#i reject this!!! i rebuke this!!!

[gandreida]

Y’know, life makes a lot more sense now that I’ve added the “I Am Autistic” lense to it. Glad I was finally able to accept that as a reality of my life, ‘cause in retrospect, it was painfully obvious.

[flowerandblood]

Sacrifices (Oneshot)

[ canon • Aemond x little sister • female ]

[ warnings: incest obviously, sex content, virginity loss, oral sex, smut, fluff, sexual tension, obsession ]

[ description: Finally, after months of waiting, his beloved, younger sister becomes his wife. The task that awaits him as an older brother is not to cause her pain during the beautiful act in which they will finally become one. ]

Part 4 (the last) of the Appearances, it can be read as standalone story.

My other works: Masterlist

_____

"Don't be afraid, hāedar (little sister)."

This was easier said than done.

The day of their nuptials, although it was the fulfilment of their dreams and hopes, was also a time full of terror and humiliation for them.

Aegon made sure to speak his thoughts aloud about how his younger brother would not be able to please his sister and that it was him she should give her wedding night to.

"With one eye, he won't even know where to put it." Aegon sneered, taking a deep sip from his cup. Their mother gave him a quick, rebuking glance.

"Aegon. That is enough."

The humiliation he felt burned his loins like fire, however, what really frightened him was her pale face, her hands clenched on her beautiful green dress, the field flowers pinned into her hair.

She looked so beautiful and innocent that he was afraid to touch her, barely brushing her tiny, delicate hands as they danced.

He hated courtly courtesy, and the steps he had to take to the rhythm of the music seemed forced and clumsy, yet he was doing it for her, just for her.

Although it was their wedding day, she was sad and tired.

To his joy, with the help of his mother, he managed to dissuade his brother and his friends from participating in their intimate act. When the chamber door closed behind them, they were left alone.

He was relieved when her body clung to his: it was not a gesture of desire, but of fear and uncertainty, as if she had been waiting for hours and could not do it because it would be indecent behaviour.

Embracing her husband.

She was his wife.

"Lēkia (big brother)." She muttered, sinking into his linen white shirt, her body covered only by her nightgown.

His arms involuntarily embraced her petite figure, sinking her face into his chest, her scent, her closeness making him feel a pleasant warmth in his stomach.

"I'm here. No one's going to hurt you." He whispered, his full lips placing a loud, soft kiss on the top of her head.

Gods, how he loved her.

Her, only her.

Love was a weakness and he knew it, and she was the only person he wanted and needed to be vulnerable in front of.

"Are you afraid?" She asked involuntarily, looking up at him with her big, dark eyes that she had inherited from their mother.

His broad hand rose to her plump cheek and stroked her skin with his thumb, looking at her with his lips parted, feeling a squeeze in his heart.

What should he answer?

What if she thought he was weak, that Aegon was right?

That he wouldn't be able to please her?

"What do you mean?" He muttered, looking into the depths of her dark, shining eyes.

"Have you ever lain with a woman? Before our betrothal. You can tell me, I'll understand." She whispered in a trembling voice, and he swallowed hard, feeling the cold sweat on his back.

He didn't know if it was a good idea to tell her, but he didn't want to begin their marriage with a lie.

"I did, issa dōna rūklon (my sweet flower). Once. It was Aegon's idea, not mine. On my thirteenth Name Day." He choked out with difficulty, feeling shame and fear at the thought that she might have rejected him, found him disgusting, unworthy of her affection.

She nodded, to his surprise looking as if she felt relieved, her trembling hand found his, their fingers intertwined in a soft, tender embrace.

"You promised me that from this day to the end of your days you would be mine alone." She whispered, and he nodded, feeling his erection swell and pulse in his breeches at her words, reminding him of the vow they had made to each other in the Great Sept.

"Yes, sweet sister. I am yours and you are mine." He sighed, leaning over her, in some natural, simple reflex, letting their lips cling to each other in a soft, warm kiss.

They both purred with contentment, carefully grasping each other's cheeks in their hands, stroking the skin of their faces with their fingers, letting their wet, rough tongues lick tentatively with the quiet click of their saliva.

"– ah – mmm –" She hummed as one of his arms hugged her waist, forcing her body to slam against his, his impatient cock pushing against her belly.

"– can you feel it, hāedar? –" He exhaled, looking down between their bodies, watching the bulge under the material of his breeches pressing against her body. "– can you feel what you're doing to me? – how much I crave to feel you? –"

She looked at him with a hazy, dreamy, hot gaze from which he felt a squeeze in his lower abdomen, her glistening, puffy lips parted wide.

"– I want it, brother – make it feel good –" She whispered, and he needed no more encouragement. She squealed in surprise, throwing her arms around his shoulders as he lifted her up, holding her beneath her buttocks, walking with her towards their large marital bed now standing in his chamber.

"– easy, little one – easy –" He murmured with a smile, touched by her innocent, involuntary behaviour, in the candlelight seeing how much her cheeks had blushed with emotion.

"– will it hurt, Aemond? – mum said it would –" She muttered as he laid her down on the soft, clean bedding, apparently revealing to him at last the reason for her sadness and anxiety all day.

He sighed heavily, climbing onto the bed, reading dozens of books before their wedding just to make sure he did everything he could to spare her suffering.

"– there's a thin wall inside you that I'm going to have to break – during this moment, you'll be able to feel discomfort and sting, but when it's behind us, I swear you'll feel nothing but pleasure –" He whispered in a trembling voice, spreading her thighs in front of him, letting the material of her nightgown expose her bare thighs.

She blinked, looking at him in disbelief, surprised, apparently, by his extensive knowledge on the subject, and breathed out quietly, as if trying to relax.

"– we'll start with what's familiar to you – we need to make you wet and willing for your brother – hm? –" He murmured, cocking his head, trailing his hands from her knees to her thighs. She nodded quickly, wriggling impatiently, clearly now more excited than frightened, shivering on her skin in the places where he ran his palms.

A sweet sigh of surprise left her lips as he drew her closer to him and leaned in, sinking his face into her heat: her folds were pink and swollen, soft and tender as silk. His sister smelled of bath, of fragrant oils and herself, of her own sweat – he murmured at the thought, the tip of his tongue running over her small, swollen bud, making her fingers clench in his hair, her head thrown back.

"– lēkia –" She mewled, rolling her hips back and forth, impatient, wanting more and harder. He, however, decided to take his time and explore her womanhood, the space around her pearl, her tight slit, which he teased with slow, lazy flicks of his tongue.

He felt the taste of her moisture on his tongue and grinned under his breath as he listened to her moans, feeling her body writhing before him in convulsions, his fingers digging warningly into the plush structure of her thigh.

"– lay still –" He hissed, finally forcing his tongue between her fleshy, hot walls, licking and rubbing the small spot just above her opening, teasing her bud with his nose, all swollen from his caresses.

"– Aemond – Aemond, Aemond, Aemond –" She sobbed in front of him, chasing her peak, but he knew he couldn't let her come.

Not yet.

He stopped his treatments and raised himself up on his elbows, looking at her with satisfaction, wiping his face with his hand. Her long, dark hair was spread around her head, her lips parted wide in a heavy breath, her gaze hot and full of desire.

"– I want more – husband –" She mumbled, and he sighed and nodded, sliding the material of his breeches lower, releasing his hard, long manhood, dripping from his precum.

Husband.

"– show me your breasts, sweet wife –" He commanded, and she drew in a loud breath and quickly slid the material of her nightgown off her shoulders, revealing her bare chest to him.

Something about her appearance, about how different she was from Madam, aroused him even more – her plump breasts with their sweet, hard nipples were more girlish, more innocent, more lovely.

His.

His hand squeezed his swollen cock at the base with sure, quick jerks as he leaned in, sinking and clamping his mouth on her little nipple, beginning to suck involuntarily as if he were a baby.

He had never heard her let out a similar moan before, so helpless and loud, her hands immediately pressed his face closer to her breast as if she wanted to melt into one with him.

"– b-brother – what are you – ah –" She mewled and shuddered as he directed the thick head of his cock against her leaking, hot slit and began to slowly push.

She gasped, throwing her head back, clearly not having known a similar sensation in her entire life – he opened her with difficulty and was met with resistance, her moan of discomfort telling him that this was the moment.

He released her breast and lifted himself up on his arm higher, to her face, wanting to look into her eyes, his nose pressed against her cheek.

"– I need to push harder now – this might hurt a little – spread your thighs wider – yes, just like that – ready? –" He asked and she nodded, her eyes big with desire and terror.

He cradled her head to the hollow of his neck, slid out a little and with one sure thrust hit something deep inside her, from which she cried out loudly and squealed in pain, her fingers tightening on the material of his shirt.

Fuck, he hadn't made it.

He had to do it again, harder.

"– just one more time – one more time and it will be over –" He whispered in a trembling voice, her walls almost painfully tight against his cock, clenching in panic.

He grasped her buttocks in his hands, pulling them apart with her whine of discomfort, and with one violent thrust he finally broke deeper into her warm interior. He felt her burst into sobs, her legs quivering all over in his embrace, her fingers clenched painfully hard against his skin.

"– stop – don't move – don't move –" She mumbled pleadingly, and he froze motionless, panting heavily, feeling the sting in his heart, for some reason feeling like crying himself. His lips placed warm, tender kisses on her temple and cheek, his broad hand simply stroking her hair, wanting to reassure her.

"– I know, I'm so sorry – I know I promised it would be easier – but the worst is behind us –" He promised, and she swallowed heavily, feeling how hard his erection pulsed inside her.

"– it still hurts –" She confessed, and he nodded.

"– we'll wait until it stops – we'll just embrace and kiss until the discomfort passes – hm? –" He asked in a shaky voice, afraid that she would reject him now, tell him to stop, that she didn't want to see him, that she would never let him touch her again.

She, however, nodded and looked at him with a trusting and affectionate gaze from which his lips, swollen with desire, melted with hers into one. They kissed loudly and unashamedly, their tongues dancing with each other deep in their throats, fighting for dominance, their hands stroking their hair and bodies.

Indeed, he felt her walls stop pressing so hard against him, her breathing calmed, tears of fear stopped flowing down her face. Tentatively, he slid deeper into her, and she only sighed, combing through his hair, without however uttering a word.

"– may I? –" He asked in a quivering voice, feeling his cock about to explode with desire. She looked up at him, her lips parted sweetly, her face all red from emotion and tears.

"– yes – just – be gentle – She mumbled, and he pressed his forehead against hers, with a low groan slowly and firmly sliding all the way into her. He looked at her face, at her eyelashes glistening from her tears, at her sweet red lips, and thought he had to do this to her.

"– sister –" He exhaled and began to pound into her, shyly and shallowly at first, thinking only of how tight, warm, wet she was, that he was just taking her maidenhood and her, what was rightfully his from the day she was born.

"– brother –" She muttered, throwing her head back, clearly feeling the opposite of discomfort at the moment.

"– 'm going to accelerate now –" He whispered, gripping her hips in his hands, imposing a sharp, fast rhythm on her, slamming into her the way he'd always dreamed of doing, the loud slaps of their skin building his way to fulfilment.

She moaned loudly, throwing her legs over his back, her hands on his neck pressed him closer, wanting to unite with him, to become one as they were always meant to be. They kissed passionately and deeply, then again and again as her hips began to rock, seeking a shared rhythm with him, her sweet little cunt began to squeeze him, soaking him all over.

"– ñuhon (mine) –" He exhaled between the aggressive, sticky, slick dance of their teeth and tongues, their bodies entwined in an aggressive, close embrace like a vine.

"– aōhon (yours) – iksan aōhon, lēkia (I'm yours, big brother), oh fuck, fuck, fuck! –" She cursed far too sweetly and innocently, throwing her head back in euphoria, going before his eyes through the kind of release she had never before experienced in his presence, the great wet spot under their buttocks making him lick his lips lustfully.

"– that's right – I intend to fulfil my duty to you as a husband every day, ābrazȳrys (wife) – ah – fuck, yes –" He sighed, feeling a tightening in his stones, only to feel a wonderful, stunning relief a moment later and finally fill her with his seed, as he had always been destined to do.

"– gods –" He exhaled, falling on top of her, their hands clenched on their bodies, refusing to let go, their breaths hitched and heavy, full of fulfilment.

"– I want to see you bare, valzȳrys (husband) –" She mumbled out in shame, and he hummed, for some reason pleased with her request.

At the thought that he hadn't discouraged her from their intimacy, that she wanted it as much as he did.

As he pulled off his shirt and breeches she slipped off the material of her nightgown, remaining unashamedly naked before him, sweet, beautiful, his.

His little sister.

He drew her to him, placing tender, loud kisses full of affection on her bare skin, her nimble fingers pulling at the ribbon material at the back of his head, releasing the front strands of his hair.

He looked at her and smiled, thinking with pride that he was her husband and she was his wife, that every night from that day until his death she would spend at his side, in his bed, bearing his children, his inheritance.

They clung to each other like little children, sinking into each other's embrace, stroking each other's naked bodies, kissing the skin of each other's sweaty faces, red with emotion, knowing that no one would ever separate them again.

Before the face of men and gods, they were one.

[euphemiaamillais]

playing dangerous pt 3 - coriolanus snow 🎀

coriolanus snow has always wanted the perfect woman. he’s searched high and low, among the likes of heiresses and actresses, and even—though he’d never dare admit it—district girls. he’s given up hope, until he finds you. you’re perfect—innocent, beautiful and obedient. he’s been watching you for months, and one night, he just can’t resist taking you home and making you his.

cw: 18+//stockholm syndrome//dub-con//blowjobs//fingering//piv sex//mentions of kidnapping//possessive coryo//hair pulling

pt 1 & 2

he allows you to take dinner with him that evening, but before you can come to the table, he barges into your room, searching through the pile of clothes which you have left strewn across the bed; too watched with exhaustion to have put them away.

‘what are you doing?’ you ask in your softest tone, attempting not to sound like you’re scrutinising him.

‘i’m finding you something to wear, sweetheart,’ he remarks, settling on the black dress before; the one that you quite liked.

‘what for?’ you ask curiously, wondering if he’s going to take you out somewhere. your heart races—if you get out of the house, you’d get a chance to escape. it seemed to good to be true, you were probably getting ahead of yourself.

‘dinner,’ he replies. ‘i can’t have you sitting at the table in nothing but a slip. that’s hardly appropriate.’

‘are we having guests?’ you question, and he laughs, shaking his head. your heart sinks. of course, he’s too clever to put you on display so soon, when you’d make him look like a fool and start accusing him of kidnapping you.

‘no, of course not,’ he drapes the dress over his arms, and digs into the bag of underwear, deciding what ones he wants to see you in. of course, he has every intention of taking them off of you, but he wants to dress you up like his little doll; so you have to look perfect.

you watch him silently selecting the clothes for you, feeling no more than a mannequin. it’s ridiculous, it’s as if you’re being primed for the slaughter. you wonder if he’ll allow you the decency of dressing yourself, but you suspect not. you are exhausted, and surrender yourself to the humiliating experience of having his hands all over you.

coriolanus pulls the slip over your head, your arms limp and weak with hopelessness, and admires your form. if only dinner wasn’t sitting on the table. he’d bend you over right now if he wasn’t worried about the roast going cold—he’d ordered it especially for tonight, wanting to impress you. he figured if you saw how wealthy he was, you’d know he could take care of you, and that there was no need to keep rejecting him.

‘you’re so beautiful,’ he muses, one hand caressing the small of your back, feeling the smooth skin just above your ass.

you blush a little at the compliment, shocked that for once you aren’t rebuking him. his hands are still cold, and tickle as he touches you. he sits you down on the bed, and you comply, a little dizzy from exhaustion, watching as he spreads your legs.

he slides the underwear—black lacy things—up your smooth thighs, and you do admit you feel relieved to be covered. he’s seen so much of you today that you don’t bother to cover your breasts, and he ogles them. they’re so perfect; pert and utterly lovely. your nipples are hard from the cold of the room, not that you notice, you’re too distracted by the piece of flotsam on the bed.

he doesn’t bother with the bra, though he’s bought ones all to match—after all, his little doll must look the best. the dress is loose enough that he simply slips it over your head, and he figures it’s only going to come off soon; not putting your bra on leaves him with less time fussing about before he fucks you.

coriolanus pulls you up, noticing you’ve gone heavy, but when he pinches you a little at the waist you perk up, snapping out of your dissociative reverie. your stomach grumbles hungrily when you catch the scent of the dinner.

he sits you across from him at the table, which is small enough that it feels strangely intimate—perhaps it is. you find the strength in your arms to eat, too enticed by the delicious scent that you practically want to inhale it.

‘this looks delicious,’ you thank him, shoving the food in your mouth a little indelicately.

he watches you, an impish grin tugging at the corners of your lips and you shovel it down. you must’ve been starving, poor thing. he’d make sure you were full by the end of the night—blood rushes to his cock at the thought of him forcing you to swallow his cum. you’d misbehaved so badly today; he hoped you hadn’t forgotten that you had to pay the price.

coriolanus eats in silence, leaving you to feel a little embarrassed that your plate is nearly cleared once he starts his own meal. you decide to take a sip at the large glass by your plate, filled full with wine—you’re certain it’s not posca this time, for it tastes delicious. you’re greedy, and, perhaps hoping the drunkenness will spare you from too many feelings, you gulp it down.

the wine warms your veins, and burns a little as you swallow. he notices that your glass is half empty, a look of surprise crossing his features—you’ve clearly warmed up to his offers a little. and he’s glad of that. if you’re swayed by alcohol, it’ll be easier to get you on your knees. he knows girls are like that, he’s done it enough times, imbibing them with champagne to get them into bed.

‘are you enjoying your dinner?’ he asks, and you nod with a little giggle. you’ve never been able to handle alcohol properly, and your head swims with the consumption of the heady wine.

‘yes, it’s delicious,’ you lick the fork, and he eyes you with interest.

‘good,’ he smiles at you, and you decide to swallow the rest of your wine for good measure.

you’re afraid, you have to admit, foot tapping nervously at the floor. it’s cold in his apartment, and you see a window open, wind flapping at the casement. no wonder you’re freezing.

coriolanus finishes his food, and takes a slow sip of his wine, not taking it greedily like you. you can’t sit still, the previous lethargy you’d felt dissipating entirely, and making way for drunken giddiness. he takes note of this, and refills your glass with the wine.

you drink it obediently, the taste satisfying some urge in your throat. it’s terribly strong though, and your head begins to feel a little heavy, but nevertheless you are removed from the feelings of fury that were boiling in your belly earlier in the day.

‘now,’ he says, abruptly standing up from his seat and making his way over to you. ‘are you going to be a good girl and do as i say?’

a giggle plays at your lips, and you sway a little. you glance back at the now empty wine glass, realising how much you’ve had and how quickly it seems to have taken its effects.

‘i’m not sure i’ll be any good,’ you pout, hand reaching out to brush a piece of flotsam from his trousers.

he grips your wrist with his hand, fingers encircling the delicate thing as you gasp. he looks so foreboding standing above you, eyes blazing with anger, brows furrowed in frustration.

‘you’re going to go to your room, and i’ll be there in a minute,’ he commands, dragging you to the door. ‘i want you to think for a minute, about what i’ve asked, and then decide what to do with yourself. you can do that, can’t you?’

his mouth twists into a frown, and you nod, stifling the drunken guffaw that was threatening to spill from your lips. it was all so ridiculous, the way he told you what to do; like you belonged to him.

‘mhm,’ you mumble, trying to stand properly, relying too much on him to prop you up. you hadn’t realised how toned he was until now, and you felt your core burn a little with desire. had he always been so attractive?

you hated how he acted as if he owned you, but the alcohol had made you feel so heady that all you could think about was him touching you—you wondered what his hands would feel like up your dress; caressing your breasts, perhaps fingering your cunt. you clench your thighs together to quell the feeling, and give him a sleepy nod before stumbling into the bedroom.

—

you’re splayed out like a fool when he enters, wondering why he’s sent you to your room. if he wanted you so badly, why didn’t he just take you on the sofa? it was much more convenient, being two feet from the dining table.

you attempt to prop yourself up with your elbows, and watch as he comes to stand above you again. you stick one foot out, playing with his trousers. when you glance up at him, he isn’t pleased. you’re acting like an idiot; a blubbering fool in fact. he wishes he hadn’t poured you so much wine, but at least you weren’t whining about how you didn’t want him to touch you.

‘have you come to rape me?’ you tease, and he slaps you across the face. his hand leaves a searing mark, and tears spring to your eyes. your skin tingles from the strike, cheek red and blotchy.

‘you’re not funny,’ he scolds, bending down a little to meet you at eye level. ‘you’re going to do exactly as i say, or else i’ll bend you over right now and fuck you until you’re begging me to stop.’

you sink back in fear, feeling his hot breath on your cheek, icy eyes spurning you as they flicker across your face, attempting to register your emotions.

‘okay,’ you mutter, surrendering to him. he’s terrifying like this; broad shouldered and so tall. you feel like if he squeezed you hard enough that he’d break you. it probably wouldn’t take much more to kill you… you wonder if he’s fantasised about that.

‘good girl,’ he smiles, anger disappearing with the first signs of your obedience. he knew it would prove difficult at first, getting a girl he’d kidnapped to obey him, but he didn’t realise you were such a little brat. obedience could always be taught, and you were complying more than you had this morning.

‘now,’ he begins, stroking your hair. ‘i want you to be a good girl and get on your knees. can you do that for me?’

you nod lazily, and slip off the bed, sinking to your knees. the position is uncomfortable, but the clenching of one of his fists is enough to keep you in place.

‘so pretty,’ he coos, thumb ghosting your lips. it’s the first time he’s touched them, and he marvels at how soft they are. he can’t wait until they’re wrapped around his cock, sucking as he fucks your pretty throat.

he slides his thumb inside your mouth, and you open just enough to let your tongue slip over his finger. he groans a little, the softness of your tongue as it coats his thumb in sticky saliva. you’re gazing up at him with wide eyes, wondering what he’ll do next. he’s taking his time, which surprises you. he seemed so adamant before, that you thought he’d have tossed you on the bed and begun his assault immediately.

your knees creak against the floorboard, aching as you attempt to remain in your position. he slips his thumb back out of your mouth, and wipes your sticky saliva all over your lips, smiling as he does so.

‘see, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?’ he inquires, and you shake your head, thumbs twiddling in anticipation.

you watch as he undoes his belt, and then the zipper on his trousers, pulling them down to his ankles with one swift tug. his cock is bulging in his boxers, and your eyes go wide in shock—how big is he? you know so little about men, but you’re not so stupid that you can’t imagine that might hurt if he decide to put it in you.

‘look, you’ve made me so fuckin’ hard’ he gestures, palming his cock through his boxers. you gnaw at your bottom lip, trying to swallow the fear that brims in your stomach.

he groans from his own touch, but doesn’t let his hands linger too much longer. that’s your job now, after all. his little doll to corrupt—he couldn’t wait to bury himself inside your tight little cunt, watching as you squirm under him, acting as if you weren’t enjoying every second of it.

coriolanus pulls his cock out of his boxers, gripping it at the base. you can feel bruises forming in your knees, and you want nothing more than to get up and stumble into bed, letting sleep take you. the wine has an almost hypnotic effect on you.

his cock is staring you right in the face. you’ve never seen one before—it’s large, so big you wince at the thought of him stretching you out. he’s so hard, you can see his tip is red and throbbing, veins pulsing a little angrily.

‘open your mouth,’ he commands, you shake slightly but oblige, and he slides the tip past your lips.

you’re not sure what to do, and so let it sit there while you stare dumbly back up at him. a scowl tugs at his lips, but you wait, wondering what his next instruction will be. you’re so uncertain, and afraid of what he’ll do if you don’t oblige.

‘suck it,’ he instructs, pushing it further in your mouth.

you stretch your lips around it, struggling a little to take him in. he’s not even halfway, but you can feel it push towards the back of your throat. he grunts, feeling your teeth scrape the top of the shaft.

‘teeth,’ coriolanus says with displeasure, and you feel your face turn bright red in shame.

you attempt your best to round out your lips and hollow out your cheeks, finding it easier to take him in. he groans, feeling your saliva coat his cock. you look so pretty on your knees, staring at him; dumbfounded.

‘fuck,’ he cups your chin, giving your cheek a soft stroke as he bucks his hips. ‘you’re so good, taking me in your mouth. you like it, don’t you? being a little whore for me?’

you nod, knowing not what else to do. he thrusts his cock further down your throat, and you choke, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. your mouth waters, tongue running up and down his veiny shaft.

‘use your hands if you can’t take the rest of me in,’ he says, and do you grip him, running one hand up at down. he’s just so big. ‘soon enough you’ll be able to take all of me, i’ll be sure of that.’

your eyes widen with fear, but you do your best to keep sucking, bobbing your head up and down. a few tears trickle down your cheeks, and saliva dribbles as you move your mouth up to the tip.

‘mhm,’ you grunt, sliding it out of your mouth to take a breath. you’re gasping, and he can’t help but laugh; you like like slut, knees shaking, lips puffy from the abrasion.

you press him back against your lips, tongue swirling around the head, watching as he nods in satisfaction. you’re a fast learner—he knew you weren’t entirely stupid. he can feel himself edging closer to his release, what with your tongue teasing the tip of his cock you dip your head back down, and take him back into your throat, gagging again as you attempt to take him down.

in this moment, you find, you want nothing more than to please him. please him because he’s commanding it, and you’re afraid of what he’ll do if you say no. but at the same time, you have to admit to yourself, something sends a shiver down your spine as you take his cock in your mouth, stretching your lips around the sheer size of it, gagging and salivating as he bucks his hips faster.

coriolanus lets out a ragged groan, and you feel something wet and hot spurt onto your tongue. you slide his cock out of your mouth, sticky with saliva, and find that it’s dribbling with spend.

‘swallow,’ he says, grabbing the base of his cock as cum dribbles from the tip.

you swallow the cum that is sitting on your tongue, it’s slightly salty, but you follow his orders. surmising what he’s going to do next, you open your lips again to accept his cock again, and he smiles. you’re learning very fast.

‘good girl,’ he praises, stroking your hair as you lick the rest of the spend up with your tongue, and again, swallow it. ‘you like that, don’t you?’

‘uh huh,’ you murmur, reaching one hand back against the bed to balance yourself. your knees are so sore.

‘you can stand up now,’ he remarks, tucking his cock back into his boxers.

using the bed, you stand up with shaking legs. your knees are tender; some of the skin is sunken in; purple with bruises.

‘look at you,’ he teases, watching as you stumble a little, legs so sore and achy. ‘your knees are so bruised. my poor little doll.’

you are hazy, but feel him push you down against the bed, locking your legs between his. he’s on top of you, biceps flexing as he holds himself up. you look angelic, just waiting for him to fuck you, the way your eyes are wide with want, and the way your lips tremble. you’ve still got cum at the corner of your mouth; and he adores how it looks, how he’s marked you as his own.

coriolanus slides your dress up your thighs, pushing it up to to your waist. the smooth skin is again dancing with goosebumps, his cold hands causing the skin to tingle. he can’t believe how pliant you are in his hands, how you aren’t even protesting. you’re too exhausted to push him off of you, and the aching between your legs is growing stronger as he brushes against your skin.

‘such a good girl,’ he murmurs, rubbing a finger over your clothed cunt. he can’t believe how pretty you look in those panties, the ones he chose and dressed his little doll in.

you gasp, feeling a surge of warmth through your body as he brushes against your clit. it satisfies that urge deep in your belly, and when he pulls his hand away, you find yourself mewling, longing for more.

‘please,’ you gasp out, a strange urgency in your voice.

‘did you like that, hm?’ he asks, ghosting his fingers teasingly over your panties. you’re so wet, you’ve soaked through the lace.

‘yes…’ your voice quivers, and you rut your hips, wanting more.

‘god, you’re so fucking wet,’ he groans, slipping a finger past the hem of your panties and sliding into your slick folds.

you’re so tight around his fingers, he can’t believe it. he can barely get one finger inside of you. he knew you’d be innocent, but the way you’d sucked his cock so well made him wonder how many times you’d touched yourself. but he adored the fact that you were all his—that he was the one to corrupt you, branding you as his own.

you whimper from the feeling; it’s deliciously enticing. the way he pushes against your walls, finger arching, reaching for something. he presses a thumb back to your clitoris, causing you to cry out. it’s so sensitive, and he rubs it in circles, watching you writhe about in ecstasy.

his cock is hard again, and he decides he cannot wait much longer. he has to have you. and besides, you haven’t earned your own pleasure yet. it was about what he wanted, after all.

he tugs your panties down, watching as your slick cunt is revealed to him. seeing it up close, beautiful and glistening, makes him catch his breath. he can hardly believe it’s all his.

‘god,’ he breathes, freeing his cock once again, and taking it in his grip.

you watch in anticipation, missing the feeling of his fingers bringing you to your pleasure. you felt like something was unfurling, but as he removed his touch, you were left wanting, cunt clenching around nothing.

you squeeze your eyes shut, and feel him run the tip of his cock in your wet folds; it doesn’t hurt, but you are waiting, gnawing at your lip as you wait for him to slip inside of you. coriolanus presses the head of his cock into your cunt, catching his breath as he slides in.

you’re even tighter around his cock, and he feels your walls trying to compensate for his girth, stretching out around him. your breath is heavy, and you grasp at the sheets. you won’t lie, it hurts. if you weren’t so drunk you probably would have attempted to make him pull out, but he doesn’t seem to likely to be persuaded.

his fingers had been pleasant, and perhaps if you’d met in another way, you might have let him fuck you eventually. at least you could console yourself that he was gorgeous, even if he was probably a psychopath.

he pushes himself further inside, groaning as you take him in. your slickness coats his cock, and when he moves, sliding out a little, his cock is covered in a white ring. he knows you want him; you can’t deny it, the way you have bucked your hips against him, rutting like a desperate animal in heat. it was pathetic, and yet signified to him that you were all his. his perfect girl.

‘so fuckin’ tight,’ he huffs, beginning to fasten his pace. it’s taking in everything not to pound you right away—you’re so delicate, but he needs satisfaction.

you bite your lip, crying out as he thrusts. ‘it hurts,’ you can’t help but say, tears pricking in your eyes.

coriolanus scowls, finding it an insult to him that you’re being so vocal about it hurting. he grabs a fistful of your hair, and tugs you up to meet his gaze. your head tingles, hair strands clinging on for dear life.

‘did i tell you you could complain?’ he taunts, and you shake your head, attempting to pry him away from you. he only pulls at your hair harder, and you feel your chest racking with sobs.

‘please… you’re really hurting me,’ you whimper, but he ignores you.

‘be quiet or i’ll really give you something to scream about!’ he loosens his grip on your hair, your scalp thankful, but his cock is still stretching you out.

you bite your tongue, laying back as he fucks you. god, you really are so tight. his cock is throbbing, and he wonders how many pumps are left before he’ll come, spilling himself inside of you. watching you squirm beneath him, begging him to stop—but really he knew you’d be thanking him soon enough.

you looked so pretty, eyes glistening with tears, lips trembling. he feels you clench around him, your own body involuntarily ceding itself to him. you feel a gush of warmth trickling out of your cunt—not that there’s much room with how big he is.

‘gonna fill you up,’ he grunts; hips bucking with need.

he can’t take it much longer, his thrusts grow lazy, and he lets out a breathy groan. you feel him release inside of you, hot cum spurting against your tight walls. coriolanus wants to keep it inside of you though, reminding you that you’re his, and he’ll do what he wants with you. he ruts lazily into you, cum coating his own cock as he pushes it further inside of you.

‘mhm, you’re so good to me baby,’ he presses a kiss to your cheek.

he notices the tears on your cheeks, and laughs a little. coriolanus wipes them with his fingers, gazing at you with his cruel, icy eyes. he can’t believe you’re crying. what a stupid little slut. you’re so innocent that you can barely take his cock.

‘did i hurt you?’ he taunts, and you nod dumbly.

‘poor thing,’ coriolanus coos. ‘you were just so tight; i couldn’t resist. but you took me so well.’

you feel more tears rolling down your cheek—you’re aching, and as he pulls out of you, you feel his cum dripping down your thigh. it’s so sticky; you want it off of you, but he’s still got you in his hold, thighs trapped between his large legs.

‘are you going to thank me?’ he asks, gripping your chin as you attempt to look away. you’re so ashamed, and your head is pounding from the wine. the overstimulation is washing over you.

‘thank you, sir.’ you offer meekly, voice choked up from all the crying.

a sick grin curls at the corner of his lips, and he carefully thumbs at the dark bruises on your neck; where he had marked you earlier.

‘you’re all mine,’ coriolanus tugs at your bottom lip, coercing your mouth to open.

he spits inside, and you feel it hit the back of your throat. there’s something so animalistic, so primal about the way he does it. you know you don’t belong to yourself anymore. you live to please him.

‘now swallow it; show me that you can obey me,’ he commands.

you do so, feeling the hot spit trickle down your throat. the tiredness nags at your eyes, and you find yourself blinking rapidly.

coriolanus smiles, watching as you learn to become more obedient. soon he won’t even have to coax you. you’ll just do as he says. get on your knees when you see he’s had a long day at work, spread your legs when his cock is hard. you’ll be at his beck and call—the perfect woman for him.

‘good girl.’ he says, and all you can do is smile, knowing there’s no way out of this. you belong to him now.

—

taglist: @personalque @justacaliforniandreamer @jacesvelaryons @weirdothatwritess @theallknown213 @becauseseaotters @nowitsmissing @wearemadeofstardust0 @tulips2715 @faephoria @juuuvis @dracoflaco @sorry-mrs-jacobs

[alyrasturnz]

pls write an angsty fic where matt gets mad at reader for being too clingy but he finds her shivering on the couch and yeah just a happy ending

 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎TOO CLINGY ?

❐ summary » when matt falters and, in a moment of weakness, channels all his pent-up anger towards you, the weight of his mistake hangs heavy in the air. his frustration, like a storm, lashes out, leaving emotional wreckage in its wake.

❐ pairings » bf!matt x fem!reader

❐ warnings » angst, argument, lowkey toxic!matt

❐ a/n && w/c » this was sloppy af.. my vision is so blurry dude its so late and im so sleepy i cant think straight • 2.80k

the tension had been simmering all day, a cauldron of unspoken words and unacknowledged feelings, teetering on the brink of eruption. you had sought refuge in his presence, your touches and embraces a desperate attempt to bridge the widening chasm between you. yet, he remained indifferent, his demeanor as impenetrable as a storm cloud brooding on the horizon, casting a shadow over every fleeting moment of intimacy.

each time you endeavored to initiate any form of physical connection, he would instinctively recoil, as if your touch carried the weight of an unspoken burden. his reactions were swift and unyielding, a silent rebuke that deepened the chasm between you with every attempt.

»--•--«

9:37 AM, saturday

your eyes fluttered open, the absence of matt's arms around your waist immediately unsettling you. this deviation from the norm sent a ripple of unease through you. as you rolled over, you were met with the sight of his side of the bed, meticulously made and conspicuously empty, a silent testament to his early departure.

you cast your gaze over to his desk, where he was seated with an air of quiet concentration. his hair, still tousled from sleep, framed his face in a disheveled halo. before him, the glow of his open google docs illuminated the scene, a silent witness to his early morning endeavors.

you smile softly, the gentle curve of your lips a fleeting expression of warmth. sitting up, you rise to your feet, the chill of the ground seeping through your soles as you make your way towards him, each step a delicate bridge between the realms of your shared solitude and his focused sanctuary.

you wrap your arms around him from behind, feeling the subtle shift in his posture as he tenses beneath your embrace. the tension radiates through his frame, a silent testament to the unspoken complexities that linger between you, each heartbeat a whisper of the uncharted emotions that bind you together.

you furrowed your eyebrows, a fleeting expression of concern that you quickly brushed aside. leaning down slightly, you planted a soft kiss onto the top of his head, the tender gesture infused with unspoken affection, a delicate attempt to bridge the silent chasm that had momentarily formed.

"hi baby," you muttered into his hair, your voice a gentle murmur that wove through the strands like a whispered secret, carrying with it the weight of unspoken emotions and the subtle promise of comfort and connection.

"hi," he said, his voice cold and distant. you furrowed your eyebrows once more, the chill of his tone reverberating through you as you straightened up, the moment heavy with unspoken questions and a palpable tension that seemed to hang in the air.

"you okay? something bothering you?" you ask, your voice laced with concern. he responds by shrugging your arms off of him, the gesture a silent yet poignant rejection that leaves a lingering ache in the space where your touch had been.

"i'm fine," he muttered, his fingers dancing around his keyboard with a restless, almost mechanical precision, each keystroke a testament to the emotional distance he was trying to maintain.

"okay, i'm gonna go make breakfast," you say, walking around him with a measured grace until you're beside him. you cup his face gently, leaning in for a kiss, but he subtly swerves, the motion a silent yet unmistakable evasion that leaves your gesture hanging in the air.

"mm yeah okay," he mumbles, shrugging you off again, leaving you perplexed. the weight of his dismissal lingers, but you choose not to dwell on it as you walk out of his room, the unanswered questions trailing behind you like shadows.

»--•--«

3:34 PM, saturday

matt was on the couch, his eyes glued to the tv screen. a small smile crept onto your lips as you watched him, the flickering light casting a warm glow over his focused expression, creating a momentary haven of tranquility amidst the chaos.

you saw this as the perfect chance to cuddle with him, the opportunity presenting itself like a rare gem. you moved towards him, the anticipation of his warmth drawing you in like a moth to a flame.

you walked towards him, each step deliberate and measured, before settling down next to him on the couch. he slightly shifts in his seat, his eyes still glued to the screen, the flickering images reflecting in his gaze, creating an almost hypnotic trance.

"what are you watching?" you ask, your voice a soft murmur as you gently rest your head on his shoulder. the question hangs in the air, mingling with the ambient sounds of the television, as you seek to bridge the quiet distance between you.

he gently shrugs you off, his voice still cold as he mumbles, "10 things i hate about you." the words, though simple, carry an undercurrent of detachment, creating a chasm between the two of you that feels both vast and unbridgeable.

"you love that movie, don't you?" you giggle softly, inching closer to him, your attempt to rest your head on his shoulder interrupted as he abruptly gets up. the suddenness of his movement sends a jolt through you, and you watch as he stomps away, the sound of his footsteps echoing the unspoken tension in the room.

you furrow your eyebrows, a deep crease forming as concern washes over you. he's been acting strange and distant, his avoidance like a shadow that has lingered over you both all day.

have you done something to provoke his ire? you wonder, the question gnawing at the edges of your mind, casting a long shadow of doubt over your thoughts.

»--•--«

11:12 PM, saturday

now, you find yourself lying on his bed beside him, his back turned towards you in a gesture that feels like a silent barrier. the room is filled with an unsettling quiet, each second stretching into an eternity.

as you gaze at his turned form, a frown tugs at your lips, the weight of his silent withdrawal pressing heavily on your heart, leaving you to ponder the invisible chasm that has grown between you.

as the night deepened, you made another attempt to bridge the ever-widening gap, slipping your arms around him in a tender embrace, hoping your warmth might melt the icy fortress he had built around himself.

"can you just give me some space?" he snapped, his voice cutting through the quiet room like a whip crack. "i need to breathe without you constantly clinging to me," he continued, each word a sharp, stinging rebuke that left you reeling in the wake of his sudden outburst.

your heart felt as if it had been struck by a hammer, the sting of his words reverberating through every fiber of your being. "i was just trying to be close to you," you said, your voice trembling with the weight of your hurt and confusion.

"why do you have to be so cruel?" you continued, each word laced with the raw pain of his unexpected harshness, leaving you to grapple with the emotional chasm that seemed to yawn wider with every passing moment.

he turned to you, his eyes cold and unyielding, like shards of ice piercing through the dim light. "because i can't stand it anymore," he spat, his words dripping with venom. "you're suffocating me with your neediness. it's pathetic," he continued, each syllable cutting through the air like a blade, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable under the weight of his cruel declaration.

the harshness of his words cut deep, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable, as if your very soul had been laid bare. "i'm not trying to suffocate you," you whispered, tears streaming down your face like rivers of sorrow.

"i just want to be there for you," you continued, your voice trembling with the weight of your earnest longing and the pain of his rejection, hoping against hope that he might see the sincerity in your eyes.

he scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "you think you're helping? you're just making everything worse," he said, his voice dripping with disdain. "i can't even think straight with you around, always needing something from me," he continued, each word a dagger aimed at your heart, leaving you to grapple with the crushing weight of his contempt.

you felt a tempest of anger and sorrow welling up inside you, your hands trembling as you struggled to hold back the flood of tears. "i never knew you felt this way," you said, your voice barely audible, a whisper lost in the storm of emotions. "why didn't you tell me sooner?" you continued, the question hanging in the air like a fragile thread, seeking answers amidst the turmoil of your heart.

"because it's pointless," he said, his tone dismissive, like a door slamming shut. "you wouldn't understand. you're too wrapped up in your own world to see how you're dragging me down," he continued, his words like heavy chains, binding you in a prison of misunderstanding and despair.

the weight of his words settled heavily on your shoulders, leaving you feeling small and insignificant, as though the very ground beneath you had shifted. "i'm sorry," you said, your voice breaking like fragile glass. "i didn't mean to hurt you," you continued, each word a plea for understanding, a desperate attempt to bridge the chasm that had opened between you.

he rolled his eyes, his expression one of contempt, a cold mask that concealed any trace of warmth. "save your apologies," he said, his voice like ice. "i don't need them. i need you to back off and give me some space," he continued, each word a barrier, pushing you further away, leaving you to grapple with the chasm that now yawned between you.

with a heavy heart, you nodded, the weight of resignation settling over you like a shroud. "fine," you said, your voice barely above a whisper, a fragile echo of your inner turmoil. "i'll give you the space you want," you continued, each word a reluctant surrender, an acknowledgment of the widening distance that now separated your worlds.

you turned and walked away, each step a painful relinquishment of hope. the sound of the door closing behind you echoed through the room, a final punctuation to the conversation, leaving him alone with his anger and the oppressive silence that followed, a silence that seemed to swallow all the unsaid words and unresolved emotions.

��--•--«

2:45 AM, sunday

matt had been caught in a relentless dance of restlessness, his body twisting and turning in the sheets as the hours dragged on. sleep eluded him, a distant and unattainable dream, for the absence of your presence left a void too vast to ignore.

without the comforting weight of your head resting on his chest or the warmth of your body nestled in his arms, tranquility slipped through his fingers like sand, leaving him adrift in a sea of sleepless longing.

he extended his hand toward the vacant expanse of the bed, the emptiness a stark reminder of his solitude. guilt, like a relentless specter, tugged at the delicate threads of his heart, weaving a tapestry of remorse and sorrow. a frown, unbidden and sorrowful, etched itself onto his lips, a silent testament to the ache of your absence.

he was acutely aware of the distance he had imposed between you both today, a chasm carved by the weight of his own burdens. guilt gnawed at his conscience, a relentless reminder of how he had unfairly unleashed his stress upon you. you, with your unwavering patience and kindness, did not deserve to bear the brunt of his turmoil.

he swallowed his pride, the bitter taste lingering as he rose from his bed. with a heavy heart, he made his way out of his room, each step echoing the weight of his resolve, and ventured into the living room, seeking solace or perhaps redemption.

he discovered you shivering on the couch, your delicate frame curled up in a futile attempt to capture any semblance of warmth. the sight of your vulnerability pierced through him, a silent plea for comfort etched in the contours of your form.

a blanket was draped over you, yet it did little to stave off the shivers that coursed through your body. the sight of you, cold and vulnerable on the couch due to his actions, tugged painfully at his heartstrings as he approached, each step laden with the weight of his remorse.

his heart clenched at the sight, the pang of guilt nearly overwhelming. without uttering a single word, he gently scooped you up, cradling you in his arms as he carried you to the room, each step a silent vow to make amends for the pain he had caused.

you stirred, drowsy and disoriented, your eyes fluttering open in a futile attempt to grasp the reality unfolding around you. "what... what's going on?" you murmured, your voice a fragile whisper, barely audible in the quiet of the room.

"shh, it's okay," he whispered, his voice a soothing balm as he gently laid you down on the bed, tucking the blanket around you with tender care.

his eyes, brimming with remorse, held a depth of sorrow as he sat beside you, delicately brushing a strand of hair from your face. "i'm so sorry," he said, his voice cracking under the weight of his genuine regret. "i never meant to push you away. please, forgive me."

you reached out with trembling fingers, your hand finding his and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "it's okay," you whispered, your voice a soothing melody amidst the tension. your eyes, softening with forgiveness, met his with an understanding that transcended words.

"i understand," you continued, each word a gentle balm to his aching heart, conveying a depth of empathy that only the closest of bonds could foster.

but he couldn't shake the guilt that gnawed at him, a relentless specter haunting his conscience. "no, it's not okay," he insisted, his voice quivering with the weight of his remorse. "i was wrong, utterly wrong. i should have never treated you like that. you deserve so much better, more than i have given."

you shook your head, a small, bittersweet smile playing on your lips. "what matters is that you're here now," you said softly, your voice imbued with a gentle warmth. "and that you're truly sorry. that's enough for me. the past is a shadow, but your presence now is the light that dispels it."

he looked at you, his eyes a tumultuous sea of guilt and gratitude. "i promise i'll make it up to you," he vowed, his voice resolute despite the emotion that threatened to choke him. "i'll never hurt you like that again. i'll spend every moment proving that you're cherished, beyond words and beyond measure."

you nodded, your heart swelling with a profound mixture of love and forgiveness. "i believe you," you whispered, and in that moment, the oppressive silence that had once filled the room began to lift, replaced by a fragile yet hopeful sense of reconciliation, a delicate promise of mending what was once broken.

he sat there for a moment longer, his hand still holding yours, as if afraid that releasing it would shatter the fragile bond you were rebuilding. "i just... i can't forgive myself for making you feel this way," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, laden with sorrow. "seeing you like this, it breaks my heart into pieces."

you squeezed his hand tighter, your eyes locking onto his with unwavering resolve. "we all make mistakes," you said gently, your voice a soothing balm. "what matters is that we learn from them and grow, becoming better versions of ourselves. and i believe, with all my heart, that you will."

he nodded, swallowing hard as he fought back the tears threatening to spill. "i will," he promised, his voice trembling with emotion. "i'll do everything within my power to become the person you truly deserve."

you smiled, a serene sense of peace washing over you like a gentle tide. "that's all i ask," you whispered, your voice imbued with a quiet strength. your eyes fluttered closed as the weight of exhaustion began to envelop you. "just be here with me," you murmured, the words hanging in the air like a delicate promise, an unspoken plea for presence and companionship in the face of weariness.

he watched as you drifted off to sleep, his heart a tumultuous blend of guilt and unwavering determination. he understood the arduous journey that lay before him, a path fraught with challenges and the need to earn back your trust.

yet, he was resolute, ready to traverse every step, no matter how treacherous. for you, he would move mountains, conquer any obstacle, and face any hardship.

tags — @imwetforyourmom @meatballzerz69 @pinkishpearls @thedangerousalleyway @muchloveforhacker @stinkytinkywinky @jetameivous @everleiqh @conspiracy-ash @ifwdominicfike

[alexiethymia]

MaoMao's Way of Affection

[spoilers up until LN 12 and WN 10 so read at your own risk]

After such a long time, we finally get a hint of reciprocation when even without orders or prompting, it's MaoMao herself who seeks out Jinshi after the harrowing ordeal she went through.

I'm not sure how the WN will differ from the LN but her words with how she describes Jinshi's arms around her, "heavy but not immoveable" and Jinshi asking her to make him let her go and eventually opting not such that she ends up falling asleep in his arms actually perfectly describes their relationship.

Despite their problems, I do adore this relationship. On the one hand, you have Jinshi who ends up falling for someone who cares not a whit for his appearance. MaoMao is actually the perfect person for Jinshi to fall in love with because of his complex. Should he succeed, he can be assured that his looks had nothing to do with it. For the first time in his life, Jinshi can fight for something with his own above average, but not excellent capabilities.

And tropey as it is, I think MaoMao does have a soft spot for that slightly pathetic part of Jinshi. Honestly, to compare him to the person she respects most in the whole world? A daddy's girl through and through. In other words, MaoMao, even as she denies it, is not impenetrable to that earnest side of Jinshi and because of that, even as she might snark and say she's just following orders, she can't help but be his support - a useful tool rather than a useless burden.

I love how the both of them mature and progress and how the relationship reflects that. As compared to that forceful scene back in LN5, it's actually this innocent scene that cements the progress they've made and that they're slowly meeting each other halfway. Jinshi tries to restrain himself, and MaoMao, thanks to Chue, slowly stops trying to hide behind that convenient excuse.

Because the thing is, MaoMao is a hypocrite. In the same way, she rebukes Jinshi for not being clear, she also gets to hide behind vague half-truths. Why not say no once and for all? "I don't want to be your wife." Is it just because he's the Imperial Brother? Compare and contrast how she treats Grand Marshall Kan for example. And even if he is the Imperial Brother, MaoMao knows in her heart of hearts that Jinshi wouldn't ever punish her for rejecting him. She knows, after everything, that he just isn't that kind of person (the certainty that he wouldn't ever be involved in any assassination plots, the almost unconscious instinct to prevent something she knows Jinshi wouldn't want even if it might be for the good of the country or for her own safety as long as she plays dumb). I really do love how like Suiren, MaoMao is his ally. (No wonder mother-in-law Suiren approves.)

Isn't it more painful - for Jinshi - and more troublesome - for her - to continue to have this hanging between them? But MaoMao is only human. There are things she knows would be the best course of action as long as she operated solely on rationality, but unexpectedly, Jinshi - despite not knowing it - brings out that irrational part of her. She knows it would have been in her best interest (if her best interest truly was to escape the marriage) to just let Jinshi continue being vague, to not put a name to his intentions, she later realizes that this is Jinshi's own consideration for her, but her true emotions push forth. She knows it - what Jinshi feels for her, compares it to a lovestruck patron, so what gain does she get from hearing it verbalized out loud?

She struggles with his special consideration for her, the proof of deeper feelings, in his words and actions. I think she would be able to justify it in her mind and accept being his wife if she knew it was only because she was a useful tool. Because if so, then she could also justify it to herself that she was staying with him only because he was useful, that it was solely on the basis of reciprocity.

I mean the reality of the world they live in is that it's not a place to cultivate love. Marriages are political more often than not. Within MaoMao's way of looking at things, a marriage of convenience might have been more palatable. For Jinshi's part, I can see him being ready to accept that even if MaoMao does accept his proposal, she would marry him while not being in love with him. On the flip side, I think part of his strong motivation to break away from the Imperial family would be to remove, without a doubt, from MaoMao's mind that she would be punished for rejecting him since he would no longer have that power. In other words, part of Jinshi is ready for MaoMao to reject him but he wants it to be solely her choice. In other words, he would also want her to give it to him straight just like she demanded he do for her.

Speaking of special consideration, it is hard to say whether MaoMao's actions towards Jinshi are those she would do for any other patient (since she's actually softer than she gives herself credit for), but the things she does without orders are telling - like stroking his hair while putting him to sleep, kissing his cheek, ingesting something she knows she's allergic to without his knowledge for a plan to sniff out his enemies (pity this didn't make it to the LN), getting mad that his accomplishments were getting stolen from him despite him not caring about it, and glaringly - attempting to break a taboo the person she respects most in the world imposed on her, just so she can better take care of Jinshi. For all that MaoMao is comfortable in her place in the world and doesn't want to venture out of her comfort zone, calling it too troublesome, she does exceed a lot of her limits - true because of that unexpectedly strong sense of duty - but also because of or for Jinshi.

MaoMao acknowledges to herself at this point that no other person besides Jinshi can give her the same comfort. She does want to have a child someday, if only for the experience of giving birth. It may not be a burning passion, this may not be enough for her to call it love, but I can also see a scenario where she accepts Jinshi because he's the only one she would be comfortable with so that she can give birth. In other words, another convenient excuse. But conversely, even after succeeding in having MaoMao for a wife, I can see Jinshi still pushing because for once in his life he can fight his hardest and win or fail on his own merits and no one else's, and also simply put, he loves her and so he would want her to love him back. Even if it isn't the norm in the world they live in. He'd still want to continue fighting for that elusive flower. A perfect push and pull. In other words, it's up to them how they decide to meet each other half way. And I'm excited to see what the future holds for them.

[novaursa]

Chains of the Crown

- Summary: Gwayne promised to marry you. A promise he couldn't keep.

- Paring: targ!reader/Gwayne Hightower

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is younger sister of Rhaenyra and bonded with Silverwing. This is a continuation of Echoes of a Promise. If you want to read all parts in chronological order, you can find a list of my works on my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 4 936

- Tag(s): @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @sachaa-ff

The room is heavy with the scent of burning logs and the rich, musky aroma of wine. And one can almost feel the warmth of the flames as they crackle and dance in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the opulent chamber. King Viserys sits slouched in his seat, fingers wrapped around a goblet, his gaze distant and clouded. The grief that settled into his bones since the loss of his beloved wife, Aemma, and their newborn son, Baelon, has yet to lift. It clings to him like a shroud, dulling his once vibrant spirit.

Across from him stands Otto Hightower, a figure of stoic persistence, his expression carefully composed as he watches the king. This is not the first time Otto has approached Viserys with this proposal, but with each rejection, his frustration has grown more difficult to conceal. He knows the King well enough to see through the surface—the grief that clouds Viserys’s mind is also a barrier Otto has yet to penetrate. But today, Otto tells himself, today might be different.

"Your Grace," Otto begins, his voice measured, the tone he has honed over years of courtly service. "It has been nearly a month since we laid Queen Aemma and Prince Baelon to rest. The realm mourns with you, but the duties of the Crown must continue."

Viserys takes a long, slow sip from his goblet, not lifting his gaze to meet the Hand’s. The silence stretches, taut as a bowstring, and Otto presses on.

"The Princess Y/N," Otto says, his voice firm, though he takes care to soften it when mentioning you. "She, too, bears this loss, but she is young, Your Grace. She has her whole life ahead of her. It would be wise to consider her future now, before others do."

Viserys exhales, a deep and weary sigh. "She is still a child, Otto. Her mother’s blood is barely cold in the ground, and you come to me with talk of marriage? I will not hear it."

Otto bows his head slightly, as though accepting the rebuke, but his persistence does not falter. "Your Grace, the Princess will have to marry eventually. It is the duty of all royal blood, especially one so close to the throne. Gwayne is of noble stock, a knight of the realm, and a Hightower—a house known for its loyalty to the Crown. He would make a fitting match."

Finally, Viserys looks up, his eyes narrowing as they meet Otto’s. There is a flicker of something—annoyance, perhaps, or a deeper anger that the King has kept at bay. "Gwayne," he says, the name dripping with distaste, "is a good knight. But you seem to forget, Otto, that Y/N is my daughter. My young daughter. She will not be bartered off like some trinket to further your family’s ambitions."

The words hang heavy in the air, but Otto does not waver. "Your Grace, I seek only what is best for the realm and for the Princess. She is of age where betrothals are often considered, and Gwayne could provide her with protection, stability. A marriage into House Hightower would strengthen—"

Viserys’s hand slams down on the armrest of his chair, the force of it cutting Otto off mid-sentence. The King’s face is flushed, his eyes blazing with barely contained fury. "Enough, Otto! I will not hear of it again!"

For the first time, Otto’s composure falters. His brow furrows as he searches Viserys’s face, looking for some sign of the man who once valued his counsel above all others. "Your Grace," he says, more carefully now, "it is not only about what is best for House Hightower, but for the Crown. The Princess is a dragonrider, yes, but she needs a husband who can stand by her side, who can—"

Viserys cuts him off with a sharp gesture. "No more! There will be no more talk of this. Y/N will marry when I say she is ready, and to whom I see fit. This discussion is over, Otto."

The finality in the King’s tone leaves no room for argument, but the tension in the room is palpable. Otto bows his head again, lower this time, hiding the frustration that threatens to show on his face. "As you wish, Your Grace," he says, though the words taste bitter on his tongue.

Viserys watches as Otto retreats, the Hand’s footsteps echoing softly in the chamber as he leaves. The King takes another deep draught from his goblet, the firelight reflecting in his weary eyes. 

As the door closes behind Otto, Viserys slumps back in his chair, closing his eyes. He can still hear the words echoing in his mind—duty, marriage, protection. But all he can see is your face, so young and innocent, still shadowed with grief for the mother you lost, the brother who never drew breath.

"No more," he whispers to the empty room, as if saying it aloud could make it true. "There will be no more talks of this." 

And as the flames continue to dance, casting their flickering light across the stone walls, the King remains there, a man adrift in a sea of sorrow, holding on to the only thing he has left—his love for his daughters, and his desperate need to protect you from a world that seems intent on taking all that he holds dear.

The corridors of the Red Keep are cold, despite the summer warmth that clings to the air outside. The stone walls seem to absorb the chill that emanates from Otto Hightower as he makes his way down the winding hallways. His face is a mask of restrained anger, each step he takes resonating with the frustration that has been building inside him for weeks, months even. His hands are clasped behind his back, knuckles white as he fights to maintain his composure.

Gwayne is waiting, as he was instructed to do, in one of the smaller antechambers. The room is sparsely decorated, the only source of light coming from a single window where the sun is beginning to set, casting long shadows across the floor. He paces back and forth, the soles of his boots scuffing against the stone, his anxiety barely contained. The seconds feel like hours as he waits for his father’s return, each one dragging on with the weight of expectation and hope.

When the door finally creaks open and Otto steps inside, Gwayne's pacing comes to an abrupt halt. He turns to face his father, a question already on his lips, but the words die in his throat as he takes in Otto’s expression. The older man’s face is stony, his lips pressed into a thin line, and Gwayne feels a cold knot of dread form in his stomach.

“Father?” Gwayne’s voice is tentative, uncertain. “What happened?”

Otto meets his son’s eyes, and for a moment, there is nothing but silence between them. Then, with a heavy sigh, Otto shakes his head. The gesture is small, almost imperceptible, but it sends Gwayne’s world tilting on its axis. His mouth goes dry, and he feels a strange hollowness in his chest, as though the breath has been knocked out of him.

“The King has refused,” Otto says, his voice tight, betraying the frustration he feels. “He will not entertain the idea of a match between you and the Princess Y/N.”

Gwayne’s expression falters, confusion and disbelief warring on his face. “But why?” he asks, his voice rough with the desperation that he can barely keep at bay. “I was certain… I thought surely he would see the wisdom in such a union. I—”

Otto cuts him off with a sharp gesture, his patience fraying. “Viserys is blinded by grief. He sees only a child in the Princess, and he will not hear reason on the matter. He is determined to keep her close, to protect her from the very world she was born into.”

Gwayne stands there, stunned, as his father’s words sink in. His mind races, trying to make sense of it, to find some way to fight against this reality that he cannot accept. The room feels as though it’s closing in around him, the air growing thin, and he has to force himself to breathe.

“There will be other matches,” Otto continues, his tone softening as he tries to temper the blow. “You are a Hightower, and there will be other opportunities, other noblewomen who would be honored to—”

“No.” The word slips out before Gwayne can stop it, and his father looks at him sharply. Gwayne’s face twists in pain, his heart aching with a deep, agonizing sense of loss that he cannot explain to Otto, cannot share with anyone. He swallows hard, trying to regain control of himself, to bury the emotions that threaten to overwhelm him. But it is no use; the pain is too great, too raw.

“I came to care for her, Father,” Gwayne says quietly, his voice strained, barely above a whisper. “I… I care for her more than I ever thought possible.”

Otto regards his son with a mixture of surprise and something akin to pity. He had known Gwayne to be earnest in his pursuit of the match, but this… this depth of feeling is unexpected. And yet, Otto is no stranger to the game of thrones, to the sacrifices and compromises it demands. He does not allow himself to indulge in sentimentality.

“Feelings can be dangerous in matters such as these,” Otto says, his voice gentler now, though it carries the weight of experience. “I understand your disappointment, but you must learn to control your heart. The Princess is not the only path forward.”

But Gwayne is not listening. His thoughts have already drifted away, back to the nights he spent with you, the whispered promises, the stolen moments. He can still feel the warmth of your skin against his, the way you looked at him with trust and affection, the way you both believed—if only for a moment—that the future was yours to shape.

He promised you. He promised that he would make you his wife, that you would be together. It was not supposed to be like this.

He clenches his fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms as he struggles to keep his composure in front of his father. He cannot tell Otto the truth of what happened between you, of how you gave yourselves to each other, of the love that blossomed between you in secret. He cannot bear to see the disappointment in his father’s eyes, the judgment that would surely follow.

Instead, he nods stiffly, forcing himself to speak, though the words taste like ash in his mouth. “I understand, Father. But…” He hesitates, searching for the right words, for some way to convey the depth of his pain without revealing too much. “But she is different. Y/N… she is unlike anyone else. I thought I could make her happy. I thought I could protect her.”

Otto’s expression softens, just a fraction, as he places a hand on Gwayne’s shoulder. “I know you did, my son,” he says quietly. “But the King’s will is clear. We must respect it. The Princess’s future is not in your hands, and you must accept that.”

Gwayne closes his eyes, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill over. He cannot show weakness, not now. But the ache in his chest is unbearable, the sense of loss overwhelming. How can he accept it when everything inside him screams to fight, to hold on to the one thing that brought him true joy?

But he says nothing, only nods again, his silence speaking volumes. Otto squeezes his shoulder before stepping back, his expression once more composed, though a flicker of concern lingers in his eyes.

“Come,” Otto says, turning toward the door. “There are other matters that require our attention.”

Gwayne follows his father out of the room, his steps heavy, his heart even heavier. As they walk through the corridors, he cannot help but feel as though he is leaving something vital behind, something he may never reclaim.

And as the sun sets over King’s Landing, casting the world in shadows, Gwayne Hightower battles silently with the pain of a rejection that cuts deeper than any sword, knowing that the promises he made to you are now broken, scattered to the winds like so many ashes.

The moon hangs high in the night sky, its pale light filtering through the narrow windows of your chambers, casting the room in a soft, ethereal glow. The fire in the hearth has burned low, the embers crackling quietly, filling the room with a gentle warmth that is at odds with the cold ache in your heart. You sit on the edge of your bed, your mind heavy with the weight of the day’s events, the tear tracks still fresh on your cheeks.

You had gone to your father earlier, determined to speak with him, to plead your case. But Viserys had refused to listen, his grief a wall that neither words nor love could penetrate. His rejection had left you hollow, the last hope you clung to slipping away like sand through your fingers.

A soft knock at the door pulls you from your thoughts, and you quickly wipe at your cheeks, trying to compose yourself. You know who it is before the door even opens. You can feel him, the pull between you both as strong as ever, a connection that refuses to be severed by mere words or decrees.

The Kingsguard stationed outside your chambers nods to Gwayne as he approaches, recognizing the unspoken permission that exists between the two of you. Without a word, the knight steps aside, allowing Gwayne to enter. The door closes softly behind him, and for a moment, the world outside ceases to exist. It is just the two of you, alone in the stillness of the night.

As soon as he steps into the room, you rise from the bed, your heart leaping at the sight of him, but the pain still lingers. You cross the room quickly, meeting him halfway, and as soon as he’s within reach, you throw your arms around him, holding him tightly, as if letting go would mean losing him forever. Gwayne’s arms wrap around you in return, his embrace warm and comforting, but you can feel the tension in his muscles, the same sorrow that grips you mirrored in him.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he whispers into your hair, his voice rough with emotion. You can feel the tremor in his breath, the way he clings to you as if you are his anchor in a storm.

You shake your head against his chest, your tears dampening the fabric of his tunic. “It’s not your fault, Gwayne,” you murmur, your voice trembling. “I spoke with him too… He wouldn’t listen. He’s so lost in his grief. He can’t see what’s right in front of him.”

Gwayne pulls back slightly, just enough to look down at you, his blue eyes dark and filled with a sorrow that reflects your own. “If I could do anything… anything at all to change his mind, I would,” he says, his hand coming up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. “I would give anything to be with you, Y/N. To make you my wife, as we both wanted.”

Your heart aches at his words, the love you feel for him so deep, so overwhelming, that it’s almost too much to bear. “I know,” you whisper, leaning into his touch, your eyes searching his. “But what we want… it doesn’t matter to him. Not now.”

He leans down, pressing his forehead to yours, his breath mingling with yours in the small space between you. “It matters to me,” he says softly, his voice a vow. “It matters to us.”

Your breath hitches, the weight of his words sinking into you, grounding you. You close the small distance between you, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that is filled with all the love, all the desperation that you both feel. It’s soft at first, tentative, as if testing the waters, but soon it deepens, becoming more intense, more urgent.

As your lips move against his, you pour all your emotions into the kiss—your love, your fear, your sorrow. You kiss him like it’s the last time, like the world outside your chambers no longer exists, and for a moment, it doesn’t. There is only you and Gwayne, your hearts beating as one, the connection between you too strong to be denied.

His hands move to your waist, pulling you closer, and you let out a soft gasp as his lips leave yours to trail along your jaw, down the column of your neck. You tilt your head back, giving him more access, your fingers threading through his hair as you hold him to you.

“Gwayne,” you whisper, his name a plea on your lips, and he responds by capturing your mouth again in a searing kiss, one that leaves you breathless and yearning for more.

As your lips part, you both stare at each other for a moment, your breaths mingling, your hearts racing. Without a word, you begin to undress each other, your fingers trembling slightly as you untie the laces of his tunic, as he loosens the ties of your gown. The fabric falls away, forgotten on the floor, and soon you are both bare before each other, the cool night air brushing against your heated skin.

Gwayne’s eyes darken as he takes in the sight of you, his gaze reverent, filled with a love that makes your heart swell. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his hands skimming over your skin, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.

You reach out, your hands resting on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. “So are you,” you whisper, your voice filled with awe, as if you can’t quite believe that he’s here, that this moment is real.

He leans down, capturing your lips once more as he guides you toward the bed. You move together in a dance that is both familiar and new, your bodies fitting together perfectly as he lowers you onto the soft sheets. The mattress dips under your weight, and Gwayne hovers over you, his gaze locking with yours, the intensity of his emotions mirrored in your own.

As he lowers himself onto you, you feel his warmth, his weight, grounding you in the moment, and when he enters you, it’s with a tenderness that brings tears to your eyes. He moves slowly, savoring every second, every inch, as if committing this moment to memory, as if this is all that matters in the world.

You wrap your arms around his back, holding him close as he begins to move within you, your breaths mingling, your bodies entwined. The world outside fades away, leaving only the two of you, connected in a way that is deeper than words, deeper than any bond you have ever known.

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips, your voice catching with emotion, and he responds with a kiss that steals your breath, his movements growing more urgent, more passionate.

“I love you too,” he murmurs back, his voice rough with the weight of his feelings. “More than anything. More than life itself.”

The room is filled with the sounds of your lovemaking, soft gasps and murmured words of love as you move together, your bodies seeking solace in one another. Each touch, each kiss, is a promise, a vow that even if the world outside seeks to tear you apart, nothing can break the bond that you share.

Gwayne’s hands move over your body, memorizing the feel of your skin, the curve of your waist, the way you shiver under his touch. He kisses you deeply, his lips worshipping every part of you, as if trying to make up for the time that will be lost, for the future that has been denied.

You match his fervor, your hands clutching at his shoulders, your legs wrapping around his waist as you pull him closer, wanting to feel every part of him, to imprint this moment into your very soul. There is no rush, no hurry to reach the peak of pleasure, only the desire to be with each other, to savor every second of this connection.

When the release finally comes, it’s with a wave of emotion that leaves you both breathless, your bodies trembling in each other’s arms. Gwayne collapses against you, his head buried in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin as he holds you tightly, as if afraid to let go.

You run your fingers through his hair, your touch soothing, your heart filled with a bittersweet mixture of love and sorrow. You know that this moment cannot last, that the morning will come too soon, and with it, the reality of your separation. But for now, in this quiet, sacred space, you allow yourself to simply be with him, to hold onto this love that you share, even if only for a little while longer.

As the night wears on, you lay together, your bodies still entwined, your hearts beating in time with one another. The world outside is forgotten, and all that remains is the love that binds you, the connection that refuses to be broken.

The dawn breaks gently over King’s Landing. The air is crisp with the promise of a new day, but the weight in your heart makes it difficult to appreciate the beauty of the morning. You dress carefully, your hands trembling slightly as you fasten the laces of your gown, each movement deliberate, each breath a reminder of the moment you have been dreading.

The courtyard is already bustling with activity by the time you make your way down from your chambers. The clatter of hooves on cobblestone, the low murmur of voices, and the occasional bark of a command from one of the guards fill the air. The preparations for Gwayne’s departure are well underway, but your mind barely registers the sounds around you. Your focus is entirely on the figure standing by the stables, his back turned as he oversees the squire who is readying his horse.

Gwayne is dressed in traveling gear, his tunic a deep shade of green, the Hightower crest embroidered on his cloak. His hair catches the early morning light, and for a moment, you can almost forget that this is a farewell. Almost.

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself before you approach. Each step feels heavier than the last, as if the very earth is conspiring to keep you from reaching him. But you force yourself to move forward, to do what must be done, even as your heart aches with every step.

As you draw nearer, Gwayne turns, sensing your presence before you even speak. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the world stands still. You both pause, your gazes locking, and in that brief moment, the emotions that you have tried so hard to keep in check threaten to overwhelm you. But then you remember where you are, who might be watching, and you force a smile to your lips, though it doesn’t reach your eyes.

“Princess Y/N,” Gwayne greets you formally, inclining his head slightly, though there is a warmth in his voice that belies the stiffness of his words. “You honor me with your presence this morning.”

You curtsy in response, your heart clenching at the formality between you, a sharp contrast to the intimacy you shared just hours ago. “Ser Gwayne,” you reply, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you. “I couldn’t let you leave without saying goodbye.”

There is a flicker of something in his eyes—sadness, perhaps, or regret—but it is gone almost as quickly as it appears. He nods, his expression carefully composed, though you can see the tension in his jaw, the way his hands clench at his sides as if he is fighting the same battle you are.

“It is kind of you,” he says, his voice measured. “I will carry the memory of your kindness with me on my journey.”

Before you can respond, you hear the rustle of fabric behind you, and you turn to see Alicent approaching. She moves with a quiet grace, her face serene, but there is a sharpness in her eyes as she looks between you and Gwayne. You can tell that she has noticed the tension, the unspoken words that hang in the air, but to her credit, she does not mention it.

“Brother,” Alicent greets Gwayne with a warm smile, stepping forward to embrace him. “I was hoping to catch you before you left.”

Gwayne returns the embrace, a small smile softening his features. “You always find a way, Alicent,” he replies, his voice lighter now, though you can hear the strain beneath it. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Alicent steps back, her eyes lingering on Gwayne’s face before she turns to you, her expression kind but curious. “Princess,” she says, inclining her head slightly. “It’s good to see you this morning.”

You nod, managing a small smile in return. “And you, Lady Alicent,” you reply, your voice polite, though your thoughts are elsewhere, focused on the man who stands beside you.

The squire finishes adjusting the saddle on Gwayne’s horse and steps back, giving a respectful nod to both you and Alicent. Gwayne acknowledges him with a word of thanks before turning his attention back to you.

“I must take my leave soon,” he says quietly, his eyes searching yours as if he is trying to memorize every detail of your face. “The road to Oldtown is long, and I shouldn’t delay.”

The reality of his departure hits you like a blow to the chest, but you force yourself to remain composed, to keep your emotions in check. “Of course,” you say, your voice betraying none of the turmoil inside you. “I wish you a safe journey, Ser Gwayne. May the gods watch over you.”

Gwayne’s lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, you think he might say something more, something that would break the carefully constructed facade you both wear. But then he simply nods, his eyes filled with an unspoken understanding. “Thank you, Princess. Your words mean more to me than you know.”

Alicent watches the exchange silently, her gaze flicking between the two of you with a subtle curiosity. She is perceptive, and you know she senses the deeper emotions that lie beneath the surface, but she says nothing, allowing the moment to pass unchallenged.

Gwayne steps closer, his hand brushing against yours briefly—too brief, but enough to send a jolt through you. The touch is a secret, a promise, and you have to fight the urge to hold onto him, to beg him to stay. But you know you cannot, and so you let him go, your hand falling back to your side as he steps away.

He moves to his horse, swinging up into the saddle with the practiced ease of a seasoned knight. He looks down at you, his expression solemn, and for a moment, you see the man you love, not the knight, not the lord, but the man who shared your bed, your heart. You want to say something, anything, to keep him here, but the words die on your lips.

“Farewell, Your Grace,” he says, the formality returning, though his voice is soft, almost reverent. “I shall pray for your happiness and health.”

You nod, unable to trust your voice, and watch as he turns his horse toward the gates. The clatter of hooves echoes in the courtyard, each step taking him further away from you, until finally, he disappears from sight, leaving you standing there with a hollow ache in your chest.

Alicent steps closer, her hand resting gently on your arm, her eyes filled with a sympathy that cuts through the fog of your emotions. “He will return,” she says softly, her voice kind, though you can hear the undercurrent of something else—curiosity, perhaps, or concern.

You manage a small smile, though it feels brittle, fragile. “I know,” you reply, though the words feel empty. “But things will be different when he does.”

Alicent studies you for a moment, as if trying to decipher the meaning behind your words, but she does not press. Instead, she gives your arm a reassuring squeeze, her smile warm and genuine. “Come, Princess,” she says gently. “Let’s walk together. It’s a beautiful morning.”

You nod, grateful for the distraction, and allow her to lead you away from the courtyard, away from the emptiness that Gwayne’s departure has left behind. As you walk, you force yourself to focus on the present, on the sun rising higher in the sky, on the gentle breeze that carries the scent of blooming flowers. But no matter how hard you try, you cannot shake the feeling that a part of you has been left behind, carried away on the road to Oldtown, along with the man you love.

As you and Alicent walk through the gardens, the sounds of the castle fading into the distance, you find solace in her presence, in the shared silence that speaks louder than words. But deep down, you know that this day will be etched into your memory, a reminder of the love you have lost, and the future that has been denied.

[littlefireball]

OK hear me out please but Vampire Yeosang x Human virgin reader? Where yeosamg is actually very sweet and she was surrendered to him as a slave but he doesn't treat her as such but more as a lover and ends up taking her virginity??

oh that's a good idea~thx for your request 😃but sorry im not good at writing something sweet XD Here you go~

ʏꜱ|ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ (ᴍ)

ᴠᴀᴍᴘɪʀᴇ ʏᴇᴏꜱᴀɴɢ x ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ꜱᴍᴜᴛ|ᴅʀɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ|ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴᴇᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴀʙᴜꜱᴇ, ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ᴍᴀʀᴋᴇᴛ|ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴄᴜᴛ ʜᴇʀꜱᴇʟꜰ|ꜰɪɴɢᴇʀɪɴɢ|ᴜɴᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ꜱᴇx|ʀᴏᴜɢʜ ꜱᴇx

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.2ᴋ

Masterlist

What if vampires want to drink human blood? They could opt to risk being exposed and hunt humans, or, for a more secure approach, purchase slaves from the underground market, although the standard may be spotty. Alternatively, there might be vampires who have forsaken human blood altogether, but Yeosang couldn't. Human blood remained the most palatable, surpassing that of any other creature.

Today marked the fifth time this week that he had come to the underground market. He was still searching for his 'food'. His yearning for control was nonexistent; all he craved was the exquisite taste of blood, nothing more. Thus, when a disgusting man attempted to sell him slaves while referring to them as cute pets, he scoffed.

"Please forgive me, my lord." You knelt on the ground, begging for forgiveness. This is something that happens almost every day, only this time it's not in the private room. "You fucking bitch! Can't even handle such small things?" With a fierce motion, he hurled the glass from his grasp towards your back. The shards erupted into a cascade, leaving your back abruptly stained with crimson. The man's thunderous rebuke and your sweet scent seized Yeosang's focus, revealing you in tears, quivering with emotion.

You did nothing wrong, only rejected to provide a special service to the client. But you were beaten and punished severely for this very reason.

"Useless bitch!Send her to jail!" It was a fate far worse than death, yet you chose to endure it. Opting for a torturous demise would have been a better decision, sparing you from the company of those repulsive men, literally.

As you were on the brink of being whisked away, a figure seized your wrist with an unexpected grip. His skin radiated an unusual chill, starkly contrasting with that of ordinary individuals. Locking eyes with his piercing crimson gaze sent a shiver coursing through you, leaving you with an unsettling sense of foreboding.

You knew he was a vampire.

"Release her." Yeosang said, his voice tingled with a hint of impatience. He found himself puzzled by his own curiosity, but never mind, it wasn't a big deal anyway. "Who are you?Huh?A popinjay?" The man chortled heartily, devoid of any sense of admiration as he gazed upon Yeosang's opulent ensemble. "A man you will regret for angering him forever." The man trembled at the mere sight of Yeosang, no words necessary, as his presence alone exuded power and authority.

"Release her and don't make me twice." Yeosang warned him with a deep voice, making the man swallow hard and not dare to look at him. "Re…release her…"The bindings that held your wrists captive were finally undone, and he delicately lowered your hands, as though he feared causing you any discomfort. "Wrap yourself in this," he instructed, draping the cloak over your shoulders and giving you a reassuring pat. In that moment, he appeared to embody two distinct personas.

"I…I give her to you. How you deal with it is your business." The man turned away without looking back. Although he didn't receive the money, he didn't want any more trouble.

"He leaves and you are free now." Yeosang whispered softly, stirring your heartstring. "Take care of yourself. I gotta go."

Just as he was preparing to depart, you took hold of his icy hand and implored him, "Might I become your slave? I promise to be obedient and fulfill your every desire." Even as a creature of the night, his gentleness was a rarity among humans. You were uncertain if servitude to him was truly a blessing, but it certainly seemed preferable to a lifetime of confinement in this place.

"And would you want my blood…?" You hesitated, bowing your head, uncertain if your inquiry was too forward. "Are you aware of what you speak?" Yeosang crouched down to lift your chin, locking eyes with you. "I…I understand. You are a…vam…vampire," He appeared mildly taken aback, yet swiftly composed himself. "But don't you want to go anywhere?" You shook your head. "There is nowhere. I humbly request to remain by your side."

"Then just follow me if you're not scared." —---- You delicately sliced your wrist with the blade, allowing the crimson liquid to cascade into the crystal goblet. This exquisite feast was meticulously crafted for Yeosang each evening. He never bites you, for fear of causing you harm, and for fear of revealing his identity through visible traces.

"I'm back, Y/N." His voice resonated from a short distance, prompting you to dash towards the door. "Welcome home~" You enveloped him in a warm embrace, a delightful surprise at how eagerly you anticipated his arrival. "How was your day?" You tilted your head to capture the warmth in his affectionate gaze. "Tired." He buried his head in your neck, nuzzling like a kitten. "But I feel better after seeing you." He beamed, tenderly stroking your hair with a loving touch. The alluring scent of your skin never fails to captivate him, prompting him to rub your neck.

"You are exaggerating~I've prepared your dinner." With a grin, you assisted him in removing his attire and ensuring his comfort before making your way to the kitchen to fetch a goblet of blood. "Thank you," he expressed his gratitude with a smile as he indulged in his beverage.

He never regarded you as a mere slave, perhaps one could even argue that he treated you as a companion, or perhaps something even deeper. However, you were hesitant to entertain any further thoughts. Your fondness for him was undeniable, yet his true feelings remained a mystery to you.

After all, you were a slave from the black market, and he was your master. There was a huge gap.

"Why do you look at my face? Is it something there?" His words pulled you back to reality. "Nothing. Just watching some beautiful things." A joyful smile graced his lips, yet he soon pretended to be cold. He would not tell you he loves your praise. But of course, you knew him well.

"Allow me to assist you in getting ready for a bath." As you gracefully rose from your seat, he gently halted your movement with the sound of your name escaping his lips. "Y/N?" "How may I be of service to you?" With a tender touch, he guided you to settle on his lap, causing your eyes to widen in astonishment.

"Just stay with me for a while." Leaning his head against your shoulder, he enveloped you in his arms. Although it was not the initial occurrence of such intimacy between you two, you couldn't help but feel a rush of warmth spreading across your cheeks.

You sensed a weariness that seemed to envelop him. While human blood possesses the power to rejuvenate a vampire's vigor, your own appearance is insufficient. Perhaps he craves something more exquisite, something tantalizingly rich—heart blood. This rare elixir, the most coveted of all, manifests only when a vampire has marked their mate.

"Ma…master?" "Hm?" He murmured, slowly opening his eyes to meet your gaze, even though he was on the brink of slumber. "You mentioned that heart blood can heal a vampire. Would you like to partake of it?" He hesitated, taken aback by your unexpected question. "Yes, but this is not something you can drink just by thinking about it."

"How could I get it?" A smirk played on his lips as he heard your words. "You can't get it because you are not a vampire," "But you could get it…from me."His eyes widened, all drowsiness vanishing in an instant. "It's not kidding, Y/N. Marking hurts and you may not handle it. I don't want to harm─" You wrapped around his shoulder, silencing his words with a kiss.

This move used up all your courage.

"You saved me, and now my life belongs to you." "Won't you regret it?There is no turning back." You shook your head, gently cradling his face. "Never." Upon hearing your declaration, he pounced you onto the sofa. "Tell me if it hurts." He whispered against your lips before claiming you into a passionate kiss.

In truth, he recognized you as his soulmate from the moment your paths crossed. However, he restrained his primal instincts to mark you, for he wished to shield you from any potential harm. The painful recollections lingered in his thoughts, fueling his desire to avenge any who dared to hurt you.

"Mine." His kisses trailed down to your neck and his teeth sank into it, causing blood flow out from the wounds. You hissed at the pain and dug your nails into his nape. "Godness, you are so sweet, honey." You became a mess at his words as it was the first time he called you like this. Yeosang sneaked to your collarbone, dropping a trail of kisses while biting harshly to leave a mark.

His fingers settled under the bands of your panties after he sat up straight, tearing them into a fragment. You gasped at his sudden move, but before you could say anything, his fingers diving for your wet lower core. "Look at you, you're so beautiful." One finger being thrusted in slowly, making you bite your lips because you were not used to it. He pulled out and another finger followed, moving in and out at a slow pace.

"Gosh…" You rolled your hips and your toes curl together, feeling he go faster and deeper each time you let out a soft whimper. Throwing your head on the armrest, your face turned red as if oxygen was out of your lungs. Yeosang leaned down to sink his teeth into your skin again, the pain and the pleasure crushed you at the same time, pushing you into a total messiness.

"C'mon, honey. I know you want to cum, cum for me. Let me see what you've got." Your mouth fell into an 'O' form and a choppy moan left your lips. His fingers pushed upward to scratch your wet wall and hit your soft flesh from time to time, bringing you to the peak. "Ma…Master…!" Before you could form a complete sentence, you squirted all over his forearm and even his thighs.

"I…I apologize." You covered your face with embarrassment. "Don't say sorry, you're doing well." He removed your hand and pecked at your lips. "I just have to prepare you well. Ready for me? Angel." "Yes, yes, please." A smile played on his lips and he took off his pants, exposing himself fully.

Your lips bore the burden of his touch once more, pulled in by an irresistible warmth. His tender kisses, gentle bites, and soft sucking, along with his teasing tongue, led you to willingly follow his lead. Without hesitation, you parted your lips, granting him access to explore every inch.

His delicate touch grazed over your sensitive nerves, sending a shiver down your spine. He caressed your thighs, your derriere, before lifting them and encircling his powerful waist. In silence, he positioned himself at your entrance and entered with a powerful thrust.

A soft gasp escaped your lips, overwhelmed by his impressive size, a wave of satisfaction washing over you, leaving you momentarily breathless. Your head reclined against the sofa's edge and he began to move with a steady rhythm.

You raised your head and let out a soft sigh, your hands gently grasping the back of his head, giving him permission to carry on with his movements. The sensation of soft flesh being hitted made you blush, and your body quivered. Observing this, he playfully intensified his rhythm in that exact spot.

"Ma…master…hmm!" The sounds of pleasure echoed throughout the lavishly decorated bathroom, his passionate movements causing you to gasp in delight. "Oh…my dearest Y/N," Yeosang whispered against your chest, finding where the heart blood is. "Find it." Before you could react, he bit your chest with a great force and you screamed in pain. He pulled you up to settle you on his lap, pushing upward while drinking your blood.

In an unexpected surge, he plunged with fervor, striking precisely at the core of your being. "It hurts!!" "You can take this, Y/N." The exquisite agony enveloped your senses, clouding your awareness and ensnaring your very nerves, rendering you utterly defenseless.

Tears brimmed at the edges of your eyes, your brow knitted in distress, and a heart-wrenching cry escaped your lips, betraying your suffering. Your body quaked, slick with cold perspiration, as your limbs grew increasingly feeble. But he didn't stop, kept colliding with your deepest part without mercy by holding tight your waist.

"Be mine, Y/N." He let out a low, satisfied groan as he reached his peak deep inside you, sealing the bond. Gradually easing his pace, he withdrew from your body. As the bond solidified, Yeosang felt a surge of power, and miraculously, your complexion returned to its natural hue, blemishes vanishing, save for the scar on your chest - a testament to Yeosang's mark.

"Sorry, it hurts." You shook your head before resting on his chest. "I would do anything for you."

"Thank you, Y/N."

"I should be the one who said that. Thank you, master."

"Don't call me Master." Your gaze met again as he lifted your chin. "Call me Yeosang." He pressed his lips against yours with all his love and tenderness.

"I love you, Yeosang."

[hlmoorewrites]

'The true nature of the assembly revealed itself when Satvik, a member of our group, proposed amendments condemning the October 7th terrorist attacks and Hamas. His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of recent history. For a brief, hopeful moment, I allowed myself to believe that surely, in this bastion of higher learning, such a reasonable request would find support.

The response was swift and brutal, shattering that naive hope like glass against concrete.

“All those opposed?” the president of the SRC called, his voice barely masking a note of grim satisfaction. The room transformed into a sea of raised arms, crashing against our small island of ten. An overwhelming majority – students I probably had sat next to in lectures and shared polite smiles with on-campus – voted to explicitly refuse condemnation of a terrorist attack.

As if this silent rebuke wasn’t enough, a voice cut through the tension. “F**k no!” The crude rejection echoed off the walls, met with scattered laughter and murmurs of approval. I scanned the room, trying to locate the source, but in that moment, it hardly mattered. The voice had merely given crude vocalisation to the sentiment clearly shared by the majority.

[...]

Amidst the swirling hostility, rare moments of bravery shone through. Freya Leach, leader of the conservative club, stood tall at the podium, with the Israeli flag proudly draped over her arm. As she spoke, a chorus of boos cascaded down, threatening to drown out her words. Yet she persisted, her voice rising above.

Her words cut through the noise, sharp and uncompromising: “[Hamas] raped women, they killed children, they burnt people alive,” she declared, her voice trembling slightly, not with fear but with righteous indignation. “And you are standing here saying that we should not condemn that?”

For a moment, the room fell silent. Then, from somewhere in the crowd, a lone voice shouted, “Yeah!” The vulgar affirmation was met with scattered nervous laughter and confused glances. I watched as people looked around, perhaps searching for the source of the outburst, or perhaps seeking guidance on how to react. Yet no one disavowed the statement. No one stood up to condemn the tacit approval of such horrific acts.'

[prideprejudce]

I've seen alot of badfaith interpretations for the writers having 'forgotten' jaeherys' death when Rhaenyra says the 'son for a son' line, and honestly I thought it made alot of sense with how Rhaenyra sees the situation.

Rhaenyra clearly sees herself as a Good Moral Ruler who ONLY enacts violence as a Means for Peace™️, so I dont think she takes responsibility for Jaeherys' death at all. I think she sees his death as a random fluke tragedy that rests solely at Daemon's feet, and completely rejects that she has anything to do with it. She's the Good Guy she would never kill an innocent! She rebukes her husband very seriously for that waste of energy and violence, (wagging her finger at him bc no thats bad we dont kill children in 'Our Good Justified War'), but I dont think she cares enough about jaeherys or jaehera to consider it revenge for lucerys' death.

To Rhaenyra the fact that theyre innocent children, and therefore worthy of protection upsets her about jaeherys' death, but ultimately shes so removed from the kids themselves, I dont think she cares so much personally about them. I doubt she thinks one of their deaths is equal to her loss, and I honestly dont think it occurs to her that Alicent would feel for Jaehyrus as acutely as she did for lucerys. (Which might be correct, seeing Alicent was much more concerned about her daughter's grief than the death itself)

I think with the 'son for a son' line we do see the two sides at war within Rhaenyra. She's a mother who wants vicious revenge for her son's death, but shes also a mother who knows that this will destroy Alicent.

Her 'son for son' line is equal parts relish and sympathy, she wants to dig the knife in a bit bc alicent had a hand in lucerys' death, but also I think 'son for a son' could also be her terrible way of HELPING Alicent make such an impossible decision by framing it as justice. Like, 'One of your sons is guilty for killing mine, whether its by direct action or responsibility via usurping my throne, not to mention other warcrimes, Therefore, its okay to choose to save helaena because she's innocent where your sons are not, and finally this is justice.'

TLDR: Rhaenyra only considers Alicent's direct sons as compensation for her loss of lucerys, both bc theyre 'responsible' for it and also bc she barely remembers that the younger green targs even exist. She says Son for a Son specifically to Alicent to make the decision easier for her.

hey anon how does it feel to be born with a galaxy brain

[moonsandmobilityaids]

First Kisses

Pairings: poly!marauders x disabled!reader Summary: Your first kiss with each boy Warnings: N/A Series Masterlist

Sirius has never been one to shy away from a challenge, and tonight is no exception. The common room of the Gryffindor tower is nearly empty, save for a few stragglers who linger, unwilling to give in to the pull of sleep just yet. You're settled near the fireplace, the warmth seeping into your bones as you sit in your wheelchair with a book.

Across from you, Sirius lounges on the couch, a similar book discarded beside him, its spine untouched by eager hands. He's watching you instead, his gaze intense yet soft, like the glow of the fire that dances in his grey eyes. The distance between you seems to shrink under the weight of his attention, and when he leans forward, his hand covering yours where it rests on the arm of your chair, the world outside ceases to exist.

"Y'know," he says, his voice low and laced with a familiar charm, "you're far more interesting than any book."

A soft laughter spills from your lips as you close the novel, placing it aside. You gently nudge him with your elbow, a playful rebuke in your eyes. "And you, Sirius Black, are incredibly distracting."

His grin widens, unapologetic and utterly charming. His gaze dips momentarily to your lips, a flicker of hesitation crossing his features. It's unlike Sirius to second-guess, to pause in the face of potential rejection. But then again, this is different. This is you.

Slowly, as if not to startle you, his hand reaches out. The rough pads of his fingers glide along your jawline, tilting your chin up ever so slightly. For a moment, his expression softens, eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort. It's subtle, almost imperceptible—the unspoken offer for you to pull away now.

But you don't.

Instead, you lean into his touch, closing the distance between the two of you until there's nothing left but the shared anticipation of a kiss. And when it comes, it's as if time itself holds its breath—the world outside falling away to leave only the warmth of Sirius' lips against yours. The kiss is tentative at first, a careful exploration born from the uncertainty of new beginnings. But then Sirius deepens it, his hand moving to cradle the back of your neck, drawing you closer with a hunger that mirrors your own.

It's everything you'd expect from him—passionate, intense, a fire that threatens to consume—but there's an underlying tenderness in each brush of his lips against yours, a silent promise that speaks louder than words ever could.

When you finally part, both breathless and flushed, Sirius grins at you, his grey eyes alight with mischief and something deeper. "You're right," he says, his voice husky. "I am distracting."

You chuckle, feeling the residual heat of his kiss lingering on your own lips. "You're impossible, Black."

"Impossible to resist, you mean," he retorts, leaning in for another taste of your lips, and this time, you do not shy away.

****

The library is quiet save for the soft crackle of the fire, its warmth a gentle caress against the chill that lingers outside the castle walls. Remus sits beside you, his face illuminated by the flicker of candlelight as he pores over the parchment in front of him—a potions essay he promised to help you with. His attention is divided between the lines of text and your presence, his eyes flicking up occasionally, always drawn back to you.

His hand brushes against yours now and then, a touch that should be accidental, but feels anything but. It's not like Remus to be so... distracted. He's always been steady, reliable—a pillar amidst the chaos that often surrounds life at Hogwarts. But tonight, there's a tension in the air, a silence filled with unspoken words since the confession a few nights ago.

He's been careful around you since then, as if walking on eggshells, afraid of crossing an invisible line. But Remus doesn't know—you're already well aware of what lies beyond that boundary. And it doesn't scare you. Not anymore.

When he looks up from the paper, his golden-brown eyes meet yours, and for a moment, time seems to stand still. No words are needed to decipher the thoughts behind those depths. You can feel them, tangible as the parchment beneath your fingers, reflected in the slight squeeze of his hand around yours.

"Are you sure?" His voice is barely above a whisper, the words hanging heavy in the air.

You nod, heart pounding a staccato rhythm against your ribs. "Yes."

His approach is slow, almost hesitant, allowing you every opportunity to pull away. But you don't. Instead, you lift your chin, an unspoken invitation hanging in the air between you. Your breath hitches as his lips finally meet yours, a soft brush of skin against skin that sends warmth radiating through your body.

The kiss is gentle, just like everything else about Remus—careful and measured, yet full of an intensity that leaves you breathless. It's a slow exploration, a dance of lips and emotion, communicating what words have dared not say. His hand cradles your cheek, thumb tracing small circles against your skin, grounding you in this moment of shared vulnerability.

There's no urgency, no rough demand for more. Just the mingling of breaths, the quiet hum of connection that deepens with each passing second. When at last you part, it's only by a fraction, both unwilling to sever this newfound intimacy completely. Remus's eyes find yours, a soft smile playing on his lips—a silent promise that this, whatever it may be, has only just begun.

"You're incredible," Remus murmurs, the words laced with an awe that suggests he's still grappling with the reality of your existence.

Your smile deepens, not out of pride but from a wellspring of affection that refuses to be contained. "So are you, Remus."

****

James is usually the vibrant heart of any room, drawing you into last-minute plans, showering you with compliments that make your cheeks flush. But tonight, he's different—quiet, intense—as if the world has narrowed to this singular moment between the two of you.

You're cocooned in one of his oversized Gryffindor scarves, the wool slightly itchy against your neck. James sits beside you, his fingers grazing the armrest of your chair as if he longs to reach out but can't quite bridge the distance. The castle looms behind you, its warm glow spilling out into the night, yet here on the outskirts, it's as if you and James exist in a universe all your own, painted with shadows and starlight.

James has been stealing glances at you throughout the evening, his fingers playing absentmindedly with the hem of his shirt—a telltale sign of nervous energy. The air is thick with unspoken words, and you can feel the anticipation humming through your veins like a second heartbeat. For once, James Potter seems unsure of what to say, and the silence stretches between you, taut as a bowstring.

You finally turn to him, an arch lifting your brow in silent question. "What's on your mind, James?"

His smile wavers, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his usual confidence. He runs a hand through his windswept hair, the action only adding to its tousled charm. "Just... how lucky I am."

The statement is so unexpected you can't help but chuckle, the sound soft and low in the quiet room. "You say that like it's some grand revelation."

"Perhaps it feels that way." His gaze lingers on yours, the intensity of his green eyes never wavering. "Not because I didn't know it before, but because... it seems different now. More significant."

His hand moves from the arm of your wheelchair to your forearm, thumb tracing circles on the fabric of your shirt. The gesture is tentative, yet there's a certainty in his eyes that anchors you. He leans in slowly, giving you time to pull away if you want to. But you don't.

The kiss is warm, like everything about James—from his sunny demeanour to his passionate speeches about Quidditch and magical creatures. His lips move against yours with the same fervor he puts into every endeavor, his hand cupping the side of your face as he deepens the kiss. It's not rushed, but there's an energy to it that mirrors the beat of your heart—a rhythm fuelled by joy and the thrill of something new and exciting unfolding.

When you finally pull back, you're both grinning, slightly out of breath, and you can't help but chuckle at the look of pure delight on his face.

"See? I told you I was lucky," James says, his voice raspy from the kiss.

You roll your eyes playfully, though your heart is pounding in your chest. "Perhaps I'm the one who's lucky."

His fingers trace your jawline as he winks at you, a hint of mischief playing in his eyes. "Well then, let's just agree we're both rather fortunate, shall we?"

[newscroll]

In the lotr books, many female characters don't have much agency outside of men or are objectified, but as a woman I appreciate how femininity is portrayed in Middle Earth. Middle Earth is mostly patriarchal and famous warriors get the spotlight a lot and there aren't nearly enough women characters, but the narrative never implies there's something wrong with being gentle or "emotionally sensitive" in a traditionally feminine way. A lot of media that tries to be feminist can't say that.

The power of feminine characters tends to be less forceful, yes, but not less powerful (think Luthien facing Morgoth). In fact, I think women are portrayed more favorably than their male warrior counterparts for creating things (Yavanna, Varda), bringing growth or healing (Este, Nienna), or protecting (Melian's girdle, Galadriel's Lothlorien). The male characters rewarded most by the narrative are ones that show these "feminine" qualities, and those that disrespect them are rebuked.

As for the women in the main books, all are shining symbols of hope/strength to those around them. Their beauty is mentioned a lot, and there's some objectification there, especially with Arwen and Goldberry, but with the beauty power and wisdom.

(Side note: Most powerful, good things in Middle Earth are also beautiful in one way or another. Even Gandalf with the bushy eyebrows past the brim of his hat is described: "his long white hair, his sweeping silver beard, and his broad shoulders, made him look like some wise king of ancient legend. In his aged face under great snowy brows his dark eyes were set like coals that could leap suddenly into fire." i didn't realize Gandalf was like that but ok)

Anyway, Galadriel and Eowyn especially are powerful in the forceful way, but they learn not to covet power. They're given opportunities to join in the cycle of violence and struggle as martial figures and both turn from that path. Rejecting violent power to be wise and compassionate is an honorable thing in lotr, even if the characters and societies that make up Middle Earth often fail to realize it.

Summary: there are issues with how Tolkien wrote women but he made them out of wisdom and kindness and gentleness and understood the value of those attributes. Misogynists don't respect things that are "traditionally feminine", and the most praised attributes in the narrative of lotr are a "feminine" kind of bravery and honor, which perseveres and remains compassionate in the face of war and the temptation of power.

[thebenjiblackwoodexpress]

Snow Drop Part. 6

Description: After an intruder at Dragonstone proves Y/N's loyalty to Queen Rhaenyra, Jacaerys must protect both his mother and his Lady. When his lady starts to distance herself from him, he must convince her of the sincerity of his love for her.

Warnings: None. Female reader.

Jacaerys had sought to convey through his eyes his desperate plea that his love hear his supplication for her hand, but promptly gave in when he met her own equally pleading gaze. Her urgent attempt to remove herself from his presence when he had attempted it had convinced him that she knew what he would have asked and that she would reject his love. Whilst the thought was inexpressibly painful to him, he would not enforce his suit upon her if it was so unacceptable to her. With a heavy heart, pain constricting his chest, he attempted to convey the love he felt for her into the placement of her flower in her hair and in his kiss to her hand, fearing it would be the last time she would allow him to do so. Steeling himself so that the true desperation and despondency he felt would not be visible on his features, he promptly left the room. He had been right to fear that she would never return his love for her and he knew not how to confront the reality that he would never be able to marry the woman he loved. With such heavy thoughts to plague him, he did not find solace in sleep that night, although his attempt was loudly disrupted by the rough voice of his guard speaking to someone on the other side of the door. He listened intently for the sound of the other person's voice, so much softer and quieter than his guard's, unable to make it out. Rising from his reclined position, still dressed with his cloak on, he approached the door and was alarmed to hear the following exchange.

"I will repeat only one more time that you have no leave to speak to the Prince. You have a nerve even requesting an audience. Begone girl!"

A soft, tremulous voice spoke up, one he would have recognized anywhere.

"Please, I must speak with the Prince now, his mother is in danger!"

Hearing the frightened voice of his love and that his mother was in peril, Jacaerys quickly opened the door to be met with the tear-streaked face of his lady, cowering away from his guard.

Physically pushing his guard away from her by the chest, and positioning himself in between the two, he spoke dangerously, through gritted teeth to him.

"A member of my mother's household asks to have an audience with her Prince to inform him of the Queen's peril and you rebuke her for it. I would not think a member of the Queen's Guard so lax in his duty. Get to the Queen, now!"

The guard looked momentarily shocked and chastened, looking between the Prince and the maid, before quickly turning on his heel in the direction of the Queen's apartments.

Jacaerys whipped around to face his lady, taking hold of her shoulders with gentle hands as he lowered his head to meet her gaze.

"My love, what has befallen the Queen and where can she be found? I ask you to speak quickly and clearly, if you can."

Nodding jerkily, still in tears which tore at his heartstrings, she spoke concisely.

"She is in her room. An intruder knight attacked her. He was killed by his brother and the Queen is with her knights now. I heard the noises and saw the Queen's maid fleeing from the room. I came to get you as soon as I heard."

Realising that his mother was no longer in immediate peril, he pulled Y/N to his chest and kissed the top of her forehead, before wrapping an arm around her shoulders to lead her gently into his room. He led her to an armchair and she sat without question, seemingly in too much shock to protest. He bent down to her level to gently help her to lean back against the chair, before removing his cloak and placing it around her. He rose again to the table, quickly returning with a goblet of wine, which he placed in her hand.

"Rest here, my love, and I will return as soon as I can, once I have made sure that my mother is well. You will be safe here. Sip the wine, it is good for the shock."

He rose to leave, reluctant though he was to leave her alone in such a state, but she quickly grabbed his hand, a look of fear on her face.

He lowered himself to her eye level again, speaking coaxingly.

"I promise that you are safe, here, there are two more guards down the passage and I will order both to stand guard here. I will return forthwith."

Seeing the necessity of his departure, she nodded, reluctantly releasing her grip on his. Seeing that she still trembled, he held her head gently in both his hands and placed a soft kiss to her forehead before departing from the room and running in the direction of the Queen's chambers.

Jacaerys ran back to his rooms after first assuring himself that his mother was safe and comforting her, incensed that she had been placed in harm's way. He blamed himself for not having been there and a review of the security arrangements for the Queen would be the first order of business he would present at tomorrow's Council. At this moment, however, his priority was to comfort his frightened, brave lady who had come to warn him of his mother's peril, at great risk to herself. He felt his love grow for her, if it was possible, to an even greater extent, filling his whole heart with her image. Approaching his door, he thanked the two guards for their service and ordered them to return to their positions along the hall. He had no need of them now, since he would be the one to protect his love, should it come to it. Tentatively opening the door, so as not to frighten her, he was distressed to hear her still cry out in fright.

He hastily moved into the room so that she would know it was only him, and not another intruder, hastening towards her. "It is only me, my love. You have nothing to fear, the intruder is no longer a threat and my mother is safe. You are perfectly safe with me, I will stand between you and any threat."

He lowered himself on one knee before her, again, brushing the hair back from her face, as he took hold of both of her hands. He met her gaze with a look of adoration and awe at the bravery she had shown in coming to warn him of his mother's peril.

"Thank you for what you have done this night, my brave girl."

He was saddened to see the look of fear she still bore, almost like a deer, and he felt an overwhelming surge of protectiveness towards her at the sight. Dragonstone was a dark, ill-fated place for one so gentle and pure, but that was all the more reason for him to be her protector. Her face crumpled as tears welled, once again, behind her eyes and he lifted his arms out to her before thinking better of it. To his surprise, she immediately bent forward to meet his arms, and he wrapped them around her frame, holding her protectively to his chest as she cried. He spoke soft assurances that he was there and that she was safe into her ear, holding her until her breathing had calmed and she had ceased crying. As she removed himself from his hold, he found himself bemoaning the loss of contact, but was relieved to see that she was becoming calmer.

"I should return to my room, it would no do to be seen leaving the Prince's chambers at such a late hour. People will talk"

"They will do so only if they no longer require the use of their tongues. I will see you back to your chambers." Seeing that she meant to protest, he added with a small smile, "that is not a request."

He took hold of both of her elbows to raise her to stand, before wrapping her arm around the crook of his to lead her back to her chambers. Whilst the bastard traitor who had attacked his mother had been apprehended and despatched, he did not trust to leave his lady to return to her chambers alone, unprotected. He left her right outside her door, the hour being close to dawn, and no one being awake to see them

Cupping her cheek reassuringly, he spoke in a gentle tone. "Get some rest, and do not attend to your duties tomorrow. I will speak with the matron. Do not be afraid, I will have an extra guard placed outside the servants' quarters and you can come to me if you are frightened. I will remain close by. No harm will befall you or anyone else in the castle, I swear it." Pulling her to him to embrace her once more, stroking the back of her head, he gently led her to her door, only leaving once she had shut it behind him. Even after posting another guard at the entrance to the hall where his lady's chambers were, he was reluctant to leave her but contented himself with the thought that he would remain close by, should she need him and seek him out.

Y/N had succeeded in having only a fitful rest, tossing and turning over the events of that night. Once the fear and the shock had left her, she was left feeling a little embarrassed at how she had clung to the Prince in her distress the night before. She comforted herself with the thought that he hadn't seemed to mind, and had even gone out of his way to comfort her and make her feel safe. She had not thought much of it in the moment, so alarmed was she, but her mind now turned repeatedly to the Prince calling her his love, and her cheeks heated at the thought. The more she thought on it, the more convinced she became that the Prince's feelings for her were genuine, but she could hardly believe that he meant to marry a mere servant girl. It was this thought that had led her to interrupt the Prince when he had knelt before her, fearing that she would not be able to prevent herself from falling into his arms if he professed his feelings for her. The thought sobered her and was a reminder that she could not allow herself to be so familiar with the Prince again, lest he should think that she reciprocated his feelings for her. It did not matter if she did, if they could never be together. Unable to sit alone with her thoughts any longer, she began to dress in readiness to resume her daily duties, in spite of the Prince's order that she abscond from them that day. It would be better to distract herself, rather than dwell on the impossibility of her love for the Prince ever being returned.

Prince Jacaerys had had an equally restless night, as he had been intermittently patrolling the halls near his mother's apartments and near the servants' quarters, after first having spoken to the head of the Queen's guard to ascertain how the breach in security had occurred. He could not sleep when both his mother and his love's safety were at stake. He spent the majority of the morning in the Council chamber, discussing plans for implementing heightened security at Dragonstone. His mind continued to wander, as the Lords around the table argued, to thoughts of his lady: if she had managed to rest after the shock she had experienced the night before, or if she had been too afraid. This thought had him clenching his jaw in frustration at the bickering of the Lords around him. He should be comforting his lady right now and reassuring her of his protection, having first settled upon increased security plans for his mother, but they were all more concerned with promoting their own agendas than that of the Queen's protection. He hoped that his lady was resting well now. Forcefully turning his thoughts back to the present moment, he contented himself with the thought that he would check in on her later.

Hours later, Prince Jacaerys sat at a table in the library, anxiously awaiting the arrival of his lady. When he had enquired as to her whereabouts with the matron, he was surprised and alarmed to find that she had decided to carry out her duties, in spite of his urge that she rest. She was certainly headstrong, a quality she may find useful as his Princess, if she was to rule over the Seven Kingdoms at his side. He found his lip upturning at the thought. The tread of light footsteps had him stumbling to his feet however, as he saw his lady walking towards her and he strode to meet her. Taking hold of her elbows in his hands, he lowered his face to search her eyes for any sign of distress from the events of the previous evening. He was relieved to see that she appeared calm, although he frowned at the dark circles forming crescents underneath her eyes, and the pale pallor of her skin. Sighing, he raised his hand to affectionately brush a lock of her hair behind her ear, before lightly stroking her cheek with his knuckles.

"I had thought you would listen to your Prince's entreaty that you get some rest. I see I was clearly mistaken in that. Are you well, my Lady?"

He quickly dropped his hand, however, when she took a step away from him. Frowning, he realised that she must have found his affectionate gesture displeasing. Not wanting to make her uncomfortable, though it pained him to think that his presence did so, he took a step back of his own. Perhaps it was presumptuous of him to hope that her allowing him to hold and comfort her the previous night would mean that she was beginning to open her heart to him.

"I am well, my Prince. I only came to thank you for your protection and kindness towards me last night. I do hope that the Queen is recovering."

He bristled inwardly at the cold formality he detected in her voice, as if she were trying to place a distance between them.

"Thank you for your concern, as regards the Queen. I assure you that my mother is well and I have seen to her enhanced security. I cannot tell you how grateful I am to you for your actions last night. There is no need for you to thank me. I will always protect you, if you will permit me..." He stopped mid-speech as she raised a palm up.

"Thank you, my Prince. I will bid you good night." Saying this, she curtseyed before turning to leave abruptly, walking at a brisk pace away from him.

A look of alarm crossed his features at this. Did she really mean to leave so soon. What had he done to offend her so? Before he could think better of it, he began to follow her.

"My Lady, have I offended you in some way for you to be so distant. May I not at least escort you back to your chambers?"

She sidestepped his attempt to step in front of her, continuing to walk away from him, though she politely declined his offer.

"That will not be necessary, my Prince. I thank you for your kind offer, but I would prefer to be alone."

Y/N tried to ignore the pain that arose in her own chest at the disconsolate expression of the Prince at her words, as he stopped following her, and his head dropped downwards.

Tearing her gaze away from him, she continued to walk determinedly in the direction of her chambers before she heard him speak in a soft, broken voice she had never heard from him before.

"If my love for you is really so displeasing to you, my suit for your hand so distressing, I will decease immediately, my Lady. I apologise for having disturbed your peace." His tone was contrite, and as he looked up to meet her gaze, she could have sworn his eyes glistened with unshed tears. His words had caused her heart to stutter at his profession of love for her. She had not been expecting him to be so direct, even though she had suspected he held some regard for her. She had not been expecting him to intimate a proposal of marriage, and her heart leapt into her chest at the suggestion now. It took a great deal of restraint not to break her resolve and run into his arms, as he said it. She bolstered her resolve, a memory of having trusted another man's vow of love and marriage to her before acting like a cold hand, extinguishing the warmth growing in her heart. The man before her was a Prince and, no matter how genuine his regard for her or how true his intentions were, it was madness to think that he could or would ultimately marry her. No, she would never be so foolish again. She turned fully back to him to break her own heart.

"I do not think it appropriate for you and I to continue to meet in the library, my Prince. I...I thank you for your kindness towards me, but I must remind you that you are a Prince and I am only a servant girl. I am no Lady, for you to be making such speeches to."

His expression underwent several changes as she spoke, from pained to resigned and finally determined, as a spark lit behind his eyes. He took slow, measured steps towards her, as if approaching a frightened deer who could startle and flee from him at any moment.

"Is that your cause for concern, that I am not serious in my intentions towards you, my love for you impure? I assure you, my Love, that I have only ever seen you as the Lady you are. I would have you accept my solemn promise of love and protection towards you as my wife and Princess. I offer myself to you as your husband."

Lost in a daze at his words, Prince Jacaerys had stopped right before Y/N, looking adoringly into her eyes before she processed how close he had come, or how he had enclosed both of her hands in his. As she met his gaze, she was stunned at the look of almost reverence she saw behind his eyes, and she nearly gave into her desire to believe his words and assure him that she felt the same for him. A painful memory arose in her mind, once again, to dampen such a desire, and she reluctantly withdrew her hands from his and stepped away from him. His face fell as she did so into a look of utter despair before he turned his head towards the floor, and drew in a sharp intake of breath. A moment later he met her gaze again, nodding as if in resignation, before bowing respectfully to her.

"I understand, my Lady. I will not intrude my presence upon yours a moment longer."

With a pained expression as he looked at his love one last time, resolving to give her the space away from him she seemed so desirous of placing between them, he turned on his heel down the hall.

Y/N's lip wobbled and her eyes welled as she watched him leave, but she steeled herself, repressing a sob as she turned to make her way back to the servants' quarters. She tried to remind herself that she had done the right thing for both of them, even as each step she took away from him had her feeling like she was falling into a chasm she would not be able to lift herself out of.

[v1trum]

Need to talk abt how five had no physical contact with people in so long its so foreign to him. Other than maybe slight physical contact with people at the commission, initiated by the other party and probably rebuked with a "touch me again and I'll kill you", dude hasn't had a damn hug let alone a tap on the shoulder in years. Like so long. Fucks sake i think the first time someone tries to touch him when he comes back was luther and five immediately slapped his hand away and started to get pissy because he knows luther doesn't and probably never would understand what five had gone through and a hand on the shoulder isn't gonna fix shit. "Theres nothing you can do, luther. Theres nothing anyone can do."

Motherfucker is so closed off but someone tries to touch his shoulder after 45 years of no physical contact (that isn't ill intention) and he becomes a damn mess.

When lila has her arm around five and he's clearly pretty tense. Especially because those motherfuckers don't exactly have the most fondness for each other. He's so used to rejecting any form of contact by either scolding the person or blinking away. Another thing.

In fights he could easily just kick the shit out of someone if they're trying to tackle him but instead he blinks away. Because he can't think about anything other than getting their hands off of him to fight.

When he knocks diego out, he uses a vase instead of just pulling diego away and punching him or something. He's so weary all the time and so god damn persistent in making sure no on even thinks about breathing on him because they're probably a threat, trying to kill him or harm him, SOMETHING. At least that's how he sees it. This is why the hug in the s4 trailer is so important to me. Istg I'm ill

[ryin-silverfish]

besides erlang and chen xiang, are there any other instances of chinese deities having children with humans? I know that there are stories of yaoguai marrying humans and having kids with them

Cowherd and Weaver Girl is another famous example.

Much like the "Human Scholar x Fox Girl" trope, love stories between human guys and immortal maidens are also a common trope in Northern-Southern dynasty + Tang legends, some of which result in them having kids.

Immortal guy x Human Maiden is less common, however, and also tends to be forced marriages, with the male god basically abducting the women or their souls——the Third Prince of Mt. Hua and Mt. Tai are huge offenders in Tang legends.

If you count dragons as deities, one of the more relatively famous stories is the Legend of Liu Yi, where he saved a dragon princess from her abusive husband and in-laws by sending a letter to her family.

Her uncle, after killing the abusive husband, tried to pressure Liu Yi into marrying his niece, but was righteously rebuked by him. However, the dragon princess does fall in love with Liu, to the point of rejecting other matches for her, and eventually, they become a couple and Liu attained immortal-hood.

[stellarred]

I love the Qcard vibrations in this one moment.

Notice how Picard doesn't say anything to Q after Q says these words into his ear? See how Picard doesn't rebuke Q in this scene?

Why?

Picard doesn't really put up much of any resistance until after Q offers to turn his rival, Vash, into an eel. Thus, prompting Picard to verbally reject Q's help, advice, favors, and even him. "Once and for all!"

*Ooh, the captain doth protest too much. Tension.*

Was Picard frozen with fear at Q's words in the scene photo above? Would Picard really be so scared to say something if he was really put off by Q confessing--in a roundabout way--that he's been trying to get Picard to love him for years?

Gimme a break. This guy swears at Klingons, resists Cardassian torturers, and battles The Borg. Picard is a badass.

Or, is Picard feeling something else towards Q?

I mean, Q knows what Picard is feeling here. In fact, you can see Q slightly grinning as he turns his head to watch Picard walk over to his desk to sit and read something. And then, Q keeps after him.

That is 100% a romantic pursuit by Q. For he knows that Picard is fighting hard to resist-- not him per se, but his

feelings FOR him.

And like sonar, Q can pick up on Picard's feelings for him. He knows he has an in with the captain.

The pursuit continues.