#im so down bad for armored men

[mono-dot-jpeg]

conversations and quality time - d. malleus, s. idia, h. rook, & t. ace

summary; "i want a man who can yap, so i can enjoy his existence and ignore my own." - me

genre/extra tags; scenarios/hcs, shamelessly writing about my type of men, ranking (but not really) twst boys based of how much i would enjoy their yapping when im feeling empty, fluff, slightly comedy, ace is a loveable dickhead, idia and i are nearly one in the same (im sorry), gaming knowledge included (knowledge not required, it's funnier), rook is rook (and i love that for him), established relationships with all (dating), mischaracterization probably, reader is NOT YUU, written by someone who wishes to have moments like these with a friend, idia is my obvious favorite here im not sorry abt it

a/n; as the summary says. i thought of this like,,, at midnight and i thought abt characters i like and how they would ramble bc i love asmr where people just talk since i slept a lot surrounded by people talking casually during parties and it helps me just silence the raging storm in my mind about being a shitty adult

malleus draconia finds you with no troubles. he always knows when you're available most of the time. and he's always excited to be around his human companion. and he's even more excited to just spend time with you in general.

he could talk on and on for hours. and he does just that when he knows that you're not feeling very talkative or when you're feeling non-verbal. sometimes you just want to enjoy his presence, you like being in the moment. he doesn't question it at all. he knows that sometimes you might not catch everything he's saying, but he can't find it in himself to be frustrated at you.

his voice is so tender and gentle when it comes to being around you. just the right amount of deepness without sounding too rumbly(?). he talks about his interests or his day. sometimes, he even talks about his home if he feels like it. he lets you lay all over him if you want, while he talks. occasionally, he just stops talking to bask in your presence and how much he loves you.

he would read you a story if you asked him

10/10 would fall asleep to his voice

never gets mad if it happened

peak quality time

he would even sit in silence with you if you wanted to

idia shroud is the type of guy to not say anything about his interests until you ask. so you gotta initiate first, and then he just starts... and he doesn't stop. you ask one thing about the game he's playing all of a sudden, he's talking to you about this moba game that has shitty adcs and bad junglers? you might not understand anything of what he's saying, but he's so cute when he's passionate.

depending on the game he's talking about, his voice can change pretty quickly. he's a little squirrel-y but that's the charm of it all. he's more emotional about things that he would like to admit. crying over a lost 50/50 chance for his ssr roll, yelping upon getting dove under tower by 4 other players, complaining about grinding for materials for the newest armor set, laughing about how everyone is bad at the game except him then proceeding to cry about how he's bad at the game upon dying after his previous statement.

the only time he is calm is when he's lying in bed with you. he's still a little panicky, but that's just how he is. he ends up playing his mobile games to calm himself down. if you're lucky, you crawl into his arms without making him too flustered. (he's still getting used to having you in his arms and not a plain pillow.) this section is getting long, but his voice is quiet (when he's not playing a pvp game), deep but not as deep as malleus, but his voice is still like a warm fresh baked cookie or as warm as a nice home. and when he's just whispering to not disturb you... god, what i would do to make that happen for me..

god i love him.. he would do his damn hardest to make sure you're comfortable

he's not one for silent quality time imo

9/10 if you like gamer vibes, 5/10 if you don't like loud

but i love loud but not deafening.

the kind of person i would fall asleep in a discord chat with (not even a discord kitten joke. /gen)

rook hunt doesn't need to even be seen to be spending time with you. you somehow match his freak, and don't find yourself being scared when you feel his lingering presence. for all the compliments and praises he sings every day, he's also very quiet when he wants to be.

you've been dating him long enough to see him as a guardian angel more than a hunter, and he knows it. during the times he does decide to actually be around and not hide in a tree, he's the type of guy to gently praise you until you sleep or talk about every detail about you that he adores.

his voice is low and sweet. he talks quietly with an elegant softness that most pomefiore members are trained to have. when he speaks about things of beauty, he holds an air of admiration and adoration. it's mostly evident when it comes to you.

he would cure all my insecurities

he's so caring, he's literally that cute drawn emoji of just "holds in hands gently"

8/10, i can't handle too much praise, i simply die /j

giving guardian angel in an oddly endearing way

he is gentlemanly elegance !!

ace trappola is a tsundere. you hate to hear it. but he is, sometimes. but he's deceptively caring. he's grumbling about just simply wanting to sit around and do nothing but be near each other but he loves it. he's the one who somehow gaslights you (jokingly) into just sitting together or laying together into moments like these. he'll complain but he's giving you a blanket or tugging you into his hold while he's muttering like a grumpy kid.

he really is the kind of boyfriend who is really a best friend before anything. he's definitely sharing gossip and yapping away as you sit there in his arms, enjoying the way he speaks with energy and drama. he's a little dramatic but when is he not? though there's definitely been a moment where he drops some random lore/gossip about some person and you can't help but laugh in shock because how did he get this information?

his voice is kind of warm? it's hard to explain, but his voice is warm and has a natural mischievous tone to it. he talks to you like you've been around him for years and not just when you first met around the first days of being at nrc. he talks to you like you were his first friend. he's endearing.

he would annoy you if you fell asleep while he was talking

would poke, prod, squish whatever bit of body his hands could get to

9/10, -1 bc being ticklish with ace around is a play fight waiting to happen

giving friends to lovers sweethearts and i love it

we love a grumpy but loving boyfriend !!

[ma3mae]

No one likes syringes!

Summary : You gotta take your weekly syringe but you're afraid of needles so how can these mfs (Dazai, Kunikida, Atsushi, Aku, Chuuya) convince you to take it 🤷

Genre : bit cracky and fluff, prob lots of teasing bc u know who tf im talking about 💀

Warnings : heartattacks bc we all simp too hard for these men 🛐 maybe a bit of suggestive themes at the end

A/N : managed to inject myself for the first time (aint no drugs, need them bc HEALTH) and bro, my hands r still shaky bc fear 😭 how do ppl do this so easily 💀 also the syringe is like a pen (also for this story) but broo its still scary and i need some bsd character comforting me 😩✋✋

Dazai Osamu

Lets say yall live together and hes at work while u r home alone

cant bring yourself to do it alone bc bro syringes are scary (even if its just a pen bc NEEDLES BRO) 😩😭

So you text him and ask what hes doing and tell him if hes got time to come home asap bc we r nearly crying at this point

hes gonna be SO ANNOYING like "i was just waiting for a text from you~ dont worry, your knight in shining armor will save you"

BROO he prob knew that you gotta take them today and also knew that nothing would be going on at the agency so he couldve stayed at home but nah 😭😭 (sadistic a** fr fr)

but hes still hurrying nonetheless bc hes not that MEAN -right???-

arrives at home and finds you on the couch holding the pen with shaky hands and his heart does feel a TAD bit guilty bc fr he couldve stayed at home and u would have gotten this shit over asap

gon be all like "dw im here now, okay? Lets just get this over with and then we'll cuddle, how about that?"

homegirl is about to cry at this point bc just FREE HER from this misery

sits next down to you and takes the pen from your hands

If you do wanna try it out yourself, he'll gently guide you through it

He knows how afraid you are and teasing would just make you sob instantly bc the pressure is already too much to deal with YEAH U BETTER STFU U TEASE !! jk still love him

will try to change your mind tho by sayinf stuff like "Really? ~ i mean its brave and good of you to try it yourself but I really love helping you, you know. Want to do everything for you, darling." he knows EXACTLY what hes doing to us by saying that

Is prob gonna give us that look and whisper in our ear and shi im sorry im too down bad for this man at this point 😩

if you dont wanna do it yourself then, he'll tell you to look at him while hes pressing the pen onto your thigh or stomach

You still cant keep your eyes off of it? Sry girl, theres only one solution

He'll just click his tounge at you while having that fking smirk on his face as he says "still too distracted, I see? Well seems like theres only one way to help you"

gives you a kiss on the lips and just deepens it while looking STRAIGHT into your eyes got my knees weak for him fr

you only feel a tiny sting and as soon as a "click" is heard, he'll break the kiss and just grins at you as if he didnt trick you lol

but who are you to complain, he sees that you liked it and will def comment on that

"see, love? Wasn't so hard after all. But you still did well. Proud of you as always"

pecks you on the lips again before setting the pen onto the table and wraps his arms around your waist bc NO WAY in hell is he gonna let go after that

"i think i deserve a reward for that~" "you said you were waiting for a text so you KNEW i had to do it today, right?" ".... welp, not gonna apologize on that 🤷🤷🤷"

u can understand why kunikida has to SIGH all the time as soon as dazai opens his mouth but oh well, you're too whipped to care about at this point

wont let you go so guess you'll have to reward him 💅 no ones complaining LOL

if you tell him to help you next time before hes gone for work, he'll def do it bc he loves u but poor kunikida gotta expect him arrive at work late more often bc he wont leave home without rewards 🛐

Kunikida Doppo

You already know that he got the exact day, hour, minute and SECOND written down on when you gotta take your pen

You tell him that the day is enough and that the time doesnt matter but NOO 😤 YOU WILL take it at the exact time

If its at ungodly hours like 3am or smth, bro he'll wake you up like no mercy for his schedule 😭

If u complain to him tho then dw he will rearrange it for u bc he may love to stick to his plans but he wont ignore your needs and stuff either get urself a man who takes care of u like that 😤😤

will prefer to do it before work, so if you're not an early bird then he'll wake u up but dw you'll get a forehead kiss and bro's already fully dressed n' stuff BUT waking up to him looking at you with such a loving gaze will make u forget that its 5-6am or smth 😩

will first let you get up in peace and make u some calming tea bc he knows what will come next ✋

"Y/N, I know you don't like it but you have to take your pen today, okay?"

if we start a tanthrum then he already knows about it like bro's prepared for everything!!

"Kuni, do we really ha-" "Yes." "But you know I dont li-" "Yes and yes. I know you hate it but don't worry, I've already written everything down on how to do it and what to be aware of so its okay to feel afraid but don't worry because I'm here. Nothing will happen and I've already bought your favorite snacks so you'll feel better but dont eat too much of it when I'm gone. "

u already know he spent a night or smth just researching everything about it as soon as you told him

prob even went to a library and once came back home with multiple books in his hands, hes THAT dedicated UGH I LOVE HIM 💕

you could just sob rn bc how did the earth bless you with this man KUNIKIDA I NEED U 😭😭😭

If the pen is kept in a fridge then dw he already put that shit out for it to not be cold anymore (prob counted the minutes and seconds LOL)

he'll sit you down on the bed or couch, disinfect the place on where you'll take it (lol that sounds WRONG) and he'll give you a peck on your forehead before asking if you're alright and ready to go through with it bc no way in hell is he gonna do it while you're too shaken up for it

If you wanna try to do it alone then he'll take your hand into his as you're grabbing the pen, slowly guiding it while praising you for how brave you are for trying this and that hes proud of you IM SOBBING

will also tell you to look at him if you get more afraid by seeing it on your skin

Honestly even if you dont wanna do it yourself, he'll make sure to be there and will praise you every time you get through with it bc you KNOW he means it

Honestly makes you tear up everytime and u just wanna kiss this man fr

you thank him and tell him how glad you are to have him, he'll be smitten even more than he already is

Cup his face with your hands and kiss him bro's gonna find it really difficult to not stay at home and just be in your arms

at the end of the day, his love for you exceeds his ideals so he wouldnt mind arriving at work some minutes later if he gets to have you in his arms for a bit longer

Will arrive at work with such a good mood that hes prob gonna freak dazai out with it especially when he overlooks some dumb remarks from him the power of love YALL but who can blame him, his heart is thumping louder than dazai's rambling LOL

maybe yall will continue when hes back home, who knows 🛐🛐🛐🛐🛐

Nakajima Atsushi

when you told him about the pen for the first time, he was literally thrown off like "wait, so you have to.... stab yourself regularly with that?????"

hes just SO precious bc his heart's squeezing at you asking him if he could help u bc you just feel so comfortable and just knowing that makes him SWOON

But at the same time hes panicking bc HOW CAN HE DO THAT WITHOUT HURTING U

Ngl hes prob also afraid of needles and stuff 😭 is gonna look at u like the pic above LOL

will ask yosano or even recommend that she should do it but you're like "NO!! im sorry, tsushi but im too scared of her and i feel safe with u :(((("

you got him WHIPPED and DEDICATED bc he'll def research that shit through and through

Will ask his coworkers (prob kunikida) how to best handle the situation

has everything ready but will stumble and be kinda hastily about it at first bc hes prob even more nervous than you are 💀

either it implifies your fear more or its just so ridiculous that you're legit like "ily but im not gonna die or smth 🤨🤨🤨" you cant blame him tho 😤

hes gonna be all like "OKAY OKAY, we got this. No, I GOT this s-so no worries, okay?" bro, BREATHE. Hes just about to pass out at this point jk jk

if you decide to try it out alone, he'll be a bit saddened bc does this mean you dont want him to help you after all?? :(( was he not good enough of a choice to be of help :((( TSUSHI STFU ILY

dw just reassure him that you obviously appreciate his help and still need him to be there bc no way in hell can u do it alone without ur hubby

will tell you everything he had learned about the pen and how to use it with a bit of a tremble in his voice but he pulls through with it!!

You manage to do it and BOY get ready for a rant on how proud of you he is

will want to pamper you with kisses on ur face "tsushi, i know that look. Go ahead and do it, dont hold back" "really, y/n!!?" "😩 bro do it ok" will try to hold back with gluing himself onto you but how can he NOT

If u dont wanna do it urself then it will prob go like this:

its time for yk what and he sees the genuine fear in your eyes but dw he got you

hes prob gon be like "my s/o need me rn and i have to help them!!!" hes actually gonna remember everythinf he looked up and prob memorized for you bc hes AN ANGEL will put his forehead against yours and tell you to look at him "i wont let anything hurt you and happen to you. You're afraid and honestly im afraid too but you and i will get through this, okay?" gives you the most lovestruck smile ever before he looks down and counts to three

"breathe in, y/n. It will be okay" he ignores his slightly trembling hands and at the count of three inserts it. GET YOUR HEAD OUT OF THE GUTTER📸📸📸

as soon as yall hear a click, he quietly counts to three before pulling it out and BROO the relief is refreshing af

"WE DID IT, Y/N!!!" Is hella giddy bc how can he not be proud of the both of you!!!! You did it!!! will honestly pull you in a hug bc hes just so happy

prob gonna realise that he just did it without asking u and will be sheepish all like "o-oh sorry, i just got too excited" "no tsushi. We should be happy about this so dont let go!!" no need to say it twice bc hes gonna wrap his arms even tighter around you and nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck ILL GIVE U A KISS TSUSHI 🛐🛐

will he feel bad for arriving at work a bit later? Maybe but a scolding from kunikida wont hold him back from holding you for a tad bit longer

He'll be a bit less nervous for the next times and it will surely decrease with each time bc practice yk but will obviously still hold you until he made sure that you're feeling okay afterwards

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke

Bro's nearly flabbergasted bc why are you making such a FUSS 🤨🤨 im sry dont sue me

"Calm down, you idiot. It's only a pen. You dont even SEE the needle."

dont ask him why hes staying with you if its JUST a needle then bc bro will prob just straight up get up and leave if you point it out 💀

will prob be the first to not even suggest but just TELL you to do it yourself aku im hurting over here 😩

will prob make an effort in atleast roughly skimming through a website about it prob smth weird like wikihow LMAO

If he does see you how afraid you really are of it, hes rly trying his best to ignore the small ache its giving his heart bc he takes no pleasure in witnessing u be so afraid✋ its still JUST a pen in his eyes at the end of the day lol

will just sigh and snatch that shit from your hands bc he cant bear to see you like this any longer are we looking that pitiful, probably LOL

But he'll be surprisingly soft with his touch, nearly just ghosting you with his hands is that even a term, nvm yall know what i mean

Hes just gonna be straightforward with it bc the faster its over the better. He wont admit that he just wants to help but cant convey it bc what even are feelings 🤷

He'll tilt your chin towards him and just say "Look at me, Y/N. Stop overthinking it. You won't get hurt from this stupid thing, okay? If smth does happen, I'll just destroy the factory thats making this."

You dont know if hes joking to lighten the mood or if hes serious bc its aku

But hes prob joking

anyway hes gonna ask you like smth rly random like "What do you wanna eat later" which will confuse you but you'll answer nonetheless bc hey hes initiating a convo!!

as you start to talk and he notices you're relaxed enough for him, welp yk whats happening

Actually makes you wince a bit bc it just caught you off guard

"Ryuu, what the f-?!" "Just bear with it." ok we have been silenced 🛐

yall hear the click of relief, he counts in his mind to three and quickly pulls that shit out

you're slightly trembling from relief from finally getting it over you and bro just clicks his tounge like "You're such a fool. Cant believe something insignificant like that makes you nearly shit your pants."

you lowkey glare at him for that bc BRO needles r spooky 😭 but dw before you even open your mouth to tell him off, he'll look to the side and say "... You did good for holding that out though... but its still stupid."

just give him a peck on the cheek or smth bc this boy is prob craving some praise after having helped you like that

"Thank you, Ryuu. I couldnt have done this without you. You're the best boyfriend I could ever ask for"

Give him a tight hug, kiss and boom you got him around your finger

he'll take a second to wrap his arms around you and will just hide his face in the crook of ur neck like our other boy tsushi

"Of course, I'd help... I'll still blow up the factory for scaring you like that."

"NO!!" jk he wont if u tell him not to but hes just trying to say he doesnt like seeing u like that we know aku, dw 💕💕

if his coworkers ask why hes arriving a bit later at work, he'll just tell them to shut up and continue with their work

If you look closely you'll see his ears turn a bit pink as he keeps thinking of you and your words 💕💕😭

Nakahara Chuuya

Honestly its gonna be a mix of every reaction possible I think

Like if you tell him about the pen, hes first gonna feel a bit pressured like "O-Oh wait so you want ME to help with it??"

Like no offense hes obviously feeling pretty happy about that you are asking him for help especially for smth important as your health

But he knows hes not the most gentle person and does have his worries that he might accidentally hurt you or smth

wont ask anyone for advice bc its his love of his life can i be that pls that asked HIM so he'll do it at the end of the day!!

but if hes feeling rly unsure then he wont mind slipping a question about it when hes reporting to mori

which means being not subtle at all

"So was that all for today's report of the mission." "Yeah." "Then do you need something or why are you still standing there?" ".... *pulls out a picture of your pen* do you know how to use this?..."

you def know that chuuya's feeling so embarassed that hes asking his BOSS but its a sacrifice hes willing to pay

mori will have mercy on him and tell him what he should be careful of and summarise on how to use it

Will prob throw in a "good luck~" bc how can u not TEASE him

anyway our boy's done his research and now comes the hard part

"Okay, dont panic Y/N." "HOW CAN I NOT WHEN YOU'RE HOLDING IT LIKE YOU'RE GONNA KILL ME" "JUST DONT PANIC, FFS"

dw as soon as he sees you trembling, he'll be softer than a marshmallow

a chuuya one

"Oi, look at me. I'll make sure nothing's gonna happen to you, alright? Will just sting a bit and thats it. Will take care of you after this so you'll forget this ever happened."

HOW CAN U NOT SWOON AT HIM 😩😩

he'll even take off his gloves so you'll be more relaxed if you can feel his skin bro the gloves are giving off doctor vibes in this scenario, will make us panic more LOL

if you really cant keep your eyes off it then well....

"Damn it, love. Stop looking at it." will just press his lips onto you for a second before breaking it and inserting that shi*

"Ch-Chuuya!" "I know, i know. Dont worry, its gonna be over real soon."

And boom thr click is heard and yall are finally done

Honestly his shoulders are gonna relax instantly, boy was tensed up even more than you skskskks but who can blame him

"OMG chuuya we did it!!" "Yeah, you did it, doll." bro's gonna latch onto you again bc that kiss from earlier wasnt enough for the both of u 😩

is it riling yall up? Probably but welp you 're already either shirtless or pantless so only one clothing to pull off less work for yall

Mori's just gonna be like "I see, you managed to get through it" and chuuya just tiltd his fedora down so u cant see his face bc he REALLY wants to ignore that his boss knows whats been holding our boy up cant blame him 🤷🤷🤷

***************

Lol that was WAY too long but honestly this was so good to write 😩 now im just gonna be sad that none of them r here to do it irl but oh welp, will just read more stuff about them ✋💅

[samsalami66]

Here we go again with a fun little drabble, this time for a spontaneous Knight!Hob and Prince!Dream au (which will probably get a few more additions lmao). It all started with my lovely @im-not-corrupted handing me the prompt "you know, it's ok if you're not ok" from this wonderful prompt list.

----

Dream ran down a corridor, his coat billowing behind him like an angry cloud of black smoke, set to destroy everything that would dare to stand between him and this God-forsaken door deep within the bowels of the castle. 

Dream ran, and it was the first time Dream remembered running since his childhood years, when he had been a naught but a babe, excited to explore every nook and corner of the massive palace that he called his home. Of course the first time he was forced to engage in such physical activity in as many years, it would be Hob Gadling's fault. Because it was always Hob Gadling's fault, from the moment he stepped foot into the throne room and announced he would become Dream's personal guardian, a Knight in his name alone, loyal to none other than the Prince of the Dreaming. 

What is he at fault for? a curious reader might ask, and Dream would whirl around on his heel and give a whole list of things Sir Robert Gadling could be blamed for, if only indirectly. 

For the blush he forced onto Dream's pale cheeks anytime their gazes met over a particularly boring dinner with his family. Perhaps also for the way Dream's heart skipped a beat whenever Hob spoke up to the King and Queen on his behalf, a feat so terrible even the most noble of men had failed before him. Good thing Hob was no nobleman, no son of high houses nor of new money. 

He was an idiot, first and foremost. A talented, quick witted and patient idiot, but an idiot nonetheless. After all, who just waltzes into a room with the King and Queen in it and promises undying loyalty to their adolescent son who no one particularly likes and expects it to simply work? And who decides to simply enter a jousting match without any former training or experience for fun?

Hob Gadling, of course, which was just one more example of things he could be blamed for. 

Nil consideration for his own physical well-being. 

Idiot. 

Dream was about to say as much as he threw open the door to Hob's chambers, but every ill thought spent towards his Knight's stupidity was immediately dropped as Dream found him hunched over the back of his armchair, one hand clutching at his bare chest as it rose and fell in quick succession. 

God's wounds, Dream had seen how Hob got shoved out of his saddle, how the lance had connected with his armor plate and sent him flying from his horse in one spectacular arch. But he never could have guessed just how bad it must have hurt, even through the steel and cloth. The bruise on Hob's chest was an angry black, his sides spotted with a deep red where his ribs were most definitely fractured. 

"Hob," the name left Dream's lips like a plea, like God's name would fall from a sinner's lips who prayed for salvation. And he did pray for salvation, in a way. Not his own, but salvation from endless pain nonetheless.

The man in question looked up between sweaty brows, a pained grimace painting his usual smile an ugly gray. Dream found himself by his side faster than lightning, hands coming up to hover helplessly over Hob's chest. 

Hob sighed at the concern clearly plastered into every corner of Dream's face, the way his lips tugged downwards in an obvious display of his dislike for the position he found Hob in. 

"Don't you worry for me, my Lord. I'm… fine. I'm fine, I promise." 

Tragically, the trustworthiness of this statement was negated by a heavy cough wrecking Hob's body, which left him groaning in pain over his injuries. 

"You are not fine, Robert Gadling," Dream hissed in response, hands finally coming to a rest on Hob's back. "Which is. Alright. It is alright if you are not alright. Just, please, lay down, my friend. You must rest."

Thankfully, Hob did not fight Dream as he was pushed towards his bedroom, and neither did he when Dream gently pressed him down into the mattress with a careful hand to his shoulder. His breath was still heavy and his eyes half-lidded as he looked up at Dream, something vulnerable hidden behind the dark brown of his eyes that Dream could not quite decipher in the near darkness of the bedroom. 

"Will you stay? My Lord?" Hob whispered, apparently balancing carefully between the realm of sleep and the world of the waking. 

"No duty could possibly force me from your side, my half-witted Knight." Dream responded quietly, his heart warming considerably at the soft smile that crept into his friend's eyes at the endearment, before they eventually fell close and Hob got pulled into deep and restful slumber. 

Dream placed a single feather-light kiss to the dark spot on Hob's chest before settling into the other side of the bed, his eyes fixed on the slowing rise and fall of Hob's breast. 

Hob Gadling really was an idiot.

Dream's idiot, but an idiot nonetheless.

[simplyjake]

i have a request!!! playing minecraft with streamer!Hee 😭😭 i think i’d be really cute, can be hcs if you want!!

a/n: anon... streamer!hee is my whole personality i personally believe he would be a streamer if he wasnt an idol but thats for another day. i hope this satisfies ur request!!

warnings: none that i know of

gn!reader

Minecraft with boyfie streamer!hee

His twitch and/or youtube has like 5 million subscribers or something idk

People love hot men who game! (me core)

Kinda irrelevant but i think heeseung would be one of the korean members in the quackity smp server idk idk idk

Hees fans know abt u

But you never really show yourself because you dont rlly feel the need to yk

But heeseungs comments keep begging him to play games with you

So he goes to call you (on stream may i add)

“Baby!!!” so cute stfu

“Yeah hun whats up” ur phone connected by your ear and shoulder (do yk what i mean im bad at explaining) bc ur buying groceries for the house😭😭😭

“Chat is asking for you to play a game with me on stream”

“As long as we play minecraft im so down”

“Thank you lovie! Ill see u when u get home MWAH”

So then you guys plan for his next stream

BOOM now ur here

Ur cute lil set up right next to his i cant do this

He helps you set up ur facecam n everything so that chat can see and hear u

Now for the actual game

The mc world name is yabadabadoo 

I think heeseung is a calm mc player not one who grinds and does allat yk

Stream starts nd hes like

“Baby lets play a game, anytime something scary happens we kiss”

“Kiss… during the scary parts??? Of minecraft???”

Cue chat calling heeseung a loser im sorry

You guys start off in ur survival world and immediately his hunter gatherer instincts kick in

He’d getting meat, house materials, wool 

“Hee, put ur minecraft bed next to mine”

And he gasps 

“Yn thats so scandalous..”

At first the house is just a dirt hut

But everytime you guys stream mc tgt the house gets more elaborate

From ur lil dirt hut to like a mansion

You guys have a barn that you built

You even learned how to make an aquarium in mc go you!!!

When heeseung mines and he finds diamonds, he gives a majority of them to you

Like let's say he found 7, he gives u 4 and he keeps 3 yk

Love a man who can provide for his lover

Even w this big mansion home

He makes SURE ur beds r still tgt

You get lost a lot when you wander and dilly dally so he has to come find you 😭

Your knight in shining diamond armor

You guys have a cat and a dog

Cat is named kombucha (heeseungs idea)

Dog is named hershey (ur idea) 

It was supposed to be a one time thing but you liked it and heeseungs fans love you so minecraft streams are a twice a month typa thing

Now its something you, him, and the fans look forward in doing 

[paulinawoodpecker]

Ramirez and Sara cheered him up about Tiffany Mordon hurting his feelings

@jakkiisthatboy2

Tiffany: do you want to play this game?!

Tiffany: *laughs*

Tiffany: Fine! I’ll let you play this game!

Tiffany: operation! Torture the man’s heart!

The mean queen bees: *gasps*

Jeremy: what?!

Roger: oh no…

Kenny: not the foot…

Tiffany: let’s do this!

Tad: *gulps*

Tiffany: you have been making women a distraction and feel bad about themselves since you came in to this world. I think you have that all wrong mr. You’re wrong around you representing everything wrong with your discoveries and your lame stuff.

Tad: lame?

Tiffany: what unrealistic ideas you have. You are describing stereotypical useless people.

Tad: 😧 I mean 😏 I am good looking…

Tiffany: LOOK AT YOURSELF!

Tad: 😧 …

Tiffany: you set a masculine movement back to your years. You destroyed men and women’s lives and rights on listening to their hopes and dreams but instead you wanted it all to yourself. With innate sense of worth. You are killing their chance to live in their hopes and dreams. You are killing the planet with your glorification of rampant.

Tad: 🥺🥺🥺🥺

Tiffany: am I the only one with consumerism? No! Because you know what you are? Nothing! Absolutely nothing. I’m supposed to make you happy and proud of you for yourself. Well get this. I’m wrong. And I’m powerful. Heck yeah I’m powerful!

Tiffany: and you have declared yourself mr. wrongly nothing. If it weren’t for you, I would not been doing this on my own. And another thing. Stop getting in our way you FAT FACIST!

The mean queen bees: *gasps at her*

Kenny, Kevin, Jeremy, Christopher, and Roger: Oooh!

Christopher: dang! She got her good!

Kevin: never trust a girl with blonde hair!

Tiffany: 😈😏

Tiffany: well? You give up? Or are you sure you can handle more?

Tad: 😢 okay. Fine. If that’s what you want to call me. It was nice talking to you. Come on Sara.

Tad: *speed walks while Sara catches up*

Tiffany: oh yeah. and tad?

Tiffany: *gives him the naughty finger which is censored by the Lightbox animation studios logo*

The mean queen bees laugh villainy and evilly and walks away

Tad: 😭😭😭😭

Sara: hey. It’s okay.

Ramirez: *heard crying that was coming from tad*

Ramirez: what happened?

Sara: he got into a bet a girl.

Ramirez: a girl?

Sara: her name was Tiffany mordon.

Tad: *sniffs* she was so mean. Where did she get that FAT Fascist? *continues crying*

Ramirez and Sara give him a hug to cheer him up

Tad: *stops crying but still sheds tears*

Sara: I’m very sorry you had to go through that.

Tad: *sniffs* I’m fine. Sara. I’m fine.

Ramirez: Well. Maybe Sara and I can figure out how to make you feel better.

Tad: really?

Sara: yeah. Someday. You need to stand up to her.

Tad: 🥺 but I’m scared. I’m just scared she might do that torture my heart thing again.

Ramirez: I know. It’s okay to be scared at first.

Sara: yeah. Sometimes at the first day you meet bullies, they make you cry. But on a future day, you finally start raising your voice and start standing up to them.

Tad: okay.

Ramirez: don’t cry tad.

Tad: I’ll try.

Ramirez and Sara give him a hug to cheer him up

Tad: *manages to calm down*

Tad: thanks you two.

Ramirez: all good?

Tad: yeah. All good.

Sara: since you know how to face your fears yet. We’ll also teach you how to protect us.

Tad: me? But I’m no knight. I don’t have an armor with me.

Ramirez: but you still need to learn.

Tad: alright.

Sara: you need to use your fighting skills like this. *showed him her fighting skills* now you try.

Tad: right. About that. I just had medicine, so im still digesting it. I’ll just wait.

Ramirez: just do it.

Tad: shouldn’t I warm up first?

Ramirez: just do it.

Tad: maybe I should warm up. *in anime chibi mode starts warming up saying cute shooting sounds adorably and repeatedly *

Ramirez: WILL YOU JUST DO IT!!!

Tad: *in anime chibi style; froze like a statue* ok fine I’ll do it.

Tad: *uses his skills weak*

Ramirez: try again but more harder.

Tad: *uses his skills harder* 😏 how’s that?

Sara and Ramirez: 😓😓

[qbluster]

obligatory chastity concept

Okay maybe he shouldnt have been jacking off at work. He is willing to admit that, completely and totally willing. But if they had just asked him- well he wouldnt have stopped. He would have thrown a fit about it, actually. But nevertheless they didnt need to go as far as caging him.

uuuuuuuuuuuuuh m/m like vaguely in the sense that the characters are two men, chastity, they fight and theres normal quinton levels of dubcon. i assume you understand how things work around here. im not editing this you get content and then you say ohh cool content :) and i go thank you. that is how this works.

He’s sitting in his lab, transcribing video archivals in the dark when the knock comes. Daniels always fucking knocks like that, like a cop pounding at the door. Completely unnecessary, the door doesnt even lock. But Quinton swivels around in his chair to face Daniels, ready for another lecture about his keycards or not propping open exits for smoke breaks.

Instead, he see’s that grin security always has when theyre sent to fuck with him. Its not just a grin, its the posture too. They come in ready for a fight, which is fair, given how often he gives them one. But its not a good sign when they come in ready.

“Spoons, ‘fore you sputter out something and make me hurt you, just know things are different today.” In his stupid idiot fucking fake southern drawl, hes checked the records, they dont talk like that in Southern Wisconsin where Mr.Daniels was born.

This tangent is killed in its tracked when Daniels pulls out some oddly shaped clear plastic out of a paper bag stamped with their internal pharmacies logo.

A chastity cage, like in porn. Like a real one, with the little metal diary lock and everything. Dots are immediately connected, and he sends a lamp flying at Daniels center of mass before trying to rush past the larger man.

The lamp does nothing against a man in armor and just crashes to the ground loudly. He only gets about one step past Daniels before his jacket collar, and a good amount of his hair, is grabbed and thrown backwards and towards the ground.

He’s not nearly quick enough and within about 40 seconds he’s been placed back onto the office chair, this time with his hands ziptied behind his back.

“As I was saying, Spoons.” Stupid fuck is barely doing the accent anymore, faker. “This is a high priority task, someone above your boss really wants your balls. But they’re settling for this. And whether or not they get their way eventually, depends on my reporting. Got it?”

He knows this is bullshit. Noone cares that much about him, they wouldnt bother neutering him like a dog, dealing with the hormones for the next 7 years would be too much work. He’s being fucked with. Occultics probably crowdfunded twenty bucks for a cheap chastity cage and a pack of smokes for Daniels.

He’s being stared at expectantly, like when they need visual or verbal sign of consent, and he would just like to get back to work so he can file an HR report, so he nods twice up and down.

Bad move in retrospect, but so are most of his moves. Daniels kneel’s infront of Quinton, first taking a second to further restrain him, adding thick zip ties at the ankles and near the elbow of the arm. Okay, yeah. They want some kind of compromising pictures of him. Worse pictures can exist than being restrained to a chair. 

His scrub bottoms start getting pulled away from him, and thats when he kicks back into gear. “What ar- you arent doing that!” Of course he tries to kick out or move away, but seeing as how he is freshly restrained, kind of a moot effort. Daniels doesnt bother speaking to him, and even worse frankly, turns and walks away to the far side of the lab.

He returns with gloves on, and alcohol wipes, which scares Quinton immensely before realizing there is absolutely no way they would allow security personnel to do impromptu penis surgery. He just doesnt want Quintons penis germs on his hands, a very strange line to draw in the sand.

His underwear doesnt even get pulled down, Daniels just, with a surprising gentleness, pulls his entire package through the slit in the front. If Quinton was a religious man, he would have thanked god for how soft his penis was. Actually, if he was a religious man he would not be in this situation, which is besides the point.

Alcohol wipes on genitals is not a fun experience. Everything is very sensitive and it stings and gets cold and just overall, not great. He isn’t ready for it, and yelps when the cold wipe first touches him. Daniels, to his credit, seems to be regretting his original attitude when faced with the reality of wiping off your coworkers dick, and goes quickly.

Which leaves only the uh, jacketing? Chastisizing? Is there a verb for this sort of thing? Of his dick. And as much as he would like to make a last ditch effort to evade this especially egregious overstep into his personal life, he knows at this point if he fights more he’s getting sedated, and he would really appreciate keeping one aspect of his pride intact.

The cold of the plastic and his unimpressive size when soft, thankfully, makes the actual attachment process go quickly. He still fills the cage, don’t they have to measure for these? How did they know his dick size? Who ordered this even? He busies himself with these questions and looks very firmly to the far left as Daniels adjusts the cage, ensuring its correct placement before clicking the small lock into place.

And thats it. Daniels uses a small tool on his keyring to pop the zipties holding Quinton and just leaves, closing the lab door behind him. Quinton is up the second he can physically stand, pulling up his pants to regain a small shred of dignity, and then sitting back down, there isn’t really anything else for him to do but that. i got bored of writing this and this is all you get. bye

discussion questions -does quinton like or dislike being put in chastity -what is the implied sexuality of Daniels -do you remember from other stories how large quintons penis is erect? How large do you think his unerect penis is?

[zoeykallus]

Ich habe 3.434 Mal im Jahr 2022 etwas gepostet

Das sind 2.895 more posts als 2021!

723 Einträge erstellt (21%)

2.711 Einträge gerebloggt (79%)

Blogs, die ich am häufigsten gerebloggt habe:

@kaminocasey

@superiorsniper

@zoeykallus

@moonstrider9904

@clone-whore-99

Ich habe 1.031 meiner Einträge im Jahr 2022 getaggt

#star wars – 483 Einträge

#the bad batch – 382 Einträge

#clonelove – 355 Einträge

#tbb – 353 Einträge

#clone force 99 – 339 Einträge

#sw tbb – 329 Einträge

#tbb tech – 269 Einträge

#tech – 264 Einträge

#crosshair – 247 Einträge

#bad batch tech – 231 Einträge

Longest Tag: 109 characters

#sorry but i scrolled down on this being muted with the dope's - playing on my headphones. it kinda fits ^^''

Meine Top-Einträge im Jahr 2022:

#5

The Bad Batch x Fem!Reader – The First Time HC's

Warning: 18 + Strongly Suggestive /Sexual Content / Strong Language / Crosshair's Part a little rougher

_____________

The Bad Batch Guys with a female virgin reader, making first time experience.

____________

Vollständigen Eintrag ansehen

380 Anmerkungen – Gepostet 14. Juli 2022

#4

Hunter - Animal

Hunter x fem!reader

(Short Onehsot)

Warnings: SMUT 18+

PiV/Fingering/Oral recieving/Grinding/Slightly Fluffy

__________

Author's comment:

Little to no plot at all, just Hunter getting animalistic on reader.

__________

Vollständigen Eintrag ansehen

381 Anmerkungen – Gepostet 2. Januar 2022

#3

The Bad Batch x Reader – „You're Pretty“ HC's

Warning: Strong Language (It's Crosshair's fault!!)

How do the boys tell you they think you're pretty for the first time?

-------------------

Vollständigen Eintrag ansehen

483 Anmerkungen – Gepostet 17. Juli 2022

#2

Shy Tech

Tech x Reader

Just a short thing I had written down sometime last week. Wrote it down after a dream, wich is why it is so short and a little out of context. Nothing big. No Warnings. Just cute Tech being super nervous around reader.

Shy Tech

You had never been to Geonosis before. It was another desert planet, but this one was covered with red sand and rocks. It looked somehow even more inhospitable than Tatooine.

"Who would want to live here?" you asked to no one in particular as you waited outside the ship for Rex.

But of course, Tech took the opportunity to chat from his infinite store of knowledge.

"The Geonosians are a winged, insectoid species. Despite their insectoid origins, Geonosians have no skin armor, but smooth, thin skin. They have long arms with relatively small hands, crooked legs, and claws on their feet. Despite their gaunt frame, they are very strong. Geonosians are generally naked, except for a loincloth that sparsely covers their private parts. Upper body clothing is unnecessary for both men and women. Because they wear no clothing, they are more agile than most opponents and also use their clawed feet for defense. The Geonosian language consists of clicking and cracking sounds. They live in..."

"Oh my gaaaaawd, shut up, will ya?!" Wrecker interrupted Tech in his loud voice, "Nobody cares about that much information."

Tech was annoyed by this rude interruption, but he actually shut up and refocused on his datapad.

You rose from the box you were sitting on, walked through the red sand to Tech, and sat right next to him. He looked up from his datapad at you briefly, then focused back on the device in his hand.

"They live in...?" you asked him quietly.

Surprised, he blinked and looked back up into your face.

"Please don't encourage him," Wrecker muttered.

"Don't be so rude!" you fired back, silencing him in surprise.

Tech's ears went all red again, and to hide it, he hastily put on his helmet, despite the barely tolerable heat out here. It was interesting and amusing to see. Tech was the one who always kept a calm head in the most dangerous situations, but you always managed to shake him in some way.

Omega appeared at your side and gently tugged on your shirt to get your attention. Omega gestured for you to lean in with your ear to her, then whispered, "I think Tech likes you a lot."

You chuckled, at which point Tech shot a surprised and nervous look at the two of you. He couldn't hear what Omega was saying to you, but he was sure you were talking about him. He uneasily shifted his weight on the crate he and you were sitting on before finally standing up, pretending to be fully focused on the datapad again, and walking to the ship's ramp.

"I think we gave him the wrong impression," you sighed.

But you were distracted by an approaching small troop transport before you girls could discuss this topic further.

"Finally. Rex shows up," Hunter muttered.

As Rex came down the ramp, you were already running toward him, literally jumping on him.

Giggling, Rex wrapped his arms around you and lifted you off your feet for a moment. The other clones watched the scene in amazement. They knew you were friends with Rex, but they had no idea how close you actually were. If you had eyes in the back of your head, you would have seen the worried look on Tech's face. He was worried about how close you really were.

"Hey Firecracker," Rex greeted you teasingly, "How did you end up with these guys? I hope they're treating you well?"

You laughed as Rex eased you to your feet and back out of his embrace.

"They're all very gentle and decent to me," you replied.

"You'll tell me if that ever changes," he stated more or less jokingly.

"Yes, Captain," you replied playfully formal.

With a hand between your shoulders, he led you back to the rest of the crew.

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484 Anmerkungen – Gepostet 4. Januar 2022

Meine #1 des Jahres 2022

Clones asking you for a date (approaching you) at the 79's:

Some Of Our Favorite Clones x Reader (pick up at 79')

Warnings: Partly slightly suggestive

Vollständigen Eintrag ansehen

574 Anmerkungen – Gepostet 11. Januar 2022

Hol dir deinen Tumblr-Jahresrückblick 2022 →

[rambling-madwoman]

It's Not Even Midnight (Prologue 2/3)

Im bad at planning. Anyway, I really wanted to get something out today. SO here this is im tired, im gonna re-read this in the morning and probably edit it lol. Only edited a few things, spruced up a few lines I was too tired to last night

The midcin prologue is so much longer than I remember god damn lol.

The regal den of dazzling wolves in finery was more beautiful than she had pictured it. Lettie had told and been told this fairy tale many times before. Drawn in by warm, inviting music, beautiful people and pleasures beyond the mortal realm, countless souls were lost to the other world. Would she be stolen by mischievous fairies? Or was her agreement to the Chamberlain actually her soul signed away?

Best not to find out in the first place, she decided as she walked away from the ballroom in search of a garden. She may have agreed to find the devil at his party, but they never agreed how long she would stay. Lettie wasn’t one for strange parties in strange places with strange men she didn’t know. When she had continued arguing with the Chamerblain’s mysterious request he told her,

“There may be something at the palace to interest you, besides me. A very rare flower in the garden. Lovely, but unremarkable. I’m sure no one would notice if it were to become part of your hair or your dress.”

Dress, Lettie huffed up at the locked iron gate surrounding the garden. The only dress she owned that was remotely appropriate for a party like this was still woefully plain, the a-line skirt draped over her body with no skirts underneath to fill it out. But it did perhaps help her blend in to the blue-green tall grasses and bushes under the night sky. 

The flower as the Chamberlain described it was just paces away on the other side of the gate, brilliant pearlescent petals almost glowing in the moonlight. Lettie tugged on the ivy climbing the poles and found it just as secured as the locked gate. She had managed halfway up the fence in her long skirt when,

“Please tell me this isn’t what it looks like.”

Over her shoulder Lettie saw a well decorated man in armor scowling at her.

“Allo-o,” She replied slowly.

“This is the part where you explain yourself.” He said sternly.

There might have been a little humor in his eyes, but the knight’s shrewd gaze still looked through her. Lettie took her time getting down from the gate to face him.

“Ah, well, you see, the Chamberlain invited me,” Lettie started, feeling her cheeks heating.

The knight dropped his chin and looked at her more sternly, “Giles Christophe? He invited you?”

“Of course,” Lettie continued quickly, hoping she didn’t sound insincere. “It was rather kind of him, you see, and I was so excited I did not think to get him anything as thanks… So I thought I might offer him a flower.”

The knight did not answer for a long moment, silently needling into her as her heart fluttered from the anticipation.

“Are you serious?” He finally asked.

“Is that uh, stealing?” Her voice pitched awkwardly as she looked over her shoulder again at the flower the Chamberlain had directed her to steal.

“This garden was planted by the late queen. It’s very important to the king. So probably.”

Lettie’s smile went a little flatter as she looked back at him. Forget the flower. The Chamberlain was the devil, and she needed to get away from this bastard to tell that bastard as such. Like he decided on something, the knight huffed a breath.

In one swift movement, he put a hand on one of the fence’s horizontal bars and effortlessly lifted himself over it, through the air. The weight of his armor made the descent and the impact that much more impressive. He boosted Lettie through the bars and she landed much more quietly in his arms, which hardly gave way under her. He set her down like she was nothing to him.

She straightened her skirt, “I cannot thank you enough,”

“If you’re really here with Giles, tell him the Captain said he’s slipping and not to let his girlfriends wander around the castle.” The knight replied bluntly.

“Of course,” Lettie said with a girlish amusement so fake it made the corners of her mouth tight.

Damn the Chamberlain, Lettie seethed as she worked the little blade retrieved from the bust of her dress into the dirt around the flower. The only mercy she showed the little thing as she worked her hands into the dirt around it was to preserve the roots a she uplifted it from its home.

The Chamberlain could have mentioned she would be stealing. Could have offered some way for her to get to the palace clear across the city. She could feel her knees getting wet from the damp earth, dirtying her skirt, but it didn't matter. She was only going to find the Chamberlain to tell him off and then go home. What a stupid venture this had been. When she returned to the knight, he held out his hand. 

“Knife.” He commanded dryly.

Like I'm not on enough lists, Lettie scowled to herself in one of likely hundreds of castle halls. The Knight had told her where to go, but the door he brought her to was different from the one she came from while looking for the garden. Affixing the flower to the back of her drawn up hair, she was looking down at her feet when she was knocked back. 

“Pardon me,” She had collided with someone turning the corner.

The nobleman she had run into was pale and light everywhere, except for the spots of dirt now on his fine, light blue coat. He looked down at Lettie with cold, harsh eyes.

“Sorry,” She said, perhaps not all that convincingly.

The nobleman scrutinized every inch of Lettie with an ice she could feel. 

“What business on earth could you possibly have here?”

Uninterested in creating more problems for herself, or in the opinions of snobby nobles, Lettie summoned up as much acidic deference as she could. 

“Would your grace know the way to the ballroom?”

“Tell me you aren’t here for the Princess Elect Ball.” He practically scoffed at her. 

“Whoever invited you was likely making some sort of sick joke.”

Her lip curled and her shoulders stiffened, but she wasn’t entirely sure that wasn’t true. “I have no interest in your circus ball. Apologies again for ruining your costume, Bozo of Bastille.”

The equivalent exchange complete, they turned on their heels away from each other and walked a little faster than they had before. Entirely useless, stupid venture.

Lettie spotted the Chamberlain across the ballroom and he spotted her by the entrance. Even from where she was she could see his expression become something like a cat with its fur standing on end when he saw her. Dirt on her hands, dirt on her knees, dirt more than likely clinging to her hair. He somehow managed to maintain grace and elegance even as he moved towards her in a flash.

He smiled with false courtesy and hissed through his teeth, “I would have brought you to the flower.”

He took her arm as if they were familiar and practically steered her back out of the ballroom and down the hall.

“Cut it out,” Lettie hissed back, “you didn’t tell me anything. I am leaving, I have had enough of this place already.”

“Don’t leave just yet, please.” He said rather quickly.

Giles dragged her further down the hall, stopping at the first door around the corner and out of sight of the ballroom. He unlocked it with a ring of keys from his coat, and Lettie begrudgingly followed him inside.

“What do you want?” Lettie demanded.

“I had planned to talk with you a bit before we got to the heart of what it is I need from you.” The Chamberlain said, closing the door.

Lettie was getting tired of the Chamberlain’s plans and she knew he could see that on her face as he continued.

“I had some questions about your background. I’ve been able to gather that you were still a child when you came to the capital.”

Lettie crossed her arms and tapped her finger impatiently. “I was twelve. My mother died so my brother and I came here. We don’t have a father. It’s just us.”

“And where is your brother now?”

“School. Lacourville.”

“So only one loose end to consider, really. You’re unbound, so to speak.”

“I am not.” Lettie growled through gritted teeth. “My brother is only thirteen, I’m still the only parent he has. Enough now. Tell me what you want.” 

The Chamberlain’s patient expression did not shift as he said simply, “You’re my preferred choice for Princess Elect.”

“Preferred,” Lettie tried to put the words together in her head in a way that made sense. 

She looked at the Chamberlain for a long moment as she processed it. She heard it, she thought. But it wasn’t right, it didn’t make sense. It was so misplaced that it was the sort of nonsensical thing that happened in dreams.

“You want to be king,” Lettie pointed at him, jumping on the first explanation that came to mind. “And you think you could manipulate an inexperienced peasant-”

“As Chamberlain I am expressly forbidden from marrying you.”

“Then what could you possibly stand to gain?”

The Chamberlain put his hand over his heart and inclined his head to her. “Loretta, you saw something the people around you needed and you built your own life on it.”

Lettie choked a little. 

He continued, “This ‘witch’ mythos you’re hiding from the tax office with doesn’t hide your heart,”

The quick and winded sound she made was as if his words hit her physically.

“And in fact the tight control you have on the information around you is just another point to your being well suited for politics.”

Lettie stared at him over the hand covering her burning face. Her heart was fluttering, her stomach lifting unpleasantly into her ribs. She took a step back from him and tried to straighten up as she said on unsteady feet,

“Well, I know everyone’s secrets, don’t I?”

The Chamberlain smiled, confident and sure. “You’re exactly what I need.”

“What you need?”

“As Chamberlain the choice of Princess Elect is up to me. She will determine the rule of Wysteria for generations.”

Lettie’s stomach dropped lower than it had been before.

“This is an opportunity that rarely comes. The infighting among the nobility, the king’s council, the courts, it’s becoming disorganized chaos. You could be entirely removed from that, and you’re strong willed enough to be above it as well.”

Lettie countered, “Because I don’t know anything about,”

“You are more than capable of learning, I can see that from your background. Think of this as another kind of healing.”

“Another kind of,” Lettie repeated faintly in her disbelief.

But it did sound like something they all needed. It did sound like an idea. Not a good one, especially not with her, but a crazy one.

She huffed out a breath, “You’re mad.”

Giles sighed, and removed a narrow velvet case from his interior coat pocket. Her hands were still too dirty to take it. He held it out to her and flipped open the case. Lettie closed her eyes at the glint of emeralds and silver beads, recognizing the pendant worn by past Princesses.

“I won’t take it,” She insisted.

She heard the case snap closed and opened her eyes.

“Well, it’s yours.” Giles said. “The only one who can give it away is me. If you’re really so intent on leaving, then go. Take the necklace and think about it.”

She was more than intent on leaving, she was intent on never returning. The velvet of the jewelry case was soft in her clean hands, softer and heavier and more valuable than anything she had ever owned.

[eldrith]

˗ˏˋ A Golden Chain ˎˊ˗ Jacaerys Velaryon

jacaerys velaryon x aunt/targ!fem!reader [part three of a golden cage series.] words: 16.1k. im so sorry synopsis: "Jacaerys is hurt; angry, upset, scared - but he is insulting. And irrational men make the gravest errors." notes: hi<3 i cannot lie i am stressed over the quality of this chap bc of the pressure but fuck it we ball ig. anyways, the kids are fighting again <3 but reader (and author) likes to put jace in his place. & i am also dying on the hill that JACE HAS A MEAN STREAK. HE TRIES NOT TO, BUT HE DOES. he needs therapy so bad it makes him look stupid warnings: character death. canon-typical violence/blood/injury, poorly written medieval politics, angst, possessive/jealous jace, daemon as his own warning, fear of commitment, mommy issues and religious trauma galore, brief dubcon(?), light smut, brief PiV, arguing (after all they are half-enemies and half-lovers), High Valyrian as foreplay tbh thank u to @softspiderling and @dipperscavern who both put up with my neurotics xoxo feedback is appreciated <3 requests open. previous. series masterlist. masterlist.

YOUR HEART BEATS ERRATICALLY WITHIN YOUR THROAT. 

The halls echo with the quick pace of dread - melting away a heated daze of pleasure, giving way to an inexorable pair of hands, chilling to your bones; fate, at your doorstep. 

Fate, which lies on a ship down at the harbor, flying the flag of your kin. 

Flickering torches cast fleeting shadows on the stone walls; You do not dare glance to your side, though you know Jacaerys strides as swiftly as you, the corners of your vision in darkness, a deep unsettle within your stomach. 

A single ship, bearing a green, three-headed dragon.

With shaky fingers, your hair is tamed into a hastily drawn braid, far from the elegance worthy of court - yet in this hour of ghosts, it must suffice.

A heavy foreboding hang; the only sounds are the soft echoes of his sheath brushing against Jacaerys’ belt and the rhythmic clink of Ser Marbrand’s armor.

The dress you’ve taken upon your tired frame is one previously worn just a day ago; a gray and red material, it was the closest on hand - you’d thrown it over your sleepgown with shaking fingers. Jacaerys, eyes sharp and dutiful, had laced up your corset for you in the silence just as Ser Marbrand returned with appropriate clothing for the Prince. 

You do not dare breathe; two weeks ago, you’d found yourself embossed with that same gilded pressure that returns with the ship that has come to dock at the island’s bay. It has been just hours since you sent a letter by raven to your grandsire, proclaiming your alliance to Rhaenyra, though it is undeniable. 

There could be no other reason for the ship's visit than for you.

The council chamber doors are oak, large; Ser Marbrand makes to open them, and the moment his back has turned, a hand grasps yours. Fleeting, but there. 

Eyes flicker to each other for a moment and you are unsettled to find his own gaze, a mirror of your own: Anticipation, fear - determination. A recognition, something deeper - something that courses fiery through your veins alike. Two sides of the same mad coin. 

The hand around yours relieves a gentle squeeze before dropping away; a fleeting affection, one that just subtly calms the racing gallop of your heart within its ribbed cage as you squeeze his back. 

If it weren’t for the apprehension in the air, you might marvel in this transient moment; Jacaerys has a strikingly beautiful profile from your angle aside him. Hair haloed from the flickering torches, eyes warmed with determination, cheeks a rosy red that’d remained from the moment you’d had him within your sheets just thirty minutes past. 

It is the moment you brush the curls - likely gone astray with the sins of the evening and your tireless fingers - from Jace’s forehead, that the doors begin to open, and you jump away from each other like startled hares. 

You are otherwise relieved to have Ser Marbrand upon your other side; had it been just you and Jacaerys, your appearance would likely have struck as less than confident, the observing eyes of those in front of you certainly more piercing. 

A trickle of anxiety - the Prince’s attire of the same regalia from the day before, matching your own and acquired in haste, might raise heads. But the gods are merciful this night; there are far more pressing matters than the prince's whereabouts before these late summons. Each of the council members in front of you have clearly also hastily dressed, their garments and expressions reflecting such abruptness of awakening.

Rhaenyra, seated at the head of the table, straightens when she lays her eyes on you and her firstborn - such familiar weariness and determination in her expression. It strikes you, among the flickering scarcity of light, that she and her son share the same sloped nose, the same cheekbones. The moon shines faintly through the slats of stone on the right of the chamber; illuminating silky hair, the upturn of her chin - a mirror of her son as she nods in greeting.

Regality in its finest, purest form. 

Jacaerys remains beside you, and as you approach the table of lords and ladies, you barely see a flicker of his hand - twitching as if to reach for you before reminding himself of his place. “Apologies for the late summons,” Queen Rhaenyra sighs; you have scarcely nodded at the Queen and others before the door opens once more. 

It is a castle page, who, despite the exasperated, impatient silence from the council, still takes his grace to bow deeply. The velvet black doublet he wears folds awkwardly with the motion; Daemon’s exasperated eyes meet your own briefly in a bout of chagrin.

The absence of a greeting in return spurs the page’s words into action. 

"Your Grace, the ship held a sailor, swornsword, and a messenger - a page, from King's Landing, requesting an audience."

The tension in the room tightens further; you let out a short, bewildered breath. 

All of this, for… A page? You’d half expected your grandsire himself upon the floorboards of the ship, arm already raised to strike you in fury. Rhaenyra's gaze hardens, echoing your exact thoughts. "A page, in the middle of the night?" 

Weary eyes meet the council before him. "Yes, Your Grace. He comes with a message from the Hand of the King."

Right. 

Eyes land on you, though you are quite past the point of listening to the furthered words; a page? Was this all for show, then? To rattle your court, to send threats by way of ship, when your family could not be bothered to show to you themselves? 

Bitterness, a caustic sting, festers in your chest. 

You know better than to think them foolish enough to dare come near the island; it would surely mean death - but the degradation of a mere page to come collect you and return you? Some little lamb, wobble-legged and bleating? 

A rage simmers within your blood. 

The man is dismissed with a curt nod from the Queen - your eyes rove over the cups of mulled wine and muddled sourleaf tea, served in this unholy hour to encourage tired eyes awake and alert. As if coaxing you to trace, the mugs release tendrils of steam; you watch absently as your own half-drunk mug sits, mocking you from below. 

A conversation of murmurs in the wake of the page’s words, yourself stuck in the currents of shock and apprehension. You tune in - eyeing Jacaerys, who stares back at you with an expression of concern. 

A small nod to him - one returned equally subtly, yet with a soft emotion. Something alarming curls in your stomach under his quiet attention, and you look away. 

“-Well then, where is the dragon?” Lord Celtigar’s voice cuts through the chamber. “If they put the effort to come to Dragonstone, despite the blockades along the gullet, one would expect them to come with a show of strength.”

Rhaenys, from beside the Queen: “They would not be foolish enough to send a dragon here.”

The words linger, a dark cloud; a war of dragons would spell certain doom for nearly half the realm. Even your grandsire - for all his stubbornness - your brother, and your mother, would not desire such a fate. At least, you hope not.

The very doubt sends a shiver down your spine.

But would they truly take the time to sail a ship for your sake alone? The anxiety, disbelief within you unwelcome companions - the absence of a dragon harbrings a small relief yet a deeper sense of unease.

Daemon, always quick to voice his opinions, leans forward, hands splaying over the glowing painted table. “If they intended to pose a serious threat, they wouldn’t bother with an audience,” He reasons, “-rather, they’d break into her quarters and get the job done quick.” 

Eyes land on you. 

Heat under such scrutiny, but yet a cold, gripping fear at the prospect; indeed, if they wanted you dead, you’re sure they could find a way to have it done without ceremony - and yes, without witnesses. 

True as it is, the audacity of Daemon’s statement strikes a chord - a sharp breeze through the room, the hearth does little to dispell the chill in the air. 

A shiver down your spine, unwillingly reproducing what sight could have befallen the assassin sent to eliminate you: Expecting a maiden asleep and abed, not a maiden writhing with pleasure, her thighs propped precariously over the sturdy shoulders of the Prince of Dragonstone. 

You send your flushed gaze down to the stone table before you, the remnants of your previous dalliance still slick between the apex of your thighs. 

It is not hard to notice as Jacaerys shoots Daemon a hot glare, jaw clenching, hands resting upon his sword’s hilt. “This is no time for brash statements,” Jacaerys enunciates sharply, “If the greens are sending a message, it is because they wish to negotiate, or make demands.” 

Daemon’s eyes narrow; a silent challenge passing between them that sets your hair on end - you see it, for a moment, in your uncle’s gaze. Deciphering, analyzing, as if searching through scrolls of a foreign tongue as his gaze flickers to you and back to Jace. 

Gods, you think - if anyone could see between the lines: your shared flush, the marks that just conceal under the modest neckline of your dress, the budding mark that lies just under the curls near his jaw - the way your body drifts ever so slightly towards the heat of Jace’s arm. If anyone were to notice, Daemon would be the one. 

You shift upon your feet - the other council members, sensing the growing discord, exchange uneasy glances. Rhaenyra shakes her head minutely. “It is late. Let us hear what our guest has to say before the sun rises.” She orders. 

A flicker of fear; what if the messenger rears to be some kind of assassin, prepared to take the Queen’s life? By camouflage, bearing false words about your own neck, when it is hers he intends to take? 

“-But we must consider your safety, your Grace.” You speak up, voice practical, though a tremor of anxiety lies beneath your calm exterior. “How are we to know this isn’t some plot?” 

The long shadows upon the walls are a faint reminder of the docks of Blackwater Bay in the evening, floating licks of orange flame across the abyss of sea. How easily an assassin could be dressed in the clothing of a page, sent under the guise of some pretext from the pretender’s Hand.

“They would not dare try such a thing.” She denies, “Not here, on Dragonstone - at court, with the Queensguard.” Despite your half-sister's deflection, there are murmurs of agreement. Daemon's eyes flash with approval. “Ser Erryk, Ser Alfred - keep a close watch on the messenger. Any sign of treachery, and you know what to do. The rest will remain at the Queen’s side.” 

Ser Erryk nods, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword as he moves to stand by Rhaenyra's side; The room falls silent, the tense air of roused slumber and alarm ringing thick. You blink back the pained ache that has begun to fester behind your eyes; sleep calls to you insistently, yet the burning adrenaline keeps your heart pumping, your eyes blinking. 

“Prepare the chamber for an audience,” Rhaenyra orders, her voice steady despite the early hour. “Maester Gerardys, take two swords with you to accept the messenger.”

NEVER HAVE YOU SEEN THE THRONE ROOM BATHED IN SUCH DARK.

The late hour casts shadows, oppressive and sinister, across the obsidian throne; slated, rising up like those very cliffs outside the ramparts of the castle. Such cold, stone walls. The recess of your mind has not yet forgotten how it felt to stand before such ancestry power, before her.

Bloodied, hurt, desperate - hardened by determination. Imposed upon, by the harsh stare of the boy who now stands just aside you. You’re nothing but a puppet, dancing on strings pulled by whoever promises you a bit of power. With the memory of his words, a sharp lance to the side, you swallow thickly. 

You remain with the other members a level below where Rhaenyra sits upon the throne - Jacaerys leaves your side with a glance to join Daemon and Lord Corlys aside her. Hands perch on hilts, eyes aflame with despotted determination. 

The queen is announced as wide oak doors creak open - Maester Gerardys enters with a small figure behind. 

Bewildered, you share a look with Rhaena and Baela; the messenger could not be much younger than yourself, with hair of gold and eyes of green. 

A Lannister boy, then. 

Perhaps, reared at Casterly Rock - brought to the keep to assist the Master of Coin. A swornsword follows - stopped at the bottom of the steps leading to the throne; when the boy stands alone in front of the court, Daemon’s eyes roll with the subtlety of a dragon in a sheepfield. 

Rhaenyra’s voice cuts through the oppressive silence. “What is the meaning of this?” 

The messenger unrolls a scroll; with a shaky breath, he bows to the Queen before turning towards you - your blood runs cold as he begins to read aloud the message: 

“To the traitor who once swore fealty to King Aegon II, 

It is with grave displeasure that His Grace has received your declaration of allegiance to the pretender, Rhaenyra Targaryen.”

Oh, Gods be good. You bite your lip, resisting the urge to melt into the background, trembling as your fury festers. Daemon shifts his weight; Rhaenyra’s displeasure grows. The shame of being seen consumes you. 

“In the spirit of preserving the realm and avoiding unnecessary bloodshed, His Grace, King Aegon II, extends a proposal to rectify your betrayal and bring it to a swift conclusion. 

Your jaw clenches as he speaks, the thought of your brother sitting among his small council of fools and traitors within the Keep stirring a deep anger.

“First, you shall present yourself at King’s Landing to face judgment, where your mercy shall be decided by His Grace King Aegon II. Second, to solidify alliances and ensure the stability of the realm, you are hereby betrothed to the son of Ser Jason Lannister, Loreon Lannister. The marriage will come end of the seventh moon of the year. 

You will leave the court of the Usurper at once, to answer for your tresspasses against the crown. Should you refuse these terms, you will be stripped of your title and expelled from the lands of Westeros and the Seven Kingdoms; No longer shall you hold any title, claim, or influence within these realms, and your name will be struck from the annals of all noble houses sworn to King Aegon II.”

Your breath is frozen in your lungs, unable to enter or exit your chest. What kind of deception is this? Stripped of your title? As if a mere king can decide who has blood of the dragon or not.

“Signed Otto Hightower, Hand of the King, on behalf of His Grace, King Aegon II Targaryen-"

The messenger’s voice is cut off rather briskly as his head falls from his body. 

A moment, stretched slowly; a glint of a sword sliding in the dark, the warm spray of release at impact. Rhaena and Baela are pushed behind you in a rather instinctual shove, burdening yourself with a welcome of warm blood upon your shocked lips. Thick, dark - it splatters across the bust of your gown, your cheeks, your hair; tainted, with the innocent. 

 A voice, lilting: The butterfly escapes the web, but the dragon’s breath will singe its wings. This morning, it seems you do not have the energy to ask Helaena to leave your head. 

A horror, a memory whispering in your mind as the decapitated body keels down, folding unto the stone, in a slumped heap. Your vision narrows, the floor swimming below you - distantly, the sellsword shouts - he is struck down within moments, his own body thudding as he crashes to the ground. A hand tightens around your arm, though you scarcely feel it. 

Your vision shakes, imbued with red as Daemon wipes the blood from his blade - a picture of himself those years ago in the Red Keep, having struck down Vaemond near identically. 

If you were to drop a hairpin on the floor, its echo could be heard out in the hall. 

The bodies, slumped upon the throne room floor, look suddenly so young; A gust through the hall, as if the sweetness summer has dissipated, cursing weary corpses in the dawn of winter to come. 

Every muscle within your body is tense, a sickly metallic smell thick within your nostrils. A rush of anger; betrayal at the cold, calculated, empty threats that have just been laid out before you, but more at the brash and foolish act Daemon has just committed.

Your horrified gaze seeks Rhaenyra. 

Her own eyes blaze with fury, her voice like the crack of thunder. “What have you done, Daemon?” she demands, her tone sharp and unyielding. 

Rhaena, whose hand found your other forearm just after her father’s blade found the boy’s neck, tightens just as her sister’s upon the fabric of your dress. 

Subtly, you wipe at your lips with the back of a palm; it comes away muddled with blood that did not come from your veins. You fight the urge to expel the contents of your stomach upon the stone

Daemon shrugs, a cold smirk playing on his lips as he sheaths his bloodied sword. “I silenced an insolent mouth,” he replies nonchalantly, wiping his hands clean. You shudder in fury at his hubris. 

“This was a messenger, Daemon, a boy. Not a foe on the battlefield,” Rhaenyra snaps, her fists clenched in anger as she rises to him. “We needed him alive to send a response, to show we are not savages.”

The court is frozen in shock, the air thick with silence; Rhaenyra steps down from the throne, her eyes never leaving Daemon’s. “You have acted rashly and without thought. This will not go unanswered.”

Corlys, eyes dark with anger, nods. “The greens will surely take this as a provocation - a justification for further bloodshed.”

Daemon’s expression hardens, his eyes narrowing. “They send threats in the eve of night and expect us to bow. I will not grovel to that usurper nor his lackey when they try to push around the whims of a mere girl - and neither should our Queen.” 

You’ve begun to tremble, head light and empty of any thoughts - you barely glare at Daemon for such belittling words. 

You, in a ditch for comfort amidst the panic upon your stomach, seek Jacaerys, who stands across the way. 

The prince’s jaw is clenched, eyes staring hard at the syrupy dark that pools onto the obsidian from the mangled body, a bloody mess before your feet. The emerald eyes of the boy stare lifeless up at your own and your stomach lurches; looking back to Jace, you meet warm eyes - a glance, an expression hardened but laced with unbridled worry. Unsure why, you raise your brows slightly. He returns the gesture subtly, before focusing venomously upon the back of Daemon’s head. 

“We must let them know we do not fear their words.” Daemon finishes, jaw tight - he and Rhaenyra share a sharp look, an anger slithering between their gazes in a heat so tight it might snap. 

After a moment, Rhaenyra turns to the courtiers, her voice commanding. “Remove their bodies and have a pyre prepared.” She soothes her hands down her gown, pursing her lips in regally concealed displeasure, “Await our decision to King’s Landing about this…unfortunate accident.” 

They obey. 

You stand numbly, staring at your feet as inky blood crawls slowly towards your night slippers, infecting you, staining you, corrupting you. 

Your hands are stained with crimson, your satin gown ruined - it will take the handmaids hours to scrub this dress free of blood. How trivial, you think, to notice such things. 

The sharp sting of embarrassment and shame reddens your cheeks - struggling to hold back the anger that threatens to betray your composure, you let out a sharp exhale. A humiliation; a fourth betrayal, some twisting of the knife already long wedged between the blades of your shoulders. 

A boy lies dead at your feet, because of you. 

Daemon has ensured that should you ever lay eyes upon the greens again, it will be at the cost of your life. Your hands grip the skirt of your dress as you try to steady yourself - a very harsh reality of impending banishment and the implications of this boy’s murder feels like a cold shroud wrapping around you; you tell yourself to calm. 

The threat is empty - all of them are; You are to fight in this war, and win it. Rhaenyra will sit the throne - she will never banish you, nor make such outlandish claims that you shall lose your title, nor the name you have carried since before your birth. 

Despite this, the words trivializing you only serves to heighten your sense of isolation.

To think, your biggest sorrow this evening was being cursed to wait to approve a marriage between you and Jacaerys. A bitter flare flickers through you as your eyes cut to him. 

Amidst the discussion you should likely join, your gaze seeks his comfort; a new, unfamiliar feeling indeed. His expression contorted with concentration, some frustration, they catch yours, trailing over the bodice of your gown, likely taking in the splattering of crimson that is soon drying upon the fabric. Unwilling, a voice echoes once more in your mind: It’s hard to miss when someone dresses as if they’re trying to hide the stains of betrayal with a new cloak-

It isn’t until the Queen’s voice, tired and consequential, orders everyone to leave that you snap out of it. 

“You are all dismissed.” She says suddenly; eyes turn to her in shock. 

Jacaerys takes a step towards you, but is intercepted by his mother, whose pace is brisk as she reaches you. His hesitation pangs your heart, wishing only to be in his company. 

Instead, you turn to face the Queen - for a moment, your eyes take in her icy ones, a flash of emotion in them before she flicks a strand of hair from your shoulder. Your wince is hidden as it tugs, sticky with drying blood. 

“Sister,” She orders, “Come with me.” 

You bow stiffly, still in shock; and then you are following her - with a craned neck, you turn to catch Jacaerys’ eye. 

“Where are you going?” Daemon questions, arms crossed.

Jace’s voice is similarly irate, “You cannot leave. We must discuss our next steps.”

Rhaenyra stops, turning sharply. Her eyes flash dangerously as she tightens her grip on your arm, but you still feel her tremble. And you know well the touch of fear when you feel it.  “Enough.” she snaps, her voice echoing through the hall. “This is not a discussion. The court is dismissed. We will reconvene in the light of day.”

Not foolish enough to resist the Queen's orders, you follow her with one last glance towards Jacaerys. His stare of disbelief offers no comfort as you and the queen leave the court to await the morrow.

Daemon and Lord Corlys have begun a discussion with Lords Staunton and Celtigar, and Jace turns to join them at once, not sparing a second look at your retreating figure.

YOU FEEL THE TENSION BEFORE HE EVEN ARRIVES AT YOUR QUARTERS. 

Perhaps finding sleep might have been wise; a sluggish dread, one that had clung to you as you attended the Queen's chambers at her behest still remains now; just as oppressive, as obscuring as it had been when you’d followed her rushed steps down the staircase to her apartments.

And then it had been just you and your sister, alone.

Of course, not without protest; aware of pursuers, she had shut the heavy wooden doors to her apartments right behind you, the thud reverberating through the silence. Company was denied as she’d motioned to a nearby servant, instructing them to bring you some water and a change of clothing. 

“I know this has been a grievous night for you,” she’d said, voice quieter but still filled with the weight of authority, “Daemon’s actions were reckless, and the threat from Aegon was indeed stirring, but you must remember, we must stand together in any fight.” 

During the following hour, not once but thrice a servant entered, informing you that the King consort and Prince Jacaerys wished to speak with you and the Queen; and each time, they were denied. Perhaps you were simply exhausted; stricken with dread, anger, confusion - but it truly became suffocating. Ironic, how Jacaerys can bear such similarities to Daemon in his wrath.

As you left the Queen’s chambers early this morn, you could nearly feel your rationality slipping from your grasp - and now, the sun has begun to rise up once more.

Your eyes sting at each glance you spare out the window to the bloody rise of dawn; you are alone, but not for long. 

You should have slept this morning, just as you should have slept last night. Slowly, you ward off the memories of your happenings all around your chamber - the bed, previously tossed upon with wrinkled furs and the weight of Jacaerys, now done up by your maids with tightly folded corners and crisp sheets; the chair upon which you sit and the scuff marks it’d drawn upon the stone floors after Jace had pushed you onto it - now tucked in and turned to its correct position facing the desk. 

The discarded cup of wine you’d knocked over haphazardly when his knees had so willingly dropped to the floor before you; the spill now wiped up and goblet gone. Melted wax, dripped completely off a wicked candle, that had pooled in a hard crust upon the desk until one of your handmaids had scraped it away this morning while you bathed. 

Perhaps it is your paranoid mind, or perhaps you truly have lost it - but you feel him before you even hear the knock. 

It comes within moments of such observation; Fatigue claims you in the heavy downturn of your gaze, the puffiness of your eyes, the tension and exhaustion within your mind. 

You beckon his voice when it rings behind your door, because you have been expecting him. Your chamberdoor creaks open; Jacaerys’ footsteps are weighed with his own sleepless hours. 

He is arrestingly handsome this morning, as all mornings - though he offers you a terse nod, his eyes darkened by the shadows of the morning. The room is dim, the bloody light of waking sun barely touching the stone floors, casting elongated shadows that seem to dance around the edges of your vision.

You sit at your writing desk, the ink wet within the bottle but the parchment empty, your thoughts tangled and frayed; you ignore as the quill chitters at you, mocking your inability to form coherent thoughts. 

Jace’s eyes search yours. With a flicker of recognition, you prepare yourself - because you know this look; a look you grew quite used to in the months following your arrival. He is dissatisfied. 

“I thought I should check on you, since it appears you’re now accepting company.” he says, his tone rough, the echo of sleeplessness clear in his voice. 

You nod, unable to form a coherent response, nor even acknowledge the veiled slight at the end of the sentence. The silence stretches between you, heavy and laden with unspoken words; recalling how gratifying - selfish, perhaps - it had been to forget everything last evening. To live in a world where, if only for an hour, it was just you, him, and some kind of pleasure. Some carnal need. 

He’d stood last night where he stands now; I can't bear this, he’d said. You ignore the skeptical flame that stokes within your breast, looking away; a bitter swallow. You foolish girl. More than glad to give Jacaerys a distraction, it seems. To distract yourself, too. You sin, your mother’s voice whispers, you let him use you. You let yourself succumb to a bastard. 

You clench your eyes shut momentarily, wishing to expel your mother’s venomous voice from your veins; What a fragile thing to consider - what a little death it has become, to escape her clutches but never her judgment. In the eyes of the Mother. 

You try for a smile, but it does not come out correctly. “Did you rest well?” 

He gives you a nearly exasperated look; you clear your throat, “Did you rest at all?” You mend. 

His cross expression grows, footsteps muffled by the thick rug upon the floor. He is soon stopped before you, his eyes locking onto yours, the intensity of his gaze almost too much to bear - you do not dare look away. You know what is to come, for you saw it in his eyes the moment his mother dismissed the council this morn. 

"I could not afford to rest. While you and my mother retreated to prattle behind closed doors, the rest of us were rather occupied with the burden of ensuring your protection.” Sharp; a hint of accusation in his voice. 

Your anger simmers within, a fiery ember stoked by his tone. You bristle, feeling the heat of your indignation rise, shaking off the weariness that had draped over you in your exhaustion. Jacaerys may be the prince, but you’re still a princess; he ought not forget so. “Mind your tongue,” You hiss. “The Queen and I were discussing the matter at hand.”

His knuckles are white around the hilt of his sword. “Yet instead of sharing your insights with us, you retreat?” 

You cannot help but eye the sheath around his waist with disdain; echoes of Dark Sister, gleaming with the blood of the Lannister boy. You take a drawn breath, actively ignoring the pounding of your head’s ache. 

“I understand your frustration,” you attempt to reason with him, your voice tight, “but we needed time to deliberate privately on what happened. The message, the…” you swallow, picking at your nails as you subconsciously try to scrub the blood away, though they’ve been long clean. “All of it. The threats it will bring - to me, to her. The only reason I was summoned was because the letter was directed towards me, if you may recall. Clearly, attempting to use me as a tool to unsettle your mother’s claim.”

“And so you cloister yourselves away, to gossip and conspire away from the council - who were appointed to aid in such matters?” 

Jacaerys is hurt; angry, upset, scared - but he is also insulting. And irrational men make the gravest errors.

“It was necessary to deliberate away from the incessant prattle and intrusion of men in our ears.” You snap. “Lest one of you decided to decapitate another innocent.” 

He mutters something under his breath, barely audible. “Maybe you’ll prefer a Lannister’s company, then, if you find our counsel so burdensome.” 

Your heart clenches, the implication cutting deep. You stand from the chair rather abruptly; Jace does not flinch - his head tilts down, a subtle attempt to remind you of the difference in height between you. It means nothing to you in this moment. “Pardon?” You snap. 

He levels you with a look. “I said nothing.” 

He is acting as a child. The air within your chambers is nearly suffocating; you feel a moment away from either passing out or snapping completely. 

How could he dare say such a thing? How could he dare to, for one moment, consider the foolish allusions to your assumed betrothal - one that will never play out? 

After all that’s happened, all that will happen, that is what he’s chosen to focus on? 

Your mind screams, begs for sleep. 

Jacaerys’s skin is still bathed in a bloodied hue from the rising of the waking sun; you ignore the pang of anxiety within your stomach - the Lannister boy was no older than Jacaerys, than you. 

“You cannot truly be hung up on that, Prince Jacaerys.” You hiss, disbelief laced through your words. He bristles at the formal title, ire flashing in his eyes as he turns to you, nearly bewildered. 

“Can I not?” He counters, “They wish you to show up at the Red Keep - what are they thinking, expecting you to be carted off like some baseborn… to be paraded around King's Landing, to be…” He looks away, nearly disgusted, “bartered like some chattel.” 

You sigh sharply, leaning back as you run a hand through your unruly hair; your exhaustion frays your patience, but there is no part of you that wishes to appear less than furious. 

“Should there be any doubt in your mind, let me make it clear now. I have no intention of submitting to any commands from Aegon’s mouthpiece. The idea of going back there is as repugnant to me as it is to you.” You scoff, your own temper rising as you consider his tone more, adding, “Especially after what Daemon’s done.” 

An exasperated gesture of his hands, unrelenting, “All the more reason you must strategize with us, to remain safe with us.” His headshake is bitter, “Forgive me, but sudden retreats to private chambers do not inspire confidence in your ability to do so.” 

He has quite the audacity to so abruptly assume the role of your protector. “Quite amusing.” You narrow your gaze, “If memory serves, only days past you were quite swift to wield your sword at my throat. And just as soon to brand me a traitor for all to hear. Prepared to cast me right back up the Gullet, were you not? A snake in dragon’s clothing, you said.” 

There is no denying, his words are bitter when you throw them back at him. 

His nostrils flare, eyes expressive; the truth clearly stings him just as it does you. “That was before-”

“Before what?” you interrupt, anger and hurt lacing your words. “Before you decided it was worth the trouble to indulge yourself between my thighs?”

A ghost, some shadow of remorse; Your words echo in the silence - his eyes, fierce but momentarily bridled with disbelief. He opens his mouth, words bubbling up, but they hang in the air like mist, elusive and unspoken, until he mutters, “That has nothing to do with the matter at hand.” 

A very poor response, indeed - your heart clenches. You turn away from him, fury and pain bubbling with the fear in your heart; his voice, mere days ago - Is it true that your taste in fashion matches your taste in allegiances? A bit confused, I presume. 

Your nostrils flare, recalling the sheer embarrassment his words brought upon you, how you’d so easily let yourself become spun into his arms - so easily given in to such temptations in his gaze. 

You foolish girl. You turn to look at him, eyes watered and stinging. “Do you find my fashion less confused, now that it has been stained red and black with the blood of the innocent?” 

His face reflects a shame - cheeks red, brows lacing together. A momentary inhale, “I spoke out of turn that evening, I did not mean it.” 

You do not hide your scoff of disbelief and this serves to incense him further. 

His voice is low, defensive, provoked: “You act as though it was mine own sword that carried out the act!” His glare is sharp, “I know just as well as you how dangerous Daemon’s actions this morning have been. Especially for you.” 

The table swims below you as you whirl to face it. Your hands, fumbling to grab at something - a handkerchief with your initials embroidered to the corner - lest they begin to tremble and belay your emotions too much. 

You cannot help it; all matters of pretense are gone, left out the window the moment Jace uttered of the backless betrothal arranged by the pretender king. 

Try as he may to protect you, the notion has you reeling. Your fingers clench tight to the kerchief in your hand. “Jacaerys, I beg of you. Spare me the pretense of your sudden concern for my well-being, as though it were anything but a matter of your own desires.” 

You do not see it, but you hear the incensed indignation in his voice. “-By the gods, you truly think I’m driven only by desire?” Jace’s voice spits, barely controlled, but you have none of it. 

Whirling around, you do not try to hide the emotion of your eyes. “Yes, Jace! You scarcely spoke to me for a fortnight—barely met my gaze thrice since my arrival—yet you’ve not seemed to have any trouble finding my neckline.” You accuse, recalling his icy glares and cold remarks, the way his head would subtly turn to watch you retreat as you walked past in the halls. “Do you think me foolish enough to not notice this sudden change of interest?”

Jacaerys’s expression darkens around rosy cheeks, his knuckles white as the sun where he clenches his hilt - but he does not deny such accusations. 

Your laugh is a bitter one to hide your humiliation. 

“And now you act so affronted, as though your sudden concern with me is born of anything but a desire to claim me for yourself. You do not want me to advise the queen without your presence - you are blinded by the fleeting, falsified claim of me betrothed to another, ignoring that a sentence after, my brother threatened to have my head.” You scoff, shaking your head, “You cannot strip me of my choices just because now it suits you to do so!” 

His eyes flicker with disbelief, affronted. “Do not misinterpret my concern as some measly desire to claim you for myself.” Jacaerys’s voice is sharp, yet there’s an undercurrent of hurt. “I’m not blinded by a false betrothal, I’m enraged by the threat to your life.” He looks at you, exasperated, hissing your name, “You could die. We cannot protect you, nor the Queen, if you hide away and conspire amongst yourselves.”  

Emotions swirl; exhaustion beats upon you with the pounding ache of your mind. Your voice is too close to desperate as you shake your head up at him. 

“Why must you never find it within yourself to trust me, Jacaerys? Why must I continuously prove to you my loyalty to mine own sister’s birthright, when every other already sees it?”

Eyes, wide, deep and umber, search for something between your own. You’ve grown wearied to the bone by this discourse; by the unyielding chasm that seems to only grow between you and Jacaerys with each waking day. It has begun to feel as though you are two angry hounds, chasing each other’s tails with snapping jaws; cursed, to encircle each other forever.

“It’s not about loyalty, or trust. Of course I trust you!” He retorts, “I just– I can’t bear the thought of you being hurt, or…worse.” 

A flicker in his eyes; Lucerys, your mind whispers to you. But the thought is too painful - the memory of such a sweet, kind life - an innocent life, taken. 

It occurs to you rather suddenly that love, in its purest form, is such a fragile thing. 

That Lannister boy had people who loved him. The sellsword too, perhaps - and yet they were taken from this world without so much as a blink by people who knew not even their names. 

What a futile thing, love is. 

A shudder in your chest as you come to understand; to cherish someone in such times is to invite sorrow upon yourself - and to learn to love Jacaerys, with all the fervor and depth of your heart as you know you would, is to court grief. The mere thought of his absence - a void that would engulf your very soul - is a torment too great to bear. 

So as you gaze upon his face, so alight with ire, determination, devotion - you retreat into the cold embrace of logic, of duty.

You meet his gaze, your voice dripping with bitterness. “If caring for me is your answer, then your misplaced affection is nothing more than a weakness.” The words are sharper than you intend, aimed to wound.

The moment the words leave your lips, you see the immediate effect; Jacaerys’s face pales, flinching slightly. He nods slowly, jaw clenching and shoulders squared. A shadow; a staggered inhale as he levels you with a withering look. 

“Perhaps it is.” He spits, large brown eyes resenting, contemptuous. 

Your own shadow of heartbreak washes across your breast; with a bite of pain, your heart drops in immediate regret. 

Without another word, Jacaerys turns and walks toward the door - his posture is rigid, you can see the tense in his shoulders and the tightness of his jaw. 

The weight of Jacaerys’ previous accusations weigh too heavy upon your shoulders to give in to the guilt you feel - you will not be treated like an object of desire, rather than a valued advisor. Tears burn at your eyes, the dual-headed beast of dread and burden rearing its head to you. 

The door shuts behind him with force, and the room seems to collapse in on itself. 

You are left alone, the silence amplifying as you suck in ragged, dizzying breaths; the mirth you’d harbored moments earlier dissolves into a deep, aching regret. 

Unable to hold back any longer, you collapse into your chair, burying your face in your arms as sobs wrack your body. The tears flow freely; the embroidered kerchief sits abandoned, untouched upon your writing desk. 

The needlepoint hung above your head stares down at you; a spider and a small butterfly with singed wings, flying from a dragon. You ignore its whisper, its call; writing it off as the wind through your loose hair. You whisper softly for your sister. 

THE SUN EVENTUALLY FINDS ITS CREST IN THE SKY, UNIMBUED BY CLOUDS. 

You know your dragon lurks within the mont, restlessly waiting for you; it has been too long since you rode with her. 

The tea before you is less unappealing at this hour, yet leaves the same bitter taste within your mouth as you sit your place before the painted table, back straight and head thundering. 

You slept most of the day, after Jacaerys left; your body finally rejecting the foolish battle of remaining alert amidst the puffiness of your tears. The muscles of your legs ache, your throat dry and bruised - your mind gnaws just as your stomach; churning as you ward off unwanted visions: 

Jace, lying upon the mattress below you, his chest heaving, head canted back. The rustle of a scrolled message, unraveled. Your lips, peppering down taught muscles - fingers tangling in your hair. Crimson, splattered upon fabric. A wanton groan, a sharp gasp. Some humming whisper in your ear - a riddle, of betrayals-four. A sick trickle of blackened blood, flowing in rivulets upon the cracked stone floor. A steeled voice, low from kiss-bruised lips: Jurnegon rȳ nyke. Look at me. The last widening of emerald eyes that will never once more see the light of day. 

There is the parchment, in your grandsire’s penmanship - marred with a dark splatter; a festering, open wound upon the painted table. 

A distant caw of gulls upon the shore, a yearning to let the sea mist kiss your face, the rush of clouds sweeping past your head. You reluctantly pull your thoughts away from the outer world, adjusting your sight to the solemn slated room in which you remain. 

"-It was a letter addressed to her, declared before my entire court.” Rhaenyra remains firm, arms crossed as she stares at the parchment. “A deliberate attempt to undermine our unity, to..to sow discord among us." 

Daemon is similarly stubborn. "Words from a usurper mean little,” He drolls, “they should not unsettle us."

Jacaerys speaks up from his seat, cheekbones illuminated in the upglow of the candlelight of the table below. "And yet, here we are, unsettled." His fiery eyes meet Daemon’s. 

Jacaerys is cross; has not taken one glance at you since council was called - nor have you sought out his attention, your own anger still festering with the memory of his words. Maybe you’ll prefer a Lannister’s company, then, if you find our counsel so burdensome.

His gaze simmers; you know it is upon your visage, but you do not grant him the pleasure of meeting your eyes. 

"Some of us more than others, it seems." He finishes. 

A poke to the hornet’s nest, as it were. You stiffen at his words, feeling the sting of his veiled insult; you sigh, unwilling to contribute to his remonstrance. She’s just as much of a nuisance as her brothers. 

Isn’t she?

You send him a heavy stare for a moment - one met with steadfast ignorance, as he’s chosen to redirect his brooding stare to his mother - and then you sigh, looking instead to the members of council before you. “After this morning…” Your eyes flicker to the sword upon Daemon’s side, “-it is likely they will paint me a villain, around the capitol.” You say. A moment of consideration at your words. 

"What of a public response of our own? Denounce the proclamation and, in doing such, reaffirm loyalty to Queen Rhaenyra from our bannermen." Lord Celtigar suggests. Baela, from beside you, leans forward. "And what of the threats within the proclamation? They should not be ignored."

Daemon hums at his daughter from across the table. "The notion that she may somehow lose her own birthright, her name, for supporting the rightful successor is foolish. There are no real threats in the letter." He says, nearly dismissive - Baela tenses beside you. 

You feel equally vexed by his tone. “There may not have been,” You start, placing the mug of tea before you. “Until you killed the Lannister boy.”

The room falls silent. 

Daemon’s eyes narrow, a dangerous glint in them - you are once again reminded of his vicious tenacity. You set your jaw, ignoring the looks from around the table, “A brash decision. But,” You start, “the Greens will thrive on any disunity. So we must display the opposite of such." You acquiesce, keenly aware of the rolling brown eyes diagonal of you, a small scoff. 

"Tis easier said than done when some among us prefer retreating to private discussions, rather than engaging with the council." Jace’s words are sharp, a whip of fire within an iced chamber. 

 A reminder, perhaps, of his quick temper - so readily stirred, despite his commonly measured demeanor; you resist the rolling glare of your eyes, opting to clench them shut for a moment to gather your composure. 

Queen Rhaenyra delivers him a look, brows furrowing with dismay at his tone. “It was not a retreat.” She dismisses him with a stern look. “It was prescient to not shed any more blood whilst considering such an urgent matter." 

Daemon and Jacaerys both turn away, jaws clenched, eyes fixed on opposite walls of the chamber. You stifle a scoff at their childishness. An old passage from the Seven Pointed Star about apples falling not far rings in your mind. 

Rhaenys’ voice is smooth from the end of the table. "The fact remains that we must act as one." She reminds. 

Rhaenyra sighs, “Then we shall send out ravens to our bannermen, ensuring their support remains steadfast. Denouncing such absurd claims from the usurper.” 

Jacaerys, still quite cross, gestures to the parchment. “And what of the populace? They may be swayed by Otto Hightower’s words, if we do not counter them effectively.” 

Rhaenys offers a thoughtful nod. “A coordinated response, then. Letters to our allies and… some kind of public address to the smallfolk.” 

Daemon’s eyes remain fixed on an unseen point, his thoughts likely on the implications of his actions. 

Jacaerys’s fingers tap restlessly in a pattern upon the table, and you watch them with vague memories: those fingers, lithe and cool against flushed skin - dragging along the expanse of your throat, down your sternum, sliding to pull your thighs apart; your mind halts in its tracks when his gaze flickers to you once, resentment clear. Unmoving.  

The heavy attention so suddenly engulfs you in flames of shame; You look away, hiding your own disdain as you take a large gulp of the tea before you, ignoring the stinging feeling of hypocrisy and discomfiture under your own desire. You sin, your mother ceaselessly reminds you. 

"We ought to give a show of strength.” Daemon decides, coming out of the recesses of his mind. “Perhaps a demonstration of our power will remind them who they are dealing with."

Rhaenyra looks at him, exasperated. "And risk provoking them further? No."

But he’s been pondering; he stops, staring at a point of the table you cannot see, before rising to full height. “If we show them every piece of our faction aligned…” he leans forward; there is an intent in his eyes. “Then it will indeed speak volumes on our internal strength. As for the smallfolk… a demonstration less… violent.” He finishes. Corlys, down the table, hums. “Unyielding.” 

You do not miss it, however miniscule it is: Rhaenyra and Rhaenys’ eyes, meeting across the table in a brief, laden glance; Daemon, Corlys, the other lords - all of them with expressions unreadable yet congruent. 

You glance at Baela, finding her expression as perplexed as your own. In that moment, you become acutely aware of the chasm of wisdom afforded between you and the elder members of the small council; Despite your training and schooling, you - Baela, Rhaena, and Jace - remain quite inexperienced in the presence of the others. Your cheeks heat with the shame of childish illusions of grandeur. 

Jacaerys’s jaw tightens, seemingly observing the moment similarly; His gaze has drifted to the parchment before him once more. “A public address, ravens denouncing their claims. And what else? We must act in a way that solidifies our stance, not just in words but in actions.”

He’s correct; your eyes glaze as you begin running over options within your mind. Rhaenyra’s gaze shifts to Jacaerys, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. “Honor lies in action, indeed.” 

Daemon clears his throat. “It seems we are all agreed upon the necessity of a firm response, both to our enemies and to our allies.” 

Rhaenyra nods, though her eyes linger momentarily on you; there is a pause, thick with implication, as if she is pondering something unsaid - you blink back owlishly, unused to her sudden attention. 

A small worry in the back of your mind - They wouldn’t dare suggest you truly go to King’s Landing… would they? A gust of icy fear through your heart at the thought - you’d not make it three steps before losing your head. She does not voice her thoughts, and it does nothing to settle the nerves within your stomach. 

“Well,” Rhaenya folds her hands upon her stomach, “It has been a tiresome day. Let us take time this evening to rest. We shall reconvene once we have all considered the ramifications.” 

You cannot ignore the glace shot your way from Jacaerys; at this angle, you can see a bruise in the shape of your lips that paints a small blemish just below his ear; your stomach flips in a horrid concoction of heat and guilt. 

You release a breath, ignoring the smoldering stare across from you. You know you must speak with him, though you wish nothing more than to avoid him. 

Anxiety knots within your belly, that cunning serpent coiling tighter with each passing thought - You were rash, allowing fear to seize your tongue this morning. A conversation must come if there is to be any hope of mending whatever delicate…companionship has grown between you and Jacaerys during your time upon Dragonstone - one which you both so easily discarded earlier this morning. 

As the council members rise and Queen Rhaenyra takes her leave, you linger in hesitation. Heart beating a discordant rhythm, you tug at the bodice of your gown and grit your teeth - but before you can gather the courage to approach, Jacaerys has already slipped from the chamber, vanishing into the shadowed depths of the castle to brood in solitude.

A DAY PASSES BEFORE YOU FIND A MOMENT TO ATTEND YOUR DRAGON.

The wind whispers through your hair as you ascend into the sky; with a grin, the drop in your stomach is accompanied with adrenaline as you call to fly higher, “Eglikta!” 

Your dragon takes your command with glee, wings powerful as they beat a quicker rhythm, bringing you closer to the heavens. It’s been much too long - you haven’t ridden upon her for this long since your escape from the Keep those months ago; though such memories are far from your mind this afternoon, wonderfully empty save for the scales that rest, warm and known, under your palms. 

A surge of unbridled freedom; you soar above the clouds, gliding effortlessly over the endless, shimmering expanse of the sea below. A seacreature leaps from the depths and you laugh in surprise - wind against your face, the island becomes a distant painting, stroked with a hundred shades of green and blue. 

There are clouds above; rain will come in the evening, as it did the eve before, and the eve before that - the memory of drizzled water against the sill of your chamber window, candles flickering, Jacaerys’ voice low and warm; you shut the thought from your mind. 

It was not raining when Daemon took the head of the Lannister boy, your mind reminds you; a clench of your heart, you cast aside all thoughts that ravage your weary mind. 

Soon, an eclipse of sunlight draws your mind from its dredges; a shape, familiar as the back of your hand, reflected in refractions of clouds and water on the ocean below - another dragon. 

It seems your dragon has craned her neck to gaze above you - a delighted chortle, a low screeching as she draws upwards sharply, jolting your momentum back with a startled gasp. 

The scales of the dragon above glint; emerald looks polished, nearly bronze in the light of the day as your dragon flies to meet her familiar - your stomach dips wildly. 

Vermax lets loose a similar rumble of recognition as he emerges from a batch of fluffy clouds high above -  despite the seize in your heart at the glimpse of the rider upon Vermax’s back, you let your dragon near, not possessing the heart to separate her from him. 

Vermax and your own dragon - born two of four small eggs of Syrax. Placed in the cradles of you and your nephew in your own youths and hatched; grown together, flying for many years under the same sky.

The years in which Vermax lived within the Dragonmont while your own dragon resided within the Dragonpit were laced with a forlorning; a mourning, for a part of themselves lost to distance and destiny. 

No longer.  

You could not have believed yourself surprised when, after arriving upon the island, you’d looked up through your temporary cell’s window to see their two shadows dancing upon the shimmering sky, chittering excitement and roaring into the chasmed blanket of night. 

Today, it seems they are just as enthusiastic to fly together. 

With a grunt, your hands fly to stabilize yourself; your dragon spirals, chirruping as Vermax dips to circle her - a joyous play, as if young pups. The earth below spirals in your vision and you shut your eyes for a moment, reveling in the ecstasy of thrill at the dipping and swaying. 

Scales catch light of the sun in brilliant flashes. Emerald and sapphire; an ocean and its shore. 

Sharp drop of weight and you let out a short yelp - a well-waited thrill, your eyes wide as you glimpse Vermax and his rider diving steeply just beside you; Jacaerys rides upon Vermax with a small smile, his hair windswept and damp from the moisture of clouds above. 

Just as true in youth as now, the sun seems to favor him more than anybody you’ve ever met. 

It kisses his silhouette gently, divined from the very gods you ride upon; fiery, golden, striking. Lit in a warm glow, a sturdy chest, aquiline nose, plush lips. His gaze finds yours as your twinned dragons soar towards the chasm of blue below. 

It is indeed the first time you’ve seen him in a sun’s cycle - You offer him a strained, tight-lipped smile, acutely aware of the tempest of ire and remorse mirrored in both your eyes and his own. 

A terse nod, which he returns; eyes less than pleased to meet your company, though he hides it just as well as he did in youth. You scarcely have a moment to feel such pangs of dissatisfaction before the dragons split - their feet skimming against the ocean below. A yell of exclamation from Jace harmonizes with your own scream of surprise. 

Water sprays up, drenching you both in salty droplets, and you find yourselves laughing incredulously, the strain of shared enmity momentarily forgotten in common exhilaration. 

“Jikagon, Vermax!” Jacaerys’ command to go is far away as your dragon ascends once more - but you can hear the twinge of amusement. Swallowing back the thick wad of thorns within your throat, you smile to yourself smally; never does he seem more free than upon the back of Vermax. You wonder what he sees when you’re aback your own dragon; that same uninhibited joy, the absence of worry, of duty, of harbored emotions.  

With the flicker of smoldering, ancient eyes behind you, a memory of youthful chases on dragonback spurs your call. “Jikagon, Vermax arghugon īlva!” Your dragon screeches with excitement at your command- Go, Vermax will chase us - her tail flicks as her wings pull you upwards.  

Vermax indeed chases you; A jubilant screech from your own steed as you hold the leather tight - dipping, serpentining through the air. The ocean shimmers below you, the air whips above you; That scarce memory once again - you, flying in your youth behind Sunfyre and Dreamfyre, Vermax and Arrax snarling with lively pursuit behind you. And the watchful, judging eyes of your mother - always so wary of dragons - below you as you and the others soar over.  

Your elation is curbed as the cold reality washes over you; the absence of pearlescent scales now seems to swallow you whole. The dragons chirp playfully and a deep pit of despair opens once more: Do Vermax and your dragon feel that tearing, gnawing hole that plagues you? Does Vermax stir at night as you know Jacaerys does, unable to rest with the memories of his brother, gone?

It stings your eyes, to think they mourn Arrax just as you both mourn his rider. 

The thought seems to underscore the rift that has ruptured between you and Jacaerys - the twin embers of his eyes avoid yours as he stares down at the passing ocean below. You look ahead, ignoring the longing which hides somewhere in the depths of your heart. Of course I trust you, he’d said - I can’t bear the thought of you being hurt, or…worse. 

Your own words, then - cold and unforgiving and entirely foolish: If caring for me is your answer, then your misplaced affection is nothing more than a weakness.

Your heart sinks with burden, scolding yourself for destroying any small chance of personal connection. How easy it would be to place such blame upon your mother and father; how are you to embrace a tender touch, if all you’ve known is the harsh sting of neglect? How can you allow yourself to feel, when any other embrace has only left you stumbling through shadows, chasing the attention of those who will never give it? 

You look to the shoreline, as if it would give you the answer you wish to hear. It remains silent. 

Vermax is not far behind you when you redirect your dragon to the Dragonmont.

She is hungry; you thank the keepers for rations given, insisting you may feed her yourself. Soothing your palm along her scales, warm as coals, you’ve successfully busied yourself to quell the anxiety eating at the lining of your gut.

You sit, legs perched precariously off the chasmous pit of the mont, tossing your dragon bits of sheep, smirking as she catches them within her maw. 

The tremor of Vermax entering through the mouth of the cave jolts you from a hazy absence of thought - you rise, wiping your sweaty palms upon your riding trousers as you gather your gear to put away. Your dragon chitters, the immense heat from her nose nudging against your arm - distractedly, you press your forehead to her for a brief respite from the impending inevitability.

It isn’t until you see Jacaerys in your peripheral vision, until you feel the heat of Vermax across the way, that you straighten your posture and turn. 

Jacaerys has bent to pick up a discarded leather glove; Wordlessly, he places it gently in the basket of your riding gear the dragonkeeper holds - the garment must have fallen in your haste to leave. The unnecessary gesture sends a remorseful pang through you; with a nod of thanks, you clear your throat, eyes meeting his own from across the way. 

Vermax has begun to settle, stalking closer to your own dragon as their riders remain feet apart, watching each other with wary eyes. 

“Thank you. I must have dropped it.” you murmur, trying to steady your voice - he nods curtly, eyes still avoiding yours. It’s not more than a day, though the gap in casual familiarity between you makes it feel as though it’s been years once more.

The silence within the scent of dragonsmoke is near unbearable - dense and suffocating with unresolved emotions. It is keenly obvious to you that bringing up anything of substance will only lead to another argument; A poor fate, especially in front of the dragonkeepers - so you resort to tearing at the skin surrounding your nail beds, shifting upon unsteady feet. 

“It’s... quite a nice day,” you finally offer painfully, glancing out at the clear sky through the cave. “The weather’s agreeable.”

Jacaerys follows your gaze, turning his head momentarily - he nods, mercifully relinquishing his evident resentment for the sake of propriety. “Good for riding.” He observes. 

You nod, feeling awkward - though wind-dried, your hair still carries the smell of the sea, clothes damp from your dragon’s romp with the glassy waves. “Yes, very... good for riding. I believed it would rain, but it seems to be holding up.” 

“I believed so too,” Jacaerys agrees, clearing his throat. “But this was ideal. For the dragons. And... us, I suppose.”

An incredibly stunted conversation - as if regressed to your childish selves, to the awkward conversations you’d been guided to have once the news was announced of your betrothal; in the throes of your budding admiration and his growing aversion. 

Ten years after, yet you stand before him still: A girl, forever cursed with blood of emerald.

Trying to grasp at any remaining thread of conversation, you rub your arm. “The dragons appear to have enjoyed it.”

“Yes,” Jacaerys says, though his eyes remain distant. “They’re quite contented.”

“They seem relieved after such time apart,” you say, glancing at the two dragons who playfully nudge each other, grunting and growling low - scarcely like anything seen of dragons before. 

He replies after a moment, his tone thick, “I believe they missed each other’s company.” 

You do not find the words to respond. 

The dragons chitter and grumble, their shared heat warming the entire cavern; You can’t help but feel a sense of longing for the simplicity of their connection. 

“It’s quite remarkable.” you say absently, eyes zoned out somewhere toward the dragons. A pair of hazel eyes follow your gaze, a softening in his expression. After a moment of watching them, Jacaerys’ gaze drops. 

It is awfully quiet until, seemingly tired of his sister, Vermax has moved to nudge into Jace’s side, sending him tumbling slightly in surprise. 

An ache in your breast; a mirthful grin grows upon Jace’s expression, reaching to rub his dragon’s snout. 

You take this as a chance to exit, unable to watch him interact so kindly with Vermax any longer. “If you’ll excuse me.” You say, unbalanced on your feet. A flicker in his stare, as if he almost wishes to speak - but instead he simply nods. “Good day, Princess.” 

You bow lightly, stung by the reality of formality as you avoid his stare. “Good day, my Prince.” 

You look back once as you leave the mont - Jace’s back is to you, engrossed in tending to Vermax; movements precise, practiced - a low drawl of Valyrian from his lips, whispering into the deep cavern. 

HIS CHAMBER SMELLS OF CINNAMON.

It is dark, in the eve of night; a soft glow of the hearth echoing in the heat of the room - furs, sheets - tangled, soft and yet fractious against your thighs. There is a fuzzy haze that has been brought in by the slow roll of waves against a rocky shoreline in the distance; by the empty cups of wine shining in their brass against the flickering flames. 

It is quite warm with Jacaerys’ chest against your own. 

Your eyes find the ceiling, stone above a four-postered bedframe, cinnamon hinting in your mind, some odd reminder of forgotten halls and whispers beyond curtains. There is a pair of lips, trailing over your throat with a hungry enthusiasm; just so, you find yourself alight with similar desire. Your skin, slick with the sweat of exertion though your arms curl lazily around shoulders bare of clothing. 

You are blissfully aware of the pleasure that grows within your core - Jacaerys moves his hips in slow, languid thrusts, your hair matted with sweat and ecstasy to the pillow below; your legs pull him closer by the hip. His hand, large and imbued with thick veins, cradles your jaw - the other stabilizing himself as his teeth nip your throat. 

“You do not know how long I’ve loved you.” The words are murmured against your neck, muttered with a slurry of laziness - one that only comes in the heat of passion, some desire lacing and clouding your mind. 

That cannot be true, some part of you tries to remind you - but it matters not, because he’s picked up his strokes, your back arching as some vague crest begins to stir within you, pleasure snaking its way through your veins. You beg him not to stop with whimpers and lips upon the shell of his ear. 

There is some odd twinge in your thoughts. Craving, with some vague kind of confusion - you tug the head of curls closer against your chest; perhaps, in an effort to muffle the lies which spill forth from such deceiving, beautiful lips. 

His eyes are shut and yours roam his warm expanse, dropping with a rush of thrill to see where your bodies meet - with an experimental roll of your hips, you are rewarded with a deep satisfaction. His groan harmonizes your mewl, a cottoned, far-off hymn. 

Seeking, you pull him down, pressing plush lips with your own; a heat, spurring and yearning, festers in your chest. Jacaerys’ body is warm and wanting, tangled with yours as he gives himself to you over and over, rocking you into the mattress below. It is euphoric. 

…How did you get here? 

Nails drag along the expanse of his back, over ridges of muscles and skin warmed with blood of dragons; he lets out a short breath at such a sensation, head tipping back as his brows tangle in pleasure. 

Soon there is a gust of cool air. 

Startled by the sudden shift, you blink - to your right, there is a cold hall; doors to some vaguely detectable apartments ajar just across the way. Lips press to you once more. 

There are tapestries of old hanging above the entryway, though they are not the ones you remember near Jace’s quarters - a flash of hair behind a curtain. 

When the voice comes, it is not from Jacaerys’ lips - which have found themselves a home upon your breast, biting lightly and groaning against your skin - you are very near the apex of your pleasure; You tear your eyes away from the corridor, faintly aware the doors to Jace’s chambers should be closed - but when his hand soothes over your temple, you forget your very thoughts. 

“She doesn’t have a brain between her ears.” 

Your eyes snap open, but the voice is far away - your head turns; aside the bed is that very room from the recess of memory. A girl, eight-and-ten, watching shadows reflect upon walls, burdened with the weight of an apology not her own to give. The voice is not warm nor laced with anything but disdain, and you shut your eyes, aware of what’s next to come. “It’s like she opens her mouth and her mother speaks through it.”

You push Jacaerys away slightly, your emotions swirling in confusion and need. He pulls away instantly though you remain staring up at the ceiling of stone, unable to face him, to reveal the chinks within your armor. 

 “Do you trust me?” 

You ask it, though it is not what you mean to say. In an odd breath, you find that your mouth is equally frozen and running without your permission - sheets, curling whitecaps upon waves over your body. The ceiling swirls above you. 

“You’re my wife," He says. It does not feel right. 

You shake your head, but it is dizzy and you begin to really wonder how you got here, and why it seems as though the Jacaerys before you isn’t the one you know. 

Your fingers twitch in his hair, wondering when he’d trimmed his curls; "Gaomagon ao pāsagon nyke?” You ask with a quiet voice, your voice distant, floating. Do you trust me?

The silence nearly makes you flicker your gaze - but then, a sigh. “You know I do not understand when you take that tongue - only your dragon knows such ancient words.” 

No, certainly that is not right - but, he speaks again. “Our betrothal was a gift from the gods. A gift of loyalty, from His Grace.” 

Alarm rises within you; you struggle to sit up, sheets tangling around your legs. The room shifts, shadows of serpents and spiders dancing upon the walls, mocking your turmoil.

With fear, you meet the eyes of the man before you: It is no longer Jacaerys.

Blonde hair, green eyes. Your throat tightens, eyes flickering to the sigil hanging above the hearth; a roaring lion. 

You start with a gasp, eyes flying open. Eyes, panicked, flicker to your window; in the distance, the sun still shines. A shadow eclipsing the light momentarily in the horizon - a dragon, screeching as it crosses the refractions of the ocean. 

Relief floods you. Gods. 

Reaching aside your bed, gulping down the remnants of a stale cup of water, you let out a shaky breath - there is something you must do. 

You must do it now, before you lose such conviction. 

You summon your maids with a quick command, stripping in preparation to bathe, staring out upon the sea. Once again they appease you, as they always do; you ask them of their days, avoiding speaking of yourself nor the turmoil that brings such tired evidence below your eyes. 

They tend to your hair, your nails - you ask of their childhoods with a gentle melancholy, and when they lace up an elegant gown, pin up your hair, they answer you with kind voices and sympathetic eyes. 

IT TAKES MOST OF THE DAY TO FIND HIM. 

Afternoon meal has passed; you know Jacaerys prefers to train in the mornings, but you still make the foolish decision to visit the sparring yard first. There you find no prince but instead endure a short sword lesson under the tutelage of Ser Marbrand, who mercifully does not dare broach the subject of Jace’s late night visit to your chambers.

Jacaerys’ absence persists as you check his personal chambers - next, Joffrey and the younger boys’ rooms; you spend a few moments with them, soft smiles and quiet conversation about their toys, before nodding kindly to the nursemaids. 

Rhaena and Baela, puzzled by your inquiry amidst the clear tension between you and your nephew, shake their heads with pressed lips and quick glances to each other. 

It is not until a bit later that desperation grips you - Vermax is alone at the dragonmont, the Sept is cavernous as usual, the forge, the gatehouse, Aegon’s Garden - all, untenanted; the library echoes only the sparse coughs of household workers. 

You nearly give up, stalking back to your quarters with a melancholy affliction, lonelier than you’ve felt in weeks, arms crossed. It is only when you pass the council room on your journey to the beach - a last-ditch effort to find the prince, knowing he often retreats to the beach when he wishes to be alone - that you consider it. 

The presence of guards perks your interest; Discouraged but resigned to the futility of the day, you nod to them in greeting. When the guards open the chamber door, you expect to turn heel after being met with an empty room. 

You do not expect the arresting sight of Jacaerys, stood in thought, curls handing over his sharp expression. 

Sword and hilt abandoned atop the painted table, he seems to stare at some point upon the map; you take a few hesitant steps down the stair before he takes in your presence. "Princess," Jacaerys greets, his voice strained. 

You nod to him - having searched all day to no avail, you’re rendered rather stunned by his presence.  “My prince.” 

Feet carrying you unevenly, you find the point of his attention - the seat paramount of the stormlands: Storm’s End. You bite your lip at the wave of sorrow that washes over you, knowing you must push through the flare of anxiety, despite how you wish to turn tail. 

"I was hoping I’d find you.” You say gently, unwilling to admit the extent of your desperate search, the way your heart has begun to pound with a yearning to make amends. “You were not in the yards this afternoon. I trained with Ser Marbrand.” And then, an afterthought, “He is not as patient a teacher as you.” 

He nods, jaw clenching as he stares down at the table below. “I did not feel well.” He excuses, shifting upon his feet. It is a falsehood, yet neither of you dare to challenge it.

You clear your throat. “I hope you are faring better now.” 

Jacaerys nods once again, but he doesn't meet your gaze; a solemn stare down at the table. You take in his furrowed expression - Maybe I’m afraid of hurting you, you’d excused. He’d laughed at your words, voice so sure as he’d regripped the training sword. You won’t, he’d promised.  

The silence stretches between you, heavy. 

After a long pause, he finally speaks. "The other day," he begins, his voice tight with emotion, "you mentioned that all we ever do is raise our voices at each other." 

You swallow hard, the memory of your words stinging - how soft his skin looked as he looked upon the sunset - freckles kissed upon his nose by the doting sun - his hand in yours, escorting you over jagged rocks. A whisper in the wind: You will be a wonderful wife to whoever you marry. I’ll likely wish I were him for the rest of my life.

You’ve been a fool. 

"I did." You whisper.  

"It is true, is it not? Each time we converse, it seems to end in strife." He falls silent again, and a pang of melancholy churns within your belly. 

"We are both... under much pressure.” You start, looking to his hands, splayed over the stone, fingers tapping in a betrayal of the anxiety within his chest. Your tongue brushes over your bottom lip. 

“But…I do not wish for us to always be at odds." You add, tinged with a desperation to mend whatever oddship, whatever possibility you may have found within each other. He shakes his head, glancing sidelong at you. “Nor do I.” 

“Then…” You take a breath of your own before forging ahead, “you must stop seeing me as someone to be controlled.” 

His jaw tightens, eyes clouded with unspoken thoughts, but he lets you speak; he knows, just as you, that this conversation must be had. 

Despite the wild fluttering within your stomach, you press on. “I worry losing you, Jacaerys. Of losing all of us.” Your breath trembles, “But that does not grant you leave to belittle my actions in the name of protection. I do not wish to be coddled."

His mouth opens, then shuts; an acknowledgement, a promise to listen.

Just as well - it has become apparent that if you stop, you will let loose the emotion which brims in the corner of your vision. 

“I understand it was a poor choice to leave the council. But…” You shake your head, struggling to keep your composure, “He killed that boy, Jace. We.. was I supposed to say no to the Queen?” 

He stirs, swallowing down the words that nearly spill from his lips. Instead, he nods.

“I never intended to belittle your actions,” he says softly, his voice tight with sincerity. “I have been beset with anger and fear, with the Greens and…with my own uncertainties.” He hesitates, his gaze falling to the table as if searching for answers among the gleaming stone surface. “But that does not excuse my actions. I realize now that you deserve more than my misguided efforts.”

Misguided. 

The chamber is cavernous, its emptiness echoing with a chill of air; sunbeams pierce through the slatted windows, casting long, somber shadows that dance across the cold stone floor. The light feels harsh, as you look upon him.

Your heart twists, wishing nothing more than to grasp his face in your hands, smooth the furrow of his brows. 

You find yourself relieved that you and Jacaerys have managed to temper your dispositions, if only just. Your hands tremble slightly - you clasp them tightly in the folds of your gown, trying to still the quivering, before you reach out to touch his arm. 

At the reach he pulls away slightly, his eyes lifting to meet yours with a sorrowful, almost pleading expression. The change in his demeanor tugs painfully at your heart. “What is on your mind, Jacaerys?” you ask softly, leaning closer to catch his troubled gaze. He, dutifully letting you speak to him of your conniptions; yet you have not given him the time to speak his own. 

His gaze is much more genuine than you expect, large eyes framed by long, dark lashes. “Are you truly of the opinion that my actions are driven by nothing more than desire?” His voice breaks the heavy silence. “Is that all you believe me capable of?” 

You pause, the depth of his vulnerability catching you off guard, leaving you momentarily speechless.

“I... I was angry. Hurt.” You begin, heart clenching. His gaze drops, and you notice the subtle slump of his shoulders, a sign of his own weariness. “Jacaerys,” you begin, your voice gently coaxing him to look up - he does, with those large eyes. “I should not have said such things to you. But you must understand how your actions could suggest that I am merely something of... convenience for you.” 

He blinks, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “There are times I have treated you as an adversary, and then a playpiece.” he admits, his voice thick with regret, his fists clenching against the cold stone of the table. “I lament every moment of it.”

He inhales shakily, turning towards you with a pained expression. “I should not have come to your chambers that night,” he says, shaking his head as though trying to rid himself of the memory. “I should not have dishonored you in such a way. I cannot bear that you think me a man so incapable of such restraint.” 

Your heart races at his admission, the air thick with unspoken tension. “I said very foolish things to you yesterday. I was much too harsh. I know what-” you speak softly, your voice catching with emotion, “What holding affection for someone can mean in times like this. And… I admit, I am also just as much to blame for the lack of restraint-"

But he interrupts gently with a murmur of your name, shaking his head. “I could not blame you for the words exchanged after such a…long night. I merely wish for you to know that I see you my equal. And I beg forgiveness that I let my affections for you make it seem I would believe anything less.”

There is a soft rustling of the tapestry hanging on the wall; a flutter of your heart. 

Such familiar resistance twists within you, a sharp contrast to the gentle grace Jacaerys and his brothers embody - a grace quite absent in the memories of your own upbringing. His mother has indeed raised her sons well: strong-willed and astute, tempered with tenderness, with care. Such virtues woefully absent in your own brothers, woefully amiss within yourself on many occasions.

“Jace,” you murmur, stepping closer, the space between you shrinking. “I no longer harbor resentment for the strains in our relationship since my arrival at Dragonstone, even though I used such memories against you when I was angry.” You shake your head, your voice steadying as hunger, affection, pent-up stress slowly pools in your chest. “We have both erred. Yet I desire to be more than hurtful words, spoken in the heat of a moment.”

He nods; the tension between you softens with every breath between you. Some ancient shift, as if the gods blow air into your chests one and the same. A hymn - of the Crone and of the Maiden, written long before you and he.  

Jacaerys studies you with eyes no less than worshiping; you suspect you might regard him the same. 

His finely tailored doublet; rich fabric clinging to the contours of his form, accentuating the powerful lines of his shoulders and chest - you course your eyes past the light which weaves through the intricate embroidery. 

His hands, trickled tributaries of veins akin to the maps of the riverlands - knuckles rough, caressing your arm gently. You quite enjoy the soft dimple, accentuated by the sun’s attention, that slowly grows under the heat of your study. His cheeks, red.

Some radiant intensity within his expression; dark in contours, in the line of his brow, the curls against soft skin.

“I regret that my behavior has made you question my intentions.” He wettens his lips. You do the same. “I must make clear to you that my feelings for you are not misplaced, nor driven by mere impulse. Though…” He pauses with a gaze rather intense, a soft, sheepish grin escaping as he adjusts a curl at the nape of his neck, “I cannot deny that desire often has its own power over me when it comes to you.”

You believe him - and at the reminder of such times you’ve let the desire consume yourself, your cheeks flush. A new longing; deeper, more warm, like a long-awoken affection, rises within your chest as you eye him through your lashes. Some secret self-destructive streak, the very same you’ve seen hidden within Jacaerys’ gaze, flickers awake within you. 

Falling from your lips is a shaky laugh, eyes fluttering as you lay your hand gently upon his shoulder. You’re not sure why the ancient tongue slips from your lips - perhaps to dispel the echoes of your unsettling dream, or to remind him of the shared flame that burns within you both. “Gaomagon ao pāsagon nyke?” Your voice trembles; vulnerability and yearning alike. 

Do you trust me? 

Shoulders turning, he regards you with a craving, some deep warmth that heats your stomach. A palm, leaving the table to brush a stray hair from your gaze. You find his jaw with a palm of your own - gentle, tentative. 

He does not recoil from your touch as before. Instead he draws nearer, as the tides are pulled by the moon, pressing his body against yours; effectively pinning you against the painted table. 

The sudden contact takes your breath away, a sharp exhale through your lips as the heat between you intensifies. His breath mingles with yours in the stillness, a shared warmth, a prayer intended for no gods but those you create within each other. Your hands grasp his biceps, feeling the taut strength beneath his finely tailored clothing. 

His expression is firm, certain. “Sodjisto. Nyke pāsagon ao lēda mirre bona iksan.” His voice cuts through the quiet chamber; I trust you with all that I am. 

The sincerity in his eyes is a flame that mollifies the waxen worry of uncertainty; his lips hover near yours, breaths entangled in the lazed still of afternoon. A warm memory; a murmured whisper to your heated lips in the heat of your bedroom nights ago - I crave you. To have, as a husband may have his wife. 

Beams of light pierce the room behind him, a halo of divine grace backlit over his curls; A fleeting gift from the Father himself.

You might have fallen to your knees in prayer, if his body did not so tenderly cage you.

His hands grip your waist with a tentative worry, as if the echoing of your harsh words replay within the concern of his mind. Do not give in to desire, he must be schooling himself - a foolish notion, when all you possess is such. And what is devotion, if not desire? 

Slowly, you draw him closer until you are pressed firmly against him. 

“Se…” You swallow, heart alight with burning eagerness, “Kessa ao vūjigon nyke? sir?” His brows lift slightly, a groan concealed with an exhale; his eyes rove over your figure below his stare. And… would you kiss me? Now? 

The table beneath you shifts as he leans in, his lips brushing yours with a tentative lightness, as if he holds back. “Lo issa skoros ao jaelagon.” He whispers against your lips, a heat in your chest; If that is what you wish. 

His tongue traces his lower lip before he speaks again, “Gaoman daor jaelagon naejot deny ao mirros.” He promises - a shiver down your spine. I would not dare deny you anything. 

You pull him by nape of neck, relishing in the short breath you both seem to take against each other’s lips. It is slow, soft before your lips find his. 

The echo of reticence in the chamber when his lips press to yours is rather thrilling; here, in such a public space - a foolish decision, one that is done out of nothing but pure desperation, unbridled emotion. His lips are just as feverish as your own when he finds you; you are pressed once more against the table behind you. 

His hands, no longer hesitant, roam your body with a possessive urgency - drawing you into his depths. Your fingers tangle in his hair, the sensation of his tongue against your lower lip drawing a sigh of both pleasure and relief. 

Spurred by your soft, breathy sound, Jacaerys shifts, pressing you further upon the painted table, the cool stone upon the fabric of your back. 

Your lips glide against his with a tantalizing ease, tongue brushing his own. A fiery touch roams over your shoulders, down your sides, grasping your hips with a sense of urgency; tender, insistent.

“Jace,” you breathe, your voice trembling with a mix of desire and emotion, your tongue dancing between the common and high Valyrian, ”Nyke zālagon syt ao.” I burn for you. He responds with a growl, his hands sliding down to your hips.

The painted table creaks beneath you as he presses you down, his body arching over yours with protectiveness, desire. Fingers upon your hips; against your dress, lifting you just so - tremors of arousal at his lithe body pressing flush against your own. Pushing, coaxing you upon the very table you’ve held council for the past moons. 

A surge within you - his mouth moves to your neck, leaving a trail of soft, intent kisses that make you gasp. “We should not be here,” he murmurs, words burning into your skin between kisses; though his actions betray his words, one palm sliding to the curve of your thigh as it hooks around his own lithe waist.

Fingertips dancing hungrily upon the crest of your ass, you release a short mewl that nearly has his hips buck into your own. A rush of pleasure - you shiver at the boldness of such a touch, spine bending deliciously to press your chest against his own.  

“No,” You agree, breath ragged, “Indeed, this may well be one of our gravest decisions.” 

He hums, equally unperturbed by any semblance of decorum. You tilt your head back, giving him more access to the column of your throat; he takes full advantage, his lips and tongue exploring every inch of your trembling skin - aware of the cloaked guards just outside the heavy doors, it becomes obvious how reckless you’ve become under the power of Jacaerys’ affection. Two flames, twinned and flickering, lost in each other.

“I cannot resist you,” He nearly groans into your skin, eyes clenching as if to ward off any barrage of less than suitable visions. “Everything you are.” 

The painted table creaks beneath you when he presses himself firmly against you, arousal growing beneath his breeches - yet you are beyond caring for the noise, too consumed by the rumbling of his chest, his grasp upon your jaw. 

Thumb pressing your cheek, fingers splayed below your ear; the hunger in his eyes, laced with a gentleness as he turns your face with an adoring gaze, taking in your flushed cheeks, your lips slick with his saliva and your own. 

“Iksā ao umbagon isse ñuha bartos. Gevie.” His eyes watch you - you are stuck in my head. Beautiful. Shivers over your body as you pull him back to you, heart pounding within your chest. 

The strong bridge of his nose slides against your own as he finds your lips once more; nails clawing desperately to pull him further atop you, you drink his low groan in, sighing into his own mouth. 

Yet, a sudden noise through the quiet of the chambers shatters the fervor of the moment. 

An ominous creak of the heavy door, sending a visceral jolt through both of you; eyes snapping open, time seems to stretch. 

Fear of being discovered crystallizes instantly - a panicked lurch, forehead knocking to his. Jace, wincing and equally startled, scrambling to disentangle himself from you. 

The door opens. 

Jacaerys, in a swift, instinctive motion, tugs at the skirts of your dress, desperately seeking to shield your modesty. 

The figure in the doorway makes your heart stop. 

Daemon. 

Your eyes, wide - cheeks, flushed; your uncle, staring inscrutably at your disheveled forms.  

You slide off the table with a graceless drop, desperately attempting to compose yourself, the racing in your chest, the arousal that drips between your thighs. 

Jacaerys stands beside you, his eyes avoiding both you and Daemon, his posture rigid, cheeks redder than an apple. 

Daemon breaks the heavy silence with a dry, almost casual tone. “I had intended to seek you both in your chambers,” he begins, his gaze flicking over the disheveled state of you and Jacaerys. “but it appears that is no longer necessary.” 

You do not dare utter a word; never mind that you’d not be able to speak if you so wished - your throat has become a desert of sand. 

Daemon pauses, allowing his words to settle before adding, “The queen has summoned you to her chambers. A matter of importance awaits.”

THERE IS A TRAIL OF INCENSE THAT LAZES IN THE CORNER OF THE ROOM. 

Its smell is wonderful, while thick - low light of candle, your eyes strain to pick up the small stream of smoke from your position, perched rather direly on the edge of the upholstery. Jacaerys shares the seat, though he has precariously placed himself on the complete opposite end, his profile once again sacrificed to the sole window’s bright glare of sunbeam. 

The room, richly adorned with tapestries and elegant furnishings, seems to close in on you; steadfastly ignoring both the lingering arousal that had pooled between your thighs not minutes ago and the man beside you that coaxed it, you feign interest in a book placed before you on the table. 

Daemon’s gaze is inscrutable, though a faint smirk lingers at the corners of his lips, serving to churn your stomach as you smile politely - weakly - at the queen. 

With a calm that contrasts sharply, Queen Rhaenyra offers a gracious nod of acknowledgement, sat across from you in an identical loveseat. “I must apologize for summoning you here rather than to the council.”

You shake your head, not trusting your voice - it seems Jacaerys is even less eager to respond. Daemon finds the grace to respond for you, unbothered to conceal a smirk. “Just as well, my queen. The council chambers were otherwise occupied at this hour.” 

His words, though spoken softly, are laced with an implicit understanding that sends a fresh wave of heat to your cheeks; Jacaerys shifts uncomfortably in his seat, though neither of you dare glance to each other.

 If she notices, the queen does not remark on the burning of your face. 

“I believed it best we address this matter before it reaches the ears of the others.” She folds her hands; you clench yours, resisting the urge to pick at aching nail beds. Your half-sister delivers the message the way maesters often rip off bandages: quick, without hesitation. “In light of the message from Aegon and the implications of your recent pledge to my cause, it has been decided that a reinstatement of the betrothal between Jacaerys and you is both prudent and necessary.” 

Seven heavens. 

A wave; shock, disbelief, relief. You are doused with an unbelievable heat upon your cheeks. 

Jacaerys and you exchange a glance, heart racing as you attempt to process her words. Have you truly stumbled your way, so recklessly, into such luck? Jace’s eyes mimic the same bewilderment as you, and neither of you risk it by speaking. 

Rhaenyra’s gaze is steady, “Such a pairing will serve to display a union of tradition and power to both our allies and the enemy. It shall similarly reinforce the strength of our position, and mitigate any further doubts regarding your allegiance.”

Jacaerys, cheeks visibly crimson, shifts in his seat, his eyes fixed on the ornate rug beneath him; knuckles grip the edge of the sofa as he hides some small breath of emotion. 

You find yourself pressing a tight-lipped smile towards the Queen, steadfastly ignoring the hawkish smirk on her husband’s face beside her. You let out not even a breath, hoping to the seven that this is not another dream.  

Her eyes scrutinize your silent reaction, laced with a concealed intrigue that sets you in mortification. 

“I would have expected you to show more protestation.” 

Jace finds himself before you do, mercifully. “No—” he stammers, his face a mix of relief and barely restrained fluster. “It’s... it’s a sound strategy. I see the...necessity.”

You notice the blush creeping up his cheeks, flush, pretty. You wish to press your lips upon the heated skin. 

You draw a steadying breath, casting such unseemly thoughts out of your mind. “I believe it a sound decision.” you say, your voice firm. 

Rhaenyra’s gaze is steady, “I know this coupling might not feel ideal,” she begins - you ignore Daemon’s stare once more, the smirk that refuses to leave his lips. “-but you have both spent the better part of your lives preparing to serve the realm–together.” She nods,  “It is a prudent match. You two are more alike than either of you would care to admit.”

Daemon does not hide the huff of amusement at the queen’s words; you glance at him sharply, but hold your tongue. 

“Th-thank you, my queen.” You nod, genuinely moved by such high praise, your mind still reeling. The incense is thick in your nostrils. Her words carry the weight of expectation, of hope; you find yourself drawing a deep breath. 

“There is more,” She adds, “But I think it best to discuss at council.” You can only spare a weary glance to Jacaerys, heart skipping a beat as you look into his eyes - the eyes that will one day be of your valzȳrys. Husband.

series masterlist. taglist (strikethrough i cant tag): @useralba @bitchydragonparadisee @lukehughes43 @rhea-ripley @chloe-petrichors @jottositto @uhnanix @knight-of-flowerss @lenadoerrer @saccharineseas @greenvita @honk4emoboyz @uniquelyabnormallyoriginal @darylspersonalwhore @taestrwbrry @withjinkoo @realporcelainkat @burningwitchobject @meowmeowmau @bigolidioot @eleana-aerrin @miraakswhore @mckennah123feedback highly appreciated.

[ccwpidsblog]

WILD WOMAN — taskforce 141

summary: "so we're saving the wild woman, after she tried to kill us?" the captain nodded tugging a cigar from his vest ignoring the men as they groan. "you're a pain in my ass cap".

content warning: gore, guns, soap being soap, ghost is tired, slight sewer side mention, 141 loved feral women <33 , reader is named but it isn't her real name, eventual everything

pairing: taskforce141 x femme fatale reader

cwpid notes: hi hello i have zero knowledge on how the military works nor do i know anything about cod. my partner tried to explain and it just went in one ear and out the other. im just a girl who reads n writes silly fanfics. sorry if non of this nonsense isn't accurate.

bones.

the bones were endless as the four men began to walk further and further into the dark and damp cave. their boots are loud as they break the brittle pieces of calcium under their feet. they stack high against the limestone walls along with glistening gold and vintage armor. none of it was appealing to them— they were here for one thing and the treasures were the least of their worries.

“what the hell have you signed us up for, john?”

kyles voice echoes off the damp high walls causing his captain to huff examining the bloody drawings that decorated wall. “not so sure myself, gaz. stay close, no wondering.” throwing a look over his shoulder at soap who touches a skeleton causing the jaw of a the fully decomposed body to clatter to the floor. kyle shivers in disgust, speeding up to stand beside his captain making the scottish man snicker at his princess-like behavior.

“nae that bad just think o' it as a bunch o' wee simons” the big masked man in question grunts at the comparison “stop your chattin’ and come back ‘er”

john falls back into step with his team scanning over everything until he sees a pair of red eyes staring back at him. his breath is caught in chest as he stares back, unblinking. the moment he does find himself blinking it's gone. now feeling the seriousness of the mission he sniffs practically clinging close to simons’ back. the deeper they walk the wider the cave becomes. the stalactites on the ceiling grow sharper and sharper along with the stalagmites that grow taller and taller. it was extremely dark inside; the only access to light they had was the tiny flashlights equipped on their weapons.

'johnny' the mohawk wearing man jumps on his heels.. "did ye ca’ my name, si?” only getting a quick side eye over his wide shoulder from the man before his gaze sets back in front of him.

‘johnny’ this time the voice is feminine bouncing off the forewalls of his head. “hey cap?” he whispers looking to his left, seeing the glowing red again. he couldn't move no matter how hard he tried to feet planted on the ground. “Cap!” he shouts, causing the three ahead of him to pause. he was staring at the red-eyed woman. her head tilts as she smiles, showcasing pearly white teeth like razors. she raises her hands to his face, sharp nails brushing over the skin of his cheeks as she leans herself close to her ear.

ghost raises his gun to shoot but price stops him. “can't. they want her.”

“kill them, johnny, be a good puppy.”

then she's gone only leaving behind a trail of giggles. johnny turns eyes hazy as he raises his gen-12, “youre a fuckin’ idiot johlnny”

he opens multiple rounds, the four men all take cover behind the large rock forms as they wait it out. “the ‘ell did she do to him?.”

“he must've picked up something while we weren't looking.” john curses head falling back on the large boulder slumping down further as the bullets fly above him.

johns rain of fire stops when he's kicked to the ground with a grunt cheek slamming into the cold ground below him. his weapon slides away as ghost presses his knee into his back, searching the man's pockets pulling out a tooth. “okay okay let me up dammit” soap whines underneath him squirming under his weight.

“almost killed us all for your shitty souvenir.” ghost hisses tugging him up by his vest like a child smacking the back of his head. “ah ken a'm sorry.”

shoving him away soap rubs his neck with a frown. “she fucked with my head could nae think”

“women will do that.”

'simon' he heard her voice echo through his head as he looked behind john. long black silky hair covered her bare breast, gold trimmings in her hair swaying.

'simonnnn' she smiles, eyes glowing as he watches her lips move. “i can set you free, I can make you forget.” his gun raises to point to his head. soap grips him tugging the weapon but he's easily knocked over on his feet. he doesn't hear the shouting of his name, he doesn't see price tugging something from his pack nor does he notice the damage he's done to soap and kyle. he can only see her, he can only hear her.

“we can be together simon.” his index finger finds the trigger of his gun. “pull the trigger.”

he's tackled to the ground and the gun is kicked away from him. he can finally hear again and he sees the woman being dragged over prices shoulder.

“fuckin bitch.” is the last thing he muttered before falling unconscious.

the team watched her from behind the glass. she crouches like an animal hissing at them. her lips moving rapidly more than likely sprouting the poison that almost cost the life of one of their finest soldiers. she gave up after ten minutes of realizing there was no escaping her confinement. so just as they watched her, she watched them. kneeling in front of the glass unblinking as she gazed at the four terribly confused men.

“we should git her some clothes mah cocks chubbin” huffs of annoyance from the room at the awfully timed announcement.

though john was right, the wild animal of a woman needed clothes. her breasts weren't covered by her hair anymore, her brown nipples were perked from the nippy air of her holding cell. her makeshift skirt was riding up giving the men a generous peek of bare cunt.

the man austin moon who had thrown them this mission enters the integration room with a look of surprise. "oh! you all are alive, wonderful"

the four give him unimpressed looks causing him to uncomfortably shift. "you all will be paid generously for your troubles. i was hoping that—"

"what is she?" kyle cuts not caring for his words or money. what was he going to do with her. the man walks to the glass kneeling in front of her, she snarls crawling backwards.

"i cannot tell you exactly what she is but she is special. special enough that my family has spent centuries trying to capture her and you four have done the impossible."

he presses a button on the wall and begins speaking. "hello xoana." they watch her jump eyes frantically darting around the room. "i do hope your stay hasn't been unwelcoming."

her face turns into an unpleasant frown, "i do not care for your hospitality." her voice was a low and smokey hiss but her words caused the man to chuckle. "you will settle in nicely. im sure you know if my father?"

"your father was an awful man who thought he could take from me without consequence. i surely did enjoy watching the life drain from his eyes when i removed his organs with my teeth. i wonder if you'll screams will sound just as his." she's smiling again watching him clench his jaw in anger. "if you release me within a days time i will be generous to you all." she wasn't speaking to austin she was speaking to price, staring into his eyes as she spoke.

"you will stay here until i am done with you." austin removes his fingers from the button, face red with anger. when he turns to the task force he fixes his frazzled state.

"thank you again for your troubles. i will have a plane ready to transport you back to london tomorrow night until then please enjoy the scenery around you."

he then leaves them quickly— slamming the door behind him. "she tried to kill us john." ghost says before his captain can voice his thoughts. "because you both touched her things."

"you're nae seriously thinkin' o' helping her" soap eyes trained on the woman who let her tongue drag across the glass as you stared at him, soaps gulp was extremely audible. "who knows what the creeper might be up too. plus i think she might be a good addition to the team."

"so we're saving this crazy bitch?" he nodded and the men to groan. "you're a pain in my ass cap"

[sleepthinks]

Had a bad dream that went on for a bit, and since dreams were why i made this blog in the first place, hopefully getting this out of my head and onto a post will resolve me of this burden.

The first dream last night i dont remember yet, but i know it was about high school and i was relieved to wake up and not have to go through it anymore

The second dream starts off with me going to a bridal shower with my stepmother (who ive been no contact with for nearly 20 years)

As we wait for the food to be ready (indian? I've never had indian irl) the host had a bag of assorted toys for me to look through (lego pieces and figures)

I happily went to sorting the lego pieces out (rather than have to see my stepmother) and the longer i went through the bag, the cooler stuff the host seemed to have. (old star wars lego mini figures including droids and aliens, THEN they had some rare, still in packaging power rangers figures, the whole OG set)

Each new discovery was better than the last so i HAD to keep digging. I didnt know the host (or her fiance) but with toys like these i have NO idea how she was connected to my stepmonster.

Eager to find the next hidden prize, i opened a bag they had stashed underneath their coffee table to find... Another bag? Kinda weird. But this second bag had multiple pockets and zippers. Inside the first pocket was a small tent rolled up? The second pocket had dark red leather gloves. The third pocket had some sort of metal attachment or armor of some kind? At this point i am thoroughly disturbed and have this awful dread setting in. I thought i was finding cool exciting treasures but the tone of the dream has changed and now i know ive come across something secret and dark.

I join the rest of the bridal shower at a dinner table as they line up to get scoops of indian food (again, idk how this is in my dream, i havent really had indian food irl)

Listening to the strangers around the table talk, i begin to suspect that the host and her fiance are into ttrpgs, things like Dungeons and Dragons, and they joke about going so far as wearing costumes, but the dread inside me grows deeper. Remember im being dragged along to this event by my stepmother, who is the type of Feisty-Christ-y that would consider things like D&D and Harry Potter to be witchcraft and therefore satanic and evil. Im so uncomfortable in the dream im dying to evaporate on the spot rather than be associated with this woman.

Just then, the host woman's fiance makes a surprise appearance (do grooms go to bridal showers? Idk) and as he's greeting the other women gathered there, his eyes scan over me and i instantly know he knows i know and he's PISSED

*Something happens here i dont quite remember. I think my first alarm goes off to wake me up and i smash snooze on that bitch*

Now in the dream I'm outside somewhere i do not recognize. I'm on a town street, with business buildings on either side. The side im on has a white building with blue trim and a sign on top that says "Biggest Lies." The building directly across from it has a red trim and sign that reads "Littlest Lies." In the dream it is known (by dream logic/knowledge) that these are government buildings. Next to the Biggest Lies building is a sort of petting zoo, but in place of animals the yard just has the melted wreckages of various different vehicles.

Searching around the wreckage sites i pick up a small hatchet, thats completely gold. Instead of a smooth, rounded handle, the hatchet has a groove down the grip, like something else is supposed to slot into it somehow.

Slowly cruising down through the street in between the buildings are several large cars, maybe on parade? They are decorated in signs and tinsel and flags. All of these cars/trucks are on large wheels and the drivers are men with cowboy hats and sunglasses and clean white suits.

I don't understand what this parade is about, like what political stance they are trying to exclaim, or what the reason for their celebration is, but i know that this hatchet is how i need to defend myself from these people.

I cross the street into a building next to the Littlest Lies building. Even though this building looks like a store front, once you get inside you are met with a solid, blank wall. Turning almost completely around i notice a small, narrow stairway that winds up and around itself leading up to a second floor. As i climb the stairs the wall has these large thin gold plates, almost like tapestries, stretching from floor to ceiling. These panels are engraved, but in a language i cant read.

The stairs lead up to the second floor landing with a room that's even smaller than the entryway on the first floor. This room has even more of the gold panels on the walls, but instead of being neatly spaced along the stairwell, they are plastered haphazardly all over the walls of the room. In the middle of the floor there is a small altar with dying candles in a circle on the floor. On top of this altar is a small, palm sized golden puck. Its like a small circle with smaller circles stacked on top, like a wedding cake, but could fit in your hand and is only 2-3 inches high. Obviously i pick up this mystical treasure, even though the room I'm in feels like a ritual space of a crazy person. The underside of this puck has a silver circle that feels almost magnetic. Making my way back down the stairs i throw the puck into the golden panels. The dream logic was if i could knock one of these panels off the wall, perhaps there would be a passage i could continue down rather than go back outside to the parade of hostile people.

Having no luck and nowhere else to go, i have to return to the street parade that is now even more agitated. They've set some more of their cars on fire, leaving more melted carcasses along the street.

Fearing for my life, but also afraid that these people will take the hatchet or golden puck from me, i grip the small relic tight and the pointed end digs into my palm. Like a spring loaded toilet paper holder, the object pushes back against my grip and then extends way out, creating a nearly meter long rod thats end is now a sharp point. Like the hatchet, this rod also has an uneven shaft, like it's been split in two and has another piece that would slide into it.

Using my new spear-like weapon, i start stabbing the tires of the remaining cars in the parade. The strange people were aggravated before, and now they are murderous. Not willing to go down without a fight, i brandish both of my golden weapons at the crowd closing in around me.

*my alarm goes off again. I've been saved from this nightmare but my mind is still fully pulled back into the dream, this cycle repeats several times, with a different reality each time*

Eventually I'm back at the bridal party but this time I'm separated from the women from earlier and on the opposite side of the house. The groom from before- (lets give him a name. Ivan? Ivan sounds like a murderer right?) - ivan has recruited three of his friends to show up and these men are confronting me with the same murderous intent of the crowd from the parade. I discover the truth: Ivan has a sinister power, to transport his group into the different realities they play "D&D" in. But his group is sadistic and cruel and any dimension they move to they treat horribly. They murder and rob everyone they come across because they know in their own world they wont face consequences. But now that i know their secret, they cant let me leave and risk that i would expose them as the awful people they are. One of Ivan's buddies seems to hesitate about murdering a child. (lets give this guy a name too. Don? Don seems fine.) Ivan reaches out and places a hand on Don's shoulder. Still glaring at me, he whispers his spell and shoves his friend to the side. Don's eyes roll to the back of his head as he screams and falls to his knees. Before he can hit the ground, his body disappates into whatever dimension Ivan called him to.

Frantic again I turn and run, but im stuck in a house im unfamiliar with and im outnumbered. Panicking as i move through the hallway, I'm holding onto the wall to keep my scared self from falling. As i round a corner, the wall i was clutching splinters apart and I'm left holding a new relic. This one is long and wooden, with a wide, curved end like the stock of a rifle. Unfortunately the other end doesnt have a gun, it just ends with the same notched grooves that the previous weapons had. WHAT am i supposed to slot into these??

I don't remember what happened next. At one point i find another wooden piece that threads onto the wooden stock like a silencer/barrel, but theres still no actual gun pieces.

Eventually my final alarm goes off and i have to drag myself to work. But all morning i cant shake the feelings of dread and fear that were so strong in the dreams

[ao3feed-crimeboys]

Never Love An Anchor

by XylstGlitch

Tommy hates the cities and towns. Not because the people of such places had wronged him in any way, no. Yet they were all so boring and dull.

Every day, the same few guards walked down his windowsill, with the same polished shiny armor, with the same razor-sharp spears, with the same pace and speed, never sparing a glance at the child above. Not that Tommy wanted to talk with those stone-faced men anyway, nor was he allowed to.

It wasn’t his fault all of the townspeople never even dared to trespass nearby either. Who would want to wander around the mayor’s mansion, with the horrid dangers of being arrested?

In the end, he was just a small sparrow trapped inside a glided golden birdcage, the false skin of a phoenix draped onto his ratty dull feathers as a convincing mirage. That didn’t mean no one didn’t try to dye his feathers into more flashy colors to make that mirage real.

(Or, Tommy has had enough of his suffocating life, so he runs.)

Words: 2630, Chapters: 1/2, Language: English

Series: Part 4 of Xylias’s TWB MCC 2023 Fics

Fandoms: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: Gen

Characters: Wilbur Soot, TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Phil Watson | Philza

Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF)

Additional Tags: Secrets, TommyInnit-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Phil Watson is TommyInnit's Parent (Video Blogging RPF), Bad Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), HAHAHHAHAHHAH. im not sorry., Misunderstandings, Child Neglect, Neglected TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), phil is not getting the parent of the year award, but he kinda has an alibi tho :(, Mentioned Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), The Writer's Block Minecraft Championships 2023 (Video Blogging RPF), The Writer's Block MCC Lime Llamas, TWB MCC Event, TWB MCC Event Bingo But Fic, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Pirate Wilbur Soot, Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Past Child Abuse, Runaway TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Title from a The Crane Wives Song, Fluff and Humor

[lilisette]

joining the thaemine brainrot train, have some thaemine headcanons and a hades and persephone au

and since this au draws inspo from the hades and persephone myth, there will be dubcon and kidnapping so beware, also suggestive themes but nothing explicit

thaemine in general never shows interest in things; ans the only time he feels truly alive is in the midst of battle, the urge to best his opponent and conquer them surging through his veins

its why he agreed to be kazeros' legion commander in the first place, to fight, to chase that high

honestly he would fight kazeros if given the chance, just to see what the archdemon is made of

but hes not stupid so he just lets it be. for now.

being the strongest out of all commanders can be a boring thing, no one dares oppose him, no one dares lay a hand on him, and being tasked to find the arks of all things, its safe to say hes bored

nothing held in interest and there was nothing to do, so when he meets mc the first time in feiton and actually feels something other than boredom, hes instantly intrigued

perhaps it was the way mc looked at him; instead of fear or contempt, mc was curious, eyeing him up and down before entering a battle stance

the encounter has left him wanting; wanting to understand what on arkesia was he feeling and why

said want quickly turned into a need, then into an obsession, and being obsessed over by a legion commander was never, ever a good thing

he watched mc from afar via his proxy, watches them fight his minions in the countless chaos gates that opened

something about the way mc moved ignited a fire in him, to conquer

not in the way he used to conquer his opponents no, but something else and he doesnt know what exactly and its driving him insane

until he sees mc get cut by his minion's sword, tearing up and wincing as they healed their wound, then he realizes that oh. oh.

he wants to see them in pain, crying, to push their limits and see how far he could go until mc looks at him in fear, wants to break their determination and make them submit to him

this obsession was kept secret and no one knows that hes following mc's move closely

kharmine and brelshaza may have an inkling of it since theyre observant but dont mention anything

actually if kharmine knew he would deliberately offer to kidnap mc for him as part of his schemes but we are not here to talk about that now

anyway. south vern.

by then brelshaza and kharmine wouldve noticed his interest, brel would watch mc closer to see whats so interesting about this ark inheritor while kharmine would warn mc about thaemine before letting them proceed

while the sidereals and everyone else was distracted by the opening of countless of chaos gates, thaemine disappeared suddenly

only to appear near mc and chaining everyone within range of him down

“you.” he would say, towering over mc and watching them struggle against the binds

mc still isnt afraid even when he drags a pointed finger down their cheek, tilting their face up towards him, if anything they are curious as to what would happen next and that drives him mad

with one smooth motion, he lifts mc and slings them over his shoulder, ignoring the shock gasps and cries to put them down

kidnapping mc to his realm and keeping them there to see how far he could go with mc

a hades and persephone au basically but lost ark and uh. yeah. they fuck a lot but thats for another post 🤣

[rexxdjarin]

ooo what about “im yours, completely,utterly yours” for boba fett😌🧐

S I N D A Y I N B O X M E M E

I love boba so much it’s not even funny. Maybe it’s bc we’ve gotten the newest content for him but like Tem Boba I love him so fucking bad I’m 😍😮‍💨😩🤤

“I’m yours, completely, utterly yours.”

“Boba…promise me. Please.” You ask him, sitting on his throne and looking around the room at the hundreds of beautiful women, of all different species at his disposal. For his choosing. Whatever or whoever he could possibly want. Sometimes it’s hard to believe that could be you. That that is you.

He looked down at you with an amused smirk from where he stood between your open thighs, his gloved fingertips easing up the exposed skin. The contact of cold leather gloves on your warm skin had you more on edge than you’d been in a long time. You could use a reminder of just how much the most powerful man on Tatooine needs you.

“Princess…who else…” He began to ask, but stopped as he saw you turn away from him in self-conscious annoyance. He could see right through you. With or without the helmet. He knew what you felt before you even knew yourself usually. His eyes shifted to the crowd enjoying his palace’s offerings and he understood. You didn’t want anyone else around when you were feeling unsure of yourself. You wanted him just for you. And most times, because of this new role he’d taken on for himself, he couldn’t do that.

But today was just a party and he could command anyone there to do whatever he wanted. Except probably Fennec, but she knew better than to test him when it came to men’s needs.

You bit the inside of your lip, looking up at him scowling as the gears whirled in his head to formulate some kind of plan or command. You couldn’t tell which. The gorgeous emerald dress you’d chosen to match his armor was heavier than you wanted to wear in this heat and although you were feeling a little neglected lately, you couldn’t deny the fire brewing in your belly for him now.

Before you could open your mouth to snap at him to pay attention, he scooped you up in his arms and spun around to take his place on his stone throne. You were sprawled in his lap suggestively, his hand inching up your thigh as he removed the vibro blade he knew you kept strapped to the garters you always wore.

A wicked grin drew across his face and he brushed your panties aside, his gloved fingertips connecting with your clit. Your eyes went wide as you realized what he was doing to you while no one was paying attention. He circled the bud softly, moving his head to let you rest yours in the crook of his neck.

“Boba…f-fuck…I’m..too loud for this.” You giggled, gasping as he increased the speed of the circles he was tracing along the bundle of nerves.

“Good. I want them to hear you. What I’m willing to be seen doing with you, my Princess. That way they’ll know I’m yours, completely, utterly, yours.” He chuckled darkly into your ear, his fingers slipping down through your lips and teasing the little hole.

“Yes…Boba…I’m yours. This little cunt is all yours.” You ramble as he works you up torturously, the wet sounds almost certainly loud enough to be noticed if someone walks too close.

“I know it is. Only I get you this slick. You’re my wet little slut, you know that? I’d never do this with anyone else but you. It’s only you. Gotta prepare you properly to take my cock, right? So I can watch you look so pretty as I make you feel good.” He’s whispering in your ear, his fingers plunging into you and curving against the front wall so hard you could cry from how good it feels. How much he could spur you on with just his words. How fucking weak he makes you.

“All these people here and I only care about you. This pretty fucking face and this perfect little pussy. Everything I have left of me is yours. I owe who I am now to you. Don’t ever forget that, mesh’la.”

You whimper his name in his ear, clinging to him while he draws out orgasm after orgasm from you on his throne where everyone can see but no one looks. He gives you every little pleasure he can while he’s busy. He’s never given anyone anything without guaranteeing something in return. No one except you. And that’s how you know he loves you most.

[that-one-weeb-but-starwars]

One Night| Hunter

Note: Nsfw content,

Warnings: creampies, p in v, facials, squirting, name calling, rough, hair pulling, light choking, smoking 18+ content

Reader: Female

"Thanks again." Y/n thanked the kessel burbon slid to her, sliding credits to Cid, "any more missions?"

"No,those clone boys took the last one I had." Cid spoke, "there won't be any more for a few cycles."

"Clones took my jobs?" Y/n questioned, sipping the hard liquor.

"Yeah! When wrecker through those KT troopers like it was nothing!" Omega cheered as the group walked down into the bar.

"Speak of the devil." Cid spoke, Y/n turning her head.

"Yes Wrecker's strength was acceptionally helpful this mission. Yet Omega's new tracking skills came in handy." Tech spoke.

"And Echo's climbing skills! How do you do that with one hand?!" Omega cheered.

"Pratice." Echo spoke.

Hunter chuckled at Omega's happiness.

"We did good boys-"

He stopped, seeing Y/n casually talking to Cid, sipping on her drink, her hair a mess, a few braids in her short hair making her hair uneven in both long and short length. In baggy black robes a belt tired tigh around her waist. Boots knee high with her baggy pants tucked in. Her eyeliner red and in sharp wings up towards her relaxed brows.

She turned her gaze towards hunter, her eyes a cybernetic white, then her head followed. Her gaze lingering on him as she smiled smally.

"Oh no no no! Watch your eyes dark and broody!" Cid argued, rushing around the counter.

"Don't mind me I'm also looking disrespectfully." Y/n teased getting up from her seat, following behind Cid.

"Uh," Hunter tried to speak, woah was his only thought process, "Your...new."

"Not knew. Just havent seen me before." Y/n smiled, standing next to Cid with a hand on her hip, "names Y/n's and Im presuming you all are the clones that have been taking my jobs?"

"Oh, we are?" Omega looked up at Hunter, who was still at a lost for words.

"What?" Hunter asked looking down at Omega.

Y/n chuckled, walking up to the longer haired male, "Listen, dark and broody, we can be friends. I just want my missions."

She leaned into his face, his face becoming red "Y-yeah..."

"Thanks then." Y/n smiled, his eyes gazing to his banana, "I'll take this as payment for taking my last missions."

With ease she pulled the headband off his head, turning her head half way to talk to Cid she smiled.

"I'll see you late then mom." Y/n chuckled, nudging Hunter as she passed, "Im off to collect some credits Im owed."

"Did she just call Cid Mom?" Wrecker questioned Y/n walking out the bar and up the steps.

"I believe she did." Tech responded.

Hunter was hit in the side with Cid's walking staff, "I'm docking your pay half!"

"What!?" Hunter argued.

"Thats what you get for lookin at my kid like that!" Cid defended, "watch it next time"

"Well if our pay has already been docked. She was quiet pretty. Her eyes especially." Tech repsonded as Hunter nudged him hard.

"Hey-"

"Don't worry, Hunter if you marry her Cid's your new mom!" Wrecker laughed shoving the man.

"I don't even know her!" Hunter argued.

"And that'll never happen!" Cid defended, "now watch it before I dock all your pay! You won't be seeing her again."

"But she took Hunter's bandanna." Omega pointed out, Hunter feeling his head.

"She did?!"

"And I thought Wrecker had it bad for that twilek girl he helped at the market." Echo told.

So there Hunter was, left the whole day with no headband, atleast 3 standard hours he waited, rubbing his head feeling as if he was missing something, well he was missing something.

"Hey! Mom! You'll never guess the load I got this time!" Y/n called out walking down the steps and into the bar, "I beat fifteen of the finest warriors apparently! Yeah right!"

Y/n walked in, gym bag at her side, the boys turning to the girl, stripped down to a tank top and a diffrent set of black pants that were tucked into her boots, a certain red bandana around her thigh.

"Oh you're all still here." She spoke, "I was-"

Hunter stepped infront of her, "I'd like my bandana back."

"Hm? Yeah come on." Y/n spoke, walking around him, "follow me."

"Yeah no sorry- not happening-" Hunter argued grabbing her wrist, "just hand it over."

Y/n ripped her wrist from him, hurting his hand in the process, "well then take it off, its right there."

Hunter kept his gaze away from Y/n's thigh, her ahoulder looking interesting at the momment.

"Well its mine then." Y/n spoke going to walk away but her arm was grabbed, Hunter turning to her as he kept his gaze up, his hands feeling for the band,

She chuckled, "little higher and you'll be at my zipper-"

He sighed looking away as he felt his bandana, his hand reaching around and untying it from her thigh.

"You smell nice." Y/n teased

"I don't see how you're Cid's kid." Hunter commented.

"Not by blood sweetheart." Y/n commented.

There was a chuckle as Hunter turned his head, Tech and Echo going back to there silence Wrecker luckily out and about with Omega. Hunter removed the band finally as Y/n chuckled.

Y/n leaned over, kissing Hunter's cheek as he flushed, "rooms down the hall on your left, we should be lucky my mom's on the upper floors."

Hunter only nodded as Y/n walked away, waving to his two brothers who were playing sabbec at the bar.

Hunter turned around to follow her a few mintues later, "don't be too loud."

Hunter glared at the two but made his leave anyways, following Y/n's instructions. Making it to the last door he knocked the door sliding open as Y/n sat on the floor, a tray in her lap, neon fairy lights on the strung carelessly on the walls and ceiling, weapons littered on the floor, some things hanging on the walls, there was a mess of the bed.

"So you came." She spoke popping whatever she was rolling into a jar, setting it on her nightstand and pushing the tray into the drawer. Standing up zhe grabbed a box of matches, throwing herself into one of the large bean bag chairs, big enough for two people, "lock the door would you?"

He did as asked, "why call me in here?"

"Well...Dark and Broody." Y/n spoke, "sit, come on."

Patting the seat besides her he walked over, "I have a name."

"Okay? Tell me it."

"Hunter."

"Okay Hunter." She spoke, "you seemed tense. So we. Me and you. Are gonna smoke-"

"Smoke? Smoke what-"

"One of these." Y/n spoke holding up the jar, "Kessel herb."

"Spice? Yeah no-"

"No. Herb." Y/n defended, "there's a big difference."

Hunter watched her swish the jar around in front of him, "you pick one for me atleast."

Mentally sighing he did as asked, Pulling out a joint for her she smiled, closing the jar and setting it aside, "atleast this doesn't smell bad, smells like flowers."

Hunter watched her open up the match box, the joint between her lips as she striked the first match, a complete dud, she moved onto the second one, also a dud, by the fourth one Hunter was wondering if she'd ever light the thing.

"Dropped them in water-"

"I can do it." Hunter cut off, Y/n gladly handing him the match box as she leaned over, he striking out on the first match but the second one he got working, the flame bright and prominet despite the red undertone of the lights, leaning over as well he lit the thing easy as pie.

"Thanks."

He watched her take a deep inhale in bowing out through her nose she leaned back, muscles already calming and relaxing.

"Why did you really call me in here."

"I told you to smoke." Y/n spoke, "I know a stressed man when I see one. Shit half the time I am a stressed man."

Hunter watched her take in another puff, "Plus it would ruffle my moms scales."

Hunter chuckled Y/n was right about that much, "yet also wanted to see if you wanted to hook up for a night."

Hunter coughed, not because of the smoke but the abruptness, "I'm sorry?"

"Well I seen you look at me the way you did earlier," she told, "and you're pretty good looking, but you seem to atleast have a good head on your sholders, men I know that look at me usually make a comment right away, you kept them to yourself."

Hunter responded with silence, "it's just a suggestion, an idea." She told him turning to look at him.

Again silence and Y/n contuined to smoke as if it was no problem that he said no, he found it, hot, sexy even. She knew what she wanted and she asked if told no she was okay with that, carrying out through her day.

"Why me?"

"I just explained why, you." Y/n spoke, "its yes or no tense guy."

Hunter shifted, its been a while, he mentally sighed, Y/n returning to smoking casually. Was this a way of teasing? If it was, it was harsh, and it was working. Shifting once more there chlothed and armored touching one another.

Damn, Hunter thought, to have her strong thigh in his hand, his head between her thighs. He looked up seeing Y/n pull the joint away once more, feeling the stare Y/n turned her head

"Wanna try it after all?" Y/n questioned, bringing the joint infront of him, "if not more for me."

Fuck it, the empire rules the galaxy, the republic fell, his brother is trying to kill them, what could he possibly loose from having any fun.

He took it with gloved fingers bringing it to his lips, Y/n watched him take a deep inhale, Y/n impresssed.

"This isnt your first rodeo." She teased.

He leaned in closer to her, if even physically possible, removing the joint from his lips, he pushed closer to Y/n, his lips placed on her's softly, and only for a momment, then pulled away, strings of smoke coming from both there lips now as Hunter's mind felt clear, relaxed.

"Lets do it." Hunter responded, usuing his armor as an ash tray, pressing the ashes to death on his chest plate as the embers died.

"One puffs not gonna get you anywhere." Y/n teased.

"But you will..." he whispered against her lips, pressing furthur once more he kissed her.

The kiss much more passionate than the first, Y/n running her hands through his hair, his bandanna slipping off in the process as she tossed it away.

"Fuck you're so hot..." He whispered into the kiss, Y/n moaning softly, his hands untucking her white tank top from her pants.

"Don't tell Im sharing with someone, thats why you came back all undressed." He teased against her lips, his hands hiking up her t-shirt past her covered breast.

"If sharing means arena fights. Then yes." Y/n teased back causing Hunter to chuckle.

Hunter pulled away, unclapssing his armor as she watched, letting it be tossed to the floor he was stripped down to his blacks. Bitting her lip at the buldge in his blacks, he leaned back into her,kissing her lip's passionately, forcing his tongue into her mouth she groaned, his touange pressing against his as they fought.

The kiss ended in a tie, both pulling away panting, Hunter let his hand's find her bare skin in the mean time, traveling up her adoment and covered breast he found her shirt, pulling away he lifted it over her head and arms. About to kiss her again she stopped him, pulling on the edge of his blacks, she pulled his shirt up, he lifting his arms in the process, his gloves rolling off with his sleeves in the process. Tossing the article of chlothing somewhere random. He removing her black sports bra, he kissed her just above her breast.

She humming in pleasure as he did so, traveling up to her neck, kicking her boots and socks off in the process, her legs tensed squeezing together Hunter had found her sweet spot, the space just above her collar bone, where her muscle was tense.

"H-hunter..." she panted, kissing the side of his head as she let out a soft groan, her head rolling back as her fingers tugged on his hair.

"You drive me crazy doing that..." Hunter whispered against her skin, dragging his kisses down her chest, and to her breast, where he let himself take in one of her soft buds.

"Fuck..." he moaned, his hair being pulled once more.

"Maker you're mouths amazing-" Y/n spoke her legs squeeze together tighter, adding to her pleasure as she groaned.

Switching over to give the second one just as much attention his hand cupped her other breast, squeezing her battle scared flesh softly, his other hand slipping behind her waist band slipping into her panties.

Hunter pulled away from her bud with a intoxicated look, "Your soaked..."

Y/n chuckled, "and you're hard as a rock..."

Pulling his hands away from her, she watched him undo her pants, pulling them down as quick as he could, and with her help of kicking them off they were gone.

Y/n reached for the last of his blacks, pulling them off his hips he pulled at them as well, removing his boxers as well. His chlothes barely releasing his length, Y/n's hand wrapped around the base of his aching cock.

Y/n's face laced with warmth and a teasing smirk she let her thumb rub the strip under the base of his cock, he groaned watching her tease his cock. His hand pulling at her panties she raised her hips to help, and he loosely pulled them down enough to let his hand go between her legs.

His finger's teasing her clit softly as she meweled, "Fucking hell..." she whined softly.

Both messes under each other's touches Y/n picked up a pace, her hand starting to milk his cock as he moaned heavily, body both relaxed and tense he gripped her thigh.

"Easy- now..." Y/n whispered to him, planting a soft kiss on his lips, "Don't wanna finish just in my hand do we?"

Hunter shook his head no, "you better be on something...I'm gonna cum in you till you beg me to stop..." he moaned.

She chuckled, leaning into his ear, "yeah? Am I gonna be sitting in pools of your cum?"

"Fuck yeah you are." He told her, "f-from every fuckin hole, starting with you're mouth."

She was taken back both by comment. He stood up as she looked up at him, his cock in her face, she moved forward, her lips brushing against his cock as she licked his tip, the taste of Pre-Cum now on her touange.

"Salty..." she teased kissing down his shaft, her hand wrapping around his base. Looking up at him his face was flushed, yet still held a determined look of lust in his eye.

Pulling back to the tip of his cock she kissed the tip, opening her mouth she pushed his tip in, her hands resting on his hips.

Fuck does he feel so good down my throat, Y/n thought, her eyes closed as she moaned, bobbing her head almost instantly causing Hunter to groan.

"Easy doll. You don't wanna choke." He teased, watching her bobbing increase he moaned loudly, her pace only increasing, "Maker you know to suck cock- s-shit-"

Y/n pulled away jacking his siliva covered cock off, "H-hunter fill me with your cum please. I wanna be in a pool of your cum."

He covered his mouth, what the fuck., but he wasnt complaining, watching her deep throat him again he groaned, his hips starting to pool back and thrust, and as soon as he knew it he was holding the back of her head, mouth fucking her hard.

"Yeah baby take it all...like a little slut take it all for me." He moaned, " hell- I'm-"

Hunter hit deep inside her mouth, cumming down her throat, mid way pulling out letting the rest coat her face.

"H-hunter!" She meweled, but he covered her mouth, not wanting anyone to hear.

She swallowed his cum, groaning into his hand as he pulled his hand away.

"They can't hear us..." she panted, cum covered her face and mixed with her drool as she tried to catch her breath, "t-the walls are solid concrete..."

"Well then...I suppose I will be making you scream..." he panted as she bit her lip, looking down at her he chuckled.

Face covered in cum, running down her lips and chin, her breast perky, marks already starting to form on her neck, her panties down to her knees as she sat waiting for him, flushed and horny.

"Maker I can not wait to put my cock in that tight pussy of your's." He told her, his thumb holding her chin.

"Then do it. Fuck me till you can't cum no more" she begged, watching him kneel down infront of her, causing him to chuckle.

"I want a taste of you first." He told her.

Pulling her panties off she bit her lip as he grabbed her legs roughly by the back of her knees, spreading them from one another, she shifted in her spot, allowing her legs to spread a bit wider and give him a better veiw. Hunter didn't bother teasing her, her pussy soaked and aching as he dived in, eating at her clit.

"F-fuck Hunter!" She cried, her back arching as she gripped onto his hair immediately.

Y/n was in heaven, Hunter between her legs completely devoring her.

"Baby so sweet..." he moaned into her cunt, licking up every bit of her fluid he could, shoving his touange deep inside her.

"Oh- maker! Fuck me! Please fuck me!" She begged, his fingers joining his touange deep inside her, as an incoherent mewel escaped her lips, his fingers thrusting deep inside her.

"Come on baby..squirt for me i wanna taste it." He whispered against her cunt.

"H-holy shit!" Y/n exclaimed, her eyes rolling to the back of her head, eating her raw her back arched and her legs squeezed together but he pulled away, spanking her on the back of the thigh.

"Do that again and I'll stop eating you out and fuck you until you're raw." Hunter deamnded, she nodded mindlessly, as he went back to devoring her.

Her pussy pulsating as he shoved his touange deep insider her, his fingers competing for space.

"H-hunter..." she whined, feeling like she was to snap, "H-Hunter- Hunter! Hunter!"

She squirted into his mouth, her legs squeezing together in pleasure.

"F-fuck!" She moaned, back arching as her legs shook, "F-fuck,"

He pulled away from her, flicking her clit with his fingers intesifiying her orgaism. Moaning loudly she watched him getting up to his knees he leaned over her grabbing her face.

"I told you if you closed your legs again I'd fuck you until your raw." He argued as Y/n blushed deeply.

"I'm sorry sir..." she apologized, pussy still pulsating, still completely soaked with a mix of her own cum and his siliva.

"What did you call me?"

"S-sorry daddy." She apologized.

"Atleast you know your place."

Holy fuck, where did this Hunter come from? Not that she knew Hunter at all, but it was still a shock to see the 'dark and broody' man become such a sex addict that liked to be called daddy.

"You either call me daddy or sarge," he demanded grabbing her chin, "understand?"

She nodded in response.

"I can't hear you."

"Yes daddy."

"Good girl..." he praised, "the better you are the more cum you'll get, understand?"

"Yes daddy."

He spred her legs open again, his knees resting on the bean bag below her as he lined himself up with her soaked entrence. Pushing his tip in her she moaned loudly, her feet resting on his hips, he chuckled, grabbing her hips tightly he shoved himself in her fully.

"F-fuck!" She cried out, "Oh maker yes!"

He started beating into her without warning, she crying out in pleasure as her body shook.

"D-daddy so rough! Oh-yes!" She shouted.

"Touch yourself While I fuck you," he demanded, her hand hand reaching between her legs,rubbing her clit while he fucked her senseless, "Good girl, looks like someone wants to be filled with cum."

She moaned nodding her head in the process as he beating balls deep into her, hearing his cum filled balls slapping against her soaked skin.

"F-fuck daddy please!" She begged, one of his hands finding the back of her hair as he gripped it, arching her over.

"Please what baby girl? Come on. Tell daddy what you want."

"P-please cum in me!" She cried drooling in pleasure, he groaned her tight pussy walls clenching around him, "H-Hunter!"

Moaning heavily he gripped her hair tighter, her free hand gripping his forearm as she bit her lip. The feeling built up in her stomach.

"Y-yeah! D-daddy! Daddy make me cum!" She begged, he watched her come unraveled, beating into her roughly her back arched, toes curling as she moaned loudly, soaking his cock as she squirted onto him, he pulled out of her, rubbing her clit intesifiying her orgaism.

"Oh- Shit!" She cried, the quicker he rubbing her clit more she squirted, slipping back into her he delievered a few hard thrust as she cried out, pulling out once more her orgaism intense as she held her legs open.

"Fuck daddy!" She cried.

"Come on baby let it all out." He praised, slipping into her again and fucking her roughly for a few more thrust, pulling out once more as she squirted the last she could.

"H-hunter- Hunter!"

"Shh baby. Shh." He spoke leaning kissing her roughly she kissed back, pulling away he looked down at her, "You still need my cum in you huh baby?"

"Mhmm, yes please." She begged.

"Good girl." He praised, kissing her sloppily as she groaned.

Pulling away she held onto his arm as he pushed his way back into her, causing her to mewel out his name.

"What a perfect little pussy." He told her, starting to thrust into her, his hand rest at the side of her throat as his thumb pulled her chin down, she wore a curled smile with a deep blush, her pupils dialted wide and pupils seemingly in the shape of hearts.

"H-hunter...daddy..." she meweled.

He grunted down a groan, feeling himself starting to become unraveled, "pussys still tight for me,fuck-"

His gripp tightned around her neck, causing her to choke slightly, as his thrust became sloppy, becoming increasingly rougher as her moans grew louder once more. Loosing rythem he pulled his hand away from her neck, his hands gripping her hips for leverage as he pulled them against his thrust, groaning loudly he still beat into her harshly, his cock pulsating in her. She begged for him to creampie her, her hands finding his hair as she tugged and pulled.

"Ah! Fuck! Yeah! Fuck!" He groaned, "Oh! OH!"

He shoved himself deep inside of her keeping her steady as her back arched, his own body arching into her's as he released a massive load of cum into her.

"Oh! Fuck yeah!" He groaned, completely loosing control, contuining his rough thrust.

"H-hunter! Hunter! Holy shit!" She cried out.

"Fuck Im cumming again!"

"H-hunter! Fuck!" A second smaller load was shot into her, filling her womb with his hot seed as he held her hips tight, rocking into her steadily as to make sure he stuffed her. He panted heavily, his ears seemingly ringing as he looked down at her.

Her mouth agape as she breathed heavily, her breast rising and falling with heavy pants.

"Good girl..." Hunter praised, slolwy pulling out of her, Y/n letting out the last of her soft moans.

He panted heavily, his hands spreading her legs as she ended up holding her legs open by her inner thighs, Hunter watches the thick cum leaked out of her, cum covering her pussy folds.

"Good girl." Hunter praised, a few of his fingers scooping up some of the cum as she opened her mouth, letting it sloppily leak from Hunter's hand to her mouth and face, "Now, turn over on all fours, Im not done with you yet."

[shreddedparchment]

A Wife for Thor Pt.22

Obstacle

04/08/2021

Pairing: King!Thor x Reader          Word Count: 5,413

Warnings: angst, jealousy, marital problems, pregnancy, allusions to cheating (no actual infidelity), fluff, smug Loki

A/N: It took me SO long to get this chapter down. I wrote literally like a few sentence a day for a bit and then finally got some good chunks out. This has been a tough week but this chapter makes it all worth it! I hope y’all think so too. A lot of good stuff happens in this chapter, as in stuff that I really like. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work!

Please DO NOT repost my stories on any other sites or blogs.

REBLOGS are always welcome!

The shuffle around the palace as Loki escorts you through the front gate is overwhelming.

It’s safe to say that judging by your reception when you’d shown up in Heimdall’s tower located on the far side of the city, the Asgardians are happy to see you.

Armod is also happy to see you and you rush to get into your car before you can get swarmed by eager Asgardians.

Loki joins you in the back seat and lets Armod gush over his happiness at seeing you back home and healthy. And pregnant! More than anything, the people are happy to see the swell of your belly.

Many of the women are crying as you step out of the car at the palace gate, the men cheering enthusiastically.

Some of the children have found flower petals to throw into the air and it rains white, pink, and yellow blossoms.

It's the small waving hand of a little girl with ebony floor length braids that tugs too hard on your heartstrings and you give in to your impulse.

“Armod, stop the car, I’d like to greet the people,” you ask, swayed further by the eager faces of the young girl's siblings who flank her..

As much as being Queen had come unexpectedly and as much work as it's been, loving the Asgardians has never been a challenge and you've missed your people.

Their kindness has always been the best part of your day.

Armod gives Loki a quick look but stops the car just as the palace gates are opening.

He pulls over to the side, putting it in park before hurrying out to open the door for you.

“Are you sure?” Loki checks, reaching over to place his hand over yours on the seat.

“Of course. I owe them this. I’ve been gone for so long.”

“If you’d rather go in, we can find an excuse.”

“Loki,” you laugh once. “Is something wrong? Is there a reason I shouldn’t get out of the car?”

“Not at all,” he assures you. “I just don’t want you to force yourself. I know this pregnancy hasn’t exactly been easy on you.”

“I’m okay. And I’m sure they wanna see the proof that they have an heir coming. Really, Loki, I don't mind.”

Loki sighs, but gets out quickly to move around and take Armod’s place and offer you his arm.

Taking it, you pull yourself out, and after a long moment to steady yourself on your feet, you turn to face your people.

A large number of Valkyries suddenly pour from the open palace gateway and you wait as they line themselves in front of the gathering crowd. A simple border of control to keep you safe.

The people don’t seem threatened by the guard either and they continue to cheer until you raise your hand and call them to silence.

It only takes a few seconds for the noise to die, leaving only the ambient sounds of the city, wind, and the shuffling feet as more Asgardians and visiting humans gather.

“Hello,” you begin, voice a little shaky from nerves. “I’m...I-I’d like to start by first apologizing for disappearing. And then for being gone so long.”

The people watch and listen attentively, hanging on your every word. As your hands drop down to your belly to stroke it anxiously out of habit, their eyes are drawn to it and they seem to rattle with excitement again.

Looking down at your tummy, you contemplate the little one inside and the kicks he gave you earlier in the day.

He's really in there.

“It’s been a long journey to do what’s been expected of me. Difficult, actually. Giving you and Thor what we’ve all been hoping for is a privilege though. It's important that you all know that.

"However, I'm not as strong as all of you. I'm not as resilient. As soon as I knew that I was expecting the future prince or princess of New Asgard, I knew that I had to take precautions. I had to stop thinking like your Queen and just for a while, think like a mom. I told Thor that I wanted to take some time away from my duties as Queen if only to make sure that my pregnancy would take. In order to ensure the health of this baby.

“Im so very sorry if I caused any of you any worry or pain by disappearing. That was never my intention and it makes me...I can only say that I'm sorry. I hope that you all can understand why I left. The The thing is I’m happy to say that my efforts weren't wasted, clearly."

There's a rumble of gentle laughter that flows through the crowd and breaks the slightly somber mood your speech is causing. You give them a smile and they smile back.

"And while that does make me very happy, it has not been easy to carry this baby. I have been sick and weak but after some rest I'm now feeling stronger than ever. With the constant and careful care provided by Doctors Wilson and Alric, I’m finally able to resume my duties as Queen with the knowledge that this baby is strong and healthy and my body can take the strain of bringing him-or her into this world.

“I’m so happy to be back among my people, my home. You all are my family and it fills me with such joy to know that I have made you all proud.”

The people cheer, more and more gathering along the street so that it’s now clogged and impassable. Others have taken to peeking out of windows from the surrounding buildings or finding balconies and roofs to stand on to get a better look at you.

Their excitement changes to trepidation at the look on your face as you realize that now is the perfect time to address what happened yesterday.

They’re so attuned to your mood that they quiet down again and wait nervously for you to speak.

"On a more serious note, I know that many of you must have been shocked by the lies spewed onto the pages of the Watch. And I'd like to be as clear as I possibly can about my absence from the palace.

"I only left because of the concern I had for our future prince or princess. There was absolutely no other reason for my absence in our great city. While it is true that something did happen between Thor, Jane, and myself--well, I will only say that now I know that His Majesty the King of Asgard is wholly devoted to me and our family, just as he has been from the moment he accepted me as his wife.

"Not that I ever doubted it," you lie. No one needs to know how bad things are and it is true that now you know Thor is devoted to you.

So, it's not completely a lie.

"As a people," you continue. "We'll need to be vigilant about the people we choose to trust to come into our homes. We will be more cautious now, and as a woman…"

You swallow hard, thinking about the words itching on the tip of your tongue to tumble forward and make your heart clear. Maybe it's not right to say it? Maybe it isn't the queenly thing to do?

You don't care.

"As a wife and a soon-to-be mother, I will say that Doctor Jane Foster is not welcome in my home. She has proven to be unworthy of the trust we placed in her and while her expertise is an invaluable commodity that I am sad to lose, I would rather have the second best than risk the stability of my family."

To your surprise, there are a flutter of approving nods and smiles, wives and husband's looking scandalized by the confirmation that something went down but clearly it was Thor that had Jane kicked out. A few cheers come but they quiet down quickly.

"My love for His Majesty is unwavering. As is his for me. No marriage can be without it's struggles but Thor and I are as united as we have ever been. Both in love, devotion, to each other and you, our people. Together we will strive to protect this kingdom to the best of our abilities and with this child, I hope we can begin to lay down proper roots for us so that everyone on Earth will know that New Asgard is here to stay."

The crowd cheers. It's deafening and your hands are trembling so terribly even clenched into fists they shake.

"LONG LIVE THE QUEEN!" someone shouts and the others fall into the chant as it's picked up by what sounds like everyone in the crowd.

A cool hand presses against the center of your back and you lean towards him as he whispers in your ear.

"That was beautifully done, Y/N," Loki admires. "Now come along. You need your rest."

You cradle your bump and the crowd cheers louder as you wave while Loki leads you back into the car.

As it pulls away from the curb, the Valkyrie turn to follow behind you. Faces full of stern pride. Their gleaming armor shining bright in the late afternoon sun.

The large wooden and steel reinforced gates of the palace close with a thundering clatter and you lean back, heart suddenly clenching painfully. Your stomach turns and you feel like you might throw up.

You shut your eyes and open the window allowing the cooling air to help drive your nausea away.

"Y/N? You alright?" Loki checks, putting his hand on your arm.

"I'm fine," you assure him, unwilling to open your eyes.

"Are you sure? Only, you're looking a little green."

That doesn't actually happen does it? Do people look green when they're gonna throw up?

You assume he's exaggerating, but as the last bit of the swirl in your belly passes, you look at him with fearful eyes.

"I'm nervous," you admit.

"To see Thor?"

"Mm," you nod.

"He's missed you. He will probably try and hug you. Might even kiss you."

"I don't know if I can handle that, Loki."

"You'll have to. The guards around the palace are sworn to secrecy about anything that happens in here, but with the amount of information that magazine was able to get we're pretty sure there's a mole amongst our number."

You look away from him, frowning because the last thing you want is to hug and kiss Thor.

Well, that is, you really want to do those things. Which is why you shouldn't. Not until you can be around him with some kind of rational thought and control over your feelings.

You need to get a grip and come to terms with the reality of your situation before you can let yourself love hum.

You have to protect yourself.

It turns out that you have nothing to worry about.

Estrid who had come before you with your things is there to greet you. A few others of the palace staff come to see you and you're welcome back with fondness.

Because you know you have to play the part, you look for him.

"His Majesty had a sudden summons from the Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, my Queen. He apologizes for missing your arrival but he's had the small dining room filled with all of your favorites.

"When you are finished with dinner, he has asked that you wait for him in his study."

Estrid's tone tells you she's wary for you. She wants to make sure you're okay.

The disappointment you feel gives you away not only to yourself, but everyone there to see your face fall as you caress your belly.

"A blessing in disguise?" Loki suggests in your ear for just you, but the smile on his lips says he knows better.

"He'll be back before it gets too late, Your Majesty," Estrid assures you, trying to soothe your sadness. "He promised. There’s nothing more he wants than to see you."

"I know," you smile at her, then the others before you head for the dining room, your stomach grumbling in anticipation of the foods you know are waiting.

~~~~~~~~~~

Waiting is torture. You keep trying to read your book but your attention is pulled back to the door of Thor’s study every few seconds.

You groan, dropping the book onto the desk before throwing your head back with scrunched up eyes.

How is it possible to be desperate to see someone while also dreading it?

It feels like you'll die if you don't lay eyes on Thor but also like it'll tear you to shreds if you do. There's no winning here.

You gasp as the door opens and get to your feet in the same breath.

Thor's body is rising and falling heavily with his own labored breathing. He'd been running.

To get to you? No. You can't be swayed.

"I'm here."

His declaration is soft but heavy with meaning. More than just him announcing his arrival.

"Oh, aren't you a vision," he gushes.

"Hi," you whisper, only because you can't catch your breath.

He's wearing jeans, a plain black t-shirt stretched across his bulging chest. He's even more massive than you remember. Three months away has deprived you so fully that suddenly being in his presence leaves you hungry for him.

You want him so much.

"I've missed you, desperately," he confesses. "May I greet you properly?"

You frown, so undecided.

"Or not," Thor relents. "Forgive me, I just got caught up in the moment."

Why is this so hard?

You want to feel him.

"You can greet our baby properly," you give in.

A big part of you needs to feel him and this is the only way you can give in and feel like you're still doing your best to hold strong in your resolve to get some distance.

Thor’s eye lights up and quickly finds the swell of your tummy with recognition.

"Really?"

"I will never keep you from our baby, Thor. Even if I'm not ready for things to go back to normal between us just yet."

Thor takes a half step towards you and watches you carefully for any indication that you're not comfortable with his proximity.

You sigh, head tilted to the left slightly before you hold out your hand to him, beckoning him closer.

In three long strides Thor takes your hand and stops when he's only a foot away.

"Here," you gasp.

Your heart is in overdrive. Thor’s touch is doing things to your body. There's an initial rush of butterflies in your stomach and quickly you pull Thor’s hands to the spots where your baby is kicking in response.

Thor’s body freezes. He goes rigid. He even stops breathing.

For a moment you begin to worry that maybe you've broken him, until he suddenly drops to his knees.

He swallows hard, eyes pooling as he stares at the swell of your stomach as the baby continues to kick.

“They’re really in there,” he’s so choked up about it that his voice cracks around the words.

As he speaks, the baby kicks more.

Thor laughs but then leans in to kiss your stomach over the fabric of your dress.

“We really made her,” Thor gushes.

“Her?”

He looks up at you, confused for a second before he smiles wide, “Or him. It doesn’t matter. What matters is our baby is coming.”

Your heart swells, and you’re so happy that you could float away like a hot air balloon with the warmth flooding your limbs.

This is the moment you’d dreamt of. This is the moment that had been stolen from you by Jane and her lies. This is the moment that you and Thor had both been yearning for.

He’s so caught up in it, floating through the glow of this perfect moment that he presses his lips to your tummy again two more times before he’s rising, his hand hooked behind your neck as he meets your lips as he gets to his feet.

You’re so unprepared for it, so utterly lost in this sweet exchange between him and your baby that your lips pucker on their own.

He opens his eye and yours, already open, stare into his. He looks slightly shocked to find himself kissing you but he doesn’t stop.

Instead, his expression shifts into a pained look of desire. He pulls back, his hand dropping to grip your bicep.

“I would say that I’m sorry but I have been wanting to kiss you since the moment I left you three months ago.”

You say nothing, watching him, listening. You’re searching your soul to see if this is okay with you because it feels okay. Despite the sirens blaring in your mind about the restrictions you’d set for yourself when you’d decided to come back home, your body is telling you it needs this. Your heart is painfully aching at Thor’s touch.

You’ve missed it. You’ve missed him. 

“Is this alright? I can go.”

The idea of him going now feels like the end of the world. Rationally, you know that isn’t an appropriate response to his offering to leave you be, especially when you know you asked him for space for specific reasons.

“No,” your hands grip the sides of his t-shirt tightly, holding him in place without any actual strength since compared to him, you’re as mighty as a little mouse.

You refuse to look up at him, despite the crumbling of your resolve.

“No, don’t go.”

It’s an almost involuntary shy response to your diminishing shame at losing all control after his touch. After one kiss. You should be disappointed in yourself. And part of you is. However, that part of you grows increasingly small as Thor gently takes hold of your chin and guides your gaze up until you can meet his.

“I’m sorry, cherub. I will try and be worthy of you again.”

“I know,” you admit, knowing how sorry he’s been from the moment he realized that he’d done something that hurt you badly. “I know you are.”

“Can I kiss you, cherub?”

His voice is so deep, so alluring and coaxing that you drop your gaze again, fixing it on his collarbone before slowly you nod.

His arm winds its way around your waist and he pulls you to him before dipping down and catching your lips with his again.

He pulls away after a second because the swell of your belly gets in the way, but he laughs and looks down at it.

The pleasant sound of his happiness gives you too much joy.

As you begin to smile, Thor reaches down to press one hand to the side of your stomach while he pulls you against him again and kisses you this time with more fervor.

The longer he has his lips pressed to yours, the more enthusiastic he gets until finally you’re breathless and you pull back but instead of pulling away, you wrap your arms around him and fist the back of his t-shirt,

You bury your face against his wide chest and Thor brings his hands back up to caress the sides of your face, his lips kissing the top of your head.

“I know I may not have a right to say this, but thank you for coming home. Thank you for coming back to me. I thought I’d lost you."

His arms grow a little tighter, his heart is in an absolute stampede.

You turn your head sideways so that you can listen to his heartbeat.

"This is what I'd wanted," you whimper, starting to be overcome with the emotion of being reunited with Thor and things falling into place more easily. "This is how I'd wanted us to share this moment."

Thor sighs heavily, giving you one more squeeze before he pushes you back a little so that he can look at you.

“I’m so sorry that I robbed you of that. I was a fool,” he nods, his eye intense as he stares into yours with wordless declarations piercing into you.

The memory of your speech with the people when you arrived pops into your head and now with Thor’s arms around you it all feels a little like an overreaction. The past three months feels like a distant nightmare.

Or does this feel like a dream?

“Thor,” you begin but Thor’s lips are on you again, drowning out your words.

“Oh, to hear you say my name,” he declares and kisses you again.

Your mouth opens for him and you absolutely melt against his chest as he nearly dips you in passion.

He pulls back again, “Is this real?”

He kisses you.

“You feel so good in my arms.”

He kisses you.

“Your skin is so…” but then he hums and kisses you.

He dips down and with his arms tight around your waist but also careful with the swell of your stomach, he lifts you so that you’re level with his eye.

“I love you, so much, my cherub. Thank you, thank you for coming home. Thank you.”

“I’m sorry I stayed away,” you sigh. “I need to be strong without you, Thor. I was hurt but I never stopped loving you.”

His face goes through shame, understanding, and then elation.

In a burst of subdued anger and aggression for what he put you through, you reach up and grab his shoulder. You dig your fingers in against the taut muscle then reach up to pull one of his ears.

You’re clearly not hurting him but he allows you to move his head, understanding the need to express your anger even if you’re not doing any damage.

“Never do that to me again,” you growl. “Never say that you’ll leave me. Why would you say that? Even in passing? You were so damn sure.”

“No, Y/N, I wasn’t. The moment I saw you, I knew that I could never leave you. I’m sorry. I could never even think those thoughts again.”

“You better not, or I won’t come back next time. I’ll disappear and you’ll never see me again.”

Thor takes your threat for what it is. A promise. Truth.

He shakes his head as he leans forward to press his forehead to yours, shutting his eye.

“I swear,” he begins. “On my life.”

He keeps you there, hovering over the ground with your heads together for a few minutes before he slowly lowers you to the ground. You realize it’s because he wants to stroke your belly and you take a slight step back so that he can.

He smiles, happy. It reminds you of the look your people had when you’d arrived only a hundred times as possessive and joyful.

Again, your speech intrudes on your reunion and this time, you won’t let him distract you.

“Thor,” you coax, placing your hands over his where they rest on the sides of your stomach.

“Yes, my cherub?”

He’s excessive in the affection he puts in his voice but you know that he must be floating on cloud nine after what you both went through when you made him leave you at your house.

“I-I did something and I’m not sure if it was right of me to do it,” you watch his brow wrinkle and for a split second you almost lose yourself in the beauty of his face.

Has he always been this handsome?

“When I got back I kinda made a speech? Everyone was so happy to see me and to see me carrying our heir and I wanted to apologize to them for leaving and for making them worry. I wanted to share in their excitement for the baby and with that stupid tabloid having come out yesterday-”

“Right, the article,” there’s guilt in his voice despite there being no truth to the rumors it printed.

“I wanted to put their minds at ease and I...I did confirm that something happened with Jane but not what they were thinking.”

Thor’s expression hardens just a tad and he pulls backs towards a large armchair. He grabs your hand though and pulls you along with him until he can sit and then carefully attempts to offer you his lap, unsure if you’ll sit.

You do, because you’re tired and because you’re not eager to be away from him again. Now that you’re touching him, you’re not in a hurry to change that again.

“What did you say exactly?”

Swallowing hard, you lick your lips nervously, “Um...I told them the truth. Not exactly the truth, but enough of it that they’ll understand that Jane isn’t welcome here. I said that the only reason I left is for my health and the health of the baby, which is true. I didn’t want them to worry about us because even if we didn’t reconcile, I want us to be united for them at least.

“But I don’t trust Jane, Thor. Not after what she did. Not after how she treated me when you weren’t looking, and the people need to know that I will protect them from anyone, no matter who they are to you or me.”

Thor’s face grows pained as you speak, his arm wrapping around your waist as his other hand caresses the side of your stomach. You’re starting to realize that it’s going to be hard to get his hands off it, but that doesn’t seem like a terrible problem.

“I wish you had told me that she’d been rude to you,” Thor sighs, taking his hand off of his stomach to stroke your cheek. “If I had known-”

“She wasn’t rude to me Thor, she dismissed me. I wasn’t even worth acknowledging to her and now I know it’s because she was jealous and wanted you back because what? She saw what we had together and suddenly it was good enough for her?

“I was in her way. That’s all I was. Even if in the end she couldn’t go through with it whether it was because she felt guilty for doing this to us or for lying or for having second thoughts and knowing that she doesn’t want to be Queen or a mom, she’s a bad person to me. And I have every right to protect myself, my baby, and our marriage from her. She’s not welcome here Thor. I never want to see her again. Ever.”

He’s cradling you now, holding you close because the intensity with which you're telling him that Jane is not welcome in your home is transferring to him.

“And if you’d known, you wouldn’t have done anything, Thor. You’d probably have talked to her and asked her what was going on and she would have lied to you and you would have believed her.”

He doesn’t deny it. He does look like it hurts him to know that you know though. That’s enough for you.

“I think it took her lying and doing this to us to make you see what she’s capable of.”

Thor shuts his eye, resting his head against your chest as he wraps his arms around you again.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are, Thor. But you weren’t the one who lied. I mean, you didn’t tell me what was happening, but you weren’t the reason that this happened. If Jane hadn’t lied-”

“But she did,” Thor says, his deep voice anguished. “And I failed to honor my vows. You are my Queen and I should have come to you the moment she told me she was pregnant.”

You both fall into silence as you reach over to stroke his bicep. His skin is so soft. Touching it gives you comfort in a way you weren’t aware you needed. The more you touch it the more you need to feel it.

A finger stroking his skin turns into two, then four, then your entire hand is running up under the sleeve of his t-shirt.

With the way his hand curls around your thigh, you know that both your bodies are responding to your touch. Both of you are heated but instead of giving into that because you aren’t ready for that yet, you lay your head on his shoulder and curl in closer to his chest.

Thor sighs heavily, wrapping you up in his arms as he cradles you close.

“Now we know better,” you whisper.

“Now I know what losing you will do to me,” Thor agrees. “I’ve missed you so much, cherub.”

You don’t respond. You’re too choked up to say anything without your voice cracking so both of you stay like that for a while.

The cocoon of Thor’s arms is toasty and from the exhaustion you’re feeling plus all of the emotions that have drained you, your eyes are heavy and difficult to keep open.

“What about you?”

Thor’s chest rumbles with a chuckle.

“We can talk more tomorrow, cherub. Sleep.”

“I’m not sleepy,” you lie.

“Very well, then. What about me?”

“You’re sleepy?” you look up at him, full of concern.

He chuckles again, “No, cherub. What were you asking?”

“Oh! I just wanted to know if you’re okay. What Jane did to you can’t have been easy. Despite what she did to us as a couple, she said she was pregnant. You’ve been wanting a baby for so long and she dangled that in front of you like the rat that she is. And then she wasn’t even pregnant?”

Thor’s arms constrict around you as he pulls you up towards him to kiss you.

It’s slow and full of emotion.

“Even after all of that, you’re still worried about me?”

“It took time,” you admit. “Once I wasn’t so angry and I thought about what Jane really did. I hate the idea that your heart broke over her lies. I can’t believe she ever loved you if she was willing to make you feel that way.”

Thor just stares at you, searching your eyes before he rubs his nose gently against your own. When he speaks, his voice is so low, so deep, an intimate whisper. It burrows into your chest and settles right there underneath your ribs and makes you breathless with missing him and desire.

“That’s why you’re my Queen, Y/N. And she is not.”

You’re not sure if it’s an Asgardian ability or if maybe it’s something specific to Thor, but he has a way of making you swoon.

“I missed you so much,” he confesses again, that whisper sinful. “Did you not miss me?”

You nod because you can’t speak. There’s a lump in your throat made of both sadness and want.

“Was your bed as frigid as mine was in your absence? Did you miss my breath on your neck as I did yours? Or the steady beat of your heart when you pressed your breast to my back as you held me while I slept?”

Fuck, he’s making this so impossible.

“I hate you so much,” you counter, but his lips stretch into a small knowing smile as you take a tight hold of the neck of his shirt and pull him up to meet your lips.

He exhales heavily into you, tasting you, relishing in every pulsating touch as both your hearts ache and yearn almost in disbelief as if both of you can’t believe that these wants, these needs are finally being met.

As he pulls back to tilt his head the other way, he takes hold of the sides of your face again, his lips grazing yours, “I love you.”

Before you can reply or yank him back into that torturous yet blissful kiss, a voice at the doorway clears their throat.

“Well, that was fast, what happened to keeping him at a distance?”

Loki’s voice pulls your gaze and you can feel your cheeks and neck burn at how easily it seems you’ve crumbled when finally face to face with Thor.

You frown at your brother-in-law, while Thor ignores his brother and leans up to press very non-chaste kisses to your neck, “I told you coming back was a bad idea.”

But Loki’s smile is blinding and with one chuckle he backs out of the room, shutting the door quietly as Thor turns you back to him so that he can get back to kissing you.