#every single time im doing something i keep thinking of how much more fun it would be if she was there

[uranium]

having a serious crush for the first time in a long time is so fucking scary i want to drive into a brick wall

[burningcomputerpersona]

person: *shows even the slightest hint of interest in music that I enjoy*

me: ah yes a new victim muhahahaha

[rxmxa]

random astro observations part 14. ⋆.˚🦋༘⋆✨

✨just for fun im just talking random ass shit based on PERSONALL observations..✨ part 13 here. 🎬

tw: mention of death on the last observations.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅pisces, cancer and scorpio risings WILLL be treating the date like a job interview. With that earth 7h (virgo, capricorn and taurus) TRUST that we have checked out your references and will get back to you in 2-5 business days. 💅 but no fr we need security bc we are real strict over here.🔒

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅its only to protect our hearts bc we just truly desire someone we can emotionally connect with (water 5h) and also be open to talk to about our fears and desires and the other shit we keep to ourselves (air 8h + 12h) 😤

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅my friend was telling me about how the lines that actors get immense praise for end up being improvised most of the time and that really reminded me of the aqua-leo axis. When you detach and are willing to experiment (aqua) the more likely you are to be recognized because you are becoming in tune with your natural talents (leo).

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅Every single time I'm in the shower I always get an epiphany or an idea of some sort or make a connection (usually its me thinking about peoples birth charts LOL) but every single fucking time im like wtf I gotta remember this when I get out this is good ass info! and I always forget!!!

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅^ It has to be my uranus in the 12h triggering that. Uranus= sudden downloads of information. 12h= secluded spaces, like the shower. I guess thats why I forgot so easily though (real 12h subconcious shit). Next time im bringing a whiteboard in there or some shit

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ I was talking to my pisces venus coworker and she was saying that for as long as she could remember she had always daydreamed of love. She said she would was always trying to mold herself into the ideal version of what her crushes liked (its in her 7h) and as a 7h sun myself I was shook but I also understood how this happens even in a subconcious way u can mirror people. but the love she's looking for is literally HERS. she has so much love to give and she was like who can accept this? YOU. GIVE it to yourself.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ She had been in a relationship before with someone who was SHIT person but its like she kept forgiving him or in a sense blocking it out. like thats the thing about pisces placements they will talk about some unhinge ass shit someone does to them in a such a casual way it will have you being like oh okay for a sec until you're like oh,, oh yeah no thats bad.. really bad. I say this as a pisces rising.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ and AGAIN AND AGAIN that's what helps me as someone with a lot of neptune aspects, a pisces rising, pluto squares, pluto in the 10h, lilith in the 11h, like ppl have done me FUCKING DIRTY in social and groups settings and I use to make it so much worse for myself by not nipping it in the bud. that's why anytime someone does some shit that FEELS FUCKED up you take that as a sign.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ^ dont sit there and try to rationalize it, dont try to put logic in it, dont talk about how well, when they were in 2nd grade their hamster died so maybe its their trauma. When people show you who they are you ACCEPT IT. if someone does something that a piece of shit would only do, then accept that maybe they suck. I dont mean your friend forgot to get you a straw when they bought you a drink. I mean when people do shit on purpose that puts your well-being (emotional, mental, physical) in harms way. trust me bby ik what im talking about >___<

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ and honestly, if you are plutonian or have a lot of neptune aspects or saturn in your chart as well, you're gonna learn shit the hard way. With different energy ofc. Pluto energy = will have you learning through trauma like someone passing away or trying to sabotage you. Neptune energy = will have you learning through deception like someone backstabbing you. Saturn energy= will have you learning through roadblocks, like other people being able to get shit the easy way out like a parent paying for their stuff and you having to bust your ass to get it.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ pluto in your chart can also show where people try to humble you, not like a saturnian restrictive way but more like to put you in your place because they could feel intimidated. for ex I have pluto in the 10h and my coworkers will say backhanded shit like "Oh woooow you really are going all out huh?" like instead of being normal and being like wow that is great work! they try to subtly hint that maybe im the one doing too much instead of it being them doing the bare minimum.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ If you have pluto in the 1h people could just say in general that "you're too much" or "too much to deal with" or "abrasive." Pluto in the 3h and during conversations people might look around, eyes wide, wanting you to tone it down or say that you're being inappropriate or too intense. Pluto in the 4h and people ESPECIALLY your family trying to humble you by bringing up the past: "Oh you like that now? I remember when you were a kid you..." Pluto in the 4h will especially get humbled by their family anytime they want to change or try something different than the way they were raised, like girl?! this is a family not a damn CULT.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ I have a pluto in the 4h friend who has family members that will tell the most fucked up stories about what they do to each other but then sigh and be like "but family is family so we have to accept them" or her family members say stuff like "blood is thicker than water." like no... pluto in the 4h ppl, family is who YOU CHOSE!

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ I have a coworker who is sooo nice to me but still theres something that makes me feel suspicious of her and it makes me feel so bad BUT TO BE FAIR she does have her mars in my 7h and we did have a slight rift when we first started working together. but even now, im still like do u secretly hate me...

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ She has mars in the 12th house and I also feel like thats a big factor in it because 12h house energy is so... MUTED. with placements there you really gotta focus on peoples subtle acts of support that reveal their intentions versus their words (or lack of). And so far she has been a very supportive and helpful coworker. But yeah thats 12h energy honestly like my friends brother is a cancer sun and mercury in the 12h and she feels like hes so unloving and unsupportive and its bc baby boy is not gonna be straight up telling her! she needs to watch his actions, his mannerisms. she needs to understand him more through his actions over time rather than words. ofc it varies from chart to chart.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ people with 12h mars could often have people WONDERING, "oh are they mad at me?" or sun 12h ppl could have people wondering, "oh what are they hiding from me?" or mercury in the 12h could have people wondering, "Oh, what is that they are not saying?"

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ Do you follow your profection years? For me, it’s wild how they line up. When I was in a 7H year, I got into my first serious relationship (classic 7H relationships vibe). When I was 7 years old, in my 8H year, my dad passed away (8H ruling death). Fast forward to my 9H year (travel), I visited family abroad after four years—that’s the longest I’ve EVER gone without seeing them.Then, in my 10H year (careers), I literally started my career. My 12H year? traumatic as fuck (I got into a serious car accident with friends and my back was fucked up and my friend had internal bleeding) but honestly the aftermath of that really forced me to grow the fuck up and surprise surprise, all of that happened bc I wasnt trusting my gut on who I was hanging out with. but anyhoo. Now I’m in a 1H year, and it’s all about me. I’m actually focusing on myself and being way more gentle in the process. It’s been kind of nice, honestly. if u wanna know yours just google annual profections it'll show u the wheel :)

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ Saturn transits in your chart mean fucking BUSINESS! I remember my friend got married when saturn (commitments) was transiting her 7h (marriage/ contracts). Saturn transits will have you reflecting on what you want long term in your life and what desperately needs to be checked in on or discarded or cleaned up.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ Saturn in pisces transiting in my first house had me acting right. I remember when a "friend" aka someone who was at fault with that whole car accident shit (someone who I dont speak to anymore) had asked me to do some shady shit after it. I was like FUCK NO! no bc 1) I have integrity but also 2) if I tried to take the easy way out or bullshit I knew saturn was gonna beat my ass HARDER. im glad I trusted myself and was the bigger person.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ Saturn was still transiting my 1H during the accident, but it had just come out of my 12H, where I was actively in therapy. In my 1H, I’d been feeling way more at peace and healed, so when I started making questionable choices with who I was hanging out with, it was like Saturn decided it was time to knock some sense into me.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ Me: walking on the ledge, ignoring my instincts, hanging with toxic people Saturn: "Don’t do that, you’re gonna fall." Me: falls Saturn: "DIDN’T I FUCKING TELL YOUUU?!"

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ but you know you live and you learn and at the end of the day it could have been so much worse (aka all of us being dead) but me and friend made a full recovery and everyone else had minor injuries.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ I was watching this video called "the root cause of addiction" and in the video he said that at the end of the day we're are just looking for ways to go back to that child we once were and to experience genuine joy. and that was so 5h coded to me. He said in the video we do things like cooking or play video games because we want to get that joy back. The 5th house is all about sex, good fortune, art, creativity, pleasure, entertainment, birth, children. We really can use our 5th house to actively nurture our inner child.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ for example, cancer or moon in the 5th house wants to go back to space where they feel safe, warm, and comfortable. feeling free to express ur softness and vulnerability. a place you love going back to! they can do this through cooking, baking, or watching your childhood favorite movie with family.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ the little things, like baking a pie or getting out an old art project help us connect with the childlike wonder and happiness that we still have inside us. You can find your own special, simple pleasures by looking into the 5th House in your chart. And even if ur childhood was not the best (I completely get that) you can nurture your inner child now !! your hobbies and fave past times r not silly they matter too

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ and think about the 5h-11h axis, if anything your hobbies and creativity (5h) helps you find your people and be in groups that actually align with what u love and care about (11h)

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚and think about how sometimes that hobby or passion (5h) can bring u immense success, recognition and profit (11h)

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ with pluto in aqua we are going to see people (aqua) transforming (pluto) their lives in all aspects in regard to their hobbies and passions (5h). People are gonna continue to explore what they love and find their niche and for some their success will skyrocket over night, for others the process might be slower. think about the ppl making bank rn from tiktok videos organizing their fridge. bc it just makes them happy to do it.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ tw: death. I'm not trying to end on a dark note, its merely a thought I had so please take this with a grain of salt. but speaking of pluto in aqua, that reminds me of this video I was watching about how the Romans would have the Gladiatorial games, where combatants fought each other or wild animals to the death, BECAUSE they were so overindulgent in all other areas in life....

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ like you have sooo much that your idea of pleasure just gets distorted in this sense. what do you want when you have had everything?. The scale of these events was astonishing, with sometimes hundreds of animals being killed in a single day. Pluto in aqua is going to transform the way as a society we view, experience and talk about death.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ there are ppl that are gonna have so much wealth and power and be so fucking bored that maybe in 20 years from now someone gets jailed or some shit to try to recreate that. I remember reading this story in high school about this rich man who had an isolated island and he would have people lost on it to hunt them for sport. iM NOT SAYING we're about to get put on the wall like those deers when pluto goes into aqua, im SAYING THO that shit like that, ideas like that, could pop up

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ I was also thinking about how pluto in aqua could mean more video games or tech or simulations (aqua) where you can try out how it feels like to die (pluto). like you can pick how and what you want to feel. some kind of shit like that. tech is only gonna keep getting more and more advanced now. we talk about the ipad kids and how they be on there typing and facetiming ppl and therye like 2 but imagine the kids growing up during pluto in aqua, I already know theyre gonna think we're soo uncool hahaha

[honeytonedhottie]

how to be a whole new student this school year (A MASTERPOST)⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🎀📔

HOW TO BE BETTER THIS SCHOOL YEAR ;

TAKE ADVANTAGE. take advantage of extra credit opportunities, make sure to advocate for urself and take advantage in any way that u can. by simply doing ur homework you'll have a much better grade in the overall class which gives u wiggle room to make a mistake. but if ur slacking off on ur homework, ignoring extra credit opportunities AND doing bad on tests then ur basically setting urself up for failure. and by doing the opposite then ur setting urself up for success.

something i've noticed (and im guilty of this too sometimes) is that i spend so much time making my notes aesthetically pleasing that i forget to actually go over them which defeats the whole purpose of notes. theres nothing wrong with having fun and creative adorable notes that spark joy and happiness but PLEASE actually use them, trust me you'll love them more…💬🎀

furthermore understand that getting good grades isn't as daunting and difficult as u may have imagined. just remember to always do ur homework, take advantage of extra credit, projects are an easy test grade, and get things done as fast as u possibly can.

FIND WAYS TO STAY MOTIVATED ;

the best way to stay motivated is through ROMANTICIZATION. when u learn to enjoy going to school, your going to be motivated to do well in school. because school is so IMPORTANT not only for ur education but also ur future. so take school seriously. and if u wanna become an academic weapon for the long term the best thing u can do is learn to make the best of, and enjoy it. some ways to romanticize school include ->

♡ create a school playlist that embodies the school vibes that u wanna have : i have lots of new jeans in my school playlist : i rly like the songs cookie, ditto and hurt for when im at school

♡ creating a study blog or study group to hold urself accountable in a fun and healthy way

♡ ur appearance : if u go to a school where u dont have to wear uniforms, i strongly recommend getting dressed and getting ready meticulously bcuz when u look good, u feel good, and therefore u perform well. if u do wear uniform, wear accessories or hairstyles that make u feel and look pretty. i wear leg warmers with my school uniform and my signature is hair clips and barrettes.

♡ read at school : i always walk around with a book bcuz i like to read a lot but if reading isnt ur thing, listen to a podcast about something that interests u (i rly like true crime)

♡ take pride in ur notes : invest in cute stationary! i swear, sometimes i dont feel like studying but since my stationary is super cute and pink i get motivated to study just by looking at it lol. invest in quality stationary that u love and make ur notes look pleasing to you, and also effective. effective + aesthetically pleasing.

♡ doing homework/studying in the library : or at least changing the scenery and location that u do ur homework from time to time. do yk how boring it is to do work in the same place every single day? give urself a break from the places u see all the time and spend time studying or doing homework outside of ur home. in a cafe or in the library, inside or outside, just change the scenery a bit

♡ start a video diary : i started a little video diary with my friends so that we can remember our school memories. i just think its rly cute and a great way to bond with ur friends, make memories, and romanticize school.

try and formulate a PASSION for learning as a way to cultivate the school romanticization attitude. be passionate to learn and be an academic weapon…💬🎀

CHANGE UP ROUTINES ;

in my next point i talk about the importance of routines but its also important to change little things about ur routine. dont go and change the whole structure of ur school routine but make sure to add little changes to spice things up and not keep urself like a hamster on a wheel. i find when i do this i just feel a lot better and its easier to romanticize.

MAKE A REGIMEN ;

make a pretty basic routine to stick to, to make sure that u balance school and personal life. having a routine can make falling into line and following through with tasks a lot easier. its easier to do things personally when u MICROMANAGE urself. at least from my own personal experience.

ABOUT STUDYING ;

every single day study (at least for a little bit) ofc this will vary depending on ur personal schedule but the goal is to do a little bit of studying everyday, and if that isnt possible, designating 3 days a week to a thorough studying session.

the way that i divide my time with a study session is 40 minutes of work time and 20 minutes of downtime. during the 40 minutes of work time u need to LOCK IN. lock in on whatever assignment needs to be complete or lock in on whatever material it is that ur studying. ofc this'll differ between all subjects but dont study all subjects in one night!! thats ambitious, but i find it'll just burn u out so stick to studying for 2-3 subjects max.

HOW TO STUDY WITHOUT BURNING URSELF OUT ;

♡ get off ur device. literally put the phone down. 9 times out of 10 the burn out that ur feeling is just the dopamine detox and laziness

arguably, the most important aspect to prevent burn out is ENERGY management. when ur burnt out u can literally feel ur energy tank on zero, so regardless of all the study techniques, however effective they may be, if u can't even muster up the energy to do them then they're useless…��🎀

♡ get PRODUCTIVE rest. what is productive rest? scrolling endlessly on tiktok is NOT productive rest. productive rest is actually letting ur mind and body REST. like, taking a nap, indulging in self care, or whatever relaxes u.

STAY ORGANIZED ;

find a tool and stay ORGANIZED. i personally use notion. and on my school notion i create a space for me to write my own notes, a calendar to put important academic dates, resources like passwords and logins, and a to-do list where i can put down some of my assignments. keeping everything organized is so so important. its non digital as well, make sure to keep ur desktop space organized, ur supplies and physical notes organized also. the more organized the better.

SOME POSTS FOR RESOURCES ;

how to get good grades without excessive studying - by yours truly

ways to romanticize school - @4theitgirls

studying methods + tips - by yours truly

youtube channels to help u out this semester - @4theitgirls

creating a study schedule and routine - @prettieinpink

how to study like rory gilmore - @itgirldiary

my studying plans as an accounting major - @iluvprettygirls

citation resources - @workitgurl

how to get good grades without excessive studying - by me

khanacademy.org

coursera.org

annualreviews.org

google scholar - research

google calendar - organization

notion - organization

[kroosluvr]

present day

if every day will be like this from now on, i'll look forward to every single one.

ok. Sits down. help meeee i tried using csp's comic tools for once (and also gradient maps + coloring w monochrome) to save time bUT I ENDED UP SPENDING THE USUAL AMT ANYWAY SO. . erm. WELL IT WAS FUN ANYWAYS

hiiiiiiiii i wrote this script 4 months ago nd finally did it (had this on the backburner for 20 million yrs bc i wanted to get out other angst bullshit first)

the parallels of goro's back (x3) on the first 2 pgs are kinda not 1:1 as i'd like but REGARDLESS i still like them. goro, who had utmost control over his life, running it like a machine, regardless of how he feels or if he's tired or if he wants to give up.......he was in control. knowing, of course, that his life is on the line at every waking moment, but since he was always on edge, always alert, he was still in control.

but now, surviving the long winter and coming out to the other side, he's lost that control AND that edge. now what is he left with? what is there left?

very speficially in the 2nd page.... i think its so <3 YAY <3 that goro, now, doesn't feel the need to take such spic-and-span clean-cut care of his appearance.., guy who rolls out of bed and throws on a shirt to go hangout w akira and sumire. he decides to tie up his hair and forgoes his gloves... feels more "comfortable" to change his apperance, to let down his guard a little. <- was the rough symbolism JKDSHKFS

sumire getting the choco croissant but letting goro have the first bite YEAHHHH WHATEVER

4th page symbolism is also rough i didnt think abt it too hard LMAO. 3rdsem goro watching his detective prince self leave. he knows acutely well that chapter of his life is over - whether he survives the long winter or dies in it. all that he knew - even though it was miserable and awful and frustrating and dangerous - is gone.

and now there's just this: the present day. whatever that means.

i think something important to me abt royal trio is just the idea of Learning To Just Exist: no need for a "purpose" or a "calling" or some overarching "goal". they just learn to exist.

and of course none of them really have a benchmark for "wow i like this i want to live like this" so they just roll with the punches, as they always have, but yknow. finally getting to live their honest student life as they always deserved

edit: and most importantly for goro, i think, is learning to cut himself some slack. "despite everything" he says, despite all the shit he's endured AND all the shit he's done, he feels like this is "right." whatever that means, he's ready to take it day by day to figure it out. AND THATS THE WHOLE THING Punches wall really hard

edit: I ALSO FORGOT. i think the sentiment of "being waited for" for goro means a lot. since he had to do everything by himself, fight for himself, decide everything for himself frm such a young age, the idea of akira and sumire waiting for him, inviting him out simply for him to be there -> is really meaningful to him, more than they could know.

edit AGAIN: also goro sleeping in means a lot to me. i imagine that guy has pretty terrible insomnia. ALSO HE HAS A BEDFRAME! i like the thought of his apartment being so /r/malelivingspaces throughout the game. he doesn’t deserve a bedframe. BUT HE HAS ONE NOW!

goros expressions in the last page gve me a hard time. sparkly....

also im SO freaking sorry if his voice isnt too well-written... i had a crisis over the wording while draiwng htis so much DSKHASKDASJK AND THE PANELING AND WHATEVERRR IDEK WHAT IM DOINGGG but it was fun!!!! exploratory..... regardless i will keep workign to do him and royaltrio justice. THUMBSUP EMOJI.

[miikapie]

"Its not gonna fit!" with Geto, Choso, Toji and Gojo! (NSFW)

Just posting this because ive been thinking about writing it for weeks. Enjoy this tiny drabble while I stress over college!

Cw:.. fem!reader x various jjk men, they're mean :(( (toji, gojo too kinda..), choso being too sweet, cunilingus (choso), bad grammar ofcourse, SEX SMASHING INTERCOURSE BABY MAKING FUCKING MAKING LOVE i hope you get the point.

/MDNI//NSFW UNDER THE CUT!!

Gojo is so mean to you. If you say absolutely anything related to his size, or not being able to accommodate to his girth, hes seizing the opportunity to brag and belittle you while doing so.

"Awh baby.. it can't fit? hmm? Is my cock too big? Its okay, cutie, I know I know.. Maybe we just need to pay attention to your little clit, and we'll stretch you out too yeah? Im gonna make sure your little cunt remembers every single one of my veins no matter how long it takes to get in aallllll the way."

Geto (sighs dreamily) I LOVE THIS MAN. Totally much nicer than Gojo, but unintentionally mind-breaks you. His voice btw is so sexy can you imagine how husky it is duirng the deed??? drooling rn.

"Oh, what was that? It wont fit, hm? Thats okay, love. We'll find our way around it. Just gotta stretch you out some more so i can hit that spot you love so much, mhm? Right there isnt it? Yeah, I can tell with the way you're tightening around me. Or what about this? Maybe I'll touch your clit a little more. God... I love seeing you like this. Thats a good girl.. lay down juuust like that. You dont need to think for yourself anymore when I've got you."

Toji is SO mean, and incredibly cocky. Despite knowing damn well he's way too big to bottom out immediately in you, he takes this opportunity be snarky fun of you while destroying your insides.

" 's too big? We'll make it fit, doll. Stop moving like that, you know its just gonna hurt more. Give it a few minutes and you'll be crying like a bitch in heat. Fine. I'll be nice i guess, but im still going all the way in. 's not my fault your pussy's too damn tight. Fuck.. so good.. Yeah, see? Told you you could take it, wipe those tears 'fa me and keep your legs up here on my shoulders, yeah?"

Nanami... ah. He tries so so hard to be nice to you, by slowly bullying his way in your walls, but no matter how many times you do the deed it seems like you can never keep up with his size

"Too much, honey? Its okay, sweetheart. Look, I'll put a pillow just under your back here.. and it'll make you feel much better. Whats that? Feels nicer now? Ill take it slow as always honey, just take your deep breaths... God.. you're always so tight... It feels nice when I touch you right here doesn't it?..Feels deeper? Yes, love, thats the pillow under your back helping you relax. We're gonna have to use that trick next time wont we? Thats it, sweet thing, see? Im almost bottomed out and you haven't even noticed at all."

Choso is too much of a sensitive lover to even think about ever possibly pushing your boundaries. If he ever heard you say anything along the lines of 'too big' he'd pull out immediately and instead eat you out as an apology. (even though you've told him its just something you said in the heat of the moment) (he still leaves you shaking tho.)

[leejenowrld]

hello there!!! im not sure if you do this kind of ask, but you seem to have a good understanding of what jeno is like as a person (as much as a fan would be able to know!) so i was curious to know what you think jeno falling in love and dating would look like in reality!!! where/how he'd meet her, the things he'll (sub)consciously do when he likes her/realises he likes her, how he'd confess, what he'd be like as a boyfriend and what their rs will look like in the honeymoon phase and even after.

hey! thank you so much. i just want to preface by saying that even though i love jeno and he’s probably the only idol i truly care about, i don’t know him or what he’s really like, and i never will. everything i write is just based on ideas, fantasies, and my own portrayals of him. it’s all in good fun and shouldn’t be taken seriously! <3 (i know you touched on this in your ask, but i just wanted to say it myself as well). that being said, i’m excited to dive into this! i base jeno off my own boyfriend and our relationship in a lot of ways (that’s why i find writing jeno easy, the jeno you see in my fics is a exact copy of how my man is and how he is to me) so it’ll be personal and, as always, focused on how i want to portray him. this is going to be long, detailed, and maybe a bit scattered—that’s just how i am when talking about jeno :)

the way i picture jeno, he needs to have a solid foundation and friendship with the person before he fully commits and falls in love, sure, he has tendencies to fuck around and have mindless sex but when he meets you? it’s like everything clicks into place. you’re different, and he knows it right away. he’s not used to feeling like this, so he treads carefully. no rushing, no overwhelming you with his feelings. instead, he takes his time, building that connection slowly, making sure there’s something real between you. it’s never about the chase for him—it’s about finding something worth staying for. you're gonna see the perfect balance between someone who's possessive but also fucking sweet and gentle at the same time. he applies the right amount of pressure (hehe like how he does during sex) and flirting to the point where it can never feel like he's doing too much. his timing is just always immaculate.

the moment he realizes he wants you, it’s like flipping a switch. he feels the intense emotional and sexual chemistry from the start, something warm and magnetic, but you don’t yet. you’re still timid, unsure of what this pull is, and he loves that. every word, every glance, every touch from him is intentional, smooth in a way that’s almost effortless. it’s the way his fingers casually brush against yours, the way his voice dips low when he teases you, and how his eyes linger on you just a little too long, sending a jolt through you each time. he never overdoes it, keeping you right on the edge with the perfect balance of possessiveness and sweetness. the smiles and the eye contact from across the room, the soft touches on your lower back, his breath warm against your ear when he whispers—it all builds this palpable tension, electric yet controlled. he flirts just enough to make you blush, to make your pulse race, but never so much that you feel overwhelmed. he’s patient, knowing exactly when to push, applying just the right amount of pressure, making it impossible for you not to think about him. before you even realize it, you’re hooked, falling for him harder with each teasing glance, each deliberate move, wondering how he manages to unravel you so effortlessly while keeping you wanting more.

the thing about jeno is that he’s intense mixed with possessiveness (the hot kind). in your eyes you’re his, his girl, the one he’s fully committed too. this is before you even realise this. it’s not difficult for jeno to want to commit, that’s the thing, even if he’s used to the lifestyle of moving from bed to bed and not being tied down by a single woman, it doesn’t mean that he’s a jerk or a bad person, therefore doesn’t mean that it’s difficult for him to use his entire energy and commitment to that one person who he believes he really has a future with. when he realises “yeah, i want you, i see myself marrying you” phew the way his priorities shift into one direction and the way the lover boy comes out of him

but at the end of the day he stays respectful and he’ll always put your priorities first. if you say you want him to stop? he will, no questions asked. he’ll be upset about it but he puts your wishes before what he wants. he’s incredibly patient, especially if you’re shy or hesitant at first. he’s not in a rush to push you into anything, but he’s not holding back either. you notice how his intensity builds over time. it’s gradual, but it’s unmistakable. you might try to keep your guard up, unsure of how to handle someone like jeno being so into you. but he’s got that way about him—gentle and understanding, but persistent. he’s so genuine that you can’t help but let your defenses fall, bit by bit. and when you do? that’s when everything shifts.

once you fall, you fall hard, just like he did. suddenly, it’s not just him making the moves—you’re meeting his intensity with your own. there’s this undeniable chemistry between you, and it’s like fireworks going off. you spend hours together, talking about everything and nothing, getting closer with every passing day. the emotional connection grows deeper, and before you know it, you’re as down bad as he is.

the shift into something physical is just as natural. one minute, you’re out with jeno on one of those ‘not-a-date’ dates, sharing casual glances and smiles, and the next, the tension between you has reached its breaking point. he’s got you pressed against the wall, his lips on yours, hands gripping your waist with just enough force to remind you who’s in control. it’s like all the flirting, the teasing, the playful touches were leading up to this. and when you finally give in to the pull between you, it’s intense.

jeno’s the type who knows exactly how to take charge in bed. there’s no hesitation in the way he touches you, no second-guessing. when he’s got you where he wants you, he’s hard, dominant, and rough in all the best ways. he knows how to push you to your limits, how to make you feel completely at his mercy, but there’s always that underlying sweetness, that care in the way he makes sure you’re enjoying every second. his hands are everywhere—gripping your thighs, pulling you closer, fingers digging into your skin just enough to leave a reminder of what he’s doing to you.

he’s vocal too, not afraid to let you know exactly what you’re doing to him, how good you feel, how much he’s wanted this. you feel it in every thrust, every grip, the way his breath hitches when you moan his name. he’s rough, but it’s controlled. he knows when to hold back, when to go harder, when to whisper dirty things in your ear just to hear you gasp. it’s like he knows your body better than you do, every touch, every move, calculated to drive you wild.

and the sex? it’s not just a physical thing. jeno makes it feel like more. there’s this connection, this intensity that goes beyond just bodies colliding. it’s the way he looks at you, his eyes dark and focused, like you’re the only thing in the world that matters to him in that moment. even when he’s rough, there’s this underlying affection that makes you feel completely safe, like he’s never going to let anything bad happen to you. his dominance isn’t about control—it’s about trust.

afterward, the dynamic between you shifts even more. you’re not just spending time together; you’re practically inseparable. the emotional intimacy is just as intense as the physical. you talk for hours, confide in each other about things you’ve never shared with anyone else. and then, when the time comes to get physical again, it’s like you can’t keep your hands off each other. the dates blend into nights spent tangled up in each other, the connection between you getting stronger with every passing day.

jeno, as a boyfriend, is the perfect mix of sweet and possessive. he’s always got his arm around you, always making sure you know you’re his. but he’s not overbearing. there’s no jealousy or insecurity, just a quiet, steady confidence that comes from knowing you’re as into him as he is into you. he doesn’t have to say it, but you can tell by the way he looks at you, the way he touches you in public, how much he cares.

he’s constantly whispering “mine mine mine mine mine” against your skin during sex. because you are his, and he’s yours. you’re his person and he’s your person, it’s a tie that’s deeper than the runes of the earth. tbh people assume that he’s the possessive one in the relationship but surprisingly… it’s you :) that’s where i’m gonna leave you with that one. jeno will definitely do anything you ask him to do. there’s no limit in his mind when it comes to you.

and it’s not just about the sex or the intense chemistry. jeno is there for you in every way that matters. he listens, he supports, he’s the first person you want to talk to when something happens, good or bad. he’s protective, but not in a way that makes you feel suffocated. he respects your independence, but you know he’ll be there the second you need him.

as time goes on, the relationship doesn’t lose its intensity. if anything, it deepens. you both settle into this rhythm, where the emotional and physical intimacy are perfectly balanced. even after the honeymoon phase, things between you stay exciting, because jeno is always finding new ways to keep you on your toes. one day he’s surprising you with a thoughtful gift, the next he’s pulling you into a heated kiss in the middle of a crowded room, making you forget everything except him.

in essence, jeno’s love is consuming, but in the best way. he’s the kind of person who, once he decides you’re the one, will give you all of him—his attention, his loyalty, his affection. he’s possessive, but in a way that makes you feel cherished. and once the two of you fall for each other, there’s no going back. it’s all in, both emotionally and physically, and the intensity between you never fades.

[temis-de-leon]

When Greed is too much

Characters: Mammon x gn!MC

Main Masterlist

M. Anon: good day, tennis. im an anon who lurks around your work. i find your work fascinating and I hope you may make a small oneshot for me. can you make a mammon x reader fanfiction? the pronounce doesn't matter. and the fanfiction could be about mammon and reader sneaking out frequently because mammon likes to gamble and they get caught one day and mammon took all of the blame for himself. i think it would be a good idea for a oneshot. but putting that aside, I adore your work. i like how you describe everything and your headcanons are interesting. i hope you can keep uploading. sending platonic loves.

A/N: I got a little distracted and made Mammon feel guilty af instead of taking the blame, I'm sorry, I hope you like it anyways <3 A little reference right at the end

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Mammon had a complicated relationship with money.

He loved it too much to hate it and he needed it enough to forgive the danger it brought within. He would inlay it under his skin if he could, if Lucifer let him, making him shine under the lights like a kaleidoscope.

Cold metal between his fangs to check its authenticity, smooth paper sliding through his fingers, hard plastic shaping his wallet. Jewellery, clothes, his car. He had them because he needed it in any way, shape or form, like water to fish, riches to him. A bottomless pit that got bigger and bigger the more he threw in.

His fingers were longer and thinner than his brothers’ and more than once he had wondered if his sin had modified his body to easily indulge in it. He was also the fastest runner when he needed to and he could turn his words to honey if the situation required it. An opportunist thief, even if he disliked the term.

And he knew stealing wasn’t okay, but no amount of Lucifer’s punishments would stop him from doing so. He could manage hanging upside down for hours on end and, even when the lectures were painfully boring and made him want to die, sitting in the same position for as long as his brother decided was something he could live through. Lotan, or rather the flood it implied, was a bothersome threat and, although terrifying, the witches wouldn’t seriously hurt him unless Lucifer knew he could take it.

Still, constantly going through that was annoying, so he went to the next best thing, a place where condemned souls like him got together and did what pleasured him the most: bring money to the table. The wheel of fortune laid deep in his chest; sometimes he deceived himself, others, he was right.

Fortunately for his ego, his dignity and his integrity, Mammon had found his perfect lucky charm. Human shape and devoted to him, every time MC joined him in his escapades, his wallet came back home fatter than when they left. It was refreshing and addicting and it didn’t take him too long to actually need MC’s presence each time he left the house to gamble.

At first it was just once or twice every week and a half, then at least once a week, then three times a week, then every night. He would invite them to his room, taking advantage of the alibi their relationship offered, hang out and fool around until every single one of his brothers was asleep and then sneak out through the garage door.

It was a fun, bonding time between them. Holding hands while running from one corner of the town to another, pockets heavier and heavier as the night went by and clothes reeking of the cigars, alcohol and perfume of those who pushed them around amidst the chaos of the casino.

Mammon lived for all of that, especially now that MC was by his side, watching him thrive and win, over and over and over again. In their eyes, he succeeded and he was the one to carry the golden medal. Not his brothers, not their friends, him.

Eventually, he did what he did best and pushed his luck.

After an outstanding winning streak, they finally got to the night when everything went astray, losing every bet and every game, eventually finding themselves deep in debt with the casino and a bunch of furious patrons and, although begrudgingly, admitting that a period of restraint was long overdue.

And then they got home.

“When will you learn?” Lucifer said for the hundredth time while tightening the rope around his torso and trapping his hands behind his back.

“C’mon! It wasn’t that bad!”

He tried to smile to downplay the situation, but it came out wobbly and his fear was too obvious for his brother to ignore. Lucifer grinned with malice, eyes darkening in evil enjoyment before bending down to tie Mammon’s ankles together, slow in his movements and his words.

“Do you truly think this would’ve ended well? We both know you’re an idiot, but the limits you’re willing to cross outstand me. Bringing MC into this? Really? You moronic dimwit… I thought you would be the last to put them in danger. Alas, I was wrong”

“I’ve never put them in danger”

His immediate response brought Lucifer back to his feet, both of them now serious and locking eyes with each other. Mammon felt the rough edges of the rope scraping his skin, uncomfortably keeping him in place under his brother’s infuriated gaze.

“Taking them out of the house for hours every night, making them play games against lowlife demons and risking their safety for a few coins, what is that to you if not jeopardizing their life?”

“A few coins? We made ourselves rich!”

“Is that what bothers you about what I just said?”

“I’m telling you they were safe with me!”

Lucifer sighed, shaking his head in disappointment and going around Mammon. A noise coming from behind filled him with dread and he didn’t have time to beg for more time before something pulled his feet to the side and his body hit the carpeted floor. It barely softened the fall and soon his pained groans reached every corner of the staircase.

“You truly never learn”

“I’ll do it! I’ll learn! Please don’t leave me here! You can’t abandon your baby brother here, can’t you? It was an honest mistake!”

“Mammon”

After securing the rope around one of the beams from the ceiling, the eldest took a few steps down and looked at him from above. His voice was low, hopeless, and Mammon found that more hurtful than the strong grip around his limbs or the pounding on his head.

“You’re lucky MC’s heart shines brighter than mine” Lucifer said, leaving him speechless “One of these days you will go too far and I’m not sure who will be there to catch you”

“What…?”

“Rest well, Mammon” he continued to go down the stairs, not bothering to look at him anymore. He spoke one last time before disappearing completely. “And think about what I said, will you?”

Lucifer’s footsteps merged into the night, the lights turned off and, suddenly, Mammon found himself alone.

He was still wearing the clothes he’d chosen to go to the casino hours ago, jewellery dangling over his face and DDD threatening to fall out of his pocket. The screen lightened up, showing MC’s name, and the desperation to answer the call made him squirm enough to ultimately make the phone fall to the bottom of the stairs. He grimaced at the cracking sound.

Asmo would say it was karma for being a scumbag and he didn’t know if he should start believing that.

He wasn’t a scumbag, was he? MC was fine! Not a scratch in their pretty face to complain about and every bit of their outfit still in place and making them look even better. They had been smiling when they finally got to the garage door, shallowly breathing while they checked him out in search of any type of damage.

They were fine.

They had been smiling because they’d been having fun. Or was it out of relief? Heart beating in fear, terrified about him and the punishment that awaited them both once Lucifer found them.

Mammon craned his neck, looking at the remains of his DDD with a sting in his throat. Why did MC call him? Were they mad at him? Did they have enough? The thought of actually putting them in danger for a piece of metal, easily ripped paper or soon to be frozen plastic made his hear stop in panic.

He was a fast runner, an immortal demon with wings. It was easy for him to flee and leave his troubles behind, but MC didn’t have the same advantages. They were a human, flesh and soul in close proximity, easy to eat and forget.

A gasp escaped him at the image of his partner being tore apart and he shook his head trying to chase it away, but it was no use. He closed his eyes and it was there, like an omen or a reminder, Lucifer’s words roaring in his mind.

His name got louder and louder until It finally sounded right next to his ear. A hand cupped his neck and MC’s worried face appeared in his line of vision, but the remorse didn’t let him feel relief.

“Are you okay? Let me get you down. I got out as soon as I could, but I’m sure Lucifer knows I’m here anyways. What a way to end the night…”

He huffed at their whispers, his heart breaking piece by piece. Looking at MC and the way they carefully untied the knots, he knew Lucifer was right. The dumb human was too good for him and didn’t want to acknowledge it, choosing instead to stick by his side each day until it would be too late.

“I’m sorry” he finally said in a broken voice.

“For what, dummy?”

“I put you in danger”

MC chuckled, kissing his jaw before freeing his arms and watching the rope fall down. Mammon leaned forward until he touched his feet, noticing his body burning while he worked the knots that creased the leather in his boots.

“How did you put me in danger?” they asked with a hint of humour in their voice “As far as I know, I went with you willingly and we had a bad night. It was bound to happen after winning that much money”

“But they almost attacked us…”

“We got out of there just in time” MC interrupted him, then frowned and put their hands on their hips. “Did Lucifer said something to you?”

“No”

The lie was obvious and MC licked their teeth in poorly contained fury. Seconds later, Mammon finally set himself free and swung on the rope to reach the banister. Once he settled and stood straight, MC rushed to hug him. Both of them stayed silent and basking in the comfort that surrounded them.

He didn’t know what to say. He wanted to beg them not to reprimand Lucifer and he wanted to thank them for freeing him and staying with him beyond what he definitely deserved, but no words came out and forcing them would make him cry; and doing that in front of MC would definitely kill him faster than Lucifer could ever do.

In the end, none of them said anything, instead clinging to each other like their lives depended on it. Slowly, as if they were handling a wounded animal, MC grabbed his hands and lead him towards their room.

What did that human movie say?

He’d die for them. He’d kill for them. Either way, what bliss.

.

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[luveline]

Sooo im still not over your hockey player Eddie and I absolutely love love love your hurt/comfort fics so I would love to see one where he's teaching something to reader and r gets injured and fluff ensues!

tysm for requesting, 1.3k

"You warm enough?" Eddie asks. 

Your hand is your only warm appendage where it's held in his. You're using your wobbly footing on the ice as an excuse to touch him, hand like a viper clinging to him. "Is that a joke?" 

You're wearing upward of three layers. The icy chill permeates through. 

"You'll feel warmer once we start moving, I promise." Eddie wears a simple compression shirt and sweatpants.

You kind of wish every other person here of single status would be blind to him. Like, they'd look at him and their eyes would just miraculously skip his figure, but alas. If anything, his impressive bulking attracts attention. Eddie drew looks before he started taking hockey seriously, but for a different reason. Now he's started building muscle, he's like honey to flies. 

You're not shallow, but muscles are muscles. He looks good. Hopefully he knows it, but Eddie's generally oblivious to his own looks, more focused on other people. Even now he drives you both backward on the ice while watching your face. 

"Don't be nervous," he says. 

"That's easier said than done," you say, grabbing his arm with your free hand as your left skate slides forward. 

"I've got you, honey," he says. It's not as strange from his lips as you might suspect because he says it in such a particular way. Easy-going, verging on cocky, he doesn't think for a second that you're going to slip, and he knows for sure that you're his honey. He has the cheese ball grin to prove it. "This will be fun! You said you wanted to try." 

"I do want to. Or, I did. Now we're here, I'm not so confident."

"You don't think I can teach you?" he asks. 

"No, I just don't think I can learn," you say, seizing as Eddie begins a gentle figure eight. You've watched him enough to know what shape he'll take, but that doesn't stop the instinctual fear. 

"If I can weasel my way into minor league, you can learn to play. I promise it's easy." 

"It's not easy, Eds. You worked so hard, I mean," —you wiggle your eyebrows at him suggestively— "just look at you." 

"Charmer! No, I mean learning to play is easy. Scoring a goal is easy. You know, so long as there's no goalkeeper there to stop you. I'm gonna let go of your hand now, okay?" 

Eddie skates to just behind the goal where his stick awaits, a puck on the floor beside it. He skates and keeps the puck close, stopping it by your feet. You've managed to skate closer to the goalposts without falling, waiting with your hands out like a tightrope walker. 

"Doing good," Eddie praises, dropping a cold kiss into your temple. He hands you the stick and stations himself at your side.  

You straighten it out. You've held it a few times and Eddie had you practising on dry land before the ice, but it feels heavier now. Your balance isn't automatic anymore. 

"You want help? We can do it like a movie." Eddie sidles up behind you and wraps his arms around you. You feel better knowing he'll catch you before you can fall. 

"How much am I pulling back?" 

"Not a lot from here. If you were skating you might wanna pull it up real high, but the puck's not moving and neither are you." 

"What does Steve say?" you ask, lining up your shot. 

"Put the biscuit in the basket, dickhead?" 

You laugh and hit your puck. It slides across the ice and between the goalposts easily, a small feat for you and a big cause for celebration in Eddie's eyes; he shouts a nonsense sound, his arm behind your back as he shouts, "Yes! Easy-peasy, babe, you're a natural." 

You feel pretty happy about it, all things considered. Even if it wasn't as hard as you imagined, Eddie's pleased, and for a moment you forget you're untrained on the ice and attempt to return his half hug. 

You fall because you think you're going to. Sudden, you remember you might slip, and the panic has you pushing your skate forward in an attempt to dig in. It slides out from under you and Eddie's not on guard, catching your arm but not your back as you smack into the ice. 

"Shit! Shit, come here, sweetheart," he says, pulling you up. 

"Ow, wait," you say. More of a yelp, you wince as your skates slide about, thighs rigid and cold, the bottom of your spine aching, but worst of all is your arm. In his attempt to keep you standing, Eddie's yanked your arm sore in its socket. You don't mean to be dramatic but you're desperate for the hot pain to stop. "Eddie, let go." 

He drops your hand. Unafraid of being unable to stand again, Eddie goes down on his knees. Any skater will give you room. 

"Did I hurt you?" he asks. 

You put your hands on the ice in an attempt to sit up. Eddie holds you down, hands on your thighs. 

"Take five. Did I hurt you?" he asks again, not urgent but teetering, his hand imploring as it travels to your waist. 

You don't want to say yes. "My arm went funny, that's all. Sorry." 

"I'm the sorry one. Said I wouldn't drop you and I did… that's not right, huh?" His hand curls behind your back. 

You're not as hurt as you'd initially thought. Your arm aches sharply and your back will definitely bruise, but Eddie gives you a minute to get to grips with things and stands up expertly, hoisting you into his arms. His arms are lined with fingernail embeddings by the time you get back to the bench, and then you're both sorry. 

"Eddie," you murmur, rubbing your thumbs over the small red crescents softly. 

"How bad is it?" 

"I don't know." You shrug. "Not so bad now." You know Eddie's letting you do what you want because you're hurt, and not because he doesn't want badly to be assessing your arm and your back. "It's my bad, I got spooked."

He catches your gaze, holds it tenderly. Sugary brown with a deep dark iris and the big white grain of the lights above reflected. You skip from one eye to the other. He has more caramel coloured flecks in one. Both are soft and sorry. 

"Is this gonna put a stop to your illustrious hockey career?" he jokes weakly. 

You can't believe you scratched him so bad. "No way. If you want me to be great, I'll be great, just… maybe when my back doesn't feel all tingly." 

Eddie untucks your many shirts with a low hum, fingertips drawing an invisible line over your pain. "It looks okay." He drops his forehead into your neck and hugs your naked stomach, saying, "You're so warm," with his lips pressed to your shoulder. "...M'really sorry I dropped you, babe. I got too excited." 

"Not the first time that's happened," you say. 

Eddie pinches your tummy, his smile audible as you squirm. "Very funny." 

His hair is soft where it lays under your cheek. You let him cuddle up to you until you can't take the cold nor the aching anymore and ask to go home. Eddie insists on carrying you to the changing rooms, you insist on him not doing that, and you compromise by walking with his arm behind your back. 

"I'll try again next weekend," you promise. 

Eddie kiss-kiss-kisses your cheek in thank you. 

[mediumgayitalian]

Hiiiiii

Okay so I am absolutely obsessed with your writing .

Every day I check Tumblr to see if you've uploaded anything

When they move in together how do you think they will spilt the chores ?

And do you think their aesthetic would change as they grow older ?

Thank youuu

Love youuu

OH i love this. okay.

when they move in together, how do you think they will split the chores?

they do not.

they are in an interesting situation: nico has never had to do chores in his life. as a kid, he was the son of Literal Hades and an aristocrat, he for sure had people doing that shit for him. in the lotus, they presumably had room service. he may have had to do a few chores at the military school, but a) they weren't there for long and b) as an older sister with a younger brother, bianca was doing that shit for him. she ordered him to make his bed, he did a horrible job, she huffed and did it herself because it's more of a pain in the ass to make your brother do it again than it is to do it yourself. bianca i get you. after that he was homeless, so there was obviously no cleaning there, and then he lived in his father's palace. he has never so much as done a load of laundry except maybe hastily with a public washroom sink and a bar of soap. he barely knows what a mop is.

will, on the other hand, has been in charge of both a cabin and a literal infirmary since he was 13 years old. on top of that, if i am not mistaken (i'm so sorry i still havent read toa and tsats im getting there i swear), he grew up on a farm. his ass knows how chores work, in fact i would bet money that he gets a little obsessive when it comes to cleaning. he is acutely aware of how many germs are on every single surface ever. he cleans and he does it a lot.

this could go really badly, because habit would indicate that will would be doing all of the housework and nico none, which is Bad For Relationships.

however:

nico really likes will.

will is a massive hypocrite who overworks himself. he also is a bit of a control freak.

nico is also very, very observant.

i think, in the beginning of their friendship, even, nico noticed that will, like bianca, would let the onus of cleaning and tidying fall to him because 'no one else does it right', and also, maybe, it's just easier not to fight people about it. i think this would bother him. i think he would, in his inability to, like, be normal, impulsively challenge will to a cleaning contest.

and. like. will is a competitive person, okay. maybe not about things he knows he can't win, but when he knows he's good at something? he is not letting that shit slide. look at how fast he was to dunk on octavian, how prickly he got when nico doubted his ability to outrun the romans. if nico, who will knows damn well has done like four chores in his life, tries to challenge will, mr. antiseptic is my closest friend solace, to a cleaning contest?

he is going to sweep the floor with him.

pun absolutely intended.

from there things kind of spiral. at first it's a dorky ass learning curve, because nico loses every cleaning competition so so badly and quit fucking laughing, solace, you dickead, the windows are not that streaked and also watch me spray you in the goddamn eyes, huh, how do you like that and it's just kind of...fun. for the first time in a long time cleaning up doesn't make will quietly bitter.

plus, as an added bonus, nico helping will clean up makes it less invisible when he does it. now people are starting to notice that, no, the infirmary does not magically clean and organise itself, someone does that. and maybe a few more people pitch in to help. and maybe will realises, and maybe he smiles gratefully at nico when, for the first time in years, he has two entire days off, back to back, in the summer, for the first time in years. and maybe nico thinks he is going to collapse into dust because gods will has a nice smile. not that he cares or notices or anything.

do they need to keep having competitive chores forever?

no.

but does it make both of them kind of shyly pleased and happy to remember how they started? to remember how much their friendship means to them, first and foremost, and not just their relationship?

yes.

(also, by the gods, nico is going to beat will at laundry one day. he is. as soon as he learns to fold without creasing the whole stupid shirt it's over.)

how do you think their aesthetic would change as they get older?

not much tbh.

will is pretty happy in his cargo shorts, which, mood. and nico is very committed to his Prince of Darkness look.

they are gonna have to get used to like...regular weather when they leave camp tho. i think will might begrudgingly have to get used to pants. he hates jeans with a fiery passion and any kind of slacks, but he will accept track pants.

he is also into shirts with horrible horrible puns on them. especially medical puns. he and nico frequently fight over who gets to buy shirts with bone puns on them, because they both find it funny. their closet (lol) is quickly morphing into one monster.

will complains about wearing shoes every single time he has to wear something that isn't flip-flops (again, understandable). he likes buying off-brand white converse and customizing them, though, so those are acceptable.

he refuses to wear boots under literally any circumstances. there could be three feet of snow on the ground and dumbass will be wearing chucks.

while their t-shirt situation is pretty similar, nico literally doesn't wear pants that aren't jeans. sometimes he sleeps in jeans. (not to make will's eye twitch, noooo, of course not, sometimes he just Reasonably Forgets or is Reasonably Too Lazy to get changed)

nico does also, on occasion, wear button ups, sleeves folded to just above the elbow.

will likes these very much.

especially the green one.

the green one is Very Very nice.

as for hair, nico grows his out to shoulder length so he can tie it back. he doesnt keep it much longer than that, because too long and he looks like bianca -- he always looks like her, and he never forgets that, but its important to him to remember her while still being able to think of himself as a separate person. he cuts it when it goes past his shoulders.

wills hair is literally untamable. it grows where it pleases. he hasnt had a haircut since he was six years old and somehow his hair doesnt grow down to his waist. he has no idea how long it actually is. they tried to measure it once but it changed every two minutes. the literal only time it resembles anything close to maintained is when he wears it in two french braid pigtails :) nico likes to buy him elastics with little charms on them. he wears them to suit his mood, he has a whole collection.

[romana-after-dark]

Guard Dog

Riader!Joel Miler x Dark!fem!reader

Masterlist : Taglist

Summary: Joel attempts to raid the wrong house, and having the Joel Miller on his knees before awakens something in you... and in him.

Content and Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT Dub con on Joel (Is it non con? idk. Idk how im supossed to tag this but it's no where near the violence of tww someone help), references to non con from Joel to other women, gun sucking, fem domme, dark!reader but Joel is also dark soooooo, subby Joel, dead bodies, Nick reference (if you read TWW you know lol), multiple orgasms, overstim, dumbification?

AN 1: This essentially came of two thoughts, me thinking hmmmm how to write raider!Joel in a new way? 2. I want to avenge Little One. Joel did her so dirty and is still doing her so dirty in the dark timeline addition, lowkey wanted someone to get revenge for her. Plus, subby Joel is always a win for Fen and Maura lol

AN 2: Shout outs to @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin and @toxicanonymity for talking me through this idea, esp Toxi for letting me use the gun blowjob bit lololol if you like that concept, I encourage everyone to check out toxi's raider joel Or maybe Jake's part in the chasing series

***********************

Whoever it was, they had chosen to raid the wrong fucking house.

Yes, you were a single woman. Yes you lived alone. But no, you were not helpless, far from it, actually. Whoever it was is lucky they had made it past the set of boobytraps thus far. Actually, it sounded like a few of them had been taken out as it was.

*

Joel watched in relief as the arrow went through Nick’s skull. Relief it wasn’t him. He never liked Nick that much anyway, real creepy guy. In fact, he didn’t like any of the men that this house had gotten either. It was exhausting, trying to lead a group of dumbasses and whatever the fuck was in here it wasn’t worth it, so Joel attempted to make his exit. Thing was, leaving was proving just as hard as entering was. Whoever lived here didn’t want anyone living to tell the tail. Stepping over the dead bodies of a few of his men, Joel had narrowly dodged more arrows, spikes, darts; the whole lot, until some secret fucking door opened up like a goddamn scooby-doo house and there you were, gun to his forhead.

“Joel fucking Miller, I’ll be damned.”

Joel narrowed his eyes. He didn’t recognize you, but you knew him. That wasn’t surprising, he’d gained a bit of a reputation from raiders, fireflies and regular people. “Who the hell are you?”

You tell him your name, first name at least, and make quick work of taking out the gun in his hand. “Armed with anything else, Miller?” He said he wasn’t, but you knew that was a lie. “Don’t believe that for a second.”

“Then why the hell did you ask?” His texan drawl was prominent, especially when he was worked up.

“More fun to mess with you.” Keeping the gun pressed up to his temple, you press your body against his in turn as you pat him down for more weapons. It didn’t hurt that he was handsome.

“JESUS!” Joel jumped as you grabbed at his ass. “Watch your fucking hands.”

You can’t help but giggle; he thinks he's in charge. “You could be hiding weapons anywhere-” He tenses as you slip your hand between his buttcheeks as much as his jeans allow. “-Can’t be too careful.”

Joel was a brutal man, you heard stories of his rage and carelessness for human life, including women. There’d been many such stories of him forcing himself on women, kidnapping and trafficking… maybe he needed a taste of his own medicine? You take your time on his top half, feeling up every muscle, every bit of pudge, every dip on his broad body. Then, onto the lower. Without hindrance, you grope at his crotch and are very impressed by the size of him; and amused by the way he’s already semi-hard. Men are so easy, it’s funny sometimes. 

“This make you excited, Miller? Or does it scare you to be at a woman’s mercy for once? Maybe a little bit of both?” 

Joel didn’t look at you, lips pursed in a hard line.

You continue, moving the gun to his pants as you kneel before him to check lower. “I bet this is more your speed isn’t it? Having a pretty woman on her knees?”

The scoff above you doesn’t go unnoticed. “Mighty full of ourselves, aren’t we?”

After taking a knife and a gun that were strapped to his ankle, you stand up, satisfied with your work and the ever-growing bulge in his pants. “I own a mirror, Miller. I know what I got going on.” Degrading won’t work on you. With a nudge, you press him towards your room. 

“Yuh gonna kill me?” There was no fear in his voice when he asked. This was a man prepared for death whenever it came.

“We’ll see. Gonna have a little fun with you first.”

*

Having Joel Miller on his knees for you was a goddamn treat. He looked so good like this, so submissive even if his bratty little face wanted to put on a show. 

“It’s natural, you know.” With a glance down, you let him know that you are referencing his half-hard cock. “The adrenaline.” You squat in front of him. “How many girl came when you forced yourself on them? How many felt their bodies betray them? Did you laugh at them for getting wet?”

“I didn’t-”

“It’s humiliating, isn’t it?” Your gun was still out, knowing physically he could probably overpower you still. You weren’t weak by any means, but you also were aware he had far more upper body strength, muscles bulging through the seem of his shirt sleeves. The cool end of the gun prodded at his face as he tried to keep calm; the bob of his adam's apple and subtle rise of his chest was giving away his nerves. It was exhilarating, having a man that many feared, the cause of death of so many men, someone of damn-near legendary status and his knees for you… You couldn’t help the reaction the thrill had in pooling in your stomach. It was natural, wasn’t it? That’s what you told Joel. 

Using the gun, you move his face around a bit to really take in his features. Strong nose, curly salt and pepper hair, soft brown eyes and lips you just really wanted to make whimper.

“Your quite handsome, you know that?”

An ironic chuckle. “I have a mirror too, sweetheart.”

You can’t help smiling at him as you straighten back up. “Take off your shirt.”

He rolled his eyes but did as he was told.

“Obedient thing, aren’t you? Bet I could train you, bet that’s what you need, isn’t it?” You slip your hand in your pants, feeling up your own wet cunt as the thrill of power elevates things. “Tired of having to decide, having to lead…” Maybe the adrenaline was getting to you, but you suddenly wish you had a dick to make him suck. You don’t, so you settle for the next best thing. You tap his lips witht he barrel of the gun. “Open.”

Joel hesitates, a slight spark of fear in his pretty eyes as he keeps his lips tightly closed, and that just won't do. You slap his cheek with the gun, and as grunts in pain the seal of his lips pops open.

“Ah-mph” His cry of pain was quickly muffled by the gun being shoved in his mouth. 

“Suck on it, cowboy. Act like you fucking enjoy it.”

You don’t think he needs to act. Joel sucks on your gun like he would a dick and you furiously finger yourself to his rhythm. As he closes his eyes, you can hear a low groan emitting from his throat and his hands twitching at his side. 

“Touch yourself, go ahead.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, his right hand flying to the seam of his pants and palming at his full erection.

 “Good boy, good fucking boy” You praise. “Just an obedient little dog pretending to be a lone wolf. Is that it? You just want someone to tell you what to do, huh?” You release the gun from his mouth and can’t help but grin as his lips chase it.

“Y-yes.” Joel admits, face strained in tension as he kept touching himself. Must hurt, being constrained like that.

“Take it out. Eyes on me.” You guide his face to look up at you with the tip of your gun. “Look in my eyes as you do it.”

As he released himself, Joel did indeed look up at you; he looked up at you as if you made the stars in the sky. 

Once his cock was out, all 9 or so inches, you take off your sleep shorts and straddle over him but not yet putting it in. “I don’t think I need this gun anymore… but I think you like it.” When you sink down on him, gun pressed to his ribs as a firm reminder of who was in charge, you hold your breath in order to hear the simple whimpers and guttural groans that Joel tried so hard to hide.

“This is where you belong, isn’t it?” You goad him, eliciting a quiet ‘yes’ from his lips. “Under me, belong to me.”

You are speared on him, his dick spreading you open and stretching you unlike anything you had felt before and you loved it. Every chance you had, you felt his muscles, reveling in the fact such a physically strong man was so mental weak for you and only you.

“Can I cum? Please?” Joel begged for you, pleaded ever, lips quivering even as you kissed him.

“Almost there, baby, almost- mmmm- almost there. You can cum after me, okay?”

Joel nodded quick, tiny nods and hesitantly moved a hand to your hips. He looked up at you bouncing on his cock for permission, and when you nod back he goes to thumb at your clit. 

“OH GOD!” You shout, breathless, slick all over your thighs and his pants, his touch sending you over the edge. You cum hard, walls pulsing all around him and he doesn’t ask again before spilling his seed inside you, filling you to the brim.

Your body relaxes, but then Joel throws you to the ground causing you to drop your gun and for a moment you thought he bested you, got you distracted; until he dove right into your cunt with no regard for the lost gun. He didn’t care about beating you, he cared about tasting you. As he desperately licked his cum out of your dripping hole, you tugging at his curls, Joel humped the floor as if he hadn’t just gotten released. You pull him close, riding out another orgasm on his face. When you cum a third time, you have to push him back, the overstimulation from the desperate man’s tongue, lips and beard being too much. When you do, he looks up at you with wide eyes as if he had done something wrong, but you pull up and into a kiss before laying him down on the floor to kiss him some more.

“Not sure if I wanna let go of you, cowboy…” You tease, playing with his hair but keeping him firmly pressed to the ground. “Might have to keep you around, but my little guard dog, how about that?”

Joel’s eyes were glossy, his face so fucked out you weren’t sure he was fully cognizant. “Baby boy too tired to speak? That’s okay, I’ll take care of you too. You be the arms; I’ll be the brains. You won’t have to have a single thought outside me again, okay?”

***********

Part 2 here

LOWKEY NERVOUS BC THIS IS SUCH A DIFFERENT JOEL AND HE DOESNT DO A LOT OF TALKING?!?!?!?!?!??! UNSURE HOW I FEEL

Anyway I do hope to write more maybe? so if you wanna be tagged comment below! I liek the idea of having a joel I can kinda just write stuff about whenever instead of a story and an arch and characters to balance. This is just more casual. and i dont gotta go nuts keepingup with posting like my other stories. Im think a v joel tess kinda vibe where she's clearly leading him

I was supossed to be working on the next part to my Javi P x reader x Santi AU buuuutttttttttttt I couldnt get this idea out of my head. So. here you all go! I'll try and work on that, the dark! TF boys, TWW, and the Will Miller story lol its kinda a lot rn

Please consider reblogging and commenting to support your fav writers &lt;3

@fandxmslxt69 @moriartyyouwhore @hereforthepedrofanfic @alwaysmicado @noisynightmarepoetry @morallyinept @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @the-fox-den @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @k-ra

If you'd like to join the dark! taglist, click here! this is different from my regular taglist on my main account

If you'd like to join only on this tag list, comment below

[vypridae]

do you have anymore carmilla x velvette headcanons? i’m loving those two

IM SOO GLAD THEYRE LOVED NOW BUT OUHG I HAVE SHARED SO MANY HCS ALREADY ANON IDK IF ILL BE ABLE TO THINK OF ANY ... those posts are here and here but ill try to give some more!!

velvette's personal model for every outfit she makes is carmilla

she'll sometimes call carmilla and tell her hey like . i need a model for this new line aaaand... ur pretty ... so it works

carmilla, in turn, has velvette help her perfect weapons and the steels and parts she makes

velvette has a permanent scar on her side because they were "fighting" (carmilla was showing off an angelic weapon she was producing) and accidentally got stabbed

(carmilla is still trying to make it up to her. velvette is more than pleased, even if carmilla made up for it already, just because she keeps getting stuff)

there have been times velvette has needed to stay up / in her office late to try to brainstorm ideas for new lines she's announced because she announced them prematurely and needs to solidify the ideas, so she's called carmilla and sat with her on voice call for hours on end

carmilla tries to ask velvette how the line is going and velvette already fell asleep

(she leaves the call on so when velvette wakes up she can see carmilla's face in the morning)

velvette probably has several really complex coffee orders or something and carmilla has memorized every single one of them

i feel like velvette is a bit of a picky eater too, not to an extreme extent but its enough where carmilla can list off what velvette will not eat on two hands

velvette has so much fun essentially playing dressup with carmilla btw. she knows trendy stuff and she likes having carmilla dress in NOT just black and white when they go out

which, they dont go out often, but when they do they both make it so special

carmilla gets reservations at really nice places that she knows velvette will like, and velvette makes sure they both look absolutely amazing (and posts like 19357984175 pictures of her and carmilla out on dates)

theyll go out and do a bunch of stuff that caters to both of their tastes

velvette sometimes calls carmilla when vox and val are pissing her off just to talk shit about them to her and carmilla just listens because velvette sounds so cute when shes angry

she usually ends up being the one to calm her down too

[houseofhyde]

ii. a game of westerosi chess.

pairing. daemon targaryen x fem!reader

synopsis. the six chess pieces in the king’s game and how your uncle calls checkmate. read the first part here !

warnings. niece!reader, targcest, possessiveness, themes of sexual/romantic ownership, alicent slander (im sorry, i love her, but this is daemon’s pov and we all know that man wakes up every morning and makes the conscious decision to be a hater), daemon being a filthy pervert (affectionate), smut ( masturbation, breeding kink, voyeurism, dacriphilia, virgin kink- if that's even a thing-, implied bi!daemon )

word count. 11.3k

taglist. @nyctophilic0vitnir​

hyde’s input. yes, i could have just made them get married after the events in part one. no, that wouldn’t be as fun as watching daemon suffer. i went and fucked myself over a little though because i never realised how much i’d struggle to write from his point of view without the fear of making him too out of character or his behaviour feel, idk, fake? empty? idk what the right word is but yeah. i caught the flu and have had sick-brain the whole time while writing this so who knows if the writing is even comprehensible lmao :)

disclaimer: i’ve never played chess (i'm too dumb for that) so pretend any incorrect comparisons are simply because there’s different rules for chess in westeros <3

when daemon targaryen was five years old, no more than a mischievous little babe who haunted the halls of the red keep, there was no one greater in his eyes than his older brother.

his older brother who bonded with the largest dragon; who snuck wine into his cup when the adults were occupied with their political indiscretions; who stood up for him even in times where he was the culprit. 

his older brother who had the longest winning streak in the whole of the red keep when it came to chess.

from maesters to the king, and ladies in waiting down to his own mother, there was not a single person within the castle who could face viserys targaryen in the game of strategic moves and walk away undefeated.

it was an understood fact: viserys targaryen was a master at chess.

one day, after catching his younger brother, moon-eyed and fresh-faced from wondering the dragonpit in search of a dragon to claim, and now spying upon his winnings against a pretty maiden, viserys had called the boy over. with daemon captivated by the sight of the chess board, the older of the two felt the cogs in his brain turning, an idea spawning.

you see, when one becomes the best at something, there is no more challenge. no fun to be found when you’re no longer sat at the edge of your seat wondering if this person will finally be the one to best you. and, so, viserys thought if no one else was good enough to beat him, he’d need to create a worthy opponent.

enter onto the scene, daemon targaryen.

with him being but a child still, viserys began his teaching with what captivated the little boy most: the figures which sat atop the checkered board.

“this, brother, is the pawn. it’s the least worthy piece, but do not let that fool you into thinking it is weak, for anyone may wield power if they work hard enough. a pawn may become a queen, just as a fool may become a lord.”

the rogue prince, now a man of three and thirty, awakes with one thing on his mind: his niece.

he’s always been a restless sleeper, not even in dreams would he escape the havoc of his own head and the inner-workings of it. and, though he’d scarcely recall the images his sleeping mind would conjure, the evidence comes in the state he’d find himself in: sprawled diagonally across the bed, the pillows which had once provided rest for his head now scattered along the floor and the bedsheets- which scratched uncomfortably on his skin, a slick of sweat oozing from his pores and leaving him looking glazed, like a freshly cooked hog at a feast- now a wrinkled tangle around his waist, trapping his legs in the cotton confines.

he spies the familiar lick of sunlight casting through the closed curtains, affirming that dawn has indeed passed and a new day is upon him.

running a hand over his face, a disgruntled sound escapes him, sluggishly moving himself to sit up right, that familiar yet new ache in his back flaring up and begging for release in the form of stretching limbs and extended muscles. age has begun to sneak up on him, grabbing him in it’s clutches and reminding the egotistical man that he is just that: a man, not a god, much to his own displeasure.

the hand departs from his face only to pause midair. a smell, heady and musk infused, reaches his nostrils. it’s dirty and grimey in every way yet enticing him to seek it out again, to sniff out wherever the odour is coming from and bury himself in it till he suffocates.

tentatively, he retraces his movements till his fingers dance over his face once again and realisation kicks him like the hoof of a horse, hard and with a lingering pounding.

only, the pounding comes from his crotch rather than his skull.

the smell is you, in all your dribbling, soaking, honeysuckle glory, stained on his skin like the slaves of volantis are stained with ink.

another inhale floods his senses with the memories from last night, replaying the feel of your bodies pressed together in dance, and your hand squeezing his almost painfully tight as he leads the way to your chambers, and the eager spreading of your legs as he at last satisfies his hunger for you- a hunger which had started sometime after you’d first began to present the figure of a woman, all supple breasts and pouting lips and silhouettes made of dresses that hid from view the naughty parts of you your uncle’s cock ached to see.

the voice in his head, which more often than not drives him to behave erratically, this time is but a whisper, a seduction of craving and curiosity that has him slipping his hand further down, brushing over the fine line of his lips and awaiting entrance as he parts his mouth open, brushing his stained digits over his tongue.

a jolt of heat burns down his spine while the sweet tang of your taste invades his senses. like biting through a lemon, the taste should repel him in every way, flood his soul with shame and leave him disgusted in himself.

instead, he licks his tongue in a silent plea for more.

the thought of never bathing again crosses daemon’s mind, unwilling to wash away the evidence of the peak he’d driven you to with nothing but his fingers. gods help the world when he finally gets his cock in you, for he’s likely to become a deranged, dirty shell of a man too busy getting fill after fill of your pulsing cunny to ever plunder himself into the oil-infused waters of a bath.

you’d be so sweet for him, a little harlet for him to mold and bend and break into every which-way he desires you. and it’s that thought, plus the taste of your dried essence, which has the rogue prince’s cock stirring beneath the tangled sheets.

desire awakens much like a dragon would: slowly and, then, all at once, eyes wide, chest huffing and puffing, and body arising from the ground.

the prince kicks the tangled sheets off, no thought given to whatever corner in the chambers he tosses them towards, eyes and hand and mind too focused on the once flacid organ between his leg growing more solid and red in the tip as the moments pass.

“fuck...” he means to only think it, yet speaks it aloud into the solace of the room as the warmth of his hand makes itself familiar with his cock.

he gives himself a tug, dry hand meeting the movement with resistance yet the layer of skin which conceals his soon-to-be seed soaked slit retracts enough to allow the blushing head of his cock to poke through. while he’d typically prefer to wet it with a whore’s cunt, or slicken it with whatever mindless ointment he could find laying around, daemon finds himself gathering his own saliva and spitting a fat drop of it into the palm of his hand.

the glide of his digits over the organ becomes easier, allowing him to work himself into full-blown hardness, cock taking over the use of his brain and sending him into a state of restless lust, demanding to be fed and satiated with the emptying of his stones, preferably into the warm, pulsating, tight cunt of his little dove.

while the prince does debate his ability to throw on a robe- or, even, roam the halls in his nude glory- and seek out your likely sleeping form, to watch as you startle awake with the breaking of your maidenhead and cry out for your uncle to fill you with his spend till you’re swelling with his bastard, he decides he prefers the thought of making you wait a little longer, see how much he can test the limits of your impatient desires.

after all, a maiden always feels best when her cunt’s as soaked as her crying eyes and her mouth’s spewing plead after plead, begging for his cock.

while one hand works over himself, the other sneaks it’s way back into his mouth, lust bursting into bright colours as he licks over the taste of you, soaking it into his bloodstream and making you part of his genetics- just as he is part of yours.

daemon allows his eyes to slip shut, sinking into sweet fantasies and mental pictures of bouncing tits and blood stained sheets, only to reopen them within an instant at the sound of his chamber door slamming against the solid wall.

“oh my!” a young girl dressed in rags turns her back on him as quickly as she notices his naked form, as if allowing him to compose himself and make himself presentable. “i’m so sorry, my prince! i would have knocked but he said i should simply let myself in!”

daemon makes no attempt to find cover.

“do whatever it is you need to do.” he speaks with a tone far too relaxed for a man who’s still got a grip on his cock. if anything, the raggedness in his breaths comes from his frustrations of losing the flavour of you on his tongue. “don’t stop on my account.”

she hesitates upon facing him again, eyes clearly wandering off from her own commands and glancing down at his exposed crotch more times than he imagines she’s comfortable with. from the look of her, she’s young in age- likely only recently blossomed into a woman- and, at the thought of his being the first cock she’s ever seen, he feels himself grow closer to his peak, a sick and twisted satisfaction buzzing through his veins at the possibility of giving the sweet girl her first sense of visual arousal.

when the shock passes, yet still lingers in her features like a harsh cough irritates the throat, she makes her way fully into the room. in her arms, a tray with a mass of food, enough to feed a lord and his men for several nights. without a word, she lays the assortment out on the large table within his chambers, hands shaking under her own nerves.

meanwhile, daemon slows the flick of his own wrist, teasing his cock with the impending satisfaction. a smile, too faint to be seen yet present enough that he feels the slight stretch of his lips, births itself as he considers who this offering of a feast may be from.

“what’s this about, girl?” he throws the question out into the air, clear amusement in his tone.

“the king, my prince.” just as he expected. “he’s ordered this be sent to you.”

and so it begins, he thinks.

his brother is buttering him up, showing a sign of good-will to have daemon in his good graces when he orders the rogue prince betroths himself to the king’s pretty daughter, her supposed virtue now a pile of crumbled ruins in the eyes of the court. as if he needs convincing to take such a sweet young thing to wife, the perfect little bird made of blonde hair, valyrian blood, sugar-coated cum and the sweetest song of whimpers and pleas.

“then make sure you let my brother know how eager i am to receive his feast.” he can feel himself reaching the edge of his peak, tethering off the edge and seconds away from painting his hand white with wasted seed.

perhaps the serving girl will lick it clean for him.

“of course, my prince.” once finished with the arranging of the feast, the maiden straightens out some wrinkles in her skirt- though it does nothing to clean up her looks- and begins to make her way back toward the entry to his chambers. “the king will be surprised to see you so agreeable, though it will help soothe his unease, my lord.”

“his... unease?” daemon’s movements stop, the air runs dry and the girl visibly stiffens, hand curling around the door handle and clenching it as if it is the only thing giving her support.

clearly, she’s said something she shouldn’t have.

“i must go, my lord.”

“unease over what, girl?”

“you... you don’t know, do you?” she’s beginning to irritate him, speaking in riddles and shaking like a leaf in the winds of winter.

“answer me clearly or i’ll have your tongue.” the girl can not see the way he moves off the bed, nor the way he spies his eyes towards his trusted sword propped against a wall, but she certainly hears the loud thud of his feet meeting the floor, feels the darker shift of energy in the room as the rogue prince makes a threatening advance towards her.

“ser gerold royce, my prince...” he’s near certain she lets out a pathetic whimper, like a wounded doe. “he’s proclaimed himself as lord of runestone.”

the world comes to a stand still as her words flood over him.

while the prince is frozen in his spot, face an empty canvas devoid of emotion, the young girl makes a swift exit, wise enough to not wish to stick around long enough to bare witness to the hot-headed prince’s reaction. the slamming of the door on her way out seems to startle him back into motion, naked limbs striding across the room and grabbing at the door. he twists the handle and gives a harsh tug, strong enough to have the wood smash as it collides against the wall.

the door does not open.

he attempts again, and again, and again, and is met with the same resistance each time. only then does it dawn on him- the feast, the unease- this was never about his brother keeping him in his good graces.

this was about the king keeping him locked away in his chambers.

“next, you’ve got your knight. while still not a very point-worthy piece, this holds power in the way it moves, jumping over pawns like a real knight slices through his enemies with the point of his sword.”

four days pass by slowly within the confines of his chambers.

at first, he rages. pacing the floor till the plush carpeting runs thin, hacking away at hand-crafted furniture his ancestors had sat upon and broken fast at, mouth dropped open in a bellow of impassioned words of all the things he plans to do once he gets his hands on his older brother, most of which start and end with his grip on the king’s neck.

then, he tries rest.

it’s a hopeless attempt, though, as the thoughts are running far too rampant for him to ignore the fact he’s confined within his room, not a clue of what his brother has done in regards to runestone’s rebellion. then come the thoughts of you, his little dove, likely hurt, and confused, and needing your dear uncle’s guidance on how to continue onward, how to outsmart the wretched ladies within your father’s court, how to ensure you do not wind up married off to some boring oaf of a lord, with not a drop of valyrian blood in his veins.

after sleep evades him, and rage consumes him once more, he switches to pleasuring himself, hand squeezed tight around his cock and working over the sex organ till he’s completely spent, his sack drained and nothing but pathetic droplets of seed painting his skin by the eight, ninth, tenth peak he drives himself too, fuelling the fire of his lust with past rendevouz- the pentoshi whore he’d fucked in front of her own husband, the nights he’d spent in the streets of silk in rooms where cups and cunts were shared amongst the crowd, the young knight who’d sought him out after a tourney and cried out as daemon stretched the tight pink hole of his arse- and with future desires- the slapping of his stones against your pearl as he takes you from behind, your pretty eyes struggling back tears the first time he fucks his cock into your silky wet hole, the sick, and nasty, and down-right degenerate want to bend you over the small council table and shoot his seed into your womb for all those wrinkled cunts to bare witness to.

ultimately, it’s the memory of how you taste that sends him spiralling for a tenth time.

the rogue prince is a sexual deviant, that was the very first whisper that had flooded the keep about him. and oh how he’s worn it with pride over the years, a twisted joy found in watching their outrage each time he speaks of crass and acts on sin.

even so, there is only so much he can take until he reaches his limit. and, thus, with his cock feeling like it may fall off if he does not give it some recovery time, the prince returns to raging.

that is how the king finds him, sword in hand and the expensive fabrics that once made up the curtains leading onto a balcony now nothing but tattered rags on the floor.

“i must say, daemon, this takes me back.” viserys’ tone carries amusement, which licks at daemon’s ire and coaxes it back to life, hand gripping the hilt of his sword as the prince reminds himself- despite how infuriating the king may be- that he cares deeply for his older brother. “me entering your chambers and finding you amidst a temper tantrum.”

the prince is quick on his feet, turning on his ankle till he finds himself gazing upon the face of his brother. he’s dressed in his finest robes, a mixture of reds and blacks, yet daemon does not miss the green jewel on one of his fingers. the crown upon viserys’ head reflects the sun, shining offensively in the prince’s face as if to more harshly remind him of the inheritance he’ll never claim, the throne he’ll never sit.

“what is the meaning of this?” daemon bellows and instinctively raises dark sister, the tip of the blade pointed directly at his brother.

the sound of kingsguards drawing their own weapons floods the room yet the raise of viserys’ hand halts them all in their defence, calling his brother’s bluff.

“i had some business to attend to.” the king speaks so casually, as though he’s discussing the recent weather or what he’d eaten for his supper the evening before.

“so you imprison me in my chambers as if i am some ill-behaved child!” daemon means to question him yet his words come out as more of a statement, an acceptance of the matter at hand.

“yes, well, what kind of idiot would i be to let my brother wander free in my castle while i’m grasping at straws to prevent a war?” the room grows more tense with every exchanged word between the two brothers, a feat which doesn’t go unnoticed by the guards who stand by the king nor the maidens who had rushed in after the reopening of daemon’s chambers, scrambling around to tidy the place up. “a war which you started in the first place.”

it irks something in daemon, the way viserys remains level headed whilst he’s pacing the room, and gripping his sword, and releasing his frustrations in bursts of loud voices and disgruntled grunts. condescending in every way, it sends daemon into a headspace where he’s no longer a man-grown and, instead, a tear-stained child being reprimanded by his king and grandsire.

he liked to torture young daemon who, despite his best efforts, was always prone to outbursts of emotion- outbursts the old man liked to meet with calmed expressions and tired words of disappointment, dismissing his grandson to bed.

it seems to be a commonality shared among kings, antagonising daemon.

“a war i started?!” and yet he falls for the trap every time, meeting viserys’ passive with his aggressive, striding those few steps closer till he’s a hair away from touching the king with his blade. still, his brother holds off his guards. “and how do you suppose i done such a thing while being imprisoned!?”

“cool it with the theatrics, brother,” viserys punctuates his exhaustion with an eye roll and gives a single nod of his head, giving the kingsguards the go-ahead to swarm around daemon.

a pair of them, both young in their knighthood and matching in face, grab at the rogue prince’s arms and hold him in a stand-still while another guard plucks the weapon from his hand. daemon shoves against their hold and is met with more resistance.

dark sister is passed among the guards, each hand that touches it being added to a tally of people on daemon’s list of men to disembowel. finally, viserys holds the weapon, examining it like it is the very first time he’s seen it.

“daemon, it brings me no joy to do this,” the king starts up again, eyes meeting the glaring amethysts of his brother. “but with the tensions arising and war creeping over the horizon, i can not afford to risk anything going amiss.”

“get to the point, brother. you’re speaking in rhyme as if you were some bard.”

“very well. from now until i decide you are not a threat to this kingdom, your confinement will be stretched from your chambers to the red keep. you are to carry no weapon and you will step no foot out of this castle.”

“you’re a fool if you think i’ll agree to this.”

“it is an order from your king!” viserys lets the mask slip, intentionally or not, and his irritation shines through like the stars paint themself across the dark sky. “and if that’s not enough to keep you in line, you will also be monitored at all hours of the day, every move you make within these walls will be shadowed by that of a knight of my choosing.”

daemon targaryen considers murdering his brother.

“and i see no man more fit for the job than ser criston cole.”

for the first time in his life, daemon targaryen may just go through with it.

“the bishop may be similar to the knight in it’s point count, yet it moves differently. while a knight can not move three times in the same direction, a bishop must stay within the colour it started in. think of a bishop like a maester: chained to an oath it can never break”

he’d rather be forced to endure a lifetime of self-flagellation than another moment of this conversation.

“it is in your best interest, your grace, to cut this state of anarchy out from it’s roots before any other houses chose to follow in the footsteps of runestone.” the new hand of the king is certainly an improvement from the hightower cunt, daemon can’t deny it. yet a part of him feels the knife of betrayal twist deeper into his back upon realising his brother had not only ignored his own warnings of the green lord till rhaenyra brought them up too, but he’d once again given the role to a random lord in his court rather than his own brother. “we have cause to believe that the dandarrions may be next to follow, given the less than kind words your daughter had for them during her tour for a marriage.”

“then there is the matter with the lannisters and, of course, the never ending tensions with the dornish folk. they’re more weary than ever, since someone,” maester mellos has never been a subtle man, despite all his supposed wits and knowledge, and so it flies over no one’s head when he takes a glance at the rogue prince and his standing guard, the insufferable man who’s made himself daemon’s shadow. “went to war with the triarchy.”

“my apologies for riding you all of that tyrant crabfeeder!” daemon speaks for the first time since he’d been forced to sit at the small council. “i’ll be sure to stand by and allow the next one to rip you all to pieces.”

daemon drowns out the rest of the meeting, uninterested in hearing his brother grovel at ways to keep his subjects at bay, as though they are the ones that rule over him.

gifts of gold for the dandarrion, a knighting for the lannisters’ youngest lords, peace-offerings in the forms of poetic words, and sweetened fruits, and lavish silks for the dornish. each gift more empty than the last.

it’s the mention of your name that brings him back into the room.

“were she here, we could have used her as a bargaining plea for one of these stronger houses,” ser lyman beesbury is the one who speaks and, with each word, the rest of the councilmen grow wider in the eyes and stiffer in their seats.

daemon explains their otherwise odd reactions away with them simply feeling uncomfortable discussing you in his presence, everything changed and nothing the same since sometime between the night he had you pressed against your door and his confinement within the keep.

upon release back into the castle, he’d searched for you first of all, paying no mind to criston cole as the knight struggled to keep up with his rushed footfall, mind too focused on the renewed anger he wished to placate with his cock in your mouth and the further destruction of your purity, all in the name of spiting your father.

when he’d reached your chambers, however, he’d found nothing but a mess of emptied trunks and an unkept bed.

“the princess is not here.” ser criston had spoken between gasps of air, chest heaving beneath the unnecessary layers of chainmail and armor his position forces him to wear.

daemon had demanded an answer for your whereabouts, only to quickly realise the knight was none-the-wiser. it was the new hand, ultimately, that clued him in, over sips of wine and looks of caution from other council-men amid a private feast.

“driftmark, prince daemon.” he’d dabbed at the corners of his mouth with poise and composure, everything about the man seemingly perfected for politics, serving only to irritate the prince further. “the princess has accompanied her older sister and her new husband on their trip to laenor velaryon’s home.”

that was the last daemon had heard of you.

a near moon later and you were still out of reach, likely turning your nose at the smell of salt that coated the walls of the velaryon household and wondering why a certain red-speckled dragon had yet to swoop in on the island, carrying the cause and answer to all your problems upon it’s back.

“dare i say i agree, your grace,” another of the men chimes in, his words barely a whisper at first, glancing nervously toward the king. “perhaps we may write for her return and see to it that a betrothal be made.”

daemon chooses to observe viserys in this moment, eyes trailing over his features and taking note of every wrinkle in his brow, every greyed hair within his unshaven face, every upturn and scorn of his lip. there’s a wave of unease that’s fallen over his brother, and it only grows with every moment that the lords speak of you in the rogue prince’s presence, the air thick with the discussion the two brother’s had yet to have regarding the rumours of your deflowering.

“and, tell me, my lords, what you suggest we tell the princess’ current betrothed?” maester mellos, ever incapable of holding his tongue, barks across the table, deathly unaware of the looks that befall the council nor the tensing of daemon’s shoulders. “the king is trying to avoid war, not further instigate one by implying her current betrothal is not good enough, that house-”

“that’s enough!” the king rises from his chair all at once, slamming his hand down on the table and commanding the attention of everyone in the room, more so when he recoils in pain. all at once, the rumours of his declining health and the effect it’s had on his body feel all too true. “there will be no further discussions of my daughter nor the prospect of a new betrothal. what’s done is done and i will not go back on my word to appease your fear-mongering speculations. we will continue our diplomatic relationship with these houses and ensure they do good to remember who sits the iron throne.”

the men obey like sheep, each bowing their head and mumbling false reconciliations.

one by one, they all take their leave.

first, lyman beesbury, who with pale face and solemn eyes lays apologies at visery’s feet. next, the master of laws and maester mellos, neither of them wasting time with niceties and opting for a mere bow towards their king. when all the chairs lay empty, save for daemon’s and the king, silence runs thick through the room. neither brother moving, each testing their unnamed opponent and awaiting the first blow through the tension to be made.

daemon grows impatient.

“unless corlys velaryon fucked a new son into our lady cousin and had the babe birthed in a matter of days, i do wonder who you’ve betrothed my niece to on driftmark.”

“do you know what your problem is, daemon?” though viserys’ words come out with inquisitory tones, he leaves no space for the prince to answer. “you’re so busy with your own schemes and plans that you fail to see when you’re the one being played.”

daemon feels small.

for a moment, he’s no longer a man grown into a soldier, with a mighty sword and a fearsome dragon. instead, he’s frail and weak, and staring across at his older brother as he beats him once more in the game of knights and checkered spaces, a taunting look on his face as he knocks over the little boy’s king piece and declares himself victor.

when the moment passes, he straightens his posture and rises from his seat, and reminds himself of the words his mother would comfort her crying babe with each time he failed to win, whispers of how there’s always something to be gained in any loss he finds.

he settles with leading his brother further into the trap of rumours him and his niece have conjured up together.

“i hear your new wife is fond of the seven, brother.” the prince reaches to grip the hilt of his sword, only to find an empty space and the reminder that he carries no weapon as of late. “ask her to pray for your daughter, i don’t believe she tasted the bitterness of moon tea after our evening together.”

the king does not call daemon’s bluff.

“this right here? the rook, worth more than the bishop or knight, yet less than the king or queen, it is an allusive piece. play the game wisely and your rook may trap the king, leaving it with nowhere to run.”

with the passing of another moon, daemon plunders deeper into insanity.

he’s always been a man of possession, the kind who owns and conquers and takes. objects, lands, people. they’re all the same in daemon’s chequebook of ownership. and, while living a rather messy and unkept life, he enjoys the pleasantness of having his possessions in his line of sight, like the sword he’s worn at his hip since the old king bestowed it upon him, or the seating he takes at every royal feast, chair angled perfectly to keep his eyes on the brother, nieces, family he possesses.

with dark sister out of reach and his most recent favoured family member out of sight- the pretty niece he’s silently layed his claim on-, destruction is imminent.

no longer does he debate with his own inner-turmoil over if he will go against the king’s orders but, rather, he questions when.

when will he redeem his previous loss against ser criston cole, beat the knight to the ground and steal his weapon as he lays unconscious?

when will he slip through the cracks in the castle walls, making use of the secretive halls built by maegor the cruel himself and slice through any guard who may attempt to get in his way?

when will he take the skies atop his fire-breathing mount, fleeing the city of whispering cunts and chees-playing fools?

the answer to each questions comes back to one thing, one person, one possession he needs to locate first.

you.

the events to follow the council meeting had lead him to several conclusions.

the first, and most obvious one, was that you clearly were not on driftmark, as lord strong had so boldly claimed. the second took him a few sleeps to fully decide upon but, remembering the words spoken of your betrothal among the council men and the apparent greater houses they could have given your hand to, daemon crossed off the possibility of you being in winterfell, the young stark lord likely too prideful to entertain the king’s earlier propositions of marriage after the way you’d left him amid a feast to go and- falsely rumoured- fuck your uncle.

with the dandarrions, the lannisters and the dornish folk already ruled off the list, it left daemon with few options.

his strongest lead is the baratheons, a long-standing connection between the two houses and a recently widowed lord who’s previous wife had gifted nothing but girls from her womb, it took no genius to assume a targaryen bride would serve him well.

daemon will soon find out he's wrong.

there’s an unease that takes over someone’s chambers the moment they notice something has been tampered with, whether it be as silly as a glass moved a few inches across a table or something as significant as a chest of drawers laying open when they’d clearly been left shut.

it tickles the back of the prince’s neck this very evening, skin rising to mimic that of a goose as he trails his eyes over his surroundings.

he’d returned to his chambers later than usual this evening, the day spent cornering council-men and threatening them- daemon had quickly discovered they feared him less with no blade to slice through them and his own personal minder at his back, that ridiculous kingsguard armour reflecting every ray of sun and every burn of candlelight.

daemon had taken to tormenting the poor ser crispin only a matter of days into their forced companionship. he figured that, if he may no longer seek joy in the streets of silk or the bloodshed of his enemies, let him at least take pleasure in the squirming discomfort of a man he loathes entirely.

“my niece,” he’d spoke as the two sat through their usual quiet supper together. “did you enjoy fucking her?”

“i did not fuck princess y/n.”

“well, of course not,” daemon pushed his spoon back and forth, passing time while he thought up his next taunt. “my younger niece has always had the more refined taste out of the two of them. rhaenyra, on the other hand, well she’d fuck a hound if it licked her the right way.”

“all this from a man who preys on his own blood for his sexual deviance. you and i both know what you done to your niece, how you seduced such a-”

“my nieces have always seemed so alike. both pale haired, both sharing the same smile, both wearing the same dresses.” the knight and the prince had long abandoned their food now, discussion heavy with daemon’s accusation of ser criston abandoning his own vows and committing what he can only imagine would be declared treason, deflowering a princess. perhaps soon the two will share something in common. “now i wonder if they feel the same. you must know, so tell me, did rhaenyra’s cunt grip your pathetic cock in a vice that threatened to ruin any other woman for you? or is that a trait only my youngest niece possesses?”

even now, hours into the late night and several more cups of wine drowning in his system, daemon can not bite back a dry laugh as he recalls the astound look upon the knight’s face, a mixture of disgust and discomfort.

he’s seated- more accurately speaking, he’s draped- upon a chaise, muscles tense and mind racing, in need of distraction. most of his nights end like this now, several emptied pitchers of wine along the floor, red staining his mouth and his own figure collapsed over whatever surface he finds first. occasionally, he’d attempt to have his way with a serving girl, ignoring the looks of ser criston as he stands guard outside his chambers and watches the prince enter with his partner for the evening, yet most were dismissed before daemon could satisfy himself, a mixture of his own drunken incontinence and their far too placid natures.

at least the whores of the silk street make him believe they want him.

letting out a groan, he sinks further into the seat, legs bent at the knee and feet planted firmly on the ground as he lets himself lay back fully. he’s contemplating taking rest here for the evening, and weighing the likely-hood of awakening with a new pain in his neck. 

it would certainly be a more comfortable sleep than the would he’d taken last night, back slumped against a wall and body sat atop the cool marbled floor.

he makes his choice, limbs too tired to make the few paces to his bed, and resigns himself for the night, twisting once more to find the most comfortable position upon the chaise and closing his eyes.

only to reopen them instantly.

something rustles. that feeling of unease creeps in once again, slow like fog over the horizon, hazy and threatening, and cold in every sense of the word. someone has been in his chambers, is in his chambers, and they’ve left something askew.

his eyes dart over the room, trying to assess every nook and corner and crevice within it in hopes of spotting a pair of spying eyes or unsettled objects. struggling due to all the blind spots his position has created, daemon heaves himself back into the upright position, figure slouched and back curved uncomfortably.

the rustling happens again.

he shoots up from his seat, wondering if his inebriated state has begun to create delusions, or if the psychosis caused by staring at the same red walls of the keep nonstop has finally begun to take over. he must be going mad, he thinks, eyes scanning over the whole of his room as he turns in place, cursing the more he notices nothing out of the ordinary.

until he sees it.

there, placed exactly where his tired limbs had been mere moments ago, lays a note.

it’s folded over and sporting a strange yellow blotch in one of it’s corners while, in the centre, written in the blackest ink so delicately and flowery it near stirs his cock in his breeches, kepus.

he snatches at the paper, near tearing it in two with the speed he unfolds it, eyes racing over every scribble and every swirl of pretty inked words.

the rain is the only thing that brings me comfort these days.

the letter begins and, while the writer has still not identified themselves, the prince is more than certain he knows who is speaking.

i’ve never been a fan of change (i’m sure you recall my horrid tantrums as a child whenever my mother assigned me a new handmaiden), yet never have i faced one so large. where in the capital i spent my days with books and needles and rides upon dragon’s back, here i am told to sit quiet as a mouse, as though i am merely another ornament within the lord’s home. where i once spent nights rolling my eyes and wishing to be excused from public feasts, here i cry and ache for a morsel of socialising outside the lord’s inner circle. where once i slept sound over the small folk screaming and cheering into the late night, here i sit awake by the window and listen to each raindrop.

i am not built for the cold, both in weather and in people. they frighten me here, which is a thing i never thought i’d need admit to. there are no whispers here, only silence. but their eyes, they speak paragraphs of hatred and disdain and ill-intentions with a simple glance. i need not worry if they will eat me alive here, but rather whom will be the one to do so. in the capital i’ve always felt untouchable, first because i was my father’s daughter, a princess of the realm, and, when that began to lose effect, you stepped in and taught me safety can be found in another, with your advice and your combat training and your inability to let me fall asleep without you on my mind.

i’ve developed a sick obsession for you, uncle, and it is entirely your fault.

he’s sunk back onto the chaise, hand gripping the letter tighter as a mixture of worry and anger stirs up in his loins. worry over the tales you tell, anger for the possibility of this being a sick game, a note written by some pathetically bored serving wench aiming to ruffle some feathers.

he decides he must keep reading to uncover the truth.

and so, now, it is with heavy heart that i must admit i’m disappointed. don’t perceive me as foolish, for i am wiser than some maiden who believes the things i feel for you to be love. but i always believed there was understanding between us, two different souls yet so completely immersed and knowing of each other’s drives and needs. even when i was a child, you were always the first to notice once i was too tired to continue with the festivities or when i craved the thrill of sneaking down to the dragonpit to spy upon the great beasts. i thought you’d understand, too, that this is not the life i wishfor: a husband with the personality of a wet piece of parchment and a life of silence and gloom.

i am a dragon, just like my sister, and my father, and our ancestors. and a dragon can not grow in a cage, so why have you let them put me in one? you agreed to help me, to ruin me for any other lord so that my father would have no option to but to wed us, leaving us both to our own devices. you, gaining that valyrian wife you always wanted while not changing your whorish ways, and i, earning the freedom i would not find shackled to some low achieving, overbearing, egotistical man. yet i now have a betrothed who’s hair is brown and who’s house has no dragon.

i will risk writing this only once, for the spiders may not spin their thread here but they still bite, and ask this of you: speak sense into my father. tell him i’m with child, tell him i’m a threat to the realm, tell him i’m plotting my own death. tell him any lie you need to put a stop to this betrothal and bring me home, to where i belong.

or, outsmart him and simply come rescue me yourself, like some knight on his white stallion (caraxes would likely singe my hair off if i ever dared call him such a thing in his presence).

i’ll be awaiting your next move, uncle. be sure you play wisely and don’t lose both your princess and your king.

coldest regards,

your little dove.

p.s. i have cum to learn that, while my fingers are indeed skilled, they are nowhere near as good as yours were, kepus.

the intensity behind the stare he holds the note under may just set it alight.

no longer does he doubt who could have written such a thing, the mentions of your joint ploy to deceive the courtiers and the wording used to describe the connection shared between you both marking the undeniable truth of the letter’s author. 

perversion brings him to reread the final sentence, mind fully registering them and flooding him with pink hued paintings of his pretty niece, as nude as the day you were born, now flushed skin and hardened nipples and honey dripping down your thighs as your dainty hands fail to fuck themselves as deeply as his had.

daemon can’t help but wonder what his little dove must think of in moments of self-pleasure, questions of whether you were depraved enough to think of men doing unspeakable things to you or if you merely blush over the memory of your uncle.

reading over the last part two more times, his eyes scatter back up the page- first, in an effort to avoid having to deal with his own impending arousal, and then because he feels compelled to read over the letter once more, eyes scanning over every detail.

it takes an unknown number of reads for him to notice a code among the words, a subtleness of ink layered to appear harsher, darker, more noticeable than the other words upon the parchment.

i’m, where, you, once, were.

i’m where you once were.

an inexplicable sense of pride comes over him, the fact his little dove has found a way to tell him something whilst, simultaneously, telling him nothing. were your worries true of spiders and the risk of one of them reading this letter in the time it took to reach him, he doubts any of them would be wise enough to notice the message, much less decipher it’s meaning.

and, while he applauds your display of wits, he despises his own inability to comprehend it. if you are where he once was, where had he been?

just about everywhere in the seven kingdoms, is the unfortunate truth.

by the time sleep at lasts takes over him, daemon has gained two things: the letter you’ve sent and the unbreakable will to move in on the king at last.

“the objective of chess is to protect your king while attacking your opponent’s. you must back the king into a corner, leave him with no way out, place him in check. only then will you be able to call checkmate and win.”

daemon nudges the knight with his foot.

as they’d sat for supper that evening, the prince had felt doubtful of the contents in the vial. he’d pinched it from the grand maester himself and, though he payed no real coins, the prince would argue he payed a grater price: feigning interest in conversing with old crone. a near three hours he’d sat, listening to the man drone on and on, till at last he’d excused himself to relieve his bladder and left daemon with a window of opportunity, his ointments and medicine all in a neat little display.

having little time, he’d grabbed at what he was sure to be milk of the poppy- a significantly smaller dose remaining within the vial compared to the rest- and tucked it in his trousers, at last excusing himself from the bore of a lifetime.

it wasn’t difficult to slip the liquid into a cup of wine, nor was it particularly hard to convince ser criston to drink from it, inviting the knight to join in on his empty toast towards the hightower queen and yet another pregnancy.

hours later and ser crispin lays slumped over outside his door.

daemon gives one more nudge for safety and, when the man merely slouches even closer to the ground, he grabs at the knight’s weapon and nestles it in his own scabbard, making use of it for the first time in two moons.

the hour is late and most of the keep have given in to the temptations of rest, yet the prince still travels the halls with caution, one eye looking over his shoulder. he half expects every guard he passes to seize him on sight, spewing some nonsense of his wrongful weapon or non-permitted solitude. with luck he reaches his destination, no one to spy upon the way he enters into the emptied library nor to witness as he shoves a bookcase aside and steps into the tunnel.

his memory serves him well, even after all these years, navigating himself through the interconnected secrets of the keep. he passes rooms of lords laid in bed with women they do not call wife, and ladies disrobing for the evening, and the still empty chambers of his little dove, till, at last, he reaches where he wants to be, not bothering with patience before barging his way out of the tunnel and into the regal chambers of the king.

“it took you longer than i expected.” daemon had counted on his brother being the one wearing shock upon his face, yet it is the prince who plays the fool, stepping into the room to find his older brother sat at a table, goblet in hand and a familiar checkered board in front of him.

it irks him to hear the king even imply he’d been expecting his arrival.

“don’t you have a wife to be bedding, brother?” he steps deeper into the chambers with caution, eyes on the empty bed and the lack of sight of his brother’s breeding mare.

“pregnancy, daemon. it works wonders on a woman’s body,” he takes a sip of his drink before reaching to pour a second cup meant for the prince. “it’s just a shame one of those wonders comes in the form of my wife snoring louder than a lion roars.”

it’s strange to hear his brother discuss details of his new bride.

daemon had never sought answers for their marriage, yet he’d forever questioned what had driven his brother to marry such a girl, childhood friend of his eldest daughter and so clearly lacking the backbone needed to stand up for herself against the injustices forced against her by her own father. were the prince a more gentle person at heart, perhaps he’d find it in him to pity her.

instead, he sees her as just another thorn in his brother’s side, waiting for the chance to poison his mind and seat one of her wretched babes upon the throne.

“come, come,” dragging him out of his thoughts is viserys once more, now half-hovering over the table and moving his limbs back and forth, hands carefully placing each piece upon it’s designated checker. “sit down! let us play!”

only as he’s seated across from viserys does he notice he’s been bestowed with playing the blacks on the board. never before was he allowed, the older of the two always insisting black was his lucky colour and refusing to play the whites.

in truth, daemon has always suspected his brother had been to fearful to play white, not knowing how to make a good first move and relying on his opponent to instead kickstart the game and give him places to move his pieces.

“isn’t it a beautiful board?” the elder must confuse his staring as a sign of fascination, gawking at the splendour of it. “it’s the very same one mother gifted me after i bested her for the first time.”

there it is, that familiar lick of envy, a sick and cruel twist in his guts as he stares down at an object viserys gets to remember their parents by, while all daemon ever got was disapproving looks and half-hearted embraces. perhaps the rumours are true and the prince has a complex which forces him to pity himself, to cast a shadow upon his own image and declare that it was a wrong forced upon him by others.

or, more likely, the consequences of watching his parents prop viserys up on a mantelpiece whilst leaving him in a corner to collect dust had lead him down the path to the destructive man he’s become.

even when he’d claimed caraxes, he could only imagine what his father’s reaction would have been, were he still alive to witness it. 

impressive, but your brother claimed the greatest dragon to have ever lived, the one who the great conqueror rode upon and forged a throne under the black dread’s flames.

“‘tis exactly the same as any other chess board, brother.” he lets petty feelings spin lies on his tongue, rolling his eyes and disregarding the clear etherealness, the intricate carvings on each piece and the extravagant linings of the board, and each of it’s shimmering onyx and quartz squares.

daemon downs half his cup in one sip, eyes trained on his brother’s first move.

king’s pawn forward two spaces, a strong start and an immediate attack to the centre.

it’s fitting, daemon thinks, for this to be the first move his brother makes while leading a game. while a powerful start, it’s rather obvious, one he’d seen viserys defeat in a manner of mere seconds. perhaps age has taken away his astute mind and skill for the game.

daemon retaliates, moving one of his bishop’s pawns forward two spaces.

with the crease that forms in viserys’ brow, daemon delights. his brother was not expecting him to move in such a way, likely expecting him to do something erratic like bringing his queen’s pawn forward.

the pair continue to move in silence, sips of wine and scratching of pieces echoing around the chambers. it’s deceivingly peaceful, nothing like the confrontation the rogue prince had geared himself up to walk into. while he’d awaited bursts of anger and scathing accusations and marks of betrayal, the two sit like children once more, moving empty objects in an imitation of politics.

the only difference is daemon appears to have the upper hand, a growing collecting of white pieces stored to the right of his long-ago emptied and refilled cup.

as always, it’s daemon who takes the first bite.

“i’m afraid i must pay you your dues, brother.” his words slip through his own smirking lips, satisfaction rolling in by the hundreds as he spies the white king, slowly losing places to hide on the board. “it’s truly applaudable how you managed to not only secure one daughter a marriage amid questions of her virtue, but two! young helaena will follow in her half-sisters’ footsteps, surely.”

viserys’ hand pauses mid-air, his remaining bishop held in his grasp. his grip tightens with each passing second. the older has always been more level-headed, that no one can dispute, but the rogue prince will forever swear up and down, high and low, that it is his brother who carries the more foul temper.

viserys’ anger is just harder to weed out from behind false niceties and calmed breathing.

“if you mean to say that helaena will be so lucky as to marry a noble man, filled with honour,” he lays his bishop down at last, not managing to capture any of daemon’s blacks. “then yes, i should hope so. both the betrothal of my eldest daughter and my middle-born were to good men, faithful lords. my helaena will be lucky to do the same.”

“you never did quite tell me about y/n’s betrothal, brother.” the king chuckles at daemon’s words, empty amusement in the obvious statement the prince makes. still, he makes no attempt to stop him, letting him string the conversation along to the dreaded topic between them: the rumours of what daemon had done to you. “last i spoke with her, she was rather... occupied with something other than the prospect of marriage. when you announced her future union to her, did she drop on her knees and kiss your feet in gratitude? or did she spit at you and-”

“did she drop on her knees for you?” the raise in viserys’ voice is minimal yet enough to have daemon smirking over the rim of his cup, amused to see his brother being led into his trap for once.

he makes his next move on the board fist, plucking his knight and moving it over one of his own pawns. if he plays is cards right, messes with his brother’s head just the right amount, perhaps he won’t notice how he’s moving in on his king.

his only hope is to keep talking about his little dove.

“so that’s what you wish to discuss, brother? how it felt to fuck your young daughter?” for the first time he speaks the lie out loud, no hiding behind innuendos nor insinuations. they need to believe you’ve stolen my virtue, kepus, were the words you’d whispered to him, face still fresh from dried tears and teeth stained purple with the wine he’d let you sip from his glass late into the night as the rest of the world had slept, they need to think that you fucked me.  he’d sworn an oath to you, to put on a show and ruin you beneath the judgement of others. he’ll be damned if viserys becomes an exception to this oath. “because i can go into detail, you needn’t beg. i can tell you of how it felt to have her squeeze around my cock, and how she arched that little back like a cat, spine curving deeper each time i pounded into her. i can tell you of how she begged for her uncle, her kepus, to shoot his spend into her aching womb and-”

a screech rings out as viserys’ chair flies backwards, the king rising to a stand and glaring down at his brother, who only sinks deeper into the velvet lined seat and allows himself another sip of his glass, face painted in pure amusement as viserys’ reflects that of an angered dragon.

“enough! i will not have you speak such atrocities about your own niece!”

“oh spear me the lecture of the seven, brother!” the hypocrisy to shun him for lusting after his own kin, it has to be the hightower cunt’s doing. feeding lies into her new husband’s head, any means to have his true-blooded targaryen daughters removed from the line to the throne. daemon at last feels himself begin to irk, a scowl engraving itself into his forehead. “your own beloved, your late wife, shared blood with you and you never once objected to bedding her. it is our family’s birthright to keep the blood of the dragon burning hot, not dampen it with that of lesser folk. i mean our parents, for gods’ sake, they were siblings! are you going to tell me it’s wrong?”

“this is not about you being her uncle, daemon. this is about you being you! and her being my sweet girl, one of the last pieces of aemma-”

daemon can’t help himself, flying out of his own seat with the slam of his hand on the table. the pieces rattle under the impact, the white queen toppling over and sending her pawn flying off the board.

“your sweet girl who you let be slandered by the same lords who break bread at your table and drink from your cups!” the prince stands taller than the king, shoulders straight and head held high as he flips positions, becoming the one staring down upon his older brother, who’s slouched and frailer than he once was, hands searching for the steadying hold of the oak table. “tell me, brother, where were you when she drank herself sick as they spoke on her fertility? what did you do when they mocked her for being scared after an attack on her life, in her own chambers!? did you even ask her what happened between us before you shipped her off like cattle to the slaughter, let her tell you it was she who asked it of me? she detested the thought of marrying some unknown lord so much she’d rather destroy her maidenhood and her honour, but you wouldn’t see that, too blinded by your own downfall into becoming a boot-licker for all these cunts who hold land in your realm.”

viserys can only stare, frozen where he stands and eyes widened in bewilderment at his brother’s own outburst, chest heaving in anger and hands shaking with adrenaline as he points towards the king.

“are you in love with her?”

no more than a whisper, so quiet the rogue prince is almost sure he imagines it.

till the king repeats himself.

"gods, don't be ridiculous!" it’s neither a yes nor a no, and daemon is so painfully aware of this, aware that he gives no real answer to your father nor himself.

the concept of love and all it entails has never appealed to the prince, at least in the way it’s presented in song and written of in history. all his life he’d heard of knights who’s lady love was a gem they sought to hold, to sing songs of faithfulness and dance around with hands entwined by marriage. of men who made themselves better, kinder, more gentle, all in the hopes of pleasing their lover and winning her hand. daemon had never experienced such a feeling.

while love is something most feel in their heart, daemon feels it in his loins.

it’s a hunger that consumes his very being, aching, and growling, and demanding to be fed with bursts of passion and shouts of anger. it’s a possession he needs to take, to mark someone as his, in every sense of the words. his to own, his to touch, his to drown in expensive gifts. his love is not kind, but brutal, and loud, and forceful, never leaving room for the rest of the world to doubt it. it makes him want to march into battle, to burn down cities, to spill the blood of any who dare harm the object of his obsession. his love is a fire that burns him from within, spilling out from his skin and scorching everything in it’s path.

the prince is not sure if he wants you to burn in its flames.

“but i could give her a greater life than any other man in this realm.” what he is certain of is that he will not stand by as your father let’s you be ruined by someone other than him. “a good man means nothing if he can not keep her safe, or even happy. at the very least, wedding her to me would mean her husband is someone familiar. she wouldn’t have to leave her home, or change her ways, or even bare a child if she does not wish to.”

viserys sighs, tired body dropping back into his chair and his mangled hand reaches up to brush over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose as his eyes squeeze shut. the prince almost believes he sees a flicker of resignation, winning his brother over at last or exhausting him so deeply he sees no choice but to accept his words as truth, if only to silence him.

instead, the king reaches for the board once more, an airy laugh escaping him as he examines the placement of each piece. leaning over, he sits his queen back up and drums his fingers on the table.

he laughs once more.

"after all these years, daemon, you still struggle to capture my queen."

“but your queen, daemon. the queen is where you hide all your power, look for where your opponent keeps their queen and there you shall find true victory.”

the words of years ago spin round and round in the prince’s head.

his eyes, glued to the board, watch as the king moves his queen out two spaces and captures daemon’s knight, snatching it off the board and tossing it over his shoulder. viserys looks up, awaiting for daemon to continue the match, to put an end to it at last.

but he’s too stuck on the phrasing his brother had used, stubborn in his belief that it’s meaning has little to do with the game upon the table and, rather, the one that’s being played with words and whispers and undisclosed betrothals.

the prince thinks of the queen, the hightower girl who parades around the courts in green silks and upon swollen ankles, face downtrodden each time she foolishly thinks no one is looking. if ever he believed viserys held true affection for her, he’d wonder if she was who the king refers to, if otto hightower had truly been sent back to oldtown empty handed or with a new bride on his arm.

but any fool with a set of eyes can see the king loves his second wife like he loves the iron throne: through duty and obligation.

it is, instead, the late queen aemma who viserys must speak of.

and, while her maiden home, house arryn, where she’d spent her girlhood in the days before she’d been betrothed to her cousin, possesses no lord nor man awaiting a wife, a neighbouring house had just recently named a new wifeless lord.

a house which remembers, especially those who wrong it.

“no…”

i'm where you once where.

“you have to understand, daemon, that the actions you take leave me with consequences to bare. after what happened to lady rhea… after what you done,” his brother, so clearly exhausted with the secrecy and the scheming, folds like a house of cards against a gentle breeze, collapsing further into his seat and shaking his head. he does not notice as daemon moves his own queen along the board. “the vale were at an unease. threatened, was the word they used. so when lord royce staked his claim over his house’s seat, demanding i compensate runestone for the marriage agreement you destroyed and the lady you took from them, i had to give them a show of good faith. i had to reassure them of the longstanding trust between our houses.”

“so you gave her to them, sold her like some slave!”

“i made a political deal!” he attempts to defend himself in both words and on the board. in both, he fails. “one where lord rhoyce gains a bride, i avoid war and my daughter gets to finally take on the duties bestowed upon her at birth.”

“you’re a fucking fool, viserys. you would have been better delivering her to the triarchy. least they would make her death a more swift one. that rhoyce twat’ll have her head on a pike, and her tits and cunt will be hand delivered to you. they’ll slaughter her, as payment for their-” daemon swallows every ill coloured word and expression of his despise that comes to mind at the memory of his bronze bitch, giving no out for his brother to twist this conversation into a matter of his own wrongdoings. “late lady.”

with no more hesitation, the rogue prince moves his queen one last time and delights in watching the white king fall into check.

he knocks the piece over, quietly declaring checkmate.

“brother, please,” the king’s words are as fragile as his health, failing and mute against daemon’s scowling features, which refuse to play nice any longer. “do you think this is what i wanted, for my daughter to be used as a bargaining tool for peace? but there’s no going back, what’s done is done.”

“then undo what is done!”

“how can i when they threaten violence and-”

“you’re the king! who gives a shit what they threaten, they have a dozen men to your thousands. you have dragons! if the threat of fire worked on the men of the vale once, it’ll do so again. so regain your pride and write to that cunt royce. tell him to have your daughter cleaned up and sent back to where she belongs, to find fulfilment in his new lordhood and to drop this notion that he even deserves to gaze upon a targaryen princess, much less stick his shrivelled cock within her. i urge you to send this letter post-haste,” that familiar blade of his sits neatly by the entrance of the chamber, attracting the prince over till he clutches it in his grasp at last, quickly returning dark sister to her rightful spot by his side and discarding the blade he’d stolen from ser criston. he glances back at the king, now risen once more, and twists the doorknob. “and pray, dear brother. pray that it reaches gerold royce before i do.”

with the slam of the door, daemon plunders into the halls of the keep, footsteps heavy and echoing with each one he takes. jaw clenched and hands fisted, he paints the image of a man enraged, sick and fed-up with the games being played.

by the time he reaches his chambers, shoving his way past the sleeping knight at it’s doors, there’s bound to be a flurry of gossiping fools who speak of the prince and his defiling of the king’s commands, but he cares little as he straps himself into leathers and steel, hell-bent on reaching the dragonpit before day breaks and the sun paints the sky alight.

daemon is done sitting idly by, waiting for the king to see reason.

because while at the age of five, naive and easily influenced, daemon targaryen had looked up to his chess-genius of a brother, it was at age five and ten that he realised why his brother kept winning, why pawns and knights and rooks would conveniently move to the places he needed them to be.

he cheated.

[toournextadventure]

I LOVE your Wednesday! I was wondering if you can write a Wednesday/gn!Reader where the reader writes to her a love letter and wants to give it to her with a black rose but they see Xavier give to her the cellphone so, thinking they're dating, Reader just throws away the letter and the rose.

Wednesday finds them..

Looky looky here, two fics in one day. This one was fun to write, I loved the idea!

im no poet

You were no writer. No amount of your rambling thoughts could compare to those of Shakespeare, Hemingway, or even Wednesday Addams. All those big emotions came out in actions, not words, and not even your mouth could keep up or properly convey all you wanted to. No, most of those big, bottled up feelings ended up left unspoken.

But for Wednesday, you gave it a try.

It had started with a very heated debate about the phrase “actions speak louder than words.” She, of course, had opted to disagree, claiming her words spoke pretty loud. They sure do, you thought as you shook your head and counter-argued. It was by no means an argument, much more of an actual debate with each side presenting their case.

You lost. Because, as you had previously pointed out, you were not good with your words.

Not a bad thing though, you realised once you sat down to try and write out how you felt. The first few paragraphs were messy; no structure, no reason, barely coherent. You crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it into the corner of the room, not even attempting to hit the trash can. But you pulled out another piece of paper and started again.

It took half a notebook before you could even start making sense of your words. Even then, it wasn’t what you wanted to say. How could you even start to explain why you were writing such a letter? Should you start it off with “Hello, I think I’m in love with you?” Words wouldn’t work.

Words wouldn’t work.

You put your pen to paper - the third pen you had ruined so far - and started explaining your emotions the only way you knew how: with actions. The feelings she envoked in you couldn’t be put into words, not so simply. No, because she made you want to live, and living was such a beautiful thing. That rare smile of hers made you feel as if you were running through the farm of your childhood. Laughing as you ran up and down the crop rows until your bare feet were dirty and tired and you collapsed in the field with the feeling of utter peace that only a child could experience.

Being with her made you want to do every little thing she had never considered was important to her. It made you want to bring her coffee whenever she was writing, or turning the page of her music as she played. You would connect your headphones whenever she came in because you knew she liked the silence. Or grabbing all the songs she enjoyed and turning them into a personalised record that she could use without having to switch them out all the time.

When it was all said and done, you had exhausted five pens, half a notebook, and came out with three pages of a written confession.

You had asked Miss Thornhill if you could raid the greenhouse. It wasn’t that you were a teacher’s pet, but you knew how to kiss up when needed. She agreed quickly, and all you had to give up were a few Saturdays of your time to help clean up and organise. A fair trade, no consideration needed.

The Black Dahlias weren’t in bloom, so you hoped Wednesday would settle for a black rose. That was still romantic, right? It was black, at least, that had to count for something. A small envelope, a single black rose, your bright shining face. What more could she want?

“I already put my number in it,” Xavier’s voice rang out even though he was talking fairly quietly.

He bought her a phone. The very thing she had adamantly refused to become a slave to. Yet she took it from him anyway. Oh, you thought with a furrow of your brows. Suddenly the items in your hand felt like lead, weighing you down and you almost wished they would drag you under the ground to escape.

It had been a crapshoot to make a move, you knew that anyway, but it still hurt nonetheless. Wednesday gave the equivalent of a smile, and you nodded to yourself in silent acceptance. You wouldn’t ever wish to put her in a position to “choose” between two people. So instead you turned around and started walking off. You only paused at a trash can to drop the rose and letter inside, patting the cold silver can twice before walking away.

You didn’t see Wednesday watch you leave with worry in her eyes.

“Go see,” Xavier said with a gesture of his head.

Wednesday didn’t hesitate to walk over to the trash can and pick up the rose and envelope. The sight of the flower made her heart race; had you gotten that for her? What had possessed you to get her something like that? You knew she was difficult to get along with, why would you go out of your way to get her a rose in her favourite colour?

And the envelope. It had her name on it.

“What’s their number?” Wednesday asked Xavier. He gave her a smile and gestured for her to hand him her phone.

—---

You practically fell onto the bench in the lockerroom of your hometown gym. After getting out of school a few weeks ago, you had thrown yourself into helping out at the gym. The owner was a family friend and he had quickly accepted your offer. It was an added bonus that he gave you full access to the gym, too.

It was almost time to start closing up, but you had managed to get a good workout in once everyone was gone. Hell, you deserved it, the girl you were in love with was very clearly not in love with you. In fact, she was nice and happy, and even though that’s all you wanted, it still hurt. 

You never even told her, your mind thought.

“Oh shut up,” you mumbled as your head fell into your hands.

With a sigh, you pushed yourself up to your feet and grabbed your change of clothes from your bag. Maybe you just needed to change and get home so you could wallow in your self-pity and fall asleep with some Kitchen Nightmares on in the background. That would surely keep your mind busy. God, you were pathetic.

You were pulling your clean shirt back over your head when your phone vibrated against the bench. No one should have been texting you this late, everyone you talked to knew you were usually asleep. Besides, why would they be texting you this late? Didn’t they know you were in mourning?

The screen lit up when you held your face over it, still adjusting your clothes to fit properly.

Unknown Number: You forgot this. 1 Attachment.

“Oh fuck.” It was a photo of the rose and envelope with Wednesday’s name on it.

You: I’m sorry. You can toss it I didn’t know about Xavier

Oh god, why was this happening? Why did this have to happen? Getting silently rejected was hard enough, but now there was going to be humiliation too? You lifted your hands to grab the sides of your head as you started pacing, trying to keep yourself grounded. That’s it, you weren’t going back to Nevermore. Nope, you were going to run away, maybe live in the woods and find a Bigfoot family to take care of you.

The phone vibrated again and you rushed over.

Unknown: Did you mean it? What you wrote.

“Fuck!” You shouted. What did you say? There’s no way you could say “Yes, Wednesday, I meant every word of devotion that I wrote on that letter. Tell your boyfriend I said hi.” But if you didn’t let her know now, it was going to eat away at you until the day you died. Fuck fuck fuck!

You grabbed the phone and typed out the one word, but your thumbs stilled over the “send” button while your heart tried to beat out of your chest.

You pressed send.

You: Yes

“Oh shit,” you groaned. Your hands were getting clammy. “Why did I do that.” Oh god. Oh shit. Why wasn’t she answering? There goes any chance of even being friends again. You were going to have to change your name and run away. Surely your family would understand, right? Yeah, they could even help you come up with a new identity.

The vibration against the bench was about to send you into a frenzy.

Unknown: Call me tomorrow night. We can watch the new Scream movie.

You had never typed so fast in your life.

You: Is this a date?

The text couldn’t come quickly enough.

Unknown: Yes. But if you tell anyone, I will remove your tongue.

You stared at your phone in utter disbelief. A date. With Wednesday Addams. A real date with the girl you were highkey in love with. Your letter had worked. It had worked!

You: It’s a date

A smile took over your face as you put your phone back into your bag. You had a date.

“Fuck yes!” You shouted as you threw your fist in the air. You were definitely calling out of work tomorrow.

[doctorweebmd]

Helloo! I was wondering what are ur top bkdk fics? You write bkdk so beautifuily, the angst hurts so good‼️ A litany of love and loss and zero-sum game are so beautiful its crazy! I'm tweaking haha I literally cannot stop thinking abt them. All of ur fics r so good in a way thats magical. This might sound weird and kinda alot, im so sorry if it is but I really do hope I remember ur fics for a really long time.

lksajdfl;kasdfj omg don't you THINK i haven't noticed you going through this blog lmao i adore that thank you so much!!! and thank you for reading that hardcore angst you masochist lmao

BUT. thats a super hard question. okay keep in mind that a.) i haven't really kept up with bkdk stuff in >1 year so most of these are older, b.) many of these are, unfortunately, unfinished. it doesn't take away from how amazing these stories are to ME, but i know its a preference for many, so keep that in mind AND c.) every single one of these authors have MANY excellent fics, but these are the ones that have stuck with me. And I'm totally gonna forget some notable people so apologies in advance.

These are in no particular order:

The Space Between by kanae_vr - gorgeous and absolutely devastating work. One of those fics I stayed up all night reading and probably one of the first if not THE first that I commented on. Broke my heart.

In your dreams, nerd! by sapphicflower - Rani's whole portfolio of work is TOP NOTCH (can't recommend the art of falling and love was never easy with you, but since when did we like easy? enough.) but in your dreams, nerd! is still my favorite. The writing has such a magical, dreamy, otherwordly feel to it. Just beautiful.

[KILL GOD] by majjale - majjale is another author that you can read anything they've written and have your mind BLOWN. KILL GOD really stood out to me, though. This is probably THE only villain Deku fic worth reading. The worldbuilding, the reveals, the raw emotion - god, this reads like a novel and I'm simply awed.

To see you alive by overcastjpg - pain. PAIN. Cloddy writes some of the most gut-wrenching angst I've ever had the privilege of reading. And its not just painful interpersonal drama, its also a fascinating and dark plot that makes you feel like you've stepped into a gritty noir novel. Its like stepping into a story where its always cloudy and raining, but in the best way possible.

Undercover by Greyfrey - another author that has a portfolio of top-notch, professional-level bkdk writing. Undercover really holds a special place in my heart, though. The story is absolutely compelling, the character development is handled carefully and elegantly, and it just. It hurts. So, SO good.

Mirror Image by Eleke - this is just a very fun one; so absolutely creative and such an interesting way of imagining BKDK's dynamic in so many different worlds. The structure of the story and the POV changes are also SUPER artistic. Fantastic read.

Bonnie & Klein by surveycorpsjean - i won't belabor the point; this fic, along with everything surveycorpsjean writes, deserves all the hype and MORE. the yearning in it was physically painful and the sex was artistic, emotional, and most importantly, hot.

Doppleganger by waketosanity - another painful and gorgeous read. The pining and self-destruction Katsuki's going through this entire fic is honestly devastating. Its an indirect but powerful character study and, full disclosure, it hurts a lot. But its worth it.

Looking forward to being there by underwickedsky - This author's aura is very foreboding and they tend to write about very dark themes. Like any good mystery or horror, what looks benign on the surface dives into something terrifying. Honestly, this fic has not been updated in 3 years and is only, what, 4 chapters in? But every single one of them is captivating.

i think i found a place for us by dommymommy - sigh. god. i can't even explain it. its gorgeous. it hurts. intimacy is instantly replaced by loss. you ache during the entire story. katsuki's characterization in particular is... he's so skittish, and in denial, and afraid, and lonely. tbh i hope they dont follow me on here because out of every fic on this list and any other list beyond, seeing an update on THIS one would make me drop everything and start reading bkdk again. sorry.

mundane crimes by sifl - last but certainly not least. i dont know how sifl does it, honestly. their work is, in one word, haunting. the tone and cadence and sheer poetry of each and every single one of their works is just - its like they live in a completely different world. i'm obsessed with their style and have re-read this fic too many times to count. should be the AUTHORITY on writing katsuki.

Jeez and there's SO MANY MORE. Like I couldn't just choose one by katyastark, i love ALL their work. and iciclebeanbags and heartsinhay. and there's probably people i can't think of right now. there's SO MANY amazing talented writers we are SO lucky as bkdks

[taevolu]

Parasocial [Part One: What can go Wrong?] 18+

Brief Summary: she was a streamer that liked to play games for fun and to meet new people. Her fanbase was growing more and more and she loved to interact with her fans as much as possible. However, someone wanted something more than just online interactions. He wanted her, needed her and would do anything just to be with her.

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader 

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 2,961

Warnings: yandere tae, taexdom, obsessive/possessive tae, stalker, computer hacking, masturbation, porn, home invasion

Parts: Part One, Part Two

***I do not portray any of the members to act like this in real life as they do in this story, this is all fictional!***

―

“Good evening everyone! I am so stoked to play Sun Haven for you guys!” You say to your viewers on Twitch. You always loved to play games after work and decided to make it your side hustle to get extra money. It was always your dream to become a full-time streamer and based on your growing viewers, it might even happen. Your viewers are all very supportive by showing up and tipping you as much as they can, it was like you had your very own fanbase! There was one viewer in particular that joined everyday, his name was Taehyung. He was always hyping you up, tipping you huge amounts of money, and staying until the end of your stream. You really appreciated him as one of your viewers.

You continued to stream and interact with your viewers, having to scroll through chat to read and reply to every single one. But you stopped at a comment that caught your eye as it was from Taehyung, “You make me so happy, thank you for taking some time off of your day to stream for us!” It warmed your heart when you saw his comment, thanking him in return.

You were about to end the stream but wanted to chat with your viewers before going. A lot of them wanted you to create a discord server, saying that it would be a fun way to keep chatting with you or with others after the stream. You thought that it was a great idea as you wanted to talk and get to know your viewers a bit more too.

After creating your account and announcing the server, you got tons of  friend requests from your viewers and without any thinking, you added them all as a friend.

*ding*

You got a notification from your discord’s private messages.

[Messages]

Taehyung [21:03]: hi y/n! im so glad that you finally set up a discord account!

You [21:10]: hi taehyung! Yeahhh it did take a while to finally decide to

Taehyung [21:10]: well im glad i can talk to you everyday now and not through your lives 🙂

You [21:19]: thank you for supporting me!

Taehyung [21:19]: goodnight ❤

You [21:26]: Goodnight 🙂

You got ready for bed, glad that you had another successful stream.

Taehyung chuckles at himself as he hearts your message, happy that he had a platform to finally talk to you privately and not with other people. He loved you so much and wanted you with him forever. He wanted you for only him and no one else, just the thought of you being with someone else angered Taehyung. He planned to hack your computer to receive your IP address to find out where you lived but he wasn’t able to do so until you went back on stream.

“You’ll be mine soon.”

Before work, you went to your usual cafe place to wake yourself up after a long night of gaming. You see your best friend, Mael, behind the counter.

“What’s up y/n! How are you?” He greets you as you walk over to the counter.

You and Mael have been friends since junior high and used to hang out often, unfortunately, since you both graduated, life has been busy. But the both of you always caught up every morning while he got your usual ready.

“I’m doing well!” You reply.

He chuckles, “You seem a bit more cheerful than usual.” He said as he was about to finish up your drink.

“Just had another successful stream last night. A lot of my viewers asked me to open up a discord server and I’ve just been raided with a whole lot of compliments.” You explain.

Mael hands you your order, a warmed croissant with a chai, “Isn’t it a bit risky to do that though? Like creeps messaging you everyday?”

You shrug, “Maybe, but I will be careful, promise!” You say as you grab your things from him, waving him goodbye as you exit the cafe to go to work.

…

*ding*

‘I'm excited to watch your stream tonight 🙂.’ You look at your phone and see that Taehyung has messaged you. You smiled and reacted to his message, no time to message him back as it was almost time to start your stream.

“Good evening everyone! Today’s game will be…” You continued your stream like normal

As you continue to play your game, Taehyung quickly gets to work. It did take him a while and was glad that you decided to play longer today as you didn’t work the next day. He was able to get ahold of your IP address and found your information. He chuckles to himself, he was close to having you.

Taehyung started to look around your area, trying to find a home to be close to you. He wanted to hang out with you like you were friends, he wanted you to like him, and wanted you to finally notice him.

Taehyung shouts with glee as he found a home that was just minutes away from your area. He began to pack up his things, not caring about anything else that he was going to leave behind.

He was on a mission and you were his goal.

It took Taehyung a week to own his home and to get everything ready for him to confront you in person. He was able to locate and observe you to figure out your daily routine, knowing which stores you always visited and where you worked. You weren’t much of an outside person which made this easier for Taehyung.

‘Everything was going as planned.’ Taehyung thought.

You started your morning routine before work, going over to the cafe for your usual. You greet Mael as you enter the store, him already getting your order ready. You sit down on one of the booths, opening up your phone to reply to your fans that commented on your post last night.

You suddenly hear footsteps walking towards you, assuming that it is Mael with your tea. You turn around to grab your things to leave but you were wrong. 

“Hey y/n! Fancy seeing you here!” Taehyung says, excitement showing throughout his face, you looked at the man in confusion, not knowing who he was and why he knew your name. The man then realized and introduced himself, “I forgot to introduce myself, I’m Taehyung, I watch you on twitch!”

You froze, you weren’t expecting to ever see any of your viewers in person, especially Taehyung. You had to admit, he was a good looking man. His body was slim, his hair looked messy but styled at the same time, and his face looked godly.

You didn’t realize that you were standing in place while still staring at Taehyung until Mael cleared his throat to get your attention.

“Here’s your order y/n.” He says, then passes Taehyung to walk over to you to hand over your things.

“Thank you, Mael.” You murmured, Mael nodded and began to walk away. Taehyung had his eyes locked onto Mael as he walked away, eyebrows furrowed, but changed his expression once he turned back to you.

“Sorry if I disturbed you, I didn’t mean to.” Taehyung says while fiddling with his jacket.

You shake your head, “It’s okay, I just didn’t expect to ever see any of my viewers in public, that’s all.” You nervously laugh, “But I gotta go to work soon.” You wave Taehyung goodbye as you reach the door but he stops you by grabbing your hand.

“I was wondering if you wanted to hangout sometime?” Taehyung asks.

You turn around to face Taehyung, “Yeah sure! Just message me and I’ll be there.” You reply. You see Mael looking over to you, mouthing ‘don’t do it.’ but you just shrug him off. Taehyung was one of your #1 supporters on twitch and have stuck with you since you started streaming. 

What can go wrong?

Taehyung watched your stream that night, chuckling to himself as he finally had you in his hands. The more he looked at you, the more aroused he felt. He ran his hands all over his body, feeling himself and wishing that it was you touching him. He reaches down to his pants to reveal his cock, pumping his cock as he moans your name. He begins to pump faster, groaning as he wished it was your pussy instead.

“Fuck, y/n, I want to feel your warmth so fucking bad.” He moans, gripping his dick harder as he was about to cum. He groans as he shoots his cum all over your face that was displayed on his monitor.

He stands up from his chair, wiping his cum off of his monitor, “Next time, my cum will be on your pretty and soft face, my darling.” But that gave him an idea. Your stream was about to end and as you say your goodbyes, he begins to dress up to head somewhere.

Your home.

He didn’t live too far from you, just 2 minutes away, glad that he was able to find an apartment unit so close to yours. He walked up the stairs to your apartment’s front door and saw all of the lights in your unit were off, noting that you were already asleep. The doors in this apartment complex were easy to get into as they can be unlocked by fingerprint or keycode. Good thing for Taehyung, he got your fingerprint when he grabbed your hand as you were leaving the cafe earlier this morning. He uses the tape that got ahold of the print and unlocked your door in an instant.

Taehyung slowly opens the door, no creaks to be heard, and tiptoes his way into your unit. His layout was the same as yours, making it easy for him to find your room. He sneaks into your room, slowly opening your door to see you without any clothing, masturbating while watching porn. You moan in pleasure as you rub your clit, your wet pussy and the video filling up your room. Taehyung can feel his erected cock suffering in his pants, waiting to be used. He pulls out his cock, pumping it while he watches you rub your clit. Your moans start to build up as you are getting closer to your orgasm, your speed increasing. Taehyung sees that you are getting closer, pumping faster to cum with you. You moan in pleasure as you reach your orgasm, twitching from the sensual sensation. Taehyung notices as he sees your body twitching, feeling the same sensation as he cums into his hands.He pulls his pants back up and begins to watch you get ready to fall asleep, waiting until you fall into a deep sleep.

He stood there, hearing you softly snore, queuing him that it was time. He opens up your door even more, slowly walking in towards your bed. He was glad that you decided to not clothe yourself as it made it easier to touch you. He lightly touches your legs to move them apart. He feels you move under his touch, stopping his action to not wake you. He hears you softly snore again and begins to lean in close to your pussy. He inhales to smell the scent of your pussy, the smell of your cum still lingering. His mouth started to water as he was impatient to taste you. He inches his mouth closer to your opening, his tongue softly touching your pussy while he licks up your juices. He then sticks his tongue into your pussy, motioning his tongue to your clit and down to your entrance, feeling your pussy becoming wet under his touch. He smiles as he hears you moan in your sleep. He continues to lick your clit while he carefully pushes a finger in your entrance, you start to squirm but he didn’t care, he was waiting for this moment. He slowly pumps inside you while he quickened his pace with his tongue, your juices and his saliva piling up on his chin. He feels you tighten around his fingers and quickly pulls away as he doesn't want to wake you from your sleep. He slowly crawls back out of the bed to not wake you up, and stands up to observe your body. He smirks admiring your perfect breasts, staring at your erect nipples. He begins to lean down, kissing both and creeps out of your room slowly while carefully shutting the door behind him. He smiles to himself, satisfied that he finally got a taste of you.

…

You woke up as a cold breeze came into contact with your exposed pussy, realizing that you forgot to clothe yourself back up before getting into bed. You sat up in bed, going over the dream you had last night. You had a dream of someone eating you out but you couldn’t see who it was. You haven’t had someone eat you out in a while, blaming that reason for your dream. You groaned as it made you horny again but you had to get ready for work. You stand up from your bed and get ready.

You finally got to the cafe, walking over to the entrance. When you walk in, you see the same people that go in there daily like you. However, you see someone who you don’t see often and it was Taehyung. You feel different after seeing him sitting with his coffee, the feeling of your pussy gushing underneath your panties. You were wearing a skirt today and the breeze between your legs led a shiver down your spine. You shake your head to compose yourself, scolding yourself for being horny so early in the morning.

You walk up to the counter and thank Mael but he stops you, “Please be careful y/n, I’ve been really worried about you lately.” You roll your eyes at him. Mael has always been protective but you don’t blame him, you were a juvenile teenager and always chose poor choices but you were an adult now and knew better, you didn’t want him to worry about you forever.

“Mael, I am quite sure that I can take care of myself. I do appreciate that you care about me a lot. I will be more cautious with what I do, I am not like the teenager that I was back then.” You hear him sigh.

“I know, I am just worried.” He starts, he then leans in closer to whisper, “Ever since that one day, he has been showing up lately.” He whispers as he looks over to Taehyung. You raised your eyebrows in disbelief.

“Mael, don’t worry about him. He is a kind person. And plus you don’t know him that well to be assuming stuff about him.” You say in a hush tone.

He shakes his head with a sigh, “And you know him?”

“I don’t, but he is harmless, trust me please.” Of course you didn’t know him personally but you didn’t see that in Taehyung, he never showed the intentions to be a ‘creep’ when it came to your lives.

Mael sighs again in defeat, “Okay, fine, but if you come to me for help just know that I told you so.” You smile and nod in response.

You walk over to the door to leave for work, feeling sharp eyes on your back. You turn around to see who it was and it ends up being Taehyung. You gave him a smile and a small wave, he does it back and stands up to walk over to you. While he does, you see Mael’s eyes shift over to you both but you ignore him.

“Hey, y/n! I was wondering if you wanted to hang out tomorrow at the club?” Taehyung asks.

“Yeah, sure! I do want to get my mind off of some things right now so I would love that!” You reply. You see Taehyung’s face lighten up in excitement.

“Great! I’ll meet you at Forum tomorrow, 22:00 okay with you?”

You chuckle. You appreciated that he respected your stream time but you were planning on canceling your stream plans that night, “I’m not streaming tonight so we can go at 21:00!” He nods in response. You say goodbye to Taehyung as you were getting late for work.

Once you got into your car, you get a text from Mael. You sigh after looking at his text message.

[Messages]

Mael [7:47]: Be careful please.

You [7:48]: If you are so worried, why dont you just come with? We are going to the Forum at 21:00 tonight.

Mael [7:48]: Okay, I’ll see you there

You threw your phone into your bag, tired of talking to Mael and started driving over to work.

While you left the cafe, Taehyung sat in his spot, his heart racing as he started to think about the things he wanted to do with you as he had you in his hands. His thoughts suddenly stopped as Mael approached him.

“What intentions do you have with y/n?” Mael asks. Taehyung shifts his gaze over to the man. Taehyung didn’t like Mael as he always talked to you, especially earlier as he heard your conversation with him.

“Nothing. I’m just one of her biggest fans.” Taehyung says nonchalantly.

Mael huffs in annoyance, “Well whatever it is, don’t do anything stupid.” Taehyung nods slowly and begins to make his way out of the cafe.

Mael was going to be a problem between you and Taehyung. And Taehyung had to do something about him. But now wasn’t the right time. He needed to have you first.

― 

PLEASE do not copy, translate or post my writing on any other platform without my consent. ― taevolu🤍

Inspired by trivia-yandere and the parasocial game by chillas art