#hues of the violet garden

[novaursa]

The Silver and The Gold

- Summary: This was the first time you and Aegon acknowledged the bond between you, and the first time you are truly one.

- Pairing: twin!reader/Aegon II

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N and is bonded with dragon called Starfyre. If you want to read this series in chronological order, you can find the list of my works on my blog. The list is pinned to the top. This is currently considered part one. But it can be a part just for itself.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 5 191

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a warm, golden hue over the Red Keep. You and your twin, Aegon, have managed to slip away from your septa’s watchful eye once again, finding solace in one of the many hidden alcoves of the castle. These moments away from the prying eyes of the court are your favorites, the only times when you can be truly yourselves—just Y/N and Aegon, two halves of a whole, inseparable from the moment you entered this world together.

Your laughter echoes softly through the stone corridor as you both rush through a narrow passageway, your hand firmly clasped in his. Aegon’s pale blonde hair glows in the dim light, and when he glances back at you, there’s a mischievous sparkle in his violet eyes. You’ve both been caught sneaking away before, but the thrill of breaking the rules only adds to the excitement.

“Y/N,” he whispers with a grin, pulling you into a small chamber tucked away behind a tapestry. “They’ll never find us here.”

Your heart races, not from fear of getting caught, but from the proximity to him, the closeness you’ve always shared yet lately feels different, more charged. The chamber is small, barely furnished, but it feels like a world of your own. The tapestry falls back into place, cloaking you both in semi-darkness, the only light filtering in from a high, narrow window.

“We’ll be in such trouble if they find us,” you say, though there’s no true worry in your voice. The thrill of being alone with him like this, away from everyone’s expectations, makes it all worth it.

Aegon shrugs, a playful smirk on his lips. “When are we not in trouble?”

The truth of his words makes you both laugh again, and for a moment, it’s just like when you were children, chasing each other through the gardens, getting scolded for dirtying your clothes. But as your laughter fades, a tension fills the small space, thickening the air between you.

You’ve always been close to Aegon, closer than anyone else in your life. He’s been your constant companion, your protector, and your best friend. But lately, there’s been something more—a longing in his gaze, a flutter in your stomach when he brushes your hand, a sense that you both are standing on the edge of something new and terrifying.

“Aegon…” you begin, unsure of how to voice the feelings that have been swirling inside you.

He steps closer, his expression softening. “Y/N, I… there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you.”

You look up at him, your breath catching as you see the earnestness in his eyes. He’s nervous, you realize, the ever-confident Aegon, unsure of himself for once. The realization emboldens you, and you reach out, your hand trembling slightly as you place it on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palm.

“I think I know,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

He covers your hand with his, his touch warm and steady. “Do you?” he asks, his tone soft, almost reverent. His free hand reaches up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly across your skin. The gentleness of the gesture sends a shiver down your spine, and you lean into his touch, your eyes drifting closed.

When his lips meet yours, it’s as though the world stops. The kiss is tentative at first, exploring, as if you’re both afraid of crossing an invisible line. But the moment your lips part and you taste him—sweet and warm and utterly intoxicating—everything changes. The kiss deepens, fueled by the years of unspoken feelings, of wanting and needing but never daring to take.

Aegon’s hands slide to your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. Your own hands find their way to his shoulders, then into his hair, threading through the silken strands as you press yourself against him. The kiss becomes more urgent, more desperate, as if you’re both trying to make up for all the time you’ve wasted.

You’re not sure when it happens, but at some point, you find yourself lying back on the small bed in the corner of the chamber, Aegon above you. His kisses trail from your lips to your jaw, down the column of your throat, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Your breathing is ragged, your heart pounding as his hands explore the curves of your body, as if he’s trying to memorize every inch of you.

“Y/N,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough with desire. “I need you… I’ve always needed you.”

His words send a jolt of electricity through you, and you arch into him, your body responding to his touch in a way that feels both entirely new and utterly familiar. You’ve always belonged to him, just as he has always belonged to you. It’s as if this moment was inevitable, written in the stars long before you were born.

“I’m yours, Aegon,” you whisper, the confession slipping from your lips before you can second-guess it. “I’ve always been yours.”

His gaze darkens, and you see the shift in him, the realization that you’re his just as much as he is yours. The passion between you ignites, and the world outside the small chamber fades away. There’s only Aegon—his touch, his breath, the way he makes you feel more alive than you’ve ever felt before.

Your clothes are discarded in a tangle of limbs and heated kisses, and when he finally joins with you, it’s like the world is remade. The sensation is overwhelming, a mixture of pain and pleasure that leaves you gasping, but the way he looks at you, the way he whispers your name, makes it all worth it. He moves within you, and the rhythm you find together is as natural as breathing, as if you were made for this, for each other.

Time loses meaning as you both give in to the storm of emotions that has been building for so long. And when it’s over, when you’re both spent and breathless, you lie tangled together on the bed, the air between you charged with something new, something that can never be undone.

“I love you,” Aegon whispers, his voice hoarse but filled with a sincerity that makes your heart swell. He brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his touch tender, almost reverent.

“I love you too,” you reply, the words feeling right, like they’ve always been there, just waiting to be spoken.

You’re about to kiss him again when the door to the chamber creaks open. You both freeze, your eyes wide with shock as you turn toward the sound. A servant stands in the doorway, her face pale, her eyes wide with disbelief at the sight before her.

For a moment, no one moves. The servant seems to realize what she’s walked in on, her hand flying to her mouth as she stammers an apology. She backs out of the room quickly, her footsteps echoing down the corridor as she flees, leaving you and Aegon alone once more.

Your heart races, panic and embarrassment flooding you. But when you look at Aegon, you see that he’s not afraid. He’s smiling, a slow, confident grin that makes your heart flutter.

“Let them talk,” he says, his voice steady. “I don’t care what they say, Y/N. You’re mine, and I’m yours. Nothing will change that.”

His words calm the storm inside you, and you smile back at him, knowing he’s right. Whatever happens next, you’ll face it together, just as you always have.

The grand hall of the Red Keep is bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun as King Viserys Targaryen lounges on his throne, a sense of contentment softening the lines of his aging face. His golden crown rests heavily on his brow, but the weight of it seems lighter today as he speaks with Otto Hightower, his trusted Hand. Queen Alicent, ever dutiful, stands nearby, her hands folded neatly in front of her.

The rhythmic sound of booted feet echoes through the hall, growing louder as the doors swing open to admit a pair of Dragonkeepers. They stride forward, their faces marked with the quiet reverence that always accompanies news from the Dragonpit.

“Your Grace,” one of them begins, bowing low. “We bring news of the dragons, Sunfyre and Starfyre.”

Viserys leans forward, his interest piqued. His voice carries the weight of authority but also a grandfatherly warmth. “Speak then, what of the golden and the silver?”

The Dragonkeeper straightens, his voice steady but tinged with awe. “Sunfyre has successfully mounted Starfyre. They have mated, Your Grace.”

A collective breath seems to fill the hall, a hum of interest and excitement threading through the air. Viserys’s eyes light up with pleasure, his mind already considering the implications. “This is indeed prosperous news for our House. If their union brings forth viable eggs, it will be a blessing of great fortune.”

Beside him, Alicent nods in agreement, though her attention wavers as a servant, face pale and anxious, approaches her with hurried steps. The servant leans close, whispering into the Queen’s ear. Alicent’s expression shifts, her eyes widening before narrowing into a tight, painful grimace.

Viserys notices, his brows knitting together in concern. “Alicent, what troubles you? Speak plainly.”

The Queen hesitates, her gaze flitting to Otto before settling on Viserys. Her voice is low, strained. “It is… the twins, Your Grace. They… they were found together, in an intimate situation. They had eluded their septa.”

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, there is silence. Viserys’s face hardens, but there is something else in his eyes—a flicker of understanding, perhaps, or resignation.

“Aegon and Y/N…” he murmurs, his voice trailing off. He closes his eyes briefly, then sighs deeply. “The blood of the dragon runs hot, it seems.”

Otto shifts uncomfortably, but it is Alicent who speaks next, her voice taut with disapproval. “They are young, but such behavior is… unbecoming, Your Grace. They must be reminded of their duty, of what is expected of them.”

Viserys opens his eyes, looking at Alicent with a mixture of weariness and something almost like amusement. “They are twins, born together, bound by blood and by fire. Is it so surprising that they would find comfort in each other, as their dragons do?”

Alicent’s lips press into a thin line, but she does not respond, sensing the futility of arguing with the king on this matter.

Viserys continues, his gaze distant as he muses aloud. “Sunfyre and Starfyre—brother and sister, golden and silver, a union as beautiful as it is powerful. They were born in the same moment, just as Aegon and Y/N were. Their bond is not one of simple affection; it is something deeper, something… ancient. The dragons choose their riders, and perhaps, in some way, they guide them too.”

The comparison is not lost on anyone in the room. Sunfyre and Starfyre, two magnificent creatures, both radiant with their own unique beauty, have chosen to mate, their union a symbol of strength and unity for House Targaryen. And like their dragons, Aegon and Y/N share a bond that goes beyond mere sibling affection, a bond forged in fire, blood, and the shared legacy of their house.

Alicent’s discomfort is palpable, but Viserys waves a hand, dismissing her concerns with a sigh. “They are of age soon enough, and they will wed as is our custom. This will strengthen the bloodline, as it has always done. There is no shame in what has happened, only the inevitability of it.”

The room falls silent once more, the tension easing slightly as Viserys’s words settle over them. The Dragonkeepers, still standing at attention, exchange glances before the king waves them away.

“Go,” Viserys says, “and let us hope that Sunfyre and Starfyre’s union blesses us with eggs, and that the fire of our blood burns ever brighter.”

As the Dragonkeepers leave, Alicent glances at Otto, her discomfort still visible. Otto, ever the strategist, simply inclines his head slightly, acknowledging the situation but offering no further comment.

Viserys, his mind already drifting to other matters, leans back in his throne. “Aegon and Y/N…” he murmurs again, almost to himself. “They are as their dragons, destined to be together. Let them be. They will learn their duties soon enough.”

The conversation moves on, but the parallel between the dragons and their riders lingers, unspoken but understood. You and Aegon, like Sunfyre and Starfyre, are bound by something elemental, something that neither courtly expectations nor the disapproval of others can sever. The fire of your shared blood burns bright, and as Viserys himself has said, it is inevitable.

And as you stand by Aegon’s side, you cannot help but feel the truth of it in your very bones.

The dawn breaks over the Red Keep, casting its golden light through the high windows of the royal chambers. The warmth of the sun does little to thaw the icy tension that fills the room as Queen Alicent stands before you and Aegon, her expression a mixture of stern disapproval and maternal concern.

You and Aegon sit side by side on a cushioned bench, close enough that your thighs touch, your fingers occasionally brushing as though neither of you can bear to be apart for even a moment. Aegon’s hand rests casually on your knee, a gesture of comfort and possession that seems to rile Alicent further. She stands before you both, her arms crossed, her lips pressed into a thin line as she gathers herself to speak.

"Do you understand the gravity of what you have done?" Alicent’s voice is sharp, each word carefully enunciated as though she needs to be sure you both understand.

Aegon lifts a shoulder in a careless shrug, his expression almost bored. "What we’ve done, mother, is what was expected of us. Or will be, soon enough." His voice is tinged with the arrogance of someone who knows his place and feels no need to apologize for it.

Alicent’s eyes narrow at his nonchalance, her voice rising slightly as she responds, "Expected of you? To dishonor yourselves in such a way, before your wedding even takes place? This is not just a matter of propriety, Aegon. You were found in an… improper situation, one that brings shame upon you both."

Aegon scoffs, leaning back against the bench, his arm slipping around your waist, drawing you closer to him. "Shame? There is no shame between us. We are to be wed, and what we do now is no different than what we will do once it’s official. The dragons have already shown us the way—why should we deny what is natural?"

His words are blunt, almost crude in their simplicity, and they make Alicent flinch. She shakes her head, clearly frustrated by her son’s cavalier attitude. "You are too flippant, Aegon. You speak as though this is a game, but there are consequences to your actions, even if you do not see them now."

Aegon tightens his hold on you, his gaze unwavering as he meets his mother’s eyes. "There are no consequences that matter, not when the King himself sees no issue. Father understands what we are, what we will be. Why can’t you?"

Alicent’s cheeks flush with anger, and she turns to you, as though seeking an ally in her reprimand. "And you, Y/N? How is it that you two continue to escape your septa’s watchful eyes? This is not the first time, and yet you act as though your actions have no meaning. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Your heart beats steadily in your chest as you look up at your mother, your expression calm. "We did what we had to, mother. The septa cannot keep us apart, and I would not let her even if she tried. Aegon and I…" You pause, searching for the right words. "We are meant to be together, as our dragons are. We are stronger together, and we find peace in each other’s company. Why should we be made to feel guilty for that?"

Alicent’s frustration gives way to something like despair as she realizes that neither of you feel any remorse for your actions. She looks between you and Aegon, her voice softer but no less stern. "You must understand that your behavior reflects on the entire House. You carry the weight of our name, and with that comes the responsibility to act with honor. Your bond is strong, yes, but it must be guided by duty as much as by affection."

Aegon’s grip on you tightens, and he leans in, pressing a kiss to your temple in a gesture that is both tender and defiant. "We know our duty, mother. But our bond is our own. No one, not even you, can dictate how we choose to honor it."

The intimacy between you and Aegon, your heads leaning toward one another, your bodies close, is a silent but powerful statement. It speaks of a love that is as much a part of you as the blood in your veins, a love that refuses to be shamed or hidden away.

Alicent looks away, clearly uncomfortable with the display of affection before her. She takes a deep breath, her voice trembling slightly as she tries one last time to reach you. "I only want what is best for you both. But you must be careful. The court is full of eyes, and tongues wag far too easily. You must be above reproach, especially as the future of this House."

Aegon’s expression softens slightly, though his resolve does not waver. "We understand, mother. But know this—we will not deny what we are. Not for the court, not for anyone. We are dragons, and dragons are not meant to be tamed."

Alicent studies you both for a long moment, and then, with a weary sigh, she nods. "Very well. But know that I will not be so lenient if this happens again. The next time, I will not hesitate to involve your father directly, and you will not like the consequences of that."

With those final words, Alicent turns and leaves the room, her posture rigid with the effort of maintaining her composure. The door closes behind her with a quiet click, and the tension in the room seems to dissipate the moment she is gone.

You and Aegon remain seated, your bodies still close, but now, the air between you feels lighter, freer. Aegon looks at you, a slow smile spreading across his face. "That wasn’t so bad, was it?" he says, his tone playful.

You smile back, leaning into him as you feel his warmth against your side. "No, it wasn’t. But I wish she could understand. We’re not like everyone else."

Aegon nods, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm. "She’ll never understand, not fully. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that we do, and nothing will change that."

You rest your head on his shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. "Nothing will change that," you echo softly, knowing the truth of those words deep within your soul.

The heavy oak doors to your chambers close behind you with a quiet thud, sealing the world outside as you and Aegon stumble into the room. The thrill of the night’s stolen moments pulses in your veins, a heady mixture of wine and newfound desire that has you both breathless with anticipation. Your heart races as Aegon pulls you to him, his lips capturing yours in a fierce, urgent kiss.

The taste of wine lingers on his tongue, sweet and intoxicating, as he presses against you, his hands already working at the laces of your gown. You reach for his tunic in turn, your fingers trembling with impatience as you tug at the fabric, desperate to feel his skin against yours.

“We have too many clothes,” Aegon murmurs against your lips, his voice low and rough with need. There’s a teasing edge to his words, but the fire in his eyes is anything but playful.

“Then we should get rid of them,” you reply breathlessly, your hands finally finding purchase on his tunic and pulling it over his head. His skin is warm under your touch, his muscles taut with the tension of restraint quickly unraveling.

Aegon chuckles, a sound that vibrates through you, sending a shiver down your spine. “I couldn’t agree more.”

In your haste, the two of you stumble over each other, half-laughing, half-moan as you attempt to discard your clothing. Your gown pools at your feet as Aegon steps out of his trousers, the two of you moving in a frantic dance across the chamber, neither of you willing to break the contact of your bodies for even a moment.

Aegon’s hands find your waist, lifting you with an ease born of familiarity as he backs you toward a nearby table. Your back meets the cool wood, and you gasp as he pushes your legs apart, his fingers digging into your thighs as he leans over you, his breath hot against your neck.

“You drive me mad,” he whispers, his voice thick with desire as his lips brush your ear, trailing kisses down the column of your throat.

You arch into him, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him closer. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way,” you breathe, your words lost in a gasp as he enters you, a moan of pleasure escaping your lips at the feeling of him filling you.

Aegon’s hands grip your hips as he moves, his movements frantic, driven by the urgency of a fire that neither of you can quench. The table creaks under your combined weight, but the noise only spurs him on, his lips finding yours again in a searing kiss.

“I need more of you,” he groans against your mouth, his voice hoarse as he pulls you off the table, your legs wrapping around his waist as he attempts to carry you to the bed.

You cling to him, your nails digging into his shoulders, but in your haste, his foot catches on the edge of a rug, sending you both tumbling to the floor in a tangle of limbs. The fall jolts a laugh from you, the sound bubbling up between moans as you feel the press of him inside you, undeterred by the sudden change in position.

“Aegon,” you gasp, your voice a mix of laughter and desire as you move together, the hard floor beneath you forgotten in the heat of the moment.

He chuckles, a breathless sound that vibrates against your skin. “I think the bed is overrated anyway,” he says, his hands roaming over your body as he thrusts into you with renewed fervor.

You can only moan in response, your body arching into his as the two of you continue your desperate union, every movement fueled by the need to be closer, to feel more of each other.

Eventually, the bed does beckon, and somehow, in the midst of your fevered passion, you find yourselves on it, the soft sheets a welcome change from the hard floor. Aegon’s pace slows slightly as he pulls you against him, his lips finding yours again in a kiss that is no less passionate but now tempered with a kind of tenderness that makes your heart ache.

“You’re mine,” he whispers against your lips, his voice filled with a possessive intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

“And you’re mine,” you reply, your voice soft but no less fierce, your hands caressing his face as you look into his eyes, the connection between you deepening with every word, every touch.

The night stretches on, the two of you losing yourselves in each other again and again, until finally, you collapse into each other’s arms, exhausted but satisfied, the fire between you finally quenched, at least for the moment.

As you lay there, your bodies tangled together under the covers, Aegon presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his hand stroking your hair as you drift toward sleep.

“Nothing will ever keep us apart,” he murmurs, his voice a soft promise in the quiet of the night.

You smile, your heart swelling with love as you snuggle closer to him, knowing that no matter what the world throws at you, nothing could ever break the bond you share. And as you drift into sleep, the last thing you feel is the warmth of his body against yours, the steady beat of his heart a comforting reminder that you are exactly where you belong.

The first light of dawn barely touches the sky, casting a pale glow over the Red Keep. The room is dim and warm, filled with the remnants of last night's indulgence—half-empty goblets of wine, discarded garments strewn across the floor, and the heady scent of passion lingering in the air.

You lay tangled in the silk sheets with Aegon, your bare bodies pressed together under the covers. His arm is draped lazily over your waist, and your head rests comfortably on his chest, rising and falling with the rhythm of his breath. The night had been a blur of laughter, whispered confessions, and the kind of love that leaves you both breathless and content.

But the peace of the morning is abruptly shattered as the door to your chamber bursts open. Before either of you can react, the heavy curtains are yanked aside, flooding the room with blinding sunlight. You groan, burying your face in Aegon’s chest to escape the sudden brightness, while he lets out a disgruntled noise of protest.

“For the love of—” Aegon begins, but his complaint is cut short as the covers are ripped away, leaving you both exposed to the cool morning air and the stern gaze of your septa.

“Good morning, my prince, my princess,” she says briskly, her tone making it clear that there’s nothing good about this morning at all. The septa, a stern woman named Septa Maris, has the kind of face that rarely cracks a smile, and this morning is no exception. Her greying hair is pulled back tightly, and her eyes are sharp as they take in the scene before her.

Aegon squints up at her, clearly annoyed. “Septa Maris, what in the seven hells are you doing here at this hour?”

Septa Maris doesn’t so much as flinch at his language. “I am here under the Queen’s orders, Your Grace. Her Majesty has instructed me to ensure that you both maintain a presentable state until your wedding. And further to that matter—” she pauses, her gaze hardening as she looks between you and Aegon, “—you will no longer be sharing a bed until you are properly wed.”

You feel Aegon tense beside you, his annoyance quickly shifting to anger. “That’s absurd,” he snaps. “We’re to be wed soon enough. What difference does it make if we share a bed now or later?”

Septa Maris raises an eyebrow, her tone unyielding. “The difference, Your Grace, is in the propriety of it. You may do as you wish after your vows are spoken, but until then, you will adhere to the customs of our house. Now, both of you, up.”

Aegon groans again, dropping his head back onto the pillow with a dramatic sigh. “This is ridiculous.”

You can’t help but chuckle at his exasperation, and you reach over to brush a lock of his silver hair from his forehead. “Come now, Aegon, you know she won’t leave until we do as she says.”

He turns his head to look at you, his violet eyes gleaming with mischief. “Perhaps we should just ignore her and see if she gives up.”

Septa Maris, unimpressed by the suggestion, clears her throat loudly. “You will rise, both of you, and make yourselves presentable. I will not leave until it is done.”

Aegon lets out another exaggerated sigh but begins to sit up, clearly not thrilled about being dragged out of bed so early. You follow suit, wrapping a sheet around yourself as you move to the edge of the bed.

“There,” Aegon says with a smirk as he tosses his legs over the side of the bed, “we’re up. Are you satisfied now, Septa Maris?”

Septa Maris’s gaze sharpens as she catches sight of the wine-stained goblets on the nightstand and the scattered clothes. “Hardly. You both look like you’ve been dragged through the Dornish desert. You will wash, dress, and present yourselves properly before the Queen hears of this.”

Aegon rolls his eyes but stands, stretching his arms above his head, entirely unconcerned with his state of undress. You can’t help but admire the way the early light plays across his skin, the easy confidence in the way he moves.

“Fine, fine,” he grumbles as he reaches for a discarded tunic. “But don’t think for a moment that we’ll abide by this ridiculous rule of yours. You might keep us apart during the day, but the nights belong to us.”

Septa Maris’s expression is as stern as ever, but there’s a flicker of frustration in her eyes as she turns her attention to you. “And you, my lady, you should know better than to indulge your brother in such folly. You are a princess, and princesses must uphold the highest standards of conduct.”

You offer her a small, apologetic smile as you gather your own clothes, though you’re not feeling particularly sorry. “Of course, Septa. I’ll do my best to remember that.”

Aegon snorts at your diplomatic response, pulling his tunic over his head. “Oh, we’ll remember it, all right. And then we’ll forget it again as soon as she’s out of earshot.”

Septa Maris steps forward, her patience clearly wearing thin. “Enough of this insolence. Lady Y/N, come with me now. You will bathe and dress properly before the morning meal.”

You and Aegon exchange a look as she says this, a silent communication passing between you. His eyes are filled with defiance and a promise—one that says no septa, no matter how stern, could ever keep you apart.

“Don’t worry, Y/N,” Aegon says, his voice light and teasing as he steps closer, his hand brushing yours. “We’ll find a way, as we always do.”

You squeeze his hand briefly before stepping away, following Septa Maris toward the door. “I know,” you say softly, a smile playing at your lips. “No septa or gods could ever keep us apart.”

As you walk away, you feel Aegon’s gaze on you, warm and reassuring. The two of you might be separated for now, but it’s only a matter of time before you find each other again, as you always do. And the thought of that next secret rendezvous, hidden away from prying eyes, fills you with a thrill that no amount of propriety could ever diminish.

And as you leave the room, you’re already thinking of the many ways you can outmaneuver your septa, the promise of another night together fueling your every step.

[yearningandstillnotlearning]

𝑺𝑻𝑨𝒀 𝑺𝑶𝑭𝑻,

𝑮𝑬𝑻 𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑬𝑵.

A/N: okay bear with me, this is a ‘poem’ (i don’t know what else to call it) that i wrote and when i read over it i realised some girls here would appreciate this imagery with their own infatuations, so whilst its not written like fan-fiction i felt generous enough to share it and i hope at least 1 of you will like it, best part is that you can picture any one of your favourite girls!!! Instead of a name i call the other character “Pretty”, so keep that in mind while reading, and again, this isn’t written like fan-fiction, but still i would appreciate it if you gave it a shot and told me what you think ♡

tags: lesbian only, think anyone!, femme!r, metaphors, suggestive, nsfw undertones but they are so slight and hidden beneath the wordplay that i can’t really count this as nsfw, sadomasochistic in a way, did i forget something? Let me know!

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · ୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨ · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

I don’t want a cottage, i don’t want a life in simplicity and independency. I want a castle, i want an abandoned mansion adorned by vines hugging it long after solitude fell cold and loveless upon its very walls.

I want to hear the floors creak with every step, i want to hear the tremble of the floors effortlessly mirror the tremble of her legs, i want to have her, Pretty, and i want to keep her on her toes. I want, behind her gaze, to be as unpredictable as the grass around the mansion, a neglected ring of hues of green. Tall, short, eaten, rotten.

I want to give her the world, and i want to make her spin in the middle of it, i want to give her everything and make her feel like in a moment she could have nothing.

I want to make her dizzy and i want to make her euphoric, i want to see her scared and i want to hold her close, be the one to comfort her, Pretty.

I want our clothes to dance against each other when the weather drops and i take her out on walks, on the endless garden we’ve named ‘our hearts’ that no matter how long it’s been there for, untouched, unloved, uncared for, it just never seems to end.

I want her to let me tear her cotton fabrics apart and off, torn by grinding teeth and claw-like nails, hungry like a centuries-old vampire, lifetimes of self control and respect disintegrated in the very same time span Pretty’s clothes get ripped. Carefully laboured fabric, soft as freshly laved hair, made with the selfish, miserable thought of this granting them extra bread on their dinner plate.

And she would, she would let me tear her apart in one shared gaze. She would let me hold her and scratch her open, she would let me wound her because she knows i’ll be the one to heal her up again. And she knows i’ll do it before she can build the thought of asking me to.

She would let me darken her vision under the noon sun, heating and blinding. She would let me bruise her neck, violet splats trailing down her body like a rosemary. She would let me reach her depths and spin them around, it’d be nothing new to her, as long as her world is intertwined with mine she’s always spinning, she’s always dizzy. She would let me cradle her head as i treat her like fresh meat in aching, starved hands, because i’ve done so another hundred times, and each one she only seems more unwilted than the last.

Because she knows she’ll get me back.

Because she plans on making my darkest nights luminous, and she knows i’ll let her. The story is always the same; she unwraps me like a one-of-a-kind royal heirloom, her touches vigilant, precise on what she unfolds, what lies beneath her hands. And she knows i don’t fancy peace, her words forming clear juxtaposition to her touches, there are no blurred lines, my sense of touch and my sense of hearing are in two completely different words, and yet they co-exist in the pits of my stomach.

But like every child asking their parent to tell them a bedtime story, it doesn’t matter if its always the same, they always enjoy it the same. At the end of the day they fall asleep to it every time.

I’ll let her unwrap the lace off the corset, i’ll let her loosen every layer, watch the silks fall off my form, i’ll let her tell me the harshest things that leave my throat closing in on itself, as her hands soothe around my flesh getting me to ease up. She’ll rock me back and forth from being velvety to being cruel, i know it, and i will let her.

Because it takes two to dance, if you’re unable to match the other’s rhythm what’s the fun? It’s only enjoyable when you’re both having fun. 🫀

[minhosimthings]

Elysian || 18+

Synopsis: you never wanted to fall for the only son of the family yours hated. And yet you did.

Pairings: Mafia boss!Hyunjin × fem!reader

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI 18+, mentions of dagger, kind of knife play?, P in v sex, fingering, angst, fluff, forbiddened love, mafia boss au, mention of poison, blood, food and alcohol, reader wears a dress, implied mental abuse, fluffy at the end but it's really angsty in the middle sorry yall

A/N: ahhh this took a lot of time to write because I wanted everything to be PERFECT. and in my opinion this is the best shit I've ever written Mona 2am brain go burr. Also this is dedicated to my beloved @astraystayyh and Hyunjin's photoshoots which have made me go feral approximately 143 times

Red.

You remembered it as a hibiscus, decorating the gardens of your family's estate as child. You remembered it as the ugly hue of your grandmother's rug, the only thing you'd fixate on whenever the stench of blood filled your nose. You remembered it as your family's emblem, in a kingdom of money and roses and whatnot. You remembered red as death.

But you never thought you would have remembered red as the colour which outlined the shadows of the painting in front you.

You never though red would remind you of one of your most favourite persons ever, of his plump pink lips and gorgeous waterfall of hair you would decorate with rose petals anyday.

You never thought red would remind you of Hwang Hyunjin.

Red, as the multifaceted colour it is, fascinated you. It was like an idea in your head, hard to drive out, impossible to kill. What was red truly? What shades did it hide?

Red as a ladybug or red as a lobster? Red as a tulip or red as red as a new bride's cheeks? Red as lipstick or red as a gown? Red as roses or red as blood?

Red as the dominating colour of Hyunjin's palette was the correct answer to you most of the time.

You could recall the first time you had ever met him. Five months ago or had it been a year? You didn't remember much, just the fact that Hwang Hyunjin saved you, the 'enemy' from a bullet wound when he could have let you rot and made his family proud. The Hwangs were nefarious for their merciless behaviour, and yet you found in Hyunjin, a different kind of warmer mercy.

A mercy which you preferred because no one else gave it to you.

And that was how you found comfort in Hyunjin, a sense of familiarity that made you believe that you could be your true self with him and not just another painted version of you. Granted, he did paint you, in various shades of golds, violets and reds.

Painstaking as they were, you loved your short lived secret sessions with him. He was like a thief, quietly sneaking in through a window, and stealing away your heart with his demeanor.

Both of you came from families who despised each other, there was a certain Romeo-Juliet element to it all that both amused and frightened you.

But no matter what thing troubled you, you always had your memories with him to come back to. Especially those soft tender moments when you realised how much you craved a normal life away from the money and the blood.

You remembered one moment better than most others. It was the first time you said the poisonous word. It was that time in Italy...or was it Belgium? All you seemed to actually recall was the time you first walked into the love which Hyunjin gave you.

Dark chocolate eyes flickered over your naked body as it sunk beneath warm water, a bottle of liquid soap shone a bit in the candlelight as Hyunjin poured it into your tub. His ethereal figure was like a God in the pale moonlight coming from the tiny window.

“Just a little something extra to provide you some… relief,” he smiled, dipping his elegant hand into the waters to stir it around.

Hyunjin knew you were an assassin, carefully molded into one by your family, nevertheless he saw more than what he was supposed to. He saw you as a human instead. A human who was tired of all the blood she had spilt.

Your body easing into the water, you barely noticed the ripples of Hyunjin slipping his carved body beside you. It barely registered, his arm wrapping around you, the warm water pouring down your neck to rinse off the blood, the trickles that run down your face as he wets your hair and washed it clean of sweat and more.

You couldn't remember the last time you had felt like this, so relaxed so taken care of. So you said it, you said the word without a moment's waste.

"I love you" you had blurted out without a second thought, "I love you, Hwang Hyunjin." The name mattered to you in ways you hadn't ever fathomed before.

And the worst thing was he said it back. With a kiss to imprint it.

And now here you were, eyes flickering between the ceiling and each other. The warm light of the massive ballroom shone its glory onto you as you clutched your champagne tight to your bosom, making sure to distract yourself with it, whenever your stolen glances at Hyunjin were caught by someone.

You hadn't been forced to attend the ball by any means by your family, in fact you volunteered for it. You had waited eagerly for your target's name, your mother stressed that it was an important one, and as the quietest daughter it would have been easy for you to kill in plain sight and prove once and for all to your father that you were ready to take over as the heir to his 'buisness'. Maybe you'd finally have the fame and the power you craved off as a child, like some starved deer eating its own kind.

But now, you clutched the tiny vile of hemlock close to your hip, carefully dropping it into your pocket, all the while staring at Hyunjin across the room, who was laughing with someone you recognised as a painter Hyunjin adored. His raucous yet polite laughter, gorgeous strands of hair framing his face, your heart sobbed at the thought of slipping poison into his veins.

If you had even a modicum of respect for your own head, maybe you would have sneaked the hemlock into his drink at the slightest moment. Unfortunately though, you didn't and so it came to be that you resorted to dissecting a serene painting until hopefully Hyunjin ultimately noticed you.

The painting fascinated you, it was one you hadn't ever seen before. Dark blue traced the outlines two people, with grey hair and wisened foreheads, holding hands through a rough brown canvas. You smiled at the painting before taking a sip of your champagne. Love, eternally, was one of Hyunjin's most beloved topics to waste all his blue paint on.

Words rushed through your mind as your eyes traced each brushstroke. Whips of harsh sentences and scenes of conversations, contrasting the soft daubs of paint, flashed in front of your eyes.

'The Parks? Mum I can't do that!'

'You want to be useful to this family? Marry him and you'll be more than useful'

'But Mum...!'

'You think you have a say in this? Shut up and do what's good for that useless head of yours'

"Admiring my work, my love?"

You flinched slightly at the different voice, which sounded like spring rain and lily pads. Spinning on your heel to face the source of the voice, you found yourself melting into a pair of beautiful eyes, the kind of eyes that made thieves wonder why they ever bothered to steal pieces of art. His eyes—the color of an intoxicating champagne—beckoned you over with nothing more than a warm smile.

"What?" Hyunjin chuckled, seeing you stare at him, "Did I get fondue on my lips again?"

"No, just..." You trailed off, not finding the correct words, "You look good."

"As you do, my sweet." Hyunjin's hand took yours and brought it up to his lips, "God, I wish I could paint you right here."

"Hyunjin," you gave him a playful look, unsure of whether or not it was hiding your fright, what if someone saw?

Hyunjin's arms went to your waist, pulling you closer to him, which felt like syrup wafting through the air, sweet with a touch of familiarity. He leaned in, you felt his hot breath on your neck as he whispered, "None of your family or their spies are here don't worry."

You took in a shaky breath, as you felt his long, dainty fingers reaching up your thigh, fiddling with something strapped tightly to it. Hyunjin smiled into your neck, as he continued to fiddle with the leather.

"That's how they plan to kill me?" He chuckled, "With a dagger strapped to the ravishing thigh of the love of my life?"

"That's just Plan B." You whispered, shoving his hand off gently, as your eye caught a waiter in the corner glancing at you and Hyunjin, "Just in case the hemlock doesn't work."

"Willing to test that theory?" Hyunjin stepped away from you, leaving your body colder than you wished. His cocky smile, his raised brow and relaxed demeanour, he was like a like a cat lounging in a garden, at peace with watching the world pass on.

"In front of everyone?" You questioned, "don't tell me the only son of the Hwangs is becoming soft for someone like me."

Hyunjin's mouth stretched lazily as he grinned at you, extending a hand for you to take.

"Let's go somewhere private?" He asked, not giving you time to answer as he basically dragged you across the hall, where magnificent stairs led to the upper floors of the luxurious mansion. Gossiping eyes followed your movements, well, more precisely, Hyunjin's movements, as he led you up the stairs, making sure not to step on your tartine dress, as you carried the fabric behind you with regal grace.

"Now," Hyunjin smirked as you climbed onto the last step, now well hidden from the party downstairs, "Shall we?" And he broke into a run, dragging you behind him, giggling maniacally like a child in the summer. You were sure you heard your dress rip, but you had not a care as you ran with Hyunjin down the corridor, to the last door, his bedroom. The walls of the corridors were lined with paintings, Hyunjin's evidently, fading edges of canvases standing out against the ruby of the wall paint and the carpeted floor. You recognised each and every painting. A painting of a woman amongst daffodils, another of the same woman in an abandoned mansion which Hyunjin had always told you would be that women's one day. The day he married that woman to be specific.

'The woman in my dreams', Hyunjin told his family when they asked him who she was. 'The woman in my dreams', Hyunjin told his patrons when they asked who she was. 'You', Hyunjin told you when you asked, though you knew, but you still questioned him, in between chaste kisses on the neck and giggles. Hyunjin came to a halt in front of the oak carved door, a tiny metal label on top spelling his name in cursive letters.

"How about we put that dagger to use then?" Hyunjin pressed your back against the door in no time, devouring your being as he tasted the honey of your elysian lips. His hands went again, to your thigh, fumbling to take the dagger out, but you were quicker in your actions. Your hand had been resting on the door's handle, and as you tugged on it, both of you fell back into the room, lips never wanting to leave each other's company.

"Jinnie," you made a sound of pleasure as you pulled away from him, suddenly aware of the audible music coming from downstairs, "Maybe not now."

"Come now love," Hyunjin laughed, striding into the room, where painting supplies lay cluttered next to a pristinely made bed, "Don't say that after we escaped from the prying eyes of everyone downstairs."

"Hyunjin," you looked at him with reprimanding eyes, how could you tell him the actual reason? "Don't you think it'd be suspicious to my family if I return today with messed up hair and a torn silken dress after merely slipping poison into someone's champagne?" How could you tell him to make you stop falling more for him? "This shit is expensive you know."

"Would it not be more dangerous if you were to return without killing the Hwang family's brightest hope?" Hyunjin's voice, though low, spoke it's volume, as he removed his coat, throwing it onto an empty chair.

Locked in a gaze that spoke volumes, you inched toward Hyunjin, a silent plea lingering in the air. As your fingers tightened around his hair, a palpable tension filled the space between you.

His ethereal eyes held yours, revealing a tumult of unspoken struggles and desires. Your gaze shifted to his lips—slightly chapped yet irresistibly inviting. 

Without even a moment of hesitation, you kissed him.

Hyunjin's initial surprise melted into a shared passion, and for a moment, the world around you faded. His arms encircled you, pulling you close as if trying to etch the moment into his memory. As the intensity deepened, you let go of his soft hair, your hands finding their way to his jaw, pulling him even closer.

He tasted your soft lips and felt your warm skin. He pulled away slightly, breath mingling with yours, lips lingering, an anguished pause in the silent night.

"so pretty..." he mutters, taking in the sight of your body.

Hyunjin's lips attach to your skin, leaving deep marks of love all over which wouldn't go away for days now. You stifled your moan, as his lips sucked on your collarbone, you could feel his erection pressing through his pants to your core, making you accidentally whimper.

Hyunjin's ringed hands made their way up your right thigh, the slit in your dress allowing him to caress the soft skin, the cold metal of the ruby created dagger hitting his skin like soft cotton to a wound.

He couldn't explain how attractive it was to him, the carved golden hilt, the blood red jewel in the centre, and the carefully shaped blade of the dagger, decorating his most favourite muse. You were a painting come to life for him.

You were his painting, his magnum opus, a canvas as precious as an angel's wing.

Your mind, on the other hand, was racing at a hundred miles per the hour. How could you tell him? How could you tell him the truth he'd always known? That your love was one the stars crossed each other to find?

You draw him into another uncertain kiss, this one your confused mind didn't think much about, and trailed a hand up the smooth skin of his exposed chest. Hyunjin signs into your mouth and runs both his hands down your sides, pausing to squeeze your thigh, and the cold blade pressed against your skin again.

“My love, that was by far one of the most sexy things I’ve ever seen.” Voice low and seductive, your lips barely pulling away from him. "I really can't believe you chose this one out of all. You know it's my gift don't you?"

"Hyunjin..." You trailed off, impatiently pulling away from his lips, "we shouldn't, we really shouldn't."

"Why not love?" Hyunjin's lips pressed against yours again morphing into a gentler kiss, he was evidently trying to calm you down.

"Hyunjin please don't." You begged with him, as if you were begging for your mind to stop itself before you went too far. You had to stop falling for him before it was too late. And yet how could you?

"Princess-" Hyunjin began before looking at you with worried eyes, "You're scaring me what's wrong? You can talk to me."

"What's wrong is we shouldn't be doing this." You tried to feign disgust, but all that came out was pathetic love for Hyunjin, 'Don't let me fall in love again' was what you had meant to say.

"Princess—"

"No!" You all as but screamed, forgetting that you were currently above a party filled with guns and roses, Hyunjin stood shocked in front of you at your sudden outburst, the air around you stilled, as words came out like vomit.

"listen, I am to get married to the Park family's eldest son, and if anyone, anyone, finds out about this," you stopped and took in a breath, "we're dead, Hyunjin, both of us! Or worse shit I can't even fathom to think about!" You took a breath at every word, stressing each note like a violin's vibrato, "And I'd really fucking take this poison myself rather than living in a world where everything tries to stop us from being together. So, please Hyunjin," your eyes held whispers of pained love, "Don't let me fall into this depth of love, because I just know I can never climb out."

The silence that overtook the room was heavy, heavier than you would have liked. You could have endured bullet heads, burn marks, fractures, but this was the greatest wound of all. The greatest pain you'd endured was the one you had always been deprived of.

Love, had it always been such a sin?

Your head felt dizzy as you say down on the bed, letting the soft material of the cover sink in. The dagger round your thigh and the air round your being felt tighter. You felt as if you could have drawn oceans of blood at that moment.

"Love," his voice echoed through your entire being, "look at me.

Your head turned to look up at him, as his hands quickly straddled you onto his lap, one of them squeezing your right thigh, eliciting a quiet moan out of you.

You saw it in his eyes. Felt it in his touch. The ethereal, devilish angel, Hwang Hyunjin had been loafing around on this earth long enough to know how to claim what was his. When his hips knocked yours to lay you flat on the bed, you already knew what was coming next.

"Hyunjin I-"

"I don't care what or who comes in our way. You, my dearest, are mine, and mine alone." Hyunjin growled into your ear, his anger would never seep through to you but on certain occasions it would certainly scare you, the way his anger was cold as an icicle, rather than fiery like a volcano.

A groan rumbles through Hyunjin's chest, and he dips down to give a playful bite to your bottom lip, earning a squeak you will deny if asked about later.

One of his hands moves down to delicately play with your breast, kneading softly before pinching your nipple between his finger and thumb. You break the kiss with a breathless gasp, tugging at Hyunjin’s roots, forcing a ragged groan from him. Hyunjin wastes no time to pepper kisses down the column of your neck. He pushed the hair out of his eyes before he grabbed you by the waist and rubbed his cock up against you. He could feel heat settle in his body as his cock throbbed for you. He wanted you, he needed you more than he needed air. And he was more than willing to let you know that.

Stripping off your clothes and throwing it to the side, Hyunjin climbed up the bed and grabbed your hand on the way, hauling you under him. He wasted no time in lining himself up with you, throwing his head back in a groan as your pussy enveloped him.

Hyunjin groaned through grit teeth as he pushed his cock into you. You tensed and he groaned louder, he held onto the bed under you and moved all the way inside of you. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and held him tightly as he started to thrust. You moaned into his skin as he moved against you.

His mouth went to your neck, leaving dark scars there. His teeth hit the ruby of your necklace, as he took it in his mouth and tugged at it, making you gasp loudly.

Your body felt numb but in a pleasurable way. You could only lie there and accept all the pleasure that he was giving you. He kissed your soft face, he could feel your racing heartbeat under your skin. His face went back to your neck where he left more bruises on the flesh. He felt heat through his body as the pleasure coursed through his veins. It was arousing, he couldn’t deny what he was feeling.

"You're mine." Hyunjin growled through a symphony of soft sighs, "I will never let anything get in between us, alright?"

The only response he got was a pleasured moan escaping from your lips, but he took it. He took pride in the way he could make you feel like this.

Your head fills with pleasures, not a single thought could form in your head. “Fuck you feel so good doll” he groans holding your hips down and slamming deeper inside you. “G-god Hyunjin! Feels…s-so good!” You cry.

Your eyes begin to roll back feeling how good he felt. His tip hitting your G-spot making you ready to cum just as fast as before. “H-Hyune fuck I’m gonna c-“ you are interrupted by his hand gripping your throat, choking you.

“Fuck baby you got wetter just from that… god you're so good” his mixture of degradation and praise had your body a dripping, desperate mess. You couldn’t believe the hold he had over you.

His breathing is labored when he pulls his hips back and thrusts in, he goes slow at first, treating you like you were a fragile statue made from porcelain, but then you’re begging him to go faster, to go harder. His tongue swipes along the roof of his mouth before he speaks, “are you sure, doll? i don’t— fuck— want to hurt you.”

“h-hurt me, it’s okay,” you mumble out, and he truly does hesitate for a second, then his thrusts are suddenly faster, bumping you into the bed with the sheer snap of his hips. Your cries sound like noises formed from a blessed harp, passed down by the gods for him to listen to, each moan getting louder and louder until his ears are ringing, until the music sounds hushed compared to your screams.

He felt you trembling hard, pulsing around his cock as you got close to cumming. He works himself deeper inside you, stroking all the places you need to reach that high point. A few more thrusts and you burst. You gush around him with a long whine.

You squirm and buck as he holds you in place and keeps rutting into you until it becomes too much for him. He also lets loose and shoots his cum inside you. He fucks it into you a bit, before slowly pulling out.

Slightly panting and out of breath, Hyunjin's figure could be seen gracefully outlined by the moon's tears penetrating through the tall, stained windows. He gets up and fetches a towel, gently cleaning you up as your eyes flickered between sleep and consciousness.

"Are you alright, love?" He questioned you, his fingers tracing shapes on your hips as he layed down beside you again, clearly not in the mood for wearing his clothes. Neither were you, so you turned your body towards him, allowing him to wrap you into the cocoon of his warm muscles. Laying your head on his chest, you felt his hand, once again, reaching for your thigh.

"You really do like that dagger don't you?" You laughed, as he caressed the metal.

"You should wear it more often, maybe for a painting?" Hyunjin's suggested, a smile like the air after rain, fresh with the stench of earth and dew, imprinted on his face.

"Hyunjin I-", you began, taking a breath before continuing, "What about—about my family?"

You swore you could have heard Hyunjin gently scoff, but you ignored it as he brought you closer to him, the space in between you practically empty.

"Stay here for tonight." Hyunjin said, "and if they come in search of their 'beloved' daughter," he scoffed once again, muttering a curse underneath his breath, "I'll tell them I stole her away from her tower."

"More like stole her dagger away." You giggled, finding his obsession with the strap on your thigh amusing. Hyunjin merely smiled at that, and silence fell again.

"Y/N?"

"Hm?"

"I love you."

Red wasn't that bad of a colour after all. Not when it reminded you of Hyunjin, not when it reminded you of secret kisses and poisoned paintings, and certainly not when it reminded you of love.

"I love you too, Hyunjin."

[normatural]

Echoes of Souls | A.T

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

Summary: In the old, abandoned castle, she found a love letter addressed to her, written by someone who died a century ago.

Word Count: 1.121

A/N: Feedback is always welcome. English isn't my first language so excuse any mistakes but feel free to point them out to help me improve.

Chapter 1: Echoes of a Forgotten Past

The old castle stood quiet and forgotten on the outskirts of King’s Landing, its once-glorious exterior now a ghostly relic of the past. Long vines of ivy climbed its weathered walls, making it appear almost as if nature had attempted to reclaim the abandoned structure. Shutters banged against cracked windows, held only by rusty, old hinges, while the wind whistled mournfully through the broken panes. Even the birds seemed to shun the place, their songs the only absence in an otherwise haunted landscape.

It was this eerie, magnetic pull that had drawn you here—a sense of familiarity combined with an insatiable curiosity for between all the projects the company allowed you to choose, this was the one that stood out for you. As you walked through the creaky front doors into the sprawling foyer, you were struck by the imposing architecture, which still held a sliver of its former grandeur. Your footsteps echoed softly against the hardwood floor as you moved through the house, your fingers lightly grazing the banister of the grand staircase.

A sense of déjà vu washed over you. You paused, trying to pinpoint the origin of this haunting familiarity. Why did every corridor, every room, seem like it held a secret, a memory just out of reach? It was as if you had been here before in another life, another time. But that was impossible—or was it?

As night fell, the castle’s eerie charm only deepened. You made your way back to the trailer with the delivery you had ordered. The moonlight casts silver shadows through the window. Exhaustion soon claimed you after dinner, and you drifted into a deep, dream-filled sleep.

In your dream, the world was different—brighter, more vibrant. Standing on the verdant grounds of the palace, it was no longer an abandoned relic. It was alive, bustling with people, laughter, and the roar of dragons. The skies above were filled with the majestic creatures, their wings casting shadows on the cobblestone pathways below.

You looked down at yourself, your attire reflecting a time long past. Rich fabrics and intricate embroidery adorned your gown, and your hair seemed to be styled in the fashion of nobility. Heart swelled with emotions you couldn’t explain as you walked through the manicured gardens of the castle, the very same one that looked like a dried jungle just moments ago. Everything feels uncannily familiar.

Suddenly, you felt a pang in your heart. A strange vibration in your chest. And then saw him. Your breath caught as you took in the sight of him. His tall, statuesque form was cloaked in regal hues, the fabric of his attire moving subtly with each of his graceful movements. He reached out to touch a blossom, his long fingers brushing the petals with unexpected tenderness, and in that moment, you felt as though she was witnessing a secret part of his soul.

His face, chiseled and strong, held a serene intensity. The angles of his jaw and the line of his nose were softened by the play of light and shadow, creating a portrait that was both striking and ethereal. But it was his eyes that truly made you hold your breath. Piercing violet, it seemed to see right through the world and into the very essence of things. When his gaze shifted and met yours, you felt an electric thrill course through your veins, as if his eyes held the power to unravel your very being.

Slowly, a rare, faint smile touched his lips, transforming his face with a warmth that contrasted beautifully with his otherwise austere demeanor. The sight of that smile, so fleeting yet so profound, made your heart ache with an inexplicable longing.

Something inside you is alarming that the man standing a few meters from you is the very same from the letter whose words haven’t left your mind. Aemond Targaryen.

His silver hair glinted in the sunlight, and his piercing violet eye, filled with a depth of emotion you instantly recognized, locked onto you. He approached with a look of tender resolve, his footsteps confident and deliberate.

“Vaela,” he called you, a name from your past life that felt both foreign and intimate. Familiar. “I was waiting for you. Walk with me.”

You nodded, heart fluttering with a mixture of excitement and calm, and took his offered arm. Something inside you told you to stop staring but how could you avert your eyes from his figure when it was making your heart beat so fast? You strolled through the garden, the scent of blooming roses enveloping you, the sound of dragon wings beating in sync with your heartbeat.

“I have something important to ask you,” Aemond began, his voice steady yet soft. He led you to a secluded alcove where the garden’s flowers seemed to bloom more brightly. He turned to face you, taking both your hands in his. “I have loved you from the moment we met. In you, I found my heart’s true desire, a soul that mirrors my own. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Tears welled up in your eyes, the emotions flooding through you from both the past and present. Why was your heart-warming so abruptly at his words? Why did they sound so familiar? How the answer seemed to wish to jump out of your lips so quickly. Aemond was strange after all. Perhaps something is created just in your mind. But it couldn’t be, could it?

“Yes, Aemond,” you whispered, your voice trembling with joy. “I will.”

His smile, rare and sincere, was a sight that imprinted itself deeply into your memory. Wishing you could see it again. He lifted one of your hands to his lips, your knuckles being touched so softly and yet intimately by them as his violet eye seemed to stare deep into yours.

You awoke with a start, the remnants of the dream lingering in your mind like the last notes of a haunting melody. You could still smell the scent of the flowers. Feel the touch of his lips on your skin. You realized in that moment that your journey here was no accident. The castle, the dreams, Aemond—they were pieces of a puzzle you were destined to uncover. Meant to find.

Clutching the blanket tighter around you, you knew the first light of day would bring with it a new resolve. You would unravel the past, discover the hidden secrets of this place, and understand why destiny had led you here. There ought to be answers somewhere in those walls. It was not just an abandoned relic; it was a bridge to your past, a testament to a love that had defied time itself.

+

taglist: @donut-seam @strangersunghoon @teasweeter @darktrashsoulbear

[notsofrozt]

Yellow blooms & violet thorns

Amidst a sea of golden dreams we danced, our love a tapestry woven in sunlit hues. But beneath the weight of disillusion, we found ourselves adrift in a garden of thorns, where the once vibrant petals whispered tales of bitter truths

[click4rainy]

Now, kiss my hand.

👽:Beep Boop, I’m in love with a MONSTER (girl) I really want her to hold me and kiss me and pet me and love me and tell me I’m her’s…໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১

✅:Proof Read

🖇️:Empress Mileena x Reader fic

⚠️:Fluffy, Light romantic tension, you’re a simp.

★ “Focus.” Raiden’s voice snapped you from your train of thought, but not before Mileena gracefully ducks under your half assed punch, sweeping your legs out from beneath you. The world flipped, and before you knew it, you were flat on your back, staring at the sky.

★ Mileena stood over you, holding one sai loosely in her hand while twirling away the other, sheathing it at her hip before she reached out to offer assistance. Her expression was poised, as always, but her lips curved into something akin to a smirk.

★ “You were distracted,” she spoke, her voice holding a teasing lilt as she tilted her head towards you.

★ “No, I was—okay, yeah, maybe a little off par with my focus…” you admitted with a sheepish grin. Grasping her hand, the first thing you note is how sweaty yours is and you immediately feel self conscious—especially when her brow lifts.

★ “Mmh, Clammy palms…?” She inquires, obviously noticing your flustered demeanor, her voice a velvet smooth purr.

★ Coughing, you pull your hand away like you had been burned. “No idea what you’re talking about…” you lamely say, fooling nobody, least of all Raiden, who crossed his arms with a faint sigh.

★ Who could blame you though? The woman radiated elegance and power in a way that left you completely unprepared. She’s literally the Empress. And you? A new Earthrealm recruit still figuring out how to hold your own in sparring matches.

★ Somewhere along the line, you had developed a bit of a crush—okay, a big crush—and now every single interaction with her felt like walking a tightrope over a huge pit of embarrassing mistakes.

•••

★ The first time you’d caught Mileena’s attention, it had been during a grand diplomatic gathering of some sort. Liu Kang was invited, and by extension the other Earthrealm defenders, including you. She entered the hall in her full imperial regalia, her gold and violet attire shimmering beneath the lighting, causing you to nearly walk into a pillar at the sight.

★ Johnny noticed immediately, cocking a brow with a devious smirk. “Smooth, champ. I mean, real subtle,” he snickered.

★ Ever since then, you had found yourself in an endless loop of trying too hard.

★Compliment her? Stuttering and stumbling over your words. Offering a spar? You suddenly have two left feet and trip during the match. Apologizing about eight times too many. You wanna try and impress her during a mission? Yeah sure, it kinda works…until you end up stuck in a mud pit as she offers you help with an amused look to her eyes.

★ At this point, you weren’t even sure why you kept trying, except…when Mileena smiled at you, it made the whole day brighter.

•••

★ “You’re quite persistent.” Mileena remarked that afternoon as the two of you walked through the palace gardens.

★ You felt the chill of the gentle breeze against your cheeks, brow slightly furrowed. “Persistent?”

★ “With how often you challenge me to spar…you must know by now that i’ll win.”

★ You scratched the back of your neck, “Yeah, well…its not really about winning for me.”

★Mileena paused, turning slightly to face you. Her eyes softened, an almost golden hue catching in the afternoon light. “If its not about winning, then what is it about?”

★ You hesitated, wondering if this was the moment you’d make a fool of yourself again. “Maybe…maybe spending time with you is my main goal…”

★ Her expression flickered briefly—surprise, perhaps? But instead of scoffing or brushing it off, Mileena let herself smile genuinely for a second.

★ “You do realize I’m the Empress, don’t you?” She asked with light skepticism, taking a step closer to you.

★ “Oh—I more than realize that. And that’s my problem,” you replied with a small, almost deprecating laugh. Unable to mask your infatuation with her.

★ She laughed softly, the sound rare but melodic nonetheless. “Mmh, Earthrealm isn’t accustomed to subtlety, is it?” She lightly teased.

★ You simply looked away, your expression bashful. “We’re not too good at practicing it, I suppose.”

•••

★ Later that evening, as the gathering drew to a close, you found yourself standing near the palace gazebo. You weren’t sure why you lingered. Maybe in hopes for a little more time to simply bask in her presence.

★ To your pleasant surprise, Mileena approached, her steps quiet but deliberate. “Still here?” She asked, resting her hands lightly on the railing beside you.

★ “Couldn’t leave without saying goodnight to my favorite Empress.” You said, mustering the courage to be bold first once.

★ Mileena’s gaze slid toward you, amusement glinting in her eyes. “Favorite? Aren’t I your only Empress?”

★ “It doesn’t make it less true.” You double down, your tone almost earnest.

★ There was a pause, filled by the hum of Out Worlds night. And then, quite unexpectedly, Mileena extended her hand towards you, her palm facing down as she poised her fingers. Presenting her bedazzled knuckles to you.

★ Your heart nearly leapt out of your chest. “Uhm…?”

★ “Kiss it,” She instructed lightly, tilting her hand towards you once more.

★ Staring at her with wide eyes, you weren’t entirely positive if you misheard her or not. “Pardon?” You softly asked, too afraid to ask if she meant what she said.

★ Her eyes narrowed playfully. “You know, I expect a proper goodbye from my favorite Earthrealmer. Now, kiss my hand.” She reiterated, smiling fondly at you.

★ Your head tilted forward just barely, registering her seriousness and quickly taking her hand, you swallow your heart down, trying not to think about how warm her skin felt against your fingertips. With reverence, you bring her hand up to your lips, pressing the lightest kiss to her knuckles. You were practically glowing after, your hand lingering in hers, not wanting to let go.

★ Mileena’s gaze was fixed on you. Unreadable but not unkind. “You’re endearing,” she murmured, brushing her thumb against your knuckles before pulling away.

★ “Well, I most certainly will keep looking forward to our meetings…and our sparring matches.” She adds almost casually, “Keep up that charming persistence of yours. Perhaps you’ll get the better of me, might I say even the best….” The words felt like a hidden invitation wrapped up as a challenge.

★ With that, you walked backward with a dumb smile plastered on your face. Not wanting to look away from her as did so, you clumsily tripped over your own feet and barely caught yourself before finally turning to hide your embarrassment. Making way back to where the portal and the others had been very patiently waiting for you.

👽: She’s perfect. She’s everything i want. Everything i need. LOOK AT HER—I WOULD KILL FOR HER, I WOULD DIE FOR HERRRR *flips table*

[dollescent]

A Lax Day in the Life of Princess Vaelyra Velaryon

Morning: The Radiance of Dawn

The first light of day kissed Vaelyra’s chambers with golden hues, illuminating the treasures she adored—pearls, delicate shells, and polished stones gleaming softly against the silken backdrop of her sanctuary. Her bed, draped in seafoam green and adorned with Myrish lace, cradled her like a gentle wave.

Vaelyra stirred and yawned, her white sea of her hair fanned across the pillows, iridescent: pink as the interior of a seashell, blue as a dawn over the ocean, gold like the sun rising over the same. Her mismatched eyes, one of blue color like the sky at dawn and the other light violet like the budding flower at dawn, shining like twin stars awakening from slumber.

Her maids entered, the sound of their voices chorusing perfectly with the coming of the sea breeze with the windows opening; their quiet shuffles harmonizing with the sea breeze filtering through the open windows. Rising gracefully, Vaelyra allowed them to wrap her in a robe of lilac silk, the fabric as soft as a lover’s caress.

Her bath awaited, a ritual of luxury and peace–a symbol of cleansing and serenity. The water glistened with crushed pearls, sea salt, and fragrant oils of dragonflower and citrus. Vaelyra rested against the soft arms of the tub, the maids washing her hair with the respect of royalty, and skin with reverent care. When she emerged, her skin resembled the sheen of the rising sun along the shoreline; her curls were supple and smooth, set in a waterfall like style, pinned with a delicate circlet of pearls.

Her gown for the day was chosen with the same care and precision—a flowing sea-green creation adorned with silver waves and golden dragons, pearls stitched along the neckline and cuffs. Her jewelry reflected her dual heritage: a necklace of Arraexys’ shed scales and a bracelet of Driftmark’s finest pearls.

Daytime: Grace in Motion

Vaelyra spent her day reveling in leisure and the simple joys of life. She wandered barefoot along Driftmark’s beaches, with her dress as light as the winds that blew, her eyes sparkling like starlight on water. With a small woven basket in hand, she collected sea treasures—iridescent shells, smooth stones, and fragments of coral.

She ventured into the gardens, where blooms of every hue vied for her attention. Her fingers brushed against petals and leaves as she strolled, hearing the birds chirp, her voice rising in soft song as though the flowers themselves deserved her melody.

Gathered under a pergola draped in roses, Vaelyra shared the afternoon with her ladies-in-waiting. They brought trays of delicate pastries—lemon tarts, lavender shortbread, and honey cakes—and pitchers of sweet wine cooled in ice. Their laughter mingled with the rustling of leaves, and Vaelyra’s clever remarks elicited delighted peals of mirth.

Evening: The Gilded Glow of Twilight

As the sun dipped low, Vaelyra returned to her chambers. Her maids helped her out of her daytime gown, carefully folding it away. She slipped into a bath once more, this time cool and calming, infused with chamomile, mint, and moonflower.

Her evening wear was softer and more intimate—a gown of pale silks and Myrish lace in shades of dusk, her hair unbound.She put on a pendant of pearls and dragon scales, the colors symbolizing her family’s love and roots.

Vaelyra dined lightly, savoring honeyed fruits and sipping a goblet of sweet wine. Afterward, she settled by the window with her journal, writing by candlelight as the sea whispered secrets just beyond the walls.

Night: The Quiet Majesty of Dreams

When the hour grew late, Vaelyra prepared for rest. Her maids turned down her bed, the silken sheets cool and inviting. She gazed at the treasures arranged around her room, her fingers lightly brushing a particularly large lush pearl she had carried with her throughout the day.

She slipped beneath the covers, the linen felt like a blanket of cumulus clouds against her skin, and closed her radiant eyes. Her breathing steadied, the gentle rise and fall of her chest resembling the ebb and flow of the sea.

Even in sleep, Vaelyra remained a vision of ethereal beauty, a dream wrapped in silks and starlight, carrying with her the whispers of fire and water.

ib: @hrrtshape

banner credits: enchanthings, sseuda

[mya-valentine]

Echoes of the Sun

Synopsis: Years after parting ways, Kamisato Ayato reunites with his childhood friend, only to find her cold and distant. However, when the crowd disperses and the formalities fall away, she surprises him by calling him by the cherished nickname she once gave him, revealing that the warmth of their past still lingers beneath her carefully constructed façade.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue over the Kamisato Estate, its gardens buzzing with life as visitors from respected clans across Inazuma gathered. Ayato Kamisato, the head of the Kamisato Clan and the Yashiro Commissioner, stood tall amidst the chatter, his elegant demeanor radiating calm authority. He listened intently to the small talks, his violet eyes scanning the gathering out of habit, when suddenly, a name from the servant's whisper caught his attention—your clan.

It had been years since you left Inazuma. Ayato still remembered the day your family had sent you away for schooling in another nation, ending the frequent visits to the Kamisato Estate and the long afternoons spent together. You were his childhood friend, the one who could make him smile even when the weight of his duties felt too heavy. And now, after all this time, you were here, standing in the courtyard, looking as breathtaking and poised as ever, though there was something colder in your posture.

He approached you, his heart beating just a little faster than it should. For the head of the Kamisato Clan, Ayato was always calm, always in control. But the sight of you stirred something unfamiliar in him—an anxiety he hadn’t felt in years.

"Lady [Name]," Ayato greeted, his voice steady, his usual composure firmly in place as he gave you a respectful bow. “It has been too long.”

You turned your head toward him, your eyes, once so full of warmth, now distant, almost cold. You were dressed impeccably in the attire of your respected clan, your bearing one of formality, every inch the noblewoman.

“Lord Kamisato,” you responded coolly, bowing slightly in return. There was no warmth in your tone, no trace of the girl he had once known. “It has, indeed, been quite some time.”

Ayato couldn’t help but feel a pang in his chest at the formality, the distance. Where was the teasing smile that used to light up your face? Where was the playful glint in your eyes that had always softened his edges? He swallowed the questions, masking his confusion with a small smile.

“I trust your family is well?” he asked, attempting to ease the tension.

“They are,” you replied with a curt nod. “And I hope the same for yours.”

The conversation felt stilted, as though you were both walking on thin ice, neither willing to break through. There was no mention of the time you had spent together as children, no acknowledgment of the bond you once shared. You were formal, distant—almost as though he were a stranger to you.

For the rest of the evening, Ayato found himself preoccupied. Though the discussions about politics and clan matters demanded his attention, his thoughts kept drifting back to you. How could things have changed so much? Was it time? Circumstance? Had he done something to drive you away?

As the evening began to wind down and the guests started to depart, Ayato excused himself from his duties, watching as the crowd thinned. His eyes found you again, standing at the edge of the courtyard, looking out at the horizon. You were waiting for something, or perhaps someone.

Ayato hesitated for a moment before walking toward you, his footsteps soft on the stone path. “Lady [Name],” he called, his voice a little gentler now.

You didn’t turn to face him immediately, but when you did, there was something different in your eyes, something that told him you were no longer in the company of others and didn’t need to wear the mask of formality. For a moment, there was silence between you, the world around you fading into the background.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” you finally said, your voice softer now, almost wistful. “How time changes things.”

Ayato blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in your tone. It was still guarded, but there was a crack in the wall you had built between you.

“It is,” he agreed quietly. “But… it doesn’t always have to change everything, does it?”

You let out a soft sigh, turning your gaze away from him. For a moment, Ayato thought you might walk away, leave him standing there with more questions than answers. But then, just as the last of the guests disappeared beyond the estate gates, you spoke again.

“Taiyo,” you said, the name slipping from your lips like a memory. “Do you still remember?”

Ayato froze, his heart skipping a beat. Taiyo—the nickname you had given him when you were children. You used to call him that because, to you, he was like the sun, always bright, always warm, always shining, no matter how hard things got. No one else had ever called him that, and no one else had ever been allowed to.

He turned to you fully now, his eyes wide with surprise, but before he could say anything, you finally looked up at him, and there it was—that smile. The smile that could light up the darkest room, the one that had always melted away his worries. It was the smile of the girl he had known, the girl he had missed more than he had realized.

“I’ve always liked calling you that,” you said softly, your expression brighter, as though the cold exterior you had worn all evening was nothing more than a mask. “But I couldn’t in front of everyone. They’d think I was being disrespectful.”

Ayato stared at you for a long moment, the emotions swirling inside him almost overwhelming. He had spent the entire evening wondering where you had gone—wondering if the person he had cared for as a child had disappeared entirely. But here you were, standing in front of him with that same smile, calling him the same name, as though the years between you had been nothing more than a blink of time.

“I’ve missed you,” he said quietly, his voice more vulnerable than it had been in years. He didn’t need to pretend with you, didn��t need to be the composed leader of the Kamisato Clan. Not right now.

Your smile softened, and for the first time that night, you stepped closer to him, your presence warm despite the cool evening air.

“I’ve missed you too, Taiyo,” you whispered, the distance between you now nothing more than a memory.

And in that moment, it felt as though no time had passed at all. The years, the formality, the coldness—they all melted away, leaving just the two of you, just as you had been when you were children. And for the first time in a long while, Ayato felt a warmth spread through him, the kind only you could bring.

He reached out, gently taking your hand in his. “Let’s not let time get in the way again,” he said, his voice firm but soft, his violet eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your heart race.

You squeezed his hand, your smile never wavering. “Never again,” you promised. And with that, the future felt a little brighter, like the sun rising after a long, cold night.

.

.

.

Masterlist

[devonpravesh]

Violet walked through the lush expanse of her garden, her hands clasped lightly before her as she surveyed the preparations for Colin and Penelope’s engagement party. The sun had just begun its descent, casting a golden hue across the carefully arranged flowers and elegant tents. Everything had to be perfect.

As she approached the first tent, Violet could hear the low murmur of voices. She paused just outside, her curiosity piqued. The Featherington servants, who had been generously lent by Portia, were clearly deep in conversation.

"Did you hear about the proposal?" one of the Featherington maids whispered excitedly. "Mr. Bridgerton chased after Miss Featherington's carriage and called it to a halt."

Another servant replied, "And then he got into the carriage with her! The coachman said he could hear sounds from inside."

"Do you think Miss Featherington was fully compromised?" a third voice chimed in, filled with curiosity.

Violet’s heart skipped a beat. She knew better than anyone how quickly gossip could spread, especially when it involved her family. She cleared her throat and stepped into the tent, causing the servants to fall silent and quickly busy themselves with their tasks.

"Is everything proceeding as planned?" Violet asked, her voice calm but firm.

"Yes, Lady Bridgerton," the head servant responded promptly. "The arrangements are almost complete."

"Very good," Violet replied, giving them a reassuring smile before moving on.

As she continued her rounds, Violet couldn’t help but overhear snippets of conversation from the next tent, where the Bridgerton and Featherington servants were working together.

"They say the coachman heard sounds from within," a Bridgerton servant was saying. "But did anyone actually see anything?"

"Not that I know of," a Featherington maid answered. "But they say Lord Debling didn't propose because he thought Mr. Bridgerton was in love with Miss Penelope."

Once again, Violet's presence silenced the chatter. She offered a polite nod to the workers, who bowed respectfully before resuming their duties with renewed focus.

Violet’s thoughts were a whirlwind. She had always known that Colin and Penelope shared a special bond, but to hear the details of their proposal from the servants was disconcerting. She made a mental note to have a discreet word with Colin about ensuring their privacy in the future.

Finally, Violet approached the last tent, where the more senior staff were organizing the final touches. She moved quietly, catching the tail end of a conversation between Mrs. Fairfax, the housekeeper, and Mr. Miller, the butler.

“It seems the Featherington staff are all abuzz with gossip about Miss Penelope and Mr. Bridgerton,” Mrs. Fairfax said, her voice barely above a whisper. “The coachman claims to have heard compromising noises from the carriage. If word spreads beyond the Featheringtons, it could cause quite the scandal.”

“Indeed,” Mr. Miller replied. “It’s said that Mr. Bridgerton asked her if she was going to marry him right then and there. Quite a bold move.”

“Hush now, we mustn’t let Lady Bridgerton hear us,” Mrs. Fairfax admonished as she noticed Violet standing just outside the tent.

With a serene yet gentle demeanor, Violet entered the tent fully. The servants instantly fell silent, their previous conversation hanging in the air like an unspoken truth. Violet’s warm smile and kind eyes put them at ease.

“Mrs. Fairfax, Mr. Miller,” she began, her voice soft yet authoritative, “I trust everything is proceeding smoothly for this evening’s festivities?”

“Of course, my lady,” Mrs. Fairfax replied, her tone respectful and deferential.

“Excellent,” Violet responded with a warm smile. “You all have done such a wonderful job. Thank you for your hard work.”

As she walked away, Violet's mind was racing. The details of the proposal were certainly more scandalous than she had imagined.

Her thoughts wandered back to the preparations for the evening's engagement party, and she decided to check on the arrangements inside. As she approached the house, she heard the soft murmur of voices coming from the drawing room.

Curiosity piqued, Violet stepped lightly across the threshold and paused just outside the doorway. The familiar voices of Colin and Penelope reached her ears, and she found herself unable to resist listening to their conversation.

Inside, Colin and Penelope stood near the grand piano, close to each other. As they drew apart from a lingering kiss, Penelope placed her hand gently on Colin's chest. "Colin, we must stop," she whispered, her cheeks flushed with a rosy hue. "I have only just managed to make myself presentable."

Colin's eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned in closer, his voice a soft murmur. "Presentable, you say? Pen, you are always the picture of perfection to me."

Penelope shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips. "Flatterer," she replied, her tone a mix of affection and admonishment. "I truly must go home to prepare for the engagement party. There are a thousand things to be done."

Colin chuckled, his hand finding hers. "And here I thought the only preparation needed was to ensure my heart remains steadfastly yours."

She swatted his arm playfully. "If you continue to distract me, I shall never be ready in time. You, sir, are incorrigible."

"Ah, but you love me for it," Colin teased, his grin widening as he watched her eyes dance with amusement.

Penelope sighed dramatically, though her smile betrayed her. "Yes, I suppose I do. But that does not mean you are allowed to keep me here any longer. I must go."

Clearing her throat gently, Violet announced her presence. "I do hope I am not interrupting anything too important."

Startled, Penelope and Colin turned towards her, their expressions a mix of surprise and embarrassment. Penelope quickly withdrew her hand from Colin's, her cheeks flushed a deep pink.

"Mother," Colin greeted, a smile spreading across his face. "You are never an interruption."

Violet walked towards them, her eyes shining with happiness, and her voice warm and filled with genuine affection. "I simply had to see the two of you together. I cannot tell you how happy it makes me to see you both so in love."

Penelope blushed, curtsying slightly as she met Violet's kind gaze. "Thank you, Lady Bridgerton. Your words mean the world to me."

Colin squeezed Penelope's hand, his own smile broad and sincere. "Thank you, mother."

Violet stepped forward, enveloping Penelope in a gentle embrace. "Now, my dear, I will not keep you any longer. I know you have much to do before the festivities. But know that you are always welcome here, in every sense."

Penelope returned the embrace, her eyes glistening with unshed tears of joy. "Thank you, Lady Bridgerton. I shall take my leave now, but I will see you all very soon."

With a final smile, Penelope exited the drawing room, leaving Colin and Violet standing together.

Violet placed a hand on her son's arm, her eyes twinkling. "You have chosen well, Colin. She is a remarkable young woman."

Colin nodded, his gaze still fixed on the doorway through which Penelope had just disappeared. "I know, mother. She is everything I could ever wish for."

A shadow of concern crossed Violet's face as the servants' words echoed in her mind.

"Colin," Violet began, her tone turning serious, "there is something I must ask you."

Colin turned to his mother, noticing the shift in her demeanor. "Of course, mother. What is it?"

Violet hesitated for a moment, searching her son's eyes. "There have been rumors, Colin. Rumors that you have... compromised Penelope. Are they true?"

Colin's cheeks flushed, and he looked down, momentarily at a loss for words. He took a deep breath, his voice steady but tinged with guilt. "Yes, mother. But I assure you, that is not the reason we are getting married."

Violet's eyes softened, a mixture of understanding and sadness in her gaze. She stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on Colin's arm. "I see. I can see how much you love her, Colin. It is clear in the way you look at her, speak to her. But I must know that this marriage is born out of love and not obligation."

Colin met his mother's gaze, his eyes sincere and unwavering. "I love Penelope with all my heart, mother. I would marry her regardless of any scandal. She is everything I have ever wished for and more."

Violet studied her son for a moment longer, then nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "I believe you, Colin. And I believe in the love you and Penelope share. It is rare and precious."

Colin's expression softened, and for a moment, the tension seemed to dissipate. But then, a thought struck Violet, and her eyes narrowed in contemplation. "Is this the real reason Lady Featherington has been trying to push up the wedding date?"

Colin chuckled, the sound breaking the somber mood. "Lady Featherington does have a flair for the dramatic," he admitted. "But perhaps moving up the wedding date isn't such a bad idea, especially considering the afternoon Penelope and I just had."

Violet raised an eyebrow, a mixture of curiosity and amusement on her face. "What do you mean?"

With a sheepish grin, Colin replied, "Let's just say that there might be another Bridgerton baby on the way."

Violet gasped, her hands flying to her mouth in surprise. Then, she burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the room. "Well, in that case," she said between giggles, "we had better start planning the wedding sooner rather than later."

And as a mix of Violet's and Colin's laughter filled the room, she couldn't help but feel that everything was going to be just fine.

(@nightshadedawn violet's pov! hope you like it :))

[sluttysanemi]

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍮 ⋅ ☆

GENYA ‘N SANEMI

a/n: analysis of the shinazugawa brothers. manga spoiler warning !

i’ll go over the symbolism of the brother’s colour pallet, and and give an analysis of their anger.

The symbolism of the colour pallet of the shinazugawas brothers.

Sanemi is the sole member of the Shinazugawa family that has white hair. White signifies purity, cleanliness, and sincerity. The allusion of sanitation could refer to his subsequent strong desire to cleanse the world of the evil known as 'demons'.

With black holding overtones of evil, mourning and death, Sanemi also being the only individual to not hold the colour could allude to the reality that he is the only one in his family who has lived.

As i previously referenced, whilst Genya's hair hue may predict his subsequent demise, it could also represent his ability to momentarily shift into a demon— He embodies the flesh of the evil in the world.

—

The Shinazugawa brothers possess violet eyes. Purple is recognised to signify ambition. This could represent their great desires— Sanemi seeks to eradicate demons, whereas Genya aspires to be stronger and receive his older brother's approval.

The reason to anger of the shinazugawa brothers.

Nothing indicates that the Shinazugawa brothers had always been inherently angry. There appears to be a cause to it.

Though there had been an incident in the Half-Winged Butterfly novel that Genya had lost his temper, it appeared to be an act of impulse. He would later cower, implying regret to his conduct.

It's facile to imagine Sanemi's rage stemmed from his extreme loathing of demons. He had spent (an estimated) five to six years slaughtering demons with the gardening implements he had acquired, neglecting other matters. Perhaps emotions of anger had grown to be his normalcy?

Though, it seems as Sanemi's excessive animosity has harmed his relationship with Genya.

However, Genya's rage is not as easy to comprehend. I have numerous theories to it.

It's possible that Genya is mirroring Sanemi. He feels that acting on anger is a symbol of strength. After all, that's how his brother behaves. (It wouldn't be unreasonable given how much he cherishes Sanemi.)

However, Genya's rage could also stem from negligence.

According to the field of neuroscience, children with a history of emotional neglect are 1.3 to 2 times more likely to experience issues with anger. Even though negligence is never directly stated, we can infer that Sanemi spent the majority of his time concentrating on demons.

In addition, we are aware that Sanemi detested the notion of Genya becoming a demon slayer. If he was taking care of Genya properly, How could he have allowed him to proceed to the final selection?

I enjoy ranting about these two. If there is anything else you would like me to cover, I will gladly do so.

[talonabraxas]

“The aura is an extension of a person’s personality and emotional, mental and physical landscape, so it will change from day to day.”

Aura colours and their meaning.

The aura is an extension of a person’s personality and emotional, mental and physical landscape, so it will change from day to day. It can be affected by external factors as well as the general disposition and character of the individual.

There are no hard and fast rules as to what these visual variances ‘mean’, as, with all psychic practices, it depends on the intuition and knowledge of the reader. But there are certainly common themes. For instance, those who practice yoga tend to have a ‘still’ aura or people with serious illness have a fainter aura than someone vital. Moreover, auras tend to have a ‘texture’ to them. They may be sparkly, treacly, in lines, waves or arcs.

Below, I have given a rough guide to how you might interpret auric colours only, but it is no mean a fixed manual:

The Aura Colors Meaning Chart:

Red ~ Pertains to circulation, the heart and the physical body. In its higher aspect, it is an indicator of a healthy ego, stability and being strong-willed. In its lowest aspect, red energy can give way to anger, unforgiving, anxiety or nervousness.

Orange ~ points to the reproductive organs and feelings. It is the colour of vigour, vitality and enthusiasm. In its higher aspect, orange energy shows creativity, confidence and gregariousness. In its lowest aspect, it can give way to stress and addictions.

Yellow ~ represents life energy – qi or prana. The colour of optimism, awakening, inspiration and intelligence. It has no lower aspects.

Green ~ connects to the heart centre and lungs. It is the comfortable and healthy colour of nature, representing growth, balance, healing, and depicting a love for all sentient beings and Mother Earth.

Blue ~ Pertains to the throat and the thyroid and is therefore indicative of communicators. Writers, public speakers and linguists will often have a lot of blue in their auric field. It is also a cool, calm and collected energy.

Indigo ~ Pertains to the third eye and therefore is a colour of deep feelings, intuition and sensitivity.

Violet/Lavender ~ Relating to the crown, pineal gland and the nervous systems. It is the most sensitive colour in the aura. People with a lot of violet in their auras are usually highly artistic, psychic, intuitive, visionary and magical.

“The aura is an extension of a person’s personality and emotional, mental and physical landscape, so it will change from day to day.”

Other Aura Colours:

Turquoise ~ is associated with the immune system and usually found in the auras of healers and therapists. It is a sensitive, compassionate colour.

Silver ~ pertains to spiritual and physical abundance. A lot of bright silver in an aura may indicate a spiritual awakening or financial gain.

Gold ~ typical of divine protection and enlightenment. This colour points towards strong spiritual and universal guidance, intuition, wisdom and inner peace.

Black ~ points towards pulling, capturing and transforming energy. It can indicate unreleased anger, grief or health problems. It also shows an unforgiving nature (to themselves and others) and possible past-life issues that remain unresolved.

White ~ linked to protection and deflecting other energies. Flashes of white within the auric field often signal that angels are nearby. As with most associations with white, it symbolizes purity, truth and a healthy individual.

Earth Tones/Brown ~ Colours of soil, wood, minerals and plants highlights very grounded energy and someone who works with the earth, such as a gardener or farmer. However, a more brownish hue can point to greediness, self-absorption or ignorance in its lowest aspect.

Rainbow ~ auras with stripes of colour emanating as beams of light from the hands, heart, or head indicate someone who is a healer.

Art by Solar Aura - Peter Solarz

[novaursa]

Legacy (dragon in the garden)

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

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Note: Once more, be aware of time jumps and how canon events and the timeline don't match the plot of the story.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: the dawn

- Next part: future of the realm

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

The memory came to Tywin Lannister unbidden, like a faint whisper carried on the wind as he rode through Highgarden’s fragrant gardens. The sights and scents of the Reach stirred something deep within him, a reminder of another time, long before the crown’s descent into chaos and ruin.

It was a warm day, the kind that Highgarden seemed to conjure effortlessly. The castle was alive with color, the gardens bursting with blooms of every hue. Tywin had ridden at the head of King Aerys II’s grand procession, the gold of House Lannister glittering beside the red and black banners of the Targaryens. At the time, Tywin had still been the Hand of the King, and though his duties weighed heavily on him, there was a quiet pride in his station.

He remembered the moment he first saw her during that visit. She was only a girl then, with her silver-gold hair glinting in the sunlight like threads of moonlight. She moved with an elegance beyond her years, a natural grace that captivated everyone who saw her. Lords and ladies alike were drawn to her like moths to a flame.

Tywin had stood on a shaded terrace, observing the gathering below. King Aerys, resplendent in his black and red robes, sat on a dais, his expression a mask of smug satisfaction as his courtiers fawned over him. Beside him stood his daughter, the Princess Y/N, who charmed the assembled lords with her sharp wit and radiant smile.

Tywin’s memory sharpened, focusing on a specific moment. Lord Mace Tyrell, younger and more eager then, had approached the princess with a bouquet of roses, his cheeks flushed with youthful enthusiasm.

“For you, Princess,” Mace had said, bowing deeply as he presented the flowers. “The most beautiful roses in all the Reach, for the most beautiful lady in the realm.”

Tywin had watched as the princess accepted the gesture with a polite smile, though there was a flicker of amusement in her violet eyes. “Thank you, Lord Tyrell,” she said graciously. “The roses are lovely, but I suspect the gardeners deserve more credit than you.”

The gathered nobles had laughed politely, and Mace had flushed even deeper, stammering a reply that Tywin couldn’t recall. What he did remember, however, was the way her gaze had briefly lifted to meet his own, her smile faltering for the briefest of moments. It was as though she had sensed his presence, even from across the crowd.

Later that evening, during the banquet held in Highgarden’s great hall, Tywin had found himself seated near her. Aerys, in one of his rare moments of lucidity, had boasted of his daughter’s intelligence and charm, praising her as the jewel of House Targaryen. Tywin had offered a measured response, careful not to provoke the king’s volatile temper.

“You must be very proud, Your Grace,” Tywin had said. “The princess embodies the strength and beauty of her house.”

Aerys had preened at the compliment, though his attention quickly shifted elsewhere. The princess, however, had glanced at Tywin, her expression thoughtful.

“You flatter me, Lord Lannister,” she had said softly, her voice steady and composed. “But I suspect you do not offer such praise lightly.”

Tywin had inclined his head, acknowledging her perceptiveness. “No, I do not,” he had replied simply.

The memory shifted again, to a quieter moment in the gardens the next day. He had found her there, surrounded by a cluster of children from noble houses, all vying for her attention. When she saw him, she had risen gracefully and dismissed the others with a kind word, leaving them to scamper off among the flowers.

“Lord Hand,” she had greeted him, her tone polite but curious. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“I came to see the gardens,” Tywin had replied, though they both knew it was a lie. He had no interest in flowers or idle strolls. He had wanted to see her, to understand the unique blend of strength and warmth that set her apart from the rest of her family.

“You don’t strike me as a man who enjoys gardens,” she had said, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “They require patience.”

Tywin had allowed a rare smile of his own, though it was brief. “Patience is not a virtue I cultivate easily,” he had admitted. “But even I can recognize beauty when I see it.”

The memory faded as Tywin’s horse came to a stop before Highgarden’s grand gates. He blinked, the present rushing back to him with the murmur of his guards and the rustling of banners in the wind. His gaze shifted to the carriage behind him, where she now sat with their son, a living testament to the choices and sacrifices that had brought them here.

Highgarden had been the site of many memories, but this visit was different. It was no longer about the past or the ambitions of a mad king. Now, it was about legacy—his legacy. And for the first time in years, Tywin felt a flicker of something unfamiliar: hope.

Mace Tyrell rode alongside Tywin at the head of the procession, his green and gold attire vibrant in the sunlight. He gestured animatedly as he spoke, his voice carrying over the steady clatter of hooves. Tywin, as always, remained composed, offering only curt nods and the occasional word in response to Mace’s enthusiastic chatter. Beside them, Ser Barristan rode in quiet vigilance, his sharp eyes scanning the path ahead.

Behind them, the carriage carrying you, Damon, and Lady Olenna followed. The crowds lining the road murmured in anticipation, their curiosity piqued by the sight of the Lannister-Targaryen union and the young heir.

Inside the carriage, you adjusted Damon in your arms, his tiny hands reaching for the folds of your gown. He gurgled softly, oblivious to the spectacle outside. Olenna, seated across from you, smirked as she peered out the window. “The Reach loves a good show,” she remarked dryly. “And this one promises to be quite the spectacle.”

You glanced out the window, your expression composed despite the flutter of nerves in your chest. The sight of so many eyes fixed on the carriage was both unsettling and humbling. “Let them look,” you said softly. “If they wish to see a Targaryen, they may.”

The carriage rolled to a stop, and moments later, a footman opened the door. Tywin dismounted from his horse, his movements precise as he stepped forward to offer you his hand. Taking it, you descended gracefully, holding Damon close to your chest. The whispers among the crowd grew louder at the sight of you, their admiration and curiosity palpable.

Mace stepped forward, his arms outstretched in a gesture of welcome. “Lord Tywin! Lady Y/N! What an honor it is to have you here in Highgarden!” His gaze flickered briefly to Damon, and his smile widened. “And the young heir to Casterly Rock—what a fine boy!”

“Lord Tyrell,” Tywin said, his voice steady and polite as he inclined his head. “Your hospitality is appreciated.”

Mace’s attention shifted to you, his expression one of exaggerated delight. “My lady, you grace Highgarden with your presence. Truly, it is a sight to behold—a Targaryen among us!”

You inclined your head gracefully, a faint smile on your lips. “Highgarden is as beautiful as I have always heard, Lord Tyrell. It is an honor to be your guest.”

Olenna descended from the carriage next, her sharp gaze taking in the scene with thinly veiled amusement. “Mace, don’t stand there gawking like a fool. Let the lady and her child breathe.”

Mace chuckled nervously but stepped aside, gesturing toward the entrance. “Of course, of course! Please, come inside. The finest rooms have been prepared for your stay.”

As you walked beside Tywin, Damon nestled securely in your arms, you couldn’t help but notice the way the crowd’s eyes followed you. Murmurs of admiration and curiosity rippled through them, their gazes lingering on Damon’s silver-gold hair and violet eyes. You caught snippets of their whispers—"A true dragon,” “How beautiful,” “Lannister and Targaryen blood united.”

Once inside the grand hall, Mace continued to prattle about the preparations made in your honor. “We’ve spared no expense! The feast tonight will be one to remember. And the gardens, my lady—you simply must see them. They are in full bloom.”

You nodded politely, though your attention was divided between Mace’s words and the quiet exchange of glances between Tywin and Olenna. Both were masters of subtlety, their unspoken calculations nearly palpable as they sized up one another.

As you reached the rooms prepared for you, Mace gestured grandly. “Here we are! I trust you’ll find everything to your liking.”

Tywin offered a curt nod. “Thank you, Lord Tyrell.”

Mace lingered for a moment longer, as if hoping for further praise, but Olenna’s pointed clearing of her throat sent him scurrying off to oversee the feast preparations. Once the door closed behind him, you turned to Tywin, your expression unreadable.

“They are eager to please,” you remarked softly, adjusting Damon as he began to fuss.

“They’re eager to gain favor,” Tywin replied, his voice cool. “Do not mistake hospitality for selflessness.”

Olenna chuckled, settling into a nearby chair. “Oh, Tywin, you’re as charming as ever. But he’s right, my dear,” she said, looking at you. “Highgarden is a lovely cage, but a cage nonetheless.”

You met Olenna’s gaze and then Tywin’s, your resolve firm. “Perhaps. But even a cage can offer opportunities.”

Tywin studied you for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “You’ve been planning something.”

You didn’t deny it, offering only a faint smile. “I will let you know when the time is right.”

As the evening approached, the promise of a feast loomed large, but your thoughts lingered on the whispers of High Heart and the call that refused to be ignored. Highgarden was only the beginning, and you were determined to uncover the truths that awaited you.

The room assigned to you in Highgarden was as opulent as one would expect from the seat of House Tyrell. The walls were adorned with rich tapestries depicting scenes of bountiful harvests and the famed roses of the Reach, while the windows offered a stunning view of the lush gardens below. The scent of blooming flowers drifted in through the open window, mingling with the faint sound of birdsong.

You sat on a plush chaise near the window, Damon cradled in your arms. The boy was content, his hair catching the late afternoon sunlight as he cooed and gurgled softly. Tywin stood nearby, his gaze distant as he surveyed the room. He had removed his armor and donned simpler, yet still impeccably tailored, attire, the weight of command momentarily lifted from his shoulders.

“It hasn’t changed much,” he said after a long silence, his voice carrying a rare softness. He stepped closer, his sharp green eyes meeting yours briefly before flicking to the gardens beyond the window. “Highgarden looks as it did the last time we were here.”

You looked up, curious. “The last time?”

He nodded, a faint shadow of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It was many years ago, during the height of your father’s reign. I accompanied him on a royal progress to the Reach. You were there, a young princess, adored by everyone.”

You tilted your head slightly, surprised by the memory. “I barely recall ever visiting Highgarden with my father.”

Tywin’s expression shifted, a touch of amusement glinting in his eyes. “That’s because you spent most of your time in the gardens, surrounded by admirers. Lord Mace was barely more than a boy himself then, but he and his sisters followed you around like devoted attendants.”

A small laugh escaped you, the image vivid despite your lack of recollection. “I can imagine. Mace still carries that same eagerness, though now he directs it toward his endless attempts to curry favor.”

Tywin’s gaze softened further as he continued, his voice tinged with nostalgia. “You were the centerpiece of every gathering. Even your father seemed proud in those moments, though he scarcely showed it. The lords and ladies were enamored with you, charmed by your wit and grace. I remember thinking then…” He paused, his words trailing off.

“What did you think?” you prompted gently, your eyes searching his face.

He met your gaze, the weight of unspoken thoughts evident in his expression. “I thought that your father did not deserve you as a daughter. That you were too bright, too capable to be overshadowed by his madness.”

The sincerity in his words left you momentarily speechless. Damon squirmed in your arms, breaking the silence, and you smiled down at him before replying. “I never knew you thought that way. Back then, I was just a girl, oblivious to much of what was happening around me.”

“You were a girl,” Tywin acknowledged. “But even then, you carried yourself with a dignity far beyond your years. It was why the lords adored you—and why your father sought to keep you close.”

You looked away, the bittersweet memories of your father stirring uneasily within you. “He kept me close because I was useful to him,” you said quietly. “A tool to be married off, just like Rhaegar.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened, his gaze hardening. “You were no tool. Not to me.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, heavy with implications. You met his gaze once more, searching for the deeper meaning behind them. “And yet, here we are,” you said softly. “Bound by necessity, much like those days.”

Tywin stepped closer, his hand resting on the back of the chaise. “Necessity, perhaps,” he said, his voice low, “but not without purpose. What we have built is more than circumstance. It is strength, and it is enduring.”

Damon let out a soft coo, his tiny hand reaching upward. Tywin’s expression shifted slightly, the faintest trace of warmth softening his features as he leaned down to brush his fingers over the boy’s hair. “He is proof of that.”

You smiled faintly, watching as Damon’s small hand grasped Tywin’s finger. “He is our future,” you agreed, your voice steady. “And I will do everything in my power to protect him.”

“As will I,” Tywin said firmly, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

For a moment, the three of you remained in quiet companionship, the past blending seamlessly with the present. Highgarden’s beauty and the memories it evoked were undeniable, but the strength of your family, forged in the fires of adversity, was what truly grounded you.

Tywin straightened, his commanding presence reasserting itself. “Rest while you can. The feast tonight will demand much of your energy.”

You inclined your head, watching as he moved toward the door. Before he left, he glanced back, his expression unreadable. “The lords of the Reach may admire roses,” he said, his voice quiet but firm, “but even they know the value of a dragon.”

As the door closed behind him, you looked down at Damon, his eyes staring up at you with innocent curiosity. The weight of Tywin’s words settled over you, a reminder of your purpose and the strength you would need to navigate the challenges ahead.

The gardens of Highgarden were a masterpiece of design and nature, a testament to the wealth and refinement of House Tyrell. Lush greenery stretched as far as the eye could see, interspersed with vibrant flowers in every hue imaginable. Fountains burbled softly, and the air was rich with the scent of roses and lavender.

You sat beneath the shade of a sprawling oak, Damon cradled in your arms the next day. His tiny hands reaching for the petals of a rose you held just out of his grasp. His silver-gold hair gleamed in the dappled sunlight, and his violet eyes, flecked with pale green, seemed to captivate everyone who looked at him.

Lady Olenna Tyrell sat beside you, her sharp gaze surveying the small crowd of noblewomen who had gathered nearby. They hovered at a respectful distance, their murmurs and admiring glances directed at Damon.

“He’s a handsome boy,” one of the ladies said softly, her voice carrying just enough for you to hear. “A true Targaryen, isn’t he?”

“And a Lannister,” another added, her tone tinged with awe. “Such a combination… it’s no wonder he’s destined for greatness.”

Olenna smirked, leaning slightly on her walking stick as she addressed you. “It seems your son is already causing a stir, my dear. Not that I’m surprised.”

You adjusted Damon in your arms, your gaze sweeping over the ladies before returning to Olenna. “It’s as you said—symbols and pawns. They see him as both.”

“They see him as a future king,” Olenna corrected, her voice low and pointed. “Even if that’s not what your husband has in mind. The boy’s blood is enough to set tongues wagging from here to King’s Landing.”

You didn’t respond immediately, your focus shifting to Damon, who was now giggling at the rose in your hand. His laughter was light and innocent, a stark contrast to the weight of the expectations already being placed upon him.

One of the braver ladies stepped forward, curtseying deeply before addressing you. “My lady, your son is truly a wonder. May we approach to offer our congratulations?”

You inclined your head gracefully, your expression composed. “Of course.”

The small group of women moved closer, their eyes fixed on Damon with a mixture of admiration and reverence. One of them, a young lady with dark hair, smiled as she spoke. “He has the look of both his houses. The strength of the lion and the beauty of the dragon.”

Olenna chuckled softly, her sharp wit laced with amusement. “A fine compliment, though I doubt the boy is concerned with such things. He’s more interested in that rose, it seems.”

The ladies laughed politely, their attention still on Damon as he cooed and reached for the flower again. You allowed yourself a small smile, though your mind remained guarded.

Another lady, older and more forthright, leaned in slightly. “My lady, may I ask… does Lord Tywin often dote upon the boy? It is rare to see him so taken with anyone, even his own blood.”

Olenna raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained by the question. You glanced at her briefly before replying. “Lord Tywin values legacy above all else. Damon represents that legacy, as well as the unity of our houses. He is proud, as any father would be.”

“And you, my lady?” the older woman pressed. “Are you content?”

Before you could respond, Olenna intervened with a sly smile. “Contentment is a luxury few of us can afford, wouldn’t you agree?”

The ladies chuckled nervously, unsure how to interpret Olenna’s remark. You took the opportunity to shift the conversation, your tone calm but firm. “I am fortunate to have a healthy son and a husband who values family. That is enough for me.”

The group murmured their agreement, though you could sense their curiosity lingered. Damon squirmed in your arms, drawing your attention back to him. His tiny hand brushed against the rose, and you finally relented, letting him grasp it carefully.

Olenna watched the scene with a softening expression, though her sharp tongue wasn’t far behind. “If only the rest of us could quiet a crowd with a single smile,” she said dryly. “You and your son have quite the effect on people.”

You looked at her, your lips curving into a faint smile. “It’s not the first time I’ve been surrounded by admirers in a garden.”

Olenna chuckled, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Touché, my dear. Touché.”

The ladies eventually drifted away, leaving you and Olenna in relative peace. Damon, still clutching the rose, began to drift off to sleep in your arms. The sight of his tiny form, so vulnerable and full of promise, filled you with a fierce determination.

“He’s the future, you know,” Olenna said quietly, her tone unusually gentle. “Not just for your house, but for all of us. Make sure he’s ready.”

“I will,” you replied, your voice steady. “No matter what it takes.”

Olenna nodded, satisfied.

The forest was quiet except for the rustling of leaves and the crackling of the small fire at the center of their camp. Arya Stark sat cross-legged on the ground, sharpening Needle with slow, deliberate strokes. The Brotherhood Without Banners moved about the clearing, preparing for the night. Hot Pie was stirring a pot of stew, its savory scent wafting through the crisp evening air, while Gendry was busy repairing a dent in his helm.

The chatter among the men was subdued until one of them, Tom of Sevenstreams, leaned closer to the fire, his voice carrying a note of curiosity. “Have you heard the latest from the Reach? Highgarden’s been bustling with nobles, all of them clamoring for a glimpse of the dragon babe.”

Arya’s hand froze mid-stroke. Her sharp gray eyes flicked to Tom, her heart skipping a beat. She forced herself to keep her expression neutral as she asked, “What dragon babe?”

Tom glanced at her, surprised by her sudden interest. “The Targaryen princess,” he said, as though it were common knowledge. “Or should I say, Lady Lannister now. She’s Tywin’s wife, isn’t she? Gave him a son not long ago—silver hair, violet eyes, the whole dragon’s brood look.”

Gendry looked up from his work, frowning. “A Targaryen? Married to Tywin Lannister? That’s mad.”

“Mad, maybe,” Tom said with a shrug, “but true. They say the boy’s got both lion and dragon in him. The nobles are calling him the future of the realm.”

Arya’s grip tightened on Needle. Her chest felt tight, her mind racing as memories of the reader flooded her thoughts. The woman who had been like a second mother to her, who had taught her to wield a needle of a different kind, who had comforted her during her worst moments in Winterfell—and later, the woman she had tried to save at Harrenhal, only to watch Tywin take her to King’s Landing.

Hot Pie, oblivious to Arya’s inner turmoil, ladled some stew into a wooden bowl and handed it to Gendry. “Didn’t think dragons and lions could make a cub together,” he said, his brow furrowed in confusion.

Gendry smirked. “Guess they can now.”

Tom continued, his tone conspiratorial. “They say she’s still as regal as ever, even with all that’s happened. And Tywin—well, he dotes on her, or so the rumors go. But the boy, now he’s the real talk of the realm. The lords and ladies are already whispering about alliances.”

Arya couldn’t stay silent any longer. “What else have you heard about her?” she asked, her voice sharper than she intended.

Tom raised an eyebrow at her intensity. “Not much beyond that. She’s at Highgarden now, with Tywin and the boy. They say she keeps to herself, but when she does speak, people listen. Why? You know her or something?”

Gendry glanced at Arya curiously, noting the way her jaw tightened and her eyes darted back to her blade. “The lady from Harrenhal.”

Arya hesitated, then nodded. “She lived in Winterfell,” she said quietly, her voice tinged with emotion she couldn’t quite suppress. “She’s… like family.”

Hot Pie’s spoon froze mid-air, stew dripping back into the pot. “Wait, you’re saying there is more to that Targaryen lady. Like, you know her know her?.”

Arya glared at him. “She’s not just a Targaryen. She’s a Stark, too. She raised Jon, taught me and Sansa things… She was there when my brothers were born. She’s family. I’ve told you that already.”

Hot Pie blinked, trying to process the information once more. “That’s why you were so worked up at Harrenhal, wasn’t it? When Tywin took her?”

Arya’s expression darkened. “Yes,” she said simply. “I tried to save her. I thought I could get her out before they took her to King’s Landing, but Tywin had too many guards, and she…” Her voice trailed off, the frustration of that memory still fresh in her mind.

Gendry frowned, his brows furrowing. “And now she’s married to Tywin Lannister,” he said softly. “That must be… hard to hear.”

Arya’s grip on Needle tightened until her knuckles turned white. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, though her voice trembled slightly. “She’s doing what she has to, just like all of us.”

Tom, sensing the tension, shifted uncomfortably. “Well, from what I’ve heard, she’s doing all right for herself. She’s protected, and her son—”

“She doesn’t need Tywin to protect her,” Arya snapped, cutting him off. “She’s stronger than any of them.”

Hot Pie cleared his throat, trying to lighten the mood. “Well, maybe she’ll get away, like you did. Maybe she’ll come back to us.”

Arya didn’t answer. She stared into the fire, her mind racing with possibilities. She thought of Y/N, of Damon, of the tangled web of alliances and betrayals that now surrounded them. Deep down, she knew that nothing would ever be the same—but she also knew that the woman she remembered was still in there somewhere, fighting her own battles in the heart of the enemy’s lair.

“I hope so,” Arya mutterted under her breath, her resolve hardening as she returned to sharpening Needle. She would find a way to make things right, no matter how long it took.

[mellifluouaamor]

TANJIROU KAMADO ⍣ FEMALE READER

synopsis. tanjirou thinks you're like a flower.

you're just like a wisteria flower, TANJIROU would always think to himself. beautiful and elegant, kind yet resilient - and your beauty was akin to that of a blooming flower. there's an air of tranquility around you whenever you're on the battlefield, the smile you'd wear soothing your frazzled teammates and reassuring them that everything will be okay.

tanjirou never regretted meeting you that day - the day he saved you from being devoured. you were the only survivor of the squad that was sent to the inn infested by a formidable demon, and he clearly remembered witnessing you struggle to live as you fought with a breath style that he had never seen before: the breath of ayatori style. it appeared to branch off from the breath of love style as it heavily involved agility and flexibility, and the blade of your nichirin sword was also identical to the love pillar's. watching you fight was like watching a dancer perform, and he had never been so mesmerised by graceful movements meant to kill.

after his first meeting with you, the two of you grew closer to each other, and slowly but surely, stronger feelings blossomed in your hearts.

when the sun rose from the horizon, marking the break of dawn, tanjirou was prompted to pick up his pace and ended up jogging the rest of the way to the butterfly estate. he had received worrying news of you returning from a mission severely injured just as he completed his, and he wanted to check up on you as soon as possible.

as he approached the familiar gates of the butterfly estate, he spotted a particular flower growing amongst yellow daffodils. its striking purple colour reminded him of you, causing him to stop in his tracks. would you like this? he could bring it as a small gift since he didn't think of bringing anything for you until this moment.

without another second to waste, tanjirou knelt down and plucked the sweet violet.

❀

tanjirou spotted you lying on your side on the veranda. you were fast asleep, eyelids drawn shut and lips slightly parted as soft breaths slipped past them. traversing the garden, he soon came to a stop in front of your resting form before reaching out to brush away the stray strands of hair covering your face.

he hesitated to wake you up because of how peaceful you looked. although he could have just left the violet for you to wake up to, he wanted to give it to you in person, all so he could see your expression light up like the sky at dawn. tanjirou released a long, drawn-out sigh and then lowered himself on his knees, eyes never leaving you. he subconsciously moved his free hand to cup your face, his thumb tenderly caressing your cheek.

as if on cue, you drifted out of your slumber, your eyelashes fluttering against the tops of your cheeks. a slight frown etched itself onto your countenance when you tried to figure out who was in front of you.

"tanjirou...?" you mumbled, recognising his scarlet hair, "what are you doing here?" stifling a yawn, you carefully propped yourself up on your elbow, kneading one eye with a fist.

"why are you sleeping out here?" he asked, chuckling, "the mornings are still cold."

"i was stargazing last night... i guess i accidentally fell asleep," you replied, scratching your lower cheek sheepishly. you then gave tanjirou your signature smile and added, "welcome back by the way! you must be tired from your mission."

he beamed. "thank you! but i'm probably not as tired as you. you should sleep on a proper bed since you're still healing from your injuries..." his gaze swept over the bandages on your body as his red hues flashed with concern. "how are you feeling?"

"some parts of my body are sore, but i'm generally feeling okay. kochou-san said i should avoid strenuous work for now," you said, shifting your body to sit properly.

suddenly remembering the flower in his grasp, tanjirou presented you with the sweet violet he had intended to give you, making your eyes widen.

"it's for you!" he chirped, "i found a flower that reminded me of you on my way here. i... think it suits you."

your cheeks heated up at his remark. with a shy "thank you", you happily accepted the flower and inhaled its sweet scent. "it smells nice... and it's so pretty."

"just like you," tanjirou blurted out before covering his mouth upon realising what he just said.

instead of getting embarrassed, you surprised him by leaning over to kiss his cheek, eliciting a blush from him.

"you're so cute~" you cooed, giggling.

tanjirou let out a huff. before your brain could register what was happening, you found yourself being carried like a princess in his strong arms. you immediately clung to his shoulders with a squeal, afraid that he might drop you (even though you knew that he wouldn't) as he strode away.

"h-hey! put me down!" you exclaimed, kicking your legs.

feeling a bit bold, tanjirou leaned towards your face and lightly bumped your nose with his, smiling. your breath hitched in your throat; that little gesture was effective in silencing you as he brought you inside the infirmary and tucked you in bed.

truly, you're a flower he wants to protect with his life.

[littlest-w01f]

Surprise

Rhysand x Reader (Batboys mentioned)

ACOTAR MASTERLIST

BDAY CELEBRATION

Summary: Having your first birthday in a safe home with your brother and his friends

Cw: A little bittersweet between Az and reader, reader got trauma

As you slowly opened your heavy eyelids, a warm glow of morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a golden hue across your cosy bedroom. The air was crisp and fresh, carrying the sweet scent of blooming flowers that wafted from the garden outside. It was a peaceful start to what promised to be a momentous day - your birthday, the first one after Rhysand's mother had taken you and your brother in.

Your mind still foggy from sleep, you stretched languidly beneath the plush comforter, feeling the familiar softness of your bed envelop you like a comforting embrace. A contented sigh escaped your lips as you settled back into the pillows, relishing the rare tranquillity that usually eluded this household filled with high-energy Illyrians.

A soft knock at the door broke the spell, followed by a gentle voice calling out, "Breakfast is ready when you are, y/n darling." Rhysand's mother's words carried a hint of excitement, probably eager to kick off the festivities. The said female was the best second mother you could've asked for, after Rhysand had offered you and your brother a home, his mother had taken you in with open arms. And while adjusting to the new life had been hard for Azriel, you had fit in perfectly with your new family.

Rhysand's mother stepped into the room, her vibrant smile lighting up her face as she saw you sitting up in your bed. She looked radiant in a flowing gown, her dark hair cascading down her shoulders. "Happy birthday, dear!" She exclaimed joyfully, crossing the room to plant a loving kiss on your forehead. Her warmth and affection washed over you like a soothing balm, chasing away the last vestiges of sleepiness.

"Thank you, mama Dalia," You mused, cheeks colouring slightly, you had never experienced this. A mother's love. While Azriel was allowed a few hours to spend with your mother, you never were, nearly physically tied to the family as the only daughter, and your half-mother always had something or the other for you to do so that you couldn't see her. While Azriel was locked away in the family dungeons, you were tied to the kitchen, nothing more than a housemaid.

As she pulled back, her eyes sparkled with the same mischief Rhysand's did. "Rhys wanted to come wake you himself, but I managed to hold him off," She confided with a conspiratorial wink. "He's been buzzing around the kitchen like a bee, determined to make everything perfect for your special day."

"You didn't have to do all that..." You spoke as you swung your legs to the side, stretching your leathery wings out, wings that had been threatened more times than you could even count, if you misbehaved, if you stepped out of line, if you breathed wrong.

"Nonsense! It's your birthday. It's only once that a little faeling turns 17 now, isn't it?" She extended a hand to help you up, her touch gentle yet firm. "Come now, get ready, and get downstairs, breakfast awaits!"

As you reached downstairs, the tantalizing aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon grew stronger with each step. As you entered the dining room, Rhysand was already there setting the table with a flourish. His face lit up when he saw you, violet eyes twinkling with barely contained excitement.

"Surprise!" He announced grandly, gesturing to the lavish spread laid out before you. Famous Illyrian dishes, some High Fae dishes you had only tried because of him, and even a small cake adorned with candles waiting to be lit. "I made all your favorites," He declared proudly, puffing out his chest.

"He just got the eggs and meat," Dalia rolled her eyes at her son, "I did most of it." Rhysands's face dropped almost comically when his mother threw him under the bus like that.

You felt a rush of warmth in your chest at the sight, touched by their efforts to make this day special. You snorted when you saw Cassian sitting in front of a plate of food, too focused on it to notice you.

"Hungry beast," Rhysland teased his friend, playfully flicking a piece of bread at him. "We've hardly started and you're already scarfing everything down. This is about y/n, not you."

Cassian huffed but continued eating anyway, mouth full. After swallowing, he looked up and fixed you with a fond, if somewhat rumpled appearance due to being busy gobbling his food, look. "Hey, happy birthday y/n," He managed between bites. Then his gaze drifted past you, noticing Dalia who smiled benevolently back. "Mama D, these eggs are incredible."

The Illyrian matriarch smiled, pleased with the compliment, "Thank you, Cassian. I'm glad you're enjoying them." Rhysands hopped up to join Cassian at the table, pulling you with him.

As you took your seat beside Rhysand, you couldn't help but marvel at how far you'd come since arriving here. The warmth and acceptance you'd found in this household was a stark contrast to the cold cruelty of your past. Dalia and Rhysand had welcomed you and Azriel without hesitation, treating you both like cherished members of their family despite your origins.

Rhysand reached over to squeeze your hand, his touch sending a tingle through your skin. "I hope you know how much you mean to me... To us, y/n," He murmured softly, violet eyes shining with sincerity. "This is just the beginning of a whole year celebrating you!"

Once seated, Rhysand reached to take your hand, his slender fingers intertwining with yours in a gentle caress. He leaned in close, his breath tickling your ear as he whispered, "This year is going to be different, for both of us." There was a certain urgency, a barely restrained enthusiasm in his tone that made your heart skip a beat.

A blush framed your cheeks as he poured the golden juice into your glass. You cleared your throat softly, trying to regain your composure as Rhysand handed you the glass. His touch lingered for a fleeting moment, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. You took a sip, savouring the sublime flavour that seemed to dance on your tongue—a perfect blend of honey, rose petals, and a hint of starlight.

As you set the glass down, Rhysand's eyes met yours, a glimmer of something intense flickering within their depths. For a moment, you forgot how to breathe, lost in the depth of those captivating violet eyes. It was as if time itself had slowed, leaving only the two of you suspended in this intimate connection.

The charged atmosphere hung thick between you, heavy with unspoken promises and simmering emotions. Rhysand's thumb brushed gently against your knuckles, the simple gesture conveying volumes without needing words. He leaned in closer, his lips a hairsbreadth from your ear as he murmured, "I've been wanting to celebrate you properly for months now, ever since we realized... Well, you know."

His words trailed off, but the implication was clear. Your birthdays had passed in quiet introspection until recently, when the realization of your blossoming feelings for each other had dawned.

Now, with the weight of that understanding bearing down upon you, every glance and touch held a new significance. Rhysand's hand slid up your arm, his fingers tracing delicate patterns on your skin as he gazed at you with an intensity that left you breathless.

"Darling, where is Azriel?" Rhysand's mother broke the spell, bringing in the last pot filled with food.

You perked up at the voice, looking away from Rhysand, "Yeah... Where is my brother...?"

Rhysand's expression softened, his gaze shifting to his mother as she placed the final dish on the table. "Azriel should be along soon," he assured you, though there was a hint of uncertainty beneath his calm exterior. "He wanted to surprise you with a gift, remember?"

Dalia nodded, her hands moving to adjust the placement of plates and utensils with practised ease. "Yes, I helped him along. He can be quite thoughtful when he wants to be." Her warm smile conveyed a sense of pride and affection for the eldest boy, despite his occasional prickliness.

Just then, footsteps echoed from upstairs, growing louder as they approached the landing. All heads turned, watching expectantly as Azriel descended the stairs, a small, wrapped package clutched in his hand.

Azriel's eyes scanned the room, finally settling on you with a shy smile. He looked a bit nervous, fidgeting with the edges of the parcel in his grasp. Clearing his throat, he began, "Y/n, um, Happy Birthday sis," His voice wavered slightly, betraying his usually stoic demeanour as his shadows curled around him.

With a deep breath, he continued, "I hope you like what I got you." He offered the present to you, his movements hesitant but sincere. "It's not much, but I thought it might mean a lot to you."

As you accepted the gift, Rhysand moved to stand beside Azriel, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Whatever it is, I'm sure y/n will appreciate the thought," He said reassuringly, his voice laced with warmth and brotherly support not giving away what the gift was.

"Oh, I can't wait!" You cheered, ripping through the paper, inside the paper was an intricate box, one you'd had before. You looked up at Azriel, "Az... Is... Is this...?"

"Open it." Azriel prompted, a smile on his face. "You know, twist the lock."

You turned the lock twice, and the little dancer popped up from the box, she was broken, cracked, but moving, and sweet music started playing from the box, hearing the tune tears fell from your eyes, a choked-off sob leaving your lips. "Az... This is..."

Azriel's eyes widened, his brows furrowing in concern as he watched your reaction. "Y/n? What's wrong?" He asked, his voice tinged with worry. Rhysand quickly moved to your side, wrapping an arm around your shoulders in a supportive embrace.

The memories flooded you, the little box your mother had given you, you would listen to it going to sleep and waking up, the turn still played in your head at times. The moment your step mother had gotten mad, she had thrown the box, breaking the dancer and the wires that made it work.

"I… I know it's not perfect, I couldn't hold it still for too long with my... My hands…" Azriel stammered, his gaze falling to the figurine still twirling within its box, he had wanted to repair the box himself, even if Rhysand had offered using his magic. "I didn't mean to upset you."

You launched yourself in his arms, face buried in his chest and you sobbed, "I love it... I love... Love it."

Azriel's arms enveloped you tightly, holding you close as you cried. He stroked your hair soothingly, his own eyes misty with emotion. "I'm so glad, y/n," he whispered, his voice trembling slightly. "I wanted to give you something that meant something, something that reminded you of home and happier times."

As your tears subsided, Azriel pulled back just enough to wipe your damp cheeks with his thumbs. "I'm sorry I couldn't fix it completely," he said, his expression apologetic.

"I... Think I might like it better cracked." You whispered, holding into his hand, stroking the burn scars that covered them.

He pulled you in for another hug, this one a bit tighter, a silent declaration of his love and acceptance. As you stood there, wrapped in the embrace of your twin, surrounded by the warmth and affection of your family, you felt a sense of peace wash over you.

The day wore on, filled with laughter, delicious food, and gifts. Rhysand's mother had got you the order from her mate, the High Lord, to let you train with the rest of males, Cassian, had handmade you some wonky leathers that your adoptive mother had assured she could fix, and Rhysand, he was yet to gift you anything as the night covered the sky.

Rhysand led you outside to the balcony overlooking the city. The stars twinkled above, casting a magical glow over the sprawling landscape below. "You know, I never thought I'd say this, but I'm actually happy you were born on the Summer Solstice," Rhysand remarked, his voice low and husky in the cool night air. "It gives me an excuse to spoil you rotten every year, even if we don't really celebrate."

He stepped closer, his tall frame towering over you, yet making no move to crowd you. Instead, he reached out, his fingertips grazing the curve of your cheek in a gentle caress. "You deserve all the celebrations and gifts in the world, y/n," Rhysand murmured, his violet eyes locked onto yours. "Not because of your birthdate, but because you're an incredible person who brings joy and light into our lives."

Leaning in, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, the warmth of his lips seeping into your skin. When he pulled back, a mischievous grin played on his lips. "Now, about that gift I promised… I have a feeling you're going to love it, even if it's not exactly traditional."

"You've been teasing me all day... Did you even get me a gift?" You teased, all day, he had been purposefully taunting you, making you believe every box he held was a gift for you.

Rhysand chuckled, the sound was rich and smooth, like velvet against your ears. "Of course I did, you impatient thing," he teased, reaching into the folds of his dark leathers. With a flourish, he produced a small, exquisitely crafted box adorned with intricate silver filigree. The lid creaked open, revealing a stunning necklace inside, a delicate chain supporting a teardrop pendant of pure, shimmering starlight.

"It's a piece of the celestial realm, forged in the heart of a fallen star," Rhysand explained, his voice hushed with reverence. "Legend says it grants the wearer visions of their deepest desires, guiding them towards true happiness and fulfillment." He held out the necklace, offering it to you with a hopeful smile. "What do you think, y/n?"

Your fingers trembled slightly as you took the exquisite necklace from Rhysand's outstretched palm. The starlight pendant seemed to hum with an otherworldly energy, drawing you in with its ethereal beauty. As you fastened the delicate chain around your neck, the cool metal rested against your warm skin, the starlight pulsing softly against your collarbone.

"You truly amaze me, Rhys," You breathed, gazing up at him with wonder-filled eyes. "It... It's so beautiful."

He smiled, his gaze lingering on the way the starlight caught the highlights in your hair. "I know you will wear it well, my love," Rhysand whispered, brushing a stray lock behind your ear.

You reached up on your toes and kissed him tenderly, your lips meeting in a sweet, chaste press of mouths. Rhysand's arms came up to wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against his strong, lean body. He returned the kiss with equal gentleness, his lips moving slowly against yours as if savouring the taste and feel of you.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were left breathless, your cheeks flushed with the heat of the moment. Rhysand's violet eyes shone with adoration as he gazed down at you, his fingers trailing lightly along your spine. A blush covered your cheeks, "Was that a vision?" You whispered as you pulled away. "Or was that real?"

"Maybe we should do it again so you can be sure." Rhysand teased, leaning down to kiss you again. His lips claimed yours once more, this time with a hint of playfulness, his tongue darting out to trace the seam of your mouth before delving inside to dance with yours. You melted into the kiss, your body pressing eagerly against his as the world around you faded away.

When he finally pulled back, you were left dazed and breathless, your heart racing in your chest. Rhysand's eyes sparkled with mischief as he grinned down at you, clearly pleased with the effect his kisses had on you.

As Rhysand's lips claimed yours once more, the world around you melted away, leaving only the two of you entwined in a dance of passion and devotion. His tongue swept across your lower lip, seeking entrance, and you welcomed him in with a soft moan.

The kiss deepened, growing more urgent as Rhysand's hands roamed your curves, mapping the contours of your body with hungry desire. You clung to him, lost in the intoxicating flavor of his mouth, the hardness of his chest pressing against your softer one.

Breaking the kiss, Rhysand's breath came in ragged gasps as he stared down at you, his eyes blazing with an intense, all-consuming need. "That was definitely a vision," He rasped, his voice thick with longing. "One I want to experience many, many more times."

His strong arms encircled your waist, lifting you off the ground as he spun you around in a dizzying circle. Laughter bubbled up from within you, mingling with the cool night air as you twirled, your dark hair flying out like a banner.

Rhysand's laughter joined yours, a deep, resonant sound that echoed through the quiet streets below. He set you down gently, but kept you close, his hands splayed across your lower back as he nuzzled your temple with his nose.

"We should do this more often," He murmured, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. "Be lost in each other's arms…" His words trailed off into a soft, seductive whisper that made your knees weaken.

Rhysand waved his hand, and the little music box surrounded you with it's tune as the two of you stoof under the start sky, lost under the enchanting melody, you lost yourself in Rhysand's embrace, the world narrowing down to the two of you swaying in perfect harmony. The music box's delicate notes seemed to weave a spell around you, filling the night air with a hypnotic rhythm that matched the beating of your heart.

As the hours slipped by, the camp slumbered on, unaware of the secret serenade taking place high above its streets. But you and Rhysand were worlds away, transported to a realm where time stood still and nothing existed beyond the thrum of the music and the warmth of each other's bodies as you stargazed.

{General Taglist- @lilah-asteria @paleidiot @dee-writes-angst @adalia-jaycee @anarchiii @alwayshave-faith @velarisnightsky444 @minnieoo @mellowmusings @daughterofthemoons-stuff}

{Rhysand Taglist- @yeonalie}

[wannabepoeticischiya]

if I can stop one heart from breaking

[ 01 ] — the offer

⟵ prev | master list | next ⟶

He existed in the morning dew, in the afternoon haze, within the illusions of twilight. He was there. In the silence of midnight, in the wake of dawn... he was there.

Hoshina Soushiro was everywhere... except right here. He existed in every corner of the cosmos-just not in the space beside her.

pairing: hoshina soshiro x f! reader genre: romance, angst wc: 46.5k status: completed art by: keumza on twitter

“Hoshina-dono, thank you for accepting.”

“Nonsense, Uehara-san! The union between our clans will open many opportunities for the future!”

Empty-eyed, the offering of the Uehara Clan stared far off into yonder: tired, hopeless, shackled by the thought that this would be nothing but a marriage of convenience—and it will. One that is fated to leave her on her death bed, reminiscing memories of unhappiness and regret, leaving in her wake a catastrophe of regrets; plagued by the thought of what it could have been—who she could have become—the life she could have been living… if only she had done things differently.

If only you did not come to me that day…

The Uehara heir was not ignorant; often being told that she was too intuitive for her own good—that her own self self-assurance would one day be her downfall.

So, when her father had called upon her that fateful day, she knew that the fate her family had set for her would soon begin, and she would—without question nor reluctance—obey what they wished.

Because that is what they expected of her.

… if only you had left me to this cruel fate.

As twilight faded and the canvas overhead was dyed with midnight, life echoed by the city stilled into silence within the grounds of the Hoshina estate. The late winter breeze rustled the undergrowth that littered the gardens, taking the blossoms of the cherry trees into a never-ending waltz towards the horizons of the sky. Moonlight flooded through the cracks left by the clouds, flowing like water over the cheerless hue painted upon the face of a girl still restless at this unearthly hour. Slender fingers trapping a handful of golden fabric in between their grip, soiling her once pristine kimono.

“Who are you?”

Without a single second to spare, the woman had crossed the distance separating her from the intruder—nothing but a knife to his throat standing in between them.

[Name] swore she could feel her heart itching to escape from its entrapment, her blood circulating far too fast for her head to catch up—her weapon, slowly but surely, crossing the gap to meet the flesh of the poor soul that had carelessly walked in on her, stopping only when the voice raised once more to put a halt to her intentions.

“Hey—Hey! Relax. I only asked who you were…”

Urgency rippled in the waters of her stomach, certainly not having expected such a warm tone to flow from the lips of the trespasser. The Uehara heir expected a nosy servant, or at the direst of situations—an assassin. A frightened protest or even a calm proclamation would’ve been the anticipated outcome, certainly not… whatever this is.

[Name]’s gaze lingered on her hands that threatened to take the life of the person before her, rising like fireworks on New Year’s Eve; painting the abyssal canvas overhead with their trails of fire, disappearing momentarily into the heavens, leaving silence in their wake—only for them to burst forth into multitudes of color. Illuminating the darkened sky even if it was for just a few moments.

And she felt the same.

[Name]’s kaleidoscope of colors exploded at the sight of him. Moonlight shaded his face in a warm hue, decorating the eyes that looked at her with a thousand glimmers, as though the stars nestled in the depths of the cosmos were made just so they could replicate the shimmer in his irises. Threads of violet covered the distance above his forehead, swaying with the gentle gale gifted by the season of autumn. Carved upon his lips was an anxious smile as he looked at the weapon pressing against his neck before trailing his gaze to the one holding it.

He did not hold it against the woman that the initial thought she had having discovered his existence was to take his life. How could he? When he had every intention to observe her undetected; failing shortly because he could not stop the foolish question from leaving his curious lips.

It wasn’t every day that a visitor stepped foot into the estate… much less a woman.

Wine-red irises reflected the eyes that glowered at him with such ferocity. Eyes that shone like fire in the darkened room, like they could cover him in warmth yet burn him if they so ever wished. Her hands that looked as though they did not work a single day in their life, smooth with no remnants of scars, but held a blade like they’d known the harsh territory of the enemy.

At the sight of her, he wondered… would they someday slip through his own? Would her fingers twine with his like vines should the threads of fate decide to weave the tapestry of her destiny into his? Would her gaze burn through him and send him to damnation? Or would they envelop him in mellowness for the rest of eternities to come?

“I should be the one asking you that—who are you?” A harsh tone shattered his reverie, dragging him back to reality where he stands with a blade being pressed further into his neck. It split his skin open, and flowers of crimson blossomed into waterfalls—far from the daydreams of his life in happily ever after.

“Did someone send you?” The woman coerced; for every step he took to get away from her blade, she took one equal step forward. And this would progress until he would find himself cornered with nothing but an answer deemed worthy by her as his decree for freedom.

“Mark my words, I will have your head before you even think of stepping foot outside this room.”

As someone from a clan whose prowess lies with the blade, he found it pathetic that he could not get the upper hand in this situation: here, in his own household, with a weapon that was supposed to be his claim to fame now being used to threaten to snuff out his life.

He knew he could overpower her in a single move, one small gesture would’ve been enough to turn the tables in on her. But he stood there, frozen. Like he could be everything, but he still chose not to be anything.

Because for a small moment, it felt like all the hardships and failures he endured to perfect his abilities… had faded into serenity. The tears he shed, his hands that bled for heaven knows how many times, the callouses—scars—wounds—everything… they all dwindled into a dull ache until they remained as nothing but a distant echo. All the hurt and the pain… stilled into silence. Like they didn’t matter… or that he simply had no use for them anymore.

Because when time came to a standstill—there was no Kaiju, no Defense Force, there was nothing to prove, and there was nothing to gain.

There existed only him and her.

In the infinite grandeur of the cosmos, of all the stars and galaxies to have ever formed, every rift in time, the universes he could’ve been born in—here, in this moment… he found her.

“Hey, calm down—” He tried to bargain, attempting to grab the knife from [Name]’s hold. Because despite feeling at ease, she still had a weapon, and he didn’t. But he soon found himself with the world trailing upside down at a rate he was not used to, his front colliding with the floor he stood upon not even a second ago, with just enough luck to not have bitten off his tongue in the process. A weight was dumped on his back, from both the woman and her ridiculously heavy clothing.

“Ack. Ow. Get off. You’re really heavy.” He wheezed, trying to push her off; finding that his limbs were being pressured by her kimono. Seriously, how many layers do those things have?

A rhythmic tune echoed within the four corners of the room, seemingly putting everything to a stop; fleetingly distracting the man submerged in the sea of fabric from his impending demise. The silence stretched on for what felt like forever, before a muffled voice spoke the words, “Uehara-sama? Are you alright? I heard something fall…”

The man underneath [Name] looked towards the door in hopeful glee, glad to have another path paved to liberty. But his sanguine daydream of salvation shattered as a spine-crawling breath rattled his body into full alert.

“Servants.” she whispered, her lips grazing just above the lobe of his ear, the contact sending pins and needles all the way to the tips of his toes. “Now you have nowhere to run. Speak of your intentions and I will give you a painless death.”

“I would—but you’re... you’re crushing my windpipe.” He tapped the floor in desperation; it was an action he saw his opponents would often do. Berating them for being over dramatic, or that they needed to work on their breath control if they lost it to something as measly as being sat on. Now, he was the one feeling the consequences of having his oxygen circulation cut short, and it wasn’t pleasant.

As a last resort for a chance of deliverance, he tried to yell to the other person behind the door, “Aoi—” only to have a cloth intercept his cries for aid.

“Shh.”

“Uehara-sama?” Aoi, or so he had called, remained behind the screens.

[Name] grabbed a fistful of what looked to be violet hair and raised his head to give him a clear view of the door, where the light from the hallway met the closed shoji screens, letting in enough luminescence to see the shadows of the two figures on the floor but dull enough not to be able to put a face to them. “You’re really asking to be killed.”

The head [Name] held by the hair shook in refusal, his vision blurring and clouding over, feeling his chest rise in an erratic manner as he tried to catch the breath he was losing, fast.

Lost in the fields of her thoughts, [Name] failed to hear the warning of the servant behind the door, nor was she quick enough to stop Aoi from sliding it open.

“I’m coming in, my lady—Hoshina-sama?” [Name] stared at the silhouette of the attendant standing by the threshold, startled by both her sudden appearance… and the name that flowed from her tongue.

Did she just say Hoshina?

⟵ prev | master list | next ⟶

pls believe me when I say this was supposed to be a one shot... but someone went overboard someone is me.

[velarisdusk]

Garden of Eden

Day 27: Tentacles | Tamlin word count: 2k author's note: this was not as fleshed out as i wanted it to be so best believe i will be writing another MUCH BETTER tentacle fic some day. forced submission is just so.. sighs lovingly. add an entity of unknown origin to that and im folding. ✦ . Kinktober Masterlist . ✦

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm, golden light over the vibrant fields of the Spring Court. Tamlin moved through his lands, his heart heavy with unspoken fears and looming shadows. Thoughts of his court's safety swirled in his mind, a relentless storm of responsibility that tightened its grip with every passing day.

Today, he sought answers—felt whispers of a naga lurking in the depths of his territory. A part of him felt drawn to the hunt. But as he ventured deeper into the forest, his mind tangled in a web of thoughts, he felt the burden of his duties pressing down on him.

He followed a narrow, winding path, surrounded by wildflowers swaying gently in the breeze. But as he walked, a peculiar scent began to fill the air, thick and sweet, like honey and earth mingling together. It was intoxicating, drawing him forward until he stumbled upon a sight that halted him in his tracks.

Before him stood a plant unlike anything he had ever seen, its deep emerald leaves unfurled, shimmering as if kissed by morning dew. At the center, a large, iridescent bloom swayed softly, its petals shifting through shades of violet and blue, mesmerizing in their beauty. The heart of the flower pulsed with a strange, inviting glow, as if it were alive, beckoning him closer.

Compelled by an overwhelming curiosity, Tamlin stepped forward, his instincts momentarily dulled by the plant’s enchanting presence. He reached out, fingers grazing the soft, velvety petals, and in that instant, the world around him shifted.

The ground trembled beneath him, and a low hum resonated through the air, vibrating against his skin. The plant responded to his touch, its petals curling inward while sinuous tendrils unfurled from the bloom, reaching toward him. The tendrils were glossy and deep green, glistening in the fading light, moving with a grace that made his breath hitch.

Tamlin’s heart raced. He had faced countless threats, but none like this. The tendrils coiled around his wrist and panic flared within his chest, but as he tried to pull away, the plant constricted with a force that belied its delicate appearance, unyielding as it pulled him closer.

“Let go,” he commanded, his voice laced with authority, but a flicker of uncertainty betrayed him. The tendrils merely tightened, pulling him closer as the flower opened wider, revealing a deeper, darker core that pulsed with a hypnotic rhythm. He struggled against the plant, but it only responded with a seductive caress, winding around his arm, coaxing him to surrender.

A sharp panic surged through him, primal and wild. He reached for his magic, desperate to shapeshift, but the power remained deadened, unreachable, like it had been snuffed out. He stared at the tendrils binding him, a bluish hue woven through the green, and a dawning realization struck like a bolt of lightning.

Faebane.

The tendrils pulsed with a dark energy that seeped into him, suppressing his magic and rendering him vulnerable. Desperation surged through him, and he instinctively swiped at the nearest tendril with his free hand, determined to free himself. But as he moved, another vine snaked up his arm, clamping around his wrist with a fierce grip.

“No!” he shouted, but the word came out in a breathy gasp, infused with frustration and a flicker of something deeper—a sense of vulnerability he loathed to admit. The plant tightened its hold around both arms, wrapping him in an embrace that felt alarmingly possessive, their warmth igniting fear and desire within him. 

He struggled against the restraints, feeling them dig into his skin, yet the more he fought, the more they seemed to delight in his resistance. They caressed him with a softness that belied their strength, weaving around him like an intricate web, holding him captive in a dance of temptation.

The flower’s glow intensified, and the tendrils coiled around his legs, lifting him from the ground with a disturbing ease, his body left with no choice but to surrender to it. Each one teased along the contours of his body, tracing the lines of his chest and abdomen with tantalizing touches that sent jolts of warmth coursing through him. They moved with an unsettling intimacy, slipping beneath the hem of his tunic, curling against his skin, igniting every one of his nerve endings.

Tamlin gasped, his breath hitching as he felt the fabric of his clothing begin to tear. The plant’s appendages worked slowly, shredding the material until it hung over him in tatters. Exposed to the cool air, he felt the heat of the plant’s energy wrap around him even tighter, each brush against his skin igniting a fire deep within.

“Stop,” he tried to command again, but the words came out as little more than a breathy plea, the urgency lost amidst the waves of sensation flooding his senses. The plant responded to his struggle, the tendrils flexing and tightening as if to remind him of its power. They explored him with an insistent curiosity, sliding along his thighs and brushing tantalizingly against the growing heat of his desire.

As the appendages continued their teasing dance, one curled around his nipple, squeezing gently before drawing back. Tamlin shuddered at the unexpected pleasure, a moan escaping his lips. The sensation only heightened as it returned, this time latching on and sucking softly, pulling at him with a rhythmic insistence that left him gasping for breath. Another wrapped around his neck, its touch both gentle and possessive, as if marking him as its own.

The plant seemed to relish his reactions, feeding off the heat radiating from his body. The appendages glided down his torso, wrapping around his cock with a teasing grip, stroking him slowly, eliciting soft groans that echoed in the stillness of the forest. Tamlin writhed against the bonds of the plant, frustration and arousal coursing through him. 

“Please,” he gasped, desperate to break free, but the words were little more than a whimper lost in the haze of sensation. The plant tightened its hold, squeezing rhythmically as it continued to suckle at his chest, drawing out every sound of pleasure that threatened to escape him.

Before he could process what was happening, another verdant stalk began to push at his lips, seeking entry. “No,” he managed, clenching his jaw, unwilling to yield even as his body betrayed him, aching for release. But the plant was relentless, the tendril wrapped around his cock shifting its focus, no longer just stroking but sucking with an urgency that left him breathless. Tamlin's body reacted against his will, hips thrusting forward as he sought more of that delicious pressure. His mouth fell open involuntarily, a gasp escaping as he felt the heat of the plant’s energy radiating through him.

At that moment, another—how big was this plant?—took advantage and thrust deep into his mouth, forcing him to take it down his throat. The sensation was overwhelming and invasive, and he found himself gagging around it. 

With his mouth full and his body bound, Tamlin felt utterly helpless as the plant began to thrust, pulling him deeper into its grasp. The rhythmic sucking on his cock synced with the relentless thrusting in his throat, the pleasure and pain sending jolts of arousal through him. 

As if sensing his submission, the plant began to explore further, another appendage sliding down to the only place it hadn’t yet ventured, teasingly prodding at the entrance. Tamlin's eyes widened, panic flooding his senses. He wanted to protest, but the words were swallowed by the plant, muffled in his throat as it pressed deeper, refusing to relent.

It pushed in slowly, and he felt the initial pressure, a mix of discomfort and undeniable pleasure igniting within him. He writhed against the bindings, feeling helpless and utterly at its mercy. Each inch it filled him sent waves of heat crashing through his body, forcing moans to escape past the appendage filling his mouth.

The plant’s movements were relentless, driving deeper inside him, stretching him in ways he had never thought possible. The sensation was exquisite, intoxicating—each thrust igniting a fire within him that threatened to consume everything else. 

The thrusting intensified, each powerful stroke driving deeper into Tamlin, the appendage stretching him in ways he never imagined. The appendage in his mouth thrust deeper, hitting the back of his throat with a force that made his eyes water, but it was a sensation that drove him wild, urging him to surrender. The warmth radiating from the plant enveloped him, igniting every nerve ending as it continued to coax him toward release. He could feel the heat building within him, an insistent pressure that begged for freedom, a fire that demanded to be unleashed.

“Please,” he thought, lost in the haze of ecstasy, his mind swirling with confusion and pleasure. “Not like this.”

The rhythm of the plant’s thrusts quickened as if it sensed his impending climax. The sucking on his cock grew more urgent, and Tamlin felt a wave of pleasure crashing over him, sending him spiraling into a world of bliss that consumed him entirely.

His body responded wholly, muscles tightening as he finally surrendered, a choked moan spilling from his mouth around the appendage that filled him. Pleasure surged through him like a lightning bolt, electric and all-consuming. He was lost, engulfed in a sea of sensation, the plant’s relentless movements pushing him beyond the brink. 

At that moment, the plant shuddered around him, a deep, resonating pulse coursing through its appendages as it released its own offering. Warmth flooded him, filling him with a sensation that was both foreign and intoxicating, pushing him deeper into the depths of his own climax. Tamlin gasped, feeling the weight of whatever the plant was depositing inside him, the rounded sensation stirring a mix of confusion and pleasure. He writhed against the bindings, feeling the plant continue to fill him. It was overwhelming, each wave of warmth igniting a desire that kept him teetering on the edge, even as the plant began to slow its movements.

The final thrusts were deep and purposeful, and Tamlin felt himself spilling over once more, a mix of his own release mingling with the warmth of the plant’s deposit. He was utterly spent, every inch of him humming with a strange satisfaction as the plant finally stilled, leaving him suspended in a haze of pleasure and confusion.

After a moment, the plant’s appendages began to retreat gently, loosening their hold on him. It cradled him for a brief instant, almost tenderly, smoothing down his hair as if to comfort him before allowing him to slide back down to the ground. The warmth dissipated, and he felt the cool air against his skin, a stark contrast to the lingering heat of the plant’s embrace.

Tamlin scooted back, instinctively distancing himself from the now dormant flower, his mind racing as he processed what had just happened. Heart still pounding and clothes hanging precariously on him in tatters, he pushed himself to his feet, every muscle trembling from the intensity of the experience. He needed to leave.

As he walked away, a narrative began to take shape in his mind. He would tell Feyre and Lucien that he had encountered a naga. It was a simple enough tale, one that would obscure the truth of his vulnerability and the strange, intoxicating magic he had just experienced. They would accept it without question.

He couldn’t bear the thought of revealing the depth of his experience, the pleasure intertwined with the fear that had gripped him. They wouldn’t understand. They couldn’t understand.

Yet, as he stepped away, he couldn’t help but glance back at the plant. The flower had returned to its original state, serene and unassuming as if it had never transformed at all. The glow had faded, leaving only the soft colors of its petals swaying gently in the breeze. Curiosity tugged at him, mingling with the remnants of pleasure that still danced at the edges of his consciousness.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Taglist <3

@starlightazriel @nvdax @halo-hanging @paleidiot @kismet27

@mellowmusings @gracielacie @d3ad-ins1de @loviseamms @inkedinshadows

@natasha153 @deathdoordoctor @spacebananabud @secretsicanthideanymore @edance2000

@lorosette @alykatv @honethatty12 @hellabizzy @serena-capella

@acoazlove @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @scorpioriesling @hannzoaks @confusedsezure

@elenapri0502 @anneas11 @mrsjna @lilah-asteria @anarchiii

@julesvanslutta @fourthwing4ever