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thehighladywrites · 5 months ago

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ACOTAR MEN X READER, SITTING ON THEIR LAP

✩ summary: different scenarios where you find yourself sitting on them

✩ warnings: nsfw, 18+, mentions of sex, mentions of self-doubt, kissing, begging, gossiping, fluff, smut, crack, fun times and soft Eris😭💗

✩ amara’s note: the original cassian hc was so long that i had to stop myself bc i was thirsting and it turned into a regular oneshot lmaooo😭 anyways enjoy babes!!!!💗💗💗

reblogs are really appreciated! :D

RHYSAND

No matter how angry you and Rhys get or how petty the fight is, you two always end up holding hands, even while yelling at each other.

Sitting in his lap while you two argue about random, non important stuff is a standard

You guys just don’t do the whole “no touching” thing

Today, the argument was over who cooks better, both of you bickering pettily.

“Listen, I love you a lot, but the kitchen isn’t your best friend. It's crazy how you can burn an empty pot.”

“Maybe you’re crazy,” you retort, arms crossed over your chest as you step closer to him, leaning against his desk in his office.

He keeps arguing with you, going back and forth, while pushing his chair back from the desk to make room for you.

“Whatever, Rhys. I don’t even need to cook when I can summon anything. It’s stupid, and you’re being unfair,” you mutter as you put your hands on his shoulders and plop down in his lap, subconsciously warming at the way he holds your waist and places one hand on your back to keep you steady.

He suppresses a smile, scratching the back of his head as he looks up at your pouting self. “You’re absolutely right, sweetheart. I don’t know what I was thinking. Of course, you’re an amazing chef,” he concedes, his tone laced with affection.

“Awww, come with me while I make you something,” you say, flashing him an oblivious smile.

“Oh! Um, you sure we shouldn't order something or..?” he asks nervously, his voice getting higher as he kisses you.

You slip out of his lap and hurry downstairs to plan his meal, assuring him not to worry about ordering anything and to just come down for his favorite meal.

“Dear Gods,” he whispers as he gets up, a mix of worry and fear in his voice.

ERIS

Eris had been stressed out for a few weeks now. Nothing you said seemed to make a difference.

He was dealing with his father’s death, ruling a new court as the heir, and inheriting the High Lord powers. Your heart ached for him. You wanted to be there for him, giving him hugs and words of encouragement, but you were not on that level yet

Today had been the most stressful day yet, resulting in him shutting down and locking himself up in his bedroom.

“Eris, are you okay? Can I please come in?” you knock gently on the wooden door, voice hushed and gentle.

After a few moments of silence, you hear him shuffling behind the door until he opens it very slightly.

He is shirtless, only in a pair of pants. You manage to catch a glimpse of his tired, amber eyes before he turns around to lie in his bed.

The room looks clinically clean, the only disturbance being Eris’s rugged appearance.

Without saying a word, you walk over to him and give him a hug. It’s a long, warm hug that tells him everything he doesn’t allow himself to hear: you’re there for him.

It takes a few moments for him to hug you back, but when he does, he wraps his arms tightly around your waist, bringing you into his lap.

Only after an hour of silence does he speak

“I feel like i’m stuck. These powers are killing me, the board is fucking annoying, the folk believe i’m wicked and cruel and i have no idea what to do about anything.”

He looks up at you with desperate eyes, “Do you believe I’m truly wicked?”

You shake your head in honesty. “No, honey. I have not met anyone as smart, kindhearted and brave as you. Others do not know you like I do but they should,” you whisper, hands going through his tussled hair. “You’ve been hiding behind your mask for too long, Eris. Let people see the real you.”

The room goes quiet, the only sound being the beating of your hearts.

Slowly his lips meet yours in a new and experimental kiss. He stares up at you with his pupils blown but before you can apologize and get off his lap, he kisses you again and locks his arm around you

“Thank you,” he whispers between heating kisses, “Thank you, beautiful.”

CASSIAN

“Hi there sugar, what can I do for you?” Cassian asks sweetly as he flicks your nose with his finger, happy that you ran into his office and immediately plopped down on his lap

“Can you fuck me?” you ask, frustrated with the lack of dick lately.

His eyes widen slightly at your words, then he slowly cracks a handsome smile. “Gods. How inappropriate of you,” he teases, the amusement clear in his voice.

His teasing almost makes you sob. This was totally NOT the time. You almost roll your eyes before realizing he will so not give in if you give him that

“Cassian, i’m begging you. I want, no- need to be fucked. Please, i’m losing hearing in my left ear,” you beg as you get closer and sit in his lap, rubbing your hands all over his chest

He looked incredibly good, almost unfairly so. Cassian’s jaw and chin had grown scruffy in a ruggedly masculine way that made him look older and even more attractive.

A week without seeing him had only heightened your weakness for his body, making you throb.

“Losing hearing? You must be really dying for me, huh? Alright then. I’ll let you ride,” he smirks at you while unbuckling his belt.

He finally fucking let’s you fuck, hitting spots that makes you go fuzzy brained.

You make him promise to never be gone again before going for another ride, satisfied when he breathlessly promises.

LUCIEN

There is not a bigger shit-talking couple in Prythian than you two

One look between you two is enough.

Someone’s being annoying? You share an annoyed glance. Someone’s being rude? You share a baffled glance. Something’s juicy’s happening? You share a glance that says you will so talk about it when you get home.

“— and he has the audacity to two-time her? He’s lucky to find even one person willing to date him,” you gossip, lounging in Lucien’s lap, your voice dripping with disbelief.

“You’re not going to believe this, but this isn’t his first time. He did that to Tamlin’s cousin too,” Lucien adds, his tone filled with incredulity.

“No way,” you gasp in disbelief, shaking your head as the gossip sinks in.

“Yeah, apparently this guy fucks around in all courts and cheats on anyone willing to stomach. What a fucking loser, honestly,” Lucien nods in agreement, disdain evident in his voice. “The sick bastard gets off on it.”

“That reminds me, guess what I heard about Rhys in Rita’s yeaterday,” Lucien prompts, leaning in with a sly grin, clearly ready to share some gossip.

“Some males and females were talking about Rhys, saying he's replaced Feyre with a clone,” Lucien whispers, his tone laced with disdain. “And get this— they think her transformation from human to fae is fake and that there is no way she could possibly be the mother of Nyx.”

“A clone? They’ll say anything these days,” you exclaim, raising an eyebrow incredulously.

“That's exactly what I'm saying! They're probably just making shit up out of thin air,” Lucien replies, nodding in agreement.

“I wouldn't put it past them,” you say, shaking your head as you reach for a biscuit, happy to be sitting and gossiping with your love.

AZRIEL

Azriel loves when you sit on his lap.

It makes him feel safe and relaxed knowing you're close to him.

It's something he does every day when he comes home - having you in his lap. Sometimes you both sit quietly, other times you talk or fuck or cuddle, depending on how you’re feeling.

Azriel especially likes the fuck part.

He loves the part where you sit on his lap while he works. If you’re good, he’ll bend you over his desk and fuck you. If not, he still fucks you but he does it with no mercy

He makes you sit on his dick and tells you not to move and inch or you will be edged for hours, not being allowed to cum once

Fucking torture is what it is honestly

“Stop moving around so much, i can’t focus.”

“Do you blame me? You’ve buried your dick in me, of course i’m moving. Maybe do something about that.”

He raises his eyebrows at your snarky comment. If it’s something he didn’t need today it was sass.

His day was quite shitty and all he needed was his sweet mate who would kiss away his problems and take his dick perfectly

Azriel smiled slightly as he put his pen down. He would take out his frustrations on you today.

“You want to be fucked? Let’s fuck,” he says in a low tone

In the end, all his papers are scattered, all pens on the floor.

He is relaxed and all smiley while you’re on death’s door💗

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woodland-gremlin · 8 months ago

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Ancestor's Fury AU

( Inspired by @glow-in-the-dark-death and @vixen-uchiha )

The Infinite Realms are, well, Infinite. They are the doorway between dimensions and contain every after life. This includes the Krypton one.

When Danny learned that the Infinite realms contained the afterlife for aliens he didn’t stop gushing about it to Jazz for days. He was awestruck. Not everyone would stop to talk to this excited child, especially when they don’t know that he is the King, but some would, like the Kryptons. They were quite happy to talk to the boy king, especially when they could get updates on the last of their kind in the Living Realm. When they learned about the Anti-Ecto Acts and the role the Justice league and the last of their living had in it they were angry and confused. To learn about why the Justice League didn't do anything about the Acts they traveled into the Living Realm to find out. This is how they found out about how Superman treats Superboy.

When Danny first told them about Superboy they threw a party, after all they gained a new family member. Look at the baby, isn’t he adorable?! Traveling to the Living Realm and finding out he was a clone didn’t change that fact. Learning how Superman treats him for being a clone however opens the floodgates of their fury. They were already weary because of the inaction with the Anti-Ecto Acts and now he is calling the baby an “it”! Not happening on their watch.

Then they remember the boy king. The one who brought this to their attention in the first place and who has a clone he treats as family. So they decided to bring this to his attention.

Danny, when he learns of this, is furious. He knows what it is like to be cloned by your worst enemy in an attempt to replace you, but that is on the fruitloop who cloned you not the child who was dragged into their scheme and is as much of a victim as you are. He could never treat Ellie the way Superdouche does. For Ancients sake he was barely a teenager when it happened and yet he handled it better than a full grown adult superhero (not that he should be called that after what he has done).

In conclusion no one is happy with the news, especially Ellie. She is furious with how her fellow clone is treated and is definitely planning Superasses demise, though silver lining, clone buddy!

All of this leads to Danny putting a blacklist on Superman. No one from the realms can help him and are welcome to beat him up as long as no one else gets hurt. So when the JL Dark gets called to help because Superman keeps getting targeted by supernatural beings they refuse and explain the black listing. The JL then bullies John Constintine into summoning the Ghost King, who is his nephew, not that they know that, to retract the blacklisting.

Danny: Yeah no, can’t help you there. The ghosts hunting you down are not very happy with your parenting, and neither am I for that matter.

Superman: ??? I don’t have a son.

Danny: *sarcastically* So the kid running around with the moniker Superboy is someone else’s Krypton kid? Sorry, didn’t know there was another Krypton that survived the destruction of their planet.

Superman: It’s a clone, not my son.

Danny: *pissed* He is not an it! You may not consider him your son but the ghosts of Krypton do. Your parents thought the Kents raised you better than that.

Meanwhile, elsewhere:

Ellie: *tackles Superboy* Clone Buddy!!

Superboy: *surprised Pikachu face*

#danny phantom #dcu #dcxdp #dp + dc #dp x dc crossover #danny fenton #conner kent #superboy #ghost king danny #danielle “danni” phantom is called ellie #ancestor's fury au #superman #clones #ellie phantom #danni phantom

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kujiba · 2 months ago

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【Mew Mew Bitch】

୨୧ — ꒰ Cat!reader | they/them prounouns | Sagau | cultish behavior

reader who gets transported into teyvat.. As a half cat human

Mondstadt / Liyue / Inazuma / Sumeru / Fontaine / Natlan / Snezhnaya

After your (not so) calm trip in mondstat, you decided it was finally time to stealthy leave the city in order to experience the full time adventure!

Seeing that you were free, Aether then took the chance and offered you to assist him and paimon in their later journeys around teyvat.

Having the creator of the world be their travel companion almost made paimon completely faint from shock! But to you it felt like a silly little adventure, so you agreed.

The next stop being the nation of contracts, Liyue.

Tianquan of the Liyue Qixing; Ningguang had heard about your coming arrival and instantly issued the most luxurious and attractive looking gifts that fitted just for you, she could care less about the price, No matter what the costs it will be done without hesitation for her God.

Despite all the effort, it definitely left ningguang dumbfounded to watch you ignore the jewelry that she had brought which would reach over 100,000,00 mora.. For a life size cat stand that a worker gave as a small token.

Of course their god would prefer something like this, their body is legitimately a human with cat ears and a tail.

Scratch all the previous plans, they're going to have to make a different approach now in order to get your affection.

Ganyu, a adepti working under ningguang felt curious about your cat like traits, specifically your cat ears. Was it like hers but just more furry and soft? Are people allowed to touch them? She needs to know it all.

And so an idea popped inside her head.

Using very simple knowledge, Ganyu and Shenhe would then begin to often fish at Mt.Aozang in the very morning to seize as many fish as possible as a treat for you, this often turned into a competition in who would gather the most fish for their god.

One thing that's certain is that your love at resting in tall heights never fades, the Millelith would get an ocean of reports with countless of witnesses saying that they had seen their creator resting at the roof of wangshu inn making Xiao work overtime to catch you when you accidentally slip off the edge.

Other times would be that xiangling would have to guard you while you joined her in catching ingredients for her next dish. One moment you're eating raw fish straight from the river, the next you're getting kidnapped by some random hilichurls that spotted you from a distance.

The amount of times that you nearly encountered death was enough for hu tao herself to come and approach you, advertising her business to you with a 10% discount for first time customers. She then got scolded for trying to do such blunt move on their creator

Qiqi likes to follow you around, asking if she could touch your ears or tail out of pure confusion, she just decided that you were similar to ganyu and then asked for cocogoat milk. Once you feel something tug the base of your tail you already know who's doing it.

Zhongli has his fair share with animal type companions, so it didn't really bother him much whether you're a cat or human, you're his divine creator! What DOES bother him is that whenever in the open world, you would jump on the rock pillars he would summon WHILE there is an on going fight with an enemy

99 percent of the time you'd just fall off the rock pillar but thankfully land on your two feet like always. However, Zhongli was ready to drop everything he had on him to come and catch you in less than a second

Let's not talk about the mountains.

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dotster001 · 10 months ago

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When You Escape Him; Diasomnia

Summary: Yandere Diasomnia x gn!reader. He adopts a child that looks like the two of you. You run to give you both a chance at life. You never expected him to find you.

A/N: so, turns out the burnout was actually sleep deprivation. Who knew!

Heartslaybul Savannaclaw Octavinelle Scarabia Pomefiore Ignihyde Non NRC Staff

CW: major spoiler under the cut, but it does need a content warning, so if you want to see it, it's there, if not, skip straight to Mal's picture. yandere stuff, capture, forced sleep, implied past forced sleep, threats to innocents, Lilia is a shit in 3/4 of these,blood, implied previous injury, implied minor character death

Spoiler Content Warning: reader dies in Sebek 's part.

Three years into your relationship, he had come home and placed a baby in your arms.

"They were left in a box, all alone. And, well, he looks like if the two of us had a child," he sheepishly stared at the ground. "I just, I just figured it must be a gift from the seven."

You knew what he was trying to do. He was trying to tie himself to you through this boy. He looked just like him, and you were disgusted and scared.

Until he opened his eyes for the first time, and you found yourself staring into your own.

And you knew. You had to give this child the opportunity for a better life. A life without him.

In the end, your son did the opposite of what he had intended. And the first moment you could, the two of you had escaped.

Malleus had done something. Something unnatural. You'd at first kind of believed him. But the horns had started growing in on your son. This was your and Malleus' biological child. As unnatural and impossible as it was, you had no doubt.

The woman who ran the safe house had told you to put him up for adoption. She'd smiled sympathetically, but she told you in no uncertain terms that this child would damn everyone there. So either the child had to go, or you'd both have to go. She gave you until the next morning to leave. She'd send you with food and money, but you couldn't stay there.

But an hour later, as your son had summoned a storm with his crying, she had knocked on your door and told you she couldn't give you until the next day anymore. It just wasn't safe. And you understood, so you quickly began to pack, hastily hushing your infant son, who seemed in no hurry to stop crying.

You froze as you heard a boom. Not a boom from the storm your son had summoned. But a boom you recognized.

You heard screams in the safe house as vines crawled up the outer walls and windows. You looked at the sad little boy that you'd tried to save from a life in a cold palace, with a possessive and jealous father. You shouldn't have even made it this far. But that's exactly why you thought….

It didn't matter now.

You picked him up, and ran out of your room, straight out the door and into the rain.

“Malleus! Enough!” You shouted. “I'll go with you! Just leave them alone!”

Before you stood a huge dragon, surrounded by his army. But as the dragon looked down at you, its eyes softened, and he began to shrink back into the man you married.

He smiled wildly, extending his arms wide.

“Beloved,” he purred, momentarily forgetting his anger as relief filled him.

You walked slowly through the mud, ignoring the cold that seeped in your bones from the excessive rain caused by two separate storms. You took a shuddering breath and stepped into his embrace, fighting off a shiver of a different kind as his arms wrapped around you and your son.

“Don't hurt them. They're all just innocent people who need someplace to stay,” you whispered in his ear.

He pressed his lips to your ears, continuing to purr, as he said, “They tried to hide their king's spouse from him. They must face some sort of punishment.”

“Mal,” you said firmly, gently pulling far enough back that you could look in his eyes. “They weren't hiding me. They were about to tell you where I was.”

A lie. But the only way to keep the people in that building safe.

“I shall spare them then,” he hummed.

The change was instant. A flicker in his eyes that only you knew well enough to pick up on.

“Lilia, please escort my son home,” he ordered, his eyes not leaving yours as you felt the boy wrenched from your arms. Immediately, Malleus' grip shifted to your arm, and he dragged you along with him, straight into a glowing green portal…

Which led to a tower you recognized.

“Wait, no, no, I'm sorry-”

“If I don't punish you, how will you ever learn?” He waved his staff, summoning a stone table.

“Mal, please, our son-”

“You don't love him, but this will teach you to.”

“I do so love him!”

“Then you wouldn't have broken his family,” he said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

There was nowhere to run in the windowless tower, but you knew what came next. So you tried to yank yourself out of his grip, even if it was fruitless.

“What if he doesn't live another hundred years?” You cried as he wrestled you onto the table.

“He will. He has his father's blood.”

At least he admitted it.

His hand covered your eyes, a green glow beginning to fill your vision.

“He won't remember me,” you pleaded as your body began to grow numb.

“I'll ensure he does.”

You drifted off, falling into dreams designed to “open your heart.” Dreams where the three of you lived happily.

After another hundred years of that, surely you'd become the well behaved spouse he needed. And if not, he had a hundred more years to spend on you. And one day? One day his perfect family would be a reality.

You were elbows deep in another explosion your son had caused through his “science experiments” when you heard a knock on the door.

You blew a hair out of your face, before turning to your son.

“Can you get that, baby?”

He nodded quickly, happy to do anything to lower his punishment. You dug through some more goo (you didn't want to know what exactly he made) and finally found the bathtub drain. You pulled the plug and…

Nothing.

You groaned. Guess you had to clean it the hard way. Again.

You heard excited noises from the front door, and smiled softly. Your son's partner was prone to making surprise visits, so you figured he was telling them all about his latest explosion. Young love was cute. You hoped it stayed that way.

You pulled your goo covered arms out of the bathtub, and pulled over the bucket that had seen horrors. You began scooping handfuls into it, hoping that less goo would force the drain to go down, when your son came back to the door, looking ecstatic.

“Hey, um, there's someone here to see you.”

You smirked, and said, “Well, as you can see I'm a little busy. Tell them to wait.”

He shook his head vehemently.

“Uh uh, you gotta come see them now.”

The way he was bouncing up and down, it must have been Uncle Epel. He was the favorite Uncle, mainly because he always brought treats with him.

“Well, tell him if he wants to chat, he has to help me clean-”

No sooner had the words left your mouth when some familiar pink magic flew over your shoulder, and made the goo in the bath dissipate. You froze in your place, too scared to look.

“Easy peasy. Luckily I've had a lot of experience with kid's messes, fu fu.”

You were a coward, who was too scared to face fate. As though refusing to face it would mean it would never come up behind you, and wrap his arms around you, affectionately nuzzling your neck.

“How was your vacation?” Lilia hummed.

“That's my dad!” Your son interrupted, excitedly. “It all makes sense now! Why I look fae, why I'm so skilled at magic, why I have a hard time connecting with my peers…”

If Lilia was anyone else, you'd quickly explain it didn't make sense, it was just a sick coincidence. But with him wrapped around you like a python…

You weren't in a position to be dealing with broken ribs, again.

“Not only that, but you have a big brother!” Lilia said happily.

“I do!”

“He's probably downstairs waiting for you! Let's go!”

You couldn't blame your son for falling for Lilia's charms. You'd also made that mistake many years ago. Lilia excitedly took your hand, floating down the stairs while dragging you, your son behind you.

At the bottom of the steps was Silver, who was looking anywhere but at you. Lilia summoned a portal, and you were quickly pulled through it, followed by the two boys.

Your son stared in awe at the mansion that haunted your nightmares.

“We get to live here now?”

“Yes! I have a room all for you, Silver will show you the way, then he'll take you to get a new wardrobe.”

Your son took the stairs two at a time, then paused to look back at you, confused.

“Why haven't we been a family the entire time?”

You stiffened again, but Lilia was a wonderful actor.

“You see, your father is fae and loses track of time. I was supposed to come pick you up. I only just realized how much time passed. I'm so sorry.”

He turned to you, he laced his fingers through your hair, kissing you passionately. He pulled slightly away, whispering,

“Forgive me?”

In an attempt to ease whatever punishment was coming your way, you slowly nodded. You son beamed happily, then looked at you both.

“This is the best day ever! I can't wait to tell my partner!” He pulled out his phone, immediately beginning the call as he continued up the stairs.

“Well? Was that enough of a vacation for you?” Lilia asked coldly.

“How long-”

“Sevens, I knew where you were the whole time. Quite frankly, I'm insulted that you felt otherwise.”

He sounded genuinely insulted. Fuck.

“So…” you trailed off.

“I haven't decided what to do with you yet. You know how important you and my family are to me, yet you ran from me, and stole our son.” He grabbed you by the hair, forcing you to look into his eyes.

“But rest assured, if this happens again, I'll come up with a punishment that leans more…irreversible.”

“Y/N?”

Fuck. You knew that soft voice. It had a slight tremble of disbelief and shock, so you weren't surprised when you felt a hand gently take your chin, and direct it to a pair of gorgeous auroral hues.

You had thought enough time would pass that you would be unfindable. So here you were, at a cafe with your teenage son, thinking you were safe. What a joke.

“Y/N, where have you been? I missed you.”

You believed him. God, you wish you didn't, but you did. The problem with Silver was that he never knew what he did wrong. He didn't understand. To him, you just vanished one day, for no reason.

“Oh-” you started, but your son interrupted you.

“Hey, back off,” he said firmly, grabbing his table knife as though that would defend against Silver's sword fighting skills.

Or Lilia's anything, for that matter, as you realized he stood behind his son with a scary look in his eyes. A look you had experience with. A look that said, behave.

“S/N, don't,” you whispered, not daring to pull away from Silver.

“I'm not going to let him take you!” He stood from his seat, causing Silver's eyes to flicker over to him, and grow soft with fondness.

“You're all grown up!”

“Back off-”

“That's enough of that. I appreciate your loyalty, but it would be better suited elsewhere,” Lilia finally spoke, disarming your boy.

“Let go of me-”

“Father, please don't-”

“It's alright, Silver. I've raised two boys, I know how to handle a tantrum,” Lilia said lightly, pinning your son's arms to his sides. “As for you, young man, that's no way to speak to your father, or your grandfather.”

“We're not even related!” He shouted, and it was only then you realized the cafe was empty. They had planned this. Or, more accurately, Lilia had planned this, and probably surprised Silver.

“Enough. I'm putting you in timeout.”

He summoned a portal, and dragged your son towards it.

He turned back towards Silver with a firm look on his face, “Silver. Remember what I taught you.” And then he walked through the portal.

Silver held out a hand for you, and you swallowed your bile as you took it. You walked through the portal together, and found yourself in Silver’s room in the Castle in the Valley of Thorns.

He released your hand, dissipated the portal, and went to lock the door. You took the opportunity to sit on the bed.

Silver sighed as he stared at the floor.

“Father says that if I want to keep you in my life, I have to be more firm.”

He looked back up at you, something new swimming in his eyes. Something that frightened you.

“I don't want to hurt you. But today, seeing you for the first time in so long, I realized he was right.”

The frightening look wavered for a moment, as he said, “Why did you make my son hate me? Do you not think I'd be a good father?”

You sighed, remembering how easy it was to fall prey to Silver's everything. “If it were just you I had to worry about, I know you'd be a great father.”

“Then why…” the look cemented back into frightening again, and he stood stiffly, like a general deciding whether to spare an enemy soldier.

“I've given you a good life, a husband, and a family, but you are taking it for granted. You need to learn to appreciate what you have.”

That was all Lilia. Maybe if you had run away with Silver, you might have saved the last embers of your love for him. But then you might also be killed.

“I have arranged a cell in the dungeon for you. It's comfortable, but isolated. You will stay there until you learn your place.”

You fought to escape his grip as he dragged you down the stairs, pleading with him to see reason. But it was too late, and when the door was latched behind you, you couldn't help but wish you'd thought to try things differently.

You couldn't imagine how it took so long for him to find you. But as you and your son ran in the night, you wished it had been longer.

Ten minutes prior, you'd gotten a call from a wheezing voice you almost didn't recognize.

“Sebek…he…he's coming.”

“Lilia? What are you talking about? Where did you get my number?”

You heard a hard cough, followed by a tired laugh. “Who did you think was your fairy godmother? Run Y/N.”

The call hung up, and you grabbed a bag to start packing, only to hear a loud bang as your front door splintered. Your son had wanted to fight him off, but bless his heart he'd never win. So you'd both escaped out a window and ran.

You knew he was much too fast for you, but your son was fae as well, so he had a chance of getting away. And if you could just wear Sebek out…

You screamed out in pain as you felt something pierce you from behind.

You collapsed to your knees, staring down at the sword poking through your chest.

“No!” Your son screamed, and you choked back the pain long enough to say, “keep running!”

He looked at you regretfully, then angrily stared at something over your shoulder.

“I'll kill you!” He shouted, before running off, and disappearing down an alley.

You swayed from the position on your knees, your vision growing spotty. You turned over your shoulder, vaguely aware of a green haired man staring at you in shock.

Oh. That was Sebek! You had a date today, right? You didn't feel so good though, so maybe you should tell him you had to cancel.

“I… I didn't mean to,” he cried shakily, tears beginning to roll down his cheeks. You collapsed again, this time not having the strength to get off your side. He knelt next to you, and felt a sharp pain from something pulling. He laid you on your back, and pressed his hands to your chest, muttering something you couldn't quite hear. His voice sounded like water, moving in and out of your ears.

“Y/N…..don…please…I”

You nodded like you understood.

His hands came to cup your face. It must be raining, because his hands were all wet. You'd have to make sure Grim remembered to grab an umbrella before class.

You slowly lifted your hand to cup Sebek 's hands that were clutching your face. His cheeks were covered in raindrops, and he seemed to be trying to tell you something important. But you were so tired, it was hard to keep your eyes open.

You had a final moment of clarity, where you stared at Sebek 's broken face, and felt momentary pity for him. But maybe this would teach him something that he would never forget over the course of his long life.

And you thought of your wonderful son escaping this creature, and the black finally completely took your vision.

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goddessofvalyria · 3 months ago

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My sweet sister | Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Summary: After the battle at Rook's Rest Aemond came home to his pregnant wife. Aegon is injured, and Aemond is now the prince regent. His sister-wife needs him but he's concentrate about the war. She feels unwanted so one night she decides to seduce him.

TW: 18+, MINORS DNI, SMUT, She/Her pronouns, pregnant sister-wife, face sitting, oral (f), fingering, sex.

English is not my first language, be kind <3

This is my Masterlist

Words: 2,7K

The night is still and quiet in King's Landing, but inside the Red Keep, tensions run as high as they ever have.

The aftermath of the battle at Rook's Rest has left the realm in disarray, the death of Rhaenys Targaryen echoing through the halls of the capital. Aegon lies grievously injured, barely clinging to life, leaving Aemond to take up the mantle of prince regent.

For days now, Aemond has been consumed by matters of war - the constant strategy meetings, messengers flooding in with reports, and the looming threat of more rebellion. His mind is singularly focused on the task of holding the Seven Kingdoms together. Though he returns to his chambers every night, he seems distant, emotionally unavailable, his sharp focus entirely elsewhere.

His sister-wife watches him from across their shared chambers, her delicate hand resting on her swollen belly. She is with child, yet her husband's thoughts remain miles away. She feels neglected, forgotten, as if the man who once cherished her has faded into nothing but a ghost. He barely touches her now, speaks to her only in curt tones about the war or their children, the cold mask of duty draped over him like a shroud.

Aemond sits near the fire, pouring over maps with a furrowed brow, his long silver hair falling into his face.

The firelight flickers, casting shadows across the sharp planes of his features, making him look even more unapproachable.

"Aemond" she begins softly, but he doesn't raise his head. She bites her lip, summoning her courage. Her voice trembles as she speaks again, louder this time.

"Aemond."

He finally looks up, his single violet eye flicking toward her. "What is it, my love? Is something wrong?" His tone is cool, though not unkind. It's simply detached, distant.

She hesitates for a moment, then shakes her head, her silvery blonde curls catching the light. "No, nothing's wrong" she says, though the knot of loneliness inside her tightens. She takes a step closer to him, her bare feet soundless on the cold stone floor.

Aemond sighs, his eye drifting back to his maps.

"Good. There is much to discuss, and I cannot afford any distractions."

The word cuts deeper than he realizes. She clenches her fists at her sides, feeling the sting of rejection. She knows he is under immense pressure, but his indifference toward her is unbearable. She is his wife — his sister, his lover, the mother of his children. Yet, he treats her as though she is no more than another obligation.

The princess makes a decision then, one that feels reckless, even scandalous. But she cannot bear this icy distance any longer. She needs her husband back, needs to remind him of what they once shared. Slowly, she begins to undo the ties of her gown, the pale green fabric slipping from her shoulders. Aemond doesn't notice at first, still focused on the maps, the war, the chaos that surrounds them.

When she lets the gown pool at her feet, leaving her in nothing but the thin shift beneath, she takes a breath, her heart racing. Her hands move to untie the last layer, and she steps closer to him.

"Aemond" she whispers, her voice husky with something unfamiliar to even herself.

He glances up again, his expression unreadable. His eye briefly flickers down to her form, though it seems to take him a moment to register what she's doing.

When it finally does, his brows furrow in confusion.

""My love...?" His voice trails off as she takes another step forward, the shift sliding from her body.

The firelight dances over her skin, casting a golden glow across her soft curves. She stands before him now, completely bare, unashamed, though her heart thunders in her chest. Aemond stares at her, his usual control faltering for the first time in days.

"What are you doing?" His voice is low, but there's a note of tension beneath it, a crack in his stoic demeanor.

She moves closer, her hips swaying with a deliberate slowness, her eyes never leaving his. "I've missed you" she murmurs, her hands reaching out to touch his shoulder, to feel the warmth of him beneath her fingertips. "You've been away, even when you're here. I need you, Aemond. I need my husband."

He inhales sharply as her hands glide over his chest, her touch light yet insistent. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, he truly sees her not as the pregnant sister-wife waiting patiently in the shadows, but as the woman he once desired fiercely, the woman he loved.

His eye darkens with something more primal as she slides onto his lap, straddling him, her hands moving to cradle his face. "I know you've been consumed by war" she whispers, her lips brushing against his ear. "But I'm still here. I need you, and I think you need me too."

He exhales a ragged breath, his hand coming up to grip her waist almost unconsciously. The maps scatter to the floor as she presses closer, her body warm and inviting against his. His restraint, the careful mask he wears so well, begins to crumble as he feels her softness against him.

"My love, my sweet sister..." His voice is strained, thick with the battle between duty and desire. "This isn't... you shouldn't..."

She silences him with a kiss, her lips soft but insistent against his. It's not a timid kiss; it's full of yearning, of need, of everything she's kept bottled up for weeks.

Aemond groans against her mouth, the weight of his responsibilities momentarily forgotten as he pulls her closer, his hands roaming over her back, her hips.

When they finally break apart, both of them are breathless. Aemond's eye searches hers, as though trying to find his bearings.

"You're right" he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

"I've been away for too long." He tightens his grip on her, his fingers digging into her skin. "But not tonight."

She smiles, her eyes shining with triumph and affection. She leans in to kiss him again, and this time, there is no hesitation from him. Aemond surrenders completely, his war forgotten for the night. He's no longer a prince regent or a soldier in the endless battle for the throne. For this moment, he is simply a man, lost in the arms of the woman he loves.

Aemond's eye darkens with raw desire as he pulls her closer, his lips brushing against hers, yet his control, once unshakable, has utterly crumbled in the face of her need and his own long-repressed hunger. He leans back, his hands gripping her hips firmly, guiding her as she straddles him. Their kiss deepens, his fingers moving over her skin with a new urgency, tracing the curve of her spine and thighs.

Aemond’s hand slides down between her thighs, finding her soaked pussy. "You're wet, sweet sister" he whispers, kissing her neck as she wrestles with his clothes and tears his shirt off. "Shh" Aemond whispers calmly, sliding two fingers into her soaking slit.

She begins to ride his fingers, her juices dripping from her pussy, wetting his pants and forming a stain on them. She clings to him, moving her hips eager for his fingers, but Aemond has other plans for her.

When she pulls back to catch her breath, he's already leaning forward again, trailing kisses down her neck, murmuring against her skin, "I've missed this... missed you."

Her breathing quickens as his lips move lower, his hands now exploring her body with purpose. He gently pushes her back onto the bed, his violet eye burning with something untamed, his restraint lost entirely to the desire that has simmered beneath the surface for far too long. His gaze rakes over her, admiring her, but it's more than that. It's worship.

"You've been so patient with me" Aemond murmurs, his voice a low rumble. "But tonight, it's only us. I want to make you feel... everything."

His sister-wife's breath catches as his words sink in, and she feels a shiver of anticipation course through her. She's never seen him like this, so unguarded, so intent on her pleasure. When he presses a kiss just below her navel, she gasps, her fingers threading through his hair, tugging slightly as his lips continue their descendant.

"Aemond..." she whispers, her voice trembling with need.

He looks up at her, his eye locking onto hers with a predatory glint. "I want you to sit on my face" he says quietly, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

She hesitates for only a second, unsure of what he means, but then his hands are guiding her, urging her gently to straddle his face. Her heart races at the unspoken promise in his gaze, and she lets herself give in, positioning herself above him.

Aemond's hands grip her hips, steadying her as he looks up at her, his expression fierce with desire. "Let go, my sweet sister" he whispers, and then his mouth is on her, his tongue moving with practiced precision against her most sensitive spot.

She cries out, her hands clutching the bed sheets as a wave of pleasure crashes over her. Aemond's tongue moves in slow, deliberate strokes, teasing and tasting, drawing out every moan, every gasp, his grip tightening on her hips as he pulls her closer. Helena feels her thighs trembling, her whole body alight with sensation, her head spinning as he lavishes attention on her.

"Oh, gods" she moans, her voice a breathless whimper, barely able to form coherent words. Her hips begin to move of their own accord, grinding against his mouth, and Aemond groans in response, the vibration sending another jolt of pleasure through her.

He doesn't stop, doesn't slow, his tongue moving faster now, more insistent, as one of his hands slides up her thigh. She gasps again when she feels his fingers slide inside her, slow at first, then curling upward, finding the perfect rhythm with his tongue. The combination of his mouth, his nose pressing on her clit and his fingers overwhelms her, driving her closer and closer to the edge.

"Aemond-" Her voice is breathless, trembling, and she can't hold on any longer. She feels the tension in her core snap, her body trembling as she comes undone above him, her cries echoing through the chamber.

Aemond doesn't let up, continuing his ministrations until her body is spent, shaking in the aftermath of her release.

He gently lowers her back onto the bed, his lips glistening, a satisfied smirk on his face as he watches her try to catch her breath.

"Was that good, my love?" he asks, his voice a deep, satisfied rumble.

Sh still reeling from the intensity of what just happened, nods weakly, her body still trembling.

"Gods, Aemond... yes."

But he isn't done yet.

He moves over her again, his hands sliding up her body as he kisses her deeply, and she tastes herself on his lips. There's an urgency in his kiss now, his need for her as strong as ever. His hard length presses against her thigh, and she feels a new wave of heat build within her.

"Aemond, please" she breathes against his lips, her voice heavy with longing. "I need you."

He doesn't need to be told twice. Aemond slips off his trousers and pants, leaving him naked with a throbbing, wet, long, painful erection between his legs.

He positions himself between her legs, his eye locking onto hers as he slowly pushes into her. The feeling of him inside her, stretching her sweet, wet and soaked pussy, filling her, draws a soft moan from her lips. He moves slowly at first, letting her adjust to the feeling, but soon his pace quickens, his need for her overtaking him.

She wraps her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, her fingers digging into his back as their bodies move together. Each thrust sends a surge of pleasure through her, and she feels herself spiraling toward the edge once again.

"Look at me" Aemond growls, his voice thick with lust.

His gaze burns into hers, intense, unrelenting. "I want to see you when you fall apart."

She holds his gaze, her breath coming in short gasps as she feels the pressure building again, higher and higher, until it finally shatters. She cries out his name as she tumbles over the edge, her body clenching around him, pulling him even deeper.

Aemond groans loudly, his pace faltering as he finds his own release, spilling into her with one final thrust.

He collapses onto her, his forehead resting against hers as they both struggle to catch their breath.

For a long moment, there's only the sound of their breathing, their bodies still entangled. Aemond presses a soft kiss to her lips, his earlier intensity replaced by something gentler, more tender.

"I've missed you" he murmurs, his voice low but filled with affection.

She smiles, her hand sliding into his hair. "I've missed you too." She pauses, then adds softly,

"Promise me you won't leave me again."

Aemond looks down at her, his expression serious. "I swear it," he says, his hand cupping her face. "No more distance. I'll be here. Always."

Aemond lies beside her sister-wife, his body still pressed close to hers, both of them basking in the quiet aftersex of their reunion. Their breathing has slowed, the firelight casting a soft glow over the room, but the air between them now feels different - warmer, intimate in a way it hasn't been for months.

His hand moves tenderly to her belly, gently resting on the curve where their child grows, and for a moment, he is no longer the prince regent, no longer the warrior consumed by war and bloodshed. Here, he is only a husband and a father. He leans down slowly, his lips brushing the soft skin of her belly. The gesture is tender, reverent, as though he's touching something sacred. She watches him with a soft smile, her fingers running through his silver hair, and she feels her heart swell with affection for this man - the man who, despite everything, is hers.

Aemond kisses her belly again, more firmly this time, his eye softening as he presses his lips against the place where their child stirs within her. He lingers there, his breath warm against her skin, before speaking in a low, gentle voice, a voice he uses with no one else but her.

"My little dragon" he murmurs softly, his hand caressing her rounded stomach. "Your father is here, and I will protect you... both of you."

Her violet eyes glisten as she watches him, her heart full. There's a vulnerability in him now, something he doesn't show to anyone else, but with her, he lets the mask fall. He presses another kiss to her belly, his fingers tracing small, soothing circles.

"You will be strong" he continues, his voice filled with quiet determination. "Born into a world of fire and blood, but you will never want for love." He looks up at her sweet sister-wife, his gaze soft but unwavering. "I will make sure of it."

She smiles, her hand still cradling his head, her thumb brushing over his cheek. "Our little dragon is lucky to have you" she whispers, her voice thick with emotion.

Aemond closes his eye for a moment, letting himself feel the warmth of her words. Then, he kisses her belly once more, lingering there as if speaking directly to the life growing within her.

Her heart swells as she watches him, her hand still resting on his head, feeling the weight of his love for both her and their unborn child. For a brief moment, the chaos of the world outside fades away, leaving only the three of them - their small family, bound together in love and shared destiny.

Aemond looks up at her again, his expression softened by the love he can never fully express with words alone.

"'ll protect you both," he vows once more, his voice firm yet tender. "No matter what."

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thisisnotthenerd · 8 months ago

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picture this: you're a busy working mom whose husband died on the job under mysterious circumstances, leaving you alone to raise your young son in a town with none of your family or support network, at a job that will never pay enough, no matter how much good work you do. your son at once idolizes his father and resents him for leaving, and has channeled all of his energy into solving mysteries without regard for his health or well-being.

you watch him get bullied, watch him get into fights constantly as he searches for his missing babysitter and the other missing girls in town. he wears a nickname given to him by a bully with pride and tries so hard to impress his friends. you see him build up a group of friends, only for them to go to jail. after your apartment is attacked, you go with him to prom to take down his evil vice principal, who killed your husband on an impulse. you devour the dragon who killed your husband and it tastes like hollow victory, like revenge for the man you can't bring back.

the next year, your son goes on spring break with his friends after he gets accosted by an entity that used to work with your husband and some kind of mirror entity that leaves shards in your apartment. you don't hear much from him on the trip until you see a pit fiend choke him out and kill him, on a livestream. your son gives up his worldly possessions for the sake of defeating an entity that was raised for the sake of the status of an elven family.

your son comes back from spring break with the name of an eldritch entity tattooed on his chest and tells you his father died because the being he used to work with put a target on his back. your son met his dead father in heaven after he went to hell as a litigator for his friend. your son has been threatened with death for existing and come back.

that summer, the eldritch entity is summoned out of your son's body, and he spends the entire summer tracking down a cult and sealing the entity once more. you've left your (thankless) job to become a public defender for people like you, getting nothing for years of work, of doing your duty to bring home a little more for your son, and they won't give you your pension.

your son works himself to the bone for his friends, knowing he can't go to a good school unless he somehow ensures they all succeed. he does everything: perfect grades, every extracurricular, running the student government campaign for his friend, and he's still tracking down another missing girl. he gets dominate monster cast on him by the principal despite doing nothing wrong.

you chat with him in the car, driving to school, and he can't afford a moment of rest. people have been killed following the leads he's tracking, he warns you of the danger of following up and yet he still aims to find the clues.

and you wonder, is this all i've shown him? stretching yourself thin, never more than a moment's rest, and yet others don't appreciate it? after spending your lives in this town, and you're still goblins, still punished for the crime of existence, having to work twice as hard for half the credit.

they call him "the ball".

every day sklonda gukgak wakes up.

#dimension 20 #dimension 20 spoilers #fhjy #fhjy spoilers #sklonda gukgak #riz gukgak #d20 prose & verse #d20 poetic thoughts

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allthingswhumpyandangsty · 1 year ago

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🎃➷ 13 Scary Prompts for Friday the 13th ☾ 𓆩☻𓆪ੈ✩

1. whumpee is trapped in a dark forest with caretaker or whumper (your choice). doesn’t matter if they’re friends or enemies, they both have to work together to find a way out before midnight, because that’s when it awakes and begins to hunt.

2. two characters who are enemies are trapped in an abandoned asylum. they soon learn they aren’t alone in the building; or, patients who are locked up here — when the staff suddenly fled one day — are in fact murderous cannibals.

3. characters throw a Friday the 13th party, everything goes well until someone — an old friend — shows up, an old friend who’s been dead for years.

4. there’s a myth that goes “something bad will happen within 7 days if you kiss someone under the moon on Friday the 13th”. character A and B think it’s bullshit and do exactly that. they’re about to find out the hard way that the myth — the curse — is real.

5. whumpee gets killed on Friday the 13th and wakes up amongst the dead, all of them have also been murdered on Friday the 13th.

6. whumpee is kidnapped. in order to save their life, caretaker has to kill 13 people before midnight of Friday the 13th.

7. on the night of Friday the 13th, caretaker finds a black stray cat at their front porch and decides to adopt the cat. it must be a coincidence that people in the neighborhood start disappearing after this mysterious cat shows up.

8. every Friday the 13th, character A is visited by a ghost who claims to be their lover from the past life. the ghost can only communicate with them when it’s Friday the 13th.

9. character A is immortal… unless they died on Friday the 13th. their enemies know this. so all character A has to do is stay alive until midnight, easier said than done. it doesn’t help that they happen to have a lot of enemies.

10. character A is cursed, so every Friday the 13th, they will be possessed by a demonic entity whose goals are death and destruction of innocent people. to try to prevent this, character A has to chain themself up and lock themself inside their house. but the devil is smart.

11. the purge. I don’t need to say more, but every Friday the 13th, murder and all type of crimes are legal in this town.

12. a group of tourists visit a small village located deep in the woods. it’s a lovely, peaceful village with nice villagers. only that they all turn into bloodthirsty murderers every Friday the 13th at nighttime. too bad our tourists don’t know about this, they’ll find out soon enough though.

13. Character A summons a demon on a dare. they don’t expect it to work, but it does. only character A can see the demon, turns out it just lonely and wants a friend.

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jinjeriffic · 11 months ago

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DC x DP prompt/ficlet

Throwing my hat in the ring with this idea that has been doing the zoomies in my brain for days. The Tim/Danny Accidental Ghost Marriage to Fake Dating to Friends to Lovers AU:

Pariah Dark was a piece of shit. Before his imprisonment, mortals would sometimes manage to bargain with the Ghost King for scraps of power. One of the "standard" deals was to send PD a "Bride" to play with and feed on (because I HC he feeds on fear and pain) and what better way than a little mortal battery that couldn't get away from him? The deal was sealed with a cursed amulet. Now in one instance, the contract was never fulfilled (maybe the petitioner died before he could complete his half) and the amulet was lost. After Pariah was imprisoned and couldn't make deals anymore the knowledge of the rituals needed was gradually forgotten since they didn't work anymore...

Eventually the amulet gets dug up by archeologists (maybe in Egypt or Mesopotamia?) and ends up in a traveling exhibit in Gotham. A Rogue robs the place (Riddler? Two-Face? doesn't really matter). When the Bats show up to foil the robbery, during the fight with the goons a drop of Red Robin's blood gets on the amulet, there's a blinding flash of green light and the amulet is suddenly glued to him.

While everyone is dazed by the ghostly magic flashbang, Fright Knight pops out of a portal, yoinks Red Robin across his saddle and jumps back through the portal before anyone can stop him. Cue the Bats trying to frantically figure out what in the multi-dimensional occult hell happened and where RR went?!

Meanwhile, Danny is disturbed to receive a ghostly missive in his college dorm to tell him that his Mail Order Bride has been delivered to his Ghost Zone Palace and is awaiting him so they can consummate their Unholy Matrimony.

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

Danny: Wtf I have to study I don't have time to get MARRIED

Fright Knight: I'm sorry my liege, but according to the laws of ghosts, gods and magic you already ARE

Danny: Wtf. How did this happen?

RR: I would like to know that too

Danny: Oh shit, you're a superhero. Frighty, you can't just kidnap people! Especially not SUPERHEROES!

RR: While that's good to hear, I would really like to know about this supposed marriage..?

FK: I am not aware of the exact details, I was merely summoned to retrieve the Bride of the Ghost King. There used to be standard magical contracts for this, which went into effect when the Bride bled on the King's Token...

RR: Shit

Danny: Hold on, PARIAH got married? Multiple times??

FK: ...but we can always consult the Royal Archivist, if we can dig him out from under the several thousand years worth of paperwork that piled up while there was no King actively ruling...

Danny: Oh ancients, am I gonna have to deal with that?? I have exams to prepare for, dude!

RR: ...the dead still have to do exams? And paperwork?? *horror*

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

Some time and explanations later...

Royal Archivist: It took some digging, but I believe I have found the contract in question. You are one Timothy Drake-Wayne, correct?

Tim: Fml

RA: Ahem. The contract was sealed with your mortal blood, as is standard procedure. Congratulations, you are officially King-Consort of the Infinite Realms! Until death do you part, and all that

Danny: Can I see that contract? ...This isn't in English

RA: Oh dear, looks like we will have to schedule your Royal Highness classes in reading cuneiform/hieroglyphics

Tim: Okay, does it say anywhere in that contract how to dissolve it? What's the procedure for a ghost divorce? Fright Knight mentioned the previous king being married multiple times

RA: Well usually, when Pariah tired of a consort he would simply devour their soul...

Danny: Ewwwww I am so not doing that

Tim: I concur. I can't imagine my soul would taste good anyway

Danny: That's what you took from that??

RA: ...but when you die and your soul passes into the Afterlife proper, the contract will be fulfilled. As long as you're not resurrected again.

Tim: Nuts, there goes that loophole

RA: Until then you are the Consort and duty-bound to fulfill his Royal Highness' every whim; ghostly, spiritual, carnal...

Danny: *sinks through the floor in embarrassment*

Tim: Can't he just... release me from the contract? Take the amulet off me or something?

RA: Not without obliterating your soul, no

Danny and Tim: Fuck

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

Some time later, while Danny is away consulting other ghosts on possible ways of dissolving the contract, they discover the nasty little clause that if Tim isn't in regular physical contact with Danny the amulet starts draining his life force. To prevent victims from escaping you see... Danny really really hates Pariah right now.

They eventually return to the mortal plane to explain to the Batfam what the hell is going on and that they're still trying to fix it. In the meantime, Danny can't miss any more classes (studying areospace engineering at MIT or sth) and Tim has to stick close to him because of the curse...

Alfred: Oh dear, looks like Master Timothy will have to go to college after all *unflappable British Smugness*

Bruce pulls a lot of strings to fast track Tim getting his high school diploma and let him attend classes with Danny (he's not officially enrolled yet, but Money, Dear Boy). They never know when Danny has to respond to a ghost emergency or Red Robin to a Bat emergency, so they stay pretty much joined at the hip in their civilian lives. Of course there's gonna be rumors. Why did the Wayne CEO suddenly drop everything to go to college? So they make up a story about Danny and Tim having been secret boyfriends for a while and Tim becoming so smitten that he moves with him to Boston...

Cue the fake dates, interviews with magazines, couple photoshoots to really sell the bit... and the two young men gradually becoming friends... and then "Feelings?? But what do I do?? He was forced into this?" etc.

#dcxdp #dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dc x dp crossover #dc x dp prompt #danny phantom #tim drake #red robin #danny fenton #ficlet #batman #batfam #accidental marriage #arranged marriage

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nohoney · 8 months ago

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pt 2 for this dragon king! bakugou blurb

the bride that bakugou had stolen becomes his concubine, having you whenever and wherever it pleases him. he could summon you to his chambers at night and you were to go to him. if he finds you in the garden and wants to fuck you in the grass, you weren’t allowed to deny him. he beckons for you, you obey.

and you do so with enthusiasm, never denying your king as he takes whatever position he wants to fuck you in.

bakugou doesn’t care much for your affection and adoration, only really finding it useful that he has an easy hole to fuck whenever he wants to seek out some relief. it doesn’t even matter to him when you thank him for when you cum during frenzied and unloving coitus. all that matters is that he fulfills his own satisfaction and he does not owe you any scrap of tenderness.

his coldness does not cool the warming affection that you so clearly have for him.

no matter the degrading names he growls at you when he has you pinned to his bed, the rough handling of your hair when he fucks his cock into your mouth, he hadn’t even preserved your decency when others would occasionally stumble upon you when you were with the king—no matter the lack of courtesy he hardly gave you, you never once showed any resentment to his treatment.

if anything, you were always grateful.

it truly shows how much you must have dreaded and hated the man who would have been your husband had bakugou not come on your wedding day to slaughter every person on sight.

there was never any complaint from you, not when bakugou pushed you away once he was done, not when he looked at you sometimes in bewilderment when you gave him lovesick eyes, and certainly not when he allowed the rare times of you sleeping in his bed so that he could fuck you again later instead of summoning you again.

he never gave any thought to you being more than a warm body for him to use. it was his right as king after all, to determine your worth and what value you were to him.

but there’s day he’s cut with a poison knife while he was out in battle, writhing sick in his bed and sometimes screaming from the agony from the burning wound. he was tended to in all areas needed, everyone fearing for the health of their king and praying to the gods to expel the poison from his body and to leave their king in health.

bakugou was bedridden for more than a fortnight before he was finally feeling some semblance of relief. the cut had left a scar on his body but his health had proved stronger. still, he was advised to carry himself carefully for the next few weeks.

“that girl you picked up, the bride, you know she almost tried to kill herself?” kirishima told him one day when they were in the caves to look over the new hatch of dragon eggs. bakugou eyes him from the side and says nothing, but he’s curious to know why you were trying to harm yourself. “she thought you were going to die. kept on saying that if you were no longer on this realm then there was no point of her existence as well.”

bakugou makes no comment, only quietly nodded his head and picked up a green dragon egg, still slimy from being expelled quite recently.

later that night, you’re summoned to his chambers, resuming your duties and riding on top of him. it’s a relief to know that he is alive, to feel that he is well enough to have his desires taken care of, that he still lives on and that death tried so hard to take his soul but had been unsuccessful. your moans are soft as you move your hips, grinding deeply as you fully sit on his cock and feel the tip press into that weakening spot that has your eyes fluttering.

“oh! oh gods…!” you groan as you move up and down on bakugou’s cock, bouncing on top of him and bring him to the plane of pleasure that he seems to have entrusted you to at this point. it was the only thing he seemed to assign you to and you were nothing but grateful to have this role.

you’ve never bothered to announce when you could feel an orgasm rising up in you, bakugou doesn’t fuck for your pleasure after all; only his own. it’s rising up though, making you dizzy with pleasure and has you riding harder, the wet little squishes and splashes from where you are connected to your king making you so happy. because when you’re cumming this much, he’s not that much farther behind you. and you want to make him cum, you want your king to cum, just about to hop off so that you can finish him off with your mouth—such as the routine.

instead you’re surprised when his hands grab at your hips, lifting you off his cock. it slaps against his stomach, shining wet from what you can see from the candlelight and you’re confused why he had taken you off of him. had he been unsatisfied? perhaps he was in pain and he couldn’t finish?

“c’mere, up here.” he mumbles and directing you with a nod.

you hesitate at first, unsure what he meant for you to do. “my king?”

“want to taste you.”

it’s a first he’s ever said to you. in the entirety of you belonging to him since he had stolen you from your wedding day, bakugou had never bothered about your pleasure. he only acted in ways that delighted him—choking you, striking your rear as he fucked you from behind, even occasionally pushing a single thick finger into your asshole. you had never asked him to service you in anyway, you would never dream of making such a request.

but you hesitantly obey, hovering over him and yelping when bakhgou’s strong hands force you onto his face. his mouth messily licks at your cunt and it shocks you how good it feels, gasping up at the high ceiling of his room and throwing your head back. your hips move of their own accord, grinding against his mouth and his chin is slick from his saliva and your juices dripping from the pleasure.

an orgasm is rising up again, less intense than when you’re getting fucked but you recognize it getting ready to burst. you dare to grab onto his ashy, blond hair for stability. a drawn out, pitched moan is sung up to the ceilings as you cum. your body tenses and shakes, seeing stars litter your vision and you almost fall back but manage to catch yourself.

you try to catch your breath, blinking and keeping in your small little moans. and then you look down at bakugou, almost startled to see him just as overwhelmed as you. the flush on his face is something you had never seen before but you choose to make no comment. you slowly move off of him, still needing to do your duty and making sure that he’s satisfied but you find that he’s already done it himself.

his hand was on his cock, now starting to soften, and he had spilled his seed onto his stomach.

“clean me up.” bakugou orders gruffly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. you find your discarded dress on the floor and use it to wipe down his stomach and cock. you start to get ready to put the dress on so that you can return to your chambers but you’re given another order, “put that down and stay here.”

you’re obedient, letting the dress drop back onto the floor and laying back into the bed. the softness of it feels good against your back and it’s warm thanks to the heat of bakugou’s body. in the dim candlelight, you can see the scar of the cut that almost killed him. it makes you emotional almost, the anxiety and despair that had almost swallowed you whole had he not survived.

you chance moving yourself closer to him, closer to your savior, leaving the smallest gap that you feel would not offend him. “rest well, my king.”

bakugou grunts in acknowledgment, his eyes shutting and listening to your breaths become even as you drift to sleep first.

#bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou smut #dragon king bakugou

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fairyysoup · 2 months ago

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the devil i know

chapter four: can't turn water into wine, never asked you to

(repost)

fic tag | fic playlist | fic masterlist

pairing(s): crossroads demon!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: Eddie tries giving you space, but then your fucking ex shows up.

cw: animal death, trauma, depictions of physical and emotional abuse, attempted physical assault, bullying/harassment, violence, deal with a demon, inspired by american and european folklore, sacrilegious themes, dead dove: do not eat

please check masterlist and individual parts for content warnings before reading. this fic contains dark themes. this entire work is explicit. your media consumption is your own responsibility.

ALL OF MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

You don’t see Eddie for days. And you don’t know how, you don’t know when, but he got you the promotion.

Colin mysteriously quit. Out of nowhere, he left a message with his resignation for the owner to deal with. You remember that Eddie said he visited Colin, and all the tip money he gave back to you sits in your bedside table like an omen. But you don’t know how he could have influenced you getting Colin’s promotion.

All the while, the mark on your wrist makes itself known each time you think about it. Eddie. You find yourself running your thumb over the raised scar, tracing the letters as the image of a fiery volcano sweeps through your mind.

There’s a certain comfort to having it. Sometimes it throbs with your pulse, almost as if to let you know that he’s there, his infernal heart beating in time with yours. He’s still around, watching over you in some way, even if he isn’t lingering in your doorway or popping into your dreams.

When you’re getting into your car for your shift, and a warm breeze rattles the leaves in the trees with the slightest scent of smoke on it. When you’re clocking in, and your name tag says manager, and the mirror over the sink in the back flashes a pair of glowing eyes back at you in your reflection. You can still sense him with a quivering in your gut that urges you to run for him, like it always does when he’s around, doing the devil’s work, wreaking havoc on your already compromised moral compass.

It’s him. He’s there. He’s looking after you, but he’s holding back. He’s waiting for you to ask for him.

You start to miss him. It hits you most when you’re at home alone, sleeping on your couch rather than your bed because you want to be there if he appears in your doorway again. Anxiety and desire flip flop in your body. It ignites something in you, makes you shiver even when your body goes hot with want.

And of course, you’re attracted to him. Stupidly. Predictably, you guess– you’ve always liked power. You think you developed some idiotic crush on him the night you made that deal. His eyes like two glowing beacons, seeking you out in the darkness. You never felt scared of looking back into them, because he went out of his way to make you feel like you held as much power as he did.

Of course, everything you’ve been through since the deal, and the prospect that you’re going to fuck him– because it’s not a matter of if, it’s a matter of when– makes your desire for him even worse. You feel like a new bride two days from her wedding night. The virginal maiden on her way to bed the horned god.

Well, you’re not a virgin, but you sure fucking feel like one when you think about the prospect. And he’s not a god, but he sure feels like one to you. You’re full of raw power that he’s given you, pulsing in your veins. And now you have to lay here with it, with his presence even when you can’t see him, and it feels good.

To be completely honest, you start to look for him– peering around corners in your house, glancing at doorways and hoping that he’ll show up in one of your dreams. You don’t know how to summon him. Do you have to go out to the crossroads and cast a circle and make a petition again? Do you have to break down in tears? Or is it just as simple as saying his name?

For some reason, you don’t attempt it. You don’t want to be disappointed if you do it wrong.

Then, during one of your shifts at the diner, the mark burns hot under your skin. Just for a second. Just enough to make you jump and drop a cup you were wiping dry, shattering the mug across the kitchen floor.

“Whoops,” you laugh, trying to play it off as just a silly little butterfingered moment. It’s a slow day, and nobody is moving particularly fast or looks like they care, but you glare down at the tile floor as you sweep up the mess. The mark hasn’t burned that hot before, not since it was given to you. Granted, you’ve only had the mark for a week, but this is the first time it’s really made you flinch.

A bell jingles over the front door. You wipe your hands on your apron and duck out of the kitchen doors to greet whoever it is– but, of course, you stop.

“Andy,” you say, your voice flat. The mark throbs obnoxiously against your wrist, bringing your awareness to it rather than the man in front of you.

A cold chuckle greets you, along with the foul stench of the fucking cologne he always douses himself in. You take one whiff, and then start breathing through your mouth before you gag; one part of you hoping he doesn’t notice and take offense, the other wishing that he would. He steps up to the bar counter, his blue eyes going beady and sharp. His brown hair, which had always had a certain unattractive chalkiness to it, is tinted almost blue in the light coming through the windows.

Andy wasn’t terrible in the beginning. Actually, he’d been really likable. Sweet, even, and charming. He had been kind, and he was smart and funny, and he laughed at your stupid jokes and he went out of his way to make you feel special. You would stay up late into the night talking for hours, seemingly never running out of things to say to each other. He told you to your face that he didn’t like bigots, and he stuck up for you when other people in town called you a ‘freak,’ or a ‘Satan worshipper,’ or what have you. You felt safe with him. Until you didn’t.

Andy’s really good at intimidating you. It started a little too late in your relationship for you to notice the warning signs; the passive aggression, refusing to talk to or even look at you if he was mad about anything, whether it involved you or not. The denial, blaming you if you brought up how unfair he was being. Controlling your interests by getting angry and taking it as a personal affront if they didn’t line up with his own. You were just so happy that someone was willing to get close to you in this town, was willing to love you, that you overlooked all the red flags.

By the time you noticed your own behavior towards him– instinctively avoiding eye contact, being afraid to set boundaries for fear of retaliation, waiting for him to say his opinion before you shared your own so that you didn’t inadvertently disagree with him– you were convinced you were making it up. Or that it was your anxiety talking. He didn’t mean you any harm. How could he? He said he loved you.

Until he kicked you out of the apartment. Until he hit your dog with his car. It still rips your heart out when you think about it too hard– your stomach flips and you feel like vomiting. The wound is still too fresh, even six months later. Things like that don’t heal quickly, they fester and they burn and they ache until they poison you, or worse.

He left you to bury Lacey, your five year old Dachshund, in the woods on your own, sobbing and swearing you’d never forget her. And you haven’t.

You tried. You went into the woods, under a waning moon. You bought a pig’s heart from the butcher shop, you drove three rusty nails through it. You bound it in black twine. You buried it with a picture of Andy and when you covered it with dirt, you spit on his “grave.”

It didn’t work.

It only seemed to backfire, actually. Now, he refuses to leave you alone when you just want him gone. He comes around the diner to sit and nurse a cup of coffee for three hours, while berating you for not paying enough attention to him. You can’t imagine the thought process going through his head, if there is one at all. Maybe he thinks he’ll win you back this way, or maybe he finds it entertaining to watch you squirm.

Ultimately, all it does is remind you of what he did to you. What he took from you. You have wrath welling up inside you, the likes of which could level cities. If only you could set it loose.

“Why haven’t you been answering my calls?” he asks you bluntly as he takes his usual seat at the bar, right by the door. He flashes you a smile that may be an attempt at charm, but it only strikes you as menacing.

“Because,” you say through your teeth, “I’ve been busy. I got promoted.” You don’t mention that you changed your number because you were sick of his long winded, drunken phone calls filling your inbox with filth.

“Good for you,” Andy says, eyeing the word manager on your name tag. Staring you down is his favorite intimidation tactic. It makes your heart lurch up into your throat. “You’re really moving up in the world, aren’t you?”

You don’t say anything. You don’t have to fucking justify yourself to him anymore. At least, that’s what you try to tell yourself when you feel yourself about to, averting your eyes. Your mind screams, ‘Look at him! Look at him!’ as though it would make any kind of a difference. It’s all rendered completely redundant with one look at his face. It won’t change how much he scares you.

Andy readjusts the cuffs of his brown leather jacket. With his tight blue jeans and motorcycle jacket, and his pin straight All-American haircut, he resembles something out of Happy Days. It’s almost as if he’s suddenly concerned with his looks. He never has been before– he’s minorly handsome and always rather plain looking, unassuming, unfussy. You counted it as a blessing, once, but now it just doesn’t lend anything good to his appearance. Andy’s just plain, and his ugliness shows on his face now, especially in his eyes. There’s nothing warm or pretty about him.

Not like Eddie .

“You know my order.”

So, you’ve been dismissed. You turn away and disappear into the kitchen, and let out a long breath. Eastwick is a tiny town, boasting only a couple thousand people at the most. Your diner is on the main drag, and people around here don’t like to linger when you’re on shift. Of course, Andy would be the only customer you get at this time on a Monday, but that’s because he supposedly knows you better than most.

If only he knew.

Your wrist throbs. Your head is whirling a mile a minute, There’s a migraine coming on, you can feel it at the base of your skull.

While your shaking hand holds his cup of coffee, your vision blurs, and you accept that you must be having a panic attack. The lights are too bright, the smells are too strong, everything is too loud and you can feel yourself vibrating from your fight or flight response, all your adrenaline pumping into your limbs. Your fingers clutch at the burning cup of coffee in your hands and zero in on that sensation rather than anything else.

Oddly, you find some comfort in it. It reminds you of Eddie. His touch. The fire in his eyes.

You’re so strong. Just look at what you can do.

You jump at the sound of Eddie’s voice in your ears, almost as if he’s standing right behind you, whispering to you. Your eyes refocus on the ceramic cup in your hands. The liquid inside it is boiling. It bubbles over onto your fingers, but somehow, you don’t feel it.

“Holy shit,” you whisper, setting the cup down onto the coffee station. The bubbles recede. The coffee steams, but settles into the cup.

Fingers twitching, you glance around to make sure nobody else in the kitchen noticed what just happened. Satisfied that no one is looking, you reach forward and wrap your hand around the cup again.

The bubbles start again as the coffee rapidly begins to boil.

“Shit, shit, shit–” You hold your hands out, examining your palms. There’s nothing that seems wrong, no hellfire emitting from your fingers. Nothing to suggest that you’re making things inexplicably boil with your touch, just a semi-warm feeling beneath your skin.

You stand in place, trying to decide the best thing to do. If you touch the door, is it going to go up in flames? Or are you only able to make things boil? Are you going to burn the entire place down? You’ll be collecting your final paycheck written in ash, because all the pencils have been scorched to a crisp. And everyone in town will continue to talk about the witch who burned down the Eastwick diner, just like everything else they’ve accused you of for years.

“Can it, um–” You frown, trying to figure out how exactly to make your hands stop being weapons of mass destruction. “Can we just not do that, right now?”

Fine.

You tentatively reach out and touch the cup. Nothing happens.

You sigh in relief and feel like a massive weight has been lifted from your shoulders. You aren’t nearly as nervous as you were before. Apparently, having your hands magically turn into bunsen burners will kill a panic attack in five seconds flat.

You collect the cup of now burnt coffee and the dish of creamer and sugar packets. Best to just move on, behave like normal, right? Your hands definitely didn’t just boil something on their own. You’re definitely a normal person with normal connections to the great beyond. You definitely don’t have a demon telepathically communicating with you, somehow.

You slide the dish and coffee in front of Andy, still refusing to look at him. “Careful, it’s very hot.”

“Yeah, it’s coffee.” There’s a sour note to his voice to let you know that he’s annoyed. He’s always annoyed with you.

You turn to leave, but a hand grabs your arm roughly. You breathe in the sour stench of his vinegary cologne, and you really do gag this time. It reminds you of toxic waste and rot. “Andy, what–?”

“What the fuck is this?” Andy yanks your arm across the counter, staring down at your wrist. Fuck. “You seeing someone? You got a new boyfriend?”

Yes. “No, I–” It’s complicated.

“Who the fuck is Eddie?” Andy spits, squeezing your arm a little harder. You whimper, your heart hammering in your chest. His voice is cold, growling at you with anger and disgust. “You let him carve his fuckin’ name into your skin?”

“It’s–” None of your fucking business. “That’s not what it is.”

“Yeah?” Andy snarls, his rough hand pulling you closer. “You just let any random guy carve his name into you like that? You fuckin’ freak?”

Does that look like it was carved, dipshit?

You try to yank your wrist out of Andy’s hold, but it’s too strong. You try to keep your voice down so that you don’t attract any undue attention from the back. “Andy, stop–”

“What if I do that, huh?” Andy’s other hand comes up over the counter, and he flicks open a pocket knife. The blade is tarnished and old, but no less sharp. You remember watching him throw it at a dart board more than once. His smile mocks you. “Think it won’t mean shit if I do that?”

Burn him.

Your heart pounds so hard you can hear it in your ears, your hands shaking. Andy presses his knife into your wrist, over Eddie’s mark, until blood wells on the surface of your skin.

BURN HIM.

You wrap your hand around Andy’s forearm, trying to pry him away from your own wrist. There’s a sizzling noise, a smell of burnt hair and skin– and then, Andy screams.

He flies back off of the bar stool, clutching his wounded arm, while you try to scramble away from him. Leaning back against a wine cabinet, you pull your aching wrist protectively toward your chest.

Good girl.

Andy’s arm has your handprint burned into it. He whirls on you with wild eyes. “What did you do to me, you– you witch?”

Two of your coworkers burst through the door to the kitchen. So much for not attracting attention. Raoul, one of the line cooks, looks at you for direction of some kind.

“Raoul, please show Andy out of the diner,” you say with as much confidence and authority as you can muster, even though your voice still trembles. “He isn’t allowed back.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

Raoul starts ushering him out, a large hand clapped onto Andy’s shoulder as he gruffly announces, “If I see you back here, I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.”

“This isn’t over! I should have known they were right about you. They were all right about you,” Andy spits. “Stupid fucking bitch.”

Seething, you look down at your wrist. There’s a horizontal line cut across Eddie’s name. It makes you angry. Positively fucking livid. The most possessive part of your soul rears up, making your heart ache to see his mark defaced in any way.

He’s yours as much as you’re his. The contract said so.

You raise your eyes, and you look at Andy through the front window of the diner. Directly at him. He’s glaring back at you, and this time, you don’t avert your eyes. You don’t look away. Not when the glass on the windows starts to shake, almost imperceptibly. Not even when Andy flips you off, and throws open his car door.

And the car explodes. Flames erupt from the undercarriage, throwing the entire thing into the air for a second. Shrapnel flies, glass bursts from the windows of the car. You don’t see where Andy goes. There’s nothing but a great plume of fire in the air, a loud KABOOM that rocks the ground.

A few of your coworkers scream. Raoul instinctively guides you to duck under the counter, but the car is too far away from the building for that to make any kind of a difference.

You lift your head to look over the counter, at the blazing remains of Andy’s car exhaling smoke into the air. Your thumb runs protectively across Eddie’s name on your wrist.

When you look down at it, the cut that Andy made across it is gone.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #tdik!fic #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #demon!eddie #demon!eddie munson #roses*

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a-raven-of-their-word · 1 year ago

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A personal life motto: Don’t be a pussy, dress like you’re gonna get isekai’d.

#dress how you want #autistic adult #adhd adult #isekai #dress like someone about to get isekai’d #dress like you’re gonna get isekai’d #prepare for the worst #prepare for the best #be chaotic #chaos #have fun with your fashion #fuck normal #be fabulous #does it matter if it’s death or summoning?#not really #dress for success #be prepared

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muddyorbsblr · 17 days ago

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the brink of eternity pt1

See my full list of works here!

Summary: You arrive in New Asgard to its citizens rebuilding from the wreckage brought on by the god butcher's attack

Pairing: Loki x Sorceress!Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Warning/s: language (like 2 cuss words…still not sorry, Rogers); canon-divergent up the damn wazoo; mentions of major character deaths; mention of injuries; allusions to cancer; my still rusty af writing [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: assumed unrequited love; Reader is a magic-wielding Avenger that trained in Kamar Taj after the events of Endgame

It had been a while since you went to visit the town that was once known as Tonsberg, but even when Thor in his tragedy-driven downward spiral and Val were surrounded by wood and bricks and cobblestone still waiting to be put together and turned into a new home for the thousands of now homeless Asgardians, it didn't look this…desolate.

Charred wooden planks were dumped onto the middle of the street along with other torn and shredded belongings from the affected homes. The citizens, their soot-covered faces a mix of distraught and exhausted, gave you barely a passing glance even as they clocked your clean clothes, bag slung over your shoulder.

From what stories Thor and Loki shared before, Asgardians were notorious gossips. They seemed to always find a way to whisper amongst themselves when something intrigued them even in the slightest, no matter the circumstance.

Almost always, it seemed, as today felt like the exception to that rule. Their gazes were fixed to the ground, the eerie quiet buzzing of the town comprised of sniffles and shaky breaths. Sounds you were achingly familiar with, hearing them all around you when half the world turned to dust just over half a decade ago.

Sounds of people frantically trying to get hold of their families on the phone, bracing and fearing for the worst.

"Y/N?" Val's voice pierced through the quiet, all heads turning toward her and the whispering intrigue finally starting amongst the villagers.

Our King knows this stranger, they said. You paid them no mind as you walked toward her and let the warrior king pull you into an embrace. When her wince at the contact hit your ears, you grasped at her shoulders, looking her over frantically.

"What happened?"

"You know how it is, my friend. Stab wound, kidney puncture, same old song and --"

"Stab wound?!" you raised your voice to a near shriek, even more panicked over her nonchalant delivery. "Val, what. Happened."

"God killer," she sighed. "Well, he prefers to call himself a god butcher, wields the Necrosword hellbent on making sure that the gods no longer walk this or any other realm." She motioned toward the distraught citizens. "He took the children to lure Thor to him because he needed to summon the Bifrost. Poor oaf's there now all alone trying to rescue them."

"Wait where's there?"

"Thor has gone to the Gates of Eternity. The Bifrost is the key to unlock them and if he does, well…" She sliced her finger along her throat. "Goodbye, gods. Much as I wish to be there to aid him, he's quite determined to have me and Jane rest."

"Hold on, Jane's here? Where is she?"

Val pointed towards the hospital, already walking towards it. "We've much to catch up on, little witchy." Just as she looped her arm through yours, there was a loud bang that came from the hospital, and you saw a blonde woman dressed like Thor flying up into the sky on the back of Warsong with Mjolnir in hand. "Oh no…"

"Is that--?"

"Jane? Yes." Your heart caught in your throat as you saw the tears forming in the warrior's eyes as she told you of Jane's diagnosis. How Mjolnir grants her health and vitality when she wields the hammer, but at the cost of her mortality. "She's gone to fight alongside Thor. Quite certainly to die in battle, too."

Every thought in your head screamed the same thing. "I have to stop her. I've gotta get to Eternity."

After reassuring her that you had sufficient enough means and magic to find your way, Val told you where to find the gates.

At the center of the universe, she said. But that it might be a more accurate shot for the sling ring you had on hand if you focused on Thor instead.

Right before you began to conjure the portal to bring you to your friend, the weakened warrior held your forearm firmly. Desperately. "Please don't die," she pled faintly, already misty eyed just saying the words. "Beat Gorr to Eternity, and keep him from making his wish."

Stepping through the circular glowing portal brought you to an elaborate temple made of what seemed like some celestial-grade stone. The entire place was aglow with lightning striking from multiple places at once, and in front of you was Stormbreaker summoning the Bifrost, seeming to power up a portal to what you could only guess was the Eternity that Val mentioned.

A visibly weakened Jane summoned a lightning strike that hit Gorr's weapon dead on, crumbling what remained of the sword into dust right before she began to collapse to the ground. You took the god butcher's slow triumphant walk to the gate as your cue.

"And who might you be?" he said, pausing to look you head to toe, assessing your power. "You are no god, but you're not entirely mortal, either."

"Hello, Gorr," you said with a sly grin, grabbing a hold of him and throwing him yards away from the gate with your magic. "Goodbye, Gorr."

"Y/N?" you heard Thor weakly mumble your name, relieved when he saw you walking backwards toward the blindingly glowing archway that opened up.

The last thing you heard before you all were transported to a vast white expanse was Gorr's defeated outcry of "Noooo!"

"Make your wish, sorceress," a voice spoke in your mind. When you turned to face the source, all you saw was a skyscraper of a silhouette…consisting of an endless sea of galaxies and stars. "Whatever you desire can and shall be so. Name it. And it shall be yours."

Those words brought you to your knees, the gravity of your situation weighing down on you like a cartoon anvil just dead dropped onto your shoulders. Agonizing memories of the loss and heartache you'd experienced and witnessed in the last few years alone, all the grief you kept bottled up inside, coming at you all at once.

From coming back to the Compound after the Time Heist, only to discover that you were all one Avenger short. Finding out that Nat sacrificed herself so the rest of you could have the Soul Stone.

To the loss of Tony and having to be there to hold Morgan as she cried and thrashed, calling out for her father after the defeat of Thanos and his army. And the loss of Steve shortly after that, realizing the super soldier chose to stay in the past and resume what he believed should have been his life with Peggy Carter. Then Bucky's subsequent pulling away from the team after that.

Losing Wanda, and the look on her face when you stood against her during the fight at Kamar Taj. Only hearing about it in the hours following the wreckage of the temple, and Wong's return, that your friend had perished by her own hand in Wundagore. That in her final moments, she was all alone, believing that this was the only way to ensure the safety of this and all other universes from the dark magic she held.

And then there was the loss that started it all for you, the one that had you slowly but steadily pulling away since the fight at Wakanda. Loki. Seeing his brother come in to the battlefield fueled by rage, and hearing his voice devoid of any strength as he told you about the god of mischief's fate when Thanos seized their ship to relieve them of the Tesseract.

All those words that you held back on saying for fear of having them thrown back in your face with a derisive laugh…they felt like lead in the back of your throat as soon as Thor had told you the news. And you beat yourself up for being so scared and childish to hide it all away like a schoolgirl with a crush. The loss of him, even though he wasn't yours to lose, numbed you. And you swore to never love again.

Love only ever got you hurt.

But looking back at the blond Asgardian, holding the frail body of his love in his arms…you knew that he wouldn't survive if he had to suffer another great loss. If he had to lose Jane. You knew that there were people that you cared about back on Earth that were still grieving and picking up the pieces of their lives.

And you had the opportunity to relieve them of that grief. To spare them the numbness that that same loss had dealt you.

"Look in my heart," you whispered to the entity. "You know what I want."

"It shall be yours, sorceress. Live well," were the last words you heard before Jane's sharp inhale. Like her lungs were near empty and she was gulping in air.

When you looked back at them, she'd visibly regained color, near identical smiles of wonder and relief on her and Thor's faces. Even from this far away, you could sense it. Whatever sickness plagued her body was gone. Every trace of it.

"You--?" Thor asked, pointing a finger toward you as you approached them.

"Guess so," you answered him with a little shrug. "How you feeling, Doctor Foster?"

"Like I could wrestle a horse," she told you with a big grin. "Thank you."

Before you could conjure up another portal to bring you all home, more voices emerged from behind the entity.

"Y/N?"

"Sparky?"

"Lady Y/N?"

Natasha. Tony. Heimdall.

"My friend, what did you wish for?"

You looked back at the bewildered god, grasping his best friend's shoulders and trying to adjust to the new reality that he had returned. "I honestly don't know, I just said that Eternity should know what I want and--"

"Brother?"

The air left your lungs at the sound of the new voice. The voice you'd missed hearing for the better part of the last decade. Your heart beat erratically in your chest watching Loki emerge from behind Eternity and walk toward all of you, already holding his hands up in caution upon seeing Nat and Tony. "I swear I have no intention of harming--"

"We know, Reindeer Games," Stark said, holding his hand out toward the god. "Thor told us all about what you did. You're alright by my book as long as you don't try and raise another ugly ass alien army to take over the world."

Before he could say anything in return, Thor pulled his brother into a tight embrace. "It's good to see you, too, Brother," he said in a strained voice. "But how am I here?"

"Y/N reached Eternity. And she made a wish," Jane answered him, also holding her hands up. "No slaps this time, I promise."

"Y/N?" he said your name breathlessly, nudging his brother out of the way and looking around until his eyes met yours. You did your best not to fidget or pick at your clothes as he made his way over to you, trying to swallow down the lump in your throat when he framed your face with his hands.

"Hiya, Mischief," you mumbled, seeing Tony and Nat give each other a look from the corner of your eye as they slowly backed away, choosing instead to reunite and get up to speed with the other Asgardian.

"This was your doing?" The way his thumbs stroked at your cheeks had you unable to form words, only managing a meek little nod.

"Not bad for a stupid little--" The rest of your words died in a squeak at the back of your throat, cut off by the god pressing his lips to yours.

"Sweet precious mortal," he sighed against your lips. "There are many words I could use to describe you, and 'stupid' will never be one of them."

Before he could kiss you again, you heard multiple people clear their throats, your friends looking at the two of you with knowing and teasing smirks. "Perhaps we should make our way home first, Brother?"

Loki brushed the tip of his nose against yours before threading his fingers between yours, jutting his chin at the lightning bolt in his brother's hand. "Zeus?"

"Long story," he answered simply.

"He stabbed Zeus and stole it," Jane said in a stage whisper.

"Perhaps not such a long story after all," Thor said, chuckling as he held on to his girlfriend's hand, the astrophysicist summoning Mjolnir with her other hand.

"That's a long story even I don't know yet," you told Loki when he squeezed your hand lightly and tilted his head at the couple, Jane now sporting that near-identical armor and crimson cape that the blond god wore.

"Everybody hold on," Thor called out to you all, a large ball made of yellow lightning materializing all around you and spinning at a furiously fast pace. You blinked once, and when you opened your eyes again, you were in the same ruins of New Asgard that you walked through just earlier today.

Val was already there walking toward you all with a relieved look on her face that morphed into confusion when she saw Tony…and then Loki. "I take it Y/N beat the butcher to Eternity?" You all just nodded at her. "Well then, welcome back, all of you." Then she pulled Jane into a hug, playfully pushing Thor away. "I'm so glad you're alive." The king looked up, eyes meeting yours before she mouthing the words, 'Thank you.'

"We were lucky Y/N got there when she did," Thor told her. "What did bring you to New Asgard, my friend? It has been ages since last we spoke."

"I lost Wanda," you sighed, a lump forming in your throat again just saying the words. "And losing her made me realize I've been a shit friend to--well, everyone. Ever since…" You caught yourself before the rest of that sentence came out.

Ever since you told me Loki died, you finished quietly in your mind.

"Ever since Wakanda…the snap…" you told them out loud. You tried to shrug it all off, only to realize that Loki still held your hand in his. "Speaking of that stupid purple ballsacked chin little bitch…I should be getting you two back to New York," you addressed Tony and Nat. "There's at least three people whose worlds are about to turn for the better knowing you're back."

A/N: Okay so I fully intended to lay low and take my time normalizing after the complete insanity that October dealt me on a personal level, but then I rewatched Love and Thunder because I was in need of a comfort watch and I said "I don't like that ending, not one bit…lemme fix it". And slowly but surely the writer brain started its lil awkward shuffle back into the chat 😅

RTC and 'the final Lady Sharpe' are still at the top of the todo pile, and I'm still scared to touch them but I might work at it bit by bit, we'll see. And also this will have a part 2…because yes they might have kissed and they're holding hands but dammit they need to talk 🫠

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @tom-hlover @dryyoursaltyoceantears @herdetectivetheorist

#loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki laufeyson fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #mcu fanfic #muddyorbs writes

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catsteeth · 8 months ago

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The Caged Bird and The Leased Dog

Sandor Clegane x reader

+:✿ Chapter - 3 ✿:+ Tear Drop

pervious chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: You are the daughter of Jon Arryn, you and your father travel to King's Landing with the intention of arranging a marriage for you. You catch a glimpse of The Hound during your first night in Kings Landing and it creates a mutual fascination even if he won't admit it.

CW: SMUT, MINORS DNI, fem reader, oral sex (fem rec), mutual masturbation, slow burn, angst, emotional unavailability, emotional vulnerability, The Hound being abrasive, alcohol consumption, mention of death, mention of arranged marriage.

Word Count: 4826

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The morning after your last encounter with the Hound in the stables you were woken up by two handmaidens. They dressed you in a gown Cersei had made for you, it was red and gold, embellished with intricate beaded flowers. No matter how many times you asked they wouldn’t tell you why you were being summoned by Cersei.

Your paranoia grew as you walked down the halls. You were more paranoid than ever nowadays.

As you walked into Cersei's chambers, her handmaidens closed the doors behind you.

“Hello, little dove.” She said standing on her balcony. You walked towards her, your hands fidgeting with the fabric of your dress.

“Your grace, thank you for the gown, it is beautiful.” You tried your best to seem relaxed.

“Ah yes, red and gold. Those colors suit you well. That’s good, they will need to.” She said, stepping towards you, playing with a strand of your hair.

“Your grace?” You asked,

“Tell me, have you met my brother?” She asked softly and gently.

“Which-”

“Tyrion, Tyrion Lannister, have you met him?” She cut you off, dropping the piece of hair she played with and sounding suddenly sterner.

“Only passing pleasantries and exchanges, your grace.” You felt your heart race, your palms sweat.

“What do you think of him?” she narrowed her eyes “He has quite a reputation, and his physical appearance does not help it-”

“He’s been nothing but decent to my family and myself, your grace.” You interrupted hoping she would get to the point faster.

“Good, good. That’ll make things easier.” She forced a sympathetic smile.

“Your grace,” Your eyes fluttered. your voice wavered, and your heart raced faster.

“You have been matched. It is the King's will, and you two shall be wed.” She pet your hair softly.

Your throat went dry and you could help but look taken aback.

“I don’t understand,” Your voice cracked and you took a step back.

“You’ll get used to it.” She nodded, “My brother and I don’t have the best relationship but he is gentle with women. He will serve as a good husband. He will give you a child, that’s the best thing a man can give you. Perhaps we can negotiate with Baelish to keep your titles now that he’s betrothed to your mother.”

You didn’t care to correct her that she was your step mother. You stood there with your eyes wide, you didn’t know what to say. You’d found out two devastating truths in one moment. You’d possibly no longer inherit your fathers titles, and you’d be forced into the family that killed your own.

“Don’t you think?” Cersei asserted trying to gain your attention again not so subtly.

“Yes, yes Your Grace.” You faked a smile.

These people killed your uncle no less than a week ago, you had no choice but to accept. It wasn’t even framed as an option. They only wanted to calm you and make you agreeable, so you gave it to them. You didn’t have options.

You did what Sandor would have told you to do. You agreed, and smiled. You gave them what they wanted.

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Your chambers were small in comparison to Cersei’s. It was a constant reminder that you were not home. The sheets were red with golden lions and flowers embroidered into them. The walls are adorned with golden decorations. It was beautiful but nothing like your home, nothing like your room. You couldn’t imagine it, “(Y/N) Lannister '' it didn’t seem right. You are a girl of the vale in the lion's den.

The prospect of marriage became very real, and very near. Tyrion was the best of them, there was no doubt in that fact. However you didn’t even accept Loras’s proposal so why would you accept Tyrion's. But it would seem, you'd have no choice now, neither did Tyrion.

You thought of him every day, and every night. You would find yourself awake at such late hours they weren’t late anymore they were early. You’d dream of his hands, his broad shoulders, his sad eyes framed by a scowling face. You’d feel yourself pulse and you’d be forced to relieve yourself on your pillows or sometimes your hand to feel any kind of relief. You’d wonder if he had done the same, never knowing but he had. As you found yourself beginning to feel that same pressure in between your legs there was a knock upon your door.

“Who is it?” You beckoned, you were more paranoid than ever nowadays, Cersei’s speech just hours before your uncles execution didn't help.

“Your betrothed it would seem.” Tyrion beckoned back. You rolled your eyes and sighed, slightly hoping for Sandor, and not whatever awkward conversation was about to be held.

As you opened the door you gave a half hearted smile, “My Lord.” You greeted me.

He scrunched up his face and waved his hand in dismissal “No need for that, Tyrion is fine, my lady.” He smiled.

“Then enough ‘my lady’, (Y/N) is fine.” You said smiling back, this time more genuine, “Is there something I can help you with, my-” You stopped yourself and corrected “Tyrion.”

“I hoped we could discuss our arrangement.” He said as if he felt guilty. His eyes were kind, soft and gentle.

You nodded in agreement, however you didn’t know what much else was to be said. You began to step into the hall when he held his hand out to you. You were caught somewhat off guard by such a gentle act, you flinched, and it didn’t go unnoticed. You did however take his hand.

He led you to a secluded chamber. There were books strone about, this is the same room where you had stolen the first book of his. As you sat as he poured himself a goblet of wine, he motioned if you’d want some and you shook your head.

“This is awkward,” He said with a forced smile as he sat with his goblet.

“For you, I’d imagine so.” You said with a huff as you crossed your legs and your arms,

“It isn’t for you? Speaking to the man you are being forced to marry?” He said with a chuckle.

“Awkward or not, given what I have endured here, speaking with you is the least painful thing that has afflicted me.”

“I shall take that as a compliment.” He said with a furrowed brow. He made you crack a slight smile.

“Is there something you wished to discuss?” You asked shifting in your seat uncomfortably waiting for him to get to the point.

“Ah” He said as he placed his goblet down, his brain snapping back to the original intent of this meeting. “Well, my Lady-”

“(Y/N)” You corrected unapologetically,

“(Y/N)” He smiled softly, “We are to be wed.” You nodded, in agreement, your face however was still stoic. “I want you to know, I did not want this.” “Well” You inhaled sharply “I did not either. Though I hope I did not disappoint you.” You said with that signature venom in your eyes. You knew in a way that he didn’t mean it in that way, but you never passed up an opportunity to show that you weren’t one to shy from confrontation.

“I did not- You did not.” He stammered and stopped himself. He looked down collecting his thoughts, “I am not disappointed in you. But I believe someone you love should take your hand.” He said with a half hearted smile.

“May I ask you something?” You asked shifting in your seat to lean closer to him. “My father, Lord Arryn. When he brought me here, he brought me here with the intention of marrying me off. My father was not one to go into anything blind. I know he had discussed it, I know he had certain men in mind. Tell me who those men were.”

“You don’t believe he picked me?” He chuckled before seeing your still serious face and continuing, “Your father did consider Ser Loras Tyrell, Renly Baratheon, before his marriage of course. I am sure those would have good matches, though I do believe you might be missing some of those men's favorite parts.” You wanted to laugh but didn’t want to lighten the situation, so you settled for a smirk as you looked away hiding your amusement. “Your father did not want you to wed Joffrey.” His joking tone diminished “Baelish requested consideration, which was denied. Your father clearly cared for your honor.” Your eyes went back to him. You thought of it, Baelish requesting your hand? It seemed strange as you never met the man. “I am sure there were many others who requested your hand.”, He smiled softly.

“But not you?” You grinned

“I would not have embarrassed either of us like that,” He said, sipping from his goblet.

“Embarrassed?” “I would not embarrass you by being wed to a dwarf, and I’d not embarrass myself by being rejected by both you and your father.”

“Peytr Baelish didn’t seem to mind.” You jested, and he cracked a smile. “I don’t care about your height.” You scoffed, “You’ve been nothing but decent towards me and my family.”

“But if I proposed you wouldn’t have accepted.” “No I wouldn’t have.” He nodded “But that’s not because of your height. Or even your reputation. It’s because I don’t know you. Other than the few books of yours I have stolen and the passing exchanges between you, my family, and myself I do not know you.”

“Well we’ve all the time we need to know each other now.” He smirked, “You’ve stolen my books?”

“Four, maybe five.” You responded quickly “Things get awfully dull around here.”

“I suppose they will be our books soon enough.” He tried to jest, “I think I know something about you now. You’re honest, opinionated-” You stopped him

“The king does not like those traits of mine, it would seem.” You said slightly smiling.

“No doubt why he created his engagement... What my nephew has done to your cousin,” He stopped himself and looked at your lip, still slightly bruised from Joffrey’s Name Day. “What he has done to you… it is-” He stammered, unable to find an appropriate word for it, “deplorable.”

“I suppose he will be my nephew as well, soon enough.” You attempted to jest,

“(Y/N),” he said leaning forward, grasping your hand lightly “I promise you- I swear to you, no harm shall come to you.”

“You cannot promise that,”

“I suppose I can’t.” he said looking at your hand in his, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb, “I can promise that I will never harm you. I will do all I can to make you happy.”

You felt your eyes beginning to dissect his words as your brows furrowed in concern. You forced a smile to ease his mind. You placed your hand atop of his that was holding yours. You were genuinely appreciative of his gentleness and his kind words. You should be happy, he was handsome enough. But it was times like this, when another man's hand was on yours when you felt disappointment burrowing in your chest, how you wished it was another man, how you wished it was your man.

“I can assign a handmaiden to be with you at all times when I cannot, they’ll make sure you and Joffrey are far apart-”

“I don’t need a shadow, I can take care of myself” You removed your hand sitting back in your chair.

“I say you can,” He smiled, “I do have something for you, I thought, it might soften the blow.” He said as he sat up and retrieved a silver necklace from his coat pocket. It was a dainty chain that held a silver falconed winged woman who held a large natural pearl. What made it stand out to you even more was a blue sapphire teardrop that came from her eye.

“Valyrian steel.” He said, your eyes went wide as you looked at him, how generous, too generous. “Falcon wings, and blue sapphire for your house.”

“I cannot take that,” You said,

“Hm,” He looked at the necklace in his hand, “Well I cannot wear it.” He grinned holding it out to you again.

You sighed and took it, you smiled at him, “I look forward to getting to know you, Tyrion.”

You actually did.

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After such a long talk with your future husband and the idea of becoming a Lannister made your body run a cold sweat. You ran a bath with lavender to calm yourself but it hardly worked.

As you stood in your chambers, in your white nightgown and soaking wet hair, you looked around at the red and golden interior. The room is adorned with lions and flower embellishments. It was as if they were intentionally rubbing the fact you were misplaced in your face.

You looked for something to ground yourself, you grabbed the necklace that Tyrion gave to you.

You felt the Valyrian steel necklace in your palm. The cold of the metal reminded you of the cold breeze that would rush through the halls of the Eyrie. But then, it reminded you of something else. The metal of chainmail, the metal of armor.

You longed for so much nowadays.

You longed for your mother, father, your brother whom you’d only spent an hour of life with, your room, your birds. All were gone, but you remained.

You did long for one other thing though, one thing that was in reach but still so far. That made it worse, that it was so close and yet you were unable to take it. Your longing for your mothers comfort was easier to accept because it was so unattainable but this, this was so close it made you sick.

Then that sound that becoming too familiar,

Knock, knock, knock, ‘Gods” you thought, wishing everyone would finally leave you alone. You were certain it was some handmaiden that Tyrion promised you. A doting husband he was shaping up to be, how awful.

“Go away.” You beckoned, as you dropped the necklace onto your nightstand.

BAM BAM BAM BAM, the knocks were now banging at your door. You jumped, clutching the thin fabric of your nightgown.

You approached the door slowly, “Who is it,” you asked much gentler this time.

“I could bust this door down if I wanted.” He grumbled through the door. You knew that tone all too well, you dreamt of it enough times.

You relaxed and unlocked the door, opening it just a crack, but he busted his way inside.

“What're you doing-” You began but were cut off by him slamming the door and making his way to a golden pitcher on a small table on the other side of your room.

“Don’t ever open your door for anyone who knocks like that.” He grumbled under his breath as he took a long deep swig and promptly spitting it out. “Fuck water.” He hissed “You got no fucking wine in here?”

“Sandor-” You started before he cut you off

“Don't call me that!” He barked at you,

“What should I call you then, Dog?” You snapped back at him.

“And what shall I call you? Lady fucking Lannister?” He said with a fake mocking grin.

“You ignore me for days, and now- now you come into my chambers to let out whatever irrational rage is consuming you on to me?” You walked up to him, your eyes filled with hurt, “Why? Hm? Why are you in my room?” He didn’t respond and you stepped even closer, “Why Sandor-''

You were cut off by his large arm wrapping around your waist pulling you into his body, hoisting you up just enough you were on your tiptoes. As his other hand cupped your jaw as his scarred lips pressed against yours.

You ran your hands up his thick arms covered in hard cold metal.

That burning pressure between your legs began to rise once again once his large hand traveled down your jaw to your chest. You mewled into his lips as his hand traveled towards your clothed breasts.

He growled into your lips as he said through his teeth “Tell me to go, tell me to get the fuck away from you.” He said in a primal growl as he began to remove his armor.

You shook your head “No,” you painted, your eyes fluttering from the tingling between your legs only grew as his armor fell to the ground. You took in all the scars you could see peeking through his loose tunic.

“Run away from me,” He said in a low rumble as his hands returned to your waist and breast.

“No” You almost moaned as your hands explored his broad shoulders to his thick neck. You pulled yourself up to his neck, peppering it with kisses.

“Stubborn fucking woman” He grumbled as he grabbed you by your thighs, wrapping you around his waist. His mouth traveled from your plush lips to your jaw, then to your neck, your collar bones, and to your chest. Your breathy moans rushed straight to his cock.

“Put me on the bed.” You commanded softly, he obeys immediately, his lips and tongue not stopping until you were sat on the bed. He laid you there surprisingly gently.

You sat up onto your knees on the bed. You faced him as he stood at the edge of the end of the bed. Your eyes stayed locked on his as you pulled your nightgown over your head, the soft silk melted off of you as you tossed it onto the floor. His eyes wandered over you, his hand cupped your jaw as he looked down into your eyes

“You’re beautiful. I’ve waited a very long time to tell you that.” His words were sweet but his tone was dark and deep. Like a dog growling over a bone.

You never liked being called beautiful, but this felt different. You didn’t respond, you took his hand and kissed the palm before you reached your hands up to the ties of his tunic. He pulled it off of him before you could finish.

Your fingers traced the scars that littered his chest and stomach. You stopped at one on his lower stomach, you licked and kissed it softly. His hand came and brushed the hair on your head, pulling it back forcing you to look at him.

“You don’t want this,” He said, his voice was deep but gentle.

“This is all I want.” You said as your hand traced down to the ties of his breeches. He grabbed your hand.

“Have you ever seen a man unclothed before?” He rasped.

You shook your head, “No. Not like this.” The Eyrie was a cage with a cloak on top of it. You’d seen so little of the world so high up, and the men who worked there never dared defy Lysa. But you’d see paintings and sculptures.

He began to untie his breeches for you, he practically tore the laces as he pulled himself out. He let out a groan as he was released from his breeches. His cock wasn’t even fully erect yet, still twitching at the sight of your body beneath him. Your lips parted and you tried desperately to conceal your surprise, it was bigger than what you’d seen on a canvas or carved in marble.

You reached out to take him in your hand but he grabbed your wrist, again, stopping you.

“You’ve never done this before?” He rasped again,

“Only to myself.” You said softly.

A deep and dry chuckle left his lips as he stared down at you, “Dirty little bird.” He growled under his breath. “Lay back on the bed.” He rasped “Now.” He commanded in a low growl. As you did he pulled you close by your ankles.

He leaned down and kissed your lips roughly, groaned at the sensation of his cock touching the soft skin of your thighs.

Your hand began to trail down his chest to his stomach to his cock, before his hand could stop you once more. You whined into his lips as he pulled away “If you touch me, I won’t be able to stop, I’ll fuck you bloody.” He grumbled into your lips. It didn’t sound bad at all to you.

“What if I want that?”

“You don’t. Not really.”

“Or maybe you don’t want that.”

“I want to mark you up. I want to leave bites and bruises all over you, want everyone to know I did it. I want to fuck you bloody, stretch you over my cock. I want to make you all fucking mine. But, then your lord wouldn’t care that much would he?” He growled.

“Then what do you want with me?” You asked with venom in your eyes. You were annoyed with him and his teasing. You knew he was angry with the situation but you knew the reason he didn’t do it was because it would mean others would know of your infidelity. It would risk your safety. He refused you, because he cared, even if he didn’t want to admit that.

“I’ve been waiting to do this for too long.” He said as he dropped to his knees. You squirmed a bit, but his large arm wrapped over your thighs and pinned you down.

His beard tickled you, as he began to lap up your wetness. His tongue circled and tapped against your clit.

You let out a sweet, breathy moan, as you tossed your head back onto the bed you laid on. You grabbed a handful of the hair at the back of his head, It was then when he began to fuck you with his tongue, letting his nose rub against your sensitive needy clit. Once you felt his tongue penetrate you. The loud noises filled the room, mixing with your moans of pleasure.

He lifted his head from between her legs, “Keep your mouth shut,” He was panting and tightening his grip on your thigh. You pushed his head back, “Keep yours open.” you painted,

He went back to ravaging you with his tongue. You covered your mouth to keep yourself from moaning any louder, an effort almost in vain once he sucked on your clit. “Gods- Sandor” You whispered in a moan. You saying his name made him moan into your cunt, the vibration of it made that pressure in you build, about to snap.

“Sandor” You repeated wanting that same vibration, and you got it, it drove you past the edge and you felt the heat rush out of you. He drank your cum like it was wine. You mewled, as he stood up you saw his cock as hard as stone.

Your eyes fluttering and weakly trying to sit up you asked him softly “Let me help you.” As you reached out to his cock, but for the third time he grabbed your wrist.

“Don’t” he urged, “I told you, if you touch me, I won’t be able to control myself.”

You sighed, “But I want you to feel what I did.”

“Lay back” This time his voice softer “Show me how you fuck yourself.” He whispered,

You reached down and played with your clit, a groan left his lips as he took himself in his hand watching you. You watched as his huge thick hand gripped himself and pushed back and forth. He grunted and moaned behind gritted teeth. And you let out sweet mewls watching him, hardly focused on your own pleasure. Picking up his pace he almost collapsed on top of you, his one arm able to hold him up as he leaned over you.

His grunts were angry and deep.

You wrapped your legs around his waist as he fucked himself in his hand, locking eyes with you, no longer looking at you fucking yourself or his hand. It was as if he was pretending his hand was your cunt, pretending he was fucking you the way he wanted to for so long. You moaned his name sweetly which only helped push him further off that cliff. Your eyes fluttering, you held his jaw in your free hand, you pulled him in and kissed his lips gently despite the savage pace he was thrusting into his hand.

“Sandor” You moaned once more before he finally came undone. “Gods!” He gritted his teeth and groaned as he was harmed. You felt his heat pour onto your stomach.

The two of you planted together. Sandor cupped your face with his rough large hand, looking at you deeply before getting up and finding his tunic. He ripped the sleeve off of it and used it to clean you before he threw it into the fireplace in your chambers.

You sat up and crawled over the edge of your bed, leaning over and grabbing your silk nightgown. You threw it on as you watched him dressing himself again. Once he finished he looked back to you, the two of you locked eyes for a moment, longer than either of you wanted. Neither of you knew what to say. You stood and approached him.

“I care for you.” You whispered, your eyes softened and you cupped his cheek with your hand.

He took your hand by the wrist and kissed your palm, “You shouldn’t.” he rasped before leaving you.

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After that night, you couldn’t get your mind off of it. It was nothing you’d ever experienced, it only made your emotions deeper for someone who couldn’t have. And now, you were engaged to someone else. You needed someone to talk to about it. Sansa wouldn’t understand, she was too young, and you clearly couldn’t talk to Tyrion. So against your better judgment you found yourself confiding in Loras.

“You're an imbecile.” He quipped as soon as you told him the event of the past two days. You could hardly blame him, you had wronged him.

“I know you're upset with me, no doubt you don’t see things the way that I do.” You said stoically.

“No I don’t. No one does, (Y/N).” His voice raised slightly with annoyance.

“I do, that seems to be what matters.”

“You could be in High Garden right now, or you could be back in the Vale, in the Eyrie. I would have had men fight for your titles that Baelish stole from under you. I would have the finest things for you. Whatever you wished for I would have done it.”

“I wished for my cousins to be safe.” You were annoyed by his lack of understanding, “Besides Tyrion seems content to do all those things you mentioned anyways.” That wasn’t the kindest thing for you to say, but you often lose your temper when pushed.

“Is he content to let you bed a king's guard?” Loras retorted quickly and at a higher volume than you’d prefer.

“Keep your voice down.” You commanded in a lower and stern tone.

“Will he be content to have a bastard? Content to raise it as his own? Content to defend you and that bastard, when people begin to notice how little they look alike?” He said with saddened eyes, “I would have been. You were my one friend, my one true friend.” His tone mellowed, defeatedly

“I still am, it needn’t be this way. I should have accepted your proposal, I know, but I-”

“I know. Your cousin.” He cut you off. He picked a flower in the garden and handed it to you. “You are the most intelligent woman I know. But you are too stubborn and selfless, if you weren’t you’d be the most powerful woman in the realm I’d wager.” He said with a hint of a grin

“I don’t need any of that. What good has it done anyone? You gain an ounce of power and you gain three enemies.” You said examining the flower he gave you.

“Just, just stay alive, look out for yourself.” He said, defeatedly. He placed a hand on your cheek and walked away.

You sighed, nothing comforting came from it. You didn’t know what to expect but you were disappointed nonetheless.

You looked back at the flower in your hand, you huffed and tossed it back into the bushes and continued on.

You looked up and saw Joffrey with his guards walking past across the garden. You caught a glimpse of the Hound. His eyes caught yours. But soon you two were ripped from each other's gaze.

You didn’t know what to do now. All you did know is that you had three men who wanted you and three men who could despise you if you took the wrong step. And your mind lingered on one man in particular, one the other three weren’t even concerned with.

Baelish, and what he wanted with the Vale.

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚

Note: bark like you want it baby… I told y'all we’d be laying it down. And don’t worry we will be busting it down as well. Also the actual jewler who created that gorgeous pendent in the banner is miya kumo

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j-k-writes · 2 months ago

Text

The Bronze Targaryen

Summary - After his mother's death in 115 AC Y/N Targaryen is summoned by his father Daemon to King's Landing in the hopes of forming a betrothal between the new heir to Runstone and Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen.

Warnings - General HOTD warnings, Canon character death, grief and mourning (if I miss any let me know)

I tried my best with the timelines and research but between the books and show it's so convoluted so forgive me for any mistakes

A fifth arrow hit the target with a soft ‘thump’ as the sky transformed the already slick training ground further and further into mud. (Y/N) pulled a sixth arrow from his quiver, wiping the metal tip clean of any rain, before notching it and drawing the bow string back.

“I think you’ve proved your mettle M’lord.” Called a voice from behind the young heir.

(Y/N) turned his head, making eye contact with Osric Stone, “Leave me Osric.”

The (H/C) teen returned to his target, drawing the string back again. He loosed the arrow and smiled to himself when he heard soft clapping from behind him. Tearing his eyes away from the target once more, (Y/N) faced the stable boy.

“Very impressive, M’lord.” Osric smiled at him, “Now, will you please come inside?”

“Has my mother returned from her hunt?”

“No M’lord-”

(Y/N) turned from the bastard boy, pulling another arrow, “Then I shall wait here until she does.”

“You will be ill if you stay out here any longer M’lord.”

“It’s a spring rain Osric I will survive.” He released his arrow, smirking as it pierced another down the middle. “I will remain until my mother arrives, it shall not be long now.”

He heard Osric sigh behind him, “‘M’lord I beg you.”

“Osric,” (Y/N) turned to face the stable boy, temper rising. He yearned to be left alone, his mother had promised she would not be gone more than a few days and yet it had been a full week since (Y/N) had last heard from her. He knew his grandfather was not worried, but (Y/N) could not help the shivers that raced down his spine when he thought of his mother’s tardiness. “I like you, but remember that I am your lord not your friend.”

Osric straightened, “I will leave you M’lord.”

(Y/N) sighed as he watched the stable boy retreat. He had not meant to snap at Osric, who was, no matter what he said, his friend- perhaps his closest one. But he often said things he did not mean in fits of anger, his mother did not comment on the trait, but he knew she saw him behind (Y/N)’s violet eyes when his words burned poor lords who had the misfortune of catching her heir at the wrong moment.

He rolled his shoulder’s back, wincing at the pain of stretching the taught muscles, and pulled another arrow out of his quiver. Banishing his thoughts of worry he continued his shooting.

“My lord,” (Y/N) tore his eyes away from his blade, setting the sharpening block down on his table. “Your grandsire requests your presence in his chambers. He claims it’s urgent.”

(Y/N) shot up from his seat, dread coiling deep in his gut. As he strode through the halls of Runestone he already knew what news would await him when he reached his grandsire. He’d known the news was coming for days since they sent a party after his mother on the fifth day she failed to return.

His hand shook as he brought his fist up to knock upon the door to his grandsire’s chambers. Maester Pate opened the door, his face conveying the grim news to (Y/N) before his grandsire even had the chance to speak.

“They have found her.” (Y/N) spoke, stepping into his room and coming face to face with his grandsire.

Yorbert sighed, rubbing his gray brows, “Yes.”

“Is she-” (Y/N)’s voice trembled, not daring to speak his worst fear aloud. Yorbert motioned for his grandson to sit. When (Y/N) complied, he spoke.

“She is alive but not well.” His grandsire paused, throat working as he struggled to speak, “It is said she fell from her horse and suffered a grave injury. Maester Pate-”

“I want to see her.” (Y/N) stood, the force of his movement causing his chair to fall back against the floor. He whipped around to face the maester, who took a step back from the heir. “Where is she? Take me to her.”

“(Y/N) please,” His grandsire said, “You must listen. You are now the heir to Runestone-”

“You said she lived.” His grandsire paused at his interruption.

“What?”

“You said she lived, I cannot be heir to Runestone unless my mother has passed.”

“(Y/N) please, sit back down.”

Against his wishes (Y/N) complied, picking his chair up from where it had fallen and retaking his seat. When his grandsire spoke again (Y/N) seethed, there was no doubt among the Vale that the Lady Rhea was one of the best hunters in the Vale, for her to fall off her horse bad enough to be on her death bed seemed folly to her son. His hands shook as he reached past Yorbert and grabbed the pitcher of wine filling the cup placed in front of him to the brim. His grandsire sighed as he watched (Y/N) tip the cup back before standing once again.

“I will see her.” (Y/N) steadied his voice as he spoke, “I would say my goodbyes before she passes.”

His grandsire nodded, granting (Y/N) his leave.

He almost returned to his grandsire when he saw what had become of his lady mother.

She lay pale and gaunt amongst the white sheets of her bed. Her eyes were shut, and the bandage that covered her wound, brown and red with blood, messed her already tangled hair further.

(Y/N) took his place by her side, reaching out to grasp her frail hand. “Do not let anyone in without my grandsire’s leave or mine.”

Maester Pate nodded, closing the door behind him on his way out of the room. As the door shut with a soft click, (Y/N) returned to his mother, his tears finally coming as he watched her chest move silently. He wiped furiously at the tears spilling down his cheeks. He placed his mother’s hand on his cheek, shivering at its chill.

“Mother,” He whispered, “They say you fell, but- but I do not believe it. Tell me what happened mother, please.”

His mother stayed silent, eyes still closed. He doubted she was awake to hear him, but he kept speaking. He begged her to wake, to live, to speak to him, to do anything but lay there like she was already dead. He spoke about how he waited for days for her return, how he’d snapped at Osric, and how he’d apologized later. He prayed to the old gods for her recovery, and cursed his mother for refusing his wish to join her on her hunt.

He was half-asleep in his chair when she finally woke.

“(Y/N).”

He opened his eyes and sat at alert at the sound of her raspy voice.

“Mother.”

She smiled at him, “My boy.”

“Mother what happened.”

Rhea paused, and (Y/N) feared she’d slipped into unconsciousness once again. She licked her lips, giving him a faint apologetic smile, “I fell from my horse.”

“No.” (Y/N) shook his head, “Mother you would not-”

She shushed him and he quieted, “Listen to me, do not look for vengeance where there is none. It was an accident, nothing more.” She paused before continuing, “I am sorry. You are so young, too young.”

“I am ten and seven mother.”

She laughed softly, wincing at the pain it brought her. “Again, too young. But you will be a good heir, as I always knew you would be.” She intertwined her fingers with his, face turning serious, “Do not let your father’s rot reach you, you will be safe from it here, but here alone.”

“Mother what-”��

A haze covered her gaze and her coughing interrupted his question, causing him to yell for Maester Pate. He was pushed out of the way by his grandsire as Maester Pate rushed to his mother offering her milk of the poppy. She refused him, asking for (Y/N) but as (Y/N) attempted to approach her his grandsire held him back.

“She is not right of mind, boy.”

She shook with pain as she cried for him, and (Y/N) had to turn his face into his fist to muffle his sobs. Maester Pate soothed her and offered her milk and poppy once again, which she accepted. Minutes later she slipped into unconsciousness, and later that night as (Y/N) sat vigil by her bedside she took her final breath.

The letter came three weeks after his mother’s death.

(Y/N) had been unconsolable the days following his mother's death. Confining himself to his chambers he left the plates of food left by his bedside virtually untouched, only exiting his bed to empty the pitchers of wine left by servants until his grandsire ordered them to leave no more. He lay unwashed in his bed, ignoring the pleas by both his grandsire and maester to eat and bathe. On the fifth day of his grief-stricken haze, his cousin dragged him from the bed, easily fighting off his weak attempts at breaking free.

“Let go of me!”

His cousin held him tighter, dragging him toward the bath, “You cannot let yourself rot any longer, (Y/N). It’s been almost a week, I understand your grief but we must bury your mother and your grandsire will only do so with your presence.”

(Y/N) yelped as he hit the water, still fully clothed. He thrashed harder, only causing Gerold to hold him tighter.

“I am sorry, but we cannot delay any longer.” Gerold gave him a pitiful look as he shivered at the cold water, the fight leaving him as exhaustion and hunger finally caught up with the young heir. “Bathe, and then eat. After the funeral I will let you get your revenge against me, but you must gain your strength back, cousin. Weakness is not a good look on you.”

“Leave me.” (Y/N) slumped into the water, shaky hands coming to unlace his tunic. His cousin nodded, leaving him with a soft pat on his shoulder.

(Y/N) tossed his soaked underclothes onto the floor, mentally apologizing to the poor servants sent to clean the chamber. He washed quickly, wishing the water was at least tepid instead of frigid, but he supposed it would’ve been warmer if he’d bathed when he was first asked to. Servants came in silently as he bathed, leaving fresh clothes by his bed and a plate of food by the bath.

He ate and dressed, grimacing at the dark bruises under his violet eyes and the (H/C) stubble littering his face. He left his weapons in his chambers, and headed to meet his grandsire. His grandsire looked relieved at the sight of him, greeting him at the door to his chambers.

“I am glad to see you out of bed, (Y/N).” His grandsire smiled at him, placing his hand on his grandson's cheek.

(Y/N) looked to his cousin Ser Gerold, giving him a small nod before speaking, “I did not have much choice in the matter, but I apologize for my absence.”

“Nonsense,” His grandsire shook his head, “We all grieve in our own ways.”

His grandsire brought him close, allowing him to rest his head atop his shoulder. He whispered comforting words to his heir, sitting (Y/N) down gently by his side as he explained the funeral rites prepared for his mother and his new responsibilities as the sole heir to Runestone.

He stood by his grandsire and cousin's side as his mother was buried, staring at the crypt in silence hours after the funeral was over. It was only when his cousin came to retrieve him for supper that he finally moved from his spot.

The weeks after his mother’s burial passed (Y/N) by in a haze. His new responsibilities as heir of Runestone left him too preoccupied to wallow in his grief. He spent his days by his grandsire's side helping him run Runestone, and in the training yard training with the Master-at-arms and defeating the poor squires and knights who reluctantly took up arms against him.

He was with his grandsire when the raven arrived.

“Prince Daemon summons his son Prince (Y/N) Targaryen to Kingslanding to join him at court.” Maester Pate read from the parchment, and (Y/N) scoffed pacing around the room.

“To what end?” (Y/N) questioned, he’d never stepped foot in Kingslanding, and his father had not spoken to him in years. Maester Pate swallowed, shooting a nervous look to Lord Yorbert, revealing to the young heir that his grandsire already knew of his father’s plans. “What.”

“Your father hopes to secure a betrothal.”

(Y/N) paused his pacing, “A betrothal? Daemon has not spoken to me in years and he hopes to be in charge of my marriage?”

“I do not like your father any more than you (Y/N)-”

“And yet you have hidden this from me!” (Y/N) seethed, “How long have you known of my father’s wishes? How long have you kept me in the dark?”

His grandsire sighed, “I do not plot against you (Y/N), you must understand that.”

“How long?”

“Since the prince returned from his campaign in the stepstones.”

(Y/N)’S face blanched, stuttering over his words as he spoke again, “Did my mother know about this? Or did you plot with her husband to steal her son away from behind her back?”

“(Y/N) how dare-” Yorbert cut himself off, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know your relationship with your father is strained but he is still your father.”

“I am your heir not Daemon’s!”

Yorbert sighed once more, visibly frustrated with (Y/N), “Your mother did not wish for anyone but you to have a say in your marriage, but this is a royal summons-”

“It’s my choice?”

“Yes (Y/N) but-”

(Y/N) ignored his grandsire, turning to the maester. “Maester Pate write back to Kingslanding and let them know that I will not be answering their summons.”

“(Y/N)-”

“It is my choice grandsire. That was my mother’s wish was it not?”

His grandsire nodded letting the argument die out, his defeated stance making him look more than his age. As (Y/N) turned to leave the room Maester Pate spoke.

“What would you have me write to your father, my prince?”

“Write any words you must Pate but do inform the prince that Lord (Y/N) will not be coming.”

#house of the dragon #x male reader #house of the dragon x male reader #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen #house of the dragon x reader #x reader #x y/n #house of the dragon x y/n #rhaenyra targaryen x male reader #rhaenyra Targaryen x reader

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