#i'm not crying i just have regal believer in my eye

[starryriize]

any nicholas fluff thoughts pls 🥺 ppl often depict him as some kind of tsundere bc of his looks but he's actually such a sweetheart and the members have said he's a genuinely kind and caring person. he said he even tried smiling more growing up so that people wouldn't find him so intimidating oh i want to protect him with my life 😭

delulu thoughts | nico

╰┈ ⋆｡˚ 🪼genre: fluff!!

╰┈ ⋆｡˚ 🪼author’s note: i agree nonnie 🫶🏼 he deserves the world!! anyways, i hope you enjoy this love :(( hehee i giggled while writing this 🤭

🫧laur’s taglist: @chiiyuuvv @kehnarii

⋆⑅˚₊ the type of bf to have a small smile as he watches you work! or just the look of love when he sees you do anything :((

⋆⑅˚₊ plays piano for you and sometimes puts on music as he takes your hands, leading you in a slow dance in the living room (stop he would do this idc)

⋆⑅˚₊ the type to pout but smile when you call him cute!! he knows that he can come off with the vibes of "big scary dog" but like most big dogs, he's a total softie 🥹

⋆⑅˚₊ strikes me as the type to pick you up randomly and just give you big hugs!! he gets all smiley while hugging you too :((

⋆⑅˚₊ when you feel sad, he's by your side in a comfortable silence as he gives you a reassuring look 🫶🏼 words aren’t always necessary when his eyes speak a thousand words to you

⋆⑅˚₊ “why did you do that?” and “because i care” type of relationship!! he cares so much about you that he always remembers the tiniest details about you :((

⋆⑅˚₊ he’d take you on really cute dates and a lot of them are pure fun!! would buy the matching souvenirs and play games for you so he can win you the biggest prize 😌

⋆⑅˚₊ the type to always reach for your hand!! he just loves knowing that you’re his makes him feel like he saved a world in his past life🥹🫶🏼

⋆⑅˚₊ loves it when you play with his hair and let him lay down on your lap :((( it’s so comforting to him, especially after a long day in the practice room

⋆⑅˚₊ when you dress up together for a fancy occasion and you tell him that everyone's staring at him because he looks so handsome, he replies, "no love, they're staring at you." (argh stop i'm giggling even thinking about this) 🤭

⋆⑅˚₊ the type of romance that you only read about and used to dream of having! he entered your life and made you believe in true love :( the way he puts you first no matter what too :(( please it's so incredibly sweet

⋆⑅˚₊ his friends most definitely tease him when they catch him staring at you so lovingly, saying things like, "nico, when are you going to propose??" and he just stops. he secretly knows that you're definitely the one for him.

⋆⑅˚₊ often asks you why you love him because he fears that his intimidating looks might cause you to leave one day, but you always reassure him 🥹 you love him for who he is and that he has the most genuine soul and a pure heart :((

⋆⑅˚₊ he regales you with stories of his childhood and his time on i-land as you listen to each and every tale!! and then asks about your childhood while he's giggling at every word you say 😭 (he's so cute pls)

⋆⑅˚₊ KARAOKE DATES!!! hear me out when i say that he loves nostalgia and fun like...the carefree vibes! when you start dancing while singing off-key, he bursts out laughing, and at this point, both of you are just enjoying the vibes 😭😌

⋆⑅˚₊ when you're sad, he's holding you tight and letting you cry on his shirt! he's willing to listen if you want to and he holds your hands to reassure you that he's not going anywhere! through thick and thin, he'll be by your side 🫶🏼 (he gives forehead kisses too)

⋆⑅˚₊ overall, a green flag!! he's a gentleman and kind-hearted so please don't ever break his heart <3

🫧join laur's taglist!

[stories4you04-x]

Dearest Readers,

When overhearing being the wife of Anthony Bridgerton was like a dream I thought it wasnt true. A dream that one must dream of living. He is according to his wife the most caring and loving husband but when in public he is different. He had a different personality. A sense of regality one dreams of achieving. One that his newlywed wife Y/N could easily match for events and balls during the season. But this article is how he dropped this facade in public...

"Anthony do you feel up to a walk today the weather is ever so lovely" Y/N announced to her husband who was sat in a chair reading the book he was currently reading. "Yes the weather is lovely today I believe a walk would be quite nice" Anthony said whilst placing his bookmark in his book and settling it on the table beside him. It only took a few minutes for the newlywed pair to get ready.

They walked hand in hand in the local park which was surrounded with other people. As they walked people bowed or tipped their hats towards them as there was an aura of regalness that surrounded the pair. "Anthony look Hyacinths we must pick some for your mother she does love this flower" he smiled at the way she practically dragged him over towards the flowers. "Very well I guess we should mother has been feeling a little down recently maybe these can lift her spirits" she nodded and started to pick ones that looked big and full of life without a care in the world. However Anthony looked around and noticed a few bees buzzing around the flowers. "Y/N please be careful" she turned around to him "whatever for?" He looked panicked and said "there are bees" she smiled "they will be fine im not making them angry" she continued to pick them not realising the one she had picked had a bee nestled withing one of the flowers which travelled onto her collar bone.

Anthony had turned around to look at his wife as she had stopped to bask in the sun she smiled at him until she saw his face drop and she looked confused at him "Anthony whats wrong?" He shouted "Stay still please" His wife started walking towards him "why what's the matter my love?" He had tears in his eyes "please just stay still" she looked down as she felt something crawling on her and she realised a bee was on her collar. She wafted the bee for it to fly away. Anthony got scared as he heard her cry "ouch it stung me" he couldn't breathe "no no no no Y/N stay with me please" he pleaded holding onto her face "love what is the matter its just a sting I am fine" It wasnt until he was fully panicking on the floor within his wifes arms that he began to calm "but you got stung you could die" she seemed shocked at how he announced the statement "love you can't die from a sting unless the person is allergic" he calmed slightly "what can I do to get you to calm fully" he thought "can we get a doctor to check please my wife I can't loose you" she looked into his eyes as she held him "of course we will go straight away but let's enjoy the sun for a little longer"

She was getting a full body check by the doctor under Anthony's orders. He waited outside pacing back and forth whilst his two brothers benedict and Colin sat in the nearest chairs "Anthony sit down she is going to be fine" Colin pleaded. "No my wife is in there she got stung" he started panicking again until Benedict stood and grabbed Anthony's shoulder and forced him into the chair "she is going to be fine if something was to happen it would have happened by now so calm down and sit still for a few more minutes the doctor should be done soon" Benedict then sat in the other chair. Violet heard all the commotion upstairs and went to find out whatever was happening "sons what is happening?" Anthony stood and hugged his mother "Y/N got stung picking those Hyacinths for you downstairs and she is with the doctor right now she said she was ok but I'm scared I can loose her too mother" she placed a hand on his cheek as he released from the hug "Anthony your wife is a strong woman if she says she is ok then she is perfectly ok" he nodded and sat back down.

A few minutes later the door opened Anthony jumped out of his chair. The doctor said nothing but nodded towards the four standing at the door "go Anthony" his mother said pushing him towards the door. "Y/N love is everything ok the doctor said nothing" he walked towards the bed where she was laying "perfectly ok" she smiled and he released a breath he did not realise he was holding "However..." his breath hitched again "...there was something he found. He was quiet because I swore him to secrecy until I told you and the family" he was stressed "love what was it?" She smiled at him "I am with child" his jaw dropped and a few seconds later his face contorted into a smile "A... A baby?" She nodded "You are to be a father" she announced and he cheered ran out the room and told everyone outside. She could hear the claps and cheers outside and he ran back in and gave her a kiss full of passion "Anthony calm down I know its exciting but I don't want to have to call the doctor back because you have hurt yourself"

It took a few days for the news to be spread and be written into Lady Whistledowns article. The newlywed couldn't have been more happy for a singular bee sting to be the product of such big news.

A/N I am rubbish at writing I don't know where I just got this inspo but I just had to write I hope you enjoy 😊

[imagines-random]

Love story

Pairings/Characters: Loki x reader

Summary: Your love story.

Warnings: A bit of angst but nothing too major! (Maybe bad writing and grammar lol. English isn’t my first language!)

Song: Love Story (Taylor’s Version) by Taylor Swift

A/N: Thank you so much for reading!!

We were both young when I first saw you

High above the revelry of the grand ball, in the quiet solitude of a moonlit balcony, Prince Loki and your’s worlds collided.

I close my eyes and the flashback starts

The soft glow of the stars illuminated the regal figures as they stepped into the cool night air, unaware that the balcony's edge marked the precipice of a future entwined in love.

I'm standing there

You, drawn by the beauty of the night sky, found yourself on the same balcony, a serendipitous encounter orchestrated by the unseen hand of destiny.

On a balcony, in summer air

The ball was running smoothly.

As the princess of Alfheim you have learned to survive in these types of situations.

Boredom was becoming something familiar to you.

See the lights, see the party, the ball gowns

The door to the balcony opened. You didn’t turn, not until the stranger walked to the rail next to you.

See you make your way through the crowd

It was Prince Loki, his eyes reflecting the weight of royal responsibilities, stepped onto the balcony, seeking a moment of respite from the grandeur below.

And say, "Hello"

“Hello” he says as he bows clumsily.

“Nice to meet you Prince” you bow to him

“Loki please, call me Loki” he smiles at you taking your hand in his.

“Nice to meet you Loki” you smile at him.

“Do you want to be friends?” Asks little you.

“Yea !” He replies and grabs your hand running of to the garden dragging you with him.

Little did I know

Kids. What can you say, pure souls that don’t understand the complexity of life or trust.

•a few years after•

Inside of the palace library, Loki and you found yourselves in a conversation about the age-old tale of Romeo and Juliet. You, captivated by the tragic romance, clutched a worn copy of the book against your chest.

That you were Romeo, you were throwing pebbles

“Come on Loki! The book is good! It's such a beautiful story of love and sacrifice.” You argued back.

And my daddy said, "Stay away from Juliet"

“Good? That melodramatic play? I find the whole thing rather ridiculous. Two impulsive teenagers meeting a tragic end over a fleeting infatuation.” he chuckles.

“It’s a love story! It's so romantic! The intensity of their love, the willingness to defy their families for each other—it's like a timeless symbol of passion.” You smiled at him

And I was crying on the staircase

“Come one now darling. Passion, or youthful recklessness? I can't fathom why anyone would idealize such impulsive behavior. Real love requires more than just poetic proclamations.”

“But isn't that the essence of love? To be willing to risk everything for the person you can't imagine living without?”

Begging you, "Please don't go"

“Yeah which is why it was so stupid. I believe in a more practical approach. Love shouldn't be about making grand gestures and meeting tragic ends. It should be stable, sensible, and built on mutual respect.”

And I said

“Does that mean you've never felt a love so intense that it defies reason?”

"Romeo take me somewhere we can be alone

“I prefer a love story without unnecessary drama. One where both parties think with their heads rather than their hearts.”he smirks.

I'll be waiting, all there's left to do is run

“Perhaps you haven't found the right story to change your perspective yet. Romeo and Juliet may be dramatic, but it's a testament to the power of love—flawed, yes, but undeniably powerful.” You smile at him.

You'll be the prince, and I'll be the princess

“Well, I'll stick to tales that make sense. No tragic romances for me.” Rolls his eyes.

It's a love story, baby, just say yes"

As the debate continued, the words of Shakespeare's timeless play lingered in the air, creating an intriguing contrast between the romantic ideals cherished by you and the pragmatic skepticism of Loki.

•a few years later•

In the heart of the castle, Loki and you harbored a shared secret that flourished under the veil of night.

So I sneak out to the garden to see you

Drawn together by an unspoken connection, they each yearned for something beyond the regal confines of their chambers

We keep quiet 'cause we're dead if they knew

And so, as the moon ascended the velvet sky, casting its silvery glow upon the palace gardens, they embarked on a clandestine journey.

Loki, with a heart that craved adventure, would slip past the guards with the agility of a fox.

So close your eyes

You, full of sneakiness, would evade the watchful eyes of your attendants, tiptoeing through moonlit corridors to the rendezvous point beneath the ancient rose arbor.

Under the blooming roses, Loki and you found in the quiet of the night. The fragrance of blossoms mingled with the whispers of a thousand secrets as they shared stolen glances and laughter that echoed through the garden.

Escape this town for a little while, oh, oh

Loki, burdened by the weight of future responsibilities, discovered in you a confidante who understood the struggle between duty and desire.

'Cause you were Romeo, I was a scarlet letter

You, yearning for a life beyond protocol, found in Loki a kindred spirit who shared her dreams of a world unfettered by royal expectations.

And my daddy said, "Stay away from Juliet"

The garden, once a canvas of muted greens and blossoms, became a sanctuary painted with the hues of your emotions.

But you were everything to me

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over beautiful Asgard, you found yourself standing at the stables. The air was heavy with unspoken emotions as you waited for the warriors to arrive. The ones who would accompany the person who had become the center of your world – Loki.

“Darling?” Loki said from behind you.

“So you have to go?” You said without turning to look at him.

I was begging you, "Please don't go"

"I'll miss you," Loki managed to say, his voice betraying the vulnerability he had kept hidden for so long.

And I said

You smiled, a bittersweet expression that mirrored the conflicted emotions within. "I'll miss you too, Loki. More than you can think."

"Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone

You watched as Loki prepared to mount his horse. The warriors and his brother Thor were there too. All ready to leave. To risk their lives.

I'll be waiting, all there's left to do is run

As they began to leave with Thor guiding them, you looked at Loki hoping he’ll change his mind and stay. He didn’t.

You'll be the prince, and I'll be the princess

With a final glance, Loki rode into the horizon, leaving you waiting. Everyday you found yourself looking to the horizon, waiting for the day when Loki would return.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months.

It's a love story, baby, just say yes"

The ache of Loki’s absence lingered, leaving an empty space that seemed impossible to fill.

You navigated the routines of life, haunted by memories of shared moments and the laughter that echoed through corridors now too quiet.

•a few years later•

You stood before your father, a solemn determination in your eyes. Your father, concerned about the stability of his kingdom, had proposed an alliance through marriage to a prince from a neighboring kingdom. However, you, guided by your love for Loki spoke your truth.

"My dear days, this union is crucial for the prosperity of our kingdom. Prince Dominic is a worthy match, and the alliance will strengthen our realm."

Romeo, save me, they're trying to tell me how to feel

"Father, I appreciate your concern for our kingdom, but my heart belongs to another. Loki, who went into distant lands to protect us, is the one I await."

"Loki is presumed lost, and we cannot delay vital alliances for a hope that may not materialize. Dominic is noble and willing to forge a strong bond with our kingdom."

This love is difficult, but it's real

"Father, my heart tells me Loki will return. I cannot pledge my heart to another when it already belongs to him. I will wait for Loki, for his love is the anchor that guides me." You said standing your ground.

Your father, torn between duty and his daughter's unwavering love, sighed deeply.

Don't be afraid, we'll make it out of this mess

"My dear daughter, I understand your feelings, but we must prioritize the kingdom's stability. Let us hope for Loki's safe return, but we cannot put our future on hold indefinitely."

Meanwhile, unaware of the ongoing conversation, Loki had just returned and after hearing the news about your arranged marriage he sought with your father to request the your hand in marriage.

It's a love story, baby, just say yes

“Your Majesty, I come with the utmost respect and sincerity. I've grown deeply fond of your daughter, and I wish to ask for her hand in marriage.”

Oh, oh-oh

I got tired of waiting

“Prince Loki, while I appreciate your candor, I have reservations about a union that may complicate our diplomatic relations.”

Wondering if you were ever coming around

“Your Majesty, I am committed to fostering a strong bond between our realms. My love for your daughter is genuine, and I believe together we can bridge any divides.”

My faith in you was fading

As Loki persisted in his plea, expressing his dedication to both the princess and the prosperity of their kingdoms, your father found himself grappling with a decision that balanced matters of the heart and the stability of the realm.

When I met you on the outskirts of town

“Prince Loki, your sincerity has not gone unnoticed. I shall grant my consent, but I implore you to approach this union with the commitment and diplomacy it deserves.”

And I said

And so, after persistent appeals, the love between you and Loki triumphed over political considerations. The kingdom awaited a union that would not only bind two hearts but also forge a new chapter in the history of their realms.

•the wedding day•

The grandeur of the royal palace was adorned with cascading flowers, sparkling crystals, and an air of anticipation as guests gathered to witness the union of two souls destined for each other.

"Romeo, save me, I've been feeling so alone

The ceremony took place in the palace courtyard, where an ornate archway adorned with blossoms framed the couple, symbolizing the intertwining of their lives.

I keep waiting for you, but you never come

Prince Loki, resplendent in regal attire, stood at the altar, his eyes gleaming with a mix of mischief and affection as he awaited his beloved.

Is this in my head? I don't know what to think"

You, radiant in a gown that seemed to capture the essence of moonlight, descended the grand staircase.

He knelt to the ground and pulled out a ring

As you walked towards Loki, a hush fell over the gathered assembly, captivated by the ethereal beauty of the moment.

And said

Underneath a canopy of stars, Loki and you exchanged vows in a magical courtyard.

"Marry me, Juliet, you'll never have to be alone

"I promise not to play too many tricks, my love, except when it comes to stealing your heart every day." He smirks teasing you.

I love you, and that's all I really know

"And I promise to see past your mischief, cherishing the kind and tender soul beneath. Our journey will be a grand adventure, Loki."

I talked to your dad, go pick out a white dress

With rings exchanged and a kiss sealing your vows, the celebration echoed with laughter and music.

It's a love story, baby, just say yes"

"To us, my enchanting bride!"

Oh, oh-oh

"To forever, my mischievous groom!"

Oh, oh-oh, oh

As you danced under the moonlit sky, the union of Loki and you became a tale whispered in the winds of the enchanted realm.

'Cause we were both young when I first saw you.

[houseofhyde]

Hello there amazing writer 🙋🏻‍♀️! I hope you are feeling well and are finding the fandom pleasant 🤗.

I thought I'd share an idea that's been festering in my head if you'd like to give it a try (but first allow me to commend your sharply pellucid guidelines for requesting, you have seriously inspired me to refine my own 🥂)

I was thinking of something where Daemon has been chasing a noblewoman, interest kindled by her prideful rejection to become his latest muse; then one night she goes to his chamber, dejected and teary, indignantly asking for company. Then something like the beach scene from Drfitmark where he's far gentler than he thought he would be.

Thank you for hearing me out, have a lovely day 💐

but only for tonight.

pairing. daemon targaryen x fem!reader. synopsis. to most, the rogue prince is an untamable beast, with the fury of a thousand men and mind more stubborn than a mule. to you, he's a nuisance in expensive clothing, prone to run away with his tail tucked between his legs each time you reassure him you're still not interested in entertaining his company. till disaster strikes and the only corner of the keep your legs seem to carry you is his chamber doors. warnings. young!daemon (early 20s), enemies to lovers to strangers, kinda softer than usual daemon (he's young and not completely cynical yet), smut (porn with plot, p in v, cunnilingus, fingering, daemon lowkey has a praise kink, dubcon bc daemon is high on life aka the milk of the poppy). word count. 13.1k (this was only meant to be 5k max 🧍‍♂️) hyde's input. thank you so much to @nyctophilic0vitnir for your kind words, your request, and, most importantly, your patience <3 this took me far too long to write and i hope the wait was worth it for you. it pains me to age daemon down (as, personally, i'm a toxic bitch that loves to see daemon be notably older than the reader, since i feel it adds that extra layer of questionable morality to his character and his actions) but it was the only way i felt i could stay true to my personal characterisation of him whilst sticking to the original request. since i view daemon as someone hardened by things in life that only come with age (which, in turn, affects his approach to love/courting), it only felt believable to me that he'd chase after someone in his younger days. obviously not everyone has to agree since, again, this is my personal characterisation of him! i'm rambling so i'll shut up now, enjoy! read on ao3 !

between the blinding shine of the sun and the hateful looks from the ladies seated all around you, you’re shocked to the core that you’ve yet to melt away into nothingness.

the scene is as follows: an arena surrounded by crowds filled with cheering lords and fawning ladies, dressed in their finest of robes and garbs, and with their mouths opened to yell out each time sticks collide or a rider is thrown from his horse; within the arena stand two horses- one so white it offends the eyes and the other blacker than a night’s sky- and, upon their saddles, two men. the first is a man of honour, regal of house and true of heart. he sits like royalty and smiles like a dashing knight, urging his mount towards the stands, no doubt awaiting the gift of the flowered wreath you’d kept yourself awake into the small hours to make. the other man? a fool made of over-the-top armor, a glistening of dark metals and a feathered helmet that, combined with the smug look he sports, has the same effect as simply writing cunt across his forehead.

it is, to your own displeasure, that the second man is who holds his lance out to you first.

“well,” that cocky tone of voice grates you, like the screech of a crying babe, and you fight back the urge to cover your ears, if only by reminding yourself of how his crown-bearing brother is watching from his own seat amongst the crowd. “get on with it.”

“oh, my!” the women in your vicinity swoon, as if the man has just recited a poem of utmost beauty and grace in your direction.

seemingly foolish? most definitely.

but, truly foolish? not one bit, each of them strategic in their behaviour towards the unwed prince, hopeful that someday, should they work hard enough, they’ll be on the receiving end both of his affection and wealth.

you can not mock them- wholeheartedly, at least- for you would be behaving the very same were he any other prince.

“lady cantebury, if you’ll excuse me, i suddenly feel my lunch coming back up.” though you address the woman to the left of you- who, quite frankly, you’ve been ignoring for the better half of the tournament- your words and feigned smile are directed to the man of your ire.

“yes, excuse her, lady cantebitchy,” despite the prince- purposefully, you assume- misspeaking her name, she seems a little too excited that he’s taken notice of her to care. “it takes those northerners a while to adjust to eating something other than half-frozen crops. three moons south and my lady has yet to get used to it.”

“your lady?” you scoff, and quickly scowl, cursing yourself for giving him what he wants: your attention. too late now, you challenge him and lean forward against the railings. “is she with us now, this lady of yours? i should like to pay my respects to her no-doubt deceased sanity.”

“it pains me deeply when you speak so dully of yourself, my lady.” the gaul of this man! to speak such words, to mimic affectionate sentiments and pains in his heart through the clutching of his chest!

and, to make matters worse, to put on this act before the very man you’ve been courting!

the tyrell boy is smiling when your eyes finds his own, but the grip he has on the reigns of the white horse speaks true to the anger that hides beneath the petal-covered surface. you return his smile, and ignore whatever the prince mutters under his breath (something adjacent to greeting that priss of a man, with words more foul and tone heavy on the disgust).

aiming to beckon over the man who should truly receive the gift of your favour, a faint tug on the skirts of your summer’s gown derail your line of thoughts. first, you look to your left, accusing eyes looking upon lady canteburry as if to say she was the one to call for your attention. another tug has your head darting to the right, and there you see her.

the princess is small, in age and height and all else, but she makes up for what she lacks with her overgrown personality and swollen confidence. she’s merely a girl of six, yet she stands as tall as her stature allows, head tilted up to look you in the eye.

“my uncle,” little rhaenyra’s words echo for all to hear, silencing even the most brutishly rude lords as all stand to listen to her sweet voice. “he wants your favour. i think he’s just nervous and forgot to ask for it.”

the last of her words are whispered, loud enough for several women and the prince himself to hear. you shoot him a look as you both scoff over a laugh, him with indiganance and you with disbelief.

blessed be the hearts of children, too pure to know the wrongs of man.

“is that so, princess?” the girl’s nose wrinkles, a sign of her distaste towards hearing you address her by title (“i can not call you ‘nyra in public, sweet child.” you’d told her many a times, hands brushing over her pale hair or accompanying her through strolls in the gardens or helping her escape the boring hours of needle work. “you are a princess, and as one of your ladies it is my duty to address you as such.”)

the girl nods and you spy the way her hair is slowly slipping out of its braid. the actions serves as a reminder, to not just yourself but the gathered crowd of women, of the unfair yet captivating traits of the dragon-riders. fair hair, lilac eyes, unblemished skin.

he wears them differently to the rest of his house.

“listen to the child,” he speaks as if on queue, in tune with your thoughts. “she’s wiser than most her age.”

“unlike you.” you believe yourself to mutter beneath your breath.

the stifled laughter of the queen herself, aemma targaryen, tells you otherwise.

“ao jorrāelagon naejot sagon tolī sȳz, kepus!” you need to be more kind, uncle! another part of the targaryen culture you’ve grown to envy as much as you distaste: their ancestral tongue. which the princess has been improving upon with each passing day since your arrival at the capital, adding yet another person to your list of targaryens who insist on speaking it around you, with no regard to the fact you have no clue of what words they speak. if anything, the prince seems to enjoy it when you storm off, antagonised to the point of despair by his incomprehensible ramblings in his mother tongue. “iā hembar jēda kesan daor tepagon se dohaeragon ao jaelagon naejot gain se riña’s prūmia lēda.” or next time i will not give the help you wish to gain the lady’s heart with.

whatever she says, it’s enough to irritate the prince, if the roll of his eyes are anything go by.

“lykemagon, riña, iā kesan daor nārhēdegon naejot ȳdragon hen aōha bantis zaldrīzes kipagon naejot aōha kepa.” silence, child, or i will not forget to speak of your nightly dragon rides to your father. you may not speak the language, but you’re fluent in context, and so there’s no doubt in your mind that the two are exchanging threats, each wearing that signature look of stubborn challenging you’re more than certain the king grew to despise the moment he realised he’d no longer just face it from his own brother, but his precious daughter too.

when the moment passes, the princess is facing you again, sticky hands plucking upwards to grab onto whatever part of you she can reach and guide you- shove you, if she were stronger than her age allows- closer to the knight in offensive armour.

“uncle, tell the lady what you desire.” the gods were cruel when they chose to favour men over women, tearing away the chance of this poised young girl of ever ruling upon the iron throne, for not even the strongest of men- nor the most foolish, either- would dare to speak to the rogue prince in such a demanding tone.

“to be drowning in whores and wine.” you’re too slow to cover rhaenyra’s ears from the man’s offensive wording.

you suppose she’s heard far worse.

“uncle!”

“fine, fine,” a clearing of a throat, a straightening of a spine and a lunge of a jousting stick in your direction. the horse he sits upon canters a few steps closer and releases the heavy sigh you wish you could. “my lady,” there’s a point to be made with how your eyes drift anywhere but his own as he speaks such blasphemy, a silent scream that you are most definitely, not under any circumstances nor at any point in time, his lady. you’re barely a tolerant of the man! “would you do me the honour of gifting me with your favour, so that i may wear it on the handle of my lance as i shove the other end up this pretty boy’s arse?”

there’s a cacophony of laughter, prompted only after the king himself fails to contain a burst of belly-born rumbles, and then the sweet interjection of ‘nyra once more, voice whiny in a way that reminds you you’ve been cursed with your moonsblood for longer than she’s been alive- even despite your supposed late blossoming!

“kepus! konir sagon daor skorkydoso īlon kȳvanon syt ao epagon zirȳla!” uncle! that is not how we planned for you to ask her!

the prince ignores his niece, eyes spying only upon you and your unimpressed, unmoving, unchanging facial expressions. the frowning lips, the pinched brows, the disdain in your eyes are all marks of something that would- should- send any other man running for the hills, in pursuit of some other lady.

in daemon, it is the pilar of his desire.

“are you going to make me wait all evening?” the teasing smirk and the raise of an eyebrow have become the prince’s signature look around you, from the moment you’d stumbled upon him, hands tangled up the skirts of a serving girl and lips stained in the bloodied red of southern wine. “because i must admit, while i’m not against performing in front of a crowd, i’d rather hoped our first evening together would be a little more intimate than this.”

you bite the insides of your cheek with a force you hope is strong enough to rid you of that grating feeling roused by none other than your greatest enemy: the prince.

by all means, you want to deny him, send him off to pester some other lady for her favour- of which you’re sure he’ll stumble upon an abudance of them who receive him more willingly than you. the crown of pointed thorns and decaying petals and twisted vines is one you’d intended to gift to the rose boy, not the dragon prince.

yet rhaenyra’s little hands and excited smile convinces you to go against your better judgement.

the crowd bursts back to life with cheers and applause as you drop your wreath down the expanse of his lance.

“cherish it, prince daemon,” you call over the crowd, voice drowning out in the masses yet reaching its intended, daemon’s eyes delighting with the attention you give him. “for i just forfeited my chance to be named queen of love and beauty.”

hours later, when the moon sits atop the sky and the king’s guests have had their fair share of feast and drink, you brush off yet another congratulations.

“to our queen of love and beauty!” they cheer, cups to the sky and smiles made of mockery. “our prince sure did pick a fine lady.”

to roll your eyes is your only hope to halt yourselves from chastising the garish men and their claims, a whole rant to throw at them off the cuff of how the only thing their prince has done is place a scarlet letter upon you and slice a dagger through the already fragile relationship you’ve spent your recent days crafting with the stone-faced lady tyrell, who’s spent the past hours staring you down from across the hall and whispering every so often to her husband.

the hand in your own- smaller and distinctly sticky in a way only a child’s hand ever seems to be- tugs and squeezes you along, venturing deeper into the pit of dancing bods, the tuffs of blonde and the poofs of red the only part of the princess you manage to make out as she guides you.

she stops, eventually, when she finds a spot she deems spacious enough and- unbeknownst to you- in the perfect line of view for all that sit the royal table, be they a king, or a queen, or a prince, to witness you both joining in dance, a unique pair among the many couples.

“you know,” the girl ponders alloud, a cheeky grin on her face as her small frame easily twirls beneath your raised arm. “if you married my uncle, you and i would be family.”

“is that so, huh?” she must count her blessings that she remains a child, for were she any older to know better, she’d be tasting the wrath delivered upon any other who’d dare insinuate- much less so boldly propose the idea of- the unification of yourself and the rogue prince. “are you sure you’d be able to handle me as your evil aunt?”

the young girl nods enthusiastically, a silly grin decorating her features and forcing one on to your own down-trodden face, something so infectious in her smile.

when you’d first met the princess, you’d been certain that you’d never warm to her. it wasn’t that she was spoiled or particularly difficult but, rather, you’d never had a child around back home. moving to the capital- under the guise of becoming a lady in waiting to the little princess while truly being an excuse for your father to find you a husband- you’d been unsure what to expect once you arrived. your friendship with the dragon princess was a happy accident.

an accident that’s made adjusting to the capital far easier, sure, but an accident nonetheless.

“uncle!” her recent interest in your courting life and the need to intertwine it with your arch-nemesis’, however, has you rethinking this friendship.

the princess is the one to let go first, ducking out of your hold to crash straight into the prince’s leg, attaching herself onto it like a leech sticks to the skin of a dying man. daemon, seemingly engaged in conversation- with a girl you believe to be part of the lannister house- prior to the appearance of rhaenyra, dismisses the company in favour of his niece, hand clasping itself upon the top of her head and giving several scuffs, messing her hair till it stands in all directions.

and, be it the copious drinks or the immature she-devil who harbours within the depths of your soul, you condemn yourself to approaching the prince.

“stop that!” the words are a hiss as your hands shove away his own and work at smoothing back down the strands of pale blonde. “it took me near an hour to get her to sit still for me while i done her hair, and now you’ve gone and messed my work!”

“then do better next time, perhaps tie it more securely.” never has daemon targaryen had a face so worthy of a slap.

but, as slapping the king’s brother would likely land you straight in a cellar, you settle for something far more childish.

“oh, my bad,” the stretch to reach the top of his head is lessened by the heeled shoes you wear, allowing you to retaliate the treatment he’d given to the princess’ head. “perhaps you should try tying your hair more securely next time!”

it’s a marvellous kind of satisfaction that overcomes you as you gaze upon your masterpiece, the prince now wearing a hardened expression and standing with something akin to a bird’s nest in place of his once perfectly groomed locks.

“i think you’ve been spending too much time with rhaenyra,” he grumbles, attempting to sooth down the mop on his head while trying to maintain an air of collectedness about him as the surrounding guests hide their snickers behind their hands. meanwhile, the princess radiates joy, no fear holding her back from laughing at her uncle. “you’re behaving as if you were her age.”

it’s a struggle to not stick your tongue out, but you fear that would only serve to prove his- likely true- point.

“i’m tired,” rhaenyra, ever the conniving little actress, throws in a fake yawn and stretches her little limbs out as she untangles herself from the prince, staring up at him. the two have always shared a rather queer bond, as though they were cut from the very same cloth, little needing said for them both to understand one another. being aware of this, however, does not make it any easier to accept when they speak of you as though you’re not there. “would you promise to keep my friend company? there’s a lot of strangers at this feast and i don’t want one of them to harm her.”

“i’d say the strangers are the ones who need protecting, princess,” he’s doubled over, moving down to the height of his niece but his focus is all on you and the urge to squirm under his penatrive gaze is stronger than ever. “them northerners can be savages!”

with much protest from you and a shooing motion from the rogue prince, young rhaenyra scurries off towards her septa, eventually leaving the hall intwined with the daughter of her father’s hand, alicent hightower, the pair having been near inseparable since before you’d even arrived in the capital.

you last only four denied dances, three of them which are proposed by the heartbreak prince himself, the only other man bold enough to approach you with your frowning sworn-guard for the night being a lowly lord from the southern isles, kind enough in the eyes yet sporting a few too many wrinkles and grey hairs for you to consider a suitable suitor. and, at last, it becomes time you take your leave, making one last stop before the two royals, once more congratulating the pair on the early stages of the queen’s pregnancy- the first to make it through the initial trimester since the birth of rhaenyra and the sole reason you’ve all gathered, to celebrate the future heir king viserys targaryen claims grows within his wife’s womb- before making your way out into the much quieter, more solitary and notably cooler hallways of the red keep, the noise of the continued festivities drowning out into muffled cheers as the heavy doors slam shut, locking you out.

you breathe easily for what feels like the first time in hours.

ever the fool, daemon seems either incapable of taking a hint or wilfully going to any length to aggravate you, for he matches your steps and follows you out. he’s oblivious to the stare of despair and the roll of your eyes, wishing the man would drop his literal- and figurative- pursuit of you once and for all.

“you’ve been here, what, near four moons?” his voice rising above the stillness of the night captures your attention, widened eyes blossoming with surprise shooting up from facing the ground beneath your feet. “how are you finding your stay? i should hope my brother’s fitted you with comfortable quarters.”

“i, well,” you start, and you mean to finish, you really do. but there’s a loss of connection between your mind and your mouth, one running with a thousand thoughts that fight to reach the forefront and the other parting it’s lips in a broken exhale.

“what, surprised to see i am capable of niceties?” the prince flashes what you imagine most would describe as a charming smile.

“yes. no, actually,” you correct both your words and your posture, unknowingly relaxing that tense feeling that had danced upon the tip of your back and the expanse of your shoulder from the moment you’d found yourself alone with the man walking at your side. “more surprised to see you’re capable of not turning everything into a sexual pass, i suppose.”

“well, you never let me reach the part where i request to see just how comfortable your quarters are.”

that same she-devil who convinced you to mess with his hair perks up her voice once more, seductive whispers encouraging you to cross the space that separates you from the prince and place a hand upon his leather-bound chest, shoving him with less hostility either of you had expected.

“you’re insufferable!” at the very least, you retain the ability to criticise him verbally, though with far more interruptions of failed-to-conceal laughter and less sharpness in your tone.

“i believe it’s pronounced irrefutable.”

“i’m impressed,” you nod along to your own exclamation, vaguely aware of the fact you’ve twisted your feet around till you face the man completely. “that’s a big word for someone with the vocabulary of a foul-mouthed child!”

“if big things impress you, rest assured i’m well endowed.”

“like i said, insufferable!”

when your exacerbated sighs and his teasing chortles fade away into the air of the night, a calm quiet settles over you both, like fog over mountain tops. the rare abscense of the wandering eyes and judgemental snickers and the gossiping whispers exchanged through the courtiers has made way for an unexpected tolerance of the prince’s company, one that leads you astray from your usual disgust and further towards the walking disaster-child that is daemon targaryen.

“come,” it’s a demand, not a request, the talons of your hands digging into the arm of his coat admittedly harder than necessary, a sick depravation found in the firmness of his biceps. you find he gives no protest to the way your arm locks itself around his own. “walk me to my chambers, oh mighty knight!”

“is this your way of accepting my offer to see how comfortable your ch-”

“daemon, so help the seven, if you finish that sentence, it’ll be i who shoves a lance up your arse.”

silence returns like an old friend: with open arms and the promise of a story to be told.

the pair of you traverse through the winding halls of the castle together, arms linked and feet synced- the prince puts a great effort into shortening the length of his steps. to outsiders looking in, you’d almost appear to be nothing more than another couple in the early days of courtship, smiling off to the sides and capable of looking anywhere but each other. the reality that this very man has put your true intended betrothal at risk becomes buried deep beneath the surface of your thoughts, uneager to remind yourself of how you’d last seen the tyrell boy rising from the dirt of the arena, face frowning as the prince called out your name, thanking you for you favour.

“you never answered.” he speaks carefully, voice a gentle timbre as though he’s attempting to coax a wounded fawn out of its hiding place.

“hmm?”

“my question, about your stay. how are you finding it?”

you can not seem to answer him. it isn’t that you don’t want to answer- trust there is another world out there where you easily list off every reason he’s made your time in the capital feel something comparable to torturous and arduous work- but, rather, that you do not have an answer. because not a single person, from your own father all the way to little rhaenyra herself, has dared to ask you before.

no individual has cared to know, yet here the prince stands- walks by your side, more accurately said- and inquires on it.

it jars you so severely you feel the beginnings of an ache in your head.

“oh, well, it’s been... good, i suppose.” both of you share a common disbelief towards the words you speak, yours evident in the way your grip tightens around his arm and his making itself known in a dismissive grunt. “the keep is beautiful, and my chambers are beyond any level of comfort my own house could afford, and the weather is admiteddly nicer. it’s just...”

“lonely,” the man finishes what you started, the hand on his free arm at some point raising itself to rest upon your own. it’s only reflex for your fingers to relax, untense the vice grip you’ve dug into him. “this city is somehow the busiest yet loneliest place in the whole of westeros.”

“don’t get sentimental on me, prince daemon.” to dismiss the mellowness settling in between you with a jovial tone and a pointed look is all you can think to do, far too unprepared to be confronted with the possibility of the rogue prince possessing anything beyond the sheer audacity he displays on the daily. “we would not want someone to overhear and assume you’re soft-hearted.”

the man swallows back a comment of how, while his heart may falter, another of his organs would not fail to remain hardened, and simply gives a noise of agreement. you arrive at yet another flight of stairs, this one so narrow it requires you to walk ahead of the prince, the grasp you have on him never faltering as it slides down the expanse of his arm and reanchors itself on his wrist.

you make it not even a quarter of the way up before your dress proves itself to be a nusance, catching on your feet and sending you crashing forwards, saved from bruising your skin and breaking your bones on the solid stone below by daemon, who effortletsly catches you by the waist.

“i wasn’t aware the king placed you in the highest tower of the keep,” the prince, a known hypochondriac, quips on the amount of stairs  the travels to your chambers entails.

“must be to keep scoundrels like his brother from trying to reach me.” a joke it may be, given you both laugh, but there’s certainly an element of truth behind it.

pray, you will, that you’re never enquired on how often a scoundrel has taken it upon himself to lift the ends of a woman’s dress for no reasons other than aiding her to climb up steps without the fear of her feet catching on the ends of it.

he follows you up closely, closer than he’d been before, and drops the material only after you’ve reached the top. the pair of you move in sync to reform your previous positions, arms intertwining with ease.

“what,” it’s criminal, you think, that it’s taken you all this time to experience how soft the prince’s voice can be once he’s rid it of all that ego and peacoking energy he barks around the courts with. meanwhile, he’s doing everything he can think of to slow your inevitable approach towards your chambers door. “do you have planned tomorrow morning?”

“tomorrow morning?” the question prompts you to look at him. seeing his face closer than it’s ever been before, you see the little details, like the flecks of deep purple that accentuate the lilac eyes, or the small scab on his chin where a shaving knife must have sliced it, or the subtle indent of frown-lines on his forehead that you think a man of his age is far too young to possess. “usually my mornings are spent with the other maidens who reside in the keep, before rhaenyra comes searching for me after she’s broken her fast.”

you don’t mention the way the young girl never fails to bring something tucked beneath her skirts- an apple, a buttered roll, a slice of meat- and forces it upon you, demanding you eat the breakfast you so often forget to take.

“how likely is it that your absence would be noted, say, if you were to go one daybreak not with those wenches?” you wrinkle your nose at the choice of words and he chuckles, mentally notting the distaste you harbour for wenches and reminding himself to use it against you at some point in the future. “my brother says the she-beast they call vhagar laid a clutch.”

“how ominous. haven’t you dragonriders taken enough dragons beneath your wings?” it’s meant to be naught more than a silly comment, a clever play on words to rouse a tired eyeroll from prince daemon. it isn’t, however, supposed to pull a pointed look and a sigh of defeat from the dragonless targaryen. “i’m sorry... i didn’t mean to offend.”

“no, no, it’s fine. just never speak such a stupid pun again.” he juts his arm out, playfully stabbing the point of his elbow into your side and rousing a smile back onto your face, unease slipping out with your next exhale. “it’s for the queen’s babe. my brother demanded i collect the eggs and bring them to-”

“there you are, my love! i’ve been looking for you all evening.”

like a pair of children caught with their hands down a cookie jar, daemon and you jump apart with haste, eyes no longer focused on one another and, instead, on the figure stood at the very end of the hall.

he still wears the armour which he’d been defeated by the prince in.

“laurel!” while your tone may read as elated, it’s filled only with disappointed surprise. “what are- why- what brings you here, at this hour?”

the prince seems to instinctively step closer to you as the tyrell boy begins to approach, leaving his post outside your door. he’s stern, brows furrowed and nothing remains of the man who’d been making you laugh a mere ten paces back.

“i was looking, for you,”

“clearly not hard enough.” you wonder if the tyrell boy catches daemon’s muttered words and, the part of you that agrees with them wishes he did.

you’d been at the feast all evening, with just about every other person of status in the city. if he’d wanted to find you, he’d have been best to make an appearance at the event rather than camping outside your apartments.

“i thought we could take a stroll through the gardens,” the rose speaks as though his idea is not preprostous, inviting a maiden out into the darkened greenery at such a late hour.

passing by the prince, laurel tyrell spares him no attention, as though the man is not even there, and simply makes his way towards the stairway, turning back only when the notion that you stand frozen in your spot kicks in.

“come along, my lady!” my lady. those two words feel tainted from hearing them fall from between the prince’s lips, the tyrell’s voice prickling your skin with it. “i promise i shant keep you late.”

your eyes find the prince.

he nods, once and then a second time.

“go,” he urges verbally, when his actions don’t speak loud enough. “fleabottom’s been calling my name all evening, and i intend to answer it.”

with a twist in your gut and a wretch in your heart, you shuffle your way over to laurel tyrell’s open palm, letting him drag you back down into the night.

this is a decision you come to regret, no later than four sleeps.

because the man's words follow you, no matter how quickly you run through halls and creep up stairwells. they turn every corner you take and pause with every rush of breath you stop to heave into your screaming lungs. you pass doorways and sleeping guards, and they pass them with you too.

this nonsense best prove it's worth once i bed her.

there's anger in the clutches of your hands, clenched into fists of pointed knuckles and skin-digging nails, and sadness caught between the lashes of your eye, drops of liquid heartbreak threatening to stain your skin if you so much as blink.

the halfwit doesn't notice when i focus on her tits instead of her eyes.

the poetic words, the strolls through the gardens, the nights of dancing, the stolen smiles and fleeting looks across crowded rooms, all for nothing.

least she be a maiden. i've heard the feel of breaking one of them in is unmatched.

all for laurel tyrell to be another man who sees only the shape of what you hide beneath your clothing.

you want to hate him, curse him, tell all you meet of his crude words, but, instead, the thought of their reactions leaves you despising yourself, for ever thinking a man could think with more than what sat between his legs.

it is not even an option to contact your father, you lament while climbing yet another winding stairwell, for he’d merely remind you of a woman’s duty, which serves only her house until she takes a husband and, then, serves only him.

if the tyrell boy wishes to bed a maiden, your father’s voice plays in your thoughts as though he were stood before you this very instant, best it be you.

his words, the thoughts and your footsteps all come to a halt at the same time. like reentering your body, or awakening from a nap, you find yourself disorientated, gazing upon a chamber door you register not as your own. no, this door is more akin to the level of gradiose you face each day that you visit the young princess’ room, dragged away by her small hands as she works to avoid yet another one of the classes that she views as a bore.

yet, this is not her door.

sure, it carries similar markings and engraves in the wood, and sports that very same rich colour and shine to it. but something, subtle as it may be, is askew. the princess’ door has silver handles, this one has gold. the princess sleeps in the east wing of this part of the keep and you’re certain you’d marched west, away from the voice of your betrothed. a guard stands by the princess’ door, no one sits outside this one.

bile rises in tune with your hand, staining the back of your throat with anxious thoughts as you hesitantly knock.

you pause and wait.

minutes pass before you’re knocking again, this time with a little more anger behind the way your knuckles hit against the cold oak. it’ll be a wonder if you do not awake to swirls of purple and twists of blue painted across your skin come sunrise.

the tenant of these apartments still does not open their doors.

you hit a little harder, replacing knocks with a forceful, full-handed slap against the door. and then another, and another, and another, and-

your hand meets flesh that prickles with stubble and points with it’s cheekbones.

“what in the seven hells merits such behaviour at this hour?!”

the prince, for the life of him, has barely managed to open his eyes fully, rejecting the bright lights that burn in the hall. behind him is a sea of black, whatever treasures or prisoners he hides within his quarters lost into the darkness. he’s frowning, hair a mess, clothes foregone hours ago, and a distinctly red hand print slowly searing itself into the left side of his face.

the sight brings you more relief than you’d ever thought him capable of.

you’ve always been rational. it’s a badge you wear with honour, basking in the glory anytime one of your siblings met the angrier side of your father that never failed to reprimand them for being less like you, for being incapable of thinking before acting like you, for never weighing consequences until after a deed was done.

till the day you die, you will never find the words to describe what leads you astray from this level-headedness in the small hours of this evening.

you crash into the prince less gracefully than you’d prefer, lips barely meeting the bottom of his and pressing themselves half on his chin as you dive in for a kiss.

a kiss that daemon does not reciprocate.

in fact, he doesn’t even attempt to move, body frozen in place. pulling back to find the sheer unfazed, almost bored look that occupies the features of his face, floods your soul with a horrible, thick, heavy feeling, that stains every part of you it touches. 

you’re ashamed.

and mortified.

and disgusted.

and embarrassed.

and reaching for his lips again.

this time your mouths collide in perfect level, no unwanted chin in the way. wanting- needing something to anchor you down, your hands shoot out to grasp at where a tunic would usually be. instead, you’re met with nothing but the solid, heaving, sweating mass that makes up the prince’s naked chest.

daemon remains stoic.

“i,” you breathe a shaky exhale, a sting nagging away at your reopened eyes as the previous tears reappear. with a nod, and a sniffle, you step back from the man. the nervous tremble in your hands forces you to grab at the fabrics of your skirt, grasping at anything to distract your mind. “that- this was a mistake.”

this entails so much. kissing him, knocking on his door, walking to his chambers, moving to king’s landing, courting with the tyrell boy, letting the prince get in your head and, all over what? a single experience where the two of your were capable of coexisting without tearing one another’s hair out?

it is all one big mistake, the kind that one can’t hope to fix if all they do is turn and run from the danger it exudes.

knowing this won’t stop you from trying, however.

you twist so quick you worry you may snap your spine or strain a muscle, body kicking into action in an attempt to get as far away from the prince as you’d once desired to be from the tyrell boy. not even a full step, do you make it, until an unmovable force clamps down on your arm.

daemon imposes on you this time, leaning down and crashing his lips against yours. his mouth is warm, with lips of honey and hands of stone that grab and pull and tug at the parts of you they blindly reach for.

the prince is not the first man you’ve kissed- nor do you imagine a life where he’ll be the last- but there’s something behind the way his tongue burrows itself into your mouth, his presence so tangible and all consuming.

you pull back, if only to catch your breath, but he follows, taking ownership over your senses.

stumbling backwards and crossing the threshold into the prince’s chambers, darkness takes ahold of you both, bathing you in nothing but the light of a distant moon. you barely register how one of you reaches for the door behind you, only the slamming of it alerting you to the fact it’s been closed. a lightheaded feeling overcomes you, forcing you to pull apart when your lungs scream for air.

“i’m starting to understand,” daemon’s voice is full of rasp, dry and cracking and far too grating on the ears for you to genuinely be finding yourself attracted to it. “why my brother swears by the milk of the poppy.”

a horrible feeling floods your soul, bile burning its way up your throat.

“oh, oh my god,” your hands are at the level of your eyes, pulling at strands of your own hair. “i completely forgot... you- you’re on bedrest, i can, i’ll just leave-”

the prince’s injury had been the talk of the town since it had occurred: a near-deadly run in with a frightened stag amidst a hunting tourney. the horned animal had spooked his horse, throwing the man off its saddle as it reared and ran off, leaving him to face the male deer. the truth of what had entailed, few would ever know, all that was said was that the prince returned to camp dragging the slaughtered animal by it’s horns with a blood staining the clothing surrounding his left shoulder. 

“no, you won’t, heathen!” in rare occasions, daemon would be the only one to pull a smile from you all day. how fortunate that this is one of those occasions, the scowl on his brows contradicting the subtle upward quirk of his thin lips. “you can not dangle a piece of meat before a dragon and then refuse to feed it.”

were you in any state to think rationally, you’d dig more into the fact he’d just referred to you as a piece of meat.

but, then, if you were thinking rationally, you’d never have wound up at his door.

the second kiss is less forceful. no rush enlaced with every touch, no desperation tickling at both your senses, no desire to stray too far from one another.

you find yourself trusting the prince more than you’d like to when he starts to guide you backwards, a gentle pressure on your hips building while his mouth travels over your jaw and reaches the top of your neck. you walk, and stumble, and shuffle wherever the man directs you and, then, you fall.

any frightful scream you would have let out is quickly replaced with a squeal and a giggle of delight, back meeting what you’re confident in naming the softest bed you’ve ever laid upon.

at last, the shine of the moon allows you to see the man hell-bent on attacking you with his mouth.

“what is the meaning of this, hmm?” the condescension in his tone usually grates you. now, it excites you, arouses you, leaves you wondering of what pleasures he could speak with it. “why’re you suddenly at my door, behaving like some wanton whore?”

oh, you think, who knew such crass could prickle your skin with desire?

the shadow of the prince casts down on you, bathing you in an exagirated enlarged image of him, as if the fates wish to remind you of how big a shadow he looms over your own existence. it scares you.

his eyes scare you more.

they’re usually wider, observing every move, full of that mischievous nature the prince is known for. but, if what people say is true and the eyes are the mirror to one’s soul, then daemon’s soul must be a dark pit made up of lustful glares and hooded eyelids, resting so low his eyes almost appear shut.

you want to answer, you really do. but between the hand that circles a grip around your throat and the heat shooting straight for your core, burning up in a puddle of arousal, you can’t. all you can do is watch the man before you, silver hair a beautiful mess just begging for some fingers to be ran through it and stare promising to ruin you in the best way possible.

the silence pleases him.

“do you know how hard it is to get you alone? always got someone wanting to talk to you, stealing your attention. do you even know how many stupid feasts i had to attend to finally get some time with you?” daemon pauses, like he’s waiting for you to relay an answer, guess a number. he loosens up the grip on your neck, teasing your skin with a few soothing strokes of his slender fingers, lulling you into a state bordering insanity. “no answer, sweet girl? or are you lost in that pretty little head of yours?”

“i’m,” your voice is but a whisper, raspy with a new found thirst. “trying to figure out what you want me to say.”

if it’s the wrong or right answer, you’re soon to find out, the sharp faced man releasing a dangerously low chuckle as he takes a hold of your chin. like a pretty doll, you move any time and any way his fingers command you to, finding yourself staring right up into his eyes, a swirl of melting jasmine that reminds you of how alluring yet sultry every inch of him is. lips near touching, he refuses to break eye contact as he speaks up once more, sealing both your fates when his breath hits your face.

“then let me show you what i want.”

his mouth comes down on yours like it’s the answer to all your prayers and, yet, all your nightmares.

it excites you how easily he works his lips over your own, captivating every inch of you when he tilts his head to the right and deepens the kiss. the rhythm of your lips is a mismatch of beats, where one moment you are moving in a sensual waltz, grazing tongues and dipping heads to get rid of that inch of a space remaining between your bodies, and the next moment your tongues are tangled in a tango, the kind where his teeth send blood rushing to your lips with every bite he drags over them and his hand drags shivers down your spine as it makes its way down, down, down your body.

yet it terrifies you how willingly you’ve succumb to daemon’s touch, intoxicated by whatever witchcraft he has in his possession and currently holds over you. there’s a deadliness to the way his lips part from your own only to repeat his previous seamless descent down your jaw and the expanse of your neck, a poisonous element to the way his hand suddenly finds itself clutching the meat of your thigh.

the moment his fingertips ruck up the fabric that safeguards the last of your modesty and meet the ends of your sleep-gown, you’re wishing you’d never slipped it on in the first place, every fibre of your being growing angsty under the weight of his suddenly halted hand. it stays still for an immeasurable amount of time, grazing over your near shear dress occasionally while he continues to mouth at your neck.

like visenya and vhagar at the unstormable vale, daemon parts your legs with little to no effort, creating a pathway for his fingers to travel further up your thigh. blunt fingernails drag up your skin, a trail of goosebumps being left behind, a visible marking of where he’s touching you.

his movements halt too soon for your liking, too much distance between his lithe fingers and your body’s pulsating core.

“have you figured out what i want yet?” his voice is a stark difference to the usual smite-filed, almost spat-out-words tone you’ve grown used to hearing from the man. right now, there’s no trace of sardonic undertones in the thick rasp and there’s no time for an exchange of childish insults while he’s glaring down at you through hooded eyes.

something compels you to nod your head, even though you’re a little too lost in the thoughts concerning what you desire, rather than what the stranger incarnate looming over you wants.

“you have?” the words come out in a layer of amazement, and you have to wonder if it’s because of the lie you’ve just told or the way your legs have closed in around his hand, trapping it between them. “i want to know what you want, though.”

you want his thumb to stop stroking over the flesh of your inner thigh.

you want his eyes to stop gazing down at you like you’re the perfect prey.

you want him to stop teetering your impending pleasure on a string.

you want-

“you.” is all you manage to breath out.

it seems to do the trick, however, your point getting very much across to him. a softness flickers over his features, brows no longer furrowed and smirk curling up into a full smile for what feels like an eternity, but is actually no more than a couple of seconds before his devilish aura is back.

lips meet lips again, the desperation and force behind each stroke of his tongue against yours the same as before. the prince, much to your delight, seems to grow just as impatient as you’ve been since the moment he’d stopped you from fleeing at his door.

one hand still resting between your thighs, his other seizes the opportunity to drag your body closer, till a mere inhale is enough to have your chest pressing into him.

the prince’s descent to the floor is graceful, his figure made of solid muscle and unclothed skin lowering till his knees hit the ground and it becomes you who stare down at him, your hands clutching at the silk sheets his bed has been dressed with in an effort to replace the desire to touch him instead.

choosing to not dwell on the heavy feeling of his eyes on you, or the sheer visual strength depicted in the straining muscles of his thighs, you instead focus on the way his lips have trailed away from yours and are beginning to make their way towards the top of your chest.

his hand abandons post between your thighs and rises to the surface, where long fingers begin to pull at the straps of your flimsy night-dress, successfully manoeuvring the cotton material till it pools around your midriff and your breasts are exposed to the damp air of the night.

with no want left to play around, he dives right in to dragging his lips down the upper swell of your left breast. you imagine he can feel the beating of your racing heart beneath the goosebump littered skin. it doesn’t take long for his tongue to enter the scene, skilfully flicking over your hardened nipple a couple times before enveloping his mouth around the bud.

one, two, three sucks and he’s moving on to your right breast. there’s no lead up, this time, simply his mouth finding delight in toying with your body while he busies his hand with your left side, thumb and pointer finger rolling and tugging and spreading the remnants of his saliva over your heated skin.

the straw that breaks the camel’s back, and has you arching your own, is the faintest pressure of his teeth biting down on you. it dances on a thin line between pleasurable and painful, exhilarating enough to make you throw your head back as a moan slips past your lips. it echoes in the empty room, replaying your own sound for both of you to hear again and again before the chain is broken by a laugh.

his laughter.

“why are,” he picks the right time to trail his fingers down your body, dragging your dress with them till it sits uncomfortably tight around the top of your hipbones, fabric digging into the rapidly heating skin. “you laughing?”

“has anyone ever told you how beautiful your tits are?” it’s crude and heartwarming all at once, not unlike the man who says it and the little smile he shoots up in your direction as he rolls his tongue over your nipple once again.

“no, i can’t say they have.” one hand finds it’s way onto his shoulder- the shoulder that does not possess gauze wrapped around it, that is- and grasps it in a vice grip, the fear of melting off the bed and directly onto the concrete floor all too prevalent as you gain enough confidence to let the other hand slide around to the back of his neck and thread your fingertips in the silver locks, hair as soft as you’ve always imagined it to be. “you’re the first.”

“i’ll wear that title with honour,” he seems to delight in the way you’re carding through his hair, eyes closing while he tilts his head back further into your touch. a delighted sigh follows. “has anyone ever asked to drink from your cunt?”

you nearly choke on your own shock.

“i suppose that’s another honourable title for me to wear.” daemon is beginning to give you whiplash, with all this switching between being unusually receptive to your presence and the man that minutes before was making poetic profanities out of the beauty of your bared chest. he peaks his eyes open again, slowly, adjusting once more to make out your figure in the darkness. when he has the nerves to smile at you, all dreamy eyed and relaxed sitting before you, knees pressing into the ground in a mockery of a bow, some crevice deep within your soul sparks up a fire that burns on the belief that perhaps you’ve been wrong about the prince all along, judging only on what people say and not on how he behaves. then, he reopens his mouth and dampens the flame. “now, do i have to tear you out of your skirts or will you stand up and let me slide it off?”

this time, its your laugh that echoes in the air.

“you think i jest!” he seems to whine his way through his exclaim, bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly in a way you’re certain is both influenced by the milk of the poppy that flows through his bloodstream, and is going to drive you insane. “i can not go on another moment like this, you sitting there like something akin to the most mouthwatering summer’s peach, without spending my seed. and, while i’d much prefer to do so inches deep inside you, i’ll settle for a mouth full of cunt.”

“you’re so-” you give up on trying to find a single word to describe him, knowing there’s no word that can quite capture the prince’s essence. “okay, okay, i’ll umm... just stand up and-” the shriek of fabric tearing rips through the space between you. “hey!”

“i’d apologise but, well,” daemon’s dazed smile should not be this gentle, not when it is proceeded with his hands returning to your now bare thighs. “you were trying my patience.”

his hold on you is strong- both the grip he has on your legs and the control he harbours over your mind-, and he plays it to his advantage, laying one palm flat over your torso and forcing you backwards, till your back meets the mattress and your eyes find themselves staring up at the images carved into the roof of the wooden bedpost, details indistinguishable in the darkened room.

from the floor, the prince is grabbing and pulling and maneuvering you down the length of the mattress, finding the backs of your knees and bending them, spreading your legs to a width wide enough for his broad shoulders to sit between. 

“need you closer, my tongue’s not that long.” the prince mutters, half to himself, as your arse meets the edge of the bed, all the way to where his wanton mouth awaits you. as if to give you a preview of what awaits you, the kisses from before reduced to nothing, his tongue pops out to run over the smooth of his bottom lip. your hands return to fisting at the sheets beneath you, digging and searching and reaching for a way to keep yourself grounded through the maddening thoughts of the prince and the current position you find yourself in, and ignoring the anxious ridden vipers inside your mind that spit their venom and hiss their tongues in commands that entail you gathering the remaining fabrics of your tattered clothing and running out these chambers, out the keep, out the damned capital, out the clutches of the man on his knees. though, with the way his fingers squeeze into your thigh, you doubt you’d make it as far as even a single step. “comfortable?”

“as i’ll ever be.”

“all the ladies in the seven kingdoms that would die to be in your position, and you choose to say that?” he tisks, tongue hitting off the roof of his mouth before a blow of air hits against your folds and, though it’s faint from the distance still between his mouth and where he wants it to be, it sends a jolt of excitement up your spine. “i’ll just have to make sure i over-perform, make you more eager for next time.”

neither of you choose to dwell on those words, next time.

him, too occupied with getting his first taste, tongue licking a strip up your core and coming to a stop as the tip of it bumps against your aching bud.

you, too busy having the air knocked out of your lungs, hand unconsciously finding safety in gripping his hair as you lurch upward momentarily, back arching off the bed and mouth falling open in a quiet gasp that echoes around and around.

“hmm, make sure you hold on tight.” you know he’s teasing you, with his words, and with his eyes, and with his mouth that seems to find enjoyment in trailing itself over your buzzing centre and up your pubic bone. “you smell sweet as sin, you know? enough to make any man go feral.”

the chance to reply never comes, not when the prince makes his way back down to your pearl and greets it with the stroke of his flattened tongue. every tiny nerve sparks to life under his touch and you feel yourself grow more sodden, a wave of warm arousal leaking out of your hole. his tongue dives down to welcome it, not allowing more than a single drop- which slips and slides its way down to the crack of your arse, dribbling over your puckered hole- to go to waste.

you don’t even notice the lack of his grip around your left leg until you feel it: the first few seconds of his fingertips probing around your soaked cunt, coating themselves in your liquid pleasure until it’s dripping down the back of his hand.

the first finger to enter your hole is gentle, tentative to the way your body receives him, his pointer and ring finger keeping your folds spread and allowing him the full view of the middle one slowly disappearing from sight, burying itself in the warmth of your womanhood. distracted, his mouth pulls back and his head forces itself into the grip you have in his hair while his eyes soak in the sight above him, flickering up to catch your reaction when another finger enters you, this time with a lot less care as it forces you open around it.

“so pretty,” he slurs over the words, more to himself than to you, delighting as he witnesses you struggling to bite back a pathetic moan when his digits curl within you. he repeats the action a couple times, flicking his wrist back and forth, fingers brushing over your tight walls each time and culminating in a curl that has him pressing against the spongy-like flesh inside. “so, so pretty.”

your hips begin to rut against his hand, meeting every one of his thrusts with perfect timing that has him reaching deeper, further, better places inside of you. all the while the prince is simply watching and admiring the furrow in your brow and the way the swells of your breast bounce in sync with you.

your cunt clenches tighter and his fingers fight to reach deeper before spreading themselves wider in an attempt to scissor you open. he’s giving it his all, a third finger slipping in despite the dull ache setting in his wrist while he coaxes you closer and closer to the tipping point.

the rogue prince takes just as easy as he gives, and it’s that fact alone that drives him to pull his hand back, fingers withdrawing from you and the pleasure you’re pursuing.

“why did you-” you heave through heavy breaths, brain fuzzy from the unvoiced peak you were so close to having, every nerve ready to tingle, every muscle ready to tremble, every toe ready to curl. “stop?”

“because,” the wet smack of his fingers hitting against your pearl is louder than the whimper that drops from your mouth. daemon hears both, however, and grins, quickly landing another smack against your engorged bud. “the goal is to make you cum on my tongue, not my fingers. consider them the appetiser, something to awaken your senses.”

his tongue licks in an upward motion, starting from the tip of your taint and ending at your pearl, and you get deja-vu to just minutes before, when you’d first felt his tongue on your melting skin, the saliva it leaves in a trail behind it serving to cool you down. a shiver runs up your spine as he blows air onto your cunt, the pressure of it doing wonders to stimulate your bundle of nerves.

“would you ever stop?” your whining tone is reminiscent of a spoiled babe, crying and fussing over the need to be fed milk from it’s mother’s teat.

“‘tis you who’s becoming insufferable now, my lady.” the prince, despite what he says, does as you ask and puts an end what feels like unending teasing- really, it’s hardly been a minute but the pulsing of your heat and the loss of a climax leave you no room to think about something as abstract as time.

his lips make a victorious return, wrapping themselves around your centre and sucking against the pulsing nub. every so often, he delivers a couple kitten licks- ups and downs, sides to sides, figure eights- before swiftly returning to kissing your most intimate parts.

in an attempt to make your toes curl, he dips lower and teases the tips of his tongue over your entrance, wet muscle moving over wet skin and tastebuds covering themselves in your essence, till the moans echoing off the walls are indistinguishable between daemon’s and your own.

“you can move.” he grunts into you after a few minutes of repeated alternating between kissing your pearl and tonguing at your hole. it’s muffled with the way he’s holding you down against his face and you feel his lips brush against your lower ones as he speaks. “need you to move. wanna see you use me, sweetling.”

and, really, who are you to deny a prince?

you’re hesitant at first, just like you were all those weeks ago as you watched the flowered wreath slip down his lance. you test the waters and give a single roll of your hips. it feels good, great, especially when paired with his own efforts at dragging his tongue over you.

it takes a few more attempts, and daemon’s patience wearing thin to the point he resorts to grabbing a firm hold of your arse cheeks and dropping your legs over his shoulders, mouth pressing right up against you with his tongue flat and eyes staring up at you in a demand to move, else all the old gods and the new be damned.

move you most certainly do, grinding down on his tongue like you’ve done many a time on the spare pillows that line your own bed, in the hours where the moon sits high within the sky and not a creature stirs nearby to witness your self-pleasing sins. it’s messy, sloppy in the way that his spit mingles with your wetness, a cocktail of fluids sliding down his throat, and painting his lips, and dribbling down his chin as he eats you like a man starved that’s getting a taste of the sweetest fruit.

the rhythm of your hips is thrown off when the man below you switches from having you grinding down onto his flattened tongue to slipping the muscle inside of your hole, thrusting it as far as up as the length of it allows him to. with every time your body comes crashing down on his mouth, the tip of his nose bumps against your clit, forcing you to angle yourself upwards to gain more of the friction.

hands find hair, lips part in unabashed moans, thighs shake with the oncoming of an orgasmic state of mind.

the moment builds too quickly, too unexpectedly, like the ghost of your stolen climax is back with a vengeance and set on ensuring there will be no denying it this time.

“s-shit,” your eyes squeeze shut, too scared to look down at his ecstasy filled eyes in fear of it being what finally tips you over the edge. “oh, there, right there, daemon! yes, i’m going to-.”

the prince pays no mind to your warning. if anything, he takes it as a challenge, an invisible timer beginning in his head and forcing him to see how quickly he can get you to unravel all over his mouth. he’s getting everything he’s imagined since he’d watched you first step foot into the keep, your naked body a mess before him as you fuck yourself on his tongue and your hands, with minds of their own, sliding up to grab and squeeze at your breast.

he watches how the white tips of your nails clash with the darkened colour of your abused nipples, fingers working to pinch, and twist, and pull at them as you lose yourself in the moment.

when you peak, it’s with rolled-back eyes and shaky thighs, his hands gripping at you tighter to steady you as you fidget and kick away from him, his tongue working at coaxing you through your high.

he licks up every drop of your essence he can manage, until you’re cringing in overstimulation and reaching down to push him away. he lets you move him, mouth switching to trail a couple kisses over your inner thigh, something similar to lipstick stains- yet so much dirtier in nature- being left behind on your soft flesh.

“you sound as though you enjoyed yourself.” he’s the first to speak, partly because he correctly thinks you’re incapable of forming anything coherent in the afterglow of your orgasm, mouth agape as you drag and drop the air through your lungs, but mostly because he wants- no, needs to hear you praise him.

“do you ever...” despite your efforts to sit yourself up, against his sheets you remain with limbs melted into puddles jelly and eyes staring wide at the heavens above, a tremble still present in your thighs as you subconsciously feel the patterns his hands dance over them. “shut up?”

“only when my mouth is otherwise occupied.”

silence prevails alongside the ticking of time. some part of you registers the return of your feet to the cold floor and the departure of the man from between your legs. he doesn’t stray far, hands clamping down on your hips, a gentle squeeze or two his own way of searching for your presence, urging your eyes to meet his.

they remain looking upwards.

undeterred, the prince is, bending himself at the waist and resting both hands on either side of your head, holding his own weight up as his face obstructs your view above. life enters you once more, eyes focusing at last on him and his upturned mouth and the remnants of your sexual indiscretions drying into his skin.

“for someone who hates it so much, you sure do know how to stroke my ego.” he must be on a mission, you think, to remind you of why you’ve spent your days avoiding interactions with him instead of tangling yourself within his arms. “i’ve got something much bigger for you to stroke though, once you regain your senses.”

this something bumps against your skin, solid as a rock and spluttering a spit of fluids onto you, warm and sticky. sneaking a quick glance is not enough to fully encapsulate the details that make up this fierce looking appendage, with it’s red-angered tip and its decorative bush of hair and the peak of his stones that sit just past its base, yet it’s all you allow yourself under the scrutiny of his eyes.

“perhaps it’s time you to choose your words more wisely, prince daemon,” your voice is breathy, chest heavy still. you try distract him away from noticing such a feat, hand dancing down the expanse of his bare back till it meets the globe of his arse, nail digging in so deep they’re bound to leave marks, if not draw blood too. “it would be far too easy to punch you in the cock from this position.”

he swallows back a demand for you to speak more about his cock.

clarity bestows itself upon your mind, as your memory serves you a cruel reminder of the words you’d overheard and the voice you’d been running from, dread burning its way up your throat in a sickening twist of guts. the prince must notice the shift in the air, perhaps the way your face has grown a little paler or your pupils dilate as you venture off into the hellscape of your mind, for he’s quick to return you to his hold, heavy body pressing down on you as the prince’s mouth meets yours.

there’s a tangy, sticky sweetness to his kiss, a taste of your self that he gifts you with bitten lips and languid tongue, delving deep into your mouth as if in search of some hidden treasure.

it’s clear now, to the both of you, that your reasons for being here- in his chambers, upon his bed, beneath his body- are nothing if not driven by something deeper, darker, more dangerous than simple ardent lust. months you’d been within reach. months he’d been vocal of his desires towards you. days you’d been betrothed to another man.

but the prince never asks, and so you never answer, letting yourselves indulge in the arts of pleasure and pain.

he pulls on your lip, you pull on his hair. he drags his nails down your body, you dig yours into his rear. he drives you deeper up the bed, you drive him deeper between your legs. he rolls his hips into you, you roll your eyes back into your skull.

“this is a dream. you’re a dream,” perhaps your rational thinking has devolved to naught but hedonistic intentions, for you’re almost certain the mighty rogue has something familiar to wonder intertwined with his breathless voice. the dilation of his pupils, eyes more black than targaryen-lilac, is a mystery you ponder over, wondering if it’s driven more by lust or sedative. “and tomorrow i’ll awake to an empty bed and the reality where you tolerate a rat more than me.”

it’s unclear if he speaks literal of the long-tailed rodent, or if it’s simply a new name for the ever-growing list of things he calls your betrothed.

“do you say that to all the whores you fuck?” your words carry a bite, one your own destructive nature hopes will drive him away from you.

“we don’t speak,” he does the opposite, sinking further into you. you become all too aware of the heat returning to your core when he ruts the length of his cock up your folds, coating himself in a thin layer of your lubricant. “sounding like you, they can never achieve it. they can look like you, from the back, at least.”

believing his words to be a lie feels easier than accepting them as truth. the rogue prince has been nothing if not a menace to the streets of silk since the dawn of his sexual maturity, and there is not an inch of you that can fathom him using these vices as a means to quench the desire for you, seeking out your form in faceless, nameless and, apparently, voiceless cunts.

there’s no great lead up to the breaching of your walls, simply another two rolls of his length along your soaked core and a ghost of a kiss against your forehead before the prince is lining himself up and impaling you with his cock.

you’d been warned all about the ache that would come with the breaking of your maidenhead, traumatised at the young ages of four, five, six and onwards of how, someday, your husband would tear you open and leave you a bloodied mess. and, yet, here you lay, a dull ache burning within you, the feel of a pop and the heavy slap of his stones meeting your skin.

“it hurts, i know,” he hushes you when, at last, a pained whimper breaks the surface of your silence, hips stilled and keeping him buried deep in your walls that fight and squeeze and tighten around the intruder. his face, from the little you see of it past the wall of tears building within your eyes, is scrunched up in discomfort, fighting back the instincts that tell him to pull back and fuck himself into you over and over. “but you’re good, and you’re strong, and you can take it. you know you can, just relax.”

you do as your told, far easier than either of you had expected, and find rhythm in his own heavy breathing, matching each inhale and exhale till the soothing of hands over your thighs relaxes the muscles and you manage to retract the nails that dig deep into his back.

the prince moves only once your legs tangle themselves around his waist, spreading you wider and holding him closer.

from there, a symphony ensues, except where normally one would find the melody of a guitar or the blowing of a flute or the beating of a drum, this one is made of skin slapping, mouth kissing, moan singing. the ache builds and builds till it collapses into a pit of delirious pleasure, the kind that opens your eyes as to why it’s so easy for men and women to succumb to the sins of flesh.

“look at you,” his words are rough while his touch is soft, hand gliding over your breasts once more, pinching and pulling at your aching nipples as he puts strength into gazing down at you, intoxicating himself with the way your bodies join at the hip, his cock disappearing into your walls and reemerging coated in your arousal, glimmering beneath the moonlight. “taking me so fucking well. letting me carve out a home for myself in your cunt, huh? gonna let me stay inside you forever?”

he’s manic, and crazed, and spewing out things that you know should make you cringe and roll over in disgust. but you’re just as far gone, mind no longer vacant in your body as you chase that special feeling only the repeated hammering of his tip against your womb can bring.

“let me cum inside, sweetling,” is it more plea or demand? it’s hard to tell, and hard to care, arms circling round the back of his neck and back arching to press chest to chest. the prince ceases his senseless rambling only to lay kisses down your sweat-covered face, neck, chest, each carrying the weight of his desperation to feel you real and breathing beneath him. “stake my claim over this tight little cunt, leave you dripping from how full i make you.”

waves of pleasure crash over you in tandem, unintelligible groans and gasps all that play through the air as hands clamp down and teeth bite skin. your walls spasm around his cock while it twitches within you, both of your peaks painting your bodies in liquid arousal. warmth fills your cunt and trickles out of you, catching on the dark mass of hair that sits above his appendage, the stark white of his cum sickeningly reminding you to the first time you’d seen snow as a child and arousing the same response from you: a desire to taste it.

he collapses down onto you before you get the chance, however, and the exchange of body heat and shallow breaths lulls you both through your states of ecstasy, slipping into a quiet comfort.

the prince moves slowly, as if not to disturb either of you, and shushes you with kisses when you whine at the loss of him from your cunt, softening cock slapping down against your leg. a few moments pass before he’s moving again, this time with you in tow, dragging at the sheets beneath and working them over you both just as you begin to register how cold the chill in the room is. never mind, the dragon keeps you warm against him, limbs tangling as you make a pillow out of his chest.

“my betrothed.” you take the lead this time in breaking the comfortable cloud of silence which had settled itself above your tired bods. the prince merely grunts, disliking the sound of those two words as much as you dislike the taste of them. “i overheard him conversing with an adviser of his.”

“whatever he said, i’ll cut his tongue out and feed him it.” his vulgar threat drags an airy laugh out of you as he mumbles it into the top of your head.

“my maidenhood, that’s what lead him to offering me his hand.” you laugh again, though there is no trace of humour as it devolves into something of a broken, heart-wrenching sob. “gods, i must be so stupid for thinking a man like him could fall in love with me.”

the silence is unnerving, weighs down on your chest with every breath that ebbs and flows between you both. you’re waiting on it, anxiously anticipating the moment laughter breaks out his ribs and shakes his whole body in amusement at your sheer ridiculous expectations, mocking you for giving away your maidenhood in an act so childish as simply not giving your betrothed the satisfaction of taking it.

marriage is politics, you can picture him saying, love is merely a made up tale to entertain children.

daemon never quite has been one for following expectations.

“i could fall in love with you.”

so it is you who winds up laughing, a repeat of that fractured chuckle that dissipates into something more painful and stings at the cracks in your heart.

“you’re not in love with me, daemon,” it feels obvious to say, yet you’re graced with a disagreeing look upon his face. “you’re obsessed with me, there’s a difference.”

“i beg to differ.”

“you see me as nothing but a lady who doesn’t fall at her feet for you, and it excites you. it’s okay, i understand, but i won’t let you delude yourself nor i into believing its love.”

he has no reply to give, not one that could change your mind.

and so there you lay, naked bod pressed to naked bod, sweat and spit and other bodily fluids becoming the glue that hold you together, with limbs entangled and eyes locked. you see peace in his smile and he watches as sleep slowly whisks you away into its warmth.

little does the prince know your eyes will not meet his own again for many years to come.

not days later, as he stands amongst the crowd of folk bearing witness to the exchanging of vows between the tyrell boy and you, nor several years after, as you return to the great hall of the red keep to see the announcement of prince aegon's birth, your own child stood at your side and grasping your hand, the silver-moon upon her head no match to the straw blonde of your husband.

[photogirl894]

Hello. May I ask for “can you stay? Just for tonight, please. I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts.” “‘l’ll stay for as long as you need.”

with Hunter, please?

I sure can! Sorry, anon, that I'm just now getting to this after you sent it to me months ago! 😫 I hope this makes up for it!

"Riot"

13. “Can you stay? Just for tonight, please. I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts.”/“l’ll stay for as long as you need.”

Pairing: Hunter x fem reader

Warning: mentions of panic attacks

***

You were crouched down in the corner of your apartment, hands clutching at your head, tears streaming down your face, your breathing rapid and heavy and your pounding heart being the only sound you could hear.

Earlier that night, you almost could've been killed and by some miracle, you were alive.

You were a bartender at 79's, the Clone bar on Coruscant and you rather liked the Clones. A lot of them were very noble, kind and fun. They weren't rude to you, tipped you and never really caused much trouble.

There was one Clone in particular that you had your heart set on and that was Sergeant Hunter of Clone Force 99. He was handsome, no doubt, and was very charming. You would catch him looking at you sometimes and you both would flirt with each other, which led you to believe that he was attracted to you, too. You liked it when he regaled you with stories of missions he and his squad had been on and when he'd get all confident and a little cocky about his own endeavors.

Then that night, all hell broke loose.

A group of bounty hunters had crashed the bar and started a riot. Before you knew it, there was blaster fire everywhere from both bounty hunters and Clones alike. Hunter had been talking to you at the bar when they came in and he told you to get down behind the counter where you both thought you'd be safe. Unfortunately, in the midst of the fight, one of the bounty hunters managed to find you behind the bar and aimed his blaster at you. You called out for help; for Hunter, fearing for your life as it looked like it was about to end. Lucky for you, Hunter heard your cry and shot the bounty hunter before he could shoot you.

"Get out of here! Run!" he ordered you.

Before you even realized what you were doing, your feet had carried you out of 79's and you went the only place you thought you would be safe: home.

It had all happened so fast and you had almost died. You would have had Hunter not been there. They had still been dealing with the bounty hunters when you had fled. Even in the midst of your current panic attack, you hoped that he and his brothers were all okay. You stayed on the floor like this for what felt like ages.

Eventually, there was a faint sound you couldn't make out past the thundering of your heartbeat. It sounded like a knock on your door and then a voice, but you couldn't make out who it was. Everything was hazy and distant and you couldn't focus on anything outside of your terror and anxiety. Then you heard the faint voice again and a figure was coming into view. There were hands on your face and as your vision cleared, you saw Hunter's face close to yours, his eyes wide with concern and fear as he was on kneeling in front of you.

"Hey, sweetheart, look at me! Look at me!" he stated, cradling your face in his hands. "Are you okay?"

"Hunter...you're all right," you gasped upon seeing him. When he nodded, you answered his question, "I'm...unharmed, but I...I was so scared."

"I know," he said, releasing you. "We found out those bounty hunters were offered a nice sum of credits for every Clone they killed in that bar. Who offered them the job, we don't know."

You gasped and let out a choked sob at the prospect of all the Clones being killed. That was so terrible to think of.

"I'm so sorry," he said softly. "I just thought you'd want to know why that all happened."

"Thanks for letting me know," you said through a strained voice, "and thank you for saving me. I'd be dead if it weren't for you."

He gave you a small, reassuring grin and replied, "Well...I've got to protect my girl, don't I?"

That wasn't the response you were expecting to hear and you found yourself beginning to calm down, your focus now fully on him. "Wait...did you just call me your girl?" you inquired.

"Yeah," he said. "That is...if you want to be. I really like you and seeing you in danger tonight made me realize I can't hide that anymore."

A smile crossed your face and you released another choked sob, your emotions still running high. "I would love that more than anything, Hunter," you told him.

Now full of gladness at your acceptance of his offer, Hunter put his hands on your cheeks, guided your head forward and placed a doting kiss in the center of your forehead before touching your heads together, giving you a sense of safety and security.

Being overwhelmed with all sorts of emotions in that moment, all you wanted was for Hunter to remain there with you to help stay off any fear or uncertainty left in you, so you hesitantly requested of him, "Can you stay? Just for tonight, please. I don't want to be alone with my thoughts."

"I'll stay for as long as you need," he promised as he wrapped his strong, shielding arms around you and held you close.

You closed your eyes and let yourself relax in his embrace, your terrors slowly fading as the night went on. As long as Hunter was there with you, you would always feel safe and protected no matter what.

20 Fluff/Relationship Prompts

More Hunter fics

Bad Batch Writing Requests

[apinchofm]

brutal

@princesssszzzz @daylander1000 @daddyissuesandmissingdragons @mejacinta @an-abyss-of-stars @proversace

Baela hated Dragonstone. She hated her father. She hated Princess Rhaenyra, their dear stepmother.

She hated all of it. She knew Rhaena hated it too, but her anger was silent, more upsetting.

"I miss grandmother." Rhaena frowned. It seemed she was not allowed to come to Dragonstone or would not come, especially given what had happened.

They could not exactly send ravens. Their father would find out.

Moondancer seemed to be in agreement, the dragon growing large, yet still not large enough to perhaps outrun Caraxes or Syrax.

"I want him to find out. So he knows how much I despise him and the Princess."

"Rhaenyra is not so bad." Rhaena shrugged, ever the diplomatic one. She did not mind their stepmother's presence. She was not an evil stepmother, but she was not their mother.

She tried to bond with the girls. She would ask about their days at dinner at which they were all made to sit together. ,

"Well, I kissed a serving boy." Baela announced at the table, "He was very sweet. I can see why you tumble so much in your youth, Father." Her voice was sickly sweet, and Rhaena smiled at her.

Rhaenrya and Daemon were far from pleased, however, dismissing Jace and Luke to speak to the girls. Where her sons had accepted and embraced the new order here, the girls did not.

Baela rolled her eyes, "Yes?"

Daemon glared at her, "Is that all you have to say for yourself?"

"I'm sorry, father, you interrupted me. I am rather exhausted and Rhaena wishes to finish her book." She said sharply, "What do you want?"

"Apologise to Rhaenrya for your behaviour." He said.

"Will she apologise for fucking you just hours after you buried our mother?" She asked sarcastically.

Rhaenyra shifted, "What-"

"For two people so prideful of their Valrayian heritage, you forget that Baela and I speak and understand all dialects." Rhaena said, "We heard you."

They had heard them discussing the matter, wanting to figure out how to approach Rhaenys and Corlys, dealing with King's Landing. The spoke in High Valaryian, knowing Jace and Luke were not fluent outside of commands for dragons. It was merely another sign they had forgotten about the two girls.

"You never loved mother." Rhaena said quietly, yet her voice was steely, "You are cruel. I hate you."

Daemon glared at his daughters but it was Rhaenyra who spoke, gently clasping his hands in front of her, "I believe sleep is needed and we can discuss this in the morning when we have all calmed down."

"Of course, Princess." Rhaena muttered.

...

Rhaenys sailed to Dragonstone one moon later. Rhaenyra had written, expressing her concern.

"Grandmother." Rhaena smiled upon seeing her, running to her and hugging her when she saw her. The Queen Who Never Was embraced her tightly, still dressed in black but regal as every.

"Rhaena. My darling girl." She greeted, stroking her hair gently, "Where is your sister?"

"Father confined her." She said with a pout.

After the argument, Baela took her rebellion to a new level and Daemon locked her in a separate room. Rhaeyns frowned at that.

"The last thing we want is for her to influence Rhaena." Rhaenyra said gently, "The two have been

"It could have something to do with them losing a mother and uncle." Rhaenys snapped.

"You once offered to foster one of the girls," Daemon said, "Do you still wish to?"

"Baela can come with me." Rhaenys said, "She could inherit Driftmark one of these days. She should know her mother's home."

"Why can't I go too?" Rhaena asked sadly. She was trying not to cry. She willed herself.

Rhaneys sighed, "I would take you too. But they are convinced the two of you must be separated to grow." The younger girl sniffled and her grandmother simply hugged her tightly.

Baela and Rhaena hugged tightly, "I shall write. And when Moondancer is big enough, I'll fly here to get you." She vowed quietly.

"You must come and visit." Rhaenys said pointedly, "So that she may see her mother's ancestral home." She glared at Daemon, before pressing a long kiss to Rhaena's forehead.

"Listen to me. Sweet girl." Rhaenys spoke lowly, wiping her tears, "You may not ride a dragon or wield but you are the blood of the dragon. You are strong and you will flourish."

Rhaena looked at her father.

"It's for the best." He said, after a while, "Independence, especially for twins is a good thing."

"You married a mere day after Mother's death. I am surprised you care for independence." Rhaena said, storming back to her chambers without caring for his response.

She was not Baela. She had no dragon, no physical weapon. So she would have to find another way of escape.

"I wish to go to court." Rhaena announced at dinner, "In King's Landing."

[luverofralts]

Arkhelios Adventures

"Ulyssa, what the hell is the matter with you? Can you even hear yourself? Noelle is right there! You've known she was your daughter? For how long? I can't imagine that you're paying child support, which means that Lucy has been shouldering the costs for your daughter alone. Why haven't you visited her? Is that why you won't let Roman see his daughter, because you don't believe in raising kids that are problematic for the marriage you keep destroying? You're making the wife you claim to love lie to her own people because you find monogamy difficult. How dare you treat a child like this! You're just as bad as Mom!"

Ulyssa rolled her eyes and shot their father a dirty look.

"Well, this little trap has worked out perfectly, hasn't it, Dad?" she spat. "Let's all gang up on Ulyssa. Isn't she horrible?"

Noelle watched the drama in the kitchen unfold, trying to distance herself from it in the hall. This couldn't be true. Noelle knew her mother and all her faults, but she had never guessed that Lucy could keep a secret like this from her.

For the first time in her life, Noelle thought she could see an outline of the woman Lucy Helios-Diablo actually was. She was mean and blunt and frequently treated her daughter like she was an exotic pet instead of a child, but she was also kind...in her own way. Noelle thought of the hours her mother had spent helping Theo with his various problems or when she announced a spontaneous dinner in Arkhelios to give Roman's restaurant business. Cutting her biological mother from Noelle's life had been one of Lucy's kind gestures, even if Noelle hadn't understood it until now. There was no universe where Ulyssa wanted Noelle. She'd practically spat that sentiment at Cindra just now. Noelle was a regret, a mistake that Ulyssa desperately wanted to undo. A reminder of her embarrassment that she could sink as low as to sleep with Lucy, the annoying friend of her little brother.

Noelle didn't even realize that she was crying until she felt Cindra's comforting hands around her. Noelle had never experienced such a gesture from the Durants, but then again, she hadn't known that they were her biological family until five minutes ago. Cindra was nice; at least she seemed that way. Noelle wasn't used to adults comforting her. Her mother encouraged her to make her own choices and mistakes, and her grandmother did the same. Grandma Elaine loved Saturnia and spoiled her, while Noelle and Theo were encouraged to keep their "drama" to themselves. Having the demon sovereign for a stepmother wasn't exactly maternal either. Once the sovereign had discovered that Noelle didn't possess the same potential as her cousin, she had largely ignored her stepdaughter. They were friendly, sure, and the sovereign really wasn't as bad as everyone assumed she was. Noelle was regaled with amazing stories of demonic battles and how life millennia ago was really much different than what her textbooks said, but the sovereign wasn't her mother.

"It's okay," Cindra whispered, still stroking Noelle's hair as she cried. "We know the truth now. You're my niece, and I'm going to help you. No Durant gets left behind, unless they choose to be. We stick together."

No one was her secondary mother and clearly Noelle had been foolish to think that her other biological donor was somewhere secretly hoping to meet her. She wasn't blind; she had stumbled upon her mother crying several times over the past years. Noelle's story wasn't some magical fairy tale where she got to go live in a castle with parents who loved her. Her story was of a distant mother who had been far too hurt in the past to open up to others, including her daughter.

And rejection. There wasn't another word strong enough to describe Noelle's life. She didn't have powers like Theo to keep people interested in her or a close enough resemblance to her grandmother for Elaine to bond with her. Keeping Ulyssa out of Noelle's life was the best way Lucy knew how to protect her daughter from the pain of rejection, but the secret was out now. What was she supposed to do now?

It was now the second time that a Helios and a Durant had covered up a pregnancy and Cindra was frankly getting sick of the drama. Ulyssa had vanished shortly after Noelle's tears could be heard, without even stopping to say goodbye to her daughter. Cindra never thought that her opinion of Ulyssa could get any lower after the affair with Roman, but here she was, fuming over this new betrayal.

And Jorah. Her brother was speaking in hushed tones with their father, clearly freaking out about something. Launce gave a curt nod in her direction, indicating that he was pleased with her response to his little reveal. Cindra was torn by how to respond. On one hand, her father had never truly stood up to anyone in his life, so if he wanted Noelle to be acknowledged by the family, of course he would choose a roundabout way of revealing that information where he wasn't directly involved in the reveal. On the other hand, Cindra watched her brother and father whisper together and realized that they were much too alike to stand up to anyone for any reason. The threat of Ulyssa hung over the Durant family, and no one was going to challenge her. Her secrets were woven into the Durant family, hiding in hidden corners and stealing the life from those forced to hide them.

Well, no more. There was no way that Cindra was going to allow her sister to leave a trail of broken children behind her any more. Things were going to change.

[kagedbird]

TESSDE AU (+ Lucia :]) (Lucia part 9)

Lucia: *quietly eating her soup, looking around the silent dining room nervously* ...

Kaidan: *using his large build to bodily block Allora protectively from view from Lucien's parents, a firm glare on his features as he ignores his meal* ...

Inigo: *clearly uncomfortable, one ear raised slightly, the other lowered, whiskers twitching a lot, tail low as he eats* ...

Taliesin: *poised, sitting tall, sipping his wine, regal and firm; holding Allora's free hand underneath the table*

Allora: *half staring into her bowl of soup, half making sure Lucia was eating, clearly disassociating* ...

Lucien: *beside himself in worry, eating, but more watching Allora and wishing she would eat* ...

Lyra: *quietly sighs, drinking her wine, feeling more uncomfortable than she had during a long talk with a guard about "appropriate behaviors" and his lackthereof* ...

Davidicus: *frowning as he watches his daughter in law not eating, clearly not wholely present, and clear his throat* ...Would you... like something else to eat, dear?

Allora: *slowly blinks, looking up at him- only for Kaidan to lean forward to block Davidicus' view*

Kaidan: She's fine, thanks.

Davidicus: ...Of course. My apologies. *dips his head, watching Kaidan very slowly sit back*

Lyra: *awkwardly smiling* Would anyone like more refreshments?

Taliesin: *polishes off his wine, smiling thinly* No, thank you. Best to not be under the influence with a child around, after all.

Inigo: *looks at Allora and quietly taps in morse code on the table: Do you want to leave?*

Allora: *looks at him before looking back down at her soup- glancing at Lucia's half eaten soup- and nods* ...

Inigo: I believe that we have some other business to attend to. Thank you for the meal. *stands up*

Lyra: *jolts* But- you haven't eaten, Allora. And Kaidan, you haven't touched anything.

Davidicus: Lucia is also not finished. Are you still hungry, little one?

Lucia: *feels knots in her stomach, shaking her head and setting down her spoon* ...no thank you...

Lucien: *sighs angrily* They clearly would like to be excused, mother, father. Let them go.

Davidicus: Whatever the consequences of our actions may be, it is not wise to have them affect someone so young-

Kaidan: And how about you leave our parentin' of our kid to ourselves, yeah? *sneers*

Inigo: Kaidan-

Davidicus: I am merely saying-

Taliesin: You are being absurd-!

Inigo: *wincing* Erm, please, let us calm down-

Davidicus: -a child should not-

Taliesin: I have had it to here with your behavior-!

Inigo: Ah, friends-?

Lyra: Please, if you would just sit back down-

Kaidan: We'll get up if we want to-!

Lucien: ENOUGH! *glares heatedly at everyone, freezing at Lucia's hiccup*

Allora: *surprised to see her daughter crying, immediately picking her up and running out of the dining room to their bedroom*

Everyone: ...

Inigo: *sighs and scratches his head* I was trying to warn you she was getting upset.

Kaidan: *gets up and hurries out after them*

Taliesin: *eye twitching, standing tall and looking down at Lucien's parents from his nose* I believe that will be the last thing we put up with during our stay. Thank you for your attempts at hospitality, but your undue stress to our partner has gone on long enough. We will be leaving.

Lyra: *stands up, holding up her hands placatingly* Please, wait- we didn't intend for any of this!

Taliesin: And what do you suppose intent versus actions dictates? That we're suddenly supposed to accept your flowery disregard for our partner and child? Flagrant overstepping of boundaries and social expectations? No! We can see clearly that we're not welcome and can proceed as etiquette dictates. By leaving.

Lucien: *feels torn at leaving his parents and choosing his partner and child* Now, wait, Taliesin-

Taliesin: Don't you make excuses for them.

Lucien: I'm not. Please, even I can see what they've been doing is wrong. But I don't want this to hang over the girls like this- I want my parents to have a chance to do better! I love them, don't make me choose.

Inigo: *sighs, running his claws through his hair* I do not believe this is something a simple apology can fix, Lucien. We will be lucky if she does not turn.

Davidicus: Turn??

Lyra: *furrows her brows* Do you- do you mean her dragon form??

Maid: *bursts into the dining hall, breathing heavily* M-masters! Mistress! Lady Allora- she- she's-! Something is wrong with her!

Inigo: Damn it. *hurries off with Taliesin not far behind, Lucien, Lyra and Davidicus right after*

[honeybeewhereartthee]

MY DARLING DOLLS 55

PREVIOUS || PT 10 CH 55 || NEXT

In place between the sky and the sea, three large creature of myths with color of Red, Green and violet is circling around a figure with long regal robes with design of a five claw dragon, and long blue hair stand under the rain. In front of him id a floating crystal ball, glowing in such unknown ancient power.

"... Is it my fault?" He stared at the droplets that's pour into his hand, the rain is covering his tears, not letting his emotion be seen by others. He wonder if it's cause of the past gift of heaven as he was told. But thinking of before is useless right now.

{ Yes. it's "your" fault.}

He heard someone familiar spoke. He look where the source of the voice coming from and saw it's coming from the reflection of the water, his 'own' reflection is smiling at him.

Yet that reflection have shorter hair than he is and not wearing the same outfit he wear right now. Yet two of them are crying.

"...?" He stared confuse at his own reflection. "Ah... My dollmaker going to call me crazy because I'm talking to myself now..." He sigh as he thought his mind is making things up as he have been crying for days.

{ 'your' a silly silly serpent. } The reflection of his rolled his eyes at him. { You don't even know what your doing is all but a mistake.}. He added.

"mistake?" He mumbles, confuse why the reflection of his says that.

{ this is 'your' fault. If you don't come to this peaceful world. 'you' won't bring ' misfortune ' of that fallen world to this place.} The reflection of him mocks him, pointing blame at him.

"if I don't come here... Would everyone would be safe?" He start to felt doubt, he knows he shouldn't believe what bull crap his reflection is telling him, yet he knows what his weakness is and what to hit far too well.

{if you don't come here. MC would live a happy life with their biological family. You won't follow through what's 'fate' and what's 'destined' and destroyed what they could have of a normal life. Far from such cruelty you place upon them.}

His eyes widen when he hear such thing. He knows his dollmaker name very well, but he can never say it or call them by such thing. His dollmaker never tell him their name. And he respects it.

By the story of their past from the perceptive of Kuma he gather information what have been their life story before they come to this place.

Was it really his fault...?

He felt his mind full of scenario of his dollmaker being safe and happy instead of being in such mess right now.

Ah. It's probably his fault. It's his fault.

His heart slowly crumble from anxiety, from pain and sadness to a mistake he will make and have made.

"...your wrong! Your.... Not real...!" he felt thorn as tears and the rain continue to fall. His agony in such moment cause the thunder roars loudly and lightning strikes across the horizon.

"Your just an illusion...! A lie! So shut up!" He can't let his so called reflection get the best of him! No! If he lost control, his going to be the danger instead of the one preventing it!

{ do you really think I'm a lie? } His reflection rolled his eyes. Staring at his past self across the mirror of time and space. While he stood in future present in a dark colorless world. Void of tales or life.

"using the pearl will cost some mental damage or illusion as said by the previous go... Presider...." ******** Mumbles trying to calm himself and turning his back from his own reflection.

He have things he have to focus on. Once his done he can go home and be with his dollmaker. Everything is just made by his mind. Nothing is real or words of this fake will ever be real.

{ ... Selfish monster that doesn't belong here. .. one day 'i' will eradicate your very existence that cost nothing but harm to MC.}

As he turn his back at his reflection, he hear him said a last threat from him. "But your wrong, all I ever do and will ever do..." He really don't want to hear more bull crap from this reflection, with his fist tighten. His going to end this conversation now or he don't know if his lightning strick his dollmaker accidentally with how emotional he is right now.

"{Is to make my dollmaker happy and safe.}" His words come out unison with his reflection. His eyes narrowed. "If you know that case then [shut the fuck up]" his not a fan of foul words but as his fist strick and broken the mirror and remove the reflection that did nothing but mock him, he fall to his knees staring at a broken glass.

Golden liquid spill out from the wounds that he gotten from breaking the mirror. But it wasn't what in his mind at this moment asHe saw his reflection showing him, his true self.

His pupil slight up like monster who cannot hide his true color, his ' hideous scale' appear in his skin, his human like ears change back to it's original form. He felt his doll body being ripped a bit from trying to contain his true form hidden.

There's no longer tears but golden liquid falling from his eyes, he felt so weak as sadness and despair taken over his mind, soul and form.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry....I'm sorry.... " He weep and cries. He realize something cruel. Ah. That mirror was an artifact from his world. To communicate from two different time period.

"I'msorrymydollmakerimsorry I'm selfish... I'm greedy. I shouldn't be greedy... I'm going to be the one who's at fault at your misery.... " He cried and cried.

The three pseudo dragons circle around him, trying to comfort him yet he continues to cry.

He thought his doing good, his redeeming himself from his past mistake but all he ever did is cause nothing but pain!

"KANATA!!"

as he felt himself slowly fallen asleep he heard 'his' name being called by you. But that's impossible. It's impossible.

Your somewhere safe. Others will keep you safe. Rei made sure of it. With blurry eyes full of tears he saw you running while holding a big Chucky thing in your arms.

But everything comes to darkness as he realize you seems so smoll in his eyes in that last moment, he was transform back to his dragon form.

[mi-rae07]

Park Seong-Hwa : Pretty

Pairing : Park Seonghwa (Ateez) and named character (Kim Sasha)

______________________________________

Sasha leaned back against her chair, looking out into the city below her as she kept the files she was looking through aside. She took a sip of the coffee her secretary had made for her earlier, inhaling the smell of it in. she picked up her phone and called her boyfriend, seonghwa picking the call within the first 2 rings

Sasha : baby, where are you?

Seonghwa : me? I'm heading out to meet some of my friends, since I finally have an off day.

Sasha : you are? I didn't know you were going out today.

Seonghwa : yeah sorry, it was sudden.

Sasha : it's alright, doesn't matter.

Seonghwa : don't overwork yourself too much, bun. I know you're the CEO and that you have to maintain your figure and all that but please don't overestimate what your body can handle.

Sasha chuckled and said

Sasha : it's your off day and you're still acting like the doctor you are.

Seonghwa : old habits die hard honey.

Sasha chuckled and said

Sasha : alright then, have fun with your friends.

Seonghwa : mhmm.

Sasha : you know I love you, don't you?

Seonghwa : I do. And I love you too.

Sasha : I'll see my pretty baby later then, bye.

Seonghwa : bye bun.

Sasha cut the call and kept her phone aside, letting out a sigh and going back to her work.

____________________________________

Seonghwa plopped down on the bed, tears streaming down his eyes. He had left the house so happily a few hours ago and now here he was, crying pathetically over some comments his "friends" had made about him and sasha. He knew sasha was beautiful, hell she looked like a goddess. With her green cat eyes, full red lips and sharp facial features, she was everything any man would want. Her naturally blond hair which had red streaks on it and her beautiful tanned skin, she captured the eyes of everyone who saw her. Seonghwa knew that, and he always reminded her how pretty she was. But he had never thought about whether he was pretty enough to be with someone like sasha.

She was a rich businesswoman while seonghwa was just an Orthopedic surgeon. He had worked hard for it, extra hard since he grew up in a poor orphanage that would now have been bankrupt if he hadn't donated a large sum for it after having gotten his job. He had no parents, they had abandoned him. On the other hand sasha had amazing parents who were equally rich and loving, they treated seonghwa like their own son. He was all gravel, dirt and blood, while sasha was regal, glory and gold. He still wondered why sasha loved him and his friends' comments just elevated his thoughts.

"I can't believe the both of you are still together. Judging by the her and you, I thought she'd dump you as soon as she'd gotten your body, apparently not?"

"but like, what does she actually see in you. She can get practically anyone and she chose…you?"

"man what did you do the charm her, did you flash her or something like that?"

"not to be mean but like, how can someone who looks like this get that goddess, tell us your secrets doctor park"

Seonghwa cried harder, feeling disgusted in his own body as he looked at the mirror in front of him. His friends were right, weren't they. He was absolute filth compared to sasha. He knew she deserved better but even then he couldn't fucking let her go because he loved her too much, and that only made seonghwa cry harder.

He crumbled against the headboard, wrapping his arm around his knees and burying his head in them to muffle his sobs so as to not let any sounds reach any of the maids' ears.

________________________________

Sasha groaned as she kept yet another file away, looking at the clock and realizing that it was now 5pm. 2 more hours until she got to go back into seonghwa's arms and shower him with all the love he deserved. At this point sasha got up every morning and came up to work, thinking about how she could go back to her boyfriend at night. Sasha frowned as her phone rang, realizing that it was one of the older maids that worked in her house with whom she was close

Sasha : ahjumma? Do you wish to go back home early tonight?

Maid : nothing of that sort, just…mr park seems to be a bit troubled right now. He hasn't come down from the room in like…4 hours now.

At that sasha's heart dropped

Sasha : was it after he came back from going outside this afternoon?

Maid : yes, that's it.

Sasha : tell the guards I'll come be coming within a few minutes. Thank you, ahjumma, for letting me know.

Maid : always.

Sasha cut the call and picked up her phone, bag and car keys before rushing out her office, running into her secretary. The secretary bowed and asked

Secretary : are you leaving, boss?

Sasha : yes, do we have any meetings today?

Secretary : yes there's one within-

Sasha : cancel it.

Secretary : oh, alright. Also there's-

Sasha : cancel that too.

Sasha didn't bother listening further as she hastily walked away, trying to get to her boyfriend as soon as she could. The secretary sighed and mumbled

Secretary : your birthday party.

__________________________________

Sasha walked towards hers and seonghwa's room, practically running. She soon reached the door and tried opening it, her eyes widening as she realized it was locked. Seonghwa hated locking doors when he was alone in the room, and he hated it when sasha would lock the door if she was alone too. Something was wrong, terribly wrong.

Sasha knocked on the door as she heard seonghwa's voice from inside, weak and feeble

Seonghwa : ahjumma, I'm not hungry.

Sasha : hwa-nie? Baby, it's me. Open the door for me? Please, love?

The door opened within a few minutes, revealing a disheveled seonghwa, his face flushed and his eyes and nose a deep red color. Sasha threw her bag and phone away, not giving a shit about anything else except the man in front of her. She cupped his face and stepped inside before closing the door as seonghwa frowned and said

Seonghwa : sash? You're not supposed to be here-

Sasha : who hurt you?

Seonghwa : s-sash, I'm fine.

Sasha : why were you crying baby, what's wrong?

Seonghwa pressed his lips together and shook his head, knowing there was no point in lying to sasha

Sasha : look at me, look at me sweetheart.

Seonghwa looked up at sasha, her heart breaking as she noticed the tears in his eyes. She frowned and whispered, her voice soft as ever

Sasha : my sweet little baby, what's troubling you?

Seonghwa breathed shakily, trying to let words out

Seonghwa : I…I…it just-sasha.

Sasha hummed and pressed her forehead against seonghwa's, breathing in his air as she whispered

Sasha : that's it. Take deep breaths and tell me, pretty.

That last word seemed to break seonghwa as he let out a sob and said, his voice breaking

Seonghwa : am I really pretty?

Sasha frowned, pulling away and looking at seonghwa

Sasha : seonghwa! Where is this coming from?

Seonghwa : no, I don’t-

Sasha : babi, tell me.

Seonghwa : I just…when I went with my friends, they…sasha-

Sasha : they did what, love? They said something about you?

Seonghwa : they said someone like me didn't deserve someone like you.

Sasha : aren't they right? Someone like you deserves someone so much more better than just me, bub.

Seonghwa : no that's not what they…they said you were too good for me. That you are beautiful and I look like…this, that I had an ugly smile-

Sasha : which one of your friends?

Seonghwa's teary eyes slightly widened, knowing that if he said their names sasha would most definitely do something to them.

Seonghwa : no, don't do anything to them-

Sasha : which one of your friends, seonghwa. Who said this to you?

Seonghwa : hwan and minhyun.

Sasha : okay. Lovie?

Seonghwa looked up at sasha, his cheeks dampened by his tears. Sasha smiled and wiped them as she whispered

Sasha : do you know how much I love you? You mean the world to me seong, without you I'm nothing.

Seonghwa felt more tears fall down at her words, still feeling like he didn't deserve all this

Sasha : don't cry for them baby, they don't deserve even your tears. You're the most prettiest human I've ever seen in my entire life and no one, not even me, could level up the beauty you have.

Seonghwa : really? You mean it?

Sasha : come with me.

Sasha held seonghwa's hand and headed out of their room, walking towards her walk in closet a few meters away from their room, entering and closing the door behind them. The lights in the closet automatically turned on as it sensed their presence, making seonghwa frown

Seonghwa : w-why are we here?

Sasha dragged seonghwa to the large full length to their right side, making seonghwa stand right in front of it as sasha stood behind him, wrapping her arms around her boyfriend's waist. Seonghwa held her arms and looked at the mirror, seeing himself in the mirror, teary-eyed and red-faced.

Seonghwa : sasha.

Sasha : look at yourself, seonghwa, do you see how beautiful you are?

Seonghwa bit his lips, feeling overwhelmed. Sasha rested her chin on his shoulder as she brought one of her hands to seonghwa's hair, brushing a stray hair strand away from his face.

Sasha : I love your hair, it's so soft and always smells so good for me.

Sasha brought her hand to one of his eyes, brushing past his eyelashes making him close his eye

Sasha : and your eyes, so big and beautiful. I could stare at them for my entire life and never get tired of it.

Sasha brought her hand down, tracing her index finger against his tears

Sasha : and these tears that you cry, I hate seeing them but they're still so beautiful. You're pretty even when you cry sweetheart.

That just made seonghwa cry harder, as he shut his eyes. Sasha kissed seonghwa's neck, making him tighten his grip around her arm

Sasha : open your eyes, baby. You have to see what I'm seeing.

Seonghwa bit his lip and opened his eyes, making sasha smile. She slowly brought her finger to seonghwa's lip, pulling it away from his teeth as she whispered

Sasha : and these lips, so addictive and so adorable. I love kissing them, and I love it when these lips smile. You know, they're my favourite part of you. Because it's where your sounds come from, where your smile appears, that beautiful adorable smile that I never want gone.

A small smile spread on seonghwa's lips as sasha smiled and booped seonghwa's nose before saying

Sasha : I love everything about you, baby, everything about you is beautiful and no one should be able to tell you otherwise. You're all I have and I promise, I don't need anyone or anything else except you and your love.

Seonghwa smiled and turned around, facing sasha as he lifted her and placed her on top of one of the counters before leaning towards her

Seonghwa : you make me feel like I'm dying and living at the same time, sash.

Sasha chuckled and wrapped her arms around seonghwa's neck before saying

Sasha : is that a good or a bad thing

Seonghwa : there's nothing about you that's bad, bun-bun.

Sasha smiled and hugged seonghwa, resting her head against his shoulder. Seonghwa inhaled deeply as he snuggled into her before whispering

Seonghwa : thank you, sasha, for everything that you do for me. I love you so much I could die for you.

Sasha : don't die for me, live for me. Live for me and shower me with your love everyday instead.

Seonghwa : if that's what you say.

Seonghwa pulled back and kissed sasha, tilting his head to go deeper. Sasha smiled into the kiss and pulled her boyfriend closer, relishing in the feeling of having her lips against his.

_____________________________________

Sasha smiled at her boyfriend who was now deep asleep in her arms, hugging her like a koala. His hair was ruffled because of the amount of times sasha had ran her fingers through it, his face squished against sasha's shoulder as he snored softly. Sasha was resting her back against the soft headboard, looking out and watching the sunset as it cast a golden glow on the couple who were tangled under the soft blankets, only seonghwa's head and sasha's upper body visible.

Sasha leaned towards the bedside table in order to take her phone, seonghwa humming in annoyance and pulling sasha closer to him. Sasha chuckled and whispered, kissing seonghwa's forehead

Sasha : I'm right here baby, I'm not leaving.

Seonghwa hummed and went back to sleep as sasha opened her phone to text her secretary.

"Do you still have those photos of Jung Minhyun cheating on his wife with another lady that you took in that bar?"

"Yes, boss"

"And the evidence of drugs being found in Lee Hwan's car a month ago?"

"Yes boss, I have those"

"Release them, both of it"

"Are you sure, miss Kim?"

"Very"

"Alright, consider the job done"

Sasha sighed and kept her phone away, knowing that the next month would be quite a struggle for both the men. Hwan had enough money to be able to cover this up but it would cost him time, and money. And sasha was only doing minhyun's wife a favor, it was high time. A small smile spread across sasha's face as she wrapped her arm around seonghwa who groaned and whispered groggily

Seonghwa : sash?

Sasha : yes, love?

Seonghwa : what-what time is it?

Sasha looked at the digital clock and said

Sasha : 6:30 pm, why?

Seonghwa slowly looked up at sasha, his eyes still filled with sleep. Sasha chuckled and ran her finger along his cheek

Sasha : what is it, pretty boy?

Seonghwa smiled and said

Seonghwa : do you know what day it is tomorrow?

Sasha : another day to stare at my pretty boyfriend.

Seonghwa : aish no, what day is it sash?

Sasha sighed and said

Sasha : yet another Friday, apparently.

Seonghwa : sweetheart, it's your birthday.

Sasha paused, her widened eyes looking at seonghwa in shock

Sasha : it…it is?

Seonghwa : why do you remember everyone's birthday except yours all the time.

Sasha : I always found mine uninteresting.

Seonghwa frowned and said

Seonghwa : shut up.

Sasha smiled cheekily and whispered

Sasha : make me.

Seonghwa slapped sasha's arm lightly making her fake pout.

Seonghwa : later tonight. Right now, I'm going to take you outside.

Sasha : what-

Seonghwa got off the bed, wearing his slippers and walking towards the door as sasha groaned and sank under the blankets as she whined

Sasha : ah I miss you baby, come back.

Seonghwa chuckled at his whiny girlfriend, wanting to go back into her arms but knowing that he had last minute arrangements to make quickly. He wanted this night to be special for her.

Seonghwa : make yourself pretty for your pretty boyfriend, sash-sash.

Seonghwa turned around and winked at sasha before walking out the room. Sasha smiled and said

Sasha : I love him.

Seonghwa shouted from the hallway right outside their room

Seonghwa : I love me too!

Sasha laughed and got out of the bed, going to the bathroom to get ready as seonghwa had asked her to. She whispered under her breath

Sasha : I'm going to make myself so pretty he'd wish we had just stayed at home.

__________________________________________

[echo-bleu]

For the word game: colours (or just any sort of colour like blue, gold, etc.)!😃

As for thé fandom take whichever you want, all Echo words are good words after all.😊

Oooh colours are fun, thank you!

I don't seem to use the word "colour" much. I found one instance of "discoloured". It's also a bit of a cheat because it's not exactly a fic, it's a bullet-point list of headcanons about Noldor hairstyles where I'm trying (and failing) to be funny, but it also has some gold!

(Looks like I can't have bullet points inside a quote format. Also light warnings for uh capture and trauma and PTSD)

The Sun has just risen and Fingon’s golden ribbons are really blinding, no one can even look at him.

Listen, they haven’t had proper light in about forty years, they’re really light-sensitive now.

Everyone argues, Fingon makes at least two attempts to sneak out to Thangorodrim but he’s caught because he’s just way too shiny.

Third time’s the charm.

The only reason Maedhros doesn’t see him before he hears him is that he’s even more light-sensitive and just keeps his eyes closed. Also he’s tired. So very tired.

In Angband, Sauron took great pleasure in hacking Maedhros’s hair off and messing with it. When he’s rescued, what has regrown is a tangled, discoloured mess and they have to cut it all off.

Fingon stays with Maedhros a lot throughout his (physical) recovery, which in my mind takes at least the 55 years between his rescue and Dagor Aglareb, and he braids Maedhros’s hair every day, even at the start when it’s barely past his ear. Eventually Maedhros stops fighting and crying when someone touches his hair.

Mostly.

More gold from a Silmarillion WIP about Celebrían meeting Fingon:

The one before her now, sitting with his legs crossed on what isn’t quite a throne, but isn’t quite not, features in many of the stories she’s heard. So many, in fact, that it is hard to believe them all true. His face is more regal than any king Celebrían has met, and she has met rather more than her share, if she counts the beleaguered kings of dwindling Arnor. The gold woven in his long braids and embroidered on his blue robes outsets the silky brown of his skin, adorned with many earrings and piercings. The thin chain joining his eyebrow with his earlobe catches the light when his eyes meet hers. Celebrían bows deeply. “Cousin, you need not bow to me,” Fingon says with a kind smile.

Here's a blue from the next part of for all the things that drum (Witcher):

The thing about manipulating time, Renfri realizes as she and Julian casually walk through the front door, is that it makes things too easy. It puts her on edge. Her own powers are fickle and difficult to control. They come to her in visions, mostly, dreams that she struggles to interpret. Impressions. She moves right, and gets a sudden flash of moving left instead, a chain of reactions. Sometimes she’s quick enough to change course. Sometimes she can’t care enough. Since Julian came to her in the forest outside Blaviken, each of her steps are shadowed. The bite of a dagger against her throat, a pair of yellow eyes not leaving her back. Whatever it is that the Black Sun did to her, it knows that she erred, that she stepped away from the planned program. She can see the girl better in her dreams, too. Tangled blond hair dirtied with mud and dried leaves. A tattered blue cloak. Screams. Chaos.

And this bit of left you behind just standing there (where a 20yo Ciri goes to find Jaskier, who disappeared after the mountain) has a lot of colours! (well, three)

“What do the waters do?” Jaskier unlocks the front door. It leads into a roofless square courtyard, with covered galleries running all around and a stone fountain in the middle. The floor is a huge mosaic of a sunflower, centred around the fountain, from which flows a slow trickle of brown water. “It contains mud that soothes many skin conditions, and some kind of minerals that are good for joint inflammation. I don’t know the details, to be honest. I just know that it works.” He leads Ciri down one of the galleries to another door. This one opens into a large, high-ceilinged room with and giant stained-glass windows projecting blue and green reflections everywhere. The floor is also tiled, but a series of three pools are carved into the stone foundation. The one closest to the door holds brown, almost opaque water, while the other two are mostly clear. The far wall displays a ten-foot long mosaic depicting what looks like a family of mermaids. Light steam rises from the pools, and the room is agreeably warm.

[dcrkpaladin]

Childhood regrets.

I think I've seen this film before And I didn't like the ending You're not my homeland anymore So what am I defending now? You were my town Now I'm in exile, seein' you out I think I've seen this film before

You remember their faces. The ones who raised you. Casthos and Elyria. You remember your childhood, seeping into you with a thousand little details.

The kind smile of your mother’s face, the soft dimples that form at the edges. The gentle laugh that comes with the explanation of why you don’t have a tail or horns. The softness of her lips on your forehead as she tells you that you’re special.

You remember the size of your father. The curve of his horns and the way they remind you of the stags in the forest beyond your home. The strength of his hand on your shoulder that tells seems to let you know you can do anything. The words of encouragement that follow you as you stalk with him through the trees, searching for the evening meal.

You remember the fire in the hearth at night and the stories told to you in front of it. The tales of Balduran and his adventures. The tiefling twins Havilar and Farideh, who carved their own legends into the Sword Coast. The paladin Gareth Dragonsbane, who shaped kingdoms and lived by ideals of duty, honour and courage.

You remember playing in the mud with children your age. Children who look nothing like you, who make fun of your naked forehead. You pray to Ilmater and Tymora that you’ll sprout horns and a tail over night. Your horns will be the biggest and your tail will be the longest the whole village has ever seen! You cry to your mother when you wake up and nothing’s changed. 

You remember picking up a sword for the first time. The weight of it in your hand. The bruises inflicted as you train with your father out in the wilderness. The thrill of the secret you share together. The pride of knowing he believes in you.

You remember the day you take your oath, swearing to defend the innocent like your hero Dragonsbane. The awe of achieving your life’s purpose. The satisfaction of becoming the only paladin of your village. One of the youngest in the history of Faerun. 

You remember coming home six months after your oath. The anticipation of seeing your mother and father again, of regaling them with all you’ve seen and done. You see yourself crawl into the bed you slept in as a boy, the bed you curled and buried yourself in when you were scared and afraid and wanted to hide from the darkness outside. 

You remember the morning after and the red that stains your sheets and hands. You see your father in the kitchen, his skull caved in, his body torn open and his intestines oozing onto the floor.

You feel the bile in your throat and you throw up. You find your mother behind the house, her throat torn open. You see yourself holding the knife, slicing and chopping. 

You remember the voice behind you as you scream into the sky. The corpse face of the creature that calls itself Sceleritas Fel. The adoration in its voice as it critiques your technique. “Raw and unrefined, young master. But you’re journey has just begun. Your true father has such high hopes for you and he will show you the way.”

You leave camp before anyone knows you’re gone. You stagger into the woods and collapse into the undergrowth. You empty your stomach until there is nothing left to wretch up. 

You see the bodies of your parents in the darkness. You weep for them and all that you have done. You think of Karlach and shudder at the possibility that you could do the same to her. You swear that you won’t.

You swear that you’ll protect her with all that you have, even against yourself. You swear until your throat is raw and your eyes are red with regret. You wonder if any of it matters. If you’ll ever be rid of the Urge that haunts you.

[bitesu-bitesu-bitesu]

we had to put my dog to sleep. our vet, the trainer we worked with for years now, suggested it's the best thing we could do for him. I told her about my nightmares, my anxiety attacks prior to our walks, the fear making my eyes twitch, because I knew I couldn't keep everyone safe forever, the sharp pain in my chest when I thought about his condition. the joy and the happy tears in my eyes when he was alright. when he was safe. safe from all the pain he was going through even if just for hours, when we had calm moments and he could fall asleep, his head in my lap. the excited jumps, when we saw no one was in the park except for us. it was just us in the whole world. watching for intruders from the corner of my eye, looking out for any movement so that I could spare him the anxiety. I told her about how I wished for a world where we could be happy together. where we could go on walks without fear churning my stomach. without him needing to wear all the gear he had to. he bit a woman 1,5 years ago. he broke the muzzle to do so. he wanted to protect me. I wasn't in danger. none of us were in danger. the woman needed 3 separate surgeries. I payed the fines and hoped, crying my eyes out that he wouldn't be taken from me. that I could protect him from the world, and the world from him. that I could do better, be stronger. this was after he bit me. thrice. there's a spall patch in one of my tattoos missing. i bear a mark on one of my breasts and my inner thigh. I know he didn't mean it. he was just so frustrated, me being the one stopping him from letting it out. I didn't hurt that bad. the knowledge that he was in pain hurt worse. I know he didn't mean any of this. we collected him from an empty apartment 4 years ago on a fall evening. some monster of a human put him there, alone, afraid without food or water, collar cutting into his skin. he was then the size of his head when I last saw him. they dropped him off from a dog fighting ranch, because he wouldn't have been a good enough fighter. we didn't know this back then. we just saw a little creature with puffed up belly, lacking a proper name. we named him Brave. he was so brave for surviving. and here I am now, knowing now, that all the sweat, blood, and tears of mine couldn't save his life, his neural pathways wired to prey, wired to keep the one person safe from any danger, be it real or not. wired to kill. dramatic as it may sound, this was the final verdict. he was a big dog. huge teeth, muscles rippling regal under his skin. his soft fur brushing my face as he curled up with me on the floor. countless tears making him wet on the back, wrapping my entire body around him. he was beautiful. he was my beautiful dog. I was so proud of him. whether we made progress or not. and I'm forever grateful for our trainers for bearing with us, fighting for us until the last moment and after. for making it easier for him. we tried everything. years of training. medication. we moved to a quieter neighborhood hoping it would be better for him. and it was. I believe it was. it wasn't enough though. nothing could be enough. the trainer told me I'd feel better with time, that this was the right thing to do, that he couldn't have a safe, calm life, and I did everything that could be done and more. that she respected my resilience. and that my heart would feel lighter as time passed. I know she's right. I held him as he fell asleep. looking at me from the corner of his eye until he fell asleep. holding him, like I did before countless times. to make him feel safe. I loved him with my whole being and my heart broke for him again and again. it still does. nobody can hurt him now. he can never be unhappy again. no pain for him anymore.

let this be a cautionary tale. destroy all dog fighting rings. burn them down and salt the earth after.

[unchartedthelostlegacy]

"I'm surprised you were up for it, actually," Chloe said. "Thought I'd have to twist your arm."

"I needed a break from...family."

Nadine said it in such a quiet voice. She seemed glued to the hotel TV, two blue reflections of CNN visible in her eyes. Her arms were folded and her neck and shoulders propped up on the pillows so she was laid in bed stiff and uncomfortable, like someone in their room, grounded, unable to go outside, because they crashed their model airplane into the neighbor's window.

So you didn't say yes because you missed me, was what Chloe was thinking.

But she said "He'll come around, china."

Nadine didn't look up from the flat-screen, but let out a scoff. "My father?"

"Uh, yeah?" There was only one man Nadine cared for the approval of. "What did he say?"

"I'd rather not go into it."

Chloe hugged her knee, letting the other leg dangle from her bed, and felt her eyebrows bounce.

"Right. Not like I regaled you with my emotional baggage constantly a few months ago or anything."

This, Nadine struggled to reply to. She glanced away from the news for a moment. "Your problems and my problems are two different things," she said.

"Because I wouldn't understand. Because I don't have a father to worry about disappointing."

Nadine's upper body finally regained verticality. She had to sit up to shoot a quizzical and almost angry look at Chloe.

"Frazer...that's not what I...don't..."

"And," Chloe said, before Nadine could needlessly apologize, "It's not like you listened to me go on and on about it. Not like you're at the very damned least owed a listening ear--"

"It's not because you don't have a dad, it's because you don't care what anyone thinks of you, Frazer."

Chloe wasn't sure how much of her shock actually showed on her face.

Was this the impression she gave off? 'Chloe-no-mates' running crying down the hall and hiding behind the bins and eating lunch in the bathroom alone, not caring what people thought? Sometimes she wondered which of her mannerisms and airs didn't come from wanting to mask a weird behavior with a sexier one.

"Well," Chloe stammered, "I haven't heard that before."

"Sure."

"Nadine, fuck, what's the harm in telling me what he said?" Chloe slapped the mattress. "It's only you and me here. The idiot kids racing each other in the hall won't hear you. Next room over, I'm pretty sure is a wedding party, they won't shut up, probably going to call off the engagement at breakfast--"

"My father doesn't like failure."

Nadine swung her feet over the edge of her bed. She looked at Chloe, biting her lip.

"Is that what you told him you did?"

"He found out. He keeps tabs on everything, retired or not," Nadine brushed invisible dust off her lap. "Frazer, nobody believed in him or that he'd--that he would amount to anything, when he was younger. High expectations, that's how--" Nadine's breath was catching in her chest, "--that's how he shows love."

Chloe whispered, "...and?"

"And he took it really bad, shit. He took it worse than I thought. He told me I threw away all the power that he spent a lifetime building and he had to endure worse than I ever will and--I'm not going into it, god, not right now."

"Ookay," Chloe said. "Breathe, love, it's all right."

Nadine scoffed.

Silence--except for the the kids in the hall--returned, as Nadine clenched and unclenched her fists at her knees, and Chloe stood up, stretching her rubbery arms up over her head.

"Are you going to do your yoga at sunrise even with the shit sleep we're about to get?" Nadine snapped.

"Yes, honey," Chloe said. "Even a wild child like me needs some structure in her life."

She could have mentioned how it really did help her. The pacing. The focus on breath. She read once that everyone came to the mat for a different reason. What if it helped Nadine? But that may come out as too pushy.

And yoga wasn't a cure-all, despite what many noveau hippie white girls wanted to believe.

"He just needs some time to process it," Chloe murmured.

"You don't know him like I know him."

"Well, he is your dad, be kind of weird if I did?"

A laugh escaped Nadine's nose. "I'd kill you on the spot."

"I wasn't even going there with that. I don't know where you got that--" Chloe was spluttering now, Nadine continuing to laugh. "--don't go and make it weird now--"

"--you have far too terrible taste in men for that to happen anyway--"

"--oh we're doing that? We're doing that again, Nadine?" Chloe's face was burning, but she leapt over to Nadine's mattress just to point an accusatory finger at her partner's face,

"Want me to say it? Want me to ask how many times Asav begged you to prolapse his colon? How you weren't sure the bomb really killed him because you've fucked him harder than that and the bastard somehow lived?"

Nadine was doubled up laughing now.

"He was--" Chloe hissed, "--as it were, begging for a pegging--"

"Is that the title of the last tape you got stuck in your parents' VCR?"

Now Chloe was losing it, tears in her eyes, crumpling over Nadine's kneecap, "I hate you so much."

"YOU MADE ME THINK ABOUT STRAPPING ASAV--"

"YOU InSINUATED I wAS mAKinG A WEIRD COMMENT ABOUT YOUR DAD WHEN ALL I WOULD HAVE DONE IF I HAD EVER MET HIM IS ASK FOR YOUR HAND IN MARRIAGE NADINE ROSS--"

And then they were both sat on the bed staring at each other.

If we are to have a full length game Lost Legacy sequel which we won't, I want Nadine And Chloe to at minimum go exploring in

-Oak Island/the money pit in Canada

-The Antikythera mechanism discovery site off the coast of Greece

-The Dinaledi and Lesedi Chambers/Rising Star cave in South Africa (tell me the Dragon's Back section would not be an awesome Uncharted climbing section)

And uh....ICELAND ROMANTIC VACAY GETAWAY oKAY

[regalqueen]

+

In another realm, I am your mother. And I can’t bear to let anything happen to you. I don’t care what realm we’re in. This isn’t you. You are brave and kind. And when life gets hard, you always do the right thing. You’ve saved so many people, Henry. Hell, you’ve saved me. Please... please, let me save you now. 

[sammy-writes-sometimes]

Reign

Word Count: 635

Reblogs > Likes

---------

The king's reign had come to an end, this was a well known thing by now, what with the werewolf moping around his crastle which still stood on its mountain overlooking the shopping district. No one knew what to do with it really.

Which is sort of why Cleo found herself leaning up against the doorframe to Ren's room, the ex-king looking out one of his large windows with his ears drooping.

"Are you here to mock me?" Ren muttered.

"I'm here to make sure a friend doesn't do something stupid." Cleo shot back.

He barely turned his head, growling lowly. "If I remember correctly, Lady Cleo, you were one of the people who betrayed me."

"You're hung up about that?"

Ren was turning around now, his face looked tearstained and just a bit red. He looked pathetic, just like a kicked dog.

"Ren, my former lord, this isn't about those that betrayed you now is it?" She said still in a firm tone, though it almost sounded just the tiniest bit softer.

The former king sighed in an all too dramatic way before moving to flop down on his bed face first, burying himself in pillows as he groaned.

Cleo had to hold herself back from laughing at the whole show, but they managed to drag themself back. Ren was legitimately sad, crying for gods know how long, and was more pathetic than usual.

They made their way to the bed, sitting on the edge as they looked Ren over.

"Was I a good king?"

"No." Cleo answered quickly. "I'd even go as far as saying you were incompetent."

Ren chuckles, just a small sign of progress.

“But I have a feeling that isn’t what you’ve been upset about.”

“Oh, is the hollowhearted zombie suddenly now a caring person?” Ren joked sarcastically

Cleo scoffed lightly. “Only when my friends have locked themselves in a tower for a month straight.”

There was a heavy pause before Ren was turning to look up at Cleo, worry in his blue eyes. “Its been a month?”

“Yes, now tell me why you’ve been sulking around your abandoned crastle.”

Another sigh, another pause, then Ren was flipping over to lay on his back and look at the ceiling. Cleo thinks she’s never seen the werewolf without any form of glasses on, but here he was looking like a wet dog with his tail tucked between his legs and no sunglasses in sight.

“Was I- Was I a good person? A good friend, even?” He mutters.

“Well you let the power get to your head, and a few people are rightfully pissed, but some saw it as a game.”

“Then am I good enough to be forgiven?”

"What makes you believe you aren't?" Cleo asked, there was almost a bit of mischief in her voice.

"I-... I guess you're right, Lady Cleo."

"Please, Ren, you don't need to be all regal anymore." They say before reaching a hand out to Ren, helping the werewolf sit up so they can see eye to eye. "You are not the king anymore, and I'm not a member of the square table. We're healthier this way."

Ren reluctantly nods his head, tension leaving his shoulders as Cleo runs her hands over his.

"Now, up, you've got people worried about you." The zombified gorgon says while dragging Ren to his feet. "So go talk to people."

"Right, of course, I shouldn't keep them waiting. What kind of friend would I be then?" He says with a half hearted laugh.

Before he knows it, Ren's feet are guiding him outside and down the many flights of stairs, Cleo watching with careful eyes as he greets others. It almost feels like the world itself breathes a sigh of relief as the werewolf returns to his pre-kinghood self.