#i wish i was there in snake pit

[in-hav3n]

Just saw M72 World tour part 2 on theather and gosh it was amazing ! I love them soo much <3

Btw am I the only one who had noticed James moving his pelvis in a sexy way while playing with his feet on Lars' drums? I moaned loud when I saw this 🤭

I need to find this video, then I could learn how to create a gif to watch it all day and all night long

[bucephaly]

BTW if you haven't already please take a minute to look up what venomous snakes are local to you and familiarize yourself with them

[coryosbaby]

we (8 billion people) are begging for dom fem reader and coryo dynamic. Why she always gotta be sub like my dom ass would slap the shit out of him ong

ʙᴇɢɢɪɴ’ ᴏɴ ʜᴇʀ ᴋɴᴇᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴘᴏᴘᴜʟᴀʀ !

Synopsis: Coriolanus will do anything to get to the top, right?

Content warning . power dynamics, loss of virginity, face riding, multiple orgasms, marking, sub!pussydrunk! Coryo, dom! Reader that’s a lil fucked up

notes: me when coryo has hair real . This kinda sucks I’m sorry

When you see Coriolanus Snow, you see a desperate man.

A boy, actually. You see a boy. A desperate, handsome, power hungry boy. You can see it in the way he towers over his peers in a sort of fake dominance, the fauxness behind his sugary sweet words directed to anything or anyone in a higher position— some even directed towards you, when that blush isn’t flushing his cheeks with a feral intensity.

As the daughter of Dr. Gaul, it’s quite easy for you to advance some of your friends in their studies. You are not only her daughter, but in a position of power yourself. You know people— and Coriolanus knows that. You aren’t dumb. You can tell by his eyes, the empty, icy blue orbs not quite telling the truth.

Coriolanus, in a way, is just like you.

Maybe that’s what intrigues you so much about him. Besides that pretty smile, or those golden curls or those muscles that make you drool, you admire his determination. You know about his poorness (not all know, but some do, as Dean Casca Highbottom once quoted to him), and you know one will go far to satiate their own greed.

It’s just a matter of how far.

—

Coriolanus walks into your lab crying, one day.

Not obviously. It’s subtle, as you demand he sit down and take off his shirt so you can stitch up his wounds. Your hands graze it softly, and he winces.

“Does it hurt?” You ask him, even though you already know the answer.

He lets out a shaky breath, his hands clenching at the seat.

“Yes.”

An honest answer. He must trust you.

You hum, beginning to work on his wound with taught precision. Looking at him now, his jaw is clenching tightly and the boy is shaking so much you fear he might break.

“I killed someone.”

He states it in a remorseful tone, the tone of someone weak and pathetic.

“Someone in the games, if I’m correct?”

He turns to look at you in surprise, as if you didn’t have access to your mother’s decision of allowing him to walk in there and save his friend Sejanus. He says nothing, then. He sniffles, and cries silently.

“You know,” you state, beginning to stitch him. “I’ve killed someone too. Someone I needed to kill.” You smile, remembering the one time a student who was threatening to take your place mysteriously fell into the pit of snakes. “It was necessary.”

Coriolanus tries to stay nonchalant, but you can see the way his shoulders tense. He doesn’t say a word, so you continue.

“Was it necessary to kill the person you killed?”

He looks down at his hands. Caked with blood, knuckles drawn taught. You want to bite them.

“No,” Coriolanus answers slowly. “No, it wasn’t.”

Maybe there’s more darkness to the boy than you originally thought.

You speak to him in a much lower tone now.

“Maybe it was. You just don’t know it.” And then, “There are a lot of things certain people can do to get to the top, Coriolanus.”

Your insinuation doesn’t go unnoticed. He moves his head to look at you.

“And what would that be?”

Typical. Someone so power hungry that his head turns at the mere mention of an opportunity. You’ve got him right where you want him.

You finish up his stitches. You move around to his front, your short red skirt all of a sudden incredibly suffocating as he looks up at you with something utterly pathetic in his gaze.

“How far are you willing to go, Coriolanus?”

And that’s when, a few moments later, you get your wish: that skirt, oh so suffocating, is strewn on the floor, Coriolanus’ big hands massaging the skin of your thighs as you straddle him. Your lips press against his in a hot and heavy kiss, your tongue massaging his lips with fervor. He may be doing this for advancement, but the blonde wants you nonetheless. You can see in the way his hips grind up, the way he lets out desperate whines as you lick up his tears with your tongue. Pulling away from him, your cunt clenches when he tries to push your body down onto his crotch.

“No, Coryo,” you demand, though your voice is desperate. “I want you on the floor, okay? You’re going to taste me first.”

He hesitates, his eyes darting to your lacey panties and then to the colorful tiles.

“… the floor?”

He seems nervous, jittery. It’s not as if he’s afraid of getting dirty, or something.

No, this is something else. In the way he nervously twiddles his fingers, the way his bottom lip catches in between his teeth. It’s not as if he wants to stop— it’s more so that he’s inexperienced.

And then it hits you.

Coriolanus snow is a virgin. This big handsome boy, beautiful and delicious, has never done had sex before. He’s never felt the touch of a woman, never eaten pussy or got his dick sucked.

And for some reason, that makes you want him more.

“Oh,” you coo to him, soft. “Coryo, you’ve never done this before, have you?”

His face turns dusty pink, but he tries to deny, deny, deny.

“What? No! Of course I’m not. I’m just..” he looks at the floor, his lie clear on his face. “The tiles are cold. Dirty.”

“You’re caked with blood and sweat, sweet boy. I’m sure the tiles will be fine.”

He looks away from you, his lips drawn up into a pout.

“I’m not a virgin.” He states, merely to himself. You raise a brow, an amused smile playing on your lips as you move farther away from him.

“Then why don’t you come and eat my pussy, baby?”

His cock strains against his zipper, and you swear you can see it twitch from where you’re standing. He gulps, and with a submission you would’ve never expected, the boy drops to his knees on the tile and makes his way towards you. His shirt, unbuttoned, shows the pretty lines of his chest and his rippling back muscles, and when he gets to you, he stops at the front of your still standing knees. Satisfaction wades through you when his hands move up to the waistband of your underwear and yanks them down with shaking hands. Your smell hits his nose, makes his head tilt back as he lets out a throaty sound in the back of his throat. His tongue laves over the skin of your inner thigh, his hands going around the back of one of your knees to pull you close. You spread your legs to allow him access, your pussy lips drenched with arousal as his breath laves over you.

“Go on, Coryo,” you urge. “You want me to put a good word to my colleagues, yeah? So you better do a good job.”

He moans, his tongue finally slipping in between your folds as he tastes you. He’s messy, sloppy, and it’s good but it’s not good enough.

“God. I thought you were experienced? Huh, Coryo? Don’t you wanna make me feel good? Are you even fucking trying?”

He pulls away from you, shame in his eyes as you scold him. He pleads, his lip wobbling, his arms holding onto your legs.

“Please, I’m sorry. ‘M so sorry. Teach me, please…”

He tries to press a kiss to your cunt, but you kick him away with your foot. He falls to the ground, helpless.

“Lay down—I don’t care if it hurts your back. Don’t make me tell you twice.”

He does as he’s told, all sweet and sweaty and bloody. His back hits the tile, injured but he ignores it when he watches you tower over him. You move down, pressing your knees on either side of his head. He grabs your thighs to place his mouth back on you, but you grab his golden curls in your hands and yank him back. He groans in pain, his feet kicking in a sort of pleasured resistance.

“You use your mouth when I tell you to, coryo,” you scold, watching the way his eyes flutter and only focus on your dripping pussy. “You do what I say. If I guide your head, or press myself down at a certain spot, you go along with it. Do you understand me?”

He nods, desperate to get his mouth on you, his cock thrusting into the open air.

“Good. Now, go slower. Stick out your tongue.. wider… therrre you go, baby.” His eyes focus on that one spot, his tongue hovering right over your clit. He must have read up on this a time or two. You press him closer, shoving his face into your heat as his tongue hits the swollen bud. “You see that? That’s my clit. Yeahh, stick your tongue right there…”

He groans, the taste of your sweet slick making his eyes roll back. His palms splay across your ass, digging crescent moons into the skin. You move your hips in a circular motion, giving Coryo the impression to move his tongue that way. He’s a smart boy, so he knows exactly what you’re communicating to him. His tongue moves in slow, languid circles, your slick already dripping down his chin. You can’t help but give into the pleasure he’s giving you for a moment, riding his face like your life depends on it before slowing down and stopping.

“Good, coryo. You’re being such a good boy. But you need to move your tongue down. You don’t want to play with my clit too much, because I’ll cum quick if you do.”

He makes a noise of understanding, moving his tongue down to your hole. It’s much funner this way, he thinks. The tip of his tongue can gather up the awaiting slick that’s spilling out of you, it makes your taste all the more prominent. You give him some room to experiment now, letting him move his tongue in between your clit and your hole. He catches on, and if you didn’t know any better you’d think he was experienced now— he’s a natural learner. Your hips grind down into him, and when he tongues your hole you use his strong nose to grind lazily against. Coryo can only breathe in your slick, his brain becoming fuzzy from his lack of air. But it’s okay. It’s okay because he’s doing good.

You can feel yourself getting close, the languid strokes of his tongue making your legs shake. You hump against his mouth, your head thrown back.

“Gonna cum,” you say to him. “Gonna cum on this slut mouth.”

He groans, his jaw working even harder now. He focuses on your clit more, save for the few times that he slurps up the slick from your hole. Your orgasm is fast approaching, your body drawing up tight.

And finally, you’re cumming on his mouth, moans spilling from your lips and Coryo’s. He’s desperate to catch all of your cum onto his awaiting tongue, his legs still moving around as he consumes you like a man starved. Your eyes roll back and you grind your hips against him as you come down from your high. Coryo pulls away once he’s satiated, looking up at you with his chin coated in slick.

You sigh, pulling your hips back to give him some air. You move your body off of him, going to your knees to watch his pussy drunk face still follow your cunt as you move. You want to return the favor, now. It’s only fair.

But looking down, you notice a wet spot soaking through Coryo’s pants.

He lifts himself up on his elbows, looking from his crotch to you. He flushes, apologies spewing from his wet lips, shaking his head.

“I tried not to. I really, really did. ‘M so sorry.”

He tries to reach out to touch you, but you just move away and down to his crotch. You unbutton his jeans, and he lets you. You look down at his red briefs, watching the white stain peeking through.

“Oh, baby. You just couldn’t help, it could you?”

You mock him, your hand palming his shaft. He lets out a whimper, his head falling back against the tile. He knows it’s too much, but he isn’t stopping you. You pull his briefs down, and boy is he big. Thick and long, all pretty and red with cum dripping down to his balls. Your mouth waters, but you figure that can wait another day. His seed can be used for other things.

You flutter your lashes at him, your hand wrapping around his shaft, jerking him to hardness again. He’s got this look, contorted and pained and pleasured at the same time. You straddle his meaty thighs, your cunt lips brushing over his cockhead, and he gasps.

“W-Wait—“ he starts, choked. “It’s.. ‘S too much—“

“Then why are you hard again?” You tilt your head at him, your movements paused because he didnt give you full permission. “Don’t you want my warm, tight pussy? Don’t you want to make it to the top?”

And that gets him going, his arousal for you and power and riches. He nods, eyes rolling back as you sink down on him. The cum from his last orgasm coats your walls and makes it easier to fill yourself up, warm white streaks dripping down his cock again.

“Oh.. oh my god,” his mouth drops open, and you’ve never heard a boy so vocal. “Please… I want it, I want it!”

You know what he’s asking for. Your stilled hips are non moving, letting him stretch you and sit heavy inside your cunt. You smile, moving your hips just a bit, letting him feel your gummy walls sucking him in. His mouth is in the shape of an o, his hair messy and disoriented. He tries to grab your tits, your hips, and with a surprising force your palm strikes his cheek haughtily. He cries out, his thighs shaking, his hips thrusting up.

“No touching,” you demand. “You don’t get to do that. Give me your hands.”

He lets you take them, and you push them far over his head as you begin to work your hips harder, faster. His balls make plop plop plop-ing noises as they hit your ass, quivering and begging for you to let them empty inside you. You move down to his neck, leaving purpleish bruises over his skin, marking him as yours. You let go of his hands so you can rest your hands on his torso, and his hands move up. Not necessarily to touch, but to hover over your tits bouncing through your tight fitted shirt. You give him permission, just a moment, to squeeze the soft skin in his hands, give them a teasing, bold little slap. You breathe shakily, his cock filling you up in ways no other has. You watch as Coryo’s head tilts back, and you know he’s close.

“Gonna cum?” You taunt, your nails scraping against his chest. He groans, nodding. “Gonna fill up my tight little pussy? Cmon, give it to me, I know you want to.”

And when he spills into you, rope after rope of warm, hot cum filling you to the brim, you let out a cry. His fingers find your clit— he’s thought this through, hasn’t he? He rubs you until you’re seeing stars and clenching around his overstimulated cock with a loud sob. He moves up to kiss you hot on the mouth.

“Did I do good?” He asks.

You smile, your hand threading your hands through his hair as you both relax against each other.

“You did very good, Coryo. I’m so proud of you.”

He breathes out a chuckle, shoving his face into your neck. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and he winces. His wound has been withstanding a lot of pressure.

“You probably want to put some ice on that.” You suggest to him. He shrugs.

“The tile was cold enough.”

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tormented Spirit | 3

Part 1 2 3 4

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, noncon/dubcon, implied smut/cunnilingus, panic/anxiety attacks, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: pls comment and reblog because 🥲 i wanna nuke this again and could use the reassurance | cross posted on ao3

tagging: @arabellasleopardcoat

You are changed after that, you both are. When Caraxes lands in the dragon pit, Daemon helps you down, something he's never done. The prince knits his brows in offence when you break away from his hold. You walk towards the two knights in white cloaks, gazing in wonder, "twins."

You look between them, smile spreading across your face as you tried to make out one for the other. You point to the one on the left, "Ser Arryk?"

The man smiles back and nods, "well met, princess."

You giggle and clap you hands, "tis dumb luck." You turn to the other, "greetings, Ser Erryk. A pleasant afternoon to you."

You feel someone come up behind you.

Erryk returns your smile and bows, "a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, my princess."

You look over your shoulder as Daemon places a hand on your waist. He looks between them, "you need not follow. I will be with my wife until later this evening."

Your brows quirk, "you will?"

Daemon turns to you, lip curving upward, "don't you wish to know the pleasantness of fucking in one's bed?"

In unison, the Cargyll brothers turn away and clear their throats. Meanwhile, your heart leaps into mouth and your jaw hangs low. You cannot even speak as you feel your face burn. Your devilish husband chuckles and rubs your back, "worry not. You'll find yourself making noises soon enough."

With that, the twins step aside and you cower into Daemon's shoulder as he leads you off. He laughs, both in mockery and amusement, enjoying your reaction thoroughly. There was something in the way you retreated into him that made his chest uneasy. The feel of your forehead upon his arm was rather unnatural. He does not like the effect on him, so he pushes you away.

You squeak at the sudden action. Your features spare no reflection of your confusion and hurt.

Daemon grins at it, then pulls you back in, one arm snaking around you.

Your face falls back into a state of rest, that is until his hand begins to travel up your breast. You whimper at his squeeze, "D-Daemon."

He hums, "feels good, doesn't it?"

Your hands tremble as you bring it up to his. You slowly push him away, "later."

His brow quirks. Defiance?. He drags you across him, eliciting another squeak as he traps you between his body and the stone wall. Your heart begins to race when he gathers your skirts. You press your hand on his chest, "Daemon-"

"Is this not my right?" he hangs his head low to press his nose upon your jaw, "if I take you here in this hall, I would only be exacting the will of the gods for a married man and woman."

You squeeze his shoulders, "but there are peo-"

"People should know of my efforts to produce an heir."

Your body burns at the thought. But then, you both turn to the side upon hearing the sound of skidding and footsteps running off.

"Daemon!" you whine, hiding into his chest.

That's enough. He smirks then looks down at you. He releases your skirts in lieu of taking your hand. "Very well, prudish wife. I will claim you in our marriage bed, as you insist."

And Daemon does, right after he claims you against your chamber door and your vanity table. In truth, you do not understand how he had the wits about him to leave bed when it was all over.

The next morning was strange. It felt like a dream, in both parts that you enjoyed yourself coupling with your husband, and that you could not believe the turn of events. You get out of bed when your servants come to rouse you with a, "good morn, milady."

"Good morn," you stand, pushing your long hair behind you. Your servants giggling catches your attention. Your forehead curls inquisitively.

"The prince is a very passionate lover, milady."

You are bewildered by the sudden remark.

"Shall you wear a turtleneck today?" one says.

"Or perhaps a large necklace?" the other adds.

You look into the mirror and only then do you realize why they were offering such things. Red and purple blossomed on your throat, travelling even beyond the collar of your nightgown. Your body burns and you promptly cover yourself.

Your servants giggle and come to your side, "you need not hide from us, your grace."

"My cousin works in a brothel and she has— aw!"

You watch as one of them rubs their arm. The other who had pinched her turns back to you, "many apologies, your grace."

"Apologies," she mutters, rubbing her arm.

You stare at the two of them, feeling something bitter creep up your throat. "Did you..." you take a deep breath, "mean to say your cousin has... lain with my husband?"

She give you an apologetic expression, "forgive me, I-"

You cut her off with your nod, "you need not say more. I would like never to hear about this in future."

The two curtsy and speak no more as they ready you for the day.

By the time you're dressed in a modest turtleneck dress, and your brown hair is braided and adorned with silver pins, there is a knock on your door. You open the door yourself, dismissing your servants on the way.

"Ah," you smile at the sight of Cargyll, "good morrow, ser."

He bows, "good morrow, princess."

You rub your hands together as you examine his face, "... is it Erryk before me?"

He smiles, shaking his head, "tis Arryk with you this morn."

"Ah," you raise a finger, "you misheard me, ser. I clearly said Arryk and not Erryk."

Arryk chuckles softly and nods, "apologies, your grace."

"Perhaps you might teach me how to tell you apart," you mutter, "as a twin myself, I would be most offended if someone mistook me for my brother."

His laugh is more pronounced this time. He links his hands together as he thinks momentarily, "well, I would say he is uglier than I, but then again, he has my face."

You giggle under your breath. You bring a hand to your lips, "I understand you completely."

"As of late," he rubs his chin, "my beard has become longer."

You hum, "good to know." You exit your room, closing the door behind you, "have you broken fast, ser Arryk?"

"Indeed."

"Oh," you pause, "... you... would not happen to know where Prince Daemon is, would you?"

He turns to his feet.

You raise your brows.

"Would you like to know the truth?"

You stiffen at the thought, "...yes, ser. Always."

"Last I heard he was drinking with Gold Cloaks in Fleabottom," he mutters before looking up at you.

"I see," you say softly, "I— thank you for your honesty."

He nods, "of course, my princess."

You needlessly inspect your fingers, "my siblings would be eating with my father," you turn to Arryk, "and I do not wish to face him. I am sure he would say the same about me."

He clenches his jaw. He remembers the argument yesterday, and how Lord Otto moaned and hissed as Arryk escorted him out the maester's ward.

"Do you mind accompanying me as I break my fast?" you mutter, "I do not like eating alone."

He bows his head, "it is my duty to accompany you wherever you may go."

"... Ah," you look to your feet. You meant to offer that he drink a cup of tea with you, but the thought becomes preposterous the longer it lingers. He is not your friend. You have no friends in the Keep, "yes... it is."

Arryk knits his brows then finds himself correcting, "but I do not mind it at all. It is my pleasure to serve."

You offer him a soft smile. He is taken slightly off-guard by the sadness he catches in your eyes, which is why he does not smile back.

As you masticated your first meal of the day, you absentmindedly mashed your food while looking out the window. You longed to seek refuge in your twin, but you knew it would not be long until your father came around to chew you out. It would only be worse if you went to your sister, though, if she was under the refuge of her princess, perhaps not.

You decide it would probably be better for you to look for your husband, for after all, you were no longer a Hightower.

Arryk watches how your hair blows with the wind. He remains five paces behind you at all times. You were a lonesome thing, he thought, fragile and melancholic. You appeared as though you were searching for someone, and yet your gait felt rather aimless. Suddenly, your back straightens when you spot something— someone from across the hall, in turn, so does his.

Before you could speak his name, he calls out yours and smiles at you. Daemon even adds, "there you are. I've been looking everywhere for you."

Your brows quirk as you walk towards each other.

Arryk allows an extra five paces to come between you.

You examine your husband's face, the dimples on his cheeks, the silver hair tickling his curled lips. You simultaneously feel the urge to push his hair away and debate whether or not his fair expression is truly borne form the fact he was searching for you and has now found you.

Your brows furrow as he tucks his hair behind his ear.

Is this what sex does to a man?

"Come," he says, grabbing you, "we mustn't delay."

Your heart races as you look at your arm. He tucks it underneath his own and hastily leads you off somewhere. You do not know where your feet take you, but you do know that the prince looks lovely when he speaks through a grin, just as he does now.

In truth, you catch not a single word from his mouth, which is why you are turned to stone when he begins kissing you. However, whatever rigidness your form holds quickly melts as his lips urge yours to a slow dance. You go putty against the window sill he pushes you against.

There is peace in the warmth he radiates. Your fingers finally find what they had longed to touch and unabashedly crawl up his nape to tangle in the roots of his hair. When he moans and pulls away, you stiffen and come back to reality. Had you hurt him?

"Daem-"

He turns about and says, "ah, Lord Hand."

Your stomach drops. You feel sick as you peak past Daemon's shoulder to see exactly him, glaring at the both of you.

"Or shall I call you father?" the prince grins, as to show the venom on his teeth.

"It would do you good to comport yourself," Otto blurts, face calm, but you knew better to believe he was anything but.

He tilts his head, "what for?"

Your heart squeezes when Daemon takes your hand and brings you to his side. You cannot bare to look at your father as your husband speaks, "you have created such a desirable creature. It would be more tactless of me not to worship her body with my own."

You feel your breath quicken as you hear your father grumble.

Daemon is victorious to see the old man walk away with a dark cloud over his head. He chuckles, "do not be so sullen, my lord. Tis a fine day!"

You feel your palms go sweaty. You lick your lips frantically. You screw your eyes shut, trying to calm yourself.

He chuckles as he turns back to you, "very goo-"

Your brows tighten.

Daemon catches your chin between his fingers. You are forced to open your eyes and you see the glimmer in his violet one as he repeats, firmer this time, "very good."

Your heart does not calm though he rubs your back.

"You did well for me."

Your eyes begin to water, "Daemon, I-"

"Shh," he shakes his head, "there's no need for this."

"I—'ve upset him. "

He feels your body begin to tremble beneath his palm.

"But-"

"You spoke the words yourself, he's tormented you, has he not?"

"D-Daemon-"

"Shh, shh, shh," he leads you back to the window sill and sits you down.

You are gasping for air at this point, but he does not stop hushing you. He even begins to rub your cheeks with his thumbs. He pushes himself into your skirt, making room for himself between your legs. You gawk at him as he mumbles in a language you do not understand. He is impossibly close, as though you were kissing without kissing.

You do not know how many minutes pass, but you do know his timbre is just as serene as the voice of water. You only realize you had been crying when you take his wrists and feel water drip to your fingers.

He speaks that language again and you shake your head, "I do not understand."

"It does not matter," he mutters, pulling away to examine your face, "you are calm, no?"

You cannot reply because the sensation of his rubbing your cheeks is far too arresting.

"There is magic in the High Valyrian," he says, pulling away. It is so abrupt and unwanted that you chase after his hold and involuntarily attempt to stand.

Of course, Daemon is the way and prevents you from doing such a thing. His head inflates ten sizes bigger upon unveiling how deeply affected you were of him. But as he looks at your wet cheeks, he thinks, how could such a pathetic creature not be so affected by one such as he. He further amuses himself by tracing your collarbones.

Your body tingles at his gentle thouch.

"Think of it as revenge."

Your lips part and brows knit, "r-revenge?"

"Yes," he taps your nose, "to your tormentor."

You gulp and clench your jaw. Daemon grins, but you are no longer blinded by it. "I- I do not-"

"Your very existence is torment to him, is it not?" he tilts his head, "must I remind you of your own words, my love?"

You are flabbergasted by the pet name, but before you could even tell yourself he did not mean such words, his airy chuckles tells you himself. You turn to your lap.

Daemon takes your chin again, "look at me."

Your heart races and your breath heavies.

"You want to be a dutiful wife, yes?"

Your release a deep sigh through parted lips, "... yes."

"It pleases me greatly to watch your cunt father suffer," Daemon rubs your chin before releasing it, "that is all I require of you."

Your brows furrow.

"Then you are free to do all that you desire, notably all those that your father has forbade."

"I-" wait, what?

Daemon catches the way your face shifts when his words finally click. His grin only deepens as he nods, "yes, yes. If he did not let you go out and play, oh, I do so beg you to play at your heart's content."

Your lips part further at the thought.

"But be sure to always play with me when I so desire," he says, cupping your cheek, "I do not like to be kept waiting."

Your heart skips a beat when he swipes your lips before walking off. He nods once at ser Arryk, who you had no idea was still here.

The said man then walks over to you, offering you an arm, "princess."

You look at his armored limb and feel sheepish. He must think you uncouth and ill-bred upon witnessing what he did. You take his arm— amongst sickly and feeble. You weakly mutter, "thank you."

"Would you like me to escort you to the maester's office?"

"W-wha- why?" you stand.

His brows tighten, "you were having an attack, were you not?"

You release his hand and step away from him. You smile softly and shake your head. He watches as you clasp your hands together. "They would only supply me milk of the poppy to ease my pain. There is no medicine for my affliction, Arryk."

He nods, "I see. Th-"

"Apologies. May I call you Arryk?"

He nods once more, "you may call me whatever you so desire, princess."

You smile, "very well," you turn to your feet, "I desire to call you by your name. You may do the same with me," you lift your gaze but do not turn to him, "I admit, the title princess does not suit me."

As you walk, Arryk follows closer this time, "it suits you well for you are a princess."

You sigh and smile at him from over your shoulder.

For the rest of the day, you retreat to your chambers and lay in bed. You stare at the ceiling, repeating over and over what had happened to you. As much as your father's searing glare burned in your mind, it was somehow not as hot as Daemon's gaze. You could do nothing but go between dread because your father and- and... affection because of your husband.

You rub your chest as you feel it tighten, thinking of your prince. You begin to fight your own breathing though, and sit up to calm yourself. You screw your eyes shut as you bring to mind things that calm you: swimming, Gwayne, Alicent, you-

Your eyes open when you hear the door swinging. You straighten up as Daemon walks over.

"Mmm," he chuckles, "did you wait because I asked?"

"I-" but your words are cut off by how the bed dips when he crawls over to you.

"I would prefer you with less clothing next time," he says, leaning into you, pressing a hand on your thigh.

Your heart quickens at his kisses. He smells and tastes of wine. He pushes your skirt up and comes down to kiss your knee.

You gasp when he pushes you back. And then you realize your breathing is heavy, but not strangling. You squeal when he kisses up your thigh, "D-Daemon-"

He gives you a warning look and mutters in a foreign tongue.

Suddenly, your smallclothes are being removed and your husband is sinking between your legs. You yelp, "D-Daemon, you're drunk!"

He holds you in place by your thighs. "No," he dismisses, "but I will be once you let me taste your cunt."

Your eyes widen and you immediately try to sit up.

All he has to do is lift your legs and speak your name for you to- "cease your needless wrangling," Daemon grunts, "you will quite enjoy this."

"P-pl-"

"You enjoyed my fingers did you not?"

Your mouth goes dry.

"Then you will more so enjoy my tongue, shaky thing. Quit trembling."

The strangled moan that is pulled out your throat is more confirmation than any word you could have ever told him.

By the time Daemon was satisfied playing with you, you were sticky and sweaty and naked lying next to him on your bed. You tense when he stands and you immediately cover your body with your blanket, "w-where are you going?"

"Mmm," he walks towards the drawer and pours himself a cup of wine, "to my bed."

You turn to your lap, unable to help the pinch you feel at the confession he does not see this as his bed.

You watch him as he grabs his clothing, then quickly stand, "let me-e help you!"

Wrapped in a blanket, you come to Daemon's side and help him get dressed. He lets you, slight amusement falling on his features as you so ardently assist him.

He allows you and stares at your glowing face, glowing because of how good he fucked you. The blanket rests heavy on your shoulders, but your neck is bare to him. He finds himself reaching out after you tie his breeches.

You still when he pushes the blanket off your shoulder. He tilts your head to the side to behold his work. You begin to breathe through your mouth when his thumb rubs over the new and previous purple marks he's put on you. You gasp when he makes the blanket fall to the floor. Instantly, a shiver creeps up your spine.

He rubs your sides and kneads your breasts. He's made such pretty marks all over your chest.

"Come to me tomorrow," he rubs his hands down your bare bum.

You whimper as he squeezes you there.

"I will be with my Gold Cloaks," he tilts his head, " I wish to parade my prize, so wear something pretty," he rubs your shoulders, "something that shows my good work."

Your lips tremble, from both the cold, night air and his words, "I do not think it-"

"It is not a question, wife."

Your skin breaks out in goosebumps.

He leaves after and you scramble to wrap yourself in your blanket.

The next morning, Erryk Cargyll assumes his station and knocks on your door to announce himself. When the door opens, he is pulled inside before he can speak.

"Good morn," you clasp your hands together as you look him up and down, "Erryk?"

He smiles softly and bows, "yes. Good morn, my princess."

You smile back and him and motion to yourself, "I must enquire your opinion as a man and not a knight sworn to serve me."

Erryk straightens up and nods, "very well."

You rub the cowl upon your shoulders and sigh, "what do you think of my attire?"

The man looks over your red dress and black cowl. He takes a moment to think of what might be out of the ordinary with it, but finds nothing, so he says, "it suits you very well, my lady."

You sigh at this and untie the bow of your cowl. You remove it, revealing your décolletage and his eyes widen at the sight of the marks on your skin. He clears his throat and looks away.

Your face falls and you cover your shoulders with your dark curls, "is it very tasteless?"

Erryk opens his mouth but he cannot form more than a stutter.

You shake your head, gripping your cowl tightly, "Daemon wishes to... parade his work."

The man's brows furrow and jaw clenches.

"Perhaps the cowl should stay on," you mutter, feeling your breath begin to shorten. You turn to the said object and feel your hands shake. You try to put it on, but it feels as heavy as a boulder.

He catches your cowl just before you drop it.

You release a deep, shaky breath, looking up at him with watery eyes, "will you help put it on, Erryk?"

A line forms between his brows as he nods. He takes your cowl then circles around you. He gathers your hair and places it upon your shoulders one side at a time. As he circles back to fix the piece, he feels your trembling but says nothing as he does the bow.

"What is a wife supposed to do?" you mutter, tears becoming too heavy to say in your eyes.

Erryk feels a pinch in his chest upon seeing your pink eyes. He feels rather helpless as he retorts, "I confess, I am unsure."

Your throat tightens. You rub your lips and shake your head, "forgive me. It is a cruel question to ask a kingsguard."

"Did you not say you ask this of me as a man?"

You fiddle with the ring on your finger.

"I do not imagine it oft, for I will never have one, but I imagine still, if I had a wife, she would wait on me and help me out of my armor once I return. She'd nurse me to health whenever I'm beaten. She'd trim my beard and braid my hair. She'd give me children as fair as she."

Your brows raise at his solemn words.

"And in return, I would honor her. I would worship her like the gods," he motions, "I would not allow harm, or shame to befall her, not if I could help it."

You chuckle at the way he says this. You shake your head, "you are man of honor. It is both a blessing and a curse that you are kingsguard."

You feel light headed.

Erryk hovers when you lean your face into a hand.

You barely turn to him as he takes your arm. You mutter, "this is what he requires of me."

His brows knit.

"That I be a conduit of his chaos," you gulp, "and in return... I will have my freedom."

"Freedom?" he leans his head forward.

You finally face him fully and shrug, "many a thing my father forbade me to do. I once believed he did it with love... now, I am not so sure."

The line between his brows only deepen.

"I should like to do most of what I could not before I die," you chuckle, as if it was a jest, to soften the mood. It does not work; it was not a jest.. You rub your chest and walk towards the door.

He guides you, but grows wary upon noticing how you lean your weight into the knob, "perhaps you should take a seat?"

You smile and shrug, "it matters little if I sit or not, Erryk."

You open the door and step out. He links your arm into his. You lean into him and sigh, "apologies-"

"There is nothing to-"

"-I have been calling you by your name."

He places his hand atop yours, "you may call me whatever you so desire."

"Mmm. You truly are quite like your twin," you lead down the hall, "you should do the same for me."

"Very well, princess."

"Hopefully not princess, and simply my name."

He shakes his head, "too late. You told me I could call you what I desire, and I desire to call you my princess."

"Except princess."

"Once more, too late."

"Hmp. You are less kinder than your twin."

His jaw drops, "you wound me so deeply, my princess."

"I am glad to hear it, Erryk."

"My princess is quite cruel."

"Relent, I beg."

You realize you unconsciously walked yourself to the training yard by the time you got there. You also realize then how famished you were. On cue, your stomach grumbles, making Erryk look to you in concern.

"Have you not broken fast, my princess?"

"I- no."

"Then why did you walk us here?"

You were about to explain that your body had a knack of going to the areas in which your brother frequented, but before you could speak, the said man was calling your name.

You instantly come alive at the sight of your twin walking over.

"Good morn, sister," Gwyane nods, "Cargyll." He looks at him for a moment, "I wager... Erryk?"

You gasp and chuckle, "how could you tell?'

Your twin turns to you, "mmm, it might have to do with the fact I passed Arryk, who was stationed at the gate today."

"Oh, bother," you swat Gwayne, "I thought you could tell them apart."

"I just did, simpleton," he raises a brow.

"No, you're the simpleton, you nincompoop."

"No, you're the nincompoop, you daft sod."

"No, you're the daft sod, you freakish dunderhead."

"No, you're the freakish dunderhead, you ratty ninnyhammer-'

"You dare speak to the princess this way?"

You all turn and see Daemon's severe expression. He steps between you and Erryk, imposing upon Gwayne.

You tense and take his forearm, "Daemon, tw-"

He silences you by raising a finger. He narrows his eyes at your brother, "I should have your tongue for that."

Your twin chuckles in disbelief, but whatever amusement he might have had instantly melts into irritation, "a jest, prince. You act as though you are not capable of doing the same to your older brother."

"There is a time and a place for jests, yet I doubt there is a time or a place to publicly slander the Princess of Dragonstone."

"Daemo-"

"Believe me, I would be the first to demand satisfaction to whomever dare slander my twin sister," Gwayne grits his teeth.

Your husband laughs loudly, "then perhaps you should go shove a-"

"Daemon, please," you quip, finally raising your voice enough that you could not be ignored.

Both Daemon and Gwayne turn to you. You grab the former's arm and undo the ties of your cowl, "my silly brother is not worth the headache he's about to give you."

Gwayne's jaw tightens as he looks at the face you pull as you look at Daemon.

"He's not, but I can-"

His mouth goes dry when you remove the cowl and hand it to Erryk. Daemon's eyes rove over your cleavage. The marks on your skin were more apparent than he remembered, but then again, he had only seen it in candle light.

"I... dressed so prettily for you," you mutter, pushing your hair back, "perhaps we should go for a stroll instead?"

Daemon's lilac gaze falls upon your pleading eyes. For a moment, he's so distracted he'd forgotten all about your brother, but when he remembers, he turns to him with a chuckle and grins, "yes, you're quite right, wife."

When you look at Gwayne and he immediately turns away from you. Your throat constricts because of it.

"A good stroll would do us good," Daemon turns to you, "then I will shall show you the might of my City Watch. Tis far more entertaining than whatever you could behold here."

With that, the prince leads you off, turning to Erryk as he did, "that is all, Cargyll. I have her now."

You watch as the kingsguard nods at the instruction, stepping back to let you pass. You look over your shoulder, finding Gwayne already looking at you. You give him a sorry expression before looking away.

[multifandomme]

Caught

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

Summary: Natasha's absence makes you needier than usual.

Genre: Smut, (masturbation, fingering, praise, dom/sub undertones, getting caught, finger sucking, pretty vanilla), not suitable for minors.

Word Count: 1.1k.

This piece is for day 12 of kinktober under the 'masturbation' prompt. This is a repost of a fic I wrote on ao3 in 2022.

More works from me here. || Masterlist here. || Kinktober 2024 Masterlist here.

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Wandering hands slipped beneath the bedsheets, the soft sound of rustling fabric bleeding out into the thickened silence. Natasha’s absence always incited a newfound level of desperation, but you hadn’t quite anticipated the sheer desperation that had claimed you. Initially, you had attempted to thwart the throbbing between your legs with distractions, a movie playing to nobody in the background as you fidgeted upon the mattress. Every extended attempt was obstructed by the wriggling of your fingers, a conscious mind of their own dragging them lower to pacify your urges.

Ordinarily, a punishment would follow such an overt act of disobedience, Natasha intent on being the only person who could induce such a pleasure. But her lack of presence was felt tenfold, a flitting tingle fast transforming into an uncomfortable pressure in the pit of your stomach that begged to be alleviated.

Deft movements saw your underwear yanked down to your ankles until you flicked them to the floor below, momentarily forsaken as your mind whirred with anticipation. Your fingers sought your pussy with avidity, unable to resist the temptation as you dared to trace your arousal with a sole digit, a shameless moan tearing from your throat. 

In the pitch darkness of the room, you felt at ease, the only semblance of light originating from the tiny ray that slivered in from the hallway outside. Soft breaths escaped your lips as you laved your clit with your arousal, your nipples hardening as the pleasure took a firm hold of you with no intent of letting go.

Liquid collected in abundance, only exacerbated by the touches that you had allowed yourself to undertake, proficient fingers probing at your entrance. The impulses were too strong to ever deny, a snaking finger daring to sneak inside of yourself as your back arched upwards from the bed, a warmth infiltrating the entirety of your body. Ablaze.

Electricity sparked with vigour, the motion of your finger inside of yourself finally providing some pacification as you basked in the feeling of being filled. You could only wish that Natasha was beside you, her soft coaxing words never too far away as she willed you into oblivion. The image of the redhead remained imprinted in your mind, her voice so familiar that you could almost hear it in its corporeal form as you reeled at the prospect. 

“Natasha, oh- fuck,” you hissed, mindlessly. 

“Naughty girl,” a voice erupted, startling you in place as you yanked your fingers away from your pussy in haste. “Someone really missed me, hm?”

Immediately, your eyes raised towards the door, a silhouette lurking over the threshold until the ghostly figure sauntered towards you. Even in the dimness, the smirk that Natasha donned could not be denied, practically entwined with her as she tugged the bedsheet away from you. Green orbs studied your indecency, her interest blatantly piqued as she honed in upon the glimmering arousal between your legs.

“So needy,” she remarked, her fingers inching in to trail over your throbbing flesh, a look of amusement claiming her features. “All you need to do is ask.”

Humiliation clouded you with intensity, a darkened blush materialising upon your cheeks and radiating heat. It was the first time that you had been caught in such a compromising position, rendered self-conscious beneath Natasha’s burning gaze.

“I’m sorry,” you uttered, quietly as you began to clamber to a sitting position, quickly occluded by a strong hand that forced you backwards. “I tried to stop, but I couldn’t, I-”

“Ssssshhh,” Natasha hushed, a slender digit pressed rigidly against your lips and painting it with the arousal that Natasha had been priorly inspecting. “How about I finish that for you, my love?”

An uncontrolled groan fell from your lips in the knowledge that Natasha planned to alleviate your neediness as you took her finger into your mouth. Expertly, you coated her digit with saliva, your tongue swirling around until it glistened in wetness.

“Hmmm,” Natasha mused, retracting her finger from your mouth with a sadistic simper. “You’re more desperate than I thought.”

You nodded avidly in agreement, hoping to instil Natasha with a sense of urgency, your heartbeat pulsating agonisingly between your legs.

“Please,” you begged, enlisting the help of your most convincing pleading expression, the one you knew sent Natasha’s self-control spiralling. 

Natasha’s jaw flexed instantaneously as you bit back a victorious smile, knowing that your underhand tactics had succeeded. A response from her was unnecessary, her fingers manoeuvring to mirror the actions that you had exerted earlier, a ghosting touch landing upon your pussy. She hummed softly as she brushed against your arousal, two fingers sliding in without warning as she gnawed upon the full flesh of her lips. 

“So fucking tight, baby,” she growled, lowly, a carnal sound bursting from your own mouth in response to her remark. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Your hips jogged in accordance with her soft motions, gentle as she basked in the way your walls hugged her fingers so snugly. Desperation surged without respite, intent on pressing Natasha for a faster pace as you bucked aimlessly into her hand.

“Please,” you breathed, whorishly, all traces of embarrassment forsaken as your mind became fixated upon your carnal urge to come undone. “Fuck me harder.”

Natasha acknowledged your plea with a hum, a cocky smile plastered upon her face as she increased the pace. Of course, the woman turned the tables, a brutal force emerging as your breath fought to catch up, Natasha merely chuckling towards your strife. Your body shuddered as the redhead’s fingers jammed into you, methodic whines ripping themselves from you as you stared into her sparkling orbs.

“That’s it, baby,” Natasha coaxed, her voice delicate and in contention with the aggression conveyed in her movements. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it, hm?”

Mindlessness denied any verbal response, your brain lacking coherence as you gazed up, dumbfounded by the pleasure that flooded you. Natasha peered downwards, a knowing simper glued to her lips as her eyes darkened with lust, wholly consumed by you.

“Cum for me, baby,” she demanded, domineeringly, her teeth bared in impatience. “Cum all over my fingers like a good girl.”

A calculated swipe across your clit had your body quaking below her, your pussy cinching Natasha’s digits with intent. You cried aloud, more so when she continued to slam into you, no heed paid towards the unbearable oversensitivity that you were faced with.

“Fuck, baby,” you panted, breathily, your hands outstretched in search of Natasha’s wrist in the hopes of stymying her motions. “Stop, I can’t take it.”

Natasha scoffed in amusement before prying her fingers out of you only to shove them into your gaping mouth. Instinctively, you suckled with zeal, your tongue flurrying as you recalled the familiar taste of yourself commencing its invasion.

“Next time,” Natasha spoke, her face merely inches from yours. “You wait for me. Do you understand?”

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––--– ♡ –––--

[pierregazly]

always the prize, always the winner ꨄ logan sargeant smau

logan sargeant x pop star!reader

in which logan is actually pretty okay with being known as the biggest pop star in the world's arm candy. who would complain about that, really?

yourusername

liked by logansargeant, lilymhe, oscarpiastri, and 4,539,209 others

yourusername back doing what i do best!! (watching this handsome man get asked solely about me in interviews and then singing songs about it) (ps i love you) (pps yes that is a song)

view all comments

logansargeant why are you so obsessed with me?

logansargeant im not complaining btw cause like... never stop?

logansargeant but also pps cant wait to hear it 🤍

yourusername just for this attitude you're the LAST to hear it now (handsome)

username still never gonna understand how LOGAN SARGEANT bagged ms ma'am but okay! 🤭

username a couple mutually obsessed with each other? (gag) (obsessed)

oscarpiastri i get asked questions about you too?

yourusername yes and your one word answers are SO riveting.

username why is no one talking about the SONG??? PS I LOVE YOU???? im going to throw up

username it's going to be the most disgustingly loving obsessive song ever and it's all about this american MAN

username never seen a man luckier than logan sargeant

logansargeant has posted a story

tagged logansargeant

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri, alex_albon, and 3,201,326 others

yourusername nothing makes me happier than running into you in the most random of places. always there when i need you most 🫶🏻

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logansargeant i would meet you in the middle of a croc swamp if i had to

logansargeant not a snake pit though, you're on your own for that one kid

yourusername you're on your own kid... what a song title 🤭

alex_albon we have a race next week??? in australia??? why are you in america

logansargeant 🤫

username god these two make me sick!!! (affectionate)

username if they ever break up... imagine the album ugh. i need it

username maybe let's not wish a breakup on anyone??? especially these two?? wtf

lilymhe begging u to release the songs even if they're about logan

yourusername they're actually about you?? 🫶🏻

tagged logansargeant and yourusername

liked by username, username, username, and others

ynupdates during an interview before the melbourne gp this weekend, logan gushed about finally getting to see yn after a few weeks apart, and when asked if she'd be attending any of the upcoming gp's all he did was smile and say 'she could be here right now, but i'm not going to be the one to expose her?' - so, if anyone is at the melbourne gp be sure to keep your eyes out!

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username oh he SO flew to san fran so she wouldn't have to fly to australia alone.. king energy??

username i know he always says he's the winner but that man would walk through hell for her so idk

username omg omg im gonna be at the gp this weekend!!! i'll keep an extra eye on everything and anything william's

username imagine going to a FORMULA 1 RACE and running into THEE pop star yn

username logan it's your weekend to get some points!!! impress your gf, be the prize and the winner for once!! (at least get points)

yourusername has posted a story

liked by logansargeant, username, username, and others

replies

logansargeant not you posting my garage but not even coming to see me??? hell is a place on earth and it's where i am right now

yourusername literally my words every time im away from you??? go win points love u my handsome lil eagle man <333

logansargeant gross <3

liked by yourusername, alex_albon, oscarpiastri, and others

logansargeant LFGGGGG!! first points of the year, and a 5th place finish at the melbourne gp!! let's go up from here!! honoured to have had my best friend here, always gonna be a winner when you're involved angel 💗

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yourusername literally wreck my plans, THAT'S my man

yourusername so fricken proud of you handsome!!! knew calling you my lil eagle man would win you some points

yourusername love you so much pls

logansargeant love you more pretty <3

williamsracing that's OUR shared comfort american man. it's all up from here!

username LFGGGG

username RAH RAH WTF IS A KM 🦅

username 🦅🦅🦅

tagged logansargeant

liked by logansargeant, lilymhe, oscarpiastri, and 12,320,433 others

yourusername in honour of my boyfriend, my new album 'lover' will be out 24.03.14 - an ode to the man who has shown me how you can be a prize and a winner all in one. logan, i love you more than anything. always.

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logansargeant and to think i always said it was a joke when i asked you to write an album for me.

logansargeant i love you to the moon and back, i know i've heard every song but i can't wait to hear it again. you're the best ever

yourusername god. i'm so lucky to be known as yours lo 💗

oscarpiastri if anyone asks me about this. one word answers only. riveting.

yourusername riveting?

oscarpiastri riveting.

username I KNEW IT

username THERE WAS WAY TOO MANY REFS TO NEW SONGS

username god this is gonna make me feel so single. i literally can't wait.

ynnation love songs for the ages, we know it. an icon, and congrats to logan for getting his first points of the year!!

username this is SO for all the logan haters, ain't none of y'all ever gonna make our girl feel the way he does!!!

authors notes

this was so self-indulgent bc i haven't written in forever but im going through a logan phase. i hope you all love it 💗 i also lost my tag list so pls enjoy regardless ily

[girlokwhatever]

Ugh I’ve become obsessed with Paige. I actually showed a friend a video of her trying to explain my crush and the first thing she said was “wow, I didn’t expect her voice to be so deep”. I’m likeeeee SEE 🫠

For a request how about a late night call with Paige while she’s out of town. That voice in your ear, saying all the things she wish she could do and will do when she gets home. 😈

ᯤ༉‧₊˚.*ੈ✩‧₊˚‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ on the phone,,

paige bueckers x fem!reader

you were in your bed getting ready to finally lay down after the long day you had. paige’s side of the bed was left empty and cold ever since she left for an away game. it’d only been two days and she’d probably be back tomorrow, but you still miss her an unbelievable amount.

your head hits the pillow when your phone starts ringing, paige’s name spoken loudly in the air by your phone. it startles you a little, not expecting to hear from her again today.

you reach over and answer it, pulling the phone close to your ear. “paige?”

“hey ma, how are youuu?” she drags out the ‘you,’ making it evident she’s happy and in a cheerful mood. you can’t help but smile just by picturing her face.

“i’m good, about to go to bed actually.”

“not yet. i wanna talk to you for a little bit. i’ve missed you.” her tone changes with the last few words, voice lowering in a seductive manner. it already has you turning in bed as the heat creeps up your body, the tone all too familiar to you.

“i’ve missed you too p.”

there’s a pause on paige’s side of the phone, silence filling the line. you hear her labored breath fanning over the microphone and wonder if she’s just as worked up as you are right now, even though she hasn’t actually done anything.

“i’m so excited to come home tomorrow baby. can i tell you something?”

“anything.”

“i wanna fuck you so bad right now.”

“oh-” you have no time to speak because she’s cutting you off immediately to follow up on her statement.

“when i get home, fuck- you have no idea what m’gonna do to you.”

now it’s your turn to pause, carefully thinking about what your next move is. you could just tease her, tell her to go to bed and make good on her promises tomorrow. on the other hand, you could play into whatever she’s trying to do and see where it goes.

you opt for the second option.

“yeah? what’re you gonna do to me paige?”

“you wanna know?”

“yeah.”

your girlfriend squeezes her eyes shut, praying that she doesn’t finish just by hearing the sound of your voice. you’re so intoxicating to her, always knowing what to say and what buttons to press. it’s almost embarrassing the affect you have on her.

“i wanna bend you over the kitchen counter, get you warmed up on my fingers. maybe three fingers, that sound good? i’ll make you feel so good baby i promise. i’ll start off slow if you want, or fast, it’s up to you.”

you’re breathing heavy too, considering dipping a hand down into your pajama shorts because she’s turning you on so much. the wetness between your legs grow, rubbing them together for some relief.

“once you cum two or three times i’ll take you to our bed- are you okay babe? i can hear you moving a lot.”

“m’okay. keep going,” your hand snakes into your underwear, collecting your arousal and using it to rub tight circles on your clit. the simple pleasure is enough to make your head tilt back and hit the headboard. the sound echoes through the phone and paige knows exactly what you’re doing.

“i’ve been wanting to taste you so bad too, gonna have you ride my face until i tell you to stop. want your legs around my head, cum dripping on my face. i want it so bad ma you have no idea.”

“yeah?” it comes out more like a whine, voice high-pitched as the pit in your stomach grows. you haven’t gotten yourself off in so long. the feeling is foreign to you, arm growing tired from the constant strain.

“yeah. won’t stop until your legs are shaking.”

“oh my god paige.”

“gonna fuck you too. nice and slow and deep so i can take my time, i want you to ride me after that. i love it when you ride me- i get to see everything. i’ll fuck you in the shower, on the fucking wall for all i care. i’ve missed your pretty pussy so much it’s all i can think about.”

you moan into the phone, making it blatantly obvious what you’re doing if it wasn’t already. paige feels her chest swell with pride and she’s so turned on she thinks about doing the same thing as you; dipping an eager hand into her pants to relieve the pressure.

“i won’t stop until you beg me to. i don’t want you thinking about anything else but me and how i make you feel, okay? want you chanting my name.”

“yes-fuck! nothing but you p,”

your hand gets tired and sloppy as your orgasm approaches, back bending off the bed to help you grind on yourself. paige is still talking but you can’t even hear her because your ears are ringing and you’re so close-

“you gonna cum baby?”

you hum out, near delirious and probably crying as her words send you over the edge. your whole body shakes at the sensation but it’s nothing like how paige makes you feel.

you can’t wait until she’s here and not just on the phone.

ᯤ༉‧₊˚.*ੈ✩‧₊˚‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

a lil short fic for my paige girlies

part of me fears i made this a bit too freaky……

BUT I LIKE TJE REQUEST SO HERE YOU GO!

partially spell checked idk

[leonsdolly]

Dog Days

Leon Kennedy x fem!reader

Synopsis: You're sick, but Leon's here to take care of you.

CW: fluff, comfort

WC: 785

A/n: looks like everyone's sick rn !!! ruru, this one's for you since you also got sick (╥﹏╥) sending you all the love and best wishes so that you can feel better @laceycoffins (๑-﹏-๑)

“Leon…” Your whines fly weakly through the room and hit your boyfriend’s ears in the living room. “Leonnnn…” It takes everything in you to muster up enough energy to call out his name.

You hear a sigh before the sound of his footsteps make their way to your shared bedroom. “Everything okay, baby?” He internally coos at the sight of you laying in bed with a cool rag over your forehead and thin covers pulled up to your chest. You’re like a woodland creature of sorts, a little dormouse curled up snugly in its burrow for the winter. Except it isn't winter. The scorching early July sun looms over the city, ready to penetrate through your lace curtains and exacerbate the fever plaguing your body. You pout up at him as you feebly lift your arms out for him.

“What do you need, baby?” He chuckles as he takes one of your hands in his. “Just brought you more fluids, changed that washcloth, made your bed ‘til you said it was comfy enough.”

“I need you,” you say like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Which it is. Did he really expect his needy girl to recover through her illness without being pressed up against him 24/7? Would he also let her succumb to the bubonic plague, damning her to a burial pit on the outskirts of a European city in the 14th century? He sighs and lifts the washcloth on your forehead to feel it with the back of his hand. He turns his hand over to rub soothingly at your forehead, and suddenly you're a child again, relishing in your mother's healing touch over your little ailing body while her dramas blare in the background and the aroma of spicy noodle soup invigorates you. You close your eyes, relishing in the relief of his cool touch against your warmed skin. He lifts the blanket up to slide in next to you, and when you open your eyes again, he's wrapping his arms around you.

“Weren't you bitching about how you can't get sick right now?” You snuggle against him, enraptured by the way his warm breath hits the top of your head when he chuckles.

“You’re a pain, you know that?” He drops a kiss on your hair. “Can’t have my baby suffering, that's all there is to it. Even if your snot gets all over me.”

“Whatev-” your croak is intercepted by a coughing fit that erupts from within your lungs.

“Sound like the exorcist girl.”

“You have such a way with words.” You bat your eyes like you’re really head over heels for this man. Which you are.

“Look like her too,” he says pointedly at the god-awful leakage dripping from your nostrils.

“When his love language is words of affirmation.”

He grunts as he snakes an arm over to pluck a lone tissue from the nightstand and pinches your nose with it. “Blow.”

“You know I don’t ever say no to that,” you joke as you close your eyes and force the air to expel through your clogged sinuses and into the flimsy tissue Leon holds.

“Now you sound like a lawn mower. Or a chainsaw.” He tosses the tissue into a spare plastic bag you’re using for trash before vigorously sanitizing his hands which makes you giggle.

You tuck your face into his chest, feeling the cooling fabric against your flushed cheeks. Nothing is quite more miserable than falling ill alone during the hottest months of the year. He’s your relief against the hazy summer world just outside your windows, threatening to seep in and shake your body’s best efforts to maintain homeostasis. Your symptoms are alleviated by his mere presence, and his hands are the most effective treatment in your frail state. His familiar scent envelopes your senses even through your congestion, whispering words of reassurance into the depths of your brain like you’re that little girl laying in your mother’s soft arms again. The bottle  of generic acetaminophen laying on your nightstand fails in efficacy when Leon’s around.

“Love you,” you mumble against his shirt as he repeats it back, and you cling to him for all that you’ve got in your weakened condition. This is your source of wellness, your reason for waking up every morning and braving through the travails of life. The love is mutual - you’re his sole reason for fighting. There’s a plethora of horrors alive and breathing in this world that you’ll never have to witness; he’ll make sure of that until he’s drawn his last breath. But for now, he’s content in just holding you close while the summer heat rages on outside the walls of your home.

[diejager]

Hi! I got the notification that your requests are open skjsjsjs so exciting, can you do something about the noodle dragon with Monster!Task Force 141 please? That would be all, thank you and have a nice day! ❤️✨

Cw: canon-typical violence, weird water magic, weird dragon/monster shit and lore, death, crash, tell me if I missed any.

They’d gotten used to you over the month, watching you prance around them like a graceful panther in hunt, stalking around them with that cheeky smile of yours and a clawed hand always ready to patch someone up. You were a might dragon, a warm to some classifications and an Asian one to others, but the consensus was that you weren’t one to be trifled with —as most dragons were, but if anything, you were so a feline in a body of a dragon than the ferocious monster you were. Always prowling and on guard, watchful and observant, aware of the events transpiring around you like a protective cat.

They took well to you, forgoing the paranoia and apprehension at your eagerness to help them and you openness, your long tail, hard scales protecting the thick cords of sinewy muscles curled ever so softly around them, and the tuff of fur tickling any naked piece of skin. And however tender and soft-hearted you were, they’d seen the dangerous part of you, the draconic one with a strange affinity to water rather than the destructive fire they were so familiar with. Whereas Price was a chaotic force, burning everything on his path and leaving nothing but cinder and ash, you were an unmoving force of water, a typhoon and cyclone that would crash the land and leave broken pieces of what remained, cold and drowned —the calm before the storm as people said, a perfect imagery of you.

Yet there was a lingering suspicion that it was all, that there was a more monstrous part of you hidden away from their eyes. Horangi had shared such thoughts - another mythical creature of sacredness and nobility - and showed them what hehad heard of eastern dragons: giant snake-like creatures with the faces of lions and crowns of graceful antlers, born with lustrous manes and hard but flexible scales that let them dance and twirl as they wished it. Destructive beauty, Horangihad mumbled, a creature who’s image is drawn to represent beauty and nobility. 

They knew, they were fully aware, that you had more to show, yet they couldn’t hold back the awe and amazement that followed the gut-deep fear and worry after they saw you fall, your figure shrinking as you plummeted into the dark and silent ocean, gone into the wide, open sea. Rather than seeing your head pop out, gasping for air while they clung to their straps and helicopter, Nikolai screaming through the comma about holding onto something, swirling left and right to avoid being hit a second time by the war ship, it was calm, a smooth plain growing in darkness, a shape forming beneath the veil of a blue ocean. 

Then, before they knew it, a majestic serpent erupted from the sea, wet scales gleaming under the sun while you rose into the sky in a spiral, white fur floating like you hadn’t just come out of water. You were swift, curling in the air, your magicworking it’s wonder when you flew, stubby arms and legs moving as if you were swimming, looping around them to shield them from being narrowly hit. It was as Horangi gushed, water rose and fell with you, tendrils of salty water reaching out to curl around you, rising high to swarm the enemy ship the same way you did, circling around it until it was left submerged, swallowed up by your hydromancy. You had drowned warship in the depth of the abyss, a dark and cold pit that promised a lonely death, forgotten and painful. You had caused the deaths of hundreds with a twirling dance, an alluring, yet deadly show, like an oleander.

You made no show of joining them in the aircraft, keeping your distance from them, adequate enough to protect them from further damage without becoming a danger to them. They - especially Price, since he had never seen an eastern dragon, only from files and catalogues - gawked, gazing at your head-sized eye, blinking owlishly at them with a narrowed eyes, slitted pupil gleaming with glee at their admiration. You purred, a growling rumble that shook your gills, a deep sound shuddering through them like thunder, low and booming, but it was a happy sound, meant to comfort them from the near sinking that you’d saved them from.

Even in this situation, where they’d been saved by you, you were still trying to comfort them and reassure them despite having taken a hit or two. They were glad Laswell found you.

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird-kamakse @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @angelcakes-22 @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @mul-pi @danielle143 @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @luvecarson @petwifed @randominstake @heartelysia @jggykhug09090 @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @call-me-nyxx @sans-chara @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @thigh-o-saur @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce @sobbingnshtting

[cheezeybread]

I've been seeing concept on my feed lately so I have to ask: Jamil taking his lover's last name when they get married. I've been seeing arguments on how this could actually free him since he technically wouldn't be a Viper anymore. So can I have headcanons for this scenario? Also how happy does he get when he's called Mr.L/N?

I've never really thought about it, but that's a pretty good point...poor Jamil needs all the good stuff he can get in this life TwT

𝐆𝐍 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥 (𝐞𝐱)𝐕𝐢𝐩𝐞𝐫! :𝐃 𝐅𝐭: 𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥, 𝐨𝐛𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐥𝐲

┏━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━┓

He never figured that there could be so much freedom in marriage. In all honesty, he had never really considered marriage an option for him. In Jamil's opinion, marriage was for the wealthy, those who could easily afford to have so many children and not worry about feeding them. He saw how hard his parents worked day in and day out serving Kalim's family, all so they could afford to live.

It was honestly one of the things he grew to resent Kalim's family for. They had it so easy, and they didn't even appreciate it!

And, why would Jamil want to bring a child into this world only to have them indebted to the family he himself has slaved for his entire life??

Marriage was a snake pit, and Jamil knew how to avoid those all too well.

Well, but then he met you. To be honest, Jamil never looked twice at you, assuming that you were one of those stuck-ups who enjoyed everyone's attention. But after his overblotting incident, he began to see you in a new light. You weren't craving attention. You were simply being kind. And generous. And you were oh so smart, and gorgeous...

Before he knew it, he was head over heels with you, and a relationship blossomed.

Despite his uneasiness around marriage, Jamil couldn't stand to not have you permanently bound by his side, his love for you written down on an official certificate.

You knew good and well why he was so anxious about the marriage ordeal, so a few weeks before the wedding, you went to Azul to ask him his personal opinion on the matter. After a few hours of consultation (which was, surprisingly, free! Azul said to consider it a wedding gift!), a solution was found. If Jamil took your last name, then he wouldn't legally be a part of the Viper family anymore, and therefore wouldn't be in servitude to the wealthy family of Kalim.

You presented it to Jamil with excitement, and he joined in with your happiness, although he was still a little uneasy on how to tell his parents about it

In the end, you two decided not to tell his family until the day of the wedding.

"Jamil Viper, I hereby bound you eternally to (Y/N) (L/N), to stick together for all the time in this world. You may now kiss to solidify your bond," The priest said with a loving smile, looking at the two of you like a father looks upon his child with pride "Ladies and Gentlemen, may I now introduce you to the newly wedded couple...Jamil (L/N) and (Y/N) (L/N)

Jamil's family wasn't too happy about the name change, but what could they do?? Absolutely nothing! His mother especially was upset, and pulled Jamil aside to hiss at him about how he's disgracing their family and practically shoving the Al-Asim family's face with rotten dung

HOWEVER, Kalim showed up to save the day (of course he was there! Even if he wasn't invited...he still would find a way to invite himself), informing Jamil's mother that his family was overjoyed at Jamil's decision, and wished him all the best luck in his newfound life and marriage.

Jamil's mother shut up real nicely after that.

And, after this situation, Jamil saw Kalim in a new light, untainted by his servitude to the boy. The two of them slowly became actual friends!

And for the first month after the wedding, Jamil's face would light up with an insane amount of joy whenever someone called him by his full name, proud of sharing a last name with you.

Even several years after the wedding, you can still see the sparkle in his eyes over it all.

It was the right decision, for sure

┗━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━┛

[pedroscurls]

Fall is here!! Time to get cozy 🍁🍂 what would it be like for Hugh and younger gf (30s-55) as they get ready for fall season? Like probably them starting to live under the same roof all cute and cozy

seasons changing (one-shot)

summary: hugh and reader get ready for fall in new york. pairing: hugh jackman x fem!reader content warnings: fluff, implied age gap (reader is in their 30s, hugh is 56), hugh is very touchy 😉, reader has some description (outfit and hair), no use of y/n. word count: 698 a/n: i know this is so long overdue and i'm sorry for not getting to this until now! i hope you enjoy it!!! i had a blast writing this (makes me wish i spent my time getting ready for fall with hugh). this is purely fictional! i mean no disrespect to hugh jackman.

Fall has always been your favorite season. The crisp, cool air. The leaves changing color. When the seasons change from summer to fall, it always brings a sense of excitement that the holidays are fast approaching. 

And this year is different. Has been different. It’ll be the first time you’re spending it with Hugh in New York since he’s asked you to move in. Part of you still can’t believe this is real, but he tells you just how much he loves it when you decorate the place and how much you make it feel so much more cozy, so much more homey. 

Hugh hates being away from you, but his schedule has been so busy even after Deadpool & Wolverine. He knows that you don’t mind, knows that you understand, but he can’t help but feel guilty for being away from you so frequently. 

So when he finally does get a chance to come home, Hugh’s surprised at the sight of his home that he now shares with you. The moment he steps inside, there’s a sudden sense of warmth that he feels in the pit of his stomach. You’re sitting at the dining table, legs crossed on the chair as you look out the window. He smiles to himself, the entire city scape blanketed by cloudy skies. The trees he can see from afar with leaves the color of orange and it just feels like fall. He can even smell the candle that you lit up, wafting through his entire home. 

Music is quietly playing as you continue to write in your notebook, a cup of coffee nearby. He loves seeing you so comfortable in his home; it surprised him in the beginning how easily you fit into his life, how he now can’t even think of his home without you there. 

It’s like you’ve always belonged there. With him.

“Hey, baby,” he calls out, setting his duffle bag on the couch as he walks in your direction.

When your eyes meet his, there’s a surprise grin on your face. Without hesitation, he watches you get up from your chair and run over to you, wrapping your arms around him. “You’re back early.” 

“Wanted to surprise you,” Hugh smiles, his own arms snaking around your frame. 

“Consider me surprised,” you bury your face against his chest, letting out a contented sigh. “Missed you.”

“Missed you too, baby. It feels very cozy in here. I see that you’ve decorated…” Hugh smiles, pulling away to look around the living room and shared kitchen space. 

“Yeah, I couldn’t wait.” 

Hugh walks over to his speaker and raises the volume, the song playing loudly throughout his home. He looks at you and smiles, gently reaching out for your hand. 

“I love it,” he whispers, pulling you into his arms as his hands move along your sides. “I love when you decorate.” 

“Really?” You ask, biting your lower lip as your hands move to rest on his shoulders, gently squeezing. You can hear him let out a contented groan as you slowly continue to massage the tight knots away. 

“Yeah,” Hugh answers, leaning down to kiss the tip of your nose. “You’re making this your home too and I love it. Love you.” 

You feel the heat rise in your cheeks as you stare up at him, biting the inside of your cheek. “It’s not too much?” 

“Never too much.” He leans down and moves his lips along the side of your neck, hands grazing your backside and squeezing gently. “Smells like fall in here.” 

You gasp quietly, eyes falling shut. “Well, that was the goal.” You let out a whimper when you feel his teeth graze a hot spot on your neck and you reach around to grip the shirt he’s wearing. “There’s still more to decorate…”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it, baby.” He smiles, bending his legs only slightly to lift you into his arms, allowing your legs to wrap around his waist. “But let’s hold off on the decoration because I really did miss you, baby.” 

“What did you have in mind?” 

“How about I show you instead?” Hugh grins, leading you up the stairs and into the bedroom.

[cherryheairt]

Dragon Dreamer pt. VII

tags: @beebeechaos @r-3dlips @emery-aka-emmy @watermel0nsugarhigh @delaynew @hueanhdang @thelastemzy @purple-1995 @pedro-pascal-love @littleblackcatinwonderland @fall-winter-heart97

cw: blood, death, violence, threats

The minutes passed excruciatingly slow on top of Morningstar. Seamus pressed tightly against her back still, as if he was afraid of the dragoness trying to throw him off. Daenys wouldn't put it past her, honestly. If it wasn't a risk to catch her, Morningstar would buck him off like an ornery stud.

Even with the wind blowing past her at such a high speed and the altitude of the flight, Daenys only felt a flaming heat. It burned through her veins like fire, unrelenting with its assault. She became dizzy with the overwhelming thoughts in her mind. She hadn't foresaw this to her conscious belief.

Daenys couldn't go back to the Red Keep. Not until Rhaenyra was on the Iron Throne and could protect her. She would be trapped in a snake pit with no way out except for death. She would rather die than return alone. Aegon was a drunken cunt who found enjoyment in tormenting others, found his nightly entertainment in fighting rings, and found his pleasure in the many whores of flea bottom.

Aemond was even worse. He had great skill and wit to aid him, but his madness made him the most dangerous of the two.

Otto and Alicent were compliant with the brothers now that they were reigning. Unstoppable, Daenys knew. The Queen Mother wouldn't do anything for the defense of her step-granddaughter, not in a thousand years. Otto might even suggest for Aemond to take her as a wife in a display of dominance over Rhaenyra's claim. Her eldest daughter, sister-in-law to the King.

The thought did not help her nausea. She couldn't go back.

A better fate would be to die at a formal execution. A statement to the Realm; not even the high-borns were safe from treason.

She would die there. Body or spirit, it did not matter. Daenys wished to die on her own terms, not to the whims of a whore and a madman.

Her own mortality haunted her. A princess, eldest daughter to the Queen, meant to have the blood of the dragon. Destined to die on her dragon, yet not be honored with 'a dragonrider's death'. There was no being shot down by a scorpion in a great battle for the history books. No dragon dance to perform in the skies with another beast. Only a man. A craven.

She would be alone, only with Morningstar. Like her ancestor Aerea, who mysteriously disappeared for an entire year with her dragon to Old Valyria, only to return and die without telling her story. Daenys would be remembered for her madness, not her sacrifice. A footnote, perhaps, in her mother's reign. No chapter would be dedicated to a girl who did nothing.

It wouldn't matter. Daenys wouldn't be alive to care about her legacy. She was born with her dragon. She would die with her, too. The thought comforted her more than anything else could. She was a proud dragonrider, and that's all that mattered in the end, perhaps.

Seamus squeezed her waist, knife at his thigh, almost poking into hers carelessly. Not that it would matter if it did, she could return to King's Landing with no limbs at all, and Seamus would still be rewarded. "Can't this beast fly any faster? I thought dragons were supposed to be Gods."

"She cannot fly against the winds so easily." Daenys told him, resisting the urge to tell him it was common sense. She should've fed him to Morningstar when he presented her with the wolf's head. She was naive to believe he was clueless instead of slighting her intentionally. What a coward. He couldn't even fight Cregan head-on, despite his age and experience difference. Proudly, Daenys knew that Cregan was a rare once-in-a-generation talent. As a Stark should be. He would be in the history books of great and important leaders throughout Westeros history. Perhaps most known for his protection of all that resided south of the Wall or his aid to the Queen during the war for the throne. The Wolf in the North.

Maybe her death would inspire Cregan to send more bannerman than he originally planned, out of pity for the Queen's loss. Though, she secretly hoped it might be to avenge his short-lived lady friend.

He scoffed, "what a joke."

"Do you wish to walk to the crownlands?" She bit, regretting it when he dug his blunt nails into her skin. She would be left with plenty of bruises littering her skin on the morrow.

"Watch your tongue girl, or I will remove it."

She nodded quickly, refraining from speaking any further. When had she grown so mouthy? Only days ago, she would've never imagined saying such things to a man who had a knife to her back, or anyone, for that matter.

Daenys grinded her teeth, looking ahead sharply. It was only clouds below, grey skies spanning for miles ahead. If Cregan was following on horseback, he would've long since lost sight of her. She prayed that he was, even if he could not do anything from such a distance. The thought comforted her.

Morningstar shrieked, the sound jarring even to Daenys' tuned ears. It was higher-pitched than usual, like she was calling out for another dragon. Or a person.

A thought formed in her head. Morningstar did not have to bite someone to kill them. She, like many of the other dragons, had one thing unique to her. Baelerion had his unmatched size. Meleys was the fastest of the living dragons, even with her large form. Caraxes had a long neck, resembling a bloodwyrm. Sunfyre had his renowned beauty. Syrax had a regal grace to her that no other dragon matched.

Morningstar released a blue fire from her chest, burning hotter than the orange and red fires of her kin. She seldom used it, other than to cook her food. It scorched everything it touched in less time than other dragonfire. Daenys bit her cheeks anxiously. She would not live to the sunrise.

She would not see the bruises form and eventually fade.

She would not see her dear brothers again, nor race in the skies with Vermax and Arrax.

She would not feel her mother's warm embrace.

She would not see Cregan's kind eyes again.

But it would be her choice. Her sacrifice. For once, Daenys would do something. Perhaps not heroic, like her fathers', or significant like her mother. She would prevent herself from being held hostage with her timely death. Daenys knew that if she were taken, put to the gallows publically, Rhaenyra would back down in order to save her only daughter. It was obvious what the smarter option was, objectively.

She swallowed down her nerves, coming to a solemn acceptance.

Sliding her hand up her bunched skirt, Daenys slid the dagger slowly down her leg, uncaring if she nicked her skin. She could only feel the cold pommel in her grip and the hot adrenaline in her blood. On one side, she clutched her dagger. On the other, she reached for Seamus' weaponed hand. She snatched his wrist in a chokingly tight hold, trying to force his hand to open and drop his dagger. He jerked in surprise, not expecting the underwhelming Princess to act out. In his sudden movement, the dagger grazed her neck, drawing an angry red line of blood from it. She gripped the wrist tighter, his body acting against him and opening his hand up to drop the dagger. It fell to the forest floor, long out of his reach. She whipped her other hand down on his, stabbing it straight through his hand and into the saddle.

Seamus screamed out in pain, howling curses at the girl. "Forget alive! The King will have you returned in bits and pieces!"

When he tightened his arm around her waist again, she pulled the dagger back to her chest, allowing his blood and twitching hand to smack her across the jaw wildly. She twisted and fought in his grip, hot blood smearing across her face and neck. Seamus' eye was squeezed shut painfully from a scratch she managed to give the eyeball directly; the sight pridefully reminded her of Aemond. They both heaved with effort, fighting each other and to stay on the saddle. Below, Morningstar fluttered her wings in a panic, hearing Daenys yelp into the cold air.

He reached for her dagger, grunting when she continued to slice at his exposed hand's flesh. They continued their struggles, both covered in blood now. Daenys turned at the waist, taking the flying fist at her eye with a crazed look in her violet eyes. She stabbed the dagger into his soft belly, satisfied at hearing him cry out. When he pushed her into the front of the saddle, hands trying to keep a grip at her neck, she cried out. At her struggles, he slammed her repeatedly into the hard material of the saddle by the tight grip of her scalp, leaving her breathless and light-headed. "Stay still, you little brat!" He growled into her ear.

"Dracarys!"

Morningstar repeated her cry, refusing the command fiercely. Seamus left the dagger in his stomach to keep himself from bleeding out, though he was tempted to in order to kill the Princess faster. He would have to be satisfied with feeling the breath leave her throat.

"Dra—arys, Morn—!" She yelled breathlessly, wheezing at the excertion. The pressure was too much, black spots filled her vision.

Finally, after much reluctance from the white beast, the skies erupted in a beautiful icy blue light. Daenys, still pinned to the front of the saddle, could only shield her face uselessly with a single arm. Seamus, enchanted with the sight, had sat up. Daenys grinned hauntingly, baring red teeth to no one. Blood smeared across her lips and face, giving her the appearance of the dead already. At least Morningstar would return to Cregan. He would not be left clueless.

Morningstar easily flew through the impossibly hot flames, her dragonscales keeping her unscorched. Seamus, however, was not so lucky. His pain-filled screams didn't last very long, the blue fire-lit man lighting up the clouds like a thunderstorm. Daenys, too, was covered in the dazzling light, but her throat made it impossible to scream.

Morningstar knew the fate of her rider, mournfully calling out for her one final time. She sung the song that Daenys was always happy to hear, sometimes singing back when they were alone. The dragoness did not waste time flying any further toward the crownlands, descending toward the snowy woods and to the nearest clear patch she spotted. The smell of burning flesh filled the area that she landed in, the sound of two bodies individually thumping to the melting ground. But Morningstar refused to look at the bodies, refused to have the sight of Daenys tainted with what she had done. Killing her own rider, a sacred bond broken. The dragon curled in on herself, waiting to join her rider in death. No matter how long that took.

🗡

Daemon ruled over Dragonstone's council in Rhaenyra's absence. Jacaerys and Daenys have both yet to return, not yet receiving the dreadful news. Rhaenyra had left on dragonback immediately after the raven came, searching for anything to let her see the truth of it for herself. Daemon mourned Lucerys, too, in his own quiet way. He had to be strong for his family, for the living.

He left the council in the afternoon, wandering the empty halls of Dragonstone. Missing three children from its vast halls, the castle was a shell of its former vibracity. Daemon passed Jace's chambers on his way to Joffreys room, then paused when he noticed Daenys' door ajar.

He remembered that it had been closed when she left. Daenys had always been particular about who went in her room, constantly reminding her younger brothers to knock before they entered. Carefully, he creeked the door open, hand resting on his sword.

No one was inside.

Only a few scattered books and pages on her desk that Daemon knew wasn't the work of his daughter. She was a tidy person, never a thing out of place in her quarters. It brought her peace within her little bubble. Perhaps Joff had gotten curious, rumaging through her 'girly' romance books, as the boys liked to tease her for reading.

He approached the desk, ready to organize the books and place them back onto her shelves. He noticed the scribbles on the pages, the first instinct he had to associate with them was Joffrey's childish writings, but upon closer inspection he saw that they were a repeat of the same words.

Dates were placed at the top of each page that he turned to. A personal journal, Daemon concluded. Curiosity got the better of him, sitting to read what the contents were. He wished he had put the book back when he delved into the rabbithole that was Daenys' mind.

Every day, for the last seven years, was dated throughout many journals. Some worn, some newer. She started to document her 'dreams' after Laenor's death. There was one most nights. Some mundane—forseeing what she would eat the next day. Others painful—like Daenys knowing that she would take a tumble from the steps of Dragonstone's cobble steps. Others, on a rarer occasion, prophesied important events in their family's life. Most of these dreams were documented in an obsessive way. Sentences were written down hundreds of times, no doubt mindlessly by Daenys, who was still deep into her vision.

She foresaw Viserys defending Luke's claim to driftmark, Aegon's usurping, Meleys killing hundreds of smallfolk in the dragonpit, Rhaenyra losing Visenya to stillbirth. Why hadn't she ever said anything, before hand? The dreams are always dated either the night before they happened or merely a few days later. Daemon flipped furiously through the journals, looking for answers.

Daenys kept returning to one dream. One, that wasn't foretold. Laenor's death by fire. She had never trusted her mind to tell her the truth after it had not warned her about her own father's demise. She cursed the Gods boldly in writing and cursed herself for letting her father's life slip out of her grasp.

She did not know a truth from a lie, though all those that haunted her after were true. Still, she did not confess them to Rhaenyra or Daemon in fear that she would be wrong. One wrong warning and disaster might strike from ill preperations. Daemon rested his head in his hands, rubbing at his temple stressfully. It was Rhaenyra who went through her journals, too. She must have searched through every word of them for a glimpse at Lucerys' fate but found nothing like Daemon had. Daenys left Dragonstone before she could foresee his death. Daemon couldn't find it in himself to be cross with his daughter. It was his fault she never confessed her visions anymore. He had plotted with Rhaenyra to fake Laenor's death, keeping it a secret to all in the realm except for themselves, even Laenor's children.

Could this have been prevented? All of this, the war, the usurping, Luke's death. If only Rhaenyra and Daemon had confessed their sins.

🗡

It was hours that Cregan spent on horseback, looking between the trees and the skies in hopes of spotting the white dragon. Dusk had gone ahead, running at a pace that a horse could not keep up with for nearly as long. He was forced to walk most of the time, lest he killed Red by exhausting the poor horse. Every second that passed by was torture. His mind never let him forget the terrified look in Daenys' eyes.

He let her slip away again. This time, due to his own stubbornness. He distanced himself from the Princess, a hundred reasons why nagging in his brain. But none of them mattered now, when he had allowed her to go off on her own. He knew she was upset. He knew that she was leaving the campsite because of the unbearable silence.

Cregan knew, and still let her out of his sight. He failed again after promising that he would protect her. Those sad violet eyes, which had looked at him with all the trust in the world, were out of his reach.

Taken hostage on her own dragon, being used for Knott's selfish desires. Cregan knew he would be a man damned to eternal suffering if he believed in the New Gods. For the first time in his life, he regretted not following them. His only punishment would be his own guilt, which would eat away at him for the rest of his mortal life.

Cregan straightened in his seat when Dusk came sprinting to Red's heels, barking urgently. Cregan signaled for the direwolf to go on again, commanding Red to gallop in a chase. What had he found? Cregan hadn't seen or heard Morningstar since they had left, only instinctively going straight South like he knew Daenys woukd guide Morningstar. Dusk must have heard something that his owner could not.

The direwolf held himself back in terms of speed, staying at a pace that Cregan could keep in his sights at all times. It was not another half hour before Cregan spotted Morningstar curled up in a clearing. Dead? No, that was impossible. There were no threats to the dragon so far North.

Cregan slowed Red to a hault, jumping from the mount with a frantic resolve similar to his wolf's. His whole body was tense at the sight of Morningstar alone. If Seamus had forced Daenys to land and took her somewhere on foot, the dragon would be at the treeline, tearing out trees one by one to get to Daenys.

Where was she?

He almost didn't want to know.

Cregan approached Morningstar slowly, holding his hand out and brushing against the dragon. No response. No growl, no purr, no lifting her head to see who had approached her. He would assume the dragon was dead where she laid if he did not watch her middle slowly move up and down, as if she were only in a deep sleep. "Morningstar," Cregan murmured, coaxing the dragon to wake up.

Only the winds of the North filled his ears as they rustled through the trees. Dusk's growl perked his ears as he focused on the dragon, futility attempting to make her wake.

"What is it, boy?" Cregan asked from the other side of Morningstar. He walked around to where Dusk's call came from, freezing upon the sight. A large, extremely burn body lay dead on the floor next to the dragoness' wing. It was pure black, no sign of any distinguishing features that once dorned the body. To Cregan's relief, it was the size of an adult male. Seamus was dead.

But where was Daenys? And what happened to make Morningstar not be pleased at her work?

Dusk nudged at someone stuck under the body, whining and sniffing at it loudly. Cregan dragged Seamus' corspe away from it, tossing it aside with a disgusted sneer. Serves the bastard right.

It was Daenys, bare as the day she was born. Curled up instinctively to protect her own body heat, though the fire from Seamus seemed to have done that well enough. How was she alive? Unburnt, unharmed? She looked serene, peaceful, as if she were simply taking a nap in the forest with Morningstar. Cregan stiffended, realizing the situation. He swiftly covered the girl with his cloak, taking her into his arms like one might a wet and shivering kitten. Her skin burned to touch, almost making Cregan drop her: but he persisted through the burn.

Cregan considered himself an avid learner of the histories. It was his duty as a Lord and The Warden of the North to know everything about the Seven Kingdoms and all their houses. That included the Targaryens'. Never once, in any of the expensive texts he can arduously labored over in the late nights after his father died when he was only three and ten, was a fire-proof man or woman every mentioned. A secret, mayhaps, hidden by the Targaryens to not give away their strategies.

It was hard to say. When she woke, Cregan would simply have to ask her himself. For now, though, all that mattered was that the sweet girl was alive and in his arms again. As it should be.

Cregan lifted his head from looking at Daenys' worry-less face. When she was awake, she always had some underlying fear hidden behind all her other emotions. It dominated her, consumed her. Cregan saw it even when she was laughing, when she was safe. He wished to make it go away, to chase off what haunted her soul. But even the strong Lord could not fight internal battles for someone else. He could only hope that she gained enough strength of her own to save herself.

Like tonight. Daenys saved herself from her kidnapper. Cregan would soon figure out how she did it and how she survived it. He had a dark feeling that he would not like the answer.

He brought Daenys to Morningstar's eyeline. Shut, like her rider's, Morningstar looked a mirror image of Daenys. They both looked so much more at peace when not plagued by their thoughts.

"Here, girl..." Cregan murmured, lifting Daenys for Morningstar to notice. The dragon lifted its eyelid slightly, the scent of Daenys filling her nostrils. Immediately, the dragoness' violet eye widened and she jerked up. Delight washed over her features, as much expression as a dragon could have. Morningstar rosed to her wings and hind legs, sniffing at Daenys as if this were only a deceitful dream. Cregan grinned at the sight of the beast being active once more, assuming she had become despondent due to her rider being injured or presumed dead.

He shared in her relief and delight both.

After allowing her to reunite with the Princess, Cregan mounted Red carefully, placing the woman in front of him, facing him to lean on him in her sleep. The cloak still covered her, leaving a slight chill over the Lord's back and shoulders. It did not matter, as long as she was safe. The whole ride, taking well into the sunlight, was spent with one arm clutching the reigns and the other firmly across her waist to keep her safe and close. He rested his chin on her shoulder, breathing in her smokey scent, content to be in her presence again. Even a minute without her felt like torture, not knowing how she wad faring all alone in a perilous situation.

Finally, once they reached the campsite again, Morningstar flying far ahead to it and waiting, Cregan placed her into his tent and bundled the Princess up in more furs. He did not wish to dress her, so it would have to do. He didn't sleep, watching over her and the campsite as he waited for the Princess to awaken.

It took nearly a full day for that to happen. Cregan grew more worried with every passing hour. Night had come, making it almost twenty-four hours since Daenys had been taken on dragonback by Seamus Knott. He stared at her intensely, watching every breath she took and every twitch mistaken for her waking up. He began to wonder if he should turn back to Winterfell, or even continue foward to the closest house, coincidentally Knott. He would be reluctant to take her to the very house where the vile man who hurt her was breed in, but a maester was a maester.

Daenys woke with a pained gasp. Cregan nearly jumped with her, stunned at the movement. "Cregan..." She called for him before she opened eyes. When she did, eyes bleary from her long sleep and likely more unpleasant dreams, Daenys teared up at the sight of the man sitting in front of her.

He was quick to wipe away falling tears, ungloved hands gently caressing her soft skin. "You're safe, my girl. He is dead. He can not hurt you again." He promised her, brows turned up in sympathy for the distressed Princess.

"I know he is dead. I killed him." Daenys sobbed into his warm touch, clutching onto his wrists like a lifeline. "I didn't—I wasn't even sorry for it, when it happened. I was glad that he would die, to hear his pained screams."

Cregan brought her to his chest, wrapping her safely in his embrace. "You cannot blame yourself for what you felt. You are not a bad person for it. Men kill all the time for selfish reasons. You killed to save yourself. It is okay."

"It does, Cregan. It does." She insisted, shaking her head vehemently as she gripped his tunic.

Cregan felt unsure of how to comfort her. He was never the best with words. He killed his first man because of his duty as Lord and Warden. Executing a deserter of The Wall for his crimes and disloyalty. He felt no guilt because he knew it had to be done. Such was the way of his station and the Old Way.

He could only hold her, stroking her hair while she cried. They stayed like that for as long as it took for Daenys to calm. Even after she quieted down, they stayed in one another's arms for the familiar feeling of bittersweet solace.

"I knew you would come for me. Thank you, Cregan." Daenys spoke up hoarsely. Cregan looked down at her, placing a strand of hair behind her ear and ignoring the spots of blood on her face.

"I would've ridden all the way to King's Landing to find you."

She truly believed him.

"I should've headed your advice, then." When he gave her a confused look, she continued. "When you wanted him gone. You didn't trust him from the start, I was naive to believe a kinslayer could ever have honest intentions."

"You wanted to see the good in him, even after I told you his crimes. That is not a sin, Princess. If you only ever saw the bad in your subjects, you would never trust again. You were fair in giving him a chance." Cregan mused, resisting the urge to rest his chin on her head. This position was too familiar for a Princess and a Lord—especially when both were unwed. They ignored that fact multiple times throughout his journey.

Was Cregan a fool for not caring? A better man would've surely escorted her back to Winterfell days ago when the wolf attacked her. The North was no place for a princess. He was a selfish man.

He was not before he met Daenys.

At the very least, he hoped that she did not think him bawdy or vulger for being so close to her. He had never known himself to be a slave to his baser desires, never visiting brothals at every want and whim or taking a mistress before he was wed. No, he was not like most men in that regard.

But oh, how he yearned for her. To simply be in her presence was a blessing from the Old Gods. To hear her brilliant laughter or speak her mother tongue so gently with her dragon. Every little expression she allowed him to bear witness to; joy, sorrow, fear, regret. He wanted it all, forever. Wanted Daenys to be kept safe in Winterfell with him, at least then he could always know she was sound.

She had grown so much in her little time with him. So shy and guilt-ridden to even be stepping foot in his home, though it was well within her rights as a Princess to do as she pleased. She remained gentle although she witnessed the brutal killing of a predator who nearly took her life—killed a different kind of predator herself. The little rabbits and the wolf were given kind words and careful handling even after they felt no pain. The titleness man being mourned and cried for even after he had attempted to use her for his own grab at power.

Cregan wished to covet all of her purity and goodness for himself. To keep her away from all things tainted lest they successfully drag her into their clutches. In Winterfell, she would be safe to flourish. Like a rare winter rose, which could only grow and bloom in specific conditions, Daenys could not do so in King's Landing–or even Dragonstone.

He decided then that he would make the offer to Queen Rhaenyra. His council had advised him of such things when Aegon first usurped the Iron Throne, telling their Lord that the Queen would ask for men, and it would be wise to ask for something in return.

If that made him a selfish man, then so be it.

🗡

Daenys wished she didn't wake up from her tumble off of Morningstar. It would be easier if she burned alongside Seamus. From the moment she gained consciousness, memories and guilt flooded her senses. She killed a man without remorse. For her own defense, Cregan had valiantly reminded her, but that didn't do anything to sooth the bile in the back of her throat.

She was a foolish, spoilt, and naive girl for trusting such a man. She would not make that mistake again. Daenys was glad to see the winter Lord, as well as Dusk and Morningstar, but all that did little to lift her mood. The night passed slowly with Daenys staring at the tent's roof, counting the passing seconds until Cregan woke and they would start their journey once more. She glanced at him, admiring his sharp features in the little light provided by the moon. She was vaguely aware of her state under the furs, and even more aware of how he had seen her before he wrapped them around her. For some reason, she couldn't bring herself to care for her modesty.

A nagging question burned in her mind.

Why hadn't she caught fire like Seamus did? Her kin had never recorded such an event in their histories, nor had she dreamt of such things happening to herself nor other people. Laena Velayron was burned to death by her dragon, Vhagar. So clearly, the bond was not what saved her. Daenys wished to test herself once more against fire, but feared that she would not be so lucky a second time. There was no way to know her true condition for certain until she returned to Dragonstone. In the castle, all Valyrion texts were kept and passed down the generations straight from Lord Aenar Targaryen.

Beside her, Cregan stirred. He was closer tonight than he had been previous nights. Much closer, in fact. Their breaths mingled warmly when she faced him, and his arm lay outstretched slightly towards her own. She was exceedingly grateful to the man for all he had done for her over their time together. Patient with her trances, teaching her to hunt and defend herself, comforting her in her dark thoughts. Slowly, Daenys interlocked her fingers with his, squeezing once. She shifted to her side, planting herself close to his body heat and comforting scent. She slept beside him for the remaining hours of the night.

🗡

get yourself a ride or die (literally) like Morningstar, who was determined to let herself starve to death because she couldn't live without her best friend.

i hope cregan's little monologe didn't sound dark or controlling, he truly does love her and wants her safe, knows the south lands would not be good for her because they never have been.

how does one write in a man's pov? I will never know. I feel like I always made them too dark or cold. anyway, I hope yall enjoyed the chapter 🩷 feedback appreciated

[raitonsfw]

𝚜𝚘𝚊𝚙 𝚕𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚎 | 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞

synopsis: Geto had you practically seated against his face, with his tongue stretched within you in the small keep of the shower and your mind couldn't muster up enough willpower to care about anything else...

warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, fem!reader, boyfriend!geto, shower cunnilingus, fingering, slight face riding, masturbation (geto), nipple piercings (reader has them), breast play, slight body worship, just a drabble, happy suguru bc we desperately need that atm.

a/n: idk, i wrote this in two hours with a blaring headache cuz i had gotten out of the shower and had geto brainrot. google docs also did not like Geto's name, so if his name is spelled like Ghetto instead (blame it on the drive) anywho, not proofread, enjoy my mistakes! wc: 1k. m.list

divider credit: @benkeibear

“S-Sugu…” You whined out as your foot threatened to slip off the tub mat that wedged itself in the shower, your hands buried into his damp slicked black hair. You adored yet hated the way it snaked down his back, shielding his broad tanned muscles from further view. Geto had two fingers plunged in you as he sucked against your clit with expertise, his hands braced against the backs of your thighs– pulling you onto his face enough that you practically sat on it. 

You could barely hold onto the shower bar that leveled the side of the tub, soap slick in your palms as they ran down it with little to no grip. Your legs honestly felt like they were about to give out as Geto lapped inside you swiftly, small hums and moans escaping him that vibrated against your tight cunt.

You wished you could hear him, but the shower was running steadily down his backside, pouring incessant warm water down the drain and it was too loud in the small confines of the shower. The tiles cramped the two of you in and there was nowhere to hide as his nose pressed into your bud and he inhaled sharply for some air, pulling you off softly. 

“Feeling good, baby?” He breathed out, his dark eyes traveling up your body and he pressed a few kisses into the crevice of your thigh and tummy, bruising a light mark. You let out a loud whine in response, unable to say much else as your tongue was slick with nothing but your desperation. You were afraid if you spoke, your voice would fail and he’d pry it out of you. Geto was very persistent with that, always wanting you to use your words… One time he even fucked them out of you– which in hindsight didn’t seem like an awful idea.

His tongue was back in you before you could think of a proper response for him, fucking in and out earnestly and you arched your back off the tiles into his warm mouth. His fingers found themselves back inside your wetness, curling upwards right against your sweet spot within a matter of seconds and you couldn’t help the loud moan that spilled from your lips.

Your jaw slackened and your eyes slipped shut when you felt your orgasm building against the pit of your tummy, swirling to the thought of Geto kneeling beneath you. You took one look down towards him and his eyes had gleamed up at you quickly before fluttering closed again, completely enraptured by the taste of your arousal. His eyebrows knitted together and you knew where his other hand went as he grunted into your cunt with fervor, slicking up and down his cock to relieve some of the ache.

His cock weeped at the sight of you, precum dripping within the slips of his fingers as he played with himself. Soap bubbles plastered the base of it and he swiped his thumb over the tip as you started to grind against his tongue. Geto groaned into you, the thick taste of your arousal sending chills down his spine. You tasted so fucking good to him, it was undoubtedly you… the best thing he’s ever tasted by far.

He pumped himself faster in time with his fingers next to his pointed tongue, your hands grasping as much of his long hair as you could. You pulled it harshly and he faltered slightly, cumming into his hand without warning– and you didn’t need to know, the water washing it away. 

You whimpered out his name through his clouded orgasm, a quiet ‘keep going, Suguru…please’, and he keened into you; of course he couldn’t leave you hanging by a thread.

“Fuck, Sugu– Right there–!” You cried out as his calloused fingers worked you over quicker now, his mouth sucking and nipping gently against your clit. You felt Geto’s strong hands grasp at the swell of your ass to hold you up again, thumbing over the plushness of it whilst squeezing gently. You shuddered into his touch, finally falling apart against his mouth.

You rolled your hips against his mouth as he lapped at your juices, his fingers trailing up towards your hardened nipples. Sinful piercings poked through them and he toyed with the bars a bit as he stood back up to his full height once you had recollected yourself. You whined into the kiss he placed against your lips, shakily holding onto his shoulders to steady yourself; until he flicked at your nipple piercing rather harshly.

“Suguru–!” You squealed, smacking him on the shoulder and he laughed against your lips with an enlightened smile. Pleasure and pain raced through your budded nipple, tingling with the aftermath of his fingers and he bent down to suck it into his mouth as an apology. You whined as his teeth grazed against it, pulling lightly before planting a wet kiss against it.

His lips simpered over the other, taking it into his mouth and toying with it. Geto purred into your skin as your hands threaded back into his hair, his tongue laving against the metal bar. Only when you squirmed against him, trying to inadvertently push him away, did he let go with a soft pop, a thin strand of saliva dribbling from his lips to your nipple.

A shiver overtook your body as you realized how damn cold it was on the tiled side of the shower, not much help coming from Geto as he blocked the entire water flow with his body. But thankfully he noticed– the wonderful boyfriend that he was, of course he would never let you freeze to death. You were relieved when he uttered the words, “Move towards the front of the shower, honey. You must be freezing.” 

Geto pulled you in front of him, letting you rinse off in the warmth of the water. You reveled in the temperature as he made sure all of the shampoo was washed out from the strands of your hair and the frame of your body. His fingers massaged conditioner into the ends of your hair and you leaned into him lovingly, your back flush with his chest and you glanced up at him with a warm smile. 

Which he happily returned.

a/n: wanna get tagged in future writing posts? join my taglist!

[idyllcy]

gentle are the hands that hold you

word count: 6.1k || banner art by @chesue00

summary: the mind may forget, but the soul will not

Leon has a set routine that he has grown used to. He wakes up, and he prepares fruit from the garden for the small temple his family has passed down to him, four peaches placed at the altar before he goes back to prepare his own breakfast. When he cooks, the sun early in the sky, and the morning dew is still present. He's certain that the sound of animals is the sound of the peaches getting eaten, and when he cleans up his plate and looks for that of the temple, the fruits are gone, including the pits, and the herbs around the altar have returned to their natural health.

He cuts three of them — one of each color.

His family has passed down the art of worshipping a forgotten deity— one whose marble statue has chipped and grown covered in vines. The marble carvings of the title of the deity only retain the words "health" and "herb", and the herbs that can be used for illness grow around the altar and are seldom cut. Leon learned it from a long time ago as a child, and he never stopped. Some might consider the routine to be a nuisance, but Leon enjoys the routine, singing hymns in the temple at noon, brushing out the lion's mane on the god's head after his singing, tending and snipping the herbs that grow beautifully around the marble, blue eyes stuck to the beauty of the forgotten god that only his family tended to, relishing in the statue's beauty.

How lonely they must be.

At sunset, he lights the four candles at the foot of the statue by the altar, lowering himself onto his knees, whispering a prayer passed down for centuries in his house, eyes closed and heart still as he chants. The words are to come from the heart, he recalls. So, he reads them

Typically, he finishes the prayer and the four candles go out on their own.

This time, however, he finishes and the candles stay lit.

He wonders if he should try again to pray, but as he opens his mouth to start again, two snakes slither from both sides, curling up the body of the statue as a comet passes in the sky, and Leon is startled to the ground. He falls backward, watching as a glow of gold erupts from the statue as the snakes turn into the same marble, and the altar cracks, tablet of the title in the front sliding down as a shadow is revealed.

The body.

A body.

Someone opens their eyes from the inside of the altar.

You open your eyes from the inside of the altar.

"Where... am I?"

Leon would recognize that face anywhere, and at that moment, all he can do is thank the skies above for what he is about to be graced with.

"Oh, sweet heavens of health." He whispers. "Do forgive this mere human for what he is about to do."

He takes a step closer, offering his hand to you, his veil sliding down his hair.

"Welcome to earth, dearest deity. This mere worshipper greets you."

You blink down at Leon slowly, tilting your head.

"The heavens greet you, kind mortal. Pray tell, what you wished to receive from a minor god of healing?"

"Nothing." He breathes.

God, if he could keep worshipping you for the rest of his life, then he would be fine.

"Nothing at all, dearest deity."

You blink at him slowly once more, looking around the temple as you stare at the herbs. Leon notices the otherwordly glow that seems to emit from your body, and the color never seems to leave your skin. You glow the same shade as your complexion, crown of yellow on your head as you observe your surroundings, staring at Leon.

Leon does not know what you think. He can not know. How could he? He was not more than a mere worshipper who was taught to care for you eternally. Eternally to be your servant, never to dream of meeting you. You, who seemed to appear out of nowhere and cry gold and green, skin naked to the eye and touch. Touching you is out of the question, yet he holds his hand out to you. You seem to lack a reaction, still taking in your surroundings as Leon breathes. Breathing heavily. Heavy is his chest as he stares at you — it feels like a violation to be able to see you so up close.

"If I may?" He offers.

You take his hand, and Leon's heart lunges into his throat at your touch.

"Thank you."

Your voice flutters along with the wind as he pulls you out of the altar, and you stare around at the opened scenery.

"My temple has deteriorated."

"Yes." Leon whispers. "It is only my family left, you see."

"The blood of the temple's knights." You mumble. "I am grateful that your blood has stayed. I do not know what I would do had you not."

Leon nods slowly. "Do you... wish to do something?"

You glance at the garden that Leon tends to and the produce, blinking ever so slowly as you smile.

"Will you teach me to tend to the plants?"

"Do you wish for it?"

"I miss my roots." You blink slowly. "The plants miss me. My mortal body has lost itself."

"Then, if I may, I shall tend to them with you again?" Leon tilts his head.

You blink at him, staring into his eyes, past his soul and straight to his heart as he holds his breath. You tilt your head, and your eyes gloss over with a distant look, almost as though you were reminiscing of something. Instead, you nod slowly, blinking as you nod, eyes clearing up as you nod again. This time, you seem sure of it.

"Thank you."

"The pleasure is all mine." Leon mumbles.

Goodness, you're not good for the heart.

You let Leon guide you, his questions lingering in the air when you ask him of everything, needing to be guided and taught how to take care of certain things, and Leon wonders if he could truly do a good job. To worship you, he finds, is to treat you as glass is. When you ask him what to do, he tells you. You are clueless of certain things yet you know much more than he does. He does not understand this dynamic that he has gotten himself into. Teaching a god how to listen to human responses, how works work, and how gardening does.

When the sun rises in the morning, he places a singular peach onto the altar for the wildlife, and he offers you a peach that you have grown used to eating. You thank him with a slow nod, biting into it as he makes a breakfast in a larger than usual portion. He offers you an egg from his pan, but you shake your head, content with the peach in your hands. The juice sticks to your hands as you bite into it, and the fruit gets all over your chin, but you are happy, and even as Leon watches you eat, nearly missing his mouth with the fork, you seem content. Leon finishes his food only after you stare at the peach core left in your hand.

"Will this grow into a tree?"

"It will take a handful of years, but yes." He hums. "We can plant it with the rest of the peach trees in the garden."

You nod slowly.

"I shall go change. Please make yourself comfortable while I do, dearest deity."

You nod, looking around at the wildlife from the window, climbing out as your feet land in the grass, much more comfortable to you. The snakes in the garden slither around your calves, sitting there as you continue walking through the garden to find your temple, the medicinal herbs surrounding the altar looking dimmer than usual as you press your hand to them, the same golden glow restoring the herbs to their colors. You would have to bring a second peach to the altar in the morning from the trees.

"Will you be alright in these clothes?" Leon's changed into something easier to move in, finding you as you stare at the fallen tablet from the night before.

"It will be fine." You smooth your hand over the marble, blinking slowly as you frown. "Do you know what words were once written here?"

"I am afraid not." Leon's heart races in his chest, and you sigh.

"I have lost part of me." You glance at the eroded stone on certain words.

"If I may, I shall help you find it once more."

Leon teaches you the ropes of managing the farm, showing you the equipment and what meant fresh and not fresh. The herbs, you are familiar with, stopping Leon from pulling the rosemary because it was not at its prime, and nodding when Leon shows you how to ripen tomatoes despite them being orange. He shows you how to hide the strawberries from the birds and the indications that the blackberries were ready for harvest. The olive trees are shown to you with the peaches, and you snack on one as Leon hands you another.

In the afternoon, he shows you how to harvest the wheat and store the grain, showing you how to bake bread as you grind the grain into flour with Leon, pushing the till as you heave, falling to your knees once you have made enough for the bread of that night. You lay on the dirty stone for a minute, groaning as Leon packages the flour, holding a hand out for you as you gasp. You hold your hand up for a minute, catching your breath as you take it to get up.

"Do gods not labor?"

"What is there to labor over when the worshippers send you food?"

"Do gods disappear once they are forgotten?"

"Yes." You dust off your clothes, humming. "I have only lived this long because of the care of your blood."

You help Leon season, not much help when it comes to cooking or preparing dishes, and Leon tries to have you keep your hands off of the majority of things, only letting you tend to the herbs and spices, the olives prepared with the oil as you dip the bread in it to try it. You have not much of a reaction, sitting down at the table as Leon serves you the salad, a smaller fish prepared for him.

You settle with the salad, another peach given to you for dessert, biting on it as Leon washes up, cleaning and drying the silver with a rag as you stare at the peach in hand. The green is a little jarring, and you appreciate that Leon picks the riper ones for your temple. Yet, when you bite down, it's sweet, nectar staining your chin as Leon disposes of the peach peels, offering you a cup of water alongside some honey.

You accept it, thanking him with a nod as you go back to the peach, hands stained with sugar.

"Dearest deity." Leon starts. "If I may?"

"Feel free to." You nod, licking your fingers.

"Do you know why you have returned to being human?"

"I'm not quite sure." You look out past the windows, eyes distant.

Leon wonders if he's struck a nerve, but he doesn't have much time to think over it.

For the first time, Leon dreams and remembers.

He's in a field of grass, your head in his lap, closed eyes and blissed smile on your face as he runs his hands through your hair. He's bigger than he is in reality, lion's skin on his head, his fingers rough from what he assumes to be the blade. He pushes your hair out of your face, blinking down at you slowly. The green of the grass creases under your body, and Leon thinks there is a strange sense of domesticity with the way that you trust him so much.

His mouth moves on its own. "Dearest, are you not uncomfortable?"

"Surely not while in your lap." You peek up at him, smile on your face as you beam. "You are comfortable, beloved."

The daffodils in the field are pulled, Leon's fingers clumsy with the stems as he tries to make you a crown, weaving in the green into the braid as you let the breeze tickle your nose. He feels his hands are rough from some sort of labor, and his body feels weary. Yet, there is a fullness in his chest as he finishes the crown, placing it on your head as you open an eye to stare up at him.

"How do I look?"

"Dazzling, darling." He hums, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. "You look dazzling."

Leon wakes from the dream in his bed, sitting up and gasping as one does, and he stares at the rising sun and the calling rooster. He rests his head in his palms, groaning at the way his heart refuses to slow down. He hears the sound of the door opening in the back, and he assumes that you've gone off to the well to wash up for the day. He assumes it's a routine for you much like the four peaches he places at the altar, so he gets up, bed covers kicked off as he makes his bed. The peaches have ripened after being left out for the night, and he takes the basket with him, offering you one on the way before taking the other three.

You bite on the peach and follow him to the altar, watching as he leaves the basket. You stare at the peach in your hand and place it back into the basket, teeth marks visible in the one you had placed there, but Leon doesn't mention anything.

Then comes breakfast, eggs for him, an assortment of fruit for you.

Despite your lack of diet, it seems you do not complain. Perhaps your body abides by different rules when compared to his.

He ponders over the idea of insanity when he turns red from eye contact alone. Truly, you are dazzling, and unfortunately, Leon is not immune to such beauty despite staring at your statue each morning. Heavens, he's screwed.

"Is there anything you need, dearest deity?" He offers.

"Not much." You hum. "Do we have other fruit?"

"There is an orchard in the east." Leon hums. "Would you like more fruit?"

You nod.

The orchard is due for some tending. Leon only ever went for olives to have in his meals and peaches for offerings, so it wasn't surprising that the figs were eaten from the inside out alongside the apples and pears. You offer to help, palms held out as you argue that you could technically restore them to their prime. Leon has you rest, pulling out the figs and bad fruit into one basket, tossing the good ones to another.

"Are there any fruits you'd rather not eat?"

You ponder over his words, shaking your head.

Leon finds you familiar. You sit at the corner of the orchard, trailing after him with a basket of your own fruit, and he finds it familiar. You yourself are familiar to him. He has no memory of you, but he can not argue that it is because he has never met you either. He no longer remembers the faces of his own parents. All he knows is the ritual of worship, the routine of faith that he has grown used to. All he remembers about himself is that, now that he thinks about it.

The rest of the night passes in a blur, and Leon has not much of a choice when it comes to resting at night.

When he closes his eyes, he's unsurprised at what he is met with.

It's another dream.

A lion's robe is still on Leon's body this time, and he feels significantly bigger than he is in present. His heart does not beat as harshly as it does in reality, and with each step he takes, he becomes increasingly aware that he is taller than he is in reality. The garden of his home is replaced with a marble home of his own, and he walks through the ruins that have been replaced with a garden in present day. His steps are heavy as he stops in front of the temple, watching as there's a golden hue from the altar — noticeably larger than the one in present.

Leon steps behind you, eyes glued to the words on the tablet that is now restored, frowning.

god of health, herb, home. the lion's beloved

"Are you returning?"

Leon cannot control his mouth, but he stares at the way you tense at his voice.

"My time on earth is short." You turn around to face him, voice quiet as you close your eyes.

Leon's heart rattles in his chest from the way you refuse to look at him. "Can you stay longer?"

"Beloved" You whisper. "I ca—"

"Will you stay longer?" He whispers, voice shaking as he asks. His heart races at being called beloved, but his chest contorts painfully as the man whose body he resides in.

"I cannot." You open your eyes, heart shattering in your ears as you catch his tears. "Oh, beloved, please do not—"

Leon wants to stay, but he watches as the man turns his back, stepping away from the altar as the sound of bells chime to indicate your disappearance.

Instead, when he turns around again, all that remains is a shrunken altar and the temple from the modern day. Leon has what he was holding prior to entering into the past — three peaches in a small basket. You are still behind him, white of your eyes the only visible part of them as your irises cloud over and Leon stares at you. A flash from the past for him, a flash from your life for you. He wonders just who that might have been.

He looks around, catching the fact that you are behind him.

When you return, you stare into nothing, pupils wide as the black of your eyes engulf the entirety of the color of your eye, and Leon stands there, unsure of what to do, blinking slowly as you close your eyes and open them again and again. You blink again, and again, and again, and again. You try to break yourself from the trance— from what Leon can tell.

"Dearest deity." Leon whispers. "Are you alright?"

You blink at Leon again, exhaling as you grimace.

"I will be. Let us drop off the fruit for my herbs first." You take the basket from him, fruit placed on the altar as you bless the peaches.

"How does it work?"

"They live off of the water and juice." You squeeze the fruit, Leon watching as the liquid trickles down your fist onto the plants, the red herbs brightening up nearly immediately. The yellow follows, and the green last. You take the scissors to cut three of the herbs, two of each herb, juice-stained fingers sticking to the plants as you place them into the basket.

Leon nods as you hand him the herbs, thanking you.

Food is simple today. It is typically a loaf and some legumes, occasionally fish if the two of you decide to head out to fish at the lake. Leon has grown used to a life like this, and you make do without eating fish, so Leon goes out less and less, growing legumes with you as you learn from him, forming an appetite for fruit as well, snacking on blackberries as he picks at the strawberries that he hides from the birds. You bite down on certain ones, slipping a piece past Leon's lips as he places a cucumber in your basket, thanking you quietly as he checks out the lettuce.

"What do you want for dinner?"

You glance at the lettuce and the berries, tilting your head.

"...salad?"

"Fruit salad? I should retrieve some olives as well, then." Leon holds his hand out for the basket, and you give him your hand instead.

Leon does a double take, blinking at your hand and then at you, and you offer him a shy smile.

"If this is alright?"

"More than alright, dearest deity." Leon smiles. "I am honored you would initiate it."

Leon finds that you are much more affectionate now that time has passed. He does not keep track of the days, time something he no longer holds, sharing dishes and bites with you when he can, showing you the rest of the garden that he leaves to tend on its own. Leon understands something. Whoever he is in his dreams, you left. Whoever you are in the dream, you did not wish to leave. He understands not much from it. The heart of whose body he was in his dreams was scarred when you left.

It hurt him to think about it, so he busies himself with the sand between his toes.

"We had a beach?"

"We have a sea." Leon stares out at the horizon. "I wonder if the lobsters are ready for harvest."

"You can eat those?"

Leon nods slowly, laughing as you furrow your brows.

"How does... that work." You pause. "You crack the head?"

"You pop the head off, and you pull out the meat from the whole tail."

You blink twice.

"May I... watch you prepare it?"

"With pleasure." He smiles. "Shall we go catch one?"

You watch Leon ditch the top, skin out for the world to see, and Leon feels a little embarrassed being so bare before you, but you don't seem to mind, watching as he takes a trident.

"You pierce them?"

"They don't move as fast. Perhaps I have grown used to the water."

The blue of the ocean is pretty. Leon still isn't over the beauty of it, and it always surprises him when he dives for crustaceans, trident heavy against his arm as he pierces through the shells, three tucked into the bag net he carries, paddling back to the surface as he wonders how he had been able to hold his breath for so long. The question fades just as quickly, eyes meeting yours as you blink, doe-eyed, eyes wide as you seem to drink in every part of his skin.

"Dearest deity?"

"Apologies." You hide your face, sinking into the ground with embarassment as Leon laughs, letting the net fall into the sand as he crouches in front of you, hair pushed back, saltwater still dripping from his hair and skin. He watches as your eyes dart to his chest and then abdomen, thoughts written all over your face as you hide again.

"I shall dress again."

"There's no need." You manage, still hiding your face. "I... prefer the way you are."

Leon feels an arrow pierce his heart, ears ringing as he processes what you've just said. He's sure he's turned red like the tomatoes once ripe, and he hides his face in his knees, shaking slightly as he processes your bluntness. Dare he say it, he liked it.

Though, it would be his grace if you were to fall for him. It was only a given that he would worship you.

He doesn't feel as though he is in a position where he could truly get to profess his love to you first.

At night, you request of him to tuck you into bed, pout on your lips as he sits by your bed, letting you squeeze his hand with a gentle grab, watching as you drift off to sleep.

He wonders if you need sleep truly — considering you are a deity and all.

Though, Leon does.

The third time Leon dreams, he is no longer in a lion's skin.

He feels younger, white on his body, blue brooch around his neck and blouse on his skin. There is a veil on his head, and it seems as though he is in the temple of yours once more. He does not understand this quite that much. It seems as though he is being offered up for some kind of ritual. It is some sort of marriage, he assumes. Blue eyes and golden hair, cerulean brooch and white blouse, ruffled bow and laced veil, Leon truly feels that he is being offered up as a groom rather than a servant. He wonders if the person he has possessed is aware of it.

His body moves on its own, veil over his head shifting as he looks down, standing before what he assumes as the head priest. The priest places a crown of... herbs on his head, and he is placed on the altar, some sort of glow occurring around him as he forces his eyes open. The veil sticks to his head as he notices the priest and all their followers are gone when he opens his eyes. Instead, he catches a glance of you above him, head tilted as you blink down at him.

"You're quite young, sacrifice." You grin, teeth visible. "What might your name be?"

Nevermind the fact that Leon's heart is racing a thousand pes an hour, his heart is about to leap out of his chest. Yet, Leon is curious of the man's name, but he finds it surprising that he chokes out his own name.

"Leon, dearest deity." He whispers. "I am your... groom."

"How rare that they would send a groom rather than a servant." You tilt your head at him. "Well, do make yourself at home. We've got plenty of plants and fruit."

Leon steps down from the altar, stepping on a piece of marble before taking a tumble, the tablet breaking under his foot as he blinks.

"I'm sorry." He gapes.

You raise a brow, mumbling to yourself as you tap your chin.

"Oh, dear." You laugh. "I'll restore it sometime. Please take care of the garden while I do."

Leon's dream is far longer than he is comfortable. He wonders how much time has passed in reality in the dream, and he learns to take care of the garden that resembles the one he tends to each night. There is a lake in the back where he fishes, and he learns to cook meals for the two of you, typically baking bread and making soup. He learns that you prefer the best harvest of peaches, but you share them with him, teaching him how to make crisp and how to cook the oats until they are crispy. You adore peaches with or without honey and spices. It is why the peach tree was so large in the orchard.

During the time, he learns that gods do in fact visit the earth outside of their domains. You return in time for dinner every single day, and you tell him of what has happened recently with the temple over his meals. He likes this life. At one point, the worshippers send him the very lion skin he wore in his previous dream. The connection between your domain and reality is created through prayer. Not faithfulness, number.

You complete a number of miracles, and in return, your worshippers increase in number, which, in turn, grants you access back home.

When Leon wakes, his heart is racing in his chest for no reason, blinking at the knife in hand and cutting board on the counter and then at the tomatoes.

"Kind mortal?"

"My apologies." Leon sighs, going back to cutting the veggies. "It seems I had gotten lost in myself."

Not reality. Leon is not in reality. Instead, he has been stuck in an endless cycle of immortality, and without you around, the age had worn him down until all he remembered was to worship you. If your temple was run down in your domain, he can not imagine how ruined your temple in reality was. Leon has become immortal from partaking of the food of the gods. The peaches he offered to the gods was for you, and the herbs he cut was granting him immortality in return.

Leon Kennedy had lived for so long that he forgot this was not his home, it was yours.

The immortality from the herbs had been eating his mind from the inside out.

He wonders if you remember, but he doesn't ask.

Instead, he asks you if you would like to go fishing with him, fishing rod in hand.

You tilt your head at the rod, nodding as he takes everything. The pond spawns all sorts of fish, now that he thinks about it. The expensive fish he used to dream of owning back when he was in reality, the fish that he had when his family had a nice harvest, just about everything. It feels strange to remember that this is your home and not his, but he doesn't dwell too much on it. Instead, he sits at the dock, holding out the fishing rod as you sit next to him, basket of strawberries in your lap as you eat them.

"Do you eat fish?" The answer is no, yet Leon finds himself asking anyway.

"No." You hum. "I can live off of produce."

You take a bite of the strawberries almost as if to make a point, pointing at the fishing line with a kick of your legs as Leon reels in the fish, pulling it out of the water with a ceremonious thud.

"Good job." You hum. "I didn't know we had catfish."

Leon raises a brow at you. "What else do we have?"

You shrug. "I don't know much. My followers only ever send me peaches now. Not that I do not appreciate it."

Leon finds it strange that there happens to be both a lake and an ocean, the two connected by a small river, a waterfall that collapses into the ocean, and the sea leads into nothing. It seems that you knew, but you never mentioned it in any way. If this domain was yours, then he found it intriguing that you had been offered enough fish that there would form an ocean. The offerings given seem to not expire, and the ecosystem seems to reproduce and go on as it would in reality.

He wonders if reality is the right word to describe his world, though. Perhaps earth would have made for a better word. He wonders what is happening on earth. Maybe this was some sort of Mount Olympus... or whatnot. He doubts it is. He would have recognized living on an actual mountain.

Well, at the very least, fishing is quite fun.

When he pulls in the second catch of the day, he decides that it's enough.

"What do you want for dinner?"

Leon wonders if he should try making pie in one of the vessels.

You tap your chin. "Something baked sounds good."

"Oh, I'm sure it does." Leon mumbles. "Pie?"

You nod. "Shall I help?"

He shakes his head.

The more Leon thinks of it, the more he realizes that he's always been making portions for two. It was embedded into his soul. When he had leftovers, it was much easier to feed it to the poultry in the back and the pigs. Now, that second portion had a reason. He had always found it bizzare. It was because he used to cook with his mother for his father, not the fact that he had been cooking for the two of you for such a long time.

When Leon sends you to bed at night, he watches you for a few moments longer, wondering if this was something he had done in the past.

He does not dream this time.

So, when he wakes in the morning and you have a pear in hand with a knife in the other, he blinks at you.

"Dearest?"

"Teach me how to cut fruit?"

Leon wonders if you were the one to teach him first, but the more he thinks back on the dream, the more he wonders just whether or not you had been eating in the time that you lacked a sacrifice. Would sacrifice be the correct word? The more he considers it, the more he thinks of himself as a gift from the priest rather than a sacrifice. Is that egoistical? Perhaps it is. It is more of a blessing on his end to be able to stay with you for so long. The herbs he had each morning must have been keeping him nice and healthy despite his time in your realm.

He may have forgotten, but it seems that his body had remembered.

He teaches you how to hold the knife, cut by cut showing you how to peel the fruit, and you decide that peeling half of it and then eating the other half after spitting out the core was the better decision. He finds that that ties into what he remembers about you as well.

It seems he remembers now.

Leon understands that you expect a singular peach and then three more at the altar, but he does not do so this fateful day. There is something he must check, and someone he must attempt to understand. There was no way you did not know. You were not as foolish as to not. It had been in the way you looked at him. He knew, from the very beginning. You knew perhaps, as well, that when you had opened your eyes from the inside of the altar, you had been observing him and not your surroundings.

You had been observing your lover who had forgotten you, not the home you resided in.

"You are home, dearest deity." Leon offers. "You need not the peaches anymore."

You blink at Leon, hesitation bleeding through you as you pause to breathe.

"Since when have you recalled?"

"A while back." Leon mumbles. "I was not certain if you wished for me to bring it up."

You blink at Leon, sitting yourself back on the altar, the lack of glowing visible now that everyone has forgotten about you. You will no longer be able to return to the world that you had left to. You would be stuck tending to the garden that you had started long before Leon joined you here. At the very least, he would be able to stay forever with you, only needing to tend to the herbs and grow them. Yet, he wonders where all of the maidens you had been offered so long ago ended up.

You stare at the broken tablet, laughing embarrassingly as you smile at Leon.

"Truly reminds you the first time we met, huh?"

"Yes." He rests the empty basket on the altar, taking it from your hand as he smooths the rusted words over. "God of health, herbs, home."

"The lion's beloved." You whisper back. "I missed you."

"I know." He mumbles, setting it to the side as he lets you sob into his chest.

"I missed you." You gasp. "You... you forgot me. I expected it, but I had been in the fabric between reality and my realm that I was sure you would stop building my way home, but you remembered the prayers. You recalled the words you had grown used to prior to your sacrifice, and I... you found my way home."

"I'm sorry, dearest." He whispers. "I had forgotten. I have been around for far too long. I am sorry I had forgotten to welcome you home."

There is a certain beauty that comes with remembering, Leon finds. In the centuries that he had forgotten all about you, his heart had somehow remembered, adorning you in the lion's mane until he forgot it was his first, singing hymns he knew you cherished from the time he had spent with you, leaving you peaches because you had always shared the best harvest of them with him, sneaking in that you adored the taste of the nectar on your tongue. His mind had forgotten, but his heart had not, burying you into the depths of his consciousness until he would remember you again one day.

His hands have grown rough with a different kind of labor over the years, and he has lost much of the large muscle he had arrived with from his way of living, but the feeling of your skin is still familiar to his touch.

Right.

His mind could forget, but his soul could never.

"You're making me a crisp later." You huff.

"Of course." He laughs. "Anything else?"

"And I want a kiss for all the years you forgot about me for."

"That can be made up with the life ahead."

And to seal the promise, Leon kisses you, hands gentle on your skin, clarity restored.

[philistiniphagottini]

Hey! Hope you’re doing well. I’ve never requested anything before so I’m sorry if this isn’t the right way to do it, but would you write more for Messmer from Elden Ring with a female reader??? I’d love to see a loss of virginity for either parties wink wonk

Thank you :)

Hello Anon! Thank you very much for indulging me in requesting for Elden Ring. And don't worry, you did good on your first request. I loved the idea and it took me a while to decide who's cherry was going to be popped but I decided Messmer ((let's admit it, he's severely touch starved)). I may have gotten a little carried away but I hope you enjoy it~

cw. smut, penetrative sex, first time, vanilla, size difference, female reader, 3.5k words, MDNI

The cool, silken bed sheets beneath your body felt heavenly against your searing, bare skin, taming the wildfire coiling inside you as your blood simmered hotly in your veins. A soft hum bubbled up your throat, kiss swollen lips parted around a soft purr before your tongue peaked through the plump skin. 

“My lord, pray tell, do you intend to stare at me all evening like a fish out of water?”

There was a teasing lilt to your voice that made the tips of Messmer's ears burn hotter than the coals of a furnace. His golden gaze flickered in your direction as you lay bare beneath him, your sumptuous body swimming in a sea of plush pillows and soft blankets. Every hair on the nape of your neck stood up in anticipation as your eyes roved over your lover's form, dipping and tracing every intimate detail that you wished to etch with your fingers. It made the tips of your fingers tingle with an insatiable itch as you raked your nails between the sweat soaked sheets. Messmer chose not to respond to your teasing remark, mind far too focused on other matters at the moment to entertain you. You could practically see the cogs in his head moving and you couldn't quite recall a time you had ever seen your lord act so…nervous. Well, it was his first time, after all. 

Your movements were slow as you shifted beneath him, the fine jewellery of silver and gold wrapped your ankle clinking softly as you raised your foot. You planted your foot against his stomach, feeling the muscles tense under your touch as you gave him a soft, playful shove. 

“Nervous around little ol’ me? Am I too much to handle?”

Your tone was still coy, but with an underlying sense of concern. Being vulnerable like this certainly wasn't as easy as shedding a few layers of clothes. Messmer had never indulged like this before. Never indulged in you, like this. Nervousness was only one part of the violent concoction already brewing in the pit of his stomach. He wanted this; he wanted you but wasn't sure where to begin. It must have been a rather comical sight having someone twice your size hunched over you as still as a rock and feeling just as dense as one. Yet your voice stirred something in him and he didn't feel as nervous when you talked to him like you always did, so soft and sincere. And maybe a little bit of cheek. The corners of Messmer's lips twitched into a ghost of a smile as you rubbed your foot along his skin, trying to ease the tension out of his body. The soft touches were searing against his skin and the burn it left lingering almost made him recoil from the sudden oversensitivity. His large hand wrapped around your dainty ankle, fingers gently curling into your skin as he coaxed it away from his stomach. 

“Thine chatter is rather distracting” Messmer said, his voice barely above a breathy whisper. 

You smiled up at him as you felt the cold caress of scales drag over your sensitive skin, tickling you as you felt the familiar coil of his snakes pressing intimately into your skin. 

“Is it helping?” you inquired. 

A soft chuckle breezed past his lips as he tilted his head in your direction, flaming locks of red curls fanning over his flushed cheeks. Your smaller frame was engulfed in his shadow as he leaned forward, the mattress creaking softly as you watched his movements with a keen eye. He was always cautious around you, his movements always pronounced and defined, always terrified that you would startle like a frightened rabbit. You spread your sticky thighs apart, giving him as much room as you could possibly handle and gently pushing away the heads of his serpents when they tried to investigate with the curious flicker of their forked tongue. A warm tingle wracked the notches of his spine when a pleasant scent tickled his nose, curling deep into the pit of his lungs as he pressed closer to you. He released your foot from his grasp as his hands came to rest on either side of your body, pressing into the cool sheets as you silently took over the next few steps. 

Your hands came to rest on Messmer’s chest, feeling the tension still wound taut in his muscles as the rhythmic pulse of his heart beat thundered beneath your fingertips. A warm noise stirred in the back of your throat as your fingers danced along his torso, dipping into the various scars and imperfections of his body. You clicked your tongue behind your teeth as you softly tutted.

“My lord Messmer, you are so tense. Have you ever experienced a day of relaxation in your life?”

A thoughtful noise rumbled in Messmer's chest as he continued to humour your antics, enjoying the way you fussed over him as you tried to ease the tense knots in his muscles. It was a shockingly pleasant experience whenever he decided to give in to your every whim or fancy. He had quite the soft spot for you and he was wrapped so tightly around your finger it could be seen as pathetic how easily you won the heart of a demigod such as himself. He was stirred from his thoughts as you rubbed your hands across his abdomen, your fingernails gently scratching over pale scars as you peered up at him beneath long lashes. 

“It's alright, Messmer” you murmured. “You're not going to hurt me.”

Your words set his heart aflutter and you could tell just by the way the snakes coiled around your plump waist affectionately squeezed you. You idly smoothed your hands over their scaly bodies as Messmer leaned in close, lips pressed into the shell of your ear as red curls spilled over your skin like the fine touch of silk. His breath was warm as it puffed against your skin, causing the heat trickling in the pit of your stomach to twist tighter as a pleasant shiver raced along your back. 

“Thou wilt stop me if I overwhelm…”

You hummed as you nodded along to his words, head turned in his direction as you trailed butterfly kisses along his sharp jaw.

“I shall” you mumbled in agreement. 

His shoulders dropped in content but it was such a subtle movement that it slipped your gaze. Your hands were much too eager as they slipped between your bodies, Messmer giving you silent consent to continue and guide him forward. A sharp hiss whistled through his teeth as you wrapped your hand around hardened warmth, his cock eagerly jumping into the warm touch of your hand as you loosely coiled your fingers around him. His fingers knotted in the bedsheets; sweaty forehead pressed between the comforting confines of a soft pillow as you swiped your thumb over the tip of his drooling cock. You cooed softly as you slowly pumped your hand along his cock, warmth tickling the base of your spine as his breathing came out in soft pants from your mere touch alone. 

“My lord, you're so big~”

A soft groan tumbled from Messmer's bruised lips as he fought to peel his tongue off the roof of his mouth. His blood was already boiling in his veins from your soft, prodding caresses as he swallowed the budding saliva on his tongue, throat bobbing as his face burned like an inferno. 

“Cease thine teasing” he gently warned. 

His words may have been intimidating if he didn't sound so breathless. You bit your tongue and ignored the itch burning at the back of your scalp. You knew when to not push your lover too far and provoke his ire. Instead, you focused on curling your wrist, fingers squeezing around the fat head of his cock as beads of pre-cum dribbled and webbed between your fingers. A shaky breath fanned over your skin as you stared at the side of Messmer’s face, witnessing the flames of red dust over his cheeks under the dim fire light of burning candles. Your tongue wet your dry lips as you swallowed thickly. 

“Does it feel good?” you asked. 

“Y-yes” Messmer stammered in response. 

Hearing how breathless he was made slick pool between your legs, pearls of arousal dripping down the soft insides of your thighs as you squirmed restlessly. You wedged your free hand between your plump thighs, slipping two fingers inside your dripping cunt to alleviate the dull throb building up in your core. Your soft, sweet moans filled the stuffy air of your shared bed chambers, echoing around the room as they drowned out the sinful, wet noises that were coming from between your trembling thighs. The coil in your belly twisted tighter as you rocked your hips down onto your fingers, pussy hungrily swallowing them as impatience gnawed at your skin like a swarm of insects. And by the way Messmer was sinking his sharp claws into the comforter and stuffing the plush material of a pillow between his sharp teeth, the feeling was mutual. With a breathy sigh you slipped your fingers out of your sopping core, pussy clenching around nothing and mourning the loss of warmth. You rubbed your slicked fingers along Messmer's swollen arousal, coating his skin with more, sticky wetness. His body shuddered in response, voice muffled into the soft cotton of the pillow as he struggled to reign in the twitches and convulsions in his muscles. You stroked your fingers through his wild, red mane of hair, wisps curling around your fingers as you tucked them behind the curve of his ear. 

“My lord, I will require some of your assistance.”

He hesitated but allowed you to tug his hand free from the tangles of the sheets, guiding his wrist as you encouraged him to lay his hand on the curve of your hip. His fingers pressed into your skin, nails digging into the plump flesh as he held you. He had never felt something as soft as you before. It was fascinating, how his fingers could press and squish into your skin with such little effort and no resistance. He didn't ponder the thought long, as most coherent thoughts suddenly evaporated the second he felt the tip of his cock brush against the wet seam of your cunt. His fingers tensed in your skin, nails threatening to carve their mark as a raspy moan crawled its way out of his parched throat. Long lashes fluttered over his cheeks as his cock continued to prod at you, catching on your fluttering hole as your arousal dripped from your core like a flowing river. 

“Ready?” you asked, though you weren't quite sure who the question was directed at anymore.

A murmur of approval and it was all you needed to hear. You took a deep breath, yet the attempt was futile in preparing you as your pulse thrummed in your ears and your heart was ready to leap up into your throat. You choked on a hiccup of pleasure as you guided Messmer forward, his cock piercing your centre as your creamy folds parted around his dizzying girth. It took every ounce of his sapping strength in him not to rip apart at the seams at the first contact of your warm pussy wrapping snug around him. Even when he was coaxed just a little bit deeper inside he thought a vessel in his head was about to pop. You threw your head back with a loud whine, the sound almost akin to a wail of pain as the stretch burned with a lingering, familiar heat. The various pieces of fine silver and gold adorned to your body rattled as your entire being trembled in a mixture of bliss and overstimulation. Messmer paused as you took a shuddering breath, soused lashes fluttering wildly over your cheeks as your chest heaved with exertion.

“Fuck” you groaned; all sense of decorum snatched away as your head was sent spinning in a drunken tizzy. “Fuck.”

Messmer's ears itched as another whimper crawled out of the back of your throat, his hot breath fanning over your perspiring skin as a look of concern flashed over his features. He opened his mouth to speak, but you were quick to cut him off with a shake of your head. 

“It's fine, I'm fine” you reassured. “Just don't move.”

You threw your arm over your head, tucking your face into the crook of your elbows to hide the way your nose scrunched up in discomfort. Stars above, you were the one with more experience yet you were starting to feel like a bashful virgin all over again. Your head was spinning as a constellation of tears clung to the edges of your lashes, breathing hard as you tried to soothe the erratic beat of your heart. You blinked away the tears pricking your eyes as your arm was gently removed from your face, your dazed stare peering up at your lover as your head continued to spin. He cradled your hand in his much larger one, thick fingers curled around your wrist as you felt his snakes squeeze tight around you once more. 

“Hush, little culver” Messmer soothed, pressing his lips to the back of your hand and dragging the kiss swollen skin over each, individual knuckle. “Speak to me.”

A soft noise rolled around your mouth as you swallowed around the lump in your throat, a short, puff of air blowing a few strands of hair out of your glassy eyes.

“My darling Messmer, I'm fine” you croaked. “Just…haven't been stretched like this before.”

His concern made the throbbing dull and the longer you lay still the more you think you get used to it. You weren't completely sure how long you lay there. It could have been a few minutes. Perhaps it encroached on the hour? You weren't quite sure when the burning ache ebbed and twisted into something more pleasant but you welcomed the feeling as you settled once more. A deep sigh breezed through your lips as your heart settled once more and your lungs weren't pinching inside your chest. Your fingers twisted around one of Messmer's digits as you tugged on his hand once more, adamant to guide him and spark back the friction in your core. The curious tilt of Messmer's head caught your attention and your voice filled the void of silence once more as you flashed him a reassuring smile. 

“I'm fine my lord” you said. “You're just…a lot to get used to. Gods I feel like I'm the one having mine cherry popped all over again.”

Your mannerisms were always a unique enigma for Messmer and he couldn't help the curiosity that itched at the base of his skull as he repeated the word.

“Cherry?”

A soft giggle bubbled up your throat at the soft pout in his lips as he pondered on the meaning, only to be distracted when you guided his hand to the pillowy softness of your chest. You lay your hand on top of his as you encouraged him to feel your chest, your heart beat pulsing against the palm of his hand as he idly cupped your breast. His face flushed and you could feel his cock pulsing between your thighs as he gave your chest a curious squeeze. 

“I shall divulge the matter later, when mine head isn't spinning.”

You let your head fall back onto the pillow, eyes drooping and threatening to slip close as the smouldering embers of bliss in the pit of your stomach were stoked back into a fierce flame. Your voice stung in your throat as you moaned softly, hips canting forward as Messmer's cock was nudged a little deeper into your swollen pussy. A short huff fell from his mouth at the warm feeling of your plush walls squeezing around him, the hand groping your tit pawing at your skin a little firmer as the puffy tip of your nipple was pinched between his fingers. 

“Come closer” you beckoned. 

“If that is thy wish.”

You hummed as he buried his face in your hair, lips pressed into the soft tresses as you slowly buck your hips. The roll of Messmer's hips was hesitant and unsteady, inexperience seeping into the rhythm as he tried to mimic the way you tilted forward and leaned into the touch. He was much too reluctant to press deeper, no matter how tempting it was as your pussy squeezed around him with each shallow thrust. A breathy moan tumbled from your part lips as the pressure in your stomach spiked, blood boiling with bliss as you reached a shaky hand between your sticky thighs to rub at the swollen nub sitting at the top of your pussy. Messmer grunted as he felt you tighten around him, your plush walls almost strangling him as drool gathered at the corners of his mouth. You could feel the droplets wet your skin as you rubbed at the slick pearl of your clit, the tightly packed bundle of nerves kicking weakly as you rubbed it in firm circles. Your debauched sounds only grew louder, echoing off the walls as the bedframe shook and you trembled along with it. Stars swirled in your vision as you felt Messmer's cock start to throb inside of you, his rough pants morphing into the feral snarls of a beast as the tension readied to snap. You mustered what little remaining strength you had left as you carded your fingers through his hair before gripping to the locks tightly. 

“Close, love?” you asked between sweet moans. 

You received a loud grunt of affirmation as he squeezed your chest, nails raking along your skin and leaving behind stinging welts that added fuel to the maelstrom brewing inside of you. Your spit-soaked lips parted around a keen of his name as you tugged on his hair. 

“Proud of mine good boy for lasting this long” you crooned. “So why don't you let go?”

Your words were the trigger to his undoing. As soon as your voice graced his ears like a chime from a shimmering bell, the coil inside of him unfurled. The pace of his hips grinds to a halt as he grew still, trembling voice scratching his throat as he groaned your name so close to the shell of your ear it sent pleasant chills rattling down your spine. He almost pulled away from the sweet temptation of your body, but in the heat of the moment he failed and ropes of his viscous seed spilled inside of you. You whined with sordid content, the heat warming your abdomen occupying your hazy mind as your nerves zapped through your system like crackling lightning. Spit webbed on your plump lips as they parted around hot pants, fingers working the aching nub of your clit until your vision blurred from the bliss. The coil inside of you shattered into a million pieces, veins flooded with white hot relief as your pussy clenched unbearably tight around your lover.

The warmth stuffing your centre slowly dripped out, spilling down the sides of Messmer’s cock and staining the bedsheets beneath your entangled bodies. His hard pants mixed with your own laboured breathing and you struggled to prevent your eyes from rolling into the back of the head from how mind numbingly good you felt. Your wavering pulse was beating so loudly in your ears that you almost didn’t hear Messmer when he spoke, large hands wrapped around your waist as he touched you like you were made out of porcelain.

“Mine apologies” he whispered to you softly.

You didn’t ask what he was apologising for. You knew exactly what he was referring to and the sight of your lord showing a hint of bashfulness made the corners of your lips twitch up into a smile. You snorted softly as you rubbed your hands in soothing motions along his arms, hand tangling in his hair once more as you gently teased out the knots. You tipped your head and gazed at him through lidded eyes, exhaustion setting into your bones despite your best efforts to stay awake. You shifted beneath him, falling into a more comfortable position as the weeping head of his softening cock continued to leave sticky threads in the creamy folds of your messy cunt. Your fingers curled around the baby hairs lining the nape of his neck, nails scratching at his skin as the snakes coiled around you tucked their heads into the crook of your neck.

“There’s no need for apologies, Lord Messmer” you reassured. “It pleases me.”

You lay still beneath him as his hands slowly wandered over your form, his touch a little more confident as he explored the dips and curves carved into your features. The curious touch of his hands dulled your mind with the repetitive motions and it was threatening to lull you in the sweet embrace of slumber the longer you remained idle. You couldn’t find the strength in you to move any longer, much too content to let Messmer poke and prod at your skin with mild fascination tingling on the tips of his fingers.

“Did I please you, my Lord?” you inquired, voice slurring as your eyes slipped close for a brief moment.

You heard Messmer’s soft hum of approval and you couldn’t recall much after that, only the way you were coddled in Messmer’s embrace and warmed during the cold night.

[hunterwritings]

𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲 | 𝐛𝐢-𝐡𝐚𝐧, 𝐤𝐮𝐚𝐢 𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐠, 𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐬, 𝐬𝐲𝐳𝐨𝐭𝐡

summary: "Ayoo!! May I request for headcanons on the Lin Kuei Trio and Syzoth (need to give that lizard some love) on how they’d react to being jealous? Like their s/o is getting flirted on by someone stuff like that?" | requested here warnings: creepy men, mention of violence, blood, etc., suggestive, implied smut notes: why do i write better in the middle of the night | there might be spelling mistakes

↳ 𝐁𝐢-𝐡𝐚𝐧

oh this man will get violent

out of the four, bi-han holds the most jealousy over his partner and can sometimes be possessive

he knows you can hold your own, your his partner after all, but every time he sees someone trying to take your as theirs, it sets off something in him

"You are one of the most beautiful warriors I've ever seen." The man pressed as he leaned over the table in the dining area of the temple. You just nodded as you tried to subtly tell this man off. Your eyes scanned the room to see if there was anyone too help you, then you noticed your husband staring from across the room, you cold practically feel icy blades digging into this man's head. He crossed his arms tightly as his gaze never left you.

You have taught Bi-han to try and not resort to violence where it is unnecessary, so in most situations, he will walk up to you and snake his arm around your waist as his eyes beam into the person in front of you.

Now, if someone had done anything to make you uncomfortable? Then blood is being drawn.

This man will beat down whoever dares to make his partner uncomfortable in anyway, not stopping until various bones are broken or until you command him

Whenever you two are out, he now will instinctively wrap his arm around you whenever he feels someone staring and will follow their gaze every second. He's not ashamed to stare, he thinks of it as a power move to make them uncomfortable. But if he had it his way, he'd beat down every person that tried to take you as their own until they are nothing but a pile of blood and guts.

You would reassure him that you were his as you kissed his neck and whispered in his ear. He would take the opportunity to fuck you any way you wished as you'd tell him that he was the only one for you.

↳ 𝐊𝐮𝐚𝐢 𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐠

although he has his hot nature, Kuai Liang isn't as easy to be jealous

he is very secure and knows that you are bound to him when you agreed to spend the rest of your life with him

even though it can be rare, there are still moments when Kuai Liang can get jealous

If he happens to see someone spending a lot of time with you and become increasingly closer to you, he can feel that pit of jealousy build in his stomach. He knows it's wrong to feel this way and knows that you would never leave him, but he can't help himself.

His jealousy wouldn't be something he would express outwards unless he felt he had to to get someone away from you.

Kuai Liang's eyes pierced you as you spoke with another Lin Kuei member. He had gone on about fighting techniques and how he thought you were a great fighter and asked if you could teach him some moves, to which you politely declined. As you felt eyes on you, you turned your head to see Kuai Liang staring through your soul. As your eyes met his, he looked down and away, as if he had gotten caught. After the training regime, you confronted Kuai Liang as the two to you returned to your shared bedroom. "What was that?' You ask as you stand on the opposite side of the bed as him. "What was what?' He tries to seem clueless but can't help but avoid your glare. "Kuai Liang." You spoke his name and he knew well enough to look up at you, your arms crossed over your chest. "He's just very talkative with you, it's obvious to everyone else." He explains. "Is that jealousy?" You rhetorically ask as you walk over to him. "You have nothing to fear, my love. I have no interest in him." You speak as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. "I know." He says softly. You pressed your lips against his before pulling him back onto the bed. If he was so worried, then you were going to prove that you truly belonged to him.

↳ 𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐬

Tomas is also quick to be jealous, but unlike Bi-han, he will not address the situations through violence

Tomas has much faith in you and hates the fact that he has the thought of someone else making you more happy than him. When he sees another man making you laugh or impressed, it makes him feel bad about himself. He will go out of his way to do something impressive in front of both you and your admirer as a way of showing them that you liked him more.

You stood at the edge of the training arena as you watched your husband, Tomas, demonstrating his skills on a test dummy. Your smiled as you watched him hit and slice at the dummy, seeing all the younger initiates at your sides as they watched him.

"Any one of us could do something like that. Put me in there and I'll show you a real man." One of the other Lin Kuei members had leaned down and spoke to you with a large smile on his face. "Excuse me?" You say, a bit taken aback. "I just don't understand why this guy is praised for something everyone else can do." He adds. You turn to see Tomas glaring at the man next to you, he never heard him speak but somehow he was still fully understanding of what he was saying. Toomas grunts before turning back to the dummy and cutting it clean in half using his karambit. Then, he tightly grabs ahold of the dummy and turns to fling it in the air, launching it over 100 feet. As it flies through the air, Tomas grabs a large boulder and spins around to launch the boulder into the air, using both his strength and smoke to guide it to hit the dummy mid-air, smashing it to bits. The younger children around stared in awe as they talked amongst themselves. "I doubt it will be easy to do better than that." Tomas bites as he walks back over to you. The man scoffs before walking away. "That was quite a show." You smiled as he rested his hands on your hips. "It looked like he was getting top comfortable." He smirked before leaning in to press a sweet kiss to your lips.

↳ 𝐒𝐲𝐳𝐨𝐭𝐡

Syzoth isn't an inherently jealous person, but he can find himself being jealous and almost possessive of you at times

With everything he had lost from Shang Tsung, he is very protective of his partner and wouldn't let anyone get a chance to steal you from him.

If someone were to approach you and flirt with you, he would be open about his feelings. He would stand close to your side and let them know at the first given moment that the two of you are betrothed.

A man began to approach you as you were standing outside of Empress Sindel's castle, waiting to hear about certain arrangements. "Well look at you, just waiting to be swept off of your feet by someone like me." The man shot you a wanting smile as your face contorted in disgust. Before you could even protest, Syzoth was at your side, standing slightly in front of you. "They do not need anything like that, we are already happily vowed to each other." Syzoth explains, taking in pride in your relationship as he holds your waist tightly. "Exactly." You add on with a proud smile. The man rolls his eyes before grunting and waking away, Syzoth's eyes following him as he walked away. "I didn't know you were a jealous Zaterran" You smile as you held the side of his face, he brought his hand to lie over yours. "I will not lose what is mine." He shakes his head as he looks up to you with a smile before pressing his lips on yours, holding the crook of your back to pull you closer into him.

Sometimes, if people really get on his nerve, he will go into his Zaterran form to intimidate people.