#but im hardly managing to feed myself as is

[moon-meerkat]

i find it abhorrent that i can't just google "tasty vegetarian recipe" and get only results that i, personally, will like

[rush-the-stars]

AFFECTION'S EDGE: PART III

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|| alpha!suguru getou x omega!afab reader || E/18+ || wc: 6.8k || ao3 || <- part ii || masterlist ||

minors and ageless blogs do not interact, 18+ only

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“You’ve got it all wrong,” he murmurs, “but what am I to expect from a stray like you? You’ve lived off scraps and abuse your whole life; of course you don’t know what to do now that I’ve given you food and shelter.” Suguru’s fingers ease up towards your neck as he continues, “a warm bed to lie in. Toys to play with. A collar—so you’ll never be lost again. No one’s ever given you this before, hm?”

***

Suguru tries to tame you.

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✧ SPRING FEVER collab ✧

cw: omegaverse, brat taming, mind games, toxic behavior, yandere suguru getou, yandere reader, biting, blood, marking, one slap from the reader to suguru and he sorta likes it, fainting, fainting from lack of food, reader refuses to eat because she doesn't want getou to feed her, getou does not let reader eat unless he feeds them; forced feeding. forced bathing, smut; masturbation, dirty talk, voyeurism, a blurring of boundaries, consent as punishment?

a/n: happy mother's day to alpha suguru getou <3 this is the third and final part of this lil series for @lorelune 's spring fever collab! pls mind the warnings, i added some! i will be honest this part feels like a fever dream to myself lol...,.not beta read..,.i barely read it back bc im terrified of my own smut JFDKLSK enjoy LMAO but on a real note, thank you to everyone who has reached out and been so kind ab this fic! i hope you enjoy this last part! let me know your thoughts <33

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When Suguru first offers you food from his own hand, you push it away. He cooked it for you and you refuse it, turn your nose up at him and shut your mouth resolutely, feel your lips cage your teeth like a muzzle

“I’ll do it myself.” You tell him firmly. 

But then he holds the food away from you. 

You go nearly a day and a half, feverish and woozy, without eating. 

You do not plan on conceding, but end up fainting not long after. Your body is under too much stress; you need sustenance. You need food and water. 

So he begins to feed you as your lashes flutter and you are too weak to deny him this time. 

It’s easier, when you can hardly keep your eyes open. His hands are impossibly gentle. You feel his fingers against your lips, careful, and loving. 

When you’re feeling better, you glower at him. 

He is rather pleased, though. 

The next time he tries to feed you by hand, you turn and bite his hand, sink your teeth into the meat of it. 

He laughs warmly, fondly. 

“Feel better to get that out of your system?” He asks, when you finally pull away. 

You don’t respond to him.

He grabs your face swiftly then, big hand fitting around your jaw and bearing down. This time, he holds you steady, and brings the slice of orange to your mouth. 

You squirm, but he says, “I will not have you fainting again.” 

“Let me feed myself then.” You manage to get out, but he holds you tighter, presses at your jaw to get it to unhinge. 

The orange pops into your mouth. 

“You’re insufferable.” You say around it, cheek puffed with the fruit. 

Unfortunately, it’s good. Sweet. A little cool. Refreshing. You do want more. 

“This doesn’t have to be so difficult.” He responds evenly, peeling away the next piece of the orange. It looks so small in his hands. 

You swallow the piece in your mouth. 

“You’re right,” you respond stubbornly, “it doesn’t.” You reach for the next piece but he holds it away from you. 

Frustration overcomes you, chokes you like thorny vines strangling out the softer plants around them. Heat hits your face again and you have to wonder if you’ll ever get over it all. If he’ll ever stop making you feel this way.

Tears prick your eyes again. 

You turn your face away from him. He sighs. 

“It isn’t so bad,” he says softly, “if you’d just give in.” 

You sniff. “I could say the same of you.” 

“I’m trying to take care of you,” he says, “and at every turn, you are still trying to refuse it.” 

“I don’t need—”

“But don’t you want it?” He asks gently, hand reaching out slowly, knuckles first, so they skim your cheek. “It’s okay to want.” 

Stubbornly, you remain silent. 

“You’ve been so alone, for so long, my little stray. It’s okay to be taken care of.” He consoles softly, voice just a rumble that warms to your ears. 

“I’ll not think you any less strong, if you let me feed you now.” He promises, “if you let me care for you this week.” 

You don’t know why, but a tear slips down your cheek. There’s a lump in your throat, hard and aching, and threatening your resolve. 

He catches your tear with a thumb. “Poor thing, so torn up.” 

You sniff hard, trying to hold everything in. It’s trembling and tender, though, your heart. The ache in your chest.

You don’t think you’ll win this one—

Your head is foggy and throbbing. You don’t even know what you’re winning or losing. Or what you’re fighting for, when he puts it that way. 

You feel silly for denying him.

Perhaps worse for agreeing.

Finally, in a voice smaller than intended? you ask, “can I have another piece?” 

Suguru studies you for a moment. 

He lifts the curved bend of the orange up to your lips, testing. Waiting. It's a half moon curve, ripe and tempting.

You give in and part your lips, accept the crescent into your mouth like holding the moon on your tongue for him. 

He presses it inside, on your tongue, and you accept the crescent like holding a soft, tangerine moon in your mouth for him. His fingers skim your teeth, placing a world there, on your tongue.

“Good girl,” he says, pleased and warm, when you close around the slice. 

And then you obediently swallow it down—worldeater that you are, hungry dog that you are. 

Another tear slips free as you chew it slowly. It’s tangy and sweet and lovely. You feel the well of emotions inside you open up, threatening to drag you down into its depths—you think if you start to cry now, you won’t ever stop.

Suguru dutifully peels off another piece of orange, making sure it’s free of rind or unwanted seeds. 

When he lifts it to your mouth, you open readily for it now. Close your lips around his fingers gently, around the sweet orange.

With tears in your eyes, you look up at him, through wet lashes. 

His scent has darkened, pungent and spicier. It lingers in the back of your mouth. It’s—it makes your head spin.

And there's a strange look in his eyes now. 

Almost hungry himself, if you didn’t know better. 

A cramp rolls through you, hips and lower back churning, and you whimper, reaching for him. 

He takes hold of you easily. 

“Hurts?” He muses softly.

You nod, tense and quick. 

“Breathe,” he urges, shifting between your knees from where you’re sitting perched on his counter. 

Instinctively, you cling to him.

You let yourself pull him closer, fit himself to you—

“Breathe,” he says again gently.

But you can feel him between your legs, you can feel his own desire, and it strikes you like a bolt of lightning. Like crashing to earth.

He’s hard and heat sweeps through you in a whirlwind, so fast it makes you feel dizzy. Your head spins as you sink your nails deep into him, bear down with your strength like a bad dog, like you could get him to stay. 

Distantly, you think he’s such a strange, awful man. 

Is he so turned on from feeding you? Or from the fight? 

“Suguru,” you mewl, clinging to him desperately. And he holds you, keeps you close, until your hips twitch. 

You seek friction and he denies you. 

Frustratingly, tears spring to your eyes again. 

“You’re so—“ you try to get out, “why are you also denying yourself?” 

“Because I made you a promise.” Suguru responds evenly. He pauses, eyes flickering over you, a lightning flash of violet, “and, perhaps,” he squeezes your waist, “to teach you a lesson.” 

A noise of frustration works its way out of you, a little growl or whine, somewhere in the back of your throat. 

“Won’t you do anything to help me?” You get out, pawing at his shoulders, his chest. 

“I’m feeding you,” he says, “I’m caring for you.” 

And then he draws away, back to the orange, and your fingers grip the edge of the counter until pain presses into them. You have to force air into your lungs, try and make your head stop spinning. 

The wooziness and the aching is perhaps the worst part. You feel out of your mind, wish you could crawl out of your body. 

When Suguru returns, he has another piece of orange between his fingers. 

You glare up at him with glassy eyes. 

“Open,” he says, warm and low.

Pleased.

Turned on. 

Your lips part and you accept the fruit and his fingers into your mouth. You let yourself close around them, feel his knuckles on the inside of your warm, wet cheek. 

You’re slow about it, or maybe he is. 

You hold his gaze furiously. 

Maybe it was time you taught him a lesson, too. You bite down hard into the orange. It bursts in your mouth. 

***

The third day is perhaps the worst.

You’re so hot and somehow both overstimulated and undertouched. Your skin crawls until Suguru touches you. You ache in a way that makes you fear for your own health; several times you start to cry—not just cry, but bawl—from the pain. From the frustration.

At one point, you beg Suguru to take you to the hospital. To help you. To save you. 

You babble that you’re going to split apart. You’re going to lose your mind.

Like a colicky baby, you can’t calm down. 

And this time, he can’t quite seem to soothe you, either.

You twist and turn and pull at your clothes and your hair. You dig your nails into your own skin and drag them down in vicious, curving marks. 

You press and scratch at inflamed, painful scent glands. 

Your jaw hurts strangely in the joints. 

(You realize you want something in your mouth. Maybe you want it between your teeth.) 

Suguru tries to hold your hands away from yourself, tries to keep you from tearing into your own skin, but it only worsens you. It only makes you fight harder and cry harder. You lash out more, using more force with yourself, with him. 

When he snaps finally, pinning you roughly and with a flash of his sharper, greater canines, something inside of you howls. 

All you can do is beg and plead and cry. Press up against him desperately. Sink your face into his throat and inhale and—

Bite.

Your teeth close around the skin of his throat and bear down harshly.

He inhales sharply, spine going rigid with the pain for a moment.

You taste his blood on your tongue and feel your eyes roll blissfully to the back of your head. Darkness as your lashes flutter shut. You whimper into his throat—

“Is that what you needed?” He hisses, slipping his hand behind you to cradle your head to him, to keep you at his throat, “you just needed to get your teeth into me?” 

As if in response, you twine yourself around him, hitching your legs around his waist. Your arms winding around his broad shoulders, as if you could absorb him into your very body, your very soul. 

“Too bad it won’t take, hm?” Suguru muses, unmoving, allowing himself to melt into your vice grip on him. 

You make a soft noise; one that would be embarrassing if you didn’t—if you weren’t so—

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To Mark me properly?” He continues, voice bedroom soft, “you want to scar me with your own teeth?” 

As if in response, you try and fasten your mouth down harder, grinder your teeth into his flesh until he groans. The sound reverberates through you, rattles around inside your head until you’re mindless with it. 

When you finally manage to unlatch your teeth, he hisses and pulls away to grab your jaw. 

“What a little beast,” he sneers at you, “with my blood all over your mouth.” 

Something inside of you snaps. 

Unintentionally, you shudder into your cursed form—teeth elongating, nails sharpening. Strength rips through your otherwise feeble, heat-laddled body. In a sudden move of power, you shove him hard, and throw him off you. 

In an instant, you are back atop him. 

This time, when your teeth sink into the juncture of his other shoulder, they are far longer. 

He actually cries out in pain. 

The sound sparks beneath your skin, roars to life like a sudden fire and when he tries to grab your jaw and pry you off him, your claws sink into his wrist. 

You struggle with each other, using your cursed energy, using all the strength you have. 

Blood drips down his chest, dampening the collar of his shirt. 

He barks out a pained laugh, “you really are a curse.”

And then he is forcing you off of him, wrenching your teeth out of his skin in a brutal drag, shoving you away from him. 

You hiss, baring your dripping fangs at him and he growls back. The sound low and primal. Warning bells ping around your head, but you lunge for him again. 

This time, he isn’t so ill-prepared. 

He grapples with you on the bed, shoving you down into it with his forearm bearing down hard into your chest. 

You make a noise of pain but he doesn’t let up.

He’s panting and bleeding, his long hair slipping from its usual half-up appearance. 

Something inside of you is quite pleased at the image of him. 

Not so pristine. 

Perhaps unsure, for once in all the time you’ve known him. 

“Calm down.” He says low and soft. Part growl, part purr. “Your aggression is misguided.” 

Your teeth are bared in a snarl, “you are my tormentor.” 

“I am only respecting your wishes.” Suguru says and there is a horrible, smug lift to the corner of his lips. Maybe it’s more a threat of his teeth, which gleam in the lowlight. “I made you a promise and I’m keeping it.” 

“Let me up,” you snap. 

“Will you be good?” Suguru asks. 

Your fever spikes, tears pricking again at your eyes, and you finally lose your transformation. It melts from you, until you are fangless and drained once more. 

So drained, in fact, that your eyes gutter.

Suguru is off you in an instant. Air rushes into your lungs, the pressure from your chest lifting and he lets you heave for breath rough and hard. 

You don’t catch him move, but suddenly a glass of water is brought to your lips. When you can breathe, you drink. You let him guide it to your lips. And this time, when you try to pull away, he stops you. 

His hand cradles the back of your head, keeping your mouth to the glass.

“More,” he presses, “you’re weaker than you know.” 

And for once, you don’t fight him. 

You gulp down the rest of it, some of it slipping from your mouth, down your chin, rolling down your working throat. It’s cool but barely a balm to the oppressive heat inside of you. 

When you finish, Suguru pulls the glass away. He sets it down and studies you.

He tsks softly, “you’re a mess.” 

You take him in, though your eyes are growing heavy, all of that fighting took a lot out of you. It’s catching up with you quickly now. 

But your eyes land on the bite marks you’ve littered him with. The one, specifically, that is still ringed and bleeding, dripping down his chest. 

“So are you.” You reply, words slurring. 

You don’t catch what he says next, muffled, as you fade from consciousness. Darkness sweeps in to cradle you, much the way Suguru is now, and you fall into a restless sleep. 

***

Suguru wakes you at some point. 

It’s pitch black outside the window; there is very little light in the room at all, which adds to your confusion. Your head is throbbing. 

You whimper. 

“Sit up for me,” his voice is a hush, “can you do that?” 

“Let me sleep,” you reply, pushing weakly at him as he forces you up. Everything swims. Your head lolls like a doll and he catches it so you don’t give yourself whiplash. 

“You’re burning up,” he replies, “I need to get the fever down.” 

You don’t have the wherewithal to understand this. 

For a moment, you hope that he means—

“I’m going to give you a bath.” 

You make another noise, this one in disagreement. Fussy. 

He tuts softly at you, the way mothers do at bad children, and then he disappears, allowing you to fall back against the bed once more. 

You’re not sure for how long, but you doze off again, unable to keep your eyes open. You only awake when Suguru lifts you clear from the bed and into his arms. Again, you make a noise of protest, pushing weakly at him, but he pays you no mind. 

You open your eyes and wince against the bathroom light. 

The bath is running, filling with water. You frown and squirm in his hold, just as he gently sets you on the floor beside the tub. 

“Let’s get you out of these clothes,” he murmurs and you push his hands away.

“No,” you snap, “leave.” 

He sighs, “you can hardly sit up right now. I don’t trust you in the bath alone.” 

“I’m not a child,” you protest.

“No, but you’re experiencing a compounded Heat, after years of not having one and you don’t have a knot to soothe you.” Suguru’s voice is cool. His eyes are, too. 

You level him with the best glare you can manage, “and whose fault is that?” 

“I’m only keeping my promise.” He almost sings. 

You swat at him but he catches your wrist easily and pulls you up further as you begin to slouch further and further down against the edge of the tub. “Come,” he says, “don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” 

This time, when he reaches to remove your shirt, you only grumble in protest. He peels it from you carefully, revealing bare skin. Despite how hot you are, you shiver hard. 

You ache. 

This is the worst fever you’ve ever had. Perhaps, this is one of the worst you’ve felt ever. 

You can hardly move enough to allow Suguru to slip your bottoms off and you feel so miserable that you can’t even find it in yourself to be embarrassed or frustrated or angry. 

Tears bead at your eyes again but it’s purely because you are in so much pain. 

Suguru lifts you into the bath. 

It’s lukewarm. Tufts of bubbles smell like lavender. The water is milky and gentle. 

You don’t realize it, but you’ve started to cry again, reaching out for Suguru. You realize he’s cleaned and bandaged his bite mark. He also coos to you, rolling up his sleeves to reach you in the water, stroking at your throat, your cheek.

And then he takes a wash cloth in hand and begins to do the same. He bathes you with a strange gentleness. A gentleness you have not given him. Your tears continue, tracking down your face, which he dutifully washes, too. He wipes away your tears, any sweat and grime, until you feel shining and new.

Eventually, you rest your arms on the lip of the bathtub, folded, and lay your cheek against them. You’re exhausted and still hurting, but at least quiet for now. At least you are cleaned and—

Suguru strokes at your cheek, traces the curve and folds of your ear, gently strokes through your hair. 

“Poor thing,” Suguru murmurs, knuckles drawing across your jaw, down your throat. When he passes along your scent gland, you shiver, you wince a little. 

“Hurts,” you get out and he coos more to you.

Babying you.

And you don’t have the strength to deny him any longer, so you let yourself be babied. You whimper at him and let him try to soothe you, you let him quiet and pet you. 

You’re looking at each other rather frankly, through the haze of your Heat, through all the lust or aggression or fear. In a rare moment of peace, you gaze up at his face and he looks down into yours. 

“Do you hate me?” You ask and your voice is rather raw from all the crying, “is that why you’ve led me here?” 

A strangely fond smile touches his lips, “on the contrary,” Suguru replies, fingers careful along your cheek, “I adore you.” 

“You have such a strange way of showing it.” You tell him. 

“I’m only keeping my promise,” he says again and all you have in you is a deep, dejected sigh. 

“I’m going to make you pay for this, Suguru.” And though your tone is docile, even sleepy, it is a promise. 

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll try.” He agrees, touch growing stronger, bolder, as he pets down your throat, your shoulder. You lean into the touch like a cat, too exhausted to deny it. “And I’ll still be here after—your ire or punishment will not scare me away.” 

You look at him for a moment, long and hard, and only find the truth there. Something strangely raw.

After a moment, you say, “I know.” 

He hums softly, leaning forward to give your burning forehead a rare and gentle kiss, “do your worst, then.” 

You pick your head up barely, tilt your face to his and catch him in a sudden, burning kiss. 

You pull away as quickly as you’d done it. 

You can tell you’ve surprised him only momentarily, it passes over his features like a bird flickering through the sky, there and gone. 

And you say, “no,” soft, and against his lips, “I’ll do my best this time.” 

He pulls away, creating carefully controlled distance. “Come,” he says, urging you up and out of the bath, “let’s get you to bed.” 

“Carry me?” You ask as he bundles you into a soft towel. “Let me wear your shirt?” 

His eyes glint violet, dark and quick, but he says, “of course.” And indulges you.

He even holds you all night and lets you sleep in late. 

The fever only worsens. 

And you can’t tell if your resolve crumbles or strengthens; but either way, you’re born anew with the sun the next day. 

*** 

Suguru woke up before you. He let you sleep in. But now you're awake and waiting for him. When Suguru returns to wake you in the early afternoon, instead of sleeping, you are half-lidded and sun-warmed, laying in his sheets still. The fever has reached a pitch inside you. You’re sure it’s done irreparable damage to your mind and psyche because of how you find yourself.

Because of how Suguru finds you. 

The shirt of his you’d worn to bed is pushed up to your chin, revealing your bare chest, your stomach, flexing and twitching, with your legs spread. Your fingers between them, working messily against yourself, against where you’ve needed since your Heat began. 

For once, you have shocked Suguru. 

Enough that his lips part. 

Just a flash, a ripple of his features, before he smooths them out quickly. Effortlessly. But it is enough to spur you on regardless, to feel just slightly triumphant. 

You keen softly, arching your back, pushing your fingers gently through silken folds. 

“Suguru,” you mewl his name, all soft and broken, arching your hips into your own touch desperately. Beyond your desire for revenge, is simply your desire, the need to feel full, to feel pleasure like this. And you reasoned with yourself, all night, and all morning, that you’d win regardless; either you’d wrestle his tightly held control from his grasp, and get what you so desperately want from him, or you’d still get to touch yourself and find some brief moment of reprieve. 

Beyond either of those two things, you could not think. They ran around your mind like wild, starved dogs hunting down the possibility of a rabbit. 

(Or are you the rabbit? Running around and around your mind, trying to escape the bite? Or are you looking for it?) 

“What do you think you’re doing?” He asks and for a moment, he doesn’t dare step closer to you or the bed. 

You push a finger inside yourself, it goes in easy—so slick and easy—that the next pass, you add a second and gasp. 

What are you doing? You feel half out of your mind. 

“Can’t help it—” you get out, “it hurts so bad. It’s—I’m so—” 

You watch a muscle in his jaw feather and tick. His scent is—

It hits you like a blow to the chest, the way he smells. It’s dark and spiced with warmth; tobacco and the oud in his scent has become heavier. You can almost taste it in the air.

“Suguru—“ you mewl again, pleading and cloying. You tilt your hips up towards your hand, towards him. You’re trying to entice him. 

You can nearly hear the way his teeth grind together. 

“You’re a brat,” he hisses but you can sense the way his control has slipped and thinned. You can nearly feel it fraying in his voice alone.

You practically purr, fingers pushing desperately inside yourself. 

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” you simper, “I’ve been so good letting you feed me and bathe me—I’m wearing the shirt you put me in, too.” 

For a moment, you watch as his eyes slowly dip down the length of your body, to where your fingers are. You watch his expression flicker, the tilt of his eyebrows, the slight parting of his lips. You whimper, knowing he’s watching, and try to curl your fingers. 

But they don’t reach as deep as his might—not thick enough, either, and the ache inside you grows monstrously. 

Perhaps only soothed by the way, for once, you’ve rendered Suguru Getou rather speechless. You toss your head back and moan at the thought. 

“Suguru—won’t you help me? Even a little?” You arch off the bed and catch his gaze when his eyes fly back up to your face. 

“No,” he snaps quickly, “I promised you—“

“Then tell me what to do—talk to me.” You beg, “it hurts so bad, Suguru—“

The muscle in his jaw feathers again. But this time, he wades carefully into the room, stepping closer to the edge of the bed.

The moment he’s there, you adjust so he can see you better, move so your foot is just nearly touching his thigh at the end of the bed. And even that small potential for touch has you crying out again. 

“I’m not sure I should, after the way you’ve been acting.” He says and though he’s trying for casualness, you can sense the tension lurking underneath.

“Touch yourself then,” you breathe, your own eyes drifting down to his sweatpants—to the noticeable bulge—

In a bold move, you place your foot on his lower abdomen, looking up at him through your lashes as your fingers gently push in and out, walls fluttering desperately around them.

He catches your ankle before you can move another inch. The way he squeezes you makes a thrill run through you, race up your spine, pool somewhere low and hot in the depths of you. 

“Is this your way of trying to make me suffer?” He asks and despite everything, a hint of a smile flickers across your heated, panting face.

“Is it working?” You ask. 

All he does is hum, thumb stroking along the bone of your ankle.

Even that is enough for pleasure to skitter and flare beneath your skin. 

“Wanna see you,” you get out, breathy and soft, “wanna see what I’m missing.”

Suguru curses and you laugh, delirious and soft.

Pleasure blushes and surges beneath your skin. 

“No,” he says again but he has to grind the word out, pull it and wrestle it from his own mouth. “You won’t get the better of me here.” 

“Don’t you get tired of your tightly wound control?” You get out, twisting a little so that you might free your ankle from his grasp, but he holds firm.

“I should be asking the same of you—but clearly,” his eyes flicker again, “you do.” 

“Need you so bad—“ you get out, almost pouting. 

You can nearly hear his teeth grind together. He inhales sharply, as if to try and steady himself, but you can tell it only worsens him. Your scent must be thick in the air, sweetened and cloying.

Your fingers slip messily, desperately, over your clit, down inside of yourself and back out. You whine, a little frustrated, trying again and again to satiate the ache inside of you. But anything you do, isn’t enough. 

It almost feels as if it’s made it worse. 

“Poor thing,” Suguru finally says and you realize, he’s regained some of his composure, “look what you’ve done to yourself.” 

You curse this time. 

But you press on, unwilling to give up your win yet, “you’ve also done this—because you wanted the upper hand so bad.” You press inside yourself, hips lifting towards your fingers, “you didn’t have to take the suppressants.” 

His brow flickers up, “I did it for you.” 

“Did you?” You gasp, adding a second finger. 

He swallows, eyes falling to the apex of your thighs, watching, as you fitfully try to pleasure yourself. 

“You didn’t have to—you could’ve let me trigger your Rut. Then we both would’ve been like this—” your voice hitches, “then you would’ve gotten what you wanted sooner and you could’ve feigned innocence.” 

“You didn’t want that,” he says, watching you carefully, “who's to say you won’t come out of this Heat and resist me again?”  

“I won’t,” you breathe, “I did—” you mewl, hips arching and falling, trying so hard, working yourself up so horribly. 

You bite off a groan. 

Suguru clicks his tongue, makes a soft, disapproving noise. “And now look at you,” his hand slides along your calf, so large, and—

“Don’t even know how to properly touch yourself.” 

“Suguru—” 

Suddenly, he tugs you gently, so you’re down at the edge of the bed, your legs on either side of his thighs as he stands above you. 

He leans down slightly and you sit up, towards him, hoping, desperate—

“Such a terrible, little Omega. Do you need me to teach you this, too? Do you need me to help you?” 

You cry out, kitten soft, as needy and tender as a child. 

“Please,” you beg, “please, I need you—”

His hand traces up the outside of your calf, up to your thigh and you squirm, hope fluttering, heart racing—

“Don’t move,” he murmurs, “or I won’t help you.” 

“Suguru,” you growl in frustration. 

“Ah, ah, I thought you were being good?” 

Your head spins—you have no idea how he managed to flip it on you so sharply, but suddenly he has, and suddenly you're nearly underneath him, and he’s leaning over you and watching so intensely—so— 

You try to go still for him. Your chest is heaving. 

“That’s it,” he murmurs and his hand slowly arcs over the bend of your hip, and towards your stomach. Your hips twitch and he stills, “careful—” he warns. 

You force yourself to freeze, still panting. 

And then he lays the broadness of his hand on your lower stomach, his thumb just barely brushing your mound. 

“This is as far as I’ll go,” he says and with the way you almost fall into a frustrated groan, he seizes your chin with his other hand, “I’ll not touch you sexually. This is all I’ll give you—be grateful for even this.” 

You sneer at him and he takes his hand away. 

Instantly, you miss the warmth, the pressure, the—

“Be good, or I’ll leave the room now and let you suffer even worse than before—see what you’ve done to yourself? Worked yourself up so horribly, and all for what?”  Suguru’s voice is soft and smooth and so, horribly in control again. When did he get it back? When did he take it from you? 

“My attention? The hopes that I’d give in?” He asks. 

When you don’t respond, he squeezes your face, prompting you, “answer me, pet.” 

“Yes—I want your attention. I want—” the words break over you like a wave, the realization like a blow. You want. 

You desire. 

You want him. You want an Alpha and not just any Alpha but Suguru, despite everything, maybe because of everything. Maybe because you made him chase, and he did. Maybe because you have run your whole life from this—this attention and this desire and this intimacy—and you have finally found someone willing to hunt you down like a fox, and in the face of your gnashing teeth and growling and yipping, to treat you gently. Like you’re a beloved house pet and not a snarling, wild beast. 

“I want you,” you say honestly and his hold slackens on your cheeks to let you speak, “I hate you and I want you and—there’s no one but you—it’s only you and you’re awful but I am, too, and I need—” 

It cracks out of you, voice raw, a half-sob. 

Your tears make him smile. 

He hushes you gently, “oh, sweet girl,” he soothes, and his other hand slowly returns to its place on your trembling, lower stomach, “you’re so torn up about this. How much grief have you given yourself? Hm? Just for wanting?” 

You heave, unable to respond, suddenly reaching with your free hand for him, pulling on his shirt, closer to you. 

He gives in and goes, lets you claw at his back and bury your face in his shoulder. He finally lets go of your face, in favor of letting you fall to pieces beneath him. His knee dips on the mattress. But he holds himself above you still.

“I’ll guide you now,” he murmurs and his voice is by your ear. He turns his nose to nudge against your temple, inhaling slowly. 

You can feel the rumble of a groan through him that he holds back, a soft growl. 

And then, “look at me.” 

You sniffle and with a great deal of reluctance, you pull your face away from the safety of his shoulder to find his gaze. Midnight violet. Depthless. 

“Hate me all you want,” he says, “but I adore you—no matter how you are. Willing and pliant, or vicious and biting. I’ll always adore you. And I��ll always do what’s best for you.” 

Something inside of you cleaves open. Fractures in a way that is irreparable. 

You want to say something but you don’t know what, you have something so tremendous and terrifying inside of you, because of him—all you can get out is a soft cry. 

“Now,” he continues, eyes flickering over your body, and his thumb gently strokes over your lower stomach. “You feel empty, don’t you?” 

A whimper eeks out of you. You nod slowly. Empty and torn apart and open and aching. 

“Use three fingers, not two.” He commands gently, “you want something bigger, hm? I’m sure it hurts so badly—you’re so wet.” 

Without thinking, you obey him. 

You press three fingers carefully inside of you and it’s the first stretch you’ve gotten, the first spark of relief. 

You cry out, clinging to him. 

“That’s it,” he encourages, “in and out for me.” 

You tilt your hips up into his hand, towards your fingers, and he doesn’t scold you. The pressure on your lower stomach makes pleasure bloom and strengthen there. For a moment, it’s just the soft, slick noises of yourself, and it’s so—

Embarrassing. So horrible. 

You must look out of your depth, you must look lost or terrified, because he finally speaks again, “curl your fingers for me, darling.” 

You do just that and moan the moment you press deeper inside yourself. 

“Good girl,” he praises, “does that feel better? Answer me.” 

“Yes—yeah.” You get out, crooking your fingers inside yourself. “I still want—” 

“More?” He murmurs, pressing his hand gently against your lower stomach, “this time, you have to make do with just this.” 

You bite back your whine or complaint, head hazy—fingers moving desperately. But you don’t complain, you don’t fuss. 

He smiles when he realizes how you’ve caught yourself, “oh, look at that,” he purrs, “you can be tamed after all.” 

And before you can ruin it for yourself, Suguru sweeps his thumb just barely over your mound again, and says, “rock your hips now, gentle.” 

The moment you do, the friction against your palm makes you moan, head falling back, baring your throat. 

Perhaps without thinking, he dips forward, nose tracing over the cure of your neck, following instinct. You make another soft noise, and in your haze, wish desperately that he would just bite down—

All you get is the brief skim of his warm, soft lips. No teeth and you miss them, achingly. 

He presses his hand down just a little more and—

Pleasure bursts beneath your skin with enough force that your back bows off the bed, mouth parted. 

You sob. 

You feel your walls flutter uselessly around your fingers, feel your body desperate for something you can’t have this time, and fall apart.

Suguru is there to catch you. 

He coos to you, soft and easy, and even kisses at your damp, tear-struck cheeks. He lets you arch and twist and chase your pleasure, lets you be wanton and shameless and desperate. He lets you claw him and bite him and cry into his shoulder. 

And when you begin to quiet, he suddenly hitches your legs around his waist and lifts you clear from the bed. You lope your arms weakly around his neck and bury your face into his throat. 

You don’t protest or fight him, you are grateful and eager for all the places you touch, feeling incredibly fragile in his broad arms.  

You don’t bother to look where he’s taking you—can’t find it in yourself to care, if you can feel him against your center, feel where he’s hard and aching himself, even with the suppressants—

But between one breath and the next, you’re in the bathtub again, and the water from the shower blasts on from above. 

Ice cold water pours on you. 

You shriek and Suguru has the nerve to laugh, which makes you lunge for him, yanking him towards the spray of water. 

It soaks his shirt, his hair, as he holds himself over you, before stepping carefully into the tub to join you. 

He sits with you, beneath the cold water, and pushes his hair out of his face as you clamber into his lap. 

You pull at his wet shirt and he lets you take it off of him, throw it over the side of the tub in a heap. 

He reaches to do the same to you, ridding you of the only article of clothing you’d had on. 

You grit your teeth, “does it have to be so cold?” You ask, feeling the spray now rain against your back, your shoulders. You lean away from it, into his arms. 

“You needed this.” He says fondly. And then, as he strokes your wet hair, “I did, too.” 

“You’re an awful man,” you curse him, shivering.

“I know,” he agrees with a soft, fond smile. 

You look at him, hair inky and dark, lashes damp against his cheek, and the pleased way he smiles. Like an insufferable, giant cat. You’re aching and furious and freezing and so—so tender. 

“I hate you,” you tell him but it sounds more like a confession, soft around the edges. 

He kisses your temple, lingers there, and you can feel the curve of his smile. You can hear it color his voice;

“I know.” 

***

Something shifts between the two of you after that. And the following day, your Heat finally begins to wane slightly. 

You try to touch yourself again and Suguru forbids it this time. You fight and snarl with him, but you let him hold you and lull you to sleep. You let him feed you. And bathe you. You sleep bare against his naked chest and are soothed by it the way a fussy baby is calmed by the bare skin of their mother. 

You feel infinitely closer to him. 

You lounge with him in bed, in his living room, hanging off him all that you can. 

He indulges this behavior, encourages it, even. 

And on the eighth day, your Heat finally breaks. 

When you wake, still curled on his chest, with his hands stroking tenderly over your bare back, he asks, “how do you feel?” 

“Sane, I think.” You murmur it into his chest. 

“Your Heat broke in the night.” He says and touches your head, your forehead, like he’s taking your temperature. “You’re still a little warmer, but it’s over now, I think.” 

Slowly, you pick yourself up to look at him. To hover over him. 

He looks up at you, too, uncertain. Waiting. You’re sure he’s waiting to see if you’ll return to your usual self, if you’ll snap or snarl or chew him out—will you storm out? Or seethe? Will you fight him still, after everything, even as he holds you in his arms now? 

“Thank you for respecting my wishes,” you say instead and lean down to suddenly press your lips to his. 

You feel his surprise, the way his lips part, the way he freezes and you sink down into it. For a moment, you worry he won’t reciprocate again. 

But then, his hand comes up to cradle your face, and he nudges into the kiss. Hungry. Deep. 

You give into him, you encourage him, coaxing him with soft tongue and eager mouth. 

When you pull away, you grab his face this time, the way he always grabs yours, squeezing his lips into a little pout, “but if you ever make me suffer like that again through a Heat,” your nails dig into his cheek, “I’ll fucking kill you.” 

He laughs, canines flashing, and surges forward to kiss you again. Harder. Meaner. 

It’s all teeth and heat, a little vicious, the way you are. He wrestles you beneath him, kisses you into the mattress. And when he pulls away, he says;

“If you ever make me suffer like that again, you’ll wish you’d killed me first.” 

You feel your own smile against his neck, against one of the ridges of your own bite mark, and with all the satisfaction in the world, you sink your teeth down into it again. 

It’s like a key coming up against a lock, fitting snugly to their own indents, and finding their own, well-worn place. 

It’s like finally coming home. 

[just-some-random-blogger]

Scale Soother

Daemon Targaryen x Reader + Cregan Stark x Reader

Summary: "Fine," the king quips, "tell me, then, how it is you managed to tame this dragon?" He looks off to the side and watches as the creature stares at him, as if unwilling to let him out of his sight. "The secret is, your grace," I shake my head, "I did not."

Word Count: 10k+

Warnings: Fem!reader, VERY alternate universe, very self-indulgent fic, made up lore, internet translated high valyrian/Astapori Valyrian, ye old misogyny, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: if you have any quarrels with my made up lore or my high/astapori valyrian, i'll tell you right now, youre right im wrong, so just roll with it ok. also i made a song for this fic cos im a music student and i well wanted to (very self-indulgent as i said) and YES my pronunciation in it is inconsistent and i missed some syllables but its fine shhhhhh roll w it. Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony @risefallrise @slavyanskiyahui

dārilaros se zaldrīzes

(princess and dragon)

konīr iksin iā zaldrīzes bona glaestan isse se guēsin (there was a dragon that lived in the forest) konīr iksin iā dārilaros bona vāettan iā gevie vāedar (there was a princess that sung a beautiful song) se lanta sia mēre isse Perzys Ānogār (and two were one in fire and blood) se mēre tubis kessi udrāzma se tegun (and one day they will rule the land)

I lick my lips as I blur the dark line on my paper. I look up and move to throw some mutton to the fox I was drawing, but perk up from my spot when I see that I would not be able to feed any beast, as I was now by myself.

Immediately, my instinct is to turn over my shoulder. I look behind me and roll my eyes at the man walking over to me, "sȳz syt doru gine." Good for nothing rat.

The tan skinned man shakes his head, making his longish, dark hair brush against his angular jaw, "ao ōdrio nyke." You wound me.

"Why are you even here?" I eye him, "you know nature despises you."

He sits down next to me on the ground and shrugs, "you know, just because the name of your house means 'red beast', doesn't mean you have to make it a point to draw foxes every single day," he eyes me and says the name of my house rather mockingly, "Milidyni."

I throw my head back and scoff, "this again?" I raise a brow at him, "you do know you are the worst perpetrator of living up to your name, Gael Valzȳrys," I stand and brush off my skirt, "and besides, I am helping my father as a beast scholar to catalog the creatures of the woods. You do nothing of the sort."

Gael watches me and I give him a look.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he frowns as his thick dark brows move close together.

I knit my own brows at his expression and look up at him as he stands and towers over me, "are you seriously pretending you don't 'wife up'--" I look away and begin to walk off, "or at least attempt to-- every woman you set your eyes upon--" I turn back to him and give him a look, wording sardonically, "Husband?"

Gael scoffs, "it's hardly my fault women are willing to give up their maidenhoods to me. It's not like I make myself look as though I would actually be their valzȳrys," husband.

I cringe as I begin to navigate through the forest on the path back home, "no you are too correct," I clutch my notebook and my skirt in hand, "belonging to house Valzȳrys was too generous a name of the gods to bestow upon you," I look over my shoulder and raise a hand, "you should have belonged to house Live." Whore.

"Asha," Gael exclaims and makes a face, "how original."

Gael and I walk through the forest, bickering over names as we did. I smack him in the shoulder for insulting the name Kotova.

"Kotova is a beautiful name!" I point a finger at him.

He looks at me as though he is actually pained, and I do hope he is, as he should. He rubs his arm, "ao brōstan zirȳla se ēlī run bona istan ezīmagon aōha bartos!" You named her the first thing that went into your head!

"Sīr?" I quip, "ao ydragho hae ao ȳdra daor qogralbar se ēlī run ao ūndegon."

So? You speak like you don't fuck the first thing you see.

Gael laughs and moves close, "I have yet to fuck you, my s--"

He does not get to finish as suddenly there is a loud shriek from overhead, followed by the sound of long strides of large wings.

Gael flinches as we both look skyward. I grin where he exclaims out to the Harpy for deliverance. I turn to Gael as he grabs onto my arm. I laugh at him, "serves you right, cretin."

"Fucking cock block."

The assembly hall smelled like oranges, for the king had been haughtily eating them in the middle of his meeting. He looked like he was paying more attention to peeling the skin of his citrus rather than the droning report of Otto Hightower. But then again, that would not have been too out of the ordinary; he never liked him. It's a wonder he's still on the council.

Daemon had his feet up as sucked on an orange bud, unsure if he appreciated the fact it was wholly sweet with no hint of tanginess. He let out a soft belch and turned to his side, "cupbearer."

Rhaenyra straightens and turns to his uncle.

"Mirri averilla, riñītsos," says the king. Some wine, little girl.

Daemon raises his cup to his niece as she walks over with an ewer of wine. He pulls his legs off the table and assesses his cupbearer's dress, the one he gifted her for her recent nameday just a few night ago.

"Se ēnka iksis sȳz va ao," the king utters in their shared tongue, the color is good on you.

Rhaenyra smiles at him, "kirimvose, ñuha dārys."

Thank you, my king.

Daemon smiles as Rhaenyra pulls away after pouring him some wine. His smile flattens when his sight catches the cunt-Lord turning from the other Targaryen to him with pursed lips.

"I don't remember asking you to stop your report, Hightower," he raises his brows and shakes his head expectantly.

Otto shifts from where he stood, "no, your majesty."

Daemon leans on his chair at the head of the table, downing a large gulp of wine. It's bitter and sour, just as he hoped, and it complimented his oranges exquisitely.

"And then there is a matter of a dragon, your grace," Otto says rather gravely, out of character even for his usually tedious demeanor.

The rest of the council members turn to him while Daemon looks out the window and thinks, 'ah, yes, I would so adore to ride off with Caraxes at this time'.

"Many of our trade partners from Essos have given consistent and wearisome accounts about the dragon in the area nicknamed Forest Fire."

"Huh," the king chuckles, turning back to Otto. He finally has Daemon's attention.

"How quaint."

"Yes," Otto speaks flatly, "the quaint abomination has burned down forests for sport and left a great many casualties in its stead, hindering trade and damaging goods, our trade goods"

Daemon puts his cup down and shrugs slightly, "so? There is a lose dragon in Essos. My business with the savages that live there are as far and few as my business with the dragon toying with them. We do not rely on Essos. Cease trade if you must."

Otto rolls his shoulders back and clutches his hands in front of him. He clenches his jaw and allows for the faintest of grins to pull on his lips. Daemon was actually unsure if it was a grin or if he was in pain.

"That would have been my own thoughts as solution, my king, had that dragon not had a rider."

Daemon blinks.

Otto relaxes his shoulders.

Rhaenyra from the side looks between her best friend's father and her uncle with a lowered jaw.

A chorus of utterances fall from the lips of the Lords at the table, things along the line of 'a rider?,' 'impossible,' and general grumbles of disbelief.

Daemon reaches his hand out to the marble sphere before him and tilts his head at Otto. He swirls his tongue on the roof of his mouth, savoring the remnants of snack, then tilts his head to the lord, "are you implying that someone from my family has adopted one too many mounts in their keep and has made a game of toying with some low lives in the east?"

"I am saying," Otto shifts on his leg, "that there is a dragon out there whose mount is not from your family."

Daemon stills.

Rhaenyra's mouth falls wider.

The lords lose their shit.

And for a moment, there is a continous streak of worried mumbles.

Lord Velaryon from across the table, in fact, adopted a deep line between his brows upon hearing this.

But then suddenly, the king laughs and silences everyone.

Daemon laughs so hard that he clutches his stomach as his amusement echoes around the room.

Rhaenyra is extremely agitated by the response of her uncle and how the council reacts to him.

Daemon lets out a sigh once he's satisfied himself and slumps on his chair, "my," he lets out a deep breath, "I do say I believe a thanks is in order, chum," he wipes a tear, "That is, in all honestly, the funniest you have ever been the entire time you've been at court," he straightens up, "or, methinks, your entire life," he chuckles.

Otto Hightower does not share the sentiment. He does not find himself particularly fond of being called chum by the king either. "I assure you, your grace," he shakes his head, "I do not jest."

Daemon's smirk does not falter.

"You would agree with me when I say I do not know how," the lord adds.

Otto sees no change or belief in the king's expression so, he instead turns to the king's hand, Lord Strong, "this issue has come to my attention less than week prior, and since then, I have been securing information about the so-called Forest Fire so that I could raise the matter to the king."

Lord Hand meant speak, but the King beats him to it, "and why did you not notify me of this the said week prior?"

Otto turns to the king.

Daemon is now hard and unamused. He leans on his elbows and raises his brows accusingly at him.

Otto narrows his eyes, "I did not wish to add to the flame of a mummer's farce, my king."

"Then humor me, Hightower," he raises his brows, "in detail," he leans on the table, "what do you know of this Forest Fire?"

"Kiba," I huffed as I entered my home through the back door, "I spied four horses come down the road on my way here. Did you-"

I halt in both my steps and my words when I am face to face with a tall man in a deep green coat. The scent of his oils and perfume are poke into my nostrils as though it was done with a stick.

I walk back and let out a breath, "skoros se qogralbar?" What the fuck?

"Five horses," someone mutters. I hear a laugh and turn to my side, "my, I see the lady has come just in time."

I move back at the sight of the devious looking man with alabaster hair and purple eyes. I clutch my skirt and turn away from him, finding my father holding cups and a pitcher, same with our servant.

Immediately, I rush over to the man and mutter in a low voice, "kiba, issi ao isse pelrar?" Father, are you in trouble?

My father hands me a cup and cocks his head to the side, quickly muttering, "daor, ñuha prūmia, issa ao qilōni iksis isse pelrar." No, my heart, it is you who is in trouble.

My eyes dart to the silver haired man muttering something to a silver haired girl. My father pours into the cup in my hand, then the one in his.

"King Daemon," my father says and offers the drink to him.

I wordlessly follow suit and offer the cup to the person beside King Daemon.

"Thank you," she says to me.

The man beside her raises a brow, "will you not greet the princess?"

I turn to the king then the princess, offering a curtsy, "princess..."

"Rhaenyra," he adds.

I turn to him and repeat, "Rhaenyra."

The king tilts his head. The high collar of his leathery black tunic was adorned with an eccentric ruby necklace and the fingers that were gripping the bronze cups we only used when we had guests were all clad with golden rings, "do you honestly expect me to believe you don't know who she is, who we are-- who I am?"

"Kepus," mutters Rhaenyra. Her dainty hand comes to the arm of her uncle. Her violet eyes and rosy cheeks move to his duller face in comparison. Her features are complimented by the deep velvet red of her dress and the intricate braids of her light hair.

I smooth out my orange corset and red skirt, "you are King Daemon and Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen," I smile softly.

I can practically feel my father tense in anticipation of my next words.

"You are all guests to our humble abode."

Father lets out a soft breath.

"I am here for your Forest Fire," the king replies quickly.

I pull my head back and frown, "forest fire?"

King Daemon narrows his eyes and looks past me.

"We have reports-"

I turn and find the odorous man was speaking.

"-that a dragon has been going about burning through trees and people, thus the nickname, Forest Fire."

I suck in a breath and feel my breathing tighten at the insulting words of the man, "I assure you, ser," I knit my brows and frown, "I have no knowledge of this monster which you speak."

The tall man looks down upon me and tilts his head, "no?"

I hear my father call out my name lowly. I ignore his cautious tone, for he knows my words are true.

"Then tell me, Lady Milidyni," the man steps forward, "would you deny it still if I tell you your father has told all of us," he raises a hand, "that you came from the riverbank after riding upon the back of your dragon."

"I do not deny riding a dragon," I retort quickly, "but I say to you, whatever talk of forest fires you know of was not the doing of my mount."

"Pār emilā nyke pāsagon bona aōha zaldrīzes iksis rāpa se sȳz?"

I turn over my shoulder and find the raised brows of the king. He taps his finger on his cup and looks at me expectantly.

The princess watches me as I stare. She starts, "my uncle said, 'y--"

"Then you will have me believe that your dragon is soft and kind," I repeat the words perfectly. The silver haired princess presses her lips together.

"Nyke ȳdra daor gimigho skoros sȳz zaldrize emā isse Vesteros lo ao odabagho konir sagon skoros nyke nūmāzma," I retort.

I don't know what kind of dragons you have in Westeros if you think that is what I mean.

The king laughs through his nostrils then takes a sip of his wine. He pulls the cup away from his mouth and looks at it before saying, "you are amusing, little girl."

"I am not a little girl," I reply simply.

I hear my father call out my name. I turn over to him as he give me a look, "he is a king."

"Well, he's not our king."

"Beza tala kessa sagon se murgho yno," he sighs. This girl will be the death of me.

"Daor vasīr." Not yet, says the king, making me turn to him with a scowl. He hands my father his cup as he steps forward, "you will take us to your dragon at once."

I look up at him as he stands far too close to me for my liking. I raise my hand up to his chest and step back, "all of you?" I turn to the man in the green coat, the two armoured guards, the princess, then back to him, "my dragon is not used to seeing so many people."

He tilts his head and narrows his eyes, "ah, are you afraid he might hurt us?"

He turns to my hand when my palm connects with his sternum. I slightly push him back to prevent him from drawing any nearer, "I am afraid you might do something to taunt her."

"You think so-" he grabs my wrist, "-lowly of a king."

"No," I tilt my head up, "I assume what I know of your nature, Valyrian conqueror."

He seems to be pleased by that name. His lips curve into a lopsided smile, "then do not make me waste my time any further by stalling."

We stare at each other for a moment then I pull my hand away from him.

I turn about and gather my skirt, "lēda nyke." With me.

"Ñuhe kepe hobrenke usōvegon syt otāpagon bona ao lī daor shifang Valyrio Eglie," princess Rhaenyra offers as she walks up next to me.

I must apologize for thinking that you would not understand High Valyrian.

I turn to her as we walk over some branches on the ground.

"Gaomagon daor qubemagon aōla, dārilaros," the king mutters behind us, "ziry ȳdrā iā nādrēsy lūs hen īlva ēngos."

Do not lower yourself, princess. She speaks a bastard kind of our tongue.

"Kepus," she mutters, looking over to the king.

The king turns to me as I do the same. He raises his brows at me as he marches over a large rock, "iksin nyke pirta?" Am I wrong?

I ignore him and turn to the princess, "your uncle is correct. Astapori Valyrian is a branch of Bastard Valyrian languages. It has remnants of Old Ghiscari, which may be why you won't understand some of my words. I however I can understand you perfectly."

The man called Otto Hightower, as I was told, swats a bug flying over to him.

I turn to him and the two Kingsguard tailing after him just as the princess excitedly says, "that is so fascinating. I suppose that must be why your mount listens to you."

I chuckle at the words of the girl and push back a branch in our way, "my dragon does not merely listen to me because I speak Valyrian."

"Pray tell," the king steps between us, "do explain how why Forest Fire listens to a lowly wench like you."

I stop in my tracks and furrow my brows. He purses his lips and gives me a look.

"I wonder if you think I am inclined to give a courteous response to your crude words, Daemon Targaryen."

The corner of his lips twitch into a smirk, "King Daemon Targaryen."

"King," I repeat dryly. I turn away and walk off, releasing the branch, hoping it hits the man on his way.

Judging by his grunt, it does. I smile to myself.

"Insolent bitch, I ought to--" the clamors of the king are silenced by the shriek that causes a flock of birds to fly away.

I hasten my movements and secure my skirt in my hand, "I do suggest you calm yourself, king."

He does not respond as we all continue to the tread deeper into the thick, green forest. By the time I spot the flowing river, I turn to the king and mutter, "we're here."

I take the same route I always do, feeling the man follow closely behind me. He catches my arm when my shoe slips from a damp patch of soil and eyes me darkly as I turn to thank him out of instinct. I still thank him, but do so rather reluctantly.

"Do not do anything that will startle your ride," he mutters, releasing me.

"She is not extremely jittery like you, your grace."

Before he can respond, I am walking off.

"Iksan kesīr, Kotova," I call out as the familiar scent of dragon hits my nose, "eman sindita ragero lēda nyke."

I am here, Kotova. I have brought friends with me.

I turn to Daemon as he looks around. I cannot help but chuckle at the solemn look upon his face as he anticipates the dragon.

"She will not eat you," I hold back a smile, "I swear it."

"I am no fool," Daemon turns to me, "she does not have to eat me to kill me."

There is then a crescendo of crackling screeches. From the far off side, comes out then a largish, white winged beast, head cocking left and right as she slowly crawls out toward us. She was, in truth, only so much bigger than a carriage but her wings made her look larger than she really was.

I smile as I walk over to her while she lifts her head up and roars with jaws wide open.

"Asha," I exclaim and raise a hand to her.

The dragonling stops her cries and lowers her head a fraction, turning to me. She bleats gutturally and stretches out her wings, beating them rapidly, much like how she usually greets me. She then rolls her long neck over and under then settles down and inches near me.

She huffs and rests her wings beside her. Her snout comes me as reach out to her.

Daemon watches the pearly white creature submit to her rider. He sees the shine of her blistering white scales and the shape of her head. There was something about the creature that made him think she did not look right, something about her snout and the shape of her body. He was unsure if it had to do the ghastly lack of color her or the rather bird-like demeanor it had with the wing-flapping.

"Kotova," I speak as I caress the face of my dragon, "rytsuragon se dārys se dārilaros." Greet the king and princess.

Kotova pulls her head up and steps a few paces back. She then stretches both her wings, rather effectively blocking a good amount of sunshine and bares all her teeth as she screams at the Targaryens.

Rhaenyra's jaw parts into a small open mouthed smile as she brings her hands to her ears. Daemon steps one pace back and averts his gaze as the gush of hot dragon breath hits his face. He huffs and waves his hands by his nose.

I laugh as Kotova bleats once more for approval as she curls up and turns to me. I laugh and stroke her wiry scales, "olvie sȳz, ñuha jorrāelagon." Very good, my love.

Rhaenyra watches our exchange and pulls away her hands from her head, "her name is Kotova?"

I turn to the princess and smile. I nod "she is my Kotova."

"A quaint name for a dragon," she notes, lightheartedly.

I laugh and raise a hand to her direction, "it is the Astapori word for strong, princess," I turn to Rhaenyra then to Daemon, "I shall introduce you to her, your graces, yes?"

Rhaenyra turns to her king for approval. Daemon nods then motions for her to follow.

The moment the princess nears, Kotova instantly begins to stir with curiosity and heavily sniff the air.

"Asha, Kotova," I mutter as I take the hand of the princess, "ȳdra daor sagon tolī olvie." Hush, Kotova, don't be too much.

Kotova does her best to contain her excitement as I gently lead the girl's hand to the dragon's snout, "bisa iksis Rhaenyra." This is Rhaenyra.

"Rystas, Kotova," she greets hello with a breathy tone.

I catch Rhaenyra's smile as Kotova huffs and moves her head a bit in acknowledgement of the contact. I watch how Kotova turns her head in a telltale manner. I immediately stop her from continuing what I know she was planning to do.

"Daor, Kotova," I speak 'no' sternly.

She huffs in response.

Once I feel the dragonling calm, I release Rhaenyra's hand and allow her to touch as Kotova as much as she'd like. Her hair, strikingly like the tint of my dragon scales, blows back with the wind. She turns to me and smiles, moving towards me, "she is a sweet and kind thing."

"Indeed," I smile and nod, "she is precious to me."

Rhaenyra turns to the side, "uncle, it's your turn now."

Daemon looks as I circle around his niece and reach out to him.

He waits for a few seconds to pass before walking over to me, taking my hand in his. He confidently strides to my dragon and it makes her pull away from Rhaenyra. She then raises her head and tilts it to the side as looks down upon us. The spikes on her hair raise as she breathes in and huffs.

"Kotova," I warn.

Rhaenyra smartly backs away slowly.

I sense no agitation from Daemon, save for how he tightens his grip on me. I turn to him and inhale deeply, "it's because you smell like dragon," I mutter to Daemon as I raise hand, "gīda ilagon, Kotova." Calm down, Kotova.

He mutters without tearing his gaze away from Kotova, "I did not ride my dragon here."

"Didn't you?" I turn to her as Kotova cautiously lowers her head, "you must not have washed properly."

Rhaenyra chuckles from the side.

I continuously hush Kotova until she is comfortable enough to near us.

"Rysta, Kotova," Daemon says hello to the dragon.

I release a soft snort as I turn from the king to the head of the dragon. I bring our hands to her snout and "bisa iksis Daemon, Kotova." This is Daemon, Kotova.

Daemon is shocked by the coolness of the skin. He furrows his brows as Kotova huffs and leans into us.

I pull away from the king and allow him to touch her as much as he wants. I watch him as he scrutinizes the creature before him.

Kotova leans into Daemon's touch and shakes her head. I step away and withhold a smile, doing nothing to hold her back from what I know she's going to do next.

Kotova darts her tongue out and licks Daemon's arm, coating it in thick slober.

I instantly break into a laugh as Daemon curses and pulls back. He turns to me as Rhaenyra joins in with my giggles.

"Ah, so you meant for her to do this," Daemon dryly states, swatting his hand in my direction, making Kotova's saliva splash to my dress. He does not allow his niece to laugh with no repercussions either and baptizes her with dragon spit.

Rhaenyra is hit straight on the cheek, immediately halting her laughter. She growls at her uncle, "Daemon!"

Daemon shrugs, grabbing my skirt, pulling me into him, then wiping his arm there. I grip onto his shoulder as he bends down and dries his dripping arm off on my dress.

I grunt as I lean into him, falling a tad out of balance because of his yanking. I watch as Kotova examines us but makes no attempt to defend me. I nearly scoff at her passivity. She was normally did not take kindly to people touching me. I wonder if it's because she recognizes the dragon in him.

Once he is done wiping the dampness, he straightens himself up and looks down at me, "that was quite amusing."

I shove him away with my hips, "a honor to bemuse you, dear king."

Daemon's shoes dig into the dirt as he keeps himself upright. I move to the other side of Kotova's face, leaving him standing in front of Kotova by himself.

He startles when Kotova huffs as he leans into him.

This time, I hiss in displeasure, "daor, Kotova."

She huffs.

I repeat, "daor."

Kotova pulls back obediently. She tucks her legs in, proceeding to then curl into herself, around me, and rest her head on the ground.

Rhaenyra watches as the dragon's neck curls over to her tail. Kotova pushes me into her body, tucking me under her wing. I grunt as I am covered by the heavy thing, "Kotova!"

She does not respond as I push her wing up and escape the leathery prison.

Upon seeing how I carelessly lean into Kotova and step over her neck to get out of my spot, Daemon furrows his brows and wonders if he would ever to the same with his own dragon. He moves to the side of the glimmering white beast and stops when he sees her face, one eye looking back at him. He only now realized it blue and gold.

He turns to me with furrowed brows as I walk over.

"Fine," the king quips, "tell me, then, how it is you managed to tame this dragon?" He looks off to the side and watches as the creature stares at him, as if unwilling to let him out of his sight.

"The secret is, your grace," I shake my head, "I did not."

Daemon turns to me, an unimpressed expression on his features.

"Kotova, as much as she is dear to me," I raise my brows, "does not belong to me." I look at the dragon as she buries her head into her wing and sighs deeply.

I smile at her catlike action and turn back to Daemon, violet eyes glued on me already. "She is free, king. I do not confine her, I do not stop her from flying far off without me; she is her own keeper.

"Between us, I think, is a bond of mutual respect and affection. I found her when she was no larger than an overgrown lizard and cared for her, thinking she would grow no larger than a small dog." I cross my arms and turn to Kotova.

Rhaenyra walks over to us. I look over to her and, in turn, catch sight the other three men with us, looking out from a far enough distance.

I turn back to Daemon as he says, "surely as the daughter of the Master of Beasts, you would know the difference between a lizard and a dragon."

I ignore his incredulous tone, "Kotova's wings barely resembled what they are now when she was a hatchling, and her skin was translucent," I give him a look, "trust me, king, you may think yourself a dragon expert, but you wouldn't have thought she was a dragon then either."

Daemon does not appreciate the way his title is said.

"I think she was rejected by her clutch, which was why she ended up here in the green lands."

King turns to Kotova, thinking it made sense, considering his own thoughts about her and how she did look like an odd-one-out.

"So, she is amicable," king Daemon utters, "but only borne out of your presence. It does not solve my concern with the forest fires, nor does it change the fact," he turns to me with raised brows, "you are a dragon rider outside of my blood."

I look at Daemon and he clutches his belt and scabbard. A gush of wind blows between us as I asses the man's face. His violet eyes looked almost clear because of the sunlight, and though his expression was blank, I knew better than to mistake it for something like kindness. I turn to Kotova and find myself thinking about how similar they appeared. Even now, the connection between Targaryen and dragon was uncanny.

I speak, "allow me to solve one of your problems then, Daemon."

Rhaenyra pulls her head back at the lack of use of king and looks at her uncle, who narrows his eyes at me.

I whistle then call, "Kotova."

Kotova ignores me.

I suck in a breath and walk over to her, pulling my skirt up, placing my sole on her body, shaking her with my leg, "bē, tala." Up, girl.

Kotova peaks through her wing then huffs, before giving a dramatic protest, throaty and loud.

"Asha," I hush, "rȳbagon," obey.

Kotova stands, and if she could, rolls her eyes as she did so. She stretches her wings out for effect, incidentally pushing both Targaryens in her side away as she did so.

Daemon and Rhaenyra grab each other and move back to the side as Kotova raises her head and flairs her short, stubbly, leathery horns. She gives a shrill squawk then shakes her head.

I call out her name and she rolls her eyes again.

I extend my arms out to the side and crane my neck up at her, commanding, "drakarys."

Daemon and Rhaenyra stiffen with wide eyes. Instinctively, Daemon reaches out for his niece and pushes her behind him as he too steps away, "are you mad?!"

Kotova lowers her head to me and shoves me back with her snout. I am nothing against her strength and nearly topple back. I shake my head and regain my footing as Kotova begins to walk past me slowly, absolutely done with my bullshit.

"Keligon, Kotova," I command 'halt' as I walk in front of her again, "rȳbagon," I mutter 'obey' again once in front of her.

Kotova twists her long neck and hisses.

I recoil when her spit splashes on my cheek. I wipe my face and then rip out a bunch of weeds from the ground and throw it in front of the dragon, "drakarys."

Kotova growls as I point to the weeds.

Daemon watches the dragon huff through her nostrils and shake her wings in annoyance. So, her point is to get herself killed and be done with it?

"Drakarys, Kotova!"

Kotova, after a loud cry that made everyone, including the lord and the two knights, step back at the shrillness of it, finally obeys. A great many flock of birds fly overhead as the dragon breathes onto the tiny strands of grass. She gives out all the air in her lungs, in turn making the weeds shoot off in various directions.

Her exhale is so aggressive, spit splutters out.

Air, spit and more spit, but no fire. No fire at all.

Once Kotova was done, she looks at me and screams.

I recoil at her ear piercing cry and cringe, raising my hands up to her, "krimvo, tala. Emā dohaertan nyke sȳrī." Thank you, girl. You have served me well.

I reach out to her face and she opens her mouth, threatening to nip at me. It was an empty threat I knew, but a threat no less. I pull back and give her a look, "asha," I drop the tone of my voice, "keligon." Hush. Halt.

Kotova shakes her head and wags her slender tail.

"Sȳz!" I wave her off, "Henujagon. Jikagon va." Fine! Leave. Go on.

Kotova gratefully yelps and rather quickly takes off. She makes sure to hover over me, and cause dust and dirt to fly all over my body, as well as my skirt and hair to whip all over, before ultimately ascending, up until she was so high you could barely make her out, especially with how white she was in the sky. She blended well in the clouds and the harsh sun light.

Once she was gone and all of us were reeling with the sand in our eyes and mouths and ears and folds, I turn to Daemon and find him spitting out dirt in between spitting out curses.

I walk over to him and wipe my face, "as you can see, Daemon, Kotova is incapable of breathing fire."

I glance to the face of the lord from the distance, "whatever you and your company know about this Forest Fire is not about my dragon," I turn back to Daemon, "and as for your other concern. Like I said, she is free creature," I shrug, "she barely answered to me, as you bore witness."

Daemon dusts himself off just as Rhaenyra did.

"Of course, you could always wed me-"

The two royals halt.

I raise my brows, "or kill me and my fireless friend."

The king stares at me for a moment. He watches as I brush off my corset and roll my shoulders back. He feels ire prick into his veins, "gaomagon ao mīvindigon nyke, asp?" Do you taunt me, bitch?

I pull my head back and chuckle, "se ānogar hen zaldrīzes dakogon qumblie. Sīr adere naejot zālagon." The blood of the dragon runs thick. So quick to burn.

Daemon struts over to me and leaves little space between us. "Gaomagon daor ȳdragon hen zaldrīzes ānogar naejot nyke," he quips between his teeth. Do not speak of dragon blood to me.

He leans into me, "daoruni gīmī hen drakarys."

"You know nothing of dragon fire?!" I repeat his incredulous words, "ñuha gierion issi se ñuqir hen aōha drakarys, zaldrīzes āzma." My people are the ash of your dragon fire, dragon born.

I shake my head, "Astapor knows more about dragon fire than you ever will."

Daemon chuckles dryly, "you excite me with such pretty notions."

"Then forgive me for putting ideas in your head," I retort, grabbing my skirt, then curtsying dismissively. I then curtsy to Rhaenyra, and look back to her uncle. I stare at him for a moment before walking off.

I hear him scoff and angrily march, catching my arm, "I did not dismiss you, impudent wench."

I turn to him and smile twistedly, "oh, apologies, your grace," I pull my arm away. He does not release me. I huff, "I had already given you solutions to your problems. I did not think it would make you so taken by me so quickly."

"OH HA!" someone calls from afar, making all of us turn to whom called rather carelessly.

The two knights are immediately alerted and unsheathe their weapons as Gael storms over to us.

"Unhand Lady Milidyni this instant," he barks, pointing a finger our way.

"Valzȳrys!" I quip as Daemon releases me and unsheathes his own sword.

Daemon does not hesitate to meet him and surely enough, Gael is quickly cornered at the tip of 3 swords.

"Ao doru-borto qogralbar," I grunt, you stupid fuck.

"If you want to keep your head on your shoulders, you will keep your mouth shut, peasant," Daemon bristles, both hands on his hilt, fully intent to strike.

Before Gael could speak, I bark and point, "shut up, Gael!"

Gael looks at me then Daemon.

Daemon watches as Gael clenches his jaw and raises his hand up in surrender. He scoffs, lips tilting into a smile, "good to know your mutt is obedient to you as well."

Gael turns to me, "skoros gaomas bisa timpa ōghar orvorta jaelagon lēda ao?" What does this white haired cunt want with you?

I roll my eyes at his attempt to speak freely.

Daemon laughs manically and presses closer to him, bringing his blade against Gael's cheek which then rips into his skin, "iderēbagon aōha hembar udra wisely, syt kostis sagon aōha mōrī." Choose your next words wisely, for they may be your last.

"King Daemon!" I call, running towards him, grabbing hold of his arm, "ignore the fool. He's good for nothing."

"Finally something we agree on," retorts the king, although he does not withdraw his weapon and instead shoves me away from him.

"My king," Rhaenyra calls, storming over to him, "please! That's enough."

"Yes," Daemon mutters, "I am king," he words firmly, "and I decide what happens and what does not."

Gael flinches when his ear is poked.

"I say, I might enjoy making your ear into a necklace," Daemon mutters, pressing his blade into the side of his head, making blood drip down his neck.

I curse under my breath.

"But for now, I use you as leverage," he mutters, turning to me, "if you want your dear husband to remain unmutilated, you will make no fuss and obey me. Understood?"

"Understood," I blurt quickly.

Gael lets out a shallow breath when the king pulls away his blade, prompting the knights to do the same.

He then takes my arm and eyes Gael as he drags me off.

"Well done, Hightower," Daemon says, as we pass the bearded man, "though your information is skewed, it seems you shall keep your head after all."

Rhaenyra watches her uncle drag me off then turns to Otto who sighs, "most generous of you, my king."

Gael looks out to the king and heaves, "where are you taking her?!"

"King's Landing," Daemon mutters, looking over his shoulder, "come on then, Rhaenyra."

"Rhaenyra!" Alicent calls the moment she spots her friend, undoubtedly walking this very corridor in order to speak with her.

When the two girls meet, they clutch each other's hands affectionately.

"I am most remorseful for not greeting you the day you arrived. My father was strict about making me finish my lessons on bookkeeping before releasing me."

Rhaenyra makes an amused face of disbelief, "and what exactly where the ledgers that took you three days to finish?"

"The Hightower logs."

The princess laughs, "lessons? My dear, I think you were duped into doing the work meant for Lord Hightower."

The Hightower raises a brow, "you think?"

The two share a laugh.

The princess and the lady immediately link arms and begin to walk off to nowhere in particular.

"So my father has returned with his head," the red haired girl speaks, making Rhaenyra look at her incredulously, "I wouldn't have let Daemon kill him, Alicent. It's why I joined the trip, if it wasn't already obvious."

The girls lean into each other as they walk leisurely.

Alicent releases a breath, "oh yes of course. It was not to see whether or not there was, in fact, a non-Targaryen dragon and a rider in Essos, no?"

Rhaenyra grins and leans into Alicent, "well of course, there's that too."

"I hear it was a woman who tamed the beast, and that she was at the back of the king's horse as you came home."

Rhaenyra presses her lips into a flat line, "a funny thing, Lady Milidyni-- her name. She said she never ridden the back of a horse before, and it both made a lot of sense and no sense at all."

Alicent thinks then shrugs, "perhaps she is accustomed to riding in a carriage."

"Or her dragon," Rhaenyra looks at Alicent's dark eyes with her lighter ones, "you know, her dragon is, perhaps, about as old as Syrax, and a ghastly shade of white."

She nods, "father told me the thing looked like a monster who fled the burn of winter for a taste of spring."

The princess pulls her head back, "Otto Hightower said that? He is quite the poet."

Alicent looks off and shakes her head, "he is not."

Rhaenyra laughs, shaking her blonde hair as she did.

"What does the king plan to do with Lady Milidyni?" Alicent turns to Rhaenyra, "wouldn't it have been easier to kill her to avoid any sort of trouble with the dragon?"

Rhaenyra sighs as she looks at the curve of her friend's cheek and the blush on her lips and cheek, "the day I understand the way my uncle's mind works is the day your father starts liking him."

Alicent holds back her laugh.

"Oh but did you know her name means red beast in Astapori Valyrian?" the princess says excitedly, "Mili is red, and dyni is beast," she smiles, "and the animal of her house is a fox! I think it's rather smart."

Alicent is more fixated over the fact her friend was telling her there was a variant of Valyrian being spoken in Essos.

At this point, there is a vague, far off sound of a gatekeeper announcing the entry of a Lord. It takes a moment for the princess to think of who could possibly be coming to King's Landing at this hour for a visit. Then she remembers.

Instantly, Rhaenyra grips her skirt and yanks Alicent along with her as she runs to the side of the entrance from the floor they were on.

She grins from ear to ear as Alicent hastily keeps up with her, unsure of why they were running and who they were going to see.

They look out the window and the two girls behold a large man with a broad build and dark hair. Rhaenyra gleefully looks down as the Lord with a pointed nose and a thin beard dismounts his equally massive mount.

Alicent looks at the handsome man and then finally notices the emblem on his horse. "Ah, that must be Cregan Stark."

Rhaenyra grins, leaning into her, though her eyes do not leave him "he is quite a looker."

Alicent turns from the man to her princess, watching as her lips curl in delight and her hair blow with the wind, same as hers, "quite."

The two girls turn to each other, "shall we greet him?"

Alicent turn back to the lord, "if it pleases her grace."

Rhaenyra grins and leans against the window, "Lord Stark!"

Everyone from below looks up to the caller, each of them paying dutiful regard to the princess. The Lord Stark himself lifts his eyes upon the two looking out to him, nodding his head when the red haired girl greets him as well.

"My young princess," he bows, "my young lady," he nods, then looks back up at them.

He takes kindly to the eager look upon the Targaryen's face as she asks, "did you bring one of your direwolves, my lord? I would so love to see them."

Cregan grins, lopsided and wolfish in his own right, "I did not, princess. I do not think any of my wolves would appreciate the balminess of your palace, especially at this season," he leans on his leg, "see, I, myself, am already quite fussed by the temperature."

Rhaenyra laughs, "well, I say. I do hope you do not find your stay here too uncomfortable."

He tilts his head, "with two fair maidens greeting me at my arrival? Impossible."

Rhaenyra gives a pleased grin. Alicent smiles softly.

"An honor most high, fair maidens," he bows, "I must now see to the king."

Cregan is directed to take a certain hall in order to where the king would be at the moment. He walks to the end of the corridor as he was told and stops before a door.

He promptly knocks and announces himself.

He listens for a moment, then clears his throat upon hearing the moan that seeps through the cracks.

He presses his lips and moves away from the door, eye twitching at the crashing sound that comes next, along with 'ah yes, more, fuck, yes-'

He clenches his jaw and walks down the corridor, deciding to wait there, leaning by the window.

Cregan pulls at his collar, feeling his sweat clump in the corners of his flesh. He wonders if it would be too improper to remove his coat. He decides it won't and feels better after a layer of clothing was now off his body.

His attention is commanded by the beastly cry from across the grounds. He looks out to the far off area, narrowing his eyes at the vague sight of what he could tell was a dragon. Even at this distance, it was a mighty sight to see. He thinks about what it would feel to see the thing face to face.

He wonders who the red creature's master was. Perhaps the king's? Or was it the princess's?

He then thinks of the rumors of a wayward dragon flying under the ward of a rider not of royal blood. Perhaps this was the very dragon, now captured and under the keep of the crown.

He wonders if one of the people surrounding the behemoth was the rogue rider, now also in the clutch of the king.

"Lord Stark?"

Cregan turns and sees a woman with tan skin, glistening with sweat, and brown hair, wild and unkempt, cascading down past her shoulders. It appears as though she was tying her laces from behind her, "is that you?"

"Yes. I am Lord Stark."

She smiles as she pulls on her laces, "the king says you may enter now."

Cregan nods, "thank you."

He watches as the woman walks off as she tightens her corset from behind.

He blinks and finds himself asking as she makes a strained sound, "do you require assistance?"

The woman looks at him from over her shoulder, lips curling into a smile, "that depends. Will you be undressing me as well, sire?"

Cregan licks his lips and thinks, "No. I don't think I will."

"Then best not keep the king waiting, milord," she says, turning away, walking off.

Cregan thus enters the room, finding the king sat at the end of a messy bed. Tables and chairs were disarray, things that should not be on the floor were, and the king, himself, was not with a shirt.

Though, in truth, he probably should not be looking at the lilac eyed man, and his scars, and his messy hair, both blown out and sticking to the sides of his face, still he does and thinks enviously about how he could freely let himself cool down at present.

He grips the coat he hung in his arm, "King Daemon."

"Wolf man," Daemon says as he drinks from a cup, "how do you do?"

Cregan knows he could not care less about how he does but he answered curtly nevertheless, "I am well, your grace."

Daemon downs his drink and then stands. He walks over to the table, out of place where it was, and pours himself another cup, "thirsty?"

"No, thank you."

Daemon empties the ewer in his cup then turns to Cregan, "Alina," he says andwalks off, grabbing his garb that was thrown on the bedside table, "a pretty little distraction, the whore, very good with her mouth," he puts on his top, "though greedy with coin," he slips one sleeve on, "but I doubt you'll have problems with that."

Cregan watches as the king clothes himself. A moment passes.

"I doubt you requested me to come down from the North to discuss your favorite whore, your majesty," the lord says.

The king chuckles, raising a brow, "just a whore," he adjusts his collar, "they're all the same after you've emptied your balls."

Cregan chuckles.

The king walks over to his drink and takes it, "though I will say we are to discuss something of a whore."

Daemon walks past Cregan. The man follows suit.

They walk down the hall silently while the king drinks and ignores everyone that greets him.

They then arrive to a room and Daemon opens the door to it, pulling his cup away, swallowing heavily. He walks in deeper and Cregan follows suit.

He is then certain the room is empty and chucks his cup to the side and screams, "SERVANT!"

Cregan watches the king as he storms to the door, just as a servant girl comes running over. Daemon seethes, "where is the Astapori bitch that I put here?"

"My king- I- I-"

"You mean you lost her?!" he grabs her face, "you let the cunt escape?"

The servant cannot respond.

Daemon shoves her away.

Caraxes screeches out, tongue flicking as he did, and my heart races at the sound. I clutch my chest as the dragon keeper orders him to heel.

The king's mount reluctantly follows, jowls dripping with slobber as he is continued to be inspected and groomed. I think about Kotova everytime I bask in the glory of the Blood Wyrm, suddenly realizing my dragonling was immensely kinder, more patient, and warmer than what I thought she was. Never have I seen such a bratty, dramatic, and spoiled creature such as Caraxes. Not only was he a picky eater, ten times that of Kotova, but he was a whiny thing, and threw tantrums at every moment he got.

There were times when I spectated that I even called out to him myself, unable to contain the command from my lips as he terrorized the keepers.

Of course, Caraxes could not care less about me, but there was a moment, I swear that he did heed to my call.

I clutch the paper in my hand and hurriedly sketch Caraxes' profile as he is lead on by the dragon keeper to one side of the pit.

Say what you will about him though, he, regardless, was a kingly steed. His blood red scales were vibrant and so reflective of the house Targaryen that even if its rider was not the king, you'd think it was. Though I found penchant to be excessive, it echoed the fact that he belonged to Daemon Targaryen.

I rip my paper into my chest and gasp when I hear a voice mutter right into my ear.

"You are overly comfortable with your stay here," the king quips. He then rips out the object in my clutch, making the charred pieces of wood I was using to draw with drop to the floor.

"Your grace, please-"

"I warned you not to leave your room again, did I not?" he says as he eyes me.

Caraxes makes a huffing noises upon recognizing his rider.

Daemon inspects my sketches as I make futile attempts to snatch them back. He chuckles, "very good."

I heave as he turns to me with a grin, then to his dragon, "Caraxes," he calls loudly, "māzigon valītsos!" Come boy!

Caraxes immediately pulls away from the dragon keeper, who nearly shoots off as he could not release his rein on the dragon quick enough, and comes to his master.

I freeze as Caraxes nears, both in great awe and fear of the creature.

"By the gods," a voice calls from behind, making me turn over my shoulder, finding a man with dark hair and wide eyes, stepping back in fear.

Daemon throws the paper off to the side and walks back, haphazardly pushing me along with him as he did so. He blurts, "drakarys,"

I yelp and jolt back, shielding my face with my arms when fire the shoots out of the jaws of the mighty creature.

I peak past the shoulder of the king, thinking Caraxes was overly dramatic for exhaling that much fire for a few measly pages of paper. It goes without saying, there is absolutely no remnants of my sketch at all.

I release a sigh as Caraxes ceases his fire and looks at his master who sings him quick praise.

"Bisa iksis skoros iā real zaldrīzes jurnegon hae," Daemon says as he turns to me with a soft but utterly pleased smile.

I scoff at his words. This is what a real dragon looks like.

"Was the slobber stain on your tunic not enough?" I retort, furrowing my brows, "Kotova is a dragon no less real than Caraxes."

Daemon takes his turn to scoff, but he does not get to retort for Caraxes, seemingly recognizing his name, moves close to us, huffing as he did.

"Keligon," stop, we both command with a hand raise, making Caraxes cease his pursuit and whine as he pulled his head back.

Daemon snaps at me, "I do not take kindly to you commanding my ride."

"I am merely trying to not be devoured by him," I snip back.

"Then maybe you shouldn't keep sneaking out of your room to draw beasts, fox cunt!"

"At least my pastimes are not uncouth like yours, dragon spit."

Daemon laughs, "dragon spit?" He looks at me like he was predator surveying his prey, "that's somehow disappointingly unoriginal of you."

"Your grace," the dark haired man interjects, seemingly disinclined for a brawl to spring up between us.

Daemon grinds his teeth the turns to him, "yes, wolf man," he says, "I've not forgotten you." He then grabs my arm and shoves me toward him, "meet the Astapori bitch-"

I topple over into large man because of the king's excessive use of force.

"-your bride."

The two of us turn to the white haired dimwit as he laughs and claps his hands, "congratulations, Stark."

The man, presumably Stark, helps me to stand upright, though his eyes are locked on his monarch, "your majesty?"

He giggles under his breath, not unlike a child that was found in the middle of a chaotic act meant to amuse him, "I do think it a happy pair, a wolf and a fox."

I brush myself off roughly and Stark stares blankly.

"Actually," Daemon shakes his head, "I could not care less not if you do not marry the wench. You may keep her as a plaything, or a slave," he waves his hands, "just keep her."

"I do not understand, your grace," he speaks, "you've summoned me to tell me-"

"To command you," Daemon raises a finger, "to keep this thing under your paw," he turns to me, "lest she thinks of doing something with her mount."

"Her mount?" he knits his dark brows.

"Yes," Daemon turns to him. He watches the man scrunch his nose in confusion. He makes a face, "oh you slow, slobbering pup. This is the dragon rider from Essos-"

Stark turns to me.

"-the scale soother herself," the king chuckles dryly, turning from me back to him, "why even now you witnessed how she tried to command my own mount, Caraxes, as though she had the blood of a Targaryen."

I glare at him, "what insult to compare your blood and mine."

The king gives one loud, exaggerated laugh, "agreed."

Stark blinks as Daemon slaps his arm and walks off, "I cannot keep her here, as you can tell. She grows more confident around my dragon by the day. Though I do not doubt his loyalty to me, I much more do not trust the mind of a plotting woman."

Caraxes makes a sound as Daemon nears him, "I trust you will invite me to your wedding feast, if you ever find her useful enough to marry," he gives a look to Stark, "and do inform me if she poses to be too difficult."

I look at the dark haired man as he looks at the floor.

In truth, I was shocked by the news as well, but then again, I was rather expecting to be kept in a prison cell for the rest of my days, and so this was a rather mellow note to conclude with. It sure beats being dragon food. I do wonder why he did not think of making me into a snack for his dragon.

I take in the man's pressed lips and large frame. I then wonder if this Stark fellow is much more unsavory than his Targaryen counterpart.

I decide not let myself believe this and to start with no ill feelings, "Lady Milidyni," I curtsy, as I tell him my first name.

He turns to me with knit brows, "you are a lady?"

I am partially confused and offended by his shock but I play it off. "We do have nobility in Essos, sire," I look at him then off to the king that was now cooing to his dragon. I scoff, "though I'm sure your king would make us all out to be barbarians with no wits and no governance."

The man finds himself letting out an unexpected laugh. I turn back to him as he chuckles. I watch as his lips curl upward. He is rather handsome like this.

"Cregan." He nods to me in regard, "Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell."

"My father is Lord of Woodway. He also the Master of Beasts."

Cregan slowly nods his head at the information.

I chuckle, recognizing his confusion, "he studies animals and catalogues them accordingly. I think he would be something like a maester here."

"Ahhh," he nods more surely, "I see. Is that were you get your love for animals and why you risked your life for a glimpse of this terror?"

I chuckle under my breath, "yes. I do think I get my love for animals from my father, but he says I get my insanity from my mother."

He chuckles again, covering his mouth as he did, "your mother reminds me of my own."

"Is she also dead?"

He lifts his head to me with a surprised look, "... aye."

"Then they indeed they are the same. May the gods rest both their souls."

I turn to Caraxes as Daemon dotes on him. At the very least I can respect they way he treats his magnificent ride, "he is not so much a terror, I think."

"The king?"

I scowl and shake my head, "Caraxes."

He lets out a breath as he surveys the said creature, "I will take your word for it."

I turn back to the man and offer a smile, "I would say it is good to meet you, but it really isn't and I would much have rather not meeting you at all."

Cregan chuckles again, though this time, it is much louder.

I purse my lips and give him a look.

Daemon, who was stroking Caraxes by the cheek turns upon hearing the sound. He makes a face at the sight of laughter across him.

"Are all the ladies in Essos as honest as you, my lady?"

I snort and cross my arms as I turn to him, "no. Only me."

Cregan laughs. I chuckle under my breath, decidedly thinking he was far too easy to amuse.

He catches his breath and he turns to me to offer out his arm. I hesitate momentarily, in disbelief of his actions. I take his arm nonetheless, and he then leads me off.

He speaks my name softly, as if measuring the way it rolled off his tongue.

I says his name in return, though with less care and more inquiry.

"You are a scale soother?"

I roll my eyes, "your king mocks me with the title."

"Ah," Cregan nods, "that does seem to be a rather unbelievable skill to be had outside the royal lineage."

I let out a half-amused sound.

"Is it correct of me to assume that your dragon is being held here in the dragon pit?"

I watch as he raises a brow. I shake my head, "Kotova is not held anywhere. Her company is her own to keep."

He knit his brows, "I do not follow."

"Kotova," I explain, "the dragon I have bonded with, is not a dragon that I keep the way the Targaryens do. I do not ask of her to do anything for me, save, perhaps, to keep me company and to scare off some men, in exchange for venison or rabbit."

He chuckles and shakes his head, "I am in disbelief."

"Fortunately, I do not mind if you cannot believe me."

"No, I believe you," he says, "I merely think it is a tale you would tell a child," looking off as he pushed his chest, "a beautiful maiden, friends with a dragon."

"Asha," I snort, "I see you are no less insolent than your king."

Cregan holds back a laugh, "it will do you well not to speak of the king all together if you do not have anything well to say, vixen."

Well, he's not wrong.

"I wonder, then, why your dragon has not come to you here to save you from your captor?"

I shake my head, "Kotova sometimes leaves for months at a time. She may not have noticed my absence at all. I doubt she would even look for me, in all honesty."

"Well, how long have you been here?"

"A good four days, including this one."

Cregan nods, "then let us not wait for a fifth then and depart for the North after a meal."

I look at him as he turns to me, "I am loathe to stay in such weather for too long."

I raise a brow, "is the north very cold then?"

His eyes glisten, "worry not, I will not allow you to perish in the cold."

I am inclined to believe he means to protect me, that he means not to harm me, and those words of his were proof of it. But I do not allow myself to be deluded by his pretty smile. He is a man, and men rarely know how to do anything but harm.

Still, I smile back at him and nod, "of course, Lord Stark."

"Cregan," he corrects, "I wish you to call my name, as I wish to call yours."

I nod once more, "Cregan."

[veggiefritterz]

i have words to say. if you know me irl either dont read this or just dont mention it to me. everyone else go ham but dont say i didnt warn you

i just cant. its both that simple and far more complicated. i dont know what or how to feel. i dont know why i feel anything.

i cant just stop talking to people because i always have something i want to say, so just know if i vanish one day odds are im full on dead/in a hospital somewhere.

i dont want to think about the future, its unlikely and uncertain. do i have a future? not at this rate. its too hard to fucking think for me to learn anything.

i do not think i will finish highschool at this rate. if i do it will be with low low marks. and i will be a faliure. so i have less than two years to prepare for that.

i was smart in prep, why couldn't that continue past year 6?

i know why, actually. theres probably a few reasons. one of thems the (until recently, undiagnosed) autism.

the other reason is her.

i fucking hate her. i genuinely hope she dies. i tried to strangle her once. it was both fun and not at the same time, if that makes sense.

before you judge me for attemped murder that i have not been charged with please know that it was rather called for.

because she fucking. i dont know. ill use my big boy words. it'll be hard for me to do but honestly what does it matter, im already fucking upset.

this is your big old warning for s/a. will mark off section end with more red text.

fucking hell i feel sick. seriously sick. but uts like this every time i remember. like my stomachs burning. and i can tell im on the verge of tears, too. or maybe im just really fucking tired.

she essentially sexually abused me for about a year. give or take a month or two, i cant fucking remember. theres things i havent told anyone about, and never will.

i think i want to try and describe it. youre not obligated to read it, so. dont do that if its going to upset you.

october 31st, 2020 hardly counts as anything in my opinion. but it still feels gross. she decided that an appropriate game for her to play was "truth or dare but if you dont wanna do it you strip". these are twelve year olds at the time, mind you. so she had her boyfriend on the phone, on a video call, and did that. i, naturally, was obligated to engage. i did not enjoy it. i said plenty that i dont wanna but you know, i was fucking stupid. i let her convince me. I couldve walked home.

the second time i dont havs a date for, but it was mid november 2020. we were on a school camp. the entire thing sucked, i had terrible hayfever one day and was declined medicine for several hours. they also tried to feed us meat wrapped in bread that was then deep fried. thats not really relevent. moving on from shit camp food. while i was trying to go to bed (note. my bunk ladder was in the back corner of the room) she managed to (mostly undressed for her, as in just her undies. not to be graphic but thats how it is) she managed to pin me in the corner. she was a few inches taller than me, so i could hardly just move. i can only vaguely remember beyond that. it wasnt bad bad that time.

there were other people in the room for part of it. they dont remember. i havent said anything because i dont want them to feel to blame. but holy shit. why didnt they do anything.

then theres very early december 2020. this one was just. yeah. the one, i guess. the big bad or something.

(side note if my phrasing disintegrates its because yours truly is having some kind of intense anxiety attack. i think. either way i would love to kill myself right about now. whatever. but its really vivid in my mind right now so i might as well put it down.)

i just dunno. how do i even put this, really. she uh. okay. if someones wearing lovely thin cotton pyjamas lets not ruin the fabric for them, for starters. i liked those pyjamas. its a real shame. i just fucking cant.

she just. yeah. i dont think i even have to say. she did stuff, she made me do stuff, all while i made it perfectly obvious how unhappy i was. i couldnt do anything about it, much as i wish i couldve. because im too pathetic to fight. i basically froze up. she held my head down. so that i had to do it. i didnt say that was okay. i didnt say any of it was omay.

and to the other person who was there, i dont blame you. you were thirteen. you couldn't have done anything. besides, i think you were playing BATIM so like. beat those ink demons (i havent played bendy).

i didnt sleep that night. until about 3 in the morning. i dont know man.

she "tried" to kill herself the next night. i use quotations because im fully convinced she was manipulating me. she said she felt bad and couldnt live with herself. so why do it again, huh? she fucking lied to me, didnt she. im gonna be honest im just realising this and im so fucking mad. i contacted her mother to make sure she was okay.

theres more examples. just smaller things like publicly grabbing my tits in front of a group of people encouraging her to do so but theyre just numbers now. numbers and occasionally vivid memories. including shit like trying to fuck me in a school bathroom. more than once mind you.

i also fucking hate the girl who decided to be all touchy in the middle of class and i couldn't move where i was sat because it was a partners activity and we were paired up. but eh, she just generally sucks. its whatever.

end section you are safe (?) from here or something

even if you didnt read that section. its just long okay. so damned long. im so done.

look at me. or dont. i actually look like shit. if i had facial hair id be classed as a Wet Cat™. i kinda wish i was tbh... wild. i havent washed my hair in a couple weeks, havent brushed it is i think three days. i have not showered properly because i dont have the fucking energy. its one of those bath-shower hybrids and i turn the water up high and lie down in it because i cant even find the energy to fucking sit up. i havent brushed my teeth in days, maybe weeks, i cant remember. it doesnt matter if i take my meds or not. yet i still apparently "look nice" or something but people lie all the time.

the main reason i cut my hair so short is because i cant fucking maintain it. believe me, i wanted it long. i wanted to plait it and feel pretty. but i just couldn't. i didnt brush it or wash it, i pulled it out, like always. so now i have a mullet and theyre notoriously shit in my town dare i say whole country so noone seems to care.

i think the only times ive slept well recently are after being incredibly drunk. which is concerning. i mean. im sixteen, i know i shouldnt be drunk ever, but if it works, it works. i think i sleep on average about 6 or 7 hours a night, which is not necessarily bad, but its all just fucking abstract nightmares.

at least i dont vape though. thats a win. i have before, do not recommend, very yuk burnt my lungs i think. real talk though if you do i feel ya man everyone does something they shouldn't.

lore drop or something, tumblr user veggiefritters got soft-expelled once! i was suspended forever! all i did was physically fight a few teachers and another student. but she deserved it. and so did they, i daresay.

what did i do after that day? i rode home like usual. i went to my sisters room (she doesnt live here so i slept in there while my old room was being renovated to a lounge room) and i watched youtube until my dad got called by school. then i talked to him. it sucked. then i ate a few nuggets for dinner and tried to kill myself. then, upon that failing, i went to sleep.

i didnt go to school for two months. like. i wasnt enrolled anywhere. family law or some shit, my parents need to hurry up and divorce.

i went to a new school, it was fine, fine, fine, then it wasn't, so i left. i went to a new school, its still fine, thats irrelevant. besides, i have to go there. only public 11/12 school in the town.

but you know what? nothings fine. nothings okay. i just want to be okay, you know? i just want to be innocent. i don't want the past to be the way it is. i with i remembered it all, because while some might say its good that i dont? its terrifying to not know for sure whats happened to you.

i dont like smelling something specific and remembering shit like the eevee themed lunch we made, or the pancakes we made in a saucepan, or the time we tried to solve cicada 3301 for the hell of it. i dont want to sound bittersweet, i dont want to sound like i miss it, but i do, in some weird way.

even though it was clearly manipulation i miss the way she trusted me.

its probably my fault, too, i shouldnt be such an easy target.

if like to tell all of this to my cousin, because i know he'd listen. i know he wouldnt laugh at me. but how does one go about that? i guess i cant. whatever.

shit, man. i dont even know. i went i think a year s/h free? and i was so damn proud of myself. then i dont know what happened. i just broke. and im still not better.

i just think to myself maybe this will be the one that kills me. maybe this one will hit an artery and i can just fucking die.

in my mind, dying feels okay if its on accident. but im seriously considering it at this point because what the fuck else am i meant to do man. im wandering around aimlessly in my own head most of the time. hardly even thinking, just trying to will myself out of existence.

im nothing more than a fucking marionette and whoevers pulling the strings is a sadist.

theres your obligatory shit poetry. i should get that printed on a cap.

ive just moved slightly wrong and its like im tearing my own skin apart. yeow.

ive been writing this at least an hour, i think ive used up 20% of my phones charge! but thats irrelevant. i dont use my pjone much, contrary to peoples belief. i rot my mind with The Computer instead. sometimes the little screen hurts and i need the big screen.

im sorry this is so long. i have a lot of thoughts going on tonight. have a break with a photo of my cat before i keep sobbing. or 4 i guess lucky you. this is shego shes one and shes a little shit. the ants got to her food so she ate them. she refuses to let me take a nice picture of her.

cats, man.

back to me literally crying now.

im scared. im scared of the future but thats common so it doesn't matter. im scared of the past but thats irrelevant. im scared right now because im in bed and its dark so there might be someone there that i cant see.

im scared people will socially exile me again for the things i like, im scared i dont really know any of my friends, im scared ill make a mistake big enough to get me in prison even though technically i already have a few times and nothing happened, im scared people hate me as much as i hate myself.

and fuck, do i hate myself.

what am i good for? i guess people like my writing but what if theyre making that up. sometimes i like my writing too and i go batshit insane over my own characters. but it feels so selfish, i guess.

(i intrude upon myself. i would like a scone right about now)

anyway. what else do i do that people like. im in charge of kids clothing visual merchandising at work. i work in a second hand store, the options for outfits are many. but i dont know. im the youngest person who works there, so what if theyre lying to me?

im creative, apparently. hey, sure, id like to tell myself that but i dunno if i can. i really think i peaked in year two with that.

what have i got about me that people like so much they want to talk to me, because i know damn well its not my appearance. i am fucking ugly. in a weird way. not that my eyes are too far apart or anything i just look dead.

i dont know. i need to let myself live life to the fullest or something but i cant.

i cant just live. its weird.i want to be alive but at the same time its tiring, too tiring, and i dont know what to do about it other that just give in.

you know. give up, and die. how is irrelevant. im so fucking tired, okay.

i dunno. i guess i wonder if anyone would really miss me if i died. but it feels like a selfish thing to wonder. im not sure.

if you want me at my weakest and you want to make me suffer, its your time to shine because right now i am at the lowest ive been in a while.

[animereaderinsertwriter]

Cupbearer (Eren/Reader)

Part III

Part I

Part II

Part IV (in progress)

Warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT (im watching you, if you see this, begone!), vampire!eren, hunter!reader, fem!reader, smut, some amount of predator/prey dynamics but only kinda?? there is also a significant age difference but only cos eren is immortal and all that jazz. we're all adults here. there will eventually be smut.... and do i really need to say that there's gonna be blood in a vampire fic?

Description: A story of falling in love in 4 parts.

Eren is a bad man (well, a bad Creature) who has done bad things. When he meets the great-great-great granddaughter of one of his former friends in his favorite blood bar, however, he thinks it might not matter so much what happened in the past, so long as he can make the future something worth living to see.

Ao3 link here

After that night, it became increasingly hard for (Y/N) to leave, and for Eren to let her do so.

Something between them had changed. There were moments— when Eren would press feather-light kisses against her forehead, when he would casually leave a cup of her favorite tea where she would find it— where (Y/N) felt as though her heart might burst. It was all the little things that baffled her, all the ways in which he seemed to understand exactly how she felt; it was as though he knew her more than she knew herself. On the mornings that she would wake in his bed, sleepy and sticky and wholly content, (Y/N) wondered what it would be like to have this life forever.

Other days— on days like today— she was reminded exactly why that could never be, and it broke her heart.

Today, they had planned a romantic dinner in the park, an evening under the stars. It was supposed to be something special, a little getaway just for the two of them; they had wanted to leave as soon as (Y/N) was relieved from her patrol, so Eren had moved her things to his place, hoping that they could leave together from there for their evening alone.

In and of itself, that was fine… but when (Y/N) came in, covered head-to-toe in viscous Creature blood, Eren was furious.

“And you call me a monster,” he growled, looking her up and down with hate in his eyes. “I can’t believe you.”

He stood from his seat on the sofa, and (Y/N) began to back away, still wary from the fight she had narrowly escaped from unscathed. Her every instinct told her that she should run, fire a round of silver bullets into his chest, but she steeled herself, doing neither.

“It’s not my fault— they were attacking a civilian,” she told him as he stalked towards her, his face twisted into a horrific scowl. “I tried to stop them— tried to find out what was going on— but then they came at me with their claws, and I was left with no choice.”

“There is always a choice,” he snarled, and it was then that anger filled (Y/N) from the soles of her feet to the crown of her head. "They were probably terrified of you— how could you possibly blame them for lashing out?"

(Y/N) grit her teeth.

“This, from the man who thought genocide was his only option to the same problem?”

Eren made a low, warning sound in the back of his throat, but (Y/N) pressed on.

“You would rather me have died?” she demanded, stepping into his space. “Would it have pleased you more for my body to bleed out on the pavement, ripped to shreds by an aggressive werewolf? Would you even care, or would you just find the next blood bag and move on with your life?”

“Maybe so,” he shot back, “Then I wouldn’t have to deal with your insufferable mouth.”

That stung— but if there was one thing (Y/N) knew how to do, it was to strike back twice as hard as she had been struck.

“Fine then,” she said, turning on her heel. “I won’t bother you any longer. I’ll go out and find someone who actually wants my company, someone who’ll fuck me good and proper over the counter at some hole-in-the-wall bar over on Easy Street, someone younger, with a nicer cock and less fucking baggage— ”

She didn’t get to finish the sentence, or even walk a single step further— Eren grabbed her by the hair and pulled her to him, his fist painfully tight against her scalp.

“Wanna say that again, to my face?” he asked, tilting her head back.

“I’ll go find someone else to fuck me,” she spat, struggling in vain against him. “I’ll spread my legs for the next available schmuck in the closest bar I can find, so you can hear me scream his name and not yours.”

It was a low blow, to threaten a vampire’s claim on something they had previously assumed had belonged to them, but (Y/N) didn’t care. She had almost died today, and she’d be damned if she was going to take shit from anyone about what she had to do to survive. If Eren wanted a fight, she would damn sure give him one.

“Like hell you will,” he told her, pulling her head back so that she had to strain to remain standing. “You’re mine. Flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood— you are my Companion.”

"I belong to no one!"

Those words ripped from her throat and echoed throughout the empty house, and it was then that Eren stopped, looking at her with calculation in his gaze.

"You're right," he said, releasing her hair. "No mortal can serve two masters, lest they love one and despise the other; an archaic religious concept, but an accurate one nonetheless. You've made it abundantly clear where your loyalty lies. I was a fool for thinking otherwise."

(Y/N) began to tremble. "Eren, what are you saying?"

"I release you from our pact," he replied coldly, his eyes so dull and lifeless that it sent a chill down her spine. "No longer are you bound to be my wine-press— I free you from me."

"Eren—"

"Go," he commanded, and (Y/N) felt terribly, horribly empty.

Once, he would have told her to come freely, go safely, and leave something of the happiness she brought him; now, he gave her a cold dismissal, and it frightened her more than she was willing to admit. Still, she went, feeling hollow and used, and she didn't bother to shut the door behind her as she turned to walk home, weary from the day and sick from fighting.

***

Armin had lived for a very long time, but even so, he had yet to meet anyone so foul of temper as Eren when the Hunger was on him.

"Eren, you have to feed."

The vampire, as ill in health as in temper, glared weakly at him. "I'm not hungry."

"But you are Hungry, and don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about. Look, if this is about that girl—"

"I told you not to speak of her!"

Ah, so it was about her. By the looks of him, it had been two weeks since Eren had fed; Armin would bet that he hadn't seen her in the same amount of time.

"If I need to, I'll drag her here to make up with you myself," said Armin testily, "I refuse to watch my best friend starve himself because he refuses to feed on anyone else."

"You will not touch her."

Armin rolled his eyes, but didn't say anything further. He just patted Eren's arm in farewell and set about finding the little lady who was the root cause of his current consternation.

It took longer than Armin had anticipated to find the young woman who had, for all intents and purposes, completely unraveled Eren's composure; her scent, while thick and memorable in Eren's apartment, was hard to track otherwise. Armin spent two hours just wandering the city while trying to catch a breath of it here or there, and when he finally did manage to catch a whiff of her scent and follow it to her, he understood exactly why it had been so hard to track her down.

The girl was a Hunter, of all things.

When Armin found her, she was knee-deep in sewage, her knife embedded to the hilt in the skull of what appeared to be some species of winged reptile. Armin, having been a tad desperate and not actually having been expecting to find anything when he lifted the lid to the man-hole on 32nd and Main, was surprised to say the least— and when (Y/N) ripped her knife free and readjusted her stance into a defensive one directed at him, his surprise turned to intrigue.

“Er, hello there,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t suppose you’ll take my word for it that I just want to chat, will you?”

Curiously, the words gave the woman pause. She relaxed her stance ever-so-slightly, and then her eyes lit up with recognition.

“Armin Arlert?” she queried, craning her neck up to see him. “Is that you?”

This one grows curiouser and curiouser, he thought, but responded affirmatively.

“Can you give me a bit, then?” she asked, kicking the corpse of the Creature she’d just killed. “I’m not exactly fit for company. Perhaps we could meet later for a discussion over tea?”

“I’m afraid it’s urgent,” he said as she knelt to decapitate her prey— likely for proof of victory. “I think you know why I’m here, so you understand that time is of the essence.”

She didn’t look up at him as she replied.

“If this is about Eren, then I don’t have time to talk.”

Her tone was hard, bitter, and matter-of-fact, and it reminded Armin so much of Jean that it hurt… but just like Jean, Armin would bet that she could be won over by appealing to her inherent sense of human decency

“He’s suffering (Y/N),” he said, awkwardly crouching above the manhole so that she could better see the truth written in his eyes. “He won’t feed.”

“That’s hardly my problem.”

And oh, how well Armin knew that state of mind. If there was one thing Eren Jaeger knew how to do, it was push away the people who loved him most. Armin had dealt with that particularly lovely quirk of his for centuries, and it never got easier to deal with no matter how much time passed. If anything, it got more difficult the older they both got.

“When you’re the solution to a problem, you become a part of it whether you like it or not,” Armin replied, patient and understanding. “He cares for you.”

(Y/N) looked up at him then, fury in her eyes.

“He hurt me.”

Armin shrugged. “He hurts everyone he cares about. It’s just who he is. Nothing comes for free— least of all the love and loyalty of someone as old and as powerful as Eren.”

“Your heart may be toughened to his meanness,” she told him, the head of the creature she’d slain in her hands, “But mine is not, and I don’t like him well enough to willfully remain for him to use as an emotional punching bag.”

At that, Armin couldn’t help but let loose a wry grin.

“No,” he said, “I should think not; but I do think you love him well enough to make sure he doesn’t starve himself to death because he can’t have you.”

(Y/N) was silent for a long moment, then she crossed her arms.

“I won’t come crawling to him. He’s going to have to come to me.”

Armin grimaced. He wasn’t looking forward to that conversation.

“Is that at all negotiable?”

(Y/N) shook her head. “Absolutely not.”

Well, there was nothing for it.

“And you will let him feed if he comes to you?”

(Y/N) thought, then nodded. “If he proves himself deserving.”

Armin couldn't help himself; he laughed. Eren might have met his match in this one.

"Very well. I'll work my magic, and you work yours."

She nodded and bade him farewell, but before Armin left, he paused.

"Hey, (Y/N)?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

With that, he left her, ready to take Eren by the ear and throw him at her if he had to.

***

(Y/N)'s heart was racing as she opened the door, knowing good and well who would be behind it.

After her little talk with Armin— and the near heart attack he had given her in the process— she had called in to Zeke and told him she needed to go home to deal with an emergency. A replacement for her patrols had been sent, and she had come home to wash the grim from her skin, making herself as presentable as possible with the time she had. (Y/N) was worried, so worried, that the filth she had been wading in earlier would have left a lingering stench, or even that it had affected the taste of her; she had scrubbed and scrubbed until her skin was raw, hoping to erase every last remnant of her day from her skin…but as it turned out, she needn't have bothered.

Two, three, four hours later, and Eren hadn't shown— it was only now, right at the six hour mark, that he had decided to come to her.

Needless to say, (Y/N) was… less than pleased, but when she opened the door to find Eren pale and drawn, with dark circles beneath his eyes, her heart softened ever-so-slightly. It seemed that Armin was right; he had been suffering.

"You look like shit," she told him quietly, opening her door widely to let him in.

"I assure you, I feel worse," Eren grumbled, but stepped in as she closed the door behind him.

For a long, awkward moment, they just looked at each other, silent and unsure. It was unsettling how unlike himself Eren seemed; he was almost soft when he looked at her, and (Y/N) didn't know how to feel about it. Eventually, though, like two opposite ends of a magnet, they were drawn together, and Eren brushed a piece of hair back from her face.

"Hi," he said, his voice low and rough. (Y/N) caught his hand in hers before it could fall from her hair, and she pressed it against her chest, keeping it trapped there, touching the skin above her beating heart.

"Hey."

They watched each other a moment more before the dam broke between them, and they both spoke at once.

"I'm sorry."

A shared grin, a shy laugh— and then (Y/N) said what they both were thinking.

"You need to feed first, and talk later," she told him, her hand still clasped in his. "You're not off the hook, but I doubt we can have any real conversation with you like this."

Eren nodded gratefully, tugging at her wrist— his usual biting spot— but (Y/N) shook her head, indicating her neck. The thickest, richest blood, she knew, would come from there; and if there was ever a time to be generous with the placement of Eren's bite, she figured that it would be now.

The worst of it was over quickly. There was a brief sting at the intrusion of razor-sharp fangs, and then the vaguely uncomfortable feeling of having something poking down into places that decidedly should not be poked at all, but then (Y/N) quickly eased into the rhythm of the act, focusing wholly on the way Eren's lips felt against her skin. In a few moments, she would become pleasantly light-headed, and then Eren would pull away and look at her like she'd hung the stars. Oh, how she'd missed that look! (Y/N) found herself longing for it even before she quite realized it.

And then, without warning, a vision came, and (Y/N) was swept into another world entirely.

The evening sky rolled endlessly out towards the horizon; it seemed to go on forever, sparkling with more stars than (Y/N) had ever seen before. The full moon was so bright that it cast the whole world in what seemed like silver sunlight, and (Y/N) wondered how anyone could sleep on a night such as this. It was far too beautiful an experience to miss.

Alongside her— alongside Eren, through whose eyes she saw the world— strode Armin and two older-looking cadets who she recognized from previous memories as Reiner and Berthold. Eren was feeling anxious over something, and Reiner and Berthold were… well, they were kind. Reiner especially seemed to be like an older brother, and Eren admired him.

"You'll do just fine tomorrow," said Reiner, placing a large, warm hand on Eren's shoulder. "I'm certain of it."

The memory ended, and (Y/N) came back to herself as Eren's tongue laved over the wounds his fangs had left in her neck, sealing them.

"See anything?" he asked, his breath warm against her skin, and (Y/N) nodded.

"You loved them, too," she said softly, remembering the fondness Eren had felt as though it had been her own. "You loved the Hunters that tried to take everything from you, and— and I think they loved you, too."

Eren pulled away from her, and it was then that she saw the tears shining in his eyes.

"Yes," he replied, his voice broken. "We were children. How could we not love each other as God intended? Hate was never in our nature; it was an inheritance that we couldn't escape."

He paused for a moment, then spoke again.

"I'm sorry I hurt you," he told her, cupping her cheek in his hand. "I lost my temper. I forget— I forget that you're not them."

And (Y/N) understood. She understood that no matter how many centuries passed, there would be wounds that just wouldn't heal for Eren. He would lash out at things that wouldn't make sense to anyone who hadn't experienced the horrors of war as he had. Suddenly, she felt petty for having lashed out as she had, and guilt threatened to rise up and choke her.

"You're forgiven," she replied, leaning into his touch. "It takes two to tango— I shouldn't have baited you like I did. I knew how badly that would hurt you, and that's exactly why I said it."

At that, Eren cracked a grin.

"I expect nothing less from a Kirschtein. Your grandfather would have punched me square in the jaw— and as big as that bastard got when we were older, he probably would have put me on my ass."

(Y/N) couldn't help but laugh, and Eren joined her, their combined joy swelling until there was nothing else in the world but their happiness.

How they started kissing, neither one of them would be able to say afterwards, but in the grand scheme of things, it hardly mattered. Their love was too large to contain, too much to hold back— and it was love, (Y/N) realized, though she hadn't quite put words to it yet. She loved Eren Jaeger, a Creature, a monster, as much as her grandfather before her had and more. She loved him with a desperation that felt like being knocked over by an ocean wave and plunged into depths where her feet no longer touched the sand. She loved him more than she had ever loved anyone before.

And, as he placed her gently on her bed that was barely big enough for two, divesting himself of his shirt above her, (Y/N) thought that maybe she didn't mind it so much as long as he loved her in return.

"I missed you," said Eren, dropping kisses by her ear as he unhooked her bra. "I missed this."

"Me too," she gasped as his mouth wandered to her nipple, her hands fisting in his hair. "Oh, God, I missed you too."

The time for words was soon gone, however; Eren's sinful, sinful mouth traveled lower and lower until he was kissing at the insides of her thighs, parting them to access what lay between, and (Y/N) threw her head back as he spread her open with his hands and sucked brazenly at her clit.

How long he spent there, worshipping her sex, (Y/N) had no idea; all she knew was that she came once from his mouth on her and a second time from his fingers inside her, and when he finally, mercifully withdrew, she was broken down to the simplest parts of herself; there was nothing left but an affection so deep that it threatened to overtake her if she didn't let it out, and she did the only thing she knew to do to release the overwhelming pressure that was building in her chest as Eren pushed his big, veiny cock into her.

She told him what she should have said a long time ago.

"Oh, Eren," she gasped as his cockhead shoved deep inside her. "I love you."

As soon as the words came out of her mouth, Eren went unnaturally still. He looked at her with pupils blown wide inside emerald eyes, and his fangs slightly distended; in any other situation, (Y/N) might have laughed at how surprised he seemed, but it seemed as though she were frozen in time, unable to do anything but stare earnestly up at them, hoping he understood how much she cared for him.

"You… what?"

"I love you," she repeated, her body moving without her permission to roll her hips up into him, moving his cock even further inside her. "Please, Eren, I need—"

He cut her off with a forceful, bruising kiss, and his hips started making slow, deep thrusts inside her, her legs hiked up over his shoulders.

"Again," he said against her lips."Say it again."

"I love you."

Another thrust or two, a hand circling her wounded throat.

"Again."

"I love you, Eren."

"Again."

This time, it was only a whisper.

"I love you," she said, and Eren began fucking her in earnest.

"You are so fucking beautiful," he told her as he thrust hard and deep inside her. "You're every man's dream, a nirvana the damned such as myself were never meant to reach. (Y/N), you are everything, and I—"

He seemed to choke on the words, and (Y/N) kissed him as he tried to regain his composure.

"I don't deserve you," he said, shaking with the force of their passion. "I don't deserve your love."

It's not about deserving, she wanted to say, It never was, but then she was coming again, her climax contracting her walls around her lover, and it was all she could do to remain conscious as Eren fucked her relentlessly through it all, chasing his own high.

It was only later, after a shower and something to eat that they finally spoke again. They were back in bed, and Eren's arm was wrapped around her, as though he were afraid to let her go for even a moment; truthfully, (Y/N) thought he was asleep, but then his breath tickled her ear as he said,

"I love you, angel."

And that, (Y/N) thought, had been worth it all, in the end.

[thespianbooks]

A Court of Nightmares and Starlight //Chapter 6//

(Chapter one) (Chapter two) (Chapter three) (Chapter four) (Chapter five) (Chapter six) (Chapter seven) (Chapter eight) (Chapter nine) (Chapter ten)

(tags: @thron3ofbooks, @df3ndyr, @courtofjurdan, @art-e-mis, @herondamnn, @the-third-me, @im-still-trying-here, @emikadreams, @paytin77, @mis-lil-red)

“Are you absolutely sure it's a boy?” Rhys asked me as we lay entangled in bed, his ear pressed against my bare stomach and his hand splayed just below my navel.

I giggled as I ran my fingers through his raven locks. In the week since I announced my pregnancy, he asked me different versions of the same question. His hands also seemed to have become permanently glued to my stomach; along with his ears and lips. Every chance he had, Rhys would try and get as close to the baby as possible—which I welcomed, absolutely content with how devoted he was. The morning after Starfall, Rhys insisted we visit Madja’s clinic in Velaris—determined to learn anything and everything there was to know about pregnancy and what it would entail for me. The healer happily obliged, and informed us both of what the next eight and a half months would look like. Not only was a high fae pregnancy longer than a human’s, but as with other fae ailments, any symptoms and risks I faced might be amplified.

There were the normal symptoms I was already accustomed to: nausea, vomiting, fatigue, and others I would soon face: backaches, swelling in my hands, face, and feet, and occasional headaches. Hearing about those symptoms didn’t cause any alarm, they were common and unfortunately came hand-in-hand with creating a new life. Madja also said that every female experienced her pregnancy differently; some had severe complications and had to be on strict bed rest, while others hardly experienced anything other than a few minor discomforts. I hoped for the latter of the two.

It was hearing about the risks, which included a small chance of bleeding that could lead to a miscarriage while we were still in an early phase, that made me nervous and caused Rhys to enter in a full-blown defensive mode. Any prior protective behavior he was experiencing before now intensified with his innate need to safeguard me and the baby. Madja assured us that this behavior was expected and normal between mates; with females in such a vulnerable condition, a male’s instinct was always to protect his mate and their offspring. To his credit, Rhys offered a sheepish grin along with an apology in advance. Having already witnessed what he was like after we were freshly mated, and how he managed to reign himself in, I knew most of it was beyond his control.

However, I welcomed some of his coddling after my unpleasant symptoms returned a day after our visit with Madja, and fluctuated throughout the week. The extreme fatigue seemed to be a permanent state I would stay in for the duration of my pregnancy, but I pleaded to the Mother that my nausea spells would soon cease. It was torture being unable to leave my room for periods of time throughout the day. Unfortunately, there was no predicting when the queasiness would hit, so for the time being I would have to bear with it and hope none of the others would notice and wonder why my seemingly mysterious illness still remained.

Rhys and I decided to hold off on revealing the news to our friends and my sisters until we were out of the realm of possibility for a miscarriage. Madja reassured me that the chances were slim and divulged that although it was difficult for high fae to conceive, it was also difficult to lose a pregnancy. In spite of my relief, I didn’t want to take any chances and asked the healer for all recommendations on how to stay as healthy as possible.

So, along with the prenatal herbal teas she initially prescribed, she also ordered that I immediately put a halt to my morning training sessions with Cassian—which Rhys whole-heartedly agreed with, much to my chagrin. As much as I enjoyed being active, however, I knew fainting after only a couple of minutes of basic punching forms was a sign that I should be taking it easier. My body was now working overtime to provide not only for myself, but for a baby that was growing more and more by the day. Instead, Madja suggested I take more time to rest and relax, to allow myself more free time for leisure activities like my painting. Knowing my concerns, and guilt, over becoming stagnant, Rhys promised my duties as High Lady wouldn’t be affected—which left me relieved.

However, as much as my mate knew how capable I was of tending to my regular duties as High Lady, I couldn’t help but be amused at how much he insisted on spoiling me. He now reserved the right to tend to my every want and need; whether I was weary or not, Rhys began to wait on my hand and foot under the guise that since I was carrying his child, he would carry everything else. I appreciated it most whenever I was feeling particularly nauseated or drained, but I drew the line whenever he tried to spoon feed me my meals—I still maintained my irritation for it, no matter how much of a mother hen he was going to be for the duration of my pregnancy. I also valued it on morning’s like today when I had awoken with little to no desire to leave the comforts of our bed—whether it was from my overwhelming fatigue or not.

“Yes, the Bone Carver appeared to me as our firstborn. A miniature version of you,” I answered with a sigh of mock exasperation.

“And you’re sure this mini-me didn’t happen to actually have long hair or maybe more feminine features? It is dark in the prison, afterall, maybe you missed a couple of details,” he tried to reason, raising his head to look at me.

“I showed you what he looked like,” I laughed.

“Ah yes, but I saw through your eyes Feyre darling. So to clarify the vision, I have to rely on the original source. In this case, that’s you,” he said, his grin positively feline.

I grabbed a pillow and smacked him with it as I laughed, “Smartass.”

His grin remained as he braced himself against my stomach playfully, “Careful darling, you’ll hurt the baby,” he teased.

I rolled my eyes and hit him again as he laughed, “It’s a boy. Maybe the next one will be a girl.”

“Next one?” He asked, his violet eyes lit up as they met mine with raised and amused brows.

“We’ll see. Let’s focus on our son first,” I said.

His chuckle reverberated through me as he pressed his ear to my still-flat stomach. Despite no growth progress being made on my pregnant belly, he was obsessed.

“I want him to know I’m here,” Rhys answered before I could ask; double checking to make sure that my mental shields were intact.

“He knows,” I said as I continued to brush my fingers through his hair. “He was calling out to you for weeks before either of us realized he was there.��

During our visit, I had Madja explain the mystery behind the faint glimmer that fluttered between us. The ancient inkling that existed between mates as a confirmation that they had successfully procreated. Rhys was in awe of the information, and hoped the glimmer would remain throughout the months. So far, my little glimmering baby was silent—perhaps reveling in finally being noticed.

“Still, it’s never too early to bond with my son,” he said with a grin as he pressed a chaste kiss to my stomach before subsequently moving from his spot and hovering above me. “Are you feeling well enough to have breakfast with everyone, or shall I bring you breakfast in bed?”

I sighed as I held his arms, lightly tracing the pattern of his tattoos as I debated, “I could honestly sleep for another couple of hours. You should go, let everyone know I’m okay,” I answered.

“I’m beginning to run out of excuses to explain why their High Lady has been so inclined to not leave her room.”

I hesitated, realizing how hard it actually was to keep up the deceit. A part of me knew Mor was suspicious of something already, having guessed Cauldron-knew-what on Starfall. The others I couldn’t even begin to guess what assumptions they made.

“Should we just tell them?” I asked. “I know we wanted to wait a little while longer, but it just doesn’t feel right to keep giving excuse after excuse.”

Rhys nodded in agreement, “I’m pretty sure Cassian and Azriel know something, but they have too much respect for your privacy to pry it out of me.”

I laughed and sighed tiredly, “Do you think they’ll be excited?” I asked.

He smirked, “Well I don’t think they’ll be disappointed.”

I rolled my eyes and pushed him away before sitting up as he chuckled. He caught my wrist carefully before I could get up from the bed, “I think they’ll be more than happy to hear there will soon be a new member of our Inner Circle,” he said.

I smiled, “He’s going to be spoiled, isn’t he?”

“Rotten, my love.” He replied as I laughed.

X

I didn’t realize how nervous I would actually be until we sat down for breakfast. Our morning routine was proceeding as normal—everyone gathering in our grand dining hall, another room I was particularly proud of in the estate. I planned for it to be large enough to fit all of us comfortably, and took extra consideration for the Illyrian brothers and their mighty wings.

I took comfort in seeing everyone in their customary morning moods; Amren and Mor chattering over a new line of jewelry on display at their favorite shop at the Palace of Thread and Jewels, Elain displaying a book of pressed flowers she had been collecting to Azriel—who actually requested to see it the night before, and Nesta keeping a watchful eye on the pair while Cassian engaged her in some kind of boastful conversation. I was actually surprised to see how close they were sitting together without Nesta having a sneer on her face. I tried to remember the last time it was she even looked at him with a sneer at all.

Getting distracted, my love? Rhys asked down the bond.

I glanced at him and took a sip from my glass of orange juice. What, should I just blurt it out while they aren’t paying attention?

Why not?

I paused. Really?

If you don’t, then perhaps I will.

I blinked and opened my mouth to say it, but when the words refused to come out, Rhys grinned mischievously before simply turning in his seat and said, “Feyre darling is pregnant.”

Everyone’s eyes instantly turned to me and I blushed under their collective gaze. There was quiet for little more than two heartbeats before Mor and Elain’s high-pitched squeals met the air and the sounds of chairs scraping the floor filled the room as everyone moved. Mor was the first to reach me as she threw her arms around me in a warm embrace.

“Oh, I knew it, I knew it!” She cheered as she hugged me and my eyes burned as she pulled away, Elain wrapping me in her arms next.

“I can’t believe it, Feyre, you’re going to have a baby!” she exclaimed, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Azriel and Cassian congratulating Rhys with clasps on the shoulder.

I laughed aloud when Cassian wrapped an arm around his shoulder and wrestled him around, “I knew you had it in you Rhysie!” he exclaimed as Azriel nodded his approval.

Just as the shadowsinger turned his attention to me and took a step in my direction to congratulate me, Rhys was out of Cassian’s hold and in his path—blocking him from getting to me with a deadly snarl on his lips.

Cassian barked a laugh and slapped a hand on Rhys’s tense shoulder, “Is this a second version of that mating bond rearing its ugly head?” he taunted.

Before Rhys could turn that snarl towards Cassian, I touched his other shoulder gently in an attempt to calm his feral temper. Almost instantly, he relaxed as his gaze drifted to my stomach and shrugged Cassian’s hand away.

“Madja warned us that this might happen,” I said, “But I’d prefer you two not destroy this room.”

“We can always have it out in the training pit later, Rhysie.” Cassian goaded, cracking his knuckles with a wicked grin.

Rhys squared his shoulders as his hand came to rest on the small of my back, “I’m fine here.”

“A typical male guarding his offspring,” Amren said coolly, and I was grateful for the attempt to lighten the animosity that briefly began to brew. “Congratulations girl. It’s about time our group is graced by a youngling’s presence, it’ll be a welcome change around here.”

“How far along are you?” Nesta asked, and I was surprised to see her standing beside Cassian, not realizing she had made her way over during the hostile interaction with Rhys, instead of attempting to shield Elain.

“Almost three months now,” I answered, my hand coming to rest on my flat stomach. “I found out the day before Starfall.”

“Aha! I told you!” Mor cheered as she turned to Cassian and Azriel.

Cassian swore under his breath and Az dipped his head in acknowledgement, and I balked. “What’re you talking about?”

“We all made a bet on how long it would take for you guys to announce it. I gave it a week, Cass bet two, and Az bet you would be half-way along before you told us. Which means I won!” Mor sang excitedly.

“I lost the minute his darkness over here didn’t shout it from the rooftop after you told him,” Amren revealed nonchalantly, motioning to Rhys.

“Wait, you all knew?” I asked, bewildered.

“Are you kidding? I smelled it on you the minute we came back from the mountains,” Cassian admitted, “I’m surprised Rhys didn’t, with him being your mate and all.”

“To be fair, a part of me did know, but until Feyre was fully aware herself, I wasn’t going to raise any suspicion,” Rhys said nonchalantly, and I could feel his attempt to tame his preternatural instincts in order to avoid giving into Cassian’s baiting.

“So, this wasn’t really news then?” I asked, unable to hide my disappointment.

“It was for me,” Elain interjected, grabbing my hands gently with a smile, “I had no idea, and I’m so happy Feyre.”

“I didn’t know either,” Nesta added, and I was astonished to see a formal look of support on her lovely face.

Elain embraced me again as my eyes burned. They were all happy for us, and as Amren mentioned earlier, a baby would soon be welcomed by everyone here. I tried not to let the tears fall as I imagined my son being held in each of their arms. I sniffed as I stepped back from Elain’s arms and blinked in surprise when I saw Amren, Mor, Azriel and Cassian standing together before me and bowed with their hands over their hearts—just as they had done years ago after Rhys and I were newly mated.

“Our vow of service and protection is extended to the child you carry; our future High Lord of the Night Court.” Mor explained before I could question them.

“Or the future High Lady,” Cassian said with a wink.

I glanced at Rhys as he slid his hand back onto the small of my back, and without the need to communicate through the bond we knew we would keep that revelation a secret.

“This is normally a tradition sworn to the High Lord, but seeing as you are our High Lady, and the one who is actually doing all the work, we pledge our vow to you and your child.” Amren continued.

My heart tightened and my face flushed as they all stood as one, their hands still on their hearts. I captured the image in my mind, imagining what colors of paint I would need later and the exact canvas I would use to commemorate this moment forever. Sworn protectors of the Night.

“Thank you,” I said, my voice still thick with the unshed tears.

Mor grinned and came up to envelop me in another hug, “Your emotions are going to be all over the place now! You don’t have to worry about holding back, we all understand,” she crooned and I laughed with a sob.

“I’ll admit, I’ve never really been around pregnant females outside of the ones in the Illyrian camps, but I’m willing to learn,” Cassian reassured.

“We all are,” Azriel added.

I sniffed and wiped at the few tears that escaped, “I guess we’re all experiencing this for the first time,” I said.

“I’ve at least held a baby before,” Mor said proudly.

“Before it burst into tears and reached back for its mother,” Rhys remarked with a smirk, earning a glare from the golden-haired beauty.

“Hey, I’ve held a baby before,” Cassian defended. “You forget, I’ve taught younglings how to fly. Sometimes that required holding them when they cried.”

“Your idea of holding a youngling included patting them on the back until they calmed and tossing them, sometimes in mid-air,” Azriel smoothly cut in.

“That happened once, and it was an accident!” Cassian barked.

“So, you dropped a baby in mid-air?” Mor asked.

Elain gasped in horror at the thought, causing Amren to burst out laughing and Nesta rolled her eyes as Cassian fumbled over his words to try and defend his actions. I squeezed Rhys’s hand as my heart swelled and his eyes met mine with an easy grin, his free hand coming to rest on my stomach—happy to finally be able to do so in front of everyone. I returned his grin when that familiar glimmer fluttered excitedly beneath his touch, our son happy and no doubt feeling right at home with his family.

[seungwoork]

¨    PLOT CALL ’

hello there again!! now that i can officially reveal myself i decided to post my plotcall-- it’s lari who also plays @rkbyunbaek​ and @rkjennie​ 😊 for plotting and talking you can find me @snailqueens on twitter, feel free to follow!! otherwise here is my plot page for everyone who wants to check it out. finally!!!! wooo!!!!

i’d like to get a few connections going to seungwoo to give him a good start here despite it being a slow one ksjdf so here are the options for everyone who’s up for it,

like this post for a charisma starter! please only like it if you’re interested in making a thread out of it, i’m not doing this just for points. i'd like to get connections and relationships through this.

send me an im if you’re interested in a plot i put under the cut! there are a few plot ideas under the cut with some thread and relationships ideas that i’d like to do. some plots might be similar or even copied from my plot page for those who only check this out ( because they’re some i’d rly like to be filled and / or might move them to the page later if they don’t get filled and i want to keep them jksd )

RELATIONSHIPS,

¨ something good ’       ◞ ( m / f , ) CLOSED

family. any kind of family, actually. you’re cousins but are you close? have you hardly met or do you meet all the time? as much as possible? how is your bond, able to talk about things? not getting along at all? in the end, though, you’re still family.

¨ milk & honey ’       ◞ ( m / f , ) open

you’re seungwoo’s best friend. you’ve been for ages, the apple to his pie. the straw to his berry, the smoke to his high and the one he wants to marry who know the song anyways. you’re best friends, nothing can tear you apart. you can handle seungwoo’s stupid competitions because you’re more easy-going, less uptight, share his pain with him and he can deal with everything you have on your plate -- you’re always there for each other. it just works.

¨ physical ’       ◞ ( m / f , ) open

usually, you never go the gym. you might even hate it there but lately you’ve been going to check out seungwoo while he’s there like a creep boooo with the excuse of being envious of that body rather than any other reason!!! you just want to see what he does to be this fit!! seungwoo notices and asks you if you want to work out together or need any help. like a fool, you say yes but have no idea how to the equipment works. well, this is going to be embarrassing and that’s the last thing you want to happen, looking like an idiot in front of that guy.

¨ second chance ’       ◞ ( m / f , ) open 

you used to be friends a long time ago but drifted apart during seungwoo’s service, the friendship ending with a fight after his return and change in attitude. you couldn’t deal with this.. new seungwoo that seemed so different from the friend you used to know. it’s been a while and you feel shitty for giving up on seungwoo and your friendship so easily, so you reach out to him in hopes of a chance to talk this out.

¨ ultralife ’        ◞ ( m / f ; ━━━ m prefered ) open

best friends and partners in crime. literally. you both got into a lot of trouble in high school for shoplifting but still kept each other going with dares and bets and all of that. after graduation and seungwoo’s depature to the military you both fell out of touch but recently met ech other again. did you change your ways too or will you be the bad influence in seungwoo’s life that he isn’t looking for?

¨ clementine ’       ◞ ( m / f , ) open

the first time meet seungwoo does the most logical thing, he flits with you. and now you keep meeting at the most random places -- you meet so many times that it doesn’t seem like a coincidence anymore but it is. and every time you spot each other in a crowded coffee shop or in a clothes store, at the magazine rack of a bookstore and in the back of the convenience store, seungwoo does the most logical thing, he flirts with you.

¨ going under ’       ◞ ( m / f , ━━━ has to be a trainee ) open

actually, you’re good friends. you used to be pretty close before you got signed into a company and became a trainee. seungwoo’s proud of you but envious as well, competitive as always, because you managed to accomplish something like that before him. it’s one of the reasons why he meets up with you less, cancels more often on you when you finally have some time to hang out and when you get to be with each other, things tend to get awkward sometimes.

¨ home ’        ◞ ( m / f , ) open

seungwoo’s father started dating your mom a while ago and it’s weird in every sense. while seungwoo is bitter about this for a lot of reasons ( like his father neglecting him paying attention to a woman to him even dating another woman in the first place when he was so sad about his mother’s death ) it’s a difficult situation for you for your own reasons. it’s debatable if you two get along but there’s a chance you’ll become step siblings in the future so you have to beat with each other.

PROMPTS,

we sat next to each other at the movies and you got scared during it. now you’re clinging to me because you’re too terrified to go home alone.

the only reason you visit me at home is to spend time with my cats, right?

we’re sitting next to each other on the train and i’m definitely not leaning into your personal space to peek at your phone because i thought you were sending sketchy texts!

this cat strolling around the neighbourhood hates like everyone except you apparently. i always see it nuzzling against your leg and you petting it and i’m jealous. tell me your secrets!

the walking dead binge watching! think you can make it?

you’re on your fifth cup of coffee and your hands are shaking pretty badly. i can’t take this anymore, what the hell is going on?

i can cook but you can’t, so it’s me who constantly has to feed you and make sure you own’t starve to death or drown in junk food.

we’re always fighting over the movie at movie nights. also, the popcorn.

this lesson of me learning you how to ride a skateboard is turning into a nightmare. i didn’t think you would have such a hard time staying on that board.

your attempt at flirting with me with the line ‘do you come here often’ is crushed when i tell you that i work here. uhhh, awkward.

you’re crying on a bench at the park and i’m too kind to just walk past your heartbreaking sobs. do you need a tissue?

looks like you’re in trouble, i can pretend to be your charming date.

[shawnpetermuffins]

Misery Business (decode 2)

A/n: and the much requested part 2. Part 1 is in my masterlist under my song based fics. This will be the final part.

Summary: Shawn's finally starting to realize what this relationship has done to him.

Warnings: angst, swearing, the usual

Word count: 2.2k

***

I should be happy. My career has never been better, my singles are doing pretty great on the charts, I'm in the top 5 most listened to artists on spotify, and I'm getting loads of publicity hanging with Camila. And don't get me wrong, she's beautiful, hourglass figure that every guy wants, I guess. There's just something wrong and it's this, she's not y/n. I thought our relationship would withstand anything my career threw at us, I really did. But I should have known that she wasn't okay with this. I knew that there was always some kind of underlying territorial battle between her and the girl that's currently holding my arm while we walk down the street, but I ignored it for the sake of a few extra views on a music video, for a few extra streams.

This publicity thing has taken y/n away from me and no one seems to notice, or care, because the songs are doing so good. Since she walked away that night no one has talked about it. No one asked what was the final straw, it was just never brought up. And all that's going around Twitter and Instagram are these God awful, staged photos of me and Camila acting like we're so in love when in reality I am heartbroken and on the verge of a nervous breakdown in most of them. 

"They're looking," she says into my arm. "Kiss me now." She's been telling me to do that a lot more often recently and I'm starting to feel just how wrong it is for us to be doing this. She knows about the breakup, but it seems like she couldn't care less. She parades me around town and follows me on tour, adding a little too much tension between me, Brian and Connor who have barely spoken to me since y/n left. It's clear that they weren't on my side in this situation, but that didn't matter to Camila. She was eating the attention up. She loved knowing that people were talking and that they were talking about her, it apparently didn't matter in what context. 

"Andrew," I grab my manager's attention one night before he goes into his hotel room.

"Yeah, bud?"

I clear my throat, glancing over my shoulder to make sure no one was still out wandering the hall, listening. I lower my voice anyway, "How much longer do Camila and I have to keep up this PR game? The fans are starting to notice it's fake."

"We have to keep it up at least until the stadium show."

"What? What happened to it ending after the VMAs?" 

He shrugs, "Sorry. We need to sell more."

"The stadium's already sold out, what do you mean we need to sell more?!"

"Shawn, you said you were okay with this. What's going on?"

I lost the best thing that's ever happened to me because of this stupid game. That's what's going on. But I just sigh, "Nothing. Nothing, guess I'm just worried. I don't want the fans to lose interest. I can't keep ignoring the question."

"Well you can't talk about it. We're under contract. Now it'll be over before you know it. So for now, just enjoy it. Enjoy the publicity. You need it. Gets people excited for new music."

You know what else gets people excited for new music? Promotion.

---

I'm scrolling through Instagram, seeing all the photos fan accounts are posting of me and Camila, becoming more and more emotionally drained with each passing second. But then I see something that catches my eye. It's a photo of me and y/n, one of the only photos she allowed me to post of us. Except it's split right down the middle. I hurriedly look at the caption.

Fanaccount Is no one going to talk about the fact that we don't know how, why, or WHEN y/n and Shawn broke up??? Did we all just forget that they were together for 2 years?? What happened to our girl? 

Then I start reading the comments, which I shouldn't do, but I can't stop myself.

Fanaccount2 Idk if it's true but someone said she was still on tour with him up until like 2 weeks ago…

Fanaccount2 Do y'all think Camila had something to do with it?

She had everything to do with it.

fanaccount3 Who cares? He's with Camila and she's better.

Fucking liar. 

fanaccount4 I know we don't know what happened, but if it's because of C that's fucked up. Y/n deserves better. Shitty PR to sell a song that's already been at #1 for weeks?? If he lost her to this I feel bad for him. 

     Fanaccount5 But what about her? She had to watch all this go down? It was a really dick move for him to even think it was okay to do this.

   fanaccount6 Okay but look how happy he is with Camila. He clearly doesn't feel bad, so why do you???

Fanaccount4 THEY WERE TOGETHER FOR 2 YEARS! and now he's sucking face with his "best friend" come on. That's shitty and you know it.

I don't even realize that I'm crying until I can hardly catch my breath. I'm panicking. I haven't had to deal with a panic attack alone since y/n came around, but this is the third one I've talked myself out of since she left, and I've had to go back on my medication. I never realized that she was the main thing helping me through.

My phone buzzes with a notification - a message from Andrew. 

It's a screenshot of my spotify account and it reads: #2 baby!!

I want to hurl - my phone or the contents of my stomach, I'm not sure. Maybe both. But I guess, we've got the fans where we want them. 

But like we always do, in true Hollywood bragging, we post the screenshot to our Instagram stories. And Andrew to his feed and twitter. It's all working so well. They're buying it - the relationship, the song, everything. But when I look at my follower count and see I'm down at least 100,000… maybe not everyone is buying it.

---

We're in her hometown and every part of me wants to go see her, wants to make sure she's okay. Because I have the day off and it would be so easy to just drive out to her and make things right. But Camila won't leave my side and I'm going insane.

"Shawn, pay attention to me!"

And I snap. "What do you think I've been doing these past two months, Camila?! I've been paying attention! Jesus, fuck, give me just two minutes of alone time."

"Whoa! What's up your ass?" She crosses her arms over her chest.

"You!" I scoff, throwing my hands up.

"You've been moody all week. Do you want to talk?"

"Not to you," I mumble, but she hears me.

"You're serious? This is about y/n? It's been a month, Shawn. It's time to move on."

"Move on? How am I supposed to move on when she was the literal best thing to happen to me? When I lost her because of this stupid PR move that is in no way helping me anymore, Miss number two!"

"Now I don't deserve to be number two? Really?"

I don't say anything else, I just take my phone and wallet from the coffee table and leave without another word. I don't know where I'm going until I'm there at her doorstep, breathing heavily and running my clammy hands through my already ruffled hair. Before I can talk myself out of it, I knock on the door and wait, my hands in my pocket.

"Can you get that?" I hear her say to someone inside, but I'm not expecting it to be my own best friend.

"Brian?" I say, confused.

"What are you-?"

"Bri, did you? Shawn?"

"Connor?"

"Guys, who's at the…" she stops cold in her tracks when she sees me.

"Y/n," I sigh. I can't read her face. She could be any number of things, but shocked is probably the most accurate.

"Babes, can y'all give us a second?" Her arms cross defensively over her chest while the guys retreat to the kitchen. When she walks further into the living room, I let myself in, closing the door behind me. "What the hell are you doing here, Shawn?" 

"I miss you," I say desperately. "I - I know I fucked up. Severely fucked up. I put my career ahead of you and I said I'd never do that. The numbers became more important and it shouldn't have been that way. I'm so sorry. Just… please give me a second chance. Let me prove to you that you're first. Always."

"A second chance isn't going to do anything for you, Shawn."

"How do you-?"

"Because you're still pretending with her! If you're even pretending at this point! I can't be with you like this because if the numbers were all that mattered two months ago, who's to say they're still not going to matter three years from now? Your entire career revolves around them and I'm not going to be your number two. That isn't what I signed myself up for. Not to mention my Twitter mentions right now are your fans calling me a whore for standing in the way of 'Shawmila's true love!'"

I flinch, "I'll fix it."

"You can't!" She screams and I see the guys slowly make their way into the room. "Jesus, don't you get it? It doesn't matter what you think you can fix because I can't forgive you! I'm done. I'm over it. I don't want this!" She gestures between our bodies. "You don't want me, you want the familiarity. Well, why don't you teach her how to calm down your anxiety attacks. And tell her how you like your eggs in the morning, and how you'll only get out of bed after at least ten minutes of silent cuddling.

"And you go around town acting so fucking innocent, which no one believes, by the way. Teach her how to be your girlfriend, and how to do it right because clearly I wasn't doing it right," her voice cracks at the last part of her sentence and it breaks me in half. When the first year falls, I want nothing more than to take her in my arms, but I hold back, knowing damn well she doesn't want me near her.

"Y/n, it's not the same without you. The concerts aren't as fun, the days between drag on forever. I thought that being seen out would make the numbers rise, and yeah it has, but I'm losing more than im getting."

"That's not my fault. You did that." She wraps her arms around her, holding herself together. Just like I've always known her to. I notice that the tears aren't falling anymore either. She stopped then just as quickly as they started. 

"This isn't how I thought we would turn out."

She bites the inside of her cheek, her clear sign that she's distraught.  "You know, it's funny. It took me so long to realize that I was watching your dreams come true. Selling out arenas and winning awards and putting out awesome music. I watched all of those dreams come true. Not once did you say I was a reason for it. You always avoided the questions about if the songs were about me. I was - I was never part of your dream, Shawn. And I put mine on hold to watch you live yours. It's my turn," she looks at me with some type of fire in her eyes. "Its time for me to go for my dreams and watch them come true. I thought it was you. You were my dream for so long, but that's just not it anymore."

I suck in a shuddery breath, "no. Y/n, baby. Please."

"You need to go."

"Y/n," I reach out for her but I'm stopped quickly by my best friend.

"She told you to go, Shawn."

"I'm not leaving until we fix this."

"Just let it go, man. She doesn't want you anymore." Connor says from his same spot, only this time with y/n in his arms, her head buried deep in his chest. Seeing her in the arms of another makes me crazy and I lunge for him, but Brian pushes me back again. 

"You need to go. I'm not saying it again," he's practically dragging me out the house.

I point an angry finger at Connor, "You're fired."

"That's fine," he says. "Good luck with the rest of the tour." He shoots me a glare and then his attention is back to my sad ex-girlfriend. And I'm out the door before I realize it.

"What am I supposed to do?" I ask aloud because I feel Brian standing behind me, making sure I don't get any ideas to go back inside.

"Sounds to me like you need to reevaluate your priorities. You chose this career, and up until recently you were able to balance love and music. Find that again. Now go back to the hotel. I'll see you for soundcheck tomorrow." The door closes once again. But this time it's closing on everything that was and everything that could've been. I know I'm not getting her back. I chose the music business,  but now it's the misery business and there's no way to get out of it.

***

Tags: @curlyshawny @anamariel2301 @shawns-badreputation @bbellbagel @turtoix @ivegotparticulartaste @tomshufflepuff @dino-16-avocado @sleepybesson @lifeoftheparty74 @shawnssongs @luvluvxx

I hope you enjoyed it. I'm sorry for the angst. Like, reblog, and leave feedback!! 💙💙

[missjackil]

My 14x17 Opinion

Game Night

This was the first new episode since “The Announcement” and I have to say I was putting off writing it. I usually post these the day after, but I procrastinated so it’s a bit late. So forgive my butt-hurt tardiness and let's have at it.

I enjoyed this episode, though it wasn't without some issues. I must say that I was pleased that it wasn't as Sam-lite as I thought it would be from the promo pics, trailer, and knowing Jared didn't work a lot that week, I will always want for more Sam in an episode, but all his parts were necessary and high quality in this one, so I'm not angry at all. 

We start the episode with Donatello making cookies, singing Raindrops are Fallin’ on my Head, which made me smile. It made me think of Butch Cassiday and The Sundance Kid and I love that movie, and if J2 ever want to play the leads in a remake, I would be willing to pay for it myself! 

Donny gets interrupted by the door, and we know this is a problem because its the first 5 minutes of SPN, let's be honest. As soon as I see the bad guy’s wedding ring, I think “Shit... here comes Nick”. I thought he was gonna kill him and I'm glad he didn't. I like Donny, he looks like my dad. 😊

Back at the Bunker, the fam is getting ready for “Winchester Game Night” and Dean is playing Mouse Trap, and having no luck getting it to work. I had that game as a kid too and was never able to get it to work either, but it was fun putting it together! I did think it was a little sad but fitting, that Dean would have played that game as a 4 yr old, but leave it to John and Mary to give Dean a game made for older kids, that never worked out the way it was supposed to and had too many small parts he could choke on. (the irony is not lost on me)

Mary and Jack are in the kitchen. I could literally almost smell the Jiffy Pop popcorn. A Saturday night staple at my house growing up (any of you out there ever taste that greasy salt left on the sides of the foil pan? Good stuff!) and Mary starts in with the questions for Jack. I got a kick out of him telling her its annoying, and her face after. It’s ok Mary, he’s fine, he’s just a teenager now. Something I guess she never got to experience from the adult side. 

Sam is out getting pizza, and all the times they’ve had pizza, I never really saw what Sam likes on his. Apparently both he and Dean like lots of pepperoni. Good choice boys! The joy is short-lived (of course) by Donatello’s call, and Dean and Mary go off to help. I loved Sam sitting there researching. I have always loved his look of interest and concentration during these times. Smart!Sam moment #1 he figures out the language is ancient Hebrew, #2 he has the moment of realization that he knows it’s from the Bible, and knows what chapter and verse. (demerits for the writers though for not knowing Peter is in the New Testament and is in Ancient Greek, not Hebrew, but kudos for Sam/Jared for at least knowing the book is located near the back of The Bible)

Mom and Dean in the car. Now we have the talk about how wrong she knows she’s been but how appreciative she is to have this time with him and Sam. Uhoh... sounds like lines typically given to a character who is soon to be killed off? Hmmm we’ll see. Soon they arrive at Donny’s to find Nick. He says he's poisoned Donny and to save him, they have to help him. He wants to talk. 

Back at the bunker, violent rage!Sam awaits!! GOD that gave me tingles in the best way! I loved Dean leading Nick down the hall in cuffs, in slow motion as if leading him to his execution, and Sam standing there with his chest puffed out like a friggin’ bulldozer, and the snarl and slam attack against the wall!! (hand me that towel, please??) Dean backs Sam off, lots of brother touching going on, but we need intel, we can't kill him yet. 

Now Sam is in self-loathing mode.... he thinks everything is his fault. So many people dying because of him. This is gonna be a big issue soon, I promise. Mom talks Sam off the self-deprecating ledge and tells him he gave Nick another chance because he’s a good man and that's why she’s so proud of him. Sam softens up into the sweetest “aww shucks ma” smile and I want to hug him💕 also, still lines are being spoken by mom that are synonymous with being killed off.

Now, I procrastinated talking about Cas and Anael because the whole thing was boring. I'm not a wife hater but at least make her necessary if you’re going to cast her. I was ok about her role as Sister Jo for Devil’s Bargain but she hasn't been necessary since. Cas wasn't even necessary in this episode. We knew he was hiding the fact that Jack killed the snake, and there are probably 1000 other ways they could have reminded us that the Samulet is still around and maybe they can use it, than for him to find a similar one in the thrift shop or whatever that place was. I dug Methuzula though, he was the oldest dude in the Bible. He wasn’t an angel, for any of you worried about him liking lasagna or why he couldn't just smite Cas... its because he's HUMAN just extremely old. 

On to more interesting things. 

Nick wants to talk to Jack. I was not pleased with Nick referring to Jack as his son. Im not 100% convinced that the writer (and all involved really) remembered that Jack isnt Nick’s son, but added that as a note of empathy Nick has for Lucifer, you’d THINK someone, particularly Jack would say “Im not your son” ?? but anyway, he gives intel to Jack and also gets his blood (dun dun dunnnn) 

Sam is again a smarty pants and knows the antidote for Thalium is Prussian Blue (makes note) and figures he can hack the live feed (brains are so sexy) I also love that Sam’s word is the go word. So many more decisions are made because Sam thinks its the best option than he's ever given for in the fandom. So Sam and Dean take Nick with them to find Donny. 

I really love the broments in this part. Dean tells Nick if he tries anything funny, Sam will shoot him. “And if anything happens to me....” “Sam will shoot me”  “To start!” says Sam... because if he hurts Dean, Sam isnt letting him off that easy. But in true SPN form, as soon as Sam and Dean are separated, shit goes south.

Mom calls Sam and lets him know Donny was shot up with Angel grace, as Jack figured out, Nick was playing them. Now the fight between Sam and Nick ensues! Nick tells Sam why he used Donatello, which was to bring Lucifer back, “You can't, he’s dead he’s in the Empty” Sam says but this show’s self-awareness gets me sometimes lol Nick’s like “Cmon Sam you know no one stays dead anymore” and Sam starts kicking his ass. 

Now, I have already seen a million of you whine and complain that Sam didn’t kill Nick. It’s almost as though some of you have never met Sam Winchester. Of course Sam could have killed Nick, and most of us wish he did, but Sam has stopped himself from killing humans before. He stopped himself with Jake in AHBL and also with Toni in 12x01. Unfortunately it always bites him in the ass. Could it be that Sam thinks if he can kill a human with his bare hands that he’s a monster? This isn’t bad writing folks, this is Sam’s character. 

Nick takes advantage of Sam’s hesitation and starts nailing him with a rock. Spewing crap about Sam being Lucifer’s Perfect vessel and such.... this can only mean that issue will be coming up soon! Sam gets in the car and starts laying on the horn for Dean, calling out to him... Dean hears Sam is in trouble, enough playing around here time to kill some demons. 

When he gets to Sam. he sees he’s badly injured. Sam can hardly hold on to consciousness, protective!dean kicks in! Apply preasure to the blled, call 911, call mom. Now check for brain damage and play a counting game with Sam This hurt my feels so much, it made it feel so much more serious than all the other head injuries he’s sustained. Dean and his caring big brother smile and light hearted speech so Sam doesnt panic just kills me in the best way!! Sam tries to count with him a little and breaks into “You always put me first... your whole life” and manages to muster a little smile. Dean knows Sam believes he’s checking out, and you see the fear all over Dean’s face as Sam fades away. (OMG these 2!! Every freakin time!!)

Meanwhile, Mary and Jack found Nick and he has summoned Lucifer and just about to take him in again (Lucifer looked pretty cool,,, gotta say) and Jack zaps Lucifer back into the rift (no not forever guys... cmon) and starts torturing Nick. Mary kinda flips out telling Jack to stop. He’s contorting his hand, burning him from the inside out... not simply killijng him. Mary is full on worried now. Jack stops and Nick is laying on the floor. Mary is in shock and tells Jack to go help Sam, He heals him and Dean cant even hide his relief as he turns away to catch his breath. 

Now Jack returns to Mary who is more than worried about how Jack was torturing Nick. We know the Winchesters dont mind killing, but draw the line at torture. However, Mary stupidly poked the bear. She could have just kept herself and Jack calm and talked to the boys later, but she poked and poked till Jack freaked out. Though I am wondering if Jack was also hearing Lucifer when he was shouting “Leave me alone!!” But in any regard, he looked at Mary and something happened. Fade to black. 

Aside from the Cas/Anael part, I really enjoyed this episode. A few issues yes, but it hit most of the marks needed for me to enjoy an episode. Ive already rewatched it twice and will again and again. 

On a scale of Bloodlines to Lebanon, I give this a strong 7.5 without the Cas/Anael bit it would have been an easy 8.

[honeylikewords]

(P1) The pilgrim thing got me really disappointed!! Because they LITERALLY SAID!!! HE WAS GONNA BE FIGHTING A*T-RIGHT PEOPLE THIS SEASON!!!! I feel like this is a big let down to a lot of the people who were looking forward to frank, a character who is commonly misconstrued as an a*t-right figure himself to deny that once and for all, namely the fans who belong to minority groups (myself included) as well as the issue with the last I know they were doing it as a little easter egg by

(P2) recreating that one image from the comics but they could have put it in a better situation because a)those criminals were in fact rather young and the fact that the perfectly fit the "thug" stereotype is iffy at BEST. Because it also brings up something that was talked about in luke cage/defenders (a character I mcfrikken love) that black boys who are just trying to feed their family end up getting killed/beaten within an inch of their life meanwhile the white vigilante gets off free

(P3) (I know I'm writing a lot I apologize but m feeling heated ab thjs) because truly they looked roughly the same age as Amy. I will say I enjoyed his brotherly jokes with curtis (shout out to that man for dealing with his dumbass and not killing him for all the stress he causes him akdjsk) and the times he showed true care and softness (ie ACTUAL FRANK CHARACTERIZATION) towards amy. Im also iffy about the fact that he let a guy who peddles child porn go? S2 of dd he killed a dude doing that

Okay, first of all, don’t worry about apologizing, it’s TOTALLY fine to be heated about this. The media we consume is reflective of the thoughts and beliefs of the people creating it, and can influence the thoughts and beliefs of the people consuming it. As such, we SHOULD be heated about the content we see and create; it has impact and influence, and it matters that we call out issues when we see them, and remain intensely scrutinous of what we’re being shown. No need to be ashamed of that.

Second, I’m going to answer each point or comment made here in list format, just to try and keep things organized. Because it’d be really easy for me to spin out and start ranting, and I want to keep this cohesive and legible.

1) The letting Pilgrim live thing was just... so unimaginably stupid. They talked about him being a major antagonist and yet he played no important role in the series at all. From a functional, story-based level, the entire Pilgrim-Schultzes plot needed to be cut. It was convoluted, unnecessary, and wasteful, while also managing to be confusing and just flat out boring. Pilgrim wasn’t even an interesting character! He was just a waste of screentime! The two plots of Billy and Pilgrim were always fighting for attention, and it distracted from the linear progression of the show.

But on a more fundamental and moral level, it was also just... so, so bad to display him as an alt-r*ght neo-N*zi and just... let him live. As if he had an excuse. As if he was “equitable” to Frank because his weird little Christian fundamentalist wife died and he had two kids (off topic, but Lemuel is a horrible name).  As if I was supposed to feel bad for him. As if I was supposed to sympathize with him, pity him. I don’t. And if I, a pacifist, soft-hearted, “forgiveness freely given” girl wouldn’t pity him, why on earth would a man like Frank?

It’s ridiculous. It’s shameful. Any piece of media that tries to “humanize” N*zis in a way where they are portrayed as sympathetic and “just people following orders” is disgusting. A N*zi chooses hate. A N*zi chooses bigotry. There is no mistake there, no human folly. That is choice and it is unforgivable. Pilgrim deserved to die, and that’s all I have to say about it.

2) I recognized that as a scene from the comics, an icon of Punisher-ing, but... You’re really, really right, and that’s something that worries me about Punisher and its fanbase. I’ve been stepping away from Punisher because I think it’s starting to cross the line into that territory; white vigilantism is, in many ways, a dangerous game to play, and when we start to romanticize white men with guns taking the law into their own hands and mowing down “thugs” (who, you are right to say, are usually just poor POC who are trying to make ends meet), we start walking a razor thin line.

Frank Castle in DD S2 was... different. This new Frank, this Punisher Frank? I don’t like him. And I don’t like what he stands for. Not anymore.

And I think the issue is that people like the idea of this big, bad white man with the guns calling all the shots, literal and metaphorical. And that scares me. Frank Castle is supposed to protect these infringed people, supposed to protect the downtrodden and oppressed. When he becomes a symbol and tool of that oppression, things get ugly, and things go wrong.

We can’t just excuse the inherent issues in something like Punisher just because we like Jon. I know I can’t. I have to ask these questions because they matter, and because it matters to me and to hundreds of thousands of other people who have to live with the fact that there is a chance that they could be shot down like that for no reason other than because someone decides their life doesn’t matter as much as, let’s say, a white one.

I know it sucks to bring politics into something we enjoy, but it also sucks that people have to deal with the real-life consequences of these issues. And it sucks that people see this show and idealize it, romanticize it, idolize the violence and the wickedness and the idea that they should be able to hold the scales of justice on their own and decide who matters based on their own personal whims.

The race discussion is very real with Punisher, and it’s a discussion we need to be having. We need to look at this critically and we need to see that, yes, there’s some very, very bad problems and some glaring issues. And we need to be honest about that, preferences all set aside.

3) Curtis Hoyle is a f*cking saint and deserves a break. He deserves it. (Also, what is going on with the show that they? Seemed to forget he has a prosthetic? He was leaping around and doing all manner of stunts as if he had both legs. Like... guys.)

4) Dad Frank was the only good thing about this season. Fight me.

5) The child p*rn thing upset me, too. I guess we’re supposed to infer that Frank is “growing” and not just killing whomever he pleases, and supposed to infer that he listens to Amy and wants to please her and not upset her, but... then he, like, murders anyone anytime anywhere after that. It seemed like they only showed the “growth” away from the urge to kill when it suited them, and it seems it only suited with regards to some of the lowest, most disgusting people ever.

Like, Frank takes the shot and kills Billy without even letting Billy say his final, dying words (which seemed to be an apology in the making?), but holds back from killing Pilgrim just because Pilgrim said “wait” and “I have sons”? Bullshit. Pilgrim and that child p*rn man should have died. End of discussion.

In the end, I guess I’d sum it up this way: Punisher season two lacks conviction. It wants to present the argument that things with Frank are complicated, but complicated just ends up coming across as nonsensical. Nothing about the show makes sense, there is no clear character development, every action is seemingly at random, and the plot is jumbled. The show can’t stick to anything without changing its mind, retconning itself into nothingness.

But worse yet are the implications of this jumbled mess; humanizing N*zis and white s*premacists, advocating the brutal violence of a white man with a gun as his own lawless lawmaker, and just a sort of devil-may-care attitude about what it means to be someone with power and exerting that over people who don’t stand a chance.

I have a lot of complaints, but I think, mostly, I’m just disappointed and sad. Frank deserves better than this. We deserve better than this.

We deserve heroes who will fight for what’s right. This Frank seemed to hardly know what on earth it was he was fighting for. And that makes me really, really frustrated.

(D/o/n’t r/e/b/lo/g, I don’t wanna get into any discourse, thnx)

[highonthought]

you know,

im not his girlfriend. im just his friend. i get the overwhelming feeling to tell him every thought i have of him. the traits i admire and how he has affected my life for the positive. and then

and then i remember that i am not his girlfriend. i dont know who i am to him. i know he cares about me, but i do not know if it is in the same manner.

i stop myself. i dont want to embarrass myself and give him a piece of my mind that he does not care to understand. i dont want to only spoon feed myself to people. but if i were honest with every person i know, id be sickophant. yes, spelling error intended. sycophantly sick of it. i feel i admire others too often, and hardly bless myself with the same attitude. and

and yet, with him in mind i am kind to myself, unless it is to share it with him. id like to tell him. I think maybe i dont want to ruin this persona of myself i have built through him. I dont know what he thinks of me. But still, i harbour unease towards what i view as a change through my eyes, through his.

so what do i think of him?

he is hardworking, and kind. I dont think he would describe himself as kind, but i see he is not mean spirited. Funny, always comes with a joke. I admire how much he values his family. Perhaps that is why i always was jealous of his relationship with them. Its hard not to be, he shared his love with them so freely. He is levelheaded. He sees the world through a lens unfogged and distant: he was able to choose something to do as part of his life's work and stick to it, and stayed motivated all throughout. Hes charming. Hes crude but not a dick about it. He is a gentleman. Perhaps not in the most literal sense, or perhaps i use the word too loosely.

Perhaps these are all qualities i admired and coveted for myself.

When i think of how i want to be loved, i feel guilty to want more. I dont think daniel and i will date again, though i would not abstain from trying. However, i cannot negate the standards i have built since. Prior, guilt built at the thought of asking for more. I dont think i can make a person change for me. Still, my asks of love remain. I should not only fantasize of doors being held for me, and receiving flowers. I pity the self that felt these were only daydreaming scenarios. I crave romance, and serenity, and butterflies, and tender laugher shared between us. I crave a date i did not plan. I crave singing to songs while we drive down the highway. I crave my hand being held, without my initiation. I crave desire without my initiation. I want to be wanted without offering myself as a bargaining chip. i want a love that wants me, unashamed, without guilt, and with eagerness.

Oh what standards. In a few years im sure id scoff. Though, i dont know why i assume laura would be so cruel. I dont take myself to be particularly cruel today, though last week she was kind of a cunt.

my manager at my retail job used to ask me what i was thinking about- i often was dazed and staring off. On more than one occasion it was "if i had a boyfriend and he brought me flowers right now. if he surprised me by picking me up for my lunch break". I want to be sought out. not just an option. Not that he made me feel like an option. still, I didnt feel wanted. truly wanted. it felt like he liked who i was, subdued. I am deeply emotional. Most of the time. I am a romantic who feels not sad, devastated, not happy, elated, and not alone, but in a void of despair. I dont think it was his job to fix that. This is something i was not willing to communicate before. If we were to attempt something again, i would. It would be to both of our benefit. If he is not happy with me as i am, then its best for both of us to know sooner. And yet, i wait in limbo. Like as a friend, it is not appropriate to share all this, to assume the role of the partner. Yet, the feelings remain. So, in an effort to remain true, i still wait on standby as i have before. With intent, but without a cue. I remain in limbo.

much of this has little to do with him. In regards, he remains kind. I do not know this man. He has not been here, he will not be here. Still i think of him each day. I cannot wrap my mind around it. I cannot even justify ignoring him for my own benefit anymore. His life will not intertwine with my own, and still i find myself rooting for him. His success and his growth. i hope his friends are kind and that he has not grown cruel. I have to wonder if my constant inquiry is to do with the fact that i did love him, deeply, as deeply as a 17 year old can, in a developmental period of our lives. I still am weary of what we have in common, though ease of communication may be added to the list. Sometimes a pal is just a pal. Its a little hard because i loved him. And maybe i still do. I love amalia. i love my mom. I cried when my grandma passed and i didnt know her. I cried when my coworker told me of her husbands childhood. Its a feeling. i do care for him. Love need not always be romantic. Its an odd state of platonic. It would be simple if he were not handsome. Im sure itll go away the more we get to know eachother. Lord, May he become a Madonna. i cant stare at this whore any longer.

Furthermore, ive yet to take a grand step in my own life. His hesitation, his levelheadedness is infuriatingly accurate, and im grateful for it. As it often is. One of these days i will throw myself at a wall of an art installment with arms, may it dare to catch me.

I think i think too much. I's like to crush my frontal lobe between two stones and feel a connection to my indigenous roots. Or perhaps a lobotomy for the west. Either, both would suffice to end the loop. Even if i did take a leap in whatever direction i flew in for the day, the tide would pull me back once the fucking wings grew tired, as they always do. Or maybe it wont, because ive yet to try. I wouldnt even know how to. Maybe selling my frontal lobe. Undeveloped girlparts4sale. thatd sell for sure.

[danceyreagan]

Isaiah Jesus~Can’t Win.

First Meeting.  Second Meeting  Third Meeting  Moodboards 

Walking down the street on his way to work Isaiah couldn’t help but think of Mona. For the past 24 hours thats was all he thought about. Flashes of her smile and the sound of her laugh invaded his brain. Man, oh Man, did she have a beautiful smile. The way her nose scrunched up and the extra twinkle in her eye, were his favorite things about her.

“Shit man. Get a grip, you’ve only met her a few times” he managed to mumble to himself as he almost plowed over a child on their way to school. Isaiah could not understand why his luck had been so bad. First his father out right embarrassed him, he choked on his drink, then he stepped in dog shit.

Maybe it’s karma for sleeping with all those women and never calling them back. “Nah, Mikey’s a proper whore, nothing ever happens to him” deep in thought he walked right passed the door to the betting shop.

“Oi! Isaiah, where you going?” Arthur shouted after him.  Confused he turned around eyebrows furrowed in confusion looking to the left and right before “Sorry, wasn’t paying attention”

“Isaiah! Mate, heard about yesterday. What a shitty situation”. John of course would be the first one to bring this up.

Arthur failed to hold in his laughter but stopped when he saw the irritated look on Isaiahs face. He clapped his hand on the poor boys shoulder in attempt to make him feel better. “Im sure it wasn’t that bad”

Letting out a deep sigh, he turns to hang his coat and hat in an attempt to ignore them both.

“Leave the poor boy alone” Polly chimes in looking up from the stack of cash she was counting.

“Fucking Finn, cant keep his mouth shut”

“I didn’t tell them, it was your sister. For someone who loves church she’s a proper gossip”

John the incident to be hilarious and just could not let it go. “How you must’ve smelt mate! How embarrassing. And in front of Mona too?”

“Can we drop it?”

“No. Seriously, How’d you-“ before he could finish Polly cut him off.

“Hey Arthur, remember that time John took Martha to the pond and tried feed the ducks but he got too close”

This knocks the smile right off John’s face.

“Alright, enough, we better get to work before Tommy gets here”

“I remember that, The mother duck chased you around for 15 minutes and nearly bit your pinky finger off.”

“Shut up Arthur”

“Cried like a baby.”

“Yeah, well, whats this gotta do with Isaiah?”

“Well…”polly adds “If Martha married you after baring witness to that, what makes you think Mona wont give Isaiah a chance?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mona had no idea where the betting shop was located. She tried to stop and ask a few people for directions.  One woman just shook her head at her “why would a respectable woman like you be looking for a place like that?”

“Well, thats hardly your business now is it? Either tell me where to go or be on your way”. The old woman scoffed and hurried away mumbling something about todays youth and a lack of respect for their elders.

Mona walked around for a few more minutes before finding the place.

Walking in she was a bit shocked at how large it was on the inside. She hesitated for a moment and took in her surroundings. She noticed a few offices lined up on the back wall and briefly wondered if Isaiah had his own office. She shook  the thought out of her head and walked up to the nearest person nearest the door.

“Excuse me, is Finn Shelby here?”

Scudboat looked up confused for a second. He looked at Mona from top to bottom trying to figure out how she was associated with the youngest Shelby.

Mona had to clear her throat to finally get a response. “Oh, sorry. he’s in the old house, its just back that way. I better show you.”

He walked toward the green double doors that connect the house to the shop, Mona followed quickly behind him.

“If I were you I’d check the kitchen, its just to your right”

“Thank you…”

“Scudboat”

“Thank you, Scudboat”

Mona took a second to looks around the room. The house was definitely old but something about it felt welcoming. She ventured over to her right where she found the kitchen.

Michael and Isaiah were eating lunch, Isaiah had his back to the door so it was Michael who saw her first.

“Hey, Mona”

Isaiah’s head shot up and around so fast he almost fell out of his chair.

“Hi, Michael. Have you seen Finn?”

Isaiah was dumbstruck. This was definitely the last place he expected to see her. Too afraid to embarrass himself again he remained in his seat and quiet as a mouse.

“I think he’s upstairs. I’ll go get him for you”

Mona thanked him, and walked further into the kitchen.

“So…” she looks around the room taking her time to formulate her thoughts. “Step in any dog shit lately?”

Surprising even himself, Isaiah started to laugh.

That’s when she noticed it. Goodness did he have a nice smile.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help myself. You really do have the worst luck.”

“Or maybe you’re just bad luck”   

“If thats the case you don’t get too close”

“Trust me, thats the last thing I want”

Mona didnt really know what to say in response, Isaiah was a bit obvious with his  Intentions, she knew he was attracted to her and by all means she found him equally attractive. However, she knew what he did for a living wasn’t purely legal and she had no interest in that lifestyle.

Sensing that maybe he had said too much Isaiah changed the subject.

“What’ya need Finn for?”

“He asked me to help him find a birthday present for Tabby. You didn’t forget your sisters Birthday did you?”

“No, Im throwing her a party at the Garrison on Friday.”

Mona nodded in acknowledgement. “Sounds fun. Im sure she’ll love it”

Isaiah took a beat then continued.

“You know, Mona..If you’re not busy, maybe you could…”

Mona’s heartbeat was started to pick up, and she could sense he was about ask her out. She was almost certain, but she wasn’t quite sure how she would answer.

“If you’re not too busy that is-“

Next thing you know Tommy comes in the room, followed by Michael and Finn.

“Isaiah, Michael, back to work.”

“Ready to go?” Finn asks

“Yeah, come on” Mona never officially met Tommy but she knew he was Isaiah’s boss and didn’t want to get him in trouble so she tried to make a speedy exit with Finn. Mona turned back smiling at Michael and Isaiah before leaving, “see you later.” Isaiah smiled in response.

Damn, he has a nice smile. 

@allaboutjoecole @thewanderingblinder @twistedrunes @pb-bonniegold

Please let me know what you guys think. Feedback is always welcome. Inbox Open.

[thisisasupergoodidea]

restless again

i shut down so hard in these past two or three weeks, i think maybe from the disruption of house renovations. and my room is apparently next on the list for repairs. its only going to continue

its embarrassingly easy to throw me off kilter to where i just stop functioning whatsoever. genuinely, it felt like college all over again. shackling myself to the distractions of the day and not sleeping enough whether from insomnia or guilt or poor decisions. being so exhausted that i could hardly emote and so apathetic that i could barely feed or wash myself. all my things and chores slowly piling around me, cluttering our lives because i didnt have the will to make myself do much of anything. essentially, a small relapse but without being as overwhelmed by pressure and depression. so like a melancholy, i guess? doesnt that mean the same thing kind of? whatever

i feel myself trying to shake it off, still, even if im not actively doing that. though thats not really enough. thats just more reaction to things that are happening to me. its not a deliberate step in any direction, its not anything. the struggle to be more than merely alive becomes less meaningful the more i fall face down on this plateau i managed to secure. like come on, me, im on literally the bottom tiers of existencedom, can i start fuckin climbing or is this really my personal pinnacle, two feet above oblivion bashing my head on the immeasurable unknown above??

im so deeply frustrated but it seems that the only thing i can do with that frustration is fumble and make an ass out of myself repeatedly

[athedemonsqueen]

I Found You, Again #9 (Finn/ Seth story)

Hello and Happy Fourth of July week! hehehe It is offically the summer month and it is HOT, HOT, HOT! It is nearly a 100 degrees in NJ right now!

It has been a week and I have not heard from Finn or hear of him. I’m a nervous wreck. It has come to the point where I would secretly sleep with a piece of clothing (particular a dirty one) that belonged to him. I would pray every night for him and through my prayers I would call for him, hoping he could hear me.

I felt utterly alone and broken as if I lost my husband in some form. At this point, no one could give me a striaght answer, and since the WWE has some of their best wrestlers over there, they are suffering in ratings. Now that Seth has broken his leg, they are suffering even more. I have to admit, Seth’s strength inspires me to keep going. I’m in love with it.

“Mama…” Liam called, “Yes, darling?” I asked.

“Is daddy home yet?” Liam asked.

I sighed, Liam knows daddy is in trouble and he may not be coming home for awhile. I closed my eyes knowing I have to lie to my son, “Soon…”

Liam groaned, “You said that yesterday…” I sighed, rubbing my eyes.

“Liam, come down stairs don’t harp on your mother…” Seth called. I heard Liam sigh as he made his way downstairs.

Liam likes Seth around it helps fill the void of daddy not being around. Finn is Liam’s playmate. Seth has been a big help with Liam. He likes to read to Liam and talk wrestling. Liam has told Seth ‘secretly’ he would like to be a wrestler just like daddy. Seth encourages Liam to follow those dreams. I spend my time at night with Seth when Liam is asleep.

I feel better around Seth. My worries go and I feel happy. I haven’t felt so happy in awhile. I laid next to Seth as we talked about work and watched RAW. We are struggling. Seth laid his head on my shoulder as we watched the roaring sand from across the world. I sighed, remembering my Finn.

I remember his warm smile, his strong, comforting hugs. The way he plays with Liam in the garden outside. Our happy life together gathered around holidays. The way he looks at me when I wear my sunflower dress. I miss his cuddles at night and how he greets Liam when he comes home from work. It’s always Liam first. The memories pierced my heart like a jagged edge. Leaving tears going down my face.

“(Y/N)...” Seth said, as I wiped my tears away. “What’s wrong?” Seth cooed, sitting up. I couldn’t hide it from Seth.

“I miss Finn…” I cried, putting my head to my hands.

Seth pulled me to him as he pushed my head to his chest to let me cry out my stress and worry. I tried to sob quietly for Liam not to hear. Seth caressed the back of my head. Caressing it lightly, hoping to calm me down.

“It’s ok…” He whispered to me, his voice soothing me. I lifted my head up to Seth who looked sad for me.

“It’s ok.” Seth said, repeated. He took his thumb and removed my tears with just one swipe. He gave a small smile as his thumb kept caressing my cheek.

I coughed before saying, “Im not crying anymore.”

“I know…” He said, indicating he just wants to touch my face.

He pulled my face to him and placed a soft and caring kiss on my lips. He pulled away then went back for more, going deeper into my lips.

I forgot why I was crying and an overwhelming feeling of joy and happiness came over me. I had not a care or worry in the world. Seth has taken that all away. He slowly pulled my leg to him, gripping tightly.

“Oh, you have no idea how long I wanted that…” Seth said.

“I bet…” I whispered. I glared at him. Seth placed a kiss on top of my head. I fell asleep in his arms, sleeping the entire night with him.

The next day, when I woke up, I had not a care in the world. I felt stronger like I can conquer the world. I had a small hint of guilt in me, but I pushed it aside. It was a one time thing sleeping and kissing Seth and I won’t let it happen again.

I manage to work with the creative team to make alternative storylines. We have to make this work as much as we could. I did it for Finn.

I ate lunch at my desk, I looked at the pictures of Finn and Liam like they were moving pictures. I sighed placing one of them down. I couldn’t look at Finn’s face. The guilt from last night has set in and I felt like all of my vows towards Finn had no meaning. I’m the biggest slut in the world and I deserve to feel like this.

“(Y/N)?” A soft and fimiliar voice came.

I looked up to see Seth walking with crutches. I was happy he was able to come today despite his limitations.

I got up, grasping him to me, I looked up and said, “Wow, you came today.”

“Yeah, um the doctor dropped these off right around the time I picked up Liam…”

My smiled disappeared as I said, “You picked up Liam?”

“Yeah, well I had to show I.D. and stuff but they let Liam go home with me...I hope that’s ok?”

“Yeah, um if you don’t mind you can have him until I come home” I said, feeling unsure leaving Liam with Seth.

“Really?” Seth said, with a smile.

“Yeah, I mean he can be a handful, but if you are up for the challenge?” I said.

“It’s not a problem, I’ll treat him like my own…” Seth glared down at me, his brownie eyes turning slightly gold. It didn’t frighten me, but trances me.

His hand went to my cheek and pulled me close, I thought he was about to kiss me, but he just smiled as if he just got the biggest approval in the world.

“Seth, about last night…” I said, I felt my lips trembling craving his again.

“It was the most memorable moments of my life…” his voice trembled. “I got to kiss the woman of my dreams…” I realize now I’m too deep into and all I did was dip my toe in. He smiled as he ‘walked’ away. I sat down at my desk in shock, I opened a can of worms.

My desk phone rang as I answered it, “Hello this is (Y/N)...” there is a lot of static in the background. Then suddenly through the static for a short moment I heard his voice. My Finn. My heart dropped to the heart as I stood up.

“Finn?!” I cried.

“(Y/N) you need too….can you….” then it went to voice tone.

“Finn! Finn!” I cried, pressing on the dial key. I sat in my chair feeling better, but also worried.

“(Y/N)” came Nattie’s voice, I looked up at her. “Did Finn call?” She sounded hopefully, but also confused.

“Yeah, it seems it.”

She sighed, “Lucky, I wish I heard from T.J.” She said, looking down. I nodded.

As I sat in traffic I fought back tears of heartache and I began to wonder of the strange occurrences that are happening around me. There are to many recall the one that sticks out the most is Liam’s drawings. Flashbacks of Balor erupted in my head, but quickly interrupted when the sound of horns came. Green light it’s time to go.

The house is filled with a Mexican smell, something we are not use to having. It’s always Irish food, always. The smell was a little unsettling to my nose as the spices burned it. I walk into my kitchen to find Seth cooking and feeding Liam. I’m in shock. Seth is cooking in my kitchen and I kind of like it. I sighed placing my keys down.

“Hi, mommy!” Liam cried hoping off the chair and hugging me.

It’s the first time I saw Liam so happy.

“Hi, darlin’” I said. I looked over to Seth who only smiled. I went over to him and said, “I guess your leg is all better?”

“Well, the last time I broke it I didn’t like spending time in bed, and I know you got your hands full with Liam…”

“I’ve played single mother before” I said.

“Yeah, but not for two weeks or more…” He said in a matter-a-fact way.

I sighed.

“Come on you must be hungry, please eat.” Seth begged as he placed a plate of food next to me. I’m hungry and I use to love Mexican food before Finn. It’ll be a change. I sat quietly for the most part next to Seth as we ate together.

“Do you like it?” Seth asked, with his mouth full.

“It’s delicious!” I said. I really liked it as a swarm of memories from my college years came back. It reminds me of the time when I was doing my Masters and I was pulling projects and papers out of my ass, hardly no sleep and any food in my stomach. Finn asked me what I wanted to eat, at first I declined his offer, but if I went on any further I was going to starve. I asked for a burrito, maybe Chipotle.

“A burrito it is!” He said. Finn went out in search of a Chipotle and brought me home a burrito. I smiled to myself still hearing his sweet voice in my head.

Seth standing on his leg was too much for him today as I helped him crawl to bed. He was in a lot of pain. “Maybe it’s best if we limit your mobility…” I said, sitting him on the bed. I reached over to the night stand. Seth put his head to his hand and sighed deeply.

I turned with curiosity, “What is it?”

“I’m just so tired.” He mumbled. “It is to be expect…” I said softly, as I helped his remove the leg brace. As I removed the leg brace he removed his shirt, exposing himself to me. That’s when I noticed the bruise.

The bruise was on his upper right shoulder, it look like someone took him and slammed him into something.

“Oh my God!” I gasped, caressing my fingers against the bruise, he flinch the moment my fingers grazed it. He quickly put on his shirt, obviously he didn’t want me to see it.

@igobypoet @mylittlepartofthegalaxy @finnbealor @finnabonthesinnabon @tina679 @soulofaravenheartofawolf @devitts-brat @calwitch @meremaidqueen @squirrel666

[bishiglomper]

Mom was supposed to drive me to my appointment. But she backed out saying she was having a bad mental health day and would be knocking herself out. Bro needs sleep so I called for my aunt to take me even though i knew she would have uncle drive. Bit it was 5 minutes away, what couod go wrong?

It started off horribly.

My house is cold. "Why dont you open the windows" (because the landlord lives next door and can see the mess inside) "why doesnt anyone do anything about it" because we all have mental and physical health issues that are bad right now and we're hardly functioning.

"You should see my poor 80yr old husband dragging the laundry basket around"

Queue uncles "Lazy begets laziness" lecture

At this point I am UPSET. I am OFFENDED AND PISSED but i don't do confrontation so im just sitting there with tears welling up. I have to get along with these conservative ableist assholes. They feed us every Sunday.

Do you know how fucking much i wanted to bellow at that fucker DO YOU THINK I LIKE FEELING LIKE THIS? THAT I LIKE LIVING LIKE THIS? THAT IF I HAD A CHOICE I WOULDN'T FUCKING GO DO THINGS, OR PICK UP MY OWN HOME SO I DONT FEEL SUFFOCATED BY IT EVERYDAY? BY MY OWN FUCKING BODY?

But I managed to hold out until i got to an exam room where i downed an ativan and prevented myself from hyperventilating and barely helfld out long enough to see tge doctor. I love her, she's a pleasant distraction.

Walking back to the car I still felt a little sludgey but had my faculties in order.

First thing uncle says is aunt needs to pick up meds, and I'll be taking the scenic route to give you a personal history lesson.

Ok...... I don't mind the trips down memory lane. But i wanted to get home. But they didnt really want my input literally saying i was at his mercy.

I tried to be good. I tried. SO fucking hard. I tried tuning him out.

I held my tongue when he said kids these days didnt know how good they had it. What caused me to snap was the Christian lecture. How everyones going to hell. I dont know, it just barely started when I very suddenly found myself SHRILLY yelling "PLEASE TAKE ME HOME"

Wha- "PLEASE TAKE ME HOME"

Dear god it was so loud and high pitched

And then i hyperventilated uncontrollably until we were back across town. The gasping died down to forcefull breaths by the time we hit my street.

From the moment I snapped my uncle uttered not another word. Even though I cant stand him it was embarrassing and definitely not the way id want someone to just. Stop their shit. He probably thinks? Knows I hate him. I mean, yeah, but I don't want that on my conscience.

This is my second full blown panic attack. I don't think I've had a legit one before the one at the ER a few weeks ago. Except that truly first one in 4th grade... That was probably a panic attack.

[daddyslilkitten100-blog]

Road Trip story!

I enjoy pet play. I enjoy it thoroughly. I am marketing manager and life can get very very hectic. So some of the most relaxing, sexy and stress relieving time i have, is when i go home to my loving owner, strip out of my people clothes, put on a tail and spend the rest of my time crawling around on my hands and knees and meowing, Curling up in my owners lap, lapping milk out of a bowl, and feeling my owner pull my tail and pound orgasm after orgasm out of me doggy style as i bite on a toy mouse, and purrr. When i was not a kitten i was a dutiful masochist slave, seeking tight bondage and hard hits.

However some times i have a hard time getting into it, i get so stressed that i cant get into my kitten space, and i cant really submit. This was one of these times, it was a big push to handle a large account and it was three weeks of stress and busting my ass for it. After which i was due a very nice long vacation.

My owner, my wonderful owner, had recognized my stress, and as all good owners do, accommodated. So on the first day of my vacation. He woke me up by pressing his finger on my lips.

"Shush now, kitten, we can do this one of two ways, i have something quite amazing in store for you, you can come along as yourself, and have an amazing time, or, you can come along as slippers and have the most intense, long term pet play mashed up with your masochistic side" Slippers was my cat name, and i couldent really resist, not what he was offering, so i replied "mew" He took me to the garage, still naked and sleepy, where parked was a small hitch compartment meant for moving, hooked to the back of his truck. He opened the hitch, and what i saw was an empty container with nothing but large heavy shackles chained to the walls with a neck harness, and a feeding tube. I took a step back, unsure, and felt his hand on the small of my back.

"Hang on slippers, we need to crate you, you remember your safe words" I shivered in nervousness, concerned, but i was not at a limit, i nodded and meowed, he pushed, and i resisted, as any cat would, but did not use my safe words, we both enjoyed the struggle, but soon enough i was in the cuffs and harness, he tightened the chains, and i was caught, stuck on all fours in the container. Like an animal packed for shipment.

Then he set up a baby monitor in-front of me, taping it down. Finally he came around behind me, and he lubed me down. First he inserted a new tail plug, showing it to me before putting it in. Then he slipped 2 vibrating eggs inside of my cunt. Making me gasp, finally he took latex tape, and used it to wrap me a pair of latex panties, holding in my plug and eggs. Finally, he added two new bars to my already pierced nipples that weighed heavily on my nipples. He stood back, and pulled out his cell phone, clicked it a few times, and then smiled, and hit a button.

Immediately, the two nipple piercings, the 2 vibrating eggs AND the tail plug, vibrated simultaneously, hard. If i was not already on my hands and knees i would have buckled. "MEEEEOOOOOW,  HISS HISS"

He smiled, shut it off, and made his way out, a small light popped on as he shut the door, so i was not in the dark.

Shortly after the truck began to move, and i struggeled to maintain some balance, as i heard the car hit the road, my nerves doubeled, but i saw the baby monitor and knew he was keeping an eye on me, so i calmed a bit. It was a long trip, we had started in the morning, and he kept going, after the first half hour, he turned my vibrators back on, but very low, and i scratched at the smooth metal floor as my body begged for something more powerfull, i was being kept just at a level of extreme arrousal. Bucking my hips, leaning into the neck shackle to choke myself a bit, it did nothing but make it worse, after an hour of that i started meowing out loud, complaining and begging alk at once, i was a cat in heat.

But it kept going, and my arms and legs where shaking hard, and i was a drooling animal by noon, when he stopped for the first time. I realized it had been hours since i had worried about the movement of the car. The tight bondage mixed with the god awefull bliss torturing my body had distracted me greatly from the world outside my mind.

He opened the container to an outside that was very obviously a country road, with a wheat field blocking anyone's sight into the container.

"HISS, HISS RRRRRRRRROWRRR"

I made my displeasure known as he made his way in, all while drool fell from my chin dumbly and my hips bucked unconsiously.

"Awww is slippers annoyed at the car trip? I know its difficult"

I wanted to say "no im annoyed that my cunt is on fire, i want to pounce you and claw your face as i rape your hard dick till i cum and then pop a squat on your face untill you beg me to breath.

What i said was. "HIsssssssssssssss"

Oh a temperamental kitten aren't we, okay this should help. He pulled out his cell phone and shut the vibration off. I breathed easier but gave a sad "mrow" as feelings of pleasure slowly ebbed, cunmimg would have been better.

He kneeled at my side and began petting me, i was still rather pissed when he started, but in a few minutes, the constant stroke of hos hand through my hair and along my skin, i was purring and melting into my bondage, relaxed.

"Okay lunch time"

My head was pretty much locked in position so i couldent move away, he shoved a robber hose quite forcefully into my mouth, and used a few straps attached to the tube to lock it on my head, it was a little passed my toung so i couldent even try and push it out, my eyes where wide, he pulled out a thurmus of somrthing and poured it into the metal funnel.

I could barely taste it, but it was pretty obviously oatmeal, milked down a bit to be a little smoother. My body jerked in reaction, immediantly wanting to pause the flow to swallow it one bit at a time, but i couldent move, i couldent even jerk my head away, though i tried. It was the most claustraphobic i had ever been in my life, because your body has an inherent reaction to having a full mouth, close it and swallow, but i couldent do the first part so i naturally did not feel like i could do the second one.

And the pressure built, and slowly, i allowed myself to swallow, which was the start of a chain reaction of swallowing, because every time her throat contracted, there was more pressing its way to get in. It was the most invaded she had felt in any of there activity, because a dick went in an out, so did a toy, but the food just kept going in to stay. After a few short minutes it was gone, and i breathed heavily in release as he freed the tube from me.

I felt a little numb, as I sometimes did when I was owned in a phycological way. I looked up at him with drowsey eyes and a full tummy.

“I know slippers, its pretty intense, but not as intense as the last hour of our ride. “

He showed me the cell phone, and the screen had two buttons, low and high. He taped the phone to the wall, and then tapped the high button. Then as all my attachments wound up into a high vibration, he walked out without the phone , and closed the door.

I did not feel the truck move, i did not hear the cars out side, or feel the bumps in the road. I hardly registered time. I just came, over and over, unill i felt my juices escaping the latex tape panties down my legs, untill i couldent tell if i was cumming from my nipples my ass or my cunt.

When it started it built quickly and stayed at a level of orgasm the entire time. Honestly, looking back, i think i had only one orgasm that started five minutes after he hit the high button, and did not end until we arrived an hour and 15 minutes later. I just remember being struck dumb as he left that cell phone behind, taped up so its the only thing i could stare at.

When we arrived, he did not shut off the vibrations untill i was completely untied. As my body refuzed to really do anything while cumming , i couldent fight hom as he let me go.

Then he shut them off, and let me rest in him lap as he petted me, and pulled all the vibrating things out of me as gently as he could, accept for the tail of course.

When i regained myself. He let me out, the destination was a large field of flowers way out in the wilderness, where i could be a cat girl in the wild as we camped for the next week. It was a massively amazing start to what would be a mind blowing vacation.

And i cant say i was not looking forward to the ride back either.