#breaking bread drinking wine

[ldrfanatic]

Italian Theodore Nott Headcanons

So... by popular request (I think like literally one person commented on a post from ages ago) and also because I'm still working on my most recent part to the '13' Series (linked here) here's some Italian Theo headcanons to keep you sated.

sorry if this is inaccurate it's based off of my own knowledge of italians and what I think Theo would be like

slytherin boys masterlist works

So, unlike most, I don't think that Italian Theo would be a whore. Let me explain:

Sure Italian men like to flirt, (although Theo doesn't), but they do it because it comes so natural to them and because more than anything, they value their partner.

They're well dressed and take pride in their appearance (something Theo does do) but they don't always entertain the people of the heads that they turn

They also have a natural air of confidence that Theo has and doesn't even have to use

However, just because Theo isn't a whore doesn't mean that he doesn't have his own little clique of fangirls.

In general:

As a person, Theo is incredibly quiet. His English is not the best as he grew up in the Italian countryside and spends his breaks there. He spends most of his time observing, and the rest of his time, mentally translating sentences from English to Italian and vice versa (and yes that's exhausting).

He does however take food incredibly seriously (as most Italians do I feel). His favorite kind of pasta is Paccheri and he will die on the hill that the Italians were the first to make Pizza (who else could make bread, sauce, and cheese taste so good?). He was also incredibly shocked when he found out the drinking age in England was 18. Theo had a glass of wine with dinner every night since the age of ten.

Another thing he doesn't quite understand about England is the frequency through which they drink tea throughout the day. At most, he has a cup a day while some of his English friends have four to five cups a day and usually, one cup with every meal.

Theo also had a very strong connection to his mother. Now that she's gone, he spends a lot of time in his head with his memories of her. It's not all that shocking to anyone really that he doesn't quite have the time or the patience for girls.

Platonically:

As a friend, Theo is a little more open but not much. His two closest friends in the group are you and Lorenzo who's also Italian. He'll talk to either of you and open up a little, but only if no one else is around. He's a bit impartial to Mattheo although he does think the boy is a loose cannon and he actually secretly despises Draco and his blood purity nonsense as it reminds him too much of his father (whom he also hates). So yeah, he spends the majority of his time with Lorenzo and Blaise.

In regards to your friendship with Theo, he's a complete gentleman. He never sits too close in fear of startling or offending you. He opens all of the doors the pair of you walk through and carries your books to class when you have the same class.

In fact, despite being significantly more well mannered than any other boy in your year, the only thing that hinted to you that Theo felt anything towards you other than indifference were small smiles and shared secrets.

Romantically:

Before you even became friends you'd caught Theo's eye. The first time he'd noticed you, you were comforting a crying first year muggle-born that Draco had bullied to tears. You spoke so kindly and softly to the boy. Theo knew then that you weren't like everyone else in Hogwarts. Most people were too afraid to stand up to Draco but the next day, you punched him square in the jaw and told him to stop being such a prick.

The first person to find out about Theo's crush on you was Lorenzo of course. He didn't tease him for which Theo was grateful. Now as stated, Theo is an incredibly quiet person so it's not clear to you that Theo has crush on you.

Also, once Theo has decided that he likes you, other girls don't even approach him anymore. Not after the Ravenclaw incident. A Ravenclaw from your guys' year approached him and asked him out. He didn't even acknowledge her. Just stood up and left.

He does however, make an attempt to spend more time with you whenever her can. He sits with you at meals and during lessons, he asks you for help in charms (even though he's already receiving high marks, but you don't know that). He brings you soup when your sick.

The way that you find out Theo has a crush on you is actually really surprising for you.

Lorenzo came running up to you after Potions one day, completely out of breath. "Y/n! Come quick." He didn't give you any room to disagree as he grasped your wrist firmly and began dragging you down the corridor towards the courtyard. When you got out there, your stomach dropped.

For the first time since meeting him, you saw Theo fight. He had Addrian Pucey on the ground and was currently pummeling the poor boy. The scariest part was that he remained completely calm, cold. Mattheo and Draco were standing on the sidelines egging him on while Theo ruthlessly delivered blow after blow in dead silence. He didn't even wince as his knuckles began to split open and bleed.

Blaise was desperately trying to pull Theo away but he wouldn't budge. Finally, you snapped out of your stupor and approached the boy. As he was throwing punches with his right arm, you approached him from the left and placed a hand on his left shoulder apprehensively. "Theo."

At the sound of your voice, Theo stopped immediately. He didn't look at you immediately. Instead, he stood and kicked Adrian who was on the ground rolling in pain. "Stay away from her." The crowd dispersed as the fight ended. When Theo turned to look at you, his eyes were blazing. For the first time since you'd known him, Theo was burning with rage.

"Theo come on." He let you lead him away in complete silence. Worse than what Adrian had said to you, Theo was ashamed. He couldn't believe that he'd let his emotions take over like that. Now he may have lost you for good. When you finally stopped in a secluded corridor, Theo turned away from you.

"Theo?" He was silent and your concern grew. It wasn't Theo's usual kind of silence, it was a silence that made your heart feel heavy. "Theodore."

"Don't."

"What?"

Finally Theo turns to you and his eyes are glossy. It was startling almost, to see the normally calm and collected boy tearing up. "Don't do that tesoro. Yell, push me, hit me if you need to, but I'm not Theodore. Not to you."

"What happened?" He sighed.

"I overheard Adrian say something completely vile about... you. I couldn't let him talk about you like that. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me cuore. You are the only light in my dark life."

You reached out and grabbed Theo's hands in your own. "That's incredibly sweet of you Theo. But why would you do that for me?"

"Isn't it obvious! I am entirely and irreversibly in love with you. I cannot live without you and I will not allow anyone to say such things about you."

After that, Theo took you out on a date. Thanks to his Pureblood lineage, Theo's family was quite wealthy. And his father had always taken to making sure he was well cared for financially, perhaps out of guilt from his emotional abuse.

For your first date, Theo took you to a London shopping district with his Black Card. At first you refused to spend any of his money. That is until Theo became resigned to buy you everything that your eyes lingered on for more than five seconds despite all your protests.

To end the date, he treated you to a nice dinner and then brought the pair of you back to Hogwarts.

As your boyfriend:

As your boyfriend, Theo's go-to nickname for you is either tesoro (treasure). He spends a lot of time staring at you which Mattheo teases him endlessly for of course.

He wishes you could meet his mother, but he adamantly refuses for you to meet his father. Instead, he introduces you to his grandmother. She teaches you how to make pasta from scratch and you and Theo often sneak into the kitchens at Hogwarts to try and make it there.

He makes it pretty clear that you're the only girl for him. He even tells you one night how his mother's dying wish was for him to find someone that he loved wholeheartedly and who loved him as much. Theo knows that this person is you, and he has no shyness in telling you.

He hates to see you cry, but if for any reason you're feeling sad, he recites Italian poetry to you in a soft and devoted tone.

Questo nostro amore, vita mia

lo prospetti felice

destinato a durare per sempre.

Dei del cielo, fate voi che lei dica il vero,

che lo prometta sincera e dal cuore,

che si possa per tutta la vita

mantener questo patto inviolabile

(This love of ours my life; I predict will be happy; destined to last forever.; Gods of the sky, do what you deem to be true; that promises to be sincere and from the heart,; which can be for a lifetime,; keep this inviolable covenant.)

When Theo speaks his native tongue it makes you a little weak in the knees. The way that his lips curve around the words and his tongue effortlessly forms each syllable makes your heart swell.

Overall:

Italian Theo is a complete cutie with impeccable manners and expresses more romance in ten minutes with you than most men express in their entire lives. He sees you as a light that brightens his life that he will do anything to protect.

----

help this is so bad

[writingwithfolklore]

Describing Foods - A Masterlist

                As a broke university student, I love reading about food. It’s almost like eating a real meal myself <3.

I get a little angry when characters are eating a meal and I barely get to experience it with them. In that, I mean I don’t just want to know what it is, but what it’s like to eat that food—how it tastes, smells, sounds, and feels. Is a perfect croissant still a perfect croissant without the crack of the exterior, the airiness of the pastry inside, the smell of yeast?

                Probably not. When writing about a dish, the smell, texture, technique, taste, and how it looks are all important to painting the experience, so here’s some words to use when describing a meal:

Taste:

Acidic: Sharp tasting. Often used to describe tart or sour foods as well.

Aftertaste: A different taste that remains in the mouth after eating something

Bitter: Tart, sharp, and sometimes harsh flavour.

Bittersweet: Less harsh than bitterness. Tartness + sweetness.

Bland: Has no significant flavor or texture

Briny: Just means salty. Often describes pickled foods.

Citrusy: Bright flavour like… well citrus fruits—oranges, lemons, limes, etc.

Cooling: Mimics that cooling feel—like mint.

Earthy: Reminiscent of soil. Can be used to describe wines, root vegetables, and mushrooms.

Fiery: Another word for spicy.

Fresh: Light and crisp—describes produce or herbs.

Fruity: Sweet and reminiscent of fruit.

Full-bodied: Rich and ‘feels heavy’ in your mouth. Can describe wines or soups.

Herbal: Bright, fresh, sometimes earthy from the presence of herbs

Honeyed: Sweet or candied taste like honey.

Nutty: Taste similar to the flavors of nuts. Often used to describe certain cheeses.

Rich: Full, heavy flavour. Often dishes that contain cream taste rich.

Robust: Rich + Earthy. Used for lots of wines or aged liquor.

Savory: Describes meaty, earthy dishes and soups.

Sharp: Harsh, bitter, or tart taste. Used to describe acidic foods.

Smoky: Reminiscent of the smell of smoke.

Sour: Biting, tangy, tart flavor.

Spicy: Burning taste.

Sweet: Sugary.

Tangy: Tart, biting taste—feels tingly

Tart: Sharp, bitter, or sour flavour. Used to describe acidic foods.

Woody: Earthy, sometimes nutty taste. Describes some coffees or cheeses.

Yeasty: Earthy taste reminiscent of yeast. Describes beer and bread.

Zesty: Fresh, vivid, or invigorating flavour.

Sound/Texture:

Sound has a lot to do with texture, so I've combined them for this section!

Airy: Light, pillowy texture (think inside of croissant)

Brittle: Hard but easy to break

Bubbly: Usually during heating, when bubbles rise to the surface—low sound.

Buttery: Smooth, creamy texture (think certain pasta sauces)

Chewy: Food that needs to be chewed thoroughly. Can be light and bouncy (chewy bread) or heavy (steak) and sticky (candy)

Creamy: A smooth and rich texture, comes from dairy.

Crispy: Light texture with slight crunch.

Crumbly: Food with loose structure that falls apart into crumbs.

Crunchy: Firm, crisp texture with a sharp, loud noise.

Crusty (behave): Food with a hard outer layer and soft interior (many loaves and breads)

Delicate: Light and fine, feels like it can come apart easily.

Doughy: Soft and heavy, usually pale colouring.

Fizzy: Usually liquids—a hissing sound, feels like ‘static’

Flaky: Light, characterized by layers that come apart during eating.

Fluffy: light and airy.

Frothy/Foamy: Airy bubbles, usually in a drink like a latte.

Gamey: Usually refers to meats when they’re very “meaty”

Gooey: Viscous, sometimes sticky texture from moisture in a dense/solid food.

Hearty: Firm, robust texture.

Juicy: Tender and succulent texture from liquid in a solid food (steak)

Molten: Hot, gooey

Oily: Slick, heavy, lingers on the tongue.

Silky: Fine, smooth texture that feels sleek.

Smooth: Texture free of grit, lumps, or edges.

Snap: A quick, sharp, crackling sound when broken.

Squelch: A soft sucking sound when pressure is applied. Somewhat gross.

Sticky: Gluiness in the mouth.

Succulent: Tender and juicy

Tender: Soft and easy to break down

Velvety: Smooth and rich

Smell:

Acrid: Strong, bitter, unpleasant

Comforting: pleasant, probably calls back to a nice memory

Damp: Wet smelling—probably a bit earthy

Delicate: subtle, faint, not overpowering

Earthy: reminiscent of soil

Fetid: Caused by decay—unpleasant

Fishy: reminiscent of fish

Floral/flowery: Reminiscent of flowers

Fragrant: Sweet or pleasing

Fresh: Cool, crisp, refreshing—produce, probably not cooked

Funky: Something’s gone off

Heady: Strong smell, pungent, rich

Musty: Not fresh

Perfumed: Pleasant, reminiscent of something (can be perfumed with citrus, say)

Piquant: stinging, pungent—tickles the nose

Powerful: strong

Rancid: Definitely gone off, decomposing

Ripe: Strong, usually unpleasant smell

Savory: spicy, salty, no elements of sweetness

Sour: has gone off

Spicy: Sharp, tingles the nose

Tangy: Strong and bitter but in a good way

Tart: Sharp

Woody: earthy smell, reminiscent of wood

Sight:

Usually texture gives us a really good picture of what a food looks like, so here’s some non-texture sight additions:

Blistered: Bumpy exterior.

Caramelized: Usually golden brown

Cloudy: Splotched. Almost see through if not for a slight white or grey mist.

Colourful: Bright and vibrant

Glassy: Resembling glass

Glossy: Smooth, shiny

Marbled: Two colours intertwined

Opaque: Not transparent. Can’t see through.

Ripe: Colourful (can be to a fault). Nearing the end of its edible state.

Scaly: Covered in scales, fish.

Shiny: Appears wet or glossy

Sparkling: Glimmers under the light

Stuffed: An ingredient placed inside a larger part with no additional space.

Translucent: Allows light through

Vibrant: Striking, bright

Food Prep:

How the food is prepared gives it these other attributes. If your character is familiar with cooking (or is the cook themselves!) they may describe food this way.

Baked: Cooked in an oven. Results in browned or crispy outer layer.

Blackened: When food is dipped in butter and coated with spices then cooked in a hot pan—spices darken, making it appear ‘blackened’

Blanched: Food scalded in boiling water and moved to cold water so it stops cooking. Texture comes out soft.

Braised: Food that is briefly fried in fat and then stewed in a pot. Results in seared, crispy exterior with a tender interior.

Breaded: Coated with breadcrumbs/batter then baked or fried so it turns crispy

Broiled: Food cooked with intense radiant heat in an oven or on the grill. Results in a darkened appearance and crispy texture.

Caramelized: Food slow-cooked until it’s browned, nutty, and has a bit of sweetness.

Charred: Grilled, roasted, or broiled and gains a blackened exterior and smoky flavor.

Fermented: Food that’s sat with bacteria, yeast, or another microorganism and has produced acids, alcohols, or gases. Results in a biting, pungent flavor. (Kimchi is fermented)

Fried: Food cooked by submerging in hot oil. Creates crispy, crunchy texture and golden colour.

Glazed: Food with a coating brushed onto its surface. Appears glossy with a thin, flavorful, and crisp outer layer.

Infused: Food steeped in liquid with another ingredient so it carries the essence of that ingredient. Used with herbs usually.

Marinated: Usually meat soaked in liquid containing flavourful herbs, spices, vinegar, or oil.

Poached: Food cooked in near boiling water. Results in tender, moist texture.

Roasted: Food cooked with dry heat in an oven or over the fire. Results in browned exterior and crisp coating.

Sautéed: Food cooked quickly in small amount of fat.

Seared: Food cooked in small amount of fat until caramelized. Finished by roasting or grilling. Results in crisp exterior and tender interior.

Smoked: Food exposed to smoke from smoldering wood for a long time. Results in that distinctive smoky flavor.

Whipped: Food beaten to incorporate air. Light and fluffy.

What did I miss?

[icaruspendragon]

Hey I just wanted to say thanks, because idk why this didn't just occur to me, but I've been missing "family" meals, the kind of meals I get to make for people and sit down with people I love since I came out and had to leave my house, and idk why but you posting about having family dinners with your friends where you host them made me realize that like, that's something I can still do. If I don't have the people who will invite me over to eat a meal anymore I can always be the person who invites others over myself and idk, I just wanted to say thanks

this warmed my heart in ways i don’t know how to describe.

family dinner started because i’d get some friends over on tuesdays to watch supernatural prequel the winchesters and i’d make them dinner for their troubles. i was feeding like five people max. but then the show ended and one of my friends got a new job and had to move an hour away so we moved it to the weekend so she could still come.

and then i realized that cooking is actually a form of self care for me (let’s not examine too closely how my self care is still taking care of others, it’s been discussed enough in therapy). so we started inviting other folks. and family dinner went from five people regularly to seven. and then i’d have friends from out of town come and it’d be 15-17. and now it’s not unusual for a dozen people to show up at my house on a saturday night to drink and eat and make merry.

there’s a particular kind of warmth that comes from leaning against the entry to my dining room, glass of wine curled against my chest, seeing so many of the people i love sitting around my table as they laugh and bicker and eat a meal that i used so much love to make. food that i spent hours creating because they gave me the confidence and the desire to learn how to make new things. because the effort it takes for me to make pasta or gnocchi or sauces or broths from scratch is worth it. the hours i will spend standing over a hot stove as i make gumbo or chicken and dumplings or fried everything is worth it. the easy smiles and whiskey-reddened cheeks and raucous laughter and full bellies and warm togetherness is worth the trouble.

it makes me understand the last supper (you know, minus the foreboding of betrayal). there’s a divinity in making a meal to share with those you love.

i’ve yet to find a better way express my devotion than to say, “take this, all of you, and eat of it. for it is my love given up for you.”

because even though the darkness can be chasm-wide and canyon-deep, my love is wider and deeper. it’s the bridge over the consumption of it all.

when people sit at my table and break bread that my hands have tenderly prepared i see the point of it all. loving and be loved in return.

and sometimes that love is stored in poetic words and grand gestures. and sometimes, that love is stored in a stockpot full of soup. but they both accomplish the same thing at the end of the day. warmth and safety and care and devotion.

it’s love. plain and simple and small.

[secretartblogowo]

You chose the path of most resistance, he's not easy to break 😇

How it works:

5 likes = eats a cluster of grapes

1 reblog: eats a bread roll

Ko-fi donation (per $5): drinks a tall glass of wine

(Ko-fi link: https://ko-fi.com/axolynne )

Thank you to everyone who participates, I will release weekly updates until the end of December <3

[autumnblooms]

Even sinners go to drink the wine, break the bread

[kcrossvine-art]

hi friends! This recipe/review was delayed at first from- well it was a different recipe originally, technically bat tempura should be the next item but id like my first tasting experience of bat to be made by someone else who knows what bat should taste like. The recipe after bat tempura is living armor and id intended to use geoduck to mimic the scale. Living armor is interesting with dunmeshi as they used the suit of armor in 3 different ways; grilling, steaming, and souping.

Affording geoduck, a PNW delicacy, is a stretch for one dish, let alone 3. With my write-ups id like to offer a chance that readers will actually be able to make what we talk about. So I opted to use regular clams instead. I feel myself above the fire so we're still sticking with one dish, the dish that doesnt require a grill or a helmet-esque plating arrangement.

Today in our delicious dungeon, we're going to be making Living Armor Soup!

(As always you can find the cooking instructions and full ingredient list under the break-)

MY NAMES CROSS NOW LETS COOK LIKE ANIMALS

SO, “what goes into Living Armor Soup?” YOU MIGHT ASKThe ingredients used in the show didnt give much to work on, quoting "medicinal herb" and "special sauce".

1 lbs Mussels

Shallots

Garlic

Bay leaf

Curry powder

Chicken stock

Cream

Eggs

Its important to use cream as your dairy, the higher fat content gives you leeway with boiling and acidity to avoid curdling. Any cream should do. Still bring it to temp gently but rest assured in the moo moos protection. 

AND, “what does Living Armor Soup taste like?” YOU MIGHT ASK

A smoother, buttery-er cream of chicken soup

The mussel meat itself feels like a simplified version of chicken hearts- structurally and in taste

Its not bad. You could hard sell it to a picky eater 

Green onions would bring crispier top-notes much needed

And maybe building a roux base for the soup would fill out the low end?

I dont know what drinks would pair well with this. My heart wants to say red wine but im not a grape fan and cant get more specific than that

I think the hassle of procuring seafood is why when i ask my friends their opinions, the responses are middling to negative. You cant build a palate for it if you dont eat it enough. If i'd had fish stock i wouldve used that rather than chicken, while it doesnt turn the soup disgusting or make itself known much at all, awareness of its presence draws unfavorable comparisons to food I'd rather be eating. And eating for cheaper too (...besides the chicken hearts).

. Some mussels out of a bunch will inevitably be DOA, you wont be eating exactly a pound of them. This and waterweight are the nature of seafood. . Lay easy on the salt until the end before serving . If you have enough mussel stock left after straining, you might not need additional stock

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

From deciding to cook to sitting and eating, the process took about an hour and a half. Not bad but not great, considering this dinner left me feeling full for all of about an hour after.

And the mussels were mostly usable/alive too! I discarded maybe 3 of the whole pound! Sure seafood can be light eating- youd think the dairy and vegetables would hulk it up more. The science of what makes food filling isnt entirely understood, as is most nutrition and gastro science, so i dont know what to blame. Stunning that 1lbs of mussels was not enough to keep a 110lbs person full for an hour.

If i were to make this again, i would serve it with fresh dinner rolls (or another carb). Breads and seafood are joined at the hip in my mind. You want more delicate tastes from your fish? I got just the thing. An entire family of food with varying flavors and textures that just so happen to all work pretty well with the third thing people eat often with seafood; butter.

I give this recipe a solid 4/10 (with 1 being food that makes one physically sick and 10 being food that gives one a lust for life again.) It needs workshopping beyond being recognizable to the show.

🐁 ORIGINAL RESIPPY TEXT BELOW 🐁

Ingredients:

1 lbs mussels, cleaned and de-bearded

Butter

3 shallots, finely diced

3 garlic cloves, crushed

2 bay leaf

Curry powder to taste

120g chicken stock

100g heavy cream

2 eggs

Method:

Wash your mussels. Remove any beards and barnacles. Discard any mussels with open shells.

Finely dice your shallots and garlic.

In a saucepan, brown your shallots and garlic in some butter over medium-low heat. Once softened add your stock, bay leaves, and curry powder to the saucepan. Increase the heat to medium.

Add your cleaned mussles to the saucepan, the liquid should cover them but if not add more stock. Bring to a boil, and then cover and reduce to a simmer.

Keep simmering until most/all of the mussel shells open. Discard any that still havent after about 6 minutes of simmering. Set aside the remaining mussels.

Pass the liquid in your saucepan through a strainer and return the liquid into the saucepan.

In a seperate bowl, combine the eggs and cream together. Carefully stir the egg/cream mixture into the saucepan until incorporated.

Remove the meat from the mussels, either discard or save some shells for garnishing.

Place the mussel meat on the bottom of serving bowls and pour the hot broth overtop, add your garnish (if any) and enjoy!

[she-walks-on-starlight]

Negotiations

a/n: This is Day 2! So sorry it's late, I was hospitalised over the weekend which put me behind! I'm working hard to catch up hehe

Pairing: Ambessa Medarda x Fem!Reader

Prompt: Write a scene without any dialogue

Warnings: smut, vaginal fingering, public sex, alcohol drinking, slight dom-sub vibes, mentions of violence, mention of blood

Summary: Ambessa hates negotiating, no matter how important it is for her rule. Perhaps she will make herself some entertainment to find it more enjoyable...

Word Count: 1.1k

18+ | MEN AND MINORS DNI | 18+

You know Ambessa finds these meetings the most tedious part of ruling over Noxus. She finds little meaning or use in negotiations, far more used to greeting political rivals and ambitious warlords with her sword at their throat than breaking bread with them. It is a preposterous notion to her, attempting to appease her perceived enemies. As she presides over the emissaries and nobles at the head of the table, you know she is listening keenly, identifying weakness, and sniffing out any hidden agendas. Noxian custom is steeped in violence, and there was a time that Ambessa would be demanding fealty or these peoples’ heads.

But things are different for her now. Now, her daughter Mel has agreed to remain in contact with her and visit Noxus more often with her consort, Jayce. Ambessa can breathe easier knowing that rebuilding the bridge between herself, and her daughter will secure her legacy and ensure that a Medarda inherits the throne upon Ambessa’s death.

She has you now. Seated to her right, close by so she can always see you. Her consort, the love she never thought she’d find again. You’ve dressed yourself in a scarlet red ensemble tonight, complete with a gold medallion belt accentuating your hips. Red and gold, her favourite colours. The colours of war and victory. Conquest. You’ve already caught her more than once tonight, her eyes raking down your figure, her eyes hungry and her tongue darting out to wet her lips. When your eyes meet, she flashes you a fanged smile, no doubt envisioning the many ways she will take you when this insufferable night is over.

You’re drawn to one of the visiting emissaries booming laughter as he gulps down wine and flirts boisterously with the serving girls as they refill his plate and his cup. You try to suppress your smile as you take in Ambessa’s disgust, knowing she’d want nothing more than to pick up the lout like a ragdoll and smash him into the ornate mahogany dining table, likely shattering it in the process.

The image sends an unexpected but not entirely unwelcome rush of heat between your legs. You squeeze your thighs as you imagine her leering down at the man, twitching as blood leaks from his head and then turns to you with her signature smirk. The very same smirk that ushered you into her bed three years ago, at another function where Ambessa was more interested in the wine selection than the purpose of the gathering. The scandal had rocked the court of Noxus, their esteemed leader engaging in an ill-advised relationship with a younger woman, and the daughter of an insignificant noble. She had silenced their doubts in her usual way, with threats of broken bones and removed tongues.

At first, you were convinced that she wanted only for your body, the way she tasted and marked your flesh during your visits bruising you with carnal possession. She was a tornado of fire, and you were blessed to be at the heart of the inferno. Countless nights you found yourself in awe of her, in awe of your luck. Nights spent with shaking legs, dripping with sweat and your own release as she made you scream her name for her over and over again. She was never satisfied with hearing your desperate pleas and devoted prayers to her only once. You never feared her, and knew she would never hurt you, not unless you asked her to.

But she soon proved to you that she wanted more, much more, than what your body could give her. She wanted you by her side always, listening to her stories of long-forgotten battles on distant shores, showing off your new dresses, massaging away her troubles in the bathhouse. She had fallen hard for you, an unexpected light leading her out of the darkness.

You’re startled out of your reminiscing by a hand creeping up your dress, invited in by the high riding slit at the thigh. You gulp as Ambessa’s face remains completely impassive as she sips at her wine, but you don’t miss the quick glance she sends your way, and you know exactly what she’s trying to say.

Be quiet. Don’t move. And enjoy.

Her hand climbs higher, and you hear her try in vain to supress the deep rumbling groan that threatens to emanate from her throat when she finds no underwear to stop her advance. You’re already wet from your earlier fantasising, and your clit is throbbing, begging for her attention. As she drags calloused fingers through your folds, you grit your teeth and grip the table tightly. You’re in for a ride, and regardless of the social setting, Ambessa will expect you to take what she gives you.

She wastes no time in gathering the slick pooling from you, coating her fingers before she pushes one inside. Her fingers are thick, and no matter how used to the stretch you’ve become, you relish in the burn as your pussy eagerly welcomes her inside. Your knuckles are white with how hard you’re holding on and you’re fighting to keep your breathing even, lest one of your guests suspect something’s wrong. Ambessa would hate to be interrupted.

She’s adding a second finger, smirking into her wine as she can feel you tighten around her. You can feel the pressure mounting in your belly, your entire body aching for release. You shoot her a pleading look and feel her curl her fingers in response. You start to see spots at the edge of your vision as she brings you closer and closer, all while engaging in dull conversation. Gods, you were going to make her pay for this later. Her thumb is pressing roughly against your clit in swift, calculated circles, you can feel her determination to send you tumbling over the edge. Soon enough, you are doing just that, but you’re hurtling not simply falling. Your orgasm hits you like a searing meteorite, burning through you with force and it takes all of your self-control not to cry out, biting down on your lip so hard you draw blood. You cover it up quickly by taking a sip of wine, dabbing at your mouth with your napkin and glaring at Ambessa reproachfully. She takes no notice, leaning back in her chair with a self-satisfied grin.

Shaking your head, you try to reintegrate yourself into the conversation, though none of it holds your interest. Instead, you find yourself consumed by thoughts of your handsome warrior, trailing over each scar you can see and thinking fondly of all the ones you cannot but know intimately. You will reward her mischief with a soothing massage and relaxing oils tonight, it’s been far too long since you’ve caressed her bulging muscles. But you will deny her the taste of your flesh until she begs, a fitting punishment for tonight’s shenanigans. After all, no matter what the nobles of Noxus or the visiting emissaries of foreign lands may think, no matter how imposing Ambessa may appear, you know that there is only person she will fall to her knees for. Tonight, you will make her remember why.  

[actuallysaiyan]

Werewolf Nanami Part II

warnings: unprotected sex, knotting, marking, mentions of scent glands, sort of getting into omega verse|a/b/o but still within the realms of regular werewolves as well, alcohol, yandere pairings: Werewolf!Nanami Kento x Fem!Reader a/n: dividers by the lovely @benkeibear

taglist: @beneathstarryskies @an-ever-angry-bi @seireiteihellbutterfly

@namikyento @benkeibear @adharadotcom

@heyitsd1yaa @darkstarlight82

@melisuh123. @galactict3a @erebus-et-eigengrau

Werewolf!Nanami who’s grown more than just attached to you. In his mind, he knows that you are indeed his little mate. He does everything he can to make sure his scent is all over you.

Werewolf!Nanami who begins to stalk you even more. He knows when you’re working, when you’re going home, when you’re out. He knows where you are not only through your own personal scent, but also through a specialty app he had downloaded on your phone.

Werewolf!Nanami who tries to hide what he is from you, but he’s also not the brightest when it comes to trying to hide every aspect. You see the way his teeth seem a little too sharp, his eyes just a little too shiny.

Werewolf!Nanami that finally takes you out on a date, not realizing how much he’s so in love with you and how being this close to you would make him go just a little bit crazy.

Werewolf!Nanami who, after a few drinks, becomes quite frisky with you. He’s dancing with you, holding you ever so close to that broad frame of his. He smells so good, like a warm cozy fire and fallen leaves. He smells like fresh baked bread and a cup of warm tea. So him grinding against you isn’t unwanted.

Werewolf!Nanami who gets you into his apartment, on his bed. He kisses you fervently, teeth clashing and tongues rubbing together. You swear you’re drooling for him, but maybe he’s the one drooling for you. Either way, you love the taste of the wine he had with dinner on his breath.

Werewolf!Nanami who’s all over you the minute you’re both naked on his bed. He rubs himself against you, nipping and licking your neck. He leaves bite marks all over your body, but very specifically on your neck. He practically begs you to do the same to him, which you happily oblige.

Werewolf!Nanami who ends up convincing you to let him slip inside of you raw. No need for a condom, you two have known each other for a very long time. Besides, his knot would just destroy the rubber anyway. And he fully intends on knotting inside your pussy.

Werewolf!Nanami who licks your pussy until you’re sobbing and begging for a break, only for him to leave a mark on your inner thigh and to slip inside of your warm, snug heat. You feel like heaven to him and he’s never letting you go now.

Werewolf!Nanami who fucks you through two more earth-shattering orgasms. Finally, he gets close as he feels the need pooling deep in his tummy. He bites down on your neck, grunting and growling how you’re all his and how he’s going to show you his love.

Werewolf!Nanami who knots so deep inside of you, making you gasp at the sudden pressure and how full you feel. You look down to see where you two are connected and he gives you that wolfish grin of his. “Looks like we’re bonded now.”

[lostloveletters]

Something Borrowed (Michael Corleone x Reader)

Summary: Michael Corleone is the last person you expect to see at your best friend Connie’s wedding, and the last thing you expect to happen upon seeing him again after so many years is spending the night together. Maybe, it'll turn into something more.

Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. No hate to Kay, she’s my girl, but wedding scene Michael drives me crazy🤭 She’s off living her best life elsewhere in this. Also, it was a lot of fun writing pre-everything Michael. Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: Sexually explicit content involving unprotected sex. Light play fighting.

Champagne and giggles overflowed at Connie Corleone’s wedding to Carlo Rizzi. Plenty of red wine was passed around in pitchers for the old guard, of course. For you and the other women conscious of not staining the rainbow of cocktail dresses and flowing gowns that dotted the backyard, you opted for lighter fare in tall flutes that sparkled in the early autumn sun. 

Perhaps you were a bit too enthusiastic about the drink offerings, having already exchanged three empty champagne glasses for ones filled to the brim with glittering gold when the bride engulfed you in a hug. With a delighted laugh, you returned the gesture, kissing her cheek.

“I wanted to say thank you one more time for coming!” Connie exclaimed, her cheeks flushed pink from the excitement of the day. “God, it breaks my heart we couldn’t have gotten you a bridesmaid dress in time, but you look gorgeous.”

“Me? Connie, you look like a princess.”

“I feel like one,” she giggled.

“When you see your gift from me—I’m sorry it’s not more, I haven’t—”

“Stop it!” she scolded. “You came all the way from Europe just to be at my wedding. I couldn’t ask for a better friend.”

You didn’t bother correcting her. Her version of events sounded much nicer than you just got lucky with when the Red Cross put you on a boat home. “Anything for you.”

“I won’t keep you. This is probably the first time you’re eating real food in years. Mama, Sandra, and Theresa made most of it.”

Connie was right. You tried to savor your plate, packed with pasta drowned in homemade sauce, antipasto and crusty bread, and sandwiches that towered with fresh cold cuts. The Corleones knew a thing or two about good food, and had the means to pull the strings for the unfathomable ration books such a feast required.

A familiar yet unexpected voice startled you when your fork pierced a piece of mozzarella. “Is this seat taken?”

“Michael,” you practically gasped, taken aback by his even attending the wedding in the first place, but also how good he looked in his uniform. Cap tucked under his arm, medals and decorations on his chest, the photos you’d seen in the magazine didn’t do him justice. Finding yourself again, you gestured to the empty seat across from you. “Go ahead.”

“I can’t remember the last time I saw you, but you look great,” he said, his gaze fixed on you as he set his plate and glass down. He took you in, the girl he’d grown up seeing around the house and at school, now, without a doubt, a woman.

“You too, Captain,” you said, nodding toward the double bars on his uniform.

He snickered at your little joke, making you feel a bit more at ease in his presence. “I’m surprised you aren’t in the wedding party.”

“Honestly, I wasn’t even sure I was going to make it until a few days ago. I only just got back to New York on Thursday,” you said.

“You volunteered with the Red Cross, didn’t you?”

You nodded. “I was in England, and then France after the liberation.”

“Clubmobile, right?”

“Did Connie tell you?”

He shook his head, smiling the slightest bit. “All the pretty girls worked the Clubmobile.”

A mortifyingly girlish giggle escaped your lips. You quickly brought your glass to your mouth, though the champagne in it was likely the culprit of your embarrassing reaction to Michael’s compliment. Averting your eyes to the dancing guests, you tried to ignore the warmth that spread across your face.

You allowed yourself to look at him again a few moments later, relieved to find he was still sitting in front of you, amused, maybe even endeared, by you.

“You’re such a jerk, Michael,” you mumbled, only because he was your friend’s older brother, and when you were younger and starry-eyed and figuring out what it meant when your heart wouldn’t quite beat right around a boy, it was him who those tender emotions were kindled in secret toward—until you had your first real boyfriend.

He grinned at your remark, and the two of you ate and caught up in between his various family members stopping by the table to say hello. You weren’t sure what to make of his seeing you before any of them—flattered, a bit confused as well, but he laughed at your jokes and moved his seat closer to yours, so you must have been doing something right when he finally asked, “Do you want to dance?”

“I’d love to,” you said.

The chaos from Johnny Fontaine’s unexpected arrival and impromptu performance subsided when Michael led you out to dance. He held you close, the way soldiers had at the dances the Red Cross put on for servicemen, all to boost morale, or, as the war went on, to offer a break from reality. Among the many rules meant to be followed—and typically broken in one way or another in the haze of war—was to keep some emotional distance from the enlisted men, for your sake and their own, but with bodies so close together, tender touches and soft whispers over songs of twilight and moonbeams, it was tough not to be caught up in romance’s alluring snare.

Even then, with the war behind both of you, something about being in Michael’s arms made you truly understand why some girls risked their assignments for a man. There was something in how he looked at you, different from your childhood together, even from a few minutes prior. You felt breathless despite the slow song you swayed along to.

“Did you like Paris?” he asked quietly, throwing you for a loop.

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Paris?”

“You were in France, weren’t you?”

“Not Paris.”

“Where in France were you slinging doughnuts, then?”

“Little villages a few miles out from the front, mostly. More cows than people, but nice enough once the fighting stopped, and it was finally quiet—as quiet as it could get, anyway,” you said. “When Connie wrote you’d been wounded, I couldn’t help but think the worst. Plenty of guys out there—well, that article sure put me at ease. All the girls were jealous when I said I knew you.” You smiled. “I’m glad you’re alright, Michael.”

He glanced at your lips, and for an aching moment you were sure he was going to kiss you, but instead he gave you a smile, one that was real and made your heart flutter nevertheless, but left you disappointed.

“Where are you staying since you’ve been back?” he asked.

He seemed familiar with the hotel you were staying in when you mentioned it, offering to drive you back after the reception ended, and Connie and Carlo left for their honeymoon. 

“It’s only until I can find a boarding hotel that has space,” you said. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be the Barbizon, but I’m not moving back in with my parents.”

“Here’s to that.”

The rest of the day and into the evening, Michael hung around you, unless he was pulled away by members of his family, each instance an annoyance to him. You knew they weren’t exactly supportive of his enlisting, but the situation couldn’t have been that bad, not since he was home, safe and sound at his sister’s wedding.

The Corleones, though endlessly kind to you, always been an odd family, and you learned through your friendship with Connie not to ask too many questions.

But Genco Abbandando was dying, and Vito insisted Michael go with the rest of the Corleone men to pay his respects to the elder. When you offered to take a cab back to your hotel, Michael promised the visit wouldn’t be long, suggesting you wait at the house with his mother until he returned to drive you into the city.

Your foolish desire to spend more time with him led to your waiting in the Corleones’ kitchen for a little over an hour, when you likely would’ve been showered and in bed in your hotel room by the time he arrived back for you, in one hell of a hurry to get you into his car and presumably get away from his family.

“Do you ever think about leaving New York?” he asked when the house was out of view.

You laughed. “Michael, I only just got back.”

“That’s not what I mean. The war—it wasn’t going to be forever, but it let you see what life could be like away from all of this, didn’t it?”

“Of course it did. I’m honestly not sure what I’m going to do with myself now,” you said. “How about you? Are you going back to school? Dartmouth, I mean.”

He nodded. “I start again the spring semester.” At a red light, he glanced over at you. “New England’s nice. Better than French cow country.”

“And do you suppose I could study in the department of pouring coffee and serving doughnuts?”

“You’re smart. I think you have a real future,” he said, the sincerity in his voice startling you. “All of that back there, that’s not for us. It never has been.”

You were silent for a few moments. “I guess you’re right.”

The city lights twinkling in the distance took the place of the stars they blocked out from the sky, growing larger as Michael crossed the bridge into Manhattan, the center of the universe. You’d never tell a soul how you cried just a few days prior upon seeing it again for the first time in years.

Besides his talk of the future, Michael kept the conversation light, and you could’ve sworn he was flirting with you. Working the Clubmobile, you learned quickly how to pick up on it, some men laying it on thick while others were irresistibly smooth. Michael could’ve easily just been teasing you, the way a friend’s older brother would, but when he pulled up to your hotel, either your ego or curiosity prompted you to invite him up for a drink.

You sobered up on the drive into the city, enough to remember you didn’t have any drinks in your room. The two of you would have to go to the hotel bar for that, but then you and Michael wouldn’t be alone, not how you wanted, anyway.

To your relief, he agreed.

With Michael in uniform, few questions would be asked by hotel staff as to why you suddenly had a man with you when you checked in on your own. It would have been easy to lie, claim he was your fiance who had only just gotten back Stateside. But you supposed you and Michael already looked the part, walking arm-in-arm through the lobby without an issue.

Your confidence soared on the elevator ride up to your modest room, which you let Michael into, knowing he wouldn’t judge the state of your accommodations.

“Mind if I make myself comfortable?” You didn’t wait for his answer, pulling your blouse from where it’d been tucked in your skirt. Slipping out of your heels, you sighed softly in relief.

“It’s your place,” he said, setting his coat over the chair in the corner and loosening his tie.

You grabbed his cap from where he set it down and placed it on your head, tilting the brim over your face a bit and posing in front of him with a hand on your hip. “How do I look?”

He sat down on the edge of the bed, giving you a once over, “I swear I saw you pinned up in some guy’s tent looking just like that.”

You laughed, taking the cap off and flinging it aside. “Oh, I don’t even know why I invited you up here!” Your laughter faded as something in your stomach turned sour, the situation feeling achingly too good to be true. Alone in a hotel room with Michael, the two of you entirely capable of making your own mistakes on the off chance he wanted you too. “Or why you even agreed to come up.”

“I didn’t come up here to drink.”

“No, you did it to be nice, because we’ve known each other for so long…” You sighed, sitting next to him. “I always figured you thought of me as your kid sister’s annoying little friend or something.”

He shook his head, saying your name softly in either protest or reassurance. His hand cupped your face as he turned it toward him, his thumb rubbing soft circles in your cheek. “Not for a long time. Especially not tonight.”

You kissed him, hands gripping his shoulders, closing your eyes as you melted in his embrace. Your skin feverish at his touch, you shuddered when his hand slipped up your untucked blouse until his fingertips reached your bra.

To say you hadn’t fantasized about Michael would have been an unconvincing lie to anyone who dared ask, but even in your wildest dreams, it was never quite like this, so bold and irreverent in the face of the tradition the two of you had just spent the day celebrating.

“I came up here because you’re beautiful,” he confessed against your lips, “because you’re the only familiar face I saw at my sister’s wedding that didn’t make me wish I were somewhere else.”

Silencing him with another kiss, your fingers raked through his soft black hair as your body pressed flush against his, unsure if you could withstand hearing more of his tender words without falling to pieces. You couldn’t, not so early in the night, but his desire grew difficult to ignore when he pulled you onto his lap. The pressure against your pussy made you moan, and with a hasty desperation, you shimmied out of your panties as he unbuckled his belt, freeing his hard cock within a few moments.

You slipped a hand between the two of you, pumping his length, feeling the way it twitched at your touch and gasping when Michael’s hips bucked. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, a whisper of an intent to devour you.

“I need you, sweetheart,” he groaned. “Need to feel you.”

Lifting your hips, you whimpered upon feeling his head brush your clit as you positioned yourself, slowly lowering as he filled you, cock throbbing against your walls that clenched around him. He assuaged the pain of taking all of him with a gentle kiss and soft praises, urging you to take your time, that you had all night together.

All night. The promise he would stay, at least until the morning, sent a teasing wave of pleasure through you. Gripping his shoulders, you tried to keep a steady pace as you rode him, wanted to show him that staying would be worth his while. He’d been right in the car, you wouldn’t be a virginal, wedding white bride. The both of you had seen and experienced too much to be considered innocent any longer, but it was something you shared, that no one else from that day would have understood.

Your thighs ached as you neared your climax, desperately chasing it despite the exhaustion that was creeping up on you. Crying out in frustration, you buried your face in the crook of Michael’s neck.

“I’m close,” you whined. “Michael, I—”

“I’ve got you,” he assured you, his hands making their home on your hips. 

Your eyes fluttered shut as you let him guide your body, his thrusts doing most of the work while you rocked against him, seeking the friction against your clit that would bring you to release. It caught in your throat, a broken groan from your lips to his ears as you came, clenching around him, pleasure rolling through you, rattling your body like thunder. You barely caught your breath when he came, shuddering against you, practically cradling you against him as he filled you.

With a whimper, you lifted yourself off of him and rolled back onto the bed. Placing your hand on your chest, you felt your rapidly beating heart beneath your fingertips, focusing on it as it slowed the following minute or so and ignoring the stickiness between your legs, the evidence you slept with your best friend’s older brother. 

Michael leaned over, brushing back the hair that stuck to your face. “What are your plans tomorrow?”

“Looking through the classifieds for a job,” you said honestly.

“Wanna put it off for a day?”

“With what money, Michael?”

“I’ll give you a line of credit.”

You grabbed one of the pillows from behind you, throwing it at him with a laugh. “Jerk!”

He grinned, pushing it aside to grab for one of your arms. You put up a weak fight, your breathless laughter giving away his almost certain win.

Having pinned you down beneath him, he pressed you for an answer. “So?” He kissed you. “What do you say, sweetheart?”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “I guess I can clear my schedule for a dashing war hero like you.”

“Dashing, I like the sound of that,” he murmured, bringing his lips to yours again, softly, with a tenderness that promised more for tomorrow, and even the day after, if you’d have him. 

You smiled. “Me too.”

[seeingivy]

you're losing me

satoru x f!reader

**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series

an: based on a request I received! i've been trying to get back into the writing groove since finals ended - and this very detailed request was exactly what I needed - so ty my sweetie pie <3

--

“Would you guys like to order?” 

You swallow hard, looking up at your waiter, who has stopped by for the third time now. You’ve been sitting here with the first years for almost forty-five minutes now, waiting for Satoru to arrive for the dinner that you two kept promising them. Yuuji and Nobara have all but exhausted the free bread supply while you waited, much to Megumi’s dismay, who keeps claiming that they’re going to be too full to eat their dinner and complain about it for days. 

“Um-” 

You pause, checking his location one more time, before you sigh and give a polite smile. Satoru’s location still isn’t reading - meaning, he’s still stuck on his mission - and not coming to dinner. 

“Yeah. Yeah, sure.” you respond, gesturing for the three of them as Megumi starts narrating everyone’s order to the waiter.

The three of them turn to you - with matching stiff smiles - when he walks away as you swallow hard and prepare yourself for the awkward barrage of comments you know are coming. 

“He’s not coming?” Megumi asks. 

“Yeah. He’s still at his mission and I have to take you guys back early anyways, so we’ll just eat without him.” 

“Maybe you can take something for him to go?” Yuuji asks. 

“No, that’s alright. Um, his dinner from yesterday should still be there. He’s good.” you respond. 

You don’t miss the look that the three of them give each other and swallow down the defense of him that you always have prepared. Not that you don’t still vehemently believe in it, because you do, it’s just that it tends to make those prolonged, pitying looks last longer when you do. 

But Satoru really is busy. There’s no one like him - he quite literally changed the balance of life as anyone knew it when he was born - so of course there are certain missions that only he can do. And there’s a certain…safety that comes with picking Satoru each time. Because they know that he’ll come out on the other side of it, with exactly what they need. 

Which means that he comes home late sometimes. Despite your best efforts to stay up - which always end with you upright on the couch, with your neck curved in a weird way - only to find that you’re safely tucked into your bed the next morning. 

Satoru always comes home at some point, making sure to tuck you into bed, but has to run off so fast that you don’t catch him in the morning. 

“Gojo-sensei’s really neglecting you, huh?” Nobara utters, earning a jab from Megumi in his side. 

You smile. 

“No. He’s just busy.” you respond, awkwardly breaking the bread in your plate. 

“You’re right. He has missions and has been really hands on with the second-years.” Megumi responds. 

You shoot him a grateful smile. 

“Exactly! Especially since they’re all about to be nominated for first grade sorcerers so…now is more important than ever.” you add. 

“It’s okay. You should just make Gojo-sensei feel really bad. Isn’t he rich? Then he’ll buy you a nice ring to make up for it.” Nobara adds, giving you a wink. 

You snort. 

“Okay, Nobara. I’ll try it.” you scoff. 

“No, seriously! He should feel bad - you’re probably drinking wine alone at night, blasting some sad songs before you get so tired from crying that you fall asleep. You deserve a gift!” Nobara adds, earning her another jab from Megumi in her side. 

You roll your eyes. 

“I do not blast sad songs before I go to bed. That’s actually pathetic.” you respond. 

“Or therapeutic. I’ll send you a playlist. Trust me, you’ll get so mad that you’ll actually get a gift from him out of it.” Nobara responds, your phone beeping in your pocket from her message. 

You look over at Megumi, giving him a knowing look, before you return to your dinner and let Nobara target her incessant rambling for someone else. At the end of the dinner, Nobara flashes you a big smile when you set Satoru’s credit card down on the table, which was an accident because you had just left yours at home. You settle down her rambling by buying them all dessert on it before you send them home. 

--

Satoru, though he would never admit it out loud, had been dreading coming home for the past week. And he’d wring his own neck out a few months ago, for even thinking it, let alone the fact that he’s been entertaining the fact for the past few months. 

But what he has waiting for him when he’s coming home, leaves him with that deep seated, guilty pit in his stomach. Because he always trods into your apartment hours late, to find you curled up on the couch, having dozed off. 

Satoru knows you - too well almost - and that despite his protests, you tried your best to wait up for him every single day. His heart warms at the fact that you want to spend time with him, but it’s quickly overshadowed with guilt when he sees the dark circles under your eyes. And it makes it ten times worse when he slips out in the morning for his mission, only to see you squirming into his side of the bed, now left cold. 

And the worst part? That you can’t even bring yourself to be mad about it. Because Satoru would feel with anger, that it would be fully deserved, but your full understanding and love for him just makes his guilt a thousand times worse. Because without fail, you always leave ehim a dinner plate out, reminding him to eat his vitamins and rink water before leaving. 

But today was different - quite possibly, the first time he’s rushed home in a while. Because his mission finished early and his meeting got cancelled, meaning that he would be home when you would be awake. He’d made arrangements, quickly running past and picking up a bouquet and ice cream on the way home, nearly sprinting all the way up the stairs. 

Satoru pads into the apartment, feet leading him straight to the bedroom, where the light is pouring from the bottom of the closed door. He hesitates, caught off by the fact that you’re singing, before knocking on the door together. He’d missed the sound of it, of your quiet singing that he’d often wake up to while you were showering. 

Satoru can recognize that you’re listening to Taylor Swift almost immediately - with how much you and Nobara play it around him - and he’s almost positive that you must have the cat cuddled into your nap, explaining all the lore to him like he’s found you doing hundreds of time. 

"Do something, babe, say something" (say something) "Lose something, babe, risk something" (you're losin' me) "Choose something, babe, I got nothing (got nothing) To believe Unless you're choosin' me" You're losin' me Stop (stop, stop), you're losin' me Stop (stop, stop), you're losin' me I can't find a pulse My heart won't start anymore

Satoru swallows hard. He knows that it’s just a song. That the sentiment could easily not be reflecting what you’re feeling. 

But he’s also acutely aware that it could be what you’re feeling. And it’s something that you aren’t telling him, because he knows that you odn’t want to be another thing that he has to deal with at the end of the day. 

Satoru groans, leaning his head against the door, as he panders with his options. Because that’s the last thing that he wants you think. It’s the farthest place he wants to be in his relationship with you, because he wants you to always come to him. The fact that you could have been holding onto these feelings, for god knows how long, makes his stomach churn as his feet quickly lead him into the kitchen and has him scribbling a note to place in the bouquet of flowers. 

--

You shoot Nobara a text as you pad out into the kitchen, your cat following you on your heels. 

you: i like the playlist! 

nobara: how much have you had to drink? 

you: i did not drink. and i am not sad. 

nobara: now who said that? projecting much…

You roll your eyes as you half debate opening up the dinner you had left out for Satoru last night or ordering takeout and leaving him leftovers to eat tomorrow morning 

“I already ordered us something.” 

You turn around, to find Satoru closing the space between you, the flowery smell filling your nose as his lips meet your forehead in a warm kiss. 

“Satoru. You’re home, I didn’t even…” 

He presses his lips firmly against yours, his right hand flesh as your cheek, sending a wave of warmth down your spine. You smile into the kiss, resting your forehead against his, as he returns a soft smile back. 

“I missed you.” he murmurs. 

You deflate, warm tears filling your eyes at his presence - bright blue eyes, the smell of his shampoo, and his warm arms around yours - as you loop your arms under his and dig your face into his neck. You can feel him leaving a few pecks in your hair, his voice soothing as you try your best to will away your tears. 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to cry, I just really missed you.” 

He pulls back, giving you a warm smile, as he reaches for the flowers on the counter and places them in your hands. You give him a bright smile, twisting them in your hands, as you fully inhald the flowery smell. 

“For you.” Satoru responds, in a sing song voice as he reaches forward to pinch your cheek. 

“You didn’t have to, love.” you respond, swiping the tiny little envelope from the bouquet. 

“Yes. I did.” he deadpans, placing his hands on your shoulder before swinging you around and placing you flesh against his chest. 

You open up the little envelope to find a little note inscribed with his messy handwriting, as his lips find their way to your cheek. 

My sweet girl, 

Your endless empathy and patience don’t go unnoticed. You’re far more than I deserve and I want to make it up to you, though I’m sure I’ll probably spend the rest of my life doing that, if you’ll let me. 

We’re going to go away, just the two of us, for a little while. I don’t care where we go, you can choose where we go and what we do tomorrow. Just know, that in earnest, I’m choosing you, even if I don’t make it clear all the time. 

I’ll choose you, always. 

Love, 

Satoru

You smile hard, twisting around, so you can look up at him. The tears are flowing from your eyes tenfold how, as Satoru lifts his hands to your cheeks, trying to push you into smiling. 

“Why are you frowning, princess?” 

“You’re so sweet, Satoru.” 

Satoru shakes his head dismissively, as he pushes you into his embrace fully, increasing the pressure of his hold around you. The two of you stand there in the kitchen for a while, softly murmuring to each other, in the pale light of the kitchen. 

When you and Satoru pad into bed later that night, you send Nobara another message before going to sleep. 

you: nvm. remind me to take ur advice more often.

--

an, again: no one crucify me I haven't written anything for like a month

the satoru as taylor swift series masterlist

taglist: @invisible-mori @porridgesblog  @k0z3me  @kayleegomez  @yihona-san06  @bsenpai  @sweetenertea  @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @luna0713hunter @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @gojoswifeyyys-world @cutiejg

[muffinsin]

GUYS!!! GUYS!!!!!! idea time 😈

the dimitrescus (seperately) with a s/o that acts so much like a vampire, that the dimitrescus were suprised to learn they werent?

Like, reader has irregularly sharp teeth, claw-like nails, oddly pale skin, and literal bloodlust (they genuinly enjoy to drink blood, -- you can cut that part out if it makes u uncomftorable, obviously 💗💗)

Reader, their s/o, also avoids going outside like the plague, -- they hate the cold, always loom around and cause chaos (their energy vaguely resembles Danielas..), and wear dark, covering clothes (that also, somewhat resemble the dimitrescu sisters' cloaks) that you would expect to see in an old, monster-romance cliche.

Their s/o even has a tattoo! Its .. not on their forehead, but, its the same! Its a flower! They must be a vampire too! Wait, whaddya mean you're mortal? ..

.....

what?

IM GOING ABSOLUTELY FERAL FOR THESE LOVELY LADIES GRAHHHH SOMEBODY LITERALLY SEDATE ME 😨😨😨😨😨

And now i leave, just like my father -- aha. Please laugh.

-🐾🍪🏕

Traveling girlscout anon ;3

Awhhh, this is a cute one!! We love ourselves these vampiric tendencies! :)

Let’s get into it!

Masterlists

Bela

Until recently, Bela was convinced you’re a vampire. Or similar to her mother, at the very least

Sure, upon finding you and seeing your (at first glance-) humane nature, she did think of you as a human

But, within hours already, this changed

Early on she convinced herself you were like Alcina, not made of flies, but vampiric at the very least

After all, all about you screams just that

The first Bela noticed, ever, early on into your relationship, was your appearance

Hidden underneath your gloves are sharp claw-like nails

Much like her own, really, and nearly as sharp

She actually screamed in surprise and mild pain the first time you clawed at her back

She likes restraining you when things get wild, now, for the sake of her porcelain-like skin

Not only your nails look strangely inhuman, though

Next are your teeth, sharp and almost filed, again much like her own

Upon feeling them under her tongue, and later on inspecting them properly, Bela became aware of their fang-like nature

Really, she loves this

While she would never admit it, Bela loves to feel your fangs sink into her skin, to feel you break skin, to feel the pain she so rarely experiences due to her nature

And then, to her biggest surprise, there’s the tatttoo

Almost like her own! A rose, one typical for house Dimitrescu like hers, though lacking the other symbols of the house

Placed just below your neck, she saw it first when she offered you a massage

She likes to trace it whenever the two of you cuddle now, giggling whenever you lean up and kiss hers in return

What became obvious next, was your not so human appetite and favorite dishes

Mainly because while she made sure you had bread and such available, you showed no interest in that, and have barely indulged in that in the time she’s known you

In fact, to this day, you share her meals and snacks, blood

When she sits drinking the infamous blood-wine, you often sit down on her lap and take some sips from the fancy glass

At times you prefer it directly from the source

As such, Bela is moaning and gasping beneath you or trapped against a wall, her pale face flushed pink as you first bite down and tear her neck open, then suck at the wound eagerly

To this day, it’s something she grants you and something that gets her flustered like very little else

Your eyes are dark, your appearance even more so

Like her, you prefer dark clothing, something that only feeds into her suspicion of your vampiric nature

You loom about in the shadows, are hardly ever seen outside

In fact, she finds you only join her hunts at night

The sun she enjoys on her pale skin, warming and tickling lightly, seems to almost disgust you

You’re never seen in it, always stay in when you can

Your paleness almost matches hers

Sometimes, she attempts to get you outside

When she holds your hand and gently guides you, giggles as your face scrunches up in disgust

At times, you humor her, walk outside and stay in the shade, watch as she sunbathes

You don’t quite understand why, only growl to yourself at times as you watch her

At least, it’s an opportunity for you to watch her

Still, she giggles when your growls turn to whines after fifteen minutes or so, pleading to go back inside

At other times, you watch her from the window in her room, playing with the few daggers you’re allowed to store there

Then, suddenly, one day the truth comes out

It’s winter, the cool air trapping your girlfriend within the castle

Still, as she nibs at your neck and draws circles along your skin lazily, you feel her become restless

Working for her mother and being busy so often, winter is less harsh on Bela than her sisters

Still, she has cravings, as you come to learn early on in the relationship

And so she’s curled in your shared bed, whining quietly to herself (not that she would ever admit that) as you kiss her forehead

You promise, you’ll head to the woods to get her a snack, freshly caught, the way she likes it

Only is it during the day…and while the air is bitingly cold, the sun is standing high

Immediately, she worries and tries to stop you

Upon hearing her reasoning, you can’t help but giggle, which only prompts an adorably confused frown

You’re not incredibly surprised to hear her think of you as a vampire, but assure her nonetheless: you’re human

As such, she allows you to go, talking only of things to bring with you to keep you safe

And as you hunt for her, you endure the sun, frowning in annoyance at it occasionally

You truly hate the sun, and the annoyingly cold breeze makes it an even worse experience

But, you would do anything for her

And upon returning, you smile as she feasts on your catch eagerly, exploring your body anew after her discovery

You let her, leaving a light smile on your lips

Cassandra

Having met you officially as her mother’s advisor and informant from the village, and noticing your overall appearance, Cassandra has never thought of you as anything but a vampire

In all the time she has and does see you, you’re covered in black, gothic-like clothing, not at all unlike her own

You look regal, but dangerous, mysterious and dark

You look like you perfectly fit into the castle and the family, even before Cassandra has made you hers

Never has she seen you in colorful clothing, except maybe the few times you wore an almost victorian dress for one of Mother’s infamous hosted balls and festivals

A deep shade of red, victorian and gothic in style, further adding to her belief of your vampire status

Her believes haven’t changed to this day, even

When she hunts, you join her at night

And while not as fast or strong as her, you have little difficulty keeping up. Often you even slay beasts with her

The two of you like to stay until the morning approaches, kissing and hunting, relishing in one another’s bodies and words until it’s time to head back to the castle before the sun sets

She never questioned why you don’t like the sun. After all, all vampires don’t like it, can’t stand it even

You like to join her in the basement, often cleaning and polishing her weapons and tools of torture

She never thought of it as strange, never thought an immortal being like herself or her family would be bothered by the blood and screams

Your teeth are similar to her own, sharp and predatory, fang-like and glistening when the shine of the moon hits them

And while they’re not as strong or sharp as Cassandra’s, they are still unnatural looking

Of course, she’s very keen on them, as you realize early on

She loves to inspect your teeth and run her tongue along their sharp tips, crackling in delight whenever she isn’t careful and cuts herself on them

Secretly, she allows you to bite her when you play rough

At those times she relishes in your presence and vampiric-like biology, allowing you to take what you want from her, rather than the other way around

It’s rare times, but it’s still one of your favorite moments, when she allows you to hold her down and straddle her, your sharp teeth digging into her surprisingly sensitive neck

At those times it’s often that your sharp, claw-like nails come into play, as well as her own if you neglect to use protection

Always, you tie her arms and wrists up when it’s your turn to take from her

Your girlfriend simply loves scratching too much, so much so you’re sure you couldn’t live through it

You are after all, though oblivious to her, mortal

As such she’s usually tied when you take, and relishes in the deep scratches you give her along her backside when she takes from you

Sometimes, after, she allows you her blood as a reward

It’s divine, and if you could (and if she let you) you could easily live off only that

Alas, you often share in a maid with her, held between the two of you, her cries muffled as both of you share one side of her neck to drink from

While usually discarded after, they always make for a fun snack

Should one be unlucky enough to live through it, it’s clear she’s Cassandra’s plaything now, awaiting the woman’s attention in the basement

And lastly, another detail she loves about you, is the tattoo placed on your chest

A rose, similar to the one she sports, only missing the Dimitrescu sigil and the ring surrounding it

Sometimes, when feeling particularly soft and cuddling up together, Cassandra likes to draw along the tattoo, adding bits here and there

Until, at the end, it looks nearly identical to her own

You smile whenever you see it

The day she finds out about your mortality is one like any other, really

She’s out hunting with you, the late night hours when the sun is down and the air has adapted a nice, cozy temperature

You’re at it for hours, hunting successfully, not worried about the time in the slightest

It wouldn’t be the first time the two of you stay out all night

And as the spirits rise and the hunt slows, the two of you take advantage of the quiet forest that seems to belong to only the two of you, now

With your hands tangled in her hair and your teeth teasing her neck, you completely forget about restraining her hands

As such, when you bite down, her claw-like nails come down on you, slicing and tearing lines down your back

Immediately, you tear yourself away, screaming in pain even as pleasure runs through you and your fang-like teeth and lips tingle with the desire to feast on her again

As you sink to your knees, she’s immediately by your side

She doesn’t understand, not until she notices your trembling body and the deep slashes at your back

She never considered that, unlike her, you don’t heal as fast

Immediately, you feel her tear your blouse from you, straps of your and her clothing used to help bandage your wounds

You don’t notice how tense your body is, until she cups your face

Her face holds a mix of surprise, worry and anger

“You stupid mortal!”, she cusses, and you can’t help but grin stupidly at her

You doubt you’ll get her to trim her nails even a little, but are still somewhat thrilled to have felt them on you

She supports you as you make your way back to the castle, rambling on angrily about how you didn’t tell her you were human, as though it wasn’t obvious by your blood alone

For the next few days you enjoy the mixture of her pampering and scolding you

She feeds you her blood, somewhat feeding into the strange nature of your biology, a human fed a mutant’s blood

You keep ropes and such in mind after this, and allow her to worry about you a little more than before

At least, she doesn’t treat you as she does other mortals, still valuing your skills and abilities rather than treating you like you were made of glass

Daniela

When she first encounters you, she immediately thinks; this is it

You are it

Her true love!

Her one and only! The reason all the others were mere disappointments! The sole reason she hasn’t found happiness yet!

Because of course, her true love would be like her!

You’re even matching her tattoo, somewhat, wearing the rose tattoo on your wrist

Your heart at your sleeve, so to say, she thinks when she first sees it

Of course, it must be a sign

A sign you’re her soulmate!

Often, she traces your tattoo

When you do the same to her, she practically melts against you, a blushing mess of buzzing flies that could easily be mistaken for purring at your touch

You’re taller than the average villager, more so similar to her own height, too

She never once thinks you might be human, and you never once suspect she might have doubts about your mortality, and thus never set her straight

She supports you fully, buying you all the clothing you like, all dark and gothic themed, much like the one of her family

You’re a Dimitrescu by heart, she’s sure

Sometimes, she likes to take your clothing, hunting in a new pair of dark pants and a tucked in, black blouse of yours

At other times, she allows you to take inspiration from her clothing

With both of you detesting the cold, there’s nothing you like more than to curl up someplace with her

Daniela’s not made to keep others warm, being barely able to keep herself warm, after all

You, despite your appearance and vampire-like aesthetic, are entirely different as it comes to that, so that on cold days it’s often you warming her up while the two of you scowl at the temperature

Maybe, your warm body and blood should have been a hint to her, a hint proving your mortality

Often, she feeds from you, especially on the cold days

Your warm blood dripping down her throat and settling in her cool body works wonders, so much so her face is flushed fast and she heats up within minutes

Daniela loves the feeling of your teeth against her skin, the sharp fangs digging in and biting down at one of her most sensitive spots

Often, it gets her excited. You’re always eager

Another way for you to warm her up, after all

In turn, she eagerly allows you a taste of her whenever you want

Unlike you- another hint, probably- she doesn’t have to wait days for the wound to close again, after all, so you can occasionally feed off her multiple times a day

On sunnier days, Daniela tries hard to have you come outside with her

As she hates the cold, she loves the sun!

Next to you, she almost looks as if she is the mortal one, even

You, dressed in dark clothing and scowling a little whenever the sun hits your eyes, her, grinning from ear to ear in a light, fluttery dress, the only indication of her vampiric nature being the bloody splats along her chin and cheeks

Sometimes, she asks for picnics, reading together in the castle gardens, cuddling and sleeping in the sun, sharing little treats here and there that you’re sure she sneaked from the kitchens

She can’t tan, but likes the thought of it nonetheless, so you often read to her while she’s spread out in the sun like a lazy cat enjoying the warmth along its fur

Often, she ends up dozing off, awakening in your arms or in her bed once you’ve decided you had enough of the outside and carried her back to your shared room

At other days, she takes you hunting with her, the both of you running and stalking, laughing whenever a human gets lost among the tall trees

Sometimes, the two of you share the blood of your prey right then

At other times, you drag it home to the castle and you prepare the meat for the both of you

She always figured you do this as a preference, oblivious to the fact you really should not be eating raw meat

And on some other days, the two of you like to race at the castle, causing chaos where you can

You like playing a game of scaring the staff, seeing whose presence is more unsettling, counting how many poor maidens can be stalked until they grow aware of your presence

Only does she grow aware of your mortality when your chaotic games eventually cause a window to break

Immediately, you shield her body with hers when screams are torn from her

Teary eyes look up at you full of sorrow, as though she expects you to die shielding her

But, no such thing happens

Your skin doesn’t crystallize, doesn’t even bruise

You merely shiver as you hold her and wrap your vest around her tightly

“I’ve got you”, you whisper, and while you sound worried, there is no pain in your voice

She doesn’t understand…

As you return to your room, it’s her that checks you for injuries first, despite how you try to fuss over her

She can’t understand..not even a scrape?

You grow more and more confused with her

Why is she so surprised?

Upon voicing her confusion, you can’t help but laugh a little

As you cup her face in your hands, her cold, but soft cheeks pressed against your warm hands, she looks at you with an endearing expression

You explain you’re mortal, something you never quite thought you’d have to do

And yet, the more you speak the more she connects the pieces of what could have been hints from long ago

She feels a little silly, but is quickly overwhelmed by the happiness and excitement upon remembering you saved her

Her knight in dark, shining armor, truly

[novaursa]

The North Remembers Her (survival)

- Summary: He captured you, but you will not allow him to break you.

- Pairing: stark!reader/Ramsay Bolton

- Note: Some events don't match the canon from the books.

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (for Ramsay being himself)

- Previous part: to prove something

- Next part: the future

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround

The halls of the Dreadfort stretch endlessly before you. Reek shuffles ahead of you, his shoulders hunched and his steps uneven, the sound of his boots against the stone muted by his awkward gait.

He doesn’t look at you, as usual, his head bowed low, but his nervous energy fills the corridor like a heavy fog.

“Where is he?” you ask coldly, your voice cutting through the stillness.

“In… in the private dining hall,” Reek stammers, his words barely audible. “He… he’s waiting.”

You don’t respond, your expression hardening as you follow him down the corridor. The air grows colder the closer you get, the dread thickening with every step. You know what this is—another game, another attempt by Ramsay to force your compliance. And yet, there’s a quiet resolve within you, a certainty that whatever he has planned, you will not break.

The door to the dining hall looms ahead, flanked by two of Ramsay’s men. They open it without a word, the creak of the hinges grating against your ears as you step inside.

The room is warm, lit by a roaring fire in the hearth and the soft glow of countless candles. A small table sits in the center, laden with an array of dishes—roasted meats, freshly baked bread, and a carafe of wine. The scene is almost intimate, a strong contrast to the cold menace that always accompanies Ramsay’s presence.

And there he is, sitting at the head of the table, his grin sharp and unrelenting.

“Wife,” he says, rising from his chair as you enter. “You honor me with your presence.”

You stop just short of the table, your arms folded across your chest. “I didn’t have much choice, did I?”

Ramsay chuckles, gesturing to the chair opposite him. “Always so defiant. Come, sit. I’ve gone through so much trouble to prepare this for you.”

You glance at the chair, then back at him, your gaze cold and unyielding. “What do you want, Ramsay?”

His grin widens, and he steps around the table, pulling out the chair for you. “To talk,” he says softly, almost sweetly. “That’s all.”

You hesitate for a moment before sitting, your movements deliberate and controlled. He pushes the chair in gently, then returns to his seat, pouring two goblets of wine as though this were a normal dinner between husband and wife.

He slides one glass toward you, his pale blue eyes fixed on yours. “You don’t trust me,” he says lightly, his grin never fading.

“Should I?” you reply, your voice cold.

He laughs softly, leaning back in his chair. “Fair enough.”

The silence stretches as you reach for the goblet of wine, your fingers curling around the stem. You don’t drink, but you hold it as you wait for him to speak.

“I need something from you,” Ramsay says finally, his tone softer than you’ve ever heard it. “And you… need something from me.”

Your brow furrows slightly, but you keep your expression neutral. “Do I?”

“An heir,” he says bluntly, his grin fading into something more serious. “My father won’t let me keep my position forever without one. And you… you’ve lost everything, haven’t you? Your family, your home, your wolf.”

Your grip tightens on the goblet, but you say nothing.

Ramsay leans forward, his eyes gleaming in the candlelight. “But an heir… our child… could be something. Someone for you to dote on. Someone to remind you of what you’ve lost.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating.

“You think I’d give you that willingly?” you say softly, your voice laced with venom.

His grin returns, self-assured and calculating. “I think you’d do whatever it takes to survive. And to ensure your child survives.”

You set the goblet down slowly, your gaze locked on his. “You’re mistaken if you think I’d ever willingly bring a child into this nightmare.”

Ramsay chuckles, though the sound is strained. “You’re strong, little wolf. But even you have limits. And this… this is your chance to have something again. To have someone who is yours.”

You stand abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor as you glare down at him. “I will never give you what you want, Ramsay.”

For a moment, he’s silent, his pale eyes narrowing as he watches you. Then he rises from his chair, his grin widening once more.

“Perhaps not tonight,” he says softly, stepping closer to you. “But we have time, wife. And eventually… you’ll see reason.”

You hold your ground, your voice steady as steel. “Or perhaps I’ll see your throat slit before that happens.”

Ramsay laughs, the sound low and mocking as he leans in closer. “Such fire,” he murmurs, his voice a whisper. “But fire can be tamed.”

He steps back, gesturing to the table. “Enjoy your meal, wife. You’ll need your strength.”

He strides toward the door, his grin never fading, and leaves without another word.

The room falls silent once more, the fire crackling softly in the hearth as you stare at the empty space where he stood.

You sit back down slowly, your hands trembling slightly as you reach for the goblet of wine.

He thinks he has time.

But so do you.

The halls of the Dreadfort are eerily quiet, the only sound the faint whistle of the wind through the cracks in the ancient stone. The dinner Ramsay had orchestrated still lingers in your mind, his words circling like vultures over a carcass. The thought of his grin, his eyes shining with predatory delight, makes your stomach churn as you make your way back to your chambers.

The flicker of movement in the shadows stops you in your tracks.

“Lady Bolton,” a voice rasps, weak and trembling, but unmistakably Reek’s.

He emerges from the shadows, his gaunt face pale in the dim torchlight. His shoulders are hunched, his hands fidgeting nervously, but his eyes dart toward yours, and for the first time, there’s a flicker of something that isn’t fear.

“What do you want?” you ask coldly, stepping back slightly.

Reek glances over his shoulder as if checking for watchers, then shuffles closer, his voice low and urgent. “You… you should give him what he wants.”

The bluntness of his words stuns you for a moment. Your expression hardens, your voice sharp. “What did you say?”

He flinches but presses on, his words spilling out in a frantic rush. “He… he won’t stop, my lady. Ramsay… he always gets what he wants. You don’t know what he’s capable of.”

“I know exactly what he’s capable of,” you snap, your tone icy.

“No, you don’t,” Reek insists, his voice trembling. He takes a step closer, his hands clutching at the edges of his cloak. “You don’t know about Domeric.”

The name catches you off guard, and you narrow your eyes. “What about him? Roose’s son? Ramsay’s brother?”

Reek’s face twists, his trembling hands wringing together. “Ramsay killed him,” he whispers. “He poisoned him. Roose sent Domeric to foster at the Vale. He was a good boy, a… true lord. But when he came back, when he tried to be a brother to Ramsay… Ramsay couldn’t bear it. He didn’t want competition. So he killed him.”

The weight of his words presses against your chest, the truth of it sinking in like ice. “And how do you know this?”

Reek hesitates, his eyes darting to the floor. “I… He told me. I saw the way he smiled when he talked about how Domeric died. Like it was a joke, a game.”

You take a step back, your voice low and measured. “And what does that have to do with me?”

Reek looks up at you, and for the first time, his hollow gaze seems more like Theon’s—haunted but desperate. “Walda’s child,” he says, his voice trembling. “If it’s a boy… if Ramsay hasn’t secured his place… he’ll do it again. He’ll kill his own blood to keep what he has.”

You stiffen, your hands curling into fists. “That’s not my concern.”

“It should be,” he says, his voice breaking. “Do you think he’ll stop with Walda’s child? Do you think he won’t find some way to hurt you, too? He needs you to give him an heir because it’s the only thing that keeps him safe. But if you don’t…” He swallows hard, his voice dropping to a whisper. “He’ll find another way. And you’ll be next.”

You glare at him, your voice cold. “And what would you have me do? Give him what he wants? Play the dutiful wife and bring another monster into this world?”

Reek flinches, but he doesn’t look away. “I’m saying… you have a choice,” he says, his voice trembling but firm. “You can stop this. You can keep Walda’s child safe. Keep yourself safe. But not by fighting him like this.”

You take a step closer, your voice sharp. “And what do you care, Theon? You’re nothing but his broken dog.”

His breath catches, his eyes widening slightly at the name. “Because I know what he’ll do,” he whispers. “I’ve seen it. I’ve lived it. And if you don’t… if you let him win, there’ll be no one left to stop him.”

The silence that follows is heavy, the weight of his words settling over you like a suffocating shroud. For a moment, you see the boy he used to be—the boy who grew up in Winterfell, who laughed with Robb, who teased you in the Godswood.

But that boy is gone, and what’s left is a shadow.

“I’ll handle Ramsay,” you say finally, your voice cold and unyielding. “But not the way you think.”

Reek’s shoulders slump, his gaze falling to the floor. “Just… be careful,” he murmurs.

You turn away, your steps echoing against the stone as you leave him standing in the dim corridor. His warning lingers in your mind, a dark shadow that refuses to fade.

The dim corridors of the Dreadfort echo with your footsteps as you make your way toward the great hall two days later. The cold, oppressive air wraps around you like a shroud, seeping into your bones. You know that when Roose Bolton summons you, it’s never without purpose. His silence is as cutting as any blade, and his words are weapons in their own right.

When you step into the hall, he is already there. Roose sits at the head of the long table, a goblet of wine in one hand and a stack of parchments in the other. The firelight casts shadows across his pale, angular face, making him seem more ghost than man. Lady Walda is absent, likely tucked away in her chambers, and the emptiness of the room only amplifies the weight of his presence.

“Lady Bolton,” he greets, his voice quiet but commanding. He doesn’t look up from the parchment he’s reading. “Come. Sit.”

You hesitate for only a moment before crossing the room, taking the seat opposite him. The table between you feels like a chasm, but Roose’s gaze, when it finally meets yours, bridges the distance with its unsettling intensity.

“You summoned me,” you say, your tone neutral, careful.

“I did,” he replies simply, setting the parchment aside and taking a slow sip of wine. “It seems my son has been... less than effective in managing certain matters.”

You raise an eyebrow, though you keep your expression impassive. “What matters?”

Roose leans back slightly, his pale eyes narrowing as he studies you. “The North is restless. Pockets of resistance still linger, defying my rule. And Ramsay... he is distracted.”

You don’t respond immediately, your mind racing. It’s not difficult to imagine what he means by “distracted.” Ramsay’s obsession with controlling you has been evident from the start.

Roose’s gaze sharpens, his tone turning colder. “Tell me, my lady. Have you done anything to encourage his... distractions?”

Your jaw tightens, but you force yourself to remain calm. “I’ve done nothing but endure his whims, my lord. If Ramsay is distracted, it’s because of his own failures, not mine.”

A faint smile curls at the edges of Roose’s lips, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Endure. A fitting word.” He takes another sip of wine, his gaze never leaving yours. “And yet, I find myself questioning whether this marriage was the right choice. You’ve given him no heir. No advantage. Only defiance.”

Your fingers curl into fists beneath the table, but your voice remains steady. “Ramsay is the one who has failed to secure his position, my lord. If he cannot control his own household, how can he expect to control the North?”

The smile fades, replaced by a cold, assessing look. “You speak boldly for someone in your position.”

“I speak the truth,” you counter, meeting his gaze without flinching. “And I imagine you value truth, my lord, even when it’s unpleasant.”

For a moment, the room is silent, the crackling of the fire the only sound. Then Roose leans forward slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Ramsay is a means to an end. He is useful, for now. But his usefulness is not unlimited.”

The weight of his words settles over you like a heavy cloak. Roose’s cold pragmatism is legendary, and his willingness to discard even his own blood is no secret.

“And what do you expect of me?” you ask cautiously.

“I expect you to understand your position,” Roose replies evenly. “You are a Stark. Your name carries weight, even now. If Ramsay cannot secure his position, I will have to find another way to ensure the loyalty of the North.”

You stiffen, his meaning clear. “Another way? Or another heir?”

His lips curl into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. “That depends on you.”

You feel a cold fury rising within you, but you keep your expression neutral. “I will not be used as a pawn in your schemes.”

“You are already a pawn,” Roose says softly, his tone almost gentle. “The question is whether you will be a useful one.”

The fire crackles in the silence that follows, the tension between you sharp enough to cut. Finally, Roose rises from his chair, his movements smooth and deliberate.

“Think on it, my lady,” he says, his voice as cold as the stone walls. “The North remembers, yes. But memories alone will not keep you safe.”

Without waiting for a response, he turns and strides toward the door, leaving you alone in the flickering firelight.

You sit motionless for a long moment, your mind racing with the implications of his words. Roose Bolton is a man who sees value only in what serves his purpose, and his warning is clear: your survival depends on your usefulness.

The kennels are alive with the snarls and growls of Ramsay’s hounds, their fierce energy filling the cold air. You stand at the edge of the pen, the sickly-sweet stench of blood and wet fur clinging to the back of your throat. The unfortunate servant who had displeased Ramsay lies in a crumpled heap on the floor, his screams reduced to wet gasps as the beasts circle him, waiting for Ramsay’s signal.

Ramsay stands just beyond the hounds, his eyes alight with delight. He radiates power here, in his element, commanding pain and suffering like an artist wielding a brush. His smile sharpens as he turns to you.

“Magnificent, isn’t it?” he asks, gesturing toward the carnage before him. “The purity of it. They know their purpose, these hounds. They live for it. Do you?”

You don’t answer, your face a mask of cold detachment. He wants you to flinch, to recoil, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction. Instead, you fix your gaze on him, ignoring the pathetic moans of the man at his feet.

“Are you finished?” you ask, your voice flat.

Ramsay’s smile fades, replaced by a glimmer of irritation. He steps closer to you, his boots crunching against the blood-slicked straw. “Always so cold, little wolf. So defiant.” He leans in, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I wonder if that’s all you are. Or if there’s something else, hidden underneath.”

You meet his gaze steadily, your heart pounding in your chest. “What do you want from me, Ramsay? You’ve taken everything else. What’s left?”

His grin returns, sharp and predatory. “Everything. I want everything.”

The walk back to your chambers is silent, the tension between you crackling like a live wire. Ramsay walks beside you, his hands clasped behind his back, the predator biding his time. The hounds’ snarls echo faintly in your ears, a reminder of the spectacle you just endured.

When you reach your door, you pause, your hand on the latch. You can feel his eyes on you, his breath warm against the back of your neck.

“Come in,” you say quietly.

He doesn’t hesitate. The door closes behind him with a soft click, and the air in the room seems to grow heavier, thick with unspoken words. 

You turn to face him, your voice steady. “This is what you want, isn’t it? To own me. To break me.”

Ramsay’s grin widens, his eyes shining with triumph. “Is that what you think? That this is about breaking you?”

“Isn’t it?” you counter, stepping closer to him. “Everything you do—everything you’ve done—it’s all been about control. About proving that you can take whatever you want.”

He tilts his head, his grin softening. “And yet, you’re still standing. Still defying me.” He steps closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Maybe that’s what I like about you.”

You laugh softly, the sound cold and hollow. “You don’t like anything, Ramsay. You conquer. You destroy. That’s all you know.”

He reaches for you, his hand brushing against your cheek. His touch is rough, possessive, but you don’t flinch. Instead, you meet his gaze with cold defiance.

“Take it, then,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “If that’s what it takes to satisfy you, then take it.”

For the first time, his grin falters, replaced by something darker, more uncertain. “You think you can make this a choice?” he asks, his voice sharp. “You think you can control me by giving in?”

“I think it doesn’t matter,” you reply calmly. “Because no matter what happens tonight, I’ll still be me. And you’ll still be a bastard trying to prove himself.”

His expression hardens, his grip tightening on your jaw. “Careful, little wolf. You’re playing with fire.”

“And you’re the one who lit it,” you snap back.

The air between you is electric, the room filled with the crackle of the fire and the weight of your unspoken defiance. Then, without another word, Ramsay pulls you closer, his lips crashing against yours with a bruising intensity.

You don’t resist. You don’t fight. You let him take what he’s wanted for so long, but even as you surrender your body, your mind remains focused, calculating. This is not a victory for him. It’s a delay, a game you’ve agreed to play until the moment is right.

And the wolf is a patient hunter.

[ferrarrigirl]

Traditions Don’t Make it Easier

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: just a fluff filled blurb came to mind about Lando having to leave for a triple header

“Can you grab the blankets too,” you yelled to Lando as he went to grab the wine, hoping he heard. You continue cooking the sauce and stirring the boiling pasta when you feel two hands snake around your waist and curly locks brush your ear. He settles his head on your shoulder and turns to kiss your cheek, “Got them. Anything else I can help with babe?”.

“Hmm” you lean back into his touch, letting yourself enjoy his warmth for a few minutes. “Alright, as much as I love the cuddles, could you set the table?”

“Ofcourse baby,” He pops another kiss to your cheek and gets to work. You strain the pasta, mix it in with the creamy tomato sauce and get it plated. You put the finishing touches to the salad and grabbed the garlic bread out the oven.

“Everything looks amazing omg” Lando’s eyes lit up seeing everything done. “It does, doesn’t it,” you do a little hand clap, excited that you both didn’t burn the house down this time. You each grab the bowls and move it to the patio.

“Aw Lan, it looks beautiful, thank you,” you settle into your seat while admiring the table beautifully set with lit candles and flowers. He leans down placing a kiss to the top of your head, “It’s the least I could do love.” You both start working through the meal while talking about what the next month is going to look like. “I’m excited for the triple header, the car’s been really good and I know it’ll work well at COTA but it’ll be exciting to see how we do in Mexico and Brazil.”

You admire the way he talks, sounds so much happier compared to the start of the year. “I’m excited for you babe, I’ll be cheering you on from here,” You give him a soft smile. Because you really are, It been 4 long years without getting the results he deserved, and now is his moment to shine. You just wish you could be there with him. He notices the slight tears in your eyes and reaches for your hand, “I know baby, thank you, and anytime anything changes, you tell me and I’m getting you on the next flight out.” You laugh at his cheeky ways, and he sends you his signature smirk while giving your hand a reassuring squeeze, “Now tell me what your gonna be up to while I’m gone.”

“Ugh Lan I don’t want to think about that right now”.

“Cmon babe I can feel the stress oozing out of you and you know you’ll feel better.”

“Fine,” you playfully roll your eyes, “just gonna have school 4 days of the week, I have 2 midterms and 3 assignments due all within the same week, and a group project the week after. Such a fun few weeks ahead,” you give him a sarcastic smile.

‘Well you’ve already been working on the assignments right and you’ll have a few days to finish those up, and then you can just focus on exams.”

You look up from your food with raised eyebrows and point your fork at him, “You actually listen”

He snorts at your comment, “I have to listen so I can talk you down when your stressed.” You giggle back, knowing he’s 100% right. You both finish up your meals, making more small talk and just enjoying each other’s presence.

You bring your dishes in, and while Lando gets the movie picked, you grab the wine bottle and glasses and bring it over to him. He lifts the blankets, “C’mere” and you jump into his lap making an “Umph” leave his mouth, followed by a laugh. You cuddle into his chest, squeezing your arms around him and try focusing on the TV.

You just can’t help your brain go to how tough the next few weeks are going to be. You should be used to him going by now and yeah you get to go along for some races. You even just had summer break and took time off school to be with him the whole time. But the more its getting into the year its harder to see him leave. And this is why you started this tradition. Dinner drinks movie night and cuddles. The day before he goes is saved just for you two, to be with each other but it doesn’t make it any easier. You feel your eyes tearing again and start blinking them away rapidly. It will just make him feel bad and you want to be supportive. But before you can get away with it, he feels your fluttering lashes on his chest. Taking your chin into his thumb and forefinger he pulls your chin up to get a good look of your red eyes, and his gaze softens. “Hey hey hey what’s going on?”

That set you off, the way he held your chin and looked deep in your eyes, it was too much. You turn in his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck squeezing him tight. You push your face into the crook of his shoulder and just let the tears fall, release everything you’ve been holding in. He knows you just need a minute so he rubs your back up and down, whispering sweet sayings into your ear. Once he notices no more tearing falling onto his shoulder, he slowly speaks up, “Baby please talk to me.”

You slowly push yourself away from your hiding spot, and see the concern in his eyes. He moves one hand to cup your cheek, using his thumb to clear your tears. “I know its never easy when I go but you’re never this emotional love, is there something going on?”

“It’s just hard Lan. I- I want to be there to support you. I wanna be there cheering for you.” You take a deep breath and he lets you take your time, still rubbing your back. You take a deep breath, preparing yourself for the word vomit you feel coming.

“I don’t want you to go. I don’t want to be here alone, I’m gonna be so stressed these next weeks and I won’t have you here and I can’t tell you because then you feel bad and you shouldn’t feel bad because its your job and passion. And I should be there for you, supporting you and cheering for you and I’m not.” All of this brings the tears back and you lean forward again into the comfort of his shoulder. He wraps his arms around you holding you close, taken aback by everything you said, he takes a second before replying.

“Oh bub, you can always tell me what’s going on. I’m here for you, I won’t feel bad and you shouldn’t either for wanting me here.” He pulls you back again, placing a quick kiss to your forehead. “I know it’ll be hard but it’ll go by quick. You’ll be busy with school, and you’ll do great because won’t have me here to distract you.”

“But I like when you distract me,” you quickly cut him off.

“I know baby, I know. How about you come with me this week? And for Brazil week.”

You shake your head, “It won’t work.”

“It can. I’m leaving a week earlier for COTA so I’ll be busy with media in the day. You can stay in the hotel, and do what you need to do. You can leave Sunday in time for school, and then be back for Brazil.”

“But what about my group project?”

“You can call them to discuss, you don’t need to be there that week.”

You bite your lip, contemplating all this he dropped on you. “You need a minute to think about it, don’t you?” You give him a weak smile and nod. “Well we got all night, get comfy again,” he pops another kiss to the top of your head.

You cuddle into his chest again, watching the movie and running his idea over in your head. It could work you thought, the flying might be annoying but it would be worth it. You wear yourself out weighing up the pros and cons and feel your eyes getting heavy. You snuggle into Lando more. He gets the hint and picks you up, leading you to bed. He plops you under the covers and tries to let go to go to the washroom but you tighten your grip around him. “Lan.”

“Yes bub”

“I’ll come with you.”

You see his face light up through your sleepy eyes, and you see him lean down to place a soft sweet kiss on your lips. Followed by a few kisses all over your face. “I can’t wait to have you there with me, it’ll be perfect. Now go to sleep, I’ll come join you in a few mins.” And that was all you needed to drift into a deep sleep.

He heads out to the kitchen, does the dishes, packs the leftovers, cleans up the couch space and patio. He rolls your suitcase from the guest room to yours and packs the essentials he knows you like to take, leaving the clothes for you to decide tomorrow. Stripping off his shirt into the laundry hamper, he gets into bed, pulls you close into him and falls asleep holding you, with a wide smile on his face, knowing he will get to do this for a few more days while you come with him.

[chaoskull]

Lawrence Alma-Tadema - Ask me no more

Carelessness to Respite

Roboute Guilliman x gn!reader

Summary: Guilliman is neglecting himself, as his spouse, you cannot let this keep happening further more.

This is for you Guilliman addicts, ENJOY!

Guilliman had been stuck on his office for far too long, reviewing reports, ordering resources, and writing his signature. It had become a default movement for his hand, to glide a pen through paper drawing his name for hours.

"You've been at this table for how long?" Your question was left unanswered, as his focus was entirely on the words in front of his eyes. You clear your throat, the sound disrupting his concentration.

"Don't you want something to eat or drink?"

He waits a second to see if you're merely trying to stop him from his work. "If it isn't too much to ask, I could accept a beverage."

There was a gleam in his eye, one visible at times he felt true enjoyment, you were surely the only able to find. It is rare to see it, ever since he had awoken from his wound, the arduous task of keeping the imperium together had left him exhausted.

Leaning over his shoulder, you take a look at his desk. A sea of documents, you recognise a few names, mostly Sicarus, probably complaining. "That's a lot of papers, my husband"

He let out a deep, tired sigh. You were concerned over his well being, there had been a time where he was far more attentive to his health.

"I'll be back, and you had enough recaff for today" You say as leave him with a kiss to his forehead. He gave you a tired but appreciative gaze as you left, slowly drifting back to the pile of papers and reports, turning his attention back to work.

When you returned, he was still reading through the paperwork. "I wonder when you will take a break" you comment as you place a glass of wine and plate, it had a much bigger sized loaf of bread with sweets to accompany, on his desk.

"Thank you, my love. But I'm afraid I still have a lot of work that needs done." He takes the glass to take a sip and pulls the plate out of his way.

"No, first you eat" You insist, ordering him to stop his irresponsible behavior, snatching the pen he held in his hand and placing it on a holder.

"And what will you do if I don't?" He challenges you, amused by actions, he lets you continue this scene, waiting for a comeback.

"Something you won't like, now eat" I push the plate closer to him. He let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head, he ran a hand through his eyes to remove some of his fatigue, you were right, he felt terrible inside, so he obliges. "If that is how it is, I'll eat"

He reaches out and picks up the glass of wine again, taking a long drink. Grabbing a slice of bread, he took a bite. Slowly he starts to feel more relaxed, enjoying the small halt from his work.

You sat beside him, on the armrest of his chair, if not you wouldn't be able to get so close to his height, you had watched him finish his entire meal, not letting him neglect himself, as he had for so long.

"I hope you know I won't leave your side ever again" You whisper near his ear, he was done eating by the time you said it, and so this time, as he looked at you, a smile formed in his lips.

Content with the primarchs reaction, you catch him slightly off guard bringing in an embrace. He holds you with as much enthusiasm, as he deflates himself, his head falling into your shoulder.

The day had ended and you were still helping him finish his reports, you had to usually beg him to do so, but this time it wasn't needed.

Surprisingly, no one had come into his office that afternoon to end the moment of you two together.

It's a short little thing, but I hope you liked it!

[misguidedasgardian]

Storm's End (4)

HOTD MASTERLIST

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Strong!Reader

Summary: your mother sends you to Storm’s End to rally Lord Borros Baratheon for your side, but your uncle arrived there before you

Warnings: Cursing, use of the word bastard, angst, heavy, canon level incest, thoughts about dying, fear of commiting s*icide, mentions of bedding, and more, dark fic, Aemond is unhinged, rape, non-con, minors engaging in sexual activities, mentions of a minor in a pleasure house, maiming, blood, violence, and other very dark things. 

+18 MINORS DNI

Notes: Sorry for the delay, I really had to put some mind into how I wanted it to end,a dn how to get there

You did not appreciate the maid’s sad gazes, not their pity when they saw the bruises and horrible dark marks your uncle had left in you, but you had to get bathed, he had ordered it so

The water was boiling, you liked it that way, but you were so weak the maids had to help you in the bathtub

They washed you clean without a word, they put oils in the water without even consulting you, they worked on the command of Aemond for sure, he knew what he liked and how he wanted it.

You felt so weak, tired.

But the maids with scowls in their faces finished washing your hair, and they helped you out of the tub, with a towel waiting for you. Sadly, a cold breeze hit you from the open window, you still had a foot in the boiling water, and soon…

It all happened slowly, seconds that felt like long minutes

The floor started to pull you down, you felt heavy, like you couldn’t move your own limbs, you started to feel dizzy, you tried to fight it, you did, but your eyesight began to tunnel, your head heavier than you ever felt it

You lost consciousness, dropping to the ground like a lifeless doll, your head smashing against the stone floor. The maids couldn’t grab you in time, your skin with oils that made it slippery

“Call the maester!”, the older one screamed at the youngest one, and she ran to fulfill the order.

//

You tried to focus your eyesight at the maester that requested it, moving his boney finger in front of your face

Aemond was looking the scene, nibbling the nail of his thumb, if you even managed to see him, you would think he was concerned

The Maester sighed

“When was the last time you ate, little princess?”, he asked gently, you didn't answer, you just looked down at the sheets covering you… today was going to be the third day

“She is not sick?”, asked Aemond, recuperating his dimmed composure. the old man shook his head, looking at your deplorable state with concern

“Not before, but she did hit her head pretty rough”, he mumbled, he then turned your attention to you, “eat, princess, PLEASE”, he begged you, and you barely nodded, “drink tea, and water, even some wine if you can stomach it, it will be good for you, and I want you to stay abed for at least three days, to rest that head”, you barely nodded, you couldn’t find the words, your throat was dry as the deserts of Dorne

“Not eating?”, Aemond hissed as soon as the old man left, “the maids brought you food to break your fast, I want everything gone by the time I get back, or else I’m going to shove it down your throat”, he said dangerously, pointing at the table with food, and left you there

You were starving, so you manage to stand from the bed, and walk slowly to the table

You nibbled on some bread with cheese.

You were starving, you tried not to think in your current predicament so you could stomach it

You ate some grapes, that little fruit always makes you feel better. You drank some delicious orange juice from oranges from Dorne… everything slowly, and you even dared to eat a small lemon cake. They were delicious, even though you preferred things with cream and chocolate in them. 

But as you looked towards the sea, towards Dragonstone… you whimpered again

You just had water and sips of wine, you were hydrated again, so the waterworks started back again stronger than ever

You wanted to go home

You wanted to see your family, your brothers, your mom, you whimpered again, hiding your sobs with your hand

The door opened and you jumped in your seat, thinking it could be Aemond, but it was Alicent.

You were supposed to stand up and bow to her, but she was no longer Queen, she was a usurper and a traitor

“I heard you had an… inconvenience this morning”, she said, that fake, small smile appearing on her lips again, you said nothing, you only looked back at her, tears still falling from your eyes

“When can I go home?”, you asked her

“This is why I came here, I need you to write a letter to your mother”

“Why?”, you asked, sniffing

“She is summoning swords”, she said, “calling armies, and armadas…”, she said, like she was to blame

“You usurped her throne”, you said, and you could tell she stopped herself from snapping

“This could escalate to a war”, she said, “We could stop it”

“Yes you could”, you said bitterly

“Write to your mother”

“And what should I write?”

“Beg her to consider to bend the knee”

“But she is the heir”, you whined

“Aegon is the male heir”, she said, “that is the way things should be”

“If I do this and she hesitates….”, more tears fell down your eyes, “you are going to kill them”, she panicked

“No sweet girl…”

“Please… I want to go home”, you cried, “I won’t say anything, I promise… I’ll say Aemond rescued me from death, I won’t say a word please I just want to go to my mother”

You lost it, you started crying so hard you dry heaved, you couldn’t think rationally, 

When you came back to your senses, you were on the bed on your side, a parchment and ink on the table.

You sat and write

Your Grace

I write to you with a heavy but relieveD heart.

I got caught in a stoRm that night, luckily my uncle Aemond was following close behind and sAved me from the unforgiving waves of Shipwreck Bay, after he took me to the Red Keep to reCuperate, where they hAd tended to my wound and my needs

But they are hesitant on letting me Return to You, as they claimed you are preparing for war

I know you wouldn’t place me in danger, my loving mother, I would love to return to you, pleaSe consider the terms that will be extended to you

I love you and I miss you

You ever faithful and loving daughter

You wanted to go home, so so much, you were not brave, you had never been a brave girl, but, now, in the balance, you couldn’t ask your mother to relinquish the whole seven kingdoms for you, so you hoped she got the hidden message you tried to hide 

What else could they do to you?

Trick your family into thinking they will make them surrender, wait until they think they can be safe and be left to live in Dragonstone, and then… get killed by betrayal

No

You were already on the belly on the best, the only and best thing you could do was to protect your family from within as much as you could

It was too late for you

You left the letter over the table, and you were suddenly exhausted, you walked back to the bed and layed in it, hugging the pillow, imagining it was your mother, or your brother Luke

You woke up alarmed, as a thunderous sound dragged you back.

You jumped on the bed as you saw Aemond grabbed a chair and smashed it against the wall

You shrieked 

“Dracarys?”, he snarled, as he saw you were awake he ran towards you and tried to scramble away from you but he grabbed you by the neck, “do you take us for fools?”, he squeezed and you wheezed, you grabbed his wrist pleading him to release you

“No”

“You want your whore of a mother and your deviant father to come and kill us all don’t you?”, he asked, “well, they are going to have to think again, if they even show their fucking faces I’ll kill them myself while you watch”

“No”, your eyesight began to tunnel, but he kept you there pressed to the bed as he removed his pants just a little, raising your nightdress up

“I have to admit, this turns me on”, he growled, “Because in all scenarios, you still end up full off my cock and my seed, and with my bastard in your belly” 

“No it doesn’t”, you cried when he entered you roughly, you should be accustomed by now, but now the fact that he was restricting your airways that you probably felt thing more differently, you were certainly equally scared 

“Your mother surrenders… f-uck!”, he snapped his hips sharply, “and you stay here as collateral”, thrust, “or she tries to fight”, thrust, “and I kill them all”

You didn’t answer, you couldn’t your head felt heavy, as the contrary to your body, that was floating 

“You are squeezing me so tight right now”, he purred, “I thought you were this sweet little thing but no, you get off on violence too”

He released you, so you could keep breathing and you took a sharp sign

“I just want to go home”, you cried, he chuckled darkly 

“Well, get it through your head, you are never going home”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want you to” he said simply

“What if I’m with your child?”, he stilled inside you, looking down at you, “would you let me go then?”, he released you, looking at you like you had slapped him

“Why…would I?”, he asked slowly

“You only care to ruin me” I say, “If I’m already with your child, it is done, isn’t it?”, you asked, “And my mother and my family gets to see it, what you did to me, that I’m pregnant with your bastard right in front of them”, he kept looking at you

“And you don’t care that someday, I might come and burn the castle to the ground?”, he asked, “and you in it”, you looked back at him

“I’d rather have one more week to live at my family’s side, than fifty years here with you all”, you said sadly. He frowned, he tried to thrust into you again, but, couldn’t he cursed, now more angry than before, but he took himself off of you

He was going to punch you, when felt his hand move too quickly

But his fist landed by your face against the mattress

“You are going to stay here, for everyone at court to see just how much like your mother you are, having bastards”, he grabbed you and turned you around, you were face down on the mattress. 

He grabbed you by the back of the neck to push your face against the soft surface, he spread your legs and entered you again.

You didn’t whine, you didn't do anything, you stopped fighting it, you just let him have you

You don’t remember how the night ended

The next thing you remember is having been woken up the next morning by a maid, indicating to you that the Queen was here. She was standing by the door, her eyes anywhere but the bed in disarray with blood stains, and your dress

“I saw Aemond just leaving”, she said, you found it strange that he had spend the night with you, “he told me what you tried to write in that latter”, you only looked at her, “but I will give you another chance” 

You only stood up, walked to the same table, and wrote

That Aemond saved you, that you were alright, that the only thing you wanted was to see them again, safe, and sound, and alive, while, not in those words, but you did 

You let the letter there, and then you only looked back at her and went back to the bed

You still felt your head very heavy, last night against pushing your face against the mattress hadn't helped 

“Aemond would like you to change your rooms”, she said, you only looked at her, and then sank into the bed, not minding her presence 

She only sighed, and you heard her walking away. You heard her voice speaking to the guard outside, and the guard then stepped into the room, he stood in the corner, watching you, you only frowned, but paid no mind to him

You did pay attention however, when in the afternoon, two master blacksmiths entered, and to your amazement, secured thick metal bars on the inside of the window.

Aemond was afraid you would jump 

No, because that would mean he cared, he only probably found it problematic because you were the only thing that prevented your mother for burning down the palace and everyone on it

. . .

“I can’t do this Daemon”, Rhaenyra said, “I can’t storm the capital while they have her, we would be going in blind, they could kill her” 

“If they wanted her dead, they would have killed her by now, they know awaking your wrath might also work in their benefit”

“What if we bend the knee?”, she said, “I never wanted this, not truly…”

“No”, he said, “we will not give the Iron Throne to those HIghtowers, Usurpers and cunts!”, he said cursed. “Who are probably harming your child, your only daughter, as we speak”

“But they saved her, they wouldn’t hurt her, right?”, asked Luke, his big eyed wide with hope, Jace sighed, Rhaenyra tried to smile at his son childish optimism, but Daemon didn’t find it endearing as his wife

“Aemond wanted to marry her Luke”, said Jace, “and mom wouldn’t let him, and he found her in Storm’s End, he chased and killed her dragon, he probably is…”

“Don’t say it”, begged Rhaenyra 

Jacaerys grabbed his younger brother, and dragged him outside, throwing him unceremoniously

“Jace, I'm sorry!”, he was apologizing and he didn’t even know why, he only knew he had awakened his brother’s wrath

“Aemond took our sister, do you know what he is probably doing to her!?”, he snapped, Lucerys’ eyes filled with tears, but shook his head, “he is probably raping her, every day and night”

“No…”, he whined, “why would he do that? she never did anything to him!”

“Because our uncle is sick and twisted, and had always hated us”, he growled, “that’s why”

“But she is good.. and kind…”

“Even better”, he said bitterly, “he is going to break her”

“This is all my fault, for what I did to him”, he said, his big eyes shiny with unshed tears, “This is all my fault Jace”, he said with a knot on his throat, “I need to fix this” 

“Do nothing”, he threatened, “let the adults handle this”

But he couldn’t, not when his sister was being hurt because of him.

So he went to his room, he grabbed a piece of parchment and ink.

And he wrote a letter to his uncle 

For them to meet, alone.

While his mother did sort of the same thing, asking a private meeting with her brother, the Dowager Queen, and the Lord of the main families of the seven Kingdoms. 

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[druidwolf21]

Some soft fluff because what a day I've had and I need this lol

Roboute guilliman/F reader

fluffy

Very short but I needed this out

Dreaming

Guilliman swept a hand across his brow, wiping sweat and grim from his face as he looked up at the sky. The sun beat down heavy on him as he blinked and smiled, returning his gaze to his work.

His muscles worked and burned as he set about scything ears of corn, bringing them down with a long swing. The scythe felt heavy in his hands as he swept it back and forth, focusing only on the heat, the feel of the wood and the soft noise as the plant fell.

And he worked

And worked

Until the sun began to slow edge down.

Taking a long inhale he finally stood straight and stretched, his back cracking after hours of bending. He flexed his hands and smiled at the dull ache he felt.

Making his way through the raining stems, he headed towards the wooden cabin resting at the edge of the field, a soft warm glow flicking in the window and faint smoke spiraling from the chimmney.

His smile stretched further and he ducked through the door and was met by the smell of fresh warm bread the heat of a smokey wood fire and the faint bubbling from a large pot hanging over the flames.

You spun round, your dress twisting around your legs as you met his sapphire eyes and grinned, face still flush from the warm meal you had been cooking.

"roboute! Just in time my love, have a seat and I'll get you a drink" you patted your hands on your apron and collected up a glass and pitcher, setting it at the oaken table and pouring out a drink.

Guilliman sighed gently and sank into a chair, sipping from the glass. The wine was sweet in his tongue as he watched you flitted about the kitchen, filling a bowl with stew and gently placing it in front of him, along with a wedge of still warm bread.

You stood behind him, dropping your arms over his neck and nuzzling up to him, your hair tickled him as rested his head against yours.

"you work so hard, my love" you murmured "perhaps tomorrow the land can wait and we can go to the lake" a slender finger gently traced circles in his chest as you spoke. "I'll even wear that blue dress you like so much"

He twisted and caught your lips in a chaste kiss as your began to pull away.

"of course my lady, I could think of nothing I'd like more"

You gently ran a hand through his blonde hair before taking a seat at the table.

My love

My. Lo o v e

M y L o

My lord

Guilliman jolted slightly and scowled at the voice that dragged him so violently from his revere.

"what, sicarius?"

"The mechanicum have sent a serf to deliver some documents to you and an official from the high lords has also requested a moment of your time"

Guilliman rubbed his brown and gathered his thoughts.

"your lady is also at the door, lord Primark"

Guillimans head shot up and he rose from his seat

"Send her in" he waved to the marine.

You entered through the massive doors, your dress, that blue dress he loved so much, sweeping the floor . Your hair speckled with small shining stones which caught the light as you moved towards his desk. A delicate necklace chain hung from your neck, depending to your cleavage, the ultramarine sigil bouncing on your skin.

"roboute, my sweet, don't you think it's time you took a break" you sighed gently, laying a hand on his as you finally reached the desk.

"the imperium waits for no man, love, not even me" he smiled grimly, eye darting from the necklace and where it hung, up to your face.

You caught the look and smiled

"perhaps we could go to the lake? It's been so long, things will run without you for an hour? You gently kissed his cheek and pressed your forehead to him.

The Primark returned your smile with a dazed look.

He couldn't tell if this was still a dream, but hopefully this one didn't end.

@cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @beckyninja @lemon-russ @moodymisty