#he did groom her to be a soldier

[spop-romanticizes-abuse]

The densest substance in the universe is the minds of people who rant that Hordak being enslaved and abused by Prime does NOT excuse Hordak's villiany, and then in literally the next paragraph demand for people to forgive Catra's villiany... due to her being enslaved and abused by Hordak.

these people also say the same for glimmer.

"glimmer knew shadow weaver was a manipulator, it's her fault that she got manipulated!" first off, that's not how manipulation works. secondly, catra also knew shadow weaver was a manipulator and she still got manipulated.

the double standards in this fandom is crazy. if you're gonna hold hordak accountable for his actions, which you should, you should be doing the same for catra. you can't pick and choose.

[feroluce]

Belobog was my fave main quest but a lot of it is so. Contradictory. It's like they had multiple groups doing different shit and none of them checked in with each other for consistency. And you see this so much in Gepard's profile.

So in the main quest, they made him unfailingly, unquestionably loyal to Cocolia. Gepard's character arc is him learning to question authority etc etc. And this isn't even a bad thing; that's a story worth telling! It makes good conflict between him and Serval! And I love that we got Gepard as a boss battle and I get to see him all the time in SU!

But then you look at his character stories and it's like. The complete opposite.

According to his profile, Gepard has already HAD this awakening, long before the Astral Express, and he'd already decided Cocolia sucks. Even outside of his stories, there's a pretty damning readable between him and Pela.

He even disobeyed direct orders right in front of her- he has been disobeying orders for a while now!

So I've decided I'm marrying the two different sides of this into a 1.5k fic-ish thingy, because I think there's some fun potential there with Gepard not trusting Cocolia, but still having to pretend to be a good obedient little soldier.

Anyway. I love to think of it as like. Gepard knows Cocolia has sunk into her apathy. He can see it in her eyes every time he looks at her. She doesn't care. Not about him, not about Pela, not about all his soldiers on the frontlines giving their lives to protect the citizens. And that's... It makes him bristle a bit, but ok. Gepard can deal with this. Even if Cocolia no longer cares, as long as she does her job then it's fine. Having compassion behind an action doesn't matter as much as the action itself. If Cocolia's heart is no longer swayed, then he'll just have to care twice as hard to pick up the slack. He considers it part of his duty as a captain of the guard anyway. It's fine. Gepard can deal with it.

And then, Cocolia starts coming down to the restricted zone. Issuing direct orders.

And Gepard realizes he is in way over his head.

Because Cocolia orders him to stay back and issue commands from the ramparts, away from all his comrades, away from where he can protect them.

Gepard had thought nothing could be as bad as watching a fellow guard die right next to him. But the first time he watches someone struck by a killing blow, so far away, it hurts. Every defensive scar across his arms itches, his fingers curl in want of a weapon, the cold cannot numb his hands enough as they desperately ache for his shield. It hurts.

Gepard tries to find any reason to stay. Because surely... He knows Cocolia has lost her love for her people, but surely... She wouldn't...

One day, Cocolia orders for their gunners to advance 20 yards. There are no survivors. She almost looks like she smiles.

Gepard doesn't sleep that night.

Pela brings him the report at the end of the first month; and then the month after that, and the month after that. A significant uptick in losses, and all of it started on that first day Cocolia started overriding his authority and issuing her own orders. The ends of Gepard's pens have all been nearly chewed off. Pela outright calls Cocolia an idiot, and Gepard corrects her. Cocolia isn't an idiot. Gepard had known her through Serval, knew her through all her college years and then some, and he knows how intelligent she is. It's not that she's stupid, and it's not that she's inexperienced, it's nothing of the sort.

Cocolia knows exactly what she's doing.

She must, there's no way she could make such a horrible mess of things so badly by accident. And Pela, quick as a whip, sharp as a tack, always too smart for her own good, catches onto the meaning behind Gepard's correction without any further prompting. The tent goes deathly quiet, nothing but the wind howling outside.

"...She's trying to kill us," Pela whispers, her voice swiftly suffocated by the silence.

Gepard swallows. He can't bring himself to correct her this time. There is nothing he could say that he would actually mean.

His gaze drops, back down to his desk and the reports on it. The names aren't listed, just the numbers, but Gepard knows them, knew them, and there must be something wrong, something he's missing, because why, why would she-? What could this possibly accomplish-?

“Gepard! Focus!” Something snaps right under his nose, and Gepard startles, eyes instantly honing in on Pela's irritated face as she leans over his desk. She holds his gaze for a moment before she huffs and begins to pace, wedges a knuckle between her teeth and bites like Gepard hasn't seen her do since cadet school.

Pela angrily strides from one end of his tent to the other, words hissed between her grit teeth. “What are we going to do?” In the dim lighting, Gepard can just barely see the damp spot of blood weeping under her gloves. “We need a plan.”

“A plan?”

“Wh- Yes, a plan! Unless you want more people to die!” Pela rounds on him then, all the wrath of a blizzard, winds roaring and snow sharp enough to cut.

“We don't even know-”

“What does it matter?! She killed-!!” Pela cuts off with a garbled noise when Gepard leaps up from his desk, hastily shoves his hand over her mouth. The prosthetic, not the flesh one, because he knows better than to assume Pela won't seize the opportunity to leave teeth marks in his skin.

“You're right. I'm sorry, I'm sorry; you're right. But you need to keep quiet.” Pela quirks an eyebrow at him and Gepard can read the question in her face. “Because we both saw what she did to Serval,” he hisses.

It's amazing the snow plains haven't thawed out yet, the amount of heat Pela can put behind a glare. The mere mention of Serval, and the smoking ruins Cocolia had made of her life and career, have her bristling up like a riled cat. The sudden hot breath she takes fans fog across his metal skin, and Gepard wisely keeps it in place until Pela finally sighs and reaches up, taps her fingertips against the back of his hand.

The second she's free, Pela bats him away and then her knuckle is right back between her teeth again, Gepard leaning back against his desk with his arms crossed to watch her resume her pacing. “If we spread the word, she'll have us discharged and make sure we can't even touch the frontlines,” Pela's voice seethes like an open sore. Gepard nods but keeps his silence. He knows better than to get in her way.

“And if you and I are both out of the picture, Belobog is fucked.” A little harsher than how he would have put it, but there's no denying that they're both important to the city's survival. Pela has the restricted zone running as efficiently as ever, and Gepard had become the youngest captain on record for a reason. “We need to keep this tight under wraps, at least for now… It can't leak to anyone higher up the chain.” Another nod. “Serval might know other discontents…” Another n-

Gepard's head snaps up. “No.”

“No what?”

“No. We're not involving Serval in this.”

Somehow, even the same tone that leaves entire squadrons shaking in their boots has never worked on her. “You're not deciding that for her, Gepard.”

Pela hadn't seen the worst of it, though, back when his sister had just been banned from the Architects. Serval's pride hadn't allowed it. Pela wasn't the one to find her passed out bottle still in hand, hadn't been the one to wash the sick out of her hair or carry her to bed. 

Serval still has trouble thinking clearly when it comes to Cocolia, still can't quite bring herself to be objective. And Gepard maybe doesn't want her to be purely objective- but he would worry a lot less if she thought twice before she acted more often.

“At least let me be the one to bring it up to her.”

“Whatever, fine,” Pela gestures affirmatively at him as she paces past, and Gepard sighs. Good, at least that's one thing he can help.

From there, it's a lot of hemming and hawing and frustration. Cocolia has them under her boot, and Gepard and Pela both know it. Even with the way she's been cracking down on freedoms lately, Cocolia is still, overall, liked by the people. It's unlikely anyone would believe them. They don't even have solid proof, because most people don't know Cocolia as well as they do and won't see the clues in the same light. 

The Fragmentum has been ramping up in recent years, too. Everyone is struggling just to survive as is, they can't afford a fight on two fronts. Gepard is a damn good captain, one of the best for that matter. But they're at a massive disadvantage, his experience is narrowed to fighting a defensive battle against monsters, that's all he's ever done. That's all anyone there has ever done. He has no way of finding first-hand knowledge for taking the offensive against a human opponent, and if he goes at this blind, there's no way he'll get everyone out unscathed. He's going to lose people. He's going to lose a lot of people.

He'd never thought before that Cocolia would have it in her to have someone killed. And with this new knowledge, he has no guarantee she won't go after Serval or Lynx if she decides to retaliate.

Gepard has to remind himself to breathe when he realizes this.

Pela writes down every name the two of them can come up with. Lists and lists of names and groups and anyone they can think of who might be an ally in all of this. They memorize every bit of it, make their plans of who to talk to and when. Gepard watches the sparks reflect off Pela's glasses as they burn the evidence together.

Pela finally leaves, far too late to make it home, but says she wants to stay in the restricted zone anyway to investigate. Gepard watches her make her way in the direction of Dunn's tent, watches her back until she's out of his sight and squashes down the urge to follow and keep an eye on her. His tent feels empty.

In the morning, Gepard is up before the wake up bells. He drags himself out of bed, leads his soldiers through their morning training. The same people gravitate to each other everyday. Friend groups and training partners. There's an ongoing rivalry between a few squadrons that everyone bets on. Some of them have lockets around their necks, keepsakes, mementos. Some of them wear wedding rings.

Gepard is suddenly, painfully aware of something acidic clawing at the inside of his throat, of a heavy weight low in his chest that blooms, takes up room until it threatens to spread his ribs. His mouth tastes of bile and blood.

He rearranges the schedules. Puts himself down for every open patrol into the Fragmentum, makes sure he'll be on the frontlines every single time Cocolia visits.

He only hopes that it's enough.

[controllerofthemist]

My thoughts on Skirk

With the way Skirk treats and talks about him, its no wonder Tartaglia turned out the way he did. A bright and naive 13 yr old boy with no combat experience falls away from the comfort of his home into a world full of monsters with no sun or safety and the only psuedo-caretaker he has won't even speak to him properly because she says him as too weak to bother with, and after 3 months of fighting his way through hell and losing his humanity, he returns to that home he was longing for, only to find that 3 days have passed since he left and he tells not a single person what happened to him. No wonder he lost his mind down there.

I miss the Skirk that I had made up in my head, the one I patched together from different fic writer and fan artists ideas for her, the one that had that same rambunctious and bloodthirsty personality that Tartaglia inherited, the one that took care of a child the best she knew how while hardening him to survive the abyss' dangers, the one that at least *tried*, because she *wanted too*.

I just feel disappointed, and I think a lot of other people are as well.

I think that, until we see her again, I'm just going to keep pretending that the one in my head is the real one.

[the-californicationist]

Cali's Kinktober: Day 01

post cibum - "after a meal" - Kinktober Masterlist TF141 x f!reader Kinks > wet/messy, food play, objectification Full tags on AO3 - MDNI - Read at your own risk.

Your new job as a professional nyotaimori model pays all the bills and then some, but tonight, you are serving a group of soldiers who want more than just the novelty of eating fancy sushi rolls off of a naked woman. After they’ve had their fill of the nigiri and the rolls, they want you for dessert. 

“That’s fine, sir. We can do a seven o’clock tonight. Have you had a chance to choose your selections from the menu?”

You strained your ears as you listened to your maître d' consult with a customer over the phone. You were prepping in the adjoining room, going through your normal routine, but the growling, Manchester accent coming through the speaker was making it difficult to focus.  

“Yeah, give us a full spread. The works. No barriers.”

It must be a big party, you thought. The full spread option included a large array of sushi and sashimi. Asking for no barriers was quite adventurous, and you felt your skin flush with excitement. 

“Yes, sir. And would you like your artist bound or unbound?”

“Mm,” he thought for a minute, and you tried to send telepathic messages to the gruff stranger, “Let’s have ‘er tied down.”

Yes, you celebrated, already imagining the feel of the ropes crossing over the big, wooden table and pinning you to it, forcing you to stay in place all night long.

“And will you be including the sake option?”

“Yeah, sure. Johnny’s a bloody lush.”

Your heart began to race just imagining what sort of night you were in for. The sake option meant needing to shave your sensitive pussy completely bare, so you added that step to your process. Being a food model wasn’t something anyone seemed to take seriously, but you felt like a true artist, and you wanted your guests to have an unforgettable experience when they came to dine with you… on you. 

“Alright, sir, that’s –”

“And we want the additional package. I’ll pay extra. Whatever it costs. Just put it on the tab.”

“Yes, sir. Would you like A, B, or C?” 

The additional package? How did he know about that? You’d never performed for this man before – you would not have been able to forget that voice – and only your regulars knew about your secret options.

“A and B, but keep her mouth open, yeah? In case she gets hungry…”

His dark laugh made your blood burn in your veins. Your add-on package meant that he wanted to fill your holes while you lay on the table for him. Option A was for a large glass dildo in your pussy, warmed and heavy, option B was for a bulbous anal plug made of the same body-safe glass, and option C was for a rubber ball-gag in your mouth. But, he wanted to have access to you there, and that made you almost see stars when you thought about the implications. What did your mystery Manc have planned for you?

“Yes, sir. Do you know how many will be in your party tonight?”

“Four. The one with the mohawk is the birthday boy.”

“Thank you, sir. I will add that to the notes. Any allergies?”

“No.”

“And the name for the party?”

“Riley.”

“Thank you. See you later.”

When she hung up the phone, you listened to her boots clack against the marble floor as she came into your dressing room,

“Hey babes, here’s your ticket for tonight. Table of four. Bunch of soldiers. Sure you’re up for it?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, not feeling as confident as you sounded, “Just make sure to keep their drinks coming. They tip more when they’re drunk.”

You winked at her and she laughed, closing the door behind her to let you finish grooming and cleansing your body. 

Each swipe of your razor was another tantalizing part of your ritual. Once you were fully shaved, you cleaned your skin with special antibacterial soap before applying neutral oils that wouldn’t affect the taste of the food. No perfume, no deodorant. Those were the standards. You weren’t allowed to talk, or to move if you were bound by the tight ropes that pinned you to the table, and you were simply there to be a beautiful platter for the immaculately-made sushi. 

At more traditional restaurants, your position was revered, and guests were forbidden from interacting with you directly. You’d worked at a number of venues that hosted nyotaimori events, all with varying levels of standards and rules, but this one paid the most. This place allowed their guests to do almost anything they wanted, and those high risk situations added to the excitement and to your bank account. However, you’d never felt safer. There were cameras, guards, and highly trained staff all over the premises, and if you ever needed to press your emergency button, you could do so. You wore your panic ring at all times, and you’d used it effectively once or twice; it worked like a dream. 

But, you had to admit, it wasn’t just the money that kept you coming back here. You liked the clients. You liked feeling their hands and mouths eating off of your warm body. You enjoyed the more adventurous customers who wanted to taste you and touch you after they were done with their food. It was exhilarating, and you loved being at their mercy. 

Just before your call time, your attendant brought you your glass dildo and anal plug from the back. They had been sanitized, and you used a little lube to insert the familiar, rigid shape into your pussy. You felt yourself already wet from anticipation, and although the glass phallus was thick and heavy, you took it with a satisfying ease. 

The anal plug was another story. You used much more lube and began to play with your hole with your fingers before you committed to pressing it through your tight rim. The pressure from the fat dildo in your cunt made it even harder to accept, but after a few deep breaths, you felt your body relax and allow the round bulb to sit inside of your ass, pushing against all of the sensitive nerve endings inside of your stretched hole. 

You washed your hands thoroughly and cleansed your skin again, just to be sure. Eventually, you finished with your prep and walked through the hallways to lay on your long black table. It was a chabudai, a short table where guests would sit on mats on the floor, and the dining room where you served was dimly lit, very minimally decorated, and had instrumental music playing softly through the speakers. You looked up into the corner and saw the camera light go from red to green. It was showtime. 

Your attendant returned to perform your shibari. You were laying on your back, and she tied your wrists to your thighs, making sure to position your thumb so that you could press your panic ring easily. Then, she began to lay the ropes over your ribs, framing your breasts, using the ties to make them stand perky and proud on your chest. Finally, she fed the bindings under the table and fastened them down. You were stuck. You could bend your knees and twist your body, but that was about it. 

“All good, ma’am?” She asked.

You nodded,

“Yes, thank you. All good.”

“Alright. I’ll tell chef.”

She left you alone, and you tried your best to focus on your breathing. The dildo was nudging a very sensitive spot inside of you, and you pulsed against it, attempting to find some relief. But, you were just making it worse. Your clenching muscles were allowing it to thrust against you, and no amount of wiggling was going to grant you any reprieve. So, you stopped. You shut off your mind as much as you could, listening to the music and imagining an infinite, empty expanse in your head. 

The door clicked open and the sushi chef came in with his two other servers. They set to work, laying slabs of salmon and octopus sashimi across your breasts in a spiral pattern, using delicate roe to dust the inner circle over your hard nipples, making it look like the pollen-covered pistil of a flower, the fish serving as your beautiful petals. 

A row of maki trailed their way down your belly and each arm. More sashimi were laid on all the places where a roll wouldn’t sit, and one of the chef’s assistants began to place thinly-sliced mango across your neck like a choker. Your legs were covered in sushi and more fruit, and finally, right in the join of your legs, you balanced a bowl with a single lotus flower inside. 

The door cracked again, and your attendant poked her head in,

“Chef, your party is here. Should we send them in?”

The chef nodded, and everyone left the room. But, this time, the silence was deafening rather than zen. Your heart was pounding. You couldn’t wait to see and hear and feel what these four guests had in store for you. 

Finally, the door opened, and you heard their jovial laughter and talking. 

“Cannae believe you got a reservation, LT! Been dyin’ to try this for the longest.”

“I know, Johnny,” you recognized that deep, Manchester accent, “Won’t shut up about it.”

Johnny finally came into view. He peered down at you with a uniquely boyish wonder, staring at your face and your body like a kid at Christmas, eager to unwrap his presents. His friends surrounded him on both sides. You guessed that the wry blond was Simon, your vocal crush. You didn’t know the other two, but they were just as nice to look at. One of them was enormous, over-muscled with a bit of a belly, and an odd beard. The other was like a professional athlete, chiseled and masculine, with big brown eyes and dark, smooth skin. 

“Sure is a pretty plate, huh, lads?” The beard spoke with a growling, gravely Scouse accent. He was a smoker, that was for sure. 

“Fittest table I’ve ever seen,” the athlete smiled, his full lips revealing sharp, blinding teeth. 

“Please, have a seat, gentlemen,” your attendant put on her best sexy customer-service voice, “First round is on the house.”

“Oh, shit,” Johnny laughed.

He and his friends ordered an absurd amount of alcohol, and then you were left alone with your party. 

“Think we can get started?” Johnny asked, “Is that alright with you, bonnie?”

You watched out of the corner of your eye as the bearded one hit him lazily on the arm with the back of his hand, 

“She isn’t supposed to speak, MacTavish. Didn’t you fuckin’ listen, or is all the blood that’s meant to be in your brain stuck in your prick?”

“Here, Captain,” the athlete called the bearded one over, “Try this.”

You felt the soft wood of your restaurant’s polished chopsticks graze the side of your breast as he lifted a slab of salmon off of your skin. 

The captain grabbed the fish with his fingers clumsily, but he slurped it down, groaning with pleasure,

“Mm, that’s not bad, Gaz.”

Johnny reached out to you, his hands steady and sure, 

“Lemme try…”

You felt his warm thumb graze over the top of your nipple, pushing some of the fresh roe onto a cut of octopus, and as he curled the fish, he let it drag over the same spot he touched, purposefully teasing you. 

Once they started, they didn’t want to stop. Their hands were roaming all over you, picking up food and feasting on what you had to offer. 

“Look here,” Gaz commented, letting his fingers swipe up the side of your ribs, gathering up dark sauce and licking it off of his knuckle. 

“Oh, tha’ looks tasty,” Johnny smiled, leaning his head down and using his tongue to lick up the rest of the flavor, taking great pains to get as close to the side of your breast as he dared. 

They were getting braver, but you could tell they still weren’t sure what they were allowed to do.

Before long, your attendant was back, ready to get more drinks and appetizers for your men, and you listened to them politely dismiss her, too focused on their task at hand: uncovering you from your delicate morsels of sushi. 

“Mm,” Simon grunted, “Not bad, hm?”

“It’s proper tasty,” the captain agreed. 

“I’m so glad to hear you’re enjoying yourselves,” your attendant encouraged them, “Could I interest you in a sake presentation?”

“Wha’s tha?” Johnny asked with his mouth full, excited to know more. 

“Your artist has more than one talent, gentlemen,” she smiled coyly down at you, kneeling beside the table, carefully removing the bowl from where it was so carefully perched on your pussy. 

The whole room stood still as your smooth, oiled vulva was revealed. Your attendant leaned over you, pouring warm sake into the divot between your closed legs and your mons, filling the space with drink. She made sure the men were looking at her with rapt attention, and she bent to suck the alcohol from your body, her mouth sucking right below your clit, slurping up the delicious sake until it was almost gone. 

“Creepin’ Jesus,” Johnny said under his breath, “Can I do one, lass?”

“Yes, sir,” she smiled, “Of course! You can do anything you like.”

“Anything…”

Johnny’s eyes watched as she filled the crevice between your legs again, letting the sparkling fluid pool and ripple against your skin. Then, when she was done with her pour, he bent to drink from you, putting his mouth exactly where hers had been, gulping and swallowing the sweet brew, his eyes fixed on your pretty pussy until you were empty. Then, he stole a lick, shoving his tongue between your lips to tease your clit, testing the limits of what was allowed, trying to find the boundary. 

“I’ll leave the bottle, yes?” Your attendant asked, leaving it on the table without waiting for an answer. 

“Thanks, love,” the captain smiled, watching his friend hovering over your wet quim as Johnny considered going back between your legs for seconds.  

“Go on, then, Sergeant,” Simon encouraged him, “For what I fuckin’ paid, you better enjoy it.”

That was the only permission the mohawked birthday boy needed. He sank his hot mouth down onto your pussy and began to suckle at your clit like it was part of his meal. He laved his tongue inside of your swollen lips, licking you in rhythmic, rolling thrusts. 

You tried your best to control your reactions, but there was only so much you could do to contain your pleasure. Gaz noticed when your eyes rolled back in your head, your lashes fluttering closed as you tried to breathe through the feeling. 

“Delicious, aren’t ya, babe?” 

He bent his head to your breast, feasting on the two pieces of sashimi that were left behind, using his tongue to pull them into his mouth. You could feel the warmth of his full lips on your skin as he ate from you, and every little touch was electrified by Johnny’s feast between your legs. 

As Gaz chewed on his bite, he used his thick finger to scoop up the fresh roe that remained on the peak of your nipple. Then, he bent over you, smiling like a demon, 

“Open up.”

You obeyed, and you melted into your submission. The hard, unflinching stare from those big brown eyes was enough to crush your will to dust. You felt your skin flush across your whole body as you surrendered to him, as if allowing him to control you made you even more sensitive to the touching, licking, kissing, and groping that was happening to you.

He slipped his finger past your lips, placing the roe carefully on your tongue. You felt the tiny eggs spill into your lips like beads. Just when you were about to swallow them, he grabbed your chin in his hand sharply, his face turning darkly serious,

“Hey, open, I said. There’s a good girl. Stick that pretty tongue out for me. Say ahh, pretty girl.”

You did as you were told, and to your shock, he bent his mouth over yours and spit into your throat. You could feel the bubbling drool pooling in your cheeks and sliding to the back of your tongue, but there was nothing you could do about it. His lips turned up into that same dirty smirk as he said, 

“Swallow.”

You took the roe into your mouth and swallowed it along with his saliva, the salt of the fish eggs mixing with the salt and alcoholic tinge in his spit. He must’ve been drinking at the bar before his party sat down at your table because the herbal scent of gin was unmistakable. 

He pet your cheek with the back of his hand, praising you with his touch, watching your face twist with pleasure as Johnny became almost uncontrollable between your legs. The mohawked man was sucking so hard on your clit that the slurping sounds from his mouth were filling the room. 

Gaz bent to kiss you, and you kissed him back. The softness of his lips lulled you into an even deeper sub state, and you felt like you were melting. Suddenly, he forced his tongue into your mouth and wrapped a huge palm around your jaw, holding you in place as he began to slide his slippery muscle in and out of your cheeks. It was as if he was fucking your throat with his tongue, and your mind fed you an imaginary scene of how his cock might feel in its place. 

When he pulled away, you felt Johnny stop his kisses as well, and your body writhed without your consent, desperate to feel them tasting you again. 

“This is the best fuckin’ birthday I’ve ever had,” Johnny smiled, wiping a hand across his shining mouth. 

The man who’d made the booking, Simon, sat beside his friend and pointed between your legs,

“Pour us one, Johnny.” 

“Aye. Here ya go, lads. Slàinte mhath.”

You watched as he poured sake into the divot between your legs again, but he over-indulged. He began to pour it across your belly as well, letting it pool in your belly button and settle in the dip of your sternum. 

The captain was the first to take a sip. He lapped at the pool of sake that splattered across your mons and lips like a hound, aiming to taste you more than he was the alcohol. Then, he followed Johnny’s trail, dragging his hot tongue along the swell of your tummy, aiming for the well of spirits in your belly button. He hovered over it when he found it, and as he leaned down to drink from you, you could feel the tickle of his mustache, making you squirm.

His filthy, gravelly chuckle made your blood run cold. It seemed that he enjoyed forcing your body to respond to his touch. 

“Ticklish, love?” He returned to your lower belly, letting the bristles of his beard tease you until your breathing became ragged, your lungs trying to suck in, doing your best to pull away from him and yet not being able to escape. 

Your tormentor shoved Gaz around the table so that he could tease your breast with his bearded mouth, and Gaz followed suit, both of them fighting for the puddle of sake between your breasts before suckling on your tight nipples. They had such different agendas. Where Gaz seemed to suck because he wanted to see you squirming from pleasure, the captain seemed hell-bent on keeping you from it. 

You could feel him biting into your delicate flesh with his sharp teeth, causing just enough pain to pull you out of your relaxed, pleasure-induced haze. Then, when he could see your eyes flash with just a hint of apprehension, he would retreat, rewarding your responsiveness with a long, deep suck or hungry, flat licks with his tongue, a barely-there smile twisting across his cheeks as he did. 

You felt something brush against your leg, and Simon was using a napkin from the table to wipe the rest of the food off of your legs, not giving a shit about the hundreds of pounds worth of sushi being gathered up in the cloth. Dinner, apparently, was over. 

Your mind raced. This was far and beyond the bravest party you’d ever served before. They worked on you as a team, giving each other silent feedback, and when Simon finally bent to drink from between your legs, your mind was throbbing from the overstimulation. 

You weren’t supposed to, but you began to let long, cracking moans escape from your throat. Anything you did to hold them back was just making them worse, and your voice only seemed to spur these men to double down on their efforts. 

Simon did not eat you like Johnny did. His Scottish companion ate you out like you were the food, but the Manc was more like his captain. He wanted to see where your buttons were, and when he found them, he began to press them just like a lad playing with a shiny new toy. 

His tongue found the body of your clit and swirled around it, avoiding the searing head, swollen and sensitive to the point of discomfort. Instead, he pushed the tip of his tongue just below it, lifting it up, making the hood stretch just enough to apply its pressure. 

You bucked your hips, the sake that rested in your thighs sloshing out, ignored by your new master. He didn’t give you a smug grin like his bearded boss. In fact, you could barely tell what emotion he was feeling. It wasn’t until you met his gaze that you noticed the fire behind his eyes. 

Only then did he begin to drink from you, emptying the alcohol from your body, letting his tongue venture down into the crevice of your thighs and licking between them as if they were your cunt. He had gone deep enough to feel the edge of your dildo, and when he found it, he turned to the others, getting their attention,

“Had them do something special for Johnny. Wanna see your surprise?”

Johnny had been busy sharing a nipple with Gaz, leaving hungry little hickies across your skin. But, when Simon called him over, he seemed all too eager to return between your legs.

“Aye,” he smiled rakishly, “Gonnae spoil me, Si.”

All four men shifted to the foot of the table, their eyes wide and focused on you like hyenas with a wounded gazelle, selfish and ready for their next taste of you.

Simon took your legs and lifted them up, bending your thighs at the hip, showing the others how two fat, glass dildos were shoved deep inside of your holes. 

“Oh, bonnie…” Johnny reached forward, grabbing the dildo stuck in your pussy gently between his fingers and giving it just the slightest twist, “For me? Such a good lass, innit she?”

Simon reached down below Johnny’s hand and began to tug at the anal plug. The resistance was driving you mad. You tried to relax, but he was not waiting on you, and the pressure began to build and build until finally, your muscle relented and you felt the heavy bulb slip wetly out of your asshole, soaking in lube.

“Bloody hell,” Gaz murmured, not wasting any time, sticking a long finger into the gaping hole left behind by the plug, testing the stretch of your ass with his strong hands. 

Simon pressed it back in, forcing Gaz away, slowly fucking the heavy toy back into you, letting it sink inside of your body with a sloppy pop, pushing on it just a little harder than he needed to so that it would feel like it was thrusting inside of you. 

Then, Johnny did the same with the dildo in your swollen pussy. He didn’t pull it all the way out, choosing instead to fuck you with it, shoving it into your hole with wet, slicking sounds, marvelling at the sight. 

You were so drunk from the pleasure that you hadn’t noticed their captain sneaking around to the head of the table. He startled you, grabbing you beneath your arms and yanking you and your ropes up, strong enough to move you even though you were tied down. He had pulled you far enough that your head hung off the edge, and you found yourself staring at his black slacks, amazed at the thickness of his thighs. Then, you watched him roll down his zipper, stroking his cock until it gleamed with his precome. 

You felt his other hand supporting the back of your head, holding you at just the angle he wanted. Then, he purred his command to you,

“Let me in, pretty girl.”

You allowed your muscles to weaken, opening you mouth wide, unsure if you could pry your mouth open enough for his girth to fit inside of you. He chuckled in that same, devilish way, slapping his sticky head against your lips twice before feeding his head into your cheeks, settling at the back of your throat, letting you gag and cough around him all you wanted and doing fuck-all about it. 

Between your legs, you felt the dildo slip out of your pussy, replaced with eager fingers and a tongue. Now that you had the captain’s thick cock to block your noises, you let yourself whine against him like a gag, moaning and crying out from the overwhelming feeling of being used. 

“Oh, fuck. That’s it, lads,” he grunted, “Make her scream for me.”

Both of his hands were cradling your head as he fucked your throat, guiding his fat dick in and out of you like a piston. You breathed when you could, but it was only just enough, and you felt yourself going light-headed. 

A mouth found your nipple again, and a hand rolled itself beside your clit, making frantic circles from above. Then, below your thighs, a round prodding cockhead pressed its way into your lubricated walls, making your dildo seem like nothing more than a thick finger or two. You were being well-stretched, and your body flooded your cunt with wetness to try and ease his way, doing everything it could to make it easier for whoever it was to fit his prick into your warm body.

He rested your ankles against his neck, and your bare feet scraped the side of his head. Buzzed hair. It was the birthday boy afterall. 

“Mmmph, fuckin’ hell, bonnie. Too tight. Too goddamn tight. Fuck…”

As he pumped himself into you, his movements made free and fast by the lube and your dripping cunt, your whole body began to jerk across the table. These men weren’t just large; they were stronger than you could’ve ever imagined, and you felt like you were nothing more than a mere toy to them. 

The fingers teasing your clit were sending your mind into a panicked orgasm, and your whole body convulsed as you let yourself tumble into the swirling madness of your bliss, your eyes wrenched shut and flashes of rainbow light dancing across them as you came violently. 

Apparently, that was enough to send the captain over his edge because as you were trapped in the throes of your orgasm, he shoved himself all the way inside of you and began to pulse hot shots of his come into your belly. You were desperate for air, but there was nothing you could do. They were in control of you, and you were ashamed by how much you enjoyed being at their mercy. 

“Ohhh, Cap’n. She loves tha’, dontcha, lass?”

“Knew she would,” the captain slipped out of your throat, smiling down at you as you gasped wetly for a breath, “Filthy little slag.”

You watched as he shifted to the side of you, his thighs leaving your line of sight, being immediately replaced by a pair of dark jeans. You knew it was Gaz when his wide thumb reached down to wipe the drool and come from your lips, lovingly cleaning up after his captain’s mess. 

“Being so good for us. Still hungry, baby?”

You couldn’t answer him, but he didn’t care. He tugged his long, curved rod out of his pants and let his balls rest on your mouth. You started to suckle on one of them, taking it into your mouth and letting it roll between your lips.

“Yeah, she is. Mmff-fuck, tha’s it.”

Gaz lifted your head up with his hand to help you reach, stroking his huge shaft with the other, jerking off as you did your best to pleasure him, trying to be careful with his sensitive sack. 

Johnny’s thrusts became frantic. Simon and his captain were taking turns pouring sake across your belly and sucking it off of you, and you were dizzy from the feeling of being fucked with your heavy plug inside of you. When you began to come again, it hit you slowly, building and building in waves, making you tremble from the suffocating joy of it. 

You cried out, and your mouth was open wide in a silent oh. Gaz took the chance to feed you his cockhead, giving you something to scream around. You felt Johnny pause deep inside of you, his cock nestled as close to your womb as he could get, and he began to fill you with his come, shamelessly bending himself over you to fit his rod down to its root in your wetness. 

“Christ, bonnie! Come for me. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Hnngh…” 

He slid himself out of you, but almost immediately, someone filled your empty hole with your dildo, keeping his load sealed safe inside. 

Gaz was still jerking his cock as he rested his tip inside your mouth, and you could feel him shuddering above you, his fingers twisted and tugging at the base of your scalp. 

“Suck on me harder. Yesss,” he groaned, “Just like that… mmfgh. Good… girl…” 

You felt him throbbing, pulsing, and ready to come. Then, just when you were ready to taste him, he pulled out and painted your mouth, chin, and neck white with his seed. There was so much of it, and whatever your tongue could reach, you licked it up, sucking him clean when he let you have the tip one more time before he smeared the remnants of his dripping cream across your cheek. 

Suddenly, Gaz’s hands returned to the back of your head and lifted it up. At the same time, another man yanked your whole body back down the table, making the wood creak from the stress. Now, you could see what was happening to you. 

Simon was holding your thighs, playing with your pussy, making sure your dildo was nice and snug. Then, he removed your anal plug again, twisting it out with a steady tug. When you made a whimpering cry, he looked up at you, and you saw that same light in his gaze, a hunger unlike that of his other friends. Something uncanny and secret about his message that you failed to decode. 

He began to pry open your asshole with his fingers, exploring just past the rim. First, it was just one, but then it was two. They twisted, curling inside of you, plunging deeper and deeper and testing how pliant you were. Your plug was pretty large, so you weren’t usually concerned about a man’s cock being a challenge. But, the way he was preparing your hole made your whole body tense with anticipation, worried about what was going to happen to you. 

You watched him rest your heels on his shoulder, just like his friend had done, and his tattooed hand held your thighs as the other placed his swollen head at the rim of your asshole, teasing it, barely even touching you. 

You thought he would plunge inside, but he never did. He just kept painting little warm circles around you, pressing on the outside yet never allowing himself to slip into your ass. 

“Mngh…” You whined, twisting your hips as much as you could, begging for it. 

“What’s that? Speak up, love. Can’t hear ya.”

You looked at him with pleading eyes, knowing you weren’t allowed to break your ceremonial rule but desperate just the same. He let himself smile softly down at you, planting his head at your hole and using the weight of his cock to rest it there. 

“C’mon, sweetheart. Tell me you want it. It’ll be our little secret.”

His friends were kneeling around you, spent but still groping your body, licking and kissing you lazily, enjoying watching Simon torment you.

“She doesnae wanna break the rules, Si. Good lass tha’ she is,” Johnny cooed, letting his fingers rest on either side of your clit, drawing deep ovals and watching your face twist in desperation.

“Let him hear it, love. We won’t tell,” the captain whispered in your ear, using his fingers to slide Gaz’s come from your chin into your mouth, making you taste his salty seed. He kept his fingers inside of your lips, pushing them all the way to the back of your throat, letting you suck on them, “Tha’s right. Our perfect little slut.”

Your mind went blank, and all you could focus on was the feeling of relief that would come to you if you just broke your rule…

The captain removed his hand, returning to your tits to suck on them and pinch your nipples. Then, Simon pressed forward just a little more, giving you his head before immediately taking it away, leaving you hollow.

“... please…” You whispered, your voice so shallow and small. 

“What? Cannae hear you, bonnie,” the Scot smiled, moving his hand faster between your pussy lips. 

“I think I heard something, did you?” Gaz joked, raising his eyebrows at Simon, smacking your ass cheek with the palm of his hand. 

“Say it,” Simon growled. 

His team was all smiles, but he was dead on. You locked eyes with him and said it again.

“Please.”

“Fuck,” Simon’s eyes rolled back in his head, the whites peeking through his long lashes, and he sank himself deep into your asshole in one punishing thrust. 

He was as thick as your plug, but he was so much longer, and you had never felt so stretched out in your whole life. As he began to fuck you, he wrapped his hand around the dildo in your pussy, covered in come and lube, and he fucked you in time with his own prick, making it seem like he was in both places at once. 

“You ready for more?” Simon asked you breathlessly, checking in with you. 

You nodded, fuck-drunk but just as submissive as ever. Whatever he asked for, you were ready to give it to him. 

When he saw your shallow nods, he began to fuck you at an incredible pace. Your whole body was shuddering every time he slammed himself forward, and the strength of his thrusts was making you feel like his cock was even bigger than you thought, your poor asshole stretched past the point of comfort. 

“She’s takin’ it so good, Si,” Johnny sighed, watching your face go slack as his friend railed himself into you.

You weren’t even moaning. You were barely breathing. Your mind only had one goal: making you come and come and come. 

“Spread her legs,” Simon commanded his team. 

You heard the schnick of a knife’s blade being unsheathed, and then the ropes around your ankles were sliced away. Gaz and Johnny pulled your knees up to your chest, forcing you open for him like a book. 

Johnny bent down over your pussy and spat onto your slit, smearing it with his fingers. Then, he slapped you gently a few times, increasing the pain each time his hand came down until you were literally screaming from it. But, it didn’t hurt. It just made you come even harder. The pleasure was muting the pain to an incredible degree. You wanted him to give you more, but you were too far gone to ask. 

The captain was kissing your mouth, using his hands to feed you come again, and you couldn’t even kiss him back. Your body was frozen, your muscles tight and stuck in a loop of pleasure. You were coming in cyclical waves, unsure of where one started or ended, just suspended in blissful torment, sucking in breaths when your lungs allowed you to. 

Then, Simon’s movements stuttered, and he slowed, sinking into you as deep as he could fit before pulling out in one swift movement and jerking his cock right in front of your swollen, punished pussy.

He slid the dildo out of you, leaving you feeling empty to the point of grief, and you watched as he hovered at your entrance, shooting his load into your already-filled cunt. Rope after rope of milky come seared its way into you, messy but accurate. Then, he replaced the dildo and sat back on his heels, out of breath. 

His friends let your legs back down, and they all moved away from you, leaving little kisses on your body as they retreated. 

Once they recovered, they had one more shot of sake together, and Johnny poured one into your mouth. 

“There ya go, bonnie. Job well done, aye? This birthday party willnae be topped anytime soon.”

You swallowed the shot, tasting just not the alcohol but the remnants of Gaz’s come as well when it slid down your throat in tandem. 

“Don’t worry, pretty girl,” the captain said, “You don’t have to say your goodbyes yet.”

Simon peered down at you over his shoulder,

“Riverbend street, apartment six, right?”

Your eyes went wide. How did he know where you lived? 

But, before you could ask him, they let themselves out, leaving you stunned, full of their come, and thrilled about what you would find when you finally made it home tonight.

[skzdarlings]

the kingsguard ; jisung x reader ; part i

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | tba | ao3 link

pairing: han jisung/reader summary: You are a queen. He is a kingsguard - a member of a holy order that vows to defend the king in the name of the gods. They forsake all earthly goods and swear a vow of chastity to avoid all worldly temptation. When he stands in as proxy for the royal wedding, all those vows are tested.

content info: later chapters get smutty. reader has some physical description: mentions of her having very curly hair and a more curvy body.

content warnings: a royal affair between queen reader and guard jisung. the king is a violently abusive man. this chapter contains a scene of physical violence and attempted sexual assault against the reader who later has a panicked reaction. reader also believes sex is not pleasurable (but learns different to say the least).

please proceed at your own discretion.

chapter word count: 5100 words.

-

There is no groom at your wedding.  Your betrothed is too hungover to attend the ceremony.

You are disappointed but not surprised.  Last night, your father hosted a welcome banquet but your husband-to-be ignored the lavish festivities in favour of drinking himself into a stupor.  It did not matter that banners were hung in the great hall, that a feast was prepared, that the palace glittered in anticipation of his arrival.  It did not matter that you were a vision, resplendent in ivory and pearl, prepared and perfected just for him. 

The house, the money, the bride.  It did not matter at all.     

Such insult would not have been tolerated in any other man, but he is not just another man.  He is a king.  Only the heavens can issue him orders, just as he commands common blood like yours. 

The king holds nothing but disdain for your union and last night it moved like a poisonous mist through your home.  There was nothing you could do.  You sat and watched your royal betrothed make a crude mockery of your arranged marriage.  He travelled to your lands with a contingency of courtiers and they filled your house with his contempt.    

They all detest you.  Your family is wealthy but your father’s land sits at the border.  Many at court consider you foreigners in all but paperwork. 

Regardless of that status, your family owns the most prosperous land in the kingdom – a kingdom with coffers long since drained from an overseas war that reaped nothing but blood. 

This arrangement will save the kingdom and your betrothed knows that, but he is not happy to marry for money when his bloodline is better.  He spent the night belittling your family name, sneering at you, and pawing at the servant girls between drinks.   

The king drank.  The courtiers laughed. 

Only one group extended any civility towards you at all. 

“His Majesty sends his regards,” the leader of that group speaks to you now. 

He is in black robes, a sword at his hip.  He is the leader of the holy kingsguard, an ancient order sworn to defend heaven’s earthly sovereign.  There is nothing holy about the degenerate king, but his kingsguard is an ordained ministry nonetheless.  They surrender all earthly goods and fortunes, devoting themselves to service and soldiership.  That includes a vow of total chastity, so they are the only men permitted to perceive the future queen prior to the ceremony. 

What little remains of the ceremony.   

The soldier – Chan, you recall – informs you the ceremony will now be conducted by proxy.  The king is bedridden today, but the wedding cannot be delayed as he is needed back at court and the return journey is long. 

Chan is polite and respectful.  He does not mention that the marriage cannot be delayed because the king wants money now.  You are certain your betrothed’s condemnation of his otherwise worthless bride was rather more unkind.   

You remember the cold eyes of his courtiers, his even crueler sneer, and you blink back tears.    

“I understand,” you say.  You are practiced at maintaining grace in the greatest adversity.  “Thank you, soldier.” 

Chan wears a pitying expression.  It looks like he wants to say more but he knows his place.  The kingsguard is the strictest order in the kingdom.  Only the most devout are granted the black cloth and silver sword. 

“Your Majesty,” he says with a bow. 

You are not a majesty yet.  You have weddings vows to swear to a stranger first.

Until then, you are just another woman.

-

You made the wedding dress yourself.  You have always enjoyed the craft of needlework, even where certain jobs could be passed along to a seamstress.  Growing up, you spent more hours alongside the working women than at your mother’s table, a behaviour that was indulged until the war. 

You run your fingers along every familiar stitch, tracing the embroidered floral patterns down your forearm.  You always wanted a spring wedding, but it was not meant to be.  You enter the hall with the hot summer sun pouring over the crystal and marble. 

It is an ostentatious ceremony.  Not even the king could afford such a spectacle.  It makes you think he absconded on purpose.  What better way to wrestle back his dignity than to disregard the expensive ceremony?   

The king’s absence is felt more than your presence.  It turns the grandeur of the hall into a theatrical farce.  Courtiers giggle behind their hands, the traditionalists casting you withering looks of disapproval. 

Your own family smiles and you smile weakly back. 

For all their faults, you love your family.  They thought they were doing something good by arranging this marriage.  A small, childish part of you even hoped they were right, but that hope is gone now.  You have resigned yourself to the sad reality of the world.  Life is a dreary wash save what small bits of colour one dares sew into its seams. 

There are flashes of black cloth around the hall.  Chan is not among the present kingsguards as the leader stays close to the king, but a handful of the regiment has been spared to witness the proxy vows.

You recognize a soldier named Hyunjin, standing apart for his beauty as much as position.  Several of the ladies tittered about him last night, lamenting that such a handsome form was sworn to a chaste life. 

You do not recognize the other two.  One is short and stocky.  The other has silver hair and a freckled face, smiling at you from the far corner.  You stare back at him, taking the proffered comfort of that open sweetness. 

You finally reach the front of the hall.  You step onto the dais.  The minister rises and a hush cascades down the congregation. 

You worry your pounding heart can be heard in the highest arches of the hall. 

The first words of the ceremony are a name.  “Han Jisung,” the minister says.  It echoes with a swinging reverberation. “As an ordained soldier of the kingsguard, you have been called upon by His Holy Majesty to stand in proxy for the swearing of the vows.”

Footsteps break the silence, beat by beat.  Someone ascends the dais. 

At first, you do not look at him.  You cast your eyes up to the arches of the great hall, tracing the grandiose architecture.  It carries cultural traces of the borderlands.  The art of this place is home to you, though it draws ire from the courtiers behind you. 

You think that you may never feel so at home again, then you turn and catch the warmth of deep brown eyes.  You see the man who will receive your vows on behalf of the king. 

Your racing heart stumbles over itself. 

Han Jisung.  You recognize this soldier from the banquet last night.   

The strange man stands beside you.  His nails are painted black, stark where he rests his hand on the silver hilt of his sword.  His hair is as black as his midnight robes, his brown eyes darkly lined, but his intimidating shadows are softened by the gentler slopes of his face.  There is a raw and open tenderness, even where he tries to stifle it with appropriate solemnity. 

Your eyes are drawn to his lips and you remember his smile last night.  Jisung strode into the banquet with a sword at his hip and a guitar at his back.  It is not unusual for the kingsguard to have a bard of sorts, someone who can conjure a flattering song at whim, someone who can perform as if the gods speak through his guitar strings. 

Last night, while people danced and drank, you sank further and further into yourself.  You smiled prettily but all the spring blossoms in your heart rotted as the summer sunset turned to a miserable black gloaming.  Torches were lit and the cackling faces on spinning bodies looked like demons in the lamplight.  The king ignored you so everyone else did the same. 

Jisung, armed with a guitar, was enchanting a crowd of courtiers and some local palace residents.  You watched from a distant seat.  You could not help but stare, captivated by this stranger, this combination of soldier and musician and holy man.  His glowing face in the torchlight was a solitary beacon, his smile more intoxicating than the ever-flowing wine.  His laughter rang out like a symphonic chord, travelling the air to touch your ears where you sat alone. 

The man was no one to you, just another stranger in your home, but there such a simple, honest delight to him. 

He just seemed so alive.   

You were not prepared for the moment he met your gaze.  His black robes swished as he jumped, his dark hair bouncing. His eyes seemed to flash gold in the firelight.  He stood on a chair above the crowd and said, “A song for the future queen!” 

He could not know you loved the springtime but that is what he sang.  Perhaps the gods really did speak through his guitar string as he sang of new beginnings and hopeful seasons and cherry blossoms.  You smiled.

It was your first real smile all day. 

He looks at you now, a flicker of something kind in his dark eyes.  You see that twinkle only briefly because he dips into a respectful bow.

You unravel at the sight. 

You imagine truly marrying this man, swearing oaths to him and not some wretched figment he serves.  You imagine the promise of laughter.  You imagine those warm eyes seeking you across the room.  You imagine a song every spring. 

You know it is a fantasy.  This man is a stranger and that version of him is a fabrication.  But your heart breaks because that version of you – the girl who is happy for the rest of her life – is just as much an impossible fantasy. 

Jisung looks up while bowing.  He meets your gaze just as a tear trickles down your cheek.  No one else notices, just like one else noticed you last night.

His eye twitches, his polite smile faltering. 

He sees you.  He straightens slowly.  His brow furrows ever so slightly, his teeth tugging at his lip with thought. 

You jump when he waves, flicking his wrist like he is batting a fly.  The discreet sweep of his thumb across your cheek is so fast, you only know it happened because the tear track dries. 

“In the name of the gods,” the minister speaks, “the ancient and the almighty, we gather here today to unite in matrimony the holiest of subjects.  This couple has been brought together through heaven’s all-knowing divine intervention.”   

You bow your head.  There is nothing else you can do.  You listen to the recitations and make your oaths when prompted.  You swear before gods and men to serve your husband, to obey him, to always be pure and faithful to him. 

“The gods grant you to speak on behalf of the divine blood,” the minister says to Jisung. 

You look at Jisung.  He is already looking at you.  His gaze darts down your dress, across the floral embroidery, and lands at your feet. 

Your breath catches when he slowly gets down on one knee, keeping his head bowed and eyes down.  A gentle murmur disturbs the congregation, but there is no outrage.  The king would not have bowed before the queen, but perhaps the genuflection of a proxy is appropriate. 

“I swear,” Jisung says, his theatrical voice replaced with a gentler rasp that tingles up your spine, “I will honour you as a wife and a queen.  I will revere you as the gods’ chosen consort.”   He looks up, his lashes long and dark, his brown eyes so big and warm.  You think he is so beautiful; it almost makes you sick.  That dizziness worsens when he smiles and says,  “I will be your protector.  Until the day I die, no harm will ever come to you.”   

He stands.  Blessings are made.  The minister pronounces the union has been sanctified by the gods.  The congregation kneels in genuflection, respectful of the rituals even if they don’t like you.   You stand on the dais above them all, maintaining a stoic expression.  

You are a wife and a queen, though your husband is nowhere in sight, and your eyes stray to a head of dark hair, bowed with the rest of them. 

Jisung looks up, a bit of hair falling over his eyes.  He flashes a smile. 

Your heart picks itself up and starts running again. 

-

You cannot do this. 

You thought you could try for the sake of your family.  You thought you could try for the sake of the gods.  You thought you could try for the sake of the kingdom and all the innocent people within it. 

Then the king came to your chamber.  He did not attend the wedding feast, just as he did not attend the ceremony.  It was a fair excuse to make an early departure, returning to your room while the music played and wine flowed.  You were exhausted, emotionally weary, and your face was sore from so many false smiles. 

You discarded your elaborate gown.  You were in a shift, sitting at your vanity and removing jewelry, when the king arrived.  He did not announce himself or knock.  He threw open the door and marched inside like a conquering force.  He looked over your room with a scrunched face of displeasure, grimacing as if he was standing in a barnyard.  He looked at you with the same hateful distaste.     

Your throat closed up as if you inhaled poison.

You stood on shaking legs.  You had practiced a speech for this moment.  You thought perhaps you could convince the king to regard you as a decent friend if not a cherished wife.  You were willing to compromise on happiness. 

He backhanded you without hesitation.  No one had ever hit you so hard.  It felt as though he struck you with hot iron, your cheek a stinging welt.  Bells seemed to drown out the music downstairs.   

“Sire,” you said, your voice shaking worse than your legs. 

You found you could not look at him directly.  Your eyes burned just turning towards him. 

“Get on the bed,” he said.  “Wife.”  He might as well have said whore for all that the word was spat. 

You never expected to enjoy your wedding night.  All women know there is no pleasure in acts of copulation.  But this was something else entirely.  You approached the bed like a deer skirts the edge of the woods.  One wrong step and you knew it would be over. 

He grabbed you from behind before you could sit.  You slammed your eyes shut, curled your fists tighter.

In the darkness, you heard music, a distant voice belting some sweeter tune.  You recognized Jisung, his crystalline voice soaring above the bells. Your heart chased the sound, a desperate stampede up your body.  It seized control and before the king could do more harm, you blurted, “I’ve started my monthly bleeding.”

He stopped, the hem of your shift in his fists.

“Just – just so you know,” you said. 

It was a lie.  You braced yourself for the worst.  If he chose to disregard it, if he chose to take you anyway, he would quickly see there was no blood and you were trying to deceive him.  He had rights as a husband and it was sinful to deny him. 

He made a sound like gagging.  He shoved you forward.  You collapsed in a heap on the bed. 

He walked away. 

“I will not have you on the road,” he said.  You are not sure if he looked at you again because you hid your face in the blankets.  Hiding, as if you could will the world away by not seeing it.  “You’re filthy enough as is,” he continued.  “When we reach civilized society, you will be made as appropriate as you can be.  You will be cleaned, you will lose weight, you will be made to look halfway respectable, not like some borderland animal laying in its own filth. I will have you then without exception.  Wife.” 

You shuddered when the door slammed shut. 

The sun was still setting when he left.  It has long since vanished from the sky.  You have not moved.  You fear if you lift your head, he will be there, waiting to strike. 

After a long, long time, you surface.  Your room is empty.  The lavender light of sunset is gone and there is a darker puddle of moonlight, trickling between the curtains, pouring down your back.  You shiver.  You touch your cheek and find it is still tender. 

You try to pray but you are surrounded by silence.   Even the music has ended. 

In the ringing silence, you stand.  Your body is sore from laying curled up for so long.  It takes some pacing to straighten fully.  Back and forth, across your room.  Back and forth, in the silence. 

I cannot do this, you think.  Back and forth, the same thought, again and again. 

Disobeying the king is unlawful.  Abandoning him when you have sworn an oath is treasonous.  Even the kingsguards are bound to their vows for life.   If a soldier breaks his oath, he is put to death, swift and sure.  The punishment for a disobedient wife is the same. 

The silence is agonizing. 

You know what you have to do.   It will not be easy. 

You have to try for sake of yourself. 

-

The risks are great but you would rather die a swift death than suffer the slow poisoning of contempt. 

Your adrenaline pounds.  You pack all your jewelry in a sack to sell.  You bring some clean clothes.

There are servants clothes in a stack by the unlit fireplace.  You mend their worn garments during the busy seasons.  They are always appreciative and you like helping people. 

You don a pageboy’s garb and tuck your hair into a hat.  The king commented on your build and you grant it gives you away, built with your mother’s curves with a cascade of your father’s curly black hair.  You hide all your prominent features as best you can. You will be more inconspicuous as a roaming servant boy than as a notable queen. 

You tip-toe into the corridor, uncertain if the hallway is guarded.  The palace is usually safe but you are a queen now, so maybe the king sent guards.  Protecting you was in his oath, after all.

Kings are not beholden to their oaths.  The hallway is empty but you are hardly aggrieved.  You seize the opportunity and let your racing heart carry you away. 

Down the hall, down the winding stairs, through the kitchen, past the door.  You slow to a nonchalant canter when passing other servants, making sure to turn your face down and keep to the shadows.  Everyone is either busy, drunk, or tired, so you manage to slip past without notice. 

Once you are alone outside, you break into a run.  You do not leave yourself a moment to think.  If you begin to doubt, you will falter, and this will all be over. 

You are panting and sweating by the time you reach the stables.  You are not exactly in the habit of great exertion.  You take a moment to catch your breath while scanning for guards.  There must be some.  The courtiers have their animals in camps around the palace but the king’s horses are stabled.  The kingsguards have alternated shifts to keep an eye on the king’s property.  

There are no guards to be found.  You approach the stable with cautious steps.  No one appears and you slip into the stables unseen.  There is a lit lamp, swinging as though recently bumped, but there is no one in here.  Just the horses. 

You step to the first stall.  Your heartbeat is erratic and it pounds harder when you find a horse already bridled.  Did they forget to remove the saddle?  This is one of your father’s horses and that is unusual, but you do not question it. 

You lead the horse out of the stall and into the middle of the stable.  You speak gentle nothings to him.  You have not often ridden this horse as he is one of the faster animals, but you will need that speed tonight.   

Perhaps the gods are on your side after all. 

You take hold of the saddle.  You are about to hoist yourself onto the mount when a zing of metal slashes through the silent night.   The tip of a sword touches your shoulder.   

“What do you think you’re doing?” 

You recognize that voice. 

Of all the kingsguards to find you, of course it would be Han Jisung. 

You are so startled  that your adrenaline turns from fire to ice.  You freeze solid. 

“Hey! Little boy!” He lightly jabs you with the sword, just enough to scratch the material of your stolen shirt.  “A kingsguard asked you something.  Answer me!  Now!”

Your hands are still raised when you turn around.  It is a slow, begrudging reveal.  Your eyes are on the hay-spattered stable floor.  You look at his black boots, the silver sheath hanging at his hip.  Up, up, up, your eyes slowly lift. 

You meet his gaze.  His brow is furrowed with frustration but it uncrinkles when he recognizes you.  That irritation is smacked off his face, shock changing his whole disposition.  The sword wobbles and he takes a startled step back. 

“You—” he says.  He looks at you, jaw-slacked, then rubs his eye as if he cannot believe what he is seeing. 

Finally, the sword lowers to his side. His long black robes swish with the movement.  His shock gives way to panic.   

“What are you doing?” he demands, his voice breaking on a harsh whisper.  He swiftly sheaths the sword and takes several determined steps closer to you.  “Are you crazy?  Where are you going?  And what are you wearing?”

“I’m leaving,” you snap back.  The burgeoning panic in your chest begins to putter, making you indignant in your desperation.  “And I’m obviously in disguise.”

“Oh.  A disguise,” he says, utterly dry.  His face is theatrical by nature, brows jumping and eyes widening as he speaks.  “Yeah, no one could recognize you like this.  Except for, oh, I don’t know—”

Audaciously, Jisung snatches the hat off your head.  You yelp, throwing your hands up to grab it, but he pulls it away faster than a blink. 

Your hair tumbles free, curls even messier than before.  You slap your hands over your head, frantically smoothing them down.  Your arms start to shake, all that panic and adrenaline bubbling, needing somewhere to go.  You feel as though you are going to burst, a screaming firework shooting through the roof of this stable. 

“I would have been fine with the hat,” you snap.  “I made it this far.” 

“Only because half this house is drunk,” he replies with equal verve.  “Look at you, your hair, your woman’s face, your – your woman’s body.”  He stumbles over that one, eyes flicking down your form and up again.  He clears his throat and shakes his head.  “You would have been caught immediately.  You were caught immediately.” 

“I’ll be fine,” you say.  “I know my way.”

“There’s no way a girl like you has ever ridden anywhere past your family’s land,” he says.

You are flushed with heat and aggravation.  You want to argue but he is not wrong.  You know the general direction to the nearest town but you have never ridden there on horseback. 

“I know my way,” you say again. 

“Do you?”  He takes a step closer.  “You go north – do you know which trail is overrun with bandits?  And the east – do you know which path to take to avoid the mountain lions?  Or the west – if you go over the border and the men who live in those woods discover you alone—”

“Stop it!”  You throw your hands up over your ears.  All that panicked heat simmers and spills.  It turns to tears. 

You sob.     

He’s right.  You know he’s right.  You let your desperation and your adrenaline carry you this far, but you are not prepared for an arduous journey.  You have a sack of jewels that are a greater liability than asset on dangerous roads.  What would you have done if they were stolen?  What would you have done if someone hurt you?  You have nothing.  No map, no direction, and no hope.

Jisung’s shoulders drop as he watches you cry.  His own passion tempers itself, his frustration cooling in the face of your tears.  He let himself get carried away too, but you don’t blame him.  He is a kingsguard.  He is duty-bound to protect the king and the king’s property, which you are. 

He found you committing treason.  You are lucky he did not hold a sword to your throat and drag you to the king. 

His sword stays sheathed.  He looks at you, expression morose.   

“I’m sorry,” he says in a soft voice.  “You know I can’t let you go.” 

“I know,” you whisper, gasping through your tears. 

If you were not so miserable, you might have laughed at the look on his face.  You are certain this man has encountered many adversaries, but never a sobbing woman.  He would have been happier dealing with a real thief. 

His hand lifts and falls as he wars with himself, evidently debating whether he should touch you or not.  You stand there, sobbing into your hands while he watches helplessly. 

When he does touch you, it is careful.  First, just his fingertips, light on your shoulder, then the slow curving touch of his palm as he gently squeezes.   It is the first kind touch in days and it sends a shiver down your spine.  You look at him, eyes wet with tears, imploring with no words. 

His mouth opens but he doesn’t speak.  A breath stutters past his lips.  Slowly, he takes back his hand, curls his fingers into his palm.   He swallows. 

You stare at each other in the dim lamplight.  You are not sure how long you would have stood there, silent, staring, but you are interrupted before you can find out.  There is a soft knock at the stable door and Jisung jumps as if it was an explosion.  His head whips around, looking between you and the door. 

“Fuck,” he says.  His brows jump and he covers his mouth.  “You didn’t hear that.  Quick.” 

He does not stop to explain.  You have no opportunity to ask questions.  He swiftly ushers you into the empty stall, closing the door behind you.  He races to the stable door to greet whoever is there. 

You hold your breath, hiding in the shadows as someone enters the stable.  Jisung and the intruder speak in hushed tones that you cannot decipher.  You inch closer to the door, peeking through the slats between the wood.    

 It is another kingsguard.  You recognize him as one from the ceremony, the silver-haired one with the face full of freckles, who smiled at you so kindly.  You would recognize such a unique face anywhere, even though he is out of uniform.  For some reason, he is dressed in civilian garb, even though you know the kingsguard is not allowed to wear anything but their black robes. 

“Thank you again,” the silver-haired man says.  You can hear better as they step further inside. 

“Don’t thank me yet, Felix,” Jisung replies.  “I still think you’re crazy, man.”    

“Still,” the man, Felix, replies.  “Not everyone would have helped.  You didn’t have any problems?”

Jisung is adjusting the saddle on the horse.  His eyes briefly lift and meet yours.  You duck further into shadow. 

Jisung sighs and shakes his head.  He tightens the reigns then hands them to Felix.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Jisung says.

Another figure steps into view, one who has been silent this whole time.  You watch as the person draws back their hood, revealing a woman around your age.  By the style of her gown, you can tell she is a courtier from the capital.  She smiles at Jisung. 

“Thank you, Han Jisung,” she says.  “The gods will reward your courageous heart.”

“Ah-ha-ha.”  He giggles nervously, scratching the back of his neck.  “I already have everything I need.  Some of us—”  He casts a withering look at Felix, though his tone is light and teasing, “—can keep our chastity vows.  I don’t need anything more than service.” 

Felix chuckles, holding out his hand to the woman.  She hurries into his arms. 

“If that’s your path, I hope it will make you happy,” Felix says. 

You watch as they help the woman onto the horse.  Felix swings up behind her.  They both pull hoods over their heads. 

Jisung reaches up, offering Felix his hand.  Felix clasps it.

“Brother,” Felix says. 

“Crazy man,” Jisung replies. 

Felix smiles.  They drop hands and Felix takes the reigns.  With an expert click, he marches the horse into a swift canter and rides out the open stable door.  Jisung strides forward to watch them leave, craning his neck to see further. 

Now you know why there were no guards.  Now you know why the horse was prepared.  Felix and Jisung must have been posted as guards and took the opportunity to sneak Felix away.  Felix, who has evidently committed treason, breaking his vow as a kingsguard to literally ride off with a woman.  

You doubt this was a whim.  You wonder how long the trio has been planning this.  If there was ever a time for a guard to steal a horse and sneak away, it would be in the busy chaos of a wedding week.  Like Jisung said, most of the household is drunk.  Others are tired and resting.  A long journey back to the capital begins tomorrow. 

A journey you will have to make. 

You nudge the door open.  Jisung’s shoulders jump, eyes wide as he looks at you, as if he forgot you were there.  He regards you warily as you step forward. 

“So,” you say.  “It’s okay for some people to commit treason.”

“It’s not the same thing,” Jisung answers quickly.  “And Felix can handle himself out there.” 

You have both witnessed the other commit a treasonous act.  You could rat him out to the king, just as he could drag you back and do the same.   Instead, you stare at each other, your gazes measuring.  They meet in the middle. 

“Do you think we understand each other?” he asks. 

He holds out his hand in offering.  You remember his quick but substantial touch at the ceremony, that moment he wiped the tear from your cheek.  For all that darkness circles the periphery of him, there is something warm at the centre of his character.  It compels you to trust him. 

You take his hand. 

“I do,” you say. 

[honeykaes]

lustful vices

stelleron-hunter!sunday x stelleron hunter!reader II 3.4k

warning: smut, 18+ content, minors do not interact, afab!reader with no pronouns, angst, mention of blood, corruption kink, virginity loss, fingering, cunnilingus, mention of blood, minor character deaths, switch!reader, switch!sunday, unedited

synopsis: what would you do for one wish? would you sacrifice everything just to see a glimpse of it? that's a question you posed to the newcomer of the stelleron hunters, sunday. As he tries to adjust to his new life, you suggest some new vices he can indulge in to cope.

Water dripped from the corner of the dark room. Golden eyes burned into the concrete ground, widened in shock and pity. His heart thumped wildly in his chest, he was sure his gloved nails dug into the wooden chart he was chained to.

Teeth gnawed down on his chapped lips, worried at what the Heartstone woman just said and left him with

“You’re free now. Someone made a deal for you.”

Despite years of being pruned, clipped, and groomed to become the Oak Family Head, he knew no one in the Family had his back. His heart ached knowing the one person who would sacrifice something to see him alive.

“Robin…” he grunted, narrowing his eyes. What did she promise that woman?  He heard of that woman’s dealings with the Bonnajade Exchange. An eye for an eye—something Jade seemed to relish in.

Would Robin’s life be in danger now she was ensnared by that woman? She was forever tied to that snake. How could he put an end to this when he knew Jade would amusingly keep them separated until the days they perished? 

He had so much he wanted to say to his sister. He wanted to apologize. He wanted to yell at her on her decision to help outsiders. He wanted to cry in her arms and convince her to run away with him, so they can start a new life together.

As Sunday grunted, his eyes lurched up hearing noises from outside. Muffled shouting echoed from behind the door, and the sound of bullets firing to whomever were their victims. 

Could this be the Astral Express and that strange Galaxy Ranger? He fought a sardonic laugh. He tried to kill them; those people would leave him to rot just as his ”family” did.

But who is causing all this chaos? He wondered if one fray bullet managed to lodge itself in Jade’s head, truly freeing him and Jade from the new cage she had made them.

As it became silent, the door slowly opened revealing yourself. Your lips were formed in a smug smile, blood smearing across your face. A taller man narrowed his bloodred eyes as he stood by the doorway. You leaned over as Sunday tilted back, wanting distance between you two Your amused yet calculating eyes lapped up his pitiful expression.

“So this was the famous Sunday? How the angels have fallen,” you teased. Sunday grunted, eyebrows furrowing. As he opened his mouth, you pressed her finger to his lips.

“Relax there, birdie. I was just teasing. Besides, we’re here to get you out. The IPC is temporarily…decommissioned, giving you enough time to leave and come with us,” you chimed. 

The man in the doorway grunted, flinging blood that was on his broken sword.

“Seems you picked up Kafka’s bad habits with nicknames,” the man grumbled. Sunday scoffed, lips curling into a cruel smile. His golden eyes narrowed, bearing into your own.

“They already promised me my freedom. A soldier was on their way to uncuff me.”

You clicked your tongue, hand drifting to the soft feathers of the wing’s on Sunday’s head as he purged back. The wings puffed up in frustration as you chuckled again.

“Perhaps but is that truly freedom Sunday? Would you like to know the deal your dear sister made on your behalf?” you offered. Sunday tightened his jaw, looking to the ground.

It seemed like yet another group is trying to prospect him to become their tool. First the Oak Family, then the Astral Express crew, now the Stelleron Hunters? Why was everyone insisting on him becoming a pawn?

He was so sick of being controlled, yet the image of Robin burned in the back of his mind.

With a sigh he looked back up to her.

“What.”

Your grin widened.

“Your pretty dove promised to, well, never see you again. Fate worse than death when you two were so close through thick and thin,” you murmured, crossing your fingers. Sunday looked at you shocked.

“How is that even possible? How would Jade even-”

“That snake knows how to wrap around her prey. Trust me, she would make it where your sister won’t even gaze in your potential direction the rest of this lifetime,” you murmured, a more somber response than the condescending tone from earlier.

His head ached from stress as his gaze faltered away from yours, leg bouncing anxiously as he racked his thoughts with the revelation.

Making this deal, Robin was susceptible to that schemer. She’s right in the clutches of a venomous snake baring their fangs at a meek sparrow. He knew he was right to try and keep her safe, only for this to happen.

How can he fix this?

Sensing his dilemma, you leaned back, lifting your gun up and examining the weapon. Your gaze was much colder.

“You have two options now. Join the Stelleron Hunters and follow Elios’ script which will promise a reunion between the two of you…or live knowing you’re the reason why your sister is now a victim of the IPC.”

“....”

He hated this. He hated everyone. How much more did he need to sacrifice…

You crossed her arms as your colleague grunted.

“Well?”’

He’d let the world burn if it would make his sister smile.

“Fine…uncuff me.”

It had been two weeks since Sunday joined the Stelleron Hunters. He had joined them for a couple jobs, following Elios’ script to a T. Elios seemed to be pairing you and him together, but he had met the rest of the team. He recalled seeing Firefly on Penacony. 

He had learned the intimidating man in the room when he met you was Blade. He had met yet another condescending woman who also called him ‘Birdie’ and the teenager with a bad attitude who only seemed interested in hacking and gaming.

You and him resided in a bar in a hotel of whatever planet you had dragged him to for the script. Tomorrow you two will be off yet again, raising the price of his bounty bit by bit with every action he followed the the script.

Sunday sipped on his wine, feeling unamused as he placed it down. His gaze wandered to you with a bit of scorn and superiority he still felt despite not being the Oak Family Head anymore.

“...I still never would have imagined in my life I would team up with the Stelleron Hunters,” Sunday sighed. You chuckled, taking a sip of your cocktail. You leaned your cheek into your hand, soft skin pillowing against it.

“Well, I didn’t either. We all have our reasons for wanting to join, being a slave to whatever desire we are looking for,” you murmured, swirling your drink around. You eventually stop, stumping your fingers to the edge of the bar. 

“You want to see and save your sister. Firefly wants to live, Blade wants to die. Kafka wants to understand what loss and fear mean. All of us are slaves to destiny,” you responded. Sunday narrowed his eyes, it seems you withhold something important from your statement.

“And what do you want?” he asked. You snorted.

“Me? Well…I guess love,” you replied. Sunday’s eyebrows narrowed, scoffing. His eyes looked down before up again, checking your body language. Although it seems you were being serious, he didn’t believe a word.

“You? You’re joking?” he replied. You smiled and shrugged.

“My home planet was wartorn thanks to the IPC. I admit, it wasn’t necessarily as bad as Firefly’s situation but my life has been all about strategy, battles and blood since I turned 18 years old. My civilization decided to fight against the beacons of the Amber Lord….only to be wiped out,” you sighed.

“What I wish is just to go back to normalcy. Find love, settle down, find peace or whatever. Act like these 8 years didn’t exist,” you murmured. Your lips were still curved in a smile despite your somber tone. 

“What’s stopping you?” Sunday asked.

“The IPC. Got a pretty big hit on my head even prior to joining the Stelleron Hunters. I can never find peace until they’re dealt with,” you grunted, rolling your eyes. Sunday looked away from you, gazing at his reflection in the deep red color of his wine. You seemed so adapted to this despite being fairly new to the Stelleron Hunters yourself.

They all did. Although he was getting the job done, the mental toll of everything tugged on him.

“...How do you, manage all of this? I don’t get why you all sacrifice so much just to follow a script you have no idea will end,” he asked. You paused finishing your drink before swiveling your chair, so you were facing him.

“You’re doing the same, Sunday. We’re not that different at all despite you insisting we are,” you chimed, narrowing your eyes. You let out a chuckle, lightening up once more.

“Besides, all of us do little things to cope. Silverwolf for one spends way too much on video games. You should look at Kafka’s wardrobe. I swear she has every outfit combination she can, and she still purchases crap. Blade just consistently fights and spars swearing he will defeat whomever the fuck…” you grunted.

“And your vice…?”

A smirk crept onto your face. You leaned closer to Sunday as his eyes slightly widened in shock, feeling your finger tilt his chin up. 

“Teasing unsuspecting Holovians for a laugh.”

Sunday’s cheeks momentarily redden before he grunts, pushing you off. You laughed again.

“Geez, tough crowd. And I thought you were known for your upbeat personality,“ you sarcastically added.

“Be serious,” Sunday demanded.

“Fine, fine. Occasional I might go home with someone,” you admitted. Sunday’s eyes narrowed in understanding. You found comfort in sex. He never really understood what was so appealing about it, but at the same time he didn’t have much time to even focus on it to begin with.

“So lust is your vice despite you searching for love? Seems counterproductive,” he replied. Despite the insult, you grinned.

“Ah, ah, ah, Sunday. Don’t put on a high horse when Penacony was known for indulgence,” you added. “What was the saying again: whatever happens in Penacony, stays in Penacony, hm?”

Sunday momentarily clears his throat, rose dusting at his cheeks.

“That was for others, not myself. I helped people to a higher path,” he said. Your face morphed to disbelief.

“...Without indulging in any vices? Tsk, tsk, tsk. No wonder you’re so high strung,” you muttered.

Sunday narrowed his eyes. 

You lifted your hand and brushed past his feather like you did the day you two met. The wings  shuttered but didn’t puff out like the last time you tried it.

“...Well, would you like to try? Experience what you missed out years on,” you cooed, tapping his golden earring. You leaned in closer, placing your hand on his upper thigh.

“And find out just what was appealing to those hundreds of people who confessed to you,” you whispered in his ear, Sunday’s body shuttered, eyebrows furrowed.

“So you’re more like a tempress huh? Coax people to do whatever dirty thing they can. Is that your role here? As much as you proclaimed you're a fighter, the softness of your hands tells me everything I need to know about you.”

Your smirk grows at his observation.

“So how about it, birdie? Mark this new chapter abandoning all you know and let yourself experience life’s indulgences…” you cooed, blowing cool air into his ear. His hand grabbed your own. Just as you leaned back taking it as a sign of rejection—Sunday scoffed—gloved hand digging into your own.

Your gaze caught to the tent developing in his slacks.

“...Alright.”

Sunday sat on the bed, his throat felt dry. Why was he so nervous? 

His heart seemed to be wanting to lurch out of his chest..

As much as he denied it, he was curious about lust and sex. He recalled numerous confessions where people had admitted wavering their eyes from their “beloved” spouses, but he never truly understood why.

Meeting you, he’s beginning to start to.

His breath hitched—feeling you sit down on his lap—gently rotating your hips. Your core grinded against his bulge as nails dug into the silky hotel bed sheets. 

Your hands made their way to his chest, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. With each pop of the button he could feel sweat beginning to cling onto his hair. His eardrums pounded as he gaze continued to flip to your expression, and to his slowly revealing bare chest.

Just as the final button was undone and you slowly pulled his top off. Your lips hovered next to his jugular, soft lips pressing down on the warm and tense skin. 

“You need to relax more. Are you sure you want this? We can stop now,” you suggested. Sunday shook his head, trying to snap him out of his timidness.

“No. I want this. I…need this,” Sunday admitted. He could feel the smile you made press against his nape.

“Oh, so the spoiled rich boy can tell the truth?” you cooed. Sunday rolled his eyes and was about to yell a retort only for his voice to hitch as your swipe swiped along his neck.

You guided his hands onto your chest. With hesitantly squeezed the mounds, as you chuckled.

“See, you’re doing good. Just follow your heart and instincts.”

You had eventually taken your shirt off, letting it fall to the ground with the other articles of clothing.Sunday rolled his thumb against your nipples, lips parted as he could feel them hardened against his touch.

With a quivering lip, Sunday leaned into the soft mouths pressing his lips to the plush breast. His tongue slowly darted out before skating around the perimeter of your nubs. 

As your hand reached down, cupping his cock, Sunday gasped, letting the nipple plop into his mouth. He sucked, eyebrows narrowed as you hand made way beneath his pants, pumping his cock.

His cock jolted. You could feel it pulsating at your touch. It seemed longer than you expected, with a bit of heaviness to it too. Just as your thumb grazed the tip, Sunday bit down on your tip of your nipple. You gasped and chuckled.

“Guessing you enjoyed that, huh?” 

Sunday lifted his mouth up, lips gleaming from his saliva.

“...Stop teasing me already and get to the point.”

“Ahhh you’re rushing the best part. I’m guessing you didn’t know foreplay typically makes things feel better for you,” you cooed. “But alas, I understand. You’re eagerness is showing former Oak Family Head.”

You shimmied Sunday's slacks and briefs off, as his cock plopped onto his lean and toned chest. It quivered, lolling to the side desperate for more of your attention. You had risen from your seat, taking your own pants off.

Sunday caught the strings of slick that connected the fabric of your underwear, thighs and cunt. He felt his mouth water, gulping slightly as he drank up your entire nude form.. His hand reached out and connected with your thigh. It wandered from up as he relished the touch of your soft skin, pillowy texture of your chest, to the district angles of your face.

This was lust incarnate, he knew it in his heart.

“Ready?”

You leaned on top of his lap, cunt hovering above his throbbing cock. You circled your click in preparation, slowly sliding it down.

Sunday swore he felt bells as soon as his tip connected with your velvety entrance. His hips intentionally bucked up, sliding himself deeper as you chuckled, finally gliding it down.

He sucked a breath in. wrapping your arms around you tight. His heart fluttered fighting the urge to plow inside. He could feel your tight cunt squeeze and coax him to slide deeper, if it was possible.

Just as you lifted your hips, about to ride him, Sunday’s grip on you got tighter, a loud groan reverberating throughout the room.

Thick ropes of warm cunt shot inside of you, as his hips meekly jolted up. His back arched, covering his moan of any further pathetic noises from escaping. His eyes slowly opened, feeling his high finally come down gazing at your slightly disappointed face.

He could feel himself softening inside of you.

“I-I…I don’t know what happened…” Sunday admitted. “I tried to control myself but”

You sighed but gave a supportive smile.

“I know. It’s your first time. I would have been surprised if you lasted longer to be honest. You never masturbated or have sex, right? This was bound to happen,” you murmured. You lifted yourself off of his cock, his eyes gazing at his cum leaking down your thighs.

“I won’t lie, I am a bit sad I won’t get my fill but there are other ways of that,” you murmured, laying beside him, looking up at the ceiling. The burn of arousal was beginning to shimmer between your thighs.

Sunday looked down, lapping up the view of your body.

“Like what?”

You grinned at the question, lulling your head to the side.

 “Curious still? Well, there’s different ways. Toys, but I didn’t pack any. And these guys,” you stated, wiggling your fingers.

“Show me.”

You hummed, letting your hands slide down the curves of your waist and thighs before settling at your cunt. Your finger slides along the slit a couple of times before you gaze a dramatic moan as Sunday tensed further, to your satisfaction.

Your thumb settled on your clit, beginning to rub circles. Sunday noted that was the same spot you did before getting on top of him.

“Doing this for a little while can get me to that euphoric feeling you just had. You can also slide your fingers in too, but the main focus should be right here.” you hummed. You continued, and closed your eyes, letting your other hand grip tightly on your breast.

Your hips began to grind down on your fingers, inching closer to your high.

“Wait! Let me do it!” Sunday grunted. You opened your eyes to see Sunday, moving your hands away. His long fingers followed the same movements, grazing your slit before letting his calloused thumb press tightly against your clit. His movements were slow but began to go faster as he felt more sure of himself.

You were squirming beneath him, and he couldn’t help smiling. It was so interesting, having him on top of you now. He liked it. He liked you under him, his touch being the ultimate desire of reaching euphoric highs.

He liked being in control.

His fingers sank into your cunt, drilling as his pace didn’t let up. He noted the way your nails harpoon against the bed sheets as his timidly once did. He noted the way your moans didn’t seem fake, they were as soft and pathetic as the ones he had made.

Your face leaned to the side, gaze half-lidded beguiling him further. 

He thought righteousness would save him. No, perhaps sin will instead.

After all, he can just ask for forgiveness later.

He leaned his head into your cunt, tongue beginning to swirl on the bundle of nerves as his fingers continued to plow against him. Your hands weaved their way into his silver hair, pulling him further into your core. He could taste your sweet arousal mixed with the saltiness of his cunt, an aroma that he knew would dream off once everything was settled in the early hours of the morning.

He felt your walls begin to clamp on his fingers, giving him a harder time plowing as quickly into you. Curling his fingers up, to try to slide deeper, he heard you gasp out his name loudly.

“There! Right there Sunday!” you shouted. He continued his ministrations there, watching your body spasm as his other hand connected with your thigh, spreading you out further.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” you cursed out, throwing your head back. Your hips lifted up as Sunday’s eyes widened. He felt you clamp onto his fingers as he slurped up the excess essence drooling out of you. Your whole body rocked, with whimpers and whines falling from your lips.

As your body plopped down, Sunday lifted his head up from your core and slid his fingers out. He tongue lapped up the remaining juices clinging onto him, watching your tired eyes open again. Your chest was heaving, drool managing the drip down a corner.

“I thought you were just a virgin…” you muttered breathlessly. A new found but familiar confidence fell over Sunday As he crawled on top of you. His cock lurched, hardened and pulsating, eager to try again as it nudged against your burning clit.

“I’m a fast learner.”

Perhaps he can adjust to becoming a Stelleron Hunter better than he originally thought.

[zepskies]

Just saw a TikTok where a woman says that her husband uses the dyson air wrap he brought for his wife more than her, why can I see Ben also acting like that 🤣

Lmfao oh, anon. That's really funny to imagine. 😂

I feel like Soldier Boy (Ben)'s been surrounded by hair stylists for most of his life, so might not be as well versed in managing his own hair. But he absolutely would be one to shave for himself, since that's more of a right of passage for men, especially one of his time.

However, when his S.O./girlfriend/wife comes into the picture, he'd probably start to get used to at least figuring out how to style his own hair at home... That's where the Dyson hairdryer comes in. 🤣

Imagine Soldier Boy (Ben) Using Your Hairdryer:

At first, Ben's intrigued and bewildered looking at this "stupid fucking thing," trying to figure out how it works with all these weird attachments.

Muttering to himself, "Looks like one of her dildos, for Christ's sake."

That thought might make him hesitate on actually trying it out, but when he finally manages to switch it on, it's like a lightbulb goes off above his head. Something inside him has just gotta try this thing.

He doesn't dare experiment while you're at home though. He's going to wait until you're out of the house, for at least a few hours.

He's going to try and fail a few times to actually do what he wants to do with his hair (a simple blow-dry). But eventually, "Ha!" He's done it.

You notice something different about him when you get home. You squint your eyes at him, looking at the gentle, downright shiny swoop of his hair to match his well-trimmed beard.

"Did you..." you trail off.

He raises his brows, feigning ignorance. "What?"

"...Never mind," you say, but you do tell him he looks handsome today.

Of course, his vain ass smirks in a way that says, I look handsome every damn day. (You roll your eyes in amusement.)

You do eventually catch him using your hairdryer. He's humming while he grooms himself in the bathroom, expertly maneuvering the various attachments as he sees fit.

It's the biggest struggle of your life to contain your shock (and laughter). You're torn between leaving him be to practice some healthy self-care...and your instinct to sneak a pic or two. Maybe even a quick video that you might just send to Annie and the rest of the boys later.

That's when Ben catches sight of you in the mirror. His look of concentration melts into a surly, frowning mixture of surprise and embarrassment. He switches off the hairdryer and lays it down on the counter. For a moment, he just stands there, knowing he's caught, bracing himself for your teasing.

Biting your lip, you go over to him and raise up on your toes, leaning one hand on his shoulder so you can sift your fingers through the soft brown strands of his hair.

You smile. "Looks good, babe. Good job."

Slowly, his lips form a familiar cocky smile.

"Damn right, it does."

AN: LOL I didn't intend for this to be a full-on headcanon/imagine, but that's basically what happened. 😂

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[howcouldmuffin]

First Choice IV

[ Chapter 4 : My Fate, My Choice ]

Born a princess, freedom eluded you, and choices were never yours to make. Yet now, your destiny rests in your own hands.

WARNING : NSFW, Targaryen incest, Non-canon, SMUT, Sex Content

AN : I feel that my descriptive skills aren’t at their best right now, but I hope you understand what I’m trying to convey. Enjoy the read. Love.

CONTENTS : Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

please be kind to me English is not my first language.

You find that the daily life at Dragonstone bears a curious resemblance to your experiences in King’s Landing. You rise with the dawn, don your attire, and attend to the myriad duties within the castle walls. Though not as frenzied as the capital, the routine here is one you manage with ease, and its simplicity brings a certain satisfaction to your days.

On some occasions, Jace will take you upon Vermax, and together you traverse the boundless sky. The thrill of observing the world below from such heights, with the crisp air caressing your skin, offers a sense of freedom that the gilded cage crafted by your mother never could.

The sweeping expanse of water below is breathtakingly beautiful. As you gaze down from Jacearys’s back, held closely by Jace, you ponder whether the life of privilege behind the walls of the Red Keep, with its attendant duties of marriage and children, is truly what you desire.

“Is there anything special you would like to eat today?” Jacaerys’s voice brings you back to reality. “I shall instruct the servants to prepare it.”

“No, thank you.” you reply. “Let them busy themselves on another day.”

“Our wedding shall be the grandest affair in all the Seven Kingdoms, and every soul will be in attendance.” Jace declares as he guides you back to the castle. The mighty dragon, capable of bearing two, carries you swiftly through the air.

Soon, you find yourself seated before your vanity, the maid combing your hair. Her head bowed, she reminds you of a time when you, too, had been a young girl at a celebration with your family—something your mother once remarked upon, noting the beauty you possessed but struggled to wield.

“Lift your head, please.” you instruct the maid.

“Yes, Your Highness.” she replies, hesitating briefly before complying. Her youthful face is charming, and you offer her a reassuring smile, striving to ease her discomfort.

“I believe I have encountered you before.” you say. “The little girl in the red skirt.” You recall selecting her as a maid and her brother as a soldier for the castle. They had lost their mother to either disease or cruelty; you are uncertain.

“Do you remember, Your Highness?” Her face shows astonishment and disbelief, with tears beginning to form.

“Do not cry, I have no intention of reprimanding you.” you say, turning to face her. “The girl who clung to my skirt, her face stained with tears because her brother was departing.”

The tears flow freely now, and the maid’s hands tremble as she drops the comb. She remains as tearful as she was years ago. Rising from your seat, you gently wipe her tears away with a cloth.

“Now, tell me, how did you come to be here, Zia”

Regaining her composure, she recounts that after you had her brother join the castle guard, his skill and cleverness won him favor among the nobles, which improved their fortunes. When it became known that the princess’s personal maid was still needed, they hastened to request the position from Vidah, who granted their plea.

“Vidah should have informed me.” you muse. “Well, I shall rely on you. I can be quite particular.” You retrieve the comb she dropped and hand it back to her, resuming your seat at the vanity to continue her grooming.

“I am greatly honored to serve you, Your Highness.” she says, her hands working carefully through your hair. “Without your intervention, my brother and I might have been doomed to a life of servitude. My brother pledged that, given the chance, he would dedicate himself to the Queen. Whatever you require, we will do anything for you, Your Highness.”

You smile at the steadfast loyalty she and her brother offer. Ruling through fear may eventually lead to a more formidable ruler; maintaining loyalty is far more advantageous. You pause, reflecting on this thought, as the maid awaits your response.

“Is something troubling you, Your Highness?”

“You said that if I needed anything, you would fulfill it, did you not?” You turn to her. “Anything at all?”

“Even our lives, if it comes to that.” she replies earnestly.

The sound of the bedroom door closing reverberated through the stillness of the chamber as you sat engrossed in a book at the antique wooden desk. Your attention was absorbed by the delicate prose on the pages, and you barely noticed the figure entering the room. The atmosphere was thick with a sense of nostalgia and intimacy.

A soft, lingering kiss brushed against the nape of your neck, and a warm embrace enveloped you from behind. You felt the familiar presence of Jacearys, whose arms had become your sanctuary.

“What treasure are you lost in this evening, my love?” His voice was a gentle murmur as he settled into the chair beside you, his proximity radiating a comforting warmth.

“Just a novel of mundane adventures.” you replied, closing the book with a slight sigh and lifting your gaze to meet his. “Do you require anything of me?”

“I merely wished to see my betrothed.” he said with a smile that seemed to light up the dimly lit room. “May I?”

“Always.” you responded, placing the book aside and rising to draw the heavy velvet curtains, which filtered the moonlight into a soft, diffused glow. The room, bathed in a silvery luminescence, was now perfect for intimate conversation.

As you turned back, Jacearys stood so close that his presence seemed to envelop you entirely. His eyes, deep and mesmerizing, held an allure that made your heart quicken. His nose, sharp and regal, and his lips, full and inviting, formed a visage that seemed straight out of a bygone era.

At last, your lips met in a kiss that was both tender and consuming. Jacearys’s touch was gentle, his kiss an exploration that was neither hurried nor hesitant. The sweetness of his lips was intoxicating, a flavor so enchanting it felt as if you could easily become lost in it. The kiss deepened as you both savored the precious moments, exchanging affection with a fervor that seemed to transcend time.

“We should not indulge further.” you whispered, your breath mingling with his. “It would be scandalous if the maid were to discover us in such a state.”

“We are betrothed, and thus bound by no such constraints.” he replied, his voice carrying an undertone of playful defiance. “Yet, I shall wait with patient anticipation for the day when you are ready, ready to share your life with me.”

His words filled you with a profound joy, a flush of warmth spreading across your cheeks. With a soft smile, you leaned forward to place a gentle kiss upon his cheek. He paused, a glint of mischief in his eyes, before returning your smile with one of his own, both tender and teasing. The moment was so perfect that you found yourself reluctant to imagine anything beyond it.

“You should retire for the night, my princess.” he suggested with a loving tone.

“And you should take your rest as well, my prince.” you replied, a hint of playfulness in your voice.

“May I request the honor of sharing your bed?” Jacearys asked, his gaze earnest. “I long to hold you until the first light of dawn.” You considered his request for a moment, your thoughts drifting between anticipation and propriety.

“Yes.” you finally agreed, your voice soft and inviting. “But only for the purpose of cuddling.”

“By your command, my princess.” he responded with a grin that spoke of contentment. He lifted you effortlessly, his touch gentle as he placed you upon the grand, canopied bed. The quilt, rich and heavy with its intricate patterns, was drawn over you both as he settled in beside you.

Under the cover of the thick, warm blanket, you felt his embrace close around you. The world outside seemed to fade away as you nestled against him, the weight of his arms a reassuring presence. The room was filled with a serene tranquility as you both surrendered to the comfort of each other’s closeness, drifting into a restful slumber as if the night itself was a protective shroud, keeping you safe from all that lay beyond.

You find yourself in the vast and echoing kitchen of Dragonstone, a grand but unfamiliar space adorned with intricate tapestries and polished copperware. Despite the opulent surroundings, there is an intangible quality about the room, a subtle hint of its true owner that resonates with you. Having taken it upon yourself to prepare tonight’s meal for both the prince and yourself, you’ve decided to forego the usual bustle of the servants, wishing for an evening that is both intimate and personal.

Your skills in the culinary arts were honed under the meticulous guidance of Oliver, the head chef, who once admonished you with a half-hearted smile, "As a princess, you need not trouble yourself with such matters." Yet, your resolve was unwavering. You yearned to impress your mother with your cooking prowess, despite Oliver’s grumbling about how your insistence often interfered with the proper functioning of the kitchen.

As you meticulously arrange the ingredients and set about your task, the grand kitchen’s silence is broken by the entrance of Jacaerys. He strides in with a casual grace, his presence commanding attention. Leaning against the stone countertop, he casts a curious gaze over the assortment of fresh produce and exotic spices laid before you.

“I hear you are in the midst of culinary creations.” he says, his voice a blend of amusement and intrigue. “What feast do you plan to conjure for me this evening, my love?”

“Perhaps a succulent roast accompanied by a fine vintage of wine.” you reply, glancing up with a playful smile. The sight of his own smile, a beacon of warmth and affection, lights up the room and chases away the shadows of your apprehension. As you begin the labor of love that is meal preparation, Jacaerys offers his assistance, his eagerness evident in his frequent inquiries about how he might lend a hand. You allow him to partake in simpler tasks, finding his presence both a comforting and delightful addition to your culinary efforts.

The dining table is set with understated elegance, a reflection of your desire for simplicity rather than grandeur. Soft candlelight dances across the polished surface, casting a warm and inviting glow that enhances the romantic atmosphere. As you both settle into your seats, the conversation flows effortlessly, delving into reminiscences of days gone by, misunderstandings that once marred your relationship, and the myriad events that have shaped your journey together.

“I once believed you harbored ill feelings toward me, much like your brother.” Jacaerys muses, his tone tinged with nostalgia. “You avoided meeting my gaze, and I wondered if there was something I had done to offend.”

“That was not the case.” you respond with a chuckle. “Aemond was astute enough to perceive my secret admiration. I avoided his barbed comments by keeping my distance from you. Yet, despite my attempts at discretion, I could not help but watch you from afar.”

“It’s curious.” he says, his eyes meeting yours with a glimmer of vulnerability, “that while you were discreetly observing me, I was also watching you. I admired how you appeared to light up in Aemond’s presence, how you seemed to find joy in the simplest of moments.”

“There is an odd kinship between us.” you reflect, a hint of melancholy in your voice. “We share the burden of feeling misunderstood, of fighting for a freedom that often seems just out of reach. In our pursuit of it, we have learned to grasp at every opportunity, no matter how fleeting.”

He sets his spoon down with deliberate care, his gaze never leaving yours. With a gesture both tender and resolute, he reaches out, clasping your hand in his. The sincerity in his eyes surpasses the most extravagant words, his commitment to you clear in his every expression. “Tonight, as my wife, your freedom shall be secure. No force shall ever take it from you again.”

You place your own spoon aside and return his gesture, your fingers intertwining with his. The gentle caress of your thumb against his hand speaks volumes, your heart swelling with gratitude. Your smile, genuine and heartfelt, conveys the depth of your emotions—an affirmation of the life you are beginning together.

“Thank you, my prince.” you say softly, your voice imbued with heartfelt sincerity. “Your promise is a gift I have longed for, and it is more precious to me than any grand feast.”

You and Jacaerys are ensconced in the warmth of a lavish bath, the soft steam enveloping you both in a sensual embrace. The two of you are bare, the intimacy of the moment heightened by the way you lean back against his broad chest. Your hair is neatly pinned up, leaving your shoulders exposed to the gentle caress of his large hands as they trace soothing circles along your skin. His lips graze the back of your neck, your shoulders, and your cheeks, creating a cascade of tender kisses that leave you shivering with delight.

“I am so happy to be living this life with you, my prince.” you whisper, your voice filled with genuine affection.

“I am happy too.” he murmurs close to your ear, his breath warm against your skin. “And we shall be happy together forever.”

“Though it may sound selfish, I can’t bear the thought of returning to King’s Landing.” you confess. “I want to stay here with you, where it’s just us.”

“My princess is becoming a bit spoiled.” he teases with a chuckle. “First, we must be wed, and only then can we truly live the free life we desire.”

You don’t quite agree with the practicalities of his statement. Shifting in the water, you turn to face him, your eyes locking with his. You lean in slowly, your lips meeting his in a tender kiss. The connection is magnetic, the way your bodies seem drawn together is palpable. But this time, it is he who pulls away first.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asks, his voice laden with a mix of concern and desire.

You nod firmly, your gaze unwavering. “I am sure.”

Without another word, Jacaerys closes the distance between you with a sudden, impassioned kiss. This time, the intensity of the moment is heightened, a fervor that feels almost like riding a dragon in its thrill. He deepens the kiss, then begins to explore the contours of your neck with his lips. The delicate blush of his kisses leaves a trail of warmth across your skin, each touch a testament to the profound connection between you.

As the bath's gentle warmth continues to surround you, you lose yourself in the sensation of his touch, your bodies intertwined in a dance of love and longing, creating a symphony of intimacy that feels both timeless and entirely your own.

In the steamy, dimly lit bathroom, the mood between you and Jacaerys is electric with anticipation. The air is thick with the intimate sounds of your breathing, the gentle splash of water, and the soft, muted noises of your kisses.

You feel the growing stiffness beneath you and instinctively begin to move your hips, gently rocking back and forth to create a slow, deliberate contact. The rhythm is intimate and sensual, each subtle motion amplifying the connection between you. The sounds of your kisses and the soft splashes of the water become louder, blending into a symphony of intimacy.

Jacaerys's mouth moves restlessly, expressing a deep-seated desire. He trails kisses along your body, his lips brushing and exploring every curve with fervent attention. His touch is tender but insistent, each caress a testament to the passion and longing that you both share in this secluded haven.

“Jace, I’m ready.”

"Be patient, my love." he responds, his tone tender yet commanding. He begins to use his fingers, sliding them slowly into you, which makes you lose your balance slightly. He lowers his head to your neck, his warm breath mixing with your soft whimpers and gasps, sending shivers across his skin.

His fingers move rhythmically in and out, his thumb grazing your clitoris, heightening your pleasure. The sensation is almost overwhelming, and you can feel his nails grazing your body, leaving a red mark as they press against him. Your hands reach up to his hair, tangling in the strands, pulling him closer, your grip gentle but insistent.

The intense sensation of his added finger and the deliberate strokes circling around

your clitoris nearly elicited a cry of pleasure. His tongue danced provocatively over the erect nipple on your chest, biting it gently. The sharp sting of his teeth was a delightful pain when it came from Jacaerys, adding an edge of pleasure to your experience.

"Now you're truly ready, my love." he murmured, withdrawing his fingers.

"Position yourself on me."

Obeying his command, you adjust yourself carefully, the rigid pressure of his desire urging you onward. You slowly lower yourself onto his erect shaft, the feeling of him filling you entirely is a blend of anticipation and satisfaction.

"Jace-" you moan softly, the bliss evident in your voice as you feel him fully enveloped inside you. He holds your hips with a firm, guiding grip, gently urging you to take all of him.

You manage to settle fully onto him, feeling the fullness of his size stretching you. The sensation is almost overwhelming, as if your body is being stretched to its limits.

Your inner walls tighten around him, desperately trying to adjust to his considerable girth. His hands gently cradle your face, his fingers tenderly brushing against your cheeks, his touch soothing as he removes the cloth binding your hair and tucks it behind your ears.

"If you're ready." he whispers near your ear, his breath warm and intimate, "you can begin to move."

You respond with a kiss, the moment filled with shared passion. As you start to move your hips up and down slowly, you feel the connection between you deepen. The rhythm you find is a blend of your efforts and his, each movement bringing a new wave of sensation. His hands leave your face, finding their place on your hips, guiding and controlling the pace with a firm yet gentle touch.

The initial discomfort of your first experience begins to transform into a pleasurable tingle, each stroke of his cock hitting your g-spot with precision as you glide up and down. The blend of pain and pleasure weaves together, heightening the joy and intensity of your shared moment.

The sounds of water gently sloshing in the bath, mingled with the soft echoes of your shared intimacy, create a symphony of passion in the dimly lit room. Outside, the maid might be oblivious to the intensity of the moment unfolding within, her routine entirely detached from the fervor within these walls.

But the distraction of external concerns is fleeting, as Jacarys draws your full attention back to him. Your hips move with an unpredictable rhythm, driven by the bliss of your union. The sensation of making love with him overwhelms you with a deep sense of fulfillment and joy.

"I feel so good, it's as if I'm close." he murmurs, his voice laden with satisfaction.

"Me too." you respond, your breath catching with the intensity of your feelings.

Your heart races, the tension building as your body tightens around him. The pleasure you're experiencing is intoxicating, your mind drifting away as the only focus becomes the insatiable need for him. In this moment, nothing else exists but the profound connection between you, a yearning that consumes every thought and sensation.

At last, the culmination of your shared passion arrives, and you both reach the peak of ecstasy simultaneously. The intensity of the moment sends waves of pleasure through you, leaving you utterly spent. As you collapse against him, your body feels languid and weak, enveloped in a profound sense of euphoria and relief. You feel his warmth and the intimate sensation of his release mingling within you, a tangible reminder of your union.

He cradles you gently, his embrace tender and reassuring amidst the afterglow. His voice, now softened by satisfaction, carries a hint of playful affection.

"It's time for bed, my wife." he murmurs, his tone a promise of quiet moments yet to come.

The warmth of his body and the comforting cadence of his voice invite you to relax into the serene closeness of your shared space, marking the end of a night filled with intense connection and unspoken promises for the future.

You find him resting in your arms, his slumber deep and tranquil, his breath a gentle rhythm against the night. The moon’s pale light spills through the draped windows, casting soft patterns upon his serene countenance. He will remain in this restful state for many hours, long enough for you to embark upon the vessel bound for Driftmark. Far from this place, far from him.

Throughout your time together, the prince has bared his soul to you with a candor that once warmed your heart. Yet, the solitude afforded by your present circumstances has bestowed upon you a rare clarity. In this quiet, you have come to discern your own desires, your own truth. Despite the love you hold for Jacaerys, you have realized that a life of queenship is not the destiny you seek. It is a mantle you never wished to don, regardless of the depth of your affection.

A gentle rap upon the door serves as the herald of your departure. With swift and measured motions, you ready yourself, your attire meticulously chosen for the journey ahead. Zia’s careful preparations have made your flight possible. You are poised to leave behind all that you know, to seek the freedom you have longed for.

You approach your husband one final time, a pang of sorrow in your heart. Bending low, you place a tender kiss upon his brow, a silent adieu to the man you once envisioned sharing your days with. His unawareness of your departure, induced by the powerful sleeping draught you secured, adds a poignant note to your resolve.

“You shall be the only husband I ever claim.” you murmur, your voice thick with emotion as you brush away the tears that have stained your cheeks. The gravity of your choice is profound, yet it is a path you must follow for your own peace and liberation.

Zia leads you through the grand corridors to the quay where a small, waiting boat is moored. Her brother stands ready, his manner respectful as Zia whispers final instructions. The air is thick with anticipation.

“Let us not tarry.” you urge, urgency in your tone. “Should we delay further, we risk discovery.”

“Thomas, attend to the princess’s safety with the utmost vigilance.” Zia commands her brother, who acknowledges with a nod.

“I shall fulfill my duty with the greatest care, Your Highness.” Thomas assures, his voice steadfast.

You board the modest vessel with a sense of purpose, accompanied by a handful of soldiers who, though unaware of your true identity, are tasked with ensuring a smooth escape. Their presence, albeit limited in number, should suffice to deter any potential hindrance.

As the boat sets forth, gliding silently away from Dragonstone, you cast a final glance at Zia’s retreating figure. The image of Jacaerys, his face a fixture in your memories, lingers in your thoughts. The life you leave behind is one not of your choosing but of circumstance. Yet, as you embrace the path of your own making, a sense of liberation accompanies the uncertainty.

In a life where you were often the second choice, never the foremost, you now make a decision wholly for yourself. The journey ahead is both exhilarating and fraught with apprehension, but it is yours to command. As the boat progresses toward Driftmark, you are filled with both trepidation and hope. For the first time, you are not merely following a course dictated by others but charting a path of your own.

Tomorrow, you will embark on a new chapter, one where you are the mistress of your own fate. The voyage has only just begun, but for the first time, you are in command of your destiny, casting aside the shadows of the past for the promise of a future of your own design.

As the past is immutable and beyond our reach to alter, one must inevitably decide what is truly desired. In the end, you have arrived at your own resolution. — [ END ]

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[the-badger-mole]

Father of the Bride

Hakoda swallowed hard against a lump in his throat. He had imagined this day so many times since Katara's birth. The details were different, though. She wasn't marrying a proven warrior from among their people. That was fine. She had spent so much time traveling the world, expanding her horizons, creating her own paths. Hakoda didn't think there were one in a thousand men at home who could keep up with the woman his daughter had become, and he had resigned himself to the fact that she might not end up with a Southern Tribe man years ago.

But he hadn't considered that her marriage might take her so permanently from home. A foolish oversight on his part, he admitted. And at least she would have the means to visit her family a few times a year. Still, he felt a pang. Same one he felt when he left his children behind with Kanna to go fight a war too big for him. Now that pang was tempered with bittersweet happiness as he watched the final preparations being made on Katara's wedding gown-a stunning piece of art even to Hakoda's untrained eye. All silks and linens in shades of blue and silver that recalled the bridal outfits of her homeland. Furs and leathers would be too hot for the climate, but Katara wanted to tell everyone up front how she would bring her own culture to merge with her new people. Her groom-to-be not only supported this decision, but had come to Hakoda and Sokka to ask them how he, too, could incorporate the Southern Water Tribe into the wedding on his end. That had been a long night, with strong drinks and stronger emotions, but at the end of it, Hakoda had decided that despite his initial misgivings about the marriage, he couldn't have picked a better son-in-law than Zuko.

Fire Lord Zuko. Fire Lord Zuko was going to be his son-in-law. Sometimes the thought made Hakoda chuckle. Sometimes it sent a chill down his spine. Not that he was worried about Zuko himself, but Katara's proximity to his throne. The crown. She would be coronated the next night in a ceremony as lavish as the wedding. She would become the Fire Lady. Co-ruler of the country that had spent a hundred years ruining countless lives with a war over something as silly as imperialist pride. Hakoda didn't think they deserved his daughter. If Zuko had earned his trust and respect, the rest of the Fire Nation certainly haven't. Not the nobles, anyway. When he brought them up to Katara, she laughed, though it didn't reach her eyes, which were flint hard and grimly determined. She told him no matter where she went in the world, she would have to fight for any respect she got. At least here she would have Zuko fighting beside her. Hakoda wasn't sure he agreed that was a worthy trade off, but he knew better than to try to talk his daughter out of it.

The Fire Nation had already benefited from her presence. As a foreign advisor, she had fostered trade and exchange agreements between the Fire Nation and all of the Water Tribes, Omashu and Gaoling. As an ambassador, she'd helped negotiate reparation packages that have helped the parts of the world hit hardest by the war recover. As one of Zuko's most trusted counselors, she'd helped him work the Fire Nation's budget so the government could provide for education, health and services for returning soldiers. The same kinds of programs she'd helped Hakoda and Sokka build in the Southern Water Tribe. It suddenly struck Hakoda that she had been acting as Fire Lady for a long time. Before she and Zuko had even realized they were in love, maybe. Today and tomorrow would just make it official. Hakoda still didn't think the Fire Nation deserved a Katara, but any chance he had of talking her out of it had long since slipped by him. And he now he wasn't sure he would talk her out of it, even if he did have the chance.

The final touches were done. The maids stepped back in a flurry of excited chatter. Kanna stepped forward, moving stiffly in her old age, smiling up at her granddaughter through tears. She had had this moment with Kya years ago, and Kya should be standing in her place now. Kanna reached out and ran her fingertips over the necklace she had passed to her daughter, and her daughter had passed on to Katara. Kya was here, Kanna assured herself. And Kya would be here with Katara as she made these next steps, first as a wife, then as a queen, then someday as a mother and grandmother herself.

"She would be so proud," Kanna told Katara. The two women embraced. Then Katara stood up, head high and looking as regal as any queen in any nation ever had, and turned to Hakoda.

"Are you ready, Dad?" she asked. Hakoda shook his head.

"I was never going to be ready for this," he confessed. "But it doesn't matter. You are ready."

[ellecdc]

Come Back, Be Here (part 6)

p1 // p2 // p3 // p4 // p5 // p6 // p7 // p8

Sirius Black x fem!reader - First Wizarding War Order of the Phoenix - 5.1k

CW: mentions of past abuse/torture, amnesia, mention of Bellatrix's cursed knife (same injury Hermione received in canon), racism/bigotry, swearing x a million cuz it's Remus' POV, angst, hurt/comfort, use of Y/N

Synopsis: After sacrificing yourself to save your friend and Order partner James months before, you're found on the brink of death. How will Sirius react when he finally gets his love back, only to have you snatched out from under him again?

“Where the FUCK is she?”

The headmaster calmly placed his teacup back on its saucer as the two men came barging into his office.

“Ah, Mr. Black. Mr. Lupin. Please, take a seat.” 

So, Sirius did; he took the seat, and he threw it at the wall.

“I am not fucking around old man. Where. Is. She? Where is Y/N?” He barked.

“I’m afraid I don’t know.”

Sirius stopped in his pacing.

“You don’t know!?” Remus repeated incredulously.

Dumbledore nodded.

Sirius picked up a spinning orb from the headmaster’s desk and sent it careening to the window. The windows – the damned things – were charmed not to break, but the orb did. As pieces of crystal shattered and scattered onto the floor, many sleeping portraits of previous headmasters began waking. A few stayed behind to watch the spectacle, whilst many left to find other portraits to haunt for the time being. 

“That’s not good enough.” Sirius fumed.

With a casual flick of his wand, Dumbledore righted the chair Sirius had thrown. “Why don’t you have a seat, son?”

“I am not your fucking son!” He shouted back, kicking the seat over again.

“Mr. Lupin, why don’t you encourage your friend here to calm down?” The portrait of a previous headmistress asked condescendingly. 

“Get fucked, ma’am.” Was his muttered response.

With a huff, the headmistress decided to leave as well. 

“I am so sick of being played like some pawn in this gods-awful game of yours! We are children! You fucking groomed us as students and enlisted us right out of the gates, fattening us up like cattle for slaughter!”

“Now, Mr. Black-”

“I’M NOT DONE.” Sirius roared. 

Dumbledore shifted his eyes to Remus, who kept his gaze firmly on him.

“You – you’re supposed to be this powerful wizard with years of experience. You defeated that Grindel-fuck back in the sodding dark-ages or whenever, yet somehow, this is out of your wheelhouse!?”

“Mr. Black, everyone learned from the Global Wizarding World with Grindelwald; Tom Riddle how to cheat death, and myself to enlist the help of others.” Dumbledore said.

“But you didn’t get help! You got soldiers, and we’re the ones fighting this fucking war for you! You get to sit here in this bloody castle with powerful ancient wards protecting you, drinking your tea, wanking to the portraits of the other headmasters in your spare time, while the rest of us get their fucking heads blown off!

“We’re the ones being captured. We’re the ones being tortured. We’re the ones being killed. We’re the ones with blood on our hands fighting for our fucking lives, everyday! Bouncing from safe-house to safe-house whilst never being safe. And you know! You’ve known there was a spy, you’ve had contacts on the other side, but you give us nothing. You just send us off on these fucking missions, blind, and we all have to hope that that’s enough. That we’ll live to see another day. That we’ll make it home to our loved ones.”

Sirius paused to catch his breath. “You will not get away with using her like this, not anymore, not by me.”

Dumbledore’s crystal blue eyes bore into Sirius’ stormy grey ones. After a few moments, he offered him a subtle nod. 

“Where is she?” He repeated, quieter this time.

“Sirius, the truth is that I do not know.”

Sirius groaned. “How can you not know!? Fine, fine. Who is your contact? Apparently, someone who was in league with the Black’s for the stupid fucking house-elf to betray me like this. So, who is it? Narcissa? Finally tired of the bleach fumes from that husband of hers? It can’t be Bellatrix.” 

Dumbledore pursed his lips as he considered Sirius.

“It’s not Bellatrix, is it?” He asked in quiet disbelief. 

“No, son, it is not Bellatrix.”

“’Kay well, tell me who it is, then. Reg’s dead so you’re leaving me with dear old Cissy here.” 

Dumbledore leaned onto his forearms on his desk as he peered at Sirius over his half-moon spectacles. 

“A house-elf will always be the most loyal to the head of the house it serves.” 

Sirius scoffed. “Yeah, well my house-elf just up and fucked-off with the love of my life so I’d say his loyalty doesn’t exactly align with...me...” He trailed off as something seemed to dawn on him. 

“Unless I’m not the head of the house.” 

Remus’ neck snapped as he whipped his head to regard his friend. 

“The deed and the vault at Gringotts were all moved to you, Sirius, you’re the head of the house.” 

Sirius never pulled his gaze away from the headmaster. “Goblins can be tricked, and deeds can be forged.” He whispered. “But house-elf magic...” 

Dumbledore leaned back into his chair. 

“But Regulus is dead. He was pronounced dead – your mother offed herself because he was pronounced dead.” Remus argued. 

“He was assumed dead.” Dumbledore corrected.

“Holy fucking shit.” Sirius breathed. 

“Regulus has been in contact with me since this past spring. It appears that Miss. L/N was the turning point for him in this war.”

Sirius stared in bafflement. “What do you...” 

“You may, one day, need to discuss with your brother. However, what he explained to me,” Dumbledore started. “Is that he had discovered Riddle’s secret of the horcruxes after becoming increasingly disenchanted by his rhetoric. He was intent on defeating Riddle himself, but came to me when he found Y/N.” 

The colour drained from Remus’ face. “You knew? All this time.”

Dumbledore turned his gaze to the lycanthrope. 

“You knew!?” He repeated.

“You must understand, I could not remove her from Riddle’s ranks without rousing suspicion from the other Death Eaters who knew she was there. We were also becoming increasingly aware of a spy within our ranks and could not jeopardize the intel by alerting the Death Eaters of our own spy.” 

“I can’t fucking believe this.” Sirius cried out. “You let her suffer there so you could keep the upper hand!”

“It was for the greater good.”

“Fuck that!” Sirius barked. “Fuck that and fuck you!”

“You do not understand how differently this could have all played out without her, Sirius.” 

Remus scoffed. “Oh the ‘could’s’, professor, really? We can sit here until our dying breath discussing all of the fucking could’s that could have taken place from the beginning of fucking time itself and it would mean nothing.” 

“I don’t care what could have happened.” Sirius interjected. “You should have protected her. Protected all of us.” 

Dumbledore looked between his two former students as he seemed to come to some kind of decision. 

“The five horcruxes that Y/N brought us have been destroyed. I do not want to give Riddle time to realize that they are gone. I have discussed with our allies what will need to happen next.” Dumbledore stated.

“And what will need to happen next, professor?” Sirius sneered. 

“It appears that Mr. Pettigrew told Riddle he would be the secret keeper by their next meeting.” Dumbledore said as Sirius swallowed bile rising in his throat. “I believe it would be best to lure Riddle out when he does not feel the need for an army.” 

Remus leaned forward in his chair. “How do we do that?”

Dumbledore pursed his lips. “It would be best if Riddle remained unaware of our knowledge of Peter.”

“I think he’s going to figure it out when he misses their next club meeting.” Sirius scoffed. 

“Unless he goes.” Remus murmured. 

“Over my dead body do we release that rat bastard.” Sirius growled. 

“I agree, Mr. Black, I do not believe we should entrust Peter. However, there may be another way.”

Sirius looked at Dumbledore blankly. “Tell me, headmaster, do you plan on breaking out some unforgiveables? Because short of imperio, I’m not sure-”

“Polyjuice.” Remus blurted.

Sirius whipped his head to his friend in shock, whilst a twinkle of pride appeared in Dumbledore’s eye. 

“We could keep up the ruse.” Remus explained. 

“I’ll go.” Sirius claimed.

Remus groaned. “Pads, do you really think you’re the best person for this job?”

Sirius looked at Remus with a look of ill-hidden betrayal. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Sirius, this is the most sensitive mission possibly anyone will ever have to take. You are passionate but you have a tendency to go in guns blazing and this is not the setting.” 

“I’ll be fine.” Sirius argued.

“You are going to hear and see things that will infuriate and you will not be able to react. You will have to put your morals aside.” 

“Rem, honestly, I grew up with the pureblood bullshit, I can handle it.” Sirius insisted.

“It nearly killed you, Pads. I was there when you showed up at the Potter’s.”

“Remus, I’m going.”

“Perhaps it should be me.” Remus stated as if Sirius hadn’t said anything at all.

“Are you insane?”

“Obviously the answer to that is yes but listen: no one would be able to use legillimency on me due to lunar magic, I stand a better chance at keeping a level head, and I’m perhaps just a touch less emotionally invested in this than you are.” Remus argued.

“Besides,” he continued, “I’ve spent my entire life pretending that I’m not a monster. I’m sure I can pretend to be one for a little bit.”

“You’re not a monster.” Sirius sighed.

Remus gave him a sad smile. “See? I’ve fooled you all.”

Dumbledore hummed. “I think Mr. Lupin may be right, Sirius. Perhaps you should trust him with this.”

“Of course I trust him, but-” Sirius started, turning to look at Remus. “I can’t lose you too.” He admitted quietly.

Though the sentiment caused a twinge of pain in Remus’ chest, he couldn’t waste an opportunity to razz his mate. “Awe, Pads. Don’t tell me you’re gonna miss me.” He cheeked as he pinched Sirius’ arm. 

“Oh, sod off you wanker.” Sirius muttered and crossed his arms. 

“I suppose it’s settled.” Dumbledore claimed. “Please await my correspondence with further instructions.”

October 29th

“I hate this, I hate this, I hate this, I hate this.” James could be heard muttering as he paced the family room of 12 Grimmauld Place. 

“Why isn’t Dumbledore doing this himself?” Lily muttered darkly. 

“I’m not leaving Y/N in his hands, not again.” Sirius murmured into his hand as he stared at the fire. “It should be me going. Remus, I should go.” 

With a sigh, Remus stood from the wingback chair. “No, Pads. It’s too late to change the plan now. It’s going to be fine.”

Sirius shook his head and looked at the ceiling. 

“She’s fucking strong, Sirius. And she’s got more people on her side this time. We’re gonna finish this.” Remus pressed.  

The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed and everyone took a steadying breath. 

“Be careful, Rem.” Lily tearfully murmured as she gave him a hug. 

“I hate this.” James repeated just as quietly as he too hugged the lycanthrope. 

Remus smiled at them both before he moved to Sirius, who had shifted his gaze back to the fire. 

“We’re close, Pads.” He whispered.

Sirius nodded, keeping his gaze on the fire. “Thank you, Moony. For going after her.”

“She’s pack.” Remus said simply causing Sirius to let out a shuddering breath.

“Be careful.”

Remus nodded in agreement and took a swig from his pocket flask. He grunted slightly as he felt his body shifting and changing, but it was nothing close to the pain he experienced every full moon. 

Sirius, Lily, and James all looked in various levels of disgust as Remus – now in the form of Peter Pettigrew – stood to his full height. “How do I look?”

The three friends looked at each other awkwardly before turning back to Remus...Peter?

“Fuck, this is weird.” James muttered.

“Yeah, honestly mate, I think you should go.” Sirius agreed.

Remus rolled his eyes. “You know I’m not actually him, right?”

Lily grimaced. “Yeah, yeah Judas. Get going.” 

Sirius and James looked at her inquisitively, but Remus snorted a laugh offering everyone a wave as he stepped into the street. He walked a short distance to a hidden alleyway where he could apparate to the location of the Death Eater meeting. Remus sent one silent prayer to any god who’d listen. 

Please let this go smoothly. 

 Lestrange Manor loomed dauntingly in front of Remus as he tried to muster the courage to walk up the brick path leading to the door. Purebloods and their gaudy houses he mused silently.

“Petty-Pettigrew!” A voice sing-songed behind him, causing him to turn. 

Barty Crouch Jr skipped towards him merrily as if he were an alt-punk Dorothy on his way to Oz. He paused in front of Remus and tapped his cheek twice, slightly too hard to be considered just condescending and bordering on aggressive. “How’s our favourite little rat?”

Remus grimaced but tried to play it off as a smile. “Er, I’m-”

“Oh, Salazar. No, I don’t actually care.” Barty chuckled, looking back at his entourage like can you believe this guy? His friendly façade fell as he turned back to Remus. “Better have something for the Dark Lord today, otherwise we’ll find other uses for our little lab rat.” He finished with a slimy wink as he continued up the path to the manor. 

Well, Remus thought, welcome to Hell, I suppose. 

He followed Barty The Deranged and company up the walkway, fighting the urge to hum: We’re off to see the wizard, the wonderful wizard of Oz as he went.

If Remus thought the outside of Lestrange Manor was counteracting the anti-depressants coursing through his system, the inside of it made him want to grab the closest silver fork and end it all. He walked along what had to be a fourty-foot table trying to find the best seat before he realized that this was the wrong approach – every seat was terrible.

“Don’t be absurd, Pettigrew.” Mulciber sneered at Remus. “A lowly like you stands at the back.”

Remus fought the urge to roll his eyes and nodded, moving to stand near the wall by the door. At least I’ll be close if I need a quick exit. He also fought the biting urge to lunge at the sight of Fenrir Greyback. You’re here for a reason, Lupin.

Rodolphus, Rabastan, and Bellatrix Lestrange entered the...Remus didn’t know what the hell purebloods wont to call rooms like this...a grand room? A dining room? A reception hall? Whatever it was called, it fucking sucked, and it sucked worse when those three walked in. The brothers mostly regarded themselves with proper decorum, but Bellatrix and her certain flare seemed to suck the air out of the room causing everyone to stand a little more at attention. 

Bellatrix Lestrange walked like she was the Queen of Hearts attending her own coronation. She smiled wickedly at those seated around the table, pausing briefly to share terse words with Lucius Malfoy, before then double-cheek-kissing his wife and her sister, Narcissa. 

There seemed to be some sort of disagreement about who should sit in one of the two seats at the head of the table next to the Dark Lord’s seat (throne for all intents and purposes), but a silent conversation that passed between Bellatrix and her brother-in-law resulted in the latter finding another chair.  

Voldemort walked into the room and those who had been sitting stood suddenly, falling deathly silent as Voldemort moved to stand at the head of the table. The sickening smell of dark magic accosted Remus who felt his eyes water; he swallowed hard against his gag reflex as a giant python type snake slithered its way into the room.

If there was ever any speculation that Nagini was the sixth horcrux before, Remus now felt confident that he could confirm it.

“My Lord.” Rodolphus said reverently as he bowed his head. Remus watched as the rest of the room did the same, and quickly followed suit – he wanted to throw up. 

Remus’ plan of attack here was to be as non-descript as possible. He was here for one reason – tell Voldemort he was the secret keeper and plan a course of ‘attack’ on the Potter home in Godric’s Hollow – otherwise, he was to be invisible. He could not be invisible if he was angry, and if he listened too closely, he’d get angry, so...

He almost missed it when Voldemort addressed him.

“Now, I trust that you were successful in your task?” Voldemort’s voice echoed through the room, sounding more like an actor in a Greek tragedy than a tyrannical fascist leader addressing his followers.

A throat cleared before something hit Remus on the shin. He looked up and realised everyone’s eyes were on him. 

“Oh erm, uh yes. My apologies...my Lord...” He tried to regain his footing. “Uhm, I was successful. I am officially the Potter’s secret keeper.”

Bellatrix barely waited until the end of the sentence to stand and begin cackling maniacally. “We’re going to kill the child! We’re going to kill the child!” She sang as she jumped and clapped her hands. 

Voldemort hardly spared Bellatrix a sideways gaze as he lifted one hand – she fell silent and returned to her seat, continuing to smile and wiggle as if it were difficult to keep her obvious joy at bay. 

“Though I appreciate your enthusiasm,” he began, “I’d like to eliminate this specific threat myself.” 

By the end of the sentence, he was offering Remus a chilling smile. Remus worked to keep his breathing even as he tried to reciprocate it. 

“Where is this hide away located?” Voldemort asked.

“Erm, Godric’s Hollow, m’Lord.”

“You will take me to them. You shall meet me in the town square at eight in the evening the day after tomorrow. We shall eliminate this threat to me once and for all.” 

“Any threat to you is a threat to all of us, my Lord.” Alecto Carrow said severely which was met with a muttering of agreement from around the table.

“You will all be rewarded greatly for your dedication and loyalty to me.” Voldemort declared, and Bellatrix began a round of applause. 

The meeting carried on and Remus ensured to take two more swigs of the Polyjuice potion to avoid turning back into himself prematurely. 

A black cat had materialized beside Remus at some point throughout the meeting and appeared to make itself at home beside his left foot. The feline seemed to watch as Remus would lift the flask to his mouth, and he became increasingly paranoid that this cat somehow knew he was an imposter. Was this cat a spy? Was this a spy cat who somehow knew Peter was caught for being a spy for the Death Eaters and that I, as a spy, came to this meeting as Peter as a spy for the Order pretending to be Peter who was acting as a spy for the Death Eaters.

Fuck, Remus was losing it.

Get a grip you stupid bastard. He scolded himself. 

The meeting appeared to conclude as Voldemort stood, and everyone followed suit. A few higher pointing Death Eaters seemed to congregate at the head of the table – Malfoy, the Lestranges, Mulciber, Snape, Nott, Goyle, and the Carrows encircled Voldemort. 

Remus began looking for the door when he felt the cat brush up against his leg. He looked down to the black cat who was peering back up at him – the eyes were light, nearly blue but not quite – and they looked disturbingly familiar. The cat seemed to be cocking an eyebrow at him, if cats could do such a thing, as Remus considered it.

“What?” Remus whispered.

“Make a habit o’ talkin’ to rodents, do ye Pettigrew?” The sickening sound of Greyback’s voice permeated Remus' hearing – as well as his other senses. Suddenly, Remus was four years old again, waking to the sound of screaming that turned out the be his own as a wolf locked its jaw upon his chest. He ignored the stinging in his eyes as he thought of his mothers screams and sobs, begging the healers to do something – anything – to help her boy, whilst everyone murmured it’d be kindest to just ‘put the boy out of his misery’. 

“I do, actually,” Remus said, lacing his words with venom. “I’ve found they often make better company than a mangey wolf.” 

Greyback seemed taken aback as he considered Remus. 

“Why you little-”

“Ah, there you are, Splash.” A posh accent commented from Remus’ other side. He turned to see the form of Narcissa Malfoy bending to pick up the black cat. 

“Good work, Pettigrew.” She commented as Splash weaseled its way back out of Narcissa’s arms and took a few paces to the door. “Don’t let us keep you.” 

Remus nodded at Narcissa, feeling off kilter at her cordial behaviour; he couldn’t imagine Peter ever making friends with the likes of her. He moved toward the door and as he walked, he realized that the cat had paused and was watching Remus before carrying on ahead. 

Remus felt like he could finally take a deep breath once he stepped beyond the gated entrance of the manor. His peace didn’t last long when he realized the cat had paused again and was once again watching him.

“Seriously, what the hell do you want?” He muttered quietly.

The cat looked as though it rolled its eyes at him as he walked a few more feet ahead, turning back to Remus.

“Are you expecting me to follow you? I’m not as dumb as I look.” He commented again, though realizing too late that he may actually be as dumb as he looks, seeing as he was currently talking to a cat. 

He heard a low growl emanate from the cat’s chest before it turned and walked away without turning back this time to confirm Remus was following it. 

“It seems as though curiosity may kill the wolf today.” Remus muttered to himself as he begrudgingly followed the cat against every one of his instincts which were screaming at him to just get the fuck out of there.  

The cat stopped in a densely wooded area and seemed to scan the are before turning back to Remus, who in turn stood and stared at the cat dumbly. 

“I don’t see a pentagram anywhere, is this not where you plan to sacrifice me to the devil?” He asked as he too scanned the woods for potential threats.

“Salazar, you Gryffindor’s are bloody exhausting.” A voice rang through the woods. Remus whipped his head back towards the sound, and where the cat once stood was none other than Regulus Black.

“Holy fucking shit. You’ve got to be kidding me.” 

Regulus rolled his eyes, “and so eloquent, as always.” He muttered.

“What the fuck are you doing here? You’re supposed to be dead.” Remus seethed.

“Disappointed, are you?”

Remus gritted his teeth. “Where’s Y/N?”

Regulus’ eyes softened considerably, though his posture remained stiff as he considered Remus.

“Safe. That is all you need to know.” 

“Fuck that, Black. Where is she?” 

Regulus sucked in a breath, appearing to attempt to steady himself at having to deal with the likes of Remus. 

“The Dark Lord’s followers became aware that she was not as dead as they had previously assumed. We could not risk them searching for her.” Regulus admitted.

“How could they have known she wasn’t dead? The only person who could have reported that to them is Peter and he’s a little tied up right now.” Remus said darkly.

“My cousin’s little art project on her arm was done with a cursed blade – the dark magic left a trace on her. When Yaxley tried to claim that she had died while trying to escape from his hold instead of admitting he let her get away, Bellatrix was quick to prove him wrong.”

“What?” Remus asked in shock.

Regulus rolled his eyes. “Good gods, which of you imbeciles did that old man send?” He asked before casting a quick finite over Remus. 

Remus felt the Polyjuice potion wash away from his form as he stretched out to his correct height. 

“Aren’t you wolves supposed to have superhuman hearing?” He asked condescendingly. 

“Fuck off.” Remus spat. 

“Now, now. There is no need for such language, Lupin; we are on the same side, after all.”

“Like fuck we are. You’re a marked Death Eater, and you abducted Y/N.” He spat. 

“I think it should be obvious by now that I have clearly defected here, Lupin.” Regulus responded.

“Why?”

This seemed to catch Regulus off guard. “Pardon?”

“Why defect?”

Remus watched as Regulus stared hard at him, when suddenly a filmy haze seemed to overtake Regulus’ grey eyes and his face grew hard. 

“I hardly think that is relevant.” 

The two men stared at each other sizing one another up. 

Remus felt conflicted. He knew Sirius hated his family, but Sirius never really could bring himself to hate Regulus – he was only a child, just like Sirius was. Regulus was a victim too. They were each dealt a shitty hand, but the way they played their cards were different. Regulus chose the path of least resistance by adapting and adhering to his parent’s wishes. Sirius rebelled, pushed back, and decided to fold, leaving the game altogether. 

Sirius wanted to hate Regulus; when he got his Dark Mark, and then again when he died. But he couldn’t bring himself to, because part of it felt like it was his fault; Regulus took the role that Sirius himself was born into – and in many ways, Sirius felt as though he forced his little brother into this. And in the end, it cost Regulus his life. 

But Remus, looking at Regulus now; having faked his own death, defected from not only his family’s legacy but also the reign of the 'Lord' that he had sworn himself to, all whilst helping the other side; how different were the two brothers, really? 

Twin Renegades. 

“Sirius is beside himself.” Remus admitted quietly. 

Regulus seemed pained by this admission.

“I wouldn’t have given her back yet if I knew it wasn’t safe.”

Remus’ heart stuttered. “Wait, you – you’re the one who brought her to Godric’s Hollow?”

He was responded with a single curt nod.

“But, but how? How did you know? The house is...”

“Y/N. She had described to me what she called ‘location seven’. I apparated her there.” 

Remus balked. Each Order team had several secret locations they would be able to travel to in case anything went sideways during a mission. Remus wasn’t as familiar, seeing as he was the only Order member who could attend his particular missions, but he had heard his friends discussing it before. Even Lily and Sirius didn’t know the areas of James and your secret locations; they were for your safety, and your safety only.

“Location seven was the cottage in Godric’s Hollow?”

“No, it was the wooded area behind it. I could feel the familiar sense of a fidelius charm nearby, so I brought her as close to it as I could before I ran, we...” Regulus heaved a sigh, “we had fought our way out, we’d barely made it.” 

“Where is she now?”

“She’s safe.”

“Regulus.”

“I’m sorry, Lupin. You may not believe me, but I am. I... I saved her because I could not watch the woman my brother loved die in front of me. I saved her for him, but the other’s discovered I had rescued her, and suddenly it became much bigger than him. I couldn’t just return her at the time.” Regulus admitted.

“The last time you saved her, she was hardly safe. How do we know she’s safe now?” Remus pleaded.

Regulus grimaced. “Again, the others had known I had rescued her last time. This time, they do not know she is here. They do not even know I am here.” 

“How is she safer with you than she is at home with Sirius? With us?”

“You moved five members of the Order plus an infant with a bounty on its head into one house. If they had gone searching for Y/N and found you, it would have been devastating for the cause.” He explained. “Listen; you will escort the Dark Lord to the Potter’s cottage in two days. He plans to attend with you as Peter Pettigrew, alone; he will show up unknowingly out numbered. He goes nowhere without Nagini, and we will be able to destroy the last horcrux before finally ending the Dark Lord’s reign of tyranny. She will be home to you soon.”

“What about you?” Remus asked.

Regulus’ eyebrows furrowed. “What about me?”

“When this is over, what about you?”

Regulus looked Remus up and down. “I hardly think it matters.”

“Of course it does; of course you matter.” 

Regulus’ eyes turned stormy. “Do not pretend to know anything about me, Lupin. I have never once mattered; not to my brother, hardly to my parents until I was the last one standing, never to Dumbledore, and rarely to the Dark Lord, lest my family’s money benefitted his cause.” 

“You matter to Sirius.”

“Enough!” Regulus shouted, seeming to forget himself. Remus was sure he’d never even heard of Regulus having ever raised his voice before. “Do not fuck this up, Lupin. We have one chance to end this.” 

And with a quick spin, Remus was left in the dense woods alone. He hadn’t noticed how late it was until now, the darkness seeping into his bones leaving him chilled in the late October evening. 

It didn’t exactly go well, but it sure could have gone a lot worse.

He walked towards where Regulus had been standing and noticed a small piece of parchment laying in the wet leaves. He picked it up and unfolded it. 

“Stay safe. 1, 2, 3. V.” 

It could have gone a lot worse.

October 30th

Regulus sighed – he felt exhausted from the meeting with Remus Lupin yesterday. He hated raising his temper, it made him feel like Sirius; it made him feel like a Gryffindor. 

Regulus’ cat form pushed past a vine covered gate and entered a grandiose stone outbuilding before shifting back to his human form.

“Can Kreacher get master a drink before Kreacher leaves?”

Regulus sighed. “You should not return until this is over, Kreacher. My brother is surely not happy with you.”

The house-elf scoffed. “Kreacher is not afraid of blood-traitors. Besides, Kreacher serves the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black; Kreacher belongs at Grimmauld Place.” 

“Underestimate my brother, Kreacher, and it will be your head on the wall.” Regulus muttered.

“Now cousin, do try to keep your patience.” Narcissa said as she opened the door to her hidden library located in a small building behind the gardens of Malfoy Manor. 

You sat on a Victorian style settee in Narcissa’s library with a babbling Draco on your knee as you cast colourful butterflies above him, causing the toddler to coo and clap. 

“We’re in.” Regulus announced, causing your head to snap forward and Draco to make grabby hands at him. “This ends tomorrow.”

Continue to part seven here.

[prickly-paprikash]

The Bishop in the first Castlevania season is pure evil who believes himself good. He's nearly every crime and hypocrisy of the Catholic Church distilled into one neat, wrinkly, putrid man. He is easy to hate. He is supposed to be despised and we are expected to cheer and rejoice when Blue Fangs chewed on half this man's face.

He uses god to control and manipulate the powers and people that be. While his belief in god may be true, the church and the faith are more tools for him to retain control. It is glaringly obvious that this man is power-hungry.

There is nothing, and I mean nothing at all redeemable about that asshole.

The Abbott is every conservative relative who genuinely loves you, but is a blind idiot holding on to institutions simply because they are "right".

While the Bishop's character is real, most of us won't encounter him. We see him on the news. I'm not even American (been there once for two weeks) but even I've seen his like on news and media. He's a televangelist who consolidates wealth, clout and power through the fanaticism of his followers. He is drunk on the authority he possesses. His belief in god isn't the point; whether or not he holds faith, the man cares solely about power.

The Abbott is someone in our lives we know well. Your conservative mother who refuses to even show a modicum of tolerance towards queer people. Your father who is buying into the religious side of Youtube and Tiktok. Your brother who has grown up to carry terrifying, fascistic beliefs. Your sister who feels lost and found some semblance of acceptance in a church who still believes women are lesser. Your aunt who despises vaccines. Your uncle who tells you that you should've become a priest or a soldier.

The Abbott, deep down, has some redeeming features. But it's not enough to forgive him for his idiocy.

Ask any child who had to grow up with a religious parent, especially a Catholic or an Evangelical. They fucking love the story of Abraham sacrificing his child to God, and finding a ram in its place.

Evangelicals are bent on this tale. They will always preach that god comes before children. That children and their suffering and their needs must always take a backseat to the word of god.

A trans child asking their parents to understand—their words will fall on deaf ears because god and the holy man told them that 'transgenderism' is a vile philosophy that seeks to groom and twist kids. A college freshman debating with their parents about free healthcare and immigration will be stonewalled because the charismatic preacher said that god will provide. god will heal. god did not invite these foreigners into this land.

It is Maria, begging her father to listen and having her pleas fall on deaf ears.

The Abbott is someone I hate more than the Bishop.

Men like the Bishop exist, but they are few and far in-between.

But the Abbott? The Abbott is someone I share a table with at dinner. He's someone I see during family reunions. He's someone who shares misinformation online, and I see it on my timeline because we're social media friends.

I fucking hate him so much and I hope he gets what's his.

He never deserved Tera. He never once deserved Maria.

[viperixsworld]

Born to die

━━ Benjicot Blackwood x oc

Chapther two: proposal

Year 126 A.C

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Benjicot Blackwood remembered little of his mother. He remembered slightly wavy, honey-coloured hair, and large, expressive eyes that he himself had inherited. He was six years old when she died. He remembered that she had a good heart, everyone at Raventree Hall adored her. Soldiers, servants, cooks, grooms, stable hands, all charmed by Lady Blackwood.

Ten years had passed since a terrible fever had taken her. Ben's father, Samwell Blackwood, Lord of Raventree Hall, wept by the bedside. It was the first and last time he had seen him cry. He was a good guy, respected by his men and vassals. Not so much by the neighbours, as one might say. The Brackens didn't like him much.

But then, the Brackens don't even respect themselves.

And neither did Ben.

The Well Tavern was a place frequented by men between the Red Fork and the Blue Fork. Both Bracken's and Blackwood's. The owner of this tavern, an old man with one eye and three golden teeth, had forbidden them to fight in his establishment.

There they were that spring night, Ben Blackwood and two of his loyal friends, Corvin and Jon. Both boys from Blackwood's house, both of whom he had known since he was born. His father considered him young to frequent such places, for it was not good for a young lord's reputation. But that did not detract from the fact that he did it anyway.

It was fun, the festive atmosphere and the drunken tales. Ben had had two pints, not enough to get him drunk, but enough to be amused by the nonsense a much drunker Corvin was spewing from his mouth.

"...and then the bloke said "but that's not where to put it" "cackled the young man.

The whole table erupted in laughter and banging. Ben slapped Jon on the back as he nearly choked on his beer. That brought more laughter to the Blackwood men's table. But the revelry ended as soon as the tavern doors burst open.

The place fell silent, the musicians abruptly gave way, and the men at the table turned their gazes to the doors.

Aeron Bracken and six men in golden colours and a red stallion. They seized a table and called the barkeeper, under the watchful eyes of the Blackwoods. The tension could be cut with a dagger, not even the best beer in the Arbor could lighten the mood.

Ben sipped his beer, one hand near his belt where he held a sword and another knife strapped to his back camouflaged in his clothes.

Then one of the Brackens bumped into a drunken Jon. The young stable boy was considerably small compared to the Bracken man, who stood there staring at him.

The two collided forehead to forehead, foot to foot. Ben rose from his seat, in an attempt to separate his friend from the Bracken bouncer.

"That's it! My friend and I go that way and you go this way".

"Are you scared, Blackwood?" teased Aeron.

"I don't feel like smashing your face in a tavern, Bracken," he replied, "We're leaving".

Aeron also stood up and unsheathed his sword, aiming it at Benjicot's back. Blackwood stood still. He had been told to stay away from fighting, to save his strength and momentum for his lessons and important battles to come, and not to waste them in taverns with childish brawls.

He took Jon by the shoulders, to take him to the table with his other friends and leave the dreaded tavern. The hour was late, tomorrow would be a new day and the alcohol was beginning to dampen morale.

"And little Benji comes running back to his mummy's skirts" mocked one of the Bracken boys "Oh wait!, that's right, his bitch of a mother has been in hell for years now, like all the Blackwood heathens".

His father was going to be very angry.

It took a second for the tavern to turn into a pitched battle. Grab what you can and hit the enemy with it. A classic Blackwood versus Bracken as usual since the age of the Heroes.

The offence against the late Lady Blackwood and the ancient gods could not be retaliated against by the lords of Raventree Hall. Jim, the landlord of the tavern, tried to calm the shouting match, trying to move the quarrel out of the establishment at least.

Corvin saw the disadvantage. There were seven of them against the three men from Blackwood House. The boy lifted Jon off the floor, kicking a drunk who had thrown himself on top of him.

"You go get the horses, I'll grab..."

A circle formed where the Brackens were previously seated. Shouts of fighting echoed off the stone walls. Jon looked at Corvin with concern. The latter nudged the former, indicating his previous order, as he reached for the young lord.

Ben was in the middle of the bloody circle. Straddling a Bracken, the one who had dared to speak ill of his mother, brutally beating his face, to the point that Corvin couldn't tell which of them it was.

After that beating, not even the bastard's mother could recognise him.

The boy tried to get Ben's attention, but his young lord seemed possessed by rage. Bracken blood splattered on his face, his gaze unfocused, his tongue between his teeth in an almost satisfied grimace.

"Ben! Oi! Come on, mate!"

Corvin grabbed his master by the shoulders, trying to lift him off the Bracken before he sent him to his false gods. Dodging a blow, Ben seemed to snap out of his reverie.

"Come on, let's get out of here, mate," Corvin pointed, guiding the boy towards the exit.

Outside, Jon was waiting with the horses. Once saddled, the three rode into the night along the road to Raventree Hall. They reached the entrance to the Blackwood ancestral home as the sun rose over the horizon.

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The sun was rising in the east and Lucrezcia had not slept a wink all night.

A ringing in her ears, the spring heat made her sweat, and her quarters in Oldtown were ugly to say the least.

Her only solace was the company of Lady Blackwood. Alyssane had accompanied them from Honeyholt to Oldtown on their quest to find a new master for their house. Along the way, she had advised her and told her all about her home.

The stories about the Riverlands had become a moment of peace amidst the relentless search for husbands. Between dates and teas, Aly and Lucrezcia would go out riding to clear their heads.

Her father had finally managed to get his wonderful horse from the island by boat. A dornish stallion with a black coat and white mane, as big as a carriage and as strong as a bull.

Lucrezcia had named him Maegor.

"... I thought all Riverlands practised the faith of the Seven," questioned Lucrezcia.

"The Blackwoods are an ancient house descended of the First Men. Family traditions state they ruled most of the wolfswood in the north before being driven south by the Kings of Winter from House Stark" replied Alyssane "Then Blackwood river kings claimed the mouth of the Blackwater Rush".

Everything she learned fascinated her.

She felt like a little girl, eager for knowledge, full of curiosity. The many septas she had had throughout her life had not focused on teaching her history. The basics, the Age of Heroes, Aegon's conquest, Maegor's wars of faith, Jahaerys's reign.

They never delved into other houses, let alone other kingdoms, or maybe they did, but Lucrezcia was more interested in ignoring them.

"My father says that the First Men were barbarians and do not accept true religion while worshipping false gods".

"That's rich coming from an Andal" said Aly.

"My mother was an Ironborn, actually" Lucrezcia said.

Alyssane listened carefully. It is true that the absence of a mother or lady of the house was noticeable. It was the father who chose the suitor, but it was the mother who instructed the daughters in the way of marriage. And the lack of maternal presence was very clear in Lucrezcia's attitude. Her manner and demeanour, Alyssane wondered if she had mastered a weapon of some kind, as she had with the bow.

"You don't talk about her much," Aly mentioned.

Lucrezcia seemed to tense up, as if she had spoken too much. Just because she thought a lot about her mother did not mean she wanted to talk about her. No one at home did. Her father seemed to have forgotten all trace of her. Livia was already married when she left, Patricia had barely stopped feeding at her mother's breast.

Olga could barely stand Lucrezcia, so she wasn't much of a support.

"She... she's gone" she murmured "Not that she was a very loving person, anyway...".

Alyssane didn't want to stretch the conversation any further, seeing the change in the young woman's attitude.

"She taught me how to ride though," Lucrezcia blurted out to the riverwoman's surprise. "She gave me the first puppy, it was a breed from the crown lands. We trained him together... his name is Vinn, after the vineyards".

"What a ridiculous name," laughed Black Aly.

Lucrezcia nudged her horse.

"I was eight! I thought it was original!"

They both laughed and Alyssane decided it was a good time to put her plan into action.

"You know, my nephew enjoys hunting too, though no more than his sword, damn him."

"You have a nephew?"

Bingo.

"Benjicot Blackwood, heir to Raventree Hall".

"Benjicot? Now that is a ridiculous name".

Now it was Aly who nudge her horse. A little bit stronger.

"I jest! I jest..." laughed Lucrezcia. A spike of curiosity tingled down her spine. "And what is he like?".

"He's just turned six and ten, he's as tall as the weirwood tree, the damn kid, and very strong. He's been in a few little battles, against bloody Brackens, at least," mentioned Aly "But between you and me, he's a nice kid, pretty shy to tell you the truth."

Blackwood could feel the curiosity shooting out of Lucrezcia's eyes.

"I could introduce you to him."

Lucrezcia shook her head, drawing out the little birds.

"And why would you do that?"

They had arrived at the Hightower stables in Oldtown. Alyssane unsaddled her horse and handed it to a groom, while Lucrezcia still watched her from the height Maegor provided.

"Take it as a favour, he's young and you may have more in common with him than with Daryl Florent".

Alyssane winked goodbye and left the young woman speechless. She watched her walk away towards the High Tower gates.

Lucrezcia's mind was soon racing.

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Ben's bloody nose was playing tricks on him. They still had no maester and had to make do with the healing wiles of Bessie, the cook and housekeeper.

The hall was tense with silence. Lord Samwell stood at the head of the table, while Ben sat at the other end, with Jon and Corvin on either side of him.

With the pain in his head from the blow, he struggled to distinguish his friends. Bess had given him a cloth with very cold water to bring down the swelling in his nose, the water dripping from which mixed with the blood in his nose. He felt iron in his mouth, and could not help the urge to spit.

Father was lecturing him, as well as his friends, who crestfallenly responded with "yes, my lord" and "sorry, my lord". All this while Ben tried to focus his eyes on his father.

"Tavern brawls, this is where it's come to" the man said "I didn't raise a drunken brawler, I raised a future lord, a warrior!" he slammed his hand on the table, startling Ben "You have responsibilities, and you don't fulfil them by getting into trouble.

"They were Brackens," Ben replied.

Samwell fell silent. His wrinkled eyes narrowed in his son's direction. The feud with the Brackens was centuries old, many barely remember the beginning of it. Each day of the other's life was a threat to the other. Grover Tully, Lord of Riverrun, their overlord, was old and his attempts at peace between the houses were faltering.

Any excuse was a good one for bloodshed.

And as things were going in the capital, war was coming.

And ravens and stallions would not fight for the same side.

Samwell was aware of this. But he knew he had time to prepare himself and his house for a war until the dragons decided to dance. And if he could keep the peace with Stone Hedge until then, so be it. For his son's life was worth more than any battle.

He was not so sure that son was aware of that.

"The winds change fast, my son. Someday you will realise that it pays more to protect your own than to fight with the enemy," said the Lord of Raventree. "We need a strong and secure future".

Corvin and Jon shared a look of intrigue at the direction of the conversation. Benjicot looked straight at his father.

"And you, my son, you shall settle down". Samwell pulled two parchments from his sleeve, one with a crimson seal, his own, and another with a purple seal that Ben did not recognise.

"Lads" the lord pointed to the two boys guarding his son. It was their cue to leave the father and son.

Both boys looked at each other and then saluted their master, to walk out the doors of the great hall.

Once alone, Ben pulled the wet cloth away from his face to listen to his father.

"Your aunt, Alyssane, has agreed with Lord Luther Redwyne on a very interesting proposition," he said. He stretched out the parchment of the unknown seal.

"Lord Luther Redwyne, Lord of the Arbor. One of the richest men in Westeros, offers the hand of his daughter, Lucrezcia Redwyne, with a dowry of six thousand gold dragons, two hundred of his men and a prolific trade agreement with the Isle of the Arbor" read Samwell.

"The hand... of his daughter" Ben repeated.

Ben's mind was faster than a dragon. His daughter's hand in marriage, he read the letter. Marriage. He was getting married. To a complete stranger. From another realm. Another faith. An unknown woman.

"Believe me, my boy" said the lord "This is a new beginning, for you and for..."

" They offer us men, for what purpose?" interrupted Ben.

"Gold and men bring security to a family," Samwell reminded him.

"Security against what? What's coming?".

Samwell put a hand on his son's shoulder, still seated.

"I want to see you happy, son. And I want grandchildren for my house that you won't beget in taverns."

"You think a woman will make me happy?"

"A wife ? Yes".

He patted his son on the back twice, before heading for the door of the great hall.

"You'll thank me one day".

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"I have made a decision".

Lucrezcia had entered without warning the temporary office that Lord Ormund had offered her father during his stay in Oldtown.

Luther was going over the trade accounts from the last full moon. He looked up from the numbers to find his third daughter. Lucrezcia looked dishevelled, in her silk dressing gown and Lys nightdress. Her dirty blonde hair was tangled in what had once been a braid.

"And what decision would that be?"

Lucrezcia held her head high. Late at night, the only thing illuminating the dingy office were the candles. The light from the High Tower kept her awake. Alyssane had not visited her since their talk in the gardens, busy with her initial task of finding a maester for her household.

She had reconsidered all her options. Men of the Reach, of the Westerlands, but what appealed to her most, Alyssane's proposal.

A man from the Riverlands, who had no respect for the faith of the Seven.

Would that anger her father enough?

"I will marry Benjicot Blackwood"

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tag list: @erysione @asteria33 @shifter-101 @drwho-ess @hotdxdragon @username199945 @nixtape-foryou @saturnssrings

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

I'll come pick it up after, the end

John Egan X Female! Reader

Sumarry: It's finally their wedding day...

Warning: Historical inaccuracies/ full/ might not be accurate to real weeding speech in the 40s/ use of Y/n/

Word count: 1,2k

The day had finally come, their wedding day. She was nervous, but she was able to go to London to buy a wedding dress, with Daisy and Elodie. Her dress was simple, it stopped before her ankles and it had long sleeves. She didn’t want an extravagant wedding dress, they were getting married on the base, they weren’t Catholics, but the priest on the base was going to marry them, so it’ll be legit. She’d ask Crosby to walk her down the aisle, Buck was the best men, Elodie was the maid of honor and Meatball was going to carry the rings, with the two kids guiding him. Her hair was down, she didn’t have a veil, just a dress and heels.

He was nervous, but he was really happy. He was marring his girl. ‘’You ready for this?’’ Buck asked, coming in the room. ‘’Yeah, I’m nervous, but it’s my girl, I can’t wait to marry her’’ He sign. ‘’Let’s go its time.’’ Corporal says, as he enters the room. ‘’Thanks, Corporal’’ Bucky says. ‘’She’s a good girl, I’m happy for you, Major’’ he says. ‘’I appreciate it, Corporal, thank you.’’ They entered the room, soldiers were sat, some were still arriving. Nurses were there too, almost all the men and woman on the base were there. The priest was waiting for him at the altar. ‘’Who thought we would see Bucky tie the knot?’’ Lieutenant Dye said, even if he went home because he did 25 missions, he came back to see his friend get married. ‘’Yeah, well you did steal my previous girl, I had to find another one’’ he laughed. Right now, he couldn’t even think about Lil, the only woman that mattered to him was his future wife. When Bucky commented about their previous relationship, she bent her head down, ashamed. ‘’Don’t worry, Lil, he’s the better choice for you. I’m happy for your guys’’ He reassured her. Dye smiled to the groom and took the hand of his lady. Lil smiled and took a relived breath.

Once again, she was pacing around the room, Meatball following her with his head. Harry Crosby came in the room, smiling. ‘’Are you ready?’’ he asked. ‘’I feel like I’m going to throw up.’’ ‘’I know that feeling, but don’t worry I can recommend you to an amazing doctor’’ Crosby smiled, she laughed, it calmed her down a little. She didn’t even know why she was nervous, they both loved each other, but she was nervous. ‘’I’m really happy for you. You deserve happiness, Y/n, you both do.’’ They both hugged. ‘’You’re my best friend, Croz, thank you for everything you did for me’’ She whispered in his ear. ‘’Now, don’t make me cry.’’ They chuckled as Daisy came to get them. ‘’It’s time’’ she simply said.

When the band started to play music, Bucky’s heart stopped; she was coming. He turned around to look at his girl. She was magnificent, her dress was simple, but it was made for her. After all, they didn’t have much time to plan their wedding and their budget was small. Harry Crosby was walking her, he was grateful for him, he took care of her when he wasn’t there. When she saw him in his uniform, she started to smile like she never did before, she’d saw him in his uniform before, but he looks wonderful. When Harry and Y/n reached the groom, Crosby wanted to say something. Normally, her father would’ve give her to John, but Harry needed to say words to him. ‘’Take good care of her, just like she took care of you. Y/n smiled, hearing the word his best friend said to her future husband.

When Meatball came down the aisle, with the two boys, the soldiers chuckled. Everyone on the base knew that Y/n and Meatball came as a pair, they were together all the time. When she worked at the hospital, Meatball was there too, he made soldiers smile. The two boys handed the rings to the bride and groom. They recited the vow that the priest asked them too. It was beautiful, making them promise to each other that they will love the other, no matter what. It said that they would always be there for the other and stuff that made some people cry. When it was time for their personal vows, Y/n decided to go first. ‘’Bucky, my love, when I first met you, I thought you were going to be just another soldier that crossed my path. I was clearly wrong because, I’m now in a white dress in front of you. I did not just fell in love with you, I feel in love with your smile, your humor, your qualities and your flaws. I fell in love with each version of you, the one you show when you’re with your friends, the person you are when we are alone, the person that you’re too scared to show me, but did before you trusted me, and I also fell in love with the pilot version of you. Words aren’t enough to tell you how much you mean to me, but I’m so happy that Meatball came to me that day, so I could meet my soulmate’’ She cried, they were happy tears. Bucky was crying too, he didn’t care if some soldiers thought he was weak, that was the most beautiful thing he ever heard. ‘’My darling, my forever, I feel like the luckiest men on earth, because I get to be your husband. When things were rough, I think about you. Your smile, your laugh, your beautiful eyes and your voice. I’m not as talented with words as you are, but I can tell you this, it’s so hard for me to put our love into words, because I love you in ways, I have never loved anyone else, but I promise that I will spend the rest of my life, searching for them. I love you, my darling.’’ If the crowd didn’t cry to Y/n’s speech, they cried at Bucky’s. Even the priest was about to cry. ‘’ In the sight of God and these witnesses, I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may kiss the bride.’’

They didn’t have to be told twice, their kiss was full of love and passion. It celebrated their love and said all the words they couldn’t find. The crowd applauded and congratulated the newly weds. ‘’I love you Mrs. Egan’’ Bucky said, looking at his wife. ‘’I love you more, Mr. Egan’’ she smiled.

After the celebration, and almost 4 songs that Bucky insisted on singing, they both pack all their things. Because has a weeding gift, the Corporal gave Bucky the right to go home. After all, he was at 23 missions, he was close to 25. And Y/n made Elodie the chief nurse, because the Corporal also gave her the right to go home. They were going home, they both couldn’t believe it, but it was the case. A smaller plane, that was made for traveling, was waiting for them on the runway. The newly weds were going back home on the same plane as Lieutenant Dye. They hugged their friends, Y/n gave Buck and Croz the phone number at Bucky’s home. That’s where they would live until they could afford a home. When they boarded the plane, they were euphoric. ‘’Can you actually believe we’re going home?’’ Y/n whispered. He shook his head. ‘’The only thing I believe right now, is the fact that you’re my wife, and my ribs are healed’’ he chuckled. She giggled when the decide to steel his watch, putting it in her bra. ‘’Come and pick it up after the flight’’ she teased with a huge smile. It was the beginning of their life together, and they would savor each second, they had together, because they both knew how easily life can change. But it wasn’t on their mind right now. The only thing on Bucky’s mind, was to pick up his watch, just like he did the first time.

A/n: It's the end y'all!!! Thank you for reading this story. I already have more ideas, for other stuff. Love you all :)

[bunkerjking]

The emotional breakdown later in the chapter will get most of the attention, but for my money, this is the most revealing moment in this week's chapter. A teenager so disconnected from his real emotions that he desperately rationalizes his hypersexuality not as a coping mechanism, but as 'this is what guys are like.'

It's easy to make fun of men for burying their emotions and then asking, 'why doesn't anyone know who I really am' - hell, Denji literally does that during the Bomb Girl arc - but Denji is a pretty direct criticism of both the way boys can get forced into unhealthy gender roles, and the way men self-regulate themselves and others into them.

The other boys Denji is with don't have the problem of being horny at inappropriate times. They have WAY bigger problems.

But Denji can't think properly when someone dangles the idea of sex in front of him. It's like a switch flips and he becomes a completely different person.

He shuts down and reverts to trying to embody masculine stereotypes he's been ingrained with, both through the social conditioning of growing up male in the 90s and the psychological conditioning Makima put him through to strengthen 'Chainsaw Man' - itself a hyper-masculine ideal that a human being physically cannot measure up to - and emotionally cripple Denji.

Denji is at his happiest when he's at rest with the people he loves. Power and Aki were not always easy to be around, but they loved him back and they wanted him to be happy. Nayuta is a child who doesn't understand her place in the world - how could she - but she earnestly wants to help her big brother as best as she can.

He isn't some cock-swinging alpha badass constantly on the prowl to crush puss, but for a lot of people - especially a teenager who was groomed to be an expendable child soldier - this unhealthy masculine 'ideal' isn't just something to live up to, it's the expected norm for men to be.

Being Chainsaw Man doesn't make Denji mentally stronger. As shown in the Falling Devil fight, he literally chops up his brain with his chainsaws to avoid confronting his trauma. Whenever he has to think about what he's lost and what's still left to lose, he runs toward something he isn't and away from a 'normal,' healthy response to the issues at hand.

"You stupid boy."

You'll notice that Katana Man, a perfect embodiment of an overly masculine dickhead, a misogynistic moron who refuses to grow in character or even basic combat skills, is totally on board for throwing Denji in a brothel and letting what happens happens. Katana Man perfectly represents the bad ending where 'traditional masculinity' wins the war for Denji's soul.

Denji needs help. Not some quick gratification. Not a meal and a nut and a nap. He needs genuine help, and a better male role model than the ones he's got. Even Kishibe, the only adult in his life other than Aki who actually did more good than harm, is an alcoholic recluse.

God help the boy.

[frozenjokes]

THE TIME LOOP AU IS ALL WRITTEN!!!!!!!!!! MY GUYS!!!! I can not wait to share the rest of the story TY FOR THE SUPPORT!!!!! ao3 link

below, some snippets from the final chapters. the next will be up tomorrow :3

Cleo smirked, “Keep talking kitty kitty, your days are numbered,” Cleo started to twirl the lasso, and Scar scoffed.

“Keep dreaming.”

Predictably, the first three times Cleo attempted to throw the lasso she missed terribly; Scar had mostly been teaching her the tricks and this required a completely different technique! To emphasize his confidence, Scar tucked all of his limbs under his body, commencing his groom. The sad fwap of the lasso hitting nothing along with Cleo’s continued threats were music to his ears. He frowned as he nosed through his chest fur, coming across a small shard that had wedged itself into his skin. Gingerly, he plucked it away, spitting it back at Cleo before continuing to ignore her. Stubborn, silly creature. He licked away the remaining beads of blood without concern, eyed contentedly shut.

///

“I don’t think you understand how your violence affects other people. I’m still looking for snares every time I walk through a hall. I still feel it around my neck. Sometimes when I think about you it feels like choking.”

“That.” Cub paused, not quite faltering, but not exactly facing Scar with the same confidence. “That was a long time ago.”

“May as well have been yesterday.”

///

“If you want a story so damn bad, tell one yourself. That, or leave it,” Cleo huffed, and Scar mumbled a quiet agreement, moving to cuddle in with her as she finished settling down. Cub stayed where he was, sitting on the edge of the bed. Scar thought the conversation was over then, and the silence had lasted so long that he’d started to doze off when Cub spoke.

“Used to feed the crows in my backyard.” Cub paused for a moment before amending, “Birds. Small animals with wings. Anyway, before my cats died we still had a bit of food left, and my family never really threw anything away. I always took little baggies into the woods when I’d go. It was great. Whole flocks would follow me around, thirty to fifty birds.. I got in trouble for feeding them too close to the house since they figured out where I lived. Cawed all sorts of noise very early in the morning.” Cub nodded to himself, closing his eyes where he sat.

Scar waited for him to continue. The waiting grew increasingly more awkward until Scar couldn’t help but prompt him, “And what happened next?”

Cub yawned, moving to settle in under the sheets beside Cleo. “I stopped feeding them.”

Scar waited. Cub did not elaborate.

…

Maybe this is why Cub had never contributed a story before. He wasn’t particularly talented at telling them.

///

“True soldiers, born in blood,” Grian mumbled, turning away, “Battle forth ‘til his pads are raw, face grave. But never stop. Whether he is good leaves no relevance; however, he certainly is true. As for I.. I can not take his sword. But his family?” Grian sighed, “As long as he chooses to keep it, I will not interfere.” He left them without another word. Scar couldn’t stop staring.

[wilcze-kudly]

The Gaang being 'bad parents' didn't ruin their characters.

I've seen this argument tossed around a couple times and it's honestly one of my least favourite criticisms of lok.

Katara (and Sokka but we have no confirmed kids for him, which seems unrealistic with how much game he had) lost their mother as children and their father was forced to abandon them when they were barely starting their teens. They were raised by their grandmother with little to no peers of their own age.

Aang did not know his parents and a huge chunk of his childhood was him being groomed into taking up the mantle of the avatar and mastering airbending. He also was isolated from other kids his age. His closest parental figure was Gyatso who was more of a teacher than a father. Also the Air Nomads were literally wiped out so that adds to the trauma pile.

I really don't think i have to talk about Zuko's family life here, but at least he had relatively positive parental figures in the form of Ursa (though i do have a burning personal dislike of ursa) and Iroh. Despite this his struggle around the subject of his family and his trauma relating to his upbringing was a focal point of his character arc.

Toph was raised in isolation by her asshole abelist parents who did not listen to her, sent people to capture and bring her back and then disowned her. (If my cursory understanding of 'the rift' is correct, I need to actually read it because i am unreasonably obsessed with the Beifong family.)

Where, pray tell, were they supposed to learn proper parenting skills? On their brief stint as child soldiers? While fighting a war as literal children?

There is the argument that they must've matured later in their lives, of course. But you can only recover so much from copious amounts of childhood trauma.

Being a bad parent doesn't necessarily make you a bad person. Sure it makes you a failure in an incredibly delicate and important aspect of human life but it doesn't make you a bad person. And saying that it does takes a lot of nuance out of the conversation.

Like, do you know how easy it is to fuck up a child?

Especially that the ways the members of the Gaang 'fucked up' as parents feel mostly in character.

Bumi was going to face some struggles with self worth due to being the firstborn child of the Avatar and arguably one of the most powerful waterbenders in history, while being a nonbender himself. That much was unavoidable, no matter how his parents approached the issue.

And Aang was obviously going to be over the moon when Tenzin was born. Think about it. He's literally the last of his people. He has no one else 'like him'. No one else to pass down the traditions, the teachings that Gyatso and everyone else he cared about and who were horrifically murdered to. Aang is getting older and he feels like his culture and history and his entire life before he got trapped in that damned iceberg will die along with him. And then Tenzin is born and Tenzin can take up the mantle that had been thrust upon Aang.

I'm going to withhold my judgement on Izumi and Zuko, since we barely know anything about them. She seems well adjusted but that's all i can say right now. But Zuko has also been shown to be extremely, painfully aware of how fucked up his family is and has clearly been putting in a lot of work to unscrew what his ancestors have screwed up.

Toph situation feels very tragic to me,because it's obvious that she thought she thought she was doing better than her parents. She gave her daughters the freedom to do what they want, to not feel opressed and trapped like she had. How was she supposed to know that she was making her girls feel like she didn't love them? (Here's another post of mine about the Beifong family and how they just feel like they're cursed or something at this point.)

TLDR; I get annoyed by people saying that the Gaang being 'bad parents' ruined their characters, because to me it felt like it actually enhanced them.

Neither Aang nor Toph acted out of malice or a lack of love. On the contrary, Toph was trying not to repeat her parents mistakes, accidentally committing a bunch of her own. While Aang probably didn't even realise that he was neglecting Kya and Bumi.

But just loving your children doesn't always make you a good parent.

I think these flaws only add to them as characters. It makes them feel more real.

It's unrealistic and, frankly, just plain boring to go 'oh the Gaang were all good people so they would be good parents too.'

The Gaang were a gaggle of traumatised children forced into saving the world, because the adults around them failed them, that then grew into traumatised adults who have no idea how to be good parents.