush texture, experimentally grabbing at his arms reveals that there isn't as much give to him as you'd expect, like something more solid lurks beneath that friendly and deceitfully fragile exterior.

You toy with his bow a little, twirling the ends as you sigh.

" I'm not leaving, you know? I can't. "

He nods under your chin, face dipping towards your cleavage as smooth claws edge up the length of your legs. And while you allow it to happen, the gears start turning in your head. They're not really supposed to do that, are they?

You've seen many of the dolls shift, seen them perform a couple of menial tasks, asking for attention, but you never saw them... Being so bold. Sexual even. Are they capable of that? You'd like to think you're not a pervert, but built so well as this one is, maybe this is his function. You have caught the King with pillows and stuffed bedmates between his legs before- It wouldn't be that surprising if they're meant to do this from time to time.

But then... The one currently groping your thighs... If you let him continue, would you be cheating on the demonlord? No. Surely not, right? He uses them for pleasure too, it would be hypocritical of Zizz to become upset over something like this. You hope, at least. Still, you're not sure how to feel about it.

As you lie there still, deliberating on the situation unfolding, his shiver-inducing dance over your legs reaches your thighs. He's gentle, massaging from the outside, upwards, gripping your hips, then following the line of your panties back down to your inner thighs, a sensual and slow stroke that has you relaxing and sighing in pleasure. You recognize the motions, these are gestures Zizz likes to use on you, to hear you softly moan and smile, spreading your legs for him further. It shouldn't surprise you that some -Or all- Of his plushies would know how to touch you too. They're constant observers.

He looks content to have you so pliant beneath him, and you're sure the monster would be rumbling like its master if it was capable of making sounds. The frequent jingling of his swatting tail is evidence enough of his approval. Yet, as pleasant as this is all being, you reach for those pink wrists when a claw tries to slide your undergarments aside.

" Hey. " You start, having to squeeze a little so he puts his whole attention on your face. The doll monster tilts his head. " I'm... We shouldn't do anything, Zizz isn't here... "

The entity tilts his head more, as if not really understanding where you're coming from, silence stretches on for a small eternity between you, your heart pounding in your chest.

You can admit to yourself that it's more than a little thrilling to give this a shot. To see what it's like to bed one of the King's stuffed dolls. After all, there must be a reason he likes them so much... But you don't want to go too far. Not without knowing more.

" We can't- Uhm, we can't have sex, okay? " Gods you've never cringed at yourself so hard.

The doll seems to flinch at the mention of sex, horned head shaking frantically as he quickly removes his featherlite fingers off your figure entirely. Though a smile stretches his yarned cheeks when he wags a finger at you, proceeding to use both hands to frame... His slit.

Because it can only be that between his legs. It's the same exact color as the rest of his body, blending together amidst all the rounds of fabric that compose his body. You can't be blamed for having missed it at first. More important however, is the strand of white yarn stitched over said area, in the same way you'd sew someone's wounds, though with a small bow at the bottom.

It takes a bit for you to piece what it means together.

The monster reaches to try and slip a finger under the yarn, trying to dislodge it off him, but it seems to be well secured. He then casually taps your groin, then his, shaking his head again.

Ah.

" Oh! " Your eyes widen. " So you can't... It doesn't come off? " Penetration is not on the table.

The pink doll nods. Honestly, you have no idea what kind of cock this type of being can have...

" O- Okay. " That does make you feel better about things for now. Though it begs the question. " Did Zizz put that on you? "

Another nod.

His brows furrow as he seems to be thinking of something for a few quiet moments. Then, a tad suddenly, the doll moves off you to thump soundlessly beside you on the bed. He spreads his legs some and makes an eager beckoning gesture towards you.

Not really understanding but too curious to deny him, you do as told, getting the picture when he slides one of your legs over his right one, making you straddle it. This time, when he looks at your face and slowly slides your panties to the side, there's no misunderstanding between you.

Not that your face isn't heating up at the implication.

The monster's chest shifts and his mouth parts like he's mutely lauging. And it makes sense, the doll has probably seen you and Zizz get up to some pretty shameless stuff in this very room, he likely thinks it's hilarious that you're hesitating to do something as simple as ride his thigh.

" Oh shush. "

Soft claws rub down your back, cupping the globes of your ass underneath your gown and starting a slow, luscious rhythm on his leg. The monster happily allows you to adjust, learn what angle provides the best friction on your clit while he kneads and gropes greedily at your cushion.

You don't really consider yourself to be much of a humper.

Of course, you've done it before a couple of times, the difference here being that none of the things you used would stare knowingly at you, would smirk when you shuddered in pleasure or even minutely push back against your movements. They wouldn't squeeze approvingly at your hips and waist, reach to fondle the peaks of your tits- To say that a plush lusts after you would be madness. At least until today.

Restless thighs clench around his own as you speed up, rocking harder, grinding yourself, soaking his fabric in your own chase for a peak that you didn't even know you were craving so bad up until now. Distantly, you wonder how many are watching now, if they feel any jealousy towards the brave and lucky plush that dared make a move.

Unfortunately, you're having trouble getting there on your own, cursing underneath your breath while your body tenses and coils but never enough to trigger that sweet release. There's no way he doesn't see you struggling and sweating on him, the little bastard's likely just enjoying the show. Ugh.

" Mm- Finger me, please. "

And yet, no matter how sweet your tone was, how you used manners, he didn't budge, smile climbing further up his rosy face as he shook his head, tail thumping on the sheets. The blatant denial makes you halt entirely, frowning.

" Wh- What do you mean no?! " That sounded a lot more aggressive than you meant it to be.

But still, these monsters are servants, their purpose to fulfill the royalty's orders, that's what they strive for. If you tell one to touch you a certain way, surely they'd be more than happy to do so, right?

The entity merely shakes his head again. You're getting a little annoyed by that gesture, even if it's one of the few ways he can actually communicate with you coherently.

Your arms cross beneath your chest, not so much mad as you are confused. " Aren't you technically supposed to obey me? "

The doll shakes with laughter again, and part of you almost wants to push him right off the bed, hormones still jumping in your system. He wags an index again, then wiggles his fingers above his head, between his horns.

As he repeats the motion, you can finally focus enough to make sense of it. He's trying to imitate the blob of energy that his master sports between his own horns. That little thing you've tried to grab before even though it's touch averse, slipping between your digits right at the moment you think you've got it.

The message is clear- He obeys to Zizz specifically.

You make a 'tsk', rolling your eyes at the monster. " So you're not going to help me? "

Another shake.

" Not even a liiittle bit? " And you reach a hand beneath the silk of his dark bow, scratching at his chin.

The contact has him leaning instantly, attitude faltering, his response coming in a clumsy shrug. A sort of "We'll see".

Fine.

Undettered, you offer him no more sweet talk when you resume the previous pace, caring none for his comfort as you steady yourself on his abdomen to harshly thrust your hips on his leg, almost jostling him for a second. The plush monster's tail wags near violently, apparently loving this newfound roughness.

You're not sure what has him so enthusiastic out of nowhere, but any suspicion drops immediately at the first hint of the bumping and grinding his own leg against your twitching cunt, hands eagerly helping you spread yourself. He practically fucks you onto him, seeming to shiver in his own weird manner at the high and whiny noises you belt out.

When your orgasm crashes upon you, the pink creature doesn't slow down, making sure to milk it as hard as he can, he himself enjoying getting humped while you finish, soaking him further in your arousal. Your legs are still rocking gently, the first aftershocks settling in when-

" I'm glad you were able to entertain yourself. "

The way you jump off the monster nearly has your soul leaping out of your throat when you whirl around to find none other than Zizz sitting by the edge of the bed, chin framed by his palms as if he were watching a movie unfurl.

" D- Did-? " How long was he actually here for? How come he manages to be as silent as a mouse when he's so huge?! " I'm so sorry- "

The demonlord huffs. " For... What exactly? "

" I- Well- Your-...? " You glance beneath yourself to the plush monster still laying beneath you with a slightly smug smirk on his face.

Zizz nudges you off the doll carefully, tugging him down closer with a lot less care as he removes his veil. Wide eyes blink in panic, you assume he's going to maybe hurt the entity or chastise you for making a mess of his treasured collection piece- But surprisingly, he clutches the toy's leg and casually licks the slick of your climax that wasn't rapidly absorbed by yarn.

O-Oh okay.

The other seems to like this well enough, letting himself ragdoll, once again wagging that jingling appendage.

" ... He was only doing his job. "

The King releases his minion, sparing you a lidded look.

" You can use me now. "

(As a bonus, here's what the ""doll"" looks like.)

[noirvedette]

Chapter One: The Proposal

Satoru Gojo x Reader. (Royalty AU Series)

Synopsis: Wanting the best for your kingdom, you accept the marriage proposal sent by the Gojo empire to marry the new emperor Satoru Gojo. What you don't know is that he has been yearning for you since he came to know of your existence and is determined to make you reciprocate his affections. How far will he go to earn your love? Warnings: Explicit language, smut, slight angst, acts of violence(not between the main characters), war. Author's Note: Hi! This is my first writing on Tumblr and I hope you love this as much as I loved creating it! Honest feedback would be appreciated! Word Count: 1.1k words

Saying that the proposal was unexpected would be an understatement.

The day began like any other. Your two ladies-in-waiting, Miwa and Nobara, helped you dress, after which you had breakfast with your family in the main dining hall.

Being the firstborn of King Maximillian and Queen Eleanora of the prestigious kingdom Aveloria, your entire life consisted of cultivating you into the Queen that your people could rely on.

And here you were, _____ Amiria, at the bright age of only 22, the heir apparent to the throne, encompassing every quality a young royal should have. Not only did you excel in academics and eloquence, but you also thrived in war planning and wielding a sword. Your parents couldn't be more proud of the person you had grown into as they realized that the kingdom would end up in reliable hands.

There was little you wouldn't do for your kingdom. You loved the people, culture, traditions, and everything that made this land your home. Your citizens loved and cherished you, and it felt right that you did your best to ensure they lived a secure and satisfactory life under your rule.

You were discussing your kingdom's alliances and potential threats of war with your father when your emissary, Kento, stood at the entrance to the room.

"Your Majesties," He bowed in your direction before you beckoned him over. "Princess _____ has received a proposal."

"From who?" Your attention remained on the spread of documents on the table, as proposals were nothing new in your case.

Your pen drops from the previously strong grip of your hand when you hear his response.

"The Gojo Empire."

-

Since you turned eighteen, you had received countless proposals from suitors from kingdoms on the other side of the world.

But this was different. This was the Gojo Empire. The ruler of the largest empire the world had ever seen wanted your hand in marriage. This changed everything.

Now that the initial shock wore off, you sat in the drawing room with your younger brother, Heeseung, discussing the various details of the proposal.

"Satoru Gojo wants your hand in marriage. Interesting." Heeseung seemed to ponder. "This is clearly a move to form an alliance."

"That's a quick conclusion. You don't think he wants to marry me because I'm pretty?" You joked, poking your brother in the ribs.

"No, I don't, sister." He deadpans, causing you to glare at him. "Why would he want to marry a sewer rat?"

"You take that back." You laugh as you launch into a play-fight with your brother. The nineteen-year-old tried to overpower you but ultimately failed as you caught him in a headlock.

"Dearest, let go of your brother." Your mother chuckled as she walked in with your father.

Begrudgingly, you loosen your hold on Heeseung, muttering a quick 'only because Mama said so' before you let him go completely.

"Let's discuss the proposal, shall we?" Your father announced as he took a seat. "_____, what do you think?"

"Obviously, it's very beneficial for us. Being connected to the Gojo Empire means having ties with almost every kingdom in existence." You straighten your spine as you speak. "I think we should accept."

"A union will definitely bring benefits, but that's not what I'm asking, my dear." Your father's eyes soften as he looks at you endearingly. "Do you want this? Marriage is not a simple ordeal."

You take a moment to weigh your options. Love and similar nuances were never of importance to your rational mind. Sure, you read a few romance novels here and there, but that was simply for enjoyment. You never expected to experience love and being loved firsthand. It seemed that wouldn't change. Your kingdom and duties were of utmost importance to you.

"I'm sure, Papa." You sigh as you look at him. "As long as Aveloria is happy, I'm happy. We should accept."

"They have asked us to join them for tea next week." Your mother chimes in. "Shall we send an official reply?"

"Yes." You smile at her. "Let's do it."

-

Satoru Gojo. An emperor. A cold-blooded man on and off the battlefield. Revered by those who love him and feared by those who do not.

An absolute fool for you.

He first saw you at the coronation of his best friend, King Jaeyun, five years ago. He was in the midst of sharing a drink with the newly appointed king when something caught his eye.

Someone, he corrected himself.

There you were, laughing with Jaeyun's sister, Claire, looking absolutely enchanting in your emerald green dress. Your eyes glinted in the sunlight, but your smile was even brighter.

Feeling a pair of eyes on you, you turned, making direct eye contact. You smiled at him softly, just for a second, but that's all it took.

Satoru Gojo was a man in love. Not real love, he knew that much. But the array of feelings he felt when beheld by your eyes couldn't be described in any other way.

He had to know who you were.

Later that same evening, he asked Claire to tell him everything she knew about you. She would say it felt more like an interrogation.

_____ Amiria. Heir apparent to the throne of Aveloria. The woman of his dreams.

Since the coronation, he had only run into you once or twice, never making conversation. He thought the lack of interaction would eventually cause him to lose feelings.

How wrong he was.

He did everything he could to forget about you. He spent his time doing his duties and even considered courting other women, but to no avail.

They simply were not you.

Every new detail he received about you from his informants only made him fall deeper. Thoughts of you gripped his mind like a vice, unwilling to let him escape its clutches.

-

Within the Gojo Empire, an unmarried emperor was unheard of. Satoru was the first to break that tradition, facing a small amount of backlash from his people in the process.

As it had become a year since his coronation, he felt ready to look for prospects who could eventually be his wife.

He only had one person in mind. Only one person he truly wanted.

You.

And what the emperor wants, he gets.

-

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I've been dreaming of the Ruler of the Abyss.

Kneel to the Thorn Fairy, who shall make manifest one’s dreams—the wishes made by the heart.

He promises happy endings for all. Woe to those who doubt and defy his vision.

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?

Alone.

He has always been alone.

But alone he is no longer—not when he is in his castle, surrounded by hordes of his people. He will never be alone again. No one will, all thanks to his efforts.

Never, never, never.

Malleus easily traverses the thorn-crusted lounge, floating across them like a specter. The bodies of school staff and fellow students lie limp in chairs and couches. Eyes closed, chests rising and falling rhythmically.

As he passes, he runs a hand along their scalps. Brushing their hair, patting their heads. Tender touches wishing them well.

Here is a king's domain, and here are his subjects. He, the dragon guarding his trove of invaluable treasures.

Malleus turns to face his captive audience, arms spread out toward them. “Today is something of a special occasion: Night Raven College’s Founding. I do believe this warrants a celebration—and, of course, all are invited to the festivities.”

A wave of magic washes over the room. Conical party hats manifest on each person's head, decorations appearing from thin air. Banners drape across the walls, streamers spill from black-clothed tables laden with food, and balloons tuck into the corners, safe from the needle-like thorns.

He projects applause, stunned oohs and aahs. Here, he is not a monster, but fellow man.

"Hmm, we're still missing something." Malleus strokes his chin, deep in thought. He snaps his fingers. "Ah, that's it! Music. It's not a proper party without any music."

With the wave of his hand, he summons a series of floating instruments. Bass, cello, viola, violin, harp, each bathed in an eerie green glow. They start playing by themselves, as if being handled by skillful, invisible hands.

Soft orchestral song fills the venue.

The guests rise, puppeted by the strings of his magic. Thorns on the floor retreat, allowing his peers to spill over onto the area repurposed for dance. Heads loll over--Malleus frowns and fixes them.

"There we are."

A glittering assemblage.

He smoothly conducts the bodies into neat pairs.

A waltz, he thinks, is ideal. It is also one of the few forms of dance he is familiar with. A waltz it shall be.

Palms link, fingers intertwine. Hands upon shoulders and upon backs. And then they are set to the hypnotic swing of the music, slow and sweet and intoxicating, like a steady drip of honey into one's mouth.

Malleus threads past the avid dancers and to the one person that has not been matched. The little bat who had almost flown away, far out of his grasp.

"Lilia," Malleus breathes raptly, "look at how happy everyone is. No one was left out. No one was forgotten. No one has to be alone anymore."

With this gift... my blessing... I've protected their smiles.

The duty of any Draconia.

He's proud--elated--but Lilia, alas, does not share the sentiment. Instead, the ancient fae wears a placid expression, eyes sewn shut. The same as all the other guests.

Malleus chuckles. No one hears it but himself.

"How exciting your dream must be. Action and adventure, at the best of your strength... I'm afraid this humble gathering cannot compare."

He’s sure Lilia would agree with him, were he awake.

“Never mind that," Malleus says, dispelling the thought. No more what ifs, only there ares. "Would you care for food? You'll need to keep your energy up for the celebration--it just may last all night."

He beckons with a finger, and a platter with a large cake hovers over. It is an extravagant seven layers, each a different flavor. Details are piped on in buttercream icing, invoking the image of each dormitory. A chocolate raven, wings open and prepared for flight, crowns the dessert.

A cake knife slides into Lilia's hand. His fingers slowly closer around the handle. With Malleus's guidance, he cuts into the topmost layer--Diasomnia--of the cake.

Something thick, red, and sticky leaks from the insides. The knife is coated as it is pulled back, freeing a slice. The violet crumb is fine, the frosting neon green with a dark chocolate drip.

Devilishly decadent.

"Come, you must try this," Malleus insists, stabbing a fork into the cake. He stuffs the bite into Lilia's mouth--but it doesn't stay, just rolls out and lands with a squishy splat on the ground.

Malleus eagerly waits for Lilia to beam at him, to praise him for its deliciousness.

It never comes.

Malleus laughs as though Lilia has responded as he imagines him to. He's drunk with delirium.

The strings abruptly screech, the dancers ceasing in their revelry.

He lets the unfinished slice fall. The plate shatters, reflecting one hundred Malleuses, one hundred Lilias. So many realities, and yet this is the one he has been dealt.

He guides the corners of Lilia's mouth upward, forcing a smile.

"Happy Night Raven College Founding Day," Malleus whispers, "and may you all have the sweetest of slumbers."

To his guests, to Lilia, to himself. And to the world that will soon be joining them in this delightful, never-ending dream.

Raising a hand, he unleashes fireworks from his palm. They explode in wild shapes and colors, emitting warmth and dazzling lights. The display is beautiful but fleeting--long shadows running along the walls before they blip out of existence and return to the darkness.

Every dream is like a firework, he surmises. A fiery flower frozen in time at the height of its bloom. They shall never wither nor fade.

Malleus reclines into his seat--a spiked and scaled throne, mounted high above the party venue. A lone king, untouchable.

Seated upon a mountain of lies, he looks out at his twisted kingdom. It’s a scene of his own creation, props lovingly places and toys carefully posed, acting out situations in his head.

The average school day at Night Raven College: students bickering, teachers watching over them. They see him, smile and wave. Talk with him, invite him.

Stay with him.

A loop playing, forever and ever.

Malleus sighs contentedly.

This is his happily ever after—from now until the end of eternity.