#don't be too harsh on yourself dear

[elijowa]

"Is he flirting with me? Wow, I can't believe he's flirting with me. But OK! I can run with that. I should say something flirty back to - oh. Oh. He was talking about the - yeah, that makes more sense, he was talking about the stars. Can't believe I thought he might have been flirting with me. Can't believe I even entertained that as a possibility. What an idiot. Why would an angel like him even notice a cherub like me? Stupid, stupid ..."

GOOD OMENS (2019-)

2x01 - The Arrival

[kenyummy]

✰ 01. the ballad of a bygone blight.

✰ ꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ platonic yandere batfam / spider! reader ꒱

✰ 01. sparkless life.

SYNOPSIS : being spidey isn't easy. being transported into an alternate universe where you're nothing but a shadow in your house, makes sneaking around a little easier... until you find yourself the apple of their eye... kind of.

note: guys i couldnt resist posting criesssss . also master is used as a gender neutral term!!!! couldn't be bothered to put master/mistress every time so

prev. ✰ masterlist. ✰ next.

When you wake up, your eyes are permeated by a hard light. Your eyes are squinted hard and you're having a difficult time getting your eyes to focus.

Your brain is fuzzy and feels like melted candy in your head. What was going on, again...? This bed... it's really comfy. It's like laying on a bed made of clouds, fairy dust, and your hopes and dreams.

(Nothing like your lumpy mattress back home... May told you it built character.)

You reach your hand up, to try and block out the harsh glare directed right into your retina. It dims in a second, and for a moment—you think you've finally developed mutant powers of telekinesis. You sit up—only to discover you were not actually the one who turned off said lights.

"Apologies, Master [name]." An older man with a distinct British accent stands in the door—a few feet away from the bed you're resting on. "I did not realise you had awoken already. I would've turned down the lights, if I was aware."

You blink, surveying the room around you. It's big. Unfamiliar, as well. Modern. Really big. Wait, did he just call you—

"Master [name]?" Your mouth moves faster than your mind, and your brows furrow deep. "What... where am I?"

The older man looks genuinely puzzled at how defensive your stance is. "Oh dear. Perhaps you did end up getting lead poisoning. Or a concussion. ... No matter. This recent amnesia is common within traumatic injuries."

He clears his throat with strict elegance and straightens his posture, "[name]. I believe you were attacked in an alleyway, when your brother found you. You were in the hospital for a few days, and brought back here—back home—this morning. You're currently in one of your father's guest rooms. The doctors said you were healing miraculously fast."

You hiss lowly. You really hope they hadn't gotten a blood sample—you haven't had the best of experiences with people getting your blood.

"You seem to be alright now. A bit..." He looks at your exposed, scarred shoulders. "Scuffed up—but better than when Master Jason had found you."

Your brother... Jason...? Who even...?

What's going on here?

Your heart seems to skip a beat as the calculations start going off in your head. A world you had never heard of... a place you'd never seen before—perhaps you weren't on a different world, and like you had suspected... it was definetly some multiverse shenanigans again.

You knew you should've made Jess take that mission instead of you. Damn. You and your dumb rivalry with Doc.

But you couldn't understand why this random man knows you. He speaks as if you've lived a life with him—like he's known you since...

You chew down on your bottom lip. "... This is... my home. I live here, don't I...?"

You play with words cautiously, speaking slow and methodical. It only serves to confuse the man even further.

"Yes, you... do? Master [name], perhaps you should go back to the hospital. You're sounding rather frazzled—"

You almost jump up, out of the sheets, "Uh—no! I... I'm fine. My head's just a bit... messed up right now. Sorry."

It's not—after that flashbang, you're feeling fine. Your shoulder only burns with a stretch whenever you put too much pressure on it—but you're completely okay otherwise. But you don't think you should let him know that just yet.

"If you insist, Master [name]." He bows his head. "Do you require any further assistance?"

You blink, considering your choices.

Eventually, you land on the safest option. Search your surroundings. Find out what's going on here before going all Spider-ham on them. For all you know—they're super skrulls waiting for the right moment to strike. You need to be smart about this.

"Yes... I would like to go to my room... could you... walk me there?" You don't meet his stern gaze. "I'm not sure I'm able to walk on my own two feet just yet. I'm sorry."

You don't see how his stare softens at your words. "Of course, Master [name]."

He walks over to the edge of the bed and steadies you with a hand on your shoulder as you shakily stumble out of the bed. It's bouncy enough to launch you forward slightly—and it takes every muscle in your body to stop your Spidey-instincts from taking over and jumping backwards.

He slips your arm within his and steadies you as you both slowly walk out of the large guest room. If this was a guest room—you wonder what your room looked like.

The hallways weren't anything to sneeze at, either. Decorated with contemporary art pieces—sleek and so shiny you could see your face in the tiles below your bare feet. You felt so out of place—the civilian clothes you sported since you got here still dressed your body, and it wasn't even close to fitting in.

As you stumble down the halls with a bit of overdramacy, a man suddenly appears from around a corner. Deep black hair and the brightest blue eyes you'd ever seen. His smile is wide and he waves enthusiastically, "Hey, Alfred! I got back from Blüdhaven after uh—I heard what happened."

"Hello, Master Dick. It's lovely to see you back home again." Alfred nods his head. The man in question—Dick, apparently, which makes the immature teen in you giggle—gives you a sorrowful expression.

But... doesn't say anything past that. He continues small talk with Alfred—and you're left propped up in the older man's arms with a lost expression.

Did he... just blow you off?

One—that was pretty rude. Two, did he not just say he came back after he heard what happened? Not to toot your own horn or anything—but you'd assume being shot kind of counts as a "what happened".

You press your lips firmly together. This was getting awkward for you, especially seeing how comfortable this huge Dick (yeah, you're taking it and running with it) seemed to be with leaving this sickly, wounded (maybe you're being a tad dramatic) person to stumble like a baby fawn, in silence.

Alfred, however—catches sight of your one-sided tension, and abruptly ends his conversation. "My apologies, Master Dick, but I must help [name] to their room. I would love to continue this conversation at a later date."

"Oh yeah, no sweat, Alfred." He gives the older man a gleeful thumbs up. Then, his eyes meet yours. "Get better soon, okay?"

You avert his stare and only nod in response. Well, at least he noticed you were there. You're still in mild shock, but you somehow manage to keep a pleasant expression. With one last small smile, Dick walks away—where, you don't really care about.

Alfred slowly helps you up a flight of stairs. He only breaks the silence after you find yourself standing in front of a room with a faded name on it. Your name. "... All these years, and only now, you've suddenly changed. I wonder..."

His words are cryptic, but his expression even more so. What was he talking about? "... Huh?"

A small smile fades on his face. "Ah... no. It's nothing. I was thinking out loud. Call me if you need anything else, Master [name]. I am at your service. And please... get better soon."

Somehow, it sounds nicer when he says it. You smile a little, and give him a nod.

"Thank you..." You test out his name on your tongue. It feels natural. "Alfred. I'll try my best."

He leaves with a curt nod and not another word. You finally slide the door open, and take a look around.

You step inside, and it's like you've entered a whole new world, again.

It's... small. Not by regular standards—it's almost double the size of your room at home—but compared to a guest bedroom in this overly massive home... it's rather small. Like a closet, more than a bedroom.

It's empty, too. Your room at home is decorated with posters and trinkets of your favourite shows, pictures of you with Harry and MJ (sometimes even the four), and memorable items you've collected with your friends and family over the years.

Memories. You had memories.

There is nothing here.

It's like you're standing in a blank slate—in a world where you are nothing and yet everything you've ever had. It sends a chill down your spine.

You walk barefoot across cold wood and take a seat on the bedsheets. Bare white with a childish print. Something a young child would use. It looks pretty scuffed up. Old. The mattress creaks under your weight and you wince.

There's a bookshelf just opposite to you. There's not much in it—in fact, it's smaller than small and is almost completely empty. There's nothing but school textbooks and thick novels. And...

It catches your eye almost immediately. A little pink slip in the midst of deep black and brown colours. You stand up—ignoring the creak that follows—and walk over to the shelf.

You slip the book out, and immediately take in its cover. Pink, and with your name in wonky cursive. It's rather dusty, as if it hadn't even been touched in years.

You flip open the cover. Big bubble letters spelling out My diary flash you and you quickly flip the page before the glitter sears into your eyelids.

The first entry is there. Exactly seven years and two months ago. It's nothing like those entries you've seen on those corny 2000's TV shows for tweens—nor is it like those aesthetic journaling girls on Pwinterest.

It's something, familiarly, you. A short clunk of text about your day, on days that had some sort of exciting event going on—something you'd undoubtedly do. It almost makes you grimace.

This whole multiverse thing might be worse than you thought.

Two days ago I moved into a new house. My mom said she couldn't take care of me anymore, and I had to live with my dad. I've never seen him until today, but he's really busy, so we don't talk much. Alfred is nice to me, and his cooking is really yummy.

There's a little sketch of a baked dinner—and despite your pre-tween art skills, it does seem rather tasty looking.

You flip the page. The next entry is a week after the last.

I still haven't talked with dad yet. But I did meet two new people. Alfred said that they're my new brothers. Mom never wanted any more babies, so I was very excited to meet them! Jason is fun to play with. He's really bad at hide and go seek, though—I always win! Dick is fun too, but he's busy a lot, like dad. But he always makes time for me and Jason. I really like it here.

There's a small picture of three stick people holding hands. One is significantly short than the other two—labelled with your name above. The one on the left to you is Jason, with black curls and a wide grin. The one on the right is labelled Dickie, much taller than the other two and with shaggy black hair.

The drawing is innocent. Cute. Wholesome, if you will. There's even heart stickers pasted (and peeling, by now) between each of your heads.

You flip the page with a small, fond smile. The next entry is three days after that one.

Dad played with me, Jason, and Dickie today. He was really bad at hide and go seek too—but Dad and Jason chased each other all around the house before I caught both of them. I was so happy I won today! Dad took us all out for dinner, even Alfred. Alfred said he only came because I always look very happy when we're together. The dinner was really yummy!!!!

The drawing underneath is a picture of what looked like a smaller version of you, standing triumphantly with a little tiara on your head.

You flip the page. This time—there's a significant gap between the dates. This was a whole 5 months after you last wrote in your diary.

I don't know where Jason is. Dad and Dickie look really sad. They've been really busy for a long time, and we don't play much anymore. The only times I see Dad is at dinner. But we don't talk. Sometimes he doesn't eat dinner, either. Alfred still puts my drawings on the fridge, and he says that Dad and Dickie are just sad now, and they'll be better soon. I miss Jason. I want him back home.

There's no silly-looking drawing to go underneath this entry. This Jason—apparently the man who saved you—seemed rather fun-loving, despite whatever happened to him. You wonder what it was.

You flip the page, again. This entry was 3 months after the last.

I miss Dad, and Dickie. Dickie told me he had to go away for a bit, because he has something important to do somewhere else. Dad is busy all the time. I haven't seen him in 4 days. I don't play with anyone but Alfred now, but he's not that fun to play with, because he's so serious all the time. Dad tells me to go on my iPad and not bother Alfred when I'm bored, but I miss them.

Next one is 2 days after.

I met a new boy today. Dad told me he's my new brother. I was pretty excited because he's my age. But he didn't want to talk to me. He said he was too caught up in important stuff, and that I should just come back later. But he looked real annoyed when saying it—so I didn't come back. He didn't say anything, so I don't think he cared.

A week later.

My dad is Batman, and my new brother is Robin. I'm freaking out. He never told me—I saw them sneaking out one day and I got really mad. Why didn't he tell me? Did Dickie and Jason know? Was I the only one who didn't? Tim got mad at me when I started yelling. I felt really sad so I hid in my room to get away from them. I've been here since. Alfred brought me dinner, but I'm not hungry.

So... this Batman who you saw before, is actually your dad? In this world, this is your father? You almost drop the diary in shock, but you can't tear your eyes away. You can't stop reading.

The next few entries don't catch your eye—it's all teen angst about how you're sick of how busy your dad is, how annoying Tim can be, how Dick won't even visit your room anymore—until something else catches your eye.

3 years later.

Jason is back. He's back home. I don't know why, but he's back. I was so excited to see him again—everyone else has become so busy and won't even talk to me. Nobody else has time for me, but Jason did. But he looked different. He's way older than me, now. He won't even look at me. I tried to hug him but he just put a mask on and walked away. Why is everyone doing this to me? What did I do? It's not fair.

Your writing grows into chicken scratch near the end—as if conveying your frustration. You skim through a few more entries. More teen angst. More about how you can't even hold a conversation with your siblings anymore.

Some were sweet, like how you met some people, unnamed, and treasured their friendship so deeply, but they were few and far between.

I met a girl today. She's my sister now. Her name is Cassandra, and she has very pretty eyes. I tried to talk to her, but dad got pretty mad at me because apparently she doesn't like to talk much. How was I supposed to know that? She didn't even look at me as dad pulled her away. Who even is she? Why does my dad like her better than me? Why does he like them all better than me? It's not fair.

You're bitter. You're upset, and so, so bitter. It's so abundantly clear that as time went on, you became progressively more and more spiteful. It was rather sad to watch.

This stupid little kid tried to kill me. Claimed I was unworthy. I couldn't give less of a shit what he thinks—but my family couldn't give less of a shit about me. They said he's troubled, that he needs patience.

The new few words were less than family friendly. Unkind? Definitely. Deserved? Possibly.

I can't believe this. I'm so sick of this. I want to get out. I can't take this anymore. Jason kills people now, but Bruce still loves him. Even Steph and Babs get more love from Bruce than me. They're not even in the family, but they're better. Because they're superheroes, they're better. Maybe I'll be a hero myself. Maybe then, they'll see me.

You flip the page. That's the last entry. The last page of the book—but behind it, there's a page made of sticky notes on the back cover. Your eyes widen in shock at what you see.

It's all...

"Spidey," you read out the name atop this pasted page in a low whisper.

Your fingertips trace over the detailed drawings. Your costume. Though not made of nanotech—the suit was intricately designed with spider patterns falling all around your arms and legs, with a large spider torso. It looked somewhat like Silk's suit.

Web shooters, with thorough calculations on how much you'd have to bulk up to swing without taking your arm off (which, by what you're reading, was humanly impossible for a regular you), and detailed explanations on what the web fluid was made out of.

More environmentally sustainable than your ones. You'd have to take these notes back home.

It wasn't like your family would go looking—you can't help but think, chewing on your cheek. This was incredible. You must've been a real genius to figure all this out.

Back home, you had Reed and Tony help you with all your spider stuff. Sure, you were the one who came up with all the base ideas and constructed it all yourself—but they helped out a lot with all the technicalities. But to come up with something like, from what you can tell, all on your own...

It was nothing short of incredible. And your family had no idea.

You snap the book shut, eyes narrowing down at the ground. Your Aunt May never would've treated you like this—and if you were correct, this other you must be with your aunt right now.

Good for them, you think. Maybe they'd be happier there, anyway.

A sudden knock at your door brings you out of your stupor. You slip the book away quickly as Alfred opens the door, bowing his head slightly. "Master [name], dinner is ready. If you're feeling better, please come down."

The prospect of a family dinner leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, especially after all you've read from this diary. No matter. You don't know how this you behaved before, but you have bigger issues to deal with than becoming a copy of this sad child.

But despite everything... Alfred really did seem to care for them—for you. You nod, smoothing out your cami. "Thanks. Let's go."

You and he both head down the stairs, and you finally come face to face with the family you've heard so much about.

They're all grinning from ear-to-ear, laughing about something that "happened on patrol" as you take a seat at the end of the table—beside a blonde girl who you think was called Stephanie—chewing on the food.

It was good. Really good. Almost as good as Aunt May's meatloaf. The thought makes you feel a little homesick, but you persevere. The hard glare given to you across the table by this small kid (definitely Damian) isn't helping, though.

Dick catches the look and follows his little brothers gaze to you. He doesn't say anything about it—only ruffles the boy's hair, chuckling, and asks why he seems so glum. The child hisses and starts trying to stab the man with a steak knife, to no avail—of course.

That was the last time you were even glanced at for the rest of the dinner. You almost can't believe it. How could somebody really fade into the background like that? How could such a family let it happen?

How could they be so ignorant? You lose your appetite soon enough, and stand up. The chatter dies down for a second. Stephanie—being the closest toward you, gives you an uncomfortable smile, "Are you not going to finish? You were out for a while... you need energy to get back up and do..."

Whatever it is you do at home, you guess that's probably what she was thinking. Who said you hadn't gotten a telepathic mutation?

She doesn't finish her sentence. You'd just met these people and already you were sick of this. Seriously, you don't think you could get any more uncomfortable if somebody strapped you to a chair and tossed you down a dark well.

You miss the most fantastic of fours you know. They'd never do this to you. Sue was far too sweet.

You shake your head, plate held tight in your hand. "I'll be fine. Don't worry about me. There's much more important things out there in Gotham, isn't there? Besides—I have more than enough time to heal. Not like I'm doing any hero stuff, huh?"

Your laugh lacks any kind of humour, and you walk out in your typical Spidey fashion. The chatter doesn't spike up for a good ten minutes until after you leave.

You meet Alfred in the kitchen, and he's doing countless dishes alone. There's a stack of plates almost as tall as he is. You roll up your sleeves.

He gives you a confused look. "Master [name]? I have told you before, you—"

"I don't care what you told me." You say, suddenly—but you backtrack when you realise how flat your tone was. Cheeks flushed, you correct yourself, "Ah—sorry. I meant... I don't care what you told me, because it doesn't matter if you don't want help... I'll offer it anyway, you know? I can't help it. It's how I am."

It's why I'm Spidey. Not because I have powers. Not because I'm good at swinging around. Not even because the costume is awesome.

It's because you can't help but help others. You have the power to do so—now it's your responsibility.

You take a sponge, and douse it in dishwashing liquid. You scrub down a porcelain plate beside Alfred in silence.

The pensive look on his face was now replaced by a small, fond smile.

we getting into the typical diary entry stuff okokokkkk but. love interests next chapter. smirks let me cook!!!@

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[pizzapottah]

the future queen

summary: Sources say that the Wandering Princess was downright brutal to her uncle Vaemond Velaryon during the trial for his petition, despite having shown fondness of him in the years before. When he himself made her notice that, she laughed in his face, "Oh, dear uncle, did you hope to receive a kinder treatment than the others that come in this room and demand some fleeing claim over some land just because I hold your brother dear in my heart? Then you shall know at your own expense that everyone who tries to harm my brothers harms me and, by consequence, the Throne."

pairings: cregan stark x velaryon!reader (no use of y/n), platonic (familial) relationship between the targs/velaryon and reader

word count: 7.0k

warnings: aegon is not a rapist not because he didn't rape dyana in the series but because I don't want her to suffer, mommy issues, i support women's rights and wrongs, vaemond is killed, my girl reader is going THROUGH it, aegon and princess' shenanigans (they hate everything and everyone)

author's note: rhaenyra when i catch you rhaenyra... but also aemond. AEMOND WHEN I CATCH YOU AEMOND THIS WAS ALL YOUR FAULT

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As always, you enter to find the tapestries back to a boring green. “Ugh,” you huff, “not again.” 

“Again?” Oscar asks, confused. 

“Happens every time I’m away for more than three days,” you mutter. “The wench changes the tapestries and hides the paintings. Like it’s named the Green Keep.” You bark at the first servant that passes, making him yelp, “You! Find the steward and tell him that the Princess is calling for him. I want these horrendous tapestries burned once and for all.”

The servant nods, trembling, and promptly runs away. “Aren’t you a bit too harsh?” your friend asks. You shrug. “If you think I’m harsh, then you should see the way Daemon treats the servants. Besides, I don’t treat them badly. It’s just one of the bad days. I make sure they get paid plenty enough for the trouble.” 

As you keep walking, lords and ladies of all kinds briefly stop to greet you, but you move on quickly, barely thanking them back — there’s no reason for them to make such greetings for you, when you’ve been away for barely a sennight. You figure they’re mostly happy to see you because it means the Queen and the Hand will be getting off the Throne soon. 

A month or so ago, your grandsire fell ill. The Maester wasn’t sure he would make it, but he did — he was just… weak. Too weak to attend court, to hold the councils and settle the Kingdom’s matters. 

And so his responsibilities were passed down to you. That was because he didn’t want his vicious wife as regent nor his Lord Hand on the Throne, after the various accidents that had happened when he had let them do it. I want you to understand what it’s like to take care of the Kingdom, he had said, wheezing. To learn who you should support and how to do it. 

There is no manual to learn how to rule. You could listen to the lords all day while they give you their advice, and you would wake up the next even more confused than before, so — as your mother said — there’s no other way to do it but to understand it yourself. 

You think that in the end, you worked pretty well as regent. You were the only one who dared speak back to the Queen and Lord Hand, so the councils went pretty smoothly, and court was held without too much of a hassle. But then you had to go to the Riverlands to help Oscar, and the Red Keep was left in the hands of the green wench and her vulture of a father. And as it always happened, you returned to find it changed: the tapestries of your ancestors were replaced with portraits of the Seven and the dragon statues with towers, seven-pointed stars and so on. 

It’s really incredible how in a sennight they've managed to turn the Keep upside down. Shivering, you briefly wonder how the castle would be if it was completely in their hands. 

“Princess!” someone calls behind you. It’s the steward, who pants and bows before taking a napkin from his pocket to wipe away the sweat from his forehead. “It is good to see that the Riverlands have treated you well. I hope your travels went without any problems.” 

You nod briefly, pointing at Oscar. “Yes, they were fine. Could you show Ser Oscar Tully the guest rooms while I go talk to my grandsire? He’ll be staying for a while. And, most importantly, tell the servants to bring back the old decorations; take the new ones to the Dragon Pit, Nādrēsy will take care of them.” 

The steward nods, unphased; it’s not the first time you make him burn the Hightowers’ decorations, so he must not be surprised at all. “Will do, Princess.” He bows to Oscar, showing him the way. “If you’ll follow me, my lord…”

The way up to the King’s chambers feels like forever. Before you departed for Riverrun, you made sure that the guards assigned to his rooms were ones you could trust — so that no Hightower page or servant could enter and poison the King, as they have already tried numerous times. You made sure the only one who was allowed in the chambers was Grand Maester Orwyle — and Mushroom, when your grandsire needed a cheer-up — who you paid generously to make sure that the Hightowers couldn’t get to him. 

“Lord Commander, Ser Erryk,” you greet the guards, right out of your grandsire’s quarters, They bow their heads, murmuring their own greetings, opening the doors for you. The smell of burned wood and the warmness of the room engulfs you as the guards quickly close the door behind you, your grandsire barely raising his head from the pillow. 

“–’Nyra? Is that you?” he rasps. 

“No, Grandsire,” you reply gently, taking a chair and sitting down beside his four-poster bed. You murmur your name, “It’s me, I have returned from Riverrun.” 

“Ah,” he murmurs, letting his head fall back down into the pillow, raising his hand for you to take. “It all went well, I hope?”

You squeeze his hand, barely nodding, “For now, the matter has been settled. What about you? What has the Maester said?” 

“That I need to rest,” he coughs, “did you know Rhaenyra has arrived, too?”

“I figured out as much; when she wrote to me, she was already on the boat to King’s Landing.” 

He hums. “She has shown me the boys– oh, they have grown so much. And little Aegon and Viserys…”

Ah, yes: he had never seen them before. Your mother hasn’t come back to the Keep since Joffrey's birth, and she only ever allowed you to sometimes bring Jace, Luke and Joff to the capital, insisting that Aegon and Viserys were too young — as if you weren’t almost a dragon rider by Aegon’s age. 

“They are so cute, aren’t they?” you chuckle, “They don’t look like Daemon at all, thankfully,” he adds. “They look a lot like Rhaenyra when she was little– a lot like you, too.” 

You are happy to see that he remembers when you were little — he has been forgetful as of lately, calling the Queen ‘Aemma’ and referring to Otto as ‘Lyonel’. Sometimes he slips with you too, calling you Rhaenyra, asking you when you plan to do the tour to find a husband. You haven’t heard him talk about Aegon, Aemond and Helaena in ages, and when you bring Aegon or Helaena to visit him with you, he seems to be hardly recognising them.

“It pains me that we were all reunited because of Vaemond’s petition,” your grandsire says, voice strained. “I would like to keep your mother closer to me, closer to the court– but the only idea seems to repel her.”

“I’ll talk to her,” you reassure him, “you know I have my ways. Besides, I can’t always be here. The Hightowers…”  

“I don’t trust anyone in this castle more than you and your mother,” he seethes, “how can I change Lord Hand, if you already have your own matters in the Seven Kingdoms and my own daughter won’t stay with me? This trial, the petition– it would’ve never happened if I hadn’t married Alicent and Otto wasn’t my Hand.” 

You press your lips into a thin line. “What has happened can’t be changed, my King. After these matters are dealt with, with your permission, I would like to… clean the court, so to say, from all the snakes that have made it their nest in these last few years.”

“Of course, of course,” he coughs violently, trying to scoot enough to lean his back against the headboard. You hear a clutter outside, but ignore it for the most part, focusing on the heavy breathing of your grandsire. “Do of Vaemond what you think it’s best for the Realm.” he coughs again, trying to straighten up, “Could you pass me my quill and paper? Otto’s started to become more and more meticulous, and I suspect that without my word, he won’t leave you to handle the petition…” 

You do as he asked you while the rumble outside is getting louder; if earlier it was only a few whispers and angry stomping, now it’s turning into what seems to be a full-on argument between the guards and… Oscar? Is that his voice?

Your grandsire continues writing the delegation, handwriting shaky, and you’re horribly reminded yet again of how much he’s aging. ‘Tis a wretched thing, watching someone you love slip and slip and slip until only the Stranger can catch them. You wonder when the last time you’ll be able to talk to him with him recognizing you will be. 

“The seal,” he murmurs, passing the letter to you, “forgive this old man, I don’t think I should be trusted with wax as of now, or I’d spill it all over the letter.”

You shake your head, “Never apologise to me for such a trivial thing ever again, grandsire.” you smile at him tenderly, caressing his hand. “I’d be glad to seal every one of your acts and letters for the rest of my life, if it meant having you by my side.” 

You are preparing the hot wax for the royal sigil, when the doors slam open and the guards yell curses as they try to keep out a panting, screaming Oscar. “The trial!” His voice is so shrill that for a moment, you wonder if it’s just a maid dressed up as him. “They’re making it start now! And your grandfather–” the guards push him back, closing the doors with a loud bang!, making your grandsire blink in confusion. “What was that about?”

You hurriedly pour the wax, only half-melted, over the parchment, blowing air upon the sigil in hopes to fasten the making. “Sorry, grandsire, I fear this was my call for the Throne room.” You press a kiss onto his forehead, leaving even more confused than before as you dash out of the chambers. “Oscar! Oscar!” 

You find him outside, right in front of the doors, arguing with the guards, insisting to be let in. “The Princess’ orders were specific,” Ser Erryk reiterates, “no one, besides very few, are to be let in–”

They stop at your sight, and you wave them away, hurriedly marching down the stairs while being followed by Oscar. “So, I guess the trial is starting now?” you muse, not actually amused at all. He pants, shaking his head. “The steward– he, he was showing me to the rooms, aye? And then a guy wearing the Hightower signet came and asked him for a fine pillow for the Lord Hand so that he could sit more comfortably on the Throne during the ongoing trial. And then– gods, I looked for you everywhere, I have no idea how you manage to live in this castle– I heard some maids talking about the arrival at Driftmark of Lord Corlys, who apparently is on the verge of dying.”

Your what?! echoes through the hallway and makes a few maids flinch and some guards straighten up, but your steps don’t slow down. “You mean to tell me Vaemond called this petition because my grandfather is deadly injured and nobody thought of telling me? And even worse, that right now Otto Hightower’s arse is sitting on the Iron Throne with a pillow? My ancestors have burnt down entire cities for far less!” you gag, “Oh, forgive him, Aegon, he doesn’t know what he’s doing… sitting on the throne he forged with his fallen enemies’ swords out of dragonfire– with a fine pillow no less!” 

The guards that are stationed outside the throne room clearly have no intention of blocking your way in, opening the doors for you with no fuss and bowing their heads, “Princess, Ser Tully,” 

A page jumps at your sight, interrupting Vaemond’s speech by yelling out, “The Princess, ambassador of the Crown and the Seven Kingdoms and– uh… Ser Oscar Tully, accompanying her.” 

Murmurs spread across the room; your mother smiles at you, moving forward but then stopping — you know she has just stopped herself from hugging you — and Vaemond tries to smile, too, but it ends up being more of a grimace than anything else. You try to think more of your mother rather than him, or else you’re going to strangle him right now, in front of all these witnesses. 

“Princess,” Otto Hightower gloats from above, sitting on the Throne with his stupid, horrendous green pillow. “You’re awfully late — unusual of you.” 

“Well, Lord Hand, I would’ve been on time if only anyone had told me that the trial’s time had been moved,” you hiss, “and I think that’s probably why you didn’t bother sending anyone to call for me. Now do me a favor and get your smelly and sensitive buttocks away from my Throne.” 

He raises both eyebrows, forehead wrinkling. “Pardon me?”

“I am not going to repeat myself twice, Otto,” you say, harsher this time. “I am the wielder of Blackfyre, which is the royal scepter. No one can hold court or trials without it, unless they’re the King.” he moves to open his mouth, but you don’t let him talk — he doesn’t deserve that privilege. “Besides, if you need a pillow to sit on the Iron Throne, were you really made to sit on it?”

Daemon laughs openly; besides him, everyone tries to keep their chuckles as silent as they can, even if you’re sure Mushroom’s going to combust soon if he doesn’t laugh out loud. “The Throne is made out of swords, nobody would ever be comfortable in it,” Alicent butts in– you had hoped she had called in sick today. Of course not. The sight of Aegon still holding in laughter from your remarks to Otto lightens your mood a bit. “But that does not matter. He is the Lord Hand, and unless the King has given other instructions, he is to replace the void left by the regnant.”

You snort. “Yes, grandsire said that you would have given me trouble about that. In fact, he did leave special instructions.” you pass the delegation to one of the public notaries present. He nods at it, confirming to everyone in the room the truth of your words, “Well, I guess the matter is settled then.” you squint at Lord Hand dearest, “Off of my Throne, and be quick with it.” The proud expression of your mother fills you with more happiness than it should. 

To say that you’ve had a rough relationship with her in the last few years would be an understatement to say the least. 

For the sake of your brothers, you try your best with her. You still love her dearly, but in the years your resentment towards her has grown immensely, and even if you would still die for her, that doesn’t mean that sometimes you just don’t want to kick some sense into her. You hope that after this, she fucking wakes up. You hope that she finally acknowledges that she stole what should have been your careless years and used them as her own. 

As for Daemon, you don’t necessarily despise him as much as you did once. Sure, he’s obnoxious and loud and a terrible man, but you can’t just continue to ignore him for the rest of your life. Your conversations these days mostly consist of sly remarks and jabs, but they are not made out of spite anymore, rather out of respect and complicity. In the end, Daemon — whether you like it or not — has seen you grow up, and sometimes, you think it could even be fondness the thing that softens his eyes when he looks at you  — something much similar to the gaze he holds exclusively for his own daughters. 

You nod to your grandmother Rhaenys and glare at Vaemond, proceeding to sit on the Throne and throw the cushion over the ends of the sheathed swords that surround the King’s — for this occasion, your — seat. You keep Blackfyre in your hand, holding onto the handle, keeping it like a scepter– like your grandsire once did. “Go on, Vaemond,” you muse, “I’m really curious about what you’ll say in your defense.” 

Vaemond’s eyebrows shoot up so high that for a moment, you think they might start flying around the room. “Pardon me– defense? I am not accused of anything. I am claiming my legitimate right for the Driftwood Throne.” 

You narrow your eyes. “If what I’ve heard is correct, you are issuing the legitimacy of my brothers.”

He blinks. “I am, Princess. Driftmark must–”

You huff, “That matter was settled long ago. The King himself said multiple times that anyone questioning Prince Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey Velaryon’s lineage was to have their tongue cut; besides that, our father, Laenor Velaryon, has always declared them to be legitimate. Did you think you were exonerated from such considerations, perhaps?”  

“I didn’t, Princess,” he hisses, and from the glare he sends Otto, you understand that they had planned not to bring that up. “But now the legacy is at stake. With my brother between the land of the dead and the one of the living, I want to set things right for the succession.” he falters, “I– I had hoped you’d understand.” there is much more behind his words, and you take immediate notice of it. 

You snarl. "Oh, dear uncle, did you hope to receive a kinder treatment than the others that come in this room and demand some fleeing claim over some land just because I hold your brother dear in my heart? Then you shall know at your own expense that everyone who tries to harm my brothers harms me and, by consequence, the Throne."  you wave your hand in the air. “My grandfather is not even dead yet and you already hover around his possessions like a vulture! Has nobody told you that during a Lord’s absence, a regent is named to make all the decisions for him?” 

He seems to be horrified. “The regent has much less of a claim over Driftmark than I do–”

“Yet my grandfather didn’t name you,” you counter. “I wonder why, uncle. Could it be that the regent holds his wishes more to her heart than you do?” You raise your eyes from his form, “Princess Rhaenys, a word?” 

Your grandmother steps up with a smile on her face. “Gladly,” From the way she looks at you, you understand that once you get out of this room, she’s going to brag about you to all her friends and every servant that is willing to listen. “It was ever my husband’s will that Driftmark pass through Ser Laenor to his trueborn son– Jacaerys Velaryon. His mind never changed, nor did my support of him. As a matter of fact, Princess Rhaenyra just informed me of her desire to marry Lucerys Velaryon to my granddaughter Rhaena to strengthen the bonds between our houses once again.” she chuckles, “And, as it is both Targaryen and Velaryon tradition to do so, Prince Jacaerys’ and Princess Helaena’s firstborn could marry Prince Lucerys’ and Lady Rhaena’s firstborn daughter.”

“Creating an engagement between kids who have yet to be born is a little tricky,” you murmur, an eyebrow raised, “But I don’t have anything against it. We can consider this matter settled once and for all– even if, I’m sure, once he wakes up, my grandfather will waste no time in stating his will once again.” you sigh, “I hereby reaffirm Prince Jacaerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne and the next Lord of the Tides.”

“You break law,” Vaemond hisses, “and centuries of tradition that I had hoped you’d have understood by now, niece.”

You shake your head. “Don’t try that with me, uncle, you know it won’t work.” you point your finger accusingly at him, “The regent has spoken, and her word is Corlys’. Besides, what good would you do ascending to the Throne of Driftmark? You’re old and you have no heirs, no daughters, no wife. You’re just a second son who hopes in his brother’s demise to have all that he could never have by birthright. Prince Jacaerys is already betrothed to Princess Helaena; the Velaryons will be princes, Vaemond, princes!”

“The fact that I have no heirs can still be changed,” he bluntly says. “I’m still young enough to find a wife.”

You grimace, “Yes, yes, there are way older men than you that get married at their elderly ages, but it will be a great feat to find you a wife with the face you find yourself in, even for all the gold in the world.” 

“You dare tell me who deserves to inherit the Velaryon name?” he rages, “I will not allow it!”

“Do not forget yourself, Vaemond!” you state back, “I myself hold the Velaryon name, and you have no right to tell me who deserves it and who doesn’t when my own father and the man that is now miles away, fighting for his life, taught me everything I ought to know to carry it with pride!” 

He points angrily at Jace, “That is no true Velaryon, and certainly no nephew of mine!” the whole room gasps; you get up from the Throne, surely matching the tone of anger. “Continue and I’ll have your tongue cut out for this, Vaemond–”

“You all may run your house as you see it fit!” he shouts, “But you will not decide the future of mine. The Velaryons have survived the Doom and a thousand of tribulations aside– and gods be damned, I will not see it ended because of this–”

He stops in his tracks; from the look in your eyes, he knows that if he ends the sentence, he could lose much more than his tongue. But Daemon taunts him, “Say it.”

Vaemond’s right eye ticks. “Her children are bastards!” he bellows, causing the fainting of one of the ladies standing behind and the general outrage. “And she is a whore.” 

Before you can yell out every insult under the sun and call for the guards to bring him to the Dragon Pit so that Nādrēsy may feast on him, a sword comes behind him, slicing his head in two — leaving his tongue intact. Many scream and run out of the room, while both sides of your family stand there and watch his body fall forward. The guards are stopped by a gesture of your hand; Daemon merely grins, cleaning his sword with the dead’s clothes. “Let him keep his tongue,” he murmurs, “I’m sure the Stranger will be delighted in hearing his laments.”

Oscar is downright traumatised by the experience. “Do people often die here, during trials?” he asks you for the fifth time, anxiously tapping his foot on the ground. “Not if Daemon isn’t around,” you quietly reply, looking over at your uncle and mother chatting — or, better… discuss animatedly — about what has just happened. The room is filled with the murmurs of your family: Baela and Rhaena are whispering with Rhaenys as Jace and Luke chat quietly. 

Anybody has yet to come to talk to you, too preoccupied with their own matters — not that you care. You’re waiting for everyone to be out of this room to be finally left alone with your mother and have a decent talk. As of now, you’re just sitting in your chair with your arms crossed, brooding. Oscar taps his fingers on the table beside him, and it irks you. “Will you please stop, before I send you out of this room?”

“I shouldn’t even be here!” he counters, shouting-whispering. “This feels like a family reunion!”

“Oh, please,” you roll your eyes, “my grandmother already hates you as only family can do.”

“That’s just because she thinks I’m your prostitute or something,” he mutters, offended. Though it is true that she loathes him– you have brought him with you to Driftmark many times, and every time, her despise for him was basically impossible to hide. 

“Why, you think she doesn’t hate Daemon for the exact same reason?” 

As Oscar stays there with his brows furrowed, gears turning in his head over your last sentence, your patience runs short. “This is madness. I am going to talk to her.” you rise from your seat, every eye but your mother’s and Daemon’s turning to look at you — and everyone knows you well enough to get out of the room before the storm can hit. 

Your mother and her husband are still hissing to each other for the Seven know what reason why, so much that they don’t even notice you. “Are you finished?” you say flatly, raising an eyebrow when their heads turn to look at you, surprised. Luke is the last one to exit the room, and he makes sure to close the door. “I thought you two were adults, but clearly I am in front of children. I would’ve killed Vaemond either way; could you kindly stop arguing now?” 

Rhaenyra’s face warms. “I– sorry, of course.” she still sends a glare to her husband, relenting only because of you. “Could you kindly leave us alone, kepa?” Daemon rolls his eyes, begrudgingly heading towards the door. Before he closes it behind him, he sends a look at Oscar, whispering, “I think you may want to leave now, too, whore-boy.” 

Unfortunately, Oscar only hears a few muffled words and then the door closes. He focuses on trying to make himself as invisible and small as he can, as he hasn’t been excused by either you or your mother, and figures he can’t leave his little sad seat until one of you tells him to. 

Rhaenyra is the first to extend an olive branch. “I wanted to thank you for what you did today,” she says calmly, smiling at you. “With Otto holding the trial, I don’t even want to think about what the outcome could’ve been.”

Your face remains still, not a smile in sight and no emotions to show. “Good. You have seen how to handle such matters. From now on, they will be in your hands.”

Your mother’s eyes widen. “Excuse me?”

“Excuse me?” you mock, “You let me pick up your slack for the last eight years, mother. I’m done.” she’s about to open her mouth again, but you talk over her, “You called me here because you needed my help — and I will help when I can, you know that, but you didn’t even tell me that in the first place this godsforsaken petition was called because my grandfather could be dying as of now.” you shake your head, eyes clouded with memories: of all the swims you and Corlys had taken together, of him and your father teaching you how to navigate — the only thought of them both dead makes you want to throw up. “You think you may lose an asset if he dies, maybe a once good-father– but he is my grandfather. He is much more than just a lord to me. He taught me how to swim, how to survive out in the sea — and he is, besides grandmother, the last thing left of my father.” 

You blink the tears away from your eyes. Blinking, you notice her eyes are watery too. “We have already talked about this, sweetling,” she murmurs. 

You shake your head. “We have, but you never actually listen to me. I am tired, mother.” A tear escapes her eye at seeing you in this state — head bowed, eyes full of tears, lip trembling. She has gotten so used to seeing you act mature that she has almost forgotten that you are only six and ten; at your age, her main concerns were fighting off suitors and assuring that nobody found out that she was sleeping with her ward. Meanwhile you are trying to hold the whole realm intact by yourself while trying to keep the Hightowers as far as they can be from the Throne, handling every lord and lady that complains, and — Rhaenyra as of now doesn’t know you well enough anymore to say it, but she suspects you are having an affair too. Just in case, she glares at Oscar through the tears. 

“I want to stay here, in the castle, with little to no worries until I am to be married off– oh, don’t look at me like that, mother, we both know it’s going to happen soon.” you wave a hand in the air, sniffling, “I want to finally be able to mourn my father. I want to wear all the pretty dresses I’ve bought in the last two years. I want to have handmaidens, I want to fly on Nādrēsy for fun rather than for Kingdom matters, I want to stop worrying about the Hightowers colonizing the Red Keep everytime I’m away. But I can’t do it without you, mother.”

She wipes away her tears with the sleeves of her dress, “I– I thought you enjoyed being the ambassador and having so many duties.”

You laugh bitterly. “I did for the first two years. When you give a child a cup of wine, he doesn’t think of the headache that he will have after drinking it– he only sees his opportunity to finally prove himself as an adult.” you grimace, a tear slipping from your eye, “At first it was fun. Grandsire kept me mostly away from political affairs and sent me around just to make Nādrēsy clean the Kingdom’s prisons; I didn’t have to do anything. But then he started considering me for political missions.” you spare a glance at Oscar, now trying to melt into one with the seat, clearly awkward. It was during one of the missions that you met. “He kept giving me more and more power, and I found it so funny. At ten I sentenced every remaining member of Cregan Stark’s family just because. I could have sent them to the Wall — after all, it wasn’t really clear how much his uncle’s sons had helped their father usurp Cregan, and the Wall is the usual punishment for Lords. But then, as I grew, I started feeling the weight of it. Not every situation was black and white, and sometimes I just wanted to kill both parties and call it a day.”

Your eye ticks. “And I don’t know how long I can hold it until it breaks me. I just need… time. If you pick up from where I left and become Hand, I won’t have to worry about anything until I become Queen or you become Queen and name me Hand. And until that happens, I think I will have learnt how to handle the weight just fine.” 

Your mother doesn’t say anything. She opens her mouth, then closes it, then opens it again. In the end, she just hugs you and goes for the door. As she opens it, she turns towards you, eyes red. “I– I’ll send a… servant. So that you two might be… chaperoned.” 

You raise an eyebrow. You open your heart to her for this? A dry laugh escapes you as she closes the door behind her, “Whatever,” and you move back to your original seat, letting your head fall on Oscar’s shoulder. You sigh. “Do you think she understood?”

He grumbles. “I hope so. I’m not willing to sit like this through another mother-daughter talk like this ever again.” 

Supper is predictably going to be a disaster. 

As your Grandsire enters the dining hall, wheezing and leaning against the maester, you glare at Aemond, who has graciously decided to sit as far away from you as possible — that does not deter you from cursing him to all kinds of pain and suffering in your head, though. 

You told Oscar to dine in his own room, knowing that as soon as any kind of cataclysm starts, he won’t want to be around. Looking at the faces of your relatives, you ask yourself who’s going to strike first — if Aemond, Aegon, Luke or, even worse, Daemon. 

Your grandsire groans loudly as he finally sits in his chair, Alicent on his right and your mother on his left, smiling as the Maester wipes sweat from his forehead. He tries to muster up a smile, but it comes out more like a grimace. “How good it is… to see you all tonight, together.” 

His wife hums. “Prayer before we begin?” as the others move to intertwine their hands, you and Daemon stay still, sending each other amused looks. Neither of you has ever been the greatest believer, not of the Seven at least. There’s a lot of things you believe in — your mother’s right to rule, the legitimacy of your brothers, Aemond’s utter and clear idiocy… 

“May the Mother smile down on this gathering with love. May the smith mend the bonds that have been broken for far too long. And to Vaemond Velaryon, may the gods make him rest.” you roll your eyes at that; you hope they make him burn for the rest of eternity. 

Your grandsire takes the word again. “This is an occasion of celebration. My grandson Luke will marry his cousin Baela, strengthening the bonds between our houses.” he turns to your mother, giving her the biggest smile you’ve seen him make in a while. “And my firstborn Rhaenyra has asked me permission to stay here in preparation for her role as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, making her the first Lady Hand to be named in history.” 

You perk up, surprised. Looking over at Otto, you find him staring blankly at the King, no hand pin on his chest. You instead find it on your mother’s dress, pinned right above her breast. You look up at her to find her already smiling tenderly at you, eyes full of affection. “She also requested that her daughter be lifted from her duties until she is to be married, so that she may enjoy the last years as a girl that she has left. I think her reasoning is right, and with her by my side, I know my granddaughter will be able to step aside and spend freely the next few years.” he takes his goblet of wine, barely managing to raise it in the air. “So, a toast to the young prince, his betrothed and the princesses!” 

You all clank your goblets and dive into your food, as silent as ever. Aegon nudges your side, “You’ve planned this well, haven’t you?” he whispers. The smirk on his face tells you that he couldn’t care less if his grandfather has just lost his position as Hand. “We should go visit the Free Cities together now that you have no more obligations, niece. Ever heard of Tyrosh’s pear brandy?”

You roll your eyes, holding in a smile. “Always thinking about drinking, aren’t you, uncle? I’m surprised you’re still so awake this late in the evening with all the cups you down usually.” 

He huffs. “Mother kept me from drinking today because of the trial.” he shrugs, grabbing his goblet and motioning for a servant to fill it up again. “Guess I’ll have to make up for it now.”

The chit-chatting goes on for a while; mostly everyone keeps to either themselves or the ones beside them, keeping their eyes on the plate and eating as fast as they could to get out of here soon. Your grandsire coughs, making everyone raise their eyes to look at him wheezing. “It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in the world… yet grown so distant from each other in the years past.” he shakes his head, making both you and Aegon grimace while looking at Aemond, who is nodding like he’s not the one who has mostly caused all of this.

“Let us no longer hold ill feelings into our hearts. The Crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. But set aside all your grievances — if not for the sake of the Crown, then for the sake of this old man, who loves you all dearly.” 

Either he doesn’t see the whole situation clearly or he keeps being a hopeless romantic, because you doubt anyone in this room will ever set their grievances aside. Even if you were to forgive Aemond for what he had done to you, your brothers would still hate him, and Baela and Rhaena would continue to resent him for stealing their mother’s dragon. Otto made your last six years a living hell, as you continuously tried to keep your grandsire from being poisoned by his stupid maesters and pages, and Alicent did the same to your mother, terrorizing her in her own home, making her walk right after giving birth to Joff and such. 

You’re about to open your mouth and protest on your family’s behalf when your mother herself rises from her seat, goblet high. “I wish to raise my cup to Her Grace, the Queen. I love my father, but I must admit that no one has stood more loyally by his side than his good wife.” The look Aegon sends you says loyally?, and you have to look straight ahead to the windows to not burst out laughing. 

“She has tended to him with… unfailing devotion, love, and honour. And for that, she has my whole gratitude — and… my apology.”

The Queen presses her lips into a thin line, getting up and raising her cup. “Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess. We are both mothers, and we love our children. We have more in common than we sometimes allow. I raise my cup to you… and to your house. You will make a fine queen.”

You and Aegon share a doubtful glance. “Are we the problem?” He asks you quietly, concerned about why everyone’s accepting this so quickly. You shake your head. “I have no idea, uncle. Maybe we are crazy.”

Jace clears his throat, raising too. At this point, you think you might actually be the problem. Is it possible you’re the only one who’s spiteful in this room? “To Prince Aegon and… Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family's good health, dear uncles.” He sits back down, friendly punching Aegon’s shoulder. Your uncle coughs, “To you as well.”

Baela boldly gets up, and you’re starting to wonder for how long the toasting will go on. “I would like to toast to Rhaena and Princess Helaena. They'll be married soon, and even if I do not wish to marry, I am sure they’ll find good husbands in Prince Jacaerys and Prince Lucerys.”

The rest of the night goes fairly well, with bards starting the music and Mushroom fooling around, raising everyone’s spirits. Without him, you think, the family wouldn’t stand half as strong as it did. Once, Alicent tried to ban him from court, saying he was too obscene- as if your grandsire would’ve ever allowed that, with the way the fool made both you and your mother laugh. 

At some point during the evening, your grandsire leaves for his chambers, not feeling well; and as soon as he leaves the room, your fears become reality. 

Aemond gets up from his seat, cup raised, malice in his eyes. He has waited for grandsire to retire to speak– he knows the King would not have appreciated what he has to say. “Final tribute. To the health of my nephews: Jace, Luke, and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise… and strong.”

Jace flinches. Alicent grimaces, reprimanding, “Aemond.”

He doesn’t listen. “Come — let us drain our cups to these three… Strong boys.”

You and Jace both get up. “I dare you to say that again.”

“Why?” He laughs, “'Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself Strong?” 

Jacaerys strikes first, attacking Aemond with a punch on his face. Your mother is horrified, “Jace!”  Aegon whistles, laughing until you push his face into his food. “Not now, you dumb fuck!” She turns to you, eyes lost, “Not you, too!”

“S’fine,” Aegon chokes, face covered in sauce and peas and a piece of a roasted potato up his mouth. “She usually does worse.” 

Luke is on his feet the moment Jace’s knuckles touche Aemond’s face, but the guards stop him– they don’t come for Aemond quick enough to stop him from sending Jace tumbling to the ground, though, and your brother falls down only to rise up again, even more enraged– and that’s where the guards decide to step in. 

“That is enough!” Alicent yells, getting up and going to her son as your brothers struggle in the guard’s hold. She takes her son aside, raging, “Why would you say such a thing before these people?”

Aemond only snickers. “I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, Mother.” he then turns to your brothers, still fighting the guards’ hold, “Though it seems my nephews aren't quite as proud of theirs.” 

Your mother hushers your brothers and cousins out of the room, “Go to your quarters. All of you go, now.”

Daemon goes to stand in between your uncle and your brothers, hands joined and sword on his hip. His gaze is clear: if you have something to say, say it to me. Aemond opts for the better option — the one that will allow him to keep his head steady on his shoulders — and decides to just flee the scene, exiting the chamber.

You sigh, looking at your mother. “Well,” you mumble, “I’m departing for Driftmark early in the morn to see my grandfather,” you tell her, patting her shoulder. “Good luck with everything else though. It’s rare around here that supper doesn’t end in a fight.”

if my calculations are right, the slow burn will start burning next chap

[godjustkys]

THEME: it's just hate sex with dean..

CHARACTER: male reader x dean winchester

NOTE: as promised, dean winchester one shot. also!! requests are open.

WARNING: breeding kink,, clothed sex,, dirty talk,, degradation,, slight dacryphilia,, hair pulling,, short and not proof-read :(

“..hhhfuck—” dean breathed out lowly, grasping onto the table's edge for dear life. his back was arched slightly, forehead pressed against the wooden surface itself.

dean was bent over a table, and you were fucking him from behind. your hands holding his hips firmly, thrusting in and out at a steady pace. sure, it was stable, but it wasn't fast enough for dean. he wanted you to be rougher. “Don't be a bitch, dean.” you cooed gently, pushing one hand up dean's spine, the action more sensual than anything. “let me hear you.” in response, the other just gritted his teeth, letting out a small frustrated groan. how could he let this happen? he hated you, he hated every single bone of your body.

“you- fuck like a virgin.” dean mumbled out, his tone bitter. “this your first time? you experimenting, huh?” he quipped, lifting his head up and turning it to the side, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. You let out an amused scoff in response, suddenly pushing your hips forward, the action harsh and quick. it made dean stumble, knees buckling for a moment, his grip on the edge tightening. he turned his head away immediately clenching his jaw.

“don't try to taunt me, dean. you're the one taking my cock like a damn slut right now. i can feel you clenching around me,” you spoke, leaning forward, your chest just above his back. “shh-shut the fuck up, you son of a bitch—” dean responded with a strained voice, his face twitching in annoyance. or maybe from the fact that he was holding back so many sounds. he pretended like he didn't like what you said, but god, he only got harder. his abdomen tensed too. fuck. “listen to yourself right now..” you muttered, your lips right next to his ear. “the little gasps? yeah, you love this,” your tone took a more confident edge.

dean hadn't even realized that he was gasping, letting out soft breaths that soon evolved to pants. “Mmhhm—” he let out an agitated groan that turned into a humourless chuckle. “you- keep telling yourself that-” he choked out. “oh, I don't need to. you think I would've been able to get you into this position if you didn't want it? aren't you a big, strong hunter?” you teased, moving one hand to the back of his neck. soon enough, you gripped his hair, pulling his head back. “so, tell me,” you urged him, pressing a kiss to his throat. “tell me how much you want this. how much you want my cock, how good you feel right now.”

dean kept quiet, his breathing laboured and heavy. his eyes fluttered shut as you continued kissing his throat, eyebrows stitched together. “go to hell.” he spoke as he tried to squirm out of your grip. “no, no dean,” you pressed gentle kisses against his skin again, making your way from his throat to the nape of his neck, letting go of his messy hair. “not what i asked for,” the moment you said the word 'asked' you thrusted in deeper, as if enunciating your point, making dean squirm even more. “but I'll let it slide.” you breathed out, eyes boring into the back of his head.

“shhh..shit. fuck fuck fuck-” dean groaned out, his eyes screwed shut. “you're a bastard-” he said before letting out a mewl, of all things. you let out a small chuckle, letting your pace increase - you couldn't torture dean for long, you were starting to feel bad with all his jittery squirming. “mhm? what else?” you inquired softly, so innocently, as if you weren't pounding him from the back. dean could take this, of course he could. But then, both of your hands moved back to dean's hips, grip firm, as you pulled him against you. essentially, making his ass meet your pelvis.

“hhn!” he gritted out, his fingers curling up around the edge of the table. “d- don't you manhandle me.” he protested weakly, his thighs tensing and hips stuttering. “that's not manhandling, dean. d'you want me to, though?” you asked gently, keeping your pace steady. of course, no response from the man under you. he'd be lying through his teeth if he said he wasn't curious as to what manhandling felt like, but he didn't have it in him to ask for that. let alone from you, someone he loathed. he's chastising himself for even letting this happen. his pride - wounded.

as dean continued his silent treatment of sorts, you decided for him. why the fuck not? gotta have some fun in a way, right? you pulled out, only momentarily, as you flipped dean over to his back with ease, earning a small, barely even audible yelp from the hunter. you pushed your way back in with slight resistance, dean's abdomen tensing as you did, his hands scrambling to grasp at something. well shit, his hands couldn't reach the table's edge anymore. and reaching for the edge above him would be uncomfortable. you noted his actions, realising immediately that he didn't want to touch you.

“damn, not even gonna put your hands on me?” you asked with a slightly offended tone, shifting on your feet to find a better, more comfortable angle. “c'mon..” you groaned out, one hand gripping dean's still clothed thigh, the other moving up to grip his jaw. “you want to, right? fuck your ego, dean. just do it.” you urged, your face so close to his. his vision was slightly unfocused, his toes curling just a bit. the thought was so tempting. his mind was starting to get lost in the pleasure you were providing, his skin tingling under your touch. “ain't happening.” he managed weakly, his face a.. a scowl? seriously?

“what a bitch,” you muttered in disbelief. “i've already got you where I wanted to, what's the point of giving me attitude, hm?” you pressed, the sound of your (unbuckled) belt buckle getting progressively louder due to your thrusts getting deeper. the slick sound of your cock going in and out of dean's hole progressing in volume, too. dean almost bit his tongue while trying to contain his noises. he wasn't going to give it to you. “baby, you've gotta be more compliant than that..” you cooed gently, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips that dean didn't return. he wanted to. fuck you were so hot. soft groans escaped his throat, his lips pressed to a thin line as his hands gripped at literally nothing.

“how 'bout we make a deal, hm?” you suggested suddenly, your thrusts slowing down but not stopping. that grabbed dean's interest. “you stop holding back.. and I won't mention this, ever again.” he shot you a skeptical look. you? not talking about this? what a joke. “i promise.” you added, your tone almost pleading. “i just gotta know how good I make you feel. that's enough for me.” you breathed out, thumb rubbing soothing circles into the skin of his thigh. “i'll kill you- if- if you don't keep that stupid promise.” dean threatened, albeit with a shaky voice. he was far too easy to deal with.

finally, after what seemed an eternity, one of dean's hands found their way to your shoulder, the other reaching to hold onto your waist - or more so your shirt. due to his newfound compliance, you could give it your all without him trying to hold back. you pushed your cock all the way in, because you hadn't yet. safe to say that the man you were currently fucking the living daylight out of didn't know you weren't bottoming out. “Ah!- motherfuckerrrr-- mmhh—” he whimpered out in a broken voice, his hand moving from your shoulder to the side of your neck. his face was scrunched up, eyes shut tightly.

what heavenly sounds. you let a smile creep up onto your face as you kissed him, passionately, this time dean reciprocating the kiss even if he was a bit late. he let out deep grunts every time you thrusted in, your mouth just devouring the damned sounds. you didn't waste a second, pushing your tongue into his mouth and swirling it against his. dean's breath stuttered, almost feeling overwhelmed, his thighs aching beyond belief. when you pulled away from the kiss to catch your breath, dean spoke up. “are you fucking trying to suck out my soul?” he seethed, panting heavily.

“somethin' like that, yeah.” you breathed out, your eyes locked onto his neck as your hand that was on his jaw just ran over his torso. eventually, it ended up at the hem of his shirt. you simply pushed the shirt up to his collarbone, dean's facial expression shifting to a more confused one. the moment your mouth landed on his nipple, he forced himself to hold in a girlish shriek. he wasn't used to his nipples being played with. both of the latter's hands gripped at your hair, in an attempt to ground himself but also pull you away if needed. “wh- what the fuck, man?” dean got out, his voice strained, maybe a pitch higher.

the sensation of you sucking on his nipple and pounding into him ruthlessly made him let out continuous moans, his voice breaking more with each other. eventually, he let out a sob, his fingers tightening in your hair, the stinging pain making you groan against dean's skin. you could feel his thighs trembling against your pelvis. you didn't stop though, as dean made no protest. but what you took notice of was his whiny moan of your name. it made your gaze shift to his face. god, it made you wish you had a camera just to take a photo and hang it on your wall. his eyes welled up with tears, just barely, his mouth agape, drool on the corners of his lips, all pretty, just for you. you trailed up kisses from his chest to his face, the action more gentle than you anticipated but oh well. “fuck, you're such a slut.” you mumbled against his cheek, your eyes closed as you got lost on the bliss that were dean's sounds, his hopeless squirming and trembling. “takin' me so well, like you were made for this.” you continued. “were you?” you inquired, your tone too sweet compared to your words.

a fucking whimper was what you got in response, his hips shamelessly rocking against yours, as if seeking friction. he wasn't getting enough? “you tryna get off, huh?” you leaned back up, gazing down at him. “ugh, I wanna breed you.” you rasped out, too lost in your own fantasies. “just imagine it, me filling you up, to the brim. with my cum. mine.” dean's face contorted an almost concerned facial expression. the worst thing was was that he didn't even hate what you said, he wasn't against it. he might've actually liked it. he pulled you down as his hands remained in your hair, still, his mouth latching onto your neck as he sucked hickeys onto your skin. you hummed out a sound in response, twitching inside dean. he only continued making sounds against your skin. he seemed desperate to have some sense of control.

dean kept his head buried into your shoulder, as the numerous and various moans, whines and whimpers escaped his lips. he was trying so hard to catch his breath, his thighs tensing around your waist. “who knew such a deep voiced hunter would make such girlish moans?” you teased mindlessly, your only focus now to just breed the fuck outta him. it was at this point that dean didn't even bother responding, frantically holding you close, his hands trembling. oh god you were too much. not that he'd admit that. the more you continued thrusting into him, the more he cried out. yes, cried. sure, tears weren't rolling down his face, but they were there, you knew they were. you could recognise it, the way his voice got high pitched and so eager.

eventually, the overwhelming heat that was pooling in your lower stomach was getting even stronger, and you were close. not even warning dean, you gave harsh thrusts, the other's body twitching helplessly in response as he gasped. you came inside with a groan, your hands holding dean's waist so severel that it might've even left bruises. dean let out a sharp hiss before it turned into a mewl, once again, and he couldn't help but get even more turned on by the liquid that was inside of him. he came, untouched, his arms wrapping around your shoulders as his blunt nails dug into your shirt. he was sweating, his head lowered.

“this ain't 'nough.” you mumbled weakly, starting to move again. goddamn it, dean was in for a night.

[thbbie]

༄ husband!osamu x f!reader

you bite bite. hard. teeth sinking into your husbands warm flesh. he yelps out, in surprise by the suddenness of your action — he should be used to it by now.

your little nibbles, on his fingertips, his forearms, his ears, his chest. he is used to it. it's rare for him to be seen without the little indents on his skin, red marks of the parts of him you stake your claim on the last time you had your hands (and teeth) on him.

it comes to you naturally, you need something to gnaw on and your dear husband is right there, in all his perfect chew toy glory with his thick arms, thick chest, thick thighs, hard muscles softened up by the layer of plush that surrounds them.

there is just so much of him.

and very inch of golden skin is just so tempting. you cant help but sink you teeth into him. osamu never complain, in fact if anything, he is actively encouraging you.

in bed, under your sheets when he hovers over you, you've got the best view of his body glistening in sweat, his brown eyes dark and glossy with want, hunger. osamus lips are parted, letting every sound he makes out for you to hear. once upon a time he would've been shy about this, embarrassed at himself even — not anymore, not now.

now he gives you everything, all of him. raw and unashamed, osamu put himself on a platter for you to devour.

his hips slam into yours in a smooth consistent repeated motion, legs dangling helplessly over his shoulders with each thrust deeper into you.

breathing harshly with his sliver chain dangling over you. a simple dainty thing you'd gifted him, a pendant of your initial glimmering in the low light of the room. that's not what osamu has his attention set on now though; instead, he hones in on your lips. the way you've got them tugged between teeth, biting into them till their plump and red and nearly bloody.

osamu shifts his weight to his other arm, pulling your lip free with his thumb muttering out a breathy "you'll hurt yourself" brushing over it with his thumb once, twice before letting go and sliding his index and middle fingers into your itching mouth, he sees it, you need to bury your teeth into something.

"bite here instead. mhm theree you go darlin' now don't be shy. osamu can handle it"

you look up at him, meeting his dark glossy gaze with your own for confirmation. he want you to bite him? "come on now, you could do it. you were being so harsh with your poor lip just now. "

he punctuates each of his words with a slow deep thrust into you, dick hitting that sensitive spot inside you with each buck if his hips. you whine around his digits and finally bite down.

osamu doesn't hold back the groan that escapes him, his dick twitching against your gummy walls. "heh, there's my girll~ keep at it yea? m' -hahh all yers ta gnaw on. my girls very own chew toy. yeaa~ just like that. mhmhn"

your eyes teary as he picks up the pace, slamming himself into you faster, rougher. rubbing your clit in tight little circles . when you release his fingers at a particularly deep thrust, tip snug against your g-spot you cry out "os- sa- ahh~ muu" his name comes out in syllables, a moan between each one, your voice stretched and shaky.

he just shushs you, "bite down for me. feels good yea, sinking yer teeth into me? atta girl~"

osamu is now rarely ever seen without bite marks littered all over him. his neck, his arms, his butt (yea. yea. you freak. but he doesn't mind (he enjoys it more than words could ever convey))

he doesn't put too much effort into hiding them away form view, simply remaining unbothered by them as he goes about his day, running the restaurant.

if someone does comment he is so incredibly relaxed about it, "oh those?" as if he doesn't even remember the little stinging marks are there despite the growing pride that makes his broad chest swell wider because between those cute indents of yours and the silver band on his left hand, everyone knows that he is yours.

and in his eyes, that's exactly how it's meant to be.

[itheunknown]

odi et amo - (00) prologue

negelected! meta! reader x platonic! batfam masterlist / next

maybe you deserve this.

maybe you deserve every bad thing that's happened to you.

your aunt was right, bad kids don't get to be happy.

maybe it was your fault.

you never knew your parents. all you were told was that you were a product of a "fling", a mistake, you weren't supposed to be. your mother passed during childbirth, your dad has never been in the picture - so it was up to your aunt to take on that burden.

she believed it should have been you that died in that delivery room, you believe it too.

you grew up without a proper parental figure, without love, never knowing what it's like to be wanted. you were wrong to seek it from your aunt, but you don't really resent her for that - your mother was her only family left, and her dear sister was taken away by your very own existence.

maybe you deserve this.

you would eventually get used to growing up without love, expectations would only lead to disappointment.

you weren't disappointed when your aunt was harsh to you.

you weren't disappointed when she turned to alcoholsim to cope.

you weren't disappointed when you had to practically raise yourself and look after her.

and you certainly weren't disappointed when she full sped into a tree, instantly killing her.

you can't. you deserve this.

now, as you sit in the station, ringing in your ears, your injuries nursed as you unfortunately survived, is when you finally know the identity of your father:

bruce. fucking. wayne.

you should have died with your aunt.

digital footprint about to be crazy... forgive me for any grammatical mistakes or typos!! i am so bad at public speaking letmeknowifthisisadequeteiguess...

[little-fairy-forest]

Say that shit again

Bakugo x gn! Reader

Bakugo takes part in the lastest tiktok trend to his dismay, all joked aside once his mother gets the final word

Note : mentions of gaining weight,

"Absolutely not" bakugo grumbles as he cleans the dishes after dinner at his parents house. You sit at the bar table as you try to persuade your boyfriend into partaking in a 'funny' tiktok trend you've seen some couples do

"Whats the worst that could happen, she loves us‐"

"Nuh uh, the old man would be stern with me but..." katsuki looks around to make sure his mom isn't within ear shot "the old hag will hang me if I even mess with you"

You laugh at Katsuki's reasoning, as yes, he is right. Mitsuki has your back even if you're in the wrong, much to Katsuki's annoyance.

"Just once!" You bargain "I'll jump in if things get too heated"

Katsuki finishes washing the dishes and turns to you with a blank stare

"You've one shot and film'n that dumb tiktok–"

You bounce out of your chair in victory, already getting the camera set up, isn't life great when katsuki decides to listen to you?

————

The camera is set up so its facing katsuki, but hidden behind the fruit bowl. You'd be lying if you weren't nervous yourself for Mitsuki's reaction to Katsuki being mean to you in front of her.

Mitsuki is now at the dining room table reading a magazine and having tea whilst you and katsuki are at the kitchen bar table "have a conversation". If only Mitsuki knew what chaos was being plotted right in front of her.

You could smell the smoke off Katsuki's palms due to how nervous he was. Too late to turn back. You send him a reasurring smile as you tap the countdown button on your phone to start recording.

You start off the conversation by asking Katsuki to put the kettle on and you'd go find some treats to have together

"I think theres some mochi in the fridge if you'd like some? Or maybe we could bake something" you calmly.

Katsuki speaks in his usual brash tone " you don't need anymore sugar, theres fruit right there dumbass"

Mitsuki perks up at the sound of Katsuki's harsh voice, ever so slightly missed what he said as she was engrossed in her magazine. That was close.. too close.

"But kats its Friday, so a treat is okay!" You saying trying to convince your boyfriend to comply with your simple reasoning.

"No." He says sternly, "you could bearly manoeuvre around the course earlier, let alone dodge half n halfs attacks earlier..."

Mitsuki has now started to fully listen, carfully settling down her magazine to see where katsuki is going with this conversation.

"Its only one treat i promise!" You plead with the blond, you notice another head turn and speak up.

"Katsuki theres fresh mochi in the fridge, strawberry or lemon, I can make something else if yous like" Mitsuki trys to reason woth her son. She knows herself how strict he is with his own diet, but she never have thought he would be strict with your diet.

"I already told them no, and besides their hero suit was lookin' a little tight earlier"

Silence. Deafening silence.

No one deared to move, all that could be heard was the ticking of the wall clock and Mitsuki clearly her throat before speaking in a deadly voice.

"Say that shit again, I dare you"

Oh no. Katsuki is absolutely dead–

"Ma hold on–" katsuki immediately tries to defuse to argument that hadn't even started yet, but as a hothead himself he knew where his mothers temper would lead to.

"Is that the way you talk to your partner? Huh?" Mitsuki was in full parenting mode. Even though her son stands taller then she, best believe she isn't afraid to stand up to him.

Katsuki stutters over his words, for once he wasn't sure if he should even dare yell back at his mothers face.

"Uh - we, we were just‐"

"Bullshit"

"Ma listen," katsuki looks over to you for help. Katsuki has to decide if he wants his ass beaten or protect his partner.

"I know you love him y/n, but if you mind letting me deal with this child who thinks he can talk to his partner like that–"

Yes you love his family, but you don't love how they commicate.

But you also love adding fuel to the fire

"Mitsuki, he didn't even let me finish my lunch earlier! He said and i quote 'lookin like a sack of potato's in a school uniform'"

*boom*

No Katsuki's were hurt in the making of this fic.

Go check out my masterlist !

Requests are open :)

[poisoned-fruit-prose]

𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐥.

synop: viktor is upset with you. the walls are closing in on your identity. you have nowhere to turn but away.

wc: 2.4k.

request from anon: Your Viktor X mage reader is so GOOD!!! It made me so happy considering that my oc is a mage and works with Viktor and Jayce! If you have time, could you maybe write something in the same scenario (reader being a mage, working with the boys on Hextech + dating Viktor) but where the reader had been hiding that they're a mage and now they have to confess it to the boys and explain why they understand the arcane so unusually well? So sorry if this is worded badly, and if you don't want to write it that's perfectly fine! Have a great day/night!! -🦖

includes: hurt/comfort. happy (?) ending.

author's note: i do apologize that i couldn't fit jayce into here, but i think we all know he'd just wag his tail and perk his ears up and love you all the same. (...puppy-coded jayce x reader fic, anyone?)

“It’s almost as if you already know how this all works.”

Viktor’s words made you freeze.

Hextech was beginning to reek with magic. There were jumps in logic that were far too great for science; it was you, mucking up information, crafting runes, testing things that made no sense to a non-magical mind, one that didn’t possess your internal compass. Viktor and Jayce were along for the ride at the beginning, but the explosive success of the Hexgates and the novelty of the technology’s potential was fading into careful study—a form of work that would expose your abilities and leave you vulnerable to accusations like Viktor’s.

But you didn’t already know how it all worked. Magic was an unknowable thing; it was a plane above you, surging through you in ways you’d never fully understand, not within your lifetime. You were working merely off these fleeting moments where magic, instead of your mind or even your heart, guided you. Magic told you where to step—it didn’t tell you why, it didn’t bother to explain, and it most certainly didn’t care how it appeared to the rest of the world.

It was only a matter of time before your “genius” was seen more as prescience. You no longer had a simple knack for the arcane. You were now a hostile guard of secrets that would otherwise better the world. It just broke your heart that it was Viktor who saw through it first. That he’d have to be the first to be bear your burden.

His words bit with little subtlety. It was late. Desk lamps glowed a harsh white, washing out his already pallor skin and exacerbating the bags hanging beneath his eyes. You didn’t know if he already suspected your abilities, but you now knew he most certainly noticed how you stumbled through every technicality yet were still, always, ten steps ahead of him.

Maybe it was jealousy, maybe it was sleep deprivation, maybe you were looking too far into it all. But you could only respond with nothing. Your mouth hung agape for a moment before snapping shut. You fled the lab. He didn’t follow.

You retreated to the university’s sprawling library; it was too cold for the garden and too late for anywhere else. You buried yourself in books and words when the world became unbearable but, tonight, fatigue and despair clouded your ability to focus. You found yourself crying in a study nook instead.

Somehow, in your attempt to protect the one you loved most, you found yourself driving a wedge between you instead. It sickened you.

“My, this isn’t what the library is for!”

You weren't sure how much time had passed before Heimerdinger’s cheerful voice chirped out beside your chair; a moment later, you heard him scuttle into the chaise beside you. You didn’t bother to look.

“Whatever is the matter, dear?”

You took a shaky breath as more tears escaped you. The Yordle clicked his tongue and reached into his coat pocket. After retrieving the handkerchief folded neatly inside, he reached out and passed it to you. You gave him a grateful look as you used it to dry your face.

You sniffled. He waited patiently.

“I… I fear I may not be able to work on Hextech anymore.”

“Oh, my—I understand your upset now. Why do you think that?”

“I just…” Your breath fluttered. “I think I’m causing an impasse. And I would rather Viktor and Jayce work on it alone instead of it being abandoned altogether.”

“You three are inseparable,” Heimerdinger insisted. “What in the world could you be doing that would call for such a drastic measure?”

You sobbed. “I… I can’t explain.”

“Surely it’s not your relationship with Viktor.”

“No, absolutely not,” you insisted firmly. “This… This would be a decision I’d make to save that. He and Hextech mean more to me than anything. Even my own participation.”

A quiet fell over you two—not uncomfortable, yet not devoid of thought either.

“...May I be honest with you, my dear?”

You nodded, finally looking over at him.

“I know you’re a mage.”

The blood drained from your body and the world shuddered upside down. You gaped at him in dread. The Yordle merely chuckled.

“Don’t be so worried—if I believed you were a threat, I would’ve turned you in long ago. But I have no reason to, nor any desire to.”

You allowed yourself to calm. A Council Member knowing was the worst possible scenario—but Heimerdinger had a soft spot for you in addition to thousands of years of experience. Fate graced you, of all people in all possible times, with magic. You were benevolent, incredibly sharp, and ambitious—and if there was anyone the Yordle believed should wield the arcane, it would be someone like you.

“...How did you find out?”

“Viktor and Jayce are not the only ones who have noticed the leaps you make in your studies.”

You nodded weakly. “...What’s going to happen to me?”

“Nothing at all, dear. I’ll admit, I was quite fearful when I put the pieces together. After all, magic is a very dangerous thing—even an inexperienced or feeble mage holds far more power than any non-user. Yet I cannot deny the work you have done for the world through Hextech. You have proven your worth, your passion, and your goodness. I don’t believe the public should know you’re a mage, for obvious reasons, but I do believe you have a duty to continue your research. Your abilities give you an invaluable advantage.”

You sniffled. “But Viktor… I fear he’s building up resentment because of that. I can’t… I can’t keep doing that to him, sir.”

“I have lived a very, very long life—trust me when I say a relationship such as yours is a true marvel. His resentment is understandable, but it is a drop of water in the ocean of adoration he has for you. Severing your ties to Hextech will only summon a storm. You must tell him the truth.”

“What if he hates me for it?”

“My dear, he leaves the lab when you merely ask him to. He’s going to marry you.”

You were exhausted, but you still ran back to the lab. The moon yawned from behind the windows over an empty chair and a desk in disarray. Viktor was upset with you, so you knew he wouldn’t be home—which left a single place he could possibly be.

Viktor sat on the ledge of the maintenance shaft. His eyes hung heavy but his mind whirred as he played the way you left the lab, defeated, over and over against his skull. He knew he shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. You were the love of his life, his irreplaceable partner in Hextech, and his closest friend. He had frustrations, naturally, but he allowed them to escape their leash and lash out at you. Then, once they had finished with you, they turned and began to gnaw on him.

Your hand was warm on his shoulder. He knew it was you immediately. He turned to meet your gaze, expression somber, hand jumping to yours.

“Miláčku,” he breathed, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you murmured as you settled beside him. You squeezed his hand, rested your head on his shoulder. A wave of relief washed over him. “I’m sorry too.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“No, I have. I’ve been keeping something important from you.”

You opened your free hand. A single rune nestled in your palm. Viktor gave you a confused look.

“A rune? I don’t understand—”

Without so much as the utterance of a word, the wave of a gesture, or any visible exertion of effort whatsoever, the stone began to glow a familiar blue as it lifted itself from your skin. It levitated, revolving slowly, as Viktor finally grasped what was happening.

“...You’re a mage,” he whispered. The truth shifted the air. You nodded as your hand began to shake. Your fear cleaved your connection with the arcane and the rune fell, lifeless, back into your hand.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His words were clipped. Panic made you defensive. Disagreements were common in science, but you and Viktor rarely had them outside the lab doors. The irregularity of this, compounded with the danger of magic and fatigue, made you both a little more upset than you should’ve been.

“If it wasn’t obvious, my kind isn’t exactly skipping through meadows hand-in-hand with non-users, Viktor.”

“The three of us are trying to change the world’s view on magic. You should’ve told Jayce and I much sooner—think of what we could’ve done if we knew this!"

Your head ripped off his shoulder to glare at him. “Telling you would’ve done nothing but put you in danger!”

“We could’ve made progress ten times faster!”

"This isn't about morals or philosophy, Viktor—this is life and death! That progress would be meaningless if it meant I had even a chance of losing you!"

Viktor always feared if he did not charge forward with perfect efficiency he would wither away, his life unimportant and impactless. But your words rung out in the night, struck Viktor and resonated through his body. Instantaneously, his world shifted. He saw the way you regarded him, how you held him as the pinnacle of your life. Even above Hextech. Above progress. You were scared. You cared about Hextech just as greatly as him; but what terrified you enough to conceal a crucial face of your own identity, to endure his acerbic comments, to consider abandoning your greatest passion, was not the discovery of your abilities or the destruction of your work.

It was the potential loss of him that came with it.

He finally understood. He saw the world through your eyes. He had been picking evolution over you, chasing importance and impact when he already had it cradled in his hands. He had become spiteful of the person he loved most dearly because you were making more progress. In that moment, he chose the path of his life.

He chose you. For what was progress to an empty man?

“...You would be worth dying for.”

The softness of Viktor’s voice made the anger in your shoulders and face immediately fall away; the actual statement made your heart tear apart. He would keep your secret even if it meant death upon discovery. He would forever share your burden.

You both immediately reached for each other. Viktor's hands took your face, pulling you to him with urgency as he kissed you fiercely. Your hands immediately ran up his chest, the sides of his neck, into the short hair at the nape, then fully into his locks. He snaked an arm around your middle to pull you flush against him; the mention of death only served to burn this moment in his memory. Should the worst happen, should you get caught and he lost you, he’d always remember the way your skin felt against his, how you kissed him like he mattered, how you felt like a well-loved puzzle piece against his own. There was no knowing where he ended and you began, and it terrified him how much he loved it, how he squeezed you closer to exacerbate it.

You only parted when your lungs burned. Panting, you shared breaths and atoms. Viktor bumped his forehead against yours and looked up at you with that gorgeous amber gaze. You were tearing up.

"I meant it," he murmured. Hands still on your cheeks, he thumbed the corners of your eyes, wanting to take the pain before it even started. He held you with more care than his runes, his inventions, his life's work. He held you in the way a priest cradled his scripture.

“Please don’t go doing that,” you murmured.

“Only if you don’t either.”

"I promise."

A quiet tension still scintillated in the air. “...I’m sorry for raising my voice at you. And for the back-handed comments. And accusing you of slowing down our progress.”

You couldn't help but laugh softly. “With a rap sheet like that I should quit anyways.”

“...You were going to quit?”

“Vik, I… The danger of being a mage—you were days from finding out. You were frustrated all the time and I was only dividing us further.”

“No, no more thinking like that.” He grabbed your arms, squeezed them. “You were not the reason for any of this. Hextech is our life’s work, and I can only hope that we continue on it until we die hunched over our papers; but I would give it all up to keep you at my side.”

“You don’t mean that, V.”

“What in the world makes you believe I don’t?” he asked incredulously, leaning in to catch your eyes again. His expression was earnest, adoring, nearly puppy-like from the sheer intensity of his concern.

“I—that’s just a very romantic statement.”

“You believe I’d die for you, but not that I’d give up Hextech for you? Surely you aren’t jealous of our creation.”

A beat. You both smiled. The tension broke with it, and the two of you devolved into laughter. The sound of it made Viktor’s heart just soar. The catharsis of an invention that finally worked, finishing a long book, understanding some complex idea—none of it compared to the way your voice rang out like bells when he made you laugh. Viktor nuzzled his nose beside yours. You reached up, thumbing his bottom lip.

“I'm not jealous. I just know neither of us could survive without Hextech in our lives.”

“Mm, I'm sure we’d find a way to pass the time.”

Viktor closed the gap between your lips again. You both smiled, kissing each other sleepily, unaware of just how prescient your words knelled.

dividers used: sparkles • star

[chuulyssa]

​🇭​​ 🇴 ​​🇲 ​​🇪​​ 🇼​​ 🇴 ​​🇷 ​​🇰​ .

ʟɪɢʜᴛ ʏᴀɢᴀᴍɪ !

↷ A/N ─ the long-awaited full ver of this drabble is here! will proofread this tomorrow oml it's 3am here again

★ COUNT ─ 1.3k

!! TAGS ─ light x reader, pre-kira!light, gn!reader, oral (m receiving), deep throating, slight (?) exhibitionism

★ PROLOGUE ─ giving your boyfriend head under the desk while he studies

SMUT, 18+, MDNI

The two of you were walking back home after school, neither of you speaking a word as you went on in silence. It was like a silent agreement that you would go to his house today instead of yours. After all, pissed as you were, academic stress did not help in uplifting your mood. Luckily, you knew just the way to relieve your worries while also getting your assignments done - and so did Light.

"Hello, dear," his mother greeted you warmly. "I assume he's tutoring you again? I sure hope he isn't too harsh on you."

"It's alright, Mrs Yagami," you smiled back at her, inwardly elated at the fact that some day the title you called her would belong to you.

"I don't understand, dear," she continued, "why do you need tutions from him in the first place? I mean, you do quite well as it is."

"I don't mind it," Light interrupted her before going up to his room.

You took off your shoes and shot her another kind smile before following your boyfriend. Behind you, you could hear Mrs Yagami mumble, "Kids these days."

The door shut behind you. Light immediately kept his bag in a corner and sat down on his chair. You looked at him with a bored expression.

"Already? You're not taking the 'tutoring' part seriously, now, are you?"

"Well, I have to," he said, taking out his Maths notebook and pen. "Your mother-in-law has entrusted me with this task."

You rolled your eyes.

"I don't study."

"I do," he shrugged. "And so, you must too."

"Nah," you flopped on his bed in a starfish position. "I'm going to catch some sleep."

"No, you aren't," Light said firmly and got up to hold you by your arms. He dragged you towards the table, pulling out a chair for you to sit near the desk so that you could keep up with his lessons.

"I'm not studying with you," you scoffed.

Light stared at you for some time before muttering, "Fine. You know what? Fine. Go to hell."

You chuckled and he shot you a petty glare. Opening his notebook, he started solving questions rapidly, not sparing you even a single glance and pretending as if you were as good as part of the wall.

You sat there doodling on a spare book you found. Your chin was on the table, and you were rethinking your decision to come to his house. With a sigh, you realized that you'd have been sleeping soundly in your cozy bed right now had you gone to your own house.

After a few minutes, you saw Light's pen slow down a little and an irritable look on his face.

"Y/N, look, if you can't make yourself useful, then you might as well go home. Seriously."

"What?"

"I said go home."

You blinked in confusion. Useful? Like how? You looked out of the window thinking of excuses to stay in his room. It may not have occurred to you then, but you really did want to stay in his company after all.

And then you got a brilliant idea. Of course! It'd help both you and him destress, and probably leave him flustered enough to do your homework as well. You could-

"Give you a blowjob," you repeated your suggestion to him while he looked at you with wide eyes.

"...Y/N-"

But you cut him off by pushing the chair you were sitting on away and dropping to your knees. He looked at you with a bewildered expression as you fumbled with his belt, desperate to free his obviously strained erection.

"Really, now?" you said in a mocking tone. "Already? I didn't even do anything yet!"

"Well, if you're gonna sit there looking like that, this is bound to happen."

"You could've been subtle about it though," you pushed the chair away to get a clear view and comfortable access to his cock.

"Wait, you're serious about this?"

"Um, yeah?"

"But what if someone heard us?" He protested. "My parents are down there. Heck, Sayu is down there! This is not a sound proof room, we're gonna get c- ah!"

You cut him off with a little lick to the top of his cock. With your right hand you gripped his base and lowered yourself to him.

"Say it again," you said with an amused smile on your face, lips pressed against his dick. "Let me hear your pretty voice."

He was silent for a moment. Then, he slowly reached out to dig his fingers inside your hair giving you the consent you were looking for.

"Thats a good boy," you whispered, making him shiver as your warm breath breezed his cock.

Your grip on his dick tightened ever so slightly as you got ready to suck him. His fingers were tangled in your hair while his other hand tried it's best to solve the math equations for his assignments.

You licked the tip again. Light's hips jerked upwards but you pushed him down with all your might.

"Stop teasing," he breathed, looking away as if to hide his fluster.

You rolled your eyes before finally taking him, inch by inch, inside your mouth. You felt your lips stretching to accommodate his thick dick. It was an uncomfortable experience, but the little grunts that escaped your boyfriend made it worth the pain.

As your lips hit his base, you felt your saliva drooling over his cock, and immediately lifted your head back up, just to take him entirely again.

Light groaned. You tried to smile, but your work was more important. You bobbed your head up and down his dick, occasionally tracing his balls with the tips of your fingers.

"Oh god, no, what if someone sees us," Light said between moans of pleasure. "But, baby, please don't stop now."

You lifted your head completely to look him in the eye. He whined at the lost contact, and tried to push you back.

"Did you lock the door?" You said with an annoyed huff.

"Fuck, no, let me-"

You gave his dick a few pumps to stop him.

"Too late now. I guess everyone's watching Light Yagami groan and come all over his study table."

Light widened his eyes, which was a struggle considering your soft hands manipulating his movements.

You laughed at his pathetic state before taking him in again. You bobbed your head up and down, tapping his inner thigh in a rhythm.

Under your touch, meanwhile, Light was a whimpering, moaning mess. One hand was still in your hair while the other hand completely abandoned his futile efforts of doing his assignment and now lay scratching his table.

"Oh, oh god, oh fuck, yout ake me in so well," he threw his head back with pleasure. "More, more. God, i think I'm coming already."

At this, you gave him a smug look and pushed your head down on his cock until it hit your throat. Your eyes watered, but you didn't let it ruin the moment. Light almost let out a loud cry, both his hands attempting to muffle his voice as if on cue.

You choked and gagged, while he groaned and kicked his legs in the air.

"Fuck, fuck, shit, shit, I'm coming."

Your nails dug into his thighs to form crescent moons as he emptied his cum into your throat, careful not to let any of it spill on the ground or on the chair - anywhere his mom or sister could examine and catch him red handed. After making sure to take all of it in, you finally lifted your head up, licking his entire dick in one, long stroke before licking your lips and winking at him.

Light groaned at the smirk on your face.

"You're such a bad influence. Bad influence on the perfect Light Yagami."

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

tagging: @zharickmedrano

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

© chuulyssa 2024 - do not copy, plagiarize or repost my works on any platforms. do not translate.

[harunayuuka2060]

MC: *looking at Ortho with serene eyes*

Ortho: ...

Ortho: Is there something on my face?

MC: *smiles* Nothing. By the way, what were you saying about Idia?

Ortho: *giggles* It’s about the joint field trip between Night Raven College and Royal Sword Academy. Attendance is mandatory for all of us, but my brother is doing his best to convince the headmage to let him skip the event.

MC: Are you hoping I might be able to change his mind?

Ortho: You always catch him off guard. If I could make a suggestion, I’d recommend scaring him—startling him or something—so he won’t decide to stay behind.

MC: *chuckles* Aren't you being a little too harsh on your brother?

Ortho: *sad smile* He thinks that online games and fictional stories are enough to keep him entertained. I just want him to experience life like any other normal teenager.

MC: What about you, Ortho?

Ortho: Yes?

MC: I understand that you're concerned about Idia's well-being, but keep in mind that he might be feeling the same way. He wants you to enjoy your teenage years too.

Ortho: Haha! I'm a humanoid! I don’t age like humans do, so the idea of spending my "teenage years" has never crossed my mind. Besides, I’m programmed to serve Idia.

MC: ...

MC: Him and his soul… they're contradicting.

MC: ...

MC: *smiles* I'll do my best to make sure that Idia joins this event.

Ortho: *giggles* Thank you, MC!

Azul: I know exactly how to persuade Idia!

Jade: Please don't fall for his scheme. *teasing smirk*

Azul: Don't pay attention to Jade; he enjoys tarnishing my name at every chance he gets.

Floyd: I'll do it, Seashell-chan~.

MC: Coercion is not an option.

Floyd: Aww...

Azul: Just bribe him with cats, and he'll eventually give in.

MC: *smiles* I'll take care of that. Thank you for your assistance, Azul.

Azul: Oh, before you express your thanks, I have a favor to ask.

Jade: Scheme.

Azul: It's not. Anyway, I would like to ask if you would be kind enough to sign a few photocards of yourself from the last SDC competition.

Jade: See? He's profiting off you, MC.

Azul: I swear, Jade, if you don't shut up-

Malleus: Is it alright to bother you, dear?

MC: *smiles* Of course, Dada.

Malleus: How is your investigation regarding the young Shroud?

MC: ...

MC: The Ortho Shroud I spoke with doesn't seem to be aware of the human soul within him.

Malleus: ...

Malleus: Do you consider this a problem?

MC: ...

MC: I’m not sure, Dada, but I really hope it’s not.

Idia: What's this?

Idia: *has found a slight abnormality in Ortho's system*

Idia: Do you feel anything unusual, Ortho?

Ortho: I might need a system update, but it doesn’t seem urgent.

Idia: I can work on it now-

Ortho: No! You'll just use that as an excuse to skip this field trip!

Idia: No... Yeah, you're right.

Ortho: *sigh*

Ortho: This is a minor issue, and I can resolve it myself.

Idia: Fiiinee...

'Have you... forgotten about me, Idy?'

[miange1]

BRIAN MOSER— fem reader.

mentioned: arguments, silent treatment, rough sex, brat/dom relationships, reader seen as soft(aka dolly aesthetic?),, light spanking(to ass, thighs, and vagina), use of good girl(i think), attempted somno, brian is a tit guy, reader is imagined to have bigger breasts

note: it's almost summer and i got a random feeling to write😭✌️

brian could handle a lot of things. he could handle yelling, hitting, back talk(barely). but what he couldn't let slide was being ignored, not being spoken to, little side glances you thought he couldn't see.

it was pissing him the hell off the way you thought he would just let you keep acting this way. it was getting on his nerves to say the least, and no type of advice he took from anyone else was helping.

'just tell her you're sorry, you were in the wrong.' cheap shit, you knew that trick.

'make-up sex.' didn't go well by a long shot, you wouldn't even look at him.

'buy her something.' you took it, but didn't seem like you even cared.

you were mad at him real bad.

nothing was ever good enough for you, and his self control could only go so far. the two of you lived together, and he couldn't take it all when he had to see you almost every single day.

sneaky touches when you bumped past him, the way you perked yourself up each time you had worn something revealing and decided to make the grand idea to bend over in front of him specifically.

so you were just doing this on purpose? alright, he understood, no problem.

he already wasn't in a good mood once he got home, slamming shit around— his shoes, his bag, his lab coat. his eyes looked around for you, he needed you so bad and if you were still on this ignoring him bull shit? you weren't gonna have your day any better than he was having his.

he opened the door to his room, his hand gripping the door knob seeing your position. one of your legs up, your ass out to full view in which the lace nightie you wore did no justice on covering up.

weren't you perfect, so unsuspecting and sleeping so peacefully as if he wasn't here losing his mind all over your bratty self.

his knee dipped the weight of the bed as he crawled onto the mattress, his hands coming to your hips to prop you up a small bit; your panties poking out to his view and rubbing up against the rough denim of his jeans.

he felt the way your body twitched a little, squirming a slight bit and a quiet groan giving him a reminder you woke up.

"mmhn, brian?" the way you looked back, eyes no longer filled with defiance, finally. your finger rubbing at your eye to make sure no residue was left, and you blinking a small bit so you could see him clear.

"hm," he hummed, already looping his fingers round your underwear and pulling them down to your thighs. your whole expression read 'what are you doing?' but you knew what the hell he was doing.

"you still mad at me?" his voice was agitated yet calm, his thumb coming between your thighs and rubbing to the middle of your folds, not yet putting his finger inside yet.

you couldn't even answer, your body answering on its own with the way you wriggled back into his touch. "what are you talking—"

his other hand slapped at your thigh, not too harsh but harsh enough. "don't give me that. im not in the mood." he spread your thighs a little more, moving your rear back up so he could have you arch the way he wanted.

yeah, the way he wanted. you were being bitchy for your own benefit, what about what he wanted?

"brian.." he gave another thwack, shutting you up. his fingers changed up position, his middle finger delving inside whilst his thigh would rub you a little.

"don't move your hips, if you do you're gonna make it hard for me." ironic, you could feel his dick at your leg as of now.

He wouldn't slow down, for gods sake could he slow down? you were hanging onto the bed for dear life, your whole body jolting upwards with each harsh thrust he gave. he practically made no noise, only a few small grunts but it was all so he could hear was you.

each little noise turning into a big one, the way you'd try to hide them only for him to thrust at a different angle and have you get louder.

now did he miss this, no more snarky shit just you melting into his touch and pushing your ass back onto him for more.

he had grabbed your shoulders, lifting your back up to his chest and moving his hands to palm and hold at your tits. your head leaning back onto his shoulder, and his lips kissing at your jaw and neck had you dripping on his dick.

his fingers tore at the fabric which got in the way of your chest, a surprised gasp filled with annoyance with the way he couldn't even take it off. "i'll get you a new one— ah..don't worry about it."

his fingers pinched at your hardening nipple, flicking it in different directions and rolling it in between his fingers.

"you just need to behave."

[wholoveseggs]

Drops of Affection {Part Two}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Part Two

{Elijah Mikaelson x Klaus Mikaelson x f!reader} Elijah wants more. Klaus is unraveling. Someone is going to get hurt... and this time, it might be everyone.

♡♡ Part two of the request for the lovely @originals23!! I'm sorry babes... but this one goes off the rails a bit... ~xo ♡♡

5.8k words - Warnings: smuttt {with Elijah♡}, angst, gossip, more jealousy, unresolved feelings, love triangle, Kol and Rebekah grab some popcorn, brother brawl, toxic dynamics, Klaus has a valid meltdown, everyone needs therapy, iced coffees, wet clothes and lots of rain...

{Part One}

Kol heard the front doors open before he saw him.

The footsteps were familiar. Confident, cocky, and just a little too loud. Kol didn’t look up from where he was sprawled on the couch with his phone until Klaus sauntered into view.

“Morning, sunshine,” Kol said, eyes flicking lazily over his brother. “You look... pleased with yourself. Did you murder someone or just get laid?”

Klaus grinned, but didn't respond. Instead, he wandered to the bar and poured himself a drink.

Kol waited a beat. When the silence stretched, he sighed. "Don't tell me you were with her."

"And if I was?" Klaus asked, raising the glass to his lips.

Kol scowled, tossing his phone aside. "You know how Elijah feels about her."

"Which is precisely why it's fun," Klaus replied, shrugging. "She's far too smart to ever fall for our noble brother's charms."

"But not for yours?" Kol snorted.

Klaus took a long sip of his drink, ignoring the question. "Speaking of Elijah, do you know where he's gone off to? He hasn't returned my calls." Klaus kept his tone light, but there was something sharp lurking in his smile.

"He's somewhere upstairs," Kol said, gesturing vaguely.

Klaus' smile widened and he put his drink down, turning on his heel.

"Where are you going?" Kol called after him.

"To find our dear brother, of course," Klaus called back, practically skipping up the stairs before Kol could object.

Kol stayed where he was, staring after him with a grimace. “Well,” he muttered to no one, “this should be catastrophic...”

A few minutes later, the front doors opened again, but far quieter, more composed steps followed. Rebekah stepped in, heels clicking softly against the stone, sunglasses perched on her head and a tray of iced coffees in hand.

"Bex, darling. I think we might be in for a bit of a show." Kol sat up as his sister made her way across the room.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, dropping her purse onto the coffee table.

"Nik was with that witch this morning, and-"

"Oh, don't start," Rebekah groaned, handing him one of the coffees. "Please don't tell me they are fighting over a girl again," she said, dropping down onto the sofa.

Kol grinned and shrugged, taking a long sip. "Wait- listen ..."

Rebekah nodded and focused her hearing, following her brother's lead. She could hear Elijah's voice, his perfectly calm and measured tone, then Klaus' reply, harsh and mocking, but she couldn't quite make out what they were saying.

Until she could.

“Eliijaahh, don't be like that,” Klaus’s voice carried through the compound, lazy and bright like he wasn’t about to start a fight, like he hadn't been waiting all morning. "I've just returned from visiting a mutual friend of ours. What a beautiful sight she is."

There was a pause.

"Do you need to say something, Niklaus?" Elijah's voice cut through the air like a whip.

Kol and Rebekah shared a glance, sipping their drinks in unison.

"Oh, come on, Elijah. Don't pretend like you don't care. I know you have a certain fondness for her. I just wanted to let you know I was with her last night." Klaus sounded positively gleeful, "I think it's important we stay open and honest about our encounters with the lovely Y/N."

"Enough, Niklaus," Elijah sighed, exasperated with the conversation before it had even begun. "Why must you go out of your way to try and anger me?"

Klaus laughed. "Maybe I enjoy seeing your feathers ruffled."

"Perhaps you should focus more on your own affairs rather than mine." Elijah snapped, and Rebekah reached out to stop Kol from slurping so she could hear better.

"My affairs?" Klaus spat. "Your affair, brother, is my affair. I don't appreciate you interfering with the things that belong to me."

"She doesn't belong to either of us. In fact...she is far too good for either of us, yet she is somehow content to share her bed with us both," Elijah said, his tone deceptively calm, like he was stating facts that had nothing to do with him at all.

Kol and Rebekah glanced at each other, and Kol let out a low, delighted whistle.

"I'd watch myself, brother, if I were you. I know you're not accustomed to being bested, but I think it's quite clear she enjoys spending time with me more." Klaus' tone was light and teasing, and Rebekah could picture exactly what sort of vicious smirk was dancing on his lips.

"Is that so?" Elijah paused, the silence crackling with tension.

“She chose to go out with me last night. And oh, my dear brother-," Klaus’s voice dropped to something silkier, filthier. “You know how she gets, don’t you? Wild and wanting... I can still feel where her nails scratched down my back. If you could’ve seen the way she looked at me, the way she rode my-"

"Niklaus.” Elijah’s voice was sharp and loud this time, and Kol and Rebekah heard the unmistakable sound of his hands slamming down on a desk, the wood cracking slightly. "I will not listen to you talk about her in such a disgusting manner. Do you have any respect-"

Kol snorted. "He’s so pissed."

Rebekah shot him a glare, waving for him to be quiet, not wanting to miss a single word.

"-and if you had an ounce of respect for her, or for me, you would keep your filthy mouth shut. Do not dare speak to me about her like that ever again."

Kol and Rebekah listened closely, holding their breath.

"So touchy," Klaus murmured, his voice practically dripping with satisfaction. "I just thought you’d be interested in knowing what she likes..."

There was a shuffling sound, a chair scraping, a loud laugh from Klaus, a slammed door…And then suddenly Elijah was coming down the stairs into the courtyard, pulling on his coat before he even reached the bottom step.

Kol and Rebekah sat stiffly as he stalked through the room, his jaw tight, shoulders rigid, eyes fixed on the door ahead. He barely spared them a glance.

"Oh, don’t be like that, brother!" Klaus called, coming down the stairs a few seconds later. “It was your idea, remember? You came to me like some noble idiot, saying, ‘I’d rather be honest than have a misunderstanding...’ What was it again? ‘Given how you tend to behave when you’re uninformed about the matters of others’?” He mimicked Elijah’s voice with smug theatricality.

Elijah didn’t respond. He simply walked out, the front gate swinging shut behind him with a heavy clang. Klaus laughed, loud and satisfied, like he had just won a battle, as Kol and Rebekah looked at each other in horrified amusement.

A knock came in the afternoon, sharp and deliberate against the steady thrum of rain. You paused, halfway through pouring hot water into your teacup, and frowned. The storm had rolled in fast, all heavy clouds and wind and anger. No one sensible would be out in it...especially not unannounced. But there he was, umbrella in hand and fine wool jacket perfectly dry, the picture of composure and manners.

“Elijah.” You blinked. “This is.. a surprise.”

“I thought I’d come by for my book,” he said calmly, though there was something tight in the way he held his jaw. “The one I lent you last month,"

You raised a brow. "You said I could bring it when we meet for drinks tonight, did you forget we were seeing each other later?"

You watched him carefully, noticing the subtle signs of strain. The slightly crooked knot of his tie. The faint redness at the corners of his eyes. Elijah’s expression didn’t flicker, but there was a pause. Barely a beat. It said everything.

“I had the time,” he said finally.

You considered him, and the silence stretched, filled with the soft patter of the rain against the pavement. Then, slowly, you stepped back, letting the door swing wide.

"Come inside, have some tea," you said, and the relief that crossed his face was almost imperceptible.

He followed you in. His umbrella clicked closed, and you took it from his hands, drying it with your magic and hanging it neatly in the closet. He was watching you with the slightest hint of amusement, and you raised an eyebrow.

"What is it?"

"Wish I could do that," he said, slipping out of his jacket and hanging it up without your prompting.

You chuckled, knowing how he was about any kind of mess or disorder.

You poured the tea in silence, the warmth of it curling through the room like a spell. Elijah had seated himself on the edge of the sofa, back straight, hands folded, the very picture of polite detachment. But his eyes tracked you everywhere you moved, subtle and steady. Like you were something he was trying not to need.

You handed him a cup without a word. He took it with a quiet thanks, his fingers brushing yours for a beat longer than necessary. You settled into the armchair across from him, tucking your legs beneath you.

For a while, you just drank.

It should’ve felt peaceful.

But Elijah’s gaze kept drifting over your neck and down to your collarbone, where visible skin was barred by the soft, off-the-shoulder sweater you wore. To the fading marks Klaus had left the night before.

When Elijah did finally speak, his words were carefully chosen. "I heard that my brother was here last night," he said, a note of forced nonchalance in his voice.

"He was,” You said, keeping your expression neutral.

His jaw flexed. “Forgive me. It’s just... difficult not to notice.”

"If it bothers you, then perhaps we shouldn't do this anymore," you said.

"Do what?" he asked.

"Drink together. Talk. Borrow each other's things. Fuck like animals." You tilted your head, holding his gaze. "Take your pick."

Elijah looked down, studying his hands. “I don't consider the sex we have to be animalistic.” He looked up at you from under his brow, a crooked smile twitching at the corner of his lips. “Though I'm sure it could be, if you wished.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn't help the heat that rose in your cheeks. It was so easy to believe him when he spoke like that, low and earnest and gentle, and you wondered if anyone had ever resisted the lure of those soft dark eyes and warm words.

"Don't try and hide your jealousy with humor, Elijah," you said, sipping your tea.

You tried to look away, to break the eye contact before it unraveled you, but he didn’t let you. Elijah’s gaze held yours, steady and unreadable, until it became something unbearable.

“I didn’t come here to argue,” he said quietly, setting his untouched tea on the table. “But I won’t pretend it doesn’t affect me.”

"I thought you were above conventional human relationships, above monogamy," you said, watching him over the rim of your cup.

Elijah tilted his head, unable to say it first, to ask the unspoken question that was hovering between you. The unfortunate reality was that you were both too similar in that regard, too afraid to be the vulnerable one. Too prideful.

“I never promised you exclusivity,” you continued, suddenly standing, needing distance. “And you are free to fuck whoever you please."

Elijah frowned, his dark eyes following you as you walked toward the window. You watched the rain come down, harder now. It pounded against the glass like it was trying to get in. You could see him in the reflection, walking up behind you.

His warm hands wrapped around your waist, gently pulling you away from the cold, wet window. Your back pressed to his chest, and his arms wrapped around you, holding you there.

"You know... every time I'm between your legs, it's like my whole world narrows to just you, and nothing else," he whispered, his voice low and close and warm. "I know you feel it too. The way you lose yourself when we're together."

You let yourself melt into his arms for just a few moments, indulged in the truth of his words, tasted the comfort they offered, sweet and dangerous. But fear and uncertainty gnawed at your mind, and you slipped away, stepping out of his grasp, refusing to meet his eyes.

"Maybe I don't want this," you lied. "Maybe I'm not as affected as you."

He didn't say anything. When you turned to face him, his expression was guarded, but his eyes were full of something dark and desperate.

"Thanks for letting me borrow your book, but you should go," you said, walking past him.

Your heart clenched, regretting the words before they had fully passed your lips, but the damage was done. Elijah was already moving, putting his jacket back on, taking his umbrella.

The words right there on the tip of your tongue. You wanted him to stay. You missed him all the time. 

But he was already gone.

And the rain went on.

You stood there, staring at the front door, and then you ran after him, pulling it open with a frantic tug, not wasting time grabbing a coat. You were soaked before you made it down the steps, your hair plastered to your cheeks, your clothes heavy and cold.

Elijah was outside of his car parked across the street, unlocking the door with his keys.

"Wait!" you called, voice lost in the rush of the storm.

He didn't turn, but his hand paused, hovering above the door handle. You knew he heard you, if not your words, but the pounding of your heart, the rush of the rain, the thud of your feet on the pavement.

He turned just in time for you to reach him, grabbing the collar of his jacket and pulling him down into a kiss.

He dropped his umbrella, the rain coming down even harder now, drenching both of you. He cupped your face in his hands, fingers tangling in your wet hair, holding you close, kissing you like he needed you.

"Please don't go," you breathed against his lips.

"Don't push me away," he replied.

You didn't answer, just pulled him into another kiss, and this time it was slower, deeper, his mouth moving against yours. Your hands trembled as they moved under his coat and up his chest. 

You could feel the way his body shifted, the way his breathing changed. His hands moved down to your hips and then he lifted you, your legs wrapping around his waist.

He carried you inside, his mouth never leaving yours as he kicked the door shut behind him and slammed you against the wall. Water dripped from the both of you, creating a puddle on the floor. The two of you quickly shed your wet clothes, tugging and struggling until you were both naked, bodies pressed together, kissing like it was the only thing keeping you alive.

He lifted you again, carrying you to your bedroom. You clung to him, legs wrapped tight around his sides, your nails digging into his shoulders.

He pressed you into the mattress, swallowing your gasp as his lips claimed yours again. Rough, demanding, his tongue plunging deep, tasting you like a man starved.

The two of you were still damp from the rain, and you ran your hands over his skin, his back, his arms, his chest. His mouth traveled down, nipping at the curve of your neck, licking and biting at the tender spot where your pulse fluttered. Your magic rose up, responding to the heat of him, the touch of his mouth, and it hummed under your skin.

Elijah could feel it, like a warm current, drying the two of you, and it only spurred him on, his kisses turning more insistent. Then he moved lower, his hands spreading your thighs apart and settling between them. He kissed the inside of your knee, then the inside of your thigh, his breath hot on your skin.

You tugged on his hair, wanting him closer, but he didn't move, his mouth hovering above where you wanted him most. You whined, trying to shift against him, and his hand spayed across your chest, pushing you back into the bed.

"I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart," he said, looking up at you. "Just relax."

He gave you a wicked grin, his eyes glinting in the low light, and then he bent his head and dragged his tongue through your slit, hot and slow. Your thighs spread wider and a moan slipped out, and Elijah chuckled, pleased with the reaction.

His dark eyes stayed locked with yours, letting you grind yourself against him. He teased you, his tongue sliding over your clit again and again, but never quite enough. It didn't take long before you were panting and desperate, trying to get the pressure and friction you craved. But he held your hips steady, not quite letting you have what you wanted.

You sat up and grabbed a handful of his hair, tugging hard. "Elijah," you tried to sound commanding, the same way you were with Klaus, but it came out pleading. "I need you to-"

Your words cut off as Elijah's head suddenly moved away from between your thighs and captured your lips in a kiss. You grabbed his shoulders and you kissed him back, your thighs squeezing around his hips.

He shifted his weight, his hand slipping down between your bodies, and then you felt the slow delicious press of his cock. Your breath caught in your throat, and Elijah kissed the sound away, easing himself inside.

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer, deeper, and his breath hissed between his teeth. He moved slowly, and your body welcomed him, stretching and clenching around him.

"Elijah," you breathed his name against his lips, your fingers gripping his biceps.

He hummed, deep in his chest, his eyes raking over your face, and down to the place where you were joined. He let out a soft groan and lifted your thighs, fucking you with deep, hard strokes.

Each thrust hit with force, his grunts low and raspy, your gasps sharp and breathless. The bed creaked beneath you, the headboard banging into the wall in a steady, desperate rhythm.

Your head tipped back, pleasure burning white hot. His lips moved to your neck and you could feel the gentle scrape of his fangs. He wasn't going to bite you without permission, you knew that, but the threat was enough to make the heat rush down to where he was buried inside of you. And oh, you wanted it, his fangs sinking into your skin, your blood flooding his mouth, the bond forming and tying the two of you together.

You squeezed your thighs tight and his pace faltered. You could feel his control slipping, his grip bruising, his thrusts becoming faster and shallower.

"Elijah, please, I need..." you begged, unsure how to ask, if he would even be willing.

But the way his body stilled, the way his breathing slowed, his fingers tracing over the curve of your cheek, the softness of your neck...you knew he understood. You angled your neck, giving him better access, and he bent his head, his tongue tracing along your jugular, his lips warm and soft against the rapid pulse.

"I can't," he breathed, his voice rough and breaking.

"Please," you whispered, clinging to him. "I want you to-"

Elijah made a low, desperate noise and then his mouth was on yours, cutting you off with a hard kiss.

"Not tonight," he said, his hips grinding against yours. "Not until you-"

He broke off with a groan, burying his face in your neck, his thrusts becoming uncoordinated.

Your fingers curled into his hair, tugging hard. Your back arched, pleasure racing up your spine, and the moan that escaped your lips was a high, desperate sound.

"Yes," you whimpered. "Like that, please, Elijah, just like that, please, please, I'm so close."

Your head tipped back, a cry ripping from your throat as you came, a bright hot rush of pleasure that went on and on and on. He followed close behind, a hoarse, wrecked sound tearing from his chest. His body went rigid and he spilled himself inside of you, his hips grinding into yours, his hands intertwining with yours.

For a few moments, the only sound in the room was your heavy breaths, and the rain falling outside. Elijah lifted his head, his dark eyes finding yours, searching. There was an unspoken question there, one he wouldn't say, one he wanted you to answer.

"Stay," you breathed, brushing his hair back from his forehead.

He kissed you again, softer this time, his lips gentle. Then he pulled out and rolled to the side, laying next to you, his arm draped over your waist. Your head fell to his shoulder, and you snuggled closer, feeling safe and warm.

"I'm sorry," he said, letting out a long sigh, before gently moving you off him. "I don't think I should,"

You frowned, sitting up, watching as he slid out of the bed. His clothes were still in a soaked pile in the hallway, and you watched as he picked them up, a frown on his face.

"Give me those," you huffed, climbing out of bed and grabbing the clothes from his hands.

They were dripping water, and you concentrated, your magic rushing forward, drying the fabric in seconds before you handed them back to him.

"Thank you," he said, and then he was pulling his pants on, his shirt, his tie, his shoes. 

"Is this about Klaus?" You asked, leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, watching him button up his shirt.

"Yes," he said simply, "It’s just hard for me not to..."

He trailed off, but you could guess the rest. You nodded, looking down at your hands, unsure how to respond.

"I know we agreed to keep things casual," Elijah said. "But I can't help but want more,"

He didn't let you answer, just moved forward, bending his head and kissing you softly.

"Goodnight," he whispered, and then he was gone.

You stood there for a long time, watching the rain come down. Wishing he had stayed.

The music was soft and expensive, drifting through the glowing courtyard. There were twinkle lights all around, their light catching on crystal glasses and gold detailing. It was the kind of party the Mikaelsons threw when they weren’t trying to impress anyone...just remind people who owned the city.

And you were there to remind the Mikaelsons who owned them..

The silk of your dress clung to your body like second skin, dark and smooth and merciless. You moved through the crowd, not bothering to look for familiar faces. You had no intention of speaking to them. Not tonight.

From across the room, up on one of the balconies Rebekah caught sight of you first.

“Oh, bloody hell,” she muttered, elbowing Kol in the ribs. “She actually showed up,”

Kol leaned on the balcony railing, one hand wrapped around a glass of bourbon, watching you like a cat. “Think she’ll go to Elijah first, or Klaus?”

“She hasn’t looked at either of them,” Rebekah said. “That’s worse.”

“Maybe she’s moved on,” Kol offered.

Rebekah scoffed. “She’s not here to move on. She’s here to be seen. And judging by that dress...and the fact that she’s sipping champagne like it’s holy water. I’d say she wants them to suffer.”

Kol grinned. “I think I'm falling in love with her too,"

“Don’t be stupid,” Rebekah muttered. “She’s about to burn this place down and make them both thank her for the ash.”

Down below, you paused to compliment someone’s earrings and laughed politely at a joke you didn’t find funny. Your gaze flicked around the room, skimming right past Elijah standing near the piano, and didn’t so much as graze Klaus by the bar. It was a clean, surgical kind of avoidance. Precise. Intentional.

Rebekah leaned over the balcony, watching Klaus now. His smile had gone flat. His fingers tapped once, twice against his glass before draining it in a single swallow.

“Oh no,” she murmured. “He’s going in.”

Klaus was moving now, cutting a path straight for you, his steps fast and determined. You were standing near the corner of the bar, your phone in hand, a bored expression on your face.

You were scrolling through some news app, and you didn't even look up when Klaus approached.

"Come on, love, this silent treatment is beneath you," he said. "Just tell me what I did wrong."

You rolled your eyes and took a sip of your drink. "You didn't do anything wrong,"

Klaus sighed. "Then why won't you talk to me?"

"I am talking to you," you said, your tone flat. "Or at least I'm trying to. You're not really listening."

He frowned, and you could see the annoyance flashing behind his eyes. Klaus was many things, but patient was not one of them.

“I always listen,” Klaus said, voice low and coaxing. “I may not always agree, but I listen.”

You finally looked up at him. “No, Klaus. You don't hear me. And when you do… you pretend you don't, because you don’t like what I have to say.”

His smile faltered. Just slightly. Just enough for you to see the crack in it.

“And what is it that I don’t like tonight?” he asked, stepping in closer, too close, the warmth of his body brushing your arm.

You didn’t flinch. You just held his gaze. “Boundaries.”

His mouth curled, half a grin, half a warning. “So now I’m being punished because Elijah forgot the rules of the game we all agreed to play?”

“I’m not punishing anyone,” you said. “I’m just done being dragged between the two of you like I’m something to win.”

He let out a soft laugh, but it wasn’t a happy sound. "Okay, okay. Fine. You don't want me as your boyfriend. I get it, darling. I'm an acquired taste," he said, tilting his head to the side, his eyes glinting with a challenge. "So how about we stick to what we are good at, and you come upstairs with me,"

You shook your head. "I don't think that's a good idea,"

"It never was," he replied, "But I'm not hearing a no…so…?"

He reached out, his thumb trailing across your jaw, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You didn't stop him. Didn't step away. You just stared at him, unmoved.

"Every time we hook-up we are hurting Elijah," you said, taking another sip of champagne.

Klaus let out a snort, shaking his head. "What do you want me to say? Don't tell me you are getting sentimental too, love."

You tilted your head, watching him carefully. “I’m saying it’s cruel.”

Klaus's expression shifted, the grin faltering. “Since when do you care what happens to Elijah?”

You didn’t say anything, you couldn't find the words. You just looked at him. And that was enough of an answer.

“When did that happen?” he asked, voice lower now. Less mocking. More dangerous.

“I don’t know,” you said honestly. “Maybe it was always there.”

Klaus let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Of course. Of course it’s him.”

You stayed quiet. It was a tense silence, thick and suffocating.

"Tell me the truth," he said, his eyes meeting yours. "What is it about my noble brother that inspires such instant devotion?"

"I think I …. love him," you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Klaus froze, his jaw clenched tight. For a moment, you could almost see his heart breaking. But the moment passed and his face went hard and blank, and then there was nothing.

"So, that's how it is," he said.

"That's how it is," you said, echoing his words.

Klaus looked at you, and you could see the anger, the frustration, bubbling up like molten lava, ready to spill over and burn everything around him.

"Klaus, I'm sorry-" you began, but he was already storming away, pushing past people as he went, shoving them aside.

You took a deep breath and turned away from the bar, trying not to panic. Trying not to cry. You shouldn't have gotten involved with two brothers in the first place, it was always going to end like this, with someone getting hurt.

Elijah was coming down the stairs, and when his gaze met yours he looked surprised. Then relieved. Then wary. You hadn't spoken to him since that rainy night, and you could see the questions forming, the uncertainty of where you stood.

You didn't say anything, didn't move. You just held his gaze, hoping he could read the truth in your eyes. Then he reached the bottom step and the crowd swallowed him up.

You waited, expecting him to appear at any moment, but instead there was a loud crash, followed by a sudden, terrible silence.

A woman screamed. Someone swore. And you knew exactly what was happening. You didn't hesitate, just moved through the crowd towards the commotion, a sick feeling in your gut.

In the center of the courtyard, Klaus and Elijah were locked in a fight, neither willing to back down. The crowd was gathered in a circle around them, watching as Klaus lunged for Elijah. Who easily avoided the punch, spinning out of the way before landing one of his own.

Blood ran down Klaus's nose, dripping onto the white shirt. He growled and swung again, and Elijah blocked the blow, hitting him in the stomach.

"This is not the time or the place," Elijah said, in an almost gentle tone, trying to wrangle his brother into submission.

Klaus snarled, wriggling out of Elijah's hold, and throwing himself back into the fray.

"You know, brother, you're right," Klaus said, his eyes flashing with anger. "This isn't the time or the place."

"Stop being such a child," Elijah hissed. "It's not becoming."

“Me?" Klaus let out a harsh laugh, the sound bouncing off the walls, causing the crowd to shrink back. "Do you want to know what's insane? What's absolutely ridiculous?"

"No," Elijah said flatly, his eyes narrowed. "And neither does anyone else, so I suggest we call an end to this nonsense and resume our evening."

Klaus took a step back, his arms open wide, a vicious smile on his face. He raised his voice deliberately, like he was addressing the entire courtyard now. “What's ridiculous is that you can't seem to fall in love with someone I haven't fucked first.”

There was a collective gasp. You heard someone whisper your name. Someone else said 'holy shit.' Kol let out a strangled cough from the balcony and Rebekah dropped her drink.

You froze, unable to process the words Klaus had just said. Your heart hammered in your chest, and you looked at Elijah, whose entire body had gone still.

“First Tatia,” Klaus began, speaking to the crowd, sharing the tale. "A few stolen kisses between us was all the permission Elijah needed to swoop in, declaring his love over a pig trough,"

Elijah's jaw was clenched so tight it looked like it might shatter. You had never seen him like this. Not furious. Not even livid. It was beyond all of that… like he was burning.

"Second, Katerina," Klaus continued, a cruel smile on his lips, the name rolling off his tongue, "I courted her in daylight. I planned to build my empire with her. And yet, somehow, my brother was the one chasing her through the gardens. Whispering promises he had no right to make,"

"Enough," Elijah growled, his hands clenched tight at his sides.

"Then Hayley," Klaus said, the smile slipping, his tone going completely cold. "The mother of my child,"

The air was heavy with tension, the crowd quiet, holding their breath, watching the drama unfold.

“And now…” Klaus turned his gaze toward you. His eyes gleamed, the weight of his fury hitting you square in the chest. “The witch.”

You felt the blood drain from your face. Felt every eye turn to you. Felt shame rising up like bile in your throat.

"Niklaus," Elijah said, his voice low and threatening. "That is quite enough."

"Why? You're not denying it," Klaus said, suddenly snarling. "Tell me brother, why are you always so desperate for the scraps of affection that I have thrown away?"

Elijah was moving before anyone could stop him, and Klaus was ready for him, his eyes flashing yellow, his fangs bared.

The brothers crashed into each other, the sound of fists striking flesh filling the room. They wrestled, clawing and snarling, as if they were nothing more than wild beasts.

The crowd backed away as the fight intensified, giving them space to wreck the courtyard. Rebekah and Kol were hurrying down the stairs, shouting and shoving. You stood there, frozen, unsure what to do, who to help, as Klaus and Elijah tore at each other.

Finally, Kol was able to grab Elijah, while Rebekah had wrapped her arms around Klaus, pulling him back.

"Stop, both of you bloody STOP!" she yelled, silencing the courtyard. "What is wrong with the two of you? Fighting like children over a girl."

"Get off of me," Klaus snarled, pushing her away, storming off before anyone could say anything else.

Elijah was breathing hard, his knuckles bloody, his shirt torn. He ran a hand through his hair and tried to straightened his clothes.

"Everyone leave," Kol called out, his voice booming. "The party’s over."

People began moving quickly, whispering behind their hands, casting glances back as they left. Some glanced at you, some at Elijah. The damage was done.

Soon the only people left in the courtyard were the Mikaelsons, and you. You stood there, your feet glued to the ground, unable to move. Unable to breathe. The crowd had vanished, but the wreckage remained…broken glass, blood on stone, silence where there had been music.

Rebekah had gone after Klaus, and Kol was cleaning up the mess, and you were left alone with Elijah.

His eyes were fixed on you from across the room, and there was so much hurt, so much sadness in his gaze, that it broke your heart. You thought about stepping forward. Just one step. Maybe that would be enough. But Elijah didn’t move, and neither did you.

"I... I think I should go," you said, forcing the words out.

Elijah nodded, quiet and composed. "That might be best."

You swallowed hard, then turned and walked toward the door. Your stomach twisted. You needed air. Space. Distance. You didn’t know what you wanted yet…only that you couldn’t figure it out while standing in the middle of their storm.  

The cool night wrapped around you as you stepped outside. For a moment, you just stood there, breathing it in as the truth washed over you.

You needed to be alone for a while.  

Truly and completely.  

To find out who you were when you weren’t caught between them. And that whatever came next, the Mikaelsons wouldn’t be part of it.

The love for them would always be there, buried deep and secret, like a seed waiting for the rain.  

But not everything that’s watered gets to grow.

{Part One}

[rose-maidenn]

Pick a card : What to manifest this full moon and upcoming days

Happy full moon folks, choose with your intuition and take what resonates, order 1-2-3 hope it helps let me know if it does love love 🌷

Masterlist , Paid readings

Pile 1 :

I see something about relief , if you or anyone around you is suffering from something you're advised to ask for relief and manifest it , something about a lace dress as well , you might wanna wear it the next function, i aslo get that u should eat more fruits and walk your dog . Your English teacher really appreciates you . As per my cards you have to let something go maybe some friendship or relationship, you have to do a cord cutting with this person or situation. It's hampering you , you're clinging to it will your dear life and it's eating all your energy up I'm so sorry but you gotta leave this behind . Learn to take life less seriously sometimes especially in the case of people cause humans are fickle , be stern headed about your goals manifest that your intentions maybe clear this full moon pray for clarity and call out to your soul to give you power to go for what you actually wanna do with your life , let life take you , let your guides and gods carry and cradle you they know what to do . Also get grounded consider red foods , wearing red and do some root chakra meditation. All the best !!!!!

Pile 2:

Are you Egyptian haha or else you might wanna look into the history and culture of Egypt that will be significant in your journey , i also see something about being more athletic this season and planting some flowers in your garden in honour of a deceased someone . This full moon focus on rejuvenation, you know what happens when one works too hard , creativity blocks okay so see I don't think you need to be this harsh on yourself okay you will get everything that you want but in time okay so give yourself and the universe that required time . This full moon manifest a girly community or new friends who understand you and love you for who you are for men manifest a community of men who want to see you win and will support and motivate you . Manifest more help from your guides and pray for building a stronger connection with your guides or gods . If you have applied for a job or exam okay manifest a positive result right now be confident as the answer is most likely a yes , this could also be in the case if you're proposing to someone . Trust your path and manifest to heal you from trust or abandonment issues you're good real good you're amazing you got this !!!!!

Pile 3 :

This full moon pray for understanding that sometimes things happen not to us but for us and this situation is just like it you know sometimes we just need a little understanding to leave a lot of stuff that doesn't belong in your life , you're reaching a deadline for some project or assignment this is a sign to complete it rn . You need rest and last pile needed rest but you need it more than anything , so many things are getting blocked because you don't sleep and keep overthinking, pray that you do not overthink no more things will happen in their own pace you know you just have to do your duty and leave it on God . Manifest your soul family / soul tribe call in real support from people . This full moon manifest that you can let go of karmic baggage from your past lives or this life and start anew with no more contracts or baggage you're new this is new you're rejuvenated . Your soul tribe is so close , think who are the people you feel are from your tribe intuitively and invest your time in them and they will do the same for you in return . Manifest more financial stability and home if you're looking to move out soon . Take care of you !!!!!!

Thanks for reading , have an amazing day 🌷

[applejusue]

Ⅵ 𝔎𝔦𝔯𝔞𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔫 𖤐.ᐟ ─── Vi's Encounter #003

tldr; You get cornered by a tiger shark, and despite your distance he doesn't seem interested in leaving you alone. Frightened and unable to call for help, you accept your fate, but his teeth never get a chance to make contact with you.

cw `# orca!vi, killer whale, size difference, injured!vi, deep waters, near-drowning, comfort, fluff, shark attack

── note: all these requests for orca!vi give me life, keep em coming! (ps I know whistles don't really work underwater shh)

𖤐.ᐟ ─── 𝔄𝔯𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔢 𝔐𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔏𝔦𝔰𝔱 | 𝔐𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔞𝔲 𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱

The coral flourished gently like a flower, waving you on as you snapped some pictures. As you took in the flora, a dark shadow ghosted overhead. You'd presumed a shadow that size may be a small boat, or a creature in passing. Feeling unnerved though, you paused, inhaling deep into your tube before glancing upward. Circling you was a large tiger shark, teeth bared with black eyes dead set on you.

With another spurt of bubbles from your oxygen mask, you avoided any sudden moves. Tiger sharks were unpredictable, he could lunge, or simply be toying with you. Tentatively you floated backward as slow as you could manage, knowing any thrashing would draw more interest. You could feel yourself trembling. This deep under water and with a tube sat in your mouth there was no way of calling to anyone, no way of escape unless he chose to leave you be. Eyes tracing urgently, you noticed the lifeguard whistle still around your neck.

The shark was patient, you could tell he was waiting for you to make a move. This was a game, and you didn't have many options. It was either swim away and get speared, or try to call for help. You had no idea if Vi was nearby, if she could hear, but you knew she'd recognise your whistle after spending so much time watching you at the beach. The noise would set him off, but it could also attract her. It all happened so fast.

You ripped the tube from your lips, blowing hard as you could into the metal hole. Within seconds the shark was making a bee line. Your limbs felt like jelly as you tried to scramble away. It's jaws split for you, broken teeth slimy with fish remains and sticky scales. Tears fogged up your mask as your arms grew tired, but before it could latch onto your kicking legs the shark disappeared, shoved harshly against a nearby rock.

You fumbled with your oxygen tube, sucking back in with a shudder as the waves thrashed you around in all directions. Your vision was a mess of blood and water, harsh pitches and growls coming from Vi as she wrestled with the shark. As much as you wanted to stay and make sure she was alright, you knew it would be smarter to get the hell out of the water. You kicked yourself upward, seeing the blue skies just beneath the current but before you could reach it, something latched onto your leg.

Your mouth parted in a bubbled shriek, spluttering around your breathing mask as you were dragged back down into the water. You clawed at the figure, writhing as the panic overcame. Then, you were pressed close. All struggle ceased as you realised it was Vi, clutching you for dear life with pitches of distress. She was frightened, not of the shark but of you being hurt. You kept your arms wrapped around her neck as she swam swiftly through the waves.

The whole journey back to the den Vi was nuzzling and prodding, checking over every inch of you despite the fact that you'd only taken a few scratches in the squabble. What worried you more was the trail of blood that followed you through the water, your mask too fogged to really make out where it was coming from. The cave was partly above water, hidden against the side of the cliff. The place was empty with Jinx out exploring, so Vi pressed you to the moss, still pitching and scratching at your scuba suit. Finally above water, you dragged off your mask with some spluttering coughs.

"God, you have no idea how-.."

Your words faltered once the mask was off, now able to see that the blood was dripping from her shoulder. A large bite mark took up the majority of her back and bicep, and her soaked body trembled as she tried to get closer to yours. You were quick to grab onto her, gently pulling up palmfuls of sea water to clean off some of the drying blood. There wasn't exactly any medical supplies out here, so you did your best to make a gauze out of seaweed and a ripped piece of cotton. The orca squirmed in your hold, unable to sit still.

"Easy sweetheart, easy.."

The words flowed naturally as you patched her up, running a free hand along her arm in an effort to soothe her. Vi had scratches running all along her torso, blood dripping into the water that hung around your calves. Most of her scrapes would fix on their own, and you sighed gently in relief. Her shoulders were nearly double the width of your body, and you couldn't bring yourself to even think about what that bite would've done if you were the one who received it.

"Thank you, you were so brave.."

You stroked along the side of her wet hair, knowing that a little bit of praise goes a long way with her. Vi pushed herself up onto the moss with you, laying down and smothering you with her wet limbs. She was shivering from being out of the water, but slowly warmed to your body heat. You squirmed slightly as she settled in, pressing her wet face to your shoulder with quiet pitching. Vi draped her heavy tail across your legs, not willing to let you go off on your own again.

[nxtaliaistyping]

Need Baron Zemo to fuck me with the mask on :(

Authors note: omg i'm not really into the mcu anymore, but nothing can stop me thinking about this man I need him so badddddd (and daniel bruhl in general tbh)

18+ nsfw, villain kink, mask kink, fingering, rough sex, brief mention of killing

Thinking about being his girl, his pretty thing that sits in his lap while he drinks the most expensive wine in his expensive penthouse (just because he's on the run, doesn't mean he can't be in style)

You know who he is, the things he's done, but you just don't care. Not when he caresses you so gently, cooing soft words in your ear of how beautiful and enchanting he finds you, how much you fill the empty void left within him after Sokovia fell and everyone he loved was wiped out.

And if anything, he's too gentle. Not wanting to frighten you, the poor little lamb that you were, cuddling up to such a dangerous man every night. So he attempts to shield things from you, what he's done and what he's capable of.

But that changes one day, you feel the compulsive need to find out more about your lover, or at least see what he's like when he's the ruthless and strategic criminal that you've been told about. This leads you to following him, not an easy task, but you see how readily he is able to get his hands dirty. Tracking down some old HYDRA agent that has information that is useful to him, and you watch in slight horror and slight awe how he interrogates the man.

Although you have to look away at certain parts, hearing presumably the agent's body hitting the cold ground with a soft thud. While you try and leave quietly, you underestimated how much planning had went into his operation, because on your attempted escape you feel a large hand grab your upper arm, yanking you towards him with force and the start of a threat before he stops.

"dragă? what are you doing here?" he asks, his tone still slightly deeper than usual as you stare into his brown eyes; the only facial features visible while he wears the dark purple mask.

As you stumble over your words, telling him that you wanted to see the real him, he can't help but notice the slight flush of your skin, the way your chest rises and your lips part. In that moment he finally understands.

"Oh...I think I understand now. My little girl likes that i'm so dangerous, hm?" he asks, and you can hear the smirk behind his teasing lilt, his head cocked to one side as you nod, embarassed.

Soon enough, he has you pinned to the wall, hand stuffed between your thighs as he fingers your tight cunt from under your skirt. You whimper and whine at his treatment, and he revels in the fact you're so depraved, so naughty, and all for him.

"Do you like this, hm sreco? I was going to take this mask off, but I have a feeling that isn't what you desire." he rasps against your ear, and you nod breathlessly at how right his assumption was. All you can do is look up at him, clenching and making a mess around his fingers as you whine.

When he pulls his fingers away, he doesn't give you time to recover before you find yourself bent over a wooden crate and his cock is forcing its way in your pussy. He's never treated you as roughly as this before, but something about his girl loving how ruthless he is, wanting him to keep his goddamn mask on, flipped a switch in him as he starts a rough pace. The echoes of his hips slamming into your ass make you flush with embarrassment, gripping the edges of the surface for dear life, pretty nails he paid for digging into the wood.

"So filthy for me, my little girl is nothing but a slut." he groans out, squeezing your ass before giving it a harsh spank. The rhythm of his cock railing you has your eyes nearly crossing, as you try not to think about the fact you're fucking an older man after he's literally just killed someone.

When he cums, he buries himself to the hilt inside of you, feeling the way you tighten around him and squeeze every last drop out. As his breathing returns to normal, so too does his headspace as he rips the mask off quickly, pulling out to shush you gently and hold you in his arms.

"There we are dragă i'm here, i'm right here. I'm sorry for being so rough."

Taking you home, he'd spoil his good girl with a bath and food, but in the back of his mind he's already planning out how he can fuck you like that again.

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:·

[starmuselove]

What is your pain trying to teach you?

Sometimes a little help is needed in times of confusion, pain and fear for all of us. Though some people need to figure it out themselves which will help in unlocking their inner mechanics which will be useful for their own future, i am coming through to help a little during difficult times.

So I pray to the Universe that this PAC reaches the ones in need and only helps in guiding them in their spiritual path and not robbing them from their own experiences of discovering or creating their own path of healing.

Disclaimer: Tarot is used only as a tool to help you and it does not state 100% facts, use your own Intuition and discretion.

Directions: Take a deep breath, calm down and choose one of the shiny things to lead you to your destined assistance ☄️ Is perfectly alright to be drawn to multiple piles!

Pile 1

I'm clearly hearing that the Deity/God you pray to has got your back. "Just put all your trust on me child, let me take care of it. Why are you worrying when I'm here" they know that you want abundance and it almost seems dream like compared to your current circumstances. Are you a Shiva devotee by any chance? Even if not, i get there is a Divine Masculine force backing you up. The dream could have a stark difference from reality that it seems impossible. I'm getting that most probably you're stuck in a 'barren' situation. You could feel like there nothing here for you or nothing better for you. Despite that you crave this happiness and fulfillment. If you are daydreaming too much this could be a problem- it's perfectly fine to wish for better times but dear, please don't torcher yourself with jumping between the dreamland and the current harsh circumstances in your life. This applies if you're also being two minded about things-it will get better, no it will not get better- back and forth. Your pain is teaching you to have a belief that your are protected and you will receive what you want but using escaping tendencies will bring you nothing but more pain that's unnecessary. It's teaching you that you need more faith be it in yourself or a higher power. Have faith that you deserve the fulfillment and aren't meant to be in this poverty forever. Give yourself a chance to fully believe that your future is very bright. Give yourself a chance to see that you have people and entities out there to help you-known or unknown.

𝓐𝓭𝓭𝓲𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓪𝓵 𝓶𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓪𝓰𝓮: 𝓑𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓪𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓼- 𝓟𝓾𝓽 𝓪 𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓪𝓻𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓭 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓼𝓮𝓵𝓯 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓮𝓷𝓮𝓻𝓰𝓲𝓮𝓼.

Keep yourself grounded so that you don't get lost from the divinely protected path. The current circumstances are put to keep you safe. Don't let the circumstances waver your belief inside, that everything is gonna be okay. You are divinely protected!

Pile 2

Your pain is telling you to let go of things that don't serve you anymore. When you know a habit is bringing you pain and discourse you could still be doing it- like a stuck record. You hate it but the familiarity is keeping you in the loop. Break the loop hun. You can lessen the pain and difficulties so much if you just do that breaking.

If any of you have childhood traumas- it's actually bringing attention that you have worked on it enough. Cause I'm getting people here have been working on your childhood traumas for quite some time. It's time to let it go. It's time to shed that identity, shed that skin. It's actually burdening you now, as you seem hyper fixed on it- all the things that requires to be worked on could have already been done. But of course since they are still bothering you somehow, this is your sign to let all the past go. No need to burden yourself with it anymore, don't worry about it.

𝓐𝓭𝓭𝓲𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓪𝓵 𝓶𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓪𝓰𝓮: 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓢𝓾𝓷-𝓡𝓲𝓼𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓸𝓬𝓬𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓸𝓷. 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓜𝓸𝓸𝓷- 𝓣𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓻��𝓯𝓵𝓮𝓬𝓽.

You have suffered enough in the dark. It's showtime, let yourself shine as the divinely directed light showers on you its benevolence.

Pile 3

You are not allowing yourself to be vulnerable, to just relax. You don't have to keep up a front, act like everything is under control- you don't have to take measures to make sure that everything is perfect.

This pile got the most cards and i see you could be justifying and creating these stories or reasons in your mind to justify why you can't relax. You don't have to work your ass off and worry your pretty little brain. Oops someone is getting angry here 😭 I meant your amazing little intelligent brain. Everyone needs rest, no matter how many amazing things you can do or want to do! Let things go, be vulnerable atleast to yourself. Don't be the person who's always making things happen. This is seriously creating blockages from your happiness. Your natural charms and passions are getting destroyed. Don't succumb to the thoughts that instigate worry in you. And don't believe the negative thoughts- i see they are sucking out the happiness, joy and hope for life away from you. It's alright to be a soft little kitten and just relax on your sofa like you have no worries in your life. Your unwillingness to be gentle with maybe yourself or your loved ones, to just relax, is the main issue(333 as i type this!) Stop worrying, your happiness is already here.

𝓐𝓭𝓭𝓲𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓪𝓵 𝓶𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓪𝓰𝓮: 𝓟𝓱𝓪𝓼𝓮𝓼- 𝓢𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓮 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓷 𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾'𝓻𝓮 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝔀𝓱𝓸𝓵𝓮.

You are already doing well! Don't push yourself too much, take this time to behave accordingly-for you cannot always do specific action all the time. Take time for other things-like resting and self pampering.

Please reblog, like or comment and support me if you liked it and/or this helped you!! Wishing you the best! I'd love to read how this reading was for you!