#ff: make them flinch

[ellecdc]

hello!! its me again😜, I've had this hyperfixation on poly!maraudersx reader x lily trope . I was wondering you can make an ff of like the reader is in another house and is a quidditch player, and theres a match between gryffindor and her perspective house and she feels really anxious because if her house won she would let them down and if gryffindor won she would feel guilty ro celebrate with them. 🩷🩷

this was a very cute idea!! thank you for the prompt <3

poly!marauders + Lily x fem!reader who plays for Hufflepuff [1.2k words]

CW: reader is in Hufflepuff, no house rivalry between our lovers

This game had been causing you more anxiety than you cared to admit.

Somehow, this far into your relationship with the Gryffindor’s, you haven’t had to play against the Gryffindor house since the season started, which seemed very odd considering they were one of only three teams that you could play.

But alas, you had managed to avoid the awkwardness of not only cheering against your partners’ team, but actually playing against two of them for a blissful stretch of time. 

Your luck had run out, however, and you could avoid it no longer as the Hufflepuff keeper. 

You found yourself in a tough position; if Hufflepuff lost, you’d feel horribly traitorous to be celebrating the Gryffindor team, but you couldn’t not celebrate when two of your boyfriend’s played for the team. However, if Hufflepuff won, you’d feel terribly guilty celebrating, feeling as though you were rubbing your victory in their faces. 

Either way, you were bound to lose.

So when Hufflepuff won, your feet had barely touched the ground before you were leaping from your broom and racing off the pitch, bypassing the showers at the quidditch pitch and fleeing to your dormitory, quickly showering and changing and making it to the kitchens before the no doubt raucous after-party could begin in the Hufflepuff common room.

This was better, you decided. This way you wouldn’t be rubbing your win in your partners’ faces; Remus and Lily wouldn’t have to worry about hurting Sirius and James’ feelings, and Sirius and James wouldn’t have to pretend to be happy for your sake. 

“Should Miss not be in her dormitory to celebrate?” Feenky asked as you watched her prepare a batch of pumpkin juice. 

“It’s just a party of one tonight, Feenky.” You reassured her. If she seemed unconvinced, she didn’t mention it.

“Well, Feenky thinks that Feenky has something for an athlete such as yourself around here somewhere.” She mumbled mostly to herself as she abandoned her task to search for something in some sort of storage closet. 

“There you are, angel!” You heard James shout, startling you so badly that you flinched almost violently and sent a mug of pumpkin juice toppling off of the kitchen island that you were leaning against.

With a lazy flick of her wand (and a haughty smirk), Lily quickly righted your cup and set it gently back down on the island before it could make contact with the ground. 

You grimaced as you turned to face your four partners, ready to be scolded for running off the pitch without saying hello to anyone, for winning the game, or for hiding, you weren’t sure. But you found your mouth falling open in shock as you turned to see your four Gryffindor’s completely decked out in Hufflepuff colours. 

“Wha-” You started, but quickly had the air knocked out of you when Sirius pulled you into him and spun you around.

“You were fucking fantastic!” He exclaimed as he put you back down onto your feet, hardly giving you a chance to catch your breath before he was pulling you in for a searing kiss.

It was only when you finally pulled away from Sirius (only to be pulled backwards into James’ front) did you notice that his hair was still wet from his own post-game shower.

“What are you guys doing down here?” You managed finally.

“We rushed after the game to come down for your after-party!” James responded for you, pressing a kiss to your jaw before relinquishing his hold on you when Lily came in for her own. 

“You really did look phenomenal out there, darling.” She murmured before pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “I wasn’t surprised, though. If anyone can give these two a well earned run for their money, it’s you.” 

“Thank Merlin.” Remus muttered with a fond eye roll, ignoring one indignant ‘oi!’ from James and one ‘we duel at dawn, Moony’ from Sirius as he leaned over to press a kiss to the crown of your head. “I’m so proud of you.” He continued earnestly.

“You guys aren’t upset?” You asked, hating how small you sounded. Hating even more the way the four of them nearly recoiled in surprise before sharing confused glances with one another.

“Upset?” Sirius repeated bemusedly. “Why on earth would we be upset?” 

You shrugged your shoulders in an attempt to appear nonchalant as your face heated up nearly painfully in embarrassment. “Well…I-”

“Angel,” James cooed as he placed a hand on each of your upper arms and forced you to look at him, “did you think we were going to be upset that you beat us?”

“Well-” You attempted to explain, but Lily interjected.

“Can you blame the poor girl? You two are not gracious losers in the slightest.” She taunted, squealing when Sirius jabbed his fingers into her sides and tickled her in punishment for ‘the absolute slander you ridiculous, beautiful witch’.

“Nah.” James offered casually. “I’m happy to lose to our girl any day. Everyone else better watch their backs, though.”

“You guys are insane.” You sighed not unhappily, leaning back into James’ embrace as he nestled his face into the juncture of your neck.

“Is that why you’re hiding in here, dove? You weren’t going to celebrate at all?” Remus asked you softly, and Lily and Sirius both paused in their banter in order to tune back into the conversation. 

“It felt sort of…rude…” You admitted shyly, and Remus’ fond ‘awe’ and Lily’s saccharine ‘our sweet girl’ did nothing to tame the fire now roaring beneath your cheeks as James tightened his embrace around your middle and spun you around.

“Well now we’re just going to celebrate you that much harder! Our sweet little puffle.” He nearly sang as he placed you back onto your feet, Sirius arching his brow and gesturing to himself. 

“You haven't commented on how good we look, dollface.”

You weren’t even sure where they all got Hufflepuff jumpers, cardigans, and scarves from, but you couldn’t bring yourself to ask when they looked so sodding cute.

“I think I look smashing in yellow.” Sirius continued simply, nodding at his own decree as he looked to the rest of you for agreement. 

“Honestly? I think it might be Rem’s new colour.” Lily stated earnestly, and the four of you got to watch Remus blush furiously as you all fussed over how well he wore the colour yellow. 

“Alright, alright. Enough chit chat.” Remus demanded; both an attempt to redirect the conversation from himself and an attempt to leave the kitchens. “We have a party to attend and a Hufflepuff to celebrate.” 

You accepted his extended hand and he pulled it up to his lips for a kiss before the five of you made your way out of the kitchens and followed the sounds of the thrumming bass pulsing from your common room.

[lazyjellyfish300]

merriment shrine 🎄⛩️

synopsis: you're the newest concubine in Lord Sukuna's household and the object of his unrelenting ruminations (or is it desire?). When Uraume tasks you with being in charge of the Christmas festivities while Sukuna is away, you can only hope you'll deliver. What could go wrong? 🎄 largely inspired by this fic by @/sttoru 💕 words: 7.5k

cw: minors dni, x FEM!READER(Yuri), concubines, smut(p in v, double penetration(not too detailed), monster sex? I guess bc true form!Sukuna sex is not normal sex, oral f and m receiving, titty fucking, degradation, creampie(not too detailed), cum eating), violence, blood, Sukuna is a warning on his own, true form!Sukuna, SUKUNA HAS BEEF WITH BABY JESUS. MOCKING OF RELIGION/BLASPHEMY (PLS DONT READ IF THAT BOTHERS YOU. IT'S SUKUNA FFS) decapitation, bullying, heian era but it's all over the place historically and NOT accurate. angst, fluff, crack

a/n: For the secret Santa fic exchange event by @nanamiscocksleeve written for @heian-era-housewife ! I deeply apologize for the late entry! I was very intimidated writing for him for the first time but I hope you like it. 😩🎅🏽🎄💕 Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!✨

my holiday smut masterlist 🎄

dividers by @/saradika-graphics. pics from pinterest

You mused peacefully as you took in the gentle dance of snowflakes outside your chamber windows, thinking if you squinted hard enough you could make out the intricate shape of each one before they landed silently on the thin dusty layer of those that fell before on the undisturbed gardens.

You hugged your kimono a little tighter around you as you sipped your tea you had laced with some ginger and cinnamon, much to the confusion of the cooks in the kitchen. The distant glare of the fireplace bestowed a soothing warmth that kept you locked in place.

Since you arrived, it quickly became no secret that you, the newest concubine to join the harem under the formidable king of curses, brought with you a peculiarity. Certain quirks that endeared you to the servants and annoyed the other concubines.

You emitted a humble air about you like the shades of aqua and seafoam green you gravitated towards. You often opted for untouched corners of the garden next to the pond and the library where you could read and write in solitude that became mistaken for arrogance by the others.

And for whatever reason or another, you insisted on this...holiday business or whatever the hell you called it, gently humming those insufferable tunes under your breath that carried though the marble hallways and adorning your room in makeshift tinsel and boughs of holly you strung together from stray pieces of greenery you found by the koi pond.

It was a very frustrating type of conundrum Sukuna didn't appreciate that was causing ripples in his vast household, especially now, as he studies you from his neighboring window on the opposite side of the estate, stroking his chin, eyes narrowed.

"My Lord." Uraume bows as their smaller frame appears in his doorway.

"Speak." Sukuna responds, not tearing those eyes of a deep rose away from where you were perched in your window, a pointed black claw gently scratching the sharp ridge of his jaw in deep thought.

"I need to know of your plans for the winter feast preparations."

"What of it?" Sukuna answers coldly.

Uraume doesn't flinch, being all too familiar with Sukuna's temperament. They knew he would rather fork out his eyeballs than waste time with frivolous matters like festive planning. Too reminiscent of the folly those disgusting humans preoccupied themselves with.

But, Uraume also knew the blind fury that would await them should they make arrangements for anything impacting the routine functions of Sukuna's household without his knowledge.

"A proposal, my lord." Uraume continues calmly. "Since we are not expecting your grace's presence until the 24th, perhaps we leave the bulk of the planning to someone else?"

Sukuna scoffed. "And who would that be?"

"One of the concubines."

"Who? He asks, slight incredulity now mixed in his sternness. "Her?"

"She...brings a new set of traditions."

"I am aware, I was not born yesterday."

"...I thought his majesty would appreciate-"

"Appreciate? Uraume, do not speak foolishly." Sukuna scolded, now fully turned to face them, his two upper muscular arms folded across his body.

Uraume merely stayed where they were, silent, undemonstrative of any reaction which they knew Sukuna preferred while he strode about the room, beginning to pace.

Finally, Sukuna came to a stop. "So be it. As long as I am not to be trifled with such matters again until my return, I do not care what the little brat does."

He paused, his expression unmoving as he addresses them one more time. "I have the most trust in your judgement, Uraume. Do not disappoint me."

"Yes, my Lord." Uraume bows again as Sukuna takes his leave, but not before eyeing you one more lingering glance before he departs, a shred of annoyance when he realizes despite the distance, he wouldn't be rid of you from his thoughts anytime soon.

-----

"My lady." Uraume addresses you from your doorway and you stand abruptly, bowing in acknowledgement.

"Uraume, good to see you."

"Thank you." Uraume answers pleasantly, a slight inflection in their tone carrying a fondness at your usual kindness towards them.

Although you were aloof, odd, and provided more than an earful that Uraume had to bear witness to from the other concubines, at least you treated them respectfully, unlike them.

"Lord Sukuna has departed on business with no plans to return until the 24th."

You stood up slowly, quirking a curious brow at the unexpected news.

"It is tradition that his grace hosts a feast for the winter solstice." Uraume explains. "To usher in the cold season and provide festivities. But, due to his absence, we are in need of someone to make arrangements..." Uraume clears their throat, clearly a little nervous at what your response will be, since the success of it was mostly riding on your willingness to participate.

"Would you be willing to lead the preparations, my lady?"

Silence hangs in mid air before you speak. "Me?"

"Of course." Uraume hums. "I don't doubt you'll be more than capable. I, along with many others, have noticed you celebrating this-Christmas? You call it?"

"Yes, that's right." You straighten up a little. "I mean, I'd love throw a celebration for Lord Sukuna. But, why me?"

"Well, my lady. As I said before, you are very capable. I noticed you seem to have an eye for these kinds of details between your drawings, writings, and your.." Their fuschia eyes flicker briefly to the parchment ornaments adorning a potted plant in the corner. "...creations." Their lip curls upward in a meek grin.

"Between you and I, I have never cared much for the traditions, either. Too overwhelming. But, I am curious about yours. You've caused quite a stir among the ladies of the house and, if I may speak openly..." Uraume gulps and looks at the walls nervously as if they had eyes into the conversation before lowering their voice.

"You are the first in a long while whom I have been able to tolerate, and who has treated me kindly unlike so many before you."

You give Uraume a sympathetic glance, now determined to deliver on your promise of a celebration worth waiting for.

"We'll start tomorrow."

----

The shrine slowly transformed day by day. The halls became lined with pine needles accented by soft candles that emitted a heavenly glow. As the snow piled up, you recruited the help of the servants, smiling at their bewildered expressions that turned to pure joy as they touched snow for the first time, constructing an army of snowmen with various hats, scarves, and other accessories they could find around the estate, complete with carrot noses provided by the kitchen.

You, Uraume, and a team of gardeners from the palace ventured into the woods and hand selected multiple spruce trees, and, with their help, chopped them down, strapping them with ropes and dragging them back so the shrine could have its own assortment of Christmas trees, complete with what seemed to be nearly hundreds of crochet and parchment snowflake ornaments.

You had fashioned them with Uraume and some of the other ladies in waiting during craft hours in the evenings. Presents wrapped in scarlet ribbons and offerings to Sukuna began to encircle the bottom of the largest tree in the grand hall.

Across the way, however, the group of other concubines avoided the spreading merriment with disdain and scowls on their faces, not even touching or wandering in the vicinity of the Christmas trappings as though it contained a plague.

You began hosting caroling rehearsals and only you, Uraume, and a few other members of the kitchens staff had joined while your bitter cohorts tried their best to drown out the noise on the far side of the shrine, the leader of the group shooting a fiery glare at one of her minions when she began to blindly hum the catchy tune.

As Christmas Eve drew closer, the warm baked goodies become more innumerable as they popped out of the kitchen and the bakers perfected their abilities to whip up treats worthy of the season. The shrine had adopted a permanent scent of gingerbread, cinnamon, pine and peppermint that followed and clung to your robes.

----

On the 23rd, the day before Christmas Eve, you and Uraume were baking and laughing with flour stained faces,

"To think, we did all this in just a few weeks' time." Uraume mused as they squished the gingerbread dough between their fingers. "Lord Sukuna will be pleased. Yes, very pleased with you indeed."

The sentiment left you with a very healthy dose of fluster as you grinned at the thought of his majesty marveling at all the work you did just for him, possibly rewarding you with something much better than you could imagine as those eyes of deep rose bestowed you subtle admiration that had not graced anyone else.

Unknown to you, an eavesdropping ear belonging to one of the concubines catches wind of this statement and skitters away quickly to spread her message to the others.

----

"Spit it out already!" The cruel eyed leader of the concubines hisses to the messenger.

"I overheard that Lord Sukuna chose her specifically to lead this Christmas tradition and intends to reward her and place her higher above the rest of us, earning his grace's favor so that we might be cast out into the streets!"

Shock, fury, outrage, and blind jealousy erupted among the other concubines.

"What shall we do?" "That goddamn slut, I knew she was no good." "She needs to go!"

"Silence!!" The leader screeched over the others. "She will be dealt with. We must take matters into our own hands so Lord Sukuna is displeased and has no option but to execute her. Listen to me, I have a plan..."

And the other concubines huddled around her eagerly as they plotted your downfall.

----

Everything was ready for the elaborate Christmas Eve homecoming feast for Lord Sukuna.

The finest beast was being roasted on a spit over fiery coals under careful supervision by Uraume. In the kitchen, the chefs were hard at work chopping vegetables they had culled from the winter harvest. Puddings and treats were being whipped up and presented beautifully in festive arrangements on fine platters.

The smell of Christmas cooking overwhelmed you as you stood in the great hall, clad in a new royal jade kimono with golden ornate leaves woven in your hair that never made you appear more elegant than on this Christmas Eve of festivities.

You thought of Sukuna and what he might think when his powerful presence graced these halls again. An odd mixture of fear and admiration you harbored for him that inspired you to want to please him. Feelings about him you couldn't quite place ever since he selected you to live in his shrine even though your head had not yet graced the silk of his bedsheets.

Lord Sukuna's carnal appetites were of no mystery to you. You had heard plenty of rumors about how rough and relentless he could be. His preferences seemed to be both selective, yet apathetic if that even made sense.

You had heard the screams and loud noises of primality from behind his sealed oak doors that echoed into late hours. Though all of his concubines would walk away with their own satisfaction eventually, his copulation apparently came with scars and rough treatment.

Seldom, if ever would his fucking deviate into lovemaking territory, much less tenderness and intimacy. That is where his selectiveness came in. The gentle sighs, gasps of mind melting pleasure, soul binding thrusts, consuming kisses dotted lovingly all along your nape, breasts, and inner thighs while being brought to the pedestals of pleasure you craved to know one day from the touch of a man you were deeply in love with, seemed to be reserved for someone of an unattainable caliber to Sukuna.

Until he met someone worthy, his concubines were nothing more than warm vessels of temporary satisfaction until his thirst returned.

But, here you were daydreaming that you could be the recipient of such love from him despite all odds.

----

"Whore, we're trying to speak to you!"

An indignant voice rips you out of your thoughts and you turn around, jarred at the sight of the head concubine with her supporters close by. You were outnumbered one to many. A piece of meat left to the wolves. Subtle panic slithered in and wrapped around your throat when Uraume was nowhere to be found.

The leader's scowl melted from her face into a honeyed grin, her long nails outstretching and wrapping around a delicate glass reindeer from a gorgeous wintery scene Sukuna's craftspeople had spent countless hours on.

"P-please be careful-" You raise a shaky hand.

The leader hisses at you, stealing the reindeer out of reach, her icy stare renders you speechless again. Her expression then morphs back into a sugary tone, a snake's venomous fangs concealed behind her pretty face.

"Tell me, darling. Does Lord Sukuna know you've been defiling his shrine this entire time he's been gone?" She asks as she turns the reindeer in between her graceful fingers.

"Defiling...?" You choke out, perplexed.

"Yes, defiling. With these, disgusting-"

You jump in alarm as she abruptly hurls the glass deer to the ground, watching it explode into shards as soon as it meets the unforgiving marble.

"filthy-" she reaches this time for a wreath of holly, casting it onto one of the glowing candles, setting it ablaze.

"pathetic-" the others have now joined in, breaking and trashing all your beloved Christmas decorations, hours of hard work and care being ripped, torn, shredded, and cast into the fire one after another.

"Stop, stop, please!!!" You cry and shriek, voice drowned in anguish but when you raise your hand to stop her, she turns on you immediately, the others coming to her aid, ripping and tearing at your gorgeous kimono.

"You think Lord Sukuna gives a shit about you and your stupid little Christmas traditions?" She snarls as her and the others claw the golden leaves out of your hair and they clutter on the floor, your robes now nearly in tatters. "You're just another slut. A weak, useless, ugly-"

You cower and brace for the worst, but your insides turn when you hear a warm squelch as blood splattered against the walls. A shudder runs through you at the unmistakable sound of dismantle and cleave; the King of Curses had returned.

You look up and you see him first, averting your gaze immediately and kneeling for fear of losing your head next. You're not sure how many of the concubines or servants within the vicinity were slain, but you're guessing a lot, if not all, based on the sea of blood on either side of where you were crouched.

"We'll have no more of that." Sukuna tsk'd. Those stern eyes raked over the scene, seething in annoyance at the mess in front of him. His eyes land on you and he squints as he draws closer, sensing the tremble of your frame as you didn't dare move from your spot.

"Breathe, for gods' sakes, human." He commands. "Stand up, now. Don't keep me waiting."

You rise on shaky knees, keeping your gaze downwards until you straighten up completely, looking into the formidable face of your lord and unexpected savior.

"My Lord."

"Tch." Sukuna clicks his teeth, looking over you. "This is what you call a celebration for the King of Curses?"

"I-..." You shake your head, the lump in your throat obstructing both the oxygen and words in your brain. "I can explain..."

"I do not require an answer." He growled, and you shut your lips, gaze averted downward once again in fearful shame. "You are a mess." His eyes appraise you in scrutinizing pity.

He had seen enough to know this fiasco wasn't entirely your fault. But still, the irritation he felt towards you prior for sticking out so prominently in his brain was rearing its ugly head. It was unlike Sukuna to ruminate, to toil in his mind for hours, especially over a human like you, no less.

He will deal with that later. For now, he still expects a proper feast and celebration after his lengthy travels.

"Uraume." His voice reverberates off the stony walls and Uraume is immediately at his side, their pupils dilating slightly at you in alarm at the devastating state of the grand hall that was beautifully adorned and decorated less than an hour before.

"Clean her up immediately and bring her to my chambers. In the meantime, have any available servants scrub up this mess."

"Right away, my Lord."

----

A while later, you walk slowly towards Sukuna who's standing by his window. You're dressed in fresh robes chosen by him specifically of a bleeding garnet like his eyes. You take in the grand sight of him, the way the darkened shadows would bend at his back and wrap around whatever he was facing, nearly suffocating them with his presence that commanded reverence, humility, but most of all, fear. His broad shoulders, back, and booming voice with a majesty likened to the powerful mountain range that surrounded his shrine.

Even now, as he turns to face you with his monstrous appearance in his full glory with those four eyes, his harshness he exudes stirs a suppressed part of you that never desired to be removed from him. A forbidden kind of beauty not obvious to many that brimmed underneath that thick shell you were only barely skimming the surface.

"Better." Sukuna remarks, seemingly pleased with this new ensemble. "Now..."

He took a step towards you and you held your breath, preparing for the moment where you would inevitably be forced to give yourself to him and be at his non-existent mercy for whatever plans he had next. However, he surprises you.

"Are you just going to stand there, or will you join me for dinner?"

"Dinner?"

"I do not intend for my winter feast to go to waste." Sukuna frowns. "Seeing as my entire harem is now dead except for you, I have no choice but to rely on you to remedy this."

You look at him, dumbfounded. That wide gleam in your eyes that was brought out by the light hitting your irises whenever you had to crane your head to look at him(which was every time) almost pulls at him, for a moment. Almost.

"My Lord?"

"You may start from the beginning." Sukuna instructs, the top pair of arms folding seriously across his chest with the second pair on either side of his thick, muscular waist.

"Use this opportunity to prove yourself worthy and show me these ridiculous Christmas traditions you insisted on imposing on me before I change my mind, brat. "

----

"These are called snowmen, my Lord." Your teeth chatter slightly as you two come to a stop in front of the wall of snowmen you, Uraume, and the servants had constructed over several weeks in the courtyard.

Sukuna stares boredly, a rush of annoyance bubbling inside him as he lays eyes on their pebble smiles, goofy hats, and multi colored scarves.

But, his eyes widen ever so slightly when he takes notice of the biggest snowman that stood out towards the back. This one towered over the others with four sticks for arms instead of two, meeting Sukuna directly at his eye level. It had four sets of pebble eyes on its face with carefully carved markings, eerily similar to someone he knew...

"What is this?"

You gulp. "It is you, my Lord."

Sukuna stares, silent. "What is the purpose of this?"

"For visual display." You answer, slowly. "Personal enjoyment. Sculpting them and playing in the snow is half the fun."

"I care little for that." Sukuna waved his hand. He studied his snowman some more. "I suppose I will allow my likeness to be erected into snow. This is supposed to represent myself and my subjects?" His eyebrow raises slightly as his pair of undereyes flicker back to look at the dozens of other, smaller snowmen in front.

You nod, slightly encouraged by this reaction that wasn't all good, but wasn't all bad either. "Yes my Lord, it is."

"Hmph." Sukuna shoots air out of his nostrils in disapproval. Then, without warning he raises his arm. You duck quickly, and simultaneously each head of each snowman besides his own is sliced off and goes flying, shooting in the air and then landing and exploding like mashed pumpkins back onto the ground.

Sukuna looks with pride at his handiwork, his glorious snowman standing tall over his now decapitated army of snowy subjects.

"Now, it is perfect."

He joins his hands behind his back and walks off with a hum back towards the shrine, leaving you both endeared and confounded.

-----

Next tradition.

"Alright, my Lord." You wring your clammy hands nervously as you stand in front of Sukuna, who's opted to take a seat at the head of his banquet table.

He was stuffing his face with the roast beast that was at least spared by Uraume, his stomach mouth's comical tongue wagging in anticipation with drool before he tossed a couple bones for it to gnaw on obnoxiously like a crazed animal.

"I wish to share with you the legend known as Santa Claus. Otherwise known as Father Christmas, Saint Nicholas, Kris Kringle, among others."

Luckily, the feast seemed to make Sukuna more receptive, if that was even possible. Perhaps some of the restlessness (since he couldn't exactly experience hangry-ness that was exclusive to humans) was resolved by the smoked meat, giving his stomach mouth something to preoccupy him besides nagging Sukuna relentlessly.

"If you must." Sukuna rolls his eyes at you and then at the dopey expression his second mouth gives him while it's utterly high off the fresh bones it was chomping on.

"Well, this Christmas Eve night, he is said to fly and deliver presents around the world to all good children, spreading cheer and climbing into chimneys to leave presents under Christmas trees."

Sukuna's eyes narrow. "I will slaughter anyone who dares enter my household without permission." His stomach mouth gave a little belch. "I do not care for this Santa Claus you speak of."

This was true Sukuna fashion. Normally, you'd be mortified at his dramatics but by now, you had to do your best to stifle a giggle. "My Lord, it's merely a legend."

"That does not matter. If this Santa Claus you speak of attempts to enter my home, he will lose his head." Sukuna vows as he takes a hefty sip of wine before turning his glass to his stomach mouth. "Tell me about something else besides this ridiculous Santa Claus legend."

"Well..." You think for a moment then snap your fingers. "His grace might appreciate the legend of Krampus instead?"

Sukuna raises an eyebrow, corners of his mouth still turned downward in displeasure.

You clear your throat, "Krampus is a legend, like Santa Claus except he is a half goat, half demon monster who punishes naughty children. As opposed to Saint Nick whom delivers gifts, Krampus will appear and punish children who misbehave with bundles of branches, or by eating them or taking them to hell... Erm, oh! He looks like this!" You grab a piece of parchment and ink brush, pausing for a moment to make a quick sketch of Krampus.

Sukuna leans back, folding his arms, as he watches you, patiently, expectantly for this new Christmas tradition you spoke of to be better than the dreaded Santa Claus. When you're done painting Krampus, you turn your makeshift masterpiece in Sukuna's direction.

To your delight, a rare, smug expression of satisfaction tugs at the corners of his mouth when he lays eyes on Krampus for the first time.

"This is much better. I will absorb all of this Krampus's cursed energy when he appears tonight. He would be very useful to me, indeed."

You don't have the heart, or bravery to remind Sukuna that Krampus also is just a myth. Sukuna folds his arms, signalling he's done with his dinner.

"This Krampus can stay. Now, on to the rest of your silly traditions, brat."

-----

As the night continues on, you demonstrate more traditions for Sukuna, slowly bringing him into your world of decked out halls and yuletide merriment, albeit with his own, Sukuna-esque spin on things.

Needless to say, he loathed most of them.

"These are what are known as Christmas trees, my Lord." You gestured to the dozens of pines you and Uraume and the servants spent so much time decorating, shortly before Sukuna lit them all on fire.

Your jaw fell open and he stood there proud as the orange flames engulfed the trees in a mini forest fire within the shrine as the glow did a dance in his pupils. Sukuna inhaled, savoring the smoky wood against the releasing smell of the burning spruce.

"A much better way to enjoy the trees." He insisted.

---

Slowly, the Christmas you thought was nearly ruined was salvaged little by little as you entertained the King of Curses.

He spat out all of the overly sweet Christmas goodies immediately. However, his stomach mouth couldn't seem to get enough. Sukuna rolled his eyes as the pair of chompers devoured cookie after cookie that he fed it steadily with his lower pair of hands while his free hands rubbed his temples in defeat.

"I suppose these will do."

---

He liked the Christmas presents and offerings, but not because of the origin story behind it.

"So you see, my Lord, the tradition of gift giving on Christmas came from the nativity story, of the three wise men who delivered presents to the infant Jesus, who was believed to be the son of God."

"Hmph." Sukuna sneered. "How boring. An infant? I would smite him with ease." He looked at the pile of presents. "Tch, we will continue the gift giving tradition, but only for the King of Curses, for I am the most powerful being in this realm, not a newborn baby."

You smile and bow. "Yes, my lord."

----

And when it came to the Christmas carols, he quickly nipped those in the bud.

"Enough!" He groaned, covering his ears when you and Uraume didn't even make it through the first verse of O Holy Night.

"Who is this Savior you speak of in the lyrics?" He glared as he glanced over the sheet music. "Is this about that damn infant again? How pitiful. Change it. I can barely tolerate these insufferable ballads."

Sukuna seemed to come around, but only slightly when the lyrics were more modified to his tastes:

"O holy night! the stars are brightly shining;

It is the night of the mighty Lord Sukuna's return.

Long lay the world in sin and error pining,

Till he appeared and the soul felt its worth.

A thrill of hope- the weary world rejoices,

For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn!

Fall on your knees! O hear the angel voices!

O night divine, O night when Lord Sukuna returns!

O night, O holy night, O night divine!"

"An improvement." Sukuna frowns again, scratching his jaw. "But I cannot stand either one of your voices."

In short, Christmas carols didn't make the cut.

----

Many of the servants had retired for the night at Sukuna's request to give you and him some space alone. The fires were nearly extinguished, lingering smoke and pine permeated the air with the faint brush of cinnamon and gingerbread. The embers of the fire are boiling in a low cackle as you stand in front of your king who now sits atop his throne slightly above you.

"This last tradition is called mistletoe..." You tried to disguise your shyness as you reached in the pocket of your robes and showed him the small bundle, wrapped up in a red bow. "The leaves and white berries are actually considered poisonous." You explain, which catches Sukuna's interest immediately.

"And? What is the significance?"

"In a Norse legend, the goddess of love, Frigg, promised to kiss anyone who passed underneath it.

The tradition of kissing under the mistletoe was born shortly after in an ancient festival in Greece."

A faint glint of mischief dances in Sukuna's eyes as he leans forward with a smirk.

"That so?"

His gaze roams over you, this realization of several hours that have passed between you and the mystique surrounding his lack of physical contact with you fuels his intrigue that was beginning to simmer alongside the exhausted flames.

"And what else happens after you humans kiss one another under this tradition?" His voice now drips with honey, a contrast you were not expecting from him.

"Well, I suppose that is up to the participants. Surely, things can become a bit, intimate, I suppose."

"Hm." Sukuna outstretched a large veiny hand, taking the mistletoe from you and hanging it from the ceiling above where he was perched on his throne. He leans a hand on his chin, while one of his lower arms comes to cup you around your waist.

"Demonstrate."

He waits, and your eyes spread slightly in alarm as you were brought closer to him than you have been in the entire time you've known him.

Your lips part hesitantly, laced wetly by your wine ladden tongue. Sukuna does not budge, however his hand pressed against your back a little more urgently, his black nails lightly puncturing the garnet threads of your kimono as though he were requesting not to be kept waiting a moment longer.

Your eyes glance upwards at the arrangement of mistletoe dangling perfectly over your heads, then directly at his supple lips that part in seething wait, before leaning in and pressing yours against them without another word.

Sukuna's mouth is warm and rough, just like every last inch of him you discover shortly after when both of his lower arms bring you in between his enormous thighs, so that you are directly up against pure muscle.

His skin is heated, and practically hot to the touch between all of the formidable strength that lay encased in his looming form. Sukuna wastes no time deepening the kiss. As his mouth opens against yours, you feel as though you are being swallowed directly by rays of sun on a sweltering day, the very opposite of the present chilly night bogged with snow that now covered every inch of the land surrounding the quiet shrine.

The delicious and precise slither of his tongue in between your lips causes you to release the most beautiful gasp into his mouth. Sukuna exhales deeply,

"More."

And his lips move feverishly, low grunts escaping the opening space between them as his tongue slides against yours. Aroused, scorched by this ethereal being as he kissed you as though he were the kindling catching alight and you were the flame instead.

Your hands bravely slide up both sides of his expansive neck, your nails entangling themselves in the unruly locks of orchid. The King of Curses shudders, seemingly offput by a mortal touching him so boldly, but every passionate grind of you against him allows him to ignore it for now, as that insatiable thirst bubbles deep in his belly and begs to be relieved.

"Ahh..." A breathy moan peels softly at first then snaps as he rips the ending from your throat with a harsh gnash of his teeth to your bottom lip, as one his hands immediately snaked into the opening of your robes.

His touch is molten, but his stare is unmoving as he forces your gaze to stay captured underneath his as his hand works quickly to part your thighs, riding the hem of your kimono up your legs, cold air tickling your pussy which he's more than pleased to discover is already bare, shiny with slick underneath.

"Closer, and do not stop looking at me." He mutters. All four of his heavily hooded eyes greedily drink in the way your expression liquefies to silk when you feel that first long, languid, warm stroke between both lips of your sensitive cunt.

"I said, look at me." Sukuna growls, a clawed hand coming up to cup your cheeks, both of them pinched between his thumb on one side and the rest of his fingers on the other. He runs his tongue over his lips, a slow sneer spreading out at your gradual fucked out expression as his tongue from his belly slowly licks, savors, and swirls against your dripping entrance.

High pitched whimpers flood past your lips, the corners of your eyes begin to prick with tears as profound warmth blooms upwards from the epicenter of unrelenting pleasure Sukuna's second mouth is wringing from your swollen clit. The tongue begins to slowly curl inside of you, each groove of its wet, meaty surface gliding against the soaking velvet of your tight walls, while the upper lip encircles and sucks over your soft pearl.

"Good." Sukuna whispers, stifling a groan when he feels you involuntarily pulse around his tongue, leading to a greedy string of juices dribbling down the second throat. "Who's your king? Tell me, pet."

He tauts his abs as he maneuvers you around his stomach slightly, still keeping you locked in an iron grip but allowing you to lightly bob as he guides you to ride his tongue, his other pair of hands coming to knead your breasts, his eyes tearing into your soul.

"You, Sukuna..." You managed to sigh, as you felt the soaking warmth linger over a tried and true spot, before Sukuna promptly removes it, irritated at your unsolicited use of his name.

"Tch." He grins wolfishly at the abrupt whimper that followed when you mourned the loss. "Do not get greedy with me, brat. You will feel only what I allow you to, understood?"

He breathes out as he lowers you back onto his awaiting open mouth on his belly. "And you will only address me as your Lord, woman, understood?"

"Yes, my Lord..."

"Mm."

And you continue to feel his tongue's meticulous exploration of you with your thighs parted on either side of his large waist, however it only became more agonizing as it coaxed and only teased around all the spots that amplified euphoria, dangling that peak of arousal frustratingly out of reach.

"My Lord, p-please, I wish to cum..." your nails dig into the hollows of his chest and he glances down briefly, internally bemused at the needy mess he was turning you into, thin trails of your juices softly dribbling down the soft meat of your inner thighs.

Your eyelids flutter and the intonations of your voice begin to quiver as his second tongue began to wetly prod your sweetest spot.

Sukuna glowered briefly at his second mouth that had a mind of his own, displeased at its less sadistic nature than his and its determination to drive you off the edge whereas he was in the middle of enjoying your desperate state. He cannot place it, but this idiosyncrasy between him and the rest of his body was betraying him.

Perhaps it was due to this question that was slowly being answered in his mind of just how soft you'd be for him in the throes of pleasure, silencing his ruminations of you at long last. As you knew, he cared little about the appearance of the concubines he chose to feed his ravenous sexual appetites.

He had rarely encountered a pretty face, and, for the first time, the King of Curses felt compelled to worship.

"Hmph. Cum for me then, brat." He croons harshly to disguise his waning willpower. "Be a good mistress and cum for your king. Don't you dare hide your eyes from me..."

And the dam quickly burst and you soaked his lap, tears releasing in your eyes as well, your blurry gaze burning as you obeyed Sukuna's command to keep your eyes on him.

The second mouth panted as it worked to clean you up, guzzling your arousal like it was nectar as it stuck to its lips and Sukuna's powerful torso in a shiny sopping coat of sheen.

"Good." Sukuna praised, pulling you off him as he undid the remainder of his robes, the subtle sound of the garment hitting the floor causes you to clench your thighs, even more so as you saw him, completely bare in front of you for the first time.

If you were any other whore, he would not have stopped after you finally came, if he had let you cum at all. Sukuna delighted in denying his partners their utmost release until it was practically unbearable, then would push them well over the threshold of normal stimulation, until he sunk his teeth in their shoulder and fucked them roughly with his dual cocks.

Now, as he tears off his robes, allowing the element of anticipation to linger with the promise of what was to come next, and the heat to smolder lying in wait, he realizes this first time with you would be much, much different. With you, things were unhurried and slow.

His black markings continued below where his dark robes previously concealed, all along his sculpted collarbones, pecs and chest. His muscles were rigid with the tension you were slowly building up in him this entire time. He possessed burly thighs that were covered with small forests of hair, as well as on his arms with sinewy veins and lightly flushed pink skin.

But, what stood out most of all were two staggering, meaty cocks that bloomed red at both tips that flopped against his belly. Veins adorned both sides, running purplish blue, a very large, plump, taut set of balls dangled in a flesh colored sack underneath.

You couldn't help but get on your knees, entranced as you slowly sank to the floor. Your mouth began to salivate as you took in the bulbous tips that had to pass for almost three of your fingers alone, mind fuzzy with both excitement and intimidation as you wondered how you could possibly accommodate both.

"My Lord, m-may I?" You lick your lips, whimpering as the throb of your clit begins to pulse as your warm pussy squeezes around nothing. You were still worked up from your orgasm, however having already been brought to heaven and back, you were eager to please Sukuna. After all, as you were repeatedly coached in your trainings as a concubine, a good one always pleases her Lord.

"Excuse me?" Sukuna frowns, ice in his tone.

"P-please my Lord? I wish you pleasure you, to suck your cocks..." You swallow, the blinders of arousal causing all shame to disappear out the window.

Sukuna scoffs pridefully. "Really? And why would I let you do something like that, brat? You think I require your mouth so badly?"

He taunts, noticing the way your pussy still bore no shortage of wetness. As a matter of fact, it was trickling even more as the thoughts of taking Sukuna's cocks in your mouth only aroused you to nearly primal levels.

"Please, please my Lord..." You breathe slowly as your teeth brushed your bottom lip, his hands coming to undo the knot of your kimono, allowing the garment to slide in a sensual display down your shoulders like seafoam receding over a shoreline, until all of your bareness lay exposed to his hungry eyes.

Sukuna stared at you, wrestling internally at the hazy feelings the sight in front of him was conjuring up. You were so desperate, panting and waiting. The smell from your soaked heat was earthy yet sweet, an aphrodisiac to his nostrils. You were so needy, so eager to allow you a taste of him, the way you tilted your head so sweetly as you begged permission.

"Very well..." Sukuna's jaw slackened just a tad before running his thumb along your glossy bottom lip, the pointed edge of his nail and thumb just barely poking your tongue, which you indulged him and slowly licked it into your mouth.

"Fuck, such a needy little thing, you. God, such a whore..."

He presses his thumb onto the middle of your tongue. "Open..." He pumped one of his shafts with the other, as you gently opened your lovely lips, gradually and steadily feeding you his cock, twinkling eyes peeking through your lashes.

"Fuck..."

The utter groan he lets out is music to your years, and you meet him more than halfway immediately, stuffing his cock quickly into your mouth and almost hitting the back of your throat.

Sukuna grits his teeth as you accept him so greedily. His size was such that the entire thing didn't quite fit, filling up such a pretty mouth and throat until your eyes watered, the stretch eased by how much you ached for him, and how delicious his heated skin tasted in your mouth. So warm and rigid as you feel him pulse with life with the faintest trace of salt from the blooming precum.

Your eyes roll back and you begin to bob your head, squeaking with surprise when Sukuna pushes your head, relishing the glistening coat of drool you leak every time the heavy shaft withdraws from your reddened lips. His hand tangled in your hair, guiding you up and down his cock.

Sukuna panted and grunted, falling backwards on his throne with you at his feet, his hips rippling as he couldn't help but fuck himself into your plush, silky, mouth. His other cock aches for attention as well, and he gets an idea.

"Your breasts..." He rasped. "Touch yourself, present them to me."

Mouth still stuffed with cock, you innocently batted your lashes as both your hands came to grip your tender globes, lifting them slightly as you gently pushed them together, creating the perfect, sinful little valley for Sukuna to slide his second cock.

Using the mixture of slick and spit and sweat from his other cock, he coats the second one with his hand and throws his head back as it meets that slippery canal, squished in between your two yummy tits.

You groan loudly, hugging the velvety length between your breasts as you continued to slobber all over the other. You cooed and whined sweetly, rubbing your thighs together, a practical second orgasm almost inevitable from watching this being, this king, this God, so wanton and so aroused.

"I'm going to cum. Don't stop, don't stop gazing at me like that, my goddess..."

He looked down at you, his lovely little slut, so filthy and carnal. This alluring, sexual siren he awakened that was concealed beneath a pair of glittering shy eyes and quiet exterior this whole time. You were a treasure to be guarded, a goddess of Earth and flesh, worthy of his devotion, of his love, and he finally snaps.

Both cocks ooze generous spurts of silvery white cum. It paints both of your supple tits like jelly. It's warm and thick as it coats the inside of your throat and mouth. Sukuna marvels at this masterpiece he's made out of this celestial canvas of you, slowly drawing out his slick, sticky cock and tracing your puffy lips with the milky gloss.

"My Lord..." You purred.

"Mine." He whispered before he yanked you against his lips again, greedily and messily tasting himself off of you, both hands nearly covering both sides of your face as he drank the breath from your lungs.

-----

Sukuna's bed is warm just like the heat that runs rampant throughout his body. His pillows and linens bend to accept you and embrace you like you have always belonged there despite this being the very first time you did.

A galaxy is born in that moment when both heads of his cock begin to rub and slowly push inside both of your holes, stretching you in a way no other man or being for that matter has ever done before.

"Look at me..." Sukuna commands again. His booming voice is reverent and his gaze is eternal as he bites back more groans that simmer at the back of his throat. You grip the sheets, sweetly calling his name.

"Sukuna..."

And he doesn't correct you this time. His face softens and the callouses of his hands run and squeeze over the expanse of your thighs as he becomes one with you over and over again.

"My queen." He utters at last as your heart sings and blooms within your ribcage.

The world shifted that night as the King of Curses irrevocably bound himself to you.

And when the exhaustion had claimed you, when you could no longer be flooded, filled, and fucked, when the sheets felt like silk and your tired limbs and his wove together like emerald leaves of holly, as his seed gushed inside your womb and buried a mixture of each other so deep and raw and new in a way that could not be conceived again.

The nighttime was quickly forgotten as you fell asleep to the King of Curses' heartbeat, the dawning hours of Christmas morning ushering in a gentle wave of steadfast snow.

[novaursa]

Legacy (of dragons and gods)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Note: Canon events have been altered to compliment the plot for this story.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Previous part: the march

- Next part: dragonfire

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

The Lannister procession had stopped for the night along the banks of a winding river, its waters sluggish under the pale light of the waning sun. The camp spread out like a sea of crimson and gold, with soldiers pitching tents and stoking fires, the metallic clink of armor and the murmur of voices filling the evening air. At the center of it all, beneath the largest tent adorned with a golden lion on a blood-red field, Tywin Lannister sat at the head of a table, his mood as cold and unyielding as the steel dagger he turned between his fingers.

The air within the tent was stifling, thick with the heat of the gathered torches and the heavy silence that followed the latest report. Kevan Lannister sat to Tywin’s right, his face pale and set in a stern frown. Jaime stood near the tent flap, his armor dull beneath the flickering light, his expression impassive. Between them, the messenger—a frail man in dusty robes—shifted uneasily on his feet, his gaze flicking nervously between the powerful men before him.

Tywin’s voice, when it came, was low and dangerous, like the first rumble of thunder before a storm. “Repeat what you just said.”

The messenger swallowed hard, beads of sweat forming at his brow. “M-my lord, the High Sparrow… the Faith has taken hold of the city. King’s Landing is no longer under full control of the crown. The Sept has been fortified, and the Faith Militant patrols the streets.”

Tywin’s knuckles whitened as his grip tightened on the dagger. “And my daughter?”

The man visibly flinched at the icy edge in Tywin’s voice. “Queen Mother Cersei… she was arrested, my lord. The High Sparrow accused her of sin and impropriety, and…” He faltered, choosing his next words carefully. “She has been made to atone. Her… walk has already taken place.”

There was a beat of silence so heavy it felt as though the air itself froze. Kevan let out a soft breath, his face etched with disbelief and anger, while Jaime remained silent, his jaw tense as he looked away, refusing to meet his father’s gaze.

Tywin’s expression, however, was unreadable, his green eyes fixed unblinkingly on the trembling messenger. “You will tell me every detail,” he said coldly.

The messenger hesitated, but there was no escaping Tywin’s command. “The queen was stripped of her clothing and marched from the Great Sept to the Red Keep, barefoot and unarmed. The people were… merciless, my lord. They hurled insults, food, stones. The walk lasted hours.”

Tywin’s grip on the dagger finally stilled, his eyes narrowing. “And you allowed this to happen?” His voice barely rose, but the fury in it was enough to make Kevan stiffen.

“The Faith controls the city, my lord,” the messenger stammered. “The crown has lost its power.”

Tywin’s silence was thunderous. He turned his gaze to Kevan, whose face was carved in stone. “This is the result of my daughter’s arrogance. Her foolish decisions have not only humiliated herself but sullied the name of House Lannister. She has given our enemies something they will not soon forget.”

Kevan nodded curtly. “The Faith must be dealt with. This cannot stand.”

“And it will not,” Tywin replied, his voice as sharp as a blade. His gaze snapped to Jaime, who still stood motionless by the tent flap. “You have nothing to say, Jaime?”

Jaime finally turned to look at his father, his face unreadable. “What would you have me say? That it should never have come to this? That I warned her?”

Tywin’s lip curled faintly in disgust. “Your warnings fell on deaf ears because you failed to command her respect.”

Jaime’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

Before another word could be exchanged, a deep, thunderous roar echoed across the camp, cutting through the murmurs of men and the crackling of fires. The ground beneath them trembled faintly, and every man within the tent turned sharply toward the sound. Outside, voices rose in alarm, and the shadow of something vast passed briefly over the canvas walls of the tent.

Kevan shot Tywin a concerned look. “The dragon.”

Tywin straightened, setting the dagger on the table with deliberate care. “Dismiss the men,” he commanded curtly.

Kevan opened his mouth to object but thought better of it, rising swiftly to usher the remaining guards and the messenger out of the tent. Jaime lingered for a moment, glancing toward his father, but Tywin waved him off with a sharp flick of his hand. “Go.”

Once the tent had emptied and silence returned, Tywin rose from his seat and strode to the entrance of the tent. He stepped outside into the fading light, the faint chill of evening brushing against his face as he looked up toward the source of the disturbance.

Viserion descended from the darkening sky, her great wings beating the air with an almost deafening rhythm. The fires of the camp guttered and danced wildly in her wake as she landed with a massive thud just beyond the edge of the tents. Her cream and gold scales gleamed in the twilight, and her neck curved as her golden eyes fixed on the men who scattered in fear at her arrival. Smoke curled lazily from her nostrils, and her chest rumbled with a sound so deep it made the earth itself shiver.

And then you appeared, sliding smoothly from the dragon’s back, your dark riding cloak billowing around you as you landed with practiced ease. You placed a steadying hand on Viserion’s snout, murmuring something softly to her before turning to face Tywin.

Tywin stood his ground, unflinching even as Viserion’s great eyes fixed on him. The anxiety in the camp was felt, men watching from the shadows as the Lord of Casterly Rock and the dragon stared one another down. For a moment, it seemed as though Viserion might let out another roar, but at your touch, she stilled, the smoke in her breath dissipating as she settled.

“Tywin,” you greeted coolly, pulling back your hood to reveal the silver cascade of your hair. The wind carried faint embers and the scent of smoke, as though the dragon’s fire lingered on your skin.

Tywin’s gaze did not waver as he took in the sight of you and the creature at your side. “Your arrival was… dramatic.”

“Viserion does not know subtlety,” you replied smoothly, stroking the dragon’s warm scales. “Neither do the Lannisters, from what I’ve learned.”

Tywin’s lip twitched faintly, though it was impossible to tell if it was amusement or irritation. He stepped forward, stopping just a few paces away from you, though his gaze remained locked on Viserion. “Is she so wild that you cannot control her?”

“She is not wild,” you countered sharply. “She is mine. She answers to me.”

“And yet her presence unnerves my men,” Tywin said, his voice cold. “You do not need to remind them of their place.”

“Then perhaps they should find their courage,” you replied pointedly. “The dragon will be with us in King’s Landing. They had best learn to accept it.”

Tywin’s gaze flickered briefly to you, something sharp and considering in his expression. “We’ll see about that.”

You stepped closer, your violet eyes steady as you looked up at him. “What is it you summoned me for, Tywin?”

He studied you for a long moment, as though weighing his words. “The city is no longer what it was,” he said finally, his voice low and clipped. “The Faith has seized power, and my daughter—has humiliated this house through her recklessness.”

You frowned slightly, sensing the anger simmering beneath his carefully measured tone. “What has happened to her?”

Tywin’s expression darkened. “She was paraded through the streets, stripped and shamed for all to see. It was a spectacle. A disgrace.”

You exhaled softly, a flicker of pity passing through you despite everything. “And you blame her for this.”

“I blame her for giving our enemies the means to harm us,” Tywin snapped. “Power demands discipline. She has forgotten that.”

You tilted your head slightly, your tone measured. “And what of the Faith, then? What do you plan to do about them?”

Tywin’s gaze was hard, unrelenting. “I will deal with the Faith as I have dealt with every other threat to my house.”

“And me?” you asked softly, your voice almost a challenge. “What do you plan for me and Viserion in the capital?”

Tywin’s lip curled faintly. “You will stand where I tell you to stand, Y/N. And your dragon will serve as a reminder to those who would oppose us.”

You met his gaze, unflinching. “I hope you know what you’re inviting into that city, Tywin. Fire does not play by the rules of men.”

Tywin stared at you for a long moment before his voice dropped to a soft, dangerous murmur. “Then we will ensure the fire serves our cause.”

Viserion shifted behind you, her chest rumbling faintly as if echoing your thoughts. You turned back to the dragon, running a hand along her warm scales. “Be careful, Tywin,” you said quietly. “Fire is not so easily tamed.”

Tywin watched you for another moment, then turned sharply away.

The soft light of candles flickered inside the tent as Tywin Lannister ducked through the heavy flap, the air still tinged with the chill of the evening. Outside, the camp buzzed faintly with the sounds of men settling in for the night—boots on dirt, the crackle of fires, distant voices murmuring—but inside, there was nothing but quiet. A welcome reprieve.

The tent was a well-ordered sanctuary. Rich crimson fabrics lined the walls, the Lannister sigil subtly embroidered into their folds. The centerpiece was a sturdy bed with a carved wooden frame, draped in thick furs and silken sheets. Across the room, Damon slept soundly in his crib, his soft breathing barely audible beneath the gentle hum of the wind outside. The sight of his son—safe, warm, untroubled—brought the faintest softening to Tywin’s otherwise stern features.

You sat by the small table, clad in a loose gown of black and silver that cascaded around you like a midnight cloud. Your hair tumbled over your shoulders, illuminated faintly by the golden glow of the lantern. At the sound of his arrival, you glanced up, your violet eyes catching the light and shining with that unspoken challenge you always seemed to carry.

“Your men are watching Viserion like she might swoop down and devour them whole,” you remarked quietly, a faint smile tugging at your lips as you sat back in your chair. “Is she making them nervous, or are you?”

Tywin snorted softly, the ghost of a smile flickering across his face as he began to remove his crimson cloak, hanging it on a nearby hook. “The dragon unnerves them, as does her rider. It is a good lesson in fear.”

“And what of you, Lord Tywin?” you asked, tilting your head. “Do I unnerve you?”

He shot you a look that could have flayed lesser men, but there was no true sharpness in it. “Not nearly as much as you would like to believe.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you stood, walking toward him with deliberate grace. “It’s been a long day. You must be exhausted.”

“Exhaustion is a luxury,” Tywin replied simply, though there was no denying the faint relief in the way he rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck. His gaze flicked briefly to Damon, still asleep in the crib. “He is well?”

“Fast asleep,” you replied, glancing toward your son with a softness that did not often appear in your voice. “It seems he takes after you. He barely stirs, even with the roar of a dragon.”

Tywin’s lips twitched faintly, as if considering a retort, but he let it pass. Instead, he stepped toward the table and poured himself a goblet of wine, the liquid dark as blood beneath the candlelight. “Tomorrow will be a day history records,” he said finally, the weight of his words deliberate. “Our arrival in King’s Landing, with a dragon at our side—it will not be forgotten.”

You folded your arms across your chest, the playful edge fading from your expression. “That depends, doesn’t it?”

Tywin turned toward you, brow arching faintly. “On what?”

“On how it goes,” you replied smoothly, stepping closer until only a breath of space separated you. “If the city welcomes us with open arms, it will be a moment of strength. If they resist, if they see us as a threat…” Your voice trailed off, your gaze steady. “The histories could tell a very different story.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened, though his voice remained calm. “Then I will ensure they see it the way I intend them to.”

You reached out, your hand brushing lightly against the front of his tunic. “You always did believe you could shape the world to your will.”

Tywin’s green eyes locked onto yours, the flicker of heat behind them unmistakable. “Because I can.”

“And what will you do with me?” you murmured, your voice softening into something huskier. “Am I to be part of this vision of yours? A Targaryen astride her dragon, or something far less… mythic?”

He set his goblet down with deliberate care, his hands coming to rest on your waist, pulling you just slightly closer. “You are my wife,” he said, his voice low but firm, as though that truth alone carried all the weight in the world. “And you are more than myth. You are fire made flesh.”

The words sent a shiver through you, heat pooling low in your belly as you looked up into his face. Tywin Lannister, cold and unyielding to the world, was a man of stone to everyone but you. With you, there was something deeper—something raw, something burning just beneath the surface. And in moments like this, when the world outside fell away, you saw it in him.

“Then claim me,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

His gaze darkened with desire, and in an instant, his hands tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him. His lips descended on yours, firm and demanding, sending sparks across your skin as you melted into the kiss. Tywin was not a man prone to tenderness; he kissed with purpose, with possession, and yet there was something almost reverent in the way his hand came up to cradle your jaw.

You responded in kind, your arms winding around his neck as you pressed closer, your body molding to his. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently as you deepened the kiss, feeling his breath catch ever so slightly. When you pulled back, lips swollen and breath shallow, you looked up at him with a wicked smile.

“Undress me,” you whispered, your voice a challenge and a plea all at once.

Tywin’s gaze roamed over you, his eyes dark with hunger as his hands moved to the laces of your gown. He was deliberate, each tug of fabric exposing more of your skin, his fingers lingering where they brushed against you. He lowered the gown slowly, letting it pool at your feet until you stood before him, bare but for the faint glow of firelight against your skin.

“You are exquisite,” he murmured, his voice rough with restrained need.

You stepped forward, your fingers moving to the buckles of his leather doublet, loosening each one until you could push the heavy garment from his shoulders. You tugged at his tunic next, your touch lingering against the hard planes of his chest and the scarred strength of his body. When he stood before you, equally bare, the fire between you seemed to burn hotter.

Tywin’s hands slid to your hips, his grip firm as he guided you toward the bed. You stepped back with him, the furs cool against your calves as he eased you onto the mattress. He followed, his body pressing over yours, the weight of him grounding you as he braced himself above you.

You reached for him, your legs parting as you drew him closer, the anticipation thick between you. “Tywin,” you whispered, your voice soft and wanting.

His gaze met yours, his green eyes locking with your violet ones as he lowered himself. You felt him press against you, the sensation sending a thrill through you as your body arched instinctively beneath him. He entered you slowly, his movements controlled, deliberate, as though savoring every inch of you. Your breath hitched, a soft moan escaping your lips as he filled you completely.

For a moment, he stilled, his face hovering just above yours as you both adjusted to the intimacy of the moment. You reached up, cupping his jaw as you whispered, “Don’t stop.”

Tywin’s control began to fray as he started to move, his thrusts steady and powerful, each one drawing a gasp or a moan from you. You met him with equal fervor, your hips rising to meet his rhythm, your nails dragging lightly down his back as the pleasure built between you. His mouth found the hollow of your throat, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses there before trailing up to claim your lips again.

“Mine,” he murmured against your mouth, the word rough and possessive.

“Yes,” you breathed, your voice breaking as you clung to him, the world outside fading to nothing but the two of you.

The pace quickened, the tension coiling tighter with each movement, the fire between you consuming everything. You cried out softly as the pleasure crested, your body trembling beneath his as he followed moments later, his breath ragged as he buried himself fully within you.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, your bodies still entwined as you caught your breath. Tywin finally shifted, rolling onto his side but keeping you close, his arm draped possessively over your waist. The quiet of the tent wrapped around you like a blanket, the faint sounds of the camp distant and unimportant.

You turned your head to look at him, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw as you whispered, “Do you still think you can control fire?”

Tywin’s lips twitched faintly, though he did not open his eyes. “I control what matters.”

You smiled softly, pressing a kiss to his temple as you whispered, “We shall see, my lord. We shall see.”

And with that, you closed your eyes, the weight of the day finally giving way to the warmth of sleep, Tywin’s steady breathing a comforting presence beside you. Outside, the fires burned low, and the dragon watched, her golden eyes glowing in the dark.

The air in Cersei’s chambers felt stifling, heavy with the scent of lavender oil that did nothing to soothe the throbbing ache in her body or the sharp sting of her pride. She sat on the edge of a cushioned divan, draped in a simple gown of muted black. A far cry from the golden silks and rich velvets she had once worn as queen. Her golden hair—shorn during her walk of atonement—barely grazed her shoulders, and her face, though still beautiful, was pale and hollowed with weariness.

Tommen sat nervously beside her, perched like a boy who no longer knew how to comfort his mother. His hands fidgeted in his lap as he glanced toward Qyburn, who stood silently near the hearth. The man had been her most trusted ally since her fall, but even he could not erase what had been done to her.

“Mother,” Tommen spoke softly, his voice tentative. “You shouldn’t stay cooped up in here. The maesters say you should—”

“I know what they say, Tommen,” Cersei cut him off sharply, her tone brittle. Her green eyes turned to him, and her expression softened—just barely. She reached for his hand, her grip weak but insistent. “I am not hiding. I will not cower before them again.”

Tommen nodded faintly, though his youthful face betrayed his unease. “We still have Margaery,” he offered quietly. “She’s in the Sept. You told me the Tyrells were weak. If Tywin—” He faltered, unsure if the word still applied. “If Grandsire returns, he’ll make things right, won’t he?”

Cersei let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and hollow. “Your grandsire will see what I’ve done and scorn me for it. He’ll act as though it’s his house they mocked, not mine.” Her voice turned cold, a faint tremor of fury beneath it. “He’ll set the world right as he always does—through fear, not shame.”

Qyburn cleared his throat softly, stepping forward. “My queen, if I may. Tywin Lannister’s return could provide you with a path to redemption. There is still strength in your name.”

Before Cersei could answer, a loud blare of horns echoed from outside the Red Keep. The sound was sharp and jarring, splitting the quiet of the morning like a blade. Tommen jumped slightly, his head snapping toward the window, where the banners of the capital fluttered lazily in the breeze.

“What’s that?” he asked, his voice high with worry.

Cersei straightened, her back stiff despite the lingering pain. “Horns,” she murmured, a shadow crossing her face. “A summons.”

The door burst open before another word could be spoken, and Varys stepped inside with his usual calm grace, though his expression was far from serene. His eyes darted briefly to Tommen before settling on Cersei. “Your Grace,” he began, his voice low and urgent. “Lord Tywin has returned.”

Cersei’s face remained still, though her nails dug faintly into the cushion beneath her hand. “So soon,” she said coldly. “And what has brought such a spectacle with him that the horns must scream about it?”

Varys inclined his head, his tone careful. “Your father does not travel lightly, as you know. His banners march through the gates as we speak. But…” He hesitated.

Cersei’s gaze snapped to him. “But what?”

Before Varys could reply, a sound pierced the air—high, unearthly, a shriek so terrible that it seemed to silence everything else in the world. It echoed through the walls of the Red Keep, reverberating like a distant wail of doom. Tommen clutched his ears with a cry, and even Qyburn startled visibly.

“What in the name of—” Cersei began, but another shriek cut her off, louder this time. Outside, chaos erupted. Horns blared anew, more frantically now, and distant screams carried on the wind. The sound of boots thundering across the courtyard and the cries of panicked soldiers filled the air like a rising tide.

Cersei stood quickly, ignoring the ache in her limbs as she crossed the room to the window. When she looked out, her breath caught in her throat.

The streets of King’s Landing swarmed like an anthill kicked apart. People scattered in every direction, pointing toward the sky. Guards yelled orders that fell on deaf ears, their swords raised uselessly. In the distance, high above the city, a vast shadow passed across the sun.

And then she saw it.

A dragon.

Viserion’s cream and gold scales gleamed like molten fire in the morning light, her massive wings stretched wide as she soared high above the capital. Her shadow swept over the streets and rooftops, darkening everything it touched, and for a moment, it seemed as though the very air stilled in her wake. She circled the city, her movements graceful and deliberate, her shrieks echoing as though announcing the end of all things.

“She’s circling,” Varys said softly, his gaze fixed on the sky with something akin to awe. “Three times.”

Cersei’s fingers gripped the edge of the window frame tightly, her knuckles white. “Is this Tywin’s doing?” she asked, her voice trembling with fury. “Did he bring this to my city?”

Varys’s gaze remained calm, though his words were clipped. “Yes. And it appears he means to make a statement.”

As Viserion completed her second circuit, the shrieks grew louder, almost deafening. The city below had descended into chaos—citizens dropping to their knees in prayer, others fleeing into doorways and alleyways. Mothers clutched their children, and soldiers, pale-faced, stared upward as though witnessing the stuff of nightmares made flesh.

The dragon dipped lower, her wings sending gusts of wind across the streets, rattling shutters and banners. And then, as she began her third circle, she turned sharply toward the Sept of Baelor.

The Sept loomed in the center of the city, its grand dome a beacon of the Faith—and a fitting perch for a creature of fire and fury. Viserion beat her wings powerfully, rising higher before descending with deliberate grace. Her talons curled as she landed atop the dome, the metal groaning under her weight. Her body coiled, tail curling down one side of the structure while her wings folded tightly against her back. From the streets below, she appeared like a living statue of destruction.

The city watched in stunned silence, awe and terror mingling as one.

Cersei took a step back from the window, her breath shallow as she turned to Varys. “Where is she? Where is the Targaryen whore who rides that beast?”

Varys did not flinch at the venom in her tone. “Your Grace, it is Lady Y/N. She has returned with your father. On his orders, I presume.”

Cersei’s face twisted with fury, though it was undercut by something far more dangerous: fear. She turned back to the window, her lips pressing into a thin line as she watched the dragon remain perched atop the Sept, her eyes scanning the city as though she owned it.

“She circles us like prey,” Cersei murmured darkly, her voice trembling with rage. “And my father allows it.”

Tommen crept closer to the window, his wide blue eyes fixed on the dragon with awe. “It's… beautiful,” he whispered.

Cersei spun on him, her voice sharp. “It's a weapon, Tommen. And don’t you forget it.”

Outside, the horns continued to blare, but the panic had begun to ebb as soldiers recognized the banners of House Lannister streaming through the city gates. The gold lions marched in disciplined formation, banners unfurling like rivers of blood and gold. The Lannister host had returned—but with a dragon at its back, the city would never see it the same way again.

Cersei turned away from the window, her face pale and taut with anger. “Summon the council,” she snapped at Qyburn. “And find out where my father is. I want answers.”

Qyburn bowed quickly and exited the chamber, leaving Varys standing in silence beside the window.

“This changes everything,” Varys murmured softly, half to himself as he looked out at the dragon. “Fire has returned to the capital.”

Cersei sank heavily onto the divan, her hands trembling faintly as she curled them into fists. “And so has my father.”

She stared blankly ahead, her voice dropping to a low whisper. “I will not let him take everything from me.”

But even as she spoke, the faint shrieks of the dragon echoed again in the distance, a sound that promised power, chaos, and a future that no one—not even Tywin Lannister—could fully control.

The streets of King’s Landing trembled under the boots of marching soldiers. The sound was thunderous, echoing off the stone walls of buildings and the cobbled streets as Tywin Lannister’s procession carved its path toward the Sept of Baelor. The golden lions of House Lannister gleamed in the sunlight, their banners streaming like rivers of fire and blood, punctuated only by the green-and-gold sigils of House Tyrell fluttering in time with the wind. Lord Mace Tyrell, stout and beaming, rode at Tywin’s side with all the self-importance of a man convinced of his own worth.

The city had quieted. Fear still lingered thick in the air—fear of the dragon that perched atop the Sept like an ancient god made flesh—but there was also the growing hum of curiosity. Windows cracked open, and desperate eyes peered down from rooftops as the procession approached the grand square before the Sept. The people were quiet, hushed, too afraid to jeer, too in awe to cheer.

At the head of it all rode Tywin Lannister, his crimson cloak billowing in the wind, his golden armor polished to a mirror’s sheen. His face was cold, composed as always, though his green eyes carried the weight of expectation, the certainty of a man who did not come to parley but to rule. Beside him, Mace Tyrell bounced slightly in his saddle, his bearded face twitching nervously as he glanced toward the looming form of Viserion still perched atop the Sept.

“Your dragon is a fine deterrent, Lord Tywin,” Mace muttered, tugging nervously at his green doublet. “The Faith will surely see reason now.”

Tywin did not look at him as he replied, his voice clipped and firm. “They will see what I tell them to see.”

The Sept loomed before them, its massive steps already filling with robed figures. The Faith Militant gathered like a black tide, armed with spiked cudgels, spears, and shields marked with the seven-pointed star. The sun gleamed off their crude armor, their faces hidden beneath thick hoods, yet the fervor in their posture was unmistakable. At the head of them, emerging from the shadowed entrance to the Sept, came the High Sparrow.

The man was as Tywin remembered him—frail, weathered, his simple robes of grey and beige hanging loosely from his thin frame. But it was his eyes that held a strange power, the unwavering gaze of a man who believed himself unshakable. He moved slowly, his hands clasped in front of him as he descended the steps. The Faith Militant parted for him like water, their presence unyielding but silent as the grave.

Above them, Viserion moved. The dragon let out a low, rumbling growl, the sound vibrating through the stone beneath their feet. With the practiced grace of a creature far more agile than her size would suggest, Viserion began to climb down from her perch. Her talons dug into the sides of the Sept, causing great plumes of dust to rise as bits of stone crumbled under her weight. She slithered to the square below, wings furling close to her body as her long tail swept the ground with ominous finality.

Atop her back, you sat tall in your saddle, silver hair gleaming like molten silk in the light. The dragon’s motion was fluid beneath you, and when Viserion’s massive body finally came to rest upon the square, her wings curled neatly, and she let out a low, ominous hiss. You were a vision of power—your black riding leathers embroidered with Valyrian sigils in silver thread, the saddle a masterpiece of black and gold.

The High Sparrow stopped mid-step, his gaze fixed not on Tywin Lannister, but on you and the beast at your command. For the first time, the faintest flicker of uncertainty crossed his otherwise serene expression.

Tywin reined his horse in at the foot of the Sept steps, dismounting with practiced efficiency. His polished boots struck the stone square as he turned sharply to face the High Sparrow. Mace Tyrell followed clumsily, huffing as he struggled to dismount with his dignity intact. Behind them, the Lannister and Tyrell men fanned out in disciplined ranks, swords at their sides, their banners snapping in the wind.

The High Sparrow inclined his head faintly, his weathered face calm. “Lord Tywin,” he said, his voice soft yet clear enough to carry across the square. “It has been some time since you last darkened the steps of the Sept. What brings you to this holy place with such… pageantry?”

Tywin’s lips curled faintly, the expression cold and humorless. “The Faith has overstepped its bounds, as foolish men often do. I have come to see that order is restored.”

The High Sparrow’s gaze did not falter. “Order, my lord? Or obedience? There is a difference.”

“Semantics do not concern me,” Tywin replied curtly. “You will surrender Queen Margaery back into the custody of her family. You will dissolve your hold over this city and the throne. Do this, and you may yet live to see another sunrise.”

The gathered Faith Militant bristled at the words, their grips tightening on weapons, but the High Sparrow raised a hand, calming them. He turned his attention to you now, his gaze lingering as though assessing something far older, far more dangerous than the man standing before him.

“And you,” he said softly, addressing you for the first time. “A child of fire and blood, astride a creature of chaos. Tell me, do you serve the lions of House Lannister willingly? Or have they chained you as men have always sought to chain beasts?”

You smiled faintly, unbuckling yourself from the saddle and sliding gracefully down Viserion’s side. The dragon shifted slightly at your absence, but remained still, her golden eyes locked on the gathered men before her. You stepped forward, your boots striking the stone square as you came to stand at Tywin’s side.

“I am not chained,” you replied coolly, your voice carrying easily. “And I am no beast. I stand here because I choose to.”

The High Sparrow tilted his head slightly, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. “Then you choose to stand with those who corrupt and defile. With those who believe power grants them the right to rule without faith, without penance.”

Tywin’s voice cut through like a blade. “Save your sermons for the fearful and the weak. I am neither.”

The High Sparrow turned back to him, his expression calm once more. “And yet you come here demanding surrender. Why? Because you hold swords? Because you bring a dragon?” He gestured toward the Sept, the great dome behind him rising high and holy above their heads. “This is the house of the gods. No beast, no army, no man is greater than the Seven.”

Tywin stepped forward, his presence looming like a shadow cast across the square. “The gods cannot save you from what comes next, Sparrow. Nor will your Faith Militant hold against my men.”

The High Sparrow held his ground, though his followers shifted uneasily behind him. “You are a man of numbers and gold, Lord Tywin, but you do not understand faith. Faith cannot be cut with swords. It cannot be burned with fire.”

A sound interrupted him then—a low, guttural rumble that seemed to rise from the earth itself. Viserion shifted her great head, her golden eyes narrowing as she bared her fangs, smoke curling lazily from her nostrils. The sound of her growl carried across the square like a warning, sending chills down the spines of those gathered.

The High Sparrow turned slightly to look at the beast behind you. For the first time, his voice faltered. “Dragons do not belong here anymore.”

You stepped forward, your voice calm but edged with steel. “They belong wherever we will them to be.”

Tywin glanced at you, the faintest flicker of approval in his gaze before he turned back to the High Sparrow. “You have until sunset to decide, High Sparrow. Surrender Queen Margaery, dissolve your militant farce, and relinquish control of this city. Defy me, and the Faith will burn.”

The High Sparrow’s gaze lingered on both of you, his expression unreadable. “The gods will decide,” he said softly. “Not men, and not dragons.”

Tywin did not reply. He turned sharply, motioning for his men to hold their positions as he stepped back toward his horse. You lingered a moment longer, your gaze meeting the High Sparrow’s. For a moment, it seemed as though he would speak again, but he did not. Instead, he turned and ascended the steps of the Sept, the Faith Militant closing ranks behind him.

You glanced at Tywin as you rejoined him, your tone low. “Do you think he’ll surrender?”

Tywin’s expression was hard as stone. “Men like him never surrender willingly.”

“Then what happens next?” you asked, your voice calm.

Tywin glanced back toward the Sept, his gaze lingering on Viserion as she loomed like a living weapon in the center of the square. “Negotiation,” he said quietly. “And if that fails, fire.”

You said nothing, but as you looked back at the great dome of the Sept, you could not shake the feeling that the High Sparrow’s defiance would be his

The Great Hall of the Red Keep was a cavernous expanse of cold stone and flickering torchlight, its gilded edges dulled by years of neglect and turmoil. The Iron Throne loomed at its far end, a jagged monstrosity of twisted steel, a reminder of power as cruel as it was absolute. Today, the room buzzed with quiet tension, courtiers and guards lingering in uncertain clusters as the sound of heavy Lannister boots echoed through the long hall.

Tywin Lannister entered first, flanked by rows of his crimson-cloaked guards, each step measured and deliberate. His polished armor glinted in the light, his crimson cloak trailing behind him like a mantle of blood. At his side, you strode with equal confidence, your black riding leathers and silver-threaded cloak still dusted with the residue of dragon flight. Every eye in the room turned to you—whispers rising like a storm—but none dared to linger too long on the sight of the dragon bride of the Lion of Lannister.

A distant, haunting roar shattered the murmurs, sending a ripple of fear through the gathered crowd. The sound echoed over the castle walls, reverberating through the Red Keep with primal force. Viserion’s massive shadow swept across the narrow windows of the hall as she circled above, her shriek a declaration that fire and power had returned to the capital.

Tommen sat on the Iron Throne, his small frame swallowed by the immense seat of swords. His face lit up with joy and relief at the sight of his grandsire, the golden curls of his hair catching the dim light as he rose to his feet. “Grandsire!” he called, his young voice breaking the silence as he all but ran down the steps of the dais to meet him.

Tywin’s expression softened—slightly—as he stopped to face his grandson. Tommen’s small hands reached for him, clutching his grandsire’s armored forearm as though anchoring himself. “I knew you’d come,” Tommen said breathlessly, his blue eyes wide. “They said you were still marching, but I knew you’d come.”

“You are a king,” Tywin said, his voice steady and calm as he studied the boy. “A king should never doubt the strength of his house.”

Tommen nodded fervently, smiling. “It’s stronger now. You’re here. And… and the dragon is real, isn’t it?”

Before Tywin could reply, another voice cut through the air—sharp and biting.

“So it *is true,” Cersei said, her tone dripping with venom as she descended the steps of the dais. She wore a gown of dark gold that hung loosely on her diminished frame, her face pale, her hair shorn and harsh against the sharp lines of her features. But despite her weakened state, her green eyes burned with resentment as they landed on you. “The Targaryen whore and her beast have come to King’s Landing under your banners, Father.”

The room fell silent at her words, the tension thick enough to choke. Even Tommen flinched, turning to look at his mother in confusion. You said nothing, though your expression remained cold, your violet gaze meeting hers without so much as a blink.

Tywin did not look at her immediately. Instead, he turned to one of his men and gestured curtly. “Take the king to his chambers. He does not need to be here for this.”

“Grandsire—” Tommen began, but Tywin’s gaze flicked sharply toward him, brooking no argument.

“Go, Tommen,” he commanded softly, though there was steel behind the words. Tommen hesitated, glancing between his mother and his grandsire before reluctantly following the guards who ushered him out of the hall.

As the doors closed behind him, Tywin turned fully to face Cersei. His presence seemed to darken the hall itself, his expression one of pure, cold fury.

“Watch your tongue, Cersei,” he said, his voice low and even, yet it carried through the hall like a physical blow. “I will not have my return marred by your pettiness.”

Cersei’s lip curled, though a flicker of uncertainty crossed her face. “Pettiness? You bring dragons and Targaryens into my city, and you call me petty?”

“Your city?” Tywin’s voice turned sharper, his words slicing through her like a knife. “Is this the city you claimed as your own when you were paraded naked through its streets? The city you surrendered to the Faith Militant through your arrogance and your utter lack of discipline?”

Cersei recoiled as though struck, her pale face flushing crimson. “I did what I had to do to protect our family!”

Tywin advanced toward her, and for all her bravado, she stepped back, her eyes wide. “Your recklessness has humiliated this house. You invited the Faith into power, thinking you could wield them as a tool. Now, they rule your city while you cling to scraps of pride and wounded vanity.” His voice grew colder still. “And in your folly, you lost the respect of every lord who might have stood by you.”

Cersei’s mouth opened as though to retort, but Tywin cut her off with a sharp gesture. “Do not speak.”

She faltered, her teeth snapping shut as she seethed in silence, her fists clenched at her sides.

Tywin turned slightly, his gaze shifting to you where you stood calm and unbothered. “Lady Y/N is here because I brought her. She is my wife and the mother of my heir, and her dragon now stands as a symbol of our strength.” He turned back to Cersei, his words a final blow. “You will accept that, or you will leave this city entirely. I will not tolerate your undermining of what must be done.”

Cersei’s chest heaved with barely contained fury, her face pinched and red, but she said nothing.

Viserion’s roar split the air once more, louder this time as she flew low over the Red Keep, her wings casting vast shadows across the throne room. The distant cries of startled courtiers carried faintly through the heavy windows.

The silence that followed was absolute.

Tywin’s gaze remained fixed on his daughter for a long moment before he turned away dismissively. “Return to your chambers. You are no use to me here.”

Cersei froze, her face twisting with indignation. “Father—”

“Go,” Tywin said sharply, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Cersei’s hands trembled at her sides, her mouth opening and closing as though searching for words that would not come. Finally, she turned on her heel, her movements stiff with humiliation as she strode toward the doors, her shorn hair catching the light like a tarnished crown.

The room remained deathly silent as Tywin turned back toward you. His expression had softened—slightly—as he regarded you with a measured calm. “We have work to do,” he said quietly.

You nodded faintly, stepping toward him. “The Faith Militant will not yield easily.”

“No,” Tywin agreed, his voice like steel. “But they will yield.”

The doors to the throne room closed behind Cersei with a heavy thud, and Tywin’s presence seemed to fill the hall once more. The Lion of Lannister had returned to King’s Landing, and with him came the fire and fury of the dragon at his command.

[lint-beetle4]

Okay, so i have reader almost all your Wukong ff's and i absolutely adore them, they were well written ate them up and i would like to request if its okay.

I would like to ask for a Wunkong x male!reader, just some fluff maybe both reader and the king had bad days just them curling up and showing affection. If you don't really wanna do it just ignore this request, but if i make it i hope you will take care and drink and eat enough! Okay baiiiiii :]

Bittersweet Deserts (Wukong x Male!Reader) Fluff

You and Wukong having bad days was normal

You would pet Wukong as he complained about his day or maybe in simple silence if he wasn't feeling it

Wukong would carry you everywhere, refusing to let you walk anywhere

He also brought you food even if you weren't hungry. Wukong always wanted to ensure you ate right

While Wukong was content with cuddles after a long day, you were more than happy to provide for him

Usually it would be blankets and a glass of water, other times it'd be tissues and takeout

One of you was always ready to pick up the other, it was like clockwork

But, when both of you feel like total crap? That's a different thing

Low energy happens to the best of us, so when it affects the two of you? You have to work together to see how much you're willing to deal with

Some cases it's physical exhaustion, others its emotion, regardless, you two tended to work quite well together in figuring out a middle ground

Gods above, you were tired.

The day had dragged on and on, and you were so tired. You wanted to simply curl up and sleep the rest of your horrid day altogether-- general health, be damned, you're too tired to care.

You stumbled into your house, eyes lazily scanning through the room as you met with Wukong curled up slightly on the couch. You sigh, going behind the couch to observe him further.

He looked like shit too--like actual shit.

You tilted your head, seeing the way his eyes were faded, almost clouded with memory. His glamours had faded, revealing stressed fur streaked with grey and eyes that burned like the fires of Loazi's furnace. You rested your head on the couch, ignoring the way your body demanded to sit. You laid a gentle hand on Wukong's fur, trying your hardest to ignore the way he flinched before looking over at you.

Your eyes soften as he sits up, holding your face silently.

"Hey," Your voiced sounded pathetic. "You holding up alright?"

Wukong huffed, merely patting the couch, embracing you tightly as he nuzzled into you. You hugged him back, squeezing him as tight as you could while letting the stress of the day wash over you as Wukong merely melted into you.

Wukong's voice muffled against you, his tone sounded shattered.

"What was that, dear?"

Wukong lifted his head, "I had a rough day today."

"I'm sorry to hear." You mutter, kissing his forehead as Wukong laid against you. "Is there something I can do to help?"

"You look tired." Wukong whined, burying his face into the crook of your neck. "You should rest."

You chuckle, feeling emotions rise in your chest. You held them back for now. "I can't rest without you--you know this, silly."

The monkey chuckles wetly, choking on a sob. "You'll feel better if you cry too, right? That--emotion thing and the bottles or whatever."

You laugh, feeling your tears run down as you sobbed against Wukong. "The Great Sage--and all that wisdom--is trying to tell me to process my emotions."

Wukong laughed back, hugging you closely as you two continued to cry until your tears went out. With pounding heads and stuffy noses, you remained on the couch, snoring against Wukong as he strokes your hair, feeling his eyes close.

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - Part 10

PREVIOUS

He calls his grandma to thank her for everything. She promises him that if anything keeps him from her on Christmas she’ll just make her way over to South Carolina to see him. “Maybe I can give that boy who is bullying you a piece of my mind!” She says and he loves her for it even if the thought of Andrew vs. his 70 year old grandma gives him heart palpitations that have nothing to do with the five hour energy he just slammed when no one was looking.

(He had eaten turkey because Abby had asked if he didn’t like it when he had forgone the white meat being passed around. She looked SAD so he just piled the dark meat onto his plate (at least it has less tryptophan) trip and now he needs to counteract the turkey. He could not afford to be sleepy on the impending car ride.)

He lets her know that everyone likes her pie and Abby had been overjoyed when he informed her that his gran always attaches a recipe card to the bottom for any pie in transit / for public consumption. (This is a woman who has been asked enough that she has the confidence to assume).

He gets off the line and feels the 5 hour energy kick in when Captain Neil appears out of nowhere next to him and he thinks he strains something when he resists the flinch his rapidly beating heart almost forces him into. “What language was that?” He asks.

“Polish.”

“You really do know a lot of languages. Just like your friend said.”

DANGER. DANGER. DANGER.

“Not that many.” DEFLECT DEFLECT DEFLECT “When are we heading out to Columbia?” DAMMIT

Captain Neil blinks but smiles, “We’ll be heading out in a little bit. Abby’s packing us leftovers. Too bad there’s no pie left. Do you think we could make it at the house? Andrew really liked it.” Neil says.

Pie is a safe topic. Pie will not betray him. Also if Andrew wants pie then he can’t kill FF until FF makes it and, perhaps, the pie will buy him a few extra days of mercy from his executioner.

“We can try. The secret ingredient is a grandma’s love though.” He says because it’s on the recipe card. It’s the most important ingredient in the whole pie. It’s what can keep a pie warm across a country. “Gran always says whipped cream can be used as a substitute though.” he says.

Captain Neil blushes.

DAMMIT WHY? WHY BRING UP THE WHIPPED CREAM?

“Well, we’ll have to pick some up from the store.” Captain Neil manages.

FF blanks his face as best he can and nods but gets up his heart beating too fast to remain seated. “I’ll be outside.” He says because he needs to walk around in some circles while he can. The car ride to Columbia is going to be a nightmare in general but especially since he slammed the five hour energy.

Kevin is the reason for the hold-up and the reason that FF gets 80 more laps around the house. He’s reminding them that they can’t stop exercising just because it’s a break gesturing to himself and the 20 minutes of squats that he just did to burn off the pie and then to FF who passes a window for the 10th time since this conversation started “See FF is keeping up with his fitness. Be more like him.”

Wymack eventually drags Kevin out of the house and into his car since they’re spending the break together. He flashes FF a thumbs up as FF passes and FF (unaware as always but great at mimicking social cues) gives him a thumbs up back.

It’s then that they get into the car. FF (as is the way of the world) is sitting bitch with Aaron and Nicky on either side of him.

Captain Neil is up front and starts to play some music. Both Nicky and Aaron are conked out before they even reach the entrance to the interstate. They have also slumped onto FF with Aaron asleep on his shoulder and Nicky drooling into his hair.

“You can just shove them off.” Andrew says.

“It’s fine.” FF says reminiscing about the last time he’d had something like this.

20 minutes later it’s not fine because the five hour energy is definitely kicking in but it would be so rude to move and wake Nicky and Aaron up. Nicky is probably tired because he came to check on FF five different times the night before and kept dragging him away from whatever Saw movie he was taking notes on and Aaron ate a LOT of white meat so he’s filled to the brim with tryptophan.

But he thinks he’s about to vibrate out of his skin.

He closes his eyes to try and breathe through this when.

“Smith said that we can try and recreate his grandma’s pie. We’ll just have to do a grocery run tomorrow.” Captain Neil says in Russian.

“It was good pie.” Andrew returns in the same language.

“He said that the secret ingredient is grandmotherly love.”

“It was on the recipe card. It said for best results be sure to add throughout the baking process.”

“His grandma said whipped cream was a good replacement. That it goes great with the pie.”

Uh-oh

FF knows that tone.

FF has fled across campus, the bus, the dorm room, and (one one notable occasion) the locker room when he has heard that tone coming from Captain Neil.

“Pie isn’t the only thing it will enhance the flavor of.” Andrew says back and FF feels as the car speeds up.

FF wishes that Andrew would just hurry up and crazy murder him already. He’d take the reverse bear trap over this psychological torture. He wants to pull up his phone and read if the Geneva Conventions list this as a war crime.

NEXT

Per your requests:

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[todayisawthewhxlewxrld]

“you can call me on my phone i’ll run to you, you won’t ever have to Sleep Alone”

“but if you want it you can have it, you can have me in full”

synopsis// the lines between platonic and romantic become even more blurred for you, if possible, when you realize your best friend truly would do anything for you.

pairing// maki zenin x gn!reader

word count// 1.8k

contents// ages arent specified but everyone is adults, angst if you squint maybe, ooc maki/soft maki, hurt/comfort?, mentions of nightmares

notes// YES THIS IS INSPIRED BY ANOTHER WATERPARKS SONG LMFAOOOO. i cannot be stopped but cmon its sleep alone!! sleep alone supremacy!! my fav!!! also also this was supposed to be wayyyy more light hearted n then it suddenly got kinda deep for a moment idk how that happened... anyways do ppl even read maki ff?

Nightmares were nothing new to you; you had them quite frequently, if not all the time, and your best friend had repeatedly told you to call her when they occurred, and she would be more than willing to come and comfort you. But how could you do that? You couldn't for two reasons.

The first being that your best friend was Maki, and she wasn't much of a touch person (or really a people person in general), which is all you wanted in those moments: to be held. and two, that your best friend was Maki. the girl you are quite literally in love with. Is it silly to be in love with the oh-so independent girl who demands to do things herself? Yes, very much so, and you know that considering you’re the exact opposite. Neither of which is a bad thing; it just makes things difficult— well it would if you two were dating, you think. 

Tonight was just like any other night: you got yourself comfy in bed, scrolled through your phone for a few minutes before texting a sweet little goodnight to Maki, who quickly replied back, wishing you sweet dreams; it was just like any other night, nightmares included. which is why you woke up in a cold sweat, practically panting; the only thing illuminating your room was the moon.

Once you had slightly calmed down, you sat up and grabbed your phone. You flinched away from the bright screen until your eyes could adjust, finally seeing that it was around two a.m. You sighed as you unlocked your phone and called Maki. You constantly refused her offer of coming over at times like this, but you always accepted her offer of calling; you’d take what you could get— which could be quite literally everything you want, but alas, you’re not aware of that yet.

Maki hums over the line. “Hey, you ok?”

You hum back. “nightmare.”

Maki clears her throat. “I’ll call you back in, like, ten minutes, maybe, ok?”

You go wide-eyed at her statement, and you can feel your heart drop a bit. Were you bothering her? “I'm sorry, are you busy?”

“Yeah, something like that, but i promise we’ll talk ok?" Maki says goodbye almost too eagerly before hanging up. 

You sigh and practically throw your phone back onto your side table as you flop back down in bed. You knew this day would come, where she’d get annoyed with how you called almost every night, with how you weren’t as self-sufficient as she was, and besides, what could she be doing at two in the morning? You don't know how long you lay there staring at your ceiling, feeling like you wanted the world to swallow you whole, but you know it's been awhile. You probably would have stayed like that until morning if it hadn't been for the knock on your front door bringing you back to your senses.

Your feet dragged as you begrudgingly made your way toward the door, opening it only to see Maki there with a slight tired smile on her face as she held a bag full of things you couldn't quite make out in one hand. Standing there in your pjs, you suddenly felt very vulnerable; yes, she's your best friend, but you didn't want her to see you like this, see you as a person? It would complicate things, complicate your feelings even further. Your face feels hot and blue as the two of you stand there in silence for a few moments. 

“Are you gonna let me in?” she asks flatly with a slight tilt of her head. 

You don't say anything; you just move out of the way and let her in, and she walks toward your room as if she'd been here before, which she hasn't.

“Maki, what are you doing here?” you ask in disbelief as she sits on your bed. 

“Well, I had a feeling you’d call, and I don't know; I thought it would be better for you if I was actually here, right?” She speaks so softly to you, which isn't much of a surprise; Maki was softer in general with you than she was with other people, and it always leaves you with butterflies, it always leaves you with a hope you know you shouldn’t entertain for your own sanity. 

“You could’ve told me,” you huff as you sit next to her on the bed. 

Maki laughs slightly. “Why, so you can tell me not to come? Yeah, right," she says jokingly.

You hum in agreement; she’s right; you'd never willingly let her come. “So what’s in the bag?”

Maki looks at the bag in her hand briefly before placing it on your side table. “Just some snacks; I wasn’t really sure what we’d do when I got here…”

You hum sleepily; you weren’t sleepy a few seconds ago, so why now? Why does just being around Maki soothe you like a lullaby? 

“Or we can lay down,“ she adds when she realizes how droopy your eyes are getting now. 

You don't try to protest her suggestions; you're too tired at this point, and your sole wish is just to lay down with her. You nod and get up to turn off the light you had turned on earlier when you heard the door. While you're up, Maki gets herself comfortable on the far side of the bed, and you quickly join her. The two of you lay there stiffly on your backs, and although you were sleepy and happy in her presence, it's not enough; you need to feel her, be held by her. 

“Maki?” you question meekly. 

“Yeah?” she hums.

“You can totally say no, but, um, do you think you could hold me?” You ask nervously as you fidget with your hands. 

Maki turns her head to look at you and doesn’t say anything; she just smiles sweetly at you while she lifts her arm, which you can see from your peripheral vision; she’s giving you access to lay on her. You look at her wide-eyed briefly before practically scrambling to get your head on her chest, your arm draping over her torso as she brings hers back down to rest on your back. You two lay still for a few moments before she starts to rub her hand up and down your back soothingly, an action she never thought would come naturally to her, yet here she is, and she has to say it might be the best feeling in the world—even better than proving her “family” wrong. 

"Y/N, how come you’ve never let me come over before?” She asks out of the blue, fingers still trailing up and down your back, which, along with the question, sends shivers down your spine that you hope she can’t feel. 

“I don’t know. I guess I’m embarrassed?” You murmur against her. 

“Embarrassed?” she asks, clearly confused. 

You groan slightly. “Haven’t you ever noticed how different we are?” 

Maki tilts her head down slightly to look at you, eyes and eyebrows narrowing at you in confusion. “what?” 

“You’re so self-sufficient, so independent, and I’m what? can’t go a night without a nightmare? need you there for me every night?” You respond back almost bitterly, disgusted by your own needs. 

maki scoffs. "Y/N, you might be more “independent” than I am.” 

“what? "How—I mean, look, you're here because of me!” you exclaim. 

“Did you ask me to be here?” she asks. 

you frown. “well no but-“ 

She cuts you off. “Have you ever asked me to be here?” 

“no…” you reply quietly, unaware of where she’s going with this. 

“exactly! You deal with all your shit by yourself, even when I’ve made it abundantly clear that I’m more than willing to be here for you. maybe you aren’t independent because you want to be, but you’re still independent,” she states matter-of-factly. 

“Isn’t being independent a good thing?” You ask quietly, your voice shaking slightly.

She shrugs slightly, as much as she can with you on top of her. “To an extent, but you can be independent and still let me be here for you; they aren’t mutually exclusive.”

You nuzzle your face into her and sigh. This is nice—nicer than you could’ve ever expected. Cuddling with Maki while she rubs her hand up and down your spine, comforting you in more ways than one, is something you could only dream about, but your dreams don’t even come close to this; the real thing is so much better. and suddenly you're clutching her shirt as words fly out of your mouth faster than you can keep up.

“Maki, I like you,” you murmur against her considering your face is practically shoved into her, almost like you're trying to become one with her, which to be honest, you kinda are.

She stifles a laugh. “i know.” 

You shake your head and reiterate, “No, I like you.” 

She hums and repeats, “I know.”

You blink a few times before you abruptly lift your head to look at her. “wait what?” 

She nods and smiles at you. “Oh yeah, I’ve known for a long time.” 

“How?” you exclaim. 

“You’re very obvious,” she replies nonchalantly. 

“And- And you’re okay with it?” You ask nervously, this was not how you were expecting your night to go at all. You were expecting to just call Maki for a little bit until you inevitably felt like you were bothering her and hung up, but not before she tells you she’s more than willing to go over, but you say no, and then you’d stare out your window until you eventually fell back asleep and maybe or maybe not get woken back up from another nightmare. That’s how you were expecting this night to go.

“Of course I’m okay with it; I like you too, moron,” she replies back playfully. 

You try to stop your mouth from dropping open, but to no avail; you’re absolutely shocked. You would have never guessed that she liked you back—okay, maybe you could considering how soft she was with you compared to everyone else, but that’s just how best friends are, right? Oh my god, are you seriously trying to convince yourself that she still sees you as just a friend when she just confessed otherwise? you’re insane.

Sometime while you were lost in thought, staring at Maki with your jaw dropped, she brought her free hand that wasn’t caressing your back up and shut your jaw for you, her hand on your face quickly bringing you back to earth.

You clear your throat and blink a few times before stumbling over your words, “So, uh, um, what now?” 

She hums and pretends to think for a moment. 

“Well, I think now you won’t ever have to sleep alone.” 

☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。

“If you tell anyone about me cuddling you, I’ll kill you, by the way,” she adds on not even a few moments later. 

You giggle before littering kisses on her face, speaking through the kisses, “Yeah, I know.” 

© LITTLEXBIMBO

[kyungjungirlies]

Night Has Come FF

(Kyungjun x reader)

Part: Two

¨CHOI JOO-WON WAS ELIMINATED BY THE MAFIA. CHOI JOO-WON WAS THE MAFIA¨

¨THE POLICE HAS USED THEIR POWER¨

Those were the first words that broke the spell of your trance. You sat on the floor, head pounding. You couldn't remember anything after Yool´s death. After you saw Kyungjun across you. What had happened?

Someone else had died? How?

"Hey, the broadcasting room. Who the fuck is controlling it? Huh?" Wooram said. His jaw trembled slightly, and his eyes were wide. He and a group of kids went to go look.

While you and Nahee joined the group in search of Joo-Won. What did it mean that he was the mafia? And how did he die? Was this game for real? Was it a sick joke? Were you all going to die?

You forced yourself to take deep breaths as you stared at Joo-Won´s limp form in the bathroom stall. Yoonseo bent down to touch the blood. "It's still wet." She said. You could make the conclusion all by yourself. He had died recently, very recently. It sent chills up your already unsteady body.

Kyungjun grabbed the Junhee´s shirt. "What do we do now huh?!"

"We leave. We need to get far away from here."

And so, you did, or you tried to at least. But you quickly figured out that you were locked in. A white line ran all around the building.

A warning had flashed on your phone when you all came near the line earlier. But two of you hadn't listened. They ended up just like Yool. Pounding their heads against each other till death.

You now walked limply to the snack bar. Ice, you needed ice for your throbbing head. Junhee had left with a group to see how far the line went. All there was left to do for you was wait. It made you itch all over.

The snack bar was open this time and it wasn't empty. You flinched slightly when you saw who was inside.

"What do you want?" Seungbin asked. His tone wasn't rude exactly. Kyungjun turned around to look at you. His left eyebrow rose slightly. You addressed him instead of his friend. "I need some ice for my head."

"What's wrong with your head?" He asked. His head cocked to the side as he studied you with a blank expression.

"It hurts." you replied simply. He nodded then waved you in. You barely looked at them as you made your way to the freezer. You took out a cup of ice cubes, closed the door and headed out. You could feel their eyes on you though. It unsettled you. But you kept your head high.

Right by the door, Kyungjun called your name. You turned around slowly.

"What?"

But he never answered. The alarm was back. Making you nearly drop the cup in your hands.

¨KIM DONG-HYUN HAS DIED. KIM DONG-HYUN WAS A CITIZEN¨

Your eyes widened.

"How is that even possible?" Spoke to no one in particular. But Kyung Jun caught your eyes. His just as wide as yours. You turned around and ran to the lobby.

The others had gathered there as well. You looked around for some sort of explanation but of course none of us here knew what was happening.

When they return, dirt stained, tired, and solemn, they told you. Donghyun slipped and fell outside the border. They didn´t tell you how exactly it happened. And none of you asked. What's more, you were all trapped. The border led into the woods, up a mountain. And then? Nothing. No people, no help. No nothing.

It was starting to sink in. Someone was going to die again tonight.

You looked at Yoonseo, Jeonwon, and Nahee. What are we going to do? Your eyes pleaded.

Could you even trust them? The thought crept up on you like an ice bath. You pulled out your phone and tried to click a name.

YOU CAN USE YOUR POWER AGAIN AFTER 48 HOURS

You cursed inwardly. Isn't the police supposed to be allowed to use their power every day? Why hadn't you chosen better yesterday? You felt a sense of guilt.

Tomorrow, you conclude with somewhat hope. You'd ask tomorrow. But who? And if they are the mafia, how do you convince the others?

At nighttime Junhee and Yoonseo came to find you and Nahee along with a group of students.

"Hey," he said upon entering. "We've decided not to vote. If we don't vote no one dies."

"Are you certain?" The idea sounded reasonable. But would whoever made the game allow it?

"No," he admitted. "But we have to try something."

"Yes, that's right I suppose. Did you tell everyone?" Nahee asked.

"No, we were actually hoping you could help us with that." Junhee said.

You hopped off the chair you'd been sitting on. "Sure thing." you said, itchy to do something. Anything.

You and Nahee found Somi and a group of students in one of the rooms. Yool's friends are in there too. You paused at the door. They were screaming at each other. You shared a look with Nahee.

"You told everyone to vote for him!" Somi hissed at someone.

"What? I saw you push him! Up on the mountain. He didn't slip at all!" The girl responded. Eunha. Your eyes widened at that.

You opened the door. Everyone looked at you.

"Junhee wants you to know that we're not voting on anyone." you said steadily. Your eyes scanned the room. 6 people.

"We already know!" Somi exclaimed, annoyed.

"Good." is all you said before slamming the door shut.

You met Junhee and Yoonseo in the hall again.

"We need to find Kyung Jun. And I can't find Dabeom either."

"He's in the snack bar." Mingi said. You looked at him. Really looked at him. Dark circles rimmed his eyes.

At the snack bar you found Kyung Jun, his two minions, and Dabeom. Seungbin was sitting on Dabeom´s back.

"What the hell do you think you're doing here?" Junhee asked.

Yoonseo and Jeongwon got Dabeom away from the bullies.

"Three against one? You guys are pathetic. " Mingi said, disgusted.

"Where do you think you're going?" Kyung Jun said to Dabeom, grabbing his shirt. He had suddenly gotten up.

"Hey, hey, hey. Enough. We need to discuss something. " Junhee tried to calm the situation.

"Why should I listen to you?" Kyungjun responded. Mingi pushed him with his hand, hard. Then turned to leave.

"Hey, you motherfucker!" Kyungjun took a box from one of the racks and hurled it at Dabeom's back. "Why should I listen to you, you son of a bitch? Come back here!"

Mingi turned around slowly. "Fucking bastards." He said, before pouncing on them. You ducked out of the way.

After a few minutes Mingi had kyungjun pinned on the floor." Fucking let go! Let go you son of a bitch!" Kyungjun screamed. "Will you listen?" Mingi asked. "Will you do as we say? Huh?"

Kyung Jun finally relented after what felt like an hour, "Fine, you motherfucker!"

Mingi let go slowly and got up.

But Kyung wasn´t done. He picked up a pair of scissors. You moved. You' were suddenly in front of him. Pushing him back. "Stop! Just stop! Get yourself together."

He stopped and looked at you.

"Please just think for a minute. Think about how this makes you look. What do you think the others are going to do if they see this?" Your eyes were pleading with him at this point. He kept staring at you.

"Why are you wasting your breath?" Jeongwon asked from behind you. "They'll all vote for him soon anyway. How about it?" She held up her phone.

"You fucking bitch." He hissed at her. He tried to step toward her, but you grabbed his arm. He halted. He looked at you again. Gaze so intense that you wanted to look away. But you didn´t. You swallowed.

"I won't tell anyone. We won't. But you have to stop. Drop the scissors. Please?" Your breathing was shallow and sweat started to dampen your forehead. He was still staring at you, with that same unreadability. Then he pulled back and threw his hands up. "Alright. Fine." He turned around at sat down on the chair near the window. Hands elbows resting on his knees, he looked up at all of you. "What are you still doing here?"

You still stared at him. His gaze had dropped. You let out a small, shaky breath. He looked up again. His eyes pierced into you with an expression you thought was hate, but later concluded was shame. ¨What are you looking at? ¨ He gritted through his bloody teeth.

Nahee pulled on your arm. "Let's go."

"Leave the snack bar unlocked. It's for everyone to use." Mingi said before walking towards the door.

You slowly turned around, feeling shaky.

■□■□■□■□■□

I am sincerely sorry for the long wait.

Please stay tuned for part 3

@queenjang21

[gloomyteddybear]

why framing matters

oneshot

cw/tw: it's more of an attempt at blackmail than anything, small-town typical 'tudes, it is now canon that 'prey! ghost popped a boner! also, homestuck ashen quadrants in a non-homestuck FF yay! and they kiss in the end!

i got the brainworms rn. straight up researching dialects for a fictinal american man written by canadians. then i remembered the bastard moved around a lot so he prolly picked up some new words

n-knee-way. continuation of 'prey!, this time MC's pov!

the two main things about small towns is that 1: everyone knows somebody. there's few enough people to share your attention to without spreading it too thin, at the very least remember their face enough to feel sympathy. so if they die it hits hard; fewer people means that the odds are higher, it's like shooting fish in a barrel.

in small towns you are 1 in a 1000, while in cities the odds are rarer 1-100.000. in a such a cramped town where everyone knows everyone, to do that is either a sign that they're stupid, have an accomplice or a real attention seeker.

and 2: word travels fast; specially if it is a tragedy, gossip is like rotten carrion for the vultures--- specially reporters and journalists. however, theres a instinctual hesitation to point fingers, 'they'd never hurt a fly' can only do so much to quell distrust. yes, they'd never say you did it, still treating you like they always did, defending your innocence and sweeping accusations under the rug--- but there's still that way some people look at you, the boat rockers to be precise. they'd never say it to your face, thanks to your friends, but they know.

i-told-you-so's already curled in their tongue like trying to hide a bullet on open-not-hiding-anything hands, the anticipation made them dangerous, you just knew. the way one wrong step is all it takes--- how a frightened deer might dash its brains against a tree in the scramble to flee a predator; or worse, trigger fingers on cowards that'd flinch a 'ready, go!'-shot on the air and begin the racing stampede. mass-hysteria herd-mentality. 

your friends-acquaintances-neighbors they'd rather deny on one's guilt, at least until the truths staring straight at them... unless one's an outsider. you were born an outsider, sure you were conceived and raised here. but you'd never fit in.

but, jed, meek door-mat who was not even here for a fraction of your lifetime was accepted with open arms.

ain't that unfair? 

a boring, condescendingly soft-spoken man with one of those 'aren’t i so charming and genuine, please like me’ smiles already curling his lips, they don't know him like they knew you. he had time to perfect the act. he's a novelty-clean slate of a man.

you muttered to yourself, "what can you do? you win some, you lose some,” you shrugged in consolation, "life’s fair like that.” you clean the counter harder.

it's not his fault, rationally you know it. somebody's gotta win somebody's gotta lose. he's not the one that put the cheese in the maze, it's these 'small town neighbors' types that pinned you two against eachother (although, you admit, the bitterness is rather one-sided). you're not a sore loser--- but this...you're already on thin ice, this could shatter it. this is what it feels to come second. without the damn cheese you'd starve---but it's fine. could be worse.

so. jed-one, you-zero

then, worse comes. some nosy ghost thinks he can waltz into your special little picnic, the same ghost who've been making tensions run high with paranoia. it's already bad enough without all the pointing fingers.

but you choked him, he was smart-dumb about it. dumb in the way he stayed down and didn't react when you did, let you take your anger out on him or at least until you lose interest, you could've killed him. but smart enough to know that defending himself would make it worse. like encountering a moose or a bear. you'd crush his skull.

he popped a fear-boner. you think. maybe an actual arousal boner, that's why he groped the tiny-thin bones of your wrist instead of breaking them. and destroy the grass. that too. you judge only a bit--- figures, serial killers aren't the most well adjusted people in the world. and one with that type of crime-scenes, probably has some psychosexual issues going on.

he bumbled away from your grasp like a fresh-born fawn after. he needed-deserved that win. ghost: one, you: zero. ugh. but it was by the goodness of your heart.

a 'ring!' on the door-chime and a hoarse "hey, sorry hi." brings an end to your musings and delivers jed, who waltzes in when you're about to close for the night. sporting a shiny new turtleneck that you just know these damn granny's drool over.

jed notices you staring at the new fashion statement, he smiled self-deprecatively "i look way-too-much like a churchy in my sunday best, don't i?"

he could see the white of your eyes from all the glaring.

he winced, pursing his lips like he ate something sour "sorry- like, i also have a graveyard if that makes you feel better?" he smiles winsomely, like the brownosed lapdog he is

he makes his order and smiles, you almost stop yourself from slamming it on the counter "sorry again." he slips a crushed bill out of his messenger bag and doesn't stay for you to give him his change, at least he tips well.

when you finish closing down for the night, locking the back-door, jed was hanging out by the back entrance.

you already knew, despite his doormat demeanor he was just like you. dead eyes. he at least had the 'decency' to hide his horns.

but that didn't mean you couldn't pretend that you didn't--- act startled and hit him in your 'surprise', as a treat. it should at least cut down the sneaking-up-on behaviour straight from the bud. you're not going to encourage that kind of stuff, specially since your latest voyeur probably managed to get enough to blackmail you (but for some odd reason, despite his reputation---he didn't use it, yet.)

you swung.

you: one. jed: one. tie.

"oh fuck..." he breathlessly mutters, cradling his bloodied nose.

"jed!" you fake a gasp. and trotted towards him, fussing over him with the hem of your clothes to staunch the bleesing. not broken, good.

"there we go, it hurts still right? but don't you feel better without all that blood on your face?" you coo like you’re soothing a startled wild animal. the same way hunters soothe a rabbit in a trap, clicking their tongue and making soft, gentle sounds until they can get a good angle at it's neck. 

and that's what you did.

he sags, as if all the fight leaves his body, in that oh-so familiar way--- you'd wave it off as a fear response (fight, flight, freeze, fawn, flop), but... it scratches at a very lovely-fresh memory, raw, still. pink and new--- shoes skidding backwards to slam himself against the harsh textured wall, making you pin him down like a tack in a conspiracy-board. he fumbles around his torso- one hand still at your wrist, padding for the strap on his shoulder.

he manages to overturn his messenger bag, scattering polaroids all over the concrete. it's you!

not you red-handed during the act of burial (it makes you reconsider his identity again). but still some... not incriminating but definitely putting the last nail on line of nails on the iceberg--- just a small knock with a hammer, is enough to split that down the middle (these metaphors are getting worse and worse)--- you wont get arrested but people will take matters into their own hands.

not fully un-rightfully. because-yes, you're a serial killer, but also no: you didn't kill those guys, so you would probably get vigilante'd for the sins of- and as the ghostface.

still enough to be usable as blackmail, a tiebreaker.

you falter, and he takes the opportunity to use the gap in your hands to breathe. “do it.” he gasps.

did he want to die? "dont worry, it'll all be over soon."

"don't. want it to last." ah, no, masochism. damn, what do they feed these journalists? maybe the jokes about their tendency to get into trouble was right.

red-blue-magenta-mix lights creeps-in near the alley like the neon-sign of a shitty night club--- as if you could get burned, you instinctively press closer against that cramped little corner in the alleyway, squeezing in like you're trying to get a spot in the dark. a patrol car. not immediate danger but definitely bad. 

this was timed way too right, planned. he probably memorized their route like the chess-player he is.

you're not playing chess, though. you always preferred social-deduction games instead, the one where cheating people and lying is encouraged. the dirtiest trick of them all, you kiss him softly on the lips for good luck. you never said you were below underhanded tactics.

"don't do this to me." he growled.

you smiled, squeezed tighter until his eyes got all sleepy, and he passes out.

you run. as un-incriminating these photos of you are, these probably incriminate him instead.

your win. 

ghost-jed: two. you: two

you're evenly matched, joy, you have a playmate.

[clementinechatsshit]

money, power, glory - coriolanus snow x plinth!oc

description: rhea plinth wanted one thing more than anything in this world. power. this is her story of descending into the hunger for power. the addiction to it. and if she can love through this hunger.

tw: 18+ standard hunger games shizzle, strong language, spice, toxic relationships, power hungry bitches, rhea is just as twisted as snow

a/n: hi peeps, this is my first attempt at writing anything ff related, but coryo has been in my brain since i read tbosas. i didnt want to write him ooc but rather embrace the fact that he is bat shit crazy and create a character that also embraces and encourages that side of him. i dont think ive read any ffs that have a reader/oc that is also as fucked up as snow. pls be nice

What is the purpose of the Hunger Games? 

I used to think that they were to bring justice to Panem. To punish the districts for the uprising. We’d always been taught that, and I believed it. Yet, now I see things a little differently. I see things for how they truly are. I was eighteen when I learnt the truth about the Hunger Games. How they are played, and how they are really won.

‘Rhea?’ a voice echoes from behind me. I snap my head around to see my brother leant against the frame of my bedroom door.

‘Sejanus, what have I said about knocking’, he flinches at my response, my tone harsher than intended. 

He lowers his gaze to the blazer in his grip, cowering from the hardened stare I deliver his way. ‘I’m sorry’ weak, ‘we’re going to be late’. 

I turn to fully face him, lifting my face to a content smile. My heels clack on the marble flooring as I cross the room, I pause for a second in front of him, waiting. Sejanus holds his elbow out for me to link my hand through, my gloved hand brushes the soft thread of his shirt as an avox approaches and hands me my purse. 

‘Bye, mother!’, ‘See ya, Ma’ we shout as we leave the penthouse. Sejanus never stopped calling our mother ‘ma’, juvenile if you ask me. Sometimes I think he wants to be back in the districts.

The red silk of my dress grazes the bottoms of my calves as we make our way to the car, another avox our driver. I see avox’s as the perfect company, they know their place in this society, even if they did have to learn it the hard way. They know that they have no power, they have accepted that there are consequences to their actions. They don’t talk back either. 

‘The Academy’ a demand, not a request. 

‘Please.’ Sejanus adds

The Academy. Only the elites have the privilege of attending, and only the greats go on to study at the University. We may not be Capitol born, but we belong there more than anybody else. For ten years, I have been proving my place amongst my fellow students, before I even set foot in the Capitol, I knew I am simply better than them all.

I entered first. Shoulders back, chin up. Make them stare. The first thing I know about power. If you can’t command a room, you have none. I felt the eyes on me as I strode in, then I heard the whispers. I had power, you see, I have their attention when I give them none. I glance around the room attempting to find someone worth a morsel of my time, when I hear his voice.

‘Rhea Plinth’, that is a voice I would never tire of hearing.

‘Coriolanus Snow’ I acknowledge him, giving him a once over. The pinstripes of his dress shirt, dated, yet he made it look like an arising trend in the Capitol. A rose tucked into the formal vest. He was handsome indeed, a shame about the mismatched tesserae buttons. I placed my hand into his outstretched palm, watching him raise it to his lips as he leant down and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of it in greeting. 

‘Rhea, can you just get it over and done with, Snow won the Plinth Prize, didn’t he?’ the bratty whine of Arachne Crane interrupted.

‘I can’t confirm anything’, power, ‘however, I can say things will get interesting this year.’ my voice almost sultry as I spoke directly to Coriolanus, not even bothering to turn to Arachne. 

‘Now, Coriolanus, walk with me?’ a huff sounds from beside us as we turn to leave the hall. 

‘Won’t people suspect something?’ I feel his breath on my neck as he hunches down to be level with my ear.

‘They’ll just assume I’m telling you about the prize’, I remain facing ahead, the doors to the adjoining hallway open. A rare smile hooks at the corners of my mouth as we round the corner, a pillar shielding us from the curious eyes of anyone passing. 

‘Ah yes, Miss Plinth doing her duty as the liaison for the prestigious Plinth family.’ His mocking tone forces my eyes to roll, as we slowly step backwards. I may be the representative of the Plinth family for all intents and purposes, but with Coriolanus, I don’t have to be. See, I know who he really is, I know that his family has no money, I’ve seen the apartment they live in. Deep down, I know that all he sees in me is District, but I am the one thing that stands between him and the power he craves. That’s why we have this arrangement. I secure his future in the Capitol, and he makes sure that no one will ever see me as district again. 

I’m drawn from my thoughts as my skin hits the cold wall behind me, a hand snaking its way around my waist. A hooked finger nudges my chin, lifting my gaze to meet the piercing blue eyes looking down at me. The intensity of his stare is almost intimidating. His grip changes as he strokes a fallen piece of hair behind my ear. 

‘You look pretty like this,’ he murmurs, leaning in. His lips graze mine and I feel him inhale. Like he’s breathing in my surrender. I crash my lips against his, our noses bumping against each other, but neither of us minding. His lips are rough against mine, more aggressive. You look pretty like this. I look pretty when you think you have control over me.

I reach my hands around his neck, tangling my fingers into the blond curls. I tug once, he groans, I tug again. Who’s in control now, Coryo. He squeezes my waist and I sigh into the kiss. Our whole exchange is a power play. His tongue slips into my mouth as he reaches his hand lower, and lower. Maybe I could give in this once.

The echo of someone clearing their throat shatters the tension between us. Coriolanus takes a few instinctive steps back as I swing my head around to look at who dared interrupt us. 

Dean Casca Highbottom.

‘Mr Snow, Miss Plinth. I assume you are heading into the hall to hear the announcement?’ He looked disgusted, disappointed. 

‘Yes, of course, Dean Highbottom.’ Coriolanus responded instantly, leaving me standing with the Dean, marching back into the grand hall, his hands reaching up to fix his hair

‘They can’t make the announcement without me, Casca. You know that,’ I give him a knowing look before following Coriolanus’ lead. I look back over my shoulder to see the Dean opening a vial and consuming the contents. 

I found Coriolanus standing with my brother and another girl from our class, Dovecote, Clemensia I believe. I give her a slight nod as a hello, not wanting to waste my breath on her. ‘Hello Sejanus, Coriolanus.’ glancing up at the boys, flashing a quick smirk at them.

‘Rhea, where were you?’ Sejanus queries, his brows furrowed, ‘you’re meant to be naming the winner.’ 

‘Brother mine, you worry too much. Besides, there's been a slight change in plan.’ This is power. Knowledge. Money. 

‘Can everyone take their seats,’ the instructions come from one of the teachers at the Academy.

I leave the group and make my way up to the podium, passing Dean Highbottom on the way. The room silences as I ascend the stairs. As I glance down to the crowd, I catch Coriolanus’ eye, he looks hopeful. He needs this prize. To anyone else, it’s about the title. To him, this is everything. 

‘My father, Strabo Plinth, has been gracious enough, over the years, to provide incentive to those at the Academy in the form of the Plinth Prize. An award bestowed upon the student who excels in every aspect of their education. An honour for any student who wins it.’ my voice strong, conductive, they are hanging on my every word. Power. I see Arachne glare over at the blond boy, they all think they know. They all think he has won. ‘This year, we want to make things harder, create more of a challenge. This year, myself and my mentor, Dr. Ghaul, want you. The top twenty-four. The elite. To become mentors yourselves.’ slight muttering begins to spread around the room. ‘This reaping day, you will be assigned tributes, you will guide them, make spectacles of them, and one of you. You will create a victor.’ 

The voices become louder, anger begins to bubble. Arachne is already complaining, Sejanus looks horrified. But Coriolanus, he is furious. And me, a large grin spreads its way across my face.

Now this. This is power.

[sinfulslytherin]

Draco Malfoy ff

Summary: Draco helps you to take a shower after your boyfriend hurt you

Warning: Mentioning of abuse, sexual tension

A small sneak peak from my next chapter in the book "Guillotin" on Wattpad <3

*•,.*•,.*•,.*•,.*•,.*•,.*•,.*•,

"I'm gonna help you shower, just tell me where not to grab." Draco says as he takes the shower head from my hand and turns on the water.

I get nervous. He just needs to open one eye and Draco would be able to see me completely naked.

"Are you facing me?" Draco asks while testing the water temperature on his hand.

"Yes."

"Turn around. I'll start with your hair and...backside. Tell me as soon as it hurts too much"

I can feel the water hitting my skin. His hands go through my hair as he massages my scalp slightly.

"May I touch your shoulders?"

I only nod, forgetting that his eyes are closed.

"I need a verbal consent, Amara." He says while gently pulling my hair back.

"Yes."

His hands carefully wander to my shoulder and I flinch and whine as soon as the water hits my bruise.

"Fuck." I curse.

"It's okay." He quickly let's the water run over the upper part of my back before lowering the shower head to build some distance to my bruised shoulder "That's it. Good job."

I shiver at his praising words and I know he can feel it.

Dracos hand slowly wanders down my back before hesitantly grabbing my waist.

"Is that okay?" Draco asks again, seemingly nervous himself.

"I'm okay with everything as long as you're careful." I say in a small voice.

"Don't say that, Amara. That makes all of this even harder."

I don't quite understand what he means so I just say nothing.

I slowly turn around since I want him to help me with my thigh.

He doesn't expect me to move, so while I turn around his hand which was placed on my waist moves along my stomach.

"Could you please try to be careful on my left thigh. It's on your right." I request while moving.

"Shit, Amara. Warn me before you move." He curses silently.

Before he moves his hand to my thigh, he stretches his fingers and his thumb touches the wound under my breasts.

I flinch.

"I'm sorry." He apologizes before asking "May I clean it?-Otherwise the wound might inflame."

"Be careful please."

Draco carefully lifts the shower head up so that it's on the height of my collarbone. I hiss and curse under my breath as the water hits my wound. Tears form in my eyes.

"It's okay, Amara" Draco tries to calm me down.

His hands move slightly up and his fingers meet the wound as he carefully makes sure that the water runs over it.

While doing so his finger accidentally brush along my under boob.

I turn red.

"Shit- Sorry." Draco apologizes

I look at his face and his ears turn slightly red.

"It's okay." I say, still more focused on the pain.

"I think the water also ran along your thighs while cleaning your wound. May I check if it's still sticky?"

"Yes but please be careful. The bruise on my thigh hurts really bad."

"Can you bring my hand there? Otherwise I might accidentally touch somewhere else.." He requests.

I gently grab is hand and bring it down to my thighs.

He lightly grabs my right thigh and runs his hand and up and down, careful not to go too high.

I'd be lying if I said that I didn't feel aroused by his touch. I can feel my breath getting heavier.

He switches sides and is careful due to my bruise.

"You seem to be clean. Can you wash the ends of your hair yourself? I'll grab you a dress." Draco asks.

"Sure. Thank you"

Draco hands me the shower head and carefully tries to find his way out.

As soon as the door closes I wash my ends with shampoo.

I am quickly finished and step out of the shower.

I take a towel and dry my hair before carefully drying my body off. I still feel the pain everytime I come in touch with my bruised skin.

I grab my bra and my panties and put them back on. I take a look in the mirror for a brief second, hating the reflection.

I stare at the wound underneath my breasts. I feel humiliated.

I don't even have enough time to think about how to cover up my bruises as the door opens and Draco steps inside.

He closes the door behind him and looks up.

We both freeze and stare at each other.

My face turns red as I realize that Draco Malfoy just saw me in my underwear.

He looks me up and down before bringing himself back to reality and quickly closing his eyes

"Fuck- I'm sorry I didn't know you already stepped out of the shower." Draco says.

"No, it's okay." I say quietly while trying to calm myself down from the embarassing encounter.

"Amara?"

"Yes?"

"May I open my eyes?"

What?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~!

Here you can read the whole chapter <3

[keto-keyes]

The Misfit Gang (Slytherin Gang ff)

This is a OC insert imagine, with multiple parts. If you don't want to use the name ive chosen, feel free to insert your own :)

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 Part 2

After the sorting, where a certain Harry Potter had been sorted into Gryffindor, Soren sat in between Pansy and a tall, dark skinned boy named Blaise. She'd been sorted into Slytherin,  the house of the ancient De Villes  from over 50 years before. It was the same house as a certain Draco Malfoy, but anything was better than being in Hufflepuff like the 20 nameless and useless family members before her. 

Blaise didn't talk much, his eyes only on his food, but they'd exchanged a couple of words when the feast had been served and the school song finally finished. But as Soren saw it, it was better than nothing. At least she had a friend, and, by the sound of Pansy's animated conversation on her right, maybe even more. 

"Can you pass the pumpkin juice?" asked a soft voice. Blaise's voice. 

Soren glanced up from her steak, reached to grab the jug, and passed it to him, barely making noise. 

"Here," she said, just as quietly, "Do you need anything else?" 

They stared at each other for a moment, Blaise finding the words to say whatever was on his mind and Soren waiting to be answered, before he once again opened his mouth. 

"Mmh... the custard tarts? I-if you don't mind," he mumbled. 

'Not much of a talker,' Soren thought, 'But he's nice, I guess.' She passed him the plate of tarts and was about to turn back to her food when he spoke once more. 

"T-thanks... Soren." 

Soren almost jumped when he said her name, though quietly, and her head snapped to face him with a light blush. 

"Oh! Y-you're welcome, Blaise," she replied, whispering almost, in case anyone was watching, "Anytime." 

"Call me Zabini," he grunted, "'pparently it's a sign of weakness if you use first names in Slytherin. Malfoy said." 

"O-of course," she answered, shivering at the mention of Malfoy. 

She noticed he did the same when he said the blonde boy's name, and smiled hopefully up at him. He didn't return her smile, but nodded curtly instead. 

                                      -----------**-----------

In the Slytherin common room, a few days after the first years began school at Hogwarts, Soren and Blaise sat side-by-side in a dark corner. They both had homework (Pansy too but she refused to miss the girls' sleep-out), and although neither needed help and they didn't talk, the silence wasn't uncomfortable. Suddenly, Malfoy and his cronies sauntered over, smirking and laughing amongst themselves. Soren did her best not to look up at him, not to show fear. But when he stood above her and blocked out her light, she couldn't stop herself. 

"Ha! I knew you'd be over here! See boys, the nerds are studying again!" Malfoy cackled, high-fiving one of them. 

"P-please move," Soren whispered, not wanting a conflict. 

Malfoy stuck his face next to hers, sneering, and grabbed her transfiguration book. 

"What was that? Speak up when you talk to important people!" he jeered at her, flipping through pages of the book. 

Soren turned away and, raising her voice the slightest bit, said, "I said - please move." 

Malfoy laughed and dropped her book down on the table, shattering her quill's nib. 

"My father is a big, wealthy wizard. I'll tell him if you say anything," he warned her in a sneer, the two brutes cracking their knuckles. Soren flinched. 

Blaise jumped to his feet, throwing down his book and almost knocking the table over as he stood. 

"Give it a REST Malfoy!" he growled, "Your dad couldn't care less about you, and you know it! Shut up and leave her ALONE!" 

For once, Malfoy shut up and walked off.  His cronies shot Blaise dirty looks but still they, too retreated. Puffing, Blaise flopped back down onto his seat and wiped his brow. 

"Thank you, Zabini," Soren whispered, touching his arm. 

He looked at her for a second, seeing how shaken she was, then picked up his quill and held it out to her. 

"You're welcome Soren," he replied, taking her broken quill and stuffing it in his own bag. He thought for a second before adding, "And, you know, you can call me Blaise. I don't really care about strength and weakness, OR what Malfoy says anymore." 

Smiling at him and taking the quill, Soren nodded. 

"You're a good friend, Blaise," she said softly. 

[novaursa]

i've been reading through your blog and your stories are so enjoyable to read and suck you right into the world, and since the requests are open. 🏃‍♀️ the reader is coming to kingslanding, for her wedding to aemond. however, she is deaf, and he isn't sure how to connect with her, thinking perhaps if he should hate her because she's reflecting his own disability back to him. thinking if this marriage might even be punishment, but throughout their time together he one day sees her with vhagar, she's leaning against her feeling the dragon rumble, and she's smiling ... maybe you'd like to write something with that, don't care if you change things or what ending it gets, you can decide freely. thx !! 💗

The Silence

- Summary: Aemond viewed your betrothal to him as another punishment he must endure. But then he introduced you to Vhagar and saw how truly special you are.

- Paring: tyrell!reader/Aemond Targaryen

- Rating: Mild 13+

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

- A/N: ❤️

The sun hangs low over King’s Landing, casting shadows that stretch across the Red Keep as you arrive. The capital, bustling and vibrant, is a sharp contrast to the verdant expanse of Highgarden, your home, but you’ve been preparing for this moment. You can’t hear the raucous calls of merchants or the clamor of city life below, but you can see the way the guards at the gates watch you with curious eyes, the way servants scurry about, and the sharp looks from courtiers. All eyes are on you, the Tyrell betrothed to Prince Aemond Targaryen.

You’re led to your chambers by a lady-in-waiting who introduces herself as Taena. Her lips move quickly as she tries to make conversation, her voice lost on you. You nod and smile, following her lead, trying to hide the apprehension bubbling in your chest. The grandeur of the Red Keep feels overwhelming, each step a reminder that you’re far from home, about to marry a prince whose reputation precedes him.

Aemond, they say, is a cold, sharp-edged blade of a man, known for his intellect and ferocity. He lost his eye and gained a dragon, but not the love of the people. And now, he’s gained you—a wife he never asked for.

You haven’t met him yet. Not properly. There was the brief, formal introduction when you arrived, a stiff greeting in the throne room with his mother, Queen Alicent, and his siblings. Aemond had looked at you, his single eye icy and unreadable, his mouth a thin line of disdain. It was hard not to flinch under that gaze, to keep your chin up and meet his stare. He’d offered you his arm, and you’d taken it, the weight of his hand on yours strangely heavy, the air between you thick with unspoken words and unacknowledged fears.

He did not try to speak to you, not that day. You wondered then if he knew, if he had been told that his betrothed could not hear. Or if, perhaps, it made no difference to him. What was one more defect?

The days since have been filled with preparations for the wedding, leaving little time for you to dwell on what your life will be like here. Today, however, is different. Today, Prince Aemond has decided to spend time with you, and you sense the tension in every step as you walk beside him through the castle gardens.

His movements are clipped, precise, and there’s a hardness to him, a steel that does not bend. He speaks little, his words few and far between, his gaze never quite meeting yours. You try to follow his lips, to catch the meaning behind them, but his speech is too quick, his diction too sharp.

Frustration wells up, but you swallow it down. You’ve learned to live with silence, to read the world through other senses. He hasn’t learned to live with you yet. The thought stings more than it should.

He stops suddenly, turning to you, his eye flicking over your face as if searching for something. He gestures, a broad motion towards the distance, and you follow his hand, squinting against the sun. You can just make out the massive shape of a dragon, its wings folded, its head turned in your direction.

Vhagar.

Your breath catches in your throat. You’ve seen dragons before, from a distance, but never so close. Vhagar is ancient, her scales jaded and mottled, her presence a shadow that looms over the earth. She’s beautiful in a terrifying way, her sheer size and power awe-inspiring.

You glance at Aemond, who’s watching you intently. There’s a challenge in his gaze, a dare. He’s waiting to see you flinch, to see you tremble before the beast that even the bravest knights fear. You lift your chin, your heart pounding in your chest, and take a step forward.

Vhagar’s massive head tilts slightly, her eyes, like molten gold, narrowing as you approach. You keep your movements slow, measured, your hands out at your sides. You’ve learned that all creatures, from the smallest songbirds to the greatest dragons, respond to calm, to confidence.

You don’t know if Vhagar will understand, but you hope she will.

The ground seems to shake as you get closer, her breaths rumbling through the earth like distant thunder. You can feel the heat radiating from her scales, the sheer weight of her presence. When you’re close enough, you reach out, your fingers brushing over the rough texture of her scales. The dragon rumbles beneath your touch, the sound a deep, reverberating vibration that you can feel through your bones.

You smile, your heart soaring, and you lean in closer, resting your forehead against her side. Vhagar huffs, a sound that vibrates through your entire body, and you feel the tension that has been coiled inside you since you arrived in King’s Landing begin to loosen, to unfurl.

Aemond watches you, his expression unreadable. He had expected you to recoil, to balk at the sight of Vhagar’s sheer enormity. But you haven’t. Instead, you’ve done something he rarely sees from anyone—you’ve shown no fear, only a quiet, almost gentle strength.

His chest tightens as he observes you, your delicate form dwarfed by Vhagar’s immense bulk, your face softening into a smile as the dragon shifts, a low, contented rumble escaping her throat. He’s seen men twice your size cower before Vhagar, seen warriors blanch and turn pale. But you—this woman who cannot hear, who has been forced into a marriage with a prince who does not want her—stands before his dragon with an ease that borders on reverence.

He steps closer, his boots crunching on the gravel, and Vhagar’s eye flicks towards him. He hesitates, unsure for a moment, then reaches out to rest his hand beside yours on Vhagar’s side. You look up at him, your eyes bright, the smile still lingering on your lips.

For the first time, he’s unsure of what to say. He’s spent so long building walls around himself, using his sharp tongue and his sharper mind to keep people at bay, that he doesn’t know how to reach across the chasm that lies between you. He doesn’t know how to connect with someone who, by all rights, should be as broken as he feels.

But you aren’t broken. You’re here, standing beside his dragon, smiling up at him as if he’s something more than the scarred, half-blind prince of a family that’s falling apart.

He clears his throat, glancing away. “You’re… not afraid,” he says, his voice low. He doesn’t know if you can understand him, but he says it anyway.

You tilt your head, studying his face. Your fingers move slowly, shaping words he barely knows, but he watches intently, trying to understand. She is beautiful, you sign, the motions graceful, deliberate. She is strong.

His breath catches. He hadn’t expected that. “Yes,” he replies, his voice softer now, almost reverent. “She is.”

You smile again, a small, gentle thing, and turn back to Vhagar, stroking her scales with a tenderness that Aemond has never seen in anyone but his mother. And as he watches you, something shifts inside him, something deep and buried and aching. It’s not love, not yet, but it’s a start. An understanding, perhaps, that the woman standing beside him, who cannot hear his words but sees so much, might be more than he ever expected.

Might be exactly what he needs.

[splendsay]

ACOTAR FF // Azriel x F!Reader // Shade Cerulean

happy chewsday my dearies, hope ur safe and dry and warm <3

pls enjoy

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Shade Cerulean // Chapter 3: Deconstruction

!!MDNI!!

Chapters: 3/? Content Warnings: Explicit language (a/o Ch.3) Pairing: Azriel (ACOTAR) x Reader (You) Chapter Preview:

When Azriel reappears -- hours later -- the violet-eyed man is with him, just as elegant and imposing as before, though he's changed clothes. His new obsidian attire is crisp, freshly pressed. He looks regal -- terrifying, if beautiful. Dark power emanates off him, sending a shudder of fear down your spine. 

Azriel backs into the gloom, ever content in his reticence, allowing his...boss, you guess, to step forward in the dim light. The beasts below rumble in welcome. 

You stifle a growl as you glare up at him, chin tucked. The corner of his mouth twitches ever so slightly.

Hello Cerulean.

You flinch, the low purr of the violet-eyed man's voice reverberating in your head. You'd fucking known it. Bender. Mind Bender. You shoot daggers out your eyes, sharp as you can make them. Bastard. His own eyes twinkle with tiny glittering stars, though the rest of him remains stoic. Impassive.

You only know one Mind Bender from home, and she is inarguably one of the worst people you've ever had the displeasure of sharing air with. Mistera. But...she had forcibly trained you, and the others in the Guild, on how to manipulate a Bender -- and protect your mental valuables. It had been grueling. Highly unpleasant. And you'd griped the whole time -- you don't even work in the field, you're just a weapons mistress, and how the hells is this even applicable to you in the first place.

Well. If you ever see her again, you'll volunteer yourself to eat your words. 

Hello man whose name I do not know.

He raises a brow -- just one. I am not a man.

You blink. What are you then?

In this world, men are human. I am a male.

You scrunch your nose. Seems like semantics to me.

He chuckles. In your head. It's unnerving. Be that as it may...

I still don't know your name.

He pauses, considering you for a moment. You may call me Rhysand.

Rhysand. You repeat it back to him, and he nods. 

This is not the first time you've spoken mind-to-mind. It's an observation. A statement. But he almost says it like a question. 

Afraid not.

He chuckles again, aloud this time, and cuts a glance to Azriel whose stony expression betrays nothing. 

A shiver rocks through you -- the cell is cold. And you've been sitting here long enough that the chill has reached your bones. Maybe if you're extra cooperative they'll let you back above ground.

You're here to see the monster.

Rhysand turns his gaze back to you. If you'll allow it.

I didn't actually see it, you know. 

I'd like to know what you did see.

And that's all you want to see?

Another gracious nod. That's all. 

You narrow your eyes. Lie.

He holds up two hands, placating. I will not pry. Promise.

Like hells do you believe him. But maybe he can help...Azriel seemed to realize something -- something important enough to draw this Rhysand down here -- he who is clearly the leader of them all. You wonder as to what exactly it is he's the leader of. Certainly more than the people you met. A city maybe? Country?

You'd Navigated away to find help. You needed it. Your home world had been woefully unprepared for an invasion of magic-eating monsters. You don't even know what you'll return to. If...if you can. You feel ill at that thought. That you might not be able to go back. 

You shake your head. Clear the fear. Stay alive. 

But maybe...maybe the gods guided you here. Maybe you landed here for a reason. 

You sigh.

Alright. Go on, then.

He sketches a modest bow of thanks, though it feels a bit like he's mocking you. 

Cool, dark talons caress the walls of your mind -- a request. You resist the urge to cringe away from them. 

With Mistera's militant guidance, you've managed to build a veritable fortress around your memories -- fortified with electrified fencing and a moat full of mythical, scaled beasts. Energy crackles along the perimeter, snapping and hissing with arcs of white. 

It flares and pops against his mental touch, but he doesn't shy away. You merely hear another chuckle rumble through your head. You subdue a scowl. 

Slowly, you open the gate, just barely, and allow him to pass through unharmed, hauling a specific memory forward and shoving it at him with everything in your power. It's the only one you can spare. You hope it's enough -- and that he keeps his promise. 

It's...hell to relive. You only have flashes -- vibrant and vivid and startling. You shiver as they crash through you, one snippet pulling free from the others -- its contents the most telling, anyway. 

A deep, guttural roar breaks the night, a demon belched from the furthest reaches of the hells screeching with hate and malice and hunger. Wet, squelching steps lumber after you as you sprint down a Ground-level alley, Greer keeping a frantic pace next to you. Her cherry red hair, whipped around her face by the frigid sea wind, is wild and unruly, as untethered as her silver eyes -- now dark with shadows. 

Those same shadows seem to carry you, slithering and whispering beneath your feet, accelerating your already electric pace over ancient cobblestones. Greer slips her pistol from the holster at her hip, turning back without slowing, firing once, twice at the beast on your tail. It wails in defiance -- harsh and sharp and horrifying -- but doesn't give up its chase. 

"You need to jump!" she cries out suddenly. Your head snaps toward her, but your feet don't abate. A spectrum of blue and green lights from the Upper Tiers above halo your vision, disorienting you. 

"What?!"

"JUMP!"

"I can't leave you!"

You'd already left Bastian. He'd told you to -- screamed it, much like his sister was doing now. 

It had ripped you in two -- to leave him that way, agonized and bleeding, despite all he'd done to you. And to everyone else you loved, Greer included. But still, he --

Greer's pace flags. "You have to," she pants. "You have to go."

You take in those eyes -- take in the intention there. Your heart sinks to your hips as you slow your sprint to a disbelieving, horrified jog.

"Greer, no," you breathe. 

It all happens faster than should be possible.

Her face darkens -- blades of obsidian mist writhe and twist and seethe along her body, creeping vines all the way up her legs and around her arms. They close in on her throat, winding tighter and tighter until she gasps for air. Her veins bulge and deepen in color as the whites of her eyes slowly bleed to pools of ink. 

She doesn't stop running. Neither do you.

"I don't have a choice," she says. Only it isn't her voice anymore. It's the voice of hundreds.

"Greer," you sob. But she's already done it -- torn a rift in the Veil. They'll pour through any second. And you can't be here when they do. 

"NOW!" the voices wail.

You scream. There's a flash of ultramarine light, then tearing, ripping, excruciating, agonizing pain -- then nothing.

..................................................................... Links to:

Spotify Playlist Full Fic

[thekissofaphrodite]

HIII ^—^ !! good morning/afternoon/evening to you I hope you're doing alright and well today! So I came across your Luke Castellan FF and... 👀 IT WAS SO GOOD! and it got me thinking maybe you could do a Nico Di Angelo fic? wherein theres a lot of fluff & angst-comfort (maybe some kissing on the side), I would really appreciate it if you did!

That's all and Have a great day &new year !! 🎆

- 🍵

OMGOMG I LOVE THIS!!

Midnight Rain

Nico Di Angelo X Male!Solace!Reader

Summary: Comforting Nico after his terrible Flashbacks..

Warnings: Kissing, Death, and cursing :P (Remind me if I missed one!)

Author's Note: I haven't read the books!! so please forgive me if I made a mistake!!

He remembered it perfectly.

He doesn't know why or how, Maybe the Gods wanted to punish him, But he hasn't done anything wrong.

It was a rainy night in Italy, His older sister, Bianca, was with their father, Hades, Currently ranting about a porcelain doll she saw on a window shop they passed earlier, His dad smiled and just listened to his sister, His mother, Maria was in the vanity, Fixing her beautiful black hair that was already sprayed with hair products. Then, there was a loud thunderstorm, It made Bianca flinch, which caused her to scream in fear and hug her dad.

Maria just chuckled and peaked at the Father and Daughter.

"I'm thanking the Fates that thunder and lightning never became your domains, or else," joked his mother, Her thick Italian accent echoing. His sister, Bianca, then frowned jokingly, She seemed offended, and Bianca huffed and wrapped her arms around her father's neck.

It all then happened so fast, a happy family once...Broken by a tragedy.

Hades saw it first, in a distance, someone holding a thunderbolt aiming at them..His family.

Hades tried, he really did. He grabbed Bianca and Nico, shielding them from the upcoming blow, but then, from the corner of his eyes, he saw maria, Until it was too late.

A powerful thunderbolt was shot in the hotel they were staying, a loud explosion making them all cry, Biana and Nico held onto their father for dear life, until there was a loud thud.

A body dropping.

As if tho the Fates chose for him to live miserably, He saw a pool of blood near the broken pillars, and sure enough, there was maria, Ever so beautiful, She was dead, But her beautiful face said otherwise, It all seems like she was sleeping peacefully, then Hades screaming, Horrified —

Nico shot up from his nightmare, Sweat trickling down his neck as he panted. You felt a body jolting beside you, and there was nico, panting heavily.

You got up and rubbed your eyes, checking the clock.

2:45 am

Nico looked at you with his eyes softening, but his expression still horrified.

"What's wrong?" You asked, Your palms caressing his pale cheeks.

"Nothing" His raspy voice replied.

But you knew something was wrong.

Being the son of Apollo, You were blessed with healing, but you sucked at archery.

Immediately sensing a nightmare, you kissed him, your soft lips touching his chapped, cold one's.

You can taste the saltiness of his tears running down his cheeks, but you couldn't care less.

After pulling away, he laid his head on your chest, The peaceful silence engulfing you two.

Then he spoke, as he started sobbing again.

"I can't unsee it— I swear, It kept replaying over and over again, I can see my mom's dead body—" Nico sobbed, His sobs muffled by your yellow shirt.

"Let it hurt, nico. Then let it go" You whispered as he sobbed harder.

"I can't accept that they're gone, Forever" He said as his dark eyes looked up at yours.

"I spent my nights wondering if they're missing me as much as I'm them"

"They're proud of you nico, Every single thing that you've done was for their honour and glory" Those words made him smile a little bit, Your heart softened, As he kissed you again.

As nico dozed off, you caresses his pale cheeks, once stained with tears coming from his painful eyes.

"I love you, I love you until the very last star in the sky burns into oblivion"

A/N: THIS WAS REQUESTED!! HOW DID I DO?? I REALLY WANNA BRING UP THAT ANGST HEHEHE

[the-obnoxious-sibling]

What’s your opinion on cross guild? I’m sending this on anon because I kinda hate them while everybody loves them. I think it’s because Buggy is my favourite character and I just can’t see it as anything other than abuse😭 Do you think their dynamic will change? Is my opinion based on unconditional clown love?

i think the fanon toxic polycule concept is kinda funny? like, the idea of buggy continuing to fail upward in life into a triad with two very powerful people who started out hating him? hysterical. does it have a strong basis in canon? no. just about every buggy ship has to be taken with a grain of “let’s ignore the reality of the situation here” salt. my own buggy ship is not immune to this! but cross guild… really needs that seasoning.

in canon it’s more a hostage situation than a relationship—albeit a pretty slapstick hostage situation, as despite their best efforts mihawk and crocodile cannot control buggy or his followers at all, and the injuries buggy takes are treated pretty lightly by the narrative.

in that context, it makes sense that sexual interpretations of cross guild would have strong vibes of either bdsm or ipv. i’m not surprised it’s upsetting for you.

in the end, it’s something i could be convinced to read a mundane au about, where dynamics are always softened to better fit the setting, but that’s about it for me re: the trio. i don’t expect their dynamic to change much, even if buggy manages to rope them into going along with his one piece questing, and i don’t much care.

now, the pairs within the trio?

crocodile and buggy is just “give me my money” -> flight response -> threats of violence -> fawn response -> actual violence -> desperate fawn response. good god. i get why it brings out certain impulses in certain readers—buggy begs to lick the man’s boots, ffs—but it does not really do anything for me, and i don’t expect that to change. crocodile wants money and power, which buggy respects because same, but as he has less of both he can’t really offer crocodile much of anything, and crocodile seems very aware and disdainful of that.

buggy and mihawk is theoretically very fun for the same reason luffy interacting with either of them is fun: they all have a connection to shanks that makes their interactions with anyone else who knows shanks so weird. they cannot be normal about that guy. in practice, none of that has shown up, we’ve just seen mihawk offended by buggy’s personality/reputation/aesthetic and buggy flinching away from his glares. (i can’t imagine mihawk punching someone, so i suspect all of buggy’s injuries came from crocodile… probably because the only way mihawk could actually hurt buggy would be with lethal force.) i’m hopeful, as has been indicated in previous mihawk posts, that we’ll get something more here eventually.

mihawk and crocodile legitimately made me go oh, hm in that first cross guild chapter. crocodile calls this guy up out of nowhere to say, “hey, i notice your job security kinda sucks right now, want to join my company? we have a lot in common… we both hate other people…” is there a history between these two, or did crocodile just get good vibes off him the one time they both bothered to show up for a warlord meeting? i want to know more. if these two ever get rid of buggy, would they actually be any good at managing baroque works 2: crossy guild? idk. i suspect without a scapegoat to redirect their anger onto they’d start having unavoidable personality conflicts, regardless of their managerial competencies, but even that could be fun to watch fall apart.

[spkyspc]

making cookies!

☆ gn!reader x gn!partner

☆ fluff

☆ just making cookies~ (and lots of teasing)

☆ stoic/cold partner x bright and sly reader!!

it's been a while since you baked something, last you did so was before you got into a relationship. even though there's none the more reason to do so now but hunger and cravings, an idea sprung upon you - why not do it with your partner?

for someone like you, doing it alone was always your motto back then; the only difference now is you have someone who has your back. with that thought in mind, having an apprentice around does seem fun.

you contact them about your ideas through text. in response, they approve - great!! afterwards, you made a rundown upon the ingredients needed to make these batch of cookies which are:

· Butter
· Eggs
· Vanilla.
· Baking soda.
· Water
· Salt
· Flour
· Chocolate chips

luckily, everything is in check except for chocolate chips - one of the most important ingredient too. even though the store is just near your area, you ask your partner to help out regardless (you lazy ass). you better treat them to something on your next visit together.

and so, the wait is on. everything is on your kitchen counter alongside utensils. the time you agreed with your partner is nearing by just a few ticks; and you are edging to burst your energy to them with ecstasy.

a notification pops up on your phone; it's your partner:

"On my way! home"

"On my way!"

"omw"

"ffs iphoee ne man"

yeah, thats your partner.

"also did u preheat the oven?"

...

it took you a minute to process that you forgot.

"totally"

you reply, then rush to the oven to be preheated by about 177 degrees celcius.

DONE, now to continu-

your partner, now behind you stares deeply into you

"you forgot didn't you?" they ask

"yeah..," you reply

you both stare for a moment

your partner then blows on your nose which lead to you flinching - causing your partner to break into a small giggle.

"you should've seen your face"

"i hate you" you reply.

all laughs aside, your partner walks to the kitchen counter to drop off the chocolate chips. alright - everything is here!

ingredients, utensils, preheated oven and most importantly - you and your partner!

looking through your phone, you follow the recipe you mainly use for making cookies.

step 1: mix up the butter and sugar.

you grab a large bowl and a mixer alongside the ingredients needed: butter, white sugar and brown sugar.

"wait, so who's gonna start first? what's the flow here?" you ask.

"wanna rock paper scissors for it?" they reply

with no hesitation, you both knew what to do. hands ready, and...

you did paper, while they did scissors - well, you know the rules. you put out a large groan whilst allowing yourself a pat in the back for attempt. them on the other hand: rubbing their victory all over your face.

okay, time to go back to the main focus:

BUTTER! - you hand over the butter and watch it enter the bowl. until out of the blue, you were caught off guard; your partner took a smudge of butter and smeared it across your cheek - that bastard! you brace yourself by sneaking one yourself until-

SUGAR! - white sugar and brown sugar on your hand: you watch as the two combine into the mixture. with that, you are just etching to taste from the bowl. they mix them together with a mixer and the once identifiable ingredients now turned into a yellowy mush unrecognisable to the idea. such a sad sentimental thought.

step 2: crack in a few eggs, along with vanilla then add them into the mixture.

EGGS! - 2 eggs are all you need; you pass them to your partner, and they mash the two into the bowl - mixing the whole together. thus, it forms the dough.

"right, i think that's that," you say

"and we're not forgetting anything?" they ask

confusion and cluelessness could be seen all over your expression. a sigh could be seen from your partner as they take the vanilla extract from just beside you

holding the vanilla infront of your face, they say, "you're my apprentice, pay attention, okay~?"

their "okay" was said in a more delicate and tenacious tone. your face turns red and you ought to fight back; you aren't losing just because you're the apprentice. but how exactly are you gonna strike?

VANILLA! - a teaspoon of vanilla is enough to make a change to everything;

"it looks like maple syrup mixed with cough syrup," you say

"that sounds deliciously bitter," they reply

"you're deliciously bitter" you counter

...

they hide their face on the counter top whilst face visibly pink - you smirk in pride knowing you won out of idiocy; but did it matter? its the thought that you won that counts.

seeing the chance: you take the mixer out of their hands and mix away the ingredients. joyous and happy you are, they knew they had to up their game.

step 3: dissolve some baking soda into hot water. then, add a pinch of salt and the dissolved baking soda into the dough.

seeing as you've taken the lead, it's your turn to uprise the process.

BAKING SODA! - your partner gives you the baking soda and as they reach in their hand to give you the baking soda, you take their hand and put them both together. very cool power move.

"ok," they thought. their head might be relaxed but their hand isnt. it's set in position, which you then at the same time take the opportunity to pour in the hot water yourself. as you mix, your partner stares at you intently.

"what was that for?" they ask

you put your tongue out

"pay attention more" :p

SALT! - "ok you do the honours this time, its just salt" you say

"why? salty much?" they say

"says you" you reply

they scoff and pinched the salt from the container. and so, off the salt goes.

"thank you~" you say in a sly tone

"sure, whatever," face all red, they snatch the bowl from you and mix away.

fair enough

step 4: stir in flour and chocolate chips

one last step before making the shape of the cookies, what could go wrong?

FLOUR! - you grab the flour and chocolate chips and place them on the counter top. your partner looks at you while preparing the measurements of the ingredient: which is just the flour. as its commonly known, you can adjust the amount of chocolate chips you want based off of your desires.

"you know, i prefer my cookies with less chocolate chips," your partner says

you on the other hand have the opposite opinion, you're an avid lover of sweet, milky things. never would you deny otherwise to things as such (unless you're lactose intolerant but they dont exist). they knew of your obsession, though just wanted to cause a little conflict in the scene.

"don't you dare," you cry out

CHOCOLATE CHIPS! - it's just the difference of choice the two of you had. with a whole bag of chocolate chips, you both brace for who gets to pick between the amounts.

no hesitation, you both reach out to the bag in a rush: you try to distract your partner by attempting on negotiation, but it ended up not working.

"Pleaseeeeee," you beg. "I just want my chips to taste with the utmost pleasure of chocolate's divine."

"Nope, got it fair and square and that means I win," they reply. "But hey, since you asked nicely, maybe we can negotiate"

hearing that made you rise from your sorrow of defeat, alongside it is the feeling of relief. now what's left is to hear the deal:

"how about instead of placing all the chocolate chips all at once, you decide on what amount you want based off of the shapes you make? that way, i get my fair share of equality and you get... whatever you want," they ask

"DEAL," you reply. "as long as i get my cookies, i'm satisfied." in a happy mood, you take the chocolate chips from their hands and separate your amount and their amount. leaving it as a 1 : 2 ratio. the 2 of the ratio will be put in the bowl while the other 1 will be individually placed by you.

now, everything's settled

step 5: shape the dough and put it in the oven.

the trays are now taken out. you pull out the baking sheet alongside baking spray and now to finally make the desired shapes. with the bowl and your partner by your side, you both work together and try to get what's what.

as you both work on the batches, you can't help but just take a small taste of what the cookie dough tasted like; until your partner stops you while giving you a warning about salmonella, as if that'd stop you.

skipping to when everything's done, you both put the trays into the oven and wait 10 to 15 minutes for the cookies to be baked. while waiting, you looked at your partner with a grand smile: congratulating the both of your partner and you for successfully making their first batch of cookies while in hopes of the future that you both could make more batches of cookie. your partner blushes in extent while saying out loud, "you are such a hassle to handle."

"i know," you reply while hiding a hidden laugh.

as the cookies finish rising and the alarm begins to ring, you and your partner open the oven door; exposed to the rich aroma that the cookies offer. you both wait for them to cool down before you place them all into a container, leaving room for a time someone needs a snack. afterwards, you and your partner happily munch over a few bits and pieces of warm, delicious cookies!

editor's note: if u guys couldn't tell, i got pretty bored near the end of it so no more random scenarios at that point. i wanted to try smth new yk, but idk if its working on not - by new, i mean like doing gender neutrality through this. this fic took me 3 DAYS because my mind was blank but hey at least its finished. anyways, if there's any mistakes, let me know :D and dont forget to share ur thoughts ^^