#just an idea that’s been latched to my brain

[call-me-casual]

So I’ve been thinking about the TAG “behind the scenes” skits, they cross my mind almost daily.

It’s just so brilliant the way they did it. The idea of having the characters wander around at a side proportional to the sets is way cuter than it has any right to be and the 100% done film crew is just hilarious.

It makes me want to build a whole au around the concept, just the Tracy boys being tiny and causing chaos. Like, imagine you spent years studying film or something and your new job consists of trying to prevent Virgil from burning himself on the coffee machine, or stopping Scott from trying to steal the director’s car keys to go on a joyride (probably @idontknowreallywhy ‘s dream job lol)

Bonus points if they can’t talk at first and instead sound like baby alligators!

I’ve also been letting a TOS version marinade in my brain for a while, but that one is kiiiind of leaning into horror territory rn-

[fatedroses]

More than just the Demon.

[walkman-cat]

hands up tell me abt Your star trek au right now!! on the double bro. what are the tensions it all looks too kind & magical i don’t trust it yet

(if it is literally kind & wonderful i am grateful i am thankful i am honored i’d just like to hear more)

-@jack-kellys

i'm ngl my star trek au au is mostly running on vibes wbwbwb so it is pretty kind and happy and warm (i just really like how much everyone in the enterprise's crew has such a respect and care for each other yknow. found family and all that innit).

that being said, here are some funky things about the characters ive been thinking about lately (under a cut because i'm incapable of being concise):

the stars were essentially jack's santa fe. he grew up surrounded by stories of starship captains and space and it became his lifelong dream and ambition to captain a starship, something which he dropped everything to attain. now he is captain of a starship– one of the youngest in starfleet's history– and it's wonderful and fantastic and he's never felt more alive! but there's always something gnawing at the back of his mind (he's based his entire life up until this point around this moment, it was a driving force and a beacon to look up to when times were tough. what if the experience is nothing like his dreams and he ends up disappointed? what happens when the mission's over? what'll become of him?).

also starfleet's assigned him a galaxy-class starship with families onboard and he's having a Time because of it (what if they get hurt under his watch. what if he gives the wrong order and a child dies. starfleet officers know the risks of space travel and are aware of this but the families. the children). other than that he's having a great time !!

kath's half-betazoid on her mother's side, but she never knew her mother nor has she ever been to betazoid (i really went woe! being mixed and only connected to one of your cultures but still being unable to fit in even there because of the fact that you're mixed be upon ye!). she's trying real hard to learn more about betazoid and who her mother is even though she knows she won't really feel like she "belongs" in betazoid either. she's working on understanding and using her empathic/telepathic powers more.

oh also!! pulitzer is a notorious and not-well liked admiral, when kath joined the acedmy she officially had her name changed to plumber and has since told no-one that they're related (this surely won't backfire terribly on her in the future)

also because this is the spot (cat) show, kath loves spot (cat) and wants to babysit her and play with her but alas. she is allergic to cats

race cannot catch a break– he's got a massive losing streak at senior officer poker night, spot (cat) hates him, he can't grow a beard but every time theres an impostor/clone/mirror universe situation the other version of him always has a beard (this is half in jest but also it amuses me wbwb)

jokes aside, i've been having a whole bunch of race as first officer thoughts (and a lot of riker and race parallel thoughts but. that's another story). i don’t really know how to explain it other than the way riker acts in the last episode of tng season two (yes, the riker montage episode) when facing death (joking around and keeping up the appearance of flippancy and courage in the face of agonising death because he’s first officer and there are people who look up to him and he has to set an example) seemed very race and very kony to me, in a way. (youve got this to blame for riker beard race. im not sorry)

race is also one of the first people to advocate for les becoming acting ensign. he makes it very clear that he's in les' corner and makes himself responsible for his studies and sometimes his training (and he teaches him poker).

OH ALSO! sarah and davey didnt know les ws going to be onboard and only found out about his presence after they'd set off. did he sneak onboard?? mayyyybeee (he just really wants to be a starfleet officer). after the initial shock (and notifying their parents) sarah and davey start the Let Les on the Bridge campaign (letting him watch the bridge from the turbolift, helping out in sciences and engineering, etc etc) the that eventually leads to les becoming acting ensign. it reaches a point where most of jack's senior officers would probably mutiny all for this kid.

there's more stuff but i'll stop rambling now because, again, i have a problem with being concise wbwbw. thankyou soso much for the ask rizz once again i love your star trek au so much and am always eager to hear more wbwbw!!! :D

[segernatural]

two fears:

my mri says something

my mri says nothing

[watery-melon-baller]

there is something so funny about me pulling up to tumblr after vanishing for a few weeks, losing my shit over spiderverse, only to log in and find every single one of my mutuals losing their shit over nimona instead

[sparky-is-spiders]

Tell me ur jon/jonah thoughts

I'm afraid that, while I have many Jonjonah thoughts, they're mostly incoherent snippets of ideas floating around in The Brain Soup. There's a couple varieties, mostly of my brain going "But what if..." -insert idea here- and then refusing to elaborate further.

Personally I'm very fond of AUs where Jon is also a regency man with an interest in the supernatural and they have a corruption arc together. I think they should go around London investigating statements and rumors of supernatural happenings. I like the idea that they were the only people doing research for the institute while it was still getting off the ground, and a lot of their correspondence and journals and papers would've been preserved (although most would be inaccessible/unknown to institute employees). Not sure how Jon would be surviving through the centuries though. Equally enchanted by the idea of him bodyhopping the way Jonah did, just being immortal as the Archivist, and hiding under the tunnels as a weird fucked up monster (I very much love monster Jon).

I've also seen a few AUs where Jonah finds Jon hanging out under Alexandria or something and bringing him back to London to be his Archivist (and maybe also help end the world a little bit). Everyone else is baffled and horrified but Jonah is smitten.

I am also weak to time-travel and/or universe-hopping shenanigans, either post s4 where Jon has to reckon with the Jonah he knew vs the (past? present?) version of Jonah. I think the most fleshed out (read: could be described in more than two sentences) idea I have for this would rely on a rewrite of s5 (at least the ending). I saw a couple posts about TMA ending with Jon trying to go through with his plan only for Martin to decide to kill him (rather than Jon volunteering to die in the hopes they'll end up somewhere else). Between those posts, a handful of "post-s5 Jon ends up in Jonah's time" AUs I've seen kicking around (mostly @/Paptato's "A Game of Cat and Mouse" and @/sm0kebreaks' "My Dear Jonah"), and my desire to see Jon succeed with his plan and kill the fears, my brain came up with the idea "what if Jon tried to get Jonah to do an apocalypse so he can kill the fears for good?" (Note: I often struggle to grasp what would and wouldn't be in character for characters that aren't mine, and this AU in particular may come across as somewhat (or very) OOC for Jon). It's mostly predicated on the idea that, having been betrayed by his friends and his partner for their own selfish ends, Jon came to the conclusion that the fears had to be stopped, and he was quite possibly the only person who both could and would, and wiping out humanity through a fearpocalypse would be the best way to destroy them for good. Thus he enlists Jonah's help in his armageddon quest (conveniently leaving out the part where Jonah would not actually live forever). From here the details get sort of fuzzy (is Jonah the archivist now? is it the Sims Institute?). Mostly I like to imagine them alone in the panopticon, watching the fears wither and starve, waiting for the end. Of course, I'm really not sure Jon would ever do... any of that? Maybe if his corruption arc went further, but I'm not sure the Jon we're given would willingly pursue the end of the world, especially after already being used to end it once. Also not convinced that he'd be very good at the subtle manipulation that would be required. However, I am still somewhat enamored by the concept of Jonah meeting stranger who clearly isn't quite human (possibly helping him recover from hopping realities?), enamored and intrigued by this mysterious person who promises eternal safety for Jonah if only he would help them. I think Jon might come to genuinely love and see some of himself in Jonah, but not enough to change anything. Honestly obsessed with relationships where there's this deep, intimate understanding between two characters, who are mostly on their own/disconnected from the other people around them, but there's still this yawning distance between them that they can't ever quite cross, and I think this specific AU could play into that really well.

[whysamwhy123]

Seeing as I'm not going to ever write it now due to Recent Events, I've decided to babble on here about this terrible idea I had for a big, elaborate comedy/crack fic. If I had been able to pull it off, I would have wanted to post it on either Halloween or April Fools Day because it's very much supposed to be dumb. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it!

Keeping with my inability to come up with good titles, it was tentatively called ''Who Killed Tony Khan? A Hookhausen Mystery!''. At a company party where most of the AEW roster are gathered, Tony's giving a speech where he makes a mean joke about Danhausen, who decides to curse him. Tony then promptly dies on the spot, so now everyone thinks Danhausen is a murderer, no matter how much he insists the curse wasn't supposed to do that. He swears he's innocent. But no one's convinced. Other than Hook, that is. Naturally, Hook wants to clear the name of the man he loves so he and Danhausen have to team up once again, put on their detective hats and try to figure out what really happened to their boss and who's the true culprit. So the whole fic would have been a goofy romp with these two looking for clues, interrogating their co-workers and slowly piecing together the mystery. Obviously, it's not gonna happen now - I probably wouldn't have written it anyway because I'm nowhere near talented or smart enough to write a compelling mystery, but given the Stuff That's Happened recently, the whole inciting incident to that story now seems a lot less goofy and a lot more...distasteful. Plus, the dumb joke I was going to make at the end as a way to Deus Ex Machina the conflict away wouldn't work at all now (if you're curious, DM me about it, but fair warning, it's probably not funny to anyone other than me. And it's outdated now, anyway.)

Also...there were gonna be so many cocaine jokes in this fic. Like, enough that you could have made a drinking game out of it...

The thing is though...I still really want to write some kind of Hookhausen mystery fic! I don't know why but I really like the idea of Hook getting dragged into a situation so out of his element (like solving a fucking murder case - not exactly something in his usual wheelhouse) but willingly throwing himself into it because he just has to clear Danhausen's name. Why, yes, Acts of Service is one of my love languages, how did you know? So the more extreme examples of that, the better!

Hell, maybe I go even more out there and make it some kind of Film Noir AU. Hook as this young but still hard-boiled private eye, roped into some strange criminal plot with a heavy supernatural twist, thanks to Actual Demon Danhausen. I don't know, I just love dumb stuff like that, feels like it could be fun to play around with *shrugs*

[arolesbianism]

I have written a bunch of test inner dialogue for Odile at this point in hopes of being able to write some duo looping stuff but the more I write her the more I realize that I think my main issue is that I am just not feeling Odile second person narration. I see "you" and go ah yes Siffrin. Unfortunately this means I might have to bite the bullet and try writing with the dreaded "I"

[pigeonperch]

Of course I think about your characters without prompting!! Espír and cami in my head constantly, I actually listened Nothing again recently and lost my mind even more than the first time <3

TEEHEE <333 I HAVE INFECTED YOU WITH THEM LIKE A PLAGUE<333333 this is so delightful I love that they make you go crazy too. I need to think about them more

[vorfreudevortex]

apologies

✧.* gojo, geto, nanami, toji, choso, sukuna, yuji, megumi, noritoshi, ino, inumaki, yuta

notes: a somewhat happier resolution and part two of arguments! thank you for reading <3

✧.* check out the fun facts after the attachments for background info about their fights and a look inside my brain hehe!

my masterlist

© vorfreudevortex | all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, repost, or otherwise share my work.

satoru cried in his office when he realized that he blamed you for something that wasn't your fault.

suguru's coworker sat on his lap as part of a weird inside joke everyone else at the school has between the two. he has no idea why he was so defensive to you and he truly wasn't cheating. he was so angry that you would believe he cheated that he started calling you out for the first thing he could think of, wearing revealing tops in public. satoru had to call you 8 times before you picked up and let him explain it to you. he's forcing her to transfer to kyoto so she never has the chance to hurt your relationship again (remember that suguru never left and became a teacher alongside satoru in my aus). the pictures sent to the reader leave out how suguru uncomfortably asked her to get off of him shortly after, since they were around other sorcerers and teachers (as politely as he could).

kento came home with so many flowers for you and he still feels awful.

toji's dumbass freaked tf out when you took home your clothes from his place. he was out drinking and gambling and didn't want to tell you. your relationship is rocky for a while but he hasn't gambled since.

choso is still learning communication skills and cried when he realized that he was being mean to you over nothing.

sukuna is a terrible texter and does NOT communicate his feelings well. this is him being vulnerable af with you because he really does love you and has no idea why he was grabbing another girl's ass at the bar. he tried to chase you down after you threw a drink on him, slapped and yelled at him, and ran out.

yuji completely panicked when a curse attacked him out of nowhere when he was out with you. you can't see them and you were so confused and scared that you couldn't move. he just cares about you so much and couldn't stand the fact that you could've died. he made megumi listen to him cry about how mean he was to you for like 3 straight hours.

megumi has no idea how to deal with his emotions and has never been in a relationship before so he literally thought you guys were broken up LMAO. he's trying really hard for you.

in my au toge can speak, just not direct commands, so he still rarely talks unless necessary. i thought it would be nice to have the reader understand that all of his communication skills are terrible and help him work on them.

noritoshi has a terrible outlook on love and relationships from his upbringing so it took him a minute to understand how awful his words were. he truly does love you and wants to marry you. he lowkey constantly thinks about cutting off the kamo clan so they can't control his life anymore.

ino literally cried to nanami after your argument. he's so used to putting jujutsu responsibilities before his own life and feelings, and struggles with having to take care of something that can't be fixed with his power or strength. nanami also called you and apologized for meddling in your relationship, he realized it was inappropriate but he just really cares about you and ino and wants the best for both of you.

yuta literally didn't even realize how insane and controlling he was being until you called him out. after he took you home, he latched onto you with his head crammed in your lap because he was so upset thinking that you might leave him. he swears to himself that he will kill himself before he treats you like that again, and he never does it again.

i don't like when big argument smaus end with "no biggie i forgive you! <3" so i tried to make sure that the reader either made sure they know they fucked up big time, apologized and talked to them face-to-face, they'd never do it again, or you wouldn't forgive them so easily, etc.

sorry this was so long! but i love knowing the background info and author's thoughts for smaus since they can be kind of limiting in content! i think i'll add background info and fun facts after all my future smaus for those who are interested. as always thank you so much for reading ♡

[8n53]

i finally had the bobby fulbright conversation™️ with my therapist IM FREE !!! IM FREE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YAHOOOOOO

[coryosbaby]

ꜰᴜᴄᴋᴇᴅ ᴍʏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴜᴘ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴏᴘ !

♡ content warning . dubious consent, mentions of drugging, sex work, breeding kink, cum play, weird usage of condoms, dom! Coryo

You didn’t know how you ended up like this.

Being an escort wasn’t an easy job. There were times when you were completely disgusted at the men who approached you (if not all of them). Coriolanus was supposed to be a normal client— someone that would fuck and go. Even with his ranking, you never suspected that he would… keep you.

You had had a few weird clients— some asked for the most vulgar, filthy things. Some of them followed you around before your boss had told them off.

But none of them have ever took you home.

You usually weren’t this stupid, this hazy minded, but Coriolanus had scooped you up with his wit and his charm and a bottle of something you hadn’t had before the economy went downhill. You had heard of him— of course you had—- the powerful, handsome, and extremely intelligent, Coriolanus Snow. And before you knew it you were being tossed onto his king sized bed and his tongue was scraping against the roof of your open mouth. You didn’t even have time to gape in drunken wonder at his enormous bedroom— all you could think about was the cock gliding in between your legs, meaty and thick and wet. He had become completely bare to you, regardless of your opposing position. You were still clothed in your pink floral dress and your basic cotton panties.

Coriolanus’ lips grazed over your jugular, his tongue nipping at your skin. You had never been this hot for anyone, especially not a client. Your panties were soaking, your clit was throbbing and you needed to cum. What was happening to you?

“Cor…” you tried to slur out, as your eyelashes fluttered.

“I know.”

His voice was incredibly gentle, and his big hands groped your tits through your dress. He lifted up the hem, made sure to expose your panties to him, and groaned. You could feel his precum smear against your thigh as he ground his aching member against you.

“Can’t even say my name, can you?” Coriolanus continues. “I have an idea. You can just call me Coryo. Short enough for your little brain to remember, yeah?”

Coryo. It was a nice name. A perfect name.

You moaned out when you felt the cool air hit the peaks of your puffy and swollen nipples. Coriolanus—Coryo— was peeling your dress off of your body. When the fabric was thrown across the room his mouth latched to one of your nipples. You mewled, hands going up to grasp his blonde curls, your chest very sensitive all of a sudden. You could feel that familiar organ probing at your folds, and— when did he put a condom on? You didn’t know, but relief would’ve coursed through you if you weren’t so aroused that you were practically drooling.

“Want it,” you whined out, scraping his scalp with desperation. “Coryo. Please.”

Huffing out a laugh, he reached down and wrapped his hand around his shaft. He gave it a few tugs, made sure the precum pearled over and made a sticky white stain on the inside of the latex. He used the tip to part your pussy lips and find your hole. He pushed in, slow at first, but your pussy was so wet from whatever he slipped in your cup that it was almost easy. Even with his overwhelming size, your cunt accepted his cock greedily, sucking him inside your tight canal. Coryo groaned, practically going cross eyed at the feeling of your warm, wet pussy.

“Never had a cunt so tight,” he grunted against you. “even with all the men you sell yourself to, you’re still squeezing me like a fucking vice, sweetness.”

Your mouth dropped open, his words making you impossibly hornier. Usually you would be offended by such a vile statement, but his big cock was throbbing and wading through your walls with such precision that it had your legs shaking.

And Coriolanus had this charisma about him— something that made his words even more powerful than most. And after that statement, he just kept talking.

“Oh, Angel. My good, special girl,” his thrusts were impossibly fast now, the plap plap plap of his balls slapping against your sore and raw fucked pussy making you cry. “You’re mine now.”

His. His, his, his. Your fingernails dug into him, his chest touching yours sending tingles all throughout your body, and he kept spewing out dirty innuendos. You never thought being fucked could feel this good. His fingers reached down and rubbed your swollen clit, and it was like magic, the way your pussy spasmed and your orgasm washed over you. Seizing up, you mewled out his name as you came on him.

Coryo was mesmerized by your cunt squeezing him so tightly. Your pretty folds, lips spread out and wet, your hole sucking him in like he was meant to be there, like he was meant to fuck his cum into your womb, it was all so much. No amount of classism could keep him from you. Not after this. District or not, he would make you his gorgeous little wife. He would give you everything, love for you, kill for you. With the thought of this possession towards you, his hips began to stutter. Your eyes were closed, but you were still humping yourself against his awaiting thrusts. His balls drew taught, and he could feel his awaiting cum begin to flood the condom wrapped around his length.

No. No, no, no. This wasn’t right.

Not to Coriolanus. Not now— your pussy needed to be fucked full of his hot cum. You needed to be bred. And he was going to keep you and make sure of it.

Coriolanus watched your fluttering eyelids, the small smile grazing your features as his thrusts slowed. Something primal coursed through him, and he slowly pulled himself out of you. Watching your gaping hole made his cock twitch again, and he used his fingers to slowly twist the condom off of his cock. Full of his cum, he spread your lips with two fingers and turned the latex upside down. His spend dropped out of it and onto your used little hole, and you whimpered out as his cum splashed against your cunt.

“Coryo? What’r you doing?”

“Just getting you nice and wet for me, little bird. Close your eyes.. let me fuck you again.”

And like clockwork, his cock was probing your entrance for a second time— his sticky cum being pushed into your fertile womb by the tip of his pink mushroomed tip, his balls making more seed for your perfect pussy, and he was claiming your spent body with everything he had. <33

[zhongrin]

psssst Rin idea ehehe.... imagine having a remote control vibrator and alhaitham has the remote :))) that's it that's all bye //runs

crys.

crys.

crys.

...... must you send this while i'm on my period hauhdwhjfshdakhd

cw. minors dni, fem!reader, afab!reader, vibrator, self-indulgent shit bc i'm 1) in pain, 2) horny, and 3) just because i can. tldr; this is crys' fault /silly /lh

al haitham has your cycle memorized. it may sound like a useless thing to dedicate one of his brain cells for, but in his opinion, it really isn't. the common theories of the female hormones factors a lot into your mood and emotions, hence it makes a good tool to interpret your actions and outlines a specific guideline for him to act accordingly to make sure he continues to prove himself a suitable partner for you.

but sometimes, the man couldn't resist but just to tease you a bit.

and you look adorable in his eyes, all flushed and pouty like this.

"what's wrong? i thought someone said she wanted to 'get all the chores done before my uterus throws a tantrum for not getting to house a fetus'?" he asked, a little too nonchalantly, as he pressed buttons on the washing machine with one hand, the other sneaking into his pocket to play with the intensity of the little toy fitting snugly between your puffy folds.

"you're evil," you somehow managed to choke out, knees trembling as you held onto the edges of the sink, having to pause from cleaning the dishes at the heightened vibrations, "evil."

"that's not what you said last night with your legs wrapped around my w-"

"al haitham!!!"

"we're at home and kaveh's out to survey a project. i see no reasons for you to act unnecessarily demure."

you grumbled and muttered under your breath as you tried to wash the soap suds off the plates. a chuckle left your boyfriend's lips, and you feel a momentary relief when the buzz between your legs lessened into a hum.

key word here being 'momentary'.

you continued on ー wiping the plates dry, setting them onto the drying rack… as you reached out to open the cupboard drawer, the devil whispering in your beloved's ears seemed to have won the silent battle within his mind, for the bullet-shaped contraption seemed to increase in intensity with every seconds that passed. higher. higher. higher.

"h-haith- oh- fuck-" the quiver in your voice was palpable; arms steadying yourself onto the counter in a hurry. you were sure the dampness would have shown over your shorts by now; he'd been playing with that remote all morning, and it was driving you nuts.

perhaps it was that very desperation that prompted you to turn towards him with a pair of pleading eyes. perhaps it was your hormones going haywire that made you latch onto him and whine like a bunny in heat, your hands roaming across broad muscles, hips canting towards the growing bulge beneath those grey sweatpants.

oh, you really, truly look adorable when you were insatiably horny, he thought.

"…. fine. consider it my duty to finish the chores later," lush greens zeroes on the trickle of slick slipping down your thigh, the swipe of his tongue across his lips unconscious yet felt like added desire into your already heated loins.

"for now, i suppose your duty is to be thoroughly spoiled by me."

✼ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱʜɪᴘ (ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ) ┈ @abyssmal-skies | @hamdehlesmis | @sunnshineflxwer | @yuutasbabe | @queen-belial | @stygianoir | @silentmoths | @niktwazny303 | @dustofthedailylife | @marina-and-the-memes | @mixed-kester | @lordbugs | @anonymousficreader | @shizunxie | @irethepotato | @sassy-cat-in-town | @syrenkitsune | @smokipoki | @cakeboxie | @crystalflygeo | @ciexuvia | @illaasya | @celestewritestoomuch | @pams-comfortzone | @spidermanluvr444 | @ourstrawberryclouds | @ryuryuryuyurboat | @hrts4hanniehae | @fiannee | @jingyuansbird | @florapocalypses | @genshin-impacts-me | @scarasmood | @hellcatinnc | @beloved-brynn

[sarahscribbles]

First of all, I love you 💜

Second of all, I have a drabble idea!

Loki and reader have been in a romantic relationship for a bit and everything’s been pretty vanilla so far. How would Loki react to reader telling him that she’d like to explore more kink in the bedroom? Specifically that she wants him to be in control?

Can’t wait to see what you do with it, if it inspires of course 😘

I'm rereading this after just finishing the fic and realising that it doesn't touch on the reader wanting Loki to take control. I'm sorry! But I hope this is enjoyable nonetheless!

𝐕𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐛

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐢𝐱 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚��𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞, 𝐬𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐲

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭 & 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟓.𝟑𝐤

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: 𝐒𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐃𝐨𝐦!𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢, 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐬𝐦 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐲, 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐝, 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐠𝐞

𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“Six months, three weeks, and four and a half days. And counting,” you breathe out so softly that you don’t think Loki hears you. 

He’s tangled around you tightly in a warm cocoon of cream sheets, as he has been for the past few hours. You had other plans for this afternoon, but when Loki coaxed you back beneath the blankets with those big green eyes and award winning pout, those plans suddenly became very unimportant.

He’s good at that, you’ve come to notice, but you’re equally as good at knowing when to push and when to bend. An unfolding crisis somewhere deep in South America? He’s on his own. A Sunday afternoon of grabbing a coffee and wandering around your favourite second hand book shops? That can wait. 

For Loki, nearly anything can wait. 

The heat of your lovers body is seeping pleasantly into your own, as is his endless affection. That head of beautiful black curls is dipped beneath your jaw, errant strands brushing lightly over your exposed skin, and the low, quiet sounds of content that have flowed from him in an unbroken stream have only placed more of your heart in his capable hands. 

It’s difficult to focus on anything but the warm, heavy weight of Loki on top of you. He’s safe and solid and as familiar to you as the beat of your own heart. His hand has been gripping one of yours for as long as his cock has been hard and brushing against your stomach, desperate to take you, but not without first fulfilling his promise to worship you.

Your beautiful, benevolent god.

You take a shaky breath in, preparing to try and speak again, but the words get lost in transit between your brain and mouth when Loki’s warm lips latch onto the sensitive skin below your jaw. It pulls a ragged moan from deep in your chest, and makes your fingernails curl into the soft skin of his shoulders. You have no idea how many bruises now cover your neck and collarbone, but you know that it’s not enough. 

You want everyone who looks at you to know that you belong to Loki body, mind, and soul. 

“I hadn’t realised you had been keeping count, dove,” Loki replies, running his tongue soothingly over the area he’s just marked. Already, you can feel the first petals of a bruise begin to unfurl beneath your skin, and it makes you thrum with need. 

There’s an undeniable smile in his voice, which you mirror happily against him. His skin is warm and flushed when you press a chaste kiss to his temple, and you swear you hear him purr when you tangle a hand in his hair to lightly scratch his scalp.

“Of course I have. I’m calling it my longest spell of unbroken happiness,” you reply through a grin, unable to stop your hand running down his naked back to squeeze his ass. 

His hair tickles your collarbone when he lifts his head. Loki says nothing as his eyes find yours, but you watch - almost transfixed - at how they sparkle above you. He’s looked at you like this countless times before, yet butterflies still erupt joyously in the depths of your stomach.

It’s a feeling of joy that mingles with a quiet sadness that he’s so unused to being loved. He’s not familiar with being loved on and adored and treated like the most important thing in the universe - something that you fully intend to change. You’ll love him for as long as he’ll have you; you’ll love the good, the bad, and everything in between.

You’ll love him exactly as he is. 

You notice the faint tinge of pink that creeps beneath his cheeks even in the golden half light of your bedroom. It’s endearing, really; this stoic and aloof god blushing because of a few soft words. 

Because of you. 

“Darling thing,” Loki whispers eventually, and presses his lips gently against yours. 

His mouth is warm and soft, but it’s still insistent and you yield easily to his touch. He’s almost flush against you - so much so that you can feel the steady thump of his heart in his chest - but you still need him closer. You pull your hand reluctantly from his to twist it greedily into his raven curls, clamping him firmly to your lips like it’s the last kiss you’ll ever share. Before long, you feel the warm press of his palm against your cheek and the silken softness of his thumb on your chin, gently pressing down so he can kiss you deeper. 

This is what heaven is, you imagine; lying beneath the man you love more than life itself while he worships you so ardently. He looks at you like you hung the moon and if your sands of time ran out tonight, you would greet death happily.

You whine weakly when Loki’s lips leave yours, but it melts to a moan when those same lips find your jaw once more. His hand stays curled around your cheek for leverage as his lips press to your skin again and again, and you can’t help but to gasp at the dull drag of his teeth as he continues lower. 

Loki begins a lazy trail of wet kisses along your collarbone and between the valley of your breasts, but ignores how your nipples harden and beg for his attention.

“Lovely, lovely thing,” he murmurs quietly against your stomach, sliding his hands to your hips to hold them firmly in place when they lift upwards in search of more. 

“Bastard,” you say airily.

Loki silences you easily with a slow drag of his tongue from your navel to the crease of your right hip, something you know he’s chosen to do intentionally. Your cunt aches madly for him, for his fingers, his tongue, his cock - whatever he’ll give you. You only want him. 

You’ll only ever want him. 

He starts to suck bruises into your inner thigh so attentively that you swear you could cum from that alone. His hands are still locked firmly around your hips to keep you pinned to the bed and, no matter how much you squirm, there’s no way to escape his vice like grip. 

It’s an intoxicating thought - having Loki be in control - and a long held fantasy that you know he shares. It’s one you’ve both tiptoed around for the past few months, one you’ve spoken about only the other night, and one you no longer think you can ignore. 

“Wait,” you say softly, quickly, when two warm hands begin to press your thighs further apart.

Those same hands are off you in an instant and you try not to protest at the sudden loss of their familiar, comforting warmth. 

“Alright?” Loki asks, that smooth, deep voice laced with concern and apprehension. 

Quickly, you cup his cheeks in your hands and trace your thumbs soothingly over his flushed skin. “I’m fine.” You promise with a small smile. “I was only thinking about something.” 

The worry etched in his face slowly melts away as he studies you, and he eventually raises one elegant eyebrow in question. “Oh? Do continue, dove,” he replies, turning his face to place a kiss to the palm of your hand. 

Your skin tingles pleasantly in the wake of his touch, as though your soul recognises its mate from the briefest of caresses. “I was thinking that I’d like to try something different, like…like what we talked about the other night,” you say quietly, feeling your cheeks begin to burn. 

Loki is silent for only a moment, but you watch his eyes gradually light up with desire and sparkle with excitement. Against your stomach, you feel his cock twitch. “Are you sure?” he asks intently, curling his fingers around your wrist. 

You nod quickly, already feeling the first twists of anticipation deep in your stomach. “Yes. I trust you.” 

Something in his eyes softens and he leans in to kiss you slow and gentle, like nothing in the world matters to him more than tasting you. “I do so love you, my darling girl,” he murmurs, nudging the tip of his nose against yours. “You remember the system we discussed, yes?”

You nod again. “Red for stop, yellow for slow down, green for ok,” you repeat back, already thrumming with excitement. 

It’s something you’ve wanted from the very first time Loki took you to bed. You trust him more than you’ve ever trusted anyone. You trust him to be careful and considerate. You trust him deeply enough to submit to him. 

At hearing you repeat his system, Loki smiles widely at you. “Good girl,” he says, and kisses the tip of your nose. 

You wriggle with anticipation beneath him. Loki sits back on his knees and reaches to take both of your wrists in his grip. He holds them loosely and slowly strokes your skin with the pads of his thumbs.

“This may feel a little odd at first,” he says before a gradual soft tingle courses through both your arms.

It feels like a warm summer rain shower, like the first pleasant lick of a fire after a day in the cold, and then you watch as your wrists are encased in shimmering ropes of green. It’s bewitching to watch Loki’s magic at work. So often, you’ve seen it in the throes of battle and watched how easily he can bring an enemy to their knees, how ruthless he is in wielding magic as weapon of torture when the lives of his friends are at risk. You’ve seen first hand how it can destruct and destroy.

To then watch as he creates something so beautiful…

Gently, Loki then folds your arms back until they touch the headboard and another pleasant surge of warmth locks them in place. You tug experimentally at your bindings, but your arms don’t move. You’re fully restrained to the bed.

And fully at Loki’s mercy. 

He drinks you in as you lie bound before him. There’s a new intensity to his gaze that makes you ache for his touch and burn for his kiss. Sparkling green eyes run slowly over the length of your naked body - like a predator eyeing its prey - and you have to swallow a moan when the tip of his tongue darts out to lick his lips. 

“Colour?” Loki asks softly, ghosting his fingertips along the outside of your thigh. 

“Green,” you answer immediately. 

He gives you a devastating wink. “That’s my girl.”

The pride in his voice is so palpable it almost makes you weep with love for him. The list of things you’d do to make him proud, to be his good girl, is endless - something you have no doubt that he knows. 

Nervously, you wait for what’s to come next, but Loki seems in no rush to move things along. Your arms flex impatiently against the headboard, making the wood creak quietly, and it pulls a smirk across Loki’s handsome face. 

“You aren’t going anywhere, dove, not until I say so.” His voice rolls over you like liquid silk. 

He sounds menacing tonight, like you’re his captured prisoner, but your love for him is burning through your blood. Despite the restraints binding you securely in place, you know that you’re safe. Loki would sooner see the world burn than let any harm come to you - it’s one thing you’ve never been surer of. 

“You’re making me nervous just staring at me,” you say through a laugh. 

Loki begins to slowly trace the tip of a single finger along the inside of your thigh, and it’s enough to make a trail of goosebumps erupt in its wake. His touch is soft and sweet, yet somehow still menacing enough to make your heart rapidly pick up speed. 

“Good,” Loki purrs. “I want you to be nervous. I want that brilliant mind to run wild with the possibilities of what I might do to you next.” 

His finger stops just shy of where you’re throbbing for him and he throws you a wicked smile. It’s dazzling and seductive and pulls a near guttural groan from deep in your chest. Hot arousal is searing through your veins and blazing ferociously through your core. The man before you is sin and salvation, he’s thrill and torment, and you aren’t sure you’re going to survive this night. 

Before you can reply, Loki is silently leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to your cheek. “We’ll take this slow, dove. Colour?” he murmurs against your flushed skin. 

You breathe in shakily because the raw need to have this man has all but robbed you of the ability to speak. “Gr…green.” 

Loki lifts his head to catch your lips in a deep, chaste kiss. “I love you, my darling.”

You’ve lost count of how many times he’s said those three words in the past six months, but each time you hear them a golden glow of warmth expands deep in your stomach. This beautiful, wonderful man loves you, an unremarkable little mortal. 

He sits back on his knees again and you take a moment to appreciate the beauty of his body. The defined chest, the tight stomach, and those firm thighs that are slightly parted atop the bed.

He’s also achingly hard. 

You drink him in hungrily until your attention is pulled to his hand where that same shimmer of emerald green is dancing softly in his palm. When it fades away to nothing, and you take a few seconds to study the scrap of black silk that remains in its place, you realise that Loki is holding a blindfold between his fingers. 

It sends a shiver down your spine. 

“I’m going to place this over your eyes. Alright?” he asks, intently studying your face. You nod your consent, but Loki doesn’t move. “I need you to say it, dove.”

His voice is so gentle that it almost makes you weep. How did you get so lucky as to call this man yours?

“It’s alright,” you assure him quickly. 

Loki moves closer and leans forward to raise your head off the pillow. With care, he slips the blindfold over your head and, in only a matter of seconds, your entire world goes black. You stiffen at the sudden darkness, but quickly feel Loki’s lips press firmly to your forehead. 

“I’m right here,” he soothes you, cradling your head to his lips in one large hand. “Tell me your colour.”

Your answer doesn’t come immediately. You hate the dark - always have - but you can feel the heat from Loki’s body as he holds you close, you can hear his steady breathing and the beat of his heart in his chest. You haven’t been cast adrift into some endless void - you’re in your bed and safe in your lovers arms. You’re ok. 

“Green,” you tell him honestly. 

Loki places one last kiss to your forehead. “Good girl.”

He lays your head back on the pillow and you hear him sit back on the bed. There’s a sudden coldness from the absence of his body, but then his hand is curling around your hip in silent reassurance that he’s still right there. 

“Oh, my darling girl, you do look so beautiful like this,” Loki says, lightly running his thumb back and forth over your hip bone. “So beautiful and all mine.”

Mine. 

His.

It’s all you ever want to be, it’s all you have been since the very first time he kissed you. Your heart belongs to Loki, and you know now that it will belong to Loki until it beats its last. 

“Kiss me. Please,” you half whine, suddenly overcome with the need to have his mouth on yours. 

You hear his quiet laughter and feel the soft tickle of his hair over your breasts as he leans back in. “How could I possibly deny you that, my darling.” 

Seconds later his warm mouth is on yours. He kisses you deeply, so deeply that you try to wrap your arms around him before you remember. Loki grins against your lips and you squeal into his mouth when a finger and thumb then flick your nipple. 

“You’re such a fucking tease,” you goad him breathlessly when his lips leave yours. 

“And you’ll take every second of it,” he replies easily, and you can hear the smirk that’s spread wide across his face. 

You feel his lips at your neck again as he continues adding to his patchwork of bruises, and each time he sucks at your skin, you become increasingly aware of the searing need burning between your thighs.

As best you can, you turn your head to give him more access and he happily obliges. “Mine,” he says firmly before running his tongue along the column of your throat.

You moan shamelessly beneath him, arching off the bed and locking your legs tightly around his hips. “Yours,” you reply easily, digging your heels into his perfect ass. 

“Good girl,” Loki purrs, beginning to move further down your chest. “Very good girl.”

His lips are featherlight as they explore your skin, and the gentle caress of his hair along your abdomen keeps you grounded in the darkness. It’s all too easy to get lost in the haze of his worship, to fully relax into the soft sheets while he lavishes you with attention. You’re so blissfully drunk on this man and the love that he drowns you in…

“Fuck!” you yelp when Loki decides to sink his teeth into an erect nipple and pinch the other between his thumb and forefinger. 

There’s a quiet roll of amused laughter, and then his warm tongue darts out to soothe while the pad of a thumb runs softly over the other. “Sorry, my darling. I couldn’t resist.” 

You wish more than anything that you could see his face, especially when he repeats the previous action over and over. You want to watch his beautiful face and sinful tongue, you want to run your hands over him and twist them in his hair, but no matter how much you tug at the restraints, your hands remain frustratingly locked to the headboard. 

“Ah, ah, darling. That isn’t going to help you at all tonight,” Loki teases, and you feel him stretch up to kiss you again. 

You allow it, but still whine desperately into his mouth. “Please. I need to touch you, Loki. Please.”

He only kisses the tip of your nose. “Not yet. Colour?”

You huff out a sigh, but eventually mumble, “green.” 

“Good girl.”

There’s a quiet rustle of sheets as Loki sits back on the bed, but the soft touch that you’re anticipating doesn’t come. You’re aching for the caress of his hands or the teasing brush of his lips, so much so that you can almost feel their phantom touch if you concentrate hard enough. It’s easier in the darkness the blindfold provides - the cool silk acts like a film screen for all the filthy scenes your mind plays on a loop, each one more depraved than the last. Loki, you’re coming to learn, has a deliciously filthy mind, and he’s all too content to leave you thrumming and squirming at the endless possibilities of what he’s going to do next. 

His silence continues, making you strain to catch even the quiet sound of his breathing. You can’t and it makes your heart begin to race unpleasantly. 

“Loki?” you call out, hearing the hitch in your voice. 

Instantly, a large, warm hand is settling over your knee. “I’m here. Forgive me, I lost myself admiring the beauty before me,” he murmurs, running his thumb soothingly along the side of your knee. 

“Oh, fuck off,” you say through a smile. You can’t see him, but you know he’s gazing at you with those soft eyes that never fail to make you blush. 

“I don’t believe you truly want that,” he replies quickly, a smile evident in his own voice. His palm slides easily round to your inner thigh and you feel the other mirror it. Slowly, he pushes your thighs apart on the bed, opening you fully to him. “All for me, dove?” he purrs, shifting on the mattress so you feel it dip beneath you.

The sound of his voice - deep and dripping with desire - has you slick and aching for him. Your need for him is so fervent that your hips roll off the bed in a desperate search for him, but the only thing you hear is Loki’s quiet, amused laughter. He runs his fingertips teasingly along the inside of one thigh, pulling a groan from deep in your chest and lighting a blazing fire in your blood with just a simple touch. 

Such is the power of a gods touch. 

You whine loudly and yank at the magical bonds of Loki’s restraints. They haven’t budged an inch all night, yet you still pull at them ceaselessly. You desperately want to see your lovers face, to see the intent look in his eyes that promises pleasure you can only dream of, but Loki doesn’t move, doesn’t make any sign that he’s ready to free you just yet.

“Please,” you whimper pleadingly, feeling so wildly aroused that the simple brush of his fingertip could send you hurtling over the edge. 

“Patience,” Loki purrs smoothly. 

A string of curses slips swiftly from your lips in tandem with your hips bucking off the bed in frustration, but Loki’s warm hands move quickly to pin them back against the mattress. 

“I believe a gag may be in order next time, dove,” he says. His voice is teasing, but there’s a quiet undercurrent of warning running beneath that he will gag you.

It sends a fresh rush of heat straight to your aching cunt. 

“Fuck. Do you promise?” you breathe out before you can stop yourself, already close to dizzy at the idea of Loki gagging you. 

This time, Loki’s laughter is wholly unrestrained. “I love you, my darling little minx. You have my word that there will be many nights of exploration after this one.”

His hands are still curled around your knees, and the next thing you feel are his lips pressing to your inner thigh. He works slowly, methodically, kissing and sucking and nibbling your sensitive skin until your eyes roll back in the darkness. It’s something he’s done countless times before, but the addition of the blindfold only amplifies the sensation. 

In the darkness, you focus on the warmth of his lips and the wetness of his tongue as they move along your thigh. You feel the tickling caress of his hair and the way his fingers push your thigh closer to his lips. You feel his love for you in every sweet and teasing nip of his teeth. 

This man loves you, and you couldn’t ask the stars for anything more. 

His lips continue a warm path along your thigh, making you tingle beneath each touch. He takes his time sucking bruise after bruise into your willing flesh, ensuring that you’ll be covered in his marks tomorrow. His touch is intoxicating and you can’t help but to part your thighs wider as he edges closer to your aching cunt. He’s so close that you brace for the first electrifying feel of his warm, sinful tongue. 

But it’s a touch that doesn’t come.

Instead, you feel his lips press to your other thigh to begin the same slow, torturous ascent.

“Loki, for fuck sake!” you groan with another frustrated buck of your hips, but it’s so perfectly Loki that a laugh is soon to follow. 

You feel him grin against your thigh. “Perhaps a lesson on patience is needed tonight, yes?” he replies smoothly and nips gently at your skin. 

Loki doesn’t wait for your answer and, purposefully slowly, works his way along your thigh. This time, though, you refuse to give him the satisfaction of your impatience. You moan his name shamelessly and sigh blissfully at each warm press of his lips. As expected, it doesn't take him long to finish marking you. 

“You’re going to be the end of me, you little vixen,” Loki teases, though now his voice is heavy with lust and raspy with need. 

Although you can’t see him, you know exactly how he looks on the bed before you. You know that his usually immaculate curls are now falling haphazardly across flushed cheeks, and that his eyes are glittering with desire. You know his cock is stiff and aching to be inside you, only made bearable by swift, short strokes while he’s ravished you. 

You don’t need to see him to know that he’s craving you just as desperately. 

“I have no idea what you mean,” you reply innocently. “You said - oh, fuck!”

An affectionate taunt had been taking easy shape on your tongue, but the words fall into the air when Loki finally presses his sinful tongue to your cunt and licks a slow, firm line all the way to your clit. It pulls your back off the bed and makes the headboard groan loudly with how forcefully you yank against your restraints. You need more. 

“Yes, dove?” Loki asks, an unmistakable smugness dripping from two words.

You swiftly shake your head against the pillows. “Not important. Do that again. Please!”

Every inch of you is crying out for him, burning for him, and you don’t think you can stand another second without some part of his body inside yours. You need him.

“But of course,” Loki murmurs.

You don’t have time to entertain how easily he obliges you because he buries his tongue back in your cunt, licking and sucking and teasing until that coil of arousal begins to wind tighter and tighter in your core. 

The blindfold is still snugly around your eyes, but you can perfectly picture your lover in your minds eye as his head bobs between your thighs. You want to pull him closer as your climax builds, or have the simple, reassuring feel of him beneath your fingertips, but all they caress is the night air of your room. 

Between your thighs, Loki continues to expertly propel you towards release, and the sounds of his contented moans only adds fuel to the flame. His name slips easily from your lips in a breathless chant as your orgasm crests and, quickly, your entire body tenses in preparation, read to fall through the freefall…

But then Loki’s tongue is gone. 

You flail wildly on the bed and your hips buck desperately in a fruitless search for Loki’s mouth. “Loki, what the fuck!” you whine. 

“Shhhh,” he soothes you quickly, laying a warm hand across your thigh and stroking your skin with his thumb. “Tell me your colour, darling.”

Despite the absolute frustration he left bubbling in his wake, you can’t deny that you enjoyed it. “Still green,” you answer after only a moment of hesitation.

The bed frame creaks beneath you and then you feel the warm press of Loki’s lips on your forehead. “Good girl,” he whispers, then moves to position himself back between your legs. “Then consider this your lesson in patience.”

His mouth returns to your cunt and this time he takes his time building you back up. You want to roll your hips against his tongue in encouragement, but two hands pin them firmly to the bed, forcing you to endure whatever he decides to give you. 

Loki does everything he knows you love - every pattern and every rhythm - and when he then slips two fingers inside you, you feel the beginnings of what promises to be a cataclysmic release.

“Loki…,” you whine out a warning, balling your hands into fists so tight that your nails pierce your skin. 

Just as you’re about to tumble over Loki stops again, ensuring that your orgasm slips from your desperate fingertips. A frustrated sob catches in your throat, but Loki soothes and praises you through it, peppering your face in sweet kisses and cradling your cheek in his hand. 

“You’re sick for making me enjoy this,” you half laugh while he continues holding you. 

He laughs freely and deeply and presses yet another kiss to your temple. “I’m terrible, I know. Only twice more, my darling, I promise,” he murmurs softly in your ear. 

Easily, you allow him. 

By the fourth time, your thighs are shaking and a single tear of frustration leaks down your cheek from behind the blindfold. 

“Loki…please,” you beg him softly as the pad of his thumb gently brushes it away.

Little more than a second later, the familiar warm shimmer of his seidr trickles through your body, effortlessly dissolving the silk of your blindfold and the dancing green glimmer of your restraints. You lower your arms gratefully and blink a few times until Loki’s handsome face comes into full focus before you.

“There she is,” he says quietly, taking both of your wrists in one large hand to bring them to his lips. He runs the other gently over your skin until the dull ache that had settled into your bones fades away to nothing. “I am so very proud of you, my darling girl. You were magnificent,” he continues, swiftly dipping his head down to kiss you deeply. 

You pull your hands from his to greedily wrap them around him, taking in every inch of him beneath your roaming fingertips as though you had never touched him before. 

“Please,” you repeat, twisting a hand into his hair as he rests his forehead against yours.

He captures your lips in another quick kiss. “No more begging, dove. I am yours.”

Loki holds your gaze as he lines himself up and finally, finally, inches inside you. You’re more than ready for him, and he groans deeply at the feel of your cunt clenching around him. 

“Perfect,” he grunts. “Fucking perfect.” 

He shudders as he bottoms out and you see how his fingers dig into the mattress at your side. He’s as pent up as you are - perhaps even more - and you know that neither of you are going to last long after the last hour. 

Brazenly, you run your hands along his muscled back to squeeze his ass, biting back a smirk at the look that crosses his face. It’s the final straw that breaks him, and finally his hips begin to roll against yours. 

“Mine,” he rasps in your ear, arching his back to roll into you in long, deep strokes that have you moaning his name like a prayer. 

“Yours,” you breathe back, clutching him to you like a life raft as your orgasm begins to crest. 

All it takes is a few more thrusts of his cock to send you soaring off the edge. You grasp at him wildly and cry out his name so loudly that it rings off the walls. Your climax consumes you, makes the edges of your vision dance white with stars, and it drags Loki under only seconds later. 

Your name is an unbroken melody on his lips, a prayer of adoration to the goddess who granted him his salvation. Through half lidded eyes you watch how he loses himself to his release - jaw slack, eyes closed. The sight of him consumed to pleasure because of you is enough to have a second wave of your own pull you deeply beneath its surf. 

Vaguely, you feel Loki bury his face in your neck and you stretch a limp arm over his shoulder to hold him to you. He’s panting hard and you place a lazy kiss to his temple as you both bask in the golden afterglow of love. 

You smile as Loki nuzzles in closer and traces nonsensical shapes along his back. By all accounts you should be exhausted, but you’ve never felt so invigorated and hungry for the man lying in your arms. 

A turn of your head prompts Loki to lift his and glittering green eyes lock lovingly with yours. 

You smirk up at the man who you fall more in love with every single day. “Again?”

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[queers-gambit]

And Let Me Love You Anyway [ part two of two ]

part one: Tell Me Every Terrible Thing

prompt: you embark on a secret but passionate affair with the Rogue Prince, and when his wife, Rhea Royce, passes away, he chooses you to wed next - a decision that angers his niece and changes history.

pairing: Daemon Targaryen x female!reader -> hair color specified reader

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 6.3k+

note: what the fuck is this, Cherry? also two parts 'cause author gets carried away!

warnings: show spoilers, cursing, author has small bouts of feministic ideas, author also really likes the "little birds" storyline (let her live!), wonky brain is wonky, i think hurt and comfort, angst, very mild NSFW (female receiving oral), technically alternative timeline 'cause this goofy-ass author has an overactive imagination, #icanmakehimworse, another reader insert (this warning is for the fucking losers in my inbox).

"Alicent, we're late," you sighed with a frown, wiping your sweaty palms nervously as your necklace was latched in place and perfume spritzed on your pulse points. YES - that included your ankles.

"That's the point, sister, we're supposed to be late. It sends a message."

Your eyes rolled, snipping, "The King will not be pleased. I am not his wife, he can get angry at me, you know!"

"He'll manage," she snapped, glancing at Talya. She continued, "He dismissed Father for telling him a truth he would rather ignore. So much so, after years of service, he'd - "

"Yes, yes, the King removed Father as Hand, sent him back home," you nodded with understanding. "But we both know how he feels about his daughter, The Princess! The rumors circulating would cost him his life in the end, we are lucky he was only sent home!"

"Rumors! Rumors, sister, truly!? Tell me, do you think Father lied?"

"I know he didn't."

"Exactly why we're late to tonight's affair," she huffed, fixing her hair in the mirror again. "It's a statement, it's deliberate. We will stand out, prove we are not happy with the turn of events. Why offer Rhaenyra blind respect when she continues to do as she pleases - regardless of consequences."

You paused, sensing her anger brewing and trying to distract, "You know, Ser Lyonel Strong is not a bad replacement for Father."

"This is not about Ser Strong."

"Isn't it? Father's served long and faithfully, but perhaps it is time for a new guidance. Lyonel Strong is a smart man - qualified, even!"

"Yes," she agreed, turning to face you in a shimmering emerald gown. "But this is still an injustice to our family that I fear I cannot overlook any longer. It's been weeks..."

"Yes," you allotted, nodding with a sigh. "All right, yes, you are right, sweet sister. This is all just - it's a lot to take in, to try and digest. And we talk of playing a game with the Throne - I do not think we've the strength to endure alone."

"This is not about Lyonel Strong, sister! It's about Father and the disrespect the Crown continues to offer. Remember that," she advised softly.

You nodded, "I know, sister."

She frowned, "And remember... They aren't our kin. Despite previous displays of kindness, the Targaryens have made it clear that we are not family to them. They are not blood to us, sister; they will protect their own, not us. If we wish to survive, we will need to ally ourselves."

"I understand," you told your younger sister. "I am not arguing, I know what our reality is now - I merely implore to explore the routes that won't label us as traitors."

"I know, we have much to discuss going forward. But none of that for now," she took a long breath, smiling as she looked you up and down, complimenting, "you look stunning. Truly, you might outshine the bride tonight."

"Let's hope it doesn't come down to that, and that The Princess has a mature bone in her body - though I do not hold out hope." You smiled at her, "But enough about me, you look - you look like a Queen, sister-dearest. Gods, you're gorgeous, you look just like Mummy." The two of you shared an emotional, watery smile; embracing tightly as reality settled in your guts: it was you two Hightower Ladies against the whole of the Targaryen clan. "Come," you decided, taking a deep breath, "are we ready to go? Any later and I fear we might not get any cake."

"Oh, you and cake," she smirked, looking you over in a matching emerald, lighter-weight gown that had layers of thin fabrics clinging and dripping from your form. Golden jewelry was clasped around both your necks, wrists, tight around your fingers, and plugged into your ear piercings.

The Queen took your arm and left the dressing chambers you took refuge in, coming to a gasping halt when you were greeted by a well-groomed man in green velvet. "Father," Alicent exclaimed in shock.

"My daughters," he smiled, offering both arms, "I do believe we are now fashionably late. Hmm?"

"Exactly as we intended," you mused, taking his arm. "How is this possible? How are you here?"

"I was invited, if you believe that," Otto answered, the three of you walking slowly. "Though, I suspect your sister had something to do with that?"

"I only told Viserys I'd be deeply offended if you were ignored for this event," Alicent quipped.

"None the less, I am happy to escort my daughters to such a historic event," he spoke diplomatically, aware of the guards and servants milling around. Otto lead the way to the Throne Room - where you could hear King Viserys' echoing speech from the foyer.

None of you spoke, approaching the open doors and pausing to let everyone see the united Hightowers. Alicent wore her dark auburn locks pulled back from her face to cascade in thick ringlets down her back, your own Hightower-red hair left down around your face with the longer locks pinned off your neck. The entire room - the entire court - all wedding attendees and royal procession stared at you three in shock for entering during the King's speech. Your statement was clearly made.

Even from this distance, you could see how startled Rhaenyra was by your arrival, needing to fight off a smirk of amusement in order to keep your neutral façade.

You and Alicent walked arm-in-arm with your father, the once-Hand, down the stairs and up the aisle of banquet tables full of people, staring forward and giving no emotion away. The people buzzed in quiet gossip. The attending Hightowers of Oldtown, sitting closest to the royal banquet table because of their relation to the current Queen, stood first; everyone else following in a show of respect.

You and Alicent paused to let Otto sit with his relatives at the lower banquet table before joining arm-and-arm together. Over the muttering of the entire room, you whispered almost mutely, "Be kind, remain composed, we'll kill 'em with kindness."

Alicent gave a subtle flex to give indication she understood.

When you looked up at the table you approached under the King's heavy glare, you noticed there was an empty chair between Ser Strong and... Prince Daemon? Was that really him? When did he get here? Why was he back? It's only been a few weeks!

Your shock did not slow you, and as you approached the table reserved for the Royal Family, you saw Daemon smirking at your theatrics. Alicent did not let you part from her side as she greeted Princess Rhaenyra with a sickly-sweet voice, "Congratulations, stepdaughter. What a blessing this is for you."

She ignored any other reaction to let go of your arm, kiss her husband's cheek in greeting, stand beside him, in front of her chair, and stare forward with zero other emotion.

"Congratulations, Princess," you whispered, bowing your head. "Your Grace," you acknowledged, doing the same and taking the empty chair between Lord Hand and Rogue Prince only to stoically stare forward in silence. You did as Alicent did, not looking at any other, and just waiting for a pregnant moment that seemingly never ended.

"Please be seated," Viserys finally permitted, everyone sitting at his behest. He cleared his throat, whispering to Lyonel Strong, "Where was I?"

"The joining of the two Houses, Your Grace."

You swallowed when a warm hand laid on your right thigh, Viserys continuing his speech. You glanced at Daemon, seeing his smirk, and instead of throwing his hand off you, you laid your own over his to give a long squeeze. You had wrestled with the idea of his favorite whore, Mysaria, and the idea of whatever he did with Princess Rhaenyra for weeks. Then when you heard word that his wife, Lady Rhea Royce, had met her untimely end, you knew he was involved, yet said nothing. You could only think deeply about what it all meant - and how you fit into the equation that was Prince Daemon Targaryen.

Tell me every terrible thing you ever did...

All you could understand was the overwhelming affection you held for him. His shocked-wide-eyes found yours for a long moment, seeming communicating telepathically - you telling him you wanted him. His hand tightened to keep hold of yours, hidden from the public for the time being.

And let me love you anyway...

You tuned back into the King's speech in time to clap with the others, showing your support of the union you technically helped influence between Targaryen and Velaryon.

However, you caught the way Alicent glared at Rhaenyra, sighing to yourself; having heard through long private dinners what Alicent came to know and why this upset her so much. How strange to learn Ser Criston Cole admitted to Ali that he was coerced into soiling the Princess' purity - not her Uncle Daemon, like rumored. Yet none the less, the girl had sworn on her beloved, dearly departed mother to Alicent that she was still a maiden... A huge, glaring lie - that both you and Ali took personally.

You found all of this terribly interesting, yet did not let the distain show so boldly. After Daemon came to you in confession, you had yet to speak a word outside of public politeness to the Princess; feeling betrayed by what your lover had told you. He had been right: you were Rhaenyra's friend, she wasn't yours. So, you demoted yourself to create distance.

When the drums rumbled and the Princess took to the dance floor with her intended, you spared Daemon a look and muttered, "You do not have to look so annoyed."

"I'm not, sweet one."

"Nor so amused," you tacked on.

Daemon smirked at you, leaning in and pondering, "I am only wondering if you would care for a dance later, my Lady?"

You lied, speaking in a teasing tone, "I'm not one for dancing, my Prince."

"A single dance with me, then. Just one, pretty lady."

"You're pushy," you whispered, nudging him to keep quiet; but the grin on your lips assured him you were completely enraptured by his antics.

He sat back with a smirk, watching his niece and her fiancé dance. The entire courtroom clapped at the end, others flooding to the spaces around them. You glanced over as your sister stood from her seat, meeting your eyes and offering only a soft smile before descending from the table to approach your aunt and uncle from Oldtown - standing with your father on the side of the room. You sighed under your breath, your lover tightening his grip on your thigh.

Daemon made for a great distraction. "Did you hear the news?" He asked softly, reaching for his goblet of wine with his free hand.

"Which news would that be, my Prince?" You asked casually, pretending your heart wasn't hammering in your chest.

"Of my dear wife's passing."

"I did, actually," you fought off your smirk. "I am truly sorry to hear of it, I understand Lady Rhea was truly one of a kind. You shouldn't speak ill of the dead, love," you reminded in a whisper.

"Hmm. Don't be sorry, I'm not," he eased.

"You're not? Your wife died, Daemon..."

"I know," he met your gaze, "I'm not sorry because now it gives me vocation to follow my own desires."

You smirked, "Which desire will you follow first?"

His hand tightened to a bruising grip. He was not able to answer yet because your gaze was caught by movement, Rhea Royce's cousin approaching slowly, evidently a cup or two deep in the wine; making you remove Daemon's hand so you both could sit casually - without touching.

The man gruffly leered at Daemon, "In the Vale, men are made to answer for their crimes." Your lover spared you an exasperated look as he tacked on, "Even Targaryens."

"Who are you?" Daemon asked dully.

"This is Ser Gerold Royce, my Prince," you told him softly, "of Runestone."

Daemon perked his brow, asking sarcastically, "An excellent show of your knowledge, my sweet lady, but what does that matter to me?"

You didn't answer, Ser Lyoel Strong (who was listening in) didn't answer, because Ser Gerold was approaching the table by climbing the stairs. He growled at Daemon, "I am cousin to your late Lady wife."

"Ah, yes... Terrible thing," Daemon offered. "I'm positively bereft. Such a tragic accident."

"You know better than anyone, it was no accident."

Through a smirk, Daemon quipped, "Are you confessing some guilt, Ger Gerold?"

"I am making an accusation."

You shared a look with Lyonel to your left, catching sight of the King's turned head - showing he was listening, too. Daemon easily deflected, "Here, in King's Landing, men are made to answer for their slanders. Even old bronze cunts like you." This angered Ser Gerold visibly, the man stepping closer, but obviously restrained himself. Your lover continued, "The truth is I'm glad you've come. I wish to speak to you about my inheritance."

"What inheritance?" Ser Gerold demanded.

"Lady Rhea and I had no heirs. As her husband, whatever she was due now passes to me. She stood to inherit all of Runestone. Did she not?" Daemon had Ser Gerold pinned by legality, the man looking disturbed by his own realization. So, naturally, Daemon taunted, "After my niece's wedding, I plan to fly to the Eyrie and petition Lady Jeyne myself. Perhaps I'll see you there, Ser Gerold."

The man sheepishly walked away, his inebriated mind whirling with possibilities. You glared, pinching Daemon's arm so you could scold him when he turned to face you, "That wasn't very kind."

"And?"

"You don't truly care for Runestone," you snapped. "Now that man will fear for his home, fret over the laws, and that's not very nice."

He sighed, "What would you have me do, sweet one?"

"Leave House Royce to grieve and rearrange their succession without your pettiness."

Daemon smirked, "Whatever my Lady wants."

"You're dreadfully annoying tonight, do you know that?" You whined. "I'm going for a dance, and no, this is not an invitation to follow," you warned him - albeit playfully - before standing to excuse yourself.

"Sister," Alicent paused you before you could pass her by. "Are you well?"

"Yes, yes, just felt like dancing, too much energy to just sit. Come join - "

"No, no, I should sit. Eat," she smiled. "Perhaps tonight will be when you meet your match and we can plan another wedding."

"Perhaps," you mused, squeezing her hand. "You all right? What did Father and Uncle say?"

"Later," she whispered. "Go on, go."

You joined the stream of people dancing, instantly grinning when you were welcomed joyfully by different suitors. The band played a lively beat, the crowd cheering in rhythm; you being twirled around men and women with matching grins.

You heard your name being cheered through a small giggle.

"Hi, Princess," you greeted Rhaenyra as you both marched along to the beat. You reminded yourself this was all a game and if you wanted to survive, you'd have to play your part strategically. So, you quipped as you danced with Ser Arryn Blackwell, "Nice party you've got, huh?"

"Oh, you know how we Targaryens do," she teased. "Where've you been lately? I feel as if I've hardly seen you."

"Just busy with chores since Father was replaced as Hand," you answered, spinning under someone's arm.

Nyra didn't comment on that, instead, waiting a few moments before complimenting, "That's a beautiful dress, really goes with your hair!"

"That's what I hoped for," you gasped girlishly, deciding to play nice when she reached for your hands. You felt weak for a moment, but the truth was, you missed your friend... So, you might've giggled a bit when you joined hands, dancing together instead of with anyone else. With kindness, you offered, "You look gorgeous, as well, Princess, I love this dress - "

"Yes, yes, we all look fantastic," Daemon interrupted abruptly, crowding over you, asking quickly, "can I speak to you a moment, my Lady? The Princess won't mind, right, Rhaenyra?"

"Uh, no, I guess..." She eyed the two of you with suspicion as she stayed in-beat with the music.

"Daemon, not now - "

"We need to talk," he pulled you from where you danced, glancing back at the head banquet table as he took your hand, and lead you deeper into the crowd. He turned you to face him, pacing a small circle around you, demanding, "Do you still want to marry me?"

"What? Why are you asking now?"

"Because I just asked your father for permission," he seethed, pausing in front of you, "and he outright refused, saying he's negotiating with the fucking Lannisters. I need to know what you want."

"I was not aware what I wanted mattered to you, the man who views marriage as a political arrangement," you eyed him with a curled lip of annoyance.

"What arrangement could I want? Your sister is Queen, my family is bound to the Hightowers already. My political marriage is recently dissolved, I am free to do as I please, regardless of what others want or say - "

"Then tell me what you want. Tell me plainly what you want from me, Daemon, no more pretty words and veiled truths. Be plain."

"You said I had a year, and look - it's been weeks. Weeks, my love, how much more plain can I be? I'm here, now, free to marry, and I need to know if you still want to marry me. I'll marry you tomorrow - "

"Oh, please! Would you steal me away?" You mocked with a chuckle. "Take me to Dragonstone? Make me your little wife that you'll come to resent, too? Just as you did Rhea?"

He reached out to aggressively hold your cheek and jaw. "I had no choice in my first marriage, I could never come to resent you - you're all I've ever wanted. I'd do anything for you," Daemon snarled over your lips, "including risking your father's wrath. I'd do anything to make sure we end up together, you are my heart - do not forget that."

"Then pull out your sword, cut them all down," you purred, feeling his hand tighten, "and claim me as your own - do not let anyone stop us."

His lips hovered over yours, breathing the same air, and before he could respond or kiss you, a woman screamed shrilly from behind you. Daemon instantly latched onto your body as a crowd formed to your left and right, and when you both looked, you were shocked to see the commotion happening at your feet.

"Love - "

"Daemon," you paused him, shocked as Ser Criston Cole was engaged in a fist fight with some Velaryon knight before Ser Laenor Velaryon, the groom, was tackling him to the side. What an interesting display of protectiveness from Ser Laenor over his knight.

Daemon rushed in your ear, "Do not look - come away with me."

"Wait," you held his hands to your waist, letting him crowd into your back as Cole had punched Laenor to the side and straddled the blonde on the floor once more.

He landed one blow before the knight was brandishing a dagger; but the White Cloak caught his arm and easily snapped it broken, startling the crowd. Beyond your ring of spectators, other men were trading blows and engaged in their own fights; total chaos taking over the whole of the Throne Room. You flinched back into Daemon's embrace when Cole screamed like a wild man in the mountains, repeatedly pounding his fist into the knight's face; literally caving it in, creating a human minced meat pie.

Someone better contact Mrs. Lovett!

"No more," Daemon decided, Cole rearing himself back as Daemon stooped to heave you over his shoulder. He was able to find safe (enough) passage through the people, approaching the royal banquet table. "Hey, hey," he whispered, setting you down and taking your face in his hands, the wailing of Laenor Velaryon seeing his murdered knight echoing in the Throne Room. "You all right? You hurt? Look at me, love, are you hurt?"

"No, no, I'm okay," you whispered, swallowing unsurely; reaching up to hold his wrists. "I'm okay."

"Sure? You shouldn't have seen that - "

"It's all right," you assured, stroking his wrists. "I'm okay, Daemon, truly. Just... A little startled, maybe?"

"What's this then?" Harwin Strong smirked, panting lightly from his rescue mission as the Princess was attending her father, the King. "You two hit it off then, yeah? Is it me or are sparks flying?"

"Something like that," you whispered, trying to regulate your breathing after the adrenaline-inducing scrimmage.

"Easy does it, love," Daemon whispered, keeping you close as you didn't let go of his hands; wanting to stay connected. He told Harwin, giving a half-shrug, "They aren't sparks. She's everything to me."

"Perhaps your second wedding will go better than this one," Harwin sighed, hands on his hips.

"In some cultures, deaths at a wedding are considered good luck," you muttered, Daemon snorting lightly in amusement before running his thumbs over your cheekbones in soothing gestures.

"Didn't your wife just pass, Prince Daemon?" Your father demanded publicly with a heavy glare. "You'd offer insult to her memory by remarrying so quickly?"

"I've grieved Lady Rhea plenty, Ser Hightower, it's time to look to the future," Daemon declared, eyes daring your father to challenge him. "The Lady Hightower and I will wed. The sooner, the better, in truth."

And history would never be the same.

"What?" Rhaenyra demanded, whirling around at the news, making all others pause in confusion. "What did you say?"

"That I intend to marry the Lady Hightower."

"Her? Her? Fucking her - who is more prude than woman?!"

Well, that was mildly offensive...

"Rhaenyra - "

"What makes you think you're worthy?" She demanded of you, turning from her father to stalk across the platform. "Worthy of a man like Daemon, of a husband like Daemon? You've done nothing to - to deserve such a title! The title of Princess, of wife!"

You were honestly confused to your core.

"I deserve a man like he - not someone like you!" She continued, shocking the group as the Kingsguard cleared the Room of any lingering stragglers to keep this as private as possible. "You think I didn't see you on my tour? You were fawned over, all wanted to talk with you, but were forced to line up for me! You rejected them all on your own, and now I see why! You wanted to wait until the Lady Rhea passed, which makes me wonder - what part did you play in that?"

"Rhaenyra!" You gasped.

"What? Honestly, it would make sense - the day Daemon's banished, you weren't seen! I wouldn't be shocked if you were seen somewhere lurking in the Vale! You cannot have it all - you've always wanted my life, and now look! You have to have what I have, and now you've taken a liking to my uncle after our scandal! What? He wasn't interesting before? You heard rumors about us and decided you wanted him for yourself? Just because he was mine first? You just want to be me, you always have - you've always reeked of jealousy! This is all you wanted, to steal my family, and - "

"That's enough," Daemon tried. "You are out of turn here, Rhaenyra, do not make this worse."

"Why? Because little Lady Hightower's façade of being a respectable, pure woman is now tarnished?"

"We share one dance, albeit intimate, sit next to each other at a single dinner, shared some conversation, and you now think it's appropriate to call my virtue into question? What of your own, Princess? You just admitted to scandal with Daemon - but I wonder why the service of Moon Tea if your virtue was unimpeachable?" You demanded, feeling defensive on a new level. Even Alicent straightened up at your words.

However, Daemon rushed to add, "With all due respect, Princess, I don't want you, and you can't claim me as your own when you never had me. You might be angry, but it is no use to take it out on my intended, she is of rare stock and breed - she will not be questioned. Nor will my intentions with her."

Rhaenyra snarled, "Yeah? You don't want me? Well, you wanted me enough to try and fuck me at that whorehouse!"

There were gasps and murmurs all around, but Rhaenyra was glaring at you and Daemon, still standing together. His arms actually dropped to hold your waist, keeping you close as he snarled at his niece, "But I didn't. If memory serves right, I walked away!"

"You wanted me!" Rhaenyra raged. "You always were and always will be mine - regardless of the whores you bed in the meantime! And I want you, I am not yet married - "

"Yet I will not be who marries you, I am betrothed to another," Daemon reminded with a venomous tone. "There's nothing you offer that I want, Rhaenyra."

"I am not some inexperienced little girl anymore, I'm a woman grown, and I could do more for you than she ever could!"

"Rhaenyra!" Viserys roared.

Everyone knew she had gone too far and there was no coming back from any this. After a beat, Alicent stepped in as if questioning for the first time, "And yet, sister, you said the Princess was served Moon Tea? If Prince Daemon did not touch the Princess, does this mean she still," she scoffed as if the idea were absurd, "sullied her maidenhood? Before marriage?"

It should be noted that Ser Criston Cole was already gone from the hall at this time. In fact, he lingered just outside a side door, listening, in case his name came up. When Alicent spoke, he straightened up and started the slow trek to the Godswood.

"Ser Lyonel? Do I misunderstand?" Alicent pulled the Hand into the fray.

"Well, that's what that would sound like, Your Grace," he agreed begrudgingly. "Moon Tea is beneficial to prevent unwanted consequences outside of marriage."

"From what I understand, she was served by Grand Maester Mellos himself," you told Ali, minds strung together by a common thread. "The castle likes to gossip, you can learn a lot if you just listen."

"This is..." Viserys seethed, "Unacceptable."

"I'm sorry, Your Grace," you instantly apologized.

"No, no," he deflected, hand held up, "you have a duty to the Realm to flesh out any deception. And this," he directed his glare at his daughter, "is a grand deception that cannot be undone, unknown, covered-up, anymore, Rhaenyra!"

There was a meltdown. Everyone began yelling.

Viserys was enraged. Rhaenyra was desperately trying to plead with her father. Lord Corlys was demanding to know what the hell was about to happen with the impending marriage to "the future Queen". Ser Strong was trying to keep the people from each other's throats.

His sons stood to the side and just let them all fight.

Daemon kept you out of the line of fire, away from the action; sighing as you deflated into his chest. Over it all, Viserys' voice was angriest, and you heard, "You are no daughter of mine! The position you have put me in tonight - I cannot undo this, Rhaenyra! I should have never disinherited Daemon for you, breaking centuries of tradition because I wanted to see your mother in you! You have spat in my face around every bend, but this? This is unforgivable, we will not recover from this and I will no longer endure your insolence!"

"Father, please, let me - "

"No," he snarled, "I have had it with your disresepct the past several years, this is beyond any scale." You blinked up at Daemon, his lips curving down as his hands tightened around your form. And then, Viserys said the words, "I made a mistake naming you my heir. You may marry Ser Laenor, if you so choose to, but after that, you will reside on Driftmark with your husband - you will no longer inherit the Iron Throne after me."

"Father!"

"No," he snapped, "you've exhausted my patience, Rhaenyra!" Viserys roared. "And while Daemon might be unpredictable, the woman he wants to marry is not - and from where I am standing, she will make a far better Queen than you!"

It was quiet as everyone forgot their own selfish woes as father disinherited daughter.

"Your Grace," your father tried to step in, "with respect, why not place your son, Aegon, in line after you?"

"Oh, for the love of the Gods, Otto," Rhaenyra raged, rounding on your father, "give up this campaign, you get all you want and more! Your daughter is Queen now and your other daughter will be Queen after that, aren't you listening? Your grandchildren will still inherit the Throne!"

"That's it," Viserys breathed, needing to hold onto the banquet table for balance as all eyes turned to him again. "It's time to do what I should've done all along. Rhaenyra," he shook his head, "I can no longer have you as my heir, this type of behavior cannot stand. I will give you permission to marry Ser Laenor, and if he chooses not to, I will allow you to reside on Dragonstone until a match is made. Until then," his eyes shifted to where you and Daemon stood, "I name my brother, Prince Daemon Targaryen, as my Heir to the Iron Throne."

"You would not name your son?" Alicent asked in mild disbelief.

"No," Viserys told her, "no, I would see my brother as my heir. Should Aegon prove to live up to his namesake, we can talk about succession again, but I know my brother is capable... And though he might be overly wanting, he will learn patience, because I know the love of a good woman can change a man for the better."

You smiled, feeling emotional for a moment, but Daemon asked for you both, "Brother, do you mean to give your blessing?"

"Of course," he nodded once, "why waste a good wedding tourney? We shall announce on the morrow our new intentions - to crown Daemon as heir and marry him to the Lady Hightower. This matter," he panted, glaring at everyone, "is resolved, I will not hear more. Make the preparations!"

It happened in slow motion. Rhaenyra's rage flared to a temperamental height previously unknown; lunging to seize her father's Valyrian Steel, prophesy-engraved dagger, turn, and charge straight for you as the remaining audience shouted in panic. You felt Daemon try to push you behind him, but instead, your own temper flared and you stepped up to meet Rhaenyra; catching both her arms to hold her at bay.

Daemon was at your flank if you needed him, otherwise, he kept the Kingsguard away from you two - knowing this needed to happen now. Or else something worse would happen later...

"For fuck's sake, Princess! What is this? Jealousy? Huh?" You asked through your tears, struggling to hold your old friend's weight away from you. "What is this jealousy, Nyrie, hmm?"

"Don't call me that," she grit. You just sighed, pushing her back a little but not enough to overpower her; the girl's anger making her stronger than you would've previously guessed. "You've gone too far," she seethed through tears.

“I? What have I done but what was expected of me? Forever upholding the Kingdom, the family, the law. While you flout all to do as you please! Where is duty? Where is sacrifice? It’s trampled under your pretty foot again!"

"You think you finally get my life, huh?" She snarled. "You won't ever be accepted - not as Queen - not as part of this family! You've wanted this all along! Haven't you!?" She struggled against you, hands sweating. "You've always wanted my life, that's why you stuck around! Your mother died - so you tried to take a place in my family, make them yours - and now, look! You're nearly there! Pouncing on my uncle the moment he's widowed!" She snarled, bearing her teeth.

“Exhausting, wasn’t it? Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness. But now they see you as you are, Nyrie," you whispered with a broad smirk.

"You aren't fit to play this part! To have my life! You'll never be accepted as their Princess!"

"I wager I'll do a better job than you ever could," you hissed. "There's not much to live up to, you don't leave a lot of room to fill."

She screamed when Ser Harwin's arms seized around her waist, but the momentum of him pulling her back and Rhaenyra's thrashing cause the Valyrian Steel dagger to slice your forearm. You yelped and reared back amongst the startled gasps and panicked murmurs from the crowd, Daemon catching you. The dagger clattered to the floor as Harwin backed up several paces to keep the belligerent girl at bay. You whimpered quietly at the sting, a pool of blood forming to the side you held your arm at.

"Fuck's sake," Daemon growled, "lemme see, lemme see, my love, c'mere," he winced, looking around before using his own belt to yank free and tourniquet around your lower elbow. "You're bleeding a good bit," he whispered, "you'll need stitches, sweet one."

You pouted at him, wincing again in pain when he tightened the belt.

Around you, the Kingsguard was ordered to escort Rhaenyra to her chambers, and the moment she was marched out of sight, Daemon was warning his brother that she knew about her secret passage door and parts of the tunnels.

Go stand watch," a personal guard was ordered by the King. "Someone go - go find Ser Cole - I want him posted in the Princess' passage, he's trusted to us."

Alicent slunk off to do exactly that, and she'd tell you later that Cole was found only moments from taking his own life. He was overjoyed to hear the King had requested him personally to stand guard for such a sensitive situation.

In the meantime, Lord Corlys Velaryon and his wife, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, thought it best their son not marry Rhaenyra; now that she had been disowned, she was less appealing. Viserys was free to offer her again later if Laenor was not married in that time and if she showed true change, but after tonight, nobody thought that possible.

Daemon tried helping your wound, your father approaching as he laid a clean cloth over the cut. Your lover tisked, "It's deeper than I thought. We should get this looked at."

"A moment," Otto prevented.

"If it would please you, this is not an injury I'd like to wait to attend to," Daemon sighed, nodding at your bloodied forearm that he held.

"I only meant to say, you have my blessing to marry, my Prince," Otto nodded at him. "Seeing the kindness you show my daughter, I feel... Content knowing she will be loved and cared for."

"Thank you," Daemon nodded.

"Yes, thank you, Father, but we really must be going, this doesn't feel very nice," you rushed to explain, watching him nod and eye your injury with worry.

"This way," He even instructed, a few handmaids rushing forward to help herd you away.

"Doing all right, love?" Daemon muttered as you walked.

"Bit shocked," you admitted.

"I'd say," he mused.

"It burns," you pouted at him.

"We'll get everything tended to, you'll feel better soon," he soothed.

You peaked up at his worried brow, pouted lips, darting eyes; whispering, "You're heir, again, Daemon."

"So it would seem," he deadpanned. "Can we not talk about it now?" He requested quietly, "I only wish to see to this wound of yours."

You nodded, and once in Mellos' chamber, you were left alone with your father - since Daemon was not yet your husband. Otto was silent as your forearm was stitched carefully; the bleeding staunched, herbs stuffed in the wound to prevent pain and promote healing. As you let Mellos wrap you in gauze, you glanced at your father.

"So... Your blessing, is it?"

"He's different with you already," he nodded stiffly. "And after his nieces' display tonight, I can think of no better future Queen."

"I do not wish to talk about future station, Father, but instead, that... That Daemon makes me happy and I am relieved you have given us your blessing. It would've felt very wrong to marry without my father in attendance."

Otto wasn't affectionate in the least bit, but he showed his love by doing his best to understand situations before passing judgement. It created a sense of trust and security between father and daughter. So, he asked earnestly, "And you will overlook what he did with Princess Rhaenyra?"

"He told me of it all the morning after it happened, I've had time to think, and I've had time away from him. I know what I want, Father, and while Viserys has changed history - again - tonight by naming Daemon heir, I know he is the man I want for the rest of my life."

"I see," he nodded. "Then... By all means, I will see this union happen."

"Thank you," you whispered, the Maester tying the gauze. "Thank you, Grand Maester," you spoke calmly.

"Of course, uh, um, Princess."

"I don't think I'll get used to hearing that," you whined, standing off his table. "Will you talk to Daemon for me, Father? I think you need to clear the air... I will not say the King will instill you as Hand again, but if I am to marry the Prince, I will need there to be peace between our families."

He nodded, opening the door for you, "It will be arranged, my daughter..."

As Otto took his leave, Daemon, pacing the hall, approached you. He took hold of your waist, asking, "Are you all right?" You let him hold your injured wrist in a soft grip, viewing the wrappings.

"Yes, Your Grace," you teased, watching his pale face flush.

"Don't start with that."

"Mellos just called me Princess."

"You are," he grinned. "And we will be married in less than a week's time."

"I can hardly wait," you whispered, letting his lips find yours in a searing show of rare public affection.

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

[feralrabidcrow]

I'm sure all of us are familiar with what happened to Heavy and Medic in the TF2 comics, particularly, comic #6.

They reunite after spending 6 months apart following the mercenaries being fired. Heavy has been living back in Russia with his family, and Medic has joined the TFC team, which has gone horribly.

Their reunion is in a less than ideal situation as Heavy is interrupting Cheavy from tearing Medic into pieces. Cheavy kills Medic, and Heavy completely loses his shit. He is determined to kill the man who killed his Doktor. To a degree that doesn't seem like avenging a friend, almost more like avenging a partner. Someone he loves deeply.

But then Medic comes back, and Heavy is just... weirdly casual about it. He goes from complete rage mode to "Ah Doktor it is good to have you back." No hug, no tears, just accepts that Medic is alive again. It almost feels like there is an awkwardness between them.

From a logical standpoint, this is just TF2 being TF2. The emotional moments in the comics are often quickly switched to a comedic tone.

But my Red Oktoberfest obsessed brain has latched onto this hard, and I have a headcanon that is now deeply ingrained into my worldview.

Heavy and Medic broke up when the team disbanded.

As much as I like the idea of Heavy and Medic keeping things going long distance and writing letters to each other, it doesn't make much sense to me logically.

This is something I've thought about a lot, to the point where I'm considering writing an angsty little one-shot about it.

I believe that when Gray Mann took control and fired the mercenaries, Heavy and Medic were left in a complicated situation where their interests no longer aligned. Heavy wanted to go back home to Russia and take care of his family. Medic wanted to look for a new job to continue his medical mad science endeavours. No matter what, if they were to stay together, someone would have ended up dissatisfied. After trying and failing to come up with a compromise, they decided the best thing was to go their separate ways.

But it didn't change the fact that they still loved each other. They went on to their new situations, with feelings of lingering regret and wondering what could have happened if they had stayed together.

When they reunite in the comics, this is the first time seeing each other since their painful break-up. They still care deeply for each other, hence Heavy instantly becoming protective of Medic when he sees him in danger. And when Medic dies, he snaps completely. He has thought about this man constantly since returning to Russia, silently hurting over the loss of the only real relationship he ever had. And now that man is dead. Of course he's going to lose it.

But when Medic comes back, he's confronted with the fact that Medic technically isn't his partner anymore, not at this point, anyways. In comes the awkwardness. He isn't sure how to approach this now. He and Medic have barely even spoken to each other at this point, much less talked about their feelings or their break-up.

I like to think shortly after the 6th comic ends, or sometime off-screen, they talk things out, resolve their issues, and maybe even share a lovely little reuniting kiss. But hey, that's just a theory! A game theory!