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aventurineswife · 1 month ago

Note

Meow :D

what if the reader found a cat that acts like their lover? Like they have the same kind of attitude! Reader takes the cat home to take care of it with their lover! Imagine you just see you’re lover and cat staring each other down for you’re attention lol

you can do this with any honkai star rail (I’m bad with names) characters! (I prefer male but you can add female if you want) and you can do as many as you want! I just like telling my ideas :)

Two of a Kind

Tags: Jing Yuan x Reader, Blade x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Romance, Humor, Fluff, Jealousy, Rivalry, Comfort, Lighthearted, Domestic.

Warnings: Mild Jealousy (between the characters and the cat), Slightly suggestive interactions (implied, but nothing explicit), Fluff overload, OOC 😔💔.

The moment you found the small, snow-white cat in the alleyway near the Cloud Knights’ barracks, you knew something was strange. It lounged on a pile of silk scraps like a dignified ruler, eyes half-lidded in serene boredom. When you crouched down to offer a hand, it yawned leisurely before rubbing its head against your palm.

"Lazy little thing, aren’t you?" You chuckled, scooping it up. It was oddly… familiar. The way it melted into your touch, stretching lazily, as if it had all the time in the world.

Bringing it home was inevitable.

Jing Yuan was reclining in his study when you arrived, eyes flickering open as you placed the cat in your lap. He raised a brow, immediately sitting up.

“…You brought home another one?” His voice held a mix of amusement and suspicion.

"This one’s different," you grinned. "Look at it."

The cat blinked at Jing Yuan, slow and deliberate.

Jing Yuan blinked back.

Then, as if recognizing a rival, the cat turned its head with a haughty sigh and curled up in your lap, looking every bit like a miniature version of your lover when he feigned sleep to avoid meetings.

Your laughter made Jing Yuan frown. "Don’t tell me… it acts like me?"

"It really does! Look at the way it lounges!"

Jing Yuan rubbed his temple. "I’m being replaced by a cat."

For the next few days, the battle for your attention escalated. Whenever you pet the cat, Jing Yuan would pull you onto the couch beside him, draping an arm over your shoulder. If you scratched behind the cat’s ears, Jing Yuan would hum pointedly until you did the same for him. You even caught them staring each other down one evening—one with feline eyes, the other with his usual patient amusement, both vying for your affection.

You sighed, rubbing your forehead. "You do realize you’re jealous of a cat, right?"

Jing Yuan huffed, crossing his arms. "I’m not jealous. I’m simply… asserting my rightful place."

The cat, as if mocking him, promptly stretched across your lap.

Jing Yuan sighed in defeat, then reached over, stroking the cat’s head with surprising gentleness. "Hmph. I suppose we can share."

And so, the rivalry ended in an unspoken truce—one where you were adored by both the lazy general and his equally lazy feline counterpart.

You weren’t sure what it was about the midnight-furred cat that made you stop in the middle of the street. Maybe it was the sharp red eyes, eerily intense for a feline. Or maybe it was the way it sat in the shadows, unmoving, its aura both captivating and unsettling.

Regardless, you brought it home.

Blade was polishing his sword when you arrived, and his first reaction upon seeing the cat was a deadpan stare.

“…You’re joking."

The cat, sitting by your feet, glared at him with the same unnerving stillness.

You tilted your head. "What?"

Blade sighed, setting his sword aside. "It looks like me."

You blinked. Then you looked at the cat again—black fur, red eyes, an almost unnatural stillness to the way it held itself. Then, you burst out laughing.

"Oh no," you wheezed. "You’re right."

Blade scowled, rubbing his temple as the cat leapt onto your lap, curling into a tight ball like it had no interest in anything else.

"You brought home a brooding, quiet stray," Blade muttered, arms crossed. "Sound familiar?"

You grinned. "I have a type."

For days, the cat shadowed you, always quiet, always intense. Blade would sit in the corner, watching as you absentmindedly pet the feline while reading. At some point, you noticed the two of them mirroring each other—both staring at you, both exuding the same quiet, brooding energy.

It was unnerving.

"Are you two competing or something?" you finally asked.

Blade scoffed. "Tch. I don’t need to compete with a cat."

The cat, in perfect synchronization, flicked its tail as if scoffing right back.

You buried your face in your hands. "I can’t believe this."

Still, one night, you woke up to find Blade sitting on the floor beside the couch, absently petting the cat with an almost thoughtful expression.

"...You like it," you whispered.

Blade's hand paused, his expression unreadable. "It’s quiet. Doesn’t ask for anything."

You smiled. "Like you?"

Blade clicked his tongue, but he didn’t deny it.

And so, the brooding warrior and his feline doppelgänger coexisted in an eerie, wordless understanding—both bound to you, both unwilling to admit that, maybe, they had found comfort in something they never expected.

The cat you found had fur as soft as clouds and an uncanny, almost celestial presence. With golden eyes, and an air of quiet authority, it reminded you of someone.

Taking it home, however, proved to be the real challenge.

Sunday was seated in his grand study, calmly flipping through a book when you entered with the cat in your arms. The moment his eyes met the feline’s, an odd silence settled over the room.

The cat blinked.

Sunday blinked.

You swore you could feel the tension.

Finally, Sunday exhaled, closing his book. "...My dear, why does this creature look like it stepped out of my reflection?"

You grinned. "I was thinking the same thing."

Sunday reached out, gently brushing his fingers over the cat’s fur. The cat, rather than lean into the touch, simply tilted its head with a regal, knowing gaze.

Then, as if dismissing him, it turned its attention back to you, purring contentedly as it nestled in your arms.

Sunday raised an elegant brow. "I see. A competitor has appeared."

You chuckled. "You’re not actually jealous, are you?"

Sunday didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned in, resting his chin on your shoulder. "You wouldn’t abandon me for a mere feline, would you?" His voice was smooth, teasing, but there was a quiet possessiveness beneath it.

You rolled your eyes. "It’s just a cat, Sunday."

"Yet it looks at me as if I am the intruder here," he mused, golden eyes glinting. "Fascinating."

For the next few days, you often caught Sunday and the cat watching each other in eerie silence, as if locked in an unspoken battle for dominance. Whenever Sunday pulled you onto his lap, the cat would jump onto your shoulder. Whenever the cat nestled against your chest, Sunday would wrap an arm around your waist, subtly claiming you back.

It was absurd.

"Sunday," you sighed. "You’re not actually fighting a cat for my attention."

He simply smiled, pressing a kiss to your hand. "My dear, I always win."

The cat, unimpressed, flicked its tail.

And so, the celestial rivalry continued—an eternal battle between a regal dream-weaver and his equally dignified feline reflection.

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jordiemeow · 1 month ago

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summary: when anakin gets denied the rank of master, he's overwrought with tension. no better way to deal with it than sneaking out to visit his favourite girl at his favourite brothel on the lower levels of coruscant.

warnings: smut 18+, face-sitting, mild sub!anakin, reader is a prostitute, brief comfort ending in f!receiving oral, anakin is a giver!! cathartic head-giving

notes: in honour of may the fourth! need to remake my taglist for specific fandoms so not tagging anyone here. not my usual audience so if this flops idc but anakin has been on my mind a lot recently (when is he not). anyways happy star wars day :)

"It's... it's a joke, is what it is. And he didn't stick up for me. Not once. What an excuse for a mentor if he's just going to—"

You're not listening at this point. Head tilted, lips slick with red paint, body on display. It's a shame the sheer two-piece is going to waste on a Jedi rambling on about how betrayed he feels by the Order. It's also terribly hard to listen to said 'betrayal' when his robes and tunic have been shrugged off to leave him in just his pants, defined muscles rippling under the dim light of your private room.

Something about feeling too restricted. You'd laughed and said the removal of clothes was pretty typical in this establishment, but your attempts at levity proved futile. Fast forward to now...

"—And don't even get me started on Master Windu." (You weren't going to.) "How can he look me in the eyes and tell me that? Like I don't deserve it for all the work I've done for them. Risked my lives countless times. Saved millions—no, dare I say billions—and this is the thanks I get!"

Billions? You aren't so sure about that. You keep the comment to yourself—maybe he's right. You don't ask him for information; it's always willingly passed on. He could be the most decorated Jedi in the Order after this war and you would be none the wiser.

He paces back and forth restlessly, hands tightened into fits and jaw taut with tension. You'd almost be a little frightened if most of your visits from him didn't start with some sort of temper tantrum. All this just for you to soothe him into bed and make him forget.

"Ridiculous," he spits as you watch on plaintively. It's like spectating a meltdown, you can't help but think. You're surprised he hasn't thrown something yet. Destruction is always a symptom of his annoyance. You wonder briefly if his room back at the Temple is in disarray. "And then Obi-Wan has the audacity to ask me to—"

You cross the room to reach him just in time to stop him from saying something he absolutely should not be telling a prostitute. You know half the Jedi Order's secrets by now from his visits. A hand rests upon his left arm, the one made of human flesh. Gentle, tentative, like you're trying not to scare off a frightened animal. He almost jerks it back, but his eyes soften when you speak.

"Ani," you croon gently. The nickname makes the tension in his shoulders ease. "Just come to bed. You're getting yourself all worked up."

He sighs. He knows you're right. But he's stubborn on a good day, and today is not one of those.

"You don't understand. They're treating me like I'm less than them just because the Chancellor recommended me. Like I haven't done everything to prove I'm more than just a Knight before he got involved."

"You aren't less than them just because they go around calling themselves Masters. A lot of men in here do that, you know. Makes them feel powerful. If it makes you feel better, I could call you that."

He rolls his eyes. Fond. Amused. "That doesn't really count."

"No, I suppose not," you smile. The kind with your eyes that crinkles softly. The kind that always makes him wonder whether you're actually being authentic. Sometimes he forgets you're human under all the sequins and smoke, when you strut around the room like you're one of the suns and everyone else is in orbit.

You seem like you genuinely want to put him at ease right now, even with all your playful little jabs. It makes him sigh, shoulders slumping as his hand finds your waist.

"You're good at this, you know," he murmurs.

"And you're good at being a Jedi hero," you counter, gently urging him back towards the bed. "But enough moping. I'm not wasting this outfit on you if you think your credits are going towards therapy."

He laughs as the back of his legs hit the bed, letting himself fall. He props himself up on his elbows to watch you trail a tantalising finger down your chest, through the valley of your breasts. It's enough to make any man's throat go dry. Especially a Jedi who's only form of action is the rare occasions he can sneak away to see you.

"No? What are they going towards, then?"

"Depends. Whaddya want tonight?" You ask playfully, tugging at the alarmingly thin strap between the two cups barely concealing your tits. His eyes are drawn to them, watching the way the fat spills out of the satin, the red material a stark contrast to your skin.

He swallows thickly.

"Eyes up here, big shot."

His blue eyes flick up to your own, a little sheepish. This is the part where he has you sprawl out beneath him for his perusal. But instead, he says:

"I just want to feel good at something. Make you feel good."

It surprises you a little, your hand faltering where it's been idly exploring your cleavage. You recover quickly enough that he doesn't comment on your blunder. "You always make me feel good."

"That's a practiced answer," he accuses.

"Practiced but true in your case."

"Fine. But I mean it. I could use the ego boost."

"But—"

"Who's the paying customer?" Anakin interjects.

"You aren't making me feel very good by smart-mouthing me, you know."

He ignores your faux-admonishment. "So you'll let me?"

It's not as if you're opposed to it. Not in the slightest. It's just surprising.

"I'd let you do anything. You know I would."

A shadow of a grin crosses his face, before his braced elbows fall and he lays down. Dark hair spread across your pillows, fanning out in messy curls against the satin.

"Ride my face."

He says it so earnestly you almost laugh. Sometimes you forget how young he is. Nothing like the old timers who come in here looking for a quick fuck with no regards for anything but their own dicks.

"Are you sure? We've never done that before."

"You're not the only girl I've been with," he counters. It's almost enough to make your chest twinge with jealousy—you know he's seen other girls here. When you're busy, or before you became his favourite. You're a professional, though. Don't let it show.

"Okay," you relent. You can't help but be spiteful, though. Panties dragging agonisingly down your thighs while he watches through half-lidded eyes as the fabric inches lower, lower, lower...

Eventually they pool around your ankles, and you step out of them. The bra (a generous term for such a skimpy piece of fabric) follows as you move to straddle him.

"Higher," he says, hands finding your thighs and attempting to pull you further up his body. The contrast between cool metal and a warm palm on each leg makes you shudder.

You whack a hand gently. "Patient. Thought you wanted to be good?"

He bites back a groan, his hands stilling. They still rest on the plush flesh of your thighs, but he isn't tugging insistently at your limbs to get you where he wants you. You continue with your torturous pace, moving up his body. The slick of your cunt drags across his bare abs, and a sharp breath escapes him.

The friction is enough to have you sigh softly as you ease upwards. You take your time teasing his nipples until he's tensing underneath you, back arched up off the mattress and fingers curling into your skin.

"I didn't think this would make you so much of a tease," he says breathlessly.

"Isn't this what you wanted?" Your eyelashes bat innocently at him. "This is what gets me off. You're being useful."

He gives you an unimpressed look for your faux-naïf, but he keeps his mouth shut. You're so close that he doesn't want to goad you into holding back any longer. And he's rewarded for his patience when you give a little pat to his pecs, and finally move to hover over his face.

He looks like an undercity kid who's seen the surface for the first time. Eager blue eyes, mouth salivating at the sight of your dripping cunt above him. It's hard to find the restraint to not dive in and bury his nose in your folds. Just the smell almost has his eyes rolling back.

"Please," he murmurs. Breathy and whiny, like a young man begging for a drop of salvation, not the famed 'Hero with No Fear' breaking his Code to spend the night in a pleasure house. "C'mon. Just let me. Oh, please, I need it—"

You sink down onto his mouth before he can finish his sentence. He moans into your heat, tongue flicking out to drink up whatever has already spilled from you. There's nothing tentative about it—it's like he's devoting everything into worshipping you with his mouth. Gone are the thoughts of his Master and the rest of the Council denying him. All he can comprehend is your sweet mewls as you sit atop his face.

His chin is soaked with the fluids of your pleasure, nose nudging your clit each time you roll your hips against his face. It's instinctive and you hardly mean to do it, but he grips your hips and guides you to grind against his eager mouth.

"Oh, Ani," you moan softly. "Just like that. Mhm."

It's enough encouragement for him to keep working. Dutifully strokes of his tongue, switching between nuzzling between your slick folds and sucking at your clit. Cheeks hollowed out and applying suction as you brace a hand against the headboard, the other nestled into his soft curls.

Your thighs tremble on each side of his head, toes curling into the sheets every time he flicks eagerly at the bud. Hips rocking upwards against the air in search of friction he physically cannot receive right now, cock hard and leaking in the confines of his pants. His erection is almost painful, but he wasn’t lying when he said he wanted to be good for something.

"You'd do wonders in here, you know,” you manage through a groan. “If you're looking to become a— oh, fuckkkk—different kind of master. Very skilled mouth."

His laugh vibrates against your dripping cunt. "Tempting, if I get to work in such close quarters with you."

"Mhm, maybe. Perhaps we could become a bit of a duo. They pay extra for that, you know. And the tips are great. You should really— oh!"

His teeth graze against that sensitive spot that has your eyes rolling back. "I didn't come here for a new career. Just let me make you feel good, please?"

All you can manage is a hum of agreement with the way he's redoubled his efforts. Tongue flattened against the roll of your hips, obediently letting you use his wet mouth to chase your own pleasure. The feeling of your sopping cunt grinding against his face chases anything but you from his mind.

The pleasure grows almost blinding. "Fuck, close," you gasp out, tugging lightly on his hair.

It earns a pleased moan into your heat. "Please. Wanna feel it," he mumbles, a rumble into you in between licks of his tongue. He doesn't think he's ever tasted anything sweeter.

A few more carefully placed laps and your thighs tense. One of your hands moves to cup your breast as you ride through your orgasm, release spilling over his awaiting mouth. He welcomes it all eagerly, working you through it as his name falls off your tongue again and again.

When you roll off of him, you're both short of breath. Neither of you bother to wipe the smear of your slick off his chin as you sink down next to him. One glance to the chronometer on the wall tells you he's spent most of his time worshipping your pussy rather than chasing his own pleasure. Another glance, this time to him, makes it very clear he isn't bothered by that in the slightest.

Oh, well. You still have a few more minutes for him to smother you in affection unbefitting of two people from your stations in life.

It’s quiet after that. Light, fleeting touches as you catch your breaths.

Aftercare with him is the best part, you think. When all the tension is released and he's all lazy, boyish smiles as he runs his hands absently up and down your bare arm. Soft kisses placed to your shoulders, an apologetic brush of his lips against any splotchy bruises left by the men and women before him. Most patrons are always right out the door, but Anakin...

Well, he likes to check in. Make sure you're okay. Have a bit of banter.

"Was I too much? Was that alright?"

You smile. A silly question, given you were calling most of the shots when you were actually on top of him. You answer anyways.

"No. No, you were perfect," you tell him softly, pushing a sweaty brown curl off of his forehead.

His brow pinches like he doesn't believe you. Not about the too much part. The perfect part. "But I—"

"Ani," you cut him off. The nickname makes him melt back into the sheets. More docile, relaxed. "You are perfect. Those Jedis all have sticks up their asses if they can't see you deserve to sit around their silly little table, or whatever it is they do up in their fancy pants Council Room."

He sighs. A beat of silence.

"... Lightsabers," he corrects.

You blink stupidly. "What?"

"They have lightsabers stuck up their asses."

There's the Anakin you know. You snort softly, bracing your forearm on top of his chest to peer down at him. "I'm pretty sure that'd burn them inside out."

"Maybe they deserve it," he fires back. Something about the way he says it makes you think he's not entirely joking. But you laugh anyways, head shaking softly.

"Maybe they do," you agree, ducking down to plant a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Anyways, you best get going. I have to clean up before the next one comes in."

"Do I have to?" He groans. "Just cancel. Tell them you're sick."

"She's a regular. Unfortunately, you have to go face reality." You sit up, patting his chest. "Go be a big, brave Jedi for me, yeah?"

Anakin rolls his eyes, but he obliges reluctantly, even if he makes a big show of sighing loudly and dragging himself sluggishly out of the soiled sheets in search of his discarded robes.

If tonight has shown you one thing, it's that he probably shouldn't be a Jedi Master after all the rules he's broken in one evening alone. But you don't tell him that. You make your coin out of sleeping with sleazebags from all over the Galaxy in the Coruscant Underworld, after all.

Who are you to judge?

#anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker x you #anakin #anakin x reader #anakin smut #anakin x you #star wars #star wars smut #hayden christensen #may the fourth #may the 4th #star wars moodboard #anakin skywalker moodboard #was supposed to end in fucking but im lazy #jo writes ⋆˚࿔

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chimielie · 3 months ago

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unicorns and pomegranates

summary: Suna x F!Reader. "Do you ever feel like you were born to serve and die for someone in glorious battle," Suna says, valiantly failing not to flick his eyes back to you. You're frowning at your drink, trying to pick a particle off its rim with a nail. "Sexually, I mean."

"You are not normal," Atsumu tells him.

word count: 1.4k

cw: angst to fluff, friends to lovers, mild objectification, suna has strange inclinations, intoxication, one or two references to sex, …hand mention

a/n: i almost titled this "stop picking fights with knights and come wear tunics with the eunuchs"

You can't believe you were actually looking forward to this team dinner. It's the stupid fancy gala EJP Raijin puts on annually, in a stupid beautiful venue covered in white marble and stupid crystal chandeliers. You'd been so excited when Suna said, offhandedly, I get a plus-one, you wanna come with?

You should've known it would end up like this, feeling self-conscious in your expensive clothes while Suna stands far away and doesn't pay attention to you at all. He's not your date, you're his plus-one, gifted a glimpse into the world of professional athletes for one night only. He expects you to mingle with his friends, maybe even get yourself a real date to the next team event. It's such a stupid, cruel joke of the stars that he's the only one of these talented, handsome men that you want.

You take a sip of champagne and try not to think about it. He'd come to pick you up in his ridiculous fancy red car and stared at you with his inscrutable features and said I don't know, I'm sure it's fine, when you asked what he thought. Glowing praise, you thought, sitting among models and Olympians.

Across the room, Suna is trying to pretend that he is a eunuch. Eunuchs don't throw their best friends over their shoulder and carry them home and make sweet, sweet love to them all night long.

"There's something wrong with your face," Atsumu says.

"Do you ever feel like you were born to serve and die for someone in glorious battle," Suna says, valiantly failing not to flick his eyes back to you. You're frowning at your drink, trying to pick a particle off its rim with a nail. "Sexually, I mean."

"You are not normal," Atsumu tells him, "but yeah, I get the feeling."

They lapse into silence for a moment. One of the guys who came stag walks up to you and jumps into conversation. Suna imagines spiking a ball into his face several times.

"Are you feeling like that because of—" Atsumu starts, but Suna cuts him off with a violent slashing motion across the throat.

"If you say the words out loud, they become true," Suna says. "Shut your fat mouth."

"She does look good," Atsumu muses. "Nice necklace."

"Don't look at her," Suna says. "I actually don't even know who you're talking about. She's wearing a necklace?"

He glances back. You aren't, which soothes his concern that he'd been so distracted by the generous amount of décolletage revealed by your top he'd missed major details of your appearance, which he planned to burn into his memory and then never speak about until he died. His last words were probably going to be "the top button was undone."

"Maybe you would be failing less miserably if you actually talked to your date," Atsumu says. "How did you ask her to be your date without actually dating her?"

"It takes a lot of skill to put yourself this deeply in the friendzone," Suna says. "Someday you'll understand."

"I hope not," Atsumu says with feeling. "Hey, look, they're doing shots."

The rando who’s talking to you is clinking his glass against yours, making unnecessarily intense eye contact. Suna frowns; staring at you like a weirdo is his job. You glance away from your drinking partner for a second, your gazes connecting, and that’s all the invitation Suna needs to cross the room in the space of a split second. He snatches your shot from you with two long fingers and tosses it back, grinning widely at the other man when he’s swallowed.

“That was mine,” you say without vitriol.

“That was vodka,” he says, feeling the warm buzz of it in his belly. “You’re allergic.”

“Not allergic,” you roll your eyes, “just a lightweight.”

It’s true. Vodka gets you way too drunk, way too fast. Why hadn’t you said anything to this other guy? You only ever drink such hard liquor when you’re upset.

Are you upset?

“I’ll buy you another drink,” he promises. He’s glad he took the drink from you. It’s having a strange, dizzying effect the longer he looks at you, your darkened eyes, your parted lips. He reaches up and sweeps the back of his hand just over the curve of your neck, a light touch. He’s pleased when it leaves goosebumps in its wake, a short-lived mark he can leave on you.

“It’s an open bar, dummy,” you roll your eyes. The guy you were talking to has faded into the distance, though you don’t even notice.

He’d meant to stay away from you tonight. He’d meant to be a respectful friend, one who didn’t steal glances at you that he shouldn’t, one who didn’t want to punch out anyone else who looked at you with lust on their face. Every time he steps away, though, you seem to be tossing back another drink, giggling and leaning on a new shoulder, and he’s back at your side, plucking your hand away and glaring at whoever tries to talk to you.

Finally, he follows you down the hall to the bathroom, where you spin and lean heavy on the wall, facing him. Your eyes are bright and teary, all the gloss rubbed off your downturned lips, but he still wants to kiss them, for some reason (because he’s a creep, he scolds himself).

“What are you doing,” you sigh, and he blinks, taken aback.

“Just watching out for you, I guess,” he says. You pout.

“You don’t even care,” you say, voice catching. “You’re hovering like a jealous boyfriend and I don’t even know why.”

“I’m not,” he protests lamely.

“I know!” You explode, pushing away from the wall and wobbling dangerously. He clamps a hand down on your arm and supports your body with his; you are a bamboo shoot and he’s the stake. “I know. You think I’m ugly, you’ll never like me. I get it.”

“What?” Your skin is warm to the touch, and you smell a touch sweet, a touch spicy. He wants to lick the skin behind your ears, where your perfume is spritzed strongest. You couldn’t be more wrong if you declared that Atsumu was going to win a prize for scientific achievement.

“This is stupid,” you say, and oh, oh, no, there are tears welling up and streaking down your face. He pulls you in firmly, playing with the short hairs on the back of your neck. You cry into his chest, even though he’s the reason. “I want to go home. I just wanted to have fun.”

“I know,” he says, voice low, like he’s talking to a wounded animal, “I’ll take you home.” For some reason this encourages a fresh bout of sobbing. “I’m sorry I ruined your night.”

“I just wanted you to think I was pretty,” you hiccup on the last word, and his heart stops.

“I think you’re so pretty,” Suna says. “I think you’re gorgeous. You don’t think you’re pretty?”

“I know I’m pretty,” you say, and he keeps trying to step back, walk away, pull himself out of a situation he has to be misunderstanding. “I thought you did, too, enough to invite me to this stupid thing, enough that I was so excited to pretend we were together or maybe that we would be together for real someday. Fuck, I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not,” he begs you to believe him.

“I thought just because you’re beautiful and you look at me—sometimes—like you want me or something and you touch me all the time, it might mean something. I am an idiot. And a bad friend. I even like your hands, Suna, you’ve made me so crazy I can’t even look at your hands without thinking about your fingers—”

Suna grabs you before you can finish a sentence that will surely land you pressed up against the wall with one of the hands in question in your pants. He says your name, serious, voice grating against all his instincts.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I do,” you insist, looking like you’re going to start crying again. “I—fuck. I love you, Rintarō.”

It’s the final nail in the coffin.

“I’m going to enter noble and valorous combat to prove my worthiness,” he says instantaneously. You peer up at him, expression simultaneously baffled and cutting.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Suna says hurriedly. “Let’s go home. You should lie down, and tomorrow I need to clear some things up, repeatedly. Possibly for the rest of our lives.”

#suna x reader #suna rintaro x reader #suna rintarou x reader #suna rintarō x reader #suna angst #suna fluff #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! fluff #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst #haikyuu!! angst #haikyuu!! x reader angst #haikyuu x reader fluff #hq!! x reader #hq x reader #hq x reader angst #hq x reader fluff

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hcneymooners · 5 months ago

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⋆ and i came looking for you.

synopsis: knight!f!characters x fem!reader. men & minors dni.

characters: ambessa, sevika, vi, abby anderson, ellie williams, grayson.

cw: apocalypse au!, princess!reader, older woman/younger woman, age difference, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, reunion sex, semi-public sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, obsession, pining, forbidden love, protective!reader, protective!knight!characters, vague fantasy nonsense, devotion. this is a drabble.

notes: trying something new. let me know what you think. also i full on was inspired by @s-4pphics + her incredible arranged marriage ellie piece. my head was spinning for hours after reading it. i lowkey am dreaming of it.

the world descends into apocalypse on a sunday morning. you were with her when it happened, laughing with your head tipped back, your eyes crinkling into a scatter of lines. she doesn’t remember what you were saying—if it was a joke, a story, or some terrible card game she kept letting you win.

all she remembers is the wall exploding, a bright flash of white, then red. blood seeping through cracks like light. your scream as the floor fell, the sound of her ribs snapping like children’s bones as she flung herself toward you—only to miss your hand by inches. the castle crumbled, and you were torn away.

a bioweapon, someone at a makeshift shelter tells her later. all she knows is this: she must get back to you.

the world is a wasteland now, and her princess is without her protection. it’s not that you can’t protect yourself—it’s that she is nothing without protecting you.

the shelter is crowded with weeping and the shaky scaffolding of survival. most stare out of the tents with a distant gaze that she understands all too well. she spends her nights clawing through maps and fragments of rumors, breasts heaving against the thin cotton of her nightshirt as she attempts to plot a way back to you. if you are still—no.

you must be.

they will not let her leave. they speak of safety, of waiting. but she dreams of you. you, in your sheer shift, soft breasts rising and falling with your breath. you, your pouted mouth trembling as you cry, your heavy hips. you, shaking in the throes of nightmares she longs to dispel. and now! look! there she is in this lavish dream.

she dreams of holding your hand, of your body yielding to her touch. of your lips, wet and pliant against hers in a kiss she swore never to speak of again, though now she wishes she had. there you are—the two of you together pressed tightly as you writhe and twist against her fingers her mouth her—

she wakes screaming, the sound feral and raw. she cannot find you. she doesn’t know if you are safe. she begs the gods for mercy, for time, for you to understand why she is late.

they will not let her leave, so she practices for the leaving. she holds water in her mouth until her throat spasms and she spits it up, thick with bile. she practices not breathing. she is preparing her body to endure, for you.

one night, she slips into the lake. the water is black, the moon fractured across its surface. she swims across borders, feet blistered and bloody as she crosses moors and barren landscapes. the world is broken, but her princess is wandering somewhere within it. she hears the wail of a dragon, sees the light of the world’s final stars. your name becomes her mantra, whispered like a prayer. like a long, dizzying spell.

the nights are long and sharp-edged, predators stalking her shadow. her sword is strapped against her, the weight echoing the feel of your body on her back though it is devoid of your warmth. devoid of the undoing vibration of your laugh.

the woods now. by day, she climbs hills and twists through ancient roots. she remembers your veins, fine as threads beneath your skin, when you were upset with her. sometimes they would just out like birds, overextended. your mouth sharp, your words sharper, but she would press you to her lap and hold you until you softened. she would kiss you until you melted into her arms, your anger spilling away like water over stone.

when she lay with you, it was much like breaking into the earth’s molten core. you were so warm, so forgiving. she remembers your cries, high and breathless, as she brought you to your peak with her hands, her mouth, with toys she had never known before you.

her head swims now, fevered and blurred. she cannot stop. she feels you, a buzzing in her chest. your life runs through her, like a tunnel of bees. they are buzzing, they are a beating against her brain.

you are close; she knows this. she does not know what is real now, what is simply her hallucinations attempting to keep her comfort. she woke with her lips pressed to the gnarled bark of a tree, believing it to be your skin. she wept in her solitude.

but there—a cave. she digs and claws at its walls, sobbing when nothing yields. she considers the blade at her side, the gods above, but the buzzing grows louder. you are here. you must be. please let her in please let her please let her in please let her in.

she carves through stone with her grief, and the wall finally gives way. a boulder shifts, light spills through, and she stumbles into your sanctuary.

she drags her body through. closes the mechanism because she is respectful of you always. she sees runes glowing upon it, and understands that it is both the gods that have admitted her and prevented her from finding you. she is angry. she lets it go.

the cave is alive. a meadow unfurls before her, wild and endless beneath a fractured sky. lightning laces the clouds, but you have never feared storms. not fire, not water, not the end of the world. you refuse to bend. she hears the splash of water, and she is running again, faster than she thought possible.

she jolts forward, a broken toy with a rusted weapon and almost tumbles down the grass. she is running. she is running. her heart plods along like a horse, her breath comes quickly and harshly.

she runs until she is at the face of your cottage. it is beautiful, it is of stone. it is glowing with a thousand stars or maybe this is her hallucinations again (it is not.) she is hungry, but she must consume you before food sullies her body.

she stumbles to the back of the house and finds wild dogs cavorting, sees an empty chair. she keeps running, faster now. she knows you are there.

the lake is green and blue and true, and there you are, standing at its center. your hair is braided—she smiles despite herself, remembering how much you hated the task. your body glistens with water, bare and radiant. your nipples hard and pointed from the cold. she calls your name. your neck almost snaps as you look for her, hands trembling and half-raised.

silence. you see her and she sees you and you, in your softness, begin to cry. you are floundering, attempting to come to her but she is still running. toward you now. toward you.

she is running, shedding her sword, her shirt, her past. she dives into the water, her body cutting through it like a blade. the sword sinks into the shallow beginnings of the lake and clatters against the rocks. she too, is now bare, body older and scarred, and the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. she dives, disappears which distresses you, and then comes up for air as she arcs through the water like a serpent of a myth.

her hair is wet and slick against her forehead. you laugh, a wet warbling thing, and clap your hands over your mouth neck body. you need to touch her.

you collide beneath the surface, chest to spine, limbs tangled. the two of you are all twisted. when you break through, gasping, your hands find her face. her arms wrap around your thighs, lifting you from the water as her mouth claims yours. you taste salt and earth and honey, the residue of her journey.

you kiss her and kiss her and she is kissing you. she is holding you. she pulls way only to capture your mouth again, her tongue almost brutish as it bullies its way inside you. her hands dip beneath the water to cup your cunt. you are so wet and you cannot tell if it is all because of the water but you know all of it is because of her.

princess, she murmurs against your lips, her voice trembling with reverence.

her fingers slip inside, fucking you viciously. she is desperate to relearn, to feel you fall apart. your mouth is open, but there is no noise. you can hear birds shrieking, singing. maybe there is noise; maybe you are what you are hearing.

princess, she rumbles against you. princess. she keeps her rhythm, bounces you until your cunt is spasming and you melt against her—into her. you are crying and you feel good and beautiful and good. her name spills from your mouth as she milks you—relentlessly.

and you want to touch her too so you pull her from the water and push her onto shore. you spread her legs, thick and large, and lap at her cunt. she is pink inside, like turkish delight, but doubly sweeter.

her musk lures you in, and you suck, holding her to your mouth even though she snaps and shudders and cries. eventually, the pleasure becomes pain, so you release her, her juices slinking along your chin and collar bones.

you look wild; you look like a diety unknown. she is here with you, she has done it. she has held to her vow of protection—of following you for eternity. the foliage around her seems to surge and she cries anew, her grief and satisfaction coalescing into one bright burning star. you lay against her, feel your hearts exchange places. they crawl inside one another’s bodies, wet and red.

princess, she croaks wetly.

you raise yourself, hover above her. your hair is loose; it hangs over her face. it blocks the sky; you are now her sun. as always. as was meant to be.

princess, she repeats. princess.

your mouth opens, your teeth gleam. you are smiling. this is real life. you are smiling. you are speaking. from your plush lips come the divine words,

my knight.

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sserpente · 9 months ago

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Checkmate

“You know, maybe we should play strip chess instead. I think I would be motivated to win if I could get you naked!”

“Strip chess?” Sylus’ eyebrows shot up. He blinked, observing you wordlessly for a moment. “Very well. Let’s take this up a notch. You lose one piece of clothing for every piece you lose in the game.”

A/N: What’s this? Another red-eyed, pale-skinned and silver-haired morally grey man? Might as well.

Words: 1386 Warnings: smut

You made it a point to sigh. Loudly. With your chin propped up on your elbows, you were sitting across from Sylus on the bed in your pyjamas, a chessboard in between you creating more distance from him than you wanted.

“Are you going to hyperventilate, kitten? This is the third time you’re sighing like this.”

“This is boring, Sylus.”

“Ah, you didn’t hear me complaining after ten long rounds of Kitty Cards, now did you?” He didn’t look up as he spoke. His crimson eyes were fixed on the chequered game board but his voice was not without that teasing tone that always drove you mad and never failed to turn you into a horny mess. Especially now, with how casually he was sitting on the bed with crossed legs and clad in comfortable clothes.

“The chess pieces aren’t meowing at me, it’s not the same. You know I’m bad at chess.”

“Then you’ll get better.” He made his move—and unfortunately, it didn’t mean much to you. You barely remembered the names of all the different pieces but you hadn’t wanted to turn him down when he asked for a round. Time spent with him was rare due to your different sleep schedules, and your visits to the N109 zones were even rarer. Things would change soon. But until then, you’d soak up every minute you could get with him. Even if he wanted to play chess. Even if it was boring as fuck.

“It’s your turn, kitten.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m thinking.” Another sigh. This time, Sylus chuckled in response.

“How do I move this piece again?” You pointed at the chess piece resembling a horse, tilting your head innocently.

“Kitten…” Oh, now that was a reproachful kitten.

“I forgot! I’m sorry, I can’t help it but chess is so boring.” You paused, thinking. “You know, maybe we should play strip chess instead. I think I would be motivated to win if I could get you naked!”

“Strip chess?” Sylus' eyebrows shot up. He blinked, observing you wordlessly for a moment. “Very well. Let’s take this up a notch. You lose one piece of clothing for every piece you lose in the game.”

You frowned and looked down on yourself. Perhaps you should have thought this through first. Sylus was wearing a light jacket, socks, a shirt, a pair of trousers, and likely underwear. You on the other hand had only two pieces of clothing on you—a silk pyjama set with the night sky and embroidered stars on it, a gift from him the first time you returned to the N109 zone to stay with him for a few days. It had been waiting for you on the king-size bed in the guest room. You almost chuckled. You’d never slept in that bed until this day.

“Having second thoughts?” he mused.

You shook your head. “No. Let’s keep playing. It was my turn, yeah?”

He blinked once as if to say yes, his expression so amused you wanted to sigh yet again. This time, however, you really did put some effort in. If you beat him, he’d be sitting across from you naked. So if you moved your pawn over there…

“I’m done.”

“Are you sure?”

“What do you mean ‘are you sure’? Don’t make me second-guess myself!”

“Very well…” He moved another piece himself and chuckled. “There goes your knight, sweetie.”

“Ugh! What?”

“Come now. You set up the rules yourself.”

You glared at him and aggressively took your pyjama top off to throw it at his face where it landed with a thud before falling into his lap. His amused grin was even more irritating than the complexity of this silly game. He had the reflexes to catch the piece of clothing. He could have. He simply decided not to. Ugh.

“There. Happy?”

You had hopes that sitting in front of him topless would distract him enough to make a mistake but who were you kidding? Even if he did make a mistake, you were nowhere near skilled enough to beat him at this game. Sylus knew that very well. You’d just hoped that you could snatch up enough of his pieces to see him naked again.

But the stern leader of Onychinus was nothing if not composure personified. He didn’t even bat an eyelash at your half-naked form even though you could clearly tell it did not leave him unaffected. His crimson eyes raked over your breasts and your hardening nipples due to the cool temperatures in his bedroom.

A few moments later though, he moved another piece. Sylus chuckled. “Checkmate.”

You gasped, your eyes darting back down to the chessboard. “What? How?”

“You’ve been focused on your queen too much. Now your king has nowhere left to go. See?” He pointed at the two pieces that cornered your white king. How annoying.

“That’s not fair! You tricked me!”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You backed me into a corner!”

“You didn’t pay attention.”

“That’s impossible considering I’m topless and you’re still wearing all of your clothes! Was there even a way out?”

“There was.”

“But…but…ugh!”

Sylus raised an eyebrow and gave you a toothless grin. “I’m waiting.” He gestured at your pyjama bottoms.

“For what? The game is over, you’re still wearing all of your clothes and I’m still bored.”

Sylus laughed. “And you lost yet another piece. Don’t be a sore loser, sweetie.”

“I’m…not!” Cursing him under your breath you leaned back and shrugged off your pyjama bottoms without taking your eyes off him. It wasn’t nearly as sexy as you had hoped for it to be but beggars couldn’t be choosers. “This really didn’t go according to plan…”

“Your ‘plans’ never do, kitten.”

You scoffed. “Now what?”

“Now? You let me admire the view and revel in my triumph.”

“You’re impossible.”

Sylus chuckled. “You’ll find I’m very much possible. Come here.”

Now that was something he didn’t need to tell you twice. You crawled over to him fast, ignoring how the remaining chess pieces fell off the board in the process and made yourself comfortable on his lap. Sylus cradled your naked form in his arms as if you were a fragile porcelain doll. Your eyes fell shut almost automatically when he kissed your forehead.

His hands were less innocent. They ghosted over your exposed skin raising goose bumps where they went. It was sheer luck he didn’t tease you for how quickly your legs fell open when one of them travelled lower and lower, over your breasts and your hard nipples, your stomach and eventually…between your legs to where your body wanted him the most.

“Naughty little kitten, have you been this wet for me the whole time?”

You hummed in agreement, rubbing your nose against the crook of his neck.

Testing the waters, his long fingers started rubbing and caressing your outer lips until they slid between them with ease to tease your clit. Probing and exploring, working you up for him until he had you gushing and whimpering in his lap.

“Why…why were we playing chess if…if we could have just done this…the whole time…instead?”

“As much as I enjoy our…intimate moments, I do place value on spending intellectually stimulating time with you too, kitten.”

“Now you’re…making it sound like I’m…sex-crazed…around you…” Your panting increased, an all too familiar knot tightening in your lower belly.

Sylus laughed. “You’re not. Although…I wouldn’t blame you after getting that first taste.”

“You’re impossible,” you breathed out again. The words were followed by a moan. Sylus slid two fingers into your slick warmth, curling them inside you all the while his thumb kept caressing your clit. Shit, you were so close…so close…

“Sylus…”

“What is it, kitten? Tell me…”

“I’m…I will…oh shit…”

“Come for me,” he growled into your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

He didn’t need to tell you twice. You let go and fell, your orgasm rippling through you like pure electricity. Your wet walls tightened around his long fingers as he helped you ride it out and relish the taste of every last wave of pleasure consuming you. You kept clenching around rhythmically as that feeling of pure bliss slowly ebbed away again, leaving you breathless in his arms.

“Next time…” you choked out of breath, “…we’re playing UNO.”

Sylus chuckled. “As you wish, kitten.”

#sylus imagine #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus love and deepspace #sylus #sylus lads #love and deepspace #lads

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marcyvamp1re-blog · 6 months ago

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𖦹 ࣪˖ ◂ To The Future⊹ ˖ ࣪✦

WHAT IF!! | Diana Prince, The Wonder Woman, and her wife had a baby? But the problem is...how?

Synopsis; Diana loved you, and in her love, there was everything you needed: an infinite calm in her arms, a refuge in her words, and a future full of promises they didn’t yet know how to write. Together, without haste, without fear, only with the whisper of a love that grew day by day, building a home that needed no words, just shared glances and fleeting smiles.

Pairing ── Diana Prince x Wife! Reader.

Content. MDNI ── Fluff, Mentions of pregnancy, babys, elements of experimentation, mild angst, themes of family, and emotional vulnerability.

A/N ── English is not my first language—Spanish— A flood of posts is coming. Honestly, I've always wanted to write about Wonder Woman x reader (my inner lesbian speaking U.U) — she's my true "Hear me out" moment.

There always comes that inevitable point in relationships when the conversation turns to family. But in your case, we’re not talking about just any relationship. No, you’ve been happily married for three years to none other than Wonder Woman herself. The impossible dream of any average mortal, and here you are, sharing your morning coffee with the Amazon princess while debating whether the coffee should have sugar or not.

Then, one day, you notice it. At first, it’s small, subtle gestures. Maybe she takes you to the park on any random Saturday, and suddenly her eyes shine a little too brightly when a couple with a stroller walks by. “Isn’t it adorable?” she says, pointing to the baby who’s sleeping like it’s dreaming of cotton clouds. Or maybe, while shopping at some store, she stops in front of a mannequin wearing a tiny Wonder Woman costume, complete with a miniature tiara. “Look at this,” she says, holding it up with a smile. “Don’t you think someone in our family would look perfect in this someday?”

And then there’s the direct talk, as only Diana could do it. Straightforward, but with that sweetness that disarms you. “I’ve been thinking,” she says one night while you both watch the stars from the terrace, her hair gently waving in the breeze. “You and I… we could be wonderful parents.” And even though she says it seriously, there’s a playful gleam in her eyes.

But of course, this is Diana, Wonder Woman. For every serious conversation, there’s an avalanche of charmingly chaotic moments. Like that time she taught you how to hold a baby using a sack of rice because, according to her, “a warrior must be prepared for any situation.” Or that other time, during dinner with Clark and Lois, she launched into a philosophical debate about whether their baby should have an Amazonian, human, or Kryptonian name “just in case”—leaving you with your face completely red.

The problem came later, when you both looked at each other one afternoon in the Batcave, in front of a whiteboard full of equations, diagrams, and something that looked like a drawing of a baby with a cape, made by you in a burst of nerves. Yes, that was the tricky part: how.

The conversation with Batman was, in short, awkward.

“Let me see if I understand,” Bruce said, massaging the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “You want me to use my resources, technology, and—oh, I don’t know—my few hours of sleep, to figure out how an Amazonian and a human can have a biological child.”

“Exactly,” Diana replied, crossing her arms with the naturalness of someone who had already defeated gods. “Why are you making that face? You’ve done more complicated things.”

“Not with babies involved.”

Meanwhile, you tried not to make eye contact. After all, how do you explain to a man who spent his life as a dark knight that you now needed him for something so… personal?

Despite his reluctance, Bruce agreed to help. But not without conditions. “This doesn’t leave the circle. Not a word to Clark or Barry. Ever.” His look was so severe that even Diana raised an eyebrow, amused.

J’onn J’onzz, on the other hand, was a little more kind when consulted. “It’s a fascinating topic from a scientific perspective,” he said with that alien calm that seemed to come from centuries of Martian patience. “Though I must warn you, interdimensional hybrids aren’t a widely explored field.”

“Thanks for the optimism, J’onn,” you replied, glancing sideways at how Bruce and Diana argued about whether Amazonian genes could overpower normal humans.

The following weeks were a whirlwind of experiments, consultations, and technology that seemed straight out of a science fiction movie. J’onn led the genetic analysis, while Bruce applied his methodical obsession to create a viable procedure. Every night, Diana came home with a detailed report and summarized it for you with a mix of enthusiasm and seriousness.

“Bruce says we might need a Kryptonian catalyst,” she said one day, as if she were talking about what to have for dinner. “Do you think Clark will mind if we ask him for a hair sample?”

By the time everything was ready, you were already used to the strangest conversations of your life. But when the time came, when Diana held your hand while J’onn and Bruce confirmed that their plan would work, you couldn’t help but smile. They had achieved the impossible.

And so, with the help of a grumpy dark knight and a Martian with infinite patience, your dream of starting a family with Diana began to take shape. Because, in the end, if there’s one thing that heroes understand better than anyone, it’s that no challenge is too great when it comes to love.

The months flew by, and with each one, the Batcave became a second home for you and Diana. Every week, you would enter the dark, cold sanctuary of Gotham, where Batman, or more specifically Bruce, waited with an air of seriousness and a look that made you feel like you were participating in a high-risk operation. And in a way, you were.

Diana, although more than capable of facing the universe’s greatest threats, couldn’t help but show a completely human vulnerability when it came to her baby. At first, she tried to hide it, but every time Bruce, J'onn, or worse, Tim, began to review the baby’s growth with that scientific look, her face would tense. Tim, the Robin at that time, was so meticulous that he seemed to enjoy measuring every aspect of the baby’s development more than anyone else, as if he were calculating the exact moment a future superhero might crawl out of the crib and start kicking butt.

“Everything seems to be in order,” Tim said, again and again, checking the monitors as if it were a game. Diana smiled, but you could see her fingers interlacing with Bruce’s, looking for some sign of support. Bruce, meanwhile, kept observing in silence, calculating every possible scenario with a sharp mind, but also a little bit of affection hidden between his words.

“If Tim tells you it’s fine, it probably is,” he said with his voice tone that left no room for doubt, but that, to you, sounded strangely reassuring. He wasn’t used to showing many emotions, but when Diana couldn’t help but bite her lip, he noticed.

Every time Bruce and Tim gathered to review the baby’s growth, she would remain still, as if waiting for a verdict. “Is everything okay? Is this all we hoped for?” she would ask from time to time, even though the answers were already quite clear.

And then, the day came.

It all happened in the blink of an eye: a quick trip to the Batcave, followed by a torrent of emotions that no one could have anticipated. Diana, calmer than you expected, held the baby with a softness that only she could have. And there it was, the little being that had been the center of so many scientific consultations, now wrapped in the warmth of the woman who had carried it in her womb.

“It’s a girl,” Bruce murmured, his deep voice but with a rare warmth. “Welcome to the world.”

Diana’s smile was as bright as the sun. Her eyes, always so firm, were now filled with infinite sweetness as she looked at her daughter, who slept peacefully in her arms.

If it was a girl, things were simple. She could grow up on Themyscira, surrounded by the peace of the island, with the ancient warriors and her grandmother, Hippolyta, to guide her. The aunts would also be there, and they could teach her the secrets of her lineage, as well as her mother’s story. Diana could freely take her to the island and watch her grow in an environment of love and power.

But if it was a boy… the rules were different. Although Diana’s love, yours, and her grandmother’s would be endless, they couldn’t take the little one to Themyscira for now. The island, a place of ancient traditions and mystical protections, wasn’t the best place for a human child at the moment. There were too many dangers and secrets still to be understood, and Diana knew the boy would need a larger, more complicated world before he could be part of that sacred refuge.

When J'onn confirmed the gender, Diana's relief was palpable, and although the joy of holding her daughter was absolute, there was also a slight shadow of concern at the thought of what might have been if it had been a boy.

But as the hours passed and the little being with bright eyes and a peaceful smile woke up, Diana leaned over her, whispering with unconditional love, “Everything will be fine. The world will be ours to give her.”

And as the little girl snuggled against her mother, both knew that no matter what the future held, their family had already begun to take shape. With Diana’s love, yours, and the support of all the heroes around them, the little being would grow up in a world full of protection, love, and adventures that would undoubtedly surpass any challenge.

A/N ── Since I was little, when I lived in a messed-up country, Wonder Woman has always been one of my favorite heroes. I have other heroes I love too, but with Diana, I kneel and pray, no kidding! She’s so gorgeous, especially in those fanarts of Buff! Wonder Woman… God, she drives me crazy, I adore her to the core. It’s like my heart is a suit of armor about to crumble because of her!

#x reader #fem reader #wonder woman #wonder woman x reader #bruce wayne #diana prince #diana of themyscira #diana prince x reader #barry allen #j'onn j'onzz #tim drake #red robin #clark kent #lois lane

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lowrisemiller · 2 months ago

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her little knight ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦌˚

one-shot for my celebration | masterlist | 1k words | reader is Lottie's bitch, ownership?, biting, smooching, fingering, oral! r receiving, overstimulation, mentions of blood (not during sex)

You’d been hers since the first time she walked barefoot into the snow.

Not because she told you to be. Not even because you believed.

But because something inside you cracked wide open the moment she looked back at you.

Lottie Matthews, quiet and trembling, breathing in the air like it belonged to her—like she was the air.

They didn’t believe her, not at first.

But you did.

And now they all do.

She wears the crown of antlers every morning now, carved from bone and wrapped in dried violets. Her face is streaked with charcoal and blood. Her eyes glow like embers under the firelight.

They call her The Antler Queen.

You call her Lottie—soft, sacred. Yours.

She keeps you close. You sleep by her side like a dog. You don’t eat until she says. Don’t speak unless she nods. And when she looks at you—really looks at you—it’s like the world slows and tilts and blooms.

“You’re my little knight,” she says, fingertips brushing your cheek. “You were made for me. Weren’t you?”

And you nod, because yes, yes, of course you were.

It starts with a dream.

You’re in the woods. It’s snowing, but you’re naked, barefoot, weirdly unafraid. The trees whisper with a woman’s soft voice. The ground pulses beneath your feet. You follow something—something warm, gold, glowing in the dark.

It’s her.

She’s bathed in moonlight, mouth red with blood, her hands open like she’s offering you something.

You fall to your knees before her without hesitation.

“I’ve claimed you,” she says.

“I know.”

She cups your face, and the sky above you breaks open, stars falling like teeth.

“You’re mine now,” she whispers. “You never left.”

When you wake, you’re already at her bedside.

“Did you dream again?” Lottie asks, voice thick from sleep.

You nod.

She stretches like a cat under the furs, golden skin catching what little firelight dances in the room. She looks half-wild and half-divine—shoulders bare, collarbone marked with faded bruises from nights like this before.

“I dreamed too,” she murmurs, sitting up slowly. “You were kneeling. Mouth open. Waiting.”

You shiver. “What happened?”

She smiles. “You drank. You begged. You thanked me for it.”

She stands, furs slipping from her like she doesn’t even notice the cold. Her hair is a tangled halo around her shoulders. She crosses to you and touches your chest, her palm flat over your heart.

“It’s stronger now,” she whispers. “The pull. You feel it, don’t you?”

“I feel you,” you breathe.

Her thumb brushes your lower lip. “Say it.”

“I’m yours.”

A beat. Then—

“Say it the way you did in the dream.”

You drop to your knees before her. The wood is cold, biting through your bones. But you don’t care.

“I’m yours,” you whisper again. “To keep. To command. To ruin, if you want.”

She exhales like that’s what she’s been waiting for.

Her fingers curl into your hair. “Good little knight.”

Lottie doesn’t kiss like a person.

She kisses like an animal. Like worship and fever and dreams.

She lays you down like she’s unwrapping something precious—like each inch of your skin is a gift she’s waited to open.

It’s not hurried. It's a ritual.

The firelight flickers low, gold and red dancing across her face as she climbs over you, knees on either side of your hips. Her hands skim your ribs, your stomach, her touch light but reverent. You’re burning and shivering all at once.

“You always listen so well,” she whispers. “That’s what I love about you.”

Her lips trace the hollow of your throat, her breath warm where the cabin air is freezing.

“You give and give and give,” she murmurs, “and I haven’t even taken anything yet.”

Her teeth graze your pulse. You arch, a soft sound escaping your lips.

“Stay still,” she says, gentle but firm. “You move when I say.”

You nod, breathless. “Yes, Lottie.”

She hums with satisfaction and leans down, brushing her mouth over your chest, your nipples and then lower. Her fingers spread over your hips, thumbs digging in like she’s grounding you to the earth. When her lips part against your skin, it’s fire and ice, sweetness and a sting.

You gasp, a helpless sound, and she smiles against you.

“Let me hear you, let it hear you” she says. “Let everyone know who you belong to.”

She keeps her pace slow—painfully slow—like she’s savoring every inch of you. Her tongue and her mouth on your clit, while her thumb rubbing on your precious swollen clit and fingers working in your pussy, coaxing you higher and higher until your body starts to shake.

Still, she doesn’t let up.

“You’re so good for me,” she breathes. “So fucking good.”

You’re panting now, thighs trembling, your hands twisted in the fur beneath you. She pins you there with her mouth, relentless, until you’re breaking open beneath her—loud, ruined, trembling like something hunted.

Only then does she rise, licking her lips like she’s tasted something otherworldly.

She climbs back up your body and kisses you deeply, letting you taste yourself on her tongue.

“You’re mine,” she whispers into your mouth. “You’ll never be clean of me now.”

And you believe her. You want it.

You want to be marked. To be ruined. To be hers in every way the wilderness sees.

When she pulls the furs over both of you and cradles your body against hers, she whispers things you don’t fully understand—soft prayers, promises to whatever lives in the woods, in the sky, in the marrow of your bones.

But the last thing she says before you drift into sleep, heart pounding and skin buzzing, is this:

“You were always going to be mine. Even before the crash.”

don’t tell jeff

#yellowjackets lottie #lottie yellowjackets #lottie matthews #yellowjackets #lottie smut #lottie matthews smut #yellowjackets smut #lottie matthews x reader #lesbian #wlw #lowrisemiller #sweet girl

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novaursa · 3 months ago

Note

Can you make this? I'm not really good at plots.

Gwayne Hightower and Targaryen niece. With the two escaping together their families political pressure. Then they have kids.

I'm sorry😭😭😭

You don't have to do this😭😭

A Tower for a Dragon

- Summary: Gwayne takes you and your children away from horrors that come with war.

- Pairing: niece!reader/Gwayne Hightower

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @zizouu23 @aadu2173 @holdingforgeneralhugs @wuluhwuhmaster @idenyimimdenial

- A/N: Due to lack of information, this short story has only around 960 words.

The chill of early morning clung to your skin like a silken shawl as you stood on the balcony of the manse your household had quietly taken in the Reach, perched between the rolling gold of autumn fields and the pale blue of the Honeywine winding toward Oldtown. Dawn had only just broken, turning the sky soft hues of rose and lavender, and the stars faded reluctantly into the growing light. Below, your small procession made final preparations—hooves stomping against cold earth, banners being unfurled and rolled again quickly, so as not to draw attention. You watched in silence, arms crossed beneath the fur-lined velvet of your cloak, fingers tight with nerves though your face remained composed. You had spent too long under your mother’s eyes, learned too well how to betray nothing.

Gwayne stepped beside you, his presence steady as the stone beneath your boots. You didn’t turn to look at him at first, only breathed in the familiar scent of leather and pine that clung to his cloak, let the sound of his voice settle you.

“They’ll be looking by now,” he said quietly, not unkindly. “We’ve bought as much time as we could.”

You finally turned your head to him, and in the dawnlight his face looked younger—less the stern knight of the City Watch, and more the young man who once brought you fire lilies from the godswood of the Red Keep, still muddy at the roots. His eyes searched yours with the kind of solemnity that made your chest ache. He had always taken you seriously, always seen you not as Alicent’s precious lamb or Viserys’s last mistake, but as your own person.

“And what if they come after us?” you asked, your voice barely louder than the wind. “What if they send Cole? Or Aegon?”

His jaw tightened at the name of your brother, and a shadow passed over his features.

“Let them try,” he said. “I’ll cut down Cole myself if I must.”

You touched his hand before he could say more, a light brush of your fingers over his leather gloves, grounding him. “I don’t want blood,” you whispered. “I want peace. For us. For our children.”

He looked at you then—truly looked. “And I will give it to you,” he said. “Even if it means turning my back on them all.”

You didn’t speak after that, only nodded once, and followed him down the stairs. Behind you, the room you had called yours for the past few months stood empty, stripped of banners, of books, of toys your youngest had strewn across the floor. Even the little dragon figurine Daevon had carved for Nyssa was gone, tucked into a satchel. You would not leave traces behind.

Your children waited by the covered wagons. Nyssa, only six, was already bundled in her little cloak, a golden pin in the shape of a tower catching the sun. She clung to the hem of your skirts until you lifted her into your arms, pressing a kiss to her brow. Aemon, the eldest at ten, sat astride his pony with all the seriousness of a prince, though his pale blond curls still fell wild over his brow. Daevon, eight and restless, was already pestering the guards to let him ride up front with the outriders. You hushed him with a look that mirrored your mother’s, and he sighed, defeated.

“Do you think we’ll see the Hightower today?” Nyssa murmured sleepily against your neck.

You smiled faintly. “Soon, sweetling. We’ll see the Hightower, and the sea, and maybe even a dragon in the sky if we’re lucky.”

“But not Vhagar,” Daevon added quickly, as if to reassure himself. “I don’t want to see her.”

You and Gwayne shared a glance over their heads, a shadow flitting between you again. “No, not Vhagar,” you said softly. “She’s far away.”

Gwayne helped you into your saddle last, his hand lingering at your waist just a moment longer than necessary. “We ride hard,” he said to his captain, a knight from Oldtown whose loyalty was to Gwayne before Otto. “No stops until Greenhill. And we keep off the main roads.”

You could see it in the faces of your guards—they knew you were not merely traveling. You were fleeing.

But there was no sense of fear. Only quiet determination.

You rode through the morning in silence, the hush of your departure still wrapped around your procession like a shroud. Gwayne rode beside you, never straying more than a length away, one hand on the reins, the other never far from his sword. The countryside passed in amber streaks—fields and low stone walls, apple trees heavy with fruit, villages just waking. But you avoided them all. You wanted no word of your passage spreading before you reached the protection of his kin.

“I never wanted to raise them like this,” you said softly at one point, when Nyssa had dozed off against your back and the boys rode ahead laughing over some jest.

“I know,” he replied. “But I’ll raise them where no one will name them traitors, or bastards, or dragons unfit to fly.”

You smiled, though it was tinged with sorrow. “You once told me you hated dragons.”

“I hated what they did to my sister,” he murmured. “To the realm. But not you. Never you.”

The wind tugged at your veil then, casting it back like wings. “I am a dragon, Gwayne.”

He looked at you, eyes fierce and full of something raw. “Then I’ll build you a roost in the top of the Hightower, and I’ll stand guard until the day I fall.”

You reached for his hand again, grasped it tightly this time. “Swear it.”

“I already have,” he said.

And so you rode—westward, toward Oldtown. Toward a different future.

#house of the dragon #hotd #game of thrones #asoiaf #fire and blood #a song of ice and fire #hotd x reader #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #house targaryen #house hightower #hotd gwayne #gwayne hightower #gwayne x reader #gwayne x you #gwayne x y/n #x reader #reader insert

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astrolovecosmos · 1 year ago

Text

The 5th House + Romantic Themes/Tropes

Aries in the 5th House: Knight or hero saving their damsel in distress, competitor suitors, "bad boy/bad girl" with "nice guy/girl" dynamics, queen/princess saving the king/prince, a hard to catch chase, red roses and red lipstick, athlete or warrior connected love story, second chance love stories, couple vs. nature or unknown as they pioneer a new frontier, lingerie, things move fast, "no one else like you", fated lovers, lover's quarrels, innocent love, first loves, love at first sight.

Taurus in the 5th House: Worshipping each other's bodies, making love in nature, paradise themes, fancy venues, luxury, secret prince/billionaire stories, Cinderella-like stories, seduction, sensuality, aphrodisiacs, massages, the fastest way to their heart is through the stomach, willpower, ugly duckling themes, silk and cashmere, kisses on the neck, serenading, rose petals on the bed.

Gemini in the 5th House: Friends to lovers, pretend relationship tropes, sexting, online dating stories, pen pal lovers, long distance relationships, romantic academia, coffee dates, study dates, eloquence, unexpected softness, talking dirty, rivalries to lovers, Kama Sutra, twists and turns, love letters, vocalness, teasing, arguments.

Cancer in the 5th House: Old friend or flame love stories - maybe similar to second chances, parent trap themes, moonlight, waterfalls, ocean waves, baths, intimacy in the shower, cuddles, feeling wanted or needed, private or secret lovers, waterbeds, remembering and celebrating important dates like anniversaries and birthdays, sentimental love, nurturing their lover back to health themes, pearls and silver, traditional love themes, Romeo and Juliette, Titanic vibes, homecooked meals or lunches, long hugs.

Leo in the 5th House: Holiday romances or flings, everyone else can see how fated or good they are with someone - but they themselves are oblivious, wine, dance floors, flattery, adoration, gold, luxury, sex on the beach, roleplay, hot-blooded passion, romance that involves royalty, center of attention, turns heads, strip tease, mirror on the ceiling, professing undying love, great adventures, drama galore or a love worthy of the stage.

Virgo in the 5th House: High School sweethearts, devoted lover who does a service or keeps a promise for a dead partner, defending someone's honor or being defended, saving their lover from a bad partner or ex, loyal servant and royalty loves, light tracing, tickling, taking care of someone or nurturing them back to health, sexy outfits, plenty of praise and appreciation, couple's spa day or massage, attentive, caring, the details in love matter.

Libra in the 5th House: Love triangle stories, masquerades, balls, Parisian love stories or themes, opposites attract, wedding related romances (meeting at a wedding or stopping a wedding), lovers against the odds, love potions, star-crossed lovers, matchmaking, sunsets, pastels, clouds, rivals or enemies to lovers but with grace or focus on making peace, sensual moments, biting lips, charm counts for something, perfume, candles, oils, flower petals, champaign, strawberries or cherries, feathers, cliche seduction, inspirational love, love and art, love songs.

Scorpio in the 5th House: Enemies to lovers, dark romances, horror and romance, forbidden love, secret romances, "if I can’t have you, nobody will", vampires, magic or the occult, Phantom of the Opera, passionate kisses and touch, lingerie, naked, bondage, power, vulnerability, jealousy or possessiveness themes, leather, being by or in water, strong taste and fragrances, avenging your hurt or dead lover or being avenged, dark fantasies, secluded romantic places, overcoming fears or challenges together, psychology, villains and heroes, transformative love stories.

Sagittarius in the 5th House: Lovers from very different cultures or backgrounds, eloping, loveable rogue themes, fish out of water stories, deep thoughts and discussions, speed dating, daredevils and calling bluffs, adventure, "I can show you a whole new world", exotic romantic places, escaping with your lover, hotel rooms, casino or game nights, learning together, discovering something new about their lover frequently, lucky to find each other, free-spirited love, surprises and passion.

Capricorn in the 5th: Force proximity stories, love that grows or takes time, time-travel romance, historical romances, secret romances, age gap themes, gothic themes, consistency, lotion and oils, romantic music, power dynamics, fine wine, wealth and luxury, secret prince/billionaire stories, earthy and erotic, punishment and submission themes, respect and grace, powerful libidos, leather, antique or fine jewelry, beautiful crystals or gems, great smiles or teeth, unique bouquets, careful lovers.

Aquarius in the 5th House: Sci-fi romance themes, unconventional dynamics or roles, time-travel romance, beautiful minds and/or beloved geniuses, light touch, substances to enhance experiences or feelings, incense or candles, anything goes, the unexpected, unique gifts or romantic gestures, romance that shows how much their lover knows them, rebel lovers, acceptance, deep talks, mind melds, fetishes, spiritual and/or mental challenges, unique beauty, each partner doing their own thing, their lover being the only one to arouse passion in them or vice versa.

Pisces in the 5th House: Running to catch up to their lover at the airport, amnesia related love stories, hopeless romantic, poetry, daydreaming, soulmates, finding a muse or being one, kissing in the rain, foot massages, love songs, satin sheets, skinny dipping, oysters, champagne, roses, making fantasies come to life, eternal promises and fidelity, loving life and love, overly idealistic love stories, fairytales, healing themes, intuitive lovers or psychic connections.

#5th house #zodiac #astrology #romance #natal chart #aries #taurus #gemini #cancer #leo #virgo #libra #scorpio #sagittarius #capricorn #aquarius #pisces

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notyournecromancer · 4 months ago

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I totally adore you and have always loved everything you’ve recommended on any platform. I’ve only read marauders fics though and not sure anything can top Jegulus and Wolfstar for me. But I’m curious what the Drarry fuss is about. Do you have any advice on where to start? Something to get me into the characters everyone loves, like Blaise, Theo etc. And then I’ll go down the AFTG and Raven Boys rabbit holes! And probably never sleep again. Or be productive. Etc. But I’ll be happy.

SWEET SUFFERING JESUS i cannot TELL YOU how happy this makes me. DRARRY RECS INCOMING BELOVED!

first and foremost, i simply must tell you of the journey that is Led by Light of a Star Sweetly Gleaming which is the most GLORIOUS wolfstar - hear me out, the sequel to this is a Drarry, called Pages of You . These are by the most wonderful writer @wolfpants - I won't embarrass them by emotionally leaking all over the internet but fucking hear me out, babe, you're gonna wanna read every drop of Drarry they have to offer. While you're having a stalk, go and check out Terrible People and Everybody Hates a Tourist.

Next up, another favourite of mine: Draco Malfoy and The Mirror of Ecidyrue. this badboy is good if you fancy a canon retelling with some fantastic twists and fixes thrown in. each year gets better than the last and I think its such an interesting take on the whole thing.

Alright, another FABULOUS one with such a good little twist: Way Down We Go by @xiaq - a phenomenal writer whose original works you should also absolutely check out. This fic actually has Harry as a Werewolf which I absolutely convinced myself was a plot twist until I later went back and read the tags and realised it was there the whole time. LOVE this one. so good. side note - the supporting cast? unrivalled.

Okay here we have What We Pretend We Can't See by gyzym. this was lovely - I thought the characterisations were really spot on for canon adjacent/continuation. adored this.

Now for something a touch more whimsical, may I present you something unlike anything else I've ever read ever in life? It's called Running on Air by Eleventy7 (they are on tumblr I believe but for the life of me I cannot find their @) anyway. this is just the most stunning thing. it sort of plays out like a movie in front of you while you read it. its gentle and clever and thoughtful and intricate and just one of the most creative stories I've ever crossed paths with. i challenge you not to fall in love.

Here we have Is This The Place by the most gorgeous writer @januaryfirstreads - I promise you you aren't going to find someone who loves drarry like this writer does. and its so clear in every word she writes. This one of her's is lovely, so soft and full of the love of these characters, it does them justice in the most beautiful way.

Alright, if you know wolfstar you probably know @brigid-faye - and if you don't, all you need to know is that I trust brigid with my life. one thing about brigid? these characters are gonna be treated so well its gonna be hard to let go of 'em. here's a drarry brigid wrote a while back, its all the things her writing always has. which is to say, nothing you wanna miss. It's called Breeze (Move Me).

Okay, if you're a Red White and Royal Blue fan, the one and only itsgivingcamp has a FABULOUS ONE which you can find here: it's called Red, Green and Toil Too . now, I may perhaps be biased, but I happen to prefer this to the original. but like I said, maybe biased. but also, correct.

Alright, some classics. I may have read some of these or started them/downloaded them but I fear I've rambled on long enough. so here's the failsafe drarry recs to lead you down the right track:

Dwelling by Aideomai

The Devil's White Knight by Orphan_Account

Harry Potter and the Welcome to the World of Grey by sobsicles

Chasing Dragons by The_Sinking_Ship

and lastly i'm going to do the cheekiest of little self recs. i have a multi chap drarry that will one day be finished called Cold Coffee and a banter-driven little Christmas-themed one-shot named The Weather Outside.

anyway, there are so many bloody more. drarry is the most wonderful thing. its also (in my opinion) so disgracefully canon that it's hard to escape once you get into it. (like hello? the train scene?) so I wish you the best of luck on this journey.

you just come and give me a shout when you're ready to yell about AFTG and The Raven Cycle. I am here ready & waiting!

love you bye xoxoxoxo

#drarry #drarry recs #drarry fic #draco x harry #harry x draco #i fear i took this too seriously and ran with it #you should have seen the excitement that washed over me #i was embarrassingly pleased to get down to drarry town here #god i love this fandom and the writers in it #anyway #lanas crying again #drarry is canon and i'll hear nothing against that

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fandom · 2 years ago

Photo

Video Games

We combined the console and mobile games lists and two dating sims still came out on top. Go figure.

Genshin Impact

Baldur's Gate 3

The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom

Five Nights at Freddy’s

Splatoon 3

Twisted Wonderland

Undertale

Ace Attorney

Pokémon Violet and Scarlet

Obey Me! Shall We Date?

Disco Elysium

The Sims 4

Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2

Deltarune

Team Fortress 2

Hogwarts Legacy

Final Fantasy XIV

Honkai: Star Rail

The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild

Minecraft

Persona 5

Pizza Tower

Rain World

Hollow Knight

Hades

Danganronpa

Arknights

Animal Crossing: New Horizons

Project Sekai

Elden Ring

Touhou

Stardew Valley

The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim

ULTRAKILL

Pikmin 4

Guilty Gear

Overwatch

Portal

Omori

Flight Rising

Resident Evil 4

God of War

Red Dead Redemption 2

Sonic Frontiers

The Stanley Parable

Fire Emblem: Three Houses

Cyberpunk 2077

Limbus Company

Mortal Kombat

Bendy and the Dark Revival

Destiny 2

Bloodborne

Among Us

Yakuza

Silent Hill

Ensemble Stars

Cookie Run

League of Legends

Bendy And The Ink Machine

Fear & Hunger

Dragon Age: Inquisition

Cult Of The Lamb

Fallout: New Vegas

Half-Life

Resident Evil Village

Pathologic

The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess

The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina Of Time

The Murder Of Sonic The Hedgehog

Professor Layton

Dragon Age 2

The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword

Fire Emblem Engage

Devil May Cry

Pokémon Legends: Arceus

The Sims 2

Fallout 4

Cuphead

Persona 3

Metroid

Final Fantasy VII

Dragon Age: Origins

Metal Gear Solid

The Witcher

Psychonauts

Pokémon Mystery Dungeon

Street Fighter

Guild Wars 2

The Sims 3

Dead By Daylight

Horizon Forbidden West

World of Warcraft

Starfield

Umineko

Detroit: Become Human

Yume Nikki

Monster Hunter

Pokémon Black and White

Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective

Night in the Woods

This is a newly-combined list! Yay!

#year in review #video games #tumblr2023

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radiance1 · 1 year ago

Text

Based on this post.

"You're odd."

Tim turned to Danny, who was braiding one of the younger horses' mane and tiled his head. "Am I?" He asked, continuing to run a brush through the mane of his father's caretaker's steed. "I don't think I'm odd."

"Well yea, cause you're you." Danny huffed and gestured at his with one hand, pulling it back to comfort the foal in his lap before recontinuing to braid. "It's not bad, not really. But I thought Fright Knight just cared about serving the Ghost King and betraying him occasionally." Danny sniffed. "I didn't think he had an actual life beyond that and then boom! You appeared." Due to having his hands full, he gestured at Tim with his chin.

"And that's... odd?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

Tim looked up at the sky, the clear night sky full of twinkling stars that he would have never seen in Gotham. By now he would be sneaking out of his manor to try and catch more pictures of the ever-elusive Batman and Robin. He was so close to figuring out who they were.

He just knew it.

Unconsciously, his hands slowed down until they stopped entirely. Eyes squinting as he pulled up what pictures he had in his memory and trying to connect the dots.

An arm wrapping around his shoulder snapped him from his thoughts. "Don't take it too hard. I'm odd, you're odd, we're both odd." Tim thinks there was a misunderstanding here. "Me and you? We're odd buddies!"

Tim blinked.

He blinked again.

Something warm was in his chest.

"Odd buddies?" He asked and Danny presented his pinkie finger with a smile. "Odd buddies!"

That was the first pinkie promise Tim ever made.

//////////////////////

The infinite Realms has recognized the bond established between the Ward of Time and War and the Ward of Fear.

//////////////////////

"You're odd." Red Robin stated, arms crossed over his chest and both voice and expression flat.

The Ghost Prince, most recent potential addition to the Justice League, merely shrugged. "You're odd too." He said, sending a finger gun in the vigilante's direction.

Warmth bloomed in his chest when he saw the look of recognition and mirth in the Ghost Prince's eyes.

He didn't forget him.

Red Robin held up hand, pinkie finger extended and a smirk on his lips as he tilted his head slightly. "Odd buddies?"

The Ghost Prince mirrored his smirk, and curled his pinkie around Red Robin's.

"Odd buddies."

#dc x dp #dpxdc #dp x dc #dcxdp #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp crossover #Dunno what I was doing with this one #I just wanted to do someting with that old post again lawl #I did need a break from writing my WIPS and was in a writing mood so #This happened #Hehe #Danny is the Ward of Time and War #While Tim is the Ward of Fear #ghost prince danny #Odd buddies

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yandere-wishes · 5 months ago

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So based on your what vision the Gotham boys would have I got ideas (I’m still new to the Gotham boys so this would be very out of character)

Dick and Jason would have anemo

Tim would have dendro

Damien would have pyro

I don’t know much about duke but maybe electro

I'm actually so surprised anyone noticed that 💞💞 okay so here is my full analysis on DC (batman centric) x Genshin Impact cross-over. Yes, I went super overboard w/ this lol.

💝 Batboys

We're on the same page about Dick,Tim,Duke, and Damian. It's just Jason that I think would differ

Bruce Wayne - Cyro, Claymore

Dick Grayson- Ameno, Polyarm

Jason Todd - Pyro, Claymore (Red Hood)

Jason Todd - Cyro, Claymore (Arkham Knight) my logic here is that despite hating Bruce, he ends up being so similar to him on a spiritual and fundamental level.

Tim Drake - Dendro, Polyarm

Damian Wayne - Pyro, Sword

Duke Thomas- Electro, Bow

Barbra Gorden - Electro, Catalyst

Kate Kane - Hydro, Polyarm

💝 Rogues

Obviously, I went too deep with Harvey's. He'd definitely have two visions, one for either side. I can fully image him having a vision before becoming Two-Face. However, sometime after the incident, while he's climbing up in Gotham's underworld, his Harv personality also ends up getting a vision. Also, he's totally a Sword user cause lady justice and all that.

Harvey Dent - Hydro/Pyro, Sword

Roman Sionis - Ameno, Bow

Oswald Cobblepot (Gotham) Cyro, Catalyst

Jonathan Crane - (Pyro/Dendro/Ameno), Polyarm : Now, onto Jonathan Crane idk if he'd be a dendro, Pyro or Ameno user cause all three fit his MO so well.

Edward Nygma- Dendro, Catalyst/Polyarm

Poison Ivy - Dendro, Catalyst

Selina Kyle - Electro, Sword

Victor zsasz (Gotham) - Electro, Bow

Victor zsasz (BOP) - Ameno, Sword

Dr Phosphorus - Pyro, Catalyst

Joker (general) - dendro, Sword

Harley Quinn - Pyro, Polyarm

Alexis Kaye - Electro, Catalyst

Jerome Valeska - Geo, Bow

Jeremiah Valeska - Hydro, Catalyst

Slade Wilson - Geo, Claymore

Respawn - Geo, Sword

Talia Al Ghoul - pyro, Polyarm

Ras al ghoul - Dendro, Claymore

💝 Other DC Heroes

Clark Kent - Ameno, Claymore

Jon-El Kent - Ameno, Catalyst

Conner Kent - Pyro, Catalyst

Hal Jordan - Dendro, Catalyst

Kyle Rayner - dendro, Sword

Oliver Queen - Dendro, Bow

Roy Harper - Pyro, Bow

Conner Hawke - Electro, Bow

Berry Allen - Electro, Catalyst

Wally West - Geo, Catalyst

Bart Allen - Ameno/Electro, Catalyst

Arthur Curry - Hydro, Polyarm

Garth - Hydro Sword

Jackson Hyde - Geo, Polyarm

Minhkhoa Khan - Ameno, Sword

Phantom-one - Hydro, Sword

Angel Breaker - Pyro, Sword

Diana Prince - Ameno/Hydro/Electro, Sword

Low-key really want to write a Genshin Impact DC AU. With reader as the traveler. Tyvat is still Tyvat, but the nation's are...

Gotham (Cyro)

Metropolis (Ameno)

Star City (Dendro)

Central city (Electro)

Coast City (Geo)

Atlantis (Hydro)

Blüdhaven (Pyro)

Themyscira (events only like the summer event)

I'm not quite sure what exactly would happen in the AU other than reader trying to find their sibling. Lord knows my Traveler would just be chasing down Harvey and Roman and doing their character quests. Just need to find out how to make it all yandere

Also, I forgot about the star system. Who do you think would be 4 starts, and who would be 5 starts??🤔🤔

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therogueflame · 2 months ago

Text

All That I Am

hello my darlins,

jace angst as requested.

✨ My Masterlist ✨

🖊️My AO3 🖊️

📝 My WIP List 📝

❄️ My ASOIAF/GOT/HOTD Discord Server 🔥

Summary: When the weight of the world threatens to break him, you remind him what is worth holding on to.

WC: 5.0k

Warnings: 18+, angst, war, talk of death, blood/ minor wound tending, grief, hurt/comfort

Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader

MDNI!

The corridors of the Red Keep were too quiet. Whispers clung to the stone walls like mist, and every passing servant seemed to walk a little faster, as though hurrying away from the news before it could stain their hands too. You heard it in pieces throughout the morning. A banner lost. A knight fallen. A house sworn to your cause now weakened, its blood spilled outside the city’s walls. Small in the grand scheme of war, yet the grief clung heavily to those who knew him. Jacaerys among them.

You found him near the gallery that overlooked the practice yard, standing stiffly by the balustrade with his hands folded behind his back. His hair, once neatly combed for the morning's council, had fallen loose across his brow. He was dressed plainly today, a dark tunic with no embroidery, no sign of the prince he was meant to be. Only the set of his shoulders, rigid and unyielding, betrayed the fury barely kept at bay.

You hesitated for a moment at the threshold, watching him, feeling the weight of the court shifting uneasily around you both. None dared approach him. Even Ser Cargyll, who had lingered nearby, had vanished to give him space. You were not so easily turned away.

Quietly you crossed the floor. The clatter of your shoes against the stone was the only sound between you until you stood at his side, close enough to touch but careful not to. He did not look at you.

"You have not eaten," you said, voice low. "You ought to rest."

For a long moment you thought he might ignore you. His gaze remained fixed on the empty yard below, watching nothing. Then he spoke, his words clipped and tight.

"There is no time for rest. Not now."

You searched his profile, the hard line of his jaw, the faint shadow beneath his eyes. A lesser man might have wept or raged or begged the gods for mercy. Jacaerys did none of these things. He only held himself together with brittle, breaking pride, as though if he stood still enough, strong enough, he might outrun the sorrow trailing him.

"Time will not wait for you to break," you said carefully. "You must take what you are given."

His mouth twitched, some bitter, silent thought passing between clenched teeth. When he turned to look at you, his eyes were dark with the kind of anger that had nowhere to go. Not at you. Not really at anyone. Only at the relentless, grinding truth that death came for all, no matter how fiercely he fought to keep it at bay.

"I must be stronger than this," he said.

You softened your voice. "You are strong."

"Not enough."

The words fell from him like stones, heavy and final. He pushed away from the balustrade and began pacing the gallery in slow, restless strides. You followed, unwilling to leave him adrift in his own mind.

"You blame yourself," you said.

He gave a hollow, humorless laugh. "He rode for me. He died for me. Whom else should I blame?"

You wanted to tell him the truth. That war made orphans and widows of all, and that he could no more hold back the tide than command the stars. That to bear such a burden alone would crush even the strongest of men. But you knew him too well. He would not hear it now.

"You cannot save all who swear you loyalty," you said instead.

"I should have tried harder," he muttered. His hands curled into fists at his sides, and you saw the slight tremble he tried to hide. "I should have been there."

"You cannot be everywhere," you said.

"I am their prince. It is my duty to be everything."

"You are still only one man," you said gently.

He stopped pacing then, breathing hard, as though the very act of standing still demanded more of him than battle ever could. His gaze lifted to yours, and for a fleeting moment you saw it there, naked and unguarded, the weight he carried pressing into the marrow of his bones.

"I cannot afford to grieve," he said hoarsely.

"You cannot afford to lose yourself either," you said.

A silence stretched between you. The sounds of court life murmured faintly through the stone walls, distant and hollow. Here, in this quiet corner, it was only the two of you. Jacaerys turned away first, shoulders slumping just barely, as though the exhaustion he fought so hard to deny was finally beginning to catch hold of him.

"You should go," he said. "You should not linger with the likes of me today."

"I will not leave you," you said simply.

He looked back at you again, and something in his expression shifted, some brittle thing softening around the edges. He said nothing more, and when you moved to stand beside him again, he did not pull away. For a time you stayed like that, silent, watching the shadows stretch across the yard as the day wore on. But when duty called you elsewhere and you finally left him, he remained behind, as still and unmoving as a statue carved from grief.

Night fell. The court resumed its restless murmur, candles guttered low in their sconces, and the Red Keep began to empty itself of noise and light. Somewhere beyond the walls, Blackwater Bay churned under a rising storm, but it was not the thunder that unsettled you. It was the hollow absence where Jacaerys should have been. He had not returned to his chambers. He had not come to seek you. And in the cold, heavy quiet of the castle, you found you could not bear to wait for him any longer.

You pulled your cloak around your shoulders and slipped from your rooms, moving swiftly through the darkened halls. The torches burned low, casting long, wavering shadows, and the few servants who remained kept their heads down, their footsteps quick and quiet. Even the guards stood farther apart than usual, as though uneasy in their own skin.

You did not know what had drawn you from your bed except the gnawing sense that something was wrong. Jacaerys had not spoken again after the morning’s grief, had not appeared at supper, had not been seen retiring to his rooms. A prince did not vanish within his own walls unnoticed. And yet he had. And yet you knew, with a certainty you could not name, that he would not have gone far.

The courtyard opened before you, wide and dark, the stones slick with mist. You hesitated at the archway, the chill biting through your cloak, before stepping into the open air. The moon hung low behind a curtain of clouds. Below it, in the faint light, you saw him.

He stood in the training yard, stripped of all pretense of courtly grace. His shirt hung loose around him, soaked with sweat, the laces at his collar undone. His hair clung to his forehead in damp strands. In his hands he gripped a training sword, splintered and battered from relentless use. Several broken shafts littered the ground around him, snapped clean through or discarded in frustration. His knuckles were bloodied, his grip so tight that you could see the trembling from where you stood.

You moved closer, careful not to startle him. Your footsteps were soft but the stones betrayed you. At the slight sound, he paused mid-swing, turning his head just enough to catch you in the corner of his eye. His chest rose and fell rapidly, each breath sharp with exertion.

"My prince," you said quietly.

For a heartbeat he was still. Then he turned away with a rough, breathless laugh, lifting the sword again. When he spoke, his voice was low and raw.

"Leave me be."

The words struck sharper than any blade. You did not move, though your hands curled instinctively into fists within the folds of your cloak.

"You are bleeding," you said, voice steadier than you felt.

He swung again, the sword slicing through the empty air with a harsh whistle. It jarred against one of the broken posts set into the ground and cracked further. The blow shook his arms but he only set his jaw and struck again.

"It is no matter," he muttered.

"It is," you said, taking another step closer. "You will tear yourself to pieces if you continue."

He laughed again, harsher this time, and dropped the shattered sword at his feet. It clattered against the stones and rolled away into the shadows. For a long moment he stood there, breathing hard, his back to you, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

"What would you have me do?" he asked at last, voice shaking. "Sit idly by while all falls to ruin? Pray to gods who do not listen?"

"I would have you care for yourself," you said.

He turned then, and the sight of him made your heart twist. The prince you knew was proud and bright, burning with a fire none could match. This boy before you was dimmed, his spirit worn thin as paper against the storm. Blood stained his hands, his arms, a thin trail trickling from a cut at his brow. His eyes were wild with grief he could no longer contain.

"I cannot," he said.

You stepped closer again, ignoring the way he flinched as though expecting you to strike him. Slowly, gently, you reached for his hand. He let you take it, though he did not meet your gaze, and you felt the tremor that ran through him like a blade barely held at bay.

"It is enough, Jacaerys. You have done enough."

He said nothing, only bowed his head so that his damp hair fell forward to shield his face. You squeezed his hand lightly, grounding him, steadying the shuddering breath he let out. The wind picked up, rattling the loose doors at the edge of the yard, and for a moment it seemed the whole world had narrowed to this one broken boy and the quiet, stubborn care you refused to deny him.

You did not let go of his hand. When he made to turn away again, you stepped forward and blocked his path, placing yourself squarely between him and the battered target dummy. The sword at his feet lay forgotten but the rage burning behind his eyes had not dimmed. For a heartbeat you thought he might shove past you. He did not. His fists remained clenched at his sides, trembling with the effort it took to hold himself together.

"You seek to punish yourself for what was never your fault," you said quietly.

At first he only stared at you, chest heaving, jaw set so tightly you thought it might crack. Then he laughed, a sound without any true mirth, low and ragged at the edges.

"Was it not?" he said, voice sharp with bitterness. "I swore to keep them safe. I swore it before the gods and the court and my own blood. I have failed them all."

"You did not send him to his death," you said. "You did not wield the sword that struck him down."

"Yet he died because of me," Jacaerys said, the words spilling out harsher now. "Had I been wiser, had I seen the trap laid before us, he would yet live."

You shook your head slowly, refusing to yield even as the storm of his grief gathered and broke over you.

"You cannot see every shadow," you said. "You are not the gods."

He moved then, pacing a short, restless line across the yard, his boots grinding against the gravel. You watched him in silence, knowing better than to chase him with words he was not yet ready to hear. He stopped with his back half-turned, shoulders hunched against the weight he could no longer carry.

"I was meant to be more than this," he said thickly. "A prince. A dragonrider. I was meant to lead, to inspire, to bring hope. Not death. Not this endless mourning."

"You have brought hope," you said. "You have given everything you have."

"Not enough," he said, barely more than a whisper. "It is never enough."

You crossed the yard to him then, slowly, so he might see you coming, might not mistake your closeness for pity. You placed a hand lightly on his arm. He flinched but did not pull away.

"You grieve," you said. "As all good men do."

He looked down at you then and there was something hollow in his gaze, something raw and breaking that he could no longer conceal behind princely pride. His voice dropped to a ragged whisper.

"And if I grieve too long," he said, "who else will fall while I mourn?"

“You have always had someone to stand beside you. You still do.”

He shook his head once, sharp and pained.

"Words," he said. "Only words. I have heard enough oaths and pretty promises to last a lifetime. None of them have stopped the dying."

"You are not alone," you said fiercely. "You are not without those who would stand at your side. Who would fight with you. Who would not leave you to drown in your grief."

He drew a shuddering breath, and for a moment you thought he might turn away again, might vanish into the night as he had so many times before. Instead he staggered one half-step closer, unsteady, as though some invisible chain had given way.

"If I lose you too," he said, voice cracking under the weight of it, "I know not what would remain of me."

The words hung between you like a prayer torn from a bleeding heart.

You reached up, slowly, carefully, and cupped his cheek in your hand. His skin was burning hot beneath your palm, the feverish heat of someone who had run too far, fought too long. He closed his eyes at the touch as though it pained him and soothed him all at once.

"You shall not lose me," you said quietly.

"I could," he said, almost inaudibly. "One arrow. One fall. One treacherous hand."

"You could lose me," you said, "but you have not. I am here."

He opened his eyes then and the sight of him broke something inside you. There was no prince there. No heir to a throne. Only a boy who had seen too much death, carried too many promises he could not keep, loved too fiercely for a world that showed no mercy in return.

"You are the best of us," you said, voice trembling though you fought to steady it. "You are not alone."

He sagged against you then, all the fight gone from his body at once, as though the truth of your words had struck deeper than any wound. You caught him easily, wrapping your arms around him, feeling the raw tremor of his breath against your neck. For a long while neither of you moved, the storm around the castle rising to a howl but unable to touch the small fragile space you carved out between you.

You ran your hand through his damp hair, murmuring soft nothings meant for no one else's ears. Promises he might not yet believe but that you would make a thousand times if only it might keep him standing. He pulled back just enough to look at you again, his forehead resting against yours, the breath between you shallow and shared.

"I cannot bear to see you hurt," he said.

"And yet you would bear your own pain in silence," you said.

He gave a broken laugh and leaned into your touch again, his hand curling lightly around your wrist as though anchoring himself to something solid in a world turned to ash.

"I do not know how to be anything else," he whispered.

"You need not be anything but yourself," you said. "With me."

Slowly, the tension bled from him. His shoulders sagged, the fight slipping away until only the ache remained. When he swayed, unsteady, you caught him without thinking, guiding him down to the worn stone bench at the edge of the yard. He sank onto it heavily, as though the weight he carried had finally become too much to bear. His hands, when you reached for them, were bloodied and raw, the skin split open from hours of punishing himself against the practice posts.

You crouched before him without a word. Your cloak was still damp from the rain, the fabric heavy against your shoulders. Carefully, you tore a strip from the inside lining, the seams giving way with a soft rip. It was not much, but it would serve well enough to tend his wounds.

The wind bit at your cheeks, sharp with the promise of more rain, but you barely felt it. The only thing that mattered was the boy before you, brittle and breaking and too proud to ask for help. Jacaerys sat in silence as you worked, his hands limp in yours, the fire in him banked to smoldering ash. You dabbed carefully at the worst of the cuts, the cloth blotting bright red before your eyes. His brow furrowed slightly when you brushed against a tender spot but he did not pull away. His body, always so full of restless energy, was unnervingly still.

"You are not made of stone, Jacaerys," you said softly. "You bleed as any man, yet you would sooner shatter than bend."

For a moment he said nothing. His eyes were fixed on a point beyond your shoulder, somewhere far away beyond the stone walls and the rising storm. Then, as you tied the cloth gently around his hand, his voice broke into the quiet.

"I am so very tired of losing all I hold dear."

The words were barely more than a whisper but they struck deeper than any shout. You set aside the cloth and placed your hand over his, steadying him. His fingers twitched beneath yours as though unsure whether to hold on or let go.

"You have not lost me," you said.

He looked at you then, properly looked at you, and there was something devastating in the way he did. As if he were trying to memorize your face, to carve it into his heart before the world could take it from him too.

"I fear I will," he said. "I fear it every time you walk away. Every time you are out of my sight."

"You would know if something happened to me," you said. "You would feel it. The bond we share would not break so easily."

"You speak as though bonds have ever stopped the dying."

You squeezed his hand gently, grounding him. "No. But they make the living bearable."

Jacaerys dropped his gaze to your joined hands, staring at them as though they were the only solid thing left in the world. His thumb brushed lightly over the back of your hand, tentative and aching.

"I do not know how to stop it," he said. "The fear. The dread that clings to me. It strangles me when I sleep. It haunts me when I wake."

"You cannot banish fear," you said. "Only choose to walk with it. Only choose to keep moving forward even when it claws at your heels."

He closed his eyes and leaned forward, his forehead resting against your shoulder with a shuddering breath. You wrapped your arms around him without hesitation, feeling the tension begin to uncoil from his muscles, slow and reluctant but real.

"You are not weak for feeling it," you said into his hair. "You are not lesser for mourning those you love."

He made a soft, choked sound, something between a sob and a bitter laugh. His hands clutched at the fabric of your cloak, holding you as though you were the only anchor he had left.

"I thought I was ready," he said. "I thought I could carry it all. I see now I was a fool."

"You are no fool," you said fiercely. "You are brave enough to grieve. Brave enough to love when the world would rather you harden your heart."

You could feel the storm beginning to break overhead, a low rumble of thunder rolling across the hills. The first drops of rain spattered against the stones around you, cold and sharp. Still you did not move. He lifted his head slightly, his brow still pressed to your temple.

"I do not deserve such kindness," he said hoarsely.

"You deserve it all the more," you said. "Because you have forgotten how to ask for it."

Slowly, cautiously, Jacaerys shifted to sit beside you on the bench, one hand still clinging to yours. He stared out at the empty yard, the broken swords, the battered dummies, the ghosts of all he could not save. His profile was etched in pain but also in something quieter now. Resolve, perhaps. Or the first fragile glimmer of hope. You leaned your head against his shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest as he calmed.

"We cannot win every battle," you said softly. "But we can choose how we fight. And we can choose whom we stand with."

He turned to you then, so slowly it seemed almost painful, and for a long moment he simply looked at you. His gaze roamed your face as if trying to find some proof that you were real, that you were still here, still breathing, still his.

"I choose you," he said.

The words were a vow, quiet and unadorned, but no less fierce for their simplicity.

"And I you," you said.

The rain fell harder now, drumming against the stones, soaking through your cloaks, chilling your skin. Neither of you moved to seek shelter. There was no safer place than this, no stronger refuge than the quiet truth you had laid bare between you. You brought his hand to your lips and pressed a kiss to his torn knuckles, a silent promise stitched into flesh and bone. He watched you with an expression so raw it stole your breath. When he spoke again, his voice was steadier.

"I will not lose you," he said. "Not while I draw breath."

"You will not," you said.

The night closed in around you, cold and bitter, but you stayed, two stubborn souls refusing to yield to fear or grief or the endless cruelty of the world. You stayed, and for the first time in too long, Jacaerys breathed without pain. The storm had softened to a steady rain, soaking the courtyard until the stones glistened like black glass. The torches along the walls sputtered and hissed where the damp crept close, but their light held. You and Jacaerys remained seated on the bench, side by side, cloaked in the half-shadow and silver mist.

Neither of you spoke at first. The silence was not heavy now. It was a shelter, a space carved out against the noise of the world. You listened to the rain, to the crackle of torches, to the soft rhythm of his breathing as it steadied beside you.

Jacaerys shifted slightly, the worn leather of his boots scraping against the stones. His hand still brushed against yours where they rested between you, not holding, not pulling away. Simply there.

"I have been a fool," he said at last, voice low. "Believing I could shoulder it all. Believing I had no need of anyone."

You turned your head to look at him. The firelight caught in the planes of his face, highlighting the hollows of his cheeks, the damp strands of hair clinging to his temples. He did not look at you. His gaze was fixed on some distant point beyond the walls, beyond the storm.

"It is not foolish to want to be strong," you said.

"It is foolish to think strength means silence," he said. "It is foolish to believe I could lock away every fear, every sorrow, and still stand."

"You have stood," you said quietly. "You have not broken."

"Not yet," he said, and there was the barest thread of humor there, dry and self-mocking.

You smiled, a small thing that faded almost as soon as it came.

"You are stronger than you know," you said.

He turned to you then, and the look he gave you made your heart ache. So much unsaid, so much carried behind his eyes. You thought he might turn away again, thought he might let the words die on his tongue. Instead he spoke, and his voice was raw but certain.

"I fear I have not told you often enough how dearly I hold you."

You swallowed against the tightness rising in your throat.

"You have told me," you said. "In all the ways that matter."

He shook his head, a faint, almost helpless gesture.

"Words should have been spoken," he said. "Clear and plain. In the hall. In the yard. Before the gods and all the realm if need be."

You reached out and took his hand fully in yours, feeling the roughness of bandages beneath your fingers.

"You do not need the world to hear you," you said. "I hear you."

He looked down at your joined hands, then back up at you, and when he spoke again it was scarcely more than a breath.

"I love you."

The words were not grand. They were not gilded in ceremony or heavy with expectation. They were simple, a truth he could no longer bear to keep caged behind duty and grief and fear. You let the silence stretch between you for a moment longer, savoring it, tasting the shape of the moment.

"I love you," you said back, steady and sure.

For a long time neither of you moved. The rain fell soft around you, the torches flickered, the castle breathed its ancient, restless breath. The world spun on, uncaring, but here in this small corner you had found something it could not touch. Jacaerys reached up with his free hand and brushed your hair back from your face, the touch reverent and tentative. His fingers trembled slightly where they lingered against your cheek.

"I will fail again," he said. "I will fall short. I will lose battles. I will lose people."

"You will," you said. "As all men do."

"I would not lose you," he said.

"You will not," you said, leaning into his touch.

The distance between you closed without thought, without fear. Your foreheads pressed together, the warmth of his skin grounding you against the chill. His thumb traced the line of your jaw, slow and tender, as if memorizing the shape of you. There was no kiss yet. No hurried grasp for more. Only the quiet, solemn joining of two battered souls, promising in the silence what words could only begin to say. You stayed there in the torchlight, hands entwined, hearts bare, until the rain washed the blood and dust from the stones and the night gave way to a softer dawn.

The rain softened to a mist, clinging to your skin like a second breath. Jacaerys still held your hand, his forehead pressed to yours, his body trembling faintly where it touched yours. There was no rush between you, no frantic need to grasp at the moment as though it would slip away. It had been built slowly, painfully, carved from sorrow and fear and hope alike. His hand came up to cradle your face, tentative, as though he thought you might vanish if he touched you too roughly. His thumb brushed your cheekbone in a motion so soft it might have been imagined. You turned your face slightly into his palm, breathing him in, the salt of the rain on his skin, the faint scent of leather and steel and something unmistakably his.

When he kissed you, it was not with the fire he wielded in the yard or the court. It was a broken thing, desperate and aching, a plea made flesh. His mouth pressed to yours with a trembling need that spoke of all the nights he had spent wondering if he would ever be allowed this, all the mornings he had woken wondering how long he could go without it. You answered him without hesitation, your hands rising to tangle in the damp strands of his hair, pulling him closer, grounding him against the storms outside and the greater one within.

He kissed you again, softer this time, as if afraid to break the fragile peace you had found. His breath shuddered against your lips when he finally pulled back enough to look at you. His eyes shone in the torchlight, dark and unguarded, filled with a devotion so fierce it was almost painful to behold.

"Where you go," you said quietly, your voice steady despite the rush of emotion clawing at your throat, "I shall follow."

Jacaerys closed his eyes briefly, as though sealing the words into his very soul. When he opened them again, there was no hesitation left in him.

"And I shall guard you," he said, voice no louder than the falling rain, "with all that I am."

The vow hung between you, unadorned by ceremony, sanctified only by the truth you saw reflected in one another. There were no witnesses. No grand banners. Only two souls who had found each other in the ruins of grief and chosen to stand together. He rested his forehead against yours once more, breathing you in as though he might fill every hollow place within himself with you alone. His hands settled at your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies, until he could feel the steady beat of your heart against his own.

The storm passed overhead, leaving the courtyard washed clean and silvered in the faint light of the breaking dawn. The world beyond the walls would not wait for you. Duty would come. War would come. Loss would come again, as it always did. But here, in this small moment carved from the endless march of sorrow, there was only you and Jacaerys, and the promises you had made without fear, without shame, without regret. You closed your eyes and leaned into him, and for the first time in many long months, you knew that whatever came, you would not face it alone.

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